James Gurney.
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?
-- 398 --
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 a while?
Gur.
Good leave, good Philip.
Phil.
8 note
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 holpe to make this leg.
Lady.
Hast thou conspir'd with thy brother too,
That, for thine own gain, should'st defend mine honour?
What means this scorn, thou most untoward knave?
Phil.
9 noteKnight, Knight, good mother—Basilisco like.
What! I am dub'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?
-- 399 --
Lady.
Hast thou deny'd thy self a Faulconbridge?
Phil.
As faithfully, as I deny the devil.
Lady.
King Richard Cœur-de-lion was thy father;
By long, and vehement suit, I was 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.
-- 400 --
Alexander Pope [1747], The works of Shakespear in eight volumes. The Genuine Text (collated with all the former Editions, and then corrected and emended) is here settled: Being restored from the Blunders of the first Editors, and the Interpolations of the two Last: with A Comment and Notes, Critical and Explanatory. By Mr. Pope and Mr. Warburton (Printed for J. and P. Knapton, [and] S. Birt [etc.], London) [word count] [S11301].
