Of Edmund Mortimer; who married Philippe, Sole daughter unto Lionel duke of Clarence: So if the issue of the elder son

Succeed before the younger, I am king.

War. What plain proceedings are more plain than this?

Henry doth claim the crown from John of Gaunt,
The fourth son; York claims it from the third.
Till Lionel's issue fails his should not reign:
It fails not yet; but flourishes in thee,
And in thy sons, fair slips of such a stock.
Then, father Salisbury, kneel we together;
And, in this private plot," be we the first
That shall salute our rightful sovereign,
With honour of his birthright to the crown.
Both. Long live our sovereign Richard, Eng-
land's king!

York. We thank you, lords. But I am not

your king

Till I be crown'd; and that my sword be stain'd
With heart-blood of the house of Lancaster;
And that's not suddenly to be perform'd;
But with advice, and silent secrecy.
Do you, as I do, in these dangerous days,
Wink at the duke of Suffolk's insolence,
At Beaufort's pride, at Somerset's ambition,
At Buckingham, and all the crew of them,
Till they have snar'd the shepherd of the flock,
That virtuous prince, the good duke Humphrey :
'Tis that they seek; and they, in seeking that,
Shall find their deaths, if York can prophesy.

Sal. My lord, break we off; we know your mind at full.

War. My heart assures me that the earl of Warwick

You four, from hence to prison back again;

[To JOURD., &c.

From thence, unto the place of execution:
The witch in Smithfield shall be burn'd to ashes,
And you three shall be strangled on the gallows.
You, madam, for you are more nobly born,
Despoiled of your honour in your life,
Shall, after three days' open penance done,
Live in your country here in banishment,
With sir John Stanley, in the isle of Man.
Duch. Welcome is banishment, welcome were
my death.

Glo. Eleanor, the law, thou seest, hath judged
thee;

I cannot justify whom the law condemns.

[Exeunt the DUCHESS, and the other prisoners
guarded.

Mine eyes are full of tears, my heart of grief.
Ah, Humphrey, this dishonour in thine age
Will bring thy head with sorrow to the ground!
I beseech your majesty give me leave to go;
Sorrow would solace, and mine age would ease.
K. Hen. Stay, Humphrey duke of Gloster:
ere thou go

Give up thy staff; Henry will to himself
Protector be: and God shall be my hope,
My stay, my guide, and lantern to my feet;
And go in peace, Humphrey; no less belov'd
Than when thou wert protector to thy king.

a

Q. Mar. I see no reason why a king of years Should be to be protected like a child. God and king Henry govern England's helm: Give up your staff, sir, and the king his realm. Glo. My staff?-here, noble Henry, is my staff:

As willingly do I the same resign,

As ere thy father Henry made it mine;
And even as willingly at thy feet I leave it,
As others would ambitiously receive it.
Farewell, good king: when I am dead and gone,
May honourable peace attend thy throne. [Exit.

Q. Mar. Why, now is Henry king, and Mar

garet queen;

And Humphrey duke of Gloster scarce himself, That bears so shrewd a maim; two pulls at

Suf. Thus droops this lofty pine and hangs his sprays;

Thus Eleanor's pride dies in her youngest days. York. Lords, let him go :--Please it your majesty,

This is the day appointed for the combat ;
And ready are the appellant and defendant,
The armourer and his man, to enter the lists,
So please your highness to behold the fight.

Q. Mar. Ay, good my lord; for purposely therefore

Left I the court, to see this quarrel tried.

K. Hen. O' God's name, see the lists and all things fit;

Here let them end it, and God defend the right!
York. I never saw a fellow worse bested,
Or more afraid to fight, than is the appellant,
The servant of this armourer, my lords.

Enter, on one side, HORNER, and his neighbours, drinking to him so much that he is drunk; and he enters bearing his staff with a sand-bag fastened to it; a drum before him at the other side, PETER, with a drum and a similar staff; accompanied by prentices drinking to him.

1 Neigh. Here, neighbour Horner, I drink to you in a cup of sack. And fear not, neighbour, you shall do well enough.

2 Neigh. And here, neighbour, here's a cup of charneco."

3 Neigh. And here's a pot of good double beer, neighbour drink, and fear not your man.

Hor. Let it come, i' faith, and I'll pledge you all; and a fig for Peter!

