PHILIP THE BASTARD

Please it your Majesty, the wrong is mine; yet will I abide all wrongs, before I once open my mouth to unrip the shameful slander of my parents, the dishonour of myself, & the wicked dealing of my brother in this princely assembly. If firstborn son be heir indubitate By certain right of England's ancient Law, How should myself make any other doubt, But I am heir to Robert Fauconbridge? Not for my self, nor for my mother now: But for the honour of so brave a Man, Whom he accuseth with adultery: Here I beseech your Grace upon my knees, To count him mad, and so dismiss us hence. Ma my Lord, and thats a question: and you had not taken some pains with her before, I should have desired you to ask my Mother. Faith (my Lord) to answer you sure he is my fa there that was nearest my mother when I was got, & him I think to be Sir Robert Fauconbridge. Philippus atavis a dite Regibus. What sayest thou Philip, sprung of ancient Kings? Quo me rapit tempestas? What wind of honour blows this fury forth? Or whence proeede these fumes of Majesty? Me thinks I hear a hollow Echo found, That Philip is the Son unto a King: The whistling leaves upon the trembling trees, Whistle in consort I am Richard's Son: The bubbling murmur of the waters fallen, Records Philippus Regius filius: Birds in their flight make music with their wings, Filling the air with glory of my birth: Birds, bubbles, leaves, and mountains, Echo, all Ring in mine ears, that I am Richard's Son. Found man, ah whither art thou carried? How are thy thoughts ywrapt in Honours heaven? Forgetful what thou art, and whence thou camest. Thy Father's land cannot maintain these thoughts, These thoughts are far unfitting Fauconbridge: And well they may; for why this monnting mind Does soar too high to stoop to Fauconbridge. Why how now? knowest thou where thou art? And knowest thou who expects thine answer here? Wilt thou upon a frantic madding vain Go lose thy land, and say thy self base born? No, keep thy land, though Richard were thy Sire, What ere thou thinkest, say thou art Fauconbridge. Please it your Majesty, Sir Robert Philip, that Fauconbridge cleaves to thy jaws: It will not out, I cannot for my life Say I am Son unto a Fauconbridge. Le land and living go, 'tis honours fire That makes me swear King Richard was my Sire. Base to a King adds title of more State, Than Knights begotten, though legitimate. Please it your Grace, I am King Richard's Son. Philip cannot repent for he hath done. Madame, I am bold to make my self your nephew, The poorest kinsman that your Highness hath: And with this Proverb gin the world anew, Help hands, I have no lands, honour is my desire; Let Philip live to show himself worthy so great a Sire. Madame I eseech you deign me so much leisure as the hearing of a matter that I long to impart to you. Then Madame thus, your Ladyship sees well, How that my scandal grows by means of you, In that report hath rumord up and down, I am a bastard, and no Fauconbridge. This grose attaint so tilteth in my thoughts, Maintaining combat to abridge my ease, That field and town, and company alone, Whatso I do, or wheresoever I am, I cannot chase the slander from thy thoughts. If it be true, resolve me of my Sire, For pardon Madame, if I think amiss. Be Philip Philip and no Fauconbridge, His Father doubtless was as brave a man. To you on knees as sometime Phaeton, Mistrusting silly Merop for his Sire, Straining a little bashful modesty, I beg some instance whence I am extraught. Nay Lady mother, hear me further yet, For strong conceit drives duty hence awhile: Your husband Fauconbridge was Father to that son, That carries marks of Nature Like the Sire, The son that blots you with wedlock's breach, And holds my right, as lineal in dissent From him whose form was figured in his face. Can Nature so dissemble in her frame, To make the one so Like as Like may be, And in the other print no character To challenge any mark of true dissent? My brother's mind is base, and too too dull, To mount where Philip lodgeth his affects, And his external graces that you view (Though I report it) counterpoise not mine: His constitution plain debility, Requires the chair, and mine the seat of ste le. Nay, what is he, or what am I to him? When any one that knoweth how to carp, Will scarcely judge us both one Country born. This Madame, this, hath drove me from myself: And here by heavens eternal lamps I swear, As cursed Nero with his mother did, So I with you, if you resolve me not. Let sons entreaty sway the now, Or else she die: I'll not infringe my vow. Mother be brief, I long to know my name. Come Madame come, you need not be so loath, The shame is shared equal betwixt us both. Is't not a slackness in me worthy blame, To be so old, and cannot write my name. Good Mother resolve me. Then Robin Fauconbridge I wish thee joy, My Sire a King, and I a landles Boy. Gods Lady Mother, the world is in my debt, There's something owing to Plantagenet. I marry Sir, let me alone for game, I'll act some wonders now I know my name. By blessed Marry I'll not fell that pride For England's weal h, and all the world beside. Fit fast the proudest of my Father's foes, Away good Mother, there the comfort goes. Will Angiers yield to Philip King of France, Their lose in yielding to the English King. But John, they saw