‘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 FALCONBRIDGE, and JAMES GURNEY.]
O me, ‘tis my mother!—w now, good lady!
What brings you here to court so hastily?
LADY FALCONBRIDGE.
Where is that slave, thy brother? where is he
That holds in chase mine honour up and down?
BASTARD.
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 FalcoNBRIDGE.
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.
BASTARD.
James Gurney, wilt thou give us leave awhile?
GURNEY.
Good leave, good Philip.
BASTARD.
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 not get me; Sir Robert could not do it,—
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,