Jesu preserve thee! welcome, Bolingbroke! Whilst he, from one side to the other turuing, Bare-headed, lower than his proud steed's neck, Bespake them thus,--I thank you, countrymen: And thus still doing, thus he pass'd along. Duch. Alas, poor Richard! where rides he the while? York. As in a theatre, the eyes of men, After a well-grac'd actor leaves the stage, Are idly bent on him that enters uext, Thinking his prattle to be tedious: Even so, or with much more contempt, men's eyes Did scowl on Richard; no man cried, God save steel'd The hearts of men, they must perforce, have melted, And barbarism itself have pitied him. But heaven hath a hand in these events; To whose high will we bound our calm contents. To Bolingbroke are we sworn subjects now, Whose state and honour I for ayet allow. Enter AUMERLE. Duch. Here comes my son Aumerle. But that is lost, for being Richard's friend, Duch. Welcome, my son: Who are the vio lets now, That strew the green lap of the new-come spring? Aum. Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care not: God knows, I had as lief be none, as oue. York. Well, bear you well in this new spring of time, Lest you be cropp'd before you come to prime, What news from Oxford? hold those justs and triumphs ? Aum. For aught I know, my lord, they do. Aum. If God prevent it not; I purpose so. York. What seal is that, that hangs without thy bosom? Yea, look'st thou pale? let me see the writing. ! will be satisfied, let me see the writing. Aum. I do beseech your grace to pardon me; It is a matter of sinall consequence, Which for some reasons I would not have seen. York, Which for some reasons, Sir, I mean to see. I fear, I fear, Duch. What should you fear? 'Tis nothing but some bond that he is enter'd into For gay apparel, 'gainst the triumph day. York. Bound to himself? what doth he with a bond That he is bound to? Wife, thou art a fool.Boy, let me see the writing. Aum. I do beseech you, pardon me; I may not show it. York. I will be satisfied; let me see it, I say. [Snatches it, and reads. Treason! foul treason!-villain! traitor! slave! Duch. What is the matter, my lord ? York. Ho! who is within there? [Enter a Servant.] Saddle my horse. God for his mercy! what treachery is here! Duch. Why, what is it, my lord? Than my poor life must answer. Re-enter Servant, with Boots. York. Bring me my boots, I will unto the king Duch. Strike him, Aumerle.-Poor boy, thou art amaz'd: Hence, villain I never more come in my sight.- Duch. He shall be none; [bim! We'll keep him here: Then what is that to York. Away, Fond woman! were he twenty times my son, Duch. Hadst thou groan'd for him, York. Make way, unruly woman. [Exit. Duch. After, Aumerle; mount thee upon his horse; SCENE II.-Windsor.-A Room in the Enter BOLINGBROKE as King; PERCY, and other LORDS. Boling. Can no man tell of my unthrifty sou? 'Tis full three months since I did see hisn last: If any plague hang over us, 'tis he. Even such, they say, as stand in narrow lanes, Percy. My lord, some two days since I saw the prince; And told him of these triumphs held at Oxford. Boling. And what said the gallant ? stews; • Breeding. And from the common'st creature pluck a Thou kill'st me in his life; giving him breath, your majesty, To have some conference with your grace alone. What is the matter with our cousin now ? If but the first, how heinous ere it be, Aum. Then give me leave that I may turn the key, That no man enter till my tale be done. [AUMERLE locks the door. York. [Within.] My liege, beware; look to Thou hast a traitor in thy presence there. Aum. Stay thy revengeful hand; Thou hast no cause to fear. [Drawing. York. [Within.] Open the door, secure, fool The traitor lives, the true man's put to death. God's sake let me in. Boling. What shrill-voic'd suppliant makes this eager cry? Duch. A woman, and thine aunt, great king, Speak with me, pity me, open the door; And now chang'd to The Beggar and the York. If thou do pardon, whosoever pray, Shall thy old dugs once more a traitor rear? Duch. Sweet York, be patient: Hear me, [Kneels. gentle liege. Boling. Rise up, good aunt, knee. hardy king: Shall I, for love, speak treason to thy face ? Open the door, or I will break it open. [BOLING BROKE opens the door. Enter YORK. Boling. What is the matter, uncle? speak; Recover breath; tell us how near is danger, That we may arm us to encounter it. side: His weary joints would gladly rise, I know; York. Peruse this writing here, and thou shalt know mise past: have That mercy, which true prayers ought to have. The treason that my haste forbids me show. Aum. Remember, as thou read'st, thy pro- Our prayers do out-pray his; then let them I do repent me; read not my name there, York. 'Twas, villain, ere thy hand did set it I tore it from the traitor's bosom, king: Boling. O heinous, strong, and bold conspi racy! O royal father of a treacherous son! Hath held his current, and defil'd himself! As thriftless sons their scraping fathers' gold. But, pardon, first; and afterwards stand up. meet. York. Speak it in French, king; say, pardonnez moy. I Duch. Dost thou teach pardon pardon to de- Ah! my sour husband, my hard-hearted lord, Or, in thy piteous heart plant thou thine ear; Pity may move thee, pardon to rehearse. • Transparent. + Transgressing. An old ballad. + Do. Excuse me. Boling. Good aunt, stand up. Pardon is all the suit I have in hand. me. Duch. O happy vantage of a kneeling knee! Yet am I sick for fear: speak it again; Twice saying pardon, doth not pardon twain, But makes one pardon strong. Boling. With all my heart I pardon him. Duch. A god on earth thou art. and the abbhot, Nor shall not be the last; like silly beggars, With all the rest of that consorted crew, - heels. Good uncle, help to order several powers. Your mother well hath pray'd, and prove you Duch. Come, my old son:-I pray God make SCENE IV. Enter EXTON, and a SERVANT. Exton. Did'st thou not mark the king, what words he spake ? Have I no friend will rid me of this living fear? Was it not so ? Serv. Those were his very words. And urg'd it twice together; did he not ? Exton. And, speaking it, he wistfully look'd on me; man As who should say, I would thou wert the I am the king's friend, and will rid his foe. With being nothing.