It draws towards fupper in conclusion To.
But this is worshipful fociety,
And fits the mounting spirit like my felfa
For he is but a baftard to the time,
That doth not smack of observation,
(And fo am I whether I smack or no)
And not alone in habit and device,
Exterior form, outward accoutrement;
But from the inward motion too deliver
Sweet, sweet, sweet poifon * for the age's tooth;
Which, though I will not practise to deceive,
Yet, to avoid deceit, I mean to learn;
For it fhall ftrew the footsteps of my rifing.
But who comes in fuch hafte in riding robes ?
What woman-poft is this? hath fhe no husband
That will take pains to blow a horn before her?
O me, it is my mother; now, good Lady,
What brings you here to Court fo haftily?
Enter Lady Faulconbridge and James Gurney. Lady. Where is that flave, thy brother? where is he, That holds in chafe mine honour up and down? Baft. My brother Robert, old Sir Robert's fon, Colbrand the giant, that fame mighty man, Is it Sir Robert's fon that you feek fo?
Lady. Sir Robert's fon? ay, thou unrev'rent boy, Sir Robert's fon, why fcorn'it thou at Sir Robert? He is Sir Robert's fon, and fo art thou.
Baft. James Gurney, wilt thou give us leave a while? Gur. Good leave, good Philip.
Baft. Philip! fpare me, James,
There's toys abroad, anon I'll tell thee more. [Exit James. Madam, I was not old Sir Robert's fon.
Sir Robert might have eat his part in me
Upon Good-Friday, and ne'er broke his fast:
Sir Robert could do well; marry, confefs!
Could he get me? Sir Robert could not do it ;
We know his handy-work, therefore, good mother,
To whom am I beholden for these limbs?
Sir Robert never help'd to make this leg.
Lady. Haft thou confpired with thy brother too,
That for thine own gain fhould'ft defend mine honour ?
What means this fcorn, thou moft untoward knave?
Baft. Knight, Knight, good mother-Bafilifco-like.
Why, I am dub'd, I have it on my fhoulder:
But, mother, I am not Sir Robert's fon,
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. Haft thou deny'd thy felf a Faulconbridge ?
Baft. As faithfully as I deny the devil.
Lady. King Richard Coeur-de-lion was thy father;
"By long and vehement fuit I was feduc'd
To make room for him in my husband's bed.
Heav'n lay not my tranfgreffion to my charge!
Thou art the iffue. of my dear offence,
Which was fo ftrongly urg'd paft my defence.
Baft. Now by this light were I to get again,
Madam, I would not wish a better father.
Some fins do bear their privilege on earth,
And fo doth yours; your fault was not your folly;
Needs muft you lay your heart at his dispose,
Subjected tribute to commanding love,
Against whofe fury and unmatched force
The, awless lion could not wage the fight,
Nor keep his princely heart from Richard's hands.
He that per force robs lions of their hearts,
May eafily win a woman's. Ay, my mother,
With all my heart I thank thee for my father.
Who lives and dares but fay, thou didst not well
When I was got, I'll fend his foul to hell.
Come, Lady, I will fhew thee to my kin,
And they fhall fay, when Richard me begot,
If thou hadft faid him nay, it had been fin ;
Who fays it was, he lies; I fay 'twas not.
Alluding to a part in a Play known at that time, call'd Seliman and Perfeda.
SCENE, before the walls of Angiers in France. Enter Philip King of France, Lewis the Dauphin, the Arch Duke of Auftria, Conftance, and Arthur.
Lewis. Efore Angiers well met, brave Auftria.
Arthur ! that great fore-runner 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 pofterity,
At our importance hither is he come,
To fpread his colours, boy, in thy behalf;
And to rebuke the ufurpation
Of thy unnatural uncle, English John.
Embrace him, love him, give him welcome hither.
Artb. God fhall forgive you Coeur-de-lion's death
The rather, that you give his off-fpring life,
Shadowing their right under your wings of war.
I give you welcome with a pow'rless hand,
But with a heart full of unftained love:
Welcome before the gates of Angiers, Dukes,
Lewis. A noble boy! who would not do thee right ?
