a question: and you had not taken
some pains with her before, I should have desired you to ask my
mother.

K. JOHN.. Say, who was thy father?

PHILIP. Faith, my lord, to answer you sure, he is my father that was
nearest my mother when I was gotten; and him I think to be Sir
Robert Falconbridge.

K. JOHN. Essex, for fashion's sake demand again: And so an end to
this contention.

ROBERT. Was ever man thus wrong'd as Robert is?

ESSEX. Philip! Speak, I say; who was thy father?

K. JOHN. Young man, how now? what! art thou in a trance?

Q. ELINOR. Philip, awake! The man is in a dream.

PHILIP. Philippus, atavis edite Regibus. (_Aside._)
What say'st thou: Philip, sprung of ancient Kings?
Quo me rapit tempestas?
What wind of honour blows this fury forth,
Or whence proceed these fumes of majesty?
Methinks I hear a hollow echo sound,
That Philip is the son unto a King:
The whistling leaves upon the trembling trees
Whistle in concert I am Richard's son;
The bubbling murmur of the water's fall
Records Philippus Regis 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.
Fond man, ah, whither art thou carried?
How are thy thoughts yrapt in Honour's heaven?
Forgetful what thou art, and whence thou cam'st?
Thy father's land cannot maintain these thoughts;
These thoughts are far unfitting Falconbridge;
And well they may; for why this mounting mind
Doth soar too high to stoop to Falconbridge
Why, how now? Knowest thou where thou art?
And know'st thou who expects thine answer here?
Wilt thou, upon a frantic madding vein,
Go lose thy land, and say thyself base-born?
No, keep thy land, though Richard were thy sire;
Whate'er thou think'st say thou art Falconbridge.

K. JOHN. Speak, man! be sudden, who thy father was.

PHILIP. Please it your Majesty, Sir Robert ...
Philip, that Falconbridge cleaves to thy jaws: (_Aside_)
It will not out; I cannot for my life
Say I am son unto a Falconbridge.
Let land and living go! 'tis Honour's fire
That makes me swear King Richard was my sire.
Base to a King, adds title of more state,
Than knight's begotten, though legitimate.
Please it your Grace, I am King Richard's son.

While it is generally ag