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Quo me rapit tempestat T

What winde of honour blowes this furie forth?

Or whence proceede these fumes of majestie?

Me thinkes I heare a hollow echo sound,

That Philip is the sonne unto a king:

The whistling leaves upon the trembling trees,

Whistle in consort I am Richard's sonne:

The bubling murmur of the waters fall,

Records PhUippu* Regius Jilius:

Birds in their flight make musicke with their wings,

Filling the aire with glorie of my birth:

Birds, bubbles, leaves and mountaines, eccho, all

Ring in mine eares, that I am Richard's sonne.

Fond man! ah whither art thou carried?

How are thy thoughts ywrapt in honors heaven?

Forgetfull what thou art, and whence thou camst.

Thy fathers land cannot maintaine these thoughts;

These thoughts are farre unfitting Fauconbridge:

And well they may; for why this mounting minde

Doth soare too high to stoupe to Fauconbridge.

Why how now! knowest thou where thou art?

And knowest thou who expects thine answer here?

Wilt thou upon a franticke madding vaine

Goe loose thy land, and say thyselfe base borne?

No, keepe thy land, though Richard were thy sire,
What ere thou thinkst, say thou art Fauconbridge.

John. Speake man, be sodaine, who thy father was.

Philip. Please it your majesty, Sir Robert-
Philip, that Fauconbridge cleaves to thy jawes:
It will not out, I cannot for my life
Say I am sonne unto a Fauconbridge.
Let land and living goe, tis honors fire
That makes me swear King Richard was my sire.
Base to a king addes title of more state,
Than knights begotten though legitimate.
Please it your grace, I am King Richards sonne."

We miss in the original the keen but sportive wit, the exuberant vivacity, the shrewd worldliness and the military genius of Shakespeare's Bastard; but his archetype in the old piece was the work of no mean hand.

(5) Scene I.—Compare the corresponding passage in the old play, beginning,—

"Then Robin Fauconbridge I wish thee Joy,
My sire a king, and I B land lease boy," arc


(1) Scene I.—Richard, that rohb'd the lion of his heart.] The exploit by which this pattern of chivalry was supposed to have acquired his distinguishing appellation, Ctxur-deliou, is related in the ancient metrical romance which bears his name: * and from thence was probably transferred into our old chronicles :—" It is sayd that a lyon was put to Kynge Richarde beynge in prison to have devoured him, and when the lyon was gapynge he put his arms in his mouth and pulled the lyon by the harte so harde, that he slew the bone, and therefore some say he is called Rycharde Cure de Lyon: but some say he is called Cafe de Lyon, because of his boldenesse and hardy stomake."—Rabtall's Chronicle,

(2) Scene I.—

It lies as sightly on the back of him, As great A Icides' shoics upon an ass.] The old text has shoes, instead of shows; and the commentators have produced a formidable array of instances in our old comedies where the shoes of Hercules are mentioned. Notwithstanding these, I feel persuaded that tho allusion, as Theobald pointed out, is to the fable of the as3 in the lion's skin. Shoe and show were often spelt aliko:—

"Yet. what is Love? I pray thee, shoe.
A thing that crcepes, it cannot goe."

The Phanix nest, set foorlh by Lt. S. Land. 1593.

(3) Scene I.—

Do, child, go to it grandam, child;

Give grandam kingdom, and it grandam will

Give it a plum.] "Mr. Guest ('Phil. Pro.' I. 280) has observed that, in the dialects of the North-Western Counties, formerly it was sometimes used for its ; and that, accordingly, we have not only in Shakespeare's 'King John,' 'Goe to yt grandame, childe * * * * and it grandam will giue yt a plum,' but, in Ben Jonson's 'Silent Woman,' II. 3, 'It knighthood and it friends.' So in 'Lear,' I. 4, we have, in a speech of the Fool, 'For you know, Nunckle, the Hedge-Sparrow fed the

* See Weber's Metrical Romances, ii. 44.

Cuckoo so long, that it's had it head bit off by it young, (that is, that it has had its head,—not that it had its head,) as the modern editors give the passage, after the Second Folio, in which it stands, 'that it had its head bit off by it young.' So likewise, long before its was generally received, we have it self commonly printed in two words, evidently under the impression that it was a possessive, of the same syntactical force with the pronouns in my self, your self, her self."The English of Shakespeare, &c, by GEORGE L. C'BAIK, &c. &c.