Auft. Upon thy cheek lay I this zealous kiss,
As feal to this indenture of my love;
That to my home I will no more return,
'Till Angiers and the right thou haft in France,
Together with that pale that white-fac'd fhore
Whose foot fpurns back the ocean's roaring tides,
And coops from other lands her iflanders ;
Ev'n 'till that England, hedg'd in with the main,
That water-walled bulwark, ftill fecure
And confident from foreign purposes,
Ev'n 'till that outmoft corner of the weft
Salute thee for her King. "Till then, fair boy,
Will I not think of home, but follow arms.
Conft. O, take his mother's thanks, a widow's thanks, "Till your ftrong hand fhall help to give him ftrength, To make a more requital to your love.
Auft. The peace of heav'p is theirs, who lift their fwords
In fuch a juft and charitable war.
K. Philip. Well then, to work; our engines fhall be bent
Against the brows of this refifting town;
Call for our chiefeft 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 Frenchmens blood,
But we will make it fubject to this boy.
Conft. Stay for an answer to your embaffie,
Left unadvis'd you ftain your fwords with blood.
My Lord Chatilion may from England bring
That right in peace, which here we urge in war,
And then we fhall repent each drop of blood
That hot rash hafte fo indirectly fhed.
K. Philip. A wonder, Lady! lo, upon thy wish
Our meffenger Chatilion is arriv'd;
What England fays, fay briefly, gentle Lord,
We coldly paufe for thee. Chatilion, speak.
Chat. Then turn your forces from this paultry fiege,
And ftir them up against a mightier task.
England, impatient of your juft demands,
Hath put himself in arms; the adverse winds,
Whofe leifure I have ftaid, have giv'n him time
To land his legions all as foon as I.
His marches are expedient to this town,
His forces ftrong, his foldiers confident.
With him along is come the Mother-Queen;
An Até, ftirring him to blood and ftrife.
With her her neice, the Lady Blanch of Spain;
With them a baftard of the King deceas'd,
And all th' unfettled humours of the land;
Rafh, inconfid'rate, fiery voluntaries,
With ladies faces, and fierce dragons fpleens,
Have fold their fortunes at their native homes,
Bearing their birthright proudly on their backs,
To make a hazard of new fortunes here.
In brief, a braver choice of dauntless fpirits
Than now the English bottoms have waft o'er,
Did never float upon the fwelling tide,
To do offence and scathe in Christendom.
The interruption of their churlish drums
Cuts off more circumftance; they are at hand.
To parly or to fight therefore prepare.
K. Philip. How much unlook'd for is this expedition! Auft. By how much unexpected, by fo much We must awake endeavour for defence;
For courage mounteth with occafion :
Let them be welcome then, we are prepar❜d.
SCENE II. Enter King of England, Baftard,
Elinor, Blanch, Pembroke, and others.
K. John. Peace be to France, if France in peace permit Our juft and lineal entrance to our own :
If not, bleed France, and peace ascend to heav'n!
Whilft we, God's wrathful agent, do correct
Their proud contempt that beat his peace to heav'n.
K. Philip. Peace be to England, if that war return
From France to England, there to live in peace!
England we love, and for that England's fake
With burthen of our armour here we sweat ;
This toil of ours fhould be a work of thine.
But thou from loving England art fo far,
That thou haft under-wrought its lawful King,
Cut off the fequence of pofterity,
Out-faced infant ftate, and done a rape
Upon the maiden virtue of the crown.
Look here upon thy brother Geffrey's face,
These eyes, thefe brows, were moulded out of his
This little abftract doth contain that large
Which dy'd in Geffrey; and the hand of time
Shall draw this brief into as large a volume.
That Geffrey was thy elder brother born,
And this his fon; England was Geoffrey's right,
And this is Geffrey's; in the name of God
How comes it then that thou art call'd a King,
When living blood doth in these temples beat,
Which own the crown that thou o'er-maftereft?
K. John. From whom haft thou this great commiffion,
France,
To draw my answer to thy articles?
|