Quo me rapit tempestas? What winde of honour blowes this furie forth? That Philip is the sonne unto a king: The whistling leaves upon the trembling trees, Birds in their flight make musicke with their wings, Birds, bubbles, leaves and mountaines, eccho, all How are thy thoughts ywrapt in honors heaven? No, keepe thy land, though Richard were thy sire, Say I am sonne unto a Fauconbridge. Let land and living goe, tis honors fire That makes me sweare King Richard was my sire. 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, ACT II. (1) SCENE I.-Richard, that robb'd the lion of his heart.] The exploit by which this pattern of chivalry was supposed to have acquired his distinguishing appellation, Cœur-delion, 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 arme in his mouth and pulled the lyon by the harte so harde, that he slew the lyon, and therefore some say he is called Rycharde Cure de Lyon: but some say he is called Cure de Lyon, because of his boldenesse and hardy stomake."--RASTALL'S Chronicle. (2) SCENE I.— It lies as sightly on the back of him, As great Alcides' shows 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 the allusion, as Theobald pointed out, is to the fable of the asз in the lion's skin. Shoe and show were often spelt alike: "Yet, what is Love? I pray thee, shoe. A thing that creepes, it cannot goe." The Phoenix nest, set foorth by R. S. Lond. 1593. (3) SCENE I. Do, child, go to it grandame, child; Give grandame kingdom, and it grandame will "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 grandame 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. CRAIK, &c. &c. (1) SCENE I. ACT III. I will instruct my sorrows to be proud, For grief is proud, and makes his owner stout.] This passage has fong been, and will long continue to be, a torment to critics. makes his owner stoope.' The old text reads, ". - and stitution of stout for stoope; and he has been generally, but Hanmer first proposed the subnot invariably, followed by the other editors. I must confess, despite the elaborate defence of the ancient reading by Malone, and its adoption by Messrs. Collier and Knight, that stoop appears to me entirely inconsistent both with the context and with the subsequent language and demeanour of Lady Constance before the Kings of France and England. Shakespeare, I conceive, intended to express the very 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 a word, stout, which was commonly used in the same sense. The argument that in other passages of these plays the effect of grief is to deject and dishearten has been so admirably answered by Dr. Johnson, that it would be presumptuous to add anything to a criticism so discriminative and profound. "In Much Ado About Nothing,' the father of Hero, depressed by her disgrace, declares himself so subdued by grief that a thread may lead him. How is it that grief, in Leonato and Lady Constance, produces effects 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 flexible; 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 gained, and fearless to offend when there is nothing further to be dreaded. Such was this writer's knowledge of the passions!" (2) SCENE I.-0 Lymoges! O Austria!] Historically, these titles indicate two distinct personages. The one, Leopold Duke of Austria, by whom Richard Coeur-de-Lion was imprisoned in the year 1193; and the other, Vidomar, Viscount of Limoges, before whose Castle of Chaluz, in 1199, the King was wounded by an archer, one Bertrand de Gourdon, of which wound he died. The author of the old play ascribes the death of Richard to the Duke of Austria, uniting in his person both the well-known enemies of the lion-hearted Monarch, and Shakespeare has followed him. (3) SCENE I. And meritorious shall that hand be call'd, The similar denunciation from "The Troublesome Raigne," &c., which was the model of this play, is given in the Preliminary Notice; but there is a still older dramatic piece entitled "Kynge Johan," written by Bishop Bale, wherein the sentence of excommunication pronounced by the Pope upon the contumacious monarch is far more curious and circumstantial ; "For as moch as Kyng Johan doth Holy Church so handle, I wyll God to close uppe from hym his benefyttes all. I wyll God to put hym from his eternal lyght. I take hym from Crist, and after the sownd of this bell, P. 40. Kynge Johan, a Play in two Parts, &c. &c., 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 devils, Burton tells us, "Psellus makes six kinds: fiery, aeriall, terrestiall, watery, and subterranean devils, besides those faieries, satyres, nymphs," &c."Fiery spirits or devills, are such as commonly worke by blazing starres, fire-drakes, or ignes fatui; * counterfeit sunnes and moones, stars oftentimes, and sit on ship likewise they masts," " &c. &c. "Aeriall 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, &c. **** These can corrupt the aire, and cause plagues, sicknesse, storms, shipwrecks, fires, inundations," &c. &c. BURTON'S Anatomie of Melancholy, P. I. Sc. II. (5) SCENE II. Austria's head, lie there; While Philip breathes.] Shakespeare follows the old play in making the Bastard According to history, it was the Viscount of Lymoges who (6) SCENE III.