ROBERT

Then by my Prince his leave shall Robert speak, And tell your Majesty? what right I have To offer wrong, as he accounteth wrong. My Father (not unknown unto your Grace) Received his spurs of Knighthood in the Field, At Kingly Richard's hands in Palestine, When as the walls of Acon gave him way: His name Sir Robert Fauconbridge of Mountbery. What by succession from his Ancestors, And warlike service under England's Arms, His living did amount too at his death Two thousand Marks revenue every year: And this (my Lord) I challenge for my right, As lawful heir to Robert Fauconbridge. Please it your Grace with patience for to hear; I not deny but he mine Elder is, Mine elder Brother too: yet in such sort, As he can make no title to the Land. I grant (my Lord) he is my mother's son, Base born, and base begotten, no Fauconbridge. Indeed the world reputes him lawful heir, My Father in his life did count him so, And here my Mother stands to prove him so: But I (my Lord) can prove, and do ver e Both to my Mother's shame and his reproach, He is no heir, nor yet legitimate. Then (gracious Lord) let Fauconbridge enjoy The living that belongs to Fauconbridge. And let not him possess another's right. Nor mad, nor mazde, but well advised, I Charge thee before this royal presence here To be a Bastard to King Richard's self, Son to your Grace, and Brother to your Majesty. Thus bluntly, and The proof so plain, the argument so strong, As that your Highness and these noble Lords, And all (save those that have no eyes to see) Shall swear him to be Bastard to the King. First when my Father was Ambassador In Germany unto the Emperor, The King lay often at my Father's house; And all the Realm suspected what befell: And at my Father's back return again My Mother was delivered as 'tis said, Six weeks before the account my Father made. But more than this: look but on Philips face, His features, actions, and his lineaments, And all this Princely presence shall confess, He is no other but King Richard's Son. Then gracious Lord, rest he King Richard's Son, And let me rest safe in my Father's right, That am his rightful son and only heir. I have no more, nor need I greater proof. Then good my Lord, be you indifferent Judge, And let me have my living and my right. Madame, you wrong me thus to jest it out, I crave my right: King John as thou art King. So be thou joust, and let me have my right. My Lord, herein I challenge you of wrong, To give away my right, and put the doom Unto themselves. Can there be likelihood That she will lose? Or he will give the living from himself? It may not be my Lord. Why should it be? This is right, ask my fellow there if I be a thief. Was ever man thus wronged as Robert is? Robert revive thy heart, let sorrow die, His faltering tongue not suffers him to lie.