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IN this very popular tragedy, there is another specimen of historical jumble, and poetical license. The nerand seene commences with the funeral of Henry VI, who is said to have been murdered in May, 1471, whilst the imprisonment of Clarence, which did not take place till 1478, is represented in the first. Thus the real length of time comprised in this drama, (dating from the former event) is fourteen years; as it concludes with the death of Richard, at Bosworth Field, in August, 1485. With respect to Richard's character, though greatly blackened by Lancasterian historians, he was certainly one of the most odious tyrants that ever obtained possession of a throne. Yet it appears from some accounts still preserved in the Exchequer, that King Henry lived twenty-two days after the time assigned for his pretended assassination; that his body lay in state at St. Paul's, and that it was afterwards interred at Chertsey, with much solemnity. Shakspeare has made the usurper deformed in figure, as well as in mind; though popular detestation had probably aggravated the truditionary story of his bodily defects. In this drama, the events appear admirably connected with, and consequential to, each other: the characters and incidents are natural; the sentiment and language free from bombast. But Malone and Dr. Johnson consider it as popular beyond its merits; with "some parts trifling, others shocking, and some improbable:" whilst Stevens maintains, that above all others the tragedy of Richard must command approbation, as it is indefinitely variegated, and comprehends every species of character---" the hero, the lover, the statesman, the buffoon, the hypocrite, and the hardened or repentant sinner." Its present success in representation, is, however, chiefly attributable to the admirable alterations of Colly Cibber, which evince a very extensive and settled knowledge of stage effect, and by which reformations the more valuable parts of the piece, could alone have attained their present effect and consequence. Shakepeare probably formed the play in 1591; though he is not supposed to have been indebted to any of the nume rous existing compositions on the same subject.

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Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.⚫ Grim visag'd war hath smooth'd his wrinkled front:

And now,-instead of mounting barbed + steeds,
To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,-
He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber,
To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.
But I, that am not shap'd for sportive tricks,
Nor inade to court an amorous looking-glass;
I that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's ma-
jesty,

To strut before a wanton ambling nymph;
1, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion,
Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,
Deform'd, unfinish'd, sent before my time
Into this breathing world, scarce half made up,
And that so lamely and unfashionable,
That dogs bark at ine, as I halt by them;
Why I, in this weak piping time of peace,
Have no delight to pass away the time;
Unless to spy my shadow in the sun,
And descant on mine own deformity:
And therefore,-since I cannot prove a lover,
To entertain these fair well-spoken days,-
I am determined to prove a villain,
And hate the idle pleasures of these days.
Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous,
By drunken prophecies, libels, and dreams,
To set my brother Clarence, and the king,
In deadly hate the one against the other:
And, if king Edward be as true and just,
As I am subtle, false, and treacherous,
This day should Clarence closely be mew'd up;
About a prophecy, which says-that G

Of Edward's heirs the murderers shall be.
Dive, thoughts, down to my soul! here Clarence

comes.

Enter CLARENCE, guarded, and BRAKEN

BURY.

That trudge betwixt the king and mistress
Shore.

Heard you not, what an humble suppliant
Lord Hastings was to her for his delivery!
Glo. Humbly complaining to her deity
Got my lord chamberlain his liberty.
I'll tell you what I think it is our way,
If we will keep in favour with the king,
To be her men, and wear her livery;
The jealous o'er-worn widow, and herself,
Since that our brother dubb'd them gentlewo
men,

Are mighty gossips in this monarchy.

Brak. I beseech your graces both to pardon

me;

His majesty hath straitly given in charge,
That no man shall have private conference,
Of what degree soever, with his brother.

Glo. Even so? an please your worship, Brakenbury,

You may partake of any thing we say :
We speak no treason, man ;-We say, the king
Is wise, and virtuous; and his noble queen
Well struck in years; fair, and not jealous :
We say, that Shore's wife hath a pretty foot,
A cherry lip,

A bonny eye, a passing pleasing tongue;
And the queen's kindred are made gentlefolks:
How say you, Sir? can you deny all this?
Brak. With this, my lord, myself have naught
to do.

Glo. Naught to do with mistress Shore? I tell thee, fellow,

He that doth naught with her, excepting one,
Were best to do it secretly, alone.
Brak. What one, my lord?

Glo. Her husband, kuave :-Would'st thou betray me?

Brak. I beseech your grace to pardon me, and, withal,

Brother, good day: What means this armed Forbear your conference with the noble duke.

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Tendering my person's safety, hath appointed
This conduct to convey me to the Tower.
Gle. Upon what cause?

Clar. Because my name is-George.

Clar. We know thy charge, Brakenbury, and

will obey.

Glo. We are the queen's abjects,

obey.

and must

Brother, farewell; I will unto the king;
And whatsoever you will employ me in,
Were it, to call king Edward's widow-sister,
I will perform it to enfranchise you.
Mean time, this deep disgrace in brotherhood,
:-Touches me deeper than you can imagine.

