I fhall befeech you,— that is queftion now;
And then comes anfwer like an A B C-book:
O Sir, fays anfwer, at your beft command,
At your employment, at your service, Sir:
No, Sir, fays queftion, I, fweet Sir, at yours,
And fo e'er 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 fupper in conclufion, fo
But this is worshipful fociety,

And fits the mounting fpirit like myself :
For he is but a battard to the time,
That doth not smack of observation ;
(And fo am I, whether I fmack or no :)
And not alone in habit and device,
Exterior form, outward accoutrement;
But from the inward motion to deliver
Sweet, fweet, fweet poifon for the age's tooth
Which tho' I will not practise to deceive,
Yet, to avoid deceit, I mean to learn;
For it fhall ftrew the footsteps of my rifing.
But who comes in fuch hafte, in riding robes?
What woman-poft is this? hath the 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 fo hastily?

Enter Lady Faulconbridge, and James Gurney.
Lady. Where is that flave, thy brother? where is hej.
That holds in chafe mine honour up and down?
Phil. My brother Robert, old Sir Robert's fon,.
Colbrand the giant, that fame mighty man,
Is it Sir Robert's fon, that you feek fo?

Lady. Sir Robert's fon? ay, thou unrev'rend boy,. Sir Robert's fon: why fcorn't thou at Sir Robert ? He is Sir Robert's fon; and so art thou.

Phil. James Gurney, wilt thou give us leave a while Gur. Good leave, good Philip.

Phil. Philip!-fpare me, James; (4) There's toys abroad; "anon I'll tell thee more.

[Exit James.

Madam, I was not old Sir Robert's fon..
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 thefe limbs ?.

Sir Robert never holpe to make this leg.

Lady. Haft thou confpir'd with thy brother too, That, for thine own gain, fhould'ft defend mine honour ? What means this fcorn, thou most untoward knave? Phil. Knight, Knight, good mother

(4)

like. (5)

Bafilifco

What!!

Philip, fparrow, James.] Thus the old Copies ;: and Mr. Pope has attempted to glofs this Reading by telling us, that Philip is the common Name for a tame Sparrow. So that then Faulconbridge would fay, Call me Philip? You may as well! call me Sparrow. The Allufion is very mean and trifling :: and every Body, I believe, will chufe to embrace Mr. Warbur ton's Emendation, which I have inferted into the Text. Spare me, and Forbear me, it may be observed, are our Author's accustom'd Phrafes; either when any one wants another to leave him, or would be rid of a difpleafing Subject.

(5) Knight, Knight,- -good Mother, Bafilifco like.]Thus must this Paffage be pointed; and, to come at the Humour of it, I must clear up an old Circumftance of Stage-Hiftory. Faulconbridge's Words here carry a conceal'd Piece of Satire on a ftupid Drama of that Age, printed in 1599, and call'd Soliman and Perfeda. In this Piece there is the Character of a bragging cowardly Knight, call'd Bafilifco. His Pretenfion to Valour is fo blown and seen thro', that Pifton, a Buffoon-fervant in the Play, jumps upon his Back, and will not difengage him, 'till ke makes Bafilifco fwear upon his dudgeon Dagger to the Contents, and in the Terms, he dictates to him; as, for Instance...... Baf. O, I fwear, I swear.

Pist. By the Contents of this Blade. i 71
Bal. By the Contents of this Blade,

What! I am dub'd; I have it on my shoulder ::
But, mother, I am not Sir Robert's fon;
I have disclaim'd Sir Robert, and my land
Legitimation, name, and all is gone:
Then, good my mother, let me know my
Some proper man, I hope; who was it, mother?-
Lady. Haft thou deny'd thy felf a Faulconbridge ?
Phil As faithfully, as I deny the devil.

father

Lady. King Richard Cœur de lion was thy father;
By long, and vehement, fuit I was feduc'd
To make room for him in my husband's bed.
Heav'n lay not my tranfgreffion to my charge!
Thou art the iffue of my dear offence,

Which was fo ftrongly urg'd paft my defence.
Phil. Now, by this light, were I to get again,
Madam, I would not with a better father..
Some fins do bear their privilege on earth,
And fo doth yours; your fault was not your folly;
Needs muft you lay your heart at his difpofe,
Subjected tribute to commanding love;
Againft whofe 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 eafily win a woman's. Ay, my mother,
With all my heart I thank thee for my father.
Who lives and dares but fay, thou didst not well
When I was got, I'll fend his foul to hell.

