Eleanor monologue (Act 3) — Becket and other plays

The world hath trick'd her--that's the King; if so, There was the farce, the feint--not mine. And yet I am all but sure my dagger was a feint Till the worm turn'd--not life shot up in blood, But death drawn in;--_(looking at the vial) this_ was no feint then? no. But can I swear to that, had she but given Plain answer to plain query? nay, methinks Had she but bow'd herself to meet the wave Of humiliation, worshipt whom she loathed, I should have let her be, scorn'd her too much To harm her. Henry--Becket tells him this-- To take my life might lose him Aquitaine. Too politic for that. Imprison me? No, for it came to nothing--only a feint. Did she not tell me I was playing on her? I'll swear to mine own self it was a feint. Why should I swear, Eleanor, who am, or was, A sovereign power? The King plucks out their eyes Who anger him, and shall not I, the Queen, Tear out her heart--kill, kill with knife or venom One of his slanderous harlots? 'None of such?' I love her none the more. Tut, the chance gone, She lives--but not for him; one point is gain'd. O I, that thro' the Pope divorced King Louis, Scorning his monkery,--I that wedded Henry, Honouring his manhood--will he not mock at me The jealous fool balk'd of her will--with _him_? But he and he must never meet again. Reginald Fitzurse!