from out their highest Towers The Chevaliers of France and crossbow shot Make lanes of slaughtered bodies through thine host, And are resolved to yield to Arthurs right. What ere my conscience knows, thy Army feels That Philip had the better of the day. Brother of England, what dowry wilt thou give Unto my Son in marriage with thy Niece? Then I demand Ʋ olquesson, Torain, Main, Poiters and Anjou, these five Provinces, Which thou as King of England holdest in France: Then shall our peace be soon concluded on. K. John, be good unto thy Nephewhere, And give him some what that shall please thee best. Unhappy peace, that ties thee from revenge. Rouse Thee Plantagenet, live not to see The butcher of the great Plantiginet. Kings, Princes, and you Peers of either Realms, Pardon my rashness, and forgive the zeal That caries me in fury to a deed Of high desert, of honour, and of arms. A boon Oh Kings, a boon does Philip beg Prostrate upon his knee: which knee shall cleave Unto the superficies of the earth, Till France and England grant this glorious boon. And France confirms what ere is in his power. I say, I am sorry for your Majesty, requesting you to submit your self to the Church of Room. What should I say? I must obey the Pope. The Legate hath absolude me of mine oath: Then yield to Room, or I defy Thee here. And are they gone? Pandulph thy self shalt see How France will fight for Room and Romish rites. Nobles, to arms, let him not pass the seas. Lets take him captive, and in triumph led The K. of England to the gates of Room. Arthur, thee man, and thou shalt see What Philip K. of France will do for thee. Follow me Lords, Lord Cardinal led the way, Drums shall be music to this wedding day. What every man attached with this mishap? Why frown you so, why droop you Lords of France? Me thinks it differs from a warlike mind To lower it for a check or two of chance. Had Lymoges escaped the bastards spite, A little sorrow might have served our lose. Brave Austria, heaven joys to have thee there. To aggravate the measure of our grief, All malcontent comes Constance for her Son. Be brief good Madame, for your face imports A tragic ale behind thats yet untold. Her passion stop the organ of her voice, Deep sorrow throbbeth misbefalne events, Out with it Lady, that our Act may end A full Catastrophe of sad laments. Despair not yet, come Constance, go with me, These clouds will fleet, the day will clear again. Come on you fat Franciscans, dally no longer, but show me where the Abbots treasure lies, or die. Gray gowned good face, conjure you, n r trust me for a groat, If this waste girdle hang thee not that girdeth in thy coat. Now bald and barefoot Bungy birds when up the gallows climbing, Say Philip he had words enough to put you down with rhyming. Come leave off your rabble, Sirs hang up this lozel. I, sayest thou so, & if thou wilt the friar is at liberty, If not, as I am honest man, I'll hang you both for company. I take thy word, the overplus unto thy share shall come, But if there want of full so much, thy neck shall pay the sum. Break up the Coffer, Friar. What have we here, a holy Nun? So keep me God in health, A smooth fact Nun (for ought I know) is all the Abbots wealth. Is this the No rises chastity? Beshrew me but I think They go as oft to Venery, as niggards to their drink. Why paltry Friar and Pandar too, ye shameless shaven crown, Is this the chest that held a hoard, at least a thousand pound? And is the hoard a holy whore? Well be the hangman nimble, He'll take the pain to pay you home, and teach you to dis semble. From all save from Friars. My Lord, I have performed your Highness charge: The ease bred Abbots and the bore foot Friars, The Monks the Priors and holy cloistered Nuns, Are all in health, and were my Lord in wealth, Till I had tythde and told their holy boards. I doubt not when your Highness sees my prize, You may proportion all their former pride. Grant heavens that Philip once may show himself Worthy the honour of Plantagenet, Or basest glory of a Bastards name. No Madam, it is no such suit as to beg or borrow, But such a suit, as might some other grant. I would not now have troubled you withal. I make thee chief in this affair, Ransack the Abbeys, Cloisters, Priories, Convert their coin unto my soldiers use: And whatsoever he be within my Land, That goes to Room for justice and for law, While he may have his right within the Realm, Let him be iudgde a traitor to the State, And suffer as and enemy to England. Mother, we leave you here beyond the seas, As Regent of our Provinces in France, While we to England take a speedy course, And thank our God that gave us victory. Hubert de Burgh take Arthur here to thee, Be he thy prisoner: Hubert keep him safe, For on his life does hang thy Sovereigns crown, But in his death consists thy Sovereigns bliss: Then Hubert, as thou shortly hearst from me, So use the prisoner I have given in charge. what news, how do the Abbots chests? Are Friars fatter than the Nuns are fair? What cheer with Churchmen, had they gold or no? Tell me how hath thy office took effect? Then this may hold till all his right be shown. Philip indeed hath God the Lyons case, Which here he holds to Lymoges disgrace. Base Duke to fly and leave such spoils behind: But this thou knewest of force to make Me stay. It farde with Thee