Glo. Alack, my lord, that fault is none of
your's;

He should, for that, commit your godfathers
Oh! belike his majesty hath some intent,
That you shall be new christen'd in the Tower.
But what's the matter, Clarence? may 1 know?
Clar. Yea, Richard, when I know; for I pro-
test,

As yet I do not: but, as I can learn,
He hearkens after prophecies and dreams;
And from the cross-row plucks the letter G,
And says—a wizard told him, that by G
His issue disinherited should be;
Aud, for my name of George begins with G,
It follows in his thought, that I am he:
These, as I learn, and such like toys as these,
Have mov'd his highness to commit me now.

Glo. Why, this it is, when men are rul'd by

women ;

'Tis not the king, that sends you to the Tower; My lady Grey, his wife, Clarence, 'tis she, That tempers him to this extremity.

Was it not she, and that good man of worship,

Anthony Woodeville, her brother there,
That made him send lord Hastings to the
Tower;

From whence this present day he is deliver'd?
We are not safe, Clarence, we are not safe.
Clar. By heaven, I think, there is no man
secure,

But the queen's kindred, and night walking heralds

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Clar. I know it pleaseth neither of us well. Glo. Well, your imprisonment shall not be long;

I will deliver you, or else lie for you;
Mean time, have patience.

Clar. I must perforce; farewell.

[Exeunt CLARENCE, BRAKENBURY, and Guard.

Glo. Go, tread the path that thou shalt ne'er return,

Simple, plain Clarence!-I do love thee so,
That I will shortly send thy soul to heaven,
If heaven will take the present at our bands.
But who comes here? the new deliver'd Hast.
ings?

Enter HASTINGS.

Hast. Good time of day unto my gracious lord!

Glo. As much unto my good lord chamber. lain!

Well are you welcome to this open air.
How hath your lordship brook'd imprisonment?
Hast. With patience, noble lord, as prisoners

must:

But I shall live, my lord, to give them thanks, That were the cause of my imprisonment.

Glo. No doubt, no doubt; and so shall Cla.

rence too;

For they, that were your enemies, are his, And have prevail'd as much on him as you.

The Queen and Shore, Lowest of subjects.

Hast. More pity that the eagle should be | Taken from Paul's to be interred there;

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I'll in, to urge his hatred more to Clarence,
With lies well steel'd with weighty arguments;
And, if I fail not in my deep intent,
Clarence hath not another day to live:
Which done, God take king Edward to his
mercy,

And leave the world for me to bustle in!
For then I'll marry Warwick's youngest
daughter:

What! though I kill'd her husband and her father,

The readiest way to make the wench amends,
Is to become her husband, and her father:
The which will I; not all so much for love,
As for another secret close intent,
By marrying her, which I must reach unto.
But yet I run before my horse to market:
Clarence still breathes: Edward still lives
reigns;

and When they are gone, then must I count my gains. [Exit. SCENE II.-The same.- Another Street.

Enter the corpse of King HENRY the Sixth, borne in an open coffin, Gentlemen bearing halberts to guard it; and Lady ANNE as

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Lo, in these windows that let forth thy life,
I pour the helpless balm of my poor eyes :-
Oh! cursed be the hand that made these holes!
Cursed the heart, that had the heart to do it!
Cursed the blood, that let this blood from
bence!

More direful hap betide that hated wretch,
That makes us wretched by the death of thee,
Than I can wish to adders, spiders, toads,
Or any creeping venom'd thing that lives!
If ever he have child, abortive be it,
Prodigious, and untimely brought to light,
Whose ugly and unnatural aspect
May fright the hopeful mother at the view;
And that be heir to his unhappiness!
If ever he have wife, let her be made
More miserable by the death of him,
Than I am made by my young lord

thee!

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And, still as yon are weary of the weight,
Rest you, whiles I lament king Henry's

corse.

[The bearers take up the corpse, and ad

vance.

Enter GLOSTER.

Glo. Stay you that bear the corse, and set it down.

Anne. What black magician conjures up this fiend,

To stop devoted charitable deeds?

Glo. Villains, set down the corse; or, by Saint Paul,

I'll make a corse of him that disobeys.

and

holy

1 Gent. My lord, stand back, and let the coffin pass.

Glo. Unmanner'd dog! stand thou when I command:

Advance thy halbert higher than my breast,
Or, by Saint Paul, I'll strike thee to my foot,
And spurn upon thee, beggar, for thy bold-

ness.

[The bearers set down the coffin. Anne. What, do you tremble ? are you all afraid?

Alas, I blame you not for you are mortal,
And mortal eyes cannot endure the devil.-
Avaunt thou dreadful minister of hell!
Thou hadst but power over his mortal body,
His soul thou canst not have; therefore, be
gone.

Glo. Sweet saint, for charity be not so curst. Anne. Foul devil, for God's sake, hence, and trouble us not;

For thou hast made the happy earth thy bell, Fill'd it with cursing cries, and deep exclaims.

If thou delight to view thy heinous deeds,
Behold this pattern of thy butcheries :
O gentlemen, see, see! dead Henry's wounda
Open their congeal'd mouths, and
afresh!"-

bleed

Blush, blush, thou lump of foul deformity;
For 'tis thy presence that exhales this blood
From cold and empty veins, where no blood
dwells;

Thy deed, inhuman and unnatural,
Provokes this deluge most unnatural-

O God, which this blood madest, revenge his death !

O earth, which this blood drink'st, revenge his death!

Either, heaven, with lightning strike the mur

derer dead,

Or, earth, gape open wide, and eat him quick; As thou dost swallow up this good king's blood,

Which his hell-govern'd arm bath butchered! Glo. Lady, you know no rules of charity, Which

renders good for bad, blessings for

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Scene II.

Anne. Fouler than heart can think thee, thou | To be reveng'd on him that kill'd my hus canst make

No excuse current, but to hang thyself.

Glo. By such despair, I should accuse myself.

Anne. And, by despairing, shalt thou stand excus'd;

For doing worthy vengeance on thyself,
That didst unworthy slaughter upon others.
Glo. Say, that I slew them not?
Anne. Why then, they are not dead :

But dead they are, and, devilish slave, by thee.

Glo. I did not kill your husband.
Anne. Why, then he is alive.

Glo. Nay, he is dead; and slain by Ed-
ward's hand.

Anne. In thy soul's throat thou liest; queen
Margaret saw

Thy murderous faulchion smoking in his blood; The which thou once didst bend against her breast,

But that thy brothers beat aside the point.
Glo. I was provoked by her

tongue,

sland'rous

That laid their guilt upon my guiltless shoul

ders.

Anne. Thou wast provoked by thy bloody mind,

That never dreamt on aught but butcheries :
Didst thou not kill this king?

Glo. I grant ye.
Anne. Dost grant me, hedge-hog? then God
grant me too,
Thou may'st be damned for that wicked deed!
Oh! he was gentle, mild, and virtuous.

Glo. The fitter for the King of heaven that bath him.

Anne. He is in heaven, where thou shalt

never come.

Glo. Let him thank me, that holp to send him thither;

For he was fitter for that place, than earth. Anne. And thou unfit for any place but bell.

Glo. Yes, one place else, if you will hear me name it.

Anne. Some dungeon.

Glo. Your bedchamber.

band.

Glo. He that bereft thee, lady, of thy hus-
band,

Did it to help thee to a better husband.
Anne. His better doth not breathe upon the

earth.

Glo. He lives that loves you better than he could.

Anne. Name him.

Glo. Plantagenet.

Anne. Why, that was he.

Glo. The self-same name, but one of better

nature.

Anne. Where is he?

Glo. Here: [She spits at him.] Why dost thou spit at me?

Anne. 'Would it were mortal poison, for thy sake!

Glo. Never came poison from so sweet a place.

Anne. Never hung poison on a fouler toad. dost infect mine Out of my sight! thou

eyes.

Glo. Thine eyes, sweet lady, have infected mine.

Anne. 'Would they were basilisks, to strike

thee dead!

Glo. I would they were, that I might die at

once;

For now they kill me with a living death.
Those eyes of thine from mine have drawn salt
tears,

Sham'd their aspécts with store of childish
drops;

These eyes, which never

tear,

shed remorseful.

Not, when my father York and Edward wept,
To hear the piteous moan that Rutland made,
When black-fac'd Clifford shook his sword at
him:

Nor when thy warlike father, like a child,
Told the sad story of my father's death;
And twenty times made pause, to sob and
weep,

That all the standers-by had wet their cheeks,
Like trees bedash'd with rain; in that sad
time,

My manly eyes did scorn an humble tear;

Anne. Il rest betide the chamber where thou And what these sorrows could not thence ex

liest !

Gle. So will it, madam, till I lie with you.
Anne. I hope so.

Glo. I know so.-But, gentle lady Anne,
To leave this keen encounter of our wits,
And fall somewhat into a slower method;
Is not the causer of the timeless deaths
Of these Plantagenets, Henry and Edward,
As blameful as the executioner?

Anne. Thou wast the cause, and most ac-
curs'd effect.

Glo. Your beauty was the cause of that
effect;

Your beauty, which did haunt me in my sleep,
To undertake the death of all the world,
So I might live one hour in your sweet bo-

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But now thy beauty is propos'd my fee, My proud heart sues, and prompts my tongue to speak.

