The Complete Works of William Shakespeare Part 243

I would not be Sir n.o.b in any case.

ELINOR. I like thee well. Wilt thou forsake thy fortune, Bequeath thy land to him and follow me?

I am a soldier and now bound to France.

b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Brother, take you my land, I'll take my chance.

Your face hath got five hundred pound a year, Yet sell your face for fivepence and 'tis dear.

Madam, I'll follow you unto the death.

ELINOR. Nay, I would have you go before me thither.

b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Our country manners give our betters way.

KING JOHN. What is thy name?

b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Philip, my liege, so is my name begun: Philip, good old Sir Robert's wife's eldest son.

KING JOHN. From henceforth bear his name whose form thou bearest: Kneel thou down Philip, but rise more great- Arise Sir Richard and Plantagenet.

b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Brother by th' mother's side, give me your hand; My father gave me honour, yours gave land.

Now blessed be the hour, by night or day, When I was got, Sir Robert was away!

ELINOR. The very spirit of Plantagenet!

I am thy grandam, Richard: call me so.

b.a.s.t.a.r.d. 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.

KING 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.

b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Brother, adieu. Good fortune come to thee!

For thou wast got i' th' way of honesty.

Exeunt all but the b.a.s.t.a.r.d 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!'-'G.o.d-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 toothpick at my wors.h.i.+p'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 wors.h.i.+pful society, And fits the mounting spirit like myself; For he is but a b.a.s.t.a.r.d 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, 'tis 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?

b.a.s.t.a.r.d. 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 FAULCONBRIDGE. 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.

b.a.s.t.a.r.d. James Gurney, wilt thou give us leave awhile?

GURNEY. Good leave, good Philip.

b.a.s.t.a.r.d. 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 handiwork. Therefore, good mother, To whom am I beholding for these limbs?

Sir Robert never holp to make this leg.

LADY FAULCONBRIDGE. Hast thou conspired with thy brother too, That for thine own gain shouldst defend mine honour?

What means this scorn, thou most untoward knave?

b.a.s.t.a.r.d. 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 FAULCONBRIDGE. Hast thou denied thyself a Faulconbridge?

b.a.s.t.a.r.d. As faithfully as I deny the devil.

LADY FAULCONBRIDGE. 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.

b.a.s.t.a.r.d. 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 h.e.l.l.

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

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ACT II. SCENE 1

France. Before Angiers

Enter, on one side, AUSTRIA and forces; on the other, KING PHILIP OF FRANCE, LEWIS the Dauphin, 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. G.o.d 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.

KING PHILIP. A n.o.ble 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 sh.o.r.e, 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 market-place in Frenchmen's blood, But we will make it subject to this boy.

CONSTANCE. Stay for an answer to your emba.s.sy, 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.

Enter CHATILLON

KING PHILIP. A wonder, lady! Lo, upon thy wish, Our messenger Chatillon is arriv'd.

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.