almost every manly grace and virtue, and setting him forth as the mirror of Christian kings and loadstar of honour, a model at once of an hero, a gentleman, and a sage. Wherein, if not true to fact, he was so to the sentiment of the English nation; that people having probably cherished the memory of Henry V. with more fondness than any other of their kings since the great Alfred.

tue."

In our Introduction to King John it was intimated that in the character of Prince Henry Shakespeare deviated from all the historical authorities known to have been accessible to him, and that this deviation has been borne out by later researches, thus giving rise to the notion that he drew from some traditionary matter that had not yet found a place in written history. A special and extraordinary conversion, it would seem, was generally thought to have fallen upon the prince on coming to the throne; and such and so great appears to have been the difference in his behaviour as prince and as king, that the old chroniclers could only account for the change by some miracle of grace, or touch of supernatural benediction. Walsingham, a contemporary, gives out that "as soon as he was invested with the ensigns of royalty he was suddenly changed into a new man, behaving with propriety, modesty, and gravity, and showing a desire to practise every kind of virCaxton, also, says that he "was a noble prince after he was king and crowned; howbeit in his youth he had been wild, reckless, and spared nothing of his lusts nor desires." Fabyan in like sort tells us that "this man before the death of his father applied himself to all vice and insolency:" and divers other old writers speak of him in the same strain. And herewith agrees the speech of Holinshed: "This king, even at first appointing with himself to show that princely honours should change public manners, determined to put on him the shape of a new man. For whereas aforetime he had made himself a companion unto misruly mates of dissolute order and life, he now banished them all from his presence; and in their places chose men of gravity, wit, and high policy, by whose wise counsel he might at all times rule to his honour and dignity." It should be observed, however, that he elsewhere speaks of him more in accordance with the Poet's representation" Indeed he was youthfully given, grown to audacity, and had chosen him companions, with whom he spent the time in such recreations and delights as he fancied. Yet it should seem by the report of some writers, that his behaviour was not offensive, or at least tending to the damage of any body; since he had a care to avoid doing of wrong, and to tender his affections within the tract of virtue, whereby he opened unto himself a ready passage of good liking among the prudent sort, and was beloved of such as could discern his disposition."

/ There is no question that Prince Henry's conduct was indeed such as to lose him his seat in the council, where he was replaced by his younger brother. And it is equally certain that in mental and literary accomplishment he was far in advance of the age,

being in fact as well one of the most finished gentlemen, as of the
greatest statesmen and best men of his time. This seeming con-
tradiction between the prince and the king is all cleared up and
smoothly reconciled in the Poet's representation. It was for the
old chroniclers to talk of his miraculous conversion: Shakespeare
in a far wiser spirit brings his conduct within the ordinary rules
and measures of human character, representing whatsoever changes
occur in him as proceeding by the methods and proportions of
nature. We shall see hereafter how his early "addiction to courses
vain" is fully accounted for by the marvellous array of attractions
presented in Falstaff; it being no impeachment either of his moral
or his intellectual manhood, that he is drawn away by such a mighty
magazine of fascinations. It is true, he is not altogether unhurt
by his connection with Sir John: he is himself plainly sensible of
this; and the knowledge thereof is one of the things that go to
justify his treatment of Falstaff on coming to the crown.
even in his wildest merrymakings we have pregnant arguments of
his virtue, as when the Hostess reminds Sir John how "the prince
broke thy head for likening his father to a singing-man of Wind-
sor." Shakespeare has nothing finer in its way than the gradual
sundering of the ties that bind him to Falstaff, as the higher ele-
ments of his nature are called forth by emergent occasions, and
his turning the dregs of his vile companionship into food of noble
thought and sentiment, extracting the sweetness of wisdom from
the weeds of his dangerous experiences. And his whole progress
through this transformation, until, "like a reappearing star," he
emerges from the cloud of wildness wherein he had obscured his
contemplation, is dappled with rare spots of beauty and promise.

And

It should be remarked that Hotspur was in fact about twenty years older than the prince: which difference of age would naturally foreclose any rivalry or emulation between them; and one of the Poet's most judicious departures from literal truth is in approximating their ages, as if on purpose that such influences may have a chance to work. And the king shows his usual policy in endeavouring to make the fame of Hotspur tell upon his son; though even here he strikes wide of his real character, misderiving his conduct from a want of noble aptitudes, whereas it springs rather from a lack of such motives and occasions with which his better aptitudes can combine. Yet the king's great sagacity appears in his speaking thus to the prince; for he has more penetration than to be ignorant that there is matter in him that will take fire when such sparks are struck into it. Accordingly, before they part, the prince speaks such words, and in such a spirit, as to win his father's confidence; the emulation kindled in him being no less noble than the object of it. Now it is that his many-sided, harmonious manhood begins fully to unfold itself. He has already developed susceptibilities answering to all the attractions of Falstaff; and we hope none of our readers will think the worse of him for preferring the atmosphere of Eastcheap to that of the

court. Henceforth the issue proves that he has far better and stronger susceptibilities, which sleep indeed during the absence, but spring forth at the coming of their proper stimulants and opportunities. In the close-thronging dangers that beset his father's throne, he has noble work to do, and in the thick-clustering honours of Hotspur he has noble motives for doing it; and both together furnish those more congenial attractions whereby he is gradually loosened and detached from the former, and drawn up into that nobly-proportioned beauty with which both poetry and history have invested him.