-Music do I hear? [Music. Ha, ha! keep time:-How sour sweet mu sic is, When time is broke, and no proportion kept! My thoughts are minutes; and, with sighs, Which is the bell: So sighs, and tears, and In me, it seems it will make wise men mad. Groom. Hail, royal prince ! The cheapest of us is ten groats too dear. K. Rich. I have been studying how I may What art thou? and how comest thou hither, Where no man never comes, but that sad dog When thou wert king; who, travelling towards And these same thoughts people this little Oh! how it yearu'd my heart, when I beheld, As thoughts of things divine, are intermix'd As thus, Come little ones; and then again,- To thread the postern of a needle's eye. Of that proud man that did usurp his The next news is I have to London sent back? Enter KEEPER, with a Dish. Keep. Fellow, give place; here is no longer stay. [To the GROOM. K. Rich. If thou love me, 'tis time thou wert away. Groom. What my tongue dares not, that my heart shall sav. [Exit. Keep. My lord, will't please you to fall to ? K. Rich. Taste of it first, as thou art wont to do. Keep. My lord, I dare not; Sir Pierce of Exton, who Lately came from the king, commands the contrary. K. Rich. The devil take Henry of Lancaster, and thee! Patience is stale, and I am weary of it. Keep. Help, help, help! [Beats the KEEPER. Enter EXTON, and Servants, armed. K. Rich. How now? what means death in this rude assault ? Villain, thy own hand yields thy death's instrument. [Snatching a weapon and killing one. Go thou, and fill another room in hell. [He kills another, then EXTON strikes him down. That hand shall burn in never-quenching For now the devil, that told me I did well, This dead king to the living king I'll bear ;Take hence the rest, and give them burial here. [Exeunt. SCENE VI.-Windsor. A Room in the Flourish. Enter BOLINGBROKE, and YORK, with LORDS and ATTENDANTS. Boling. Kind uncle York, the latest news we hear The manner of their taking may appear [Presenting a paper. Boling. We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy pains; And to thy worth will add right worthy gains. Enter FITZWATER. Fitz. My lord, I have from Oxford sent to The heads of Brocas, and Sir Bennet Seely; Right noble is thy merit, well I wot. With clog of conscience, and sour melancholy, Exton. Great king, within this coffin I pre sent Thy buried fear: herein all breathless lies A deed of slander with thy fatal hand, Boling. They love not poison that do poison need, Nor do I thee; though I did wish him dead, vour: But neither my good word, nor princely fa- That blood should sprinkle me, to make me grow: Come, mourn with me for what I do lament, hand : Is-that the rebels have consum'd with fire To wash this blood off from my guilty happiness. [Exeunt. It was long the prevailing opinion that Sir Piers Exton, and others of his guards, fell upon Richard in the castle of Pomfret, where he was confined, and despatched him with their halberts. But it is more probable that he was starved to death in prison; and it is said that he prolonged his unhappy life for a fortnight, after all sustenance was denied him, before he reached the end of his miseries. Hume. 14. 3 D FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV. LITERARY AND HISTORICAL NOTICE. SHAKSPEARE wrote this dramatic history about the year 1597, founding it upon six old plays previously published. The action commences with Hotspur's defeat of the Scots at Halidown Hill, Sep. 14, 1402; and closes with the defeat and death of that leader at Shrewsbury, July 21, 1403. None of Shakspeare's plays are perhaps so frequently read, as this and the one which succeeds it; but the want of ladies, and matter to interest females, lies so heavily upon it, that even with an excellent Falstaff, it can only enjoy occasional life upon the stage. The speeches of King Henry, though clothed in a fine, stately, and nervous diction, are much too long; and a deal of the humour, sparkling as it is, cannot be heard without a blush. The scene of the carriers is grossly indecent, and so very low, that it might be rejected without the slightest injury to the piece. The choleric Hotspur, and the mad-cap Prince of Wales, are, however, charming portraits; great, original, and just; exhibiting the nicest discernment in the character of mankind, and presenting a moral of very general application. But the subtle roguery of Falstaff---his laughable soliloquies---his whimsical investigations, --and his invincible assumption---(the richer and more ludicrous when opposed to his sneaking cowardice) are strokes of dramatic genius which render this 'fat old man' the leading attraction of the play: and though his character is vicious in every respect, he is furnished with so much wit, as to be almost too great a favourite. Which,-like the meteors of a troubled beaven, (Whose soldier now, under whose blessed cross To chase these pagans, in those holy fields, |