It is a damned ghost that we have seen;
And my imaginations are as foul

As Vulcan's stithy; give him heedful note:

For I mine eyes will rivet to his face;

And, after, we will both our judgments join

In censure of his seeming.

Hor. Well, my lord.

(Exit R.)

Goes and stands, R.)

Ham. They are coming to the play; I must be idle. Get you a place.

SCENE FROM RICHARD III.

COSTUMES.

DUKE OF GLOSTER. Crimson velvet shirt, edged with sable fur, gold waistcoat with black velvet sleeves puffed with gold coming through the hanging sleeve of the shirt, gold waist-belt carrying a cross-hilted sword and dagger, purple stockings, order of Garter under left knee, gold collar of suns and roses, black

velvet cap with jewel, high riding boots and spurs, and gauntlets.

LIEUTENANT OF THE TOWER. Puce

velvet shirt with hanging sleeves. KING HENRY VI. Long black velvet gown with hanging sleeves and ermine cape, black velvet cap with jewel, and black velvet pointed shoes.

In this as in the other pieces the costumes may be modern.

MURDER OF KING HENRY.

REMARKS. The crook-backed tyrant - the Duke of Gloster, afterward Richard III.—is represented by Shakspeare, and Colley Cibber, the compiler of the stage edition of that tragedy in the most odious light. He was a man of the most fertile genius, unscrupulous, murderous in his disposition, turbulent in his pretensions to meekness and simplicity, adroit and versatile. His villainy was smooth and smiling; he rejoiced at the turpitude of his crimes, and boasted of having a "tongue that could wheedle with the devil."

·

A hypocrite of the most finished character,

"He could murder while he smiled,

And cry content to that which grieved his heart

And wet his cheeks with artificial tears,

And frame his face to all occasions."

The following scene is supposed to occur in the Tower of London, after the murder of King Henry's son, by Gloster, Clarence, and others, adherents of the house of York. Gloster visits the Tower with the intention of murdering Henry, who accelerates his fate by the reproaches he heaps upon his bloody-minded visitor. Angered, he plunges his sword into the body of the imprisoned monarch. To be sure that he is dead, repeats the stab, and in a voice of fiendish exultation, as if the act committed was one entitling him to the regard of the arch-demon himself, exclaims,

This scene affords peculiar opportunities for facial acting. The various emotions of rage, exultation, and deep and terrible hate, are to be exhibited by the personator of Gloster while writhing under Henry's stinging reproaches. The unhappy monarch, made desperate by the imprisonment of his queen, the murder of his son, and his own hard fate, forgets his habitual mildness, and seemingly, as if to woo his own death at the hands of the man who had already made his heart desolate, repeats to him the omens which, attending his birth, proclaimed him to have been born to massacre mankind."

HENRY, discovered sleeping. Enter LIEUTENANT, R.

Lieutenant. Asleep so soon! but sorrow minds no seasons, The morning, noon, and night, with her's the same; