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  • Title: The Troublesome Reign of King John ((Quarto, 1581))
  • Editor: Karen Oberer

    • Copyright Queen's Men Editions. This text may be freely used for educational, non-profit purposes; for all other uses contact the Editor.
    Author: Anonymous
    Editor: Karen Oberer
    Not Peer Reviewed

    The Troublesome Reign of King John ((Quarto, 1581))

    The troublesome Raigne

    Robert Was euer man thus wrongd as Robert is?
    Essex Philip speake I say, who was thy Father?
    Iohn Yong man how now, what art thou in a traunce?
    245Elianor Philip awake, the man is in a dreame.
    Philip Philippus at auis aedite Regibus.
    What saist thou Philip, sprung of auncient Kings?
    Quo me rapit tempestas?
    What winde of honour blowes this furie forth?
    250Or whence proeede these fumes of Maiestie?
    Me thinkes I heare a hollow Eccho sound,
    That Philip is the Sonne vnto a King:
    The whistling leaues vpon the trembling trees,
    Whistle in consort I am Richards Sonne:
    255The bubling murmur of the waters fall,
    Records Philippus Regius filius:
    Birds in their flight make musicke with their wings,
    Filling the ayre with glorie of my birth:
    Birds, bubbles, leaues, and mountaines, Eccho, all
    260Ring in mine eares, that I am Richards Sonne.
    Fond man, ah whether art thou carried?
    How are thy thoughts ywrapt in Honors heauen?
    Forgetfull what thou art, and whence thou camst.
    Thy Fathers land cannot maintaine these thoughts,
    265These thoughts are farre vnfitting Fauconbridge:
    And well they may; for why this mounting minde
    Doth soare too high to stoupe to Fauconbridge.
    Why how now? knowest thou where thou art?
    And knowest thou who expects thine answere here?
    270Wilt thou vpon a frantick madding vaine
    Goe loose thy land, and say thy selfe base borne?
    No, keepe thy land, though Richard were thy Sire,
    What ere thou thinkst, say thou art Fauconbridge.
    John Speake man, be sodaine, who thy Father was.
    275Philip Please it your Maiestie, Sir Robert
    Philip, that Fauconbridge cleaues to thy iawes:
    It will not out, I cannot for my life
    Say
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