1 Pren. Here, Peter, I drink to thee; and be not afraid.

2 Pren. Be merry, Peter, and fear not thy master fight for credit of the prentices.

Peter. I thank you all: drink, and pray for me, I pray you; for I think I have taken my last draught in this world.-Here, Robin, an if I die I give thee my apron; and, Will, thou shalt have my hammer:—and here, Tom, take all the money that I have. O Lord, bless me, I pray God! for I am never able to deal with my master, he hath learnt so much fence already. Sal. Come, leave your drinking, and fall to blows. Sirrah, what's thy name?

Peter. Peter, forsooth.

Sal. Peter! what more?

Peter. Thump.

Sal. Thump! then see thou thump thy master well.

a Charneco-the name of a wine.

Hor. Masters, I am come hither, as it were, upon my man's instigation, to prove him a knave and myself an honest man: and touching the duke of York, I will take my death, I never meant him any ill, nor the king, nor the queen: And therefore, Peter, have at thee with a downright blow, [as Bevis of Southampton fell upon Ascapart."]

York. Despatch;-this knave's tongue begins to double.

Sound trumpets alarum to the combatants.

[Alarum. They fight, and PETER strikes down his master.

Hor. Hold, Peter, hold! I confess, I confess treason. [Dies.

York. Take away his weapon:-Fellow, thank God, and the good wine in thy master's way.

Peter. O God! have I overcome mine enemy in this presence? O Peter, thou hast prevailed in right!

K. Hen. Go, take hence that traitor from our sight;

For, by his death, we do perceive his guilt:
And God, in justice, hath reveal'd to us
The truth and innocence of this poor fellow,
Which he had thought to have murder'd wrong-
fully.

Come, fellow, follow us for thy reward.

But soft! I think she comes; and I'll prepare My tear-stain'd eyes to see her miseries.

Enter the Duchess of GLOSTER, in a white sheet, with papers pinned upon her back, her feet bare, and a taper burning in her hand; Sir JOHN STANLEY, a Sheriff, and Officers.

Serv. So please your grace, we'll take her from the sheriff.

Glo. No, stir not, for your lives; let her pass by. Duch. Come you, my lord, to see my open shame ?

Now thou dost penance too. Look, how they gaze!

See, how the giddy multitude do point,

And nod their heads, and throw their eyes on thee!

Ah, Gloster, hide thee from their hateful looks ;
And in thy closet pent up rue my shame,
And ban thine enemies, both mine and thine.
Glo. Be patient, gentle Nell; forget this
grief.

Duch. Ah, Gloster, teach me to forget myself:
For, whilst I think I am thy married wife,
And thou a prince, protector of this land,
Methinks I should not thus be led along,
Mail'd up in shame, with papers on my back;
And follow'd with a rabble, that rejoice
To see my tears, and hear my deep-fet3 groans.
The ruthless flint doth cut my tender feet;
And when I start the envious people laugh,
And bid me be advised how I tread.

Ah, Humphrey, can I bear this shameful yoke?
Trow'st thou that e'er I'll look upon the world;
Or count them happy that enjoy the sun?
No; dark shall be my light, and night my day;
To think upon my pomp shall be my hell.
Sometime I'll say. I am duke Humphrey's wife;
And he a prince, and ruler of the land :
Yet so he rul'd, and such a prince he was,
As he stood by, whilst I, his forlorn duchess,
Was made a wonder, and a pointing stock,
To every idle rascal follower.

But be thou mild, and blush not at my shame;
Nor stir at nothing, till the axe of death
Hang over thee, as sure it shortly will.
For Suffolk, he that can do all in all

With her, that hateth thee, and hates us all,And York, and impious Beaufort, that false priest,

Have all lim'd bushes to betray thy wings, And, fly thou how thou canst, they'll tangle thee:

Deep-fet-deep-fetched.

| But fear not thou until thy foot be snar'd,
Nor never seek prevention of thy foes.
Glo. Ah, Nell, forbear; thou aimest all awry ;
I must offend before I be attainted:
And had I twenty times so many foes,
And each of them had twenty times their power,
All these could not procure me any scath,*
So long as I am loyal, true, and crimeless.
Would'st have me rescue thee from this re-
proach?

Why, yet thy scandal were not wip'd away,
But I in danger for the breach of law.
Thy greatest help is quiet, gentle Nell:
I pray thee, sort thy heart to patience;
These few days' wonder will be quickly worn.

Her. I summon your grace to his majesty's parliament, holden at Bury the first of this next month.

Glo. And my consent ne'er ask'd herein before!

This is close dealing.—Well, I will be there. [Exit Herald.

