ROSAMUND.
Father!

BECKET.
Well, well! I ask no more. Heaven bless thee! hence!

ROSAMUND.
O, holy father, when thou seest him next,
Commend me to thy friend.

BECKET.
What friend?

ROSAMUND.
The King.

BECKET.
Herbert, take out a score of armed men
To guard this bird of passage to her cage;
And watch Fitzurse, and if he follow thee,
Make him thy prisoner. I am Chancellor yet.
[_Exeunt_ HERBERT _and_ ROSAMUND.
Poor soul! poor soul!
My friend, the King!... O thou Great Seal of England,
Given me by my dear friend the King of England--
We long have wrought together, thou and I--
Now must I send thee as a common friend
To tell the King, my friend, I am against him.
We are friends no more: he will say that, not I.