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But stay'd, and made the western welkin blush,
When the English mcasur'd backward their own
In faint retire : O bravely came we off, [ground,
When with a volley of our needless shot,
After such bloody toil, we bid good night;
And wound our tattcrM colours clearly up,
Last in the Held, and almost lords of it!

Enter a Messenger.
Mess* Where is my prince the Dauphin?
Lew. Here :—What news?
Mess. The count Melju is slain; the EugliBb

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.

* Innuv«'ion.

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.
Passing these flats, are taken by the tide,
These Llucoln washes have devoured them ; *
Myself, well-mounted, hardly have escap'd.
Away, before! couduct me to the king;
I doubt, he will he dead, or ere I come.


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.
Foretell the ending of mortality.

Enter Pembroke. Pern, His highness yet doth speak; and holds belief,

That, being brought Into the open air,
It would allay the burning quality
Of that fell poison which assaileth him.

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
Which he hath left so shapeless and to nude.

Be-enter Bigot and Attendants, who bring in King John in a Chair*

K. John. Aye, marry, now my soul hath el-
It would not out at windows, nor at doors.
There is so hot a summer in my bosom,
That all my bowels crumble up to dust:
I am a scribbled form, drawn with a pen
Upon a parchment; and against this fire
Do I shrink up.
P. Hen. How fares your majesty?
K. John. Poison'd,—ill-fare ;—dead, forsook,
cast off:

And none of you will bid the wiliter come.
To thrust his icy fingers iu my maw;
Nor let my kingdom's rivers take their course
Through my burn'd bosom; nor entreat the

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,
Aod so ingrateful, you deny me that,
P. Hen. O that there were some virtue in
my tears.
That might relieve you I

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K. John. The salt in them is hnt.—
Within roe is a bell ; and there tin- poison
Is, as a fiend, conftu'd to tyrannize
On uoreprievable condeinued blood.

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
My heart bath one poor string to stay it by,
Which holds but till thy news be uttered:
And then all this thou nce'st, is but a clod.
And module of confounded royalty.

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,
As I upon advantage did remove,
Were, in the washes, all unwarily.
Devoured by the unexpected flood.

[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

spheres, [faiths;

Where be your powers! Show now your mended
And Instantly return with me again.
To push destruction and perpetual shame
Out of the weak.door of our fainting land:
Straight let us seek, or straight we shall be


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,
Shall wait upon your father's funeral.

P. Hen, At Worceste. * must his body he in terr'd; For so be will'd it.

Bast. Thither shall it then.
And happily may your sweet self put on
The lineal state and glory of the laud I
To whom, with all submission, on my knee,
I do bequeath my faithful services
And true subjection everlastingly.

Sal. And the like tender of our love we

To rest without a spot for evermore.
P. Hen. I have a kind soul, that would give
you thanks.
And knows not how to do it, but with tear*.
Bast. O let as pay the time but needful

Since it hath been beforehand with our griefs.—
This England never did, (nor never shall,)
Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror,
But when it first did help to wound itself.
Now these her princes are come home again,
Come the three corners of the world in arms,
And we shall shock tbem: Nought shall make
as rue,

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.






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.


Earl or Salisbury.
Earl Berkley.
Bushy, 1

Bagot, > Creatures to King Richard.
Green, J

Eml or Northumberland.
Henry Percy, his Son.


Lord Ross.

Lord Yvillouchby.

Lord Fitzwater.

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.
Duchess or Gloster.
Duchess or York.
Lady attending on the Queen.

Lords, Heralds, Officers, Soldiers, two Gar-
deners, Keeper, messenger, Groom, and
other Attendants.

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.
K. Rich. Old John of GatiDt, time honour'*

Hast thou, according to thy oath and band, *
Brought hither Henry Hereford thy bold sou;
Here to make good the boisterous late ap-

Which then our leisure would not let us hear.
Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mow.
bray T

• Bond.


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.

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