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Mo. What head-strong furie doth enchant my sonne ?
Philip. Pbilip, cannot repenr, for he hath done.

Iohn. Then Philip blame not me, thy selfe hast lost
By wilfulnelle, thy living and thy land.
Robert, thou art the heire of Fauconbridge,
God giue thee ioy, greater than thy desert.

2. Elia. Why how now Philip, giue away thine owne ?

Ph. Madame, I am bold to make my self your nephew,
The poorest kinsman that your highnesse hath :
And with this prouerb gin the world anew,
Help hands, I haue no lands, honor is my desire;
Let Philip liue to shew himselfe worthy so great a fire.

Eli. Philip, I think thou knewst thy grandams minde:
But cheere thee boy, I will not see thee want
As long as Elinor hath foote of land;
Henceforth thou shalt be taken for my sonne,
And waite on me and on thine vncle heere,
Who shall giue honour to thy noble mind.

Ichn. Philip kneele downe, that thou maist throughly How much thy resolution pleaseth vs,

(know Rise vp fir Richard Plantaginet king Richards sonne.

Philip. Grant heauens that Philip once may shew himselfe
Worthy the honour of Plantaginet,
Or basest glorie of a bastards name.

Iohn. Now gentlemen, we will away to France,
To checke the pride of Arthur and his mates :
Esex, thou Malt be ruler of my realme,
And toward the maine charges of my warres,
Ile ceaze the lafie abbey lubbers lands
Into my hands to pay my men of warre.
The pope and popelings shall not grease themselues
With gold and groates, that are the souldiers dye,


Thus forward lords, let our commaund be done,
And march we forward mightily to France.


Manet Philip and his Mother. Philip. Madame, I beseech you deigne me so much leasure as the hearing of a matter that I lög to impart to you.

Mother. What's the matter Philip ? I thinke your suit in secret, tends to some money matter, which you suppose burnes in the bottome of my chest.

Phil. No madam, it is no such suit as to beg or borrow,
But such a fuit, as might some other grant,
I would not now haue troubled you

withall. Mother. A let vs heare it.

Phil. Then madam thus, your ladithip fees well,
How that my scandall growes by meanes of you,
In that report hath rumord vp and downe,
I am a bastard, and no Fauconbridge.
This grosse attaint so tilteth in my thoughts,
Maintaining combat to abridge mine ease,
That field and towne, and company alone,
What so I doe, or wheresoere I am,
I cannot chase the Naunder from my thoughts.
If it be true, resolue me of my fire,
For pardon madam, if I thinke amille.
Be Philip Philip, and no Fauconbridge,
His father doubtlesse was as braue a man.
To you on knees, as sometime Phaeton,
Mistrusting sielly Merop for his fire,
Straining a little bashfull modestie,
I beg fome instance whence I am extraught.

Moth. Yet more adoe to haste me to my graue,
And wilt thou too become a mothers croffe?
Must I accufe my felfe to close with you ?
Slaunder my selfe, to quiet your affects ?


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Thou moou'st me Philip with this idle talke,
Which I remit, in hope this mood will die.

Phil. Nay lady mother, heare me further yet,
For Arong conceit driues dutie hence awhile :
Your husband Fauconbridge was father to that sonne,
That carries markes of nature like the fire,
The foone that blotteth you with wedlockes breach,
And holds my right, as lineall in descent
From him whose forme was figured in his face.
Can nature so diffemble in her frame,
To make the one fo like as like may be,
And in the other print no character
To challenge any marke of true descent ?
My brothers mind is base, and too too dull,
To mount where Philip lodgeth his affects,
And his externall graces that you viewe,
(Though I report it) counterpoise not mine :
His constitution plaine debilitie,
Requires the chaire, and mine the feat of steele.
Nay, what is he, or what am I to him?
When any one that knoweth how to carpe,
Will scarcely iudge vs both one countrey borne.
This madam, this, hath droue me from my felfe :
And here by heauens eternall lampes I sweare,
As cursed Nero with his mother did,
So I with you, if you resolue me not.

Moth. Let mothers teares quench out thy angers fire,
And vrge no further what thou doelt require.

Phil. Let sonnes intreatie fway the mother now,
Or else thee dies : Ile not infringe my vow.

Moth. Vnhappy taske : must I recount my shame,
Blab my misdeeds, or by concealing die?
Some power strike me speechlesse for a time,


Or take from him a while his hearings vse.
Why wilh I lo, vnhappy as I am ?
The fault is mine, and he the faultie fruit,
I blush, I faint, oh would I might be mute.

Phil. Mother be briefe, I long to know my name.
Moth. And longiog die, to shroud thy mothers shame.

Phil. Come madame come, you need not be so loath, The shame is shared equall twixt vs both, Ist not a slackenesse in me, worthy blame, To be fo old, and cannot write my name. Good mother resolue me.

Moth. Then Philip heare thy fortune, and my griefe, My honours losse by purchase of thy felfe, My shame, thy name, and husbands secret wrong, All maimd and staind by youths vnruly sway. And when thou know'st from whence thou art extraught, Or if thou knew'st what suites, what threats, what feares, To mooue by loue, or massacre by death. To yeeld with loue, or end by loues contempt. The mightinelle of him that courted me, Who tempered terror with his wanton talke, That something may extenuate the guilt. But let it not aduantage me so much : Vpbraid me rather with the Romane dame, That shed her blood to wash away her shame. Why stand I to expostulate the crime With pro & contra, now the deed is done? When to conclude two words may tell the tale, That Philips father was a princes sonne, Rich Englands rule, worlds onely terror he, For honours lofle left me with child of thee: Whose sonne thou art, then pardon me the rather, For faire king Richard was thy noble father.

Phil. Then Robin Fauconbridge I wish thee ioy,
My fire a king, and I a landlese boy.
Gods lady mother, the world is in my debt,
There's something owing to Plantaginet.
I marry sir, let me alone for game,
Ile act some wonders now I know my name.
By blessed Mary Ile not sell that pride
For Englands wealth, and all the world beside.
Sit fast the proudest of my fathers foes,
Away good mother, there the comfort goes.


Enter Philip the French king, and Lewis, Limoges, Con

stance, and her fonne Arthur.
King. Now gin we broach the title of thy claime,
Young Arthur in the Albion territories,
Skaring proud Angiers with a puissant siege :
Braue Austria, cause of Cordelions death,
Is also come to aide thee in thy warres ;
And all our forces ioyne for Arthurs right.
And, but for causes of great consequence,
Pleading delay till newes from England come,
Twice should not Titan hide him in the west,
To coole the fet-locks of his wearie teame,
Till I had with an vnresisted shocke
Controld the mannage of prowd Angiers walls,
Or made a forfet of my fame to chaunce.

Const. May be that lohn in conscience or in feare
To offer wrong where you impugne the ill,
Will send such calme conditions backe to Fraunce,
As shall rebate the edge of fearefull warres :
If so, forbearance is a deed well done.

Arth. Ah mother, poffeffion of a crowne is much,
And lohn as I haue heard reported of,


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