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SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS 
 
THE 
 
 STORY OF ENGLISH KINGS 
 ACCORDING TO SHAKESPEARE 
 
 BY 
 
 J. J. BURNS, M. A., Ph.D. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 
 
 1900. 
 
f* 
 
 9 
 
 W 
 
 Copyright, 1899, 
 Bv D. APPLETON AND COMPANY. 
 
 
 
PKEFACE. 
 
 It is the aim of the writer to put into one 
 handy volume a goodly portion of Shakespeare's 
 English history. 
 
 In the main, instead of translating the blank verse 
 into prose, he has taken the characters whose biog- 
 raphies he wishes to give, whose names appear as the 
 table of contents, and in most cases give title to the 
 plays, and, selecting the portions of the drama which 
 contain the given king's chief words and deeds, has 
 joined them in whole or in part as they stand in 
 the drama, filling in the spaces with matter which 
 forms with the poetry a continuous story. The term 
 "king" is used with due intention, including Fal- 
 staff, the king of the realm of humor. When the 
 path wanders outside those scenes in which the hero 
 takes part — a convenient term not always implying 
 anything we think of as heroic — or beyond those 
 scenes which throw direct light upon these, it is to 
 secure some choice bit of literature too good to leave 
 
vi SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 behind, often containing a line which has brightened 
 by use into a proverb. 
 
 A little sketch leads up to the story of the second 
 Richard ; a glance at his famed ancestor, the Black 
 Prince, in the act of winning his spurs ; a look 
 toward the English people of those days as they 
 appeared to the clear vision of Chaucer, of the au- 
 thor of Piers the Plowman, of that rare old chron- 
 icler Sir John Froissart. Thereafter each story is a 
 prelude to the one that follows ; as, for instance, in 
 telling the tale of Richard II much more than a 
 beginning is made upon that of his successor. At 
 the opening of each story there is a looking back to 
 get the leading string well in hand. 
 
 The world believes Shakespeare is its greatest 
 dramatist, and, as possessing the profoundest insight, 
 its best teacher of the science of human nature. If 
 teaching by example is history, he is also one of the 
 ablest of historians. These English plays, at least 
 so much of them as are contained in this book, may 
 well be a part of any course of general reading. Its 
 perusal by the young, at odd times and at even 
 times, regularly and as a "stop-gap," will hold open 
 the doors into two great empires of thought — Eng- 
 lish history and Shakespeare. 
 
 Editors of Shakespeare point us to proofs that the 
 great dramatist dealt with a free hand when sorting 
 
PREFACE. vii 
 
 his material of facts and dates, that his imagination 
 often bodied forth the forms of things unknown to 
 the historian, and his poet's pen turned them to 
 immortal shapes. But if we go to those historians 
 and read widely in the effort to paint for ourselves 
 truer portraits of these English kings and fighters — 
 these Hals and Hotspurs — than Shakespeare placed 
 upon his canvas, our work will be much more likely 
 than his to result in a fiction — i. e., impossible per- 
 sons who never did and never could exist. 
 
 It is better both for the history and art to study 
 these legendary pictures and try to see them as 
 Shakespeare drew them, to grow familiar from fre- 
 quent interviews with his characters — for example, 
 his Henry Y and his Richard III ; then to turn to 
 the prose historians who profess to deal in cold facts, 
 and of the materials they furnish to reconstruct an- 
 other Prince Henry, another Gloster. Let us not 
 then, turning our backs upon the stage, spoil our 
 first picture by an attempt to correct it. 
 
 Defiance, Ohio, July 22, 1899. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The story of .Richard II 1 
 
 The story of Henry IV 30 
 
 The story of Falstaff 74 
 
 The story of Henry V 106 
 
 The story of Henry VI 146 
 
 The story of Edward IV 179 
 
 The story of Richard III 203 
 
 The story of Henry VIII 226 
 
 ix 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTKATIONS. 
 
 FACING 
 PAGE 
 
 Globe Theater, Bankside, 1593 . . . Frontispiece 
 
 Shakespeare 1 * 
 
 King Richard II 9 * 
 
 Queen Isabella and her ladies 24 
 
 King Richard II and Bolingbroke 26 
 
 King Henry IV 30 
 
 Falstaff rising slowly 58 
 
 King Henry IV and the Prince of Wales .... 70 
 
 King Henry IV, Falstaff, etc 102 
 
 King Henry V 106 ' 
 
 King Henry V and his train before the gate of Harfleur . 115 
 
 The Wooing of Henry V 142 
 
 King Henry VI 146 
 
 Richard Plantagenet calling upon his friends to pluck a 
 
 white rose 148 
 
 The Scene in the Temple Garden — The Red and White 
 
 Roses 150 
 
 King Henry VI, Margaret, Gloster, and soldiers with the 
 
 Prince 171 
 
 King Richard III 203 - 
 
 A Scene in the Tower — Gloster, Buckingham, Stanley, 
 
 Hastings, etc 209 '' 
 
 The Murder of the Princes 215 * 
 
 The vision of Richard before the Battle of Bosworth Field . 223 
 
 King Henry VII 226 
 
 King Henry VIII and Anne Bullen 243 
 
 Katharine, Griffith, and Patience 265 
 
 King Henry VIII and Cranmer 267 
 
 xi 
 
SOME DATES. 
 
 Battle of Crecy 1346 
 
 Black Prince died 1377 
 
 Wat Tyler's rebellion 1381 
 
 Quarrel of Bolingbroke and De Mowbray .... 1398 
 
 Bolingbroke returns to England 1399 
 
 Chaucer died . • 1400 
 
 Percy's revolt 1403 
 
 Battle of Agincourt 1415 
 
 Marriage of Catherine and Henry V 1420 
 
 Death of the Regent, Duke of Bedford .... 1435 
 
 Murder of Gloster and death of Beaufort .... 1447 
 
 Jack Cade's rebellion 1450 
 
 Wars of the Roses begin 1452 
 
 Battle of Tewksbury 1471 
 
 Duke of Gloster chosen Protector 1483 
 
 Battle of Bosworth Field 1485 
 
 Battle of Flodden Field 1513 
 
 Field of Cloth of Gold 1520 
 
 Wolsey's death 1530 
 
 Birth of Elizabeth 1533 
 
 xii 
 
Shakespeare. 
 From a portrait from life. 
 
THE STORY OF ENGLISH KINGS 
 ACCORDING TO SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 THE STOEY OF RICHARD II, 1381-1399. 
 
 Five hundred and fifty odd years ago the English 
 people were fighting the French. King Edward and 
 his son had invaded France and advanced as far as 
 Crecy, about twelve miles inland, when they were 
 met by the French. In the combat that ensued, 
 called the battle of Crecy, August 26, 1346, the 
 French cavalry made a fierce attack upon that part 
 of the English position commanded by the young 
 Prince of Wales. So hot and so prolonged was this 
 assault it seemed that the small body of Englishmen 
 was doomed to destruction, but King Edward did not 
 even don his helmet. When a messenger spurred 
 hot-haste up the hill, his face and voice both pleading 
 for aid, the king ordered him to return to those who 
 sent him and bid them not to send again so long as 
 the prince should be alive. "Let the boy win his 
 spurs ! " To win one's spurs meant to gain a place in 
 the ranks of the steel-clad warriors called knights, and 
 this was esteemed so great an honor that it was cov- 
 eted by kings and emperors ; for it was supposed to 
 be given to none but heroes who had distinguished 
 
 1 
 
2 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 themselves by deeds of exceptional bravery on the 
 field of battle. So the royal father stood at his place 
 by the windmill, watching and waiting. His confi- 
 dence in English pluck and courage was not mis- 
 placed. Beaten by sheer hard fighting, the mounted 
 knights of France were driven back from this stub- 
 born field. 
 
 The boy won his spurs ; and that great system of 
 life and of government called feudalism, which con- 
 sisted of the right held by the lords or noblemen who 
 owned land to exact military service from the people 
 who occupied such land, received a staggering blow, 
 from which it never recovered. 
 
 The fighting of those days was very different 
 from modern warfare. It was hand to hand, " frown- 
 ing brow to frowning brow." It was the battle of 
 the stout arm, the pointed lance, the heavy battle-axe, 
 the twanging bowstring. It brought the individual 
 into action, and against an enemy within arm's reach, 
 and there was a livelier stirring of the stern joy which 
 warriors feel in foemen worthy of their steel. 
 
 The commander was more likely than now to be 
 a leader — one like the prince at Crecy, to be found 
 where the strife was hardest, dealing blows with his 
 own right hand, and sometimes bowing his plumed 
 head to the red field below. No doubt the pen of 
 the chronicler has done full justice to the great 
 achievements of kings and princes, for in all ages the 
 pen has delighted to praise the sword when wielded 
 by the great ; and it is not unlikely that the extollers 
 of even some scriptural heroes indulged in swelling 
 
THE STORY OF RICHARD II, 1381-1399. 3 
 
 rhetorical figures when they cried out that Saul had 
 slain his thousands and David his ten thousands ! 
 
 International killing is now done mainly by ma- 
 chinery, and the machine is growing more and more 
 deadly, while the general director of the machine is 
 likely to be miles away from the guns ; and science 
 has so improved these weapons that the contending 
 ranks do not always need to see each other. Espe- 
 cially upon the water has " grim-visaged war" lost 
 its grandeur, though by no means its grimness. It 
 stirs one's blood to read of the naval conflicts of a 
 century ago, when Kelson walked the quarter-deck, 
 when Lawrence and Paul Jones won their laurels; 
 but now, instead of the enemy's ship coming along- 
 side and the best man winning, a piece of apparatus 
 may creep under the vessel : there is no fight, only an 
 explosion ; then, no ship. 
 
 But to get back to our story. The " boy," known 
 to fame as the Black Prince, used the spurs which 
 his father wished him to win ; he became his coun- 
 try's greatest general, but, dying while Edward was 
 yet alive, he never became King of England. Not 
 once or twice in his rough island's story men much 
 inferior to this prince attained " the sweet fruition of 
 an earthly crown " ; but the course of his life did not 
 so run. His son, of but a small part of his kingly 
 ability, upon Edward's death became Richard II, the 
 first Richard having, as you remember, been he of 
 the lion heart, the chivalrous crusader, best known to 
 our youthful readers, perhaps, through the medium 
 of Walter Scott's wonderful stories. 
 
4 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 But even the great Scotch novelist — the " Wizard 
 of the North," as he has been called — would have 
 used his witchcraft in vain in an attempt to make a 
 hero out of the son of the Black Prince. Shake- 
 speare, in the charming drama named after this king, 
 gives him almost none of the qualities of a hero. 
 
 Two poets of the land and of the time, have 
 added much to our knowledge of the England in which 
 they lived, and over which Bichard ruled. They did 
 not write about wars and kings and courts, but in 
 their books they give us the power to see things 
 which go to make up the lives of the common people — 
 the plain folk who tilled the soil, waited in the shop, 
 served their fellows as priests or teachers, as keepers 
 of inns, as healers of diseases, who followed their lord 
 to the wars, and who sometimes combined in rude 
 fashion in rebellion against their lord, or even against 
 the king himself. 
 
 One of these poets is often spoken of, and some- 
 times read. This reading has difficulties for the be- 
 ginner, but these may be overcome, in the main, 
 by one who will give it, for a single winter, an hour 
 each day ; at least, thereafter, the troubles will be so 
 far apart that one can be disposed of before another 
 comes to its aid, and they will not materially take 
 from the pleasure of the reading. This writer is 
 called the "Father of English Poetry." He spent 
 many years of his life about the court of the king, 
 perhaps learning there a uniform habit which, Mil- 
 ton tells us, gets thence its name of courtesy. His 
 temper is said to have been mild and sunny; the 
 
THE STORY OF RICHARD II, 1381-1399. 5 
 
 world, as he saw it, was a world of ease and sunshine ; 
 and he drew pictures thereof which have been the 
 delight and instruction of readers for the past five 
 hundred years. Chaucer loved Nature as few writers 
 have loved her, and his tales have done much to 
 kindle a love and appreciation of the beauty with 
 which God has gladdened the works of his hand. 
 
 The other poet was not a courtier. His world was 
 the world of the poor, its toil, its hunger, its denials ; 
 he lived in it, he spoke for it. Enjoyment was not his 
 destined end and way ; rather, sorrow was. He must 
 have had a window in his soul which opened toward 
 the sun, but he kept it almost constantly curtained. 
 Of the writings of this man the historian Green 
 says : " What chains one to the poem, The Vision of 
 Piers the Plowman, is its deep undertone of sadness ; 
 the world is out of joint, and the gaunt poet who 
 stalks silently along the Strand has no faith in his 
 power to put it right." 
 
 There were at this time two classes that comprised 
 the majority of the population of England — the lord, 
 or bread keeper, for that is what the word lord origi- 
 nally meant, and the villain, or villager. 
 
 Nothing, perhaps, can show the difference between 
 these two sorts of people, and the estimation in which 
 they were held, more forcibly than what the words 
 distinguishing them came to mean and still mean to 
 English-speaking folks of the present day. 
 
 The villains were practically slaves. They were 
 bought and sold with the land they lived upon; 
 they could hold no property, and they had, of course, 
 
6 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 nothing to say about who should govern them or how 
 they should be governed. Nevertheless, the English 
 serf or villain never became quite so slavish and abject 
 a creature as the French villein. If the heel of op- 
 pression were planted too heavily upon him he was 
 apt to rise in rebellion against his masters ; there 
 was a sense of independence and manhood belonging 
 to him that it was found impossible to crush out, 
 and that afterward proved a foundation upon which 
 the liberty of England wes safely built. 
 
 Besides these two there was a middle class, con- 
 sisting mainly of townspeople, and of doctors, stu- 
 dents, and teachers at the colleges, and professional 
 men generally. 
 
 But this class was, comparatively speaking, a 
 small one ; and it was not until long afterward they 
 became what they now are, the most numerous, the 
 best educated, and the real governing class in Great 
 Britain. It is this middle rank of people who are 
 described in the poems of Geoffrey Chaucer ; Robert 
 Langland writes about the lower classes ; and Shake- 
 speare, in his play of Richard II, is occupied princi- 
 pally with the words and deeds of the kings and the 
 nobles of England. 
 
 All classes of Englishmen at that day were wo- 
 fully ignorant ; they had little or nothing to occupy 
 their time but sumptuous feasting, hunting, and 
 military exercises. 
 
 It was considered beneath the dignity of any 
 gentleman to engage in trade or agriculture. Farm- 
 ing was left entirely to the villains, and was, of 
 
THE STORY OF RICHARD II, 1381-1399. ? 
 
 course, in consequence conducted in a very unskillful 
 manner. Famines were of very frequent occurrence, 
 and many people died of starvation. But the king 
 and nobles cared little for this. No matter how 
 much the people suffered, the tables of the nobles 
 must be spread with every luxury the age afforded. 
 We read that at a marriage feast of Henry Ill's 
 brother there were no less than thirty thousand dishes. 
 
 You must not think, however, that the style of 
 sumptuous living at that day was anything like that 
 of the present day. It may indeed be safely affirmed 
 that a common laborer now may command luxuries 
 that monarchs of the fourteenth century never 
 dreamed of. Cabbages, parsnips, onions, and carrots 
 comprised nearly the whole list of the culinary 
 vegetables used at that time. Sugar, now considered 
 almost a necessity, was brought to England in small 
 quantities by knights returning from crusades in the 
 Holy Land and by travelers in eastern countries. 
 It was looked upon as a curiosity, and used rather 
 as a medicine than as an article of food. 
 
 In order, however, that the rude splendor and 
 barbaric profusion of the king and his court might be 
 kept up, the taxes levied in time of war were con- 
 tinued in time of peace. 
 
 I may have been wrong when I expressed a 
 doubt about the ability of even Walter Scott to make 
 a hero out of this Richard ; for on one or two occa- 
 sions, while yet a boy, his spirit did flash forth he- 
 roically. But these were only flashes, soon extin- 
 guished ; in the man there seemed to remain no trait 
 
8 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINCxS. 
 
 of true nobility. The most striking thing related of 
 his early life is the story of his behavior during the 
 "Wat Tyler rebellion. This was a great rising of the 
 people under the name of the " Commons of Eng- 
 land." One of their complaints has a familiar sound 
 to us — they objected to paying war taxes in time of 
 peace. 
 
 Richard had been crowned king four years prior 
 to this rebellion, but the chief power was still in the 
 hands of one of his uncles. 
 
 The rebels had marched in and taken possession 
 of London, the sympathies of the plain people being 
 with them. With a small escort the young king rode 
 to meet a multitude of the rebels, their leader, Wat 
 Tyler, coming forward till their horses "touched 
 heads." In the interview which followed, Tyler made 
 some motion which aroused the king's followers, and 
 one of them, the lord mayor, struck Tyler with his 
 da^srer, and as he fell from his horse another run him 
 
 OS ' 
 
 through with a sword. This was a critical moment. 
 With an angry shout the mob began to tighten their 
 bowstrings. Richard rode toward them, calling out : 
 " What do you, my friends ? Tyler was a traitor ; it 
 is I who am your leader ! " and lead them he did to 
 a place where they were set upon by a body of his 
 troops. 
 
 The boy king would not have these unwilling tax- 
 payers slain, but the story goes he promised to be even 
 with them some time. This promise he kept. 
 
 One of the crowds which the stormy time brought 
 together stopped on her journey the king's mother, 
 
King Richard II. 
 From an old painting in the church of Westminster. 
 
THE STORY OF RICHARD II, 1381-1399. 9 
 
 who was returning from a pilgrimage to Canterbury. 
 The widow of the Black Prince secured her release 
 by bestowing a few kisses upon the sauciest of the 
 leaders. 
 
 While yet a boy Richard married the lady Anne, 
 daughter of the Bohemian king. They seem to have 
 loved each other, but their happiness was of short 
 duration. Queen Anne died in Surrey, at a place to 
 which the kings of England were used to resort when 
 weary of the city. Anger seems to have mixed with 
 the king's sorrow, for he had the house in which the 
 queen had died torn down. She was buried at West- 
 minster, and at the " obsequies, performed at leisure," 
 as quaint old Froissart tells us, " the illumination was 
 so great on the day of the ceremony that nothing was 
 ever seen like unto it before." 
 
 Soon after Anne's death Richard led an army into 
 Ireland. He had four thousand knights and thirty 
 thousand bowmen. For nine months he maintained 
 a great camp near Dublin, but no fighting appears to 
 have been done. Sir John Froissart tells a charming 
 personal story about his coming over from his native 
 France to England soon after the king's return from 
 Ireland, and of his bringing to Richard a book of 
 poems of his own writing ; with which the king was 
 pleased, as indeed " he ought to have been ; for it 
 was handsomely written and illuminated and bound 
 in crimson velvet and richly worked with roses." 
 
 Sir John, like the king's mother and Chaucer's 
 pilgrims, made a visit to Canterbury, and it was there 
 that he met the king, who had gone to pay his devo- 
 
10 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 tions at the shrine of St. Thomas and at the tomb of 
 his father. 
 
 Froissart had an interview with an English squire 
 whose task it had been while in Ireland to train four 
 Irish kings in English habits, including breeches. 
 Froissart asked his instructor how it came to pass 
 that these kings had submitted to Richard, whose 
 valiant grandfather had not been able to subdue 
 them. The answer was, It was brought about " by a 
 treaty and the grace of God." To which the chroni- 
 cler, with a mixture of piety and worldly wisdom, 
 made answer : " The grace of God is good, and of 
 infinite value to those who can obtain it ; but we see 
 few nowadays augment their territories otherwise 
 than by force." 
 
 Two years after Queen Anne's death Richard en- 
 tered into a second marriage, this time with the French 
 king's daughter Isabella, a young lady of seven years. 
 She was married by proxy to one of the great lords 
 whom Richard had sent over to Paris. The true 
 wedding took place at Calais, the King of England 
 having crossed the Channel with a company of great 
 lords and ladies. One morning soon after the wed- 
 ding the royal pair took an early mass, went on board 
 a vessel, and with a stirring east wind reached Dover 
 in three hours. After some days they made a grand 
 entry into London. 
 
 We must recall the fact that for years before the 
 event just mentioned, and for years afterward, war 
 was the natural condition of things between England 
 and France. Of course, there was now a treaty, and 
 
THE STORY OF RICHARD II, 1381-1399. H 
 
 the two kings spoke grand words about peace, but 
 there was a war party in England opposed to the 
 treaty and disgusted at the French marriage. The 
 head and front of this party was the Duke of 
 Gloster, the king's uncle, and youngest of the great 
 Edward's sons. This nobleman had been for years 
 near or at the head of the government ; and one of 
 Richard's few heroic moments — dramatic, at least, 
 for possibly he had been trained to act the part 
 — was when in council he asked the duke his age, 
 declared his independence, and sent his guardian 
 about his business. 
 
 It is taught us in the histories that Gloster con- 
 trived a plot for the murder of the king and his 
 stanchest friends, and that this being discovered, 
 Gloster was arrested. 
 
 Froissart is authority as to the manner of the 
 duke's taking off. Under pretense of deer-hunting, 
 King Richard went to a village in Essex, there left 
 his attendants, and rode to Pleshy, Gloster's country 
 home. The duke had already supped, but the table 
 was again spread for the royal nephew. After eating, 
 Richard invited the duke to go with him to London, 
 and when kings invite, the lucky or unlucky recipient 
 of the bidding seldom declines. They rode together 
 till they came to a place where some of the king's 
 men were lying in wait. These closed around and 
 seized the doomed duke and carried him on board a 
 vessel at anchor in the Thames. She dropped down 
 with the tide, after the earl marshal, with a few 
 attendants, had come aboard, and shortly landed her 
 
12 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 passengers, with their prisoner, at Calais. To this 
 place, we remember, Richard went not a great while 
 before ; but how different were the destinations of 
 the nephew and the uncle! The one went to a 
 gorgeous tent, where a great king waited to give 
 him his daughter. The unwilling steps of the other 
 bore him to a dungeon. The one seemed now to be 
 seated firmly on a proud throne. The other, in a 
 few short hours, lay in his dungeon dead. 
 
 In this unhappy strife between persons of the 
 same country and, worse still, of the same family, one 
 of the prominent actors was Henry, a cousin of Rich- 
 ard's, the son of his uncle, John of Gaunt, Duke of 
 Lancaster. He had acted with the king's enemies ; 
 he had been reconciled to the king and granted new 
 honors. He lived in London, and was very popular 
 with the people of the capital. Every man who for 
 any cause disliked Richard turned his eyes toward 
 Henry, and this, you may know, did not increase the 
 love of the cousins for each other. For some cause, 
 Henry, and the earl marshal already mentioned, he 
 who served as proxy in the espousal of Isabella, 
 and who had charge of the party that took Gloster 
 over to his dungeon in Calais, were deadly enemies ; 
 each accused the other of high crimes, and both prob- 
 ably told the truth. Of each the king had the same 
 opinion that Csesar held of Cassius : " He thinks too 
 much. Such men are dangerous." 
 
 Shakespeare opens the play of Richard II with 
 this quarrel. The king is in his royal chamber, 
 attended by his uncle Lancaster and other nobles. 
 
THE STORY OF RICHARD II, 1381-1399. 13 
 
 Turning to the duke, he asks whether he had brought 
 his bold son Henry Hereford to make good his charges 
 against the earl marshal, Thomas Mowbray, the 
 Duke of Norfolk. Answered in the affirmative, he 
 ordered the two, the accuser and the accused, to be 
 brought in, declaring that he would allow them freely 
 to speak. They certainly improved the opportunity. 
 With the bitterest words which hate could prompt, 
 Henry, or Bolingbroke, as we shall learn to call him, 
 charged Norfolk with being a traitor, and worse, with 
 being the well-head whence the treasonous acts of 
 others in a dark stream had flowed. Norfolk, with 
 no less fierceness, denied the charge and defied his 
 accuser. Asking pardon in advance for the plain 
 speech in which he should indulge about one of the 
 royal house, he poured out his scorn : 
 
 I do defy him, and I spit at him ; 
 Call him a slanderous coward and a villain, 
 Which to maintain I would allow him odds, 
 And meet him, were I tied [obliged] to run afoot 
 Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps. 
 
 Bolingbroke next hurled at Norfolk the plotting 
 of Gloster's death : 
 
 Which blood, like sacrificing Abel's, cries, 
 Even from the tongueless caverns of the earth, 
 To me for justice and rough chastisement. 
 
 After listening awhile to energetic eloquence of 
 this fashion, King Richard affects to try to make 
 peace between the wrath-kindled gentlemen ; urges 
 them to forgive and forget ; but their ears were not 
 
14 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 attuned to language of this sort, even if it came from 
 him who sat on the throne. Passion raged above 
 the sceptered sway. Any touch of moderation they 
 counted a stain upon their honor. Norfolk pro- 
 tested : 
 
 My dear, dear lord, 
 
 The purest treasure mortal times afford 
 
 Is spotless reputation ; that away, 
 
 Men are but gilded loam or painted clay. 
 
 A jewel in a ten-times barred-up chest 
 
 Is a bold spirit in a loyal breast. 
 
 Mine honor is my life. 
 
 Bolingbroke was as firm, but not so poetic : 
 
 Shall I seem crestfallen in my father's sight ? with 
 bloody threats against his tongue if it should take back 
 or soften a word. 
 
 This was probably the chance which the king 
 sought. He told the two fiery foes that since he could 
 not make them friends he would appoint a day for 
 them to settle their quarrel with swords and lances — 
 a curious kind of logic, but our ancestors seemed to 
 believe, and we try to believe, that the person or the 
 nation that strikes hardest is the one that is right. 
 
 We hear sometimes of things or of persons being 
 " sent to Coventry." Sir John Falstaff flatly refused 
 to march his ragged soldiers through Coventry. The 
 king ordered his cousin and Norfolk to meet at 
 Coventry : 
 
 There shall your swords and lances arbitrate 
 The swelling difference of your settled hate. 
 
THE STORY OF RICHARD II, 1381-1399. 15 
 
 The Duchess of Gloster prays that her husband's 
 wrongs may sit upon the sword of Bolingbroke, and 
 "direct it to " butcher Mowbray's breast." She has 
 vainly tried to spur Lancaster to vengeance upon her 
 husband's murderers : 
 
 Call it not patience, Gaunt ; it is despair. 
 In suffering thus thy brother to be slaughtered 
 Thou show'st the naked pathway to thy life, 
 Teaching stern murder how to butcher thee. 
 That which in mean men we entitle patience 
 Is pale, cold cowardice in noble breasts. 
 
 Picture now a green near Coventry, the lists set 
 out to bar the press of people far away ; a throne for 
 Richard ; a crowd of attendants. Listen to the blare 
 of the trumpet ; see the duelists armed and ready. 
 By the voice of his marshal the king demands of each 
 who he is and why he comes thus knightly clad in 
 arms. They answer boldly. We know them and 
 their business, as it is pretty certain the king did. 
 
 Bolingbroke's finest saying was touched into pathos 
 by the occasion : 
 
 For Mowbray and myself are like two men 
 That vow a long and weary pilgrimage. 
 
 And Norfolk calmly declared : 
 
 As gentle and as jocund as to jest (joust) 
 Go I to fight : truth hath a quiet breast. 
 
 It was doubtless according to a plan all arranged 
 before the day of the combat that there was to be no 
 combat. Just as the two knights were about to hurl 
 
16 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 themselves, man and horse, upon each other, Richard 
 threw down his royal staff in token that everything 
 was to halt and wait his kingly pleasure. 
 
 The contestants, having drawn near, were greatly 
 surprised to learn that their king with his council had 
 decreed that — since his eyes did hate the dire aspect 
 of cruel wounds plowed up with neighbors' swords, 
 and because he believed that envy, ambition, and 
 eagle-winged pride had set them on to wake their 
 country's peace which 
 
 Draws the sweet infant breath of gentle sleep — 
 
 therefore, on pain of life, they were banished from 
 their native England. Bolingbroke's forced pilgrim- 
 age was to last till twice five summers had enriched 
 the fields. Against Norfolk the heavy doom was 
 never to return. The slowly flying hours should 
 never bring around the dateless limit of his exile. 
 We who think of going abroad as one of the red- 
 letter events of a lifetime, for which we cheerfully 
 pay, perhaps, with the fruits of self-denial at home, 
 can have but a faint conception of the meanins; of 
 the word banished. We may read of it in some of 
 the great world's literature ; Ovid, Cicero, and Dante 
 were banished men ; but it is yet to us only a thing 
 of the brain, not of the heart. The scene we are now 
 regarding will help us to know, if not to feel. 
 
 Norfolk lamented his being cast forth in the com- 
 mon air ; his mother speech, which for forty years he 
 had spoken, of no more use than a harp without 
 strings, and he too old to be a pupil and learn another 
 
THE STORY OF RICHARD II, 1381-1399. 17 
 
 language; and away from the cheery light of home 
 and country, 
 
 To dwell in solemn shades of endless night. 
 
 Bolingbroke took his sentence in better heart. 
 It was mild when compared with the other, and be- 
 sides, in his father's presence he would play the hero. 
 Upon the gray head of that father it was a heavy 
 stroke ; and his sad look plucked away four years 
 from his son's term ; as Bolingbroke loftily phrased 
 it : " Such is the breath of kings." This did not 
 much comfort old John of Gaunt, time-honored Lan- 
 caster. He felt sure that he should not live out even 
 the six years ; that before Harry's return, 
 
 My inch of taper will be burnt and done, 
 And blindfold death not let me see my son. 
 
 The king, attempting to comfort him, heard, 
 
 Thou canst help time to furrow me with age, 
 But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage. 
 
 By which he meant that the king could not with all 
 his power check the pace of old age. The king was 
 firm ; he was no doubt glad to have his popular 
 cousin away from the smiles of the Londoners, into 
 whose hearts he did seem to dive : 
 
 Six years we banish him, and he shall go. 
 
 And with a flourish of trumpets the king and his 
 train set out on their return to the city. 
 
 When leave-taking came, the father and son 
 
18 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 seemed almost to change places, the first striving to 
 console : 
 
 What is six winters ? they are quickly gone ! 
 To this, Bolingbroke : 
 
 To men in joy ; but grief makes one hour ten. 
 
 Gaunt. All places that the eye of heaven visits 
 Are to a wise man ports and happy havens : 
 
 which bit of philosophy is finely worded in Emerson's 
 
 Go where he will, the wise man is at home ; 
 His hearth the earth, his hall the azure dome. 
 
 Gaunt, continuing, quoted Chaucer as an au- 
 thority : 
 
 Teach thy necessity to reason thus ; 
 
 There is no virtue like necessity. 
 
 Think not the king did banish thee ; 
 
 But thou the king. 
 
 Go, say I sent thee forth to purchase honor, 
 
 And not, the king exiled thee. 
 
 Bolingbroke, firmly sure that even imagination 
 has its limits : 
 
 Oh, who can hold a fire in his hand 
 By thinking on the frosty Caucasus? 
 Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite 
 By bare imagination of a feast ? 
 Oh, no ! the apprehension of the good 
 Gives but the greater feeling to the worse. 
 
 Into their life abroad we do not follow these two 
 men further than to say Norfolk dies before many 
 
THE STORY OF RICHARD II, 1381-1399. 19 
 
 years, and Bolingbroke does not go very far or stay 
 very long. 
 
 A rebellion having broken out in Ireland, the 
 king prepared again to cross the Irish Sea ; but, in 
 order to procure what Shakespeare somewhere else 
 calls " the sinews of war," he let out on contract the 
 collection of taxes. As the contractors bought the 
 right to collect, they were very greedy in collecting, 
 taking off the skin along with the fleece, and the land 
 was sorely vexed. 
 
 About this time a messenger brought Richard 
 word that the Duke of Lancaster was "grievous 
 sick," and the king was heartless enough to say, 
 
 Now put it, heaven, in his physician's mind, 
 To help him to his grave. 
 
 This was extremely wicked, and the near occasion 
 was Richard's desire to get in hand his uncle's posses- 
 sions to assist in the fitting out of soldiers for Ireland. 
 
 As you may suppose, the interview at Lancaster's 
 bedside was far less than kind. Gaunt sharply re- 
 proved the king for farming the taxes and for other 
 acts of oppression. He had talked of it with his 
 brother York, lamenting that — 
 
 This sceptered isle, 
 This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, 
 This other Eden, . . . this little world, 
 This precious stone, set in the silver sea, 
 Is now leased out (I die pronouncing it) 
 Like to a tenement or pelting farm : 
 England, bound in with the triumphant sea, 
 
20 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege 
 Of watery Neptune, is now bound in with shame, 
 
 and he tells the king : 
 
 Landlord of England art thou now, not king ? 
 
 To which the wrathful Richard retorted : 
 And thou a lunatic lean-witted fool. 
 
 Soon after this hot quarrel Northumberland 
 comes from Lancaster's chamber to the king. 
 
 King Richard. What says he now ? 
 
 North. Nay, nothing ; all is said : 
 
 His tongue is now a stringless instrument ; 
 Words, life, and all, old Lancaster hath spent. 
 
 The king dropped a word or two of hollow ten- 
 derness, and then went on his way. Another uncle, 
 York, tried his powers of persuasion : 
 
 You pluck a thousand dangers on your head, 
 You lose a thousand well-disposed hearts, 
 And prick my tender patience to those thoughts 
 Which honor and allegiance can not think. 
 
 K. Rich. Think what you will, we seize into our 
 hands 
 His plate, his goods, his money, and his lands. 
 
 While Richard was in Ireland, whither we do not 
 attend him, a well-headed conspiracy at home pre- 
 pared the way for Bolingbroke's return to make an 
 armed appeal for his dukedom, perhaps for a larger 
 prize. His friends contended that as Lancaster was 
 
THE STORY OF RICHARD II, 1381-1399. 21 
 
 dead, Lancaster was living, and in Bolingbroke's own 
 person. They reproached themselves that — 
 
 We hear this fearful tempest sing, 
 Yet seek no shelter to avoid the storm ; 
 We see the wind sit sore upon our sails, 
 And yet we strike not, but securely perish. 
 
 But things being so bad, Northumberland takes 
 comfort : 
 
 Even through the hollow eyes of death 
 I spy life peering. 
 
 This "life" was the news that Harry, Duke of 
 Hereford, Lord Cobham, and sundry other dukes 
 and sirs — 
 
 With eight tall ships, three thousand men of war, 
 Are marching hither with all due expedience, 
 And shortly mean to touch our northern shore. 
 
 We are permitted soon to hear the message which 
 so shocks the queen : 
 
 The banished Bolingbroke repeals himself, 
 And with uplifted arms is safe arrived 
 At Eavenspurg. 
 
 The king's uncle, York, though loyal to Richard, 
 could give the queen no consolation beyond — 
 
 Comfort's in heaven ; and we are on the earth. 
 
 Your husband, he is gone to save far off, 
 
 Whilst others come to make him lose at home. 
 3 
 
22 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 In the crisis no word came concerning the king's 
 doings : 
 
 The wind sits fair for news to go to Ireland, 
 But none returns. 
 
 In the wilds of Glostershire, Bolingbroke and 
 Northumberland appear with an armed force : 
 
 Bol. How far is it, my lord, to Berkley now ? 
 
 North. I am a stranger here in Glostershire : 
 These high wild hills and rough uneven ways 
 Draw out our miles and make them wearisome. 
 
 Young Harry Percy, Northumberland's son, a fiery 
 fellow, whom we shall know well after a while as Hot- 
 spur, here first meets and is presented to Bolingbroke, 
 and enters his service. 
 
 Bolingbroke declares that he has come to England 
 to seek the name of Lancaster, and we do not have to 
 guess at his meaning. York appears in the rebel 
 camp, scolds lustily for a while, then declares he will 
 " remain as neuter," and bids farewell : 
 
 Unless you please to enter in the castle, 
 And there repose you for this night. 
 
 Let the curtain of our quiet theater now drop, 
 and upon rising show us a scene upon the coast of 
 Wales, with a castle in sight. 
 
 K. Rich. Barkloughly Castle call they this at hand ? 
 Aumerle. Yea, my good lord. How brooks your 
 
 grace the air ? 
 K. Rich. Xeeds must I like it well : I weep for joy 
 To stand upon my kingdom once again. 
 
THE STORY OF RICHARD II, 1381-1399. 23 
 
 The king salutes the earth, entreats it not to feed 
 its sovereign's foe, but rather yield stinging nettles 
 for the traitor's feet. When his cousin Auraerle tries 
 to prepare him for the cruel news that is sure to come, 
 the king rejoins : 
 
 Discomfortable cousin ! knowest thou not 
 That when the searching eye of Heaven is hid 
 Behind the globe and lights the lower world, 
 Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen ; 
 But when, from under this terrestrial ball, 
 He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines, 
 And darts his light through every guilty hole, 
 Then murders, treasons, and detected sins, 
 The cloak of night being plucked from off their 
 
 backs, 
 Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves ? 
 So, when this thief, this traitor, Bolingbroke, 
 Who all this time hath reveled in the night, 
 Whilst we were wandering with the Antipodes, 
 Shall see Us rising in our throne, the East, 
 His treasons will sit blushing in his face. 
 Not all the water in the rough, rude sea 
 Can wash the balm from an anointed king. 
 
 But Richard had to come speedily down from this 
 high, confident position, for ill tidings pressed upon 
 the heel of ill tidings ; however, he turned an emo- 
 tional somersault, and declared : 
 
 Mine ear is open and my heart prepared. 
 Say, is my kingdom lost ? why, 'twas my care : 
 And what loss is it to be rid of care ? 
 
24 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 This pious state of resignation soon passed, for 
 when he was told of the death of some of his favor- 
 ites, despair got the upper hand : 
 
 Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs, 
 
 Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes 
 
 Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth. 
 
 For God's sake, let us sit upon the ground, 
 
 And tell sad stories of the death of kings, 
 
 All murdered ; for within the hollow crown 
 
 That rounds the mortal temples of a king 
 
 Keeps Death his court ; and there the antic sits, 
 
 Scoffing his state, and grinning at his pomp ; 
 
 Allowing him a breath, a little scene, 
 
 To monarchize, be feared, and kill with looks ; 
 
 Infusing him with self and vain conceit, 
 
 As if this flesh, which walls about our life, 
 
 Were brass impregnable ; and, humored thus, 
 
 Comes at the last, and with a little pin 
 
 Bores through his castle wall, and — farewell, king ! 
 
 Cover your heads, and mock not flesh and blood 
 
 With solemn reverence ; throw away respect, 
 
 Tradition, form, and ceremonious duty ; 
 
 For you have but mistook me all this while : 
 
 I live with bread like you, feel want, taste grief, 
 
 Need friends : subjected thus, 
 
 How can you say to me, I am a king ? 
 
 Perhaps the pathos of human suffering was never 
 painted more exquisitely than in these lines of the 
 unfortunate Eichard ; but, upon a cheering word 
 from the son of his uncle, York, Eichard' s himself 
 
1 
 
 3> 
 
THE STORY OF RICHARD II, 1381-1399. 25 
 
 again. In fact, he is always himself — that is, blown 
 about by the changing wind of circumstance. 
 
 He begins to threaten Bolingbroke at long range. 
 
 Bolingbroke at first declared that all he had re- 
 turned to England for was to maintain his right to be 
 Duke of Lancaster. Richard was a guest within the 
 limits of the lime and stone of Flint Castle. Boling- 
 broke addresses Northumberland : 
 
 Go to the rude ribs of that ancient castle ; 
 Through brazen trumpet send the breath of parle 
 Into his ruined ears, and thus deliver. 
 
 This message was an assertion of his true alle- 
 giance, provided his banishment were repealed and 
 his lands restored, with threats of a crimson tempest 
 soon to drench the fresh green lap of Richard's coun- 
 try if this demand be not granted. 
 
 As the declining monarch showed himself upon 
 the walls, York called out : 
 
 See, see, King Richard doth himself appear 
 
 As doth the blushing, discontented sun 
 
 From out the fiery portal of the East, 
 
 When he perceives the envious clouds are bent 
 
 To dim his glory and to stain the track 
 
 Of his bright passage to the Occident. 
 
 Yet looks he like a king. 
 
 Yes, and for a time he tried to talk like a king. 
 He reproved Northumberland, threatened his enemies 
 with the unseen but deadly armies of God omnipotent. 
 Northumberland again states Henry's claim : 
 
26 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 Which on thy royal party granted once, 
 His glittering arms he will commend to rust, 
 His barbed steeds to stables, and his heart 
 To faithful service of your majesty. 
 
 Richard made fair promises, but immediately re- 
 gretted it, and seemed plainly to see the hollowness of 
 the whole business. He declared himself contented 
 to exchange his palace for a heritage, his scepter for 
 a walking staff : 
 
 And my large kingdom for a little grave, 
 
 A little, little grave, an obscure grave ; 
 
 Or I'll be buried in the king's highway, 
 
 Some way of common trade, where subjects' feet 
 
 May hourly trample on their sovereign's head, 
 
 For on my heart they tread now whilst I live. 
 
 In the great hall of William Rufus, spoken of in 
 Macaulay's noble essay upon Warren Hastings, there 
 was an assemblage of lords spiritual, lords temporal, 
 and the Commons, all that goes to make up the Eng- 
 lish Parliament. Before this august body came Bol- 
 ingbroke with his prominent supporters, and two at 
 least who had been and still were loyal to the king. 
 
 There was high contention ; the name of Norfolk 
 was used, and from the reply to the speaker we learn 
 that he had many a time fought against the Saracens, 
 streaming the ensign of the Christian cross ; had after- 
 ward retired — 
 
 To Italy, and there, at Venice, gave 
 
 His body to that pleasant country's earth, 
 
THE STORY OF RICHARD II, 1381-1399. 27 
 
 And his pure soul unto his captain, Christ, 
 Under whose colors he had fought so long. 
 
 It is announced that Richard resigns the crown, 
 adopting Bolingbroke as his " heir " ; and the speaker, 
 York, continues : 
 
 And long live Henry, of that name the fourth ! 
 
 'No persuasion is needed, and Harry Hereford, son 
 of old John of Gaunt, ascends the regal throne. 
 
 In a few minutes the uncrowned Richard comes 
 in attended by officers, one bearing the head-piece of 
 royalty. Richard is forced to give up his kingship, 
 which lie does with much wavering of mind and much 
 anguish of heart : 
 
 With mine own tears I wash away my balm, 
 With mine own hands I give away my crown. 
 Long mayst thou live in Richard's seat to sit, 
 And soon lie Richard in an earthy pit ! 
 
 They then demand that he read and sign a paper 
 containing an admission of grievous crimes done by 
 himself and friends. 
 
 K. Rich. Must I do so ? and must I ravel out 
 My weaved-up follies ? . . . 
 
 Alack the heavy day, 
 That I have worn so many winters out, 
 And know not now what name to call myself ! 
 that I were a mockery king of snow, 
 Standing before the sun of Bolingbroke, 
 To melt myself away in water-drops ! 
 
28 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 Richard ended this speech by asking for a mirror, 
 and Northumberland was so cruel as to insist upon his 
 reading over that paper, else the Commons would not 
 be satisfied : 
 
 K. Rich. They shall be satisfied : I'll read enough 
 When I do see the very book indeed 
 Where all my sins are writ — and that's myself. 
 ... flattering glass, 
 Like to my followers in prosperity, 
 Thou dost beguile me ! Was this the face 
 That every day under his household roof 
 Did keep ten thousand men ? 
 
 He grew angry at the glass and dashed it to the 
 ground, and he was soon taken from the hall to the 
 Tower. When his queen visited him in prison he 
 urged her — 
 
 To think our former state a happy dream, 
 From which awaked, the truth of what we are 
 Shows us but this : I am sworn brother, sweet, 
 To grim Necessity ; and he and I 
 Will keep a league till death. . . . 
 
 Good sometime queen, prepare thee hence for 
 France : 
 
 Think I am dead ; and that even here thou takest, 
 
 As from my death-bed, thy last living leave. 
 
 In winter's tedious nights sit by the fire 
 
 With good old folks, and let them tell thee tales 
 
 Of woeful ages long ago betid ; 
 
 And, ere thou bid good night, to quit their griefs, 
 
 Tell thou the lamentable tale of me, 
 
 And send the hearers weeping to their beds. 
 
THE STORY OF RICHARD II, 1381-1399. 29 
 
 To behold the scene which ends this strange, 
 eventful history we must look into a dungeon at Pom- 
 fret Castle, and we shall find King Eichard still mor- 
 alizing, drawing out many strange comparisons to 
 show himself to himself. His attention is attracted to 
 something outside : 
 
 Music do I hear ? 
 Ha, ha ! keep time : how sour sweet music is 
 When time is broke and no proportion kept ! 
 So is it in the music of men's lives. 
 
 Then for a time he holds up before his fevered 
 fancy the notion of time, and how he himself was a 
 sort of clock, telling the minutes and hours by his 
 sighs and groans, till he again bursts forth : 
 
 This music mads me : let it sound no more ; 
 For, though it have holp madmen to their wits, 
 In me it seems it will make wise men mad. 
 Yet blessing on his heart that gives it me, 
 For 'tis a sign of love. 
 
 A man who was once a poor groom of the king's 
 stable, with much ado got leave to call and look upon 
 his sometime royal master's face, and that was the last 
 sign of love ever shown him. A king is a dangerous 
 prisoner. The appointed slayer soon opened that 
 dungeon door, the fatal blow was struck, the dead 
 king to the living king was borne, and the curtain 
 falls upon Richard II. 
 
THE STORY OF HENRY IV, 1399-1413. 
 
 In the previous story we read of the driving away 
 of Richard II from his throne, and we know that the 
 leader in this rebellion became Henry IY. Henry's 
 most important helpers in this affair were the Percys 
 — the Earl of Northumberland, the Earl of Worcester, 
 and Henry Hotspur, son of Northumberland. 
 
 Not long after the death of Richard a great Welsh 
 chieftain, Owen Glendower by name, having been in- 
 jured in some manner by one of Henry's high officers 
 in Wales, applied to the king for redress, but in vain. 
 
 The Welshman resolved to avenge himself by 
 force of arms, and he drove from his land those who 
 by force had taken possession of it. For this he was 
 declared an outlaw ; but, far from taking this treat- 
 ment meekly, he greatly increased his pretensions. 
 
 He had always claimed to be a descendant of the 
 last Welsh prince, and he now reached for the king- 
 ship of Wales and the independence of that little 
 country of mountain and glen. 
 
 The fires of patriotism among the Welshmen had 
 been only covered, not extinguished, and they gladly 
 responded to Glendower's call. 
 
 When Henry led an army into Wales in 1401, the 
 Welsh chieftain was too cunning to risk a pitched 
 30 
 

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 % '^^t£$MMs£^ ! li'J " '. ,' ,; ZjLi^^^^^^^^SLiiri^j! 
 
 
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 IV. 
 
 King Henry IV. 
 From an old engraving. 
 
THE STORY OF HENRY IV, 1399-1413. 31 
 
 battle. He fell back into the mountains, leaving bis 
 two allies, hunger and the climate, to drive away the 
 English. In a second campaign King Henry was not 
 more successful, for the rains raised the rivers and 
 made them impassable, and somehow the flood was 
 always between the king and the rebel chief. As a 
 salve to his wounded pride, Henry tried to believe, 
 and he said, that Glendower was in league with the 
 elements. 
 
 At about this time there were serious disturb- 
 ances in the north of England and two pitched battles 
 fought, in both of which the English defeated the 
 Scotch. At Holmedon Hill the day was won by the 
 English archers alone, the knights not having had to 
 draw their swords or raise their lances. The Percys 
 — Northumberland, his brother Worcester, and his 
 son Harry — had been prominent actors in this cam- 
 paign, and the Earl of Northumberland marched to 
 London with a great number of prisoners. 
 
 The dramatic history of Henry IV consists of the 
 play called Henry IY, Parts I and II, preceded by a 
 substantial and spirited opening in Richard II : the 
 whole, in fact, constituting one great drama, inter- 
 woven with which is the end of the play of the un- 
 fortunate Richard, and much more than the begin- 
 ning of that of the triumphant Henry Y. 
 
 King Henry, not long after the events just hinted 
 at, is sitting in a room of his palace with some of his 
 courtiers. He alludes to some things in the past, and 
 gives utterance to his high hopes for the future — 
 these, however, never to be realized. 
 
32 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 King. So shaken as we are, so wan with care, 
 Find we a time for frighted peace to pant, 
 And breathe short-winded accents of new broils, 
 To be commenced in stronds afar remote. 
 