[She looks scornfully at him. Teach not thy lip such scorn; for it was made For kissing, lady, not for such contempt. If thy revengeful heart cannot forgive, Lo! here I lend thee this sharp-pointed sword; hide in this true Which if thou please to

breast,
And let the soul forth that adoreth thee,
I lay it naked to the deadly stroke,
And humbly beg the death upon my knee.

[He lays his breast open; she offers at it
with his sword.

Nay, do not pause; for I did kill king Henry;
But 'twas thy beauty that provoked me.
Nay, now despatch; 'twas I that stabb'd young
Edward;

[She again offers at his breast. But 'twas thy heavenly face that set me on. [She lets fall the sword. Take up the sword again, or take up me. Anne. Arise, dissembler: though I wish thy death,

I will not be thy executioner.

• Pitiful.

Glo. Then bid me kill myself, and I will do On me that halt and am missbapen thus ? it.

Anne. I have already.

Glo. That was in thy rage:

Speak it again, and, even with the word,

My dukedom to a beggarly denier,⚫
I do mistake my person all this while :
Upon my life, she finds, although I cannot,
Myself to be a marvellous proper man.

This hand, which, for thy love, did kill thy I'll be at charges for a looking-glass;
love,

Shall for thy love, kill a far truer love :

To both their deaths shalt thou be accessary.
Anne. I would I knew thy heart.
Glo. 'Tis figur'd in my tongue.
Anne. I fear me, both are false.
Glo. Then man was never true.

Anne. Well, well, put up your sword.
Glo. Say then, my peace is made.
Anne. That shall you know hereafter.
Glo. But shall I live in hope?
Anne. All men, I hope, live so.
Glo. Vouchsafe to wear this ring.
Anne. To take, is not to give.

[She puts on the ring. Glo. Look, how this ring encompasseth thy finger,

Even so thy breast encloseth my poor heart;
Wear both of them, for both of them are
thine.

And if thy poor devoted servant may
But beg one favour at thy gracious hand,
Thou dost confirm his happiness for ever.
Anne. What is it?

Glo. That it may please you leave these sad
designs

To him that hath more cause to be a mourner,
And presently repair to Crosby-place; •
Where-after I have solemnly interr'd,
At Chertsey monast'ry, this noble king,
And wet his grave with my repentant tears,-
I will with all expedient duty see you:
For divers unknown reasons, I beseech you,
Grant me this boon.

Anne. With all my heart; and much it joys
me too,

To see you are become so penitent.—
Tressel and Berkeley go along with me.

Glo. Bid me farewell.

Anne. 'Tis more than you deserve:
But since you teach me how to flatter you,
Imagine I have said farewell already.

[Exeunt Lady ANNE, TRESSEL, and
BERKELEY.

Glo. Take up the corse, Sirs.
Kent. Towards Chertsey, noble lord?
Glo. No, to White-Friars; there attend my
coming.

[Exeunt the rest, with the corse.
Was ever woman in this humour woo'd ?
Was ever woman in this humour wou?
I'll have her, but I will not keep her long.
What! I, that kill'd her husband, and
father

And entertain a score or two of tailors,
To study fashions to adorn my body:
Since I am crept in favour with myself,
I will maintain it with some little cost.
But, first, I'll turn you fellow in his grave;
And then return lamenting to my love.-
Shine out, fair sun, till I have

glass,

That I may see my shadow as I pass.

bought a

[Erit.

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To be your comforter when be is gone.

Q. Eliz. Ah! he is young; and his minority
Is put into the trust of Richard Gloster,
A man that loves not me, nor none of you.
Riv. Is it concluded, he shall be protector!
Q. Eliz. It is determin'd, not concluded
yet;

But so it must be, if the king miscarry.

Enter BUCKINGHAM and STANLEY. Grey. Here come the lords of Buckingham and Stanley.

Buck. Good time of day unto your royal grace!

Stan. God make your majesty joyful as you have been!

Q. Eliz. The countess Richmond, good my lord of Stanley,

To your good prayer will scarcely say-amen. Yet, Stanley, notwithstanding she's your wife, And loves not me, be you, good lord, assar'd, his hate not you for her proud arrogance.

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The spacious world cannot again afford :

And will she yet abase her eyes on me,

Stan. I do beseech you either not believe
The envious slanders of her false açeusers;
Or if she be accus'd on true report,
Bear with her weakness, which, I think, pro-
ceeds

From wayward sickness, and no grounded ma-
lice.

Q. Eliz. Saw you the king to-day, my lord of Stanley?

Stan. But now, the duke of Buckingham, and I,

Are come from visiting his majesty.

Q. Eliz. What likelihood of his amendment, lords?

Buck. Madam, good hope: his grace speaks cheerfully.

Q. Eliz. God grant him health! Did you confer with him?

Buck. Ay, madam : he desires to make atone

ment

That cropp'd the golden prime of this sweet Between the duke of Gloster and your bro

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