Wastes himself among women, how should he love
A woman, as a woman should be loved?

HENRY.
How shouldst thou know that never hast loved one?
Come, I would give her to thy care in England
When I am out in Normandy or Anjou.

BECKET.
My lord, I am your subject, not your--

HENRY.
Pander.
God's eyes! I know all that--not my purveyor
Of pleasures, but to save a life--her life;
Ay, and the soul of Eleanor from hell-fire.
I have built a secret bower in England, Thomas,
A nest in a bush.

BECKET.
And where, my liege?

HENRY (_whispers_).
Thine ear.

BECKET.
That's lone enough.

HENRY (_laying paper on table_).
This chart here mark'd '_Her Bower_,'