Not spirit--thou remainest Gilbert Foliot,
A worldly follower of the worldly strong.
I, bearing this great ensign, make it clear
Under what Prince I fight.

FOLIOT.
My lord of York,
Let us go in to the Council, where our bishops
And our great lords will sit in judgment on him.

BECKET.
Sons sit in judgment on their father!--then
The spire of Holy Church may prick the graves--
Her crypt among the stars. Sign? seal? I promised
The King to obey these customs, not yet written,
Saving mine order; true too, that when written
I sign'd them--being a fool, as Foliot call'd me.
I hold not by my signing. Get ye hence,
Tell what I say to the King.

[_Exeunt_ HEREFORD, FOLIOT, _and other_ BISHOPS.

ROGER OF YORK.
The Church will hate thee.
[_Exit_.

BECKET.
Serve my best friend and make him my worst foe;
Fight for the Church, and set the Church against me!