Great Britain -- History -- John, 1199-1216 -- Drama; John, King of England, 1167-1216 -- Drama
BASTARD.
Madam, and if my brother had my shape
And I had his, Sir Robert’s his, like him;
And if my legs were two such riding-rods,
My arms such eel-skins stuff’d, my face so thin
That in mine ear I durst not stick a rose
Lest men should say “Look where three-farthings goes!”
And, to his shape, were heir to all this land,
Would I might never stir from off this place,
I would give it every foot to have this face.
I would not be Sir Nob in any case.
QUEEN ELEANOR.
I like thee well. Wilt thou forsake thy fortune,
Bequeath thy land to him, and follow me?
I am a soldier and now bound to France.
BASTARD.
Brother, take you my land, I’ll take my chance.
Your face hath got five hundred pound a year,
Yet sell your face for five pence and ’tis dear.
Madam, I’ll follow you unto the death.
QUEEN ELEANOR.
Nay, I would have you go before me thither.
BASTARD.
Our country manners give our betters way.
KING JOHN.
What is thy name?
BASTARD.
Philip, my liege, so is my name begun;
Philip, good old Sir Robert’s wife’s eldest son.
KING JOHN.
From henceforth bear his name whose form thou bearest.
Kneel thou down Philip, but rise more great,
Arise Sir Richard and Plantagenet.
BASTARD.
Brother by th’ mother’s side, give me your hand.
My father gave me honour, yours gave land.
Now blessed be the hour, by night or day,
When I was got, Sir Robert was away!
QUEEN ELEANOR.
The very spirit of Plantagenet!
I am thy grandam, Richard; call me so.
BASTARD.
Madam, by chance but not by truth; what though?
Something about, a little from the right,
In at the window, or else o’er the hatch.
Who dares not stir by day must walk by night,
And have is have, however men do catch.
Near or far off, well won is still well shot,
And I am I, howe’er I was begot.
KING JOHN.
Go, Faulconbridge; now hast thou thy desire.
A landless knight makes thee a landed squire.
Come, madam, and come, Richard, we must speed
For France, for France, for it is more than need.
BASTARD.
Brother, adieu, good fortune come to thee!
For thou wast got i’ th’ way of honesty.
[_Exeunt all but the Bastard._]
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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