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We cannot now dwell on the many gentle and heroic qualities that make up his well-rounded, beautiful character. His tenderness of filial piety appears in the words, My heart p.eeds inwardly, that my father is so sick;" and his virtuous prudence no less, in his putting off all show of grief, as knowing that this, taken together with his past levity, will be sure to draw upon him the imputation of hypocrisy his magnanimity, in the eloquence with which he pleads for the life of Douglas: his ingenuousness, in the free and graceful apology to the king for his faults: his good-nature and kindness of heart, in the apostrophe to Falstaff, when he thinks him dead: his chivalrous generosity, in the enthusiasm with which he praises Hotspur; and his modesty in the style of his challenge to him. And yet his nobilities of heart and soul come along in such easy natural touches, drop out so much as the spontaneous issues of his life, that we scarce notice them, thus engaging him our love and honour, we know not how or why. Great without effort, and good without thinking of it, he is indeed a noble ornament of the kingly character. We must dismiss the enchanting theme with a few sentences from Knight. "Our sympathies," says this writer, "would be almost wholly with Hotspur and his friends, had not the Poet raised up a new interest in the chivalrous bearing of Henry of Monmouth, to balance the noble character of the young Percy. Rash, proud, ambitious, prodigal of blood, as Hotspur is, we feel that there is not an atom of meanness in his composition. He would carry us away with him, were it not for the milder courage of young Harry, the courage of principle and of mercy. Frank, liberal, prudent, gentle, yet brave as Hotspur himself, the prince shows that even in his wildest excesses he has drunk deeply of the fountains of truth and wisdom. The wisdom of the king is that of a cold and subtle politician; - Hotspur seems to stand out from his followers as the haughty feudal lord, too proud to have listened to any teacher but his own will; but the prince, in casting away the dignity of his station to commune freely with his fellow-men, has attained that strength which is above all conventional power: his virtues as well as his frailties belong to our common humanity; the virtues capable, therefore, of the highest elevation, the frailties not pampered into crimes by the artificial incentives of social position."

PERSONS REPRESENTED.

KING HENRY THE FOURTH.

HENRY OF MONMOUTH, his Sons.
JOHN OF LANCASTER,

RALPH NEVILLE, Earl of Westmoreland.
SIR WALTER BLUNT.

THOMAS PERCY, Earl of Worcester.

HENRY PERCY, Earl of Northumberland.
HENRY PERCY, his Son, surnamed HOTSPUR.
EDMUND MORTIMER, Earl of March.
RICHARD SCROOP, Archbishop of York.
ARCHIBALD, Earl of Douglas.

OWEN GLENDOWER.

SIR RICHARD VERNON.

SIR JOHN FALSTAFF.

SIR MICHAEL, a Friend of the Archbishop.
POINS. GADSHILL.

LADY PERCY, Wife to Hotspur.

LADY MORTIMER, Daughter to Glendower.

MRS. QUICKLY, Hostess in Eastcheap.

Lords, Officers, Sheriff, Vintner, Chamberlain, Drawers,
Carriers, Travellers, and Attendants.

SCENE, England.

FIRST PART OF HENRY IV.

ACT I.

SCENE I. London. A Room in the Palace.

Enter the KING, WESTMORELAND, BLUNT, and Others.
King. So shaken as we are, so wan with care,
Find we a time for frighted peace to pant,
And breathe short-winded accents of new broils
To be commenc'd in stronds afar remote.
No more the thirsty entrance of this soil'
Shall daub her lips with her own children's blood;
No more shall trenching war channel her fields,
Nor bruise her flowrets with the armed hoofs
Of hostile paces: those opposed eyes,
Which, like the meteors of a troubled heaven,
All of one nature, of one substance bred,
Did lately meet in the intestine shock

And furious close of civil butchery,

1 Of course entrance here means mouth, for what but a mouth should have lips? nor can we appreciate the difficulty which commentators have found in the expression. Some obscurity there is indeed; but this, as Coleridge observes, is of the Shakespearian sort; nor, we may add, is it any more than naturally arises from a slight want of integrity of metaphor, than which scarce any thing is more common in Shakespeare. Several emendations of the text have been proposed, such as entrants, entrails, and Erinnys, and many pages of note written in support of them; all which may well be set aside by a simple reference to Genesis iv. 11: "And now art thou cursed from the earth, which hath opened her mouth to receive thy brother's blood from thy hand."

H.