— If the midnight bell Did, with his iron tongue and brazen mouth, In the original the last line reads thus,― 66 Sound on into the drowsy race of night." "All drowsy night who in a car of jet * * * * * drawn through the sky." BROWNE'S Britannia's Pastorals. B. II. Song 1. I am now, however, firmly assured that it is a corruption of eare, 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 the 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 and 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 bells? 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 the most solemn moment of the poetical one; and Shakespeare himself has chosen to introduce his Ghost in Hamlet, The bell then beating one.'" (1) SCENE I. ACT IV. [Exeunt.] Silence! no more. Go closely in with me; Much danger do I undergo for thee. Let the reader who would appreciate in some degree the infusive, enriching faculty which Shakespeare possessed -marvellous almost as his wisdom, and creative powercompare the foregoing scene with its original in the old drama: "Enter Arthur to Hubert de Burgh. 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 powers beside, To aide the office have at once denide. Peruse this letter, lines of trebble woe, Reade 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 Plantaginet!' Arthur. Ah monstrous damned man! his very breath infects the elements. Contagious venome dwelleth in his heart, 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 sweete soules losse, more than my eies vaine lacke: A cause internall, and eternall too. Advise thee Hubert, for the case is hard, My lord, a subject dwelling in the land Arthur. Yet God's commaunds whose power reacheth further, That no commaund should stand in force to murther. Hubert. But that same essence hath ordained a law, A death for guilt, to keepe the world in awe. Arthur. I pleade, not guilty, treasonlesse and free. Hubert. But that appeale, my lord, concernes not me. Arthur. Why thou art he that maist omit the perill. Hubert. I, if my soveraigne would omit his quarrell. His quarrell is unhallowed false and wrong. Why thats to thee if thou as they proceede, Conclude their judgement with so vile a deede. Hubert. Why then no execution can be lawfull, If judges doomes must be reputed doubtfull. Arthur. Yes where in forme of law in place and time, The offender is convicted of the crime. Hubert. My lord, my lord, this long expostulation, I must not reason why he is your foe, Arthur. 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, To wreake my wrong upon the murtherers That rob me of your faire reflecting view: Let hell to them (as earth they wish to me) Be darke and direfull guerdon for their guilt, And let the black tormenters of deepe Tartary Upbraide them with this damned enterprise, Inflicting change of tortures on their soules. Delay not Hubert, my orisons are ended, Begin I pray thee, reave me of my sight: But to performe a tragedie indeede, Conclude the period with a mortall stab. Constance farewell, tormenter come away, Make my dispatch the tyrants feasting day. Hubert. I faint, I feare, my conscience bids desist: And of the lauyor tell him thou art dead, To blinde those lampes that nature pollisht 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 be ingrate. But now procrastination may offend The issue that thy kindnesse undertakes: (2) SCENE II. And here's a prophet, that I brought with me From forth the streets of Pomfret.] [Exeunt." "There was in this season an heremit, whose name was Peter, dwelling about Yorke, a man in great reputation with the common people, bicause that either inspired with some spirit of prophesie as the people beleeved, or else having some notable skill in art magike, he was accustomed to tell what should follow after. And for so much as oftentimes his saiengs prooved true, great credit was given to him as a verie prophet," &c. "This Peter about the firste of January last past, had tolde the king, that at the feast of the Ascension it should come to passe, that he should be cast out of his kingdome; and (whether, to the intent that his words should be better beleeved, 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 damage 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 extreame dealing, bicause that the heremit was supposed to be a man of great vertue, and his sonne nothing guiltie of the offence committed by his father (if any were) against the king. Moreover some thought that he had much wrong to die, bicause the matter fell out even as he had prophesied ; for the day before the Ascension day, King John had resigned the superioritie of his kingdome (as they tooke the matter) unto the pope."