BECKET.
I hear you. [_Clash of arms_.

HILARY.
Dost thou hear those others?

BECKET.
Ay!

ROGER OF YORK (_re-entering_).
The King's 'God's eyes!' come now so thick and fast,
We fear that he may reave thee of thine own.
Come on, come on! it is not fit for us
To see the proud Archbishop mutilated.
Say that he blind thee and tear out thy tongue.

BECKET.
So be it. He begins at top with me:
They crucified St. Peter downward.

ROGER OF YORK.
Nay,
But for their sake who stagger betwixt thine
Appeal, and Henry's anger, yield.

BECKET.
Hence, Satan!

[_Exit_ ROGER OF YORK.