The Bodleian First Folio

A digital facsimile of the First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Bodleian Arch. G c.7.

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Here you can read a digital edition of each play in various views.

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Reference: a2r - Histories, p. 3

Left Column

The life and death of King Iohn. What woman post is this? hath she no husband That will take paines to blow a horne before her ? O me, 'tis my mother: how now good Lady,
What brings you heere to Court so hastily?
Enter Lady Faulconbridge and Iames Gurney. Lady. Where is that slaue thy brother? where is he? That holds in chase mine honour vp and downe. Bast. My brother Robert, old Sir Roberts sonne: Colbrand the Gyant, that same mighty man,
Is it Sir Roberts sonne that you seeke so?
Lady. Sir Roberts sonne, I thou vnreuerend boy, Sir Roberts sonne? why scorn'st thou at sir Robert? He is Sir Roberts sonne, and so art thou. Bast. Iames Gournie, wilt thou giue vs leaue a while? Gour.
Good leaue good Philip.
Bast. Philip, sparrow, Iames, There's toyes abroad, anon Ile tell thee more. Exit Iames. Madam, I was not old Sir Roberts sonne, Sir Robert might haue eat his part in me
Vpon good Friday, and nere broke his fast: Sir Robert could doe well, marrie to confesse Could get me sir Robert could not doe it; We know his handy‑worke, therefore good mother To whom am I beholding for these limmes?
Sir Robert neuer holpe to make this legge.
Lady. Hast thou conspired with thy brother too, That for thine owne gaine shouldst defend mine honor? What meanes this scorne, thou most vntoward knaue? Bast. Knight, knight good mother, Basilisco‑like:
What, I am dub'd, I haue it on my shoulder: But mother, I am not Sir Roberts sonne, I haue disclaim'd Sir Robert and my land, Legitimation, name, and all is gone; Then good my mother, let me know my father,
Some proper man I hope, who was it mother ?
Lady. Hast thou denied thy selfe a Faulconbridge? Bast. As faithfully as I denie the deuil. Lady. King Richard Cordelion was thy father, By long and vehement suit I was seduc'd
To make roome for him in my husbands bed: Heauen lay not my transgression to my charge, That art the issue of my deere offence Which was so strongly vrg'd past my defence.
Bast. Now by this light were I to get againe,
Madam I would not wish a better father: Some sinnes doe beare their priuiledge on earth And so doth yours: your fault, was not your follie, Needs must you lay your heart at his dispose, Subiected tribute to commanding loue,
Against whose furie and vnmatched force, The awlesse Lion could not wage the fight, Nor keepe his Princely heart from Richards hand: He that perforce robs Lions of their hearts, May easily winne a womans: aye my mother,
With all my heart I thanke thee for my father: Who liues and dares but say, thou didst not well When I was got, Ile send his soule to hell. Come Lady I will shew thee to my kinne, And they shall say, when Richard me begot,
If thou hadst sayd him nay, it had beene sinne; Who says it was, he lyes, I say twas not.

Right Column

Scæna Secunda. [Act 2, Scene 1] Enter Angiers, Philip King of France, Lewis, Daul­ phin, Austria, Constance, Arthur. Lewis. Before Angiers well met braue Austria, Arthur that great fore‑runner of thy bloud, Richard that rob'd the Lion of his heart,
And fought the holy Warres in Palestine By this braue Duke came early to his graue: And for amends to his posteritie, At our importance hether is he come, To spread his colours boy, in thy behalfe,
And to rebuke the vsurpation Of thy vnnaturall Vncle, English Iohn, Embrace him, loue him, giue him welcome hether.
Arth. God shall forgiue you Cordelions death The rather that you giue his off‑spring life,
Shadowing their right vnder your wings of warre: I giue you welcome with a powerlesse hand, But with a heart full of vnstained loue, Welcome before the gates of Angiers Duke.
Lewis. A noble boy, who would not doe thee right? Aust.
Vpon thy cheeke lay I this zelous kisse, As seale to this indenture of my loue: That to my home I willno more returne Till Angiers, and the right thou hast in France, Together with that pale, that white‑fac'd shore,
Whose foot spurnes backe the Oceans roaring tides, And coopes from other lands her Ilanders, Euen till that England hedg'd in with the maine, That Water‑walled Bulwarke, still secure And confident from forreine purposes,
Euen till that vtmost corner of the West Salute thee for her King, till then faire boy Will I not thinke of home, but follow Armes.
Const. O take his mothers thanks, a widdows thanks, Till your strong hand shall helpe to giue him strength,
To make a more requitall to your loue.
Aust. The peace of heauen is theirs y t lift their swords In such a iust and charitable warre. King. Well, then to worke our Cannon shall be bent Against the browes of this resisting towne,
Call for our cheefest men of discipline, To cull the plots of best aduantages: Wee'll befor this towne our Royal bones, Wade to the market‑place in French‑mens bloud, But we will make it subiect to this boy.
Stay for an answer to your Embassie, Lest vnaduis'd you staine your swords with bloud, My Lord Chattilion may from England bring That right in peace which heere we vrge in warre, And then we shall repent each drop of bloud,
That hot rash haste so indirectly shedde.
Enter Chattilion. King. A wonder Lady: lo vpon thy wish Our Messenger Chattilion is arriu'd, What England saies, say breefely gentle Lord, We coldly pause for thee, Chatilion speake, Chat.
Then turne your forces from this paltry siege, And stirre them vp against a mightier taske: England impatient of your iust demands, Hath put himself in Armes, the aduerse windes a2 Whose

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