(4) Scene I.—

lie pleased then

To pay that duty, which you truly otce,

To him that owes it.] In this passage the verb to owe is used both in its current acceptation, to be indebted, and in the sense which it repeatedly bears in Shakespeare and his contemporaries of ou>n:

"To him that owes it"—


"To him that it belongs to." Owe, when used for own, generally implies absolute possession. Thus, in " Othello," Act III. Sc. 3 :—

"Not poppy, nor mandragora.

Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world,
Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep
Which thou owed 'st yesterday."

That is, which thou possessed, or which was thy property yesterday. So, also, in "The Two Gentlemen of Verona," Act V. Sc. 2 :—

"Thu. Considers she my possessions f
Pro. O, ay; and pities them.
Thu. Wherefore f

Jul. That such an ass should owe them."

(5) SCENE II.—Do like the mntinesof Jerusalem.] Mutines for mutineers. An allusion to the combination of the civil factions in Jerusalem when the city was threatened by Titus. Malone thinks it probable that Shakespeare derived the reference from Joseph Ben Gorion's "History of the Latter Times of tho Jewes Common-Weale," translated from Hebrew into English by Peter Morwyn, 1575.


(1) Seen I.—

/ rill instruct my sorrows to be proud, For grief it proud, and makes his owner stout.] This passage has long been, and will long continue to be,

» torment to critics. The old text reads, '* and

makes his owner stoope." Hanmer first proposed the substitution of stout for stoope; and he has been generally, but not invariably, followed t>y the other editors, I must confess, despite the elaborate defence of the ancient reading by Malooe, and its adoption by Messrs. Collier and Knight, that itoop appears to me entirely inconsistent both with the context and with the subsequent language and demeanour of Lady Constance before the Kings of Franco and England. Shakespeare, I conceive, intended to express the Terr natural sentiment, that grief is proud, and renders its possessor proud also; but wishing to avoid the repetition of proud, which had been introduced twice immediately before, he adopted the word, stout, which was commonly used in the same sense.

The argument that in other passages of these plays the elect of grief is to deject and dishearten has been so ilmirahly answered by Dr. Johnson, that it would be presumptuous to add anything to B criticism so discrimicUrre and profound. "In 'Much Ado About Nothing,' the father of Hero, depressed by her disgrace, declares him•eif so subdued by grief that a thread may lead him. How is it that grief, in Leonato and Lady Constance, produces t&cts directly opposite, and yet both agreeable to nature? sorrow softens the mind while yet it is warmed by hope; but hardens it when it is congealed by despair. Distress, while there remains any prospect of relief, is weak and ■enhle; but when no succour remains, is fearless and stubborn: angry alike at those that injure, and at those that do not help; careless to please where nothing can be K»med, and fearless to offend when there is nothing further to be dreaded. Such was this writer's knowledge of the paaons!"

(1) Scene I.—O Lymoges! 0 A ustria f] Historically, these titles indicate two distinct personages. The one, Lwpold Duke of Austria, by whom Richard Coeur-do-Lion "w imprisoned in the year 1193; and the other, Vidomar, Viscount of Limoges, before whose Castle of Chaluz, in 11S9, the King was wounded by an archer, one Bertrand de Pardon, of which wound he died. The author of the old pay^ ascribes the death of Richard to the Duke of Austria, routing in his person both the well-known enemies of the Eon-hearted Monarch, and Shakespeare has followed him.