-HOLINSHED, under the year 1213. (3) SCENE III-Heaven take my soul, and England keep my bones!] Shakespeare, in his incidents, adheres closely to the old play : "Enter young Arthur on the walls. Now help good hap to farther mine entent, I venter life to gaine my libertie, And if I die, world's troubles have an end. How the ill-fated Arthur really lost his life we have no authentic evidence. Holinshed only says,-"Touching the maner in verie deed of the end of this Arthur, writers make sundrie reports. Neverthelesse certeine it is, that in the yeare next insuing, he was remooved from Falais unto the castell or tower of Rouen, out of the which there was not any that would confesse that ever 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 write, that through verie greefe and languor he pined awaie and died of natural sicknesse. But some affirme, that King John secretelie caused him to be murthered and made awaie, so as it is not throughly agreed upon, in what sort he finished his daies: but verelie King John was had in great suspicion, whether worthilie or not, the Lord knoweth."-Chronicles, under the year 1202. (1) SCENE II.— the gallant monarch is in arms, And, like an eagle o'er his aiery, towers ACT V. To souse annoyance that comes near his nest.] The only explanation of this passage usually given is that "aiery signifies a nest;" but, regarded as the purely technical phraseology of Falconry, the lines will be found susceptible of much more meaning than this interpretation attributes to them. By the ordinary punctuation of the second line, "And like an eagle o'er his aiery towers," it would seem, too, as if the words were supposed to refer to the elevation of the nest, and were equivalent only to "airy towers;" while it is clear that Shakespeare uses tower here as he does in another part of the present play, "Ha, majesty! how high thy glory towers," in the sense of a hawking-technical, descriptive of the soaring of a falcon or an eagle, towering spirally in the manner natural to birds of prey. In this ascent, when his flight has brought him directly over the object of his aim, the falcon makes a rapid and destructive plunge, or, technically speaking, souce, upon it. There is in Drayton's Polyolbion, 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 the hawk: "When making for the brook the Falconer doth spy A fair convenient flight may easily be made; He whistleth off his hawks, whose nimble pinions straight Act II. Sc. 2, Still as the fearful fowl attempt to 'scape away, But when the Falconers take their hawking-poles in hand, The Hawk gives it a Souce, that makes it to rebound 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, 1660, 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 Souce. Beaumont and Fletcher employ it as a hawking-phrase in "The Chances," Act IV. Sc. 1, "Her conscience and her fears creeping upon her, 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, With huge great hammers, that did never rest 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 Salsum; which sense agrees with the precipitate plunge of a bird of prey on a water-fowl. The German Sausen, 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 whirr 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 thereof, and to them made this protestation: I lament (saith he) your destruction and desolation at hand, bicause ye are ignorant of the perils hanging over your heads. For this understand, that Lewes, and with him 16 earles and barons of France, have secretlie sworne (if it shall fortune him to conquere this realme of England and to be crowned king) that he will kill, banish and confine all those of the English nobilitie (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 soule that I am one of those sixteen that have sworne to performe this thing: wherefore I advise you to provide for your owne safeties, and your realmes which you now destroie, and keepe this thing secret which I have 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, For that my grandsire was an Englishman." In Shakespeare he is impelled by another circumstance :- (3) SCENE VII.-The King dies.] The chroniclers, who wrote within sixty years after his death, make no mention of John having died by poison. Shakespeare found the incident in "The Troublesome Raigne," &c., and it is interesting to contrast his treatment of the king's dying scene with that of the older workman :— John. Philip, some drinke, oh for the frozen Alpes, To tumble on and coole this inward heate, That rageth 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 fierce invade of him that conquers kings, Helpe God, O paine! die John, O plague Inflicted on thee for thy grievous sinnes. Philip, a chaire, and by and by a grave, My legges disdaine the carriage of a king. Bastard. A good my liege, with patience conquer griefe, And beare this paine with kingly fortitude. John. Methinkes I see a catalogue of sinne, How, what, when, and where, have I bestow'd a day, Forgive the world and all your earthly foes, My tongue doth falter; Philip, I tell thee man, (Whose hands, as mine, with murder were attaint) Or roote these locusts from the face of earth: Philip, my heart strings breake, the poysons flame |