 He then in an eloquent passage congratulates him- 
 self and his kingdom on the permanent close of those 
 internal strifes that had so long harassed the land : 
 
 Those opposed eyes, 
 Which, like the meteors of a troubled heaven, 
 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 ranks, 
 March all one way. Therefore, friends, 
 As far as to the sepulchre of Christ — 
 Whose soldier now, under whose blessed cross 
 We are impressed and engaged to fight — 
 Forthwith a power of English shall we levy 
 To chase these pagans in those holy fields 
 Over whose acres walked those blessed feet 
 Which fourteen hundred years ago were nailed 
 For our advantage on the bitter cross. 
 
 In the conversation which follows, the king learns 
 that the discussion of ways and means, in his council 
 the night before, to raise the funds for this march to 
 Palestine, was broken off by the reception of — 
 
 A post from Wales loaden with heavy news ; 
 Whose worst was, that the noble Mortimer, 
 Leading the men of Herefordshire to fight 
 Against the irregular and wild Glendower, 
 Was by the rude hands of that Welshman taken. 
 
THE STORY OF HENRY IV, 1399-1413. 33 
 
 Matching this tidings came word of the battle at 
 Holmedon brought by a horseman, 
 
 Stained with the variation of each soil 
 
 between the battlefield and the capital city. 
 
 The " smooth and welcome news " concerned the 
 slaughter of many thousand "bold Scots," and a 
 number of noble prisoners taken by Hotspur — a con- 
 quest, Westmoreland told the king, for a prince to 
 boast of : 
 
 King. Yea, there thou makest me sad, and 
 makest me sin 
 In envy that my Lord Northumberland 
 Should be the father to so blest a son — 
 A son who is the theme of honor's tongue, 
 Whilst I, by looking on the praise of him, 
 See riot and dishonor stain the brow 
 Of my young Harry. 
 
 This is the second time we have heard the 
 crowned Bolingbroke lamenting over the ways of 
 his " unthrifty son " : 
 
 'Tis full three months since I did see him last : 
 If any plague hang over us, 'tis he. 
 I would to God, my lords, he might be found : 
 Inquire at London, 'mongst the taverns there, 
 For there, they say, he daily doth frequent 
 With unrestrained, loose companions. 
 
 But now the sad father changes abruptly to the 
 
 offended king : 
 
 What think you, coz, 
 Of this young Percy's pride ? The prisoners, 
 
34 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 Which he in this adventure hath surprised, 
 To his own use he keeps. 
 
 This unsoldierlike conduct, Westmoreland assures 
 the king, is the result of Worcester's teaching : 
 
 Which makes him prune himself and "bristle up 
 The crest of youth against your dignity. 
 
 The impatience of the king does not allow long 
 waiting, and there is a lively interview between him 
 and the Percys. He regrets his patience, which hath 
 been smooth as oil — 
 
 And therefore lost that title of respect 
 Which the proud soul ne'er pays but to the proud. 
 Worcester. Our house, my sovereign liege, little 
 deserves 
 The scourge of greatness to be used on it ; 
 And that same greatness, too, which our own hands 
 Have holp to make so portly. 
 
 For this bold rejoinder Worcester was given good 
 leave to depart, as — 
 
 Majesty might never yet endure 
 
 The moody frontier of a servant brow. 
 
 His brother, Northumberland, at this crisis inter- 
 posed in defense — not of Worcester, but of " Harry 
 Percy here " ; and Hotspur, thus introduced, spoke 
 up for himself : 
 
 My liege, I did deny no prisoners. 
 But I remember, when the fight was done, 
 When I was dry with rage and extreme toil, 
 Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword, 
 
THE STORY OF HENRY IV, 1399-1413. 35 
 
 Came there a certain lord, neat, and trimly dressed, 
 Fresh as a bridegroom ; and his chin, new reaped, 
 Showed like a stubble land at harvest home ; 
 He was perfumed like a milliner, 
 And, as the soldiers bore dead bodies by, 
 He called them untaught knaves, unmannerly, 
 To bring a slovenly unhandsome corse 
 Betwixt the wind and his nobility. 
 With many holiday and lady terms 
 He questioned me : among the rest, demanded 
 My prisoners, in your Majesty's behalf. 
 I then, all smarting with my wounds being cold, 
 To be so pestered with a popinjay, 
 Out of my grief and my impatience, 
 Answered neglectingly, I know not what — 
 He should or he should not ; for he made me mad 
 To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet, 
 And talk so like a waiting gentlewoman 
 Of guns and drums and wounds (God save the 
 mark !) 
 
 The sweet-smelling lord also lectured the impa- 
 tient Hotspur about the sovereign'st thing on earth 
 for an inward bruise ; about the pity of it that vil- 
 lainous saltpetre should be digged out of the harmless 
 earth for the making of powder; and he even ad- 
 mitted that but for these vile guns he might have 
 honored Hotspur's vocation himself and have been a 
 soldier — which long discourse Hotspur styled a " bold, 
 unjointed chat." 
 
 This lusty defense the king declined to receive as 
 conclusive, because Hotspur even yet would not give 
 
36 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 up his prisoners except on condition that Henry would 
 ransom Mortimer, whom the king charged with be- 
 traying 
 
 The lives of those that he did lead to fight 
 Against the great magician, damned Glendower. 
 Xo, on the barren mountains let him starve. 
 
 Percy tried to defend the character of Mortimer, 
 his brother-ki-law, but the king turned a very deaf 
 ear, and he ended the interview with — 
 
 Let me not hear you speak of Mortimer, and send 
 us your prisoners, or you'll hear of it. 
 
 The king and his train having gone, Hotspur 
 broke loose again : 
 
 And if the devil come and roar for them, 
 I will not send them. Speak of Mortimer ! 
 'Zounds ! I will speak of him ; and let my soul 
 Want mercy, if I do not join with him. 
 
 Worcester, who had come back after the king's 
 leaving, added fuel to his nephew's fire and gave 
 method to his madness by recalling the fact that 
 Eichard had declared Mortimer his heir : 
 
 Nay, then I can not blame his cousin king, 
 
 That wished him on the barren mountains starved. 
 
 After a time Worcester forces the impetuous 
 speaker to take breath while he tells him of the plot 
 — " unclasps a secret book " — to depose Henry. This 
 Hotspur welcomes : 
 
THE STORY OF HENRY IV, 1399-1413. 3? 
 
 ! the blood more stirs 
 To rouse a lion than to start a hare ; that it were an 
 
 easy leap : 
 To pluck bright honor from the pale-faced moon ; 
 
 threatens to have a starling trained to say just one 
 word — not "Nevermore," but "Mortimer" — and give 
 it to the king ; renounces all studies 
 
 Save how to gall and pinch this Bolingbroke ; 
 
 and then Shakespeare makes him say what I hope he 
 never did say : 
 
 And that same sword and buckler Prince of Wales — 
 But that I think his father loves him not, 
 I'd have him poisoned with a pot of ale. 
 
 It will be well, before following the fortunes of 
 these doughty folk, to become something better ac- 
 quainted with this same Prince of Wales, who has ex- 
 cited Hotspur's contemptuous wrath, and who seems 
 to stand so low in the appreciation of his own father. 
 We can be quiet listeners while the prince and his 
 companions engage in some very extraordinary 
 " passes of pate," and we shall be more likely to be 
 found in taverns than in palaces. 
 
 Falstaff. Now, Hal, what time of day is it, lad ? 
 
 P. Henry. What a devil hast thou to do with the 
 time of day ? Unless hours were cups of sack, and min- 
 utes capons, I see no reason why thou should'st be so 
 superfluous to demand the time of day. 
 
 Fal. Indeed, you come near me now, Hal ; for we 
 that take purses go by the moon and the seven stars, 
 
38 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 and not by Phoebus. And I prythee, sweet wag, when 
 thou art king — as, God save thy Grace — Majesty I 
 should say, for grace thou wilt have none — 
 
 Prince. What, none ? 
 
 Fal. No, by my troth. 
 
 Prince. Well, how then ? come, roundly. 
 
 Fed. When thou art king, let not us that are squires 
 of the night's body be called thieves of the day's beauty ; 
 let us be Diana's foresters, gentlemen of the shade, 
 minions of the moon. 
 
 Prince. Thou say'st well, for the fortune of us that 
 are moon's men doth ebb and flow like the sea, being 
 governed, as the sea is, by the moon. As, for proof, 
 now : a purse of gold most resolutely snatched on 
 Monday night and most dissolutely spent on Tuesday 
 morning. 
 
 Fal. Shall there be gallows standing in England 
 when thou art king? Do not thou, when thou art 
 king, hang a thief. 
 
 Prince. No, thou shalt. 
 
 Fal. Shall I ? rare ! By the Lord, I'll be a brave 
 judge. 
 
 Prince. Thou judgest false already. I mean thou 
 shalt have the hanging of the thieves, and so become a 
 rare hangman. 
 
 Fal. I would that thou and I knew where a com- 
 modity of good names were to be bought. An old lord 
 of the council rated me the other day in the street 
 about you, sir, but I marked him not; and yet he 
 talked very wisely, but I regarded him not. 
 
 Prince. Thou didst well ; for wisdom cries out in 
 the streets, and no man regards it. 
 
 Fal. thou art able to corrupt a saint. Thou 
 
THE STORY OF HENRY IV, 1399-1413. 39 
 
 hast done much harm upon me, Hal. I must give 
 over this life, and I wiU give it over ; an I do not, 
 I'm a villain. 
 
 Prince. Where shall we take a purse to-morrow, 
 Jack ? 
 
 Fal. Zounds ! where thou wilt, lad. 
 
 Prince. I see a good amendment of life in thee — 
 from praying to purse-taking. 
 
 Fal. Why, Hal, 'tis my vocation ; 'tis no sin for a 
 man to labor in his vocation. 
 
 This dialogue was interrupted by the entrance of 
 another "gentleman of the shade," by name Ned 
 Pointz, who brought an answer to the prince's ques- 
 tion concerning a purse. There are pilgrims going 
 to Canterbury with rich offerings, and traders riding 
 to London with fat purses. The prince declared that 
 he would tarry at home, and Pointz asked Sir John 
 to leave the prince and him alone that he might lay 
 down reasons which would induce him to go. Fal- 
 staff took his departure with — 
 
 Well, God give thee the spirit of persuasion and 
 him the ears of profiting, that what thou speakest may 
 move and what he hears may be believed. 
 
 Pointz then unfolded to Prince Hal a jest which 
 he was not able to execute alone ; it was that Fal staff 
 and three of his confederates should rob the travelers 
 in the absence of the prince and Ned, who in their 
 turn should in disguise set upon the thieves and carry 
 off the booty ; that the plot would be easy to carry 
 
40 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 out, for two of them were as thoroughbred cowards 
 as ever turned back. " The virtue of this jest will 
 be the incomprehensible lies that this same fat rogue 
 will tell us when we meet at sirpper." 
 
 The plan was agreed to ; Pointz went away to 
 make the needed preparations ; the prince, left alone, 
 thinks aloud, and lets us see some features of a graver 
 plot — his own way of life : 
 
 I know you all, and will awhile uphold 
 
 The unyoked humor of your idleness ; 
 
 Yet herein will I imitate the sun, 
 
 Who doth permit the base contagious clouds 
 
 To smother up his beauty from the world, 
 
 That, when he please again to be himself, 
 
 Being wanted he may be more wondered at, 
 
 By breaking through the foul and ugly mists 
 
 And vapors that did seem to strangle him. 
 
 If all the year were playing holidays, 
 
 To sport would be as tedious as to work ; 
 
 But when they seldom come they wished-for come 
 
 And nothing pleases but rare accidents. 
 
 So, when this loose behavior I throw off 
 
 And pay the debt I never promised, 
 
 By how much better than my word I am, 
 
 By so much shall I falsify men's hopes ; 
 
 And, like bright metal on a sullen ground, 
 
 My reformation, glittering o'er my fault, 
 
 Shall show more goodly and attract more eyes 
 
 Than that which hath no foil to set it off. 
 
 We may not be satisfied with this as an excuse for 
 the prince's plentiful sowing of wild oats, but we are 
 
THE STORY OF HENRY IV, 1399-1413. 41 
 
 glad that he gives us at this stage even so brief a 
 glimpse into his good intentions. 
 
 The Robbery. 
 
 The first act in what Pointz termed his " jest " is 
 played on the road by Gadshill. They secretly re- 
 move Falstaff's horse and soon disappear. 
 
 Fdl. Where's Pointz, Hal ? 
 
 Prince. He is walked up to the top of the hill : I'll 
 go seek him. 
 
 Fal. I am accursed to rob in that thief's company. 
 I have forsworn his company any time this two-and- 
 twenty year. If the rascal have not given me medi- 
 cines to make me love him, I'll be hanged. Pointz ! — 
 Hal ! — a plague upon you both ! a plague upon it when 
 thieves can not be true one to another ! Give me my 
 horse, you rogues. 
 
 Here the prince came out of the bushes and 
 told FalstafE to lay his ear close to the ground and 
 list if he could hear the tread of travelers, to which 
 the fat knight cautiously rejoined with the query, 
 "Have you any levers to lift me up again, being 
 down?"* 
 
 The man on guard soon told them that their vic- 
 tims were coming down the hill ; the prince told 
 Falstaff with the other three to front them in the nar- 
 row lane, while he and Ned Pointz would walk lower ; 
 these two worthies went some little distance and put 
 on their suits ; they knew by the signs when " the 
 thieves bound the true men " ; they then robbed the 
 
42 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 thieves and set out merrily for London, where the 
 tale would be " argument for a week, laughter for a 
 month, and a good jest forever." 
 
 We meet them next at the Boar's Head Tavern, 
 where the king's oldest son was playing the part of 
 waiter, and, as he told Pointz when he came, sound- 
 ing the very base string of humility. He learned 
 from listening to the waiters' talk that they called 
 drinking deep, dyeing scarlet — a technical phrase 
 somewhat like, in hue and meaning, the modern 
 " painting red," but more poetic. 
 
 Falstaff and his three satellites reached the tav- 
 ern in not very high feather, and in very bad 
 humor. 
 
 Pointz. Welcome, Jack ; where hast thou been ? 
 
 Fal. A plague of all cowards, I say. Give me a 
 cup of sack, boy. A plague of all cowards ! Is there 
 no virtue extant ? You rogue, here's lime in this sack 
 too ; there is nothing but roguery to be found in vil- 
 lainous man ; yet a coward is worse than a cup of sack 
 with lime in it. There live not three good men un- 
 hanged in England ; and one of them is fat, and grow- 
 ing old. 
 
 Prince. How now, wool-sack ! what mutter you ? 
 
 Fal. Are you not a coward ? answer me that — and 
 Pointz there — 
 
 Pointz. An you call me coward, I'll stab thee. 
 
 Fal. I call thee coward ! but I would give a thou- 
 sand pound, I could run as fast as thou canst. You 
 care not who sees your back ! Call you that backing 
 of your friends ? A plague upon such backing ! 
 
THE STORY OF HENRY IV, 1399-1413. 43 
 
 There is more thrust and parry ; Falstaff hurling 
 out his candid opinion about cowards, and filling in 
 with the marvelous story of his fight, single-handed, 
 with robbers — two, four, seven — that thrust at him 
 with might and main — nine, eleven — as his tardy 
 valor flashed out ; till three knaves in Kendal Green, 
 came at his back ; while to add to his peril it was so 
 dark " thou couldst not see thy hand." 
 
 Prince. These lies are like the father that begets 
 them, gross as a mountain, open, palpable ! How 
 couldst thou know these men in Kendal Green when 
 it was so dark ? Come, teli us your reason. 
 
 Fal. What, upon compulsion ! give a reason on 
 compulsion ! If reasons were as plenty as blackberries, 
 I would give no man a reason on compulsion. 
 
 After another mutual broadside of epithets not 
 of the nicest, the prince turned big Jack's position. 
 " Mark now, how a plain tale will put you down." 
 He then told him the story as w r e have heard it, and 
 challenged his fertile mendacity to find a device to 
 hide him "from this open and apparent shame." 
 FalstafI was equal to the demand. 
 
 By the Lord, I knew ye as well as he that made 
 ye. Was it for me to kill the heir apparent? why, 
 thou knowest I am as valiant as Hercules ; but beware 
 instinct; the lion will not kill the true prince. In- 
 stinct is a great matter ; I was a coward on instinct. 
 
 There was much more of this elaborate foolery, 
 the best of which being the passage wherein Fal- 
 
44 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 staff personates the king, and calls Prince Hal to 
 account. 
 
 Harry, I do not only marvel where thou spendest 
 thy time, but also how thou art accompanied ; for 
 though the camomile, the more it is trodden on, the 
 faster it grows, yet youth, the more it is wasted the 
 sooner it wears. That thou art my son, I have partly 
 thy mother's word, partly my own opinion. If, then, 
 being son to me, here lies the point : why, being son 
 to me, art thou so pointed at ? Shall the son of Eng- 
 land prove a thief and take purses ? There is a thing, 
 Harry, which thou hast often heard of, and it is known 
 to many in our land by the name of pitch ; this pitch, 
 as ancient writers do report, doth defile ; so doth the 
 company thou keepest ; for, Harry, now I do not speak 
 to thee in drink, but in tears, not in words only, but 
 in woes also. And yet there is a virtuous man whom 
 I have often noted in thy company, but I know not his 
 name. 
 
 Prince. What manner of man, an it like [if it 
 please] your Majesty? 
 
 Fed. A goodly portly man, and a corpulent ; of a 
 cheerful look, a pleasing eye, and a most noble car- 
 riage ; and now I remember me his name is Falstaff. 
 Harry, I see virtue in his looks : if, then, the tree may 
 be known by the fruit, as the fruit by the tree, there is 
 virtue in that Falstaff ; him keep with, the rest banish. 
 
 Prince. Dost thou speak like a king? Do thou 
 stand for me and I'll play my father. There is a 
 devil haunts thee in the likeness of an old fat man. 
 AVhy dost thou converse with that huge bombard of 
 sack, that father ruffian, that vanity in years? 
 
THE STORY OF HENRY IV, 1399-1413. 45 
 
 Fal. Whom means your Grace ? 
 
 Prince. That villainous abominable misleader of 
 youth, Falstaff, that old whitebearded Satan. 
 
 Fal. My lord, the man I know. 
 
 Prince. I know thou dost. 
 
 Fal. But to say that I know more harm in him 
 than in myself, were to say more than I know. That 
 he is old — the more the pity — his white hairs do wit- 
 ness it. If sack and sugar be a fault, God help the 
 wicked ! If to be fat be to be hated, then Pharaoh's 
 lean kine are to be loved. No, my good lord, banish 
 Peto, banish Bardolph, banish Pointz ; but for sweet, 
 kind, true, valiant Jack Falstaif, banish not him thy 
 Harry's company : banish plump Jack, and banish all 
 the world. 
 
 This lively but not very princely amusement 
 was broken in upon by the arrival of the sheriff; 
 Falstaif hid behind the arras; Harry assured the 
 officer that he would send the knight to answer any 
 charge made against him ; the sheriff took his leave ; 
 Pointz searched the pockets of the sleeping Sir John, 
 and found a bill of five items; much the largest 
 was sack, and much the smallest was bread : 
 
 Prince. Oh, monstrous ! But one half-pennyworth 
 of bread to this intolerable deal of sack ! There let 
 him sleep till day. I'll to the court in the morning. 
 We must all to the wars, and thy place shall be honor- 
 able. The money shall be paid back again with ad- 
 vantage. Be with me betimes in the morning ; and 
 so, good-morrow, Pointz. 
 
 Pointz. Good-morrow, good my lord. 
 
46 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 Rebels in Council. 
 
 At Bangor, in the archbishop's palace, four lead- 
 ers of the uprising against King Henry are met : 
 Hotspur, his uncle Worcester, Mortimer, and Glen- 
 dower. They are dividing out England among 
 themselves somewhat prematurely, like the man who 
 sold the lion's hide while the lion still claimed it; 
 and the comparison holds good to the end, for the 
 man died, not the lion. With a map in his hand, 
 Mortimer points out their several portions : 
 
 England, from Trent and Severn hitherto, 
 By south and east is to my part assigned ; 
 All westward, Wales beyond the Severn shore, 
 And all the fertile land within that bound, 
 To Owen Glendower ; and, dear coz, to you 
 The remnant northward, lying off from Trent. 
 
 They indulged in loud talk, some of it not per- 
 taining to their present business. Glendower boasted 
 that he was not in the rank of common men ; the 
 earth shook like a coward at his birth. Hotspur pleas- 
 antly assured him that so it would have done at the 
 same season if his mother's cat had kittened. 
 
 Glend. The heavens were all on fire, the earth did 
 tremble. 
 
 To this Hotspur was ready with a natural ex- 
 planation : 
 
 Oh, then, the earth shook to see the heavens on 
 fire. 
 
THE STORY OF HENRY IV, 1380-1413. 47 
 
 Glend. I can call spirits from the vasty deep. 
 Hot. Why, so can I, or so can any man ; but will 
 they come when you do call for them ? 
 
 When the Welshman boasted of some culture in 
 letters, of having framed many an English ditty, 
 Hotspur warmly congratulated himself upon having 
 no such faculty : 
 
 I had rather be a kitten, and cry mew, 
 
 Than one of these same metre ballad-mongers. 
 
 Before this stormy conference ended, Lady Percy, 
 Hotspur's wife, and Lady Mortimer, the daughter of 
 Glendower, enter the room to bid their husbands 
 adieu. The Welsh lady speaks in her native tongue, 
 which Mortimer says he can not understand. She 
 weeps, and — 
 
 That pretty Welsh 
 
 Which thou pourest down from those two swelling 
 heavens, 
 
 (Her deep blue eyes) I am too perfect in. 
 
 The good-byes of Hotspur and his wife are not so 
 tender, and soon the cry was, " To horse, and away ! " 
 
 Now let us turn from these scenes to the palace, 
 and overhear a conversation between King Henry 
 and that scapegrace son who recently, we know, set 
 out for the court : 
 
 King. I know not whether God will have it so, 
 For some displeasing service I have done, 
 But thou dost, in thy passages of life, 
 Make me believe that thou art only marked 
 
48 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 For the hot vengeance and the wrath of heaven 
 To punish my mistreadings. 
 
 Prince. So please your Majesty, I would I could 
 Quit all offenses with as clear excuse 
 As well as, I am doubtless, I can purge 
 Myself of many I am charged withal. 
 
 King. God pardon thee ! Yet let me wonder, 
 Harry, 
 At thy affections which do hold a wing 
 Quite from the flight of all thy ancestors. 
 Had I so lavish of my presence been, 
 So stale and cheap to vulgar company, 
 Opinion, that did help me to the crown, 
 Had still kept loyal to possession, 
 And left me in reputeless banishment, 
 A fellow of no mark nor likelihood. 
 By being seldom seen, I could not stir, 
 But, like a comet, I was wondered at ; 
 That men would tell their children, this is he. 
 
 " Loyal to possession " means, of course, faithful 
 to Richard, who — 
 
 Grew a companion to the common streets, 
 That being daily swallowed by men's eyes, 
 They surfeited with honey, and began 
 To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a little 
 More than a little is by much too much. 
 So, when he had occasion to be seen 
 He was but as the cuckoo is in June, 
 Heard, not regarded. 
 
 And in that very line, Harry, stand'st thou ; not an eye 
 But is a-weary of thy common sight, 
 Save mine, which hath desired to see thee more. 
 
THE STORY OF HENRY IV, 1399-1413. 49 
 
 Prince. I shall hereafter, my thrice-gracious lord, 
 Be more myself. 
 
 King. For all the world, 
 
 As thou art to this hour, was Richard then, 
 When I from France set foot at Ravenspurg ; 
 And even as I was then is Percy now. 
 
 Prince. God forgive them that so much have 
 swayed 
 Your Majesty's good thoughts away from me ! 
 I will redeem all this on Percy's head, 
 And, in the closing of some glorious day 
 Be bold to tell you that I am your son ; 
 And that shall be the day, whene'er it lights, 
 That this same child of honor and renown, 
 This gallant Hotspur, this all-praised knight, 
 And your unthought-of Harry, chance to meet. 
 
 King. A hundred thousand rebels die in this. 
 Thou shalt have charge and sovereign trust herein. 
 
 Eastcheap. 
 
 In order to keep upon Falstaff's track we must 
 return to a place whence we have not been long 
 absent. 
 
 Fal. Bardolph, am I not fallen away vilely since 
 this last action? Do I not dwindle? Well, I'll re- 
 pent, and that suddenly ; I shall be out of heart short- 
 ly, and then I shall have no strength to repent. An 
 I have not forgotten what the inside of a church is 
 made of, I am a peppercorn. Villainous company 
 hath been the spoil of me. 
 
 Bards Sir John, you are so fretful, you can not 
 live long. 
 
50 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 Fal. Why, there is it ; come, sing me a song ; make 
 me merry. I was as virtuously given as a gentleman 
 need to be ; swore little ; diced not above seven times 
 a week ; paid money that I borrowed — three or four 
 times — lived well, and in good compass. 
 
 Bard. Why, you are so fat, Sir John, that you must 
 needs be out of all compass. 
 
 Fal. Do thou amend thy face, and I'll amend my 
 life; thou art our admiral, thou bearest the lantern, 
 but it is in the nose of thee. 
 
 Bard. Why, Sir John, my face does you no harm. 
 
 Fal. No, I'll be sworn ; I make as good use of it 
 as many a man doth of a death's head ; I never see 
 thy face but I think upon Dives burning, burning. 
 If thou wert any way given to virtue, I would swear 
 by thy face, but thou art altogether given o'er, and 
 but for the light in thy face, the son of utter dark- 
 ness. When thou rann'st up Gadshill in the night 
 to catch my horse, if I did not think thou hadst been 
 a ball of wildfire, there's no purchase in money. 0, 
 thou art a perpetual triumph, an everlasting bonfire- 
 light ! Thou hast saved me a thousand marks in 
 links and torches, walking with thee in the night, 
 betwixt tavern and tavern. 
 
 And thus the big fellow evens up the fun made of 
 his size by drawing upon his imagination, to set off 
 his comrade's face. The hostess here entering, Fal- 
 staff inquires whether she yet knows who picked his 
 pocket. She does not, though she has searched man 
 by man, boy by boy, servant by servant. She is very 
 nervous over the danger to her house's good reputa- 
 tion ; a tithe of a hair being never lost there before. 
 
THE STORY OF HENRY IV, 1399-1413. 51 
 
 Falstaff insists that his pocket was picked : " Go to, 
 you are a woman, go." 
 
 Hostess. Who, I ? no ; I defy thee, I was never 
 called so in mine own house before. I know you, Sir 
 John ; you owe me money, Sir John ; and now you 
 pick a quarrel to beguile me of it ; I bought you a 
 dozen shirts to your back. 
 
 Fal. I have given them away to bakers' wives, and 
 they have made bolsters of them. But, shall I not 
 take mine ease at mine inn, but I shall have my pocket 
 picked ? 
 
 The dispute was stayed for a time by the coming 
 of Prince Henry and Pointz, but Falstaff came back 
 to the charge and enumerated the things of value he 
 had lost: "Three or four bonds of forty pounds 
 apiece, and a seal ring of my grandfather's." 
 
 The landlady told the prince that Falstaff said 
 he owed him a thousand pounds. 
 
 Prince. Sirrah, do I owe you a thousand pound ? 
 
 Fal. A thousand pound, Hal ! a million ; thy love 
 is worth a million ; thou owest me thy love. 
 
 Hostess. Nay, my lord, he called you Jack, and said 
 he would cudgel you. 
 
 Fal. Did I, Bardolph ? 
 
 Bard. Indeed, Sir John, you said so. 
 
 Fal. Yea, if he said my ring was copper. 
 
 Prince. I say 'tis copper ; darest thou be as good 
 as thy word, now ? 
 
 Fal. Why, Hal, thou know'st, as thou art but man, 
 I dare ; but as thou art prince, I fear thee as I fear the 
 roaring of the lion's whelp. 
 
52 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 Prince. And why not as the lion ? 
 
 Fal. The king himself is to be feared as the lion ; 
 dost thou think I'll fear thee as I fear thy father ? 
 
 Prince. There's no room for faith, truth, nor hon- 
 esty in this bosom of thine. Charge an honest woman 
 with picking thy pocket ! Why, if there was anything 
 in thy pocket but tavern reckonings, I am a villain. 
 
 Fal. Dost thou hear, Hal ? Thou knowest, in the 
 state of innocency, Adam fell ; and what should poor 
 Jack Falstan 3 do in the days of villainy? Thou 
 see'st I have more flesh than another man ; and there- 
 fore more frailty. You confess, then, you picked my 
 pocket ? 
 
 Prince. It appears so by the story. 
 
 Fal. Hostess, I forgive thee ; go, make ready break- 
 fast ; love thy husband, look to thy servants, cherish 
 thy guests; thou see'st I am pacified. Prythee, be 
 gone. Xow, Hal, to the news at court ; for the rob- 
 bery, lad, how is that answered ? 
 
 Prince. 0, my sweet beef, I must still be good 
 angel to thee ; the money is paid back again. 
 
 Fal. 0, 1 do not like that paying back ; 'tis a double 
 labor. 
 
 Prince. I am good friends with my father, and may 
 do anything. 
 
 Fal. Rob me the exchequer the first thing thou 
 doest, and do it with unwashed hands, too. 
 
 Prince. I have procured thee, Jack, a charge of 
 foot. 
 
 Fal. I would it had been of horse. Where shall I 
 find one that can steal well ? Oh, for a fine thief ! I 
 am heinously unprovided. Well, God be thanked for 
 these rebels ; they offend none but the virtuous. 
 
THE STORY OF HENRY IV, 1399-1413. 53 
 
 The prince then appears in his other character — 
 shall I not say his true character ? — and sends Bar- 
 dolph with letters to his brother, Lord John, and to 
 Westmoreland ; sends Pointz to prepare for a thirty- 
 mile ride they must make ere dinner ; directs Falstaff 
 to meet him on the morrow, to be assigned to his 
 command, and to receive money for their furnishing, 
 and makes his exit to the sounding rhyme : 
 
 The land is burning ; Percy stands on high ; 
 And either they or we must lower lie. 
 
 The Rebel Camp. 
 
 We now take the war path ourselves, and transfer 
 our post of duty to the north. Hotspur is in com- 
 mand. He and the Douglas are lauding each other 
 with great spirit, when a messenger draws near. 
 
 Mess. These letters come from your father. 
 
 Hot. Letters from him ! Why comes he not him- 
 self? 
 
 Mess. He can not come, my lord ; he's grievous 
 sick. 
 
 Hot. Zounds ! How has he the leisure to be sick 
 in such a justling time ? 
 
 This impetuous soldier seems to have anticipated 
 Admiral Nelson in the notion that there are times 
 when a man has no business with a nervous system : 
 
 Hot. Sick now ! droop now ! this sickness doth in- 
 fect, 
 The very life-blood of our enterprise ; 
 'Tis catching hither, even to our camp. 
 
54 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 The letter said not only that Northumberland was 
 sick, but that his friends could not so soon be assem- 
 bled ; that the earl could not lay so " dear a trust " 
 as the command on any other soul ; yet that with the 
 force now under Hotspur he should "on" ; no quail- 
 ing now, for King Henry certainly knew all their 
 plans. 
 
 Hotspur distilled some sweetness from the sour 
 
 look of things : 
 
 Were it good 
 To set the exact wealth of all our states 
 All at one cast ? to set so rich a main 
 On the nice hazard of one doubtful hour ? 
 
 And Douglas agrees that it is better to have the 
 old earl's troops as a reserve — "a sweet reversion " — 
 so that they might venture boldly upon the hope of 
 what is to come in ; a home to fly to, Hotspur sug- 
 gested, 
 
 If that the devil and mischance look big. 
 And in reply to Worcester's gloomier view of the 
 situation : 
 
 I, rather, of his absence make this use : 
 It lends a luster and more great opinion, 
 A larger dare to our great enterprise ; 
 
 while Douglas again seconds him with the assur- 
 ance — 
 
 There is not such a word 
 Spoken in Scotland as this term of fear. 
 
 The coming of Sir Richard Yernon makes them 
 know that the Earl of Westmoreland, with him 
 
THE STORY OF HENRY IV, 1399-1413. 55 
 
 Prince John, and further, the king himself, are on 
 the march. 
 
 Hotspur affirms they will all be welcome, and in- 
 quires specially for the madcap Prince of Wales. 
 
 Ver. All furnished, all in arms ; 
 As full of spirit as the month of May. 
 I saw young Harry — with his beaver on, 
 Rise from the ground like feathered Mercury, 
 And vault it with such ease into his seat, 
 As if an angel dropped down from the clouds, 
 To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus, 
 And witch the world with noble horsemanship. 
 
 Hot. No more, no more ; worse than the sun in 
 March, 
 This praise doth nourish agues. Let them come, 
 And to the fire-eyed maid of smoky war, 
 All hot and bleeding, will we offer them. 
 0, that Glendower were come ! 
 
 Ver. There is more news ; 
 
 I learned in Worcester, as I rode along, 
 He can not draw his power this fourteen days. 
 
 Doug. That's the worst tidings that I hear of yet. 
 
 Wor. Ay, by my faith, that bears a frosty sound. 
 
 Rot. What may the king's whole battle reach 
 unto ? 
 
 Ver. To thirty thousand. 
 
 Hot. Forty let it be : 
 
 My father and Glendower being both away, 
 The powers of us may serve so great a day. 
 
 At this time, in a public road, near Coventry, 
 Falstaff may have been seen at the head of his 
 
56 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 " charge of foot," of which he admits he is ashamed ; 
 and it is not strange that he is so. He outlines his 
 mode of enlisting : " I misused the king's press, and 
 got, in exchange of a hundred and fifty soldiers, three 
 hundred and odd pounds. I pressed me none but 
 good householders ; inquired me out contracted 
 bachelors, such as had been asked on the banns ; such 
 a commodity of warm slaves as had as lief hear the 
 devil as a drum ; and they have bought out their 
 services ; and now my whole charge consists of an- 
 cients, corporals, lieutenants, gentlemen of companies, 
 slaves as ragged as Lazarus in the painted cloth ; and 
 such as, indeed, were never soldiers, but younger 
 sons to younger brothers, revolted tapsters and ost- 
 lers trade-fallen ; the cankers of a calm world, and a 
 long peace. You would think I had a hundred and 
 fifty tattered prodigals lately come from swinekeep- 
 ing. I'll not march through Coventry, that's flat. 
 There's but a shirt and a half in all my company, but 
 that's all one; they'll find linen enough on every 
 hedge." 
 
 A Parley. 
 
 In front of the rebel camp the trumpet sounds 
 a parley, and Sir Walter Blunt enters with a message 
 from the king, to know the nature of their griefs, 
 and promise pardon if they should no longer stand 
 against anointed majesty. Hotspur, in reply, enu- 
 merates their causes of complaint with his usual di- 
 rectness ; and with more than his usual lack of rever- 
 ence for his sovereign, recalls the time when he was a 
 
THE STORY OF HENRY IV, 1399-1413. 57 
 
 poor unminded outlaw sneaking home, and the vow 
 he made 
 
 Upon the naked shore of Eavenspurg. 
 
 The King's Camp. 
 Having tarried long enough to see what was tak- 
 ing place in the army of those in revolt, let us use 
 the advantage of being neutrals and pass over to the 
 other side. The first thing we shall hear is a very 
 beautifully worded report upon the weather : 
 
 King. How bloodily the sun begins to peer 
 Above yon bosky hill ! The day looks pale 
 At his distemperatnre. 
 
 Prince Henry. The southern wind 
 Doth play the trumpet to his purposes ; 
 And by his hollow whistling in the leaves 
 Foretells a tempest and a blustering day. 
 
 King. Then with the losers let it sympathize, 
 For nothing can seem foul to those that win. 
 
 This dialogue is broken into by the entrance of 
 Hotspur's uncle, Worcester, and Sir Richard Ver- 
 non, upon whom the king turns : 
 
 How now, my lord of Worcester, 'tis not well 
 That you and I should meet upon such terms 
 As now we meet. 
 
 Clearly he has forgotten the haughty style in 
 
 which he gave Worcester " leave to leave " the royal 
 presence. 
 
 War. Hear me, my liege : 
 I have not sought the day of this dislike. 
 
58 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 We were the first and dearest of your friends. 
 
 For you my staff of office did I break 
 
 In Kichard's time. 
 
 It was myself, my brother, and his son, 
 
 That brought you home, and boldly did outdare 
 
 The dangers of the time. In a short space 
 
 It rained down fortune showering on your head ; 
 
 And, from this swarm of fair advantages, 
 
 You took occasion to be quickly woo'd 
 
 To gripe the general sway into your hand, 
 
 And, being fed by us, you used us so 
 
 As that ungentle gull, the cuckoo-bird 
 
 Useth the sparrow ; did oppress our nest ; 
 
 Grew by our feeding to so great a bulk 
 
 We were enforced, for safety-sake, to fly 
 
 Out of your sight. 
 
 King. JSever yet did insurrection want 
 Such water-colors to impaint his cause. 
 
 Henry, continuing, offers free pardon to all who 
 will take it, and dismisses the messengers to bear it 
 to those who sent them. On the way, Worcester 
 shows Yernon that it will never do to deliver the 
 king's kindly proffer ; that they having been in revolt 
 would be under suspicion all their lives : 
 For treason is but trusted like the fox, 
 Who, ne'er so tame, so cherished, and locked up, 
 Will have a wild trick of his ancestors. 
 
 So they made a false report of what the king had 
 said, though they fairly delivered Prince Henry's 
 challenge to Hotspur to try fortune with him in a 
 single fight, and thus save the blood on either side : 
 
Falstaff rising slowly. 
 
 King Henry IV— First Part, Act V, Scene iv. 
 
THE STORY OF HENRY IV, 1399-1413. 59 
 
 He gave you all the duties of a man ; 
 
 Trimmed up your praises with a princely tongue ; 
 
 Spoke your deservings like a chronicle. 
 
 This news set Hotspur's eloquent tongue going 
 while a first and a second messenger came, the lat- 
 ter with word that the king comes on apace. 
 
 Hot. I thank him, that he cuts me from my tale, 
 For I profess not talking ; only this : 
 Let each man do his best. 
 
 In the battle the two "dearest foes," Prince 
 Henry and Hotspur, meet : 
 
 Hot. If I mistake not, thou art Harry Monmouth. 
 Prince. Thou speak'st as if I would deny my name. 
 Hoi. My name is Harry Percy. 
 
 Hotspur is wounded, and falls, and dies : 
 
 Prince. Fare thee well, great heart ! 
 
 This earth that bears thee dead 
 Bears not alive so stout a gentleman. 
 
 In a fight with Douglas, Falstaff had fallen to 
 the ground, and by feigning death had saved his life. 
 The prince sees Sir John yet in his place of shame- 
 ful safety and naturally thought him dead : 
 
 What, old acquaintance ! could not all this flesh 
 Keep in a little life ? Poor Jack, farewell ! 
 I could have better spared a better man. 
 
 The prince then left that part of the field, and 
 Falstaff rising slowly, discussed the situation : 
 
60 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 'Twas time to counterfeit, or that hot termagant 
 Scot had paid me scot and lot too. Counterfeit ? I 
 lie. To die is to be a counterfeit ; but to counterfeit 
 dying when a man thereby liveth, is to be no counter- 
 feit. The better part of valor is discretion : in the 
 which better part I have saved my life. 'Zounds ! I 
 am afraid of this gunpowder Percy, though he be 
 dead; how, if he should counterfeit, too, and rise? 
 Therefore, I'll make him sure ; and I'll swear I killed 
 him. Why may he not rise as well as I ? Nothing con- 
 futes me but eyes, and nobody sees me. Therefore, 
 sirrah, with a new wound in your thigh, come you 
 along with me. 
 
 And Falstaff takes upon his back the body of 
 the slain warrior, just as the brothers, Prince Henry 
 and Lancaster, approach. 
 
 Lan. Soft ! Whom have we here ? 
 Did you not tell me this fat man was dead ? 
 
 Prince. I did : I saw him dead, breathless and 
 bleeding 
 Upon the ground — 
 Art thou alive ? or is it fantasy 
 That plays upon our eyesight ? I prythee, speak ; 
 We will not trust our eyes without our ears ; 
 Thou art not what thou seem'st. 
 Fal. No, that's certain, I am not a double man. 
 There is Percy ! if your father will do me any honor, 
 so ; if not, let him kill the next Percy himself. 
 
 Prince. Why, Percy I killed myself, and saw thee 
 dead. 
 
 Fal. Didst thou ? — Lord, Lord, how this world is 
 
THE STORY OF HENRY IV, 1399-1413. 61 
 
 given to lying ! — I grant you I was down and out 
 of breath ; and so was he ; but we both rose at an 
 instant, and fought a long hour by the Shrewsbury 
 clock. If I may be believed, so ; if not, let them 
 that should reward valor bear the sin upon their own 
 heads. 
 
 Lan. This is the strangest tale that e'er I heard. 
 
 Prince. This is the strangest fellow, brother John. 
 Come, bring your luggage nobly on your back ; 
 For my part, if a lie may do thee grace, 
 I'll gild it with the happiest terms I have. — 
 The trumpet sounds retreat ; the day is ours. 
 
 For not carrying back a true message the king 
 had Worcester and Yernon put to death ; the prince, 
 with his father's sanction, showed his admiration for 
 brave deeds, though done by an enemy, by setting 
 the noble Scot, Lord Douglas, free without ransom. 
 
 The army took up its line of march for York, 
 under the command of Prince John and Westmore- 
 land. Let us precede them and note how " old 
 Northumberland " bears the bad news from Shrews- 
 bury. Rumor, making the wind his post horse, is 
 there already with false returns : that Prince Harry- 
 is slain, and both the Blunts ; Prince John, a fugi- 
 tive, 
 
 And that the king before the Douglas' rage 
 Stooped his anointed head as low as death. 
 
 But the truth followed hard after in the person 
 of Morton, one of Northumberland's own retainers, 
 upon whose entrance the earl demanded : 
 
62 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 How doth my son, and brother ? 
 
 Thou tremblest ; and the whiteness in thy cheek 
 
 Is apter than thy tongue to tell thy errand. 
 
 Morton. Douglas is living, and your brother, yet ; 
 But, for my lord your son 
 
 North. Why, he is dead. 
 
 See what a ready tongue suspicion hath ! 
 Yet, for all this, say not that Percy's dead. 
 I see a strange confession in thine eye ; 
 Thou shak'st thy head, and hold'st it fear or sin 
 To speak a truth. If he be slain, say so ; 
 The tongue offends not that reports his death : 
 And he doth sin that doth belie the dead ; 
 Xot he which says the dead is not alive. 
 Yet the first bringer of unwelcome news 
 Hath but a losing office ; and his tongue 
 Sounds ever after as a sullen bell, 
 Eemembered knolling a departed friend. 
 
 Of course, Morton must use his tongue as a sul- 
 len bell, and tell the father that his son is dead, 
 completing his woful tale with the other happen- 
 ings of the fatal field. 
 
 North. For this I shall have time enough to mourn. 
 In poison there is physic ; and these news, 
 Being sick, have in some measure made me well ; 
 
 and he flew aloft in a pitch of verbal passion which 
 he never made good by his deeds. 
 
 Lady Northumberland naturally opposed her 
 lord's going into the revolt in person, and Hotspur's 
 widow supported her with a sharp personal thrust : 
 
THE STORY OF HENRY IV, 1399-1413. 63 
 
 North. I pray thee, loving wife, and gentle 
 daughter, 
 Give even way unto my rough affairs : 
 Put not you on the visage of the times, 
 And be, like them, to Percy troublesome. 
 
 Lady N I have given over, I will speak no more ; 
 Do what you will ; your wisdom be your guide. 
 
 North. Alas ! sweet wife, my honor is at pawn ; 
 And, but my going, nothing can redeem it. 
 
 Lady Percy. yet, for God's sake, go not to 
 these wars ! 
 The time was, father, that you broke your word, — 
 When your own Percy, when my heart's dear Harry, 
 Threw many a northward look to see his father 
 Bring up his powers ; but he did long in vain. 
 Who then persuaded you to stay at home ? 
 There were two honors lost, yours and your son's. 
 For yours, — may heavenly glory brighten it ! 
 For his, — it stuck upon him, as the sun 
 In the gray vault of heaven ; and by his light 
 Did all the chivalry of England move 
 To do brave acts ; him did you leave 
 To look upon the hideous god of war 
 In disadvantage. 
 
 The Marshal and the Archbishop are strong : 
 Had my sweet Harry had but half their numbers 
 To-day might I, hanging on Hotspur's neck, 
 Have talked of Monmouth's grave. 
 
 The outcome of this domestic conference was, 
 that Northumberland gave over his warlike inten- 
 tion, and withdrew to Scotland till the sky should be 
 fairer. 
 
Gi SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 Westminster. 
 
 Before the loyal troops come into sight of the 
 archbishop and his army, King Henry spends a night 
 in his palace at Westminster. His mind is troubled, 
 and the chief nourisher at life's feast refuses to visit 
 him: 
 
 How many thousands of my poorest subjects 
 
 Are at this hour asleep ! sleep, gentle sleep, 
 
 Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee, 
 
 That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down, 
 
 And steep my senses in forgetfulness ? 
 
 Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs, 
 
 Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee, 
 
 Than in the perfumed chambers of the great, 
 
 Under their canopies of costly state, 
 
 And lulled with sounds of sweetest melody ? 
 
 "Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast 
 
 Seal up the ship boy's eyes, and rock his brains 
 
 In cradle of the rude imperious surge ; 
 
 Canst thou, partial sleep, give thy repose 
 
 To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude, 
 
 And in the calmest and most stillest night 
 
 Deny it to a king ? Then happy lowly clown ! 
 
 Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown. 
 
 Warwick and Surrey enter this royal waking- 
 sleeping room, with " good morrows." 
 
 King. Have you read over the letters that I sent 
 you? 
 
 War. We have, my liege. 
 
TIIE STORY OF IIENRY IV, 1399-1413. 65 
 
 King. Then you perceive the body of our kingdom 
 How foul it is. 
 
 War. It is but as a body yet distempered ; 
 Which to his former strength may be restored 
 With good advice, and little medicine. 
 
 King Henry here allowed his melancholy fancy to 
 play round the ups and downs of human life ; in his 
 experience, a sea swallowing up the continents, 'at 
 other times so shrunk that its beachy girdle was a 
 world too wide ; and he reached the sober-hued con- 
 clusion that the happiest youth, could he read the 
 book of fate, would shut the book and sit him down 
 and die. 
 
 Prominent before his meditative eye was the 
 figure of Northumberland, ten years before a pillar 
 of Richard's throne ; then in a short time the chief 
 agent in the oversetting of that throne, and the 
 building of one for Bolingbroke, for Henry himself ; 
 now the mainspring of a revolt to pluck down Henry 
 and set up Mortimer. The king has not heard of 
 Northumberland's second failure to be where he was 
 urgently needed : 
 
 King. They say the Bishop and Northumberland 
 Are fifty thousand strong. 
 
 War. Ifc can not be, my lord ; 
 Eumor doth double, like the voice and echo, 
 The numbers of the feared. Please it, your Grace 
 To go to bed. 
 
 Your Majesty hath been this fortnight ill, 
 And these unseasoned hours perforce must add 
 Unto your sickness. 
 
QQ SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 King. I will take your counsel ; 
 
 And were these inward wars once out of hand, 
 We would, dear lords, unto the Holy Land. 
 
 It is pleasant to notice that the king has not, 
 during these noisy times, forgotten the still voice of 
 conscience, which bade him do something in atone- 
 ment for the unlawful way in which he had come to 
 the throne. He still purposes to go to the relief of 
 Jerusalem. 
 
 The only body of rebels now in arms is the force 
 under the archbishop. If we were admitted to his 
 headquarters we should hear some discussions which 
 would recall the days before the battle of Shrews- 
 bury. What shall we do, now that our hopes in 
 Northumberland are dashed to the ground ? 
 
 The Earl of Westmoreland comes with ceremoni- 
 ous greeting from "our general, the prince," and 
 with a round unvarnished lecture for the archbishop : 
 
 Whose beard the silver hand of peace hath touched ; 
 
 Whose learning and good letters peace hath tutored ; 
 
 Whose white investments figure innocence, 
 
 The dove and very blessed spirit of peace — 
 
 Wherefore do you so ill translate yourself 
 
 Out of the speech of peace, that bears such grace, 
 
 Into the harsh and boisterous tongue of war ? 
 
 The armed churchman, in response, set forth the 
 charges we have already heard against King Henry, 
 with the new one that he was denied access to the 
 royal presence when he wished to unfold his griefs. 
 