(St Scisi I._

A nd meritorious shall that hand be ealTd,

Canonized, and worshipp'd as a saint,

That takes away by any secret course

Thy hateful life.] The similar denunciation from "The Troublesome Raigne," ie.. which was the model of this play, is given in the Pre^ainary Notice ; but there is a still older dramatic piece entitled "Kynge Johan," written by Bishop Bale, wherein ti« sentence of excommunication pronounced by the Pope 'Wm the contumacious monarch is far more curious and t'-"mw«Tantial;—

"fw ai morn as Kyng Johan doth Holy Church so handle, Hen I do curse hym wyth crosse, bake, bell and candle. Lvitt u this tame roode turneth now from my face, •* God I requyre to sequester hym of his grace. O this boke doth speare by my worke mannuall, I wyll God to close uppe from hym his benefyttes all. As this burayng flame work from this candle in syght, I "yU God to put him from his eternal lyght. ''-he hym from Crist, and after the sow nd of this bell, fc*h body and Bowie I gete hym to the devyll of hell," &c,


Kynge Jolian, a Play in two Parts, $e. 8tc, by John Bale. Printed for the Camden Society, from the MS. of the author in the library of the Duke of Devonshire.

(4) Scene II.—Some airy devil hovers in the sky.] The demonologists distributed their good and evil spirits into many divisions and subordinations, each class having its peculiar attributes and functions. Of the Sublunary dteils, Burton tells us,—

"Psellus makes six kinds: fiery, aeriall, terrestiall, watery, and subterranean devils, besides those faieries, satyrs, nymphs," &c.—

"Fiery spirits or devils, are such as commonly worke by blazing starres, lire-drakes, or ignes fatui; * * • * * likewise they counterfeit sunnes and moons, stars oftentimes, and sit on ship masts," &c. &c.

"Aerial spirits or devils, such as keep quarter most part in the aire, cause many tempests, thunder and lightnings, teare oakes, fire steeples, houses, strike men and beasts, make it raine stones, as in Livy's time, woole, frogs, Arc. * * * * These can corrupt the aire, and cause plagues, sicknesse, storms, shipwrecks, fires, inundations," Ike, Ike.

Burton's Anatomie of Melancholy, P. I. Sc. II.

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While Philip breathes.] Shakespeare follows the old play in making the Bastard kill Austria to revenge the death of Cceur-de-Lion :—

"Thus hath K. Richards son performed his vowes,
And ofTred Austria's blood for his sacrifice
Unto his father's everliving smile."

According to history, it was the Viscount of Lymoges who was .slain by Philip:—" The same yere, Philip bastard sonne to King Richard, to whome his father had given the castell and honor of Coinacke, killed the Viscount of Limoges, in revenge of his father's death, who was slaine (as yeo have heard) in besieging the castell of Chalus Cheveroll."—HOLrssHED, under the year 1199.

(6) Scene M.-

If the midnight bell

Did, with his iron tongue and brazen mouth,
Sound one into the drotrsy ear of night.]

In the original the last line reads thus,—

"Sound on into the drowsy race of night."

The main pose in this troublesome passage is the word race: on was so frequently printed for one, both in these plays and in other books of the period, that there is great probability of its being so here; and into was often used formerly where we now employ unto: but race must be a corruption. What is meant by "the drowsy race t" I, at one time, conjectured that race was a misprint, by transposition of the letters, for carr, or carre, and that the "Sound on" might be applicable to "Night's black chariot:"—

"All drowsy night who in a car of jet
By steeds of iron grey * * *
• • • • • drawn through the sky."

Bkowve's Britannia's Pastorals. B. II. Song 1.

I am now, however, firmly assured that it is a corruption of tare, a word which occurred to me many years ago, as it did to Mr. Dyce, Mr. Collier, and no doubt to a hundred people besides. It has been suggested that the "midnight bell " might mean the bell which summoned tho monks to prayer at that time, and that the "Sound on" referred to repeated strokes rather than to the hour of one proclaimed

by the clock; but is there not something infinitely more awful find impressive in the idea of the solemn, single, boom of a church clock, knelling the death of time, and startling the hushed and drowsy ear of Night, than in the clangour of a whole peal of l>ells? Steevens thought so :— "The repeated strokes have less of solemnity than the single notice, as they take from the horror and awful

silence here described as so propitious to the dreadful purposes of the King. Though the hour of one be not the natural midnight, it is yet tho mast solemn moment of the poetical one; and Shakespeare himself lias chosen to introduce his Ghost in Hamlet,—

'The bell then beating one.'"


(1) Scene I.—

Silence I no more. Go closely in with me; Much danger do I undergo for thee. [Exeunt.] Let tho reader who would appreciate in some degree the infusivo, enriching faculty which Shakespeare possessed —marvellous almost as his wisdom, and creative power— compare tho foregoing scene with its original in the old drama:—

"Enter Arthur to Hubert de Burgh.

