HERBERT.
Not heavier than thine armour at Thoulouse?

BECKET.
O Herbert, Herbert, in my chancellorship
I more than once have gone against the Church.

HERBERT.
To please the King?

BECKET.
Ay, and the King of kings,
Or justice; for it seem'd to me but just
The Church should pay her scutage like the lords.
But hast thou heard this cry of Gilbert Foliot
That I am not the man to be your Primate,
For Henry could not work a miracle--
Make an Archbishop of a soldier?

HERBERT.
Ay,
For Gilbert Foliot held himself the man.

BECKET.
Am I the man? My mother, ere she bore me,
Dream'd that twelve stars fell glittering out of heaven
Into her bosom.

HERBERT.