Pift. I, the aforefaid Bafilifco.
Baf. I, the aforefaid Bafilifco,

Knight, good fellow, knight, knight,

Pift. Knave, good fellow, knave, knave,

So that 'tis clear, our Poet is fneering at this Play; and makes Philip, when his Mother calls him Knave, to throw off that Reproach by humourously laying claim to his new Dignity of Knightbood; as Bafilifco arrogantly infists on his Title of Knight in the Paffage above quoted. The old Play is an execrable bad one; and, I fuppofe, was fufficiently exploded in the Representation: which might make this Circumftance fo well known, as to become the Butt for a Stage-Sarcasm.

Come,

Come, lady, I will fhew thee to my kin,

And they shall fay, when Richard me begot,

If thou hadst faid him nay, it had been fin;

Who says it was, he lyes; I fay, 'twas not. [Exeunt.

ACT

II..

SCENE, before the Walls of Angiers

in France.

Enter Philip King of France, Lewis the Dauphin, the Archduke of Auftria, Constance, and Arthur,

B

LEWIS.

EFORE Angiers well met, brave Auftria..
Arthur! that great fore-runner 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 pofterity,

At our importance hither is he come,
To fpread his colours, boy, in thy behalf;;
And to rebuke the ufurpation

Of thy unnatural uncle, English John.

Embrace him, love him, give him welcome hither..
Arth. God fhall forgive you Coeur-de lion's death
The rather that you give his off-spring life;
Shadowing their right under your wings of war.
I give you welcome with a pow'rless hand,
But with a heart full of unftained love:
Welcome before the gates of Angiers, Duke.
Lewis. A noble boy! who would not do thee right?
Auft. Upon thy cheek I lay this zealous kifs,
As feal to this indenture of my love;
That to my home I will no more return,
TillAngiers and the right thou haft in France,

Together

Together with that pale, that white-fac'd fhore,
Whose foot fpurns back the ocean's roaring tides,
And coops from other lands her islanders ;
Ev'n 'till that England, hedg'd in with the main,
That water walled bulwark, ftill fecure
And confident from foreign purposes,

Ev'n 'till that outmoft corner of the weft,
Salute thee for her King. 'Till then, fair boy,
Will I not think of home, but follow arms.

Conft. O, take his mother's thanks, a widow's thanks, "Till your ftrong hand fhall help to give him ftrength, To make a more requital to your love.

Auft. The peace of heav'n is theirs, who lift their fwords

In fuch a just and charitable war.

K. Philip. Well then, to work; our engines fhall be

bent

Against the brows of this refifting town ;;
Call for our chiefeft men of difcipline,
To cull the plots of beft advantages.
We'll lay before this town our royal bones,
Wade to the market-place in Frenchmens' blood,
But we will make it fubject to this boy.

Conft. Stay for an answer to your Embaffie,
Left unadvis'd you ftain your fwords with blood.
My lord Chatilion may from England bring
That right in peace, which here we urge in war;
And then we fhall repent each drop of blood,.
That hot rafh hafte fo indirectly fhed..

Enter Chatilion.

K. Philip. A wonder, lady! lo, upon thy wish Our meffenger Chatilion is arrived ?

What England fays, fay briefly, gentle lord,

We coldly pause for thee. Chatilion, speak.

Chat. Then turn your forces from this paultry fiege, And stir them up against a mightier task.. England, impatient of your juft demands, Hath put himself in arms; the adverse winds, Whofe leisure I have ftaid, have giv'n him time

To,