Gramercie Hubert for thy care of me,
In or to whom restraint is newly knowne,
The joy of walking is small benefit.
Yet will I take thy offer with small thanks,
I would not loose the pleasure of the etc.
But tell me curteous keeper if thou can,
How long the king will have me tarrie heere.


I know not prince, but as I gcsse, not long. God send you freedome, and God save the king.

[They isiue forth


Why how now sirs, what may this outrage meane 1

0 helpe me Hubert, gentle keeper help: God send this sodaine mutinous approach Tend not to reave a wretched guiltles life.


So sin, depart, and leave the rest for me.


Then Arthur yeeld, death frowncth in thy face, What meaneth this? good Hubert pleade the case.


Patience yong lord, and listen words of woe, Harmefull and harsh, hells horror to be heard: A dismall tale fit for a furies tongue.

1 faint to tell, deepe sorrow is the sound.


What, must I die?


No newes of death, but tidings of more hate,
A wrathfull doome, and most unluckie fate:
Death* dish were daintie at so fell a feast,
Be deafe, heare not, its hell to tell the rest.


Alas, thou wrongst my youth with words of feare,
Tis hell, tis horror, not for one to heare:
What is it man if it must needei be done,
Act it, and end it, that the paine were gone.


I will not chaunt such dolour with my tongue,
Yet must I act the outrage with my hand.
My heart, my head, and all my poweu beside,
To aide the office have at once denide.
Peruse this letter, lines of trebble woe*
Iteade ore my charge, and pardon when you know.

'Hubert, these are to commaund thee, as thou tendrest our quiet in minde, and the estate of our person, that presently upon the receipt of our commaund, thou put out the eies of Arthur Planlapinetr


Ah monstrous damned man! his very breath infects the elements.


Contagious venome dwelleth in his heart,

Effecting meanes to poyson all the world.

Unreverent may 1 be to blame the heavens

Of great injustice, that the miscreant

LiveB to oppresse the innocents with wrong.

Ah Hubert! makes he thee his instrument,

To sound the trump that causeth hell triumph?

Heaven weepes, the saints do shed celestiall teares,

They fear thy fall, and cite thee with remorse,

They knocke thy conscience, moving pitie there,

Willing to fence thee from the rage of hell;

Hell, Hubert, trust me all the plagues of hell

Hangs on performance of this damned deed.

This seale, the warrant of the bodies blisse,

En sure th sat an chieftaine of thy soule:

Subscribe not Hubert, give not Gods part away.

I speake not only for eies priviledge,

The chiefe exterior that I would enjoy:

But for thy perill, far beyond my paine,

Thy swecte soules losse, more than my eies vaine lacke:

A cause internall, and eternal) too.

Advise thee Hubert, for the case is hard,

To loose salvation for a kings reward.


My lord, a subject dwelling in the land Is tied to execute the kings commaund.


Yet God's commatinds whose power reacheth further, That no commaund should stand in force to murther.


But that same essence hath ordained a law, A death for guilt, to keepe the world in awe.


I pleade, not guilty, treasonlesse and free.


But that appeale, my lord, concemes not me.


Why thou art he that maist omit the peril).


I, if my soveraignc would omit his quarrel 1.


His quarrel 1 is unhallowed false and wrong.


Then be the blame to whom it doth belong.


Why thats to thee if thou as they proceede, Conclude their judgement with so vile a deede.


Why then no execution can be lawfull,
If judges doomes must be reputed doubt full.


Yes where in forme of law in place and time, The offender is convicted of the crime.


My lord, my lord, this long expostulation,
Heapes up moregricfe, than promise of redresse;
For this 1 know, and soresolvde I end,
That subjects lives on kings commands depend.
I must not reason why he is your foe,
But do his charge since he commaunds it so.