as with the mariner, Spying the hugy Whale, whose monstrous bulk Does bear the waves Like mountains before the wind, That throws out empty vessels, so to stay His fury, while the ship does sail away. Philip 'tis thine: and before this Princely presence, Madame I humbly lay it at your feet, Being the first adventure I achieved, And first exploit your Grace did enjoin: Yet many more I long to be enjoined. Might Philip counsel two so mighty Kings, As are the Kings of England and of France, He would advise your Graces to unite And knit your forces gainst these Citizens, Pulling their battered walls about their ears. The Town once won then strive about the claim, For they are minded to delude you both. If Lews get her, well, I say no more: But let the frolic Frenchman take no scorn, If Philip front him with and English horn. No less than five such Provinces at once? John Mother what shall I do? my brother God these lands With much effusion of our English blood: And shall I give it all away at once? A fine excuse, Kings if you will be Kings, Then keep your words, and let us combat it. Now wars are done, I long to be at home To dive into the Monks and Abbots bags. To make some sport among the smooth skin Nuns, And keep some revel with the fanzen Friars. My Lord, I took a care of had I wist, And brought the Prophet with me to the Court, He stays my Lord but at the Presence door: Pleases your Highness, I will call him in. See, see my Lord strange apparitions. Glancing mine eye to see the Diadem Placte by the Bishops on your Highness head, From forth a gloomy cloud, which curtain Like Displayed it self, I suddenly espied Five Moons reflecting, as you see them now: Even in the moment that the Crown was placte Gan they appear, holding the course you see. Not you sir doughty with your Lions case. What words are these? how do my sinews shake? My Father's foe clad in my Father's spoil, A thousand furies kindle with revenge, This heart that choler keeps a consistory, Searing my inward with a brand of hate: How does Alecte whisper in mine ears? Delay not Philip, kill the villain straight, Disrobe him of the matchless monument Thy Father's triumph over the Savages, Base heardgroome, coward, peasant, worse than a threshing slave, What makest thou with the Trophei of a King? Shams thou not coystrell, loathsome dunghill swad, To grace thy carcase with and ornament Too precious for a Monarchs coverture? Scarce can I temper endue obedience Unto the p esence of my Sovereign, From acting outrage on this trunk of hate: But arm thee traitor, wronger of renown, For by his soul I swear, my Father's soul, Twice will I not review the Morning's rise, Till I have torn that Trophei from thy back, And split thy heart, for wearing it so long. Philip hath sworn, and if it be not done, Let not the world repute me Richard's Son. Ill ay I thrive, and nothing brook with me, If shortly I present it not to thee. And art thou gone, misfortune haunt thy steps, And chill cold fear assail thy times of rest. Morpheus leave here thy silent Eban cave, Besiege his thoughts with dismal fantasies. And ghastly objects of pale threatening Mors. Affright him every minute with steer e looks, Let shadow temper terror in his thoughts, And let the terror make the coward mad, And in his madness let him fear pursuit, And so in frenzy let the peasant die. Here is the ransom that alleys his rage, The first freehold that Richard left his son: With which I shall surprise his living foes, As Hector's statue did the fainting Greeks. Exit. Swounds Madam, take and English Gentleman: Slave as I was, I thought to have mooude the match. Grandame you made me half a promise once, That Lady Blanch should bring me wealth enough, And make me heir of store of English land. Then Duke fit fast, I level at thy head, Too base a ransom for my father's life. Princes, I crave the Combat with the Duke That braves it in dishonour of my Sire. Your words are passed nor can you now reverse The Princely promise that revives my soul, Whereat me thinks I see his sinews shake: This is the boon (dread Lords) which granted once Or life or death are pleasant to my soul; Since I shall live and die in Richard's right. I cannot live unless his life be mine. Thus hath K. Richard's Son perform his vows. And offered Austria's blood for sacrifice Unto his father's uerliuing soul. Brave Cordelion, now my heart does say, I have deserved, though not to be thy heir Yet as I am, thy base begotten son, A name as pleasing to thy Philips heart, As to be called the Duke of Normandy. Lie there a pray to every ravening fowl: And as my Father triumphed in thy spoils, And trodden thine Ensigns underneath his feet, So do I tread upon thy cursed self, And leave thy body to the fowls for food. Strange news my Lord: within your territo rises, Near Pomfret is a Prophet new sprung up, Whose divination volleys wonders forth; To him the Commons throng with Country gifts, He sets a date unto the Beldames death, Prescribes how long the Virgins state shall last, Distinguisheth the moving of the heavens, Gives limits unto holy nuptial rites, Foretelleth famine, aboundeth plenty forth, Of fate, of fortune, life and death he chats, With such assurance, scruples put apart, As if he knew the certain dooms of heaven, Or kept a Register of all the Destinies. It is my Lord.