York. Give me my boots, I say; saddle my horse:

Jesu preserve thee! welcome, Bolingbroke!
Whilst he, from one side to the other turning,
Bare-headed, lower than his proud steed's neck,Now by mine honour, by my life, my troth,

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 next, 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
him;

No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home;
But dust was thrown upon his sacied head;
Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off,-
His face still combating with tears and smiles,
The badges of his grief and patience,-

That had not God, for some strong purpose,
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 calmn contents.
To Bolingbroke are we sworn subjects now,
Whose state and honour 1 for aye aliow.

Enter AUMERLE.

Duch. Here comes my son Aumerle.
York. Aumerle that was;

I will appeach the villain.
Duch. What's the matter?
York. Peace, foolish woman.

[Exit Servant.

Duch. I will not peace :-What is the inatten

son?

Aum. Good mother, be content; it is n

more

Than my poor life must answer.
Duch. Thy life answer!

Re-enter Servant, with Boots.

York. Bring me my boots, I will unto th king

Duch. Strike him, Aumerle.-Poor boy, thoi
art amaz'd:

Hence, villain! never more come in my sight.-
[To the Servan
York. Give me my boots, I say.
Duch. Why, York, what wilt thou do?
Wilt thou not hide the trespass of thine own
Have we more sons? or are we like to have ?
Is not my teeming date drunk up with time?
And wilt thou pluck my fair son from mine ag
Aud rob me of a happy mother's name?
Is he not like thee? is he not thine own ?
York. Thou fond mad woman,

Wilt thon conceal this dark conspiracy?
A dozen of them here have ta'en the sacramen
And interchangeably set down their hands,
To kill the king at Oxford.

Duch. He shall be none;

[bin

We'll keep him here: Then what is that
York. Away,

But that is lost, for being Richard's friend,
And, madam, you must call him Rutland now:
I am in parliament pledge for his truth,
And lasting fealty to the new-made king.
Duch. Welcome, my son: Who are the vio-I
lets now,

That strew the green lap of the new-come
spring?

Aum. Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care

not:

Aum. If God prevent it not; I purpose so.
York. What seal is that, that bangs without
thy bosom ?

Yea, look'st thou pale? let me see the writing.
Aum. My lord, 'tis nothing.

York. No matter then who sees it:

I will be satisfied, let me see the writing.
Aum. I do beseech your grace to pardon me;

It is a matter of small consequence,

Fond woman! were he twenty times my son,
would appeach him.

Duch. Hadst thou groan'd for him,
As I have done, thou'd'st be more pitiful.
But now I know thy mind; thou dost suspect,
That I have been disloyal to thy bed,
And that he is a bastard, not thy son:
Sweet York, sweet husband, be not of that min
He is as like thee as a man may be,
Not like to me, or any of my kin,
And yet I love him.

York. Make way, unruly woman.
Duch. After, Aumerle; mount thee upon
horse;

Spur, post; and get before him to the king,
And beg thy pardon ere he do accuse thec.
I'll not be long behind: though I be old,
I doubt not but to ride as fast as York:
And never will I rise up from the ground,
Till Bolingbroke have pardon'd thee: Away;
Begone.
[Exeu

SCENE 111-Windsor-A Room in th
Castle.

Which for some reasons I would not have seen. Enter BOLINGBROKE as King; PERCY, York, Which for some reasons, Sir, I mean

to see.

For gay apparel, 'gainst the triumph day.

York. Bound to himself? what doth he with Inquire at London, 'mongst the taverns ther

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. foul treason -villain! traitor ! slave! Duch. What is the matter, my lord?

Treason

For there, they say, he daily doth frequent,
With unrestrained loose companions;
Even such, they say, as stand in narrow lan
And beat our watch, and rob our passengers
While he, young, wanton, and effeminate b
Takes on the point of honour, to support
So dissolute a crew.

Percy. My lord, some two days since I
the prince;

York. Ho! who is within there? [Enter a And told him of these triumphs held at

And from the common'st creature pluck a Thou kill'st me in his life; giving him breath, glove

And wear it as a favour; and with that
He would unhorse the lustiest challenger.
Boling. As dissolute as desperate; yet
through both

I see some sparkles of a better hope,
Which elder days may happily bring forth.
But who comes here?

Enter AUMERLE, hastily.

Aum. Where is the king?
Boling. What means

Our cousin, that he stares and looks so wildly?

Aum. God save your grace. I do beseech

your majesty,

To have some conference with your grace alone.
Boling. Withdraw yourselves, and leave us

here aloue.

[Exeunt PERCY and LORDS. What is the matter with our cousin now? Aum. For ever may my knees grow to the earth, [Kneels. My tongue cleave to my roof within my mouth, Unless a pardon, ere I rise or speak.

Boling. Intended or committed, was this
fault?

If but the first, how heinous ere it be,
To win thy after-love, I pardon thee.
Aum. Then give me leave that I may turn

the key,

That no man enter till my tale be done.
Boling. Have thy desire.
[AUMERLE locks the door.
York. [Within.] My liege, beware; look to
thyself;

Thon hast a traitor in thy presence there.
Boling. Villain, I'll make thee safe.

Aum. Stay thy revengeful hand;
Thou hast no cause to fear.

[Drawing.

York. [Within.] Open the door, secure, fool-
bardy king:

Shall I, for love, speak treason to thy face?
Open the door, or I will break it open.
[BOLINGBROKE 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.

York. Peruse this writing here, and thou shalt know

The treason tirat my haste forbids me show.
Aum. Remember, as thou read'st, thy pro-
míse past:

I do repent me; read not my name there,
My heart is not confederate with my hand.
York. 'Twas, villain, ere thy hand did set it
down.-

I tore it from, the traitor's bosom, king:
Fear, and not love, begets his penitence:
Forget to pity him, lest thy pity prove
A serpent that will sting thee to the heart.
Boling. O heinous, strong, and bold conspi-
racy!-

O royal father of a treacherons son!

Thou sheer, immaculate, and silver fountain,
From whence this stream through muddy pas-
sages,

Hath held his current, and defil'd himself!
Thy overflow of good converts to bad;
And thy abundant goodness shall excuse
This deadly blot in thy digressing + sou.
York. So shall my virtue be his vice's

bawd;

And he shall spend mine honour with his
shame,

As thriftless sons their scraping fathers' gold.
Mine honour lives when his dishonour dies,
Or my shani'd life in his dishonour lies:

༄་

The traitor lives, the true man's put to death.
Duch. [Within.] What ho, my liege for
God's sake let me in.

Boling. What shrill-voic'd suppliant makes
this eager ery?

Duch. A woman, and thine aunt, great king, 'tis I.

Speak with me, pity me, open the door;

A beggar begs, that never begg'd before,
Boling. Our scene is alter'd,-from a serious
thing,

And now chang'd to The Beggar and the
King.

My dangerous cousin, let your mother in;
I know she's come to pray for your foul sin.
York, If thou do pardon, whosoever pray,
More sins, for this forgiveness, prosper may.
This fester'd joint cut off, the rest rests sound ;
This, let alone, will all the rest confound.
Enter DUCHESS.

Duch. O king, believe not this bard-hearted

mau;

Love, loving not itself, none other can.
York. Thou frantic woman, what dost thou
make here ?

Shall thy old dugs once more a traitor rear?
Duch. Sweet York, be patient: Hear me,
gentle liege.
[Kneels.

Boling. Rise up, good aunt,

Duch. Not yet, I thee beseech:

For ever will I kneel upon my knees,
And never see day that the happy sees,
Till thou give joy; until thou bid me joy,
By pardoning Rutland, my transgressing boy.
Aum. Unto my mother's prayers, I bend my
knee.

[Kneels.

That mercy, which true prayers ought to have.
Boling. Good annt, stand up.

Duch. Nay, do not say-stand up;
But, pardon, first; and afterwards stand up.
And if I were thy nurse, thy tongue to teach,
Pardon should be the first word of thy speech.
I never long'd to hear a word till now;
Say pardon, king; let pity teach thee how :
The word is short, but not so short as sweet;
No word like pardon, for kings' mouths so

meet.

• Transparent.

+ Transgressing.

An old ballad.

+ Do.

1 Excuse me.

With all the rest of that consorted crew,-
Destruction straight shall dog them at the With nothing shall be pleas'd, till he be eas"

K. Rich. I have been studying how I may What art thou? and how comest thou hither

his The next news is I have to London sent
The heads of Salibsury, Spencer, Blunt, and

Welcome, my lord: What is the news?
North. First, to thy sacred state wish I all In weeping after this untimely bier.
happiness.

It was long the prevailing opinion that Sir Piers Exton, and others of his guards, fell upon Richard in the eastle 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 deared him, before he reached the end of his miseries.---Hume.

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 p lished. The action commences with Hotspur's defeat of the Scots at Halidown Hill, Sep. 14, 1402; and clo with the defeat and death of that leader at Shrewsbary, July 21, 1403. None of Shakspeare's plays are perh so frequently read, as this and the one which succeeds it; but the want of ladies, and matter to interest males, lies so heavily upon it, that even with an excellent Falstaff, it can only enjoy occasional life upon stage. The speeches of King Henry, though clothed in a fine, stately, and nervous diction, are much long; and a deal of the humour, sparkling as it is, cannot be heard without à blush. The scene of the riers is grossly indecent, and so very low, that it might be rejected without the slightest injury to the pi The choleric Hotspur, and the mad-cap Prince of Wales, are, however, charming portraits; great, origi and just; exhibiting the nicest discernment in the character of mankind, and presenting a moral of very neral application. But the subtle rognery of Falstaff---his laughable soliloquies--his whimsical investigati --and his invincible assumption---(the richer and more ludicrous when opposed to his sneaking cowardice) strokes of dramatic genius which render this fat old man' the leading attraction of the play: and though character is vicious in every respect, he is furnished with so much wit, as to be almost too great a favourit

SCENE I.-London.-A Room in the
Palace.

Enter King HENRY, WESTMORELAND, Sir
WALTER BLUNT, and others.

Which,-like the meteors of a troubled hea
All of one nature, of one substance bred,-
Did lately meet in the intestine shock
And furious close of civil butchery,
Shall now, in mutual, well-beseeming rank
March all one way; and be no more oppo:
Against acquaintance, kindred, and allies:

K. Hen. So shaken as we are, so wan with The edge of war, like an ill-sheathed knife

care,

Find we a tiine for frighted peace to pant,
And breathe short-winded accents of new broils
To be commenc'd in stronds afar remote.
No more the thirsty Erinnys+ of this soil
Shall daub her lips with her own children's

blood;

No more shall trenching war channel her fields,
Nor bruise her flowrets with the armed hoofs
Of hostile paces: those opposed eyes,

No more shall cut his master. Therefore, fi
As far as to the sepulchre of Christ,
(Whose soldier now, under whose blessed
We are impressed and engag'd to fight,)
Forthwith a power of English shall we lev
Whose arms were moulded in their m
womb

To chase these pagans, in those holy fields
Over whose acres walk'd those blessed fee
Which, fourteen hundred years ago, were
For our advantage, on the bitter cross.
But this our purpose is a twelve-month ol