Then do thy charge, and charged be thy soule
With wrongfull persecution done this day.
You rowling eyes, whose superficies yet
I do behold with eies that nature lent:
Send foorth the terror of your moovers frowne,
Towreake my wrong upon the murtherers
That rob roe of your faire reflecting view:
Let hell to them (as earth they wish to mc)
Be darte and direfull guerdon for their guilt,
And let the black tormenters of deepe Tartnry
Upbraide them with this damned enterprise,
Inflicting change of tortures on their aoules.
Delay not Hubert, my orisons are ended,
Begin 1 pray thee, reave roe of my sight:
But to performe a tragedie indecde.
Conclude the period with a mortal 1 stab.
Conttance farewell, tormenter corae away,
Make my dispatch the tyrants feasting day.


I faint, I feare, my conscience bids desist:
Faint did I say! fearc was it that I named:
My king commaunds, that warrant sets me free:
But God forbids, and he commaundeth kings,
That great commaunder countercheckes my charge,
He stayes my hand, he maketh soft my heart.
Goe cursed tooles, your office is exempt,
Cheere thee yong lord, thou shalt not loose an eie,
Though I should purchase it with losse of life.
He to the king, and say his will is done,
And of the lauyor tell him thou art dead,
Goe in with roe, for Hubert was not borne
To blinde those lam pes that nature polliuht so.


Hubert, if ever Arthur be in state,
Looke for amends of this received gift,
I took my eiesight by thy curtesie,
Thou lentst them me, I will not beingratc.
But now procrastination may offend
The issue that thy kindnesse undertakes:

Depart we, Hubert, to prevent the worst. [Exeunt."

(2) Scene II.—

And here's a prophet, that I frroitght with me

From forth the streets of Pom/ret.] "There was in this season an heromit, whoso name was Peter, dwelling about Yorko, a man in great reputation with tho common people, bicause tlmt either inspired with Bomo spirit of prophesie as the peoplo beleevod, or else having some notable skill in artmagike, ho was accustomed to tell what should follow after. And for so much as oftentimes his saiengs proovod true, great credit was given to him as a vorie prophet," kc. "This Peter about the firs to of January last past, had toldc the king, that at the feast of tho Ascension it should como to passo, that he should bo cast out of his kingdomo; and (whether, to tho

intent that his words should be better bcleeved, or whether upon too much trust of his owne cunning) he offered himselfe to suffer death for it, if his prophesie prooved not true. Hereupon being committed to prison within the castell of Corf, when the day by him prefixed came without any other notable damago unto King John, he was by the kings commandement drawne from the said castell into the towne of Warham, and there hanged, togither with his sonne,

"The people much blamed King John for this extreamo dealing, bicause that tho horemit was supposed to be a man of great vortuo, and his sonne nothing guiltie of tho offence committed by his father (if any were) against the king. Moreover some thought that he had much wrong to die, bicause tho matter fell out even as ho had prophesied; for tho day before the Ascension day, King John had resigned tho superioritie of his kingdomo (as they tooke tho matter) unto the pope."—Hounshed, under the year 1213.

(3) Scknb HI.—Heaven take my soul, and England keep mtf hones /] Shakespeare, in his incidents, adheres closely to tho old play :—

"Enter young Arthur on the trails.

Now help good hap to farther mine entent,
Crosse not my youth with any more extremes:
I venter life to gaine my libertie,
And if I die, world's troubles have an end.
Feare gins disswade the strength of my resolve,
My holde will faile, and then alas I fall,
And if I fall, no question death is next:
Better desist, and live in prison still.
Prison said I f Nay, rather death than so:
Comfort and courage come again to me,
He venter sure: tis but a leapc for life."

How the ill-fated Arthur really lost his life wo have no authontic evidence. Holinshed only says,—"Touching the manor in vcrio deed of the end of this Arthur, writers mako sundrie reports. Novcrthelosso certeino it ts, that in tho yearo next insuing, ho was romooved from Falais unto tho castell or tower of Rouen, out of the which there was not any that would confosso that over he saw him go alive. Some have written that as he assaied to have escaped out of prison, and prooving to clime over the wals of the castell, he fell into the river of Saine, and so was drowned. Other writo, that through verio groofe and languor he pined awaie and died of natural sicknosse. But somo affirmo, that King John socretelio caused him to bo murtherod anil made awaie, so as it is not throughly agreed niton, in what sort ho finished his daies: but verelie King John was had in great suspicion, whother worthilie or not, tho Lord knoweth."—Chronicles, under Ute year 1202.