My Nell, I take my leave :-and, master sheriff, Let not her penance exceed the king's commission.

Sher. An't please your grace, here my commission stays:

And sir John Stanley is appointed now
To take her with him to the isle of Man.
Glo. Must you, sir John, protect my lady

Duch. That's bad enough, for I am but reproach:

And shall I then be used reproachfully?

Stan. Like to a duchess, and duke Humphrey's lady,

According to that state you shall be used. Duch. Sheriff, farewell, and better than I fare;

Although thou hast been conduct of my shame! Sher. It is my office; and, madam, pardon

me.

Duch. Ay, ay, farewell: thy office is discharg'd. Come, Stanley, shall we go?

Stan. Madam, your penance done, throw off this sheet,

And go we to attire you for our journey.

Duch. My shame will not be shifted with my sheet:

No, it will hang upon my richest robes.
And show itself, attire me how I can.
Go, lead the way; I long to see my prison.
[Exeunt.

Sc. III. p. 87.-Q. Mar. I see no reason why a king of years

Should be to be protected like a child.

God and king Henry govern England's helm;
Give up your staff, sir, and the king his realm.
Glo. My staff? here, noble Henry, is my staff:
As willingly do I the same resign.

"Q. Mar. I see no reason why a king of years
Should be protected, like a child, by peers.
God and king Henry govern England's helm;
Give up your staff, sir, and the king his realm.
Glo. My staff?-here, noble Henry, is my staff:
To think I fain would keep it makes me laugh.
As willingly," &c.-Collier.

The broken-hearted Protector has just seen his wife
banished:
"Mine eyes are full of tears, my heart of grief."
The king has demanded the staff, but with words of kind-
ness. Margaret interposes-

"I see no reason why a king of years
Should be to be protected like a child."

The Corrector of Mr. Collier's folio, to obtain a rhyme, inserts by peers; and, two lines onward, adds the new line. Is it exactly adapted to the situation where it is inserted? Is this entirely consistent with what precedes and follows, in the bearing of this dishonoured man, bowing his head "in sorrow to the ground?"

"As Bevis of Southampton fell upon Ascapart." WE have been unwilling to part with these words although they are wanting in the text as revised by Shakspere. The allusions in our old poets to the older romances, form a chain of traditionary literature of which it is not pleasant to lose a single link. We have no doubt that our greatest poet was a diligent student of those ancient legends, upon which one who in many respects greatly resembled him chiefly formed himself. Scott has done more than any man of our own generation to send us back to these well-heads of poesy. His lines in the Lady of the Lake' illustrate the passage before us :

"My sire's tall form might grace the part

Of Ferragus, or Ascabart."

Sir Bevis has had monuments of stone (as the

Gate at Southampton), and more enduring monuments of literature. He earned these honours, as the legend says, by the conquest of the mightiest of giants, who yet stands by his side, in the sculptured record, as a person of very reasonable dimensions. But the romance (we give the modernised version of Ellis) tells us something different :

"This giant was mighty and strong,
And full thirty feet was long.

He was bristled like a sow;

A foot he had between each brow;

His lips were great and hung aside;

His eyen were hollow, his mouth was wide;
Lothly he was to look on than,

And liker a devil than a man:
His staff was a young oak,-
Hard and heavy was his stroke."

THE miracle scene at St. Alban's is founded upon a real occurrence. Sir Thomas More tells the story as related to him by his father. The poet probably found it in More's works, which were printed in 1557; but this ludicrous episode in a tragic history is also thus told by Grafton in his Chronicle:

"In the time of King Henry VI., as he rode in progress, there came to the town of Saint Alban's a certain beggar, with his wife, and there was walking about the town, begging, five or six days before the king's coming, saying that he was born blind, and never saw in all his life; and was warned in his dream that he should come out of Berwick, where he said that he had ever dwelled, to seek Saint Alban.

When the king was come, and the town full of people, suddenly this blind man, at Saint Alban's shrine, had his sight; and the same was solemnly rung for a miracle, and Te Deum songen: so that nothing was talked of in all the town but this miracle. So happened it then that Duke Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester, a man no less wise than also well learned, called the poor man up to him, ani looked well upon his eyen, and asked whether he could never see anything at all in all his life before! and when as well his wife as himself affirmed fastly, No; then he looked advisedly upon his eyen again, and said, I believe you may well, for me thinketh that ye cannot see well yet. Yes, sir, quoth he: I