« EdellinenJatka »
But stay'd, and made the western welkin blush,
Enter a Messenger.
By bis persuasion, are again fallen off: [long, And your supply, which you have wt&h'd so Are cast away, and sunk, on Godwin Bands.
Lew. Ah 1 foul shrewd news 1—Besbrew thy very heart! 1 did not think to be so sad to-night, As this hath made me.—Who was he, that said King John did fly, an hour or two before The stumbling night did part our weary powers?
Mess. Whoever spoke it, it is true, my lord.
Lew. Well ; keep good quarter and good c;ire The day shall not be up so soon as !, [to-night j To try the fair adventure of to morrow.
SCENE VI.—An often Place in the Neighbourhood of Svinstead -Abbey.
Enter the Bastard and Hubert, meeting. Hub.. Who's there? speak, ho ! speak quickly,
or I shoot Bast. A friend :—What art thou? Hub. Of the part of England. Bast. Whither dost thou go t Hub. What's that to thee! Why may uot I
Of thine affairs, as well as thou of mine?
Hast. Hubert, I think.
Hub. Thou hast a perfect thought: I will upon all hazards, well believe Thou art my friend, that know'st my tongue so Who art thou? [well:
Bast. Who thou wilt: an if thon please, Thou may'st befriend me so much, as to tiriuk I come oue way of the Plautagenets.
Hub. Uukind remembrance 1 thou, and eyeless night, [me. Have done me shame:—Brave soldier, pardon That any accent, breaking from tby tongue, Should 'scape the true acquaintance of mine ear.
Bast. Come, come; sans compliment, what
news abroad? Hub. Why, here walk I, in the black brow
of night, To find you out. Bast. Brief, then ; and what's the news? Hub. O my sweet Sir, news fitting to the
Black, fearful, comfortless, and horrible. Bast. Show me the very wound of this ill news;
1 am no woman, I'll not swoon at it.
Hub* The king, I fear, Is poison'd by a monk: I left him almost speechless, and broke out To acquaint you with this evil: that you might The better arm you to the sudden time. Than if you had at leisure known of this.
Base. How did he take it? who did taste to himt
Hub. A monk, I tell you ; a resolved villain, Whose bowels suddenly burst out: the king Yet speaks, and peradventure, may recover.
Bast. Who didst thou leave to teud his majesty?
Hub. Why, know you not ? the lords are all come back,
And brought prince Henry in their company; At whose request the king hath pardon'd them, Aud they are all about his majesty.
Bast. Withhold thine indignation, might*
And tempt us not to bear above our power 1
I'll tell thee, Hubert, half my power this night.
SCENE VII.—The Orchard of SwinsteadAbbey.
Enter t rlnct llr..\ « Y, Salisbury, and Bigot. P. Hen. It Is too late; the life of all bis blood
la louch'd corruptibly; and bis pure brail* (Which some suppose the soul's frail dwellinghouse,)
Doth, by the idle comments that it makes.
Enter Pembroke. Pern, His highness yet doth speak; and holds belief,
That, being brought Into the open air,
Hen. Let him he brought into the orchard
Doth he still rage? [Exit Biqot.
Pern. He Is more patient, Thau when you left him; even now be sung. P. Hen. O vanity of sickness 1 fierce extremes,
In their continuance, will not feel themselves. Death, having prey'd upon the outward parts. Leaves them insensible ; and bis siege is now Agalust the mind, the which he pricks and wounds
With many legions of strange fantasies; Which, iu their throug aud press to that last bold,
Confound themselves. 'Tls strange, that death
should sing.— I am the cygnet to ihit pale faint swan, Who chants a doleful hymn to his owu death; And, from the organ-pipe of frailty, slugs His soul and body to their lasting rest. Sal. Be of good comfort, priuce ; for you are born
To set a form upon that indigest
Be-enter Bigot and Attendants, who bring in King John in a Chair*
K. John. Aye, marry, now my soul hath el-
And none of you will bid the wiliter come.
To make his bleak winds kiss my parched lips, And comfort me with cold 1 do not ask you much;
I beg cold comfort; and you are so strait,
K. John. The salt in them is hnt.—
Enter the Bastard. Bast. Oh! I am scalded with my violent motion,
And spleen of speed to see your majesty. K. John. O cousin, thou art come to set mine eye:
The tackle of my heart Is crack'd and burn'd; And all the shrouds, wherewith my life should sail,
Are turned to one thread, one little hair I
Bast. The Dauphin Is preparing faithcrward; Where, heaven he knows, how we shall answer him:
For, in a night, the beat part of my power,
[The King dies. Sat. Yon breathe these dead news in as dead an ear.—
Hv liege! my lord I—But now a kin?,—now thus.
/'. Hen. Even so must I run on, and even so •top.
What surety of the world, what hope, what stay,
When this was now a king, and now is clay I Bast. Art thou gone so 1 1 do but stay behind,
To do the office for thee of revenge; [heaven, And then my soul shall wait on thee to
As it on earth hath been thy servant still.