(1) Scene II.—

the gallant monarch is in arms,

A ml, lite an eagle o'er his aieru, towers To souse annoyance tluit comes near his nest.] rhe only explanation of this passage usually given is that "aicry signifies a nost;" but, regarded as the purely technical phraseology of Falconry, tho lines will be found susceptible of much more meaning than this interpretation attributes to them. By tho ordinary punctuation of tho second line,—

"And like an eagle o*er his aiery towers,"—

it would seem, too, as if tho words wore supposed to refer to tho elevation of tho nest, and were equivalent only to "airy towers ;" while it is clear that Shakos|>caro usos tower hero as he does in another f>art of tho present play,—

"Ha, majesty! how high thy glory towers,"*

Act II. Sc. 2,—


in tho sense of a hawking-tcchnical, doscriptivo of the soaring of a falcon or an eagle, towering spirally in the mannor natural to birds of prey. In this ascent, when his flight has brought him diroctly over tho object of his aim, tho falcon makes a rapid and destructive plunge, or, technically speaking, louce, upon it. There is in Drayton's Poll/oil/ion, Song XX., a description of a falcon flight at a brook for water fowl, which illustrates this passage vividly, both as to the circular flight, and the sanguinary pouncing of tho hawk:—

"When making for the brook the Falconer doth spy
One river, plash, or mere, where store of fowl doth He,—
Whence forced over-land, by skilful Falconer's trade,
A fair convenient flight may easily be made;
He whistleth off his hawks, whose nimble pinions straight
Do work themtetvet by turn* into a stately height.

* • • « « ft

Still as the fearful fowl attempt to 'scape away,
With many 3 ttooping brave, them in again they lay:

But when the Falconers take their hawking-poles in hand. And r;ussing of the brook, do put it over land: The Hawk give* it a Souce, that makes it to rebound Well near the height of man, sometimes, above the ground Oft takes a leg or wing, oft takes away the head, And oft from neck to tail the back in two doth shred.** With respect to the verb towers, as expressive of the flight of an eagle, a falcon, &c, it would appear then to have formerly denoted, not merely a soaring to a great height, but to fly spirally. When the latter only is implied, it should be spelt tour, which Cotgrave, 1600, explains as "a turn, round, circle, compasse, wheeling, revolution."

After the preceding extract from Drayton, a short note only will be required to illustrate the original sense of the word Some. Beaumont and Fletcher employ it as a hawking-phrase in " The Chances," Act IV. Sc. 1,— "Her conscience and her fears creeping upon her, Dead as a fowle at souce she '11 sink." Spenser uses it to describe the heavy and irresistible blows of the hammer in the House of Care :—

"In which his worke he had six servants prest,
About the andvile standing evermore
With huge great hammers, that did never rest
From heaping stroukes that thereon soused sore."

Faery Queene, B. IV. Ch. V. St. XXX.

To souce is also still well known in the domestic meaning of plunging, and throwing provisions into salt and water, from the Latin Sahum; which sense agrees with the precipitate plunge of a bird of prey on a water-fowl. The German Samen, however, may rather be considered as the real etymon of the word. It signifies to rush with whistling sound like the blustering of the wind: which is remarkably expressive of the tchirr made by the wings of a falcon when swooping on his quarry.

(2) Scene IV.— With contemplation and devout desires.] This circumstance is historical:—"About the same time, or rather in the yeare last past as some hold, it fortuned that the vicount of Melune, a French man, fell sicke at London, and perceiving that death was at hand, he called unto him certeine of the English Barons, which remained in the citie, upon safegard thoreof, and to them mado this protestation: I lament (saith he) your destruction and desolation at hand, bicause ye aro ignorant of the perils hanging over your heads. For this understand, that Lowes, and with him 16 earles and barons of France, have secretlie sworne (if it shall fortuno him to conquere this realmc of England and to be crowned king) that he will kill, banish and confine all those of the English nobilitio (which now doe serve under him, and persecute their owne king) as traitours and rebels, and furthermore will dispossesse all their linage of such inheritances as they now hold in England. And bicause (saith he) you shall not have doubt hereof, I which lie here at the point of death, doo now affirm unto you, and take it on the perill of my soulc that I am one of those sixteen that have sworne to perfonne this thing: wherefore I advise you to provide for your owne safeties, and your realmes which you now destroie, and keepo this thing secret which I havo uttered unto you. After this speech was uttered he streightwaies died."—Holinshed, under the year 1216.