THE STORY OF HENRY IV, 1399-1413. 67 
 
 The Duke of Norfolk, son of the duke who was 
 banished along with Bolingbroke in Richard's time, 
 joining in the complaint, Westmoreland denied him 
 any inch of ground to build a grief on. 
 
 To make short a not very thrilling story — the 
 king offered terms, these were agreed to by the rebel 
 leaders, each side drank to the other's health and in 
 token of their mutual love; the rebel troops dis- 
 banded with shouts of joy at the speedy and blood- 
 less issue of the campaign, and took their courses 
 homeward like children let loose from school ; and 
 then a base and tragic afterpiece to the play — the 
 too trustful leaders who had placed themselves in 
 Prince John's hands were arrested, charged with high 
 treason, and led to the " block of death." 
 
 Westmoreland posts off to bear the news to his 
 sovereign : 
 
 There is not now a rebel's sword unsheathed, 
 But Peace puts forth her olive everywhere. 
 
 King. AYestmoreland, thou art a summer bird, 
 Which ever in the haunch of winter sings 
 The lifting-up of day. 
 
 Yet the king is not happy. He complains that 
 dame Fortune writes fair words in foul letters ; she 
 brings a feast to him who has no appetite ; she tells 
 good news when the recipient is " much ill," and can 
 not rejoice at it. 
 
 All the king's sons but Prince Henry are present 
 with him in the Jerusalem chamber ; and before this 
 interview with Westmoreland his Majesty had in- 
 
68 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 quired of Humphrey where his brother was, and ex- 
 pressed a much higher opinion of the prince than we 
 have heard from him before this : 
 
 For he is gracious, if he be observed : 
 
 He hath a tear for pity, and a hand 
 
 Open as day for melting charity ; 
 
 Yet notwithstanding, being incensed, he's flint ; 
 
 As humorous as winter, and as sudden 
 
 As flaws congealed in the spring of day. 
 
 Being told that the prince was dining in London 
 with Pointz and other followers, the king took another 
 saddened look at the picture his imagination painted 
 of England as it would be when he should sleep with 
 his ancestors. The Earl of Warwick pleaded the 
 prince's cause ; that he was but studying his com- 
 panions as he would the immodest words of a strange 
 tongue, attained but put to no further use ; that in 
 the fullness of time he would cast off his followers, 
 but would use his knowledge of such people in deal- 
 ing with their kind. 
 
 In a short time after these conversations King 
 Henry is ill and reclining upon his bed : 
 
 King. Let there be no noise made, my gentle 
 friends, 
 Unless some dull and favorable hand 
 Will whisper music to my weary spirit. 
 War. Call for music in the other room. 
 King. Set me the crown upon my pillow here. 
 Clar. His eye is hollow, and he changes much. 
 Prince Henry here enters. 
 
THE STORY OF HENRY IV, 1399-1413. (59 
 
 Prince. Who saw the Duke of Clarence ? 
 
 Clar. I am here, brother, full of heaviness. 
 
 Prince. How now ! rain within doors, and none 
 abroad : 
 How doth the king ? 
 
 Glos. Exceedingly ill. 
 
 Prince. Heard he 
 
 The good news yet ? tell't him. 
 
 Glos. He altered much 
 
 Upon the hearing it. 
 
 Prince. If he be sick 
 
 With joy, he will recover without physic. 
 
 War. Not so much noise, my lords : 
 
 Sweet prince, speak low ; 
 The king, your father, is disposed to sleep. 
 
 Clar. Let us withdraw into the other room. 
 
 War. Will't please your grace to go along with us ? 
 
 Prince. No, I will sit and watch here by the king. 
 
 Henry, left alone with his unconscious father, 
 noticed the crown. This sign of royalty, or rather 
 royalty itself, had so many nights kept the king 
 awake, that it seemed strange now to see him so 
 calmly resting with it on the pillow. He thought 
 that this was something sounder than sleep : By his 
 gates of breath 
 
 There lies a downy feather which stirs not : 
 Did he suspire, that light and weightless down 
 Perforce must move. 
 
 Prince Henry took the crown, and placing it upon 
 his head, withdrew from the chamber. The king 
 awoke and called aloud. 
 
YO SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 Warwick and the younger sons came hastily into 
 the chamber. 
 
 King. Why did you leave me here alone, my lords ? 
 
 Clar. We left the Prince my brother here, my liege, 
 Who undertook to sit and watch by you. 
 
 King. The Prince of Wales ! Where is he ? let me 
 see him. 
 He is not here. 
 Where is the crown ? Who took it from my pillow ? 
 
 War. When we withdrew, my liege, we left it here. 
 
 King. The Prince hath ta'en it hence : go, seek 
 him out. 
 Is he so hasty, that he doth suppose 
 My sleep my death ? — See, sons, what things you are ! 
 Waewick leaves the room and soon returns. 
 
 War. My lord, I found the prince in the next room 
 Washing with kindly tears his gentle cheeks. 
 
 King. But wherefore did he take away the crown ? 
 Lo, where he comes. — Come hither to me, Harry — 
 Depart the chamber, leave us here alone. 
 
 Prince. I never thought to hear you speak again. 
 
 King. Thy wish was father, Harry, to that thought, 
 I stay too long by thee. I weary thee. 
 Dost thou so hunger for my empty chair 
 That thou wilt needs invest thee with mine honors 
 Before thy hour be ripe ? foolish youth ! 
 Thou seek'st the greatness that will overwhelm thee. 
 Stay but a little ; for my cloud of dignity 
 Is held from falling with so weak a wind 
 That it will quickly drop : my day is dim. 
 Thou hast stolen that which, after some few hours, 
 Were thine without offense. 
 
King Henry IV and the Prince of Wales. 
 
 King Henry IV— Second Part, Act IV, Scene iv. 
 
THE STORY OF HENRY IV, 1399-1413. 71 
 
 Thy life did manifest thou loved'st me not, 
 And thou wilt have me die assured of it. 
 What ! canst thou not forbear me half an hour ? 
 Then get thee gone, and dig my grave thyself ; 
 And bid the merry bells ring to thine ear, 
 That thou art crowned, not that I am dead. 
 
 Prince. pardon me, my liege ! but for my tears 
 I had forstalled this dear and deep rebuke 
 Ere you with grief had spoke, and I had heard 
 The course of it so far. There is your crown ; 
 And He that wears the crown immortally 
 Long guard it yours ! 
 
 God witness with me, when I here came in, 
 And found no course of breath within your majesty, 
 How cold it struck my heart. If I do feign, 
 0, let me in my present wildness die, 
 And never live to show th' incredulous world 
 The noble change that I had purposed ! 
 Coming to look on you, thinking you dead — 
 And dead almost, my liege, to think you were — 
 I spake unto the crown as having sense, 
 And thus upbraided it : The care on thee depending 
 Hath fed upon the body of my father ; 
 Therefore, thou, lest of gold, art ivorst of gold: 
 Thou, most fine, most honored, most renowned, 
 Hast eat thy hearer up. Thus, my most royal liege, 
 Accusing it, I put it on my head. 
 But, if it did infect my blood with joy, 
 If any rebel or vain spirit of mine 
 Did, with the least affection of a welcome 
 Give entertainment to the might of it, 
 Let God for ever keep it from my head ! 
 
 King. my son ! 
 
72 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 God put it in thy mind to take it hence, 
 
 That thou might'st win the more thy father's love, 
 
 Pleading so wisely in excuse of it. 
 
 Come hither, Harry, sit thou by my bed ; 
 
 And hear, I think, the very latest counsel 
 
 That ever I shall breathe. God knows, my son, 
 
 By what by-paths and indirect crook'd ways 
 
 I met this crown ; and I myself know well 
 
 How troublesome it sat upon my head : 
 
 To thee it shall descend with better quiet, 
 
 For all the soil of the achievement goes 
 
 With me into the earth. It seemed in me 
 
 But as an honor snatched with boisterous hand ; 
 
 And I had many living to upbraid 
 
 My gain of it by their assistances ; 
 
 Which daily grew to quarrel and to bloodshed, 
 
 Wounding supposed peace : all these bold fears 
 
 Thou see'st with peril I have answered ; 
 
 For all my reign hath been but as a scene 
 
 Acting that argument : and now my death 
 
 Changes the mode ; for what in me was purchased 
 
 Falls upon thee in a more fairer sort. 
 
 Soon followed in this discourse a rule of action 
 which the prince spent his crowned years in carrying 
 out: 
 
 Be it thy course to busy giddy minds 
 With foreign quarrels ; that action, hence borne out, 
 May waste the memory of the former days. 
 How I came by the crown, God forgive ; 
 And grant it may with thee in true peace live ! 
 Prince. My gracious liege, 
 
THE STORY OF HENRY IV, 1399-1413. 73 
 
 You won it, wore it, kept it, gave it to me ; 
 Then plain and right must my possession be. 
 
 King. Look, look, here comes my John of Lancaster. 
 
 It will be remembered that we left Sir John in 
 the forests of Yorkshire, ending in base fashion a 
 campaign against the rebels there. 
 
 Lan. Health, peace, and happiness to my royal 
 
 father ! 
 King. Thou bring'st me happiness and peace, son 
 John ; 
 But health, alack, with youthful wings is flown 
 From this bare withered trunk. 
 
 Turning to Warwick, he asks : 
 
 Doth any name particular belong 
 
 Unto the lodging where I first did swoon ? 
 
 War. 'Tis called Jerusalem, my noble lord. 
 
 King. Laud be to God ! even there my life must 
 end. 
 It hath been prophesied to me many years, 
 I should not die but in Jerusalem ; 
 Which vainly I supposed the Holy Land : 
 But bear me to that chamber ; there I'll lie ; 
 In that Jerusalem shall Harry die. 
 
 It was not long until in another room of the palace, 
 in reply to a question of the chief -justice, Warwick 
 informed him that the king had walked the way of 
 nature ; his cares are now all ended. 
 
 Life's fitful fever over, Bolingbroke slept. 
 
THE STOEY OF FALSTAFF. 
 
 AYhile giving our attention to the final scenes 
 which the great artist has drawn for us in the career 
 of Henry IV, we have left Falstaff in the waiting- 
 room. Let us now go back to some scenes in which 
 the big knight was a leading actor — at least a leading 
 talker. And, perhaps, from the story-teller's point of 
 view, it will be better hence to follow him so far as 
 his part is played before the curtain till it reach a 
 close, not heroic indeed, but not lacking in pathos. 
 
 The last we saw of Sir John Falstaff was his 
 serio-comic exploit in carrying off the body of the 
 slain Hotspur, and claiming, without a blush, to have 
 himself given the quietus to that doughty warrior. 
 
 Not long after this modest performance, the war 
 still progressing, we see him in a London street, 
 strolling heavily along, a diminutive page, whom he 
 pleasantly addresses, " You giant ! " bearing his sword 
 and buckler. 
 
 Falstaff. Men of all sorts take a pride to gird at 
 me : the brain of this foolish-compounded clay, man, 
 is not able to invent anything that tends to laughter, 
 more than I invent, or is invented on me : I am not 
 only witty in myself, but the cause that wit is in other 
 men. I do walk before thee like a sow that hath over- 
 whelmed all her litter but one. If the prince put thee 
 74 
 
THE STORY OF FALSTAFF. 75 
 
 into my service for any other reason than to set me off, 
 why then I have no judgment. Thou art fitter to be 
 worn in my cap than to wait at my heels. I was never 
 manned with an agate till now ; but I will set you 
 neither in gold nor silver, but in vile apparel and send 
 you back again to your master. — What said Master 
 Dombledon about the satin for my short cloak ? 
 
 Page. He said, sir, you should procure him better 
 assurance than Bardolph : he would not take his bond 
 and yours ; he liked not the security. 
 
 Fal. A rascally yea-forsooth knave ! to bear a gen- 
 tleman in hand and then stand upon security ! I had 
 as lief they would put ratsbane in my mouth as offer 
 to stop it with security. I looked he should have sent 
 me two-and-twenty yards of satin, as I am a true 
 knight, and he sends me security. — Where's Bar- 
 dolph? 
 
 Page. He's gone into Smithfield to buy your wor- 
 ship a horse. But, sir, there comes the nobleman that 
 committed the prince for striking him about Bar- 
 dolph. 
 
 Fal. Wait close ; I will not see him. 
 Enter the Chief Justice and Attendant. 
 
 Chief Justice. What's he that goes there ? 
 
 Attendant. Falstaff, an't please your lordship. 
 
 Cli. Just. He that was in question for the robbery ? 
 
 Att. He, my lord : but he hath since done good serv- 
 ice at Shrewsbury ; and, as I hear, is now going with 
 some charge to the Lord John of Lancaster. 
 
 It seems evident that the prince had not contra- 
 dicted Falstaff's fine invention about his hour-long 
 duel with Hotspur. 
 
76 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 Ch. Just. What, to York ? Call him back again. 
 
 Att. Sir John Falstaff ! 
 
 Fal. Boy, tell him I am deaf. 
 
 Page. You must speak louder ; my master is deaf. 
 
 Ch. Just. I am sure he is, to the hearing of anything 
 good. Go, pluck him by the elbow. 
 
 Att. Sir John— 
 
 Fal. What ! a young knave, and begging ! Is there 
 not wars? is there not employment? doth not the 
 king lack subjects ? do not the rebels need soldiers ? 
 Though it be a shame to be on any side but one, it is 
 worse shame to beg than to be on the worst side. 
 
 Att. You mistake me, sir. 
 
 Fal. Why, sir, did I say you were an honest man ? 
 
 Att. I pray you, sir, set your knighthood aside, and 
 give me leave to tell you, you lie in your throat if you 
 say I am other than an honest man. 
 
 Fal. I give thee leave to tell me so ! I lay aside 
 that which grows to me ! If thou gettest any leave of 
 me, hang me ; if thou takest leave, thou wert better 
 be hanged. 
 
 Att. Sir, my lord would speak with you. 
 
 Ch. Just. Sir John Falstaff, a word with you. 
 
 Fal. My good lord ! God give your lordship good 
 time of day. I am glad to see your lordship abroad. 
 I heard say your lordship was sick. I hope your lord- 
 ship goes abroad by advice. Your lordship, though 
 not clean past your youth, hath yet some smack of age 
 in you, some relish of the saltness of time. 
 
 Ch. Just. Sir John, I sent for you before your ex- 
 pedition to Shrewsbury. 
 
 Fal. An't please your lordship, I hear his majesty 
 is returned with some discomfort from Wales. 
 
THE STORY OF FALSTAFF. 77 
 
 Ch. Just. I talk not of his majesty ; you would not 
 come when I sent for you. 
 
 Fal. And I hear, moreover, his highness is fallen 
 into this same apoplexy. 
 
 Ch. Just. Well, God mend him ! I pray you let me 
 speak with you. 
 
 Fal. This apoplexy is, as I take it, a kind of leth- 
 argy ; a kind of sleeping in the blood, a tingling. 
 
 Ch. Just. What tell you me of it ? be it as it is. 
 
 Fal. It hath its original from much grief, from 
 study ; it is a kind of deafness. 
 
 Gli. Just. I think you are falling into the disease ; 
 for you hear not what I say to you. 
 
 Fal. Very well, my lord, very well ; rather, an't 
 please you, it is the disease of not listening, the malady 
 of not marking, that I am troubled withal. 
 
 Gli. Just. To punish you by the heels would amend 
 the attention of your ears ; and I care not if I do be- 
 come your physician. 
 
 Fal. I am as poor as Job, my lord, but not so 
 patient. 
 
 Ch. Just. Your means are very slender, and your 
 waste is great. 
 
 Fal. I would my means were greater and my waist 
 slenderer. 
 
 Ch. Just. Well, I am loth to gall a new-healed 
 wound : your day's service at Shrewsbury hath a little 
 gilded over your night's exploit on Gadshill. You 
 follow the young prince up and down, like his ill 
 angel. 
 
 Fal. Not so, my lord ; your ill angel is a light coin, 
 but he that looks upon me will take me without weigh- 
 ing. You that are old consider not the capacities of 
 
Y8 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 us that are young ; you measure the heat of our livers 
 with the bitterness of your galls. 
 
 Ch. Just. Do you set down your name in the scroll 
 of youth, that are written down old with all the char- 
 acters of age ? Have you not a moist eye, a dry hand, 
 a yellow cheek, a white beard, a decreasing leg, an in- 
 creasing belly? is not your voice broken, your wind 
 short, your chin double, your wit single, and every 
 part about you blasted with antiquity ? and will you 
 yet call yourself young ? Fie, fie, fie, Sir John ! 
 
 Fal. My lord, I was born about three of the clock 
 in the afternoon, with a white head and something of a 
 round belly. For my voice — I have lost it with hal- 
 looing, and singing of anthems. To approve my youth 
 further, I will not : the truth is, I am only old in 
 judgment and understanding. 
 
 For the box of the ear that the prince gave you — 
 he gave it like a rude prince, and you took it like a 
 sensible lord. 
 
 Ch. Just. Well, God send the prince a better com- 
 panion ! 
 
 Fal. God send the companion a better prince ! 
 
 Ch. Just. Well, the king hath severed you and Prince 
 Harry : I hear you are going with Lord John of Lan- 
 caster against the archbishop and the Earl of Nor- 
 thumberland. 
 
 Fal. Yea; I thank your pretty sweet wit for it. 
 But look you pray, all you that kiss my lady peace at 
 home, that our armies join not in a hot day ! for I 
 take but two shirts out with me, and I mean not to 
 sweat extraordinarily. There is not a dangerous 
 action can peep out his head, but I am thrust upon 
 it. Well, I can not last ever : but it was always yet the 
 
THE STORY OF FALSTAFP. 79 
 
 trick of our British nation, if they have a good thing, 
 to make it too common. If you will needs say I am an 
 old man, you should give me rest. I would to God 
 my name were not so terrible to the enemy as it is. I 
 were better to be eaten to death with rust than to be 
 scoured to nothing with perpetual motion. 
 
 Ch. Just. Well, be honest, be honest ; and God bless 
 your expedition ! 
 
 Fal. Will your lordship lend me a thousand pound 
 to furnish me forth ? 
 
 Sir John's effrontery was equal to his bulk, and 
 his coolness exceeded that of the polar zone. His 
 available funds did not increase at all as the result of 
 this appeal, and the chief justice passed on his way. 
 Falstaff commented upon the close kinship of age and 
 covetousness ; which calls to mind that Byron com- 
 mended to himself avarice as an old-gentlemanly 
 vice. 
 
 Fal. Boy! 
 
 Page. Sir? 
 
 Fal. What money is in my purse ? 
 
 Page. Seven groats and two pence. 
 
 Fal. I can get no remedy against this consumption 
 of the purse : borrowing only lingers and lingers it 
 out, but the disease is incurable. 
 
 This gout plays the rogue with my great toe. 'Tis 
 no matter if I do halt ; I have the wars for my color, 
 and my pension shall seem more reasonable. A good 
 wit will make use of anything. 
 
80 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 Another Street Scene. 
 
 Since Falstaffs purse was so near to emptiness, 
 and the calls upon it were growing louder, we are 
 not surprised at hearing a brawl in the street, and 
 the " fat rascal " a leading actor. His hostess thinks 
 forbearance no longer a sweet and commendable 
 thing, and calls the law to her aid. It comes in the 
 suggestive persons of Master Fang and his follower, 
 Constable Snare, with a warrant to arrest Sir John. 
 " I am undone by his going,- ' said the dame, " he's 
 an infinitive thing upon my score." "A hundred 
 mark is a long score for a poor lone woman to bear ; 
 and I have borne, and borne, and borne." " Yonder 
 he comes, and that arrant knave, Bardolph, with 
 him. Do your offices, Master Fang and Master 
 Snare ; do me, do me, do me your offices." 
 
 Fal. How now ! what's the matter ? 
 Fang. Sir John, I arrest you at the suit of Mistress 
 Quickly. 
 
 Fal. Away, varlets ! Keep them off, Bardolph ! 
 
 At this interesting moment the Chief Justice again 
 appears. 
 
 Cli. Just. What is the matter ? keep the peace here, 
 ho ! How now, Sir John ! Doth this become your 
 place, your time, and business ? 
 
 Host. my most worshipful lord, I am a poor 
 widow of Eastcheap, and he's arrested at my suit. 
 
 Cli. Just. For what sum ? 
 
 Host. It is more than for some, my lord ; it is for 
 
THE STORY OF FALSTAFF. 81 
 
 all, all I have ; lie hath eaten me out of house and 
 home. 
 
 Ch. Just. How comes this, Sir John ? Fie ! what 
 man of good temper would endure this tempest of 
 exclamation ? Are you not ashamed to enforce a poor 
 widow to so rough a course to come by her own ? 
 
 Fal. What is the gross sum that I owe thee ? 
 
 Host. Marry, if thou wert an honest man, thyself 
 and the money too. Thou didst swear to me upon a 
 parcel-gilt goblet, sitting in my Dolphin-chamber, at 
 the round table, by a sea-coal fire, upon Wednesday in 
 Wheeson-week, when the prince broke thy head for 
 liking his father to a singing-man of Windsor — to 
 marry me, and make me my lady, thy wife. Canst 
 thou deny it ? Did not goodwife Keech, the butcher's 
 wife, come in then, and call me gossip Quickly ? com- 
 ing in to borrow a mess of vinegar ; telling us she had 
 a good dish of prawns ; whereby thou didst desire to 
 eat some ; whereby I told thee, they were ill for a 
 green wound? And didst thou not, when she was 
 gone down stairs, desire me to be no more so famil- 
 iarity with such poor people ; saying, that ere long 
 they should call me madam ? And didst thou not 
 kiss me, and bid me fetch thee thirty shillings? 
 I put thee now to thy book-oath; deny it if thou 
 canst. 
 
 Instead of admitting or denying, Fal staff resorted 
 to a mode of defense, common with him — an unblush- 
 ing lie ; but the justice assured him that his manner 
 of wrenching the true cause the false way was a thing 
 well known, and urged upon him to pay dame Quick- 
 ly the debt he owed her, and unpay the villainy he 
 
82 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 had done her — the one with sterling money, the other 
 with current repentance. 
 
 Falstaff, having a chance to talk to the plaintiff in 
 the case, with a little well-aimed flattery induced her 
 to withdraw the suit — and to lend him ten other 
 pounds upon her score. 
 
 Still in the Street. 
 
 In order to carry on our story with Falstaff for 
 a while yet as leading character, we must not fail to 
 overhear part of a conversation in a London street 
 between Prince Henry and Pointz ; and we shall ob- 
 serve that the former intersperses his soldierlike 
 duties with amusements of the old fashion : 
 
 Prince. Before God, I am exceedingly weary. 
 
 Pointz. Is't come to that? I had thought weari- 
 ness durst not have attached one of so high blood. 
 
 Prince. Faith, it does me ; though it discolors the 
 complexion of my greatness to acknowledge it. Doth 
 it not show vilely in me to desire small beer ? 
 
 Pointz. Why, a prince should not be so loosely 
 studied as to remember so weak a composition. 
 
 Prince. Belike, then, my appetite was not princely 
 got ; for, by my troth, I do now remember the poor 
 creature, small beer. But, indeed, these humble con- 
 siderations make me out of love with my greatness. 
 What a disgrace is it to me, to remember thy name ! or 
 to know thy face to-morrow ! or to bear the inventory 
 of thy shirts, as one for superfluity, and one other for 
 use ! 
 
 Pointz. How ill it follows, after you have labored 
 so hard, you should talk so idly ! Tell me, how many 
 
THE STORY OF FALSTAFF. 83 
 
 good young princes would do so, their fathers being 
 so sick as yours at this time is. 
 
 Prince. Shall I tell thee one thing, Pointz ? 
 
 Pointz. Yes, faith, and let it be an excellent good 
 thing. 
 
 Prince. It shall serve among wits of no higher 
 breeding than thine. 
 
 Pointz. Go to ; I stand the push of your one thing 
 that you may tell. 
 
 Prince. I tell thee — it is not meet that I should 
 be sad, now my father is sick ; albeit, I could tell 
 to thee (as to one it pleases me, for fault of a better, 
 to call my friend), I could be sad, and sad indeed 
 too. 
 
 Pointz. Very hardly, upon such a subject. 
 
 Prince. By this hand, thou think'st me as far in the 
 devil's book as thou and Falstaff ; let the end try the 
 man. But I tell thee my heart bleeds inwardly that 
 my father is so sick : and keeping such vile company 
 as thou art, hath in reason taken from me all ostenta- 
 tion of sorrow. 
 
 Pointz, The reason ? 
 
 Prince. What wouldst thou think of me if I should 
 weep? 
 
 Pointz. I should think thee a most princely hypo- 
 crite. 
 
 Prince. It would be every man's thought; and 
 thou art a blessed fellow to think as every man 
 thinks. And what accites your worshipful thought 
 to think so ? 
 
 Pointz. Why, because you have been so lewd, and 
 so much engrafted to Falstaff. 
 
 Prince. And to thee. 
 
84 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 Eight here Bardolph joins the small group with 
 " God save your grace ! " To this the prince rejoins, 
 and inquiring after the health of Bardolph's master, is 
 told that Falstaff is well and has sent his grace a let- 
 ter. Upon Bardolph's further assurance that Falstaff 
 is in bodily health, Pointz with much truth declares 
 that it is the immortal part that needs a physician. 
 
 In the letter Falstaff, in rather pompous style, 
 warns the prince against Pointz because that person 
 misuses the prince's favors. He exhorts the prince 
 to repent at idle times, and signs himself — 
 
 Thine, Jack Falstaff, with my familiars; John", 
 with my brothers and sisters; and Sir John with all 
 Europe. 
 
 Pointz read the letter, following it with the decla- 
 ration that he would steep the document in sack and 
 make Falstaff eat it. 
 
 Prince. That's to make him eat twenty of his 
 words. But do you use me thus, Ned ? Must I marry 
 your sister ? 
 
 Pointz. God send the wench no worse fortune ! 
 But I never said so. 
 
 Prince. Well, thus we play the fools with the time ; 
 and the spirits of the wise sit in the clouds and mock 
 us. Is your master here in London ? 
 
 From Bardolph's answer to this question the 
 prince learns that Falstaff is at the old place, the 
 Eastcheap tavern, taking supper with Mistress Quickly 
 and Doll Tearsheet ; and to play the fool still with the 
 time, he proposes that they assume some disguise and 
 
THE STORY OF FALSTAFF. 85 
 
 see Falstaff show himself in his true colors. Pointz 
 needs no coaxing. " I am your shadow, my lord," 
 and suggests that they put on leather jerkins and 
 aprons and wait on the table. So they sent Bardolph 
 to arrange matters. 
 
 The trio at the table are amusing themselves with- 
 out much regard for decency or diction when the 
 arrival of a fourth, Ensign Pistol by name, is an- 
 nounced. His welcome is not warm, for Doll has 
 spoken of him as " swaggering," a word of ill sound 
 to the dame, though of its meaning she is ignorant. 
 
 Host. If he swagger let him not come here ; I 
 must live among my neighbors ; I'll no swaggerers ; I 
 am in good name and fame with the very best. Shut 
 the door ; I have not lived all this while to have swag- 
 gering now. 
 
 Fal. Dost thou hear, hostess ? 
 
 Host. Pray you, pacify yourself, Sir John; there 
 comes no swaggerers here. 
 
 Fal. Dost thou hear ? it is mine ancient. 
 
 Host. Tilly-fally, Sir John, ne'er tell me ; your 
 ancient swaggerer comes not in my doors. I was be- 
 fore Master Tisick, the deputy, t'other day ; and, as 
 he said to me — 'twas no longer ago than Wednesday 
 last — Neighbor Quickly, says he ; master Dumb, our 
 minister, was by then ; Neiglibor Quickly, says he, re- 
 ceive those thai are civil; for, says he, you are an 
 honest woman and well thought on ; therefore take 
 heed what guests you receive. Receive, says he, no 
 sivaggering companions. — There comes none here ; 
 you would bless you to hear what he said ; no, I'll no 
 swaggerers. 
 7 
 
86 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 Fal. He's no swaggerer, hostess; you may stroke 
 him as gently as a puppy greyhound; he will not 
 swagger with a Barbary hen, if her feathers turn hack 
 in any show of resistance. Call him up, drawer. 
 
 Host. But I do not love swaggering ; by my troth, 
 I am the worse when one says swagger ; feel, mistress, 
 how I shake. 
 
 Dol. So you do, hostess. 
 
 Host. Do I ? yea, in very truth, do I, an 'twere an 
 aspen leaf. 
 
 The ensign, or ancient, as they called him, with 
 Bardolph and the page, added themselves to this col- 
 lection of choice spirits; drinking, quarreling, and 
 some sham fighting followed, and finally Pistol is 
 turned out of doors. Falstaff, as usual, is brave after 
 the event, and reminds Doll how the rogue fled from 
 him like quicksilver ; to which she rejoins, P faith, and 
 thou follow' st him like a church. To this rather 
 squinting compliment she joins a bit of good advice — 
 to leave off his various bad habits and begin to patch 
 up his old body for heaven. 
 
 Here Prince Henry and Pointz, disguised as 
 drawers, or waiters, enter the dining room. They 
 wished to find out how Sir John behaved when, so 
 far as he knew, they were not in hearing nor in see- 
 ing, and how he talked of them. They soon learned. 
 
 Dol. Sirrah, what humor's the prince of ? 
 
 Fal. A good shallow young fellow ; 'a would have 
 made a good pantler; 'a would ha' chipped bread 
 well. 
 
 Dol. They say Pointz has a good wit. 
 
THE STORY OF FALSTAFF. 87 
 
 Fal. He a good wit ? his wit's as thick as Tewks- 
 bury mustard. 
 ' Dol. Why does the prince love him so then ? 
 
 Fal. Because their legs are both of a bigness, and 
 'a plays a quoits well, and swears with a good grace, 
 and such other gambol faculties 'a has that show 
 a weak mind and an able body, for the which the 
 prince admits him ; for the prince himself is such an- 
 other ; the weight of a hair will turn the scale between 
 their avoirdupois. Some sack, Francis. 
 
 Prince. ) 
 
 p . "J- Anon, anon, sir. [Advancing. 
 
 Fal. Ha ! a bastard son of the king's ? And art not 
 thou Pointz his brother ? 
 
 Prince. Why, thou globe of sinful continents, what 
 a life dost thou lead ? 
 
 Fal. A better than thou ; I am a gentleman, thou 
 art a drawer. 
 
 Prince. Very true, sir ; and I come to draw you out 
 by the ears. 
 
 Their disguises did not prove very efficient, as 
 Falstaff had detected their likeness to themselves, and 
 now the hostess exclaimed : " By my troth, welcome 
 to London ! Now the Lord bless that sweet face of 
 thine ! " and Falstaff hastily seconded the welcome to 
 London. 
 
 Pointz. My lord, he will drive you out of your re- 
 venge and turn all to a merriment, if you take not the 
 heat. 
 
 Prince. You candle-mine, you, how vilely did you 
 speak of me even now, before this honest, virtuous, 
 civil gentlewoman ! 
 
88 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 Host. God's blessing of your good heart ! and so 
 she is, by my troth. 
 
 Fed. Didst thou hear me ? 
 
 Prince. Yes ; and you knew me, as you did when 
 you ran away by Gadshill ; you knew I was at your 
 back, and spoke it on purpose to try my patience. 
 
 The prince crammed this very Falstaffian defense 
 into Sir John's mouth to prevent his setting it up, 
 and thus to put him to the use of his powers of inven- 
 tion. Falstaff is surprised into a momentary spell of 
 truthfulness. 
 
 Fal. No, no, no ; not so ; I did not think thou wast 
 within hearing. 
 
 Prince. I shall drive you, then, to confess the wilful 
 abuse ; and then I know how to handle you. 
 
 Fal. No abuse, Hal, o' mine honor ; no abuse. 
 
 Prince. Not — to dispraise me, and call me pantler 
 and bread chipper ? 
 
 Fal. No abuse, Hal. 
 
 Pointz. No abuse ! 
 
 Fal. No abuse, Ned, i' the world; honest Ned, 
 none. I dispraised him before the wicked, that the 
 wicked might not fall in love with him ; in which do- 
 ing I have done the part of a careful friend and a true 
 subject, and thy father is to give me thanks for it. 
 No abuse, Hal ; none, Ned, none. 
 
 " Pure fear and entire cowardice " has led him to 
 denounce his companions as of the wicked, and he 
 fortifies his position with instances. One of the 
 minor charges is that the hostess has suffered flesh to 
 
THE STORY OF FALSTAFF. 89 
 
 be eaten in her house contrary to the law, and 
 against this she pleads, " All victuallers do so ; what's 
 a joint of mutton or two in a whole Lent ? " 
 
 The discussion is interrupted by a knocking at 
 the door and the entrance of Peto with news. 
 
 Peto. The king, your father, is at Westminster 
 And there are twenty weak and wearied posts 
 Come from the north : and, as I came along, 
 I met and overtook a dozen captains, 
 Bare-headed, sweating, knocking at the taverns, 
 And asking every one for Sir John Falstaif. 
 
 Prince. By heavens, Pointz, I feel me much to blame 
 So idly to profane the precious time, 
 When tempest of commotion, like the south, 
 Borne with black vapor, doth begin to melt, 
 And drop upon our bare unarmed heads. 
 Give me my sword and cloak. — Falstaff, good night. 
 
 This speech of the prince had more significance 
 than Falstaff knew of. That word was their sign of 
 parting. This is the end of their frolics. Their 
 next meeting and their last one was anything but a 
 " merry sport." 
 
 Soon after Prince Henry's departure there is 
 knocking at the door, and Bardolph, who had gone 
 with the prince, returns with orders for Falstaff to 
 repair to the court. 
 
 Fal. Farewell, hostess; farewell, Doll. You see 
 how men of merit are sought after: the undeserver 
 may sleep, when the man of action is called on. 
 
90 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 In Glostershire. 
 
 Falstaif, it seems, had a commission to recruit sol- 
 diers in Glostershire. In that county was an old 
 friend of his, Shallow by name, — Justice Robert 
 Shallow, — who had half a dozen sufficient men ready 
 for Sir John's inspection ; a man's acceptance being 
 signified by pricking a hole through the paper oppo- 
 site his name. We shall find that Falstaff's views 
 upon the sort of " food for powder " he would com- 
 mand have not changed for the better since he re- 
 fused to " march through Coventry." 
 
 Shallow and his cousin Silence are engaged ; the 
 one in spinning yarns about the wild-oats sowing of 
 his youth, the other in meekly listening, when Si- 
 lence announces the arrival of two of FalstafFs men, 
 and Bardolph with a comrade enters. 
 
 Bar. Good morrow, honest gentlemen : I beseech 
 you, which is Justice Shallow ? 
 
 Shal. I am Eobert Shallow, sir ; one of the king's 
 justices of the peace. What is your good pleasure? 
 
 Bar. My captain, sir, commends him to you ; my 
 captain, Sir John Falstaff. 
 
 Shal. He greets me well, sir. How doth the good 
 knight ? May I ask how my lady his wife doth ? 
 
 Bar. Sir, pardon ; a soldier is better accommodated 
 than with a wife. 
 
 Shal. It is well said, in faith, sir ; and it is well 
 said indeed, too. Better accommodated ! it is good ; 
 yea, indeed, it is ; good phrases are surely, and ever 
 
THE STORY OF FALSTAFF. 91 
 
 were, very commendable. Accommodated ! — it comes 
 from accommodo : very good, a good phrase. 
 
 Bar. Pardon, sir ; I have heard the word. Phrase 
 call you it ? Accommodated ; that is, when a man is, 
 as they say, accommodated ; or when a man is — being 
 — whereby — a man be thought to be accommodated ; 
 which is an excellent thing. 
 
 Shal. It is very just. Look, here comes good Sir 
 John. Welcome, good Sir John ! 
 
 Fal. I am glad to see you well, good Master Eobert 
 Shallow. Master Surecard, as I think ? 
 
 Shal. No, Sir John; it is my Cousin Silence in 
 commission with me. 
 
 Fal. Good Master Silence, it well befits you should 
 be of the peace. Gentlemen, have you provided me 
 here half a dozen sufficient men? Let me see 
 them. 
 
 Shal. Where's the roll ? where's the roll ? Ealph 
 Mouldy ! — let them appear as I call ; let them do so, 
 let them do so. 
 
 Fal. Is thy name Mouldy ? 
 
 Moid. Yea, an't please you. 
 
 Fal. 'Tis the more time thou wert used. 
 
 Shal. Ha, ha, ha ! most excellent, i' faith ! Things 
 that are mouldy lack use ; very singular good. In faith, 
 well said, Sir John ; very well said. For the others — 
 let me see — Simon Shadow ! 
 
 Fal. Yea, marry, let me have him to sit under ; he's 
 like to be a cold soldier. Shadow will serve for sum- 
 mer ; prick him, for we have a number of shadows to 
 fill up the muster-book. 
 
 Shal. Francis Feeble. 
 
 Feeb. Here, sir. 
 
92 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 Fal. Courageous Feeble, thou wilt be as valiant as 
 the wrathful dove or most magnanimous mouse. 
 
 Feeb. I will do my good will, sir ; you can have no 
 more. 
 
 Shal. Peter Bullcalf o' the green. 
 
 Fal. Yea, marry, let's see Bullcalf. 'Fore God, a 
 likely fellow! Come, prick me Bullcalf till he roar 
 again. 
 
 Bull. Lord ! Good, my lord captain — 
 
 Fal. What, dost thou roar before thou art pricked ? 
 
 Bull. Lord, sir ! I am a diseased man. 
 
 Fal. What disease hast thou ? 
 
 Bull. A cold, sir ; a cough, sir. 
 
 Fal. Come, thou shalt go to the wars in a gown. 
 
 Shal. Cousin Silence, that thou hadst seen that 
 that this knight and I have seen ! Ha, Sir John, said 
 I well? 
 
 Fal. We have heard the chimes at midnight. 
 
 Shal. That we have, that we have ; in fact, we have. 
 Come, let's to dinner. Jesu, the days that we have 
 seen ! 
 
 The knight, the squire, and his amiable cousin 
 having gone to dinner, Bardolph conducts the finan- 
 cial part of the business. 
 
 Bull. Good master Corporate Bardolph, stand my 
 friend; and here's four Harry ten shillings for you. 
 In very truth, sir, I had as lief be hanged, sir, as go ; 
 and yet, for mine own part, I do not care ; but, rather, 
 because I am unwilling, and, for mine own part, have a 
 desire to stay with my friends. 
 
 Moul. And, good master Corporal Captain, for my 
 
THE STORY OF FALSTAFF. 93 
 
 old dame's sake, stand my friend; you shall have 
 forty, sir. 
 
 Fee. By my troth, I care not ; a man can die but 
 once ; we owe God a death ; no man's too good to 
 serve his prince ; and he that dies this year is quit for 
 the next. 
 
 Upon FalstafFs return, a confidential word from 
 Bardolph procured the release of those who had paid 
 for it, though they were, in the opinion of Justice 
 Shallow, his likeliest men. He took Shadow be- 
 cause he presented no mark to the enemy, and Feeble 
 because he would be so excellent in a retreat. 
 
 Shallow and Silence soon withdrew, Sir John sent 
 away Bardolph with the recruits, and lingered for a 
 soliloquy — 
 
 Fal. I do see the bottom of Justice Shallow. Lord, 
 Lord, how subject we old men are to this vice of lying ! 
 This same starved justice hath done nothing but prate 
 to me of the wildness of his youth, and every third 
 word a lie. I do remember him at Clement's Inn, like 
 a man made after supper of a cheese paring ; he was, 
 for all the world, like a forked radish, with a head 
 fantastically carved upon it with a knife ; 'a was so 
 forlorn, that his dimensions to any thick sight were 
 invisible ; 'a was the very Genius of famine ; 'a came 
 ever in the rearward of the fashion. And now is this 
 Vice's dagger become a squire, and talks as familiarly 
 of John o' Gaunt as if he had been sworn brother to 
 him. Well, I'll be acquainted with him, if I return ; 
 and it shall go hard, but I'll make him a philosopher's 
 two stones to me. Let time shape, and there an end. 
 
94 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 In the Forest. 
 
 After the dispersion of the army of revolt, and 
 Lancaster's order to pursue the scattered host, Fal- 
 staff, who, it may be assumed has joined with de- 
 liberation in the chase, has an adventure in the 
 woods. 
 
 Fal. What's your name, sir ? of what condition are 
 you ? and of what place, I pray ? 
 
 Cole. I am a knight, sir ; and my name is Colevile 
 of the Dale. 
 
 Fal. Well, then, Colevile shall still be your name, a 
 traitor your degree, and the dungeon your place, a dale 
 deep enough ; so shall you still be Colevile of the Dale. 
 
 Cole. I think you are Sir John FalstafU ; and, in 
 that thought, yield me. 
 
 Prince John of Lancaster, with several of his fel- 
 low officers, appeared just then with a word of sharp 
 reproof. 
 
 Lan. Falstaff, where have you been all this while ? 
 When everything is ended, then you come : 
 These tardy tricks of yours will, on my life, 
 One time or other break some gallows' back. 
 
 Fal. I would be sorry, my lord, but it should be 
 thus : I never knew yet but rebuke and check was the 
 reward of valor. Do you think me a swallow, an 
 arrow, or a bullet ? Have I, in my poor and old mo- 
 tion, the expedition of thought? I have speeded 
 hither with the very extremest inch of possibility ; and 
 here, travel-stained as I am, have, in my pure and im- 
 maculate valor, taken Sir John Colevile of the Dale, a 
 
THE STORY OF FALSTAFF. 95 
 
 most furious knight and valorous enemy. But what 
 of that? He saw me and yielded ; that I may justly 
 say with the hook-nosed fellow of Rome — / came, saiv, 
 and overcame. 
 
 Lan. It was more of his courtesy than your de- 
 serving. 
 
 Fal. I know not ; here he is, and here I yield him ; 
 and I beseech your grace, let it be hooked with the 
 rest of this day's deeds ; or, by the the Lord, I will 
 have it in a particular ballad else, with mine own pic- 
 ture on the top of it ; if you do not all show like gilt 
 two-pences to me, and I, in the clear sky of fame, o'er- 
 shine you as much as the full moon doth the cinders 
 of the element, which show like pins' heads to her, be- 
 lieve not the word of the noble : therefore let me have 
 right, and let desert mount. 
 
 Lan. Is thy name Colevile ? 
 
 Cole. It is, my lord. 
 
 Lan. A famous rebel art thou, Colevile. 
 
 Fal. And a famous true subject took him. 
 
 Cole. I am, my lord, but as my betters are, 
 That led me hither : had they been ruled by me, 
 You should have won them dearer than you have. 
 
 Fal. I know not how they sold themselves ; but 
 thou, like a kind fellow, gavest thyself away gratis. 
 
 They all depart, leaving Falstaff alone with the 
 trees, to which congregation he delivers his private 
 opinion of Lancaster : A sober-blooded, demure boy, 
 who can not be made to laugh, and that for the sim- 
 ple reason that he drinks no wine, but keeps his 
 blood overcool with thin beverages. Starting with 
 this pertinent example of the evil results of absti- 
 
96 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 nence, a fault to which he was never himself ad- 
 dicted, he lectures with fine analytic art upon the 
 twofold virtue of sherry, how it ascends to the brain, 
 dries the dull and crudy vapors that environ it, makes 
 it apprehensive, quick, and full of nimble and delec- 
 table shapes, which, delivered over to the tongue, be- 
 come excellent wit ; how it warms the blood, which, 
 before cold and settled, left the liver white and pale, 
 the badge of cowardice ; but the sherris warms it, 
 and makes it course from the inwards to the parts 
 extreme ; it illumineth the face, which, as a beacon 
 gives warning to all the rest of this little kingdom, 
 Man, to arm ; and then the vital commoners and in- 
 land petty spirits muster me all to their captain, the 
 Heart, who, great and puffed up with his retinue, doth 
 any deed of courage ; and this valor comes of sher- 
 ris. So that skill in the weapon is nothing without 
 sack, for that sets it a- work; and learning, a mere 
 hoard of gold kept by a devil, till sack commences it, 
 and sets it in act and use. Hereof comes it, that Prince 
 Harry is valiant ; for the cold blood he did naturally 
 inherit of his father, he hath, like lean, sterile, and 
 bare land, manured, husbanded, and tilled, with ex- 
 cellent endeavor of drinking good, and good store 
 of fertile sherris, that he's become very hot and val- 
 iant. If I had a thousand sons, the first human prin- 
 ciple I would teach them should be, to forswear thin 
 potations, and to addict themselves to sack. 
 
 This discourse being ended, Falstaff set out for 
 Glostershire to visit Master Shallow, with designs 
 upon that worthy's pantry and purse. We are al- 
 
THE STORY OF FALSTAFF. 97 
 
 lowed to hear their conversation after Sir John has 
 been at Shallow's house for some time, and talks, at 
 least, of taking leave. 
 
 Shal. By cock and pie, sir, you shall not away to- 
 night. 
 
 Fal. You must excuse me, Master Robert Shallow. 
 
 Shal. I will not excuse you ; you shall not be ex- 
 cused ; excuses shall not be admitted ; there is no ex- 
 cuse shall serve ; you shall not be excused. Come, 
 come, come, off with your boots. Give me your hand, 
 Master Bardolph. 
 
 Bard. I am glad to see your worship. 
 
 Shal. I thank thee with all my heart, kind Master 
 Bardolph. Come, Sir John. 
 
 And Shallow makes his exit. 
 
 Fal. If I were sawed into quantities, I should 
 make four dozen of such bearded hermit's-staves as 
 Master Shallow. It is a wonderful thing to see the 
 semblable coherence of his men's spirits and his. They, 
 by observing of him, do bear themselves like foolish 
 justices ; he, by conversing with them, is turned into 
 a justicelike serving-man. It is certain, that either 
 wise bearing, or ignorant carriage is caught, as men 
 take diseases, one of another ; therefore, let men take 
 heed of their company. I will devise matter enough 
 out of this Shallow to keep Prince Harry in continual 
 laughter, the wearing out of six fashions — which is 
 four terms, or two actions — and 'a shall laugh without 
 inter Valiums. 0, it is much, that a lie with a slight 
 oath, and a jest with a sad brow, will do with a fellow 
 that never had the ache in his shoulders! 0, you 
 
98 SHAKESPEAKE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 shall see him laugh, till his face be like a wet cloak ill 
 laid up ! 
 
 Shallow, who had left the room some minutes 
 before, now calls Sir John again, and with an I come, 
 Master Shallow, FalstafE follows his host to the gar- 
 den, whither Silence and Bardolph have preceded 
 them : 
 
 Shal. Nay, you shall see mine orchard, where, in an 
 arbor, we will eat a last year's pippin of my own 
 grafting, with a dish of caraways, and so forth. 
 
 Fal. 'Fore God, you have here a goodly dwelling 
 and a rich. 
 
 Shal. Barren, barren, barren ; beggars all, beggars 
 all, Sir John ; marry good, sir. By the mass, I have 
 drunk too much sack at supper. 
 
 Sil. ^Tis merry in hall, when beards wag all, 
 And ivelcome merry Shrove-tide, 
 Be merry, he merry. 
 Fal. I did not think Master Silence had been a 
 man of this mettle. 
 
 Sil. Who, I ? I have been merry twice and once 
 ere now. 
 
 A cup of wine that's brisk and fine, 
 And drink unto the leman mine ; 
 And a merry heart lives long-a. 
 Fal. Well said, Master Silence. 
 Sil. And we shall be merry ! now comes in the 
 sweet of the night. 
 
 Fal. Health and long life to you, Master Silence ! 
 Sil. Fill the cup, and let it come ; 
 
 Fll pledge you a mile to the bottom. 
 
THE STORY OF FALSTAFF. 99 
 
 This song is broken off by the entry of a messen- 
 ger with the announcement — 
 
 An't please your worship, there's one Pistol come 
 from the court with news. 
 
 Fal. From the court ! let him come in. 
 Enter Pistol. 
 How now, Pistol ? 
 
 Pist. Sir John, God save you ! 
 
 Fal. What wind blew you hither, Pistol ? 
 
 Pist. Not the ill wind which blows no man to 
 good. Sweet knight, thou art now one of the greatest 
 men in the realm. 
 
 Sir John, I am thy Pistol, and thy friend, 
 And helter-skelter have I rode to thee ; 
 And tidings do I bring, and lucky joys, 
 And golden times, and happy news of price. 
 
 Fal. I pray thee now, deliver them like a man of 
 this world. 
 
 Pist. A foutra for the world and worldlings base ! 
 I speak of Africa and golden joys. 
 
 Fal. base Assyrian knight, what is thy news ? 
 Let King Cophetua know the truth thereof. 
 