Now, now, yon stars, that move in your right
Where be your powers! Show now your mended
The Dauphin rages at our very bccls.
Sai. It seems you know not then so much as we:
The cardinal Fandulph is within at rest, Who half an hour blnce came from the Dauphin;
And brings from htm such offers of our peace As wc with honour and respect may take, With purpose presently to leave ibis war.
Bast. He will the rather do it, when be sees Ourselves well sinewed to onr defence.
.Si/l. Nay, it is in a manner done already; For many carriages he hath despatch'd To the sea-side, and put bis cause and quarrel To the disposing of the cardinal: With whom yourself, myself, and other lords, If you think meet, this afternoon will post To c6nsummate this business happily.
Bast. Let it be so;—And you, my noble prince.
With other princes that may best be spar'd,
P. Hen, At Worceste. * must his body he in terr'd; For so be will'd it.
Bast. Thither shall it then.
Sal. And the like tender of our love we
To rest without a spot for evermore.
Since it hath been beforehand with our griefs.—
If England to itself do reet but true. [Exeunt.
• A Hone coffin, containing the betly of Kmt John, red in Worcntcr cuthedrel, July i7, 1797.
LIFE AND DEATH
KING RICHARD XX.
LITERARY AND HISTORICAL NOTICE.
THE action of thii drama comprises little mora than the two last years of King Richard'* reign. It commences with Bolinbrokc'i accusation of treason against Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk, in 1398, and terminates with th« murder of Richard at Potnfret Cattle, about the year 1400. Sbakspeare wrote the play in 1597, deriving hit materials chiefly from Hollinahcd'l Chronicle, many passages of which, he has almost literally embodied with bis own. The speech of the Bishop of Carlisle, in defence of King Richard's unalienable right, and immunity from human jurisdiction, it particularly copied from that old writer. The historical points of the tragedy are consequently accurate , for notwithstanding the Lancasterlau prejudices of those who have recorded hi* reign, Richard was a weak prince, and unfit for government. He had capacity enough, but no solid judgment, uor good education: be was violent in temper, profuse in expence, fond of idle show, devoted to favourite*, and addicted to low society. Yet his pauishmcut outbalanced hi* offence. Dr. Johnson has remarked of this play, that it cannot be said " much to affect the passions, or enlarge the understanding ;" bat it is impossible ti> contemplate the abject degradation of the unfortunate monarch, at drawn by the poet, without questioning the truth and judgment of this critical rescript. In dignity of thought and fertility of expression, it is certainly euperior to many of Shakspeare's productions, however it may yield to them in attractive incident or highly-wrought catastrophe. Yet where can we And a combination of circumstances more truly pathetic, than those with which Shakipeare has surrounded the short career of Richard, from his landing in Wales, to bia murder at Fomfret. If the bitterness of his sorrow when deserted by his friends, and bearded by his barons— if the lowliness and patience of his carriage, whilst exposed to the insults of the rabble, and greeted with tba mockery of homage by his aspiring rival—if the majesty of his sentiments, soaring above conscious helplessness or constitutional imbecility—and if his heroic resistance when despatched by hi* savage assailants— are not calculated to *' affect the paaaione, or enlarge the understanding," there is no dramatic portraiture that is capubla of doing so.
Kino Richard Thb Second.
Edmund Op Lancley, Duke of \
York, (. Uncles to
John or Gaunt, Duke of I*an- L the King, caster, J
Henry, surnamed Bolingbroke, Duke of Hereford, Son to John of Gaunt; afterwards King Henry IV.
Duke op Aumerlb, Son to the Duke of York.
Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk.
DUEE Or SURRKY.
Earl or Salisbury.
Bagot, > Creatures to King Richard.
Eml or Northumberland.
Bishop Op Carlisle.
Abbot Op Westminster.
Lord Marshal ; and another Lard.
Sir Pierce of Eaton.
Sir Stephen Scroop.
Captain of a Band of Welshmen.
Queen to King Richard.
Lords, Heralds, Officers, Soldiers, two Gar-
Scene, dispersed!y in Eugtand, and Wales.
SCENE I.—London.—A Room in the
Enter King Richard, attended; Joiino/
Gaunt, and other Nobles, with him.
Hast thou, according to thy oath and band, *
Which then our leisure would not let us hear.
K. Rich. I gave this heavyweight from off my head. Gauni. Heaven in thy good cause make thee
And this unwieldy sceptre from my hand; prosperous!
All pomp and majesty I do forswear; Rouse up thy youthful blood; be valiant, and live.
My manors, rente, and revenues, I forego. Act I. Scene III.
Buthy. Madam, your majesty is much too sad: Queen. What sport shall we devise here in these
You promis'd, when you parted with the king, gardens.
To lay aside life-harming heaviness, To drive away the heavy thought of care?
And entertain a cheerful disposition. jlS Jjj Scene IV
Act II. Scene II.
Abbot. A woeful pageant have we here beheld. Duch. What's the matter?
Car. The woe's to come; the children yet unborn York. Peace, foolish woman. Shall feel this day as sharp to them as thorn. Act V. Scene II.
Act IV. Scene I.