In the old play, the dying nobleman declares his motives for this confession to be,—

"The greatest for the freedome of my soule,

That longs to leave this mansion free from guilt:

The other on a naturall instinct,

For that my grandsire was an Englishman."
In Shakespeare he is impelled by another circumstance :—

"Commend me to one Hubert, with your king:
The love of him,—and this respect besides,
For that my grandsire was an Englishman,—
Awakes my conscience to confess all this."

(3) SCENE VII.—The King diet.] The chroniclers, who wrote within sixty years after his death, make no mention of John having died by poison. Shakospeare found the incident in "The Troublesome Baigne," &c, and it is interesting to contrast his treatment of the king's dying scene with that of the older workman :—

Philip, some drinke, oh for the frozen Alpei,
To tumble on and coole this inward heate,
That ragcth as the fornace seven-fold hote.
To burne the holy tree in Babylon,
Power after power forsake their proper power,
Onely the heart impugnes with faint resist
The tierce invade of him that conquers kings,
Helpe God, O paine! die John, O plague
Inflicted on thee for thy grievous sinnes.
Philip, a chain.*, and by and by a grave.
My legges disdain e the carriage of a king.


A good my liege, with patience conquer griefe,
And beare this paine with kingly fortitude.

Methinkes I see a catalogue of sinne,
Wrote by a fiend in marble characters,
The least enough to loose my part in heaven.
Methinkes the divell whispers in mineeares,
And tells me, tis in vaine to hope for grace,
I must be damn'd for Arthur's sodaine death,
I see I see a thousand thousand men
Come to accuse me for my wrong on earth,
And there is none so mercifull a God
That will forgive the number of my sinnes.
How have I liv'd, but by another's loase!
What have 1 lov'd, but wracke of others weale?
Where have I done a deede deserving well!
How, what, when, and where, have I bestow'd a day,
That tended not to some notorious ill!
My life repleate with rage and tyrannic,
Cranes little pitlie for so strange a death.
Or, who will say that John deceasde too soone?
Who will not say, he rather liv'd too long.'
Dishonour did attaint me in my life,
And shame attendeth John unto his death.
Why did I scape the fury of the French,
And dide not by the temper of their swords?
Shamelesse my life, and shamefully it ends,
Scorned by my foes, disdained of my friends.

Forgive the world and all your earthly foes,
And call on Christ, who is your latest friend.

My tongue doth falter; Philip, I tell thee man,
Since John did yeeld unto the priest of Borne,
Nor he nor his have prospered on the earth:
Curst are his blessings, and his curse is blisse.
But in the spirit I crie unto my God,
As did the kingly prophet David cry,
(Whose hands, as mine, with murder were attaint)
I am not he shall build the Lord a house,
Or roote these locusts from the face of earth:
But if my dying heart deceive me not,
From out these loynes shall spring a kingly branch
Whose armes shall reach unto the gates of Rohm,
And with his feete treades downe the strumpets pride.
That sits upon the chaire of Babylon.
Philip, my heart strings breake, the poysons flame
Hath overcome in me weake natures power,
And in the faith of Jesu John doth die."

(4) Scene VII.—

At Worcester must his body be interred;

For so he wiltd it.] According to Holinshed, King John was buried at Croxton Abbey, in Staffordshire; but a stone coffin, containing his body,"was discovered in the Cathedral Church of Worcester, July 17, 1797.

(5) Scene VII.—

Nought shall male us rue, If England to itself do rest but true.] This conclusion is borrowed from the old play :— "Let England live but true within it selfe, And all the world can never wrong her state. Lewes, thou shalt be bravely shipt to Fraunce, For never Frenchman got of English ground The twentith part that thou hast conquered. Dolphin, thy hand: to Worster we will march;: Lords all, lay hands to beare your soveraigne With obsequies of honour to his grave: If England peeres and people joyne in one. Nor pope, nor France, nor Spaine can do them wrong."

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