We know his handiwork:—therefore, good mother,
To whom am I beholding for these limbs?
Sir Robert never holp to make this leg.
LADY FALCONBRIDGE.
Hast thou conspired with thy brother too,
That for thine own gain shouldst defend mine honour?
What means this scorn, thou most untoward knave?
BASTARD.
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 FalcoNBRIDGE.
Hast thou denied thyself a Falconbridge?
BASTARD.
As faithfully as I deny the devil.
LADY FALCONBRIDGE.
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.
BASTARD.
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 hadst said him nay, it had been sin:
Who says it was, he lies; I say ‘twas not.
[Exeunt.]
ACT II.
SCENE 1. France. Before the walls of Angiers.
[Enter, on one side, the ARCHDUKE OF AUSTRIA and Forces; on the other, PHILIP, King of France, LOUIS, CONSTANCE, ARTHUR, and Forces.]
KING PHILIP.
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.
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.
LOUIS.
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!
AUSTRIA.
The peace of heaven is theirs that lift their swords
In such a just and charitable war.
KING PHILIP.
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 marketplace in Frenchmen’s blood,
But we will make it subject to this boy.
CONSTANCE.
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.
KING PHILIP.
A wonder, lady!—lo, upon thy wish,
Our messenger Chatillon is arriv’d.
[Enter CHATILLON.]
What England says, say briefly, gentle lord;
We coldly pause for thee; Chatillon, speak.
CHATILLON.
Then turn your forces from this paltry siege,
And stir them up against a mightier task.
England, impatient of your just demands,
Hath put himself in arms: the adverse winds,
Whose leisure I have stay’d, have given him time