opinion of Dr. Johnson is against the plagiarism; though it must be acknowledged that the rhyming parts are greatly inferior to the rest of the play. There is much to interest us in the character of Richard. In his prosperity and power he is haughty and unjust; in his dethronement and adversity, submissive and resigned. He may, perhaps, in the words of Johnson, exhibit in his fall only passive fortitude, the virtue of a confessor; but his resignation is so full of charity and forgiveness, his reflections on his vanished greatness, and the instability of worldly happiness, so philosophical and profound, that, if Shakspeare's inattention to historical fact has cast a shade on the early part of his character, he has more than redeemed it by the piety and wisdom that shed a radiance on its close.

How just is Dryden's eloquent encomium on York's description of Richard's entry into London. Can imagination paint anything more moving than the following picture of the king's meek submission and sorrow at the indignities heaped upon his head?—

"As in a theatre the eyes of men,

After a well-grac'd actor leaves the stage,
Are idly bent on him who enters next,
Thinking his prattle to be tedious;

Even so, or with much more contempt, men's eyes
Did scowl on Richard; no man cried, God save him!
But dust was thrown upon his sacred head;

Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off,-
His face still combatting with tears and smiles
The badges of his grief and patience,

That had not God for some strong purpose steel'd
The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted,
And barbarism itself have pitied him."

Many passages of equal beauty might be pointed out. John of Gaunt's noble description of England:

"This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle.

This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars," &c. &c. and that fine image:

"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."

Shakspeare loses no opportunity of expressing his perfect contempt of mob popularity. Richard's description of Bolingbroke's craft in wooing the multitude with affected courtesy and humility is admirably characteristic of the subtle and ambitious usurper:

"Ourself and Bushy, Bagot here, and Green,
Observ'd his courtship to the common people:
What reverence did he throw away on slaves;
Wooing poor craftsmen, with the craft of smiles,-
Off goes his bonnet to an oyster-wench;

A brace of draymen bid-God speed him well,
And had the tribute of his subtle knee,

With-Thanks, my countrymen, my loving friends."

We may add," This was sometime a paradox, but now the time gives it proof."

In this play we have the first mention of the mad-cap Prince of Wales. He is aptly introduced with such

"As stand in narrow lanes,

And beat our watch, and rob our passengers.'
19

Bolingbroke, however, seems to have had a Pisgah-sight of the future greatness of his son :

"I see some sparkles of a better hope,

Which elder days may happily bring forth."

Malone assigns the writing of Richard II. to the year 1597, when it was first entered at Stationers' Hall, by Andrew Wise. No edition earlier than 1598 has hitherto been discovered; which edition (Steevens's copy) is in the possession of the editor.

Some years since, this tragedy was revived at Drury Lane. Elliston acted Bolingbroke, Pope, John of Gaunt, and Kean King Richard. The two first performances were exceedingly good, but the latter was particularly admired.

D.-G.

KING RICHARD II.

ACT I.

SCENE FIRST.-London-Privy Council Chamber in the Palace of Westminster—the walls and roof are decorated with the badges and cognizances of Richard II.-the White Hart kneeling, collared and chained, or, the Sun in splendour-the pod of plantagenista, or broom, and branches of rosemary.

KING RICHARD, attended by his Privy Council-JOHN OF
GAUNT, and other NOBLES-the CHANCELLOR (Edmund
Stafford, Bishop of Exeter) and CONSTABLE (Duke of
Aumerle) sitting at the foot of the throne.

RICHARD. (C.) Old John of Gaunt, time-honour'd Lancaster,
Hast thou, according to thy oath and bond,
Brought hither Henry Hereford, thy bold son;
Here to make good the boisterous late appeal,
Which then our leisure would not let us hear,
Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray?
GAUNT. I have, my liege.

RICHARD. Tell me, moreover, hast thou sounded him,
If he appeal the duke on ancient malice;

Or worthily, as a good subject should,

On some known ground of treachery in him? GAUNT. As near as I could sift him on that argument,On some apparent danger seen in him,

Aim'd at your highness; no inveterate malice. RICHARD. Then call them to our presence; face to face, And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear The accuser and the accused, freely speak :

Exeunt two OFFICERS, R. and L. High-stomach'd are they both, and full of ire, deaf as the sea, hasty as fire.

In rage

Re-enter the two OFFICERS, with BOLINGBROKE, L., and

NORFOLK, R.

BOLINGBROKE. Many years of happy days befal

My gracious sovereign, my most loving liege!
NORFOLK. Each day still better other's happiness;
Until the heavens, envying earth's good hap,
Add an immortal title to your crown!

RICHARD. We thank you both: yet one but flatters us,
As well appeareth by the cause you come;
Namely, to appeal each other of high treason.
Cousin of Hereford, what dost thou object
Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray?
BOLING. First (heaven be the record to my speech!)
In the devotion of a subject's love,

Tendering the precious safety of my prince,
And free from wrath or misbegotten hate,
Come I appellant to this princely presence.
Now, Thomas Mowbray, do I turn to thee,
And mark my greeting well; for what I speak,
My body shall make good upon this earth.
Thou art a traitor, and a miscreant;
Too good to be so, and too bad to live.
Since the more fair and crystal is the sky,
The uglier seem the clouds that in it fly.
Once more, the more to aggravate the note,
With a foul traitor's name I stuff thy throat;
And wish (so please my sovereign), ere I move,

What my tongue speaks, my right-drawn sword may

prove.

NORF. Let not my cold words here accuse my 'Tis not the trial of a woman's war,

zeal:

The bitter clamour of two eager tongues,
Can arbitrate this cause betwixt us twain.
The blood is hot that must be cool'd for this.
Yet can I not of such tame patience boast,
As to be hush'd, and nought at all to say.

First, the fair reverence of your highness curbs me
From giving rein and spurs to my free speech;
Which else would post, until it had return'd
These terms of treason doubled down his throat.

Setting aside his high blood's royalty,
And let him be no kinsman to my liege,
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.
Meantime let this defend my loyalty.

By all my hopes, most falsely doth he lie. BOLING. Pale trembling coward, there I throw my gage, Disclaiming here the kindred of a king, And lay aside my high blood's royalty,

Which fear, not reverence, makes thee to except.
If guilty dread hath left thee so much strength,
As to take up mine honour's pawn, then stoop;
By that, and all the rights of knighthood else,
Will I make good against thee, arm to arm,
What I have spoke, or thou canst worse devise.
NORF. I take it up; and, by that sword I swear,
Which gently laid my knighthood on my shoulder,
I'll answer thee in any fair degree,

Or chivalrous design of knightly trial.
And when I mount, alive may I not light,

If I be traitor, or unjustly fight.

RICHARD. What doth our cousin lay to Mowbray's charge?
BOLING. Look, what I spoke my life shall prove it true;-
That Mowbray hath receiv'd eight thousand nobles,
In name of lendings for your highness' soldiers;
The which he hath detain'd for lewd employments,
Like a false traitor, and injurious villain.
Besides, I say, and will in battle

prove,

That all the treasons, for these eighteen years,
Complotted and contrived in this land,

Fetch'd from false Mowbray their first head and spring.

Further I say,—and further will maintain—

That he did plot the Duke 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.
And, by the glorious worth of my descent,
This arm shall do it, or this life be spent.

RICHARD. Thomas of Norfolk, what say'st thou to this?
Free speech and fearless I to thee allow.

B