BECKET.
Ay, but you go disguised.

ROSAMUND.
O rare again!
We'll baffle them, I warrant. What shall it be?
I'll go as a nun.

BECKET.
No.

ROSAMUND.
What, not good enough
Even to play at nun?

BECKET.
Dan John with a nun,
That Map, and these new railers at the Church
May plaister his clean name with scurrilous rhymes!
No!
Go like a monk, cowling and clouding up
That fatal star, thy Beauty, from the squint
Of lust and glare of malice. Good night! good night!

ROSAMUND.
Father, I am so tender to all hardness!
Nay, father, first thy blessing.

BECKET.
Wedded?