King John.
Now, say, Chatillion, what would France with us?

Chat.
Thus, after greeting, speaks the King of France,
In my behaviour, to the Majesty,
The borrow'd Majesty of England here.

Eli.
A strange beginning; borrow'd Majesty!

K. John.
Silence, good mother; hear the embassy.

Chat.
Philip of France, in right and true behalf
Of thy deceased brother Geffrey's son,
Arthur Plantagenet, lays lawful claim
To this fair island, and the territories:

To Ireland, Poictiers, Anjou, Touraine, Maine:
Desiring thee to lay aside the sword,
Which sways usurpingly these several titles:
And put the same into young Arthur's hand,
Thy nephew, and right-royal sovereign.

K. John.
What follows, if we disallow of this?

Chat.
The proud controul of fierce and bloody war,
T' inforce these rights so forcibly with-held.

K. John.
Here have we war for war, and blood for blood,
Controulment for controulment; so answer France.

Chat.
Then take my King's defiance from my mouth,
The farthest limit of my embassy.

K. John.
Bear mine to him, and so depart in peace* ^note.
Be thou as lightning in the eyes of France.
For ere thou canst report, I will be there,
The thunder of my cannon shall be heard.
So, hence! be thou the trumpet of our wrath,
And sullen presage of your own decay.
An honourable conduct let him have;
Pembroke, look to't; farewel, Chatilion. [Exeunt Chat. and Pem.

Eli.
What now, my son, have I not ever said,
How that ambitious Constance would not cease,
'Till she had kindled France and all the world,
Upon the right and party of her son?
This might have been prevented, and made whole,
With very easy arguments of love;
Which now the manage of two kingdoms must
With fearful, bloody issue arbitrate.

K. John.
Our strong possession, and our right for us.—

Eli.
Your strong possession much more than your right,
Or else it must go wrong with you and me;
So much my conscience whispers in your ear.

Essex.
My Liege, here is the strangest controversy,
Come from the country to be judg'd by you,
That e'er I heard: shall I produce the men?

K. John.
Let them approach.
Our abbies and our priories shall pay
This expedition's charge—What men are you? Enter Robert Faulconbridge, and Philip his brother* ^note.

Phil.
Your subject, I, a gentleman
Born in Northamptonshire, and eldest son,
As I suppose, to Robert Faulconbridge,
A soldier, by the honour-giving hand
Of Cœur-de-lion knighted in the field.

K. John.
What art thou?

Rob.
The son and heir to that same Faulconbridge.

K. John.
Is that the elder, and art thou the heir?
You came not of one mother then, it seems?

Phil.
Most certain of one mother, mighty King,
That is well known; and, as I think, one father:
But for the certain knowledge of that truth,
I put you o'er to heav'n, and to my mother;
Of that I doubt, as all men's children may.

Eli.
Out on thee, rude man! thou dost shame thy mother,
And wound her honour with this diffidence.

Phil.
I, Madam? no, I have no reason for it;
That is my brother's plea, and none of mine,
The which if he can prove, he pops me out
At least from fair five hundred pound a year:
Heav'n guard my mother's honour, and my land!

K. John.
A good blunt fellow: why, being younger born,
Doth he lay claim to thine inheritance?

Phil.
I know not why, except to get the land;
But once, he slander'd me with bastardy:
But whether I be true begot or no,
That still I lay upon my mother's head;

But that I am as well begot, my Liege,
(Fair fall the bones that took the pains for me!)
Compare our faces, and be judge yourself.
If old Sir Robert did beget us both,
And were our father, and this son like him;
O old Sir Robert, father, on my knee
I give heav'n thanks, I was not like to thee* ^note.

K. John.
Why, what a mad-cap hath heav'n lent us here!

Eli.
He hath a trick of Cœur-de-lion's face,
The accent of his tongue affecteth him:
Do you not read some tokens of my son,
In the large composition of this man?

K. John.
Mine eye hath well examined his parts,
And finds them perfect Richard: Sirrah, speak,
What doth move you to claim your brother's land?

Phil.
Because he hath a half-face like my father,
With that half-face would he have all my land?