 Pist. Shall dunghill curs confront the Helicons ? 
 And shall good news be baffled ? 
 Then, Pistol, lay thy head in Furies' lap. 
 
 Slial. Honest gentleman, I know not your breeding. 
 
 Pist. AVhy then lament therefore. 
 
 Shal. Give me pardon, sir. If, sir, you come with 
 news from the court, I take it there's but two ways, 
 either to utter them, or to conceal them. I am, sir, 
 under the king, in some authority. 
 
 Pist. Under which king, Bezonian ? speak or die. 
 
100 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 Shal. Under King Harry. 
 
 Pist. Harry the Fourth ? or Fifth ? 
 
 Shal. Harry the Fourth. 
 
 Pist. A foutra for thine office ! 
 
 Sir John, thy tender lambkin now is king ; 
 Harry the Fifth's the man. I speak the truth ; 
 When Pistol lies, do this ; and fig me, like 
 The bragging Spaniard. 
 
 Fat. What ! is the old king dead ? 
 
 Pist. As nail in door ; the things I speak are just. 
 
 Fal. Away, Bardolph ! saddle my horse. Master 
 Eobert Shallow, choose what office thou wilt in the 
 land, 'tis thine. Pistol, I will double-charge thee with 
 dignities. 
 
 Bard. joyful day ! I would not take a knight- 
 hood for my fortune. 
 
 Pist. What ! I do bring good news ? 
 
 Fal. Carry Master Silence to bed. Master Shallow, 
 my Lord Shallow, be what thou wilt ; I am Fortune's 
 steward. Get on thy boots ; we'll ride all night. 0, 
 sweet Pistol. Away, Bardolph ! Come, Pistol, utter 
 more to me ; and, withal, devise something to do thy- 
 self good. Boot, boot, Master Shallow ; I know the 
 young king is sick for me. Let us take any man's 
 horses ; the laws of England are at my commandment. 
 Blessed are they that have been my friends ; and woe 
 to my Lord Chief Justice ! 
 
 This group of eager fellows allowed no grass to 
 grow under their horses' feet, but pushed for London 
 in a fever of confident expectation. We next see 
 them in a street near Westminster Abbey, waiting to 
 see the royal procession come from the coronation : 
 
THE STORY OF FALSTAFF. 101 
 
 Fal. Stand here by me, Master Eobert Shallow : I 
 will make the king do you grace : I will leer upon him 
 as 'a comes by ; and do but mark the countenance that 
 he will give me. 
 
 Pist. God bless thy lungs, good knight. 
 
 Fal. Come here, Pistol ; stand behind me ! [To 
 Shallow.] 0, if I had had time to have made new 
 liveries, I would have bestowed the thousand pound I 
 borrowed of you. But 'tis no matter ; this poor show 
 doth better; this doth infer the zeal I had to see 
 him. 
 
 Shal. It doth so. 
 
 Fal. It shows my earnestness of affection. 
 
 Shal. It doth so. 
 
 Fal. My devotion, 
 
 Shal. It doth, it doth, it doth. 
 
 Fal. As it were, to ride day and night ; and not to 
 deliberate, not to remember, not to have patience to 
 shift me. 
 
 Shal. It is most certain. 
 
 Fal. But to stand stained with travel, and sweating 
 with desire to see him ; thinking of nothing else, put- 
 ting all affairs else in oblivion, as if there were nothing 
 else to be done but to see him. 
 
 Shouts and the blast of trumpets are heard, and 
 the king with his train in stately fashion marches by. 
 
 Fal. God save thy grace, King Hal ! my royal Hal ! 
 
 Pist. The heavens thee guard and keep, most royal 
 imp of fame ! 
 
 Fal. God save thee, my sweet boy ! 
 
 King. My Lord Chief Justice, speak to that vain 
 man. 
 
102 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 There is probably not in all literature, nor can it 
 enter into the heart of man to conceive of, a more 
 startling example of a peal of thunder from a clear 
 sky than this quiet remark of King Henry. 
 
 Oh. Just. Have you your wits? know you what 
 'tis you speak ? 
 
 Fal. My king ! my Jove ! I speak to thee, my 
 heart ! 
 
 King. I know thee not, old man : Fall to thy 
 prayers ; 
 How ill white hairs become a fool and jester ! 
 I have long dreamed of such a kind of man, 
 So surfeit-swelled, so old, and so profane ; 
 But, being awake, I do despise my dream. 
 Make less thy body, hence, and more thy grace ; 
 Leave gormandizing ; know, the grave doth gape 
 For thee thrice wider than for other men. 
 Eeply not to me with a fool-born jest : 
 Presume not that I am the thing I was ; 
 For God doth know, so shall the world perceive, 
 That I have turned away my former self ; 
 So will I those that kept me company. 
 When thou dost hear I am as I have been, 
 Approach me ; and thou shalt be as thou wast, 
 The tutor and the feeder of my riots : 
 Till then, I banish thee, on pain of death, — 
 As I have done the rest of my misleaders, — 
 Not to come near our person by ten mile. 
 For competence of life I will allow you, 
 That lack of means enforce you not to evil : 
 And, as we hear you do reform yourselves, 
 We will, according to your strength and qualities, 
 
King Henry, Falstaff, etc. 
 
 King Henry IV— Second Part, Act V, Scene 
 
THE STORY OF FALSTAFF. 103 
 
 Give you advancement. — Be't your charge, my lord, 
 To see performed the tenor of our word. 
 Set on. 
 
 The king with his train passed on, and Falstaff 
 made a surprising admission : 
 
 Fal. Master Shallow, I owe you a thousand pound. 
 
 Slial. Yea, marry, Sir John ; which I beseech you 
 to let me have home with me. 
 
 Fal. That can hardly be, Master Shallow. Do not 
 you grieve at this ; I shall be sent for in private to 
 him : look you, he must seem thus to the world. Fear 
 not your advancement; I will be the man yet that 
 shall make you great. 
 
 Slial. I can not perceive how, unless you give me 
 your doublet, and stuff me out with straw. 
 
 Fal. Sir, I will be as good as my word : this that 
 you heard was but a color. 
 
 Shal. A color, I fear, that you will die in, Sir John. 
 
 Shallow had not time to spoil his good pun by 
 explaining it, for the Chief Justice appears again upon 
 the scene with some officers, who at his orders carry 
 poor old Jack to the Fleet prison, and all his com- 
 pany along with him. Alas, poor Falstaff ! " a fellow 
 of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy ; where be 
 your gibes now ? your gambols ? your flashes of mer- 
 riment, that were wont to set the table on a roar ? " 
 Not one now ? Not one. 
 
 It is the old place, the Eastcheap tavern. Ancient 
 Pistol is now landlord, having married Dame Quickly. 
 A boy comes in with the message : " Mine host Pistol, 
 
104 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 you must come to my master — and you, hostess — he 
 is very sick, and would to bed." 
 
 The hostess sets out to his relief, saying the king 
 has killed his heart ; returning, hurriedly, with the 
 plea : "As ever you came from women, come in quickly 
 to Sir John. Ah, poor heart ! he is so shaked of a 
 burning quotidian, that it is most lamentable to be- 
 hold. Sweet men, come to him." 
 
 Only Pistol went with her. "When they return 
 we hear him announcing that Falstaff is dead. 
 
 Bard. Would I were with him, wheresome'er he is, 
 either in heaven or in hell ! 
 
 Host. ISTay, sure, he's not in hell : he's in Arthur's 
 bosom, if ever man went to Arthur's bosom. [The 
 kind soul confuses Arthur and Abraham.] 'A made a 
 fine end, and went away : 'a parted even just between 
 twelve and one, even at the turning of the tide : for 
 after I saw him fumble with the sheets, and play with 
 flowers, and smile upon his fingers' ends, I knew there 
 was but one way ; for his nose was as sharp as a pen, 
 and 'a babbled of green fields. How notv, Sir John ? 
 quoth I ; tvhat, man ! he 0' good cheer. So a' cried out, 
 God, God, God ! three or four times. Now I, to com- 
 fort him, bid him 'a should not think of God ; I hoped 
 there was no need to trouble himself with any such 
 thoughts yet. So 'a bade me lay more clothes on his 
 feet : I put my hand into the bed and felt them, and 
 they were cold as any stone. 
 
 This was at the turning of the tide, and he went 
 away. 
 
 Unless the early religious training of the reader 
 
THE STORY OF FALSTAFF. 105 
 
 who has been keeping the excellent bad company of 
 the big knight has been neglected, he has noticed 
 evidences on Falstaff's part of some acquaintance with 
 the Scriptures. The old knight refers to Pharaoh's 
 lean kine ; to the great law that a tree is known by 
 its fruit; he speaks of Dives that lived in purple; 
 he is in entire accord with David about the proneness 
 of the world to lying; he likens his poverty to 
 Job's ; and he so misuses the power given him by the 
 king to impress soldiers that his recruits were ragged 
 as Lazarus — prodigals lately come from swine feeding. 
 In the state of innocency Adam fell, he pleads ; and 
 what should poor Jack Falstaff do in the days of 
 villainy ? Like Adam, he falls, and heavily in pro- 
 portion to his weight ; and after a while he declares, 
 with perhaps a few allaying drops of sincere regret, 
 that he has forgotten what the inside of a church is 
 made of. But a time comes, as we have just seen, 
 when he has lost his best friend ; he has drunk his 
 last cup of sack ; his wit has sent out its last flash ; 
 he is approaching his end, and he knows it. 
 
 Yery naturally he is fearful of the unseen Powers ; 
 he turns one of the seldom -used leaves of his memory 
 for possible consolation ; he finds a passage and ad- 
 ministers its flattering unction to his soul : "The 
 Lord is my shepherd ; he maketh me to lie down in 
 green pastures " ; or, as Dame Pistol went into the 
 other room and told it, " 'a babbled of green fields." 
 
 Falstaff, good night ! 
 
THE STOEY OF HENRY V, 1413-1422. 
 
 "We feel that we are growing pretty well ac- 
 quainted with Henry Y. As a young man he evi- 
 dently had not much love for the society of those 
 whom he met in the palace. He seemed much to 
 prefer the wild riot of the tavern and the boisterous 
 humor of his jolly companions ; the innocent pranks 
 they played upon each other, and the practical 
 jokes, not always innocent, with which they troubled 
 other people. At times, though, he raises the mask 
 of the buffoon and lets us see clearly that the 
 prince behind it is but playing the fool with the 
 time, and listening to " the spirits of the wise." If 
 he loved Falstaff's wit, millions of excellent people 
 have felt the same touch of nature; and when 
 companionship with this great prince of humorists 
 promised to be a clog on the free stride of the king 
 of England, it was abruptly brought to an end — 
 Falstaff, good night ! 
 
 The king's repulse of his old companion, followed 
 
 by that terrible lecture he gave him, seems at first 
 
 thought, perhaps at second thought, heartlessly cruel ; 
 
 but it may have been necessary. Falstaff scarcely 
 
 106 
 
King Henry V. 
 From a miniature in a book in the library at C. C. C, Cambric 
 
THE STORY OF HENRY V, 1413-1422. 107 
 
 took it in earnest ; and one of the strangest things in 
 the mental vision of this queer compound of wit, of 
 humor, of geniality, and sensualism is that he did not 
 foresee that there must be any change, in their rela- 
 tion when Prince Hal should mount the throne. 
 
 The death of Henry IV was announced in a room 
 of the palace at Westminster to a sorrowful group — 
 the Chief Justice, Westmoreland, and the brothers of 
 the young king — and their sorrow was mingled with 
 keen anxiety about their personal future. Especially 
 was this true of the Chief Justice, so that he declared : 
 
 I would his majesty had called me with him. 
 
 Glos. I dare swear you borrow not that face 
 Of seeming sorrow, — it is sure your own. 
 
 Lan. Though no man be assured what grace to find, 
 You stand in coldest expectation. 
 
 Ch. Just. Sweet Princes, what I did, I did in 
 honor. 
 If truth and upright innocency fail me, 
 I'll to the king my master that is dead, 
 And tell him who hath sent me after him. 
 
 This mournful conversation was brought to an 
 end by the entrance of the king their new master : 
 
 Ch. Just. Good morrow; and God save your maj- 
 esty ! 
 
 King. This new and gorgeous garment, majest}^ 
 Sits not so easy on me as you think. 
 Brothers, you mix your sadness with some fear : 
 This is the English, not the Turkish court ; 
 Not Amurath an Amurath succeeds. 
 But Harry Harry. 
 
108 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 Then followed a very brotherly and princely 
 speech, which must have brought cheer to the hearts 
 of Lancaster, Gloster, and Clarence, and what was less 
 to be expected, after startling the Justice into still 
 deeper waters of affliction by an assumed harshness, 
 he assured him of his royal approval, and committed 
 into his hands — 
 
 Th' unstained sword that you have used to bear, 
 With this remembrance — that you use the same 
 With the like bold, just, and impartial spirit 
 As you have done 'gainst me. 
 
 He announces his good intention to prove false 
 all the evil prophecies which the world had made 
 about him — the world, which judges after one's " seem- 
 ing." 
 
 The tide of blood in me 
 Hath proudly flowed in vanity till now : 
 Now doth it turn, and ebb back to the sea. 
 
 That the king carried into act his high resolves we 
 have the certificate of the Archbishop of Canterbury : 
 
 The breath no sooner left his father's body, 
 
 But that his wildness, mortified in him, 
 
 Seemed to die too ; yea, at that very moment, 
 
 Consideration, like an angel, came, 
 
 And whipped th' offending Adam out of him. 
 
 Never was such a sudden scholar made. 
 
 Hear him but reason in divinity, 
 
 You would desire the king were made a prelate. 
 
 List his discourse of war, and you shall hear 
 
 A fearful battle rendered you in music. 
 
THE STORY OF IIENRY V, 1413-1422. 109 
 
 Turn him to any cause of policy, 
 
 The Gordian knot of it he will unloose, 
 
 Familiar as his garter. 
 
 Another learned divine proposed an explanation of 
 the wonder that such a scholar should come from such 
 a school as the one where we have seen him a pupil : 
 
 The strawberry grows underneath the nettle, 
 And wholesome berries thrive and ripen best 
 Neighbored by fruit of baser quality ; 
 And so the prince obscured his contemplation 
 Under the veil of wildness ; which, no doubt, 
 Grew like the summer grass, fastest by night. 
 
 King Henry and France. 
 
 The young king went to these two keepers of 
 his conscience to have them solve, "justly and re- 
 ligiously unfold," a great problem of state — his right 
 to the throne of France. He desired to know whether 
 his title was dressed in the native color of truth, 
 warning them to take heed how they awoke the sleep- 
 ing sword of war. Like many other ministers of 
 peace, even in more peaceful times, their voice was 
 still for war : 
 
 Stand for your own : unwind your bloody flag : 
 Look back unto your mighty ancestors ! 
 You are their heir ; you sit upon their throne ; 
 The blood and courage that renowned them 
 Euns in your veins ; 
 
 and they rehearsed the stirring story of the Black 
 Prince's great light in France, his grim father look- 
 
HO SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 ing smilingly on. For the sinews of a great war in 
 France they promised, on the part of the church, a 
 mightier sum than the clergy had ever at one time 
 brought in to any one of the king's ancestors. 
 
 Henry, yielding not reluctantly to their words of 
 persuasion, resolved upon an invasion of the king- 
 dom over the Channel, but recalled his great-grand- 
 father's experience as a lesson to himself. The Scots, 
 it seems, had an unpleasant way of timing their visits 
 in arms into the southern half of the island, so as to 
 pour, like the tide into a breach, when the English 
 king and his army were away. Westmoreland quoted 
 a very old and true saying to sustain the king's po- 
 sition that they must also defend against the Scot, 
 adding : 
 
 For, once the eagle England being in prey, 
 To her unguarded nest the weasel Scot 
 Comes sneaking. 
 
 The king's plans are formed for home protection 
 and for conquest abroad : 
 
 France being ours, we'll bend it to our awe, 
 Or break it all to pieces ; 
 
 which hardy conclusion was made more stern by the 
 king's resentment aroused by the impudent joke of 
 the French Dauphin, who sent Henry a quantity of 
 tennis-balls. The inference intended to be drawn 
 from this " merry sport," as Shylock would term it, 
 was that the young English king was better fitted for 
 the tennis-court than the tented field. 
 
THE STORY OF HENRY V, 1413-1422. m 
 
 Henry's message in reply fairly smoked with 
 anger : 
 
 And tell the pleasant prince, this mock of his 
 Hath turned his balls to gun-stones ; and his soul 
 Shall stand sore charged for the wasteful vengeance 
 That shall fly with them ; for many a thousand widows 
 Shall this his mock, mock out of their dear husbands, 
 Mock mothers from their sons ; mock castles down ; 
 And some are yet ungotten and unborn 
 That shall have cause to curse the Dauphin's scorn. 
 So, get you hence in peace. 
 
 Feance. 
 
 If we follow the bearer of this pleasant com- 
 munication we hear King Henry's traits discussed 
 by the enemy : 
 
 Dau. My most redoubted father ; 
 
 It is most meet we arm us 'gainst the foe ; 
 And let us do it with no show of fear ; 
 No, with no more than if we heard that England 
 Were busied with a Whitsun morris-dance : 
 For, my good liege, she is so idly kinged, 
 Her scepter so fantastically borne 
 By a vain, giddy, shallow, humorous youth, 
 That fear attends her not. 
 
 Con. You are too much mistaken in this king : 
 And you shall find his vanities forespent 
 Were but the outside of the Eoman Brutus, 
 Covering discretion with a coat of folly ; 
 As gardeners do with ordure hide those roots 
 That shall first spring and be most delicate. 
 
112 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 The French King calls up the familiar figure of 
 the Black Prince of Wales and refers to the fact that 
 King Henry is a stem of that victorious stock, is bred 
 out of that bloody strain. 
 
 With little delay comes Exeter with King Henry's 
 " greeting " to the King of France : 
 
 He wills you, in the name of God Almighty, 
 That you divest yourself, and lay apart 
 The borrowed glories, that, by gift of heaven, 
 By law of nature and of nations, 'long 
 To him and to his heirs ; namely, the crown. 
 
 Fr. King. Or else what follows ? 
 
 Exe. Bloody constraint : for, if you hide the crown 
 Even in your hearts, there will be rake for it : 
 Therefore in fierce tempest is he coming, 
 In thunder and in earthquake, like a Jove. 
 
 Fr. King. To-morrow shall you bear our full intent 
 Back to our brother England. 
 
 Dau. For the Dauphin, 
 
 I stand here for him : What to him from England ? 
 
 Exe. Scorn and defiance ; slight regard, contempt, 
 And anything that may not misbecome 
 The mighty sender, doth he prize you at. 
 
 Dau. Say, if my father render fair return, 
 It is against my will ; for I desire 
 No thing but odds with England : to that end, 
 As matching to his youth and vanity, 
 I did present him with those Paris balls. 
 
 Exe. He'll make your Paris Louvre shake for it. 
 And, be assured, you'll find a difference 
 Between the promise of his greener days 
 And these he masters now — now he weighs time, 
 
THE STORY OF IIENRY V, 1413-1422. 113 
 
 Even to the utmost grain : that you shall read 
 In your own losses, if he stay in France. 
 
 " The Humor of It." 
 
 It must not be thought, since Falstaff appears no 
 more upon these scenes, that wit, humor, and bur- 
 lesque died with him. Pistol survives and improves. 
 He edifies his companions with frequent quotations 
 from the plays which he hears at the theaters, and 
 sometimes discharges a witty saying of his own. He 
 is not a friend to Corporal Nym, they enjoy many a 
 safe battle of words, and sometimes go even to the 
 extreme of drawing their weapons, but never risk 
 using them. 
 
 Nym is something of a philosopher ; he belongs 
 to the school of fatalists, and believes things must 
 be as they may. With his mind on Pistol, he reflects 
 that men may sleep, and that they may have their 
 throats about them at the time ; and he recalls a fact 
 in regard to cutlery, that knives have edges. 
 
 Bardolph declares that he would pay the cost of a 
 breakfast to make friends of these two, so that they 
 might be three sworn brothers, a mutual benefit 
 organization with an eye to plunder, in France, 
 whither they were about to go. 
 
 Nym. 'Faith, I will live as long as I may, that's the 
 certain of it ; and when I can not live any longer, I 
 will die as I may : that is my rest, that is the rendez- 
 vous of it. 
 
 Bard. Here comes Ancient Pistol and his wife. 
 How now, mine host Pistol ? 
 
114 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 Pist. Base tike, call'st thou me — host ? 
 Xow, by this hand, I swear I scorn the term. 
 
 Bard. Good lieutenant — good corporal, offer noth- 
 ing here. 
 
 Hostess. Good Corporal Xym, show thy valor, and 
 put up thy sword. 
 
 Nym. If you grow foul with me, Pistol, I will scour 
 you with my rapier ; and that's the humor of it. 
 
 Pist. braggart vile, and damned furious wight ! 
 The grave doth gape, and doting death is near. 
 
 Bard. Hear me what I say. He that strikes the 
 first stroke, I'll run him up to the hilts, as I am a 
 soldier. 
 
 Pist. An oath of mickle might ; and fury shall 
 abate. 
 
 Nym. I will cut thy throat, one time or other, in 
 fair terms ; that is the humor of it. 
 
 Bard. Come, shall I make you two friends ? We 
 must to France together; why the devil should we 
 keep knives to cut one another's throats ? 
 
 Pist. Let floods o'erswell and fiends for food 
 howl on ! 
 
 Nym. You'll pay me the eight shillings I won of 
 you? 
 
 Pist. Base is the slave that pays. 
 
 Nym. That now I will have; that's the humor 
 of it. 
 
 Bar d. By this sword, he that makes the first thrust, 
 I'll kill him ; by this sword, I will. 
 
 Pist. Sword is an oath, and oaths must have their 
 course. 
 
 Nym. I shall have my eight shillings ? 
 
 Pist. A noble shalt thou have, and present pay ; 
 
King Henry and his train before the gate of Harfleur. 
 
 King Henry V, Act III, Scene Hi. 
 
THE STORY OF HENRY V, 1413-1422. 115 
 
 And liquor likewise will I give to thee, 
 
 And friendship shall combine and brotherhood ; 
 
 I'll live by Nym, and Nym shall live by me ; 
 
 Is not this just ? — for I shall sutler be 
 
 Unto the camp, and profits will accrue. 
 
 Give me thy hand. 
 
 Nym. I shall have my noble ? 
 
 Pist. In cash most justly paid. 
 
 Nym. Well, then, that's the humor of it. 
 
 The humor of it requires us to remember that 
 nym means to take, to steal ; the reason for Pistol's 
 desire for office shows us that in this mutable world 
 some things remain fixed. 
 
 Haefleur. 
 
 We may yield our imaginations to the touch of 
 the chorus in the play and see the king embark at 
 Hampton ; the ship-boys climbing upon the hempen 
 tackle ; the sails borne with the invisible wind draw- 
 ing the huge ships through the furrowed sea ; a 
 majestic fleet, looking like a city dancing on the 
 inconstant billows, but holding a due course to Har- 
 fleur. We shall see the English troops going ashore ; 
 a siege soon, the nimble gunner touching off the 
 cannon whose fatal mouths gape upon the girdled 
 city, and after some vain attempts at storming have 
 been made, we shall hear the ringing commands of 
 Henry : 
 
 Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more ; 
 Or close the wall up with our English dead ! 
 In peace there's nothing so becomes a man 
 
116 SHAKESPEAKE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 As modest stillness and humility : 
 
 But, when the blast of war blows in our ears, 
 
 Then imitate the action of the tiger ; 
 
 Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood, 
 
 Disguise fair nature with hard-favored rage : 
 
 Now set the teeth, and stretch the nostril wide ; 
 
 Hold hard the breath, and bend up every spirit 
 
 To his full height ! On, on, you noble English ! 
 
 Be copy now to men of grosser blood, 
 
 And teach them how to war ! And you, good yeomen, 
 
 Whose limbs were made in England, show us here 
 
 The mettle of your pasture ; let us swear 
 
 That you are worth your breeding : which I doubt 
 
 not; 
 For there is none of you so mean and base, 
 That hath not noble luster in your eyes. 
 I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, 
 Straining upon the start. The game's afoot : 
 Follow your spirit ; and, upon this charge, 
 Cry — God for Harry! England! and Saint George! 
 
 The verbal accompaniment of the siege was not 
 all rendered in this high key, for !Nym, Bardolph, 
 Pistol, and a very precocious boy were actors, at least 
 in the oral part; besides these there were certain 
 others, notably the Welshman. Fluellen, who will not 
 fail to call for attention. 
 
 Bard. On, on, on, on ! to the breach, to the 
 breach ! 
 
 Nym. 'Pray thee, corporal, stay ; the knocks are too 
 hot ; and, for mine own part, I have not a case of 
 lives. 
 
THE STORY OF HENRY V, 1413-1422. 117 
 
 Perhaps Nym would have willingly risked one 
 out of a " case " of them, but he reminds the corporal 
 that the number is limited. 
 
 Pist. Knocks go and come ; God's vassals drop and 
 die; 
 And sword and shield, in bloody field, 
 Doth win immortal fame. 
 
 This warlike poetry of Pistol's suggested to the 
 boy that better part of valor known as discretion. 
 For drooping and dying he had no taste : 
 
 Would I were in an alehouse in London ! I would 
 give all my fame for a pot of ale and safety. 
 
 Flu. Got's plood ! Up to the preaches, you rascals. 
 
 Pist. Be merciful, great duke, to men of mould ! 
 Abate thy rage, abate thy manly rage ! 
 
 And these men of war go off together, possibly in 
 the direction of the " preach," while the boy lingers 
 to give them a sort of rearward introduction : 
 
 As young as I am, I have observed these three 
 swashers. For Bardolph, he is white-livered and red- 
 faced. For Pistol, he hath a killing tongue and a 
 quiet sword. For Nym, he hath heard that men of 
 few words are the best [bravest] men ; and, therefore, 
 he scorns to say his prayers, lest 'a should be thought a 
 coward. 
 
 The attempt to take Harfleur by direct assault 
 could not have been successful, for we are soon called 
 to see the governor and citizens on the walls, King 
 Henry and his "power" below and on the outside : 
 9 
 
118 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 King. How yet resolves the governor of the town ? 
 This is the latest parle we will admit : 
 Therefore to our best mercy give yourselves, 
 Or, like to men proud of destruction, 
 Defy us to our worst : for, as I am a soldier, 
 (A name that, in my thoughts, becomes me best), 
 If I begin the battery once again, 
 I will not leave the half-achieved Harfleur 
 Till in her ashes she lie buried. 
 
 The king, continuing, drew a blood-chilling picture 
 of the horrors which would surely attend and follow 
 a successful assault ; the governor replied that they 
 had been looking for aid from the Dauphin, that 
 they now gave it up and yielded their town and 
 themselves to Henry's "soft mercy." The English 
 conqueror garrisoned the city, and as winter was com- 
 ing on and sickness spread among his soldiers, after a 
 brief rest he set out for Calais. 
 
 Rouen. 
 
 As the pages of history furnish extended proof, 
 this retirement of the English army toward Calais was 
 not a pleasure excursion. Before it was concluded 
 one of the most renowned battles of the world was 
 fought, and " lost and won." If we go to the city of 
 Rouen and find admittance into a certain room of the 
 palace, occupied for the time by the King, the 
 Dauphin, the Constable of France, and the Duke of 
 Bourbon, we shall hear something from the enemy. 
 
 The topic of conversation between the King of 
 France and his advisers was what they should do : 
 
THE STORY OF HENRY V, 1413-1422. 119 
 
 Fr. King. 'Tis certain he hath passed the river 
 Somme. 
 
 Con. And if he be not fought withal, my lord, 
 Let us not live in France ; let us quit all, 
 And give our vineyards to a barbarous people. 
 
 The use of the word "vineyards" sent the Dau- 
 phin to the art of horticulture for his metaphor, and 
 he wished to know whether a few wild French sprouts 
 — the Normans, grafted upon a savage stock, the 
 Saxons — should be allowed to shoot up into the clouds 
 and look down upon the gardeners who had grafted 
 them ; and the Duke of Bourbon declared that unless 
 they fought the English he would sell his dukedom 
 and buy a dirty farm, 
 
 In that nook-shotten isle of Albion. 
 
 Con. Whence have they this mettle ? 
 
 Is not their climate foggy, raw, and dull ; 
 On whom, as in despite, the sun looks pale, 
 Killing their fruit with frowns ? Can barley-broth 
 Decoct their cold blood to such valiant heat, 
 And shall our quick blood, spirited with wine, 
 Seem frosty ? 
 
 Bour. Our madams say our grace is in our heels, 
 And that we are most lofty runaways. 
 
 This sharp prodding had its effect upon the king, 
 and drew forth a message of sharp defiance to be 
 borne to King Henry by Montjoy the herald, and a 
 summons to the long roll of high dukes, great princes, 
 barons, lords, and knights, to wipe away their shame, 
 and 
 
120 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 Bar Harry England, that sweeps through our land 
 With pennons painted in the blood of Harfleur : 
 Bush on his host, as doth the melted snow 
 Upon the valleys. 
 
 Con. This becomes the great. 
 
 Sorry am I his numbers are so few, 
 His soldiers sick, and famished in their march ; 
 For, I am sure, when he shall see our army, 
 He'll drop his heart into the sink of fear, 
 And, for achievement, offer us his ransom. 
 [Instead of beating us, buy his own safety.] 
 
 Fr. King. Therefore, Lord Constable, haste on 
 Mont joy 
 And let him say to England, that we send 
 To know what willing ransom he will give. 
 
 The English Camp. 
 
 Let us follow the herald and 6ee how he delivered 
 his message, and how it was received : 
 
 Mont. Thus says my king: Say thou to Harry of 
 England, we could have rebuked him at Harfleur, but 
 that we thought not good to bruise an injury till it 
 were full ripe : now wo speak upon our cue, and our 
 voice is imperial. England shall repent his folly, see 
 his weakness, and admire [wonder at] our sufferance. 
 Bid him, therefore, consider of his ransom, which must 
 proportion the losses we have borne, the subjects we 
 have lost, the disgrace we have digested. For our losses, 
 his exchequer is too poor ; for the effusion of our blood, 
 the muster of his kingdom too faint a number ; and, 
 for our disgrace, his own person, kneeling at our feet, 
 but a weak and worthless satisfaction. 
 
THE STORY OF HENRY V, 1413-1422. 121 
 
 King. Thou dost thy office fairly. Turn thee back, 
 And tell thy king, I do not seek him now ; 
 But could be willing to march on to Calais 
 Without impeachment [disturbance]. 
 My people are with sickness much enfeebled, 
 My numbers lessened ; and those few I have 
 Almost no better than so many French. 
 Go, therefore, tell thy master here I am ; 
 My ransom is this frail and worthless trunk ; 
 My army but a weak and sickly guard ; 
 Yet, God before, tell him we will come on, 
 Though France himself, and such another neighbor 
 Stand in our way. 
 
 Montjoy took his leave. Gloster expressed the 
 hope that the enemy would not attack immediately, 
 to which utterance the king piously rejoined : 
 
 We are in God's hand, brother, not in theirs. 
 March to the bridge ; it now draws toward night. 
 Beyond the river we'll encamp ourselves. 
 
 This bridge to which the king referred was over 
 the small river of Ternois. There was a smart skir- 
 mish, the French were routed by the English ad- 
 vance, and the bridge held till the army passed 
 over. 
 
 Some of our acquaintances whom we saw last at 
 the " preach," we meet again at the " pridge." 
 
 Gow. How now, Captain Fluellen ! come you from 
 the bridge ? 
 
 Flu. I assure you, there is very excellent services 
 committed at the pridge. 
 
122 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 Go w. Is the Duke of Exeter safe ? 
 
 Flu. The Duke of Exeter is as magnanimous as 
 Agamemnon : he is not — Got be praised and plessed ! 
 — any hurt in the 'orld ; but keeps the pridge most val- 
 iantly, with excellent disciplines. There is an ancient 
 there at the pridge. I think, in my very conscience, 
 he is as valiant a man as Mark Antony. 
 
 Goio. What do you call him? 
 
 Flu. He is called Ancient Pistol. 
 
 Eight here Pistol enters, and without a minute's 
 pause, 
 
 Pist. Captain, I thee beseech to do me favors : 
 The Duke of Exeter doth love thee well. 
 
 Flu. Ay ! I praise Got. 
 
 Pist. Bardolph, a soldier, firm and sound of heart, 
 Of buxom valor, hath, — by cruel fate, 
 And giddy Fortune's furious fickle wheel, — 
 That goddess blind, 
 That stands upon the rolling, restless stone, — 
 
 Flu. By your patience, Ancient Pistol. Fortune is 
 painted plind, with a muffler afore her eyes, to signify 
 to you that Fortune is plind ; and she is painted also 
 with a wheel, to signify to you, which is the moral of 
 it, that she is turning, and inconstant, and mutability, 
 and variation ; and her foot, look you, is fixed upon a 
 spherical stone, which rolls, and rolls, and rolls. 
 
 Pist. Fortune is Bardolph's foe, and frowns on him, 
 For he hath stolen a pax, and hanged must 'a be : 
 For Exeter hath given the doom of death. 
 Therefore, go speak ; the duke will hear thy voice ; 
 And let not Bardolph's vital thread be cut. 
 
THE STORY OF HENRY V, 1413-1422. 123 
 
 Flu. Ancient Pistol, I do partly understand your 
 meaning. 
 
 Pist. Why, then rejoice therefore. 
 
 The good captain did not feel the thrust at his 
 powers of apprehension in Pistol's last shot ; but the 
 discipline of the wars made him refuse to interfere, 
 much to Pistol's disgust, who went off in a rage, 
 something in his manner recalling him to Gower's 
 memory : 
 
 Gow. Why, this is an arrant counterfeit rascal ; I 
 remember him now. 
 
 Flu. I'll assure you, 'a uttered as prave 'ords at the 
 pridge as you shall see in a summer's day. But I tell 
 you what, Captain Gower, — I do perceive he is not the 
 man that he would gladly make show to the 'orld he 
 is : if I find a hole in his coat, I will tell him my mind. 
 
 The Welshman uses the same metaphor for a 
 blemish in character that the great song writer of the 
 ages put into his rhyme : 
 
 If there's a hole in a' your coats, I rede ye tent it, 
 A duel's amang ye takin' notes, and faith ! he'll prent 
 it. 
 
 The king approaching asked Fluellen about the 
 state of things at the bridge, and learned : 
 
 th' athversary was have possession, but is enforced to 
 retire, and the Duke of Exeter is master of the pridge. 
 The perdition of th' athversary hath been very great : 
 marry, I think the duke hath lost never a man, but one 
 
124 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 that is like to be executed for robbing a church, — one 
 Bardolph, if your majesty knows the man. 
 
 King. We would have such offenders so cut off. 
 
 This is the end of poor Bardolph ; he is gone 
 after Falstaff, " wheresomever he is." 
 
 The Night befoke Agincotjrt. 
 
 When creeping murmur and the poring dark 
 
 Fills the wide vessel of the universe. 
 
 Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs 
 
 Piercing the night's dull ear. 
 
 The country cocks do crow, the clocks do toll, 
 
 And the third hour of drowsy morning name. 
 
 King, Gloster, 'tis true that we are in great danger ; 
 The greater therefore should our courage be. 
 Good morrow, brother Bedford. — God Almighty ! 
 There is some soul of goodness in things evil, 
 Would men observingly distil it out, 
 
 and he illustrates this doctrine by the fact that their 
 present bad neighbors, the French, made them early 
 risers, and also preached to them of their latter end. 
 Disguised in the cloak of one of his officers King 
 Henry spends the rest of the night in a solitary 
 patrol of his camp. Meeting Pistol, that interesting 
 warrior would learn his name : 
 
 King. Harry le Roi. 
 
 Pist. Le Boy ! A Cornish name : art thou of 
 Cornish crew? 
 
 King. No, I am a Welshman. 
 Pist. Knowest thou Fluellen ? 
 
THE STORY OF HENRY V, 1413-1422. 125 
 
 King. Yes. 
 
 Pist. Tell him, I'll knock his leek about his pate 
 Upon Saint Davy's day. 
 
 We may recollect that he is greatly out of humor 
 with Fluellen. Leaving his name to reinforce his 
 threat, Pistol goes on his way just in time to miss 
 Fluellen himself and Gower, who meet in the hearing 
 of le Ro% but do not observe him. Fluellen dis- 
 courses upon his favorite theme, the " ceremonies of 
 the wars." Upon their departure, Bates, Court, and 
 Williams are heard in conversation : 
 
 Court. Brother John Bates, is not that the morn- 
 ing which breaks yonder ? 
 
 Bates. I think it be : but we have no great cause to 
 desire the approach of day. 
 
 Will. We see yonder the beginning of the day, but 
 I think we shall never see the end of it. — Who goes 
 there ? 
 
 This challenge was addressed to King Henry, as, 
 in his rounds, he came into the dim light of the pale 
 streaks of day just beginning to break, and the re- 
 sponse was : " A friend." 
 
 Will. Under what captain serve you ? 
 King. Under Sir Thomas Erpingham. 
 
 Any signs of royalty, if the king wore them, 
 were concealed under Sir Thomas's cloak. 
 
 Will. I pray you, what thinks he of our estate ? 
 King. Even as men wrecked upon a sand, that look 
 to be washed off the next tide. 
 
126 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 Bates. He hath not told his thought to the king ? 
 
 King. No; nor it is not meet he should. For, 
 though I speak it to you, I think the king is but a 
 man, as I am ; the violet smells to him as it doth to 
 me ; the element shows [the sky looks] to him as it 
 doth to me ; all his senses have but human conditions ; 
 and though his affections are higher mounted than 
 ours, yet, when they stoop, they stoop with the like 
 wing. Therefore, when he sees reason of fears, as we 
 do, his fears, out of doubt, be of the same relish as 
 ours are : yet, in reason, no man should possess him 
 with any appearance of fear, lest he, by showing it, 
 should dishearten his army. 
 
 Bates. He may show what outward courage he will ; 
 but I believe, as cold a night as 'tis, he could wish 
 himself in Thames up to the neck ; and so I would he 
 were, and I by him, at all adventures, so we were quit 
 here [safe out of this]. 
 
 King. By my troth, I will speak my conscience of 
 the king : I think he would not wish himself anywhere 
 but where he is. 
 
 Bates. Then I would he were alone ; so should he 
 be sure to be ransomed, and a many poor men's lives 
 saved. 
 
 King. I dare say you love him not so ill, to wish 
 him here alone, howsoever you speak this to feel other 
 men's minds : methinks, I could not die anywhere so 
 contented as in the king's company ; his cause being 
 just, and his quarrel honorable. 
 
 Will. That's more than we know. 
 Court. Ay, or more than we should seek after ; for 
 we know enough if we know we are the king's subjects. 
 
 Will. But, if the cause be not good, the king him- 
 
THE STORY OF HENRY V, 1413-1422. 127 
 
 self hath a heavy reckoning to make. I am afeared 
 there are few die well that die in battle ; and if they 
 die not well it will be a black matter for the king that 
 led them to it. 
 
 King. There is no king, be his cause never so spot- 
 less, can try it out with all unspotted soldiers. Some, 
 peradventure, have on them the guilt of contrived 
 murder ; some, making the wars their bulwark, that 
 have before gored the gentle bosom of peace with pil- 
 lage and robbery, and though they can outstrip men 
 they have no wings to fly from God. Every subject's 
 duty is the king's ; but every subject's soul is his own. 
 Therefore, should every soldier wash every mote out of 
 his conscience, and, dying so, death is to him advan- 
 tage ; or, not dying, the time was blessedly lost wherein 
 such preparation was gained. 
 
 Will. 'Tis certain, every man that dies ill, the ill is 
 upon his own head ; the king is not to answer for it. 
 
 Bates. I do not desire he should answer for me ; 
 and yet I determine to fight lustily for him. 
 
 King. I myself heard the king say he would not be 
 ransomed. 
 
 Will. Ay, he said so, to make us fight cheerfully : 
 but, when our throats are cut, he may be ransomed, 
 and we ne'er the wiser. 
 
 King. If I live to see it, I will never trust his word 
 after. 
 
 Will. That's a perilous shot out of an elder gun : 
 you may as well go about to turn the sun to ice with 
 fanning in his face with a peacock's feather. You'll 
 never trust his word after ! come, 'tis a foolish saying. 
 
 King. Your reproof is something too round. 
 
 Will. Let it be a quarrel between us, if you live. 
 
128 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KLNGS. 
 
 King. I embrace it. 
 Will. How shall I know thee again ? 
 Xing. Give me any gage of thine, and I will wear 
 it in my bonnet. 
 
 Witt. Here's my glove : give me another of thine. ] 
 King. There. 
 
 After some further talk the soldiers go on their 
 way. This little shade of a quarrel savors slightly 
 of the days of Prince Hal. We shall see by and by 
 what comes of it. The king, alone, again thinks aloud 
 upon the great question just stirred : 
 
 Upon the king ! let us our lives, our souls, 
 Our debts, our careful wives, our children, and 
 Our sins, lay on the king ! We must bear all. 
 
 hard condition ! twin-born with greatness. 
 What infinite heart's-ease must kings neglect, 
 That private men enjoy ! 
 
 Xo, thou proud dream, 
 That play'st so subtly with a king's repose : 
 
 1 am a king that find thee ; and I know 
 'Tis not the balm, the scepter, and the ball, 
 The sword, the mace, the crown imperial, 
 The throne he sits on, nor the tide of pomp 
 That beats upon the high shore of the world, 
 Can sleep so soundly as the wretched slave 
 Who, with a body filled and vacant mind, 
 Gets him to rest. 
 
 Here appears Sir Thomas Erpingham : 
 
 Erp. My lord, your nobles, jealous of your absence, 
 Seek through your camp to find you. 
 
THE STORY OF HENRY V, 1413-1422. 129 
 
 King. Good old knight, 
 
 Collect them all together at my tent : 
 I'll be before thee. 
 
 God of battles ! steel my soldiers' hearts ; 
 Possess them not with fear ! take from them now 
 The sense of reckoning, if th' opposed numbers 
 Pluck their hearts from them ! Not to-day, Lord, 
 0, not to-day ! Think not upon the fault 
 My father made in compassing the crown ! 
 
 The French Camp. 
 
 "While this council of war is holding at King 
 Henry's quarters we may pass over to where the 
 Dauphin, Orleans, and other French officers are 
 coming forth from their luxurious tents, full of ardor 
 for the work of the day to begin, and not troubled 
 with any fears as to how it may end. A messenger 
 enters with word that the English are embattled, and 
 the Lord Constable gives the order, 
 
 To horse, you gallant princes ! straight to horse ! 
 Do but behold yond poor and starved band. 
 There is not work enough for all our hands ; 
 Scarce blood enough in all their sickly veins 
 To give each naked curtle-axe a stain. 
 
 And he further declares that the mere camp fol- 
 lowers of the French army could purge this field of 
 the foe while the French knights but looked on. But 
 as honor would not allow that : 
 
 A very little little let us do, 
 And all is done. 
 
130 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 This thundering in the index, to use Hamlet's 
 metaphor, was echoed by another nobleman : 
 
 Yond island carrion, desperate of their bones, 
 Ill-favoredly become the morning field ; 
 Their ragged curtains [colors] poorly are let loose, 
 And our air shakes them passing scornfully ; 
 
 and with some aid from his fancy he sees the knavish 
 crows flying over the English horses, impatient for 
 their time. 
 
 Con. They've said their prayers, and they stay for 
 
 death. 
 Dan. Shall we go send them dinners and fresh 
 suits, 
 And give their fasting horses provender, 
 And after fight with them ? 
 
 All of which is very graphic and sarcastic, but the 
 vein didn't last the day out. 
 
 The English Camp. 
 
 GIo. Where is the king ? 
 
 Bed. The king himself is rode to view their battle. 
 
 West. Of fighting men they have full three score 
 
 thousand. 
 Exe. There's five to one ; besides, they all are 
 
 fresh. 
 West. that we now had here 
 But one ten thousand of those men in England 
 That do no work to-day ! 
 
THE STORY OF HENRY V, 1413-1422. 131 
 
 The king had returned in time to hear the last 
 speaker, and broke in upon him with : 
 
 What's he that wishes so ? 
 My Cousin Westmoreland ? — No, my fair cousin : 
 If we are marked to die, we are enough 
 To do our country loss : and if to live, 
 The fewer men the greater share of honor. 
 By Jove, I am not covetous for gold ; 
 But if it be a sin to covet honor, 
 I am the most offending soul alive. 
 We would not live in that man's company 
 That fears his fellowship to die with us. 
 This day is called the feast of Crispian : 
 He that outlives this day, and comes safe home, 
 Will stand a tip-toe when this day is named, 
 And rouse him at the name of Crispian. 
 He that shall live this day, and see old age, 
 Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbors, 
 And say, To-morrow is Saint Crispian. 
 Old men forget : yet all shall be forgot, 
 But he'll remember, with advantages, 
 What feats he did that day. Then shall our names, 
 Familiar in their mouths as household words, 
 Be in their flowing cups freshly remembered. 
 
 Preceded by a trumpeter the French herald, 
 Montjoy, approaches the king : 
 
 Mont. Once more I come to know of thee, King 
 Harry, 
 If for thy ransom thou wilt now compound. 
 King. Who hath sent thee now ? 
 Mont. The Constable of France. 
 
132 SIIAKESPEARE'S ENGLISn KINGS. 
 
 King. I pray thee, bear my former answer back : 
 Bid them achieve me, and then sell my bones. 
 The man that once did sell the lion's skin 
 While the beast lived, was killed with hunting him. 
 Let me speak proudly : — Tell the Constable 
 We are but warriors for the working-day ; 
 There's not a piece of feather in our host — 
 Good argument, I hope, we will not fly — 
 But, by the mass, our hearts are in the trim. 
 Come thou no more for ransom, gentle herald, 
 They shall have none, I swear. 
 
 Mont. So fare thee well : 
 
 Thou never shalt hear herald any more. 
 
 June/. I fear thou'lt once more come again for 
 ransom. 
 
 On the Field. 
 
 Pistol continually turns up like a bad penny, 
 this time encountering a French soldier who is a 
 greater coward than he is himself. Neither can 
 speak the other's tongue. To Pistol's inquiry for his 
 name, the Frenchman calls out that of his Maker, and 
 Pistol demands of " Signieur Dew an egregious ran- 
 som." Their diplomacy progressed slowly, and the 
 convenient boy was called to interpret. After a 
 shower of French : 
 
 Pist. What are his words ? 
 
 Boy. He prays you to save his life, and for his ran- 
 som he will give you two hundred crowns. 
 
 Pist. Tell him — my fury shall abate, and I 
 The crowns will take. 
 
THE STORY OF HENRY V, 1413-1422. 133 
 
 Boy. He gives you, upon his knees, a thousand 
 thanks. 
 
 Pist. As I suck blood, I will some mercy show. 
 Follow me, cur. 
 
 Pistol takes his leave, and the Frenchman acts 
 upon the boy's rendering of Pistol's last remark : 
 Suivez-vous le grand cajpitaine f Then the boy in- 
 dulges in a few reflections and a little history : 
 
 I never did know so full a voice issue from so empty 
 a heart : but the saying is true, The empty vessel makes 
 the greatest sound. Bardolph and Nym had ten times 
 more valor than this roaring devil, and they are both 
 hanged ; and so would this be if he durst steal any- 
 thing adventurously. 
 
 In another part of the field of battle we hear the 
 French Constable exclaiming that their ranks are 
 broken, and everlasting shame sits mocking on their 
 plumes ; and Orleans in a high pitch of scorn and rage 
 inquiring, " Is this the king we sent to for his ransom ? " 
 
 In yet another part is King Henry congratulating 
 his thrice-valiant countryman ; and afterwards, hear- 
 ing the sad and bloody story of the deaths of Suffolk 
 and of York, the telling of which overcame the man 
 in Exeter and all the mother came into his eyes ; in 
 simpler form of speech, he wept. 
 
 King. I blame you not ; 
 
 For, hearing this, I must perforce compound 
 With mistful eyes, or they will issue too. 
 But, hark ! what new alarum is this same ? — 
 The French have reinforced their scattered men ; 
 10 
 
13± SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 that is, the enemy had gathered their scattered men 
 into a force again, and to meet this new danger King 
 Henry gave the order which aroused Fluellen's indig- 
 nation : 
 
 Then every soldier kill his prisoners ; 
 
 Give the word through. 
 
 And this word and its result before long reached 
 the Welsh captain : 
 
 Flu. Kill the poys and the luggage ! 'tis expressly 
 against the law of arms. 
 
 Gow. 'Tis certain there's not a boy left alive ; and 
 the cowardly rascals that ran from the battle ha' done 
 this slaughter : besides, they have burned and carried 
 away all that was in the king's tent : wherefore, the 
 king, most worthily, hath caused every soldier to cut 
 his prisoner's throat. 0, 'tis a gallant king ! 
 
 Flu. Ay, he was porn at Monmouth, Captain Gower. 
 What call you the town's name where Alexander the 
 pig was porn ? 
 
 Gow. Alexander the Great. 
 
 Flu. Why, I pray you, is not pig great ? The pig, or 
 the great, or the mighty, or the huge, or the magnani- 
 mous, are all one reckonings, save the phrase is a little 
 variations. 
 
 Goiv. I think Alexander the Great was born in 
 Macedon. 
 
 Flu. I tell you, captain, if you look in the maps of 
 the 'orld, you shall find, in the comparisons between 
 Macedon and Monmouth, that the situations is both 
 alike. There is a river in Macedon ; there is also 
 moreover a river at Monmouth : it is called Wye at 
 
THE STORY OP HENRY V, 1413-1422. 135 
 
 Monmouth ; but it is out of my prains what is the 
 name of the other river : but 'tis all one : 'tis alike as 
 my fingers is to my fingers, and there is salmons in 
 both. If you mark Alexander's life well, Harry of 
 Monmouth's life is come after it indifferent well ; for 
 there is figures in all things. Alexander — Got knows, 
 and you know — in his rages, and his furies, and his 
 wraths, and his cholers, also being a little intoxicates 
 in his prains, did, in his ales and his angers, kill his 
 pest friend, Cleitus. 
 
 Goto. Our king is not like him in that. 
 
 Flu. It is not well done, mark you now, to take the 
 tales out of my mouth, ere it is made and finished. I 
 speak but in the figures and the comparisons of it. As 
 Alexander killed his friend Cleitus, being in his ales 
 and his cups ; so also Harry Monmouth, being in his 
 right wits, turned away the fat knight : he was full of 
 jests : I have forgot his name. 
 
 Goto. Sir John Falstaff. 
 
 Flu. That is he. I'll tell you, there is goot men 
 porn at Monmouth. 
 
 Gow. Here comes his majesty. 
 
 Soon after Henry with a part of his troops had 
 entered, the herald, Montjoy, appears again, and the 
 king puts to him, very naturally, the scornful question, 
 
 Comest thou again for ransom? 
 
 Mont. No, great king : 
 
 I come to thee for charitable license 
 That we may wander o'er this bloody field 
 To look our dead, and then to bury them. 
 
 King. I tell thee truly, herald, 
 
 I know not if the day be ours or no ; 
 
136 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 For yet a many of your horsemen peer 
 And gallop o'er the field. 
 
 Mont. The day is yours. 
 
 King. Praised be God, and not our strength, for it ! 
 What is this castle called that stands hard by ? 
 
 Mont. They call it Agincourt. 
 
 King. Then call we this the field of Agincourt. 
 
 Flu. Your grandfather of famous memory, an't 
 please your majesty, and your great-uncle Edward the 
 Plack Prince of Wales, as I have read in the chron- 
 icles, fought a most prave pattle here in France. 
 
 King. They did, Fluellen. 
 
 Flu. Your majesty says very true : if your majesty 
 is remembered of it, the Welshmen did goot service in 
 a garden where leeks did grow ; and, I do pelieve, your 
 majesty takes no scorn to wear the leek upon Saint 
 Tavy's day. 
 
 King. I wear it for a memorable honor ; 
 For I am Welsh, you know, good countryman. 
 
 Flu. All the water in Wye cannot wash your 
 majesty's Welsh plood out of your pody, God pless it ! 
 
 King. Thanks, good my countryman. 
 
 Flu. I am your majesty's countryman, I care not 
 who know it ; I will confess it to all the 'orld : I need 
 not pe ashamed of your majesty, praised be Got, so 
 long as your majesty is an honest man. 
 
 King. God keep me so ! Our heralds go with him : 
 Bring me just notice of the numbers dead 
 On both our parts. 
 
 The English heralds depart with Montjoy, and the 
 king, with his eye on Williams, directed him to come 
 nearer. 
 
THE STORY OF HENRY V, 1413-1422. 137 
 
 King. Soldier, why wear'st thou that glove in thy 
 cap? 
 
 Will. 'Tis the gage of one that I should fight withal, 
 if he be alive. 
 
 King, An Englishman? 
 
 Will. An't please your majesty, a rascal that swag- 
 gered with me last night : if I should see my glove in 
 his cap I will strike it out soundly. 
 
 King. What think you, Captain Fluellen, is it fit 
 this soldier keep his oath ? 
 
 Flu. He is a craven else. 
 
 King. It may be his enemy is a gentleman of great 
 sort. 
 
 Flu. Though he be as goot a gentleman as the tevil 
 is, as Lucifer and Beelzebub himself, he must keep his 
 vow. 
 
 King. Then keep thy vow, sirrah, when thou 
 meetst' the fellow. Who servest thou under? 
 
 Will. Under Captain Gower, my liege. 
 
 Flu. Gower is a good captain, and is goot knowl- 
 edge and literatured in the wars. 
 
 King. Call him hither to me. 
 
 Will. I will, my liege. 
 
 Having sent Williams of! to Gower' s tent, the 
 king pushes forward his little jest by asking Fluellen 
 to wear a glove — Williams's — in his cap, and gives 
 him an errand which will place him right in Wil- 
 liams's path. He directs his brother Gloster to fol- 
 low Fluellen closely at the heels and see that no 
 harm come from it : 
 
 Will. Sir, know you this glove ? 
 
 Flu. Know the glove ! 1 know the glove is a glove. 
 
138 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 To carry out his threat Williams strikes the blunt 
 "Welshman, and some loud talk follows, interrupted 
 by Gloster's entrance in time to hear Fluellen's an- 
 nouncement of " a most contagious treason come to 
 light as you shall desire in a summer's day." 
 
 King Henry had followed his messenger, and to 
 his demanding " what's the matter ? " each party to 
 the quarrel put his case ; and then the king, addressing 
 Williams, told him : 
 
 'Twas I, indeed, thou promised'st to strike ; 
 And thou hast given me most bitter terms, 
 
 and he drew from his pocket the mate of the glove in 
 Williams's hat. 
 
 King. How canst thou make me satisfaction ? 
 
 Will. All offenses, my liege, come from the heart ; 
 never came any from mine that might offend your 
 majesty. You appeared to me but as a common man : 
 witness the night, your garments, your lowliness; 
 therefore, I beseech your Highness, pardon me. 
 
 King. Here, Uncle Exeter, fill this glove with 
 crowns, 
 And give it to this fellow. — Keep it, fellow ; 
 And wear it for an honor in thy cap 
 Till I do challenge it. — Give him the crowns : — 
 And, captain, you must needs be friends with him. 
 
 Fin. By this day and this light, the fellow has 
 mettle enough in his pelly. — Hold, there is twelve 
 pence for you. 
 
 Will. I will none of your money. 
 
 Flu. It will serve to mend your shoes. Come, where- 
 
THE STORY OF HENRY V, 1413-1422. 139 
 
 fore should you pe so pashful ? your shoes is not so 
 goot; 'tis a good silling, I warrant you, or I will 
 change it. 
 
 The heralds returned at this time, and one of them 
 gave the king a paper which showed the losses on 
 each side, and the most notable thing was the woful 
 difference as against the French : 
 
 King. This note doth tell me of ten thousand 
 French 
 That in the field lie slain : of princes, in this number, 
 And nobles bearing banners, there lie dead 
 One hundred twenty-six : added to these, 
 Of knights, esquires, and gallant gentlemen, 
 Eight thousand and four hundred ; of the which 
 Five hundred were but yesterday dubbed knights : 
 So that, in these ten thousand they have lost, 
 There are but sixteen hundred mercenaries ; 
 The rest are princes, barons, lords, knights, squires, 
 And gentlemen of blood and quality. 
 Here was a royal fellowship of death ! — 
 Where is the number of our English dead ? 
 
 Another paper is handed to the king, from which 
 he learns : 
 
 Edward the Duke of York, the Earl of Suffolk, 
 Sir Eichard Ketly, Davy Gam, esquire : 
 None else of name ; and of all other men 
 But five and twenty. God, thy arm was here ; 
 And not to us, but to thy arm alone, 
 Ascribe we all ! When, without stratagem, 
 But in plain shock and even play of battle, 
 Was ever known so great and little loss ? 
 
140 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 Exe. 'Tis wonderful ! 
 
 King. Come, go we in procession to the village ; 
 And be it death proclaimed through our host 
 To boast of this, or take that praise from God 
 That is his only. 
 
 Flu. Is it not lawful, an please your majesty, to 
 tell how many is killed ? 
 
 King. Yes, captain, but with this acknowledgment 
 — that God fought for us. 
 
 Flu. Yes, my conscience, he did us great goot. 
 
 King. Do we all holy rites : 
 Let there be sung Non nobis and Te Deum. 
 The dead with charity enclosed in clay, 
 We'll then to Calais ; and to England then ; 
 Where ne'er from France arrived more happy men. 
 
 The reader must take from words what Henry's 
 listeners knew them to mean; or rather what they 
 meant in Shakespeare's time. The "mercenaries" 
 were simply those whose names were on the pay roll ; 
 the " gentlemen," like our Washington, did not deign 
 to fight for pay ; and the dead were buried with love. 
 
 We have not forgotten that Pistol fell out with 
 Captain Fluellen because he would not interfere in 
 Bardolph's behalf, but would rather desire the duke 
 to use his " goot pleasure and put him to execution." 
 He sent him word the night before the battle that he 
 would knock his leek about his pate upon Saint Davy's 
 day, and he seems to have carried out his threat in a 
 fashion, at least. As Fluellen told it : 
 
 He is come, and pid me eat my leek ; it was in a 
 place where I could not preed no contention with him ; 
 
THE STORY OF HENRY V, 1413-1422. 141 
 
 but I will be so pold as to wear it in my cap till I see 
 him once again, and then I will tell him a little piece 
 of my desires. 
 
 He had not long to wait, and he wasted no time : 
 
 Got pless you, Ancient Pistol ! you scurvy knave, 
 Got pless you ! 
 
 And presenting his leek he insisted : 
 
 Because, look you, you do not love it, nor your af- 
 fections, and your appetites, and your digestions, does 
 not agree with it, I ivould desire you to eat it. 
 
 Pistol refuses in heroic meter, and Fluellen's 
 cudgel admonishes him, and furnishes sauce for the 
 lunch. Pistol scorns to take the groat given him to 
 heal his broken pate till he is warned that Fluellen 
 has another leek in his pocket. And thus was the old 
 Welsh custom vindicated, and thus was Pistol pun- 
 ished : 
 
 Old I do wax ; and from my weary limbs 
 
 Honor is cudgeled. 
 
 So he stole home to England, puts patches on his 
 wounds, and swore he got them at Agincourt. 
 
 On the king's return to his native land, the people 
 of his capital swarmed forth to bring in their " con- 
 quering Csesar." He remained in England but a few 
 months, and the next year, 1416, saw him again across 
 the Channel ; and for the next twenty years, compris- 
 ing the rest of Henry's reign and the longer but little 
 glorious reign of his son, the student of English his- 
 tory must look for it in France. The condition of 
 
142 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 that kingdom was lamentable indeed, torn by civil 
 war, the factions headed on the one side and the other 
 by the king and the dauphin. Henry, we may be 
 sure, did not stand among the spectators. One of the 
 most dreadful contests of which we read on the red 
 page of war was his siege and capture of Rouen, the 
 capital of the province of Normandy. 
 
 Finally a treaty was made, by the terms of which 
 Henry was to be regent during the life of the French 
 king, and to be king in his own right and name after- 
 ward. He was, besides, to have the French Princess 
 Catherine for his wife — a love match, it appears — he 
 having been " smitten through a portrait," and her 
 real charms, when he met her, going beyond the coun- 
 terfeit presentment. 
 
 The poet sets ajar the door and permits us to hear 
 some of the courting : 
 
 King. Fair Catherine, and most fair ! 
 
 Will you vouchsafe to teach a soldier terms, 
 Such as will enter at a lady's ear, 
 And plead his love-suit to her gentle heart ? 
 
 Catli. Your majesty shall mock at me ; I can not 
 speak your England. 
 
 King, fair Catherine, if you will love me soundly 
 with your French heart, I will be glad to hear you con- 
 fess it brokenly with your English tongue. Do you 
 like me, Kate ? 
 
 Oath. Pardo7inez-moi, I can not tell vat is like me. 
 
 King. An angel is like you, Kate ; and you are like 
 an angel. 
 
 Catli. Que dit-il ? que je suis semblahle a les anges f 
 
THE STORY OF HENRY V, 1413-1422. 143 
 
 Alice. Oui, vraiment. 
 
 King. I said so, dear Catherine. 
 
 Catli. ton Dieu ! les langues des liommes sont 
 pleines des tromperies. 
 
 King. What says she, fair one ? that the tongues 
 of men are full of deceits ? 
 
 Alice. Oui, dat de tongues of de mans is be full of 
 deceits. 
 
 King. The princess is the better Englishwoman. 
 I am glad thou canst speak no better English ; for, if 
 thou couldst, thou wouldst find me such a plain king, 
 that thou wouldst think I had sold my farm to buy my 
 crown. I know no ways to mince it in love, but 
 directly to say, / love you. I speak to thee plain 
 soldier ; if thou canst love me for this, take me ; if 
 not, to say to thee that I shall die, is true ; but — for thy 
 love, no ; yet I love thee too. And while thou livest, 
 dear Kate, take a fellow of plain and uncoined con- 
 stancy. These fellows of infinite tongue, that can 
 rhyme themselves into ladies' favors, they do always 
 reason themselves out again. What ! a speaker is but 
 a prater ; a rhyme is but a ballad. A good leg will 
 fall ; a straight back will stoop ; a black beard will 
 turn white ; a curled pate will grow bald ; a fair face 
 will wither ; a full eye will wax hollow ; but a good 
 heart, Kate, is the sun and the moon ; or, rather, the 
 sun, and not the moon ; for it shines bright, and never 
 changes, but keeps his course truly. What say'st 
 thou, then, to my love ? speak, my fair, and fairly, I 
 pray thee. 
 
 Catli. Is it possible dat I sould love de enemy of 
 France ? 
 
 King. In loving me you would love the friend of 
 
144: SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 France ; for I love France so well, that I would not 
 part with a village of it ; I will have it all mine : and, 
 Kate, when France is mine, and I am yours, then yours 
 is France, and you are mine. 
 
 Cath. I can not tell vat is dat. 
 
 King. Dost thou understand thus much English ? 
 Canst thou love me ? 
 
 Cath. I can not tell. 
 
 King. Can any of your neighbors tell? I'll ask 
 them. 
 
 Cath. Your majeste ave fausse French enough to 
 deceive de most sage demoiselle dat is en France. 
 
 King. Come, your answer is broken music, for thy 
 voice is music and thy English broken ; therefore, 
 break thy mind to me in broken English : Wilt thou 
 have me ? 
 
 Cath. Dat is as it sail please de roi mon pere. 
 
 King. Nay, it will please him well, Kate — it shall 
 please him. 
 
 Cath. Den it sail also content me. 
 
 King. Upon that I kiss your hand, and call you my 
 queen. 
 
 To this Catherine replied in a rapid flow of French 
 words, which King Henry interpreted : It is not a 
 fashion for the maids in France to kiss before they 
 are married, would she say ? 
 
 Alice. Oui, vraiment. 
 
 King. Kate, nice customs curt'sy to great kings ; 
 therefore, patiently and yielding. 
 
 Henry, it seems, made love in the same bold fash- 
 ion as that in which he made war, and in laying siege 
 
THE STORY OF HENRY V, 1413-1422. 145 
 
 to a heart, as to a city, found no such word as fail in 
 the bright lexicon of his youthful ardor. 
 
 Some time after the wedding the royal couple 
 crossed over to their island kingdom, and Catherine 
 was crowned at Westminster. 
 
 In 1422, troubles in France called him again to 
 lead his armies there, but in the stress of a campaign 
 he was stricken with a fatal fever. There was to be 
 another feature of likeness between his career and 
 that of the Black Prince ; each a great leader and a 
 successful soldier in the long wars with France came 
 to his end in the kingdom which had been the un- 
 happy scene of his triumphs ; each was the father of 
 an un warlike son who was not able to keep his crown 
 upon his head ; nor, indeed, to keep his head. 
 
 Guizot, describing the death scene, concludes : 
 " His voice died away ; he closed his eyes, and amid 
 the prayers which were repeated around him, the 
 great soul of King Henry Y entered into eternal 
 repose." ( 
 
HEXEY VI, 1422-1461. 
 
 During the two decades following the death of 
 the warrior Henry, England was that unhappy king- 
 dom whose king was a child — a child left the heir of 
 two kingdoms gained by his grandfather, Henry IV, 
 and his father, Henry V, but destined to lose them 
 both, and to furnish in his whole life a striking ex- 
 ample of how uneasy the head may lie that wears a 
 crown. 
 
 When the body of the hero of Agincourt was 
 lowered into its grave the heralds shouted, " God 
 grant long life to Henry, by the grace of God king 
 of France and of England," while the people cried, 
 " Long live the king." The body which was born to 
 be the bearer of this heavy load was not yet able to 
 stand alone. 
 
 The Duke of Bedford, the elder of Henry V's 
 two brothers, was made regent of France; Gloster, 
 the other brother, became protector of the state and 
 the church in England. Bedford, as a statesman and 
 soldier, was almost the equal of Henry. Gloster 
 was very erratic in character ; by his personal and 
 political blunders he made the regent's task a harder 
 146 
 
King Henry VI. 
 
 From an old painting on panel at the Palace of Kensington. 
 
HENRY VI, 1422-1461. 147 
 
 one, and did something to pull down the house of 
 Lancaster. 
 
 The two great events which demanded the atten- 
 tion of Europe during Henry YI's life were in 
 France the overthrow of the English government 
 and at home the Wars of the Roses. The most 
 striking character in the French wars was one who 
 still has the serious attention of historian, poet, and 
 novelist ; fact and iiction struggling each to paint her 
 to its liking, the shepherd girl of Domremy, Jean- 
 nette d'Arc, the Maid of Orleans. 
 
 In 1431, the Duke of Bedford, in order to fan 
 whatever glow of loyalty there might be in the hearts 
 of his French subjects, had the little King Henry YI 
 brought over to Paris and crowned at Notre Dame. 
 Henry Y had been in his grave eight years, and 
 Henry YI was now in his ninth year. Within four 
 years from this time the Duke of Bedford died at 
 Rouen, the same city which had shuddered at the sight 
 of the burning scaffold of the shepherd girl who had 
 saved France. 
 
 It is, of course, not my intention to write the his- 
 tory of those times, but to tell the story of this English 
 king as I find it in the play, or rather to have the play 
 set forth the story. 
 
 Deadly enmity existed between the king's uncle 
 Gloster and his great-uncle Beaufort, the Bishop of 
 Winchester. The brawls of their retainers troubled 
 the streets, and their own quarrels, as in the follow- 
 ing, disturbed the council board. The king is there, 
 a little boy in the charge of his mother. 
 
148 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 Win. If thou canst accuse, 
 
 Or aught intend'st to lay unto my charge, 
 Do it without invention, suddenly. 
 
 Glos. Presumptuous priest ! this place commands 
 my patience. 
 
 Win. What are you, I pray, 
 
 But one imperious in another's throne ? 
 
 Glos. Am I not Lord Protector, saucy priest ? 
 
 Win. And am not I a prelate of the church ? 
 
 King. Uncles of Gloster and of Winchester, 
 The special watchmen of our English weal, 
 0, what a scandal is it to our crown 
 That two such noble peers as ye should jar ! 
 
 The king's lecture was broken into by a noise as 
 of a mob ; angry cries resound in the street, and the 
 Mayor of London enters the chamber with the an- 
 nouncement that : 
 
 The bishop's and the Duke of Gloster's men, 
 Forbidden late to carry any weapon, 
 Have filled their pockets full of pebble-stones. 
 Do pelt so fast at one another's pate 
 That many have their giddy brains knocked out : 
 Our windows are broke down in every street 
 And we, for fear, compelled to shut our shops. 
 King. 0, how this discord doth afflict my soul ! 
 Warwick. My lord protector, yield; yield, Win- 
 chester ; 
 Except you mean by obstinate repulse 
 To slay your sovereign, and destroy the realm. 
 Win. He shall submit or I will never yield. 
 Glos. Here, Winchester, I offer thee my hand. 
 
a 
 
HENRY VI, 1422-1461. 149 
 
 King. Fie, uncle Beaufort ! I have heard you preach 
 That malice was a great and grievous sin ; 
 And will you not maintain the thing you teach ? , 
 
 War. For shame, my Lord of Winchester, relent ! 
 What, shall a child instruct you what to do ? 
 
 Win. Well, Duke of Gloster, I will yield to thee. 
 
 This was a very hollow truce and gave quiet only 
 to the present disturbance. Before the council ad- 
 journed Warwick presented a paper which set forth 
 the claim of Richard Flantagenet to be created Duke 
 of York. The king granted the petition, and also 
 transferred to Kichard the whole inheritance of the 
 House of York : 
 
 From whence you spring by lineal descent. 
 
 This admission carried a load of meaning. Of the 
 sons of Edward III, York was older than Lancaster. 
 Henry YI proved to be the last of the Lancastrians, 
 though this York never reached the throne. Here is 
 planted the thorny bush on which grew the red and 
 the white rose. 
 
 A case was being argued in the Temple hall and 
 a sharp dispute sprang up between Somerset and 
 that Plantagenet just introduced. When the parties 
 to the quarrel and their friends had passed to the gar- 
 den, the discussion was continued : 
 
 Plan. Let him that is a true-born gentleman, 
 
 And stands upon the honor of his birth, 
 
 If he suppose that I have pleaded truth, 
 
 From off this brier pluck a white rose with me. 
 
 Som. Let him that is no coward nor no flatterer, 
 11 
 
150 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 But dare maintain the party of the truth, 
 Pluck a red rose from off this thorn with me. 
 
 War. I love no colors ; and, without all color 
 Of base insinuating flattery, 
 I pluck this white rose with Plantagenet. 
 
 Suf. I pluck this red rose with young Somerset. 
 
 Vernon. I pluck this pale and maiden blossom here 
 Giving my verdict on the white rose side. 
 
 Som. Prick not your finger as you pluck it off, 
 Lest, bleeding, you do paint the white rose red, 
 And fall on my side so. 
 
 Laivyer. (To Som.) Unless my study and my books 
 be false, 
 The argument you held was wrong in you : 
 In sign whereof, I pluck a white rose too. 
 
 Plan. Now, Somerset, where is your argument ? 
 
 Som. Here in my scabbard ; meditating that 
 Shall die your white rose in a bloody red. 
 
 Plan. Meantime, your cheeks do counterfeit our 
 roses ; 
 For pale they look with fear, 
 
 and so, in excellent English, continued this firing of 
 verbal missiles — an exciting sport, but dangerous be- 
 tween debaters with hot blood in their veins and sharp 
 swords at their sides. 
 
 Crowned King of France. 
 
 This event in Henry's life has been alluded to 
 already, and the Duke of Bedford's purpose in show- 
 ing at Paris the little son of the Princess Catherine 
 of France — that is, the ex-queen Catherine of Eng- 
 
•a ^ 
 
HENRY VI, 1422-1461. 151 
 
 land — with the French crown upon his head. As 
 a mode of inspiring loyalty to the son of the con- 
 queror of France the pageant was a failure. It 
 was as truly English as if it had taken place in 
 London. Gloster gave the order, Winchester set the 
 crown on Henry's head, and English soldiers raised 
 the shout of acclaim. 
 
 The new-made Duke of York and the Duke of 
 Somerset were there with their friends aud their 
 uiarrels. 
 
 Two gentlemen, Yernon and Basset, entered the 
 .uncil chamber, and cried their errand without cere- 
 lony: 
 
 Ver. Grant me the combat, gracious sovereign ! 
 
 Bas. And me, my lord, grant me the combat too ! 
 
 York. This is my servant : hear him noble Prince ! 
 
 Som. And this is mine : sweet Henry, favor him ! 
 
 King. What is the wrong of which you both com- 
 plain ? 
 
 Bas. Crossing the sea from England into France, 
 This fellow here, with envious carping tongue, 
 Upbraided me about the rose I wear ; 
 Saying the sanguine color of the leaves 
 Did represent my master's blushing cheeks, 
 When stubbornly he did repugn the truth 
 About a certain question in the law 
 Argued betwixt the Duke of York and him. 
 
 Ver. Yet know, my lord, I was provoked by him ; 
 And he first took exceptions at this badge, 
 Pronouncing that the paleness of this flower 
 Bewrayed the faintness of my master's heart. 
 
152 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 Their " masters " join in the wordy war ; Gloster 
 gives them his backward blessing : 
 
 Confounded be your strife ! 
 And perish ye, with your audacious prate, 
 
 while King Henry tries to shame the angry lords to 
 peace : 
 
 Bemember where we are ; 
 In France, amongst a fickle wavering nation. 
 
 What infamy will there arise, 
 When foreign princes shall be certified 
 That, for a toy, a thing of no regard, 
 King Henry's peers and chief nobility 
 Destroyed themselves, and lost the realm of France ! 
 Let me be umpire in this doubtful strife. 
 I see no reason, if I wear this rose, 
 That any one should therefore be suspicious 
 I more incline to Somerset than York ; 
 Both are my kinsmen, and I love them both. 
 
 After more good counsel the king with his train 
 took his leave, while York and Warwick exchanged a 
 word : 
 
 War. My Lord of York, I promise you the king 
 Prettily, methought, did play the orator. 
 
 York. And so he did ; but yet I like it not, 
 In that he wears the badge of Somerset. 
 
 War. Tush, that was but his fancy, blame him not ; 
 I dare presume, sweet prince, he thought no harm. 
 
 We see in what way events are shaping them- 
 selves for that terrible gardening when the Lancas- 
 trians, having put on the red flower, shall have shown 
 
 i 
 
HENRY VI, 1422-1461. 153 
 
 its full significance, and Warwick, one day to be 
 known as the " kingmaker," shall alternately pull up 
 the one bush and plant the other. 
 
 We learn little of interest in the early manhood 
 of Henry. When twenty-two years of age, history 
 tells us, he was tall and handsome, but unwarlike in 
 character, solely occupied with his books and his de- 
 votions. For reasons of state the peers thought that 
 their king should marry, and a wife was sought for 
 him who might be strong in those traits wherein he 
 was weak, and such a one was found in the person of 
 Margaret of Anjou, daughter of King Rene, a king 
 without a kingdom. The English paid him for Mar- 
 garet by setting him up again in his two provinces 
 of Anjou and Maine, nearly all that was left of the 
 French concpiests of the great Henry. The courtship 
 was managed by proxy. The Duke of Suffolk was 
 the royal messenger ; he fell in love with the beautiful 
 French woman ; and though lie did not in words tell 
 his love, neither did " concealment, like the worm in 
 the bud," gnaw him. Their mutual admiration did 
 somewhat to tangle the skein of the king's life, which 
 was sufficiently troubled without it. 
 
 Suffolk dramatically took the lady prisoner upon a 
 battlefield, not knowing her : 
 
 fairest beauty, do not fear nor fly ! 
 
 For I will touch thee but with reverent hands. 
 
 Who art thou ? say, that I may honor thee. 
 
 Mar. Margaret my name, and daughter to a king. 
 
 Suf. An earl I am, and Suffolk am I called. 
 Be not offended, nature's miracle. 
 
154 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 Mar. Say, Earl of Suffolk — if thy name be so, — 
 What ransom must I pay before I pass ? 
 
 Suffolk finds it difficult not "to speak for him- 
 self," though as yet he has had no Priscilla-like hint, 
 so he talks to himself : 
 
 She's beautiful, and therefore to be woo'd ; 
 She is a woman, therefore to be won. 
 
 Mar. I were best leave him, for he will not hear. 
 
 Suf. Say, gentle Princess, would you not suppose 
 Your bondage happy to be made a queen ? 
 
 Mar. To be a queen in bondage is more vile 
 Than is a slave in base servility ; 
 For princes should be free. 
 
 Suf. And so shall you, 
 
 If happy England's royal king be free. 
 
 Mar. And what concerns his freedom unto me ! 
 
 Suf. I'll undertake to make thee Henry's queen : 
 To put a golden scepter in thy hand, 
 And set a precious crown upon thy head, 
 If thou wilt condescend to — 
 
 Mar. What? 
 
 Suf His love. 
 
 How say you, Madam ? are ye so content ? 
 
 Mar. An if my father please, I am content. 
 
 The father "pleased," for a consideration be- 
 fore named ; and Suffolk returned to England to his 
 king with a wondrous rare description of the lady's 
 virtues and external gifts. 
 
 The Lord Protector stoutly objected to the 
 alliance; but Suffolk's tale had warmed up Henry's 
 
HENRY VI, 1422-1461. 155 
 
 chilly nature, and Suffolk was hurried back on his 
 errand : 
 
 To marry Princess Margaret for your grace. 
 
 His lofty mission accomplished, the highly hon- 
 ored messenger once more stood before his king : 
 
 I did perform my task, and was espoused, 
 
 And humbly now, upon my bended knee 
 
 In sight of England and her lordly peers, 
 
 Deliver up my title in the queen 
 
 To your most gracious hands, that are the substance 
 
 Of that great shadow I did represent. 
 
 Henry received his bride with becoming tender- 
 ness, but he fell short of that ecstasy which had 
 stirred within him at Suffolk's description. 
 
 The articles of contracted peace were read aloud 
 by Gloster till he came to the giving up of Anjou 
 and Maine, when the pain in his heart choked his 
 words, and Winchester finished the reading. 
 
 The ceremonial over, Gloster gave vent to his grief, 
 — the common grief of the land : 
 
 What ! did my brother Henry spend his youth, 
 His valor, coin, and people in the wars ? 
 Did he so often lodge in open field 
 In winter's cold and summer's parching heat 
 To conquer France, his true inheritance ? 
 And did my brother Bedford toil his wits, 
 To keep by policy what Henry got ? 
 
 Car. Nephew, what means this passionate dis- 
 course, 
 For France, 'tis ours ; and we will keep it still. 
 
156 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 Glos. Ay, uncle, we will keep it if we can : 
 But now it is impossible we should : 
 Suffolk, the new-made duke that rules the roast, 
 Hath given the duchies of Anjou and Maine 
 Unto the poor King Reignier, whose large style 
 Agrees not with the leanness of his purse. 
 
 These angry discontents reached the ears of Suf- 
 folk and of the queen, for the office of tale-bearer 
 seems never to have been vacant, and thereby the list 
 of Gloster's deadly enemies was increased by two. 
 To condense a good deal of history into a sentence, 
 the Duchess of York and the queen were very " dear 
 foes " ; the duke was struck to the soul by the igno- 
 minious punishment of his wife, he was removed 
 from his office of Protector, charged with high 
 treason, thrown into prison, and, soon after, found 
 dead in his bed — murdered, no one doubts — but 
 whether by the fresh malice of Suffolk, or by the old 
 wrath of the Cardinal, is the question. 
 
 But we will go back a little and listen to some of 
 the more notable sayings of some of the actors in 
 these scenes. 
 
 York, not unnaturally smiles at the thought of the 
 discords among the chief supports of the reigning 
 house : 
 
 A day will come when York shall claim the crown, 
 
 Tor that's the golden mark I seek to hit : 
 
 Nor shall proud Lancaster usurp my right 
 
 ISTor hold the scepter in his childish fist, 
 
 Nor wear a diadem upon his head, 
 
 Whose church-like humor fits not for a crown. 
 
HENRY VI, 1422-1461. 157 
 
 Waiting the time when Henry's attention should 
 be occupied with his new bride and England's dear- 
 bought queen, and Gloster with the peers be " fallen 
 at jars," 
 
 Then will I raise aloft the milk-white rose 
 
 With whose sweet smell the air shall be perfumed. 
 
 At an outburst of anger from the queen over the 
 haughty conduct of the Duchess of York, Suffolk 
 gives the bland assurance : 
 
 Madam, myself have limed a bush for her, 
 And placed a quire of such enticing birds 
 That she will light to listen to their lays, 
 And never mount to trouble you again. 
 
 These birds sang to the duchess that it would be 
 a great consummation to have her husband's head 
 circled with the diadem ; the liming was the cowled 
 rogue who helped on her plot, then played her 
 false. 
 
 The king, queen, and certain lords are at or near 
 St. Albans a-hunting, and a resident of the village 
 approaches with the cry, " A miracle ! a miracle ! " 
 
 Glos. What means this noise ? 
 Fellow, what miracle dost thou proclaim ? 
 
 Townsman. Forsooth, a blind man at St. Alban's 
 shrine, 
 Within this half-hour, hath received his sight ; 
 A man that ne'er saw in his life before. 
 
 King. Now, God be praised ! that to believing souls 
 Gives light in darkness, comfort in despair ! 
 
158 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 The faith-cured man is borne in by two persons, 
 his wife following and a crowd of other witnesses, the 
 major of the place leading the delegation. The chief 
 object of interest is named Simpcox. 
 
 King. Good fellow, tell us here the circumstance, 
 That we for thee may glorify the Lord. 
 What, hast thou been long blind, and now restored ? 
 
 Simp. Born blind, an't please your Grace. 
 
 Wife. Ay, indeed was he. 
 
 Suf What woman's this ? 
 
 Wife. His wife, an't please your worship. 
 
 Glos. Hadst thou been his mother thou couldst 
 have better told. 
 
 King. Poor soul ! God's goodness hath been great 
 to thee. 
 
 Queen. Tell me, good fellow, earnest thou here by 
 chance, 
 Or of devotion, to this holy shrine ? 
 
 Simp. God knows, of pure devotion ; being called 
 A hundred times, and oftener, in my sleep 
 By good St. Alban. 
 
 Wife. And many time and oft 
 
 Myself have heard a voice to call him so. 
 
 Car. What, art thou lame ? 
 
 Simp. Ay, God Almighty help me ! 
 
 Suf. How earnest thou so ? 
 
 Simp. A fall off of a tree. 
 
 Wife. A plum-tree, master. 
 
 Glos. How long hast thou been blind ? 
 
 Simp. 0, born so, master. 
 
 Glos. What, and couldst climb a tree ? 
 
 A subtle knave ! but yet it shall not serve. — 
 
HENRY VI, 1422-1401. 159 
 
 Let me see thine eyes : — wink now ; now open them : — 
 In my opinion yet thon see'st not well. 
 
 Simp. Yes, master ; clear as day, I thank God and 
 St. Alban. 
 
 Glos. Say'st thou me so ? What color is this cloak 
 of? 
 
 Simp. Eed, master ; red as blood. 
 
 Glos. Why, that's well said. What color is my 
 gown of ? 
 
 Simp. Black, forsooth ; coal-black, as jet. 
 
 King. Why, then, thou knowest what color jet is 
 of? 
 
 Suf. And yet, I think, jet did he never see. 
 
 Glos. But cloaks and gowns, before this day, a 
 many. 
 
 Wife. Never, before this day, in ail his life. 
 
 Glos. Tell me, sirrah, what's my name ? 
 
 Simp. Alas, master, I know not. 
 
 Glos. What's his name ? 
 
 Simp. I know not. 
 
 Glos. What's thine own name ? 
 
 Simp. Saunder Simpcox, an if it please you, master. 
 
 Glos. If thou hadst been born blind, thou might'st 
 as well have known all our names as thus to name the 
 several colors we do wear. Sight may distinguish of 
 colors ; but suddenly to nominate them all, it is im- 
 possible. — My lords, St. Alban here hath done a mir- 
 acle ; and would ye not think his cunning to be great 
 that could restore this cripple to his legs again ? My 
 masters of St. Albans, have you not beadles in your 
 town, and things called whips ? 
 
 Mayor. Sirrah, go fetch the beadle hither straight. 
 
 Glos. Now fetch me a stool hither by and by. 
 
160 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 An attendant goes for a beadle, and another brings 
 a stool. 
 
 Glos. Now, sirrah, if yon mean to save yourself from 
 whipping, leap me over this stool and run away. 
 
 Simp. Alas, master, I am not able to stand alone. 
 
 Glos. Well, sir, we must have you find your legs. 
 Sirrah beadle, whip him till he leap over that same 
 stool. 
 
 Beadle. I will, my lord. 
 
 Simp. Alas, master, what shall I do ? 
 
 After the first blow he saw clearly what to do — 
 cleared the stool at a bound and ran away: 
 
 Car. Duke Humphrey has done a miracle to-day. 
 Suf. True ; made the lame to leap and fly away. 
 Glos. But you have done more miracles than I ; 
 You made in a day, my lord, whole towns to fly. 
 
 Which caustic pleasantry pointed at the provinces 
 which had flown in the bringing in of Margaret. 
 
 Meanwhile the plot for Gloster's destruction was 
 nigh to ripeness. His duchess was taken in the well- 
 laid snare and banished, but the duke held fast his 
 loyalty to his royal nephew. He was removed from 
 his office : 
 
 King. Stay, Humphrey Duke of Gloster : ere thou 
 go, 
 Give up thy staff : Henry will to himself 
 Protector be. 
 
 Glos. My staff ? — here, noble Henry, is my staff : 
 As willingly do I the same resign 
 As e'er thy father Henry made it mine. 
 
HENRY VI, 1422-1461. 161 
 
 And he drew a lesson in philosophy from things 
 observed in the natural world : 
 
 Thus sometimes hath the brightest day a cloud ; 
 
 And after summer evermore succeeds 
 
 Bare winter, with his wrathful-nipping cold. 
 
 The king did not believe the charges of treason 
 brought against Gloster by Winchester, Suffolk, and 
 York, though their arguments were echoed and put 
 more forcibly by the queen ; but he lacked the 
 courage of his convictions, and finally weakened to 
 this state of helplessness : 
 
 My lords, what to your wisdoms seemest best 
 Do or undo. 
 
 Yet when he knew that his uncle was dead, War- 
 wick's bold indignation thrilled his forlorn spirit to 
 heroic utterance, the first couplet of which he applied 
 to the murdered duke : 
 
 What stronger breastplate than a heart untainted ! 
 Thrice is he armed that hath his quarrel just ; 
 And he but naked, though locked up in steel, 
 Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted. 
 
 Shortly after Gloster's burial it was announced to 
 King Henry, 
 
 That Cardinal Beaufort is at point of death ; 
 For suddenly a grievous sickness took him, 
 That makes him gasp, and stare, and catch the air. 
 Sometimes he talks as if Duke Humphrey's ghost 
 Were by his side ; sometimes he calls the King, 
 
162 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 And whispers to his pillow as to him, 
 The secrets of his overcharged soul. 
 
 The king soon appeared in the cardinal's chamber, 
 and stood by his bedside : 
 
 King. How fares my lord ? speak, Beaufort, to thy 
 sovereign. 
 
 Car. If thou be'st Death, I'll give thee England's 
 treasure 
 Enough to purchase such another island, 
 So thou wilt let me live and feel no pain. 
 
 King. Ah, what a sign it is of evil life, 
 Where death's approach is seen so terrible ! 
 
 War. Beaufort, it is thy sovereign speaks to thee. 
 
 Car. Bring me unto my trial when you will. 
 Died he not in his bed ? Where sh'd he die ? 
 Can I make men live, whe'r they will or no ? 
 0, torture me no more ! I will confess. 
 
 King. thou eternal Mover of the heavens, 
 Look with a gentle eye upon this wretch, 
 And from his bosom purge this black despair. 
 Lord Cardinal, if thou think'st on Heaven's bliss 
 Hold up thy hand, make signal of thy hope. 
 He dies, and makes no sign : God, forgive him ! 
 
 The king believed that Suffolk had had a part in 
 doing Gloster to death, so, when the common people 
 noisily demanded that he be banished from the realm, 
 or else be sent down the dark path where conspiracy 
 so often leads, King Henry promptly consented. 
 
 If the story of Suffolk's taking leave of the queen, 
 when he was about to set forth, reminds us of the 
 
HENRY VI, 1422-1461. 163 
 
 parting of Bolingbroke and old John of Gaunt, it must 
 be because of their lack of points of likeness. We 
 must not stay to " look upon this picture and on this." 
 Their point of greatest contrast was their issue. 
 Bolingbroke, sent away by Kichard II, came back 
 " to press that monarch's throne, a king ; " Suffolk is 
 placed upon a ship which falls a prey to pirates, who 
 refuse all ransom and ignominiously strike his head 
 from his shoulders. The captain seems to have all 
 his victim's political offenses well learned and recites 
 them by rote. He follows the list by the declaration 
 that the house of York, once thrust from the throne 
 by the murder of a guiltless king, burns with revenge ; 
 and further, that the commons of Kent are up in 
 arms. The basis of the first of these startling state- 
 ments was the fact that the Duke of York — the 
 Richard Plantagenet of our earlier acquaintance — 
 who had been in Ireland in command of a body of 
 soldiers, had returned to England unsummoned ; the 
 other assertion alluded to a great disturbance among 
 the common folk known as Cade's rebellion, secretly 
 favored by York and in his interest, though perhaps 
 the best known article in its creed was, like Patrick's 
 politics, simply to be " agin the government." 
 
 Leaving York, let us follow for a very little time 
 the shorter story, and learn something of the notions 
 of those who lived, perhaps, in hovels, who had never 
 seen the inside of a palace, whose hands were hard, 
 and doubtless dirty, who knew that they had not a 
 very fine share of life's good things, and that it must 
 be the government's fault. 
 
164 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 Cade had brought his followers to Blackheath as 
 Wat Tyler did before him, and sent to the king the 
 complaints of the hereditary commons of Kent. 
 There was parleying ; a battle lost and won ; Cade's 
 head was placed upon London bridge. Before this 
 tragic but not strange conclusion Cade's men talked : 
 
 George Bevis. I tell thee, Jack Cade the clothier 
 means to dress the commonwealth, and turn it, and set 
 a new nap upon it. 
 
 John Holland. So he had need, for 'tis threadbare. 
 Well, I say it was never merry world in England since 
 gentlemen came up. 
 
 They soon fell in with the tanner, the butcher, the 
 weaver, and with Cade himself while he was declaring 
 his origin — a Mortimer in sooth, but inspired with the 
 spirit of putting down kings and princes : 
 
 Be brave then ; for your captain is brave, and vows 
 reformation. There shall be in England seven half- 
 penny loaves sold for a penny ; the three-hooped pot 
 shall have ten hoops; and I will make it felony to 
 drink small beer : all the realm shall be in common, 
 and in Cheapside shall my palfrey go to grass : and, 
 when I am king, — as king I will be, — 
 
 All. God save your Majesty ! 
 
 Cade. I thank you, good people, — there shall be no 
 money ; all shall eat and drink on my score ; and I 
 shall apparel them all in one livery, that they may 
 agree like brothers, and worship me their lord. 
 
 Dick the Butcher. The first thing we do, let's kill 
 all the lawyers. 
 
HENRY VI, 1422-1461. 165 
 
 With this definite plan Cade was in entire accord, 
 having no good opinion of the law ; and though he 
 had not felt the halter draw, he did once " seal to a 
 thing, and was never his own man since " ; and it was 
 a lamentable thing indeed that the skin of an innocent 
 lamb, being scribbled over, should undo a man. Legal 
 documents were not in high favor with him. His 
 strain of moralizing was interrupted by a party of men 
 who forced along with them the Clerk of Chatham : 
 
 Smith the Weaver. He can write and read and cast 
 accompt. 
 
 Cade. monstrous ! 
 
 Smith. We took him setting of boy's copies, and he 
 has a book in his pocket with red letters in't. 
 
 Cade. Nay, then he is a conjuror. Dost thou use 
 to write thy name, or hast thou a mark to thyself, like 
 an honest plain-dealing man ? 
 
 Cleric. Sir, I thank God I have been so well brought 
 up that I can write my name. 
 
 All. He hath confessed ; away with him ! 
 
 Cade. Hang him with his pen and his inkhorn 
 about his neck. 
 
 This seems to be an instance of the benefit of 
 clergy read backwards. 
 
 Cade presently did himself the honor of knighting 
 himself ; he knelt, and rose Sir John Mortimer. Sir 
 Humphrey Stafford, who meanwhile had come up 
 with a force of soldiers, disputed Cade's noble descent : 
 
 Staf. Villain, thy father was a plasterer : 
 And thou thyself a shearman, art thou not ? 
 12 
 
166 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 Cade. And Adam was a gardener. 
 
 Staf. What of that ? 
 
 Cade. Marry, this : Edmund Mortimer, Earl of 
 March, 
 Married the Duke of Clarence' daughter, did he not ? 
 
 Staf. Ay, sir. 
 
 Cade. By her he had two children at one birth. 
 
 Staf. That's false. 
 
 Cade. Ay, there's the question ; but I say 'tis true. 
 The elder of them, being put to nurse, 
 Was by a beggar-woman stolen away ; 
 And, ignorant of his birth and parentage, 
 Became a bricklayer when he came of age : 
 His son am I ; deny it, if you can. 
 
 Dick. Nay, 'tis too true ; therefore he shall be King. 
 
 Smith. Sir, he made a chimney in my father's 
 house, and the bricks are alive at this day to testify it. 
 
 The logic was not any the less direct by which 
 Lord Say's treason was proved : 
 
 The French are our enemies, and this man speaks 
 French; can he that speaks with the tongue of an 
 enemy be a good counselor ? 
 
 All. No, no ; and therefore we'll have his head. 
 
 No good came of this conference. Stafford de- 
 parted to proclaim all Cade's men traitors and let slip 
 the dogs of war, while Cade poured forth his vein of 
 exhortation : 
 
 Now show yourselves men ; 'tis for liberty. 
 We will not leave one lord, one gentleman : 
 Spare none but such as go in clouted shoon. 
 
HENRY VI, 1422-1461. 1G7 
 
 Dick. They are all in order, and march toward us. 
 Cade. But then are we in order when we are most 
 out of order. Come, march forward ! 
 
 In this assault the rebels were victorious. Cade 
 highly commended Dick the Butcher for behaving 
 himself as if he had been in his own slaughter house. 
 For a proper reward, the Lent was to be as long again 
 as it is, and Dick was to have a special dispensation 
 and be allowed to kill a hundred cattle, lacking one, a 
 week. 
 
 The order is, Come, let's march toward London ; 
 and shortly a messenger tells the king : 
 
 Jack Cade hath gotten London bridge ; 
 The citizens fly and forsake their houses : 
 The rascal people, thirsting after prey, 
 Join with the traitor. 
 
 The court could not endure the sight of Kentish 
 rebels, and set forth. In the fight in London Lord 
 Say is taken prisoner and brought into Cade's pres- 
 ence : 
 
 Messenger. My lord, a prize, a prize ! here is the 
 Lord Say, which sold the towns in France; he that 
 made us pay one shilling to the pound, the last subsidy. 
 
 Cade. Well, he shall be beheaded for it ten times. 
 Be it known unto thee by these presence, even the 
 presence of Lord Mortimer, that I am the besom that 
 must sweep the court clean of such filth as thou art. 
 Thou hast most traitorously corrupted the youth of 
 the realm in erecting a grammar-school ; and, contrary 
 to the king, his crown and dignity, thou hast built a 
 
168 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 paper-mill. It will be proved to thy face that thou 
 hast men about thee that usually talk of a noun and a 
 verb, and such abominable words as no Christian can 
 endure to hear. Thou hast put poor men in prison ; 
 and because they could not read, thou hast hanged 
 them; when, indeed, only for that cause they have 
 been most worthy to live. 
 
 Say. You men of Kent, — 
 
 Dick. What say you of Kent ? 
 
 Say. Nothing but this, — oona terra, mala gens. 
 
 Cade. Away with him ! he speaks Latin. 
 
 Say. Hear me but speak, and bear me where you will. 
 Kent, in the commentaries Csesar writ, 
 Is termed the civilest place of all this isle, 
 The people liberal, valiant, active, worthy, 
 Which makes me hope you are not void of pity. 
 I sold not Maine, I lost not Normandy, 
 Yet, to recover them, would lose my life. 
 This tongue hath parleyed unto foreign kings 
 For your behoof, — 
 
 Cade. Tut, when struckest thou one blow in the 
 field? 
 
 Say. Great men have reaching hands ; oft have I 
 struck 
 Those that I never saw, and struck them dead. 
 
 George Bevis. monstrous coward ! what, to come 
 behind folks ? 
 
 Lord Say continued to plead for his life, and Cade 
 for once began to feel the dint of pity. This weak- 
 ness was, however, but for the moment, and he grew 
 crueler at the thought of it : 
 
HENRY VI, 1422-1461. 169 
 
 He shall die, an it be but for pleading so well for his 
 life. Take him away and strike off his head presently. 
 
 Cade's rule was as short as shameful : the royal 
 commanders offered pardon to his men, which they 
 accepted, their leader branding them upon their with- 
 drawal as : 
 
 Eecreants and dastards, who delight to live in 
 slavery to the nobility : my sword make way for me, 
 for here is no staying. 
 
 He made a safe retreat to a place of concealment, 
 but after several days of fasting, hunger — the gaunt 
 ally of the sword — drove him to enter a garden in 
 search of something to eat. Set upon by the master of 
 the house he is slain, using his last breath in framing 
 a message : 
 
 Tell Kent from me she hath lost her best man ; 
 and exhort all the world to be cowards. 
 
 His experience had taught him that valor was not 
 profitable. 
 
 It was not the fortune of this king to be long at 
 ease, though for that state he was well fitted. Close 
 upon the heels of the messenger who announced the 
 collapse of Cade's attempt at revolution pressed 
 another who checked the swelling tide of Henry's 
 gratitude to Heaven by the news : 
 
 The Duke of York is newly come from Ireland, 
 Is marching hitherward in proud array, 
 And still proclaimeth, as he comes along, 
 
170 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 His arms are only to remove from thee 
 
 The Duke of Somerset, whom he terms a traitor. 
 
 Thereupon the king fixed a trap into which a 
 wary man would not have marched, but in it York 
 was taken : 
 
 Tell him I'll send Duke Edmund to the Tower : 
 And, Somerset, we will commit thee thither, 
 Until his army be dismissed from him-. 
 
 When York was told that his old enemy was a 
 prisoner he dismissed his forces. He was then him- 
 self arrested for high treason, and so was in the trap ; 
 but in the nick of time, to which the dramatist knows 
 so well how to bring the dial's point, the three sons 
 of York with forces, also Salisbury and Warwick, ap- 
 peared upon the scene and bore him away. Soon the 
 battle of St. Albans was fought. The leaders on the 
 king's side were the Cliffords, father and son, and 
 the Duke of Somerset ; on the other were the Yorkist 
 chiefs already named. York slays the elder Clifford ; 
 Richard Plantagenet, a son of York, kills Somerset. 
 The queen hurries Henry off toward London, he ob- 
 jecting : 
 
 Can we outrun the Heavens ? good Margaret, stay. 
 
 His meaning was that the fates were against him, 
 and would not be left behind by the swiftest flight. 
 
 Queen. What are you made of ? you'll nor fight nor 
 
 fly- 
 
 If you be ta'en, we then shall see the bottom 
 Of all our fortunes. 
 
King Henry VI, Margaret, Gloster, and soldiers 
 with the Prince. 
 
 King Henry VI— Third Part, Act V, Scene v. 
 
HENRY VI, 1422-1461. 171 
 
 The Yorkists stood not upon delay, but followed 
 at once. 
 
 Warwick. After them ! nay, before them, if we 
 can. 
 Now, by my faith, lords, 'twas a glorious day : 
 Saint Albans battle, won by famous York, 
 Shall be eternised in all age to come. 
 
 We next see them in London in possession of the 
 parliament house : 
 
 York. The Queen, this day, here holds her parlia- 
 ment 
 But little thinks we shall be of her council. 
 
 Rich. Arm'd as we are, let's stay within this house. 
 War. I'll plant Plantagenet, root him up who 
 dares ; 
 Resolve thee, Eichard, claim the English crown. 
 
 A flourish of trumpets announces the coming of 
 King Henry and lords with red roses in their hats. 
 
 King. My lords, look where the sturdy rebel sits, 
 Even in the chair of state. 
 
 And he very correctly inferred that, backed by 
 Warwick, the Duke of York meant to be king. 
 
 " Let's pluck him down," said Westmoreland. 
 
 " Be patient," said Henry. 
 
 " He durst not sit there, had your father lived," 
 prodded Clifford. The deadliest weapons which the 
 king could be urged to allow were " frowns, words, 
 and threats " ; of these, on either side, there was no 
 
172 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 lack, the outcome being an agreement that Henry 
 should keep the crown during his life, but that York 
 should be his successor. 
 
 King. I am content : Eichard Plantagenet, 
 Enjoy the kingdom after my decease. 
 
 Not unnaturally, the leaders of the king's party 
 were greatly enraged, and the warlike queen scouted 
 a compromise which disinherited her son : 
 
 Exeter. Here comes the Queen, whose looks betray 
 her anger : 
 I'll steal away. 
 
 King. So, Exeter, will I. 
 
 But he did not start soon enough. 
 
 Queen. Nay, go not from me ; I will follow thee. 
 
 King. Be patient, gentle Queen, and I will stay. 
 
 Queen. Who can be patient in such extremes ? 
 Ah, wretched man ! would I had died a maid, 
 And never seen thee, never borne thee son ! 
 
 And she declares her rebellion against the act of 
 parliament which made York heir, and her intention 
 to spread her colors to the disgrace of Henry, and the 
 utter ruin of the white-rose faction. 
 
 The three sons of York are as little pleased with 
 a plan which postpones the placing of the crown 
 upon the head of their house ; they contend which 
 shall be the advocate to press upon York their view ; 
 Richard is chief spokesman, but Edward does not 
 stand behind : 
 
HENRY VI, 1422-1461. 173 
 
 Rich. Your right depends not on his life or death. 
 Edw. Now you are heir, therefore enjoy it now. 
 York. I took an oath that he should quietly reign. 
 Ediv. But, for a kingdom, any oath may be broken. 
 I'd break a thousand oaths to reign one year. 
 
 Then Richard, more lawyerlike, proceeds to show 
 the oath not binding because "not took" before a 
 true magistrate : 
 
 And, father, do but think 
 How sweet a thing it is to wear a crown ; 
 Within whose circuit is Elysium, 
 And all that poets feign of bliss and joy. 
 
 Their arguments are effective ; York declares 
 himself king ; in a battle fought soon after, he is 
 taken, put to death, and his head placed over one of 
 the gates of York city. 
 
 The manner of his taking was told to his sons by 
 a messenger : 
 
 But Hercules himself must yield to odds ; 
 And many strokes, though with a little axe, 
 Hew down and fell the hardest timbered oak. 
 By many hands your father was subdued, 
 But only slaughtered by the ireful arm 
 Of unrelenting Clifford and the Queen, 
 Who crowned the gracious Duke in high despite. 
 They took his head, and on the gates of York 
 They set the same ; and there it doth remain, 
 The saddest spectacle that e'er I viewed. 
 
 The sons of York are as prompt in lamentation 
 
174 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 as they had been violent in urging upon him the act 
 which led to this doleful result : 
 
 Edw. Clifford, thou hast slain 
 The flower of Europe for his chivalry ! 
 Now my soul's palace is become a prison : 
 Ah, would she break from hence, that this my body 
 Might in the ground be closed up in rest. 
 
 Rich. Eichard, I bear thy name ; I'll venge thy 
 death, 
 Or die renowned by attempting it. 
 
 Meanwhile Warwick came up with a force, and, 
 being told the news, said he had drowned it in tears 
 ten days before. He met their tidings with an ac- 
 count of a battle at St. Albans and its loss. The 
 king was with him ; Clifford and the queen led the 
 enemy ; the coldness of Henry chilled his ranks : 
 
 Our soldiers, like the night-owl's lazy flight, 
 Or like an idle thresher with a flail, 
 Fell gently down, as if they struck their friends, 
 So that we fled. 
 
 Rich. 'Twas odds, belike, when valiant Warwick fled. 
 Oft have I heard his praises in pursuit, 
 But ne'er till now his scandal of retire. 
 
 War. Nor now my scandal, Eichard, dost thou hear; 
 For thou shalt know this strong right hand of mine 
 Can pluck the diadem from faint Henry's head, 
 And wring the awful scepter from his fist, 
 Were he as famous and as bold in war 
 As he is famed for mildness, peace, and prayer. 
 
 Edw. Lord Warwick, on thy shoulder will I lean. 
 
HENRY VI, 1422-1461. 175 
 
 War. No longer Earl of March, but Duke of York : 
 The next degree is England's royal throne ; 
 For King of England shalt thou be proclaimed 
 In every borough as we pass along. 
 
 King Henry, Margaret, and the royal forces com- 
 ing " to this brave town of York " : 
 
 Queen. Yonder's the head of that arch-enemy : 
 Doth not the object cheer your heart, my lord ? 
 
 King. Ay, as the rocks cheer them that fear their 
 wreck : 
 To see this sight, it irks my very soul. 
 
 Clifford. My gracious liege, this too much lenity 
 And harmful pity must be laid aside. 
 The smallest worm will turn being trodden on, 
 And doves will peck in safeguard of their brood. 
 Unreasonable creatures feed their young ; 
 And though man's face be fearful to their eyes, 
 Who hath not seen them, even with those wings 
 Which sometimes they have used in fearful flight, 
 Make war with him that climbed unto their nest, 
 Offering their own lives in their young's defense. 
 
 King. But, Clifford, tell me, didst thou never hear 
 That things ill got had ever bad success ? 
 I'll leave my son my virtuous deeds behind ; 
 And would my father had left me no more ! 
 
 The other army comes up, and the warrior leaders 
 exhaust their resources of wit, sarcasm, abuse, upon 
 each others' heads, the queen receiving an overflowing 
 share. 
 
 The case between Lancaster and York was virtu- 
 
176 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 ally settled at the battle of Towton. The king, as 
 usual, does not fight — he talks : 
 
 This battle fares like to the morning's war, 
 
 When dying clouds contend with growing light. 
 
 Xow sways it this way, like a mighty sea 
 
 Forced by the tide to combat with the wind ; 
 
 Sometimes the flood prevails, and then the wind, 
 
 Kow one the better, then another best. 
 
 Here on this molehill will I sit me down. 
 
 To whom God will, there be the victory ! 
 
 God ! methinks it were a happy life, 
 
 To be no better than a homely swain ; 
 
 To sit upon a hill as I do now, 
 
 To carve out dials quaintly, point by point, 
 
 Thereby to see the minutes, how they run. 
 
 Then passing through his fancy the succession 
 of pure pastoral pleasures : 
 
 Ah, what a life were this ! how sweet ! how lovely ! 
 
 Gives not the hawthorne bush a sweeter shade 
 
 To shepherds looking on their silly sheep, 
 
 Than doth a rich-embroidered canopy 
 
 To kings that fear their subjects' treachery ? 
 
 And, to conclude, the shepherd's homely curds, 
 
 His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle, 
 
 His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade, 
 
 All which secure and sweetly he enjoys, 
 
 Is far beyond a prince's delicates, 
 
 When care, mistrust, and treason wait on him. 
 
 This strain of sad reflection was broken off by 
 the hasty approach of the queen and the prince, with 
 
HENRY VI, 1422-1461. 177 
 
 the startling warning to fly amain for all his friends 
 had fled, and Warwick, Edward, and Richard were 
 raging in pursuit. The unhappy family escaped, how- 
 ever, to Scotland, and thence Henry sent his wife and 
 son to France. We next see him in the north of 
 England. He is in disguise, but a gamekeeper recog- 
 nizes him. The king is still soliloquizing : 
 
 From Scotland am I stolen, even of pure love, 
 To greet my own land with my wishful sight. 
 No, Harry, Harry, 'tis no land of thine : 
 Thy place is filled. 
 
 Keeper. Say, what art thou that talk'st of kings 
 and queens ? 
 
 King. More than I seem, and less than I was born 
 to; 
 And men may talk of kings, and why not I ? 
 
 Keep. Ay, but thou talk'st as if thou wert a king. 
 
 King. Why, so I am — in mind, and that's enough. 
 
 Keep. But, if thou be a king, where is thy crown ? 
 
 King. My crown is in my heart, not on my head ; 
 Not decked with diamonds and Indian stones, 
 Nor to be seen : my crown is called content — 
 A crown it is that seldom kings enjoy. 
 
 This thin veil of deception does not serve, and 
 the fallen monarch is led away a captive. After a 
 time he is brought out to be, not a king, but a pawn, 
 in the one great losing game that Warwick plays 
 with Edward IV, and is then sent back to a darker 
 prison. 
 
 In the final scene King Henry is sitting in the 
 tower reading, and Richard of Gloster enters : 
 
178 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 Rich. Good day, my lord. What, at your book so 
 
 hard? 
 King H. Ay, my good lord — my lord, I should say, 
 rather ; 
 'Tis sin to natter : good was little better : 
 Good Gloster and good Devil were alike, 
 And both preposterous ; therefore, not good lord. 
 Rich. (To lieutenant) Leave us to ourselves. 
 King H. What scene of death hath Eoscius now to 
 
 act? 
 Rich. Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind : 
 The thief doth fear each bush an officer. 
 
 The interview thus begun did not grow more lov- 
 ing in its progress. The king unrelentingly held up 
 Gloster's crimes and, what seemed more maddening, 
 his bodily deformities, noting at last : 
 
 Teeth hadst thou in thy head when thou wast born 
 To signify thou earnest to bite the world : 
 And, if the rest be true that I have heard, 
 
 Thou earnest 
 
 Rich. I'll hear no more : die, prophet, in thy 
 speech. 
 
 Thus ended the life of the last of the Lancas- 
 trians. 
 
THE STORY OF EDWARD IV, 1461-1483. 
 
 We have seen that Richard Plantagenet, who was 
 reinstated in the dukedom of York lost bj his father, 
 was killed in battle soon after he had been seated by 
 Warwick on the royal seat in the parliament house, 
 and his head impaled upon a pinnacle over the gate. 
 He was fighting for immediate succession to the crown, 
 his impatient sons being anything but willing for him 
 to wait till Henry's life should come to a natural end. 
 
 Edward, the eldest son of York, assumed his 
 father's contention, and, backed by Warwick, took 
 on the title of Edward IY. To give the new king 
 whom he had set up a surer seat, Warwick went to 
 France to ask the French king's sister to become Ed- 
 ward's bride and England's queen. We will visit the 
 palace whither Warwick has gone, and note that as 
 love's messenger he had some very extraordinary ex- 
 perience. Margaret, Henry's queen, was there to 
 argue against this match with all her bitterest elo- 
 quence. Warwick, however, made head against this 
 tide, and had secured the French monarch's consent, 
 when a messenger came with the astounding informa- 
 tion that King Edward had already taken counsel of 
 his passion and married the Widow Gray. Warwick's 
 
 179 
 
180 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 rage was equaled only by Margaret's delight, and each 
 was beyond expression. 
 
 King Louis. Welcome, brave Warwick ! What 
 brings thee to France ? 
 
 War. From worthy Edward, King of Albion 
 I come in kindness and unfeigned love, — 
 First, to do greetings to thy royal person ; 
 And then to crave a league of amity ; 
 And lastly, to confirm that amity 
 With nuptial knot. 
 
 And to the Lady Bona, 
 I am commanded, with your leave and favor, 
 Humbly to kiss your hand, and with my tongue 
 To tell the passion of my sovereign's heart. 
 
 Here Margaret interposed to give the real motive 
 of Warwick's errand, and Oxford to show Henry's 
 title to the English throne. 
 
 The king put Warwick to his honor as to which 
 was their true king; also to reveal the measure of 
 Edward's love for the Lady Bona. The lady was 
 satisfied with the evidence, and further admitted : 
 
 Yet I confess that often ere this day, 
 
 When I have heard your King's desert recounted, 
 
 Mine ear hath tempted judgment to desire. 
 
 To Louis's promise of kindness to Henry, War- 
 wick declared : 
 
 Henry now lives in Scotland at his ease, 
 Where, having nothing, nothing can he lose. 
 
THE STORY OF EDWARD IV, 1461-1483. 181 
 
 Queen. Peace, impudent and shameless Warwick, 
 peace ! 
 Proud setter-up and puller-down of kings ! 
 
 At this moment came the messenger with letters 
 for each. 
 
 Oxford. I like it well that our fair Queen and 
 mistress 
 Smiles at her news, while Warwick frowns at his. 
 
 King. Warwick, what are thy news ? — and yours, 
 
 fair Queen ? 
 Queen. Mine such as fill my heart with unhoped joys. 
 War. Mine full of sorrow and heart's discontent. 
 King. What ! has your King married the Lady 
 Gray? 
 And now to soothe your forgery and his, 
 Sends me a paper to persuade me patience ? 
 Dare he presume to scorn us in this manner ? 
 
 War. King Louis, I here protest, in sight of 
 heaven 
 And by the hope I have of heavenly bliss, 
 That I am clear from this misdeed of Edward's ; 
 No more my king, for he dishonors me. 
 I here renounce him and return to Henry. 
 
 The upshot of this matter is that King Louis sends 
 over, not a bride for Edward, but Warwick and Ox- 
 ford with five thousand men to bid him battle. 
 
 London. 
 
 A widow, Lady Gray, had come before Edward to 
 ask that her slain husband's lands be restored to 
 13 
 
182 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 her and her children. Her appearance and manner 
 charmed the king : 
 
 Her looks do argue her replete with modesty ; 
 Her words do show her wit incomparable ; 
 All her perfections challenge sovereignty : 
 One way or other she is for a king. 
 
 There was one other person to whom the king's 
 marriage gave as high offense as to Warwick, — 
 namely, his brother Richard, — who, though the 
 youngest of the brothers, was counting the lives be- 
 tween him and the throne, wishing them fewer, and, 
 doubtless, contriving to make them so : 
 
 Would he were wasted, marrow, bones, and all, 
 That from his loins no hopeful branch may spring, 
 To cross me from the golden time I look for ! 
 And yet, between my soul's desire and me — 
 The lustful Edward's title buried — 
 Is Clarence, Henry, and his son young Edward, 
 And all the unlooked for issue of their bodies, 
 To take their rooms, ere I can place myself. 
 
 Here was a possible line stretching out, like Ban- 
 quo's issue, to the crack of doom : 
 
 Why, then I do but dream on sovereignty ; 
 
 Like one that stands upon a promontory, 
 
 And spies a far-off shore where he would tread, 
 
 Wishing his foot were equal to his eye ; 
 
 And chides the sea that sunders him from thence, 
 
 Saying he'd lade it dry to have his way : 
 
 So do I wish the crown, being so far off ; 
 
 And so I chide the means that keeps me from it. 
 
THE STORY OF EDWARD IV, 14G1-1483. 183 
 
 He lets his beaten fancy soar in another direc- 
 tion for materials to build with — he will deck his 
 body with ornaments and witch the ladies. Then the 
 doubt occurs whether this would not be a more un- 
 likely undertaking than the other, Nature having 
 dowered him with such bodily deformities. He casts 
 aside the notion and comes back through another 
 simile to a resolve : 
 
 And I — like one lost in a thorny wood, 
 
 That rends the thorns, and is rent with the thorns, 
 
 Seeking a way, and straying from the way; 
 
 Not knowing how to find the open air, 
 
 But toiling desperately to find it out — 
 
 Torment myself to catch the English crown : 
 
 But from that torment I will free myself, 
 
 Or hew my way out with a bloody axe. 
 
 A conversation between the king and George, his 
 next brother, with an occasional side remark of 
 Richard's, will show us the cloud that is lowering 
 about the house of Edward. 
 
 George and Richard are better known at this 
 period as Clarence and Gloster. 
 
 Glos. Now tell me, brother Clarence, what think you 
 Of this new marriage with the Lady Gray ? 
 
 C'lar. Alas, you know 'tis far from hence to France ! 
 How could he stay till Warwick made return ? 
 
 Somerset. My lords, forbear this talk ; here comes 
 the King. 
 
 Glos. And his well-chosen bride. 
 
 Clar. I mind to tell him plainly what I think. 
 
184 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 Enter the king with Lady Gray as queen, with 
 courtiers. 
 
 King. Now, brother of Clarence, how like you our 
 choice, 
 That you stand pensive, as half malcontent ? 
 
 Clar. As well as Louis of France, or the Earl of 
 Warwick. 
 
 King. Suppose they take offense without a cause, 
 They are but Louis and Warwick : I am Edward, 
 Your king and Warwick's, and must have my will. 
 
 Glos. Ay, and shall have your will, because our 
 king: 
 Yet hasty marriage seldom proveth well. 
 
 King. Yea, brother Eichard, are you offended too ? 
 
 Glos. Not I : 
 No, God forbid that I should wish them severed 
 Whom God hath joined together ; ay, and 'twere pity 
 To sunder them that yoke so well together. 
 
 King. Setting your scorns and your mislike aside, 
 Tell me some reason why the Lady Gray 
 Should not become my wife and England's queen ? 
 
 Clar. Then this is my opinion, that King Louis 
 Becomes your enemy for mocking him. 
 
 Glos. And Warwick, doing what you gave in charge, 
 Is now dishonored by this new marriage. 
 
 The discussion widened, taking in other causes of 
 complaint : 
 
 King. Alas, poor Clarence ; is it for a wife 
 That thou art malcontent ? I will provide thee. 
 
 Clar. In choosing for yourself, you showed your 
 judgment, 
 
THE STORY OF EDWARD IV, 1461-1483. 185 
 
 Which being shallow, you shall give me leave 
 To play the broker in mine own behalf ; 
 And, to that end, I shortly mind to leave you. 
 
 King. Leave me, or tarry, Edward will be king, 
 And not be tied unto his brother's will. 
 
 This interesting conference has additional spirit 
 given to it by the entrance of a messenger with War- 
 wick's defiance : 
 
 Tell him from me that he hath done me wrong, 
 And therefore I'll uncrown him ere't be long. 
 
 King. Ha ! durst the traitor breathe out so proud 
 
 words ? 
 Well, I will arm me, being thus forewarned : 
 But say, is Warwick friends with Margaret ? 
 
 Mess. Ay, gracious sovereign ; they're so linked in 
 
 friendship 
 That young Prince Edward marries Warwick's 
 
 daughter. 
 Clar. Belike, the elder ; Clarence will have the 
 
 younger. 
 Now, brother King, farewell, and sit you fast, 
 Eor I will hence to Warwick's other daughter. 
 You that love me and Warwick, follow me. 
 
 With this bold outcry Clarence, attended by Som- 
 erset, left the royal presence ; while Gloster declined, 
 with an explanation to himself : 
 
 Not I: 
 My thoughts aim at a further matter ; I 
 Stay not for love of Edward, but the crown- 
 
186 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 Clarence made his way to the camp of "Warwick, 
 who had invaded England with an army, and was wel- 
 comed with whole-hearted confidence : 
 
 I hold it cowardice 
 To rest mistrustful where a noble heart 
 Hath pawned an open hand in sign of love. 
 Else might I think that Clarence, Edward's brother, 
 Were but a feigned friend to our proceedings : 
 But welcome, sweet Clarence ; my daughter shall be 
 thine. 
 
 Forthwith Warwick suggests an effort to take King 
 Edward prisoner, as his soldiers were lurking in the 
 towns about, and only a single guard on duty at the 
 royal tent : 
 
 You that will follow me to this attempt 
 Applaud the name of Henry with your leader. 
 
 After which preliminary noise : 
 
 Why, then, let's on our way in silent sort : 
 
 For Warwick and his friends, God, and Saint George ! 
 
 Edward's apparent unconcern is explained by one 
 of the watch : 
 
 Why commands the King 
 That his chief followers lodge in towns about him, 
 While he himself keeps here in the cold field? 
 
 Watch. 'Tis the more honor, because more danger- 
 ous. 
 Second Watch. Ay, but give me worship and quiet- 
 ness — 
 
THE STORY OF EDWARD IV, 1461-1483. 187 
 
 which reminds us of the boy's desire for " a pot of 
 ale and safety." 
 
 The attack was made, Gloster and Hastings, who 
 were with the king in his tent, fled, Edward was taken. 
 Addressed as " duke," he says : 
 
 The duke ! why, Warwick, when we parted last 
 Thou calPdst me king. 
 
 War. Ay, but the case is altered : 
 When you disgraced me in my ambassade, 
 Then I degraded you from being king, 
 And come to new-create you Duke of York. 
 
 King. Brother of Clarence, art thou here too ? 
 Nay, then I see that Edward needs must down. 
 
 His surprise at seeing Clarence shows him to have 
 been gifted with an exceedingly short memory. Well, 
 for the time, Edward did down. He was committed 
 for safe keeping to Warwick's brother, the Bishop of 
 York, who, however, allowed him the liberty of hunt- 
 ing in his park with a single attendant. Gloster, with 
 two friends, soon formed a plot for Edward's deliv- 
 erance, mounted him upon a horse, hurried him to 
 Lynn, and shipped him across the Channel. 
 
 Henry's day was a very brief one, as we have 
 already seen. Edward passed over the sea and came 
 back again : 
 
 What, then, remains, we being thus arrived 
 From Eavenspurg haven 'fore the gates of York, 
 But that we enter as into our dukedom ? 
 
 Glos. The gates made fast! Brother, I like not 
 this: 
 
188 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 For many men that stumble at the threshold 
 Are well foretold that danger lurks within. 
 
 Edward was, however, admitted as Duke of 
 York: 
 
 When we grow stronger, then we'll make our claim ; 
 Till then, 'tis wisdom to conceal our meaning. 
 
 A little spurring by his ambitious chiefs, and Ed- 
 ward again claimed the kingship, and the people 
 
 cried : 
 
 Long live Edward the Fourth ! 
 
 Warwick is in possession of Coventry awaiting re- 
 inforcements : 
 
 War. Say, Somerville, what says my loving son ? 
 And by thy guess, how nigh is Clarence now ? 
 
 Som. At Southam I did leave him with his forces, 
 And do expect him here some two hours hence. 
 
 War. Then Clarence is at hand ; I hear his drum. 
 
 The drum proved to be that of a less welcome 
 visitor, King Edward. But other drums announced 
 other allies, who marched into the city, Edward re- 
 maining without, and when Clarence did come he 
 brought cold comfort : 
 
 War. And lo, where George of Clarence sweeps 
 
 along, 
 Of force enough to do his brother battle. 
 
 Clar. Father of Warwick, know you what this 
 
 means ? 
 
THE STORY OF EDWARD IV, 1461-1483. 189 
 
 And with the word he plucked the red rose from 
 his hat : 
 
 Look here, I throw my infamy at thee : 
 
 I will not ruinate my father's house, 
 
 Who gave his blood to lime the stones together, 
 
 And set up Lancaster. 
 
 He makes due apology to his royal brother, and 
 is, of course, forgiven. Coventry not being a suitable 
 battleground, Warwick led his army away toward 
 Barnet and dared Edward to meet him there. The 
 challenge was accepted : 
 
 Yes, Warwick, Edward dares, and leads the way. 
 
 The End of Warwick. 
 
 At Barnet field Warwick had his death wound 
 and chanted his own parting song : 
 
 Thus yields the cedar to the axe's edge 
 Whose arms gave shelter to the princely eagle, 
 Whose top branch overpeered Jove's spreading tree, 
 And kept low shrubs from winter's powerful wind. 
 These eyes, that now are dimmed with death's black 
 
 veil, 
 Have been as piercing as the midday sun, 
 To search the secret treasures of the world : 
 The wrinkles in my brow, now filled with blood, 
 Were likened oft to kingly sepulchers ; 
 For who lived king, but I could dig his grave ? 
 And who durst smile when Warwick bent his brow ? 
 
190 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 The kingmaker yielded to the king of terrors, and 
 of all his lands claimed only his body's length. 
 
 In another part of the field reinforcements were 
 arriving — an army with the indomitable Queen Mar- 
 garet and some loyal lords, which Edward called " a 
 black, suspicious, threatening cloud," but which Clar- 
 ence, continuing the metaphor, assured him a little 
 gale would soon disperse. 
 
 To her son, Prince Edward, and other courtiers, 
 and in the midst of her soldiers assembled on a 
 plain near Tewksbury, the queen talked of the situa- 
 tion: 
 
 Great lords, wise men ne'er sit and wail their loss, 
 
 But cheerly seek how to redress their harms. 
 
 What, though the mast be now blown overboard, 
 
 And half our sailors swallowed in the flood ! 
 
 Yet lives our pilot still. 
 
 Say Warwick was our anchor ; what of that ? 
 
 Why is not Oxford here another anchor ? 
 
 And, though unskillful, why not Ned and I 
 
 For once allowed the skillful pilot's charge ? 
 
 We will not from the helm to sit and weep ; 
 
 But keep our course, though the rough wind say no, 
 
 From shelves and rocks that threaten us with wreck. 
 
 As good to chide the waves as speak them fair. 
 
 And what is Edward but a ruthless sea ? 
 
 What Clarence but a quicksand of deceit ? 
 
 And Eichard but a ragged fatal rock ? 
 
 All these the enemies to our poor bark. 
 
 Say you can swim — alas, 'tis but a while ! 
 
 Tread on the sand — why, there you quickly sink ; 
 
THE STORY OF EDWARD IV, 1461-1483. 191 
 
 Bestride the rock — the tide will wash you off, 
 Or else you famish ; that's a threefold death. 
 Why, courage, then ! what cannot be avoided 
 'Twere childish weakness to lament or fear. 
 
 Prince, Methinks a woman of this valiant spirit 
 Should, if a coward heard her speak these words, 
 Infuse his breast with magnanimity, 
 And make him, naked, foil a man-at-arms. 
 
 This conference was ended by the arrival of the 
 Yorkists, and in the battle following, the Lancastrians 
 went down, their leaders all prisoners, the most tragic 
 event being the murder of Henry YI's son and heir, 
 Prince Edward, stabbed to death by the king, Gloster, 
 and Clarence. 
 
 The Plot Thickens. 
 
 Edward's outward foes now seem to be under his 
 feet, those of his own household are alive and alert ; 
 the most active being the brother who sided with him, 
 not from love of the king, but of the crown, and who 
 gave vent to his pretended feelings in the familiar 
 soliloquy : 
 
 Now is the winter of our discontent 
 
 Made glorious summer by this sun of York ; 
 
 And all the clouds that lowered upon our house 
 
 In the deep bosom of the ocean buried. 
 
 Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths ; 
 
 Our bruised arms hung up for monuments ; 
 
 Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings ; 
 
 Our dreadful marches to delightful measures. 
 
 Grim-visaged war hath smoothed his wrinkled front. 
 
192 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 As we have already heard him, he descants on his 
 own deformity : 
 
 Scarce half made up, 
 And that so lamely and unfashionable, 
 That dogs bark at me as I halt by them, 
 
 and more than ever he is determined to prove a 
 villain : 
 
 To set my brother Clarence and the King 
 In deadly hate the one against the other. 
 
 The plot indeed had been already laid, for Clar- 
 ence here enters under guard of Brakenbury. To 
 Gloster's expression of feigned surprise, Clarence 
 with a spice of humor in his grinmess explains : 
 
 His majesty 
 Tendering my person's safety, hath appointed 
 This conduct to convey me to the Tower. 
 
 Glos. Upon what cause ? 
 
 Clar. Because my name is George. 
 
 Glos. Alack, my lord, that fault is none of yours ; 
 He should, for that, commit your godfathers. 
 But what's the matter, Clarence ? May I know ? 
 
 Clar. Yea, Richard, when I know, 
 
 but he explains that by a wizard's story told to Ed- 
 ward, his heirs should be disinherited by G. The 
 king overlooked the pertinent fact that G. is also the 
 initial of Gloster, and so the wrong man went to the 
 Tower. 
 
 Brakenbury interposed to keep the brothers from 
 prolonged conversation : 
 
THE STORY OF EDWARD IV, 1461-1483. 193 
 
 Glos. We are the Queen's abjects, and must obey. 
 Brother, farewell : I will unto the King ; 
 And whatsoe'er you may employ me in, — 
 Were it to call King Edward's widow, sister, — 
 I will perform it to enfranchise you. 
 
 Clarence is led away, and does not hear the 
 wicked blessing which his arch-fiend of a brother 
 sends after him : 
 
 Go, tread the path that thou shalt ne'er return, 
 Simple, plain Clarence ! I do love thee so, 
 That I will shortly send thy soul to Heaven. 
 
 Upon the entry of Hastings Grloster inquired : 
 
 What news abroad ? 
 
 Hast. No news so bad abroad as this at home : 
 The King is sickly, weak, and melancholy, 
 And his physicians fear him mightily. 
 
 Glos. Now, by Saint Paul, this news is bad indeed. 
 What, is he in his bed ? 
 
 Hast. He is. 
 
 Glos. Go you before, and I will follow you, — 
 
 and after Hastings left, his own black thoughts com- 
 muned together about the taking off of Clarence by 
 Edward's command, then Edward's own removal, 
 then a marriage which Gloster proposed to make 
 with Anne, Warwick's daughter and Prince Ed- 
 ward's widow, the fact that he had killed her father 
 and her husband not seeming to stand seriously in 
 the way. 
 
194 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 The Family Reunion. 
 
 King Edward's falling in love with and marrying 
 the Lady Gray had a bad effect other than those 
 already noted. The lady had a number of ambitious 
 relatives who by that ladder speedily climbed into 
 high office, to the infinite disgust of the king's kin- 
 dred and of the older nobility. The queen was sorely 
 anxious as to the outcome of this hostility in case the 
 king should die, and Edward had both sides assemble 
 in the palace that he might make atonement between 
 his brothers and the brothers of his queen : 
 
 Q. Eliz. Would all were well ! but that will never 
 be: 
 I fear our happiness is at the height. 
 
 Glos. Who are they who complain unto the King 
 That I, forsooth, am stern, and love them not ? 
 Cannot a plain man live and think no harm 
 But thus his simple truth must be abused ? 
 
 Rivers. (Queen's brother.) To whom in all this 
 presence speaks your Grace ? 
 
 Glos. To thee, that hast nor honesty nor grace. 
 When have I injured thee ? when done thee wrong ? 
 Or thee ? — or thee ? — or any of your faction ? 
 A plague upon you all ! 
 
 Then he charged the queen's kindred with troub- 
 ling the sick king with their complaints. Elizabeth 
 declared that the king without prompting had sent 
 for Gloster that he might gather the ground of his 
 ill-will and remove it : 
 
THE STORY OF EDWARD IV, 1461-1483. 195 
 
 Glos. I cannot tell : the world is grown so bad, 
 That wrens may prey where eagles dare not perch. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Come, come, we know your meaning, 
 brother Gloster ; 
 You envy my advancement and my friends'. 
 
 The debate or quarrel between these two ran 
 high. She threatened to tell the king, he gave his 
 full consent. 
 
 To add abundant fuel to the flame Queen Marga- 
 ret came in, her last appearance upon the dramatic 
 stage, and stood awhile in the background, listening 
 and commenting, then assumed the position of central 
 figure with a venomed shaft for each one — a curse for 
 Gloster, who had killed her husband and son ; a flash 
 of scorn for Elizabeth's brother, whose stamp of honor 
 was fire-new and scarce current ; a shower of pitiless 
 pity for the unhappy Elizabeth herself. 
 
 With Buckingham, who was present, Margaret 
 would make friends : 
 
 princely Buckingham, I'll kiss thy hand ; 
 Thy garments are not spotted with our blood, 
 Nor thou within the compass of my curse. 
 
 Buck. Nor no one here ; for curses never pass 
 The lips of those that breathe them in the air. 
 
 Q. Mar. I'll not believe but they ascend the sky, 
 And there awake God's gentle-sleeping peace. 
 Buckingham, take heed of yonder dog ! 
 Look, when he fawns he bites ; and when he bites, 
 His venom tooth will rankle to the death. 
 
 Glos. What doth she say, my Lord of Buckingham ? 
 
196 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 Buck. Nothing that I respect, my gracious lord. 
 
 Q. Mar. What, dost thou scorn me for my gentle 
 counsel ? 
 And soothe the devil that I warn thee from ? 
 0, but remember this another day, 
 When he shall split thy very heart with sorrow. 
 
 A courtier enters with a summons from the king, 
 and all depart but Gloster, who lingers to clinch all 
 the evil things said of him, concluding : 
 
 But then I sigh ; and, with a piece of Scripture, 
 Tell them that God bids us do good for evil : 
 And thus I clothe my naked villainy 
 With old odd ends stolen out of Holy Writ ; 
 And seem a saint, when most I play the devil. 
 
 He played it at this juncture again most skill- 
 fully by an interview with two ruffians, to whom 
 he gave a paper addressed to Brakenbury, and, if 
 coming events cast their shadows before, as as- 
 uredly they sometimes do, we have the interpreta- 
 tion of Clarence's often-recited dream which he 
 related to Brakenbury, and of the part taken by 
 Gloster : 
 
 Who from my cabin tempted me to walk 
 
 Upon the hatches : thence we looked toward England, 
 
 And cited up a thousand heavy times, 
 
 During the wars of York and Lancaster, 
 
 That had befallen us. As we paced along 
 
 Upon the giddy footing of the hatches, 
 
 Methought that Gloster stumbled ; and, in falling, 
 
THE STORY OF EDWARD IV, 1461-1483. 197 
 
 Struck me, that thought to stay him, overboard 
 Into the tumbling billows of the main. 
 
 The agony did not awake him : 
 
 I passed, methought, the melancholy flood, 
 With that grim ferryman which poets write of, 
 Unto the kingdom of perpetual night. 
 The first that there did greet my stranger soul 
 Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick ; 
 Who cried aloud, What scourge for perjury 
 Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence? 
 And so he vanished : then came wandering by 
 A shadow like an angel, with bright hair 
 Dabbled in blood ; and he shrieked out aloud : 
 Clarence is come, false, fleeting, perjured Clarence, 
 That stabbed me in the field by Teivksbury : 
 Seize on him, Furies, take him to your torments. 
 Brakenbury, I have done those things, 
 That now give evidence against my soul, 
 For Edward's sake ; and see how he requites me ! 
 O God ! if my deep prayers cannot appease thee, 
 Yet execute thy will on me alone ; 
 spare my guiltless wife and my poor children ! 
 Keeper, I prythee, sit by me awhile ; 
 My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep. 
 
 While the unhappy Clarence was enjoying this sleep 
 the two fell messengers that Gloster had sent, abruptly 
 entered the apartment, and one of them gave Braken- 
 bury that fatal paper. It sternly commanded him to 
 deliver into the bearers' hands his noble prisoner : 
 14 
 
198 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 I will not reason what is meant hereby 
 Because I will be guiltless of the meaning. 
 Here are die keys ; there sits the duke asleep. 
 
 And Brakenbury thus gave up his charge and 
 withdrew. 
 
 These murderers seemed to have a little ghastly 
 humor, and at times to be alternately stirred by the 
 pricking of conscience : 
 
 2 Mur. What, shall we stab him as he sleeps ? 
 
 1 Mur. No, he'll say it was done cowardly, when he 
 
 wakes. 
 
 2 Mur. When he wakes ! why, fool, he shall never 
 
 wake till the judgment-day. 
 
 1 Mur. Why, then he'll say we stabbed him 
 
 sleeping. 
 
 2 Mur. The urging of that word judgment hath 
 
 bred a kind of remorse in me. 
 
 1 Mur. What, art thou afraid ? 
 
 2 Mur. Not to kill him, having a warrant for it ; 
 but to be damned for killing him, from the which no 
 warrant can defend me. 
 
 1 Mur. I thought thou hadst been resolute. 
 
 2 Mur. So I am, to let him live. 
 
 1 Mur. I'll back to the Duke of Gloster, and tell 
 him so. 
 
 2 Mur. Nay, I prythee, stay a little : I hope my holy 
 humor will change ; it was wont to hold me but while 
 one tells twenty. 
 
 1 Mur. How dost thou feel thyself now ? 
 
 2 Mur. Faith, some certain dregs of conscience are 
 yet within me. 
 
THE STORY OF EDWARD IV, 1461-1483. 199 
 
 1 Mur. Remember our reward when the deed's 
 done. 
 
 2 Mur. Zounds, he dies : I had forgot the reward. 
 
 1 Mur. Where's thy conscience now ? 
 
 2 Mur. In the Duke of Gloster's purse. 
 
 1 Mur. So, when he opens his purse to give us our 
 reward, thy conscience flies out. 
 
 2 Mur. 'Tis no matter ; let it go ; there's few or 
 none will entertain it. 
 
 1 Mur. What if it come to thee again ? 
 
 2 Mur. I'll not meddle with it ; it makes a man a 
 coward ; a man can not steal but it accuseth him ; 'tis 
 a blushing, shame-faced spirit that mutinies in a man's 
 bosom ; it fills one full of obstacles ; it made me once 
 restore a purse of gold that, by chance, I found ; it 
 beggars any man that keeps it : it is turned out of all 
 towns and cities as a dangerous thing ; and every man 
 that means to live well endeavors to trust to himself 
 and live without it. 
 
 Clarence wakens, sees his visitors, suspects their 
 errand, argues and then pleads with them, but in vain. 
 The bloody deed is done; and simple, plain Clarence 
 goes his way along the road wherein none ever meets 
 a traveler on the return. 
 
 A Room in the Palace. 
 
 "While these dread scenes were enacting, there has 
 been a gathering of noble lords and ladies at the 
 palace. We heard the summons given them for this 
 meeting. The king, quite ill, is there ; Gloster comes 
 
200 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 late, and we have learned his wicked excuse for tardi- 
 ness. 
 
 King. Why, so ; now have I done a good day's work : 
 You peers, continue this united league : 
 I every day expect an embassage 
 From my Redeemer to redeem me hence. 
 
 Then the dying Edward called upon those lately 
 at enmity to shake hands and swear their love. 
 
 "When the belated Gloster came he outdid them 
 all in glowing words of conciliation : 
 
 'Tis death to me to be at enmity. 
 I do not know that Englishman alive 
 With whom my soul is any jot at odds 
 More than the infant that is born to-night. 
 
 Q. Eliz. I would to God all strifes were well com- 
 pounded. 
 My sovereign lord, I do beseech your Highness 
 To take our brother Clarence to your grace. 
 
 Glos. Why, madam, have I offered love for this, 
 To be so flouted in this royal presence ? 
 Who knows not that the gentle duke is dead? 
 
 King. Is Clarence dead ? the order was reversed. 
 
 Glos. But he, poor man, by your first order died, 
 And that a winged Mercury did bear ; 
 Some tardy cripple bore the countermand. 
 
 While all was confusion, mistrust, and alarm, Lord 
 Stanley entered, crying for a royal boon — the forgive- 
 ness of his servant for a crime by which he had in- 
 curred the death penalty; and the response of the 
 
THE STORY OF EDWARD IV, 1461-1483. 201 
 
 king, stung to self-reproach at the recollection of the 
 many brotherly deeds Clarence had done him, and to 
 anger at the common selfishness of the rest, is the 
 last we hear from Edward IY : 
 
 Have I a tongue to doom my brother's death, 
 And shall that tongue give pardon to a slave ? 
 My brother killed no man : his fault was thought, 
 And yet his punishment was bitter death. 
 Who sued to me for him ? who, in my rage, 
 Kneeled at my feet, and bade me be advised ? 
 Who spoke of brotherhood ? who spoke of love ? 
 Who told me how the poor soul did forsake 
 The mighty Warwick, and did fight for me ? 
 Who told me, in the field at Tewksbury, 
 When Oxford had me down, he rescued me, 
 And said, Dear brother, live, and be a king ? 
 Who told me, when we both lay in the field, 
 Frozen almost to death, how he did lap me 
 Even in his garments, and did give himself, 
 All thin and naked, to the numb-cold night ? 
 All this from my remembrance brutish wrath 
 Sinfully plucked, and not a man of you 
 Had so much grace to put it in my mind. 
 But when your carters or your waiting-vassals 
 Have done a drunken slaughter and defaced 
 The precious image of our dear Eedeemer, 
 You straight are on your knees for pardon, pardon ; 
 And I, unjustly too, must grant it you : 
 But for my brother not a man would speak, 
 Nor I, ungracious, speak unto myself 
 For him, poor soul. The proudest of you all 
 Have been beholden to him in his life : 
 
202 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 Yet none of you would once plead for his life. 
 God ! I fear thy justice will take hold 
 On me, and you, and mine, and yours, for this. 
 Come, Hastings, help me to my closet — Ah ! 
 Poor Clarence ! 
 
King Richard III. 
 From the portrait in the royal collection at Windsor. 
 
THE STORY OF RICHARD III, 1483-1485. 
 
 "We have been noting the steps by which Gloster 
 waded through slaughter toward the throne, and have 
 learned that if his soul contained any quality of mercy 
 the gates were shut upon it from all mankind. 
 
 Not long after the family scene at which we were 
 recently lookers on, Queen Elizabeth announced to 
 the Duchess of York that Edward, her son, the king, 
 was dead. They wailed their common grief, and in 
 the general chorus of pathos the children of Clarence 
 joined. The queen's brother, taking counsel of his 
 fears, advised that Edward, the young prince and heir, 
 be sent for straightway and crowned : 
 
 In him your comfort lives; 
 Drown desperate sorrow in dead Edward's grave, 
 And plant your joys in living Edward's throne. 
 
 Upon this sad company came Gloster with his 
 sardonic note of consolation ; also some of his friends, 
 chief among them Buckingham, who had not taken 
 Margaret's warning : 
 
 Glos. Sister, have comfort : all of us have cause 
 To wail the dimming of our shining star ; 
 But none can cure their harms by wailing them. 
 
 203 
 
204 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 Madam, my mother, I do cry you mercy : 
 
 I did not see your Grace : — Humbly on my knee 
 
 I crave your blessing. 
 
 Duch. God bless thee ; and put meekness in thy 
 breast. 
 
 Glos. Amen ; — [Aside] and make me die a good old 
 man ! 
 That is the butt-end of a mother's blessing. 
 
 Buck. Though we have spent our harvest of this 
 King, 
 We are to reap the harvest of his son. 
 Me seemeth good, that, with some little train, 
 Forthwith from Ludlow the young Prince be fet 
 Hither to London, to be crowned our King. 
 
 Rivers. Why with some little train ? 
 
 Buck. Marry, my lord, lest by a multitude, 
 The new-healed wound of malice should break out. 
 
 Glos. I hope the King made peace with all of us ; 
 And the compact is firm and true in me. 
 
 Hast. And so in me ; and so, I think, in all : 
 Yet, since it is but green, it should be put 
 To no apparent likelihood of breach. 
 
 Glos. Then be it so ; and go we to determine 
 Who they shall be that straight shall post to Ludlow. 
 
 They all withdrew except Gloster and Bucking- 
 ham, who lingered to have an understanding that 
 whoever went for the little king they two should not 
 stay at home. 
 
 In a London street we see the meeting of three 
 citizens, and, from their talk, learn something of the 
 popular sentiment. One quotes the Scripture foretell- 
 ing woe to that land whose king is a child. In reply to 
 
THE STORY OF RICHARD III, 1483-1485. 205 
 
 the remark that young Edward has virtuous uncles to 
 protect him, one said : 
 
 Better it were they all came by his father, 
 
 Or by his father there were none at all. 
 
 0, full of danger is the Duke of Gloster ! 
 
 And the Queen's sons and brothers haught and proud. 
 
 2 Cit. Come, come, we fear the worst ; all will be 
 
 well. 
 
 3 Cit. When clouds are seen, wise men put on their 
 
 cloaks ; 
 When great leaves fall, then winter is at hand ; 
 When the sun sets, who doth not look for night ? 
 Untimely storms make men expect a dearth, 
 All may be well ; but, if God sort it so, 
 'Tis more than we deserve, or I expect. 
 
 1 Cit. Truly, the hearts of men are full of fear. 
 
 S Cit. Before the days of change, still is it so : 
 By a divine instinct men's minds mistrust 
 Ensuing danger ; as, by proof, we see 
 The waters swell before a boisterous storm. 
 But leave it all to God. 
 
 While the hearts of thoughtful people without 
 throbbed with anxiety, those within the palace were 
 not more free from care. In one room were gath- 
 ered Queen Elizabeth and her second son, the little 
 York, also Gloster's mother and the archbishop. 
 Their talk was of the expected arrival of the young 
 king, who, as we saw, was sent for : 
 
 Arch. At Stony-Stratford will they be to-night ; 
 To-morrow,, or next day, they will be here. 
 
206 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 Buck. I long with all my hsart to see the Prince : 
 I hope he is much grown since last I saw him. 
 
 Q. Eliz. But I hear, no ; they say my son of York 
 Has almost overta'en him in his growth. 
 
 York. Ay, mother ; but I would not have it so. 
 
 Duch. Why, my young cousin, it is good to grow. 
 
 York. Grandam, one night, as we did sit at supper, 
 My uncle Eivers talked how I did grow 
 More than my brother : Ay, quoth my uncle Gloster, 
 Small herbs have grace, great tveeds do grow apace : 
 
 Duch. Good faith, good faith, the saying did not 
 hold 
 In him that did object [speak] the same to thee : 
 He was the wretched'st thing when he was young, 
 So long a-growing and so leisurely, 
 That, if his rule were true, he should be gracious. 
 
 Soon a messenger came with the news that the 
 queen's brothers are arrested by Gloster's order and 
 sent to Pomfret Castle — another step toward getting 
 entire control over the boy king. 
 
 Buckingham and Gloster have perfected their plot 
 to set aside the sons of Edward IV. They have a few 
 accomplices, and attempt to draw Lord William Hast- 
 ings to their side, knowing the long strife between 
 him and the queen's party. When sounded, however, 
 he declared hearty allegiance to the little king, the 
 heir of his late beloved master. The queen and her 
 younger son fled to the sanctuary of Westminster for 
 protection. 
 
 Prince. Say, uncle Gloster, if our brother come, 
 Where shall we sojourn till our coronation? 
 
THE STORY OF RICHARD III, 1483-1485. 207 
 
 Glos. Where it seems best unto your royal self. 
 If I may counsel you, some day or two 
 Your Highness shall repose you at the Tower. 
 
 Prince. I do not like the Tower, of any place, — 
 Did Julius Caesar build that place, my lord ? 
 
 Buck. He did, my gracious lord, begin that place ; 
 Which, since, succeeding ages have re-edified. 
 
 Prince. Is it upon record, or else reported 
 Successively from age to age, he built it ? 
 
 York. Upon rec6rd, my gracious lord. 
 
 Prince. But say, my lord, it were not registered ; 
 Methinks, the truth should live from age to age, 
 That Julius Cgesar was a famous man ; 
 Death makes no conquest of this conqueror : 
 For now he lives in fame, though not in life. 
 I'll tell you what, my cousin Buckingham, — 
 
 Buck. What, my gracious lord ? 
 
 Prince. An if I live until I be a man, 
 I'll win our ancient right in France again, 
 Or die a soldier, as I lived a king. 
 
 Buck. Now, in good time, here comes the Duke of 
 York. 
 
 Prince. Richard of York ! how fares our loving 
 brother ? 
 
 York. Well, my dread lord : for so must I call you 
 now. 
 
 Prince. Ay, brother, — to our grief, as it is yours. 
 
 Glos. How fares our cousin, noble Lord of York ? 
 
 York. I thank you, gentle uncle. 0, my lord, 
 You said that idle weeds are fast in growth : 
 The Prince my brother hath outgrown me far. 
 
 Glos. He hath, my lord. 
 
 York. And therefore is he idle ? 
 
208 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 Glos. 0, my fair cousin, I must not say so. 
 York. Then is he more beholden to you than I. 
 Glos. He may command me as my sovereign, 
 But you have power in me as in a kinsman. 
 
 After this lively dialogue had drawn out to some 
 greater length, Gloster had the prince proceed to the 
 Tower, while he should go to entreat the queen - 
 mother to meet him there : 
 
 York. What, will you go unto the Tower, my lord ? 
 
 Prince. My Lord Protector needs will have it so. 
 
 York. I shall not sleep in quiet at the Tower. 
 
 Glos. Why, what should you fear ? 
 
 York. Marry, my uncle Clarence' angry ghost : 
 My grandam told me he was murdered there. 
 
 Prince. I fear no uncles dead. 
 
 Glos. Nor none that live, I hope. 
 
 Prince. An if they live, I hope I need not fear. 
 But come, my lord ; and with a heavy heart, 
 Thinking on them, go I unto the Tower. 
 
 When Buckingham had asked Gloster what they 
 should do if Hastings refused to join their conspiracy, 
 Chop off his head, was the stern reply : 
 
 And look you, when I am king, claim thou of me 
 Th' earldom of Hereford. 
 
 Buck. I'll claim that promise at your Grace's hand. 
 
 He claimed betimes but got nothing. 
 
A Scene in the Tower. 
 Gloster, Buckingham, Stanley, Hastings, etc. 
 
 King Richard III, Act III, Scene iv. 
 
THE STORY OF RICHARD III, 1483-1485. 209 
 
 The Council Chamber. 
 
 The peers are sitting to determine the time for the 
 coronation : 
 
 Buck. Who knows the Lord Protector's mind 
 herein ? 
 
 Bishop of Ely. Your Grace, we think, should 
 soonest know his mind. 
 
 Buck. We know each other's faces ; for our hearts, 
 He knows no more of mine than I of yours. 
 
 Ely. In happy time, here comes the Duke himself. 
 
 Glos. My noble lords and cousins all, good morrow ! 
 My Lord of Ely, when I was last in Holborn, 
 I saw good strawberries in your garden there : 
 I do beseech you send for some of them. 
 
 We learned some time ago that the Bishop of Ely 
 raised his strawberries in the shade of the nettle. 
 
 Gloster soon took Buckingham aside, and return- 
 ing, made inquiry : 
 
 I pray you all, tell me what they deserve 
 That do conspire my death with devilish plots 
 Of damned witchcraft ? 
 
 Hastings promptly declared that such persons 
 deserved death. Gloster then showed his withered 
 arm as evidence of what Edward's wife, that " mon- 
 strous witch," and Jane Shore had wrought upon his 
 body : 
 
 Hast. If they have done this thing, my gracious 
 lord — 
 
210 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 Glos. If ! — thou protector of this damned strumpet, 
 Talkest thou to me of ifs ? Thou art a traitor : 
 Off with his head ! now, by St. Paul I swear, 
 I will not dine until I see the same ! 
 
 With that bloody speech, attended by all except 
 the two he had commissioned as Hastings's butchers, 
 Gloster left the chamber. 
 
 The unhappy Lord William indulged in a strain 
 of lamentation over the coming woes of England : 
 
 Ratcliff. Dispatch, my lord ; the duke would be at 
 dinner : 
 Make a short shrift ; he longs to see your head. 
 
 Hast. momentary grace of mortal men, 
 Which we more hunt for than the grace of God ! 
 Who builds his hope in air of your fair looks, 
 Lives like a drunken sailor on a mast, 
 Ready, with every nod, to tumble down 
 Into the fatal bowels of the deep. 
 
 Gloster had the ghastly pleasure, before he dined, 
 of seeing the head of the best man who acted a part 
 in this tragedy of Richard III, and the equal satisfac- 
 tion of inventing an atrocious lie about him by way 
 of epitaph, and as a justification for his most foul 
 murder. The speech of the scrivener sets forth the 
 stark iniquity of the whole proceeding : 
 
 Here is th' indictment of the good Lord Hastings ; 
 Which in a set hand fairly is engrossed, 
 That it may be to-day read o'er in Paul's. 
 And mark how well the sequel hangs together : 
 
THE STORY OF RICHARD III, 1483-1485. 211 
 
 Eleven hours I have spent to write it o'er, 
 
 For yesterday by Catesby was it sent me ; 
 
 The precedent [first copy] was full as long a-doing : 
 
 And yet within these five hours Hastings lived, 
 
 Untainted, unexamined, free, at liberty. 
 
 Here's a good world the while ! Why, who's so gross 
 
 That can not see this palpable device ? 
 
 Yet who so bold but says he sees it not ? 
 
 There was one masterpiece in way of a farce set 
 in among the tragic events suggested by the very 
 name of Grloster. It was in two acts, the first being 
 Buckingham's attempt to have Richard proclaimed 
 king by a crowd of citizens, with the triumphant re- 
 sult that : 
 
 Some followers of mine own, 
 At lower end of the hall, hurled up their caps, 
 And some ten voices cried, God save King Richard ! 
 And thus I took the vantage of those few : 
 Thanks, gentle citizens and friends, quoth I, 
 This general applause and cheerful shout 
 Argues your ivisdom and your love to Richard. 
 
 The second act was played by Buckingham and 
 Richard when the former brought the mayor and a 
 few followers to force Richard, who had been tutored 
 to show extreme unwillingness, to take the crown. 
 It was a piece of hypocritical acting worthy of teacher 
 and pupil. Imagine Gloster's reluctance : 
 
 To bear the golden yoke of sovereignty, 
 
 Which fondly [foolishly] you would here impose on me ; 
 
 and his meekness : 
 
212 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 So mighty and so many are my defects 
 
 That I would rather hide me from my greatness — 
 
 Being a bark to brook no mighty sea — 
 
 Than in my greatness covet to be hid. 
 
 It is not at all strange that entreaties prevailed, 
 and Buckingham saluted Richard with the royal title : 
 
 Long live King Eichard, England's worthy King ! 
 
 A Room of State in the Palace. 
 
 In the following scene we learn possibly the cause 
 of the falling apart of Buckingham and Richard : 
 
 K. Rich. Stand all apart. — Cousin Buckingham, — 
 
 Buck. My gracious sovereign. 
 
 K. Rich. Give me thy hand. Thus high, by thy 
 advice 
 And thy assistance, is King Richard seated : 
 But shall we wear these honors for a day ? 
 Or shall they last, and we rejoice in them? 
 
 Buck. Still live they, and for ever let them last ! 
 
 K. Rich. Ah, Buckingham, now do I play the touch, 
 To try if thou be current gold indeed : 
 Young Edward lives. Think now what I would speak. 
 
 Buck. Say on, my loving lord. 
 
 K. Rich. Why, Buckingham, I say I would be king. 
 
 Buck. Why, so you are, my thrice-renowned liege. 
 
 K. Rich. Ha ! am I king ? 'tis so, — but Edward lives. 
 
 Buck. True, noble prince. 
 
 K. Rich. bitter consequence, 
 
 That Edward still should live ! True, nolle prince ! 
 Cousin, thou wert not wont to be so dull : 
 
THE STORY OF RICHARD III, 1483-1485. 213 
 
 Shall I be plain ? I wish the bastards dead : 
 And I would have it suddenly performed. 
 What say'st thou now ? speak suddenly, be brief. 
 
 Buck. Your Grace may do your pleasure. 
 
 K. Rich. Tut, tut, thou art all ice, thy kindness 
 freezes : 
 Say, have I thy consent that they shall die ? 
 
 Buck. Give me some breath, some little pause, my 
 lord, 
 Before I positively speak herein : 
 I will resolve your Grace immediately. 
 
 The king turned away in anger and called a page 
 to him, from whom he learned the name of James 
 Tyrrel as a man whom corrupting gold would tempt 
 to any exploit. He held a conference with Tyrrel, 
 and found him the wicked tool he wanted. As Tyrrel 
 left the apartment Buckingham came back : 
 
 Buck. My lord, I have considered in my mind 
 The late demand that you did sound me in. 
 
 K. Rich. Well, let that rest. Dorset is fled to Rich- 
 mond. 
 Buck. I hear the news, my lord. 
 K. Rich. Stanley, he is your wife's son : well, look 
 
 to it. 
 Btick. My lord, I claim the gift, my due by promise, 
 For which your honor and your faith is pawned, 
 Th' earldom of Hereford, and the movables, 
 The which you promised I should possess. 
 
 K. Rich. I do remember me, Henry the Sixth 
 Did prophesy that Eichmond should be king, 
 J5 
 
214 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 When Kichmond was a little peevish boy. 
 A king ! — perhaps — 
 
 Buck. My lord, — 
 
 K. Rich. How chance the prophet could not at 
 that time 
 Have told me, I being by, that I should kill him ? 
 
 Buck. My lord, your promise for the earldom — 
 
 K. Rich. Richmond — When last I was at Exeter 
 The Mayor in courtesy showed me the castle, 
 And called it Rouge-mont : at which name I started, 
 Because a bard of Ireland told me once 
 I should not live long after I saw Richmond. 
 
 Buck. My lord, — 
 
 K. Rich. Ay, what's o'clock ? 
 
 Buck. I am thus bold to put your Grace in mind 
 Of what you promised me. 
 
 K. Rich. Well, but what's o'clock ? 
 
 Buck. Upon the stroke of ten. 
 
 K. Rich. Well, let it strike. 
 
 Buck. Why let it strike ? 
 
 K. Rich. Because that, like a Jack, thou keep'st the 
 stroke 
 Betwixt thy begging and my meditation. 
 I am not in the giving vein to-day. 
 
 Buck. Why, then resolve me whether you will 
 or no. 
 
 K. Rich. Thou troublest me; I am not in the vein. 
 
 And the king halted out of the room. Two things 
 in Buckingham's conduct in this matter are hard to 
 understand. Knowing Gloster as he knew him, why 
 did he ask a favor, or remind him of a promise when 
 
The Murder of the Princes. 
 
 King Richard III, Act IV, Scene Hi. 
 
THE STORY OF RICHARD III, 1483-1485. 215 
 
 he was in a bad humor ? and why did he do it in such 
 a persistent, almost imperious way ? But he rightly 
 saw at last that their partnership was dissolved, and 
 betook himself without delay to a castle of his own in 
 Wales : 
 
 0, let me think on Hastings, and be gone ! 
 
 The Sum of Villainies. 
 
 Into a room of the palace where the king is to 
 meet Tyrrel after his ruthless piece of butchery Rich- 
 ard comes, and after Tyrrel has delivered his bloody 
 account and is gone, he sums up his more recent 
 villainies : 
 
 The son of Clarence have I pent up close ; 
 The sons of Edward sleep in Abraham's bosom, 
 And Anne my wife hath bid the world good-night. 
 Now, for I know the Bretagne Bichmond aims 
 At young Elizabeth, my brother's daughter, 
 And, by that knot, looks proudly on the crown, 
 To her go I, a jolly thriving wooer. 
 
 To carry out this loving purpose he soon set forth, 
 attended by his train, and by chance came upon his 
 mother, the Duchess of York, and Elizabeth, the 
 bereft mother of those last victims of Richard's insati- 
 able thirst for power. 
 
 They approached him with questions which he did 
 not wish to hear or answer, so a nourish of trumpets 
 drowned their voices. The duchess, in going, left her 
 curse for her son, " subtle, bloody, treacherous." He, 
 
216 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 with an indifference which was at least not assumed, 
 heard his mother's farewell, and turned to detain the 
 queen : 
 
 Stay, madam : I must speak a word with you. 
 
 Q. Eliz. I have no more sons of the royal blood 
 For thee to murder. 
 
 K. Rich. You have a daughter called Elizabeth, 
 Virtuous and fair, royal and gracious. 
 
 Q. Eliz. And must she die for this ? 0, let her live, 
 And I'll corrupt her manners, stain her beauty : 
 Throw over her the veil of infamy : 
 I will confess she was not Edward's daughter. 
 
 K. Rich. Wrong not her birth ; she is of royal 
 blood. 
 
 Q. Eliz. To save her life, I'll say she is not so. 
 
 K. Rich. Her life is safest only in her birth. 
 
 So the dialogue went its rather tiresome way till 
 the king made the astounding declaration that he 
 really did love his brother's daughter, and would 
 make her Queen of England. The way to woo her 
 he asked of Elizabeth, who replied mockingly, going 
 over again the red story of his crimes, but not dis- 
 concerting this wooer in the least. In his love-mak- 
 ing, as in his other crimes, he could say, " I am myself 
 alone." 
 
 Concluding this interview, the queen promised to 
 do his will : whether intending to fulfill her promise, 
 or whether she resorted to this as the only apparent 
 means to save her daughter, we shall never know. 
 
 As Elizabeth left, a messenger came with tidings, 
 
THE STORY OF RICHARD III, 1483-1485. 217 
 
 On the western coast 
 Bideth a puissant navy ; to the shore 
 Throng many doubtful hollow-hearted friends. 
 'Tis thought that Richmond is their admiral. 
 
 Richard was greatly excited, and began to give 
 angry, inconsistent orders. He was not made calmer 
 by Stanley's confirmatory news : 
 
 Richmond is on the seas. 
 K. Rich. There let him sink, and be the seas on 
 him, 
 White-livered runagate ; what doth he there ? 
 
 Staii. Stirred up by Dorset, Buckingham, and Ely, 
 He makes for England here to claim the crown. 
 
 K. Rich. Is the chair empty ? is the sword un- 
 swayed ? 
 Is the King dead ? the empire unpossessed ? 
 Then, tell me, what makes he upon the seas ? 
 
 Stan. Unless for that, my liege, I cannot guess. 
 K. Rich. Unless for that he comes to be your liege 
 You cannot guess wherefore the Welshman comes. 
 Thou wilt revolt, and fly to him, I fear. 
 
 It seems that Richard guessed correctly Stanley's 
 inclinations, and he kept young George Stanley as a 
 hostage. 
 
 One bit of bad news followed another, till the 
 king, in a burst of rage, struck, before hearing, the 
 man who told him that Buckingham's army was scat- 
 tered by the floods, and that Buckingham himself had 
 wandered away, no man knew where. Catesby, one 
 of the king's faithful ruffians, soon brought word that 
 
218 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 Buckingham was taken ; but he administered an anti- 
 dote — that Richmond was not longer on the seas, but 
 had landed. He had come to claim the English crown, 
 and, as we learn right here, he had asked for and had 
 been promised the " virtuous and fair " Elizabeth, 
 daughter of Edward IY. Richmond as well as Rich- 
 ard was trying to strengthen his title to the throne by 
 marriage with the only living representative of the 
 first Yorkist king. Richmond's claim was based on 
 his direct descent from old John of Gaunt. "We are 
 more interested in him as the grandson of the fair 
 French Catherine, whom Henry Y courted in French 
 not so fair. After Henry's death she married Owen 
 Tudor, a Welshman. From this pair came the House 
 of Tudor. 
 
 Bosworth Field. 
 
 K. Rich. Here pitch our tents, even here in Bos- 
 worth field. — 
 My Lord of Surrey, why look you so sad ? 
 
 Sur. My heart is ten times lighter than my looks. 
 
 K. Ricli. Up with my tent ! Here will I lie to-night ; 
 But where to-morrow ? Well, all's one for that. — 
 Who hath descried the number of the traitors ? 
 
 Nor. Six or seven thousand is their utmost power. 
 
 K. Rich. Why, our battalia trebles that account : 
 Besides, the King's name is a tower of strength, 
 Which they upon the adverse party want. 
 Up with the tent ! 
 
 On the opposite side of the field another tent is 
 pitched for another leader : 
 
THE STORY OF RICHARD III, 1483-1485. 219 
 
 Richm. The weary sun hath made a golden set, 
 And, by the bright track of his fiery car, 
 Gives token of a goodly day to-morrow. — 
 Give me some ink and paper in my tent : 
 I'll draw the form and model of our battle 
 And part in just proportion our small power. — 
 
 Come, gentlemen, 
 Let us consult upon to-morrow's business : 
 In to my tent ; the air is raw and cold. 
 
 Meanwhile Richard in his tent : 
 
 K. Rich. What is't o'clock ? 
 
 Cate. It's supper-time, my lord ; 
 
 It's nine o'clock. 
 
 K. Rich. I will not sup to-night. — 
 
 What, is my beaver easier than it was ? 
 And all my armor laid into my tent ? 
 
 Gate. It is, my liege : and all things are in readiness. 
 
 K. Rich. Stir with the lark to-morrow, gentle Nor- 
 folk. 
 
 Nor. I warrant you, my lord. 
 
 Then Kichard sent an order to Stanley to bring 
 up his force before sunrise, 
 
 Lest his son George fall 
 Into the blind cave of eternal night — 
 
 then certain questions being answered to his mind > 
 he called for another bowl of wine : 
 
 I have not that alacrity of spirit, 
 
 Nor cheer of mind, that I was wont to have. 
 
 Well, set it down. — Is ink and paper ready ? 
 
220 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 Rat. It is, my lord. 
 
 K. Rich. Bid my guard watch : leave me. — Rat- 
 cliffe, 
 About the mid of night come to my tent 
 And help to arm me. — Leave me, I say. 
 
 The king retired into his tent and slept, while 
 from the opposite headquarters came the sound of 
 Richmond's prayer : 
 
 Sleeping and waking, 0, defend me still ! 
 
 The imagination of the poet has heard even the 
 inaudible, and has translated into living tones the 
 dreams of these two sleepers : 
 
 Ghost of Prince Edivard. (To K. Rich.) Let me 
 sit heavy on thy soul to-morrow ! 
 Think, how thou stabb'dst me in my prime of youth 
 At Tewksbury : despair, therefore, and die ! 
 
 (To Richmond.) Be cheerful, Richmond ; for the 
 wronged souls 
 Of butchered princes fight in thy behalf. 
 
 Ghost of King Henry. (To K. Rich.) Think on the 
 
 Tower and me : Despair and die ! 
 (To Richmond.) Harry, that prophesied thou 
 shouldst be king, 
 Doth comfort thee in sleep : Live thou, and flourish ! 
 Ghost of Clarence. (To K. Rich.) To-morrow in the 
 battle think on me, 
 And fall thy edgeless sword : Despair, and die ! 
 
 (To Richmond.) Thou offspring of the House of 
 Lancaster, 
 The wronged heirs of York do pray for thee ! 
 
THE STORY OF RICHARD III, 1483-1485. 221 
 
 Other of King Richard's victims in long succes- 
 sion rose and breathed their alternate curses and 
 blessings — the last always for his enemy — until it is 
 no wonder he started up betwixt asleep and awake : 
 
 Give me another horse, — bind up my wounds, — 
 Have mercy, Jesu ! — Soft ! I did but dream. 
 coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me ! 
 The lights burn blue. — It is now dead midnight. 
 Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh. 
 
 Making inquiry of himself as to the cause of his 
 alarm, he came across a thing for which he seldom 
 had use, and of whose possession no one would sus- 
 pect him : 
 
 My conscience hath a thousand several tongues, 
 And every tongue brings in a several tale, 
 And every tale condemns me for a villain. 
 
 Katcliffe had been bid to come at midnight to put 
 the king's armor on, but he came not till the early vil- 
 lage cock had twice announced the rising morning : 
 
 K. Rich. Ratcliffe, I have dreamed a fearful 
 dream ! 
 Methought the souls of all that I have murdered 
 Came to my tent : and every one did threat 
 To-morrow's vengeance on the head of Richard. 
 
 Rat. Nay, good my lord, be not afraid of shadows. 
 
 K. Rich. By the apostle Paul, shadows to-night 
 Have struck more terror to the soul of Richard 
 Than can the substance of ten thousand soldiers 
 Armed in proof and led by shallow Richmond. 
 
222 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 The king took Ratcliffe, and they went to play 
 the eavesdropper through the camp ; for Richard was 
 very suspicious of the loyalty of some of his leaders, 
 and not without cause. 
 
 Richmond's waking was naturally of another sort. 
 We know what prompted his dreams, and only wait 
 to hear him say of them : 
 
 The fairest-boding dreams 
 That ever entered in a drowsy head. 
 I promise you, my heart is very jocund 
 In the remembrance of so fair a dream. 
 How far into the morning is it, lords ? 
 
 Lords. Upon the stroke of four. 
 
 Richm. Why, then 'tis time to arm and give 
 direction. 
 
 Having completed his secret round, in which he 
 appears to have found out nothing of significance, 
 King Richard prepares for battle ; but before the 
 setting on, Norfolk brings him a paper left on his 
 tent during the darkness, warning him that the king 
 is betrayed. Richard, with the coming of daylight 
 and expecting to meet in battle only foes in mortal 
 shape, is now himself again : 
 
 Go, gentlemen, every man unto his charge : 
 
 Let not our babbling dreams affright our souls ; 
 
 Conscience is but a word that cowards use. 
 
 Our strong -arms be our conscience, swords our law. 
 
 He made a mistake in underrating his oppo- 
 nent : 
 
The Vision of Richard before the Battle of Bosworth Field. 
 
 Richard HI, Act V. Scene Hi. 
 
THE STORY OP RICHARD III, 1483-1485. 223 
 
 A paltry fellow, 
 A milk-sop, one that never in his life 
 Felt so much cold as over shoes in snow. 
 Let's whip these stragglers o'er the seas again, 
 These famished beggars, weary of their lives. 
 
 A messenger enters to say that Lord Stanley re- 
 fuses to bring up his power : 
 
 K. Rich. Off with his son George's head ! 
 Nor. My lord, the enemy is past the marsh : 
 After the battle let George Stanley die. 
 
 In the fight Catesby appeals to Lord Norfolk : 
 
 Rescue, my Lord of Norfolk, rescue, rescue ! 
 The King enacts more wonders than a man, 
 Daring an opposite to every danger : 
 His horse is slain, and all on foot he fights, 
 Seeking for Richmond in the throat of death. 
 
 This stirring eulogy was interrupted by the person 
 and the proof : 
 
 K. Rich. A horse ! a horse ! my kingdom for a 
 horse ! 
 
 Cate. Withdraw, my lord ; I'll help you to a horse. 
 
 But Grloster's blood was up — and withdraw, retreat, 
 was not in his fighting lexicon : 
 
 Slave, I have set my life upon a cast, 
 
 And I will stand the hazard of the die : 
 
 I think there be six Richmonds in the field ; 
 
 Five have I slain to-day, instead of him. 
 
 A horse ! a horse ! my kingdom for a horse ! 
 
22i SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 Before long in another part of the field, Rich- 
 mond was seen, with Stanley bearing the crown ; and 
 from them we learn the issue of the battle of Bos- 
 worth, and the fatal reality of Bichard's dream : 
 
 Richm. God and your arms be praised, victorious 
 friends ; 
 The day is ours, the bloody dog is dead. 
 
 Stan. Courageous Eichmond, well hast thou acquit 
 thee. 
 Lo, here, this long-usurped royalty 
 From the dead temples of this bloody wretch 
 Have I plucked off, to grace thy brows with it. 
 Wear it, enjoy it, and make much of it. 
 
 Prose history tells that after the fight, the crown, 
 deeply indented with the stout strokes it had caught 
 while on Bichard's head, was found hanging upon a 
 hawthorn bush, and that this strange fruit was plucked 
 by Stanley. 
 
 The dead king's body was exposed for three days 
 in the church at Leicester, that the people might make 
 themselves sure of the death of the last prince of the 
 House of York. He was interred in the monastery 
 of the Grey Friars. In the words of Guizot : " The 
 wars of the Two Boses had ended, and the era of the 
 great reigns was about to begin for England." 
 
 Shakespeare's Bichard III is a man wicked almost 
 beyond our conception of villainy ; admitting his 
 crimes, nay boasting of them. Before we leave him, 
 to let a ray of sun fall upon the dark portrait, let us 
 recall that he was a substantial friend of Caxton, the 
 
THE STORY OF RICHARD III, 1483-1485. 225 
 
 great English printer, and that upon one subject, at 
 least, his views far exceeded in liberality those of many 
 lawmakers of the present century and day. He pro- 
 vided that no statute should act as a hindrance " to 
 any artificer or merchant stranger, of what nation or 
 country he be, for bringing unto this realm or selling 
 by retail or otherwise of any manner of books, written 
 or imprinted." He would admit free the sources of 
 knowledge, and multiply these sources by the use of 
 the art preservative of arts. 
 
THE STOEY OF HENRY VIII, 1509-1547. 
 
 The coming of Henry VII upon the dramatic 
 stage is foretold by his brother actors, who allude to 
 his whereabouts, and foretell his future greatness, and 
 let us know his kinship to certain persons who have 
 gained our active attention. "When, in the fullness of 
 time, Richmond is about to rid the stage of its heavy 
 villain, spirits from the vasty deep are called by the 
 dramatic Glendower to bless his enterprise — and they 
 come. We hear their prayer, and spontaneously we 
 join in it, and shout our acclamations over Richard's 
 downfall and Richmond's uprising. But out of Rich- 
 mond's history all the romance seems to fade with his 
 coronation. Stanley, before Bosworth, had sent word 
 to Richmond : 
 
 The Queen hath heartily consented 
 He shall espouse Elizabeth her daughter. 
 
 But the king was far from hastening on the wed- 
 ding. He delayed it till the Yorkists began to show 
 signs of discontent at his postponing the union of the 
 Roses, and the Commons on condition of his marriage 
 had given him large interests in the internal revenues. 
 After the tardy wedding he made a tour through the 
 northern counties, where the white rose still nourished, 
 226 
 
King Henry VII. 
 From the picture in the new palace at Westminster. 
 
THE STORY OF HENRY VIII, 1509-1547. 227 
 
 and the people wanted to greet their Yorkist queen ; 
 but she, strange to tell, had been left behind. Henry 
 seemed to fear that it would be thought he owed his 
 throne to his wife, as indeed to some degree he did. 
 It is related that he did not grace the coronation of 
 his queen with his presence, though his curiosity was 
 potent enough to cause him to observe the ceremony 
 through a screen. 
 
 The king's official life was devoted to filling the 
 state's money-chest so that he might be free from the 
 need of calling parliament together. At his death 
 the chest was full, and it came handy indeed to his 
 successor. 
 
 The theory upon which taxes were levied was very 
 thorough, and is illustrated by what was called Mor- 
 ton's Fork, after one of Henry's thrifty ministers. 
 According to Hume, it worked in this way : Chancel- 
 lor Morton instructed the commissioners to employ a 
 dilemma ; if the persons applied to lived frugally they 
 were told that their parsimony must have enriched 
 them; if their method of living were splendid and 
 hospitable they were written down as opulent. Which- 
 ever horn of the dilemma the subject chose, he must 
 reverse the direction of Iago, and take money from 
 his purse. 
 
 It is doubtless a source of regret to thousands of 
 readers that Shakespeare did not give the world a 
 Henry YII in the same vein as his Henry VIII. It 
 would be worth a journey across the continent to hear 
 him talk, through the lips of some courtier or traveler, 
 about the wonderful doings of Columbus and the 
 
228 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 Cabots. Living as he did in " the spacious times of 
 great Elizabeth," he could have given us a prophetic 
 vision of the world across the seas, or, at least, have 
 laid a scene in the virgin land named in honor of the 
 virgin queen. But it seemed otherwise to the fates 
 who preside over the birth of dramatic plots. 
 
 Some readers locate the shipwreck in the Tempest 
 upon the shore of a western island — the still-vext 
 Bermuthes, the always stormy Bermudas. This may 
 be true ; but yet this great intellect, which sounded so 
 many strings of the harp of human history, treated 
 America with utter indifference. 
 
 Henry's daughter Margaret married a Stuart of 
 Scotland, and the unfortunate Mary, Queen of France, 
 and afterward Queen of Scots, was one of her de- 
 scendants. Arthur, the eldest son, married Cather- 
 ine, daughter of Ferdinand of Spain; but England's 
 King Arthur seemed fated to reign only in fairy- 
 land. Arthur died soon after his marriage, and 
 Catherine became the wife of the boy Henry, the 
 central figure of our present story. When the 
 young Henry was eighteen years of age his father 
 died, and there seems to have been much more joy 
 than sorrow in the breasts of Englishmen when the 
 announcement was heard : " The king is dead, long 
 live the king ! " Of the leading events of Henry 
 YIII's reign the dramatist selects the execution of 
 Buckingham, the downfall of Wolsey, the divorce of 
 Catherine. Had the play covered the twelve years 
 between the coronation and the time when it did 
 begin, Shakespeare's Henry VIII would be an at- 
 
THE STORY OF HENRY VIII, 1509-1547. 229 
 
 tractive character ; had it continued over the twelve 
 years from Catherine's death till the close of the reign, 
 Shakespeare's Henry YIII would be yet more in- 
 famous. 
 
 So much by way of preface. The story in the 
 play begins, as has been hinted, twelve years after 
 Henry begins his reign. The great rival monarchs 
 of Europe are Henry himself, Francis I of France, 
 and the Emperor Charles V, grandson of Ferdinand 
 and Isabella. 
 
 The year was 1520, the famous show of " The 
 Field of the Cloth of Gold " had recently been had, 
 and the first dialogue indulges in a description of it, 
 and reveals some court secrets. The speakers are 
 Buckingham, son of the nobleman of that name 
 murdered by Richard III, and the Duke of Norfolk, 
 who, as the Earl of Surrey, beat the Scotch at Flod- 
 den Field — the story of which crushing defeat, 
 involving the death of the Scottish king — "a leaf 
 in Fate's dark book" — being told by Walter Scott 
 in Marmion. 
 
 Buck. Good morrow, and well met. 
 
 How have ye done 
 Since last we saw in France ? 
 
 Nor. I thank your Grace, 
 
 Healthful ; and ever since a fresh admirer 
 Of what I saw there. 
 
 Buck. An untimely ague 
 
 Stay'd me a prisoner in my chamber, when 
 Those suns of glory, those two lights of men, 
 Met in the vale of Andren. 
 16 
 
230 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 Nor. I was then present, saw them salute on horse- 
 back; 
 Beheld them, when they 'lighted, how they clung 
 In their embracement, as they grew together. 
 
 Buck. All the whole time 
 
 I was my chamber's prisoner. 
 
 Nor. Then you lost 
 
 The view of earthly glory : men might say, 
 Till this time pomp was single, but now married 
 
 To one above itself. 
 
 The two Kings, 
 Equal in lustre, were now best, now worst, 
 As presence did present them ; him in eye, 
 Still him in praise : and, being present both, 
 'Twas said they saw but one ; and no discerner 
 Durst wag his tongue in censure. When these suns — 
 For so they phrase 'em — by their heralds challenged 
 The noble spirits to arms, they did perform 
 Beyond thought's compass. 
 
 Buck. 0, you go far. 
 
 Nor. As I belong to worship, and affect 
 In honor honesty, the tract of everything 
 Would by a good discourser lose some life, 
 Which action's self was tongue to. All was royal ; 
 To the disposing of it nought rebell'd ; 
 Order gave each thing view ; the office did 
 Distinctly his full function. 
 
 In the soaring rhetoric of the Duke of Norfolk 
 we must reflect that by " fresh admirer " he would 
 have us know he keenly wonders at, not that he, of 
 course, approves. " Him in eye, still him in praise," 
 and the lines following, is a condensed statement that 
 
THE STORY OF HENRY VIII, 1509-1547. 231 
 
 the one in sight was more gorgeous than the one not 
 in sight ; that when both were in view no man could 
 tell a point of difference, or would dare to try. 
 
 "As I belong to worship," and the following, 
 means that Norfolk claimed to be a man of worth, 
 and affected, loved, the plain truth. The picture 
 which he has drawn is not finer than the reality ; 
 that the mere telling of any deed must come short 
 of the deed itself; " things seen are mightier than 
 things heard." 
 
 Buck. Who did guide, 
 
 I mean, who set the body and the limbs 
 Of this great sport together, as you guess ? 
 
 Nor. One, certes, that promises no element 
 In such a business. 
 
 Buck. I pray you, who, my lord ? 
 
 Nor. All this was order'd by the good discretion 
 Of the right-reverend Cardinal of York. 
 
 Buck. The Devil speed him ! no man's pie is freed 
 From his ambitious finger. What had he 
 To do in these fierce vanities ? 
 
 Nor. Surely, sir, 
 
 There's in him stuff that puts him to these ends. 
 
 Buck. Why the Devil, 
 
 Upon this French going-out, took he upon him, 
 Without the privity o' the King, t' appoint 
 Who should attend on him ? He makes up the file 
 Of all the gentry ; for the most part such 
 To whom as great a charge as little honor 
 He meant to lay upon. 
 
 Every man, 
 After the hideous storm that follow'd, was 
 
232 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 A thing inspired ; and, not consulting, broke 
 Into a general prophecy, that this tempest, 
 Dashing the garment of this peace, aboded 
 The sudden breach on't. 
 
 Nor. Which is budded out ; 
 
 For France hath flaw'd the league, and hath attach'd 
 Our merchant's goods at Bordeaux. 
 
 Buck. Why, all this business 
 
 Our reverend Cardinal carried. 
 
 When Wolsey was the theme, Buckingham was the 
 better orator. He charged that the cardinal not only 
 usurped authority in making up the list of noblemen 
 who should attend the king, but that his motive in 
 choosing was to select those whose fortunes would be 
 wrecked by the great cost. 
 
 The " hideous storm " is spoken of in the history 
 of those times. The people took it as a proof of 
 divine displeasure with the treaty between the two 
 countries, a token of its speedy violation — indeed this 
 had already " budded out." 
 
 Nor. Like't your Grace, 
 
 The State takes notice of the private difference 
 Betwixt you and the Cardinal. I advise you, — 
 And take it from a heart that wishes towards you 
 Honor and plenteous safety, — that you read [see] 
 The Cardinal's malice and his potency 
 Together ; to consider further, that 
 What his high hatred would effect wants not 
 A minister in his power. You know his nature, 
 That he's revengeful ; and I know his sword 
 Hath a sharp edge : it's long, and, 't may be said, 
 
THE STORY OF HENRY VIII, 1509-1547. 233 
 
 It reaches far ; and where 'twill not extend, 
 Thither he darts it. Bosom up my counsel, 
 You'll find it wholesome. Lo, where comes that rock, 
 That I advise your shunning. 
 
 Wolsey, as the " rock " just pointed to, passed 
 slowly by with his secretaries and his badge of office, 
 while he and Buckingham eyed each other with dis- 
 dainful looks. Very naturally the conversation be- 
 tween Norfolk and Buckingham continued and upon 
 the same subject, Norfolk giving his friend some 
 wholesome warning : 
 
 Nor. Stay, my lord, 
 
 And let your reason with your choler question 
 What 'tis you go about ; to climb steep hills 
 Eequires slow pace at first ; anger is like 
 A full-hot horse, who being allow'd his way, 
 Self-mettle tires him. Not a man in England 
 Can advise me like you : be to yourself 
 As you would to your friend. 
 
 Buck. I'll to the King ; 
 
 And from a mouth of honor quite cry down 
 This Ipswich fellow's insolence ; or proclaim 
 There's diiference in no persons. 
 
 Nor. Be advised ; 
 
 Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot 
 That it do singe yourself ; we may outrun, 
 By violent swiftness, that which we run at, 
 And lose by over-running. Know you not, 
 The fire that mounts the liquor tilPt run o'er, 
 In seeming to augment it wastes it ? Be advised : 
 I say again, there is no English soul 
 
234 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 More stronger to direct you than yourself, 
 If with the sap of reason you would quench, 
 Or but allay, the fire of passion. 
 
 Buckingham says he is thankful for the advice 
 and will go by it ; but he knows this fellow, whom he 
 is too angry to name, to be guilty of treason ; he knows 
 it by proofs as clear as founts in July when each grain 
 of gravel can be seen ; he will declare it to the king 
 himself, with evidence to support it as strong as a 
 shore of rock. He will show Wolsey responsible for 
 the recent treaty : 
 
 That swallowed so much treasure, and like a glass 
 Did break in the rinsing. 
 
 lie will make the king know that the object of the 
 recent visit of Charles Y under pretense of a loving 
 call upon the queen, his aunt, was in truth to whisper 
 to Wolsey, and have him induce the king to alter his 
 friendly course toward France. 
 
 This conference was broken up by the coming 
 of Brandon, Duke of Suffolk, with a sergeant-at-arms 
 and guard to arrest Buckingham on a charge of high 
 treason. He saw that his well-loaded battery was 
 turned upon himself : 
 
 Buck. Lo, you, my lord, 
 
 The net has fall'n upon me ! I shall perish 
 Under device and practice. 
 
 Bran. I am sorry 
 
 To see you ta'en from liberty, to look on 
 The business present : 'tis his Highness' pleasure 
 You shall to th' Tower. 
 
THE STORY OF HENRY VIII, 1509-1547. 235 
 
 Buck. It will help me nothing 
 
 To plead mine innocence ; for that dye is on me 
 Which makes my whitest part black. The will of 
 
 Heaven 
 Be done in this and all things ! 
 I am the shadow of poor Buckingham, 
 Whose figure even this instant cloud put out 
 By darkening my clear sun. — My lord, farewell. 
 
 The Council Chamber. 
 
 The king has called his council together that they 
 may hear the charges against Buckingham ; and into 
 this august assembly came the queen, unexpected, it 
 seems, ushered by the Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk. 
 Her coming and her errand changed for a time the 
 tenor of the king's thoughts. Catherine has come as 
 a suitor. The common people are her clients, and 
 Wolsey is defendant. 
 
 Cath. I am solicited, not by a few [but by many 
 persons, and such as, from their rank and stand- 
 ing, are most worthy of belief, to say to you], 
 That your subjects 
 Are in great grievance : there have been commissions 
 Sent down among 'em, which have flaw'd the heart 
 Of all their loyalties : — wherein, although, 
 My good Lord Cardinal, they vent reproaches 
 Most bitterly on you, as putter-on 
 Of these exactions, yet the King our master, — 
 Whose honor Heaven shield from soil ! — even he 
 
 escapes not 
 Language unmannerly, yea, such which breaks 
 
236 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 The sides of loyalty, and almost appears 
 In loud rebellion. 
 
 Nor. Not almost appears, — 
 
 It doth appear ; for, upon these taxations, 
 The clothiers all, are all in uproar, 
 And danger serves among them. 
 
 King. Taxation ! 
 
 Wherein ? and what taxation ? — My Lord Cardinal, 
 You that are blamed for it alike with us, 
 Know you of this taxation ? 
 
 Wol. Please you, sir, 
 
 I know but of a single part, in aught 
 Pertains to th' State ; and front but in that file 
 Where others tell steps with me. 
 
 Cath. No, my lord, 
 
 You know no more than others ; but you frame 
 Things that are known alike ; which are not wholesome 
 To those which would not know them, and yet must 
 Perforce be their acquaintance. These exactions, 
 Whereof my sovereign would have note, they are 
 Most pestilent to th' hearing ; and, to bear 'em, 
 The back is sacrifice to th' load. 
 
 King. Still exaction ! 
 
 The nature of it ? in what kind, let's know, 
 Is this exaction ? 
 
 The queen makes a more circumstantial statement 
 of her complaint, asking for it quick consideration, for 
 there is no primer business. 
 
 King. By my life, 
 
 This is against our pleasure. 
 
 Wol. And for me, 
 
 I have no further gone in this than by 
 
THE STORY OF HENRY VIII, 1509-1547. 237 
 
 A single voice ; and that not pass'd me but 
 
 By learned approbation of the judges. If I am 
 
 Traduced by ignorant tongues, which neither know 
 
 My faculties nor person, yet will be 
 
 The chronicles of my doing, let me say 
 
 'Tis but the fate of place, and the rough brake 
 
 That virtue must go through. 
 
 King. Things done well, 
 
 And with a care, exempt themselves from fear ; 
 Things done without example, in their issue 
 Are to be fear'd. Have you a precedent 
 Of this commission ? I believe, not any. 
 We must not rend our subjects from our laws, 
 And stick them in our will. 
 
 Wot. [Aside to the Secretary.'] A word with you : 
 Let there be letters writ to every shire, 
 Of the King's grace and pardon. The grieved commons 
 Hardly conceive [think hardly] of me ; let it be noised 
 That through our intercession this revokement 
 And pardon comes : I shall anon advise you 
 Further in the proceeding. 
 
 Addressing the king, Catherine expressed her sor- 
 row that the Duke of Buckingham had displeased him. 
 
 King. It grieves many : 
 
 The gentleman is learned, and a most rare speaker ; 
 To Nature none more bound ; his training such, 
 That he may furnish and instruct great teachers, 
 And never seek for aid out of himself. Yet see, 
 When these so noble benefits shall prove 
 Not well disposed, the mind growing once corrupt, 
 They turn to vicious forms, ten times more ugly 
 
238 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 Than ever they were fair. This man so complete, 
 
 Who was enroll'd 'mongst wonders, and when we, 
 
 Almost with listening ravish'd, could not find 
 
 His hour of speech a minute ; he, my lady, 
 
 Hath into monstrous habits put the graces 
 
 That once were his, and is become as black 
 
 As if besmear'd in Hell. Sit by us ; you shall hear — 
 
 This was his gentleman in trust — of him 
 
 Things to strike honor sad. — Bid him recount 
 
 The fore-recited practices ; whereof 
 
 We cannot feel too little, hear too much. 
 
 Wol. Stand forth, and with bold spirit relate what 
 you, 
 Most like a careful subject, have collected 
 Out of the Duke of Buckingham. 
 
 The surveyor stood forth. He was one who, as 
 the queen made him admit, had been discharged from 
 the duke's service on complaint of the tenants. We 
 shall not follow his unwinding of the plot. He surely 
 nothing extenuated, and perhaps set down much in 
 malice. The one-sided trial reached its foregone con- 
 clusion : 
 
 King. There's his period, 
 
 To sheathe his knife in us. He is attach'd ; 
 Call him to present trial : if he may 
 Find mercy in the law, 'tis his ; if none, 
 Let him not seek't of us : by day and night, 
 He's traitor to the height. 
 
 After his condemnation, the duke had permission 
 to address the common people. He showed much 
 
THE STORY OP HENRY VIII, 1509-1547. 239 
 
 nobility of spirit, and spoke in a strain of simple 
 eloquence. Some of his utterances follow : 
 
 Buck. All good people, 
 
 You that thus far have come to pity me, 
 Hear what I say, and then go home and lose me. 
 I have this day received a traitor's judgment, 
 And by that name must die : yet, Heaven bear witness, 
 And if I have a conscience, let it sink me, 
 Even as the axe falls, if I be not faithful ! 
 The law I bear no malice for my death ; 
 'T has done, upon the premises, but justice : 
 But those that sought it I could wish more Christians : 
 Be what they will, I heartily forgive 'em : 
 
 You few that loved me, 
 And dare be bold to weep for Buckingham, 
 His noble friends and fellows, whom to leave 
 Is only bitter to him, only dying, 
 Go with me, like good angels, to my end ; 
 And, as the long divorce of steel falls on me, 
 Make of your prayers one sweet sacrifice, 
 And lift my soul to Heaven. — Lead on, o' God's name. 
 
 Lov. I do beseech your Grace, for charity, 
 If ever any malice in your heart 
 Were hid against me, now forgive me frankly. 
 
 Buck. Sir Thomas Lovell, I as free forgive you 
 As I would be forgiven : I forgive all ; 
 There cannot be those numberless offenses 
 'Gainst me that I cannot take peace with : no black envy 
 Shall mark my grave. Commend me to his Grace ; 
 And, if he speak of Buckingham, pray, tell him 
 You met him half in Heaven : my vows and prayers 
 Yet are the King's ; and, till my soul forsake me, 
 
240 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 Shall cry for blessings on him : may he live 
 
 Longer than I have time to tell his years ! 
 
 Ever beloved and loving may his rule be ! 
 
 And, when old time shall lead him to his end, 
 
 Goodness and he fill up one monument ! 
 
 When I came hither, I was Lord High-Constable 
 
 And Duke of Buckingham ; now, poor Edward Bohun 
 
 Yet I am richer than my base accusers, 
 
 That never knew what truth meant : I now seal it ; 
 
 And with that blood will make 'em one day groan f or't. 
 
 My noble father, Henry of Buckingham, 
 
 Who first raised head against usurping Eichard, 
 
 Elying for succor to his servant Banister, 
 
 Being distress'd, was by that wretch betray'd, 
 
 And without trial fell ; God's peace be with him ! 
 
 Henry the Seventh succeeding, truly pitying 
 
 My father's loss, like a most royal prince, 
 
 Eestored me to my honors, and, out of ruins, 
 
 Made my name once more noble. Xow his son, 
 
 Henry the Eighth, life, honor, name, and all 
 
 That made me happy, at one stroke has taken 
 
 For ever from the world. I had my trial, 
 
 And must needs say a noble one ; which makes me 
 
 A little happier than my wretched father : 
 
 Yet thus far we are one in fortunes : Both 
 
 Fell by our servants, by those men we loved most ; 
 
 A most unnatural and faithless service ! 
 
 Heaven has an end in all : All good people, 
 
 Pray for me ! I must now forsake ye : the last hour 
 
 Of my long weary life is come upon me. 
 
 Farewell : 
 
 And when you would say something that is sad, 
 
 Speak how I fell. — I've done ; and God forgive me ! 
 
THE STORY OF HENRY VIII, 1509-1547. 241 
 
 The Contagion of Fashion. 
 
 In Roger Ascham's Scholemaster we read some 
 forceful remarks about the folly of bringing in doc- 
 trines and fashions from Italy. America is now run- 
 ning after English modes of speech and dress. Some 
 years ago our fashionable folk turned their eyes 
 toward France, whence came the final decrees in mat- 
 ters of temporary taste or style ; especially was this 
 the case during the years of the second empire, when 
 Eugenie reigned the undisputed ruler of the world of 
 fashion. In this play we may hear the subject dis- 
 cussed, and reflect upon the fixity of human nature. 
 
 Enter the Lord Chamberlain and Lord Sands. 
 
 Cham. Is't possible the spells of France should 
 juggle 
 Men into such strange mysteries ? 
 
 Sands. New customs, 
 
 Though they be never so ridiculous, 
 Nay, let 'em be unmanly, yet are follow'd. 
 
 Cham. As far as I see, all the good our English 
 Have got by the late voyage is but merely 
 A fit or two o' the face. 
 
 Sands. They've all new legs, and lame ones : one 
 would take it, 
 That never saw 'em pace before, the spavin 
 Or springhalt reign'd among 'em. 
 
 Cham. Death ! my lord, 
 
 Their clothes are after such a pagan cut too, 
 That, sure, they've worn out Christendom. — 
 
242 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 Enter Sir Thomas Lovell. 
 
 How now ! 
 What news, Sir Thomas Lovell ? 
 
 Lov. Faith, my lord, 
 
 I hear of none, but the new proclamation 
 That's clapp'd upon the court-gate. 
 
 Cham. What is't for ? 
 
 Lov. The reformation of our travell'd gallants, 
 That fill the Court with quarrels, talk, and tailors. 
 
 Cham. I'm glad 'tis there : now I would pray our 
 monsieurs 
 To think an English courtier may be wise, 
 And never see the Louvre. 
 
 Sir Thomas, 
 Whither were you a-going ? 
 
 Lov To the Cardinal's : 
 
 Your lordship is a guest too. 
 
 Cham. 0, 'tis true : 
 
 This night he makes a supper, and a great one, 
 To many lords and ladies ; there will be 
 The beauty of this kingdom, I'll assure you. 
 
 Lov. That churchman bears a bounteous mind in- 
 deed, 
 A hand as fruitful as the land that feeds us ; 
 His dews fall everywhere. 
 
 Cham. No doubt he's noble ; 
 
 He had a black mouth that said other of him. 
 
 At the aforenamed supper many lords and ladies 
 are present. There we first meet Anne Bullen. We 
 hear some merry talk ; and by and by the sound of 
 
> 
 
 s 
 
 M 
 
THE STORY OF HENRY VIII, 1509-1547. 243 
 
 drums, trumpets, and small cannon, announces the 
 arrival of the king and a party dressed as shepherds, 
 who claim that they have heard of the feast and have 
 left their flocks out of the respect they bear to beauty. 
 They crave permission to view the ladies and spend 
 an hour of revels. Leave is granted. In the dance 
 Anne Bullen becomes the king's partner, he is smitten 
 with her beauty, and the tangled web of Henry's life 
 takes a new tangle. 
 
 Catherine. 
 
 On the streets we hear a buzzing of a separation 
 between the king and queen ; that the cardinal out of 
 malice to the good queen had caused Henry to feel a 
 doubt concerning the legality of his marriage with his 
 brother's wife. In the palace Norfolk, Suffolk, and 
 the Lord Chamberlain exchange opinions. 
 
 Nor. Well met, my Lord Chamberlain. 
 
 Cham. Good day to both your Graces. 
 
 Suf. How is the King employ 'd ? 
 
 Cham. I left him private, 
 
 Full of sad thoughts and troubles. 
 
 Nor. What's the cause ? 
 
 Cham. It seems the marriage with his brother's wife 
 Has crept too near his conscience. 
 
 Suf. No, his conscience 
 
 Has crept too near another lady. 
 
 Nor. 'Tis so : 
 
 This is the Cardinal's doing, the king-cardinal : 
 That blind priest, like the eldest son of fortune, 
 Turns what he list. The King will know him one day. 
 
244 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 Suf. Pray God he do ! he'll never know himself else. 
 
 Nor. How holily he works in all his business ! 
 And with what zeal ! for, now he has crack'd the league 
 'Tween us and th' Emperor, the Queen's great-nephew, 
 He dives into the King's soul, and there scatters 
 Dangers, doubts, wringing of the conscience, 
 Fears and despairs ; and all these for his marriage : 
 And out of all these to restore the King, 
 He counsels a divorce ; a loss of her 
 That, like a jewel, has hung twenty years 
 About his neck, yet never lost her lustre ; 
 Of her that loves him with that excellence 
 That angels love good men with. 
 
 A talk between Anne Bullen and an old lady not 
 named shows the former not destitute of kindly emo- 
 tions, at least by spells. 
 
 Anne. Not for that neither : here's the pang that 
 pinches : 
 His Highness having lived so long with her, and she 
 So good a lady that no tongue could ever 
 Pronounce dishonor of her — by my life, 
 She never knew harm-doing ; — 0, now, after 
 So many courses of the Sun enthroned, 
 Still growing in majesty and pomp, the which 
 To leave's a thousand-fold more bitter than 
 'Tis sweet at first t' acquire — after this process, 
 To give her the avaunt ! it is a pity 
 Would move a monster. 
 
 Old L. Hearts of most hard temper 
 
 Melt and lament for her. 
 
 Anne. 0, God's will ! much better 
 
THE STORY OF HENRY VIII, 1509-1547. 245 
 
 She ne'er had known pomp : though't be tempo- 
 ral, 
 Yet, if that fortune's quarrel do divorce 
 It from the bearer, 'tis a sufferance panging 
 As soul and body's severing. 
 
 Old L. Alas, poor lady ! 
 
 She is a stranger now again. 
 
 Anne. So much the more 
 
 Must pity drop upon her. Verily, 
 I swear, 'tis better to be lowly born, 
 And range with humble livers in content, 
 Than to be perk'd up in a glistering grief, 
 And wear a golden sorrow. 
 
 Old L. Our content 
 
 Is our best having. 
 
 Anne. By my troth and maidenhood, 
 
 I would not be a queen. 
 
 Old L. Yes, troth, and troth : you would not be a 
 queen ? 
 
 Anne. No, not for all the riches under heaven. 
 
 Old L. 'Tis strange ; a three-pence bow'd would 
 hire me, 
 Old as I am, to queen it : but, I pray you, 
 What think you of a duchess ? have you limbs 
 To bear that load of title ? 
 
 Anne. No, in truth. 
 
 Anne having affirmed her preference for a life 
 among common people — humble livers — the old lady, 
 after vainly attempting to tantalize her with " queen " 
 and " duchess," in mock pity of her weakness comes 
 down the scale a degree, plucks off a little from the 
 load of honor. 
 17 
 
246 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 Old L. Then you are weakly made : pluck off a 
 little ; 
 I would not be a young count in your way, 
 For more than blushing comes to. 
 
 Anne. How you do talk ! 
 
 I swear again, I would not be a queen 
 For all the world. 
 
 Old L. I myself 
 
 Would for Carnarvonshire, although there long'd 
 No more to th' crown but that. Lo, who comes here ? 
 
 Enter the Lord Chamberlain. 
 
 Cham. Good morrow, ladies. What were't worth to 
 know 
 The secret of your conference ? 
 
 Anne. My good lord, 
 
 Not your demand ; it values not your asking : 
 Our mistress' sorrows we were pitying. 
 
 Cham. It was a gentle business, and becoming 
 The action of good women : there is hope 
 All will be well. 
 
 Anne. Now, I pray God, amen ! 
 
 Cham. The King's Majesty 
 
 Commends his good opinion to you, and 
 Does purpose honor to you no less flowing 
 Than Marchioness of Pembroke ; to which title 
 A thousand pound a-year, annual support, 
 Out of his grace he adds. 
 
 Anne. I do not know 
 
 What kind of 'my obedience I should tender ; 
 More than my all is nothing. 
 
 Cham. Lady, 
 
THE STORY OF HENRY VIII, 1509-1547. 247 
 
 I shall not fail t' approve the fair conceit 
 
 The King hath of you. — [Aside.] I've perused her 
 
 well ; 
 Beauty and honor in her are so mingled, 
 That they have caught the King. 
 
 [Exit Lord Chamberlain. 
 
 Old L. Why, this it is ; see, see ! 
 I have been begging sixteen years in Court — 
 Am yet a courtier beggarly — nor could 
 Come pat betwixt too early and too late 
 For any suit of pounds ; and you, fate ! 
 A very fresh-fish here — fie, fie upon 
 This cdmpell'd fortune ! — have your mouth fill'd up 
 Before you open't. 
 
 Anne. This is strange to me. 
 
 Old L. How tastes it ? is it bitter ? forty pence, no. 
 There was a lady once — 'tis an old story — 
 That would not be a queen, that would she not, 
 For all the mud in Egypt : have you heard it ? 
 
 Anne. Come, you are pleasant. 
 
 Old L. With your theme, I could 
 
 O'ermount the lark. The Marchioness of Pembroke ! 
 A thousand pounds a-year, for pure respect ! 
 No other obligation ! 
 
 Anne. Good lady, 
 
 Make yourself mirth with your particular fancy, 
 And leave me out on't. Would I had no being, 
 If this salute my blood a jot : it faints me, 
 To think what follows. 
 The Queen is comfortless, and we forgetful 
 In our long absence : pray, do not deliver 
 What here you've heard to her. 
 
 Old L. What do you think me ? 
 
248 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 Come into Court. 
 
 The most striking scene in the queen's sad story 
 is the attempt at a public trial. There is a gathering 
 of high officials of church and state. The king sits 
 on his throne, and near to him are the two cardinals, 
 Wolsey and Campeius, empowered by the pope to 
 act as judges. His name being called, King Henry 
 answers " Here," but Catherine makes no verbal re- 
 sponse to, Catherine Queen of England, come into 
 court. She rises in silence, approaches the king, and 
 kneels at his feet ; then she says : 
 
 Sir, I desire you do me right and justice ; 
 And to bestow your pity on me : for 
 I am a most poor woman, and a stranger, 
 Born out of your dominions. 
 
 Heaven witness, 
 I've been to you a true and humble wife, 
 At all times to your will conformable ; 
 Ever in fear to kindle your dislike, 
 Yea, subject to your countenance, glad or sorry, 
 As I saw it inclined. When was the hour 
 I ever contradicted your desire, 
 Or made it not mine too ? 
 
 Sir, call to mind 
 That I have been your wife, in this obedience, 
 Upward of twenty years, and have been blest 
 With many children by you. 
 
 Please you, sir, 
 The King, your father, was reputed for 
 A prince most prudent, of an excellent 
 And unmatch'd wit and judgment : Ferdinand, 
 
THE STORY OF HENRY VIII, 1509-1547. 249 
 
 My father, King of Spain, was reckon'd one 
 
 The wisest prince that there had reign'd by many 
 
 A year before : it is not to be question'd 
 
 That they had gather'd a wise council to them 
 
 Of every realm, that did debate this business, 
 
 Who deem'd our marriage lawful. Wherefore I humbly 
 
 Beseech you, sir, to spare me, till I may 
 
 Be by my friends in Spain advised ; whose counsel 
 
 I will implore : if not, i' the name of God, 
 
 Your pleasure be f ulfilPd ! 
 
 The cardinals were, of course, not willing to be 
 ignored. They were ready to try this great divorce 
 case, and they wished to magnify their office. They 
 insisted upon an immediate hearing. Catherine turned 
 to Wolsey with a direct appeal. 
 
 Wol. Your pleasure, madam ? 
 
 Cath. Sir, 
 
 I was about to weep ; but, thinking that 
 We are a queen — or long have dream'd so — certain 
 The daughter of a king, my drops of tears 
 I'll turn to sparks of fire. 
 
 Wol. Be patient yet. 
 
 Cath. I will, when you are humble ; nay, before, 
 Or God will punish me. I do believe, 
 Induced by potent circumstances, that 
 You are mine enemy ; and make my challenge 
 You shall not be my judge : for it is you 
 Have blown this coal betwixt my lord and me ; 
 Which God's dew quench ! 
 
 Wol. I do profess 
 
 You speak not like yourself ; who ever yet 
 
250 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 Have stood to charity, and display'd th' effects 
 Of disposition gentle, and of wisdom 
 O'ertopping woman's power. 
 
 Wolsey denied that he had blown the coal be- 
 tween the royal pair, appealing to Henry to say 
 whether he spoke not the truth. 
 
 Catherine admits herself much too weak to oppose 
 his cunning ; she shows him the great difference be- 
 tween his humble words and his haughty actioDS ; re- 
 minds him that by good fortune he had gone lightly 
 over low steps, and had mounted to where princes 
 were his retainers, and that he juggled with words so 
 subtly that they gave out whatever meaning he de- 
 sired. She ended by appealing to the pope, and then 
 left the hall. 
 
 Henry followed her departure with a testimonial 
 to her wifely qualities : 
 
 Go thy ways, Kate. 
 That man i' the world who shall report he has 
 A better wife, let him in nought be trusted. 
 
 Then replying to Wolsey's reference to him : 
 
 My Lord Cardinal, 
 I do excuse you ; yea, upon mine honor, 
 I free you from't. You are not to be taught 
 That you have many enemies, that know not 
 Why they are so, but, like to village-curs, 
 Bark when their fellows do : by some of these 
 The Queen is put in anger. 
 
 The king continuing gave at length the history of 
 his awakening to the sin he had committed in marry- 
 
THE STORY OF HENRY VIII, 1509-1547. 251 
 
 ing Catherine ; and how, in the wild sea of his con- 
 science, he had steered toward the present remedy — 
 a divorce. 
 
 The trial could not proceed in the defendant's ab- 
 sence, and was adjourned till a further day. 
 
 The cardinals, Henry thought, were trifling with 
 him. He abhorred this delay and distrusted the in- 
 fluence of Rome ; yet he saw comfort in the approach 
 of Cranmer, who was out of the country but about 
 to return home. In the view of Wolsey and his Ital- 
 ian associate the next play in the game was to induce 
 Catherine to withdraw her appeal. The two high 
 officials called at the queen's apartments, where the 
 unhappy mistress and her maidens were at work, one 
 of the damsels striving to charm away care with a 
 song: 
 
 Orpheus with his lute made trees. 
 And the mountain-tops that freeze, 
 
 Bow themselves, when he did sing : 
 To his music plants and flowers 
 Ever sprung ; as Sun and showers 
 There had made a lasting Spring. 
 
 Every thing that heard him play. 
 Even the bittoivs of the sea, 
 
 Hung their heads, and then lay by. 
 In sweet music is such art, 
 Killing care and grief of heart 
 
 Fall asleep, or, hearing, die. 
 
 Enter Wolsey and Campeius. 
 Wol. Peace to your Highness ! 
 
 Cath. Your Graces find me here part of a housewife : 
 
252 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 I would be all, against the worst may happen. 
 What are your pleasures with me, reverend lords ? 
 
 Wol. May't please you, noble madam, to withdraw 
 Into your private chamber, we shall give you 
 The full cause of our coming. 
 
 Oath. Speak it here ; 
 
 There's nothing I have done yet, o' my conscience, 
 Deserves a corner. 
 
 Wol. Tanta est erga te mentis integritas, regina se- 
 renissima — 
 
 Cath. 0, good my lord, no Latin ; 
 I am not such a truant since my coming 
 As not to know the language I have lived in : 
 A strange tongue makes my cause more strange-suspi- 
 cious. 
 Pray, speak in English : here are some will thank 
 
 you, 
 If you speak truth, for their poor mistress' sake ; 
 Believe me, she has had much wrong : Lord Cardinal, 
 The willing'st sin I ever yet committed 
 May be absolved in English. 
 
 Wol Noble lady, 
 
 I'm sorry my integrity should breed 
 So deep suspicion, where all faith was meant, 
 And service to his Majesty and you. 
 We come not by the way of accusation, 
 To taint that honor every good tongue blesses, 
 Nor to betray you any way to sorrow ; 
 You have too much, good lady : but to know 
 How you stand minded in the weighty difference 
 Between the King and you ; and to deliver, 
 Like free and honest men, our just opinions, 
 And comforts to your cause. 
 
THE STORY OF HENRY VIII, 1509-1547. 253 
 
 Cath. I was set at work 
 
 Among my maids ; full little, God knows, looking 
 Either for such men or such business. 
 For her sake that I have been — for I feel 
 The last fit of my greatness — good your Graces, 
 Let me have time and counsel for my cause : 
 Alas, I am a woman, friendless, hopeless ! 
 
 The conference was long. The churchmen urged 
 Catherine to put her cause into the king's protection. 
 
 Cath. Put my sick cause into his hands that hates 
 me? 
 Would I had never trod this English earth, 
 Or felt the flatteries that grow upon it ! 
 Ye've angels' faces, but Heaven knows your hearts. 
 What will become of me now, wretched lady ! 
 I am the most unhappy woman living — 
 [To her Women.] Alas, poor wenches, where are now 
 
 your fortunes ! 
 Shipwreck'd upon a kingdom, where no pity, 
 No friends, no hope ; no kindred weep for me ; 
 Almost no grave allow'd me : like the lily, 
 That once was mistress of the field and flourish'd, 
 I'll hang my head and perish. 
 
 Wol. If your Grace 
 
 Could but be brought to know our ends are honest, 
 You'd feel more comfort. 
 For goodness' sake, consider what you do ; 
 How you may hurt yourself, ay, utterly 
 Grow from the King's acquaintance, by this carriage. 
 The hearts of princes kiss obedience, 
 So much they love it ; but to stubborn spirits 
 They swell, and grow as terrible as storms. 
 
254 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 Campeius followed, asserting the love of the king 
 for his wife and the desire they felt to serve her, till 
 Catherine's spirit changed from its note of fine scorn 
 to one of humility, almost of trust. 
 
 Cath. Do what ye will, my lords : and, pray, forgive 
 me, 
 If I have used myself unmannerly ; 
 You know I am a woman, lacking wit 
 To make a seemly answer to such persons. 
 Pray, do my service to his Majesty : 
 He has my heart yet ; and shall have my prayers 
 While I shall have my life. 
 
 Through the tangled thicket of events attending 
 the divorce of the queen, the marriage of Anne Bullen, 
 the downfall of Wolsey, the setting up of Henry as the 
 head of an English Church freed from allegiance to 
 the pope, one can not find his way, feeling sure that he 
 is always in the path of truth. But some things appear 
 very probable ; and one of these is, that Wolsey at first 
 favored the divorce, and later put obstacles in its way, 
 acting under the promptings of his own ambition. 
 
 Suf. The Cardinal's letter to the Pope miscarried, 
 And came to th' eye o' the King : wherein was read, 
 How that the Cardinal did entreat his Holiness 
 To stay the judgment o' the divorce ; for, if 
 It did take place, / do, quoth he, perceive 
 My King is tangled in affection to 
 A creature of the Queerfs, Lady Anne Bullen. 
 
 Such enemies of Wolsey as Norfolk, Suffolk, and 
 Surrey were delighted at the signs of a storm brewing. 
 
THE STORY OF HENRY VIII, 1509-1547. 255 
 
 Nor. The King hath found 
 
 Matter against him that for ever mars 
 The honey of his language. 
 
 Sur. Sir, 
 
 I should be glad to hear such news as this 
 Once every hour. 
 
 The allusion here is to the misgoing of the car- 
 dinal's letter. 
 
 At this juncture the fates dealt Wolsey a blow that 
 soon proved fatal. Into a packet of state papers which 
 he had sent for the king's perusal, had crept another 
 paper, a schedule of the cardinal's immense treasures, 
 the piles of wealth that, in the name of thrift, he had 
 raked into his private chest. As Norfolk said to the 
 king: 
 
 Some spirit put this paper in the packet, 
 To bless your eye withal. 
 
 Wolsey approaching, Henry prepared him for 
 mental torture by drawing him on to relate the many 
 things he had enjoyed from the king's bounty, and 
 by handing him the packet to overlook : 
 
 And then to breakfast, with 
 What appetite you have. 
 
 King and nobles having left the chamber, Wolsey 
 talked to himself : 
 
 Wol. What should this mean ? 
 
 What sudden anger's this ? how have I reap'd it ? 
 He parted frowning from me, as if ruin 
 Leap'd from his eyes : so looks the chafed lion 
 
256 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 Upon the daring huntsman that has gall'd him ; 
 
 Then makes him nothing. I must read this paper ; 
 
 I fear, the story of his anger. — "Pis so ; 
 
 This paper has undone me : 'tis th' account 
 
 Of all that world of wealth I've drawn together 
 
 For mine own ends ; indeed, to gain the Popedom, 
 
 And fee my friends in Eome. negligence, 
 
 Fit for a fool to fall by ! what cross devil 
 
 Made me put this main secret in the packet 
 
 I sent the King ? Is there no way to cure this ? 
 
 No new device to beat this from his brains ? 
 
 I know 'twill stir him strongly ; yet I know 
 
 A way, if it take right, in spite of fortune, 
 
 Will bring me off again. — What's this ? To th? Pope ! 
 
 The letter, as I live, with all the business 
 
 I writ to's Holiness. Nay, then farewell ! 
 
 I've touch'd the highest point of all my greatness ; 
 
 And, from that full meridian of my glory, 
 
 I haste now to my setting : I shall fall 
 
 Like a bright exhalation in the evening, 
 
 And no man see me more. 
 
 Re-enter the Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk, the Earl 
 of Surrey, and the Lord Chamberlain. 
 
 Nor. Hear the King's pleasure, Cardinal ; who com- 
 mands you 
 To render up the Great Seal presently 
 Into our hands ; and to confine yourself 
 To Asher-house, my Lord of Winchester's, 
 Till you hear further from his Highness. 
 
 Wol. Stay ; 
 
 Where's your commission, lords ? words cannot carry 
 Authority so weighty. 
 
THE STORY OF HENRY VIII, 1509-1547. 257 
 
 Suf. Who dare cross 'em, 
 
 Bearing the King's will from his mouth expressly ? 
 
 Wol. Till I find more than will or words to do it — 
 I mean your malice — know, officious lords, 
 I dare and must deny it. 
 
 Sur. Thou'rt a proud traitor, priest. 
 
 Wol. Proud lord, thou liest : 
 
 Within these forty hours Surrey durst better 
 Have burnt that tongue than said so. 
 
 Sur. Thy ambition, 
 
 Thou scarlet sin, robb'd this bewailing land 
 Of noble Buckingham, my father-in-law : 
 The heads of all thy brother cardinals — 
 With thee and all thy best parts bound together — 
 Weigh'd not a hair of his. Plague of your policy ! 
 You sent me deputy for Ireland ; 
 Far from his succor, from the King, from all 
 That might have mercy on the fault thou gavest him : 
 Whilst your great goodness, out of holy pity, 
 Absolved him with an axe. 
 
 Wol. This, and all else 
 
 This talking lord can lay upon my credit, 
 I answer is most false. The duke by law 
 Found his deserts : how innocent I was 
 From any private malice in his end, 
 His noble jury and foul cause can witness. 
 
 Sur. By my soul, 
 
 Your long coat, priest, protects you ; thou shouldst feel 
 My sword i' the life-blood of thee else. 
 
 Wol. All goodness 
 
 Is poison to thy stomach. 
 
 Stir. Yes, that goodness 
 
 Of gleaning all the land's wealth into one. 
 
258 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 Wol. How much, methinks, I could despise this man, 
 But that I'm bound in charity against it ! 
 
 Nor. Those articles, my lord, are in the King's 
 hand : 
 But, thus much, they are foul ones. 
 
 Wol. So much fairer 
 
 And spotless shall mine innocence arise, 
 When the King knows my truth. 
 
 Sur. This cannot save you : 
 
 I thank my memory, I yet remember 
 Some of these articles ; and out they shall. 
 Now, if you can blush, and cry guilty, Cardinal, 
 You'll show a little honesty. 
 
 Wol. Speak on, sir ; 
 
 I dare your worst objections ; if I blush, 
 It is to see a nobleman want manners. 
 
 Sur. I had rather want those than my head. Have 
 at you ! 
 First, that, without the King's assent or knowledge, 
 You wrought to be a Legate ; by which power 
 You maim'd the jurisdiction of all bishops. 
 
 Nor. Then, that in all you writ to Rome, or else 
 To foreign princes, Ego et Rex metis 
 Was still inscribed ; in which you brought the King 
 To be your servant. 
 
 Suf. Then, that, without the knowledge 
 
 Either of King or Council, when you went 
 Ambassador to th' Emperor, you made bold 
 To carry into Flanders the Great Seal. 
 
 Suf. That, out of mere ambition, you have caused 
 Your holy hat be stamp'd on the King's coin. 
 
 Sur. Then, that you've sent innumerable sub' 
 stance — 
 
THE STORY OP IIENRY VIII, 1509-1547. 259 
 
 By what means got, I leave to your own conscience — 
 To furnish Kome, and to prepare the ways 
 You have for dignities ; to th' mere undoing 
 Of all the kingdom. Many more there are ; 
 Which, since they are of you, and odious, 
 I will not taint my mouth with. 
 
 Cham. my lord, 
 
 Press not a falling man too far ! 'tis virtue : 
 His faults lie open to the laws ; let them, 
 Not you, correct him. My heart weeps to see him 
 So little of his great self. 
 
 Sur. I forgive him. 
 
 Suf. Lord Cardinal, the King's further pleasure 
 is,— 
 Because all those things you have done of late, 
 By your power legatine, within this kingdom, 
 Fall into th' compass of a praemunire, — 
 That therefore such a writ be sued against you ; 
 To forfeit all your goods, lands, tenements, 
 Chattels, and whatsoever, and to be 
 Out of the King's protection : this is my charge. 
 
 Nor. And so we'll leave you to your meditations 
 How to live better. For your stubborn answer 
 About the giving back the Great Seal to us, 
 The King shall know it, and, no doubt, shall thank 
 
 you. 
 So fare you well, my little-good Lord Cardinal. 
 
 [Exeunt all hut Wolsey. 
 
 Wol. So farewell to the little good you bear me. 
 Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness ! 
 This is the state of man : To-day he puts forth 
 The tender leaves of hope ; to-morrow blossoms, 
 And bears his blushing honors thick upon him ; 
 
260 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 The third day comes a frost, a killing frost, 
 And — when he thinks, good easy man, full surely 
 His greatness is a-ripening — nips his root, 
 And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured, 
 Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, 
 This many Summers in a sea of glory ; 
 But far beyond my depth : my high-blown pride- 
 At length broke under me ; and now has left me, 
 Weary and old with service, to the mercy 
 Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me. 
 Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye : 
 I feel my heart new open'd. 0, how wretched 
 Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favors ! 
 There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to, 
 That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin, 
 More pangs and fears than wars or women have ; 
 And, when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, 
 Never to hope again. 
 
 Here Cromwell enters with a budget of news ; — 
 that Sir Thomas More is chosen Lord Chancellor in 
 Wolsey's stead ; that Cranmer has come back and 
 been made Archbishop of Canterbury : 
 
 Last, that the Lady Anne, 
 Whom the King hath in secrecy long married, 
 This day was view'd in open as his Queen, 
 Going to chapel ; and the voice is now 
 Only about her coronation. 
 
 Wol. There was the weight that pull'd me down. 
 Cromwell, 
 The King has gone beyond me : all my glories 
 In that one woman I have lost for ever : 
 
THE STORY OF HENRY VIII, 1509-1547. 261 
 
 I am a poor falPn man, unworthy now 
 
 To be thy lord and master : seek the King ; 
 
 That sun, I pray, may never set ! I've told him 
 
 What and how true thou art : he will advance thee ; 
 
 Some little memory of me will stir him — 
 
 I know his noble nature — not to let 
 
 Thy hopeful service perish too : good Cromwell, 
 
 Neglect him not ; make use now, and provide 
 
 For thine own future safety. 
 
 Crom. my lord, 
 
 Must I, then, leave you ? must I needs forego 
 So good, so noble, and so true a master ? 
 Bear witness, all that have not hearts of iron, 
 With what a sorrow Cromwell leaves his lord. 
 The King shall have my service ; but my prayers 
 For ever and for ever shall be yours. 
 
 Wol. Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear 
 In all my miseries ; but thou hast forced me, 
 Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman. 
 Let's dry our eyes : and thus far hear me, Cromwell ; 
 And — when I am forgotten, as I shall be, 
 And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention 
 Of me more must be heard of — say, I taught thee, 
 Say, Wolsey — that once trod the ways of glory, 
 And sounded all the depths and shoals of honor — 
 Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in ; 
 A sure and safe one, though thy master miss'd it. 
 Mark but my fall, and that that ruin'd me. 
 Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition : 
 By that sin fell the angels ; how can man, then, 
 The image of his Maker, hope to win by't ? 
 Love thyself last ; cherish those hearts that hate thee : 
 Corruption wins not more than honesty. 
 18 
 
262 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, 
 To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not : 
 Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's, 
 Thy God's, and truth's : then if thou fall'st, Crom- 
 well, 
 Thou fall'st a blessed martyr ! Serve the King ; 
 And — pr'ythee, lead me in : 
 There take an inventory of all I have, 
 To the last penny ; 'tis the King's : my robe, 
 And my integrity to Heaven, is all 
 I dare now call mine own. Cromwell, Cromwell ! 
 Had I but served my God with half the zeal 
 I served my King, He would not in mine age 
 Have left me naked to mine enemies. 
 
 The Coronation. 
 
 We have not the pleasure of turning over the 
 court journal of the period. We may read of, per- 
 haps witness, the simpler pageant of a presidential 
 inauguration in this day. Man is a show-loving ani- 
 mal in every age and under every sky. He is also 
 fond of enjoying his pleasures over again by relating 
 them to his fellows who have not been so lucky ; so 
 we may learn something of the fashion of this great 
 state and society event, if we attend to the talk on the 
 London streets. Even if not interested in the show 
 itself — its impressive ceremonies, its gorgeous cos- 
 tumes, its packed and uncomfortable mass of com- 
 mon folk — it is worth while to lend a quick ear to 
 these talkers, for they speak the speech as Shake- 
 speare pronounced it to them and they to him. 
 
 Referring to the queen, one gentleman affirmed : 
 
THE STORY OF HENRY VIII, 1509-1547. 263 
 
 Sir, as I have a soul, she is an angel ; 
 Our King has all the Indies in his arms, 
 And more and richer, when he clasps that lady : 
 I cannot blame his conscience. 
 
 When the people had a full view of her, such a 
 noise arose : 
 
 As the shrouds make at sea in a stiff tempest, 
 As loud, and to as many tunes : hats, cloaks — 
 Doublets, I think — flew up ; and had their faces 
 Been loose, this day they had been lost. Such joy 
 I never saw before. No man living 
 Could say, This is my wife, there ; all were woven 
 So strangely in one piece. 
 
 S Gent. At length her Grace rose, and with modest 
 paces 
 Came to the altar ; where she kneel'd, and, saint-like, 
 Cast her fair eyes to heaven, and pray'd devoutly ; 
 Then rose again, and bow'd her to the people : 
 When by the Archbishop of Canterbury 
 She had all the royal makings of a queen ; 
 As holy oil, Edward Confessor's crown, 
 The rod, and bird of peace, and all such emblems 
 Laid nobly on her : which pert orm'd, the choir, 
 With all the choicest music of the kingdom, 
 Together sung Te Deum. So she parted, 
 And with the same full state paced back again 
 To York-place, where the feast is held. 
 
 The reply affords a glimpse of Wolsey's fading 
 glory, and is one of the thousand lessons in human 
 nature to be learned or reviewed in Shakespeare, this 
 " man so complete," " enrolled amongst wonders," and 
 in a class alone : 
 
264 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 1 Gent. Sir, you 
 
 Must no more call it York-place, that is past ; 
 For, since the Cardinal fell, that title's lost : 
 Tis now the King's, and call'd Whitehall. 
 
 3 Gent. I know it ; 
 
 But 'tis so lately alter'd, that th' old name 
 Is fresh about me. 
 
 One of these gentlemen knows all the grand folk 
 by sight and gives his friends a sort of one-sided in- 
 troduction. The two notables who end the list are 
 Cranmer and Cromwell. The first, Henry's stanchest 
 supporter in setting up his spiritual kingdom free 
 from papal control, but destined, when Henry should 
 sleep with his fathers, to be made a burnt-offering by 
 Henry's eldest daughter; the other — that Cromwell 
 to whom Wolsey gave such excellent advice, after 
 making Henry's later reign a very reign of terror, 
 fated to fling his cap on the ground at a charge of 
 treason around the council-table, and to cry out, 
 " This, then, is my guerdon [reward] for the services I 
 have done ! " He bade his foes make quick work, and 
 they obeyed him. 
 
 Kimbolton. 
 
 Here we again meet the uncrowned queen, and 
 here her attendant tells of the last days of the dis- 
 honored minister. 
 
 Enter Catherine, sick ; led between Griffith and 
 Patience. 
 
 Grif. How does your Grace ? 
 
 Oath. 0, Griffith, sick to death ! 
 
Katharine, Griffith, and Patience. 
 
 King Henry VIII, Act IV, Scene ii. 
 
THE STORY OF HENRY VIII, 1509-1547. 265 
 
 My legs, like loaden branches, bow to th' earth, 
 Willing to leave their burden. Reach a chair : — 
 So ; now, methinks, I feel a little ease. 
 Didst thou not tell me, Griffith, as thou led'st me, 
 That the great child of honor, Cardinal Wolsey, 
 Was dead ? 
 
 Grif. Yes, madam ; but I thought your Grace, 
 Out of the pain you suffer 'd, gave no ear to't. 
 
 Cath. Pr'ythee, good Griffith, tell me how he died : 
 If well, he stepp'd before me, happily [haply], 
 For my example. 
 
 Grif. Well, the voice [report] goes, madam : 
 
 For, after the stout Earl Northumberland 
 Arrested him at York, and brought him forward, 
 He fell sick suddenly, and grew so ill 
 He could not sit his mule. 
 
 Cath. Alas, poor man ! 
 
 Grif. At last, with easy roads, he came to Leices- 
 ter, 
 Lodged in the abbey ; where the reverend Abbot, 
 With all his convent, honorably received him ; 
 To whom he gave these words, father Abbot, 
 An old man, broken with the storms of State, 
 Is come to lay his iveary bones among ye ; 
 Give him a little earth for charity ! 
 
 Cath. So may he rest ; his faults lie gently on 
 him ! 
 Yet thus far, Griffith, give me leave to speak him, 
 And yet with charity. He was a man 
 Of an unbounded stomach, ever ranking 
 Himself with princes ; one that by suggestion 
 Tithed all the kingdom : simony was fair play ; 
 His own opinion was his law : i' the presence 
 
266 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 He would say untruths ; and be ever double 
 
 Both in his words and meaning : he was never, 
 
 But where he meant to ruin, pitiful : 
 Grif. Noble madam, 
 
 Men's evil manners live in brass ; their virtues 
 
 AV~e write in water. [The young reader may properly 
 be told that the poet Keats framed from this 
 passage his own epitaph : " Here lies one whose 
 name is writ in water," and that some one has 
 fitly commented : " Yes, the water of eternal 
 life."] May it please your Highness 
 
 To hear me speak his good now ? 
 
 Cath. Yes, good Griffith ; 
 
 I were malicious else. 
 
 Grif. This Cardinal, 
 
 Though from an humble stock, undoubtedly 
 
 Was fashion'd to much honor from his cradle. 
 
 He was a scholar, and a ripe and good one ; 
 
 Lofty and sour to them that loved him not ; 
 
 But, to those men that sought him, sweet as Sum- 
 mer. 
 
 His overthrow heap'd happiness upon him ; 
 
 For then, and not till then, he felt [knew] himself, 
 
 And found the blessedness of being little : 
 
 And, to add greater honors to his age 
 
 Than man could give him, he died fearing God. 
 Cath. After my death I wish no other herald, 
 
 No other speaker of my living actions, 
 
 To keep mine honor from corruption, 
 
 But such an honest chronicler as Griffith. 
 
 "Whom I most hated living, thou hast made me, 
 
 With thy religious truth and modesty, 
 
 Now in his ashes honor : peace be with him ! — 
 
King Henry VIII and Cranmer. 
 
 King Henry VIII, Act V, Scene i. 
 
THE STORY OF HENRY VIII, 1509-1547. 267 
 
 Patience, be near me still ; and set me lower : 
 I have not long to trouble thee. — Good Griffith, 
 Cause the musicians play me that sad note 
 I named my knell, whilst I sit meditating 
 On that celestial harmony I go to. 
 
 It is after this that the king sends his princely 
 commendations and good wishes. 
 
 Cath. my good lord, that comfort comes too late ; 
 'Tis like a pardon after execution : 
 That gentle physic, given in time, had cured me ; 
 But now I'm past all comforts here, but prayers. 
 I thank you, honest lord. Remember me 
 In all humility unto his Highness : 
 Say to him his long trouble now is passing 
 Out of this world ; tell him, in death I bless'd him, 
 For so I will. 
 
 In the story of Henry Y III as told by Shakespeare 
 and by whatever other hand had part in the play, 
 there is an account of an attempt to overturn Cran- 
 mer from his office and his high place in the king's 
 good graces. It failed, and the archbishop held his 
 own for the time, while the blow rebounded upon 
 those who aimed it. 
 
 At the close of this story, we hear some readily 
 interpreted hints of an event full of meaning in the 
 future history of England. An old lady thrusts her- 
 self into the room where the king is closing an inter- 
 view with Cranmer. She declares that her tidings 
 will make her boldness manners. 
 
268 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 King. Now, by thy looks 
 
 I guess thy message. 
 
 Old L. Sir, your Queen 
 
 Desires your visitation, and to be 
 
 Acquainted with this stranger : 
 
 'Tis as like you 
 As cherry is to cherry. 
 
 At the christening of Elizabeth, the high and 
 mighty princess of England, her royal father thanked 
 the sponsors, and promised : 
 
 So shall this lady [thank you], 
 When she has so much English ; 
 
 and, in a vein of prophecy, the archbishop declared : 
 
 She shall be loved and f ear'd : her own shall bless her ; 
 
 Her foes shake like a field of beaten corn, 
 
 And hang their heads with sorrow : good grows with her. 
 
 In her days every man shall eat in safety, 
 
 Under his own vine, what he plants ; and sing 
 
 The merry songs of peace to all his neighbors. 
 
 She shall be, to the happiness of England, 
 
 An aged princess ; many days shall see her, 
 
 And yet no day without a deed to crown it. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 Abel, 13. 
 
 Accommodated, defined, 91. 
 
 Adam, 108. 
 
 Agamemnon, 122. 
 
 Age, signs, 78. 
 
 Agincourt, 124, 136. 
 
 Albion, nook-shotten, 119. 
 
 Alexander, 134. 
 
 Alps, frozen ridges, 13. 
 
 Amurath, 107. 
 
 Antony, Mark, 122. 
 
 Ancient, 113. 
 
 Andren, vale of, 229. 
 
 Angel, a coin, 77. 
 
 Anne, wife of Richard II, 9. 
 
 Anne Bullen, 242, 244, 254, 260, 262. 
 
 Anne, daughter of Warwick, 193. 
 
 Apoplexy, 77. 
 
 " Arthur," 104. 
 
 Arthur, Henry VlII's son, 228. 
 
 Avarice, 79. 
 
 Ballad-mongers, 47. 
 Banished, 16, 162. 
 Banquo, 182. 
 
 Barnet, battlefield, 189, 190. 
 Bardolph, 80, 84, 89, 92, 124. 
 Basset, 151. 
 
 Beaufort, Bishop of Winchester, 147. 
 Bedford, Duke of, Henry V's 
 brother, 146. 
 
 Bezonian, 99. 
 
 Black Prince, 3. 
 
 Blunt, Sir Walter, 56. 
 
 Book, of fate, 65. 
 
 Bolingbroke, Henry IV, 13, 15, 17, 
 
 18, 20, 21, 22, 25, 27. 
 Bordeaux, 232. 
 Bosworth Field, 218. 
 Bourbon, Duke of, 118. 
 Brakenbury, 196. 
 Breastplate, 161. 
 Brutus, 111. 
 Bullcalf, 92. 
 Byron, avarice, 79. 
 
 Cade, Jack, 163; death, 164; de- 
 scent, 166. 
 
 Caesar, 13. 
 
 Calais, 10, 12, 118, 121. 
 
 Campeius, 248. 
 
 Canterbury, 9. 
 
 Cardinals, 248. 
 
 Carnarvonshire, 246. 
 
 Cassius, 12. 
 
 Catherine, 142. 
 
 Caucasus, 18. 
 
 Chaucer, the great poet of Na- 
 ture, 5. 
 
 Christening, Elizabeth's, 268. 
 
 Cicero, 16. 
 
 Clarence, brother of Henry Y, 108. 
 269 
 
270 
 
 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 Clarence, brother of Richard III, 
 
 182. 
 Clifford, 170. 
 Coal (quarrel) 249. 
 Cocks, country, 124. 
 Colevile, Sir John, 94. 
 Color, 103, 159. 
 Constable, 118. 
 Cophetua, King, 99. 
 Comet, 48. 
 Conscience, 199, 221. 
 Constable of France, 118. 
 Coronation, 262. 
 Corporal Nym, 113, 115. 
 Coventry, 55. 
 Cranmer, 260, 264, 267. 
 Crecy, battle of, 1. 
 Crispian, feast of, 131. 
 Crown, Hal's taking it, 69 ; Richard 
 
 Ill's, 224 : York's taking, 173 ; 
 
 content, 177. 
 Cuckoo, 48. 
 Curs, 250. 
 Crows, 130. 
 
 Dante, 16. 
 
 Dauphin, 110. 
 
 Death, his court, 24, 93, 162. 
 
 Death's head, 50. 
 
 Deafness, 77. 
 
 Diana, 38. 
 
 Dick, the butcher, 167. 
 
 Dives, 50. 
 
 Divorce, 244. 
 
 Dolphin-chamber, 81. 
 
 Dorset, 217. 
 
 Douglas, 53. 
 
 Dover, 10. 
 
 Dublin, 9. 
 
 Dumb, Master, 85. 
 
 Eastcheap, 103. 
 Edward, Confessor, 263. 
 
 Edward III, 1. 
 
 Edward IV, 179, 184, 186, 191, 201. 
 
 Ego et, etc., 258. 
 
 Elizabeth, Henry VII's wife, 226. 
 
 Elizabeth, the Virgin Queen, 228. 
 
 Elysium, 173 
 
 England, 46, 110, 186. 
 
 Erpingham, Sir Thomas, 128. 
 
 Exeter, 122. 
 
 Exhalation, 256. 
 
 Falstatf, 37, 44, 74, 76, 80, 84, 90, 94, 
 
 100, 102, 104, 105, 107. 
 Famine, 93. 
 
 Farewell, Wolsey's, 259. 
 Fashion, 241. 
 Ferdinand, 248. 
 Feeble, 91. 
 Fortune, 122. 
 Fox, 58. 
 Flanders, 258. 
 Fleet, prison, 103. 
 Fluellen, 116, 121. 
 Francis I, 229. 
 Frenchman, 133. 
 Froissart, 9, 10. 
 Furies, 197. 
 
 Gadshill, 77. 
 
 Glendower, 30, 31, 36, 226. 
 
 Gloster, Richard IPs uncle, 11, 157, 
 
 160. 
 Gloster, Richard III, 177, 182, 188, 
 
 191, 193, 196, 203, 206, 209, 212. 
 Gout, 79. 
 Gordian, 109. 
 Gower, 137. 
 Grave, 26. 
 Gray, 179. 
 Green, 5. 
 Greyhounds, 116. 
 Griffith, 264. 
 Guizot, 145. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 271 
 
 Habits, 10. 
 
 Hamlet, 130. 
 
 Harlieur, 115, 118. 
 
 Hastings, 208. 
 
 Hercules, 43. 
 
 Holiness, the Pope, 
 
 Holmedon Hill, battle of, 31. 
 
 Hotspur, 22, 33, 34, 35, 46, 47. 
 
 Horse, another, 221. 
 
 Hostess, gossip Quickly, 80, 81, 85. 
 
 Indies, 263. 
 
 Invitations, a king's, 11. 
 Ireland, 20. 
 Irish kings, 10. 
 Isabella, 10, 12. 
 Isle, sceptered, 19. 
 
 Jeannette d'Arc, 147. 
 
 Jerusalem, 73. 
 
 Job, 77. 
 
 Jove's spreading tree, 189. 
 
 Judgment-day, 198. 
 
 Julius Caesar, 207. 
 
 Keats, epitaph, 266. 
 
 Kendal Green, 43. 
 
 Kent, 168. 
 
 Kimbolton, 264. 
 
 King, an anointed, 23 ; a mockery, 
 
 27; but a man, 126; the load 
 
 he bears, 128. 
 
 Lancaster, Gaunt, 12. 
 Lawrence, 3. 
 Lazarus, 56. 
 Leicester, 224. 
 
 Lent, a joint of mutton in, 89 ; ex- 
 tended, 167. 
 Life, country, 176. 
 Lily, mistress of the field, 253. 
 London, 100. 
 Louis, King, 180. 
 Louvre, 242. 
 
 Ludlow, 204. 
 
 Lying, Falstaff's notion, 61, 93. 
 
 Macaulay, essay on Hastings, 26. 
 
 Macedon, 134. 
 
 Man, his little kingdom, 96. 
 
 Mercenaries, 140. 
 
 Mercury, 55, 200. 
 
 Meridian, 256. 
 
 Milliner, 35. 
 
 Miracle, 160. 
 
 Mirror, 28. 
 
 Montjoy, the herald, 119. 
 
 More, Sir Thomas, 260. 
 
 Monmouth, 134. 
 
 Mortimer, 32. 
 
 Morton's Fork, 227. 
 
 Mouldy, 91. 
 
 Music, 29, 68, 251. 
 
 Necessity, a virtue, 18. 
 Nelson, 3. 
 
 News, unwelcome, 62. 
 Normans, 119. 
 Notre Dame, 147. 
 
 Orpheus, 251. 
 Ovid, 16. 
 Oxford, 201. 
 
 Fainting red, 42. 
 
 Patience, 264. 
 
 Paul Jones, 3. 
 
 Peace, 66, 78. 
 
 Pegasus, 55. 
 
 Pets, 89. 
 
 Pharaoh, 105. 
 
 Pirates, 163. 
 
 Pistol, 85, 99, 103, 123, 132. 
 
 Plantagenet York, 149, 156. 
 
 Pointz, 39, 41, 42. 
 
 Popinjay, 35. 
 
 Pomfret Castle, 206. 
 
 Popedom, 256. 
 
272 
 
 SHAKESPEARE'S ENGLISH KINGS. 
 
 Prince Harry, " Hal," Henry V, 33 ; 
 his view of himself, 40 ; his 
 open hand, 68 ; regret, 89 ; 
 111, 115. 
 
 Eatcliffe, 221. 
 
 Rene, King, 153. 
 
 Reproach, self-, Edward IV's, 201. 
 
 Reputation, a treasure, 14. 
 
 Richard II, 3 ; heroic moment, 8 ; 
 marriage, 9 ; second marriage, 
 10 ; banishment of Bolingbroke 
 and Norfolk, 16 ; abdication, 
 27 ; death, 29. 
 
 Richmond, on the seas, 217 ; landed, 
 218 ; dreams, 222 ; crowned, 224. 
 
 Robbery, 41. 
 
 Roger Ascham, 241. 
 
 Rome, 256. 
 
 Roscius, 178. 
 
 Rouen, 118. 
 
 Rougemont, 214. 
 
 Sack, 96. 
 Saltpeter, 35. 
 Sands, Lord, 241. 
 Saracens, 26. 
 Say, Lord, 166. 
 Scott, Walter, 3. 
 Scots, 110. 
 
 Sepulcher, Christ's, 32. 
 Sign, 162. 
 Shadow, 91. 
 Shallow, 90, 93. 
 Shrewsbury, 77. 
 Shylock, 110. 
 Simpcox, 158. 
 Sleep, 64, 128. 
 Snare, 80. 
 Somerset, 149, 185. 
 Somme, 119. «. 
 
 Spain, 249. 
 Spurs to win, 1. 
 St. Al ban's, 157. 
 Stanley, 217. 
 Starling, 37. 
 Steeds, 124. 
 Strawberry, 109, 209. 
 Suffolk, Duke of, 153, 154. 
 Sugar, introduction of, 7. 
 Sun, a golden set, 219. 
 Surecard, 91. 
 Surrey, Earl of, 229. 
 Swaggering, Lame Quickly, 85. 
 
 Taxes, 19. 
 
 Te Deum, 263. 
 
 Tewksbury, 190, 197. 
 
 Thames, 126. 
 
 Thunder, a verbal peal, 102. 
 
 Tower of London, 192, 207. 
 
 Towton, battle of, 176. 
 
 Truant, 252. 
 
 Tudor, Owen, 218. 
 
 Tyrrel, 213. 
 
 Vernon, 151. 
 Villains, 5, 6. 
 
 War, 55, 109, 111, 116. 
 Warwick, 181. 
 
 Wars of the Roses, 147, 149, 152. 
 Washington, 140. 
 Weasel, 110. 
 Westmoreland, 53. 
 Westminster, 64. 
 Wife, 250. 
 Williams, 136. 
 Windsor, 81. 
 
 Winter of discontent, 191. 
 Wolsey, 248 ; farewell, 259 ; advice 
 to Cromwell, 261 ; death, 265. 
 
 THE END. 
 
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