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Now blessed be the hour, by night or day,
When I was got, sir Robert was away.

Eli. The very spirit of Plantagenet!-
I am thy grandame, Richard; call me so.

Bast. Madam, by chance, but not by truth: What though?

Something about, a little from the right,

In at the window, or else o'er the hatch:
Who dares not stir by day, must walk by night;
And have is have, however men do catch:
Near or far off, well won is still well shot;
And I am I, howe'er I was begot.

K. John. Go, Faulconbridge; now hast thou thy
desire,

A landless knight makes thee a landed 'squire.Come, madam, and come, Richard; we must speed For France, for France; for it is more than need. Bast. Brother, adieu; Good fortune come to thee! For thou wast got i'the way of honesty.

[Exeunt all but the Bastard.

A foot of honour better than I was;
But many a foot of land the worse.
Well, now can I make any Joan a lady:-
Good den, sir Richard,-God-a-mercy, fellow;-
And if his name be George, I'll call him Peter:
For new-made honour doth forget men's names;
'Tis too respective, and too sociable,

For your conversion. Now your traveller,-
He and his tooth-pick at my worship's mess;
And when my knightly stomach is suffic'd,
Why then I suck my teeth, and catechise
My picked man of countries:-My dear sir :-
(Thus, leaning on mine elbow, I begin),
I shall beseech you-That is question now;
And then comes answer like an ABC-Book :-
O, sir, says answer, at your best command;
At your employment; at your service, sir :-
No, sir, says question, I, sweet sir, at yours:
And so, ere answer knows what question would
(Saving in dialogue of compliment;
And talking of the Alps and Appennines,

The Pyrenean, and the river Po),

It draws towards supper in conclusion so.
But this is worshipful society,

And fits the mounting spirit, like myself:
For he is but a bastard to the time,
That doth not smack of observation
(And so am I, whether I smack, or no);
And not alone in habit and device,
Exterior form, outward accoutrement;
But from the inward motion to deliver
Sweet, sweet, sweet poison for the age's tooth:
Which though I will not practise to deceive,
Yet, to avoid deceit, I mean to learn:
For it shall strew the footsteps of my rising.—
But who comes in such haste, in riding robes?
What woman-post is this? hath she no husband,
That will take pains to blow a horn before her?
Enter LADY FAULCONBRIDGE and JAMES GURNEY.
O me! it is my mother:-How now, good lady?
What brings you here to court so hastily?

Lady F. Where is that slave, thy brother? where is he?

That holds in chase mine honour up and down?
Bast. My brother Robert? old sir Robert's son?
Colbrand, the giant, that same mighty man?
Is it sir Robert's son, that you seek so?

Lady F. Sir Robert's son! Ay, thou unreverend boy,
Sir Robert's son: Why scorn'st thou at sir Robert?
He is sir Robert's son; and so art thou.

Bast. James Gurney, wilt thou give us leave awhile? Gur. Good leave, good Philip.

Bast. Philip!-sparrow !—James, There's toys abroad; anon I'll tell thee more.

[Exit Gurney.

Madam, I was not old sir Robert's son ;
Sir Robert might have eat his part in me
Upon Good-Friday, and ne'er broke his fast:
Sir Robert could do well; Marry (to confess!),
Could he get me? Sir Robert could not do it;

We know his handiwork:-Therefore, good mother,
To whom am I beholden for these limbs?
Sir Robert never holp to make this leg.

Lady F. Hast thou conspired with thy brother too,
That for thine own gain shouldst defend mine honour?
What means this scorn, thou most untoward knave?
Bast. Knight, knight, good mother.-Basilisco-like:
What! I am dubb'd; I have it on my shoulder.
But, mother, I am not sir Robert's son ;

I have disclaim'd sir Robert, and my land;
Legitimation, name, and all is gone:

Then, good my mother, let me know my father;
Some proper man, I hope; Who was it, mother?
Lady F. Hast thou denied thyself a Faulconbridge?
Bast. As faithfully as I deny the devil.

Lady F. King Richard Coeur-de-lion was thy father; By long and vehement suit I was seduc'd

To make room for him in my husband's bed:
Heaven, lay not my transgression to my charge!
Thou art the issue of my dear offence,
Which was so strongly urg'd, past my defence.
Bast. Now, by this light, were I to get again,
Madam, I would not wish a better father.
Some sins do bear their privilege on earth,
And so do yours; your fault was not your folly:
Needs must you lay your heart at his dispose,-
Subjected tribute to commanding love,-
Against whose fury and unmatched force
The awless lion could not wage the fight,
Nor keep his princely heart from Richard's hand.
He, that perforce robs lions of their hearts,
May easily win a woman's. Ay, my mother,
With all my heart I thank thee for my father!
Who lives and dares but say, thou didst not well
When I was got, I'll send his soul to hell.
Come, lady, I will show thee to my kin;

And they shall say,

when Richard me begot,

If thou hadst said him nay, it had been sin:

Who says it was, he lies; I say, 'twas not. [Exeunt.

[graphic]

SCENE I. FRANCE. Before the Walls of ANGIERS.
Enter, on one side, the ARCHDUKE of AUSTRIA, and
Forces; on the other, PHILIP, King of France, and
Forces; LEWIS, CONSTANCE, ARTHUR, and At-
tendants.

Lew. Before Angiers well met, brave Austria.-
Arthur, that great forerunner of thy blood,
Richard, that robb'd the lion of his heart,
And fought the holy wars in Palestine,
By this brave duke came early to his grave:
And, for amends to his posterity,

At our importance, hither is he come,
To spread his colours, boy, in thy behalf;
And to rebuke the usurpation

Of thy unnatural uncle, English John:

Embrace him, love him, give him welcome hither.

Arth. God shall forgive you Coeur-de-lion's death,

The rather, that you give his offspring life,

Shadowing their right under your wings of war:
I give you welcome with a powerless hand,
But with a heart full of unstained love:
Welcome before the gates of Angiers, duke.

Lew. A noble boy! Who would not do thee right?
Aust. Upon thy cheek lay I this zealous kiss,
As seal to this indenture of

my love; That to my home I will no more return,

Till Angiers, and the right thou hast in France,
Together with that pale, that white-fac'd shore,
Whose foot spurns back the ocean's roaring tides,
And coops from other lands her islanders,
Even till that England, hedg'd in with the main,
That water-walled bulwark, still secure
And confident from foreign purposes,
Even till that utmost corner of the west
Salute thee for her king: till then, fair boy,
Will I not think of home, but follow arms.

Const. O, take his mother's thanks, a widow's thanks, Till your strong hand shall help to give him strength, To make a more requital to your love.

Aust. The peace of heaven is theirs, that lift their
In such a just and charitable war.
[swords
K. Phi. Well then, to work; our cannon shall be bent
Against the brows of this resisting town.-
Call for our chiefest men of discipline,
To cull the plots of best advantages:-
We'll lay before this town our royal bones,
Wade to the market-place in Frenchmen's blood,
But we will make it subject to this boy.

Const. Stay for an answer to your embassy,
Lest unadvis'd you stain your swords with blood,
My lord Chatillon may from England bring
That right in peace, which here we urge in war;
And then we shall repent each drop of blood,
That hot rash haste so indirectly shed.

Enter CHATILLON.

K. Phi. A wonder, lady!—lo, upon thy wish, Our messenger Chatillon is arriv'd.—

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