And happily may your sweet self put on
The lineal state and glory of the land!
To whom, with all submission, on my knee,
I do bequeath my faithful services

And true subjection everlastingly.

Sal. And the like tender of our love we make, To rest without a spot for evermore.

P. Hen. I have a kind soul that would give you thanks,

And knows not how to do it, but with tears.

Bast. O, let us pay the time but needful woe, Since it hath been beforehand with our griefs.This England never did (nor never shall) Lie at the proud feet of a conqueror, But when it first did help to wound itself. Now these her princes are come home again, Come the three corners of the world in arms, And we shall shock them: Nought shall make us rue, If England to itself do rest but true. [Exeunt.

The tragedy of King John, though not written with the utmost power of Shakspeare, is varied with a very pleasing interchange of incidents and characters. The lady's grief is very affecting; and the character of the Bastard contains that mixture of greatness and levity, which this author delighted to exhibit.

JOHNSON.

C. Whittingham, Printer, Chiswick.

DRAMATIS PERSONE.

King Richard II.

Edmund of Langley, Duke of York,
John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster,

Uncles to the

King.

Henry, surnamed Bolingbroke, Duke of Hereford, Son to John of Gaunt; afterwards King Henry IV.

Duke of Aumerle, Son to the Duke of York.
Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk.

Duke of Surrey.

Earl of Salisbury. Earl Berkley.

Bushy,

Bagot,

Green,

Creatures to King Richard.

Earl of Northumberland.

Henry Percy, his Son.

Lord Ross. Lord Willoughby. Lord Fitzwater.
Bishop of Carlisle. Abbot of Westminster.
Lord Marshal; and another Lord.

Sir Pierce of Exton. Sir Stephen Scroop.
Captain of a Band of Welshmen.

Queen to King Richard,

Duchess of Gloster.

Duchess of York.

Lady attending on the Queen.

Lords, Heralds, Officers, Soldiers, two Gardeners, Keeper, Messenger, Groom, and other Attendants.

SCENE, dispersedly in England and Wales.

SCENE I. LONDON. A Room in the Palace. Enter KING RICHARD, attended; JOHN of GAUNT, und other Nobles with him.

[caster,

K. Rich. OLD John of Gaunt, time-honour'd LanHast thou, according to thy oath and band, Brought hither Henry Hereford, thy bold son; Here to make good the boisterous late appeal, Which then our leisure would not let us hear, Against the duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray? Gaunt. I have, my liege.

K. Rich. Tell me, moreover, hast thou sounded him, If he appeal the duke on ancient malice;

Or worthily, as a good subject should,

On some known ground of treachery in him?

Gaunt. As near as I could sift him on that argument,

On some apparent danger seen in him,

Aim'd at your highness; no inveterate malice.

K. Rich. Then call them to our presence; face to face, And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear The accuser, and the accused, freely speak:

:

[Exeunt some Attendants.

High-stomach'd are they both, and full of ire,
In rage deaf as the sea, hasty as fire.

Re-enter Attendants, with BOLINGBROKE and
NORFOLK.

Boling. May many years of happy days befall
My gracious sovereign, my most loving liege!
Nor. Each day still better other's happiness;
Until the heavens, envying earth's good hap,
Add an immortal title to your crown!

K. Rich. We thank you both: yet one but flatters us, As well appeareth by the cause you come;

Namely, to appeal each other of high treason.-
Cousin of Hereford, what dost thou object
Against the duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray?
Boling. First, (heaven be the record of my speech!)
In the devotion of a subject's love,

Tendering the precious safety of my prince,
And free from other misbegotten hate,
Come I appellant to this princely presence.-
Now, Thomas Mowbray, do I turn to thee,
And mark my greeting well; for what I speak, '
My body shall make good upon this earth,
Or my divine soul answer it in heaven.
Thou art a traitor, and a miscreant;
Too good to be so, and too bad to live;
Since, the more fair and crystal is the sky,
The uglier seem the clouds that in it fly.
Once more, the more to aggravate the note,
With a foul traitor's name stuff I thy throat;
And wish (so please my sovereign), ere I move,

What my tongue speaks, my right-drawn sword may prove.

Nor. Let not my cold words here accuse my zeal : "Tis not the trial of a woman's war,

The bitter clamour of two eager tongues,

Can arbitrate this cause betwixt us twain:

The blood is hot, that must be cool'd for this.
Yet can I not of such tame patience boast,
As to be hush'd, and nought at all to say:

First, the fair reverence of your highness curbs me