"But this is worshipful fociety,

And fits the mounting fpirit like myself:
For he is but a baftard to the time,
That doth not fmack of observation;
[7And fo am I, whether I fmack or no:]
And not alone in habit and device,
Exterior form, outward accoutrement;
But from the inward motion to deliver
Sweet, sweet, sweet poifon for the age's tooth;
Which tho' I will not practife 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? Phil. My brother Robert, old Sir Robert's fon, Colbrand the giant, that fame mighty man, Is it Sir Robert's fon, that you seek so?

"towards fupper." All this is fenfible and humorous; and the phrafe of ferving in is a very pleasant one to denote that this was his worship's fecond courfe. What follows fhews the romantic turn of the voyagers of that time; how greedily their relations were fwallowed, which he calls fweet poison for the age's tooth; and how acceptable it made men at court- - For it fall frew the footfleps of my rifing. And yet the Oxford Editor fays, by this fweet poifon is meant flattery.

7 And so am I, whether I fmack or no] A nonfenfical line of the Players.

Lady.

Lady. Sir Robert's fon? ay, thou unrev'rend boy,
Sir Robert's fon: why scorn'ft thou at Sir Robert ?
He is Sir Robert's fon; and so art thou.

Phil. James Gurney, wilt thou give us leave a while?
Gur. Good leave, good Philip.

Phil. 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 faft:
Sir Robert could do well; marry, confefs!
Could he get me? Sir Robert could not do it;
We knew his handy-work; therefore, good mother,
To whom am I beholden for thefe limbs?

Sir Robert never holpe to make this leg.

Lady. Haft thou confpir'd with thy brother too,
That, for thine own gain, should'st defend mine honour?
What means this fcorn, thou most untoward knave?
Phil. 9 Knight, Knight, good mother-Bafilico
like.

What! 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?

8 Philip, fparrow, James.] I think the Poet wrote,
Philip! Spare me, James.

i. e. don't affront me with an appellation that comes from a Family which I disclaim.

9 Knight, Knight, good mother-Bafilifco like ] The words allude to an expreffion in an old foolish play, then the common but of ridicule. But the beauty of the paffage confifts in his alluding, at the fame time, to his high original. His father, Ricbard the firft, was furnamed Coeur de lion. And the Cor Leonis, a fixed ftar of the first magnitude, in the fign Leo, is called Bafilifco.

Lady.

Lady. Haft thou deny'd thy felf a Faulconbridge? Phil. As faithfully, as I deny the devil.

Lady. King Richard Caur-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 past my defence. Phil. Now, by this light, were I to get again, Madam, I would not wifh 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 whose fury, and unmatched force, The awless lion could not wage the fight; Nor keep his princely heart from Richard's hands. 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 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 hadst faid him nay, it had been fin; Who fays, it was, he lyes; I fay, 'twas not.

[Exeunt.

ACT

ACT II.

SCENE I.

Before the Walls of Angiers in France.

Enter Philip King of France, Lewis the Dauphin, the Archduke of Auftria, Conftance, and Arthur.

BEF

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.
Arth. God fhall forgive you Caur-de-lion's death
The rather, that you give his off-spring 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, Duke.
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 spurns 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

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 strong hand fhall help to give him ftrength, To make a more requital to your love.

Auft. The peace of heav'n 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 difcipline,
To cull the plots of best advantages.
We'll lay before this town our royal bones,
Wade to the market-place in French-mens' blood,
But we will make it subject to this boy.

Conft. Stay for an answer to your Embassie,
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 shall repent each drop of blood,
That hot rash hafte fo indirectly shed.

Enter Chatilion.

K. Philip. A wonder, lady! lo, upon thy wish
Our meffenger Chatilion is arrived;

What England fays, fay briefly, gentle lord,
We coldly paule 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 leisure I have staid, have giv'n him time
To land his legions all as foon as I.

His marches are expedient to this town,
VOL. III.

Dd

His