Rob.
My gracious Liege, when that my father liv'd,
Your brother did imploy my father much;—

Phil.
Well, Sir, by this you cannot get my land:
Your tale must be, how he imploy'd my mother.

Rob.
And once dispatch'd him in an embassy,
To Germany; there with the Emperor
To treat on high affairs touching that time:
Th' advantage of his absence took the King.
And in the mean time sojourn'd at my father's;
Where, how he did prevail, I shame to speak:
But truth is truth; large lengths of seas and shores,
Between my father and my mother lay,
(As I have heard my father speak himself)
When this same lusty gentleman was got.
Upon his death-bed he by will bequeath'd
His lands to me; and took it on his death,
That this, my mother's son, was none of his;
And if he were, he came into the world,
Full fourteen weeks, before the course of time;

Then, good my Liege, let me have what is mine,
My father's land, as was my father's will.

K. John.
Sirrah, your brother is legitimate;
Your father's wife did after wedlock bear him:
And if she did play false, the fault was hers;
Which fault lies on the hazard of all husbands,
That marry wives.
Your father's heir must have your father's land.

Rob.
Shall then my father's will be of no force
To dispossess that child which is not his?

Phil.
Of no force to dispossess me, Sir,
Than was his will to get me, as I think.

Eli.
Whether hadst thou rather be a Faulconbridge,
And, like thy brother, to enjoy thy land:
Or the reputed son of Cœur-de-lion,
Lord of thy presence, and no land beside* ^note?

Phil.
Madam, and if my brother had my shape,
And I had his, Sir Robert his, like him;
And if my legs were two such riding rods;
My arms such eel-skins stuft; my face so thin,
And to his shape were heir to all this land;
Would I might never stir from off this place,
I'd give it every foot to have this face:
I would not be Sir Nobbe in any case.

Eli.
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.

Phil.
Brother, take you my land, I'll take my chance;
Your face hath got five hundred pound a year,
Yet sell your face for five pence, and 'tis dear.
Madam, I'll follow you unto the death.

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

Phil.
Our country manners give our betters way.

K. John.
What is thy name?

Phil.
Philip, my Liege, so is my name begun;
Philip, good old Sir Robert's wife's eldest son.

K. John.
From henceforth bear his name, whose form thou bear'st:
Kneel thou down Philip, but rise up more great;
Arise Sir Richard, and Plantagenet.

Phil.
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!

Eli.
The very spirit of Plantagenet!
I am thy grandam; Richard, call me so.

Phil.
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.

Phil.
Brother, adieu; good fortune come to thee,
For thou wast got i' th' way of honesty. [Exeunt all but Philip. A Flourish.
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,—Godamercy, fellow* ^note;
And if his name be George, I'll call him Peter;
For new-made honour doth forget mens names:
'Tis too respective and unsociable
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 catechise
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 A. B. C. 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 towards 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, tho' 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?
What woman-post is this? hath she 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 so hastily? Enter Lady Faulconbridge, and James Gurney* ^note.

Lady.
Where is that slave, thy brother? where is he,
That holds in chase mine honour up and down?

Phil.
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.
Sir Robert's son? ay, thou unrev'rend boy,
Sir Robert's son: why scorn'st thou at Sir Robert?
He is Sir Robert's son; and so art thou.

Phil.
James Gurney, wilt thou give us leave, awhile?

Gur.
Good leave, good Philip.

Phil.
Philip!—spare me, James;
There's toys abroad; anon I'll tell thee more. [Exit James.
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, confess!
Could he get me? Sir Robert could not do it;
We knew his handy-work; therefore, good mother
To whom am I beholden for these limbs?
Sir Robert never holpt to make this leg.

Lady.
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?

Phil.
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.
Hast thou deny'd thyself a Faulconbridge?

Phil.
As faithfully, as I deny the devil.

Lady.
King Richard Cœur-de-lion was thy father;
By long and vehement suit was I seduc'd,
To make room for him in my husband's bed.
Heav'n lay not my transgression to my charge!
Thou art the issue of my dear offence,
Which was so strongly urg'd past my defence.

Phil.
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 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 say, thou didst not well,
When I was got, I'll send his soul to hell.
Come, lady, I will shew 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 lyes; I say, 'twas not. [Exeunt* ^note.