Where is Kent? Where is Canterbury?

How, how can I ever return
to the soft and quiet seasons?
Thus the choristers sang
In remembrance of the treachery.
Priests had almost dragged
Becket to the cloisters
Of Sanctuary.
Thinking like ordinary men.
Quick bar the door! Bar the door
Gainst Knights with gleaming blade
Schemes expedience made.
Serving the King’s out-blurted word
The crime as right, most gross absurd.
No, Bishop said, the door
Shall not be barred.
House for the poor, the lost
Privilege barred. Never.
This but a day Cathedral
Stands unchanged.
Even if Lions assault. Deranged.

“Do with me, as you will to your hurt and shame;
But none of my people, in God’s name,
Whether layman or clerk, shall you touch.
This I forbid.”

And Knights snarl out
Their reply.
With darkest
Political eye:
Traitor, traitor, traitor.

(The deed done, but of small standing.
A play-wright’s note in italicized lower case.
While Bishop, seeing his
Master’s face.)