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' th' way of honesty.

[Exeunt all but the Bastard.

A foot of honour better than I was,

But many a many 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 catechize
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 absey-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 Apennines,
The Pyrenean and the river Po,

It draws toward 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 Faulconbridge. 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.

boy,

Sir Robert's son! Ay, thou unreverend

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 a

while?

Gurney. 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 handy-work. Therefore, good mother,
To whom am I beholding 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 should'st 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 Faulcon-
bridge?

Bast. As faithfully as I deny the Devil.
Lady F.
ther.

King Richard Coeur-de-lion was thy fa

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 doth 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 aweless 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 had'st said him nay, it had been sin:
Who says it was, he lies: I say, 'twas not.

[Exeunt.

ACT II.

SCENE I. France. Before the Walls of Angiers.

Enter, on one side, PHILIP, King of France, Louis, CONSTANCE, ARTHUR, and Attendants, and Forces; on the other, the Archduke of AUSTRIA, and Forces.

LOUIS.

EFORE Angiers well met, brave Austria.

BEF

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 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. Arthur. 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.

Lou. A noble boy! Who would not do thee right?

Austria. 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.

Constance. 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!