Becket. Well—will you move?
Henry. There. (Moves.)
Becket. Check—you move so wildly.
Henry. There then! (Moves.)
Becket. Why—there then, for you see my bishop
Hath brought your king to a standstill. You are beaten.
Henry. (Kicks over the board.) Why, there then—down go bishop and king together.
I loathe being beaten; had I fixt my fancy
Upon the game I should have beaten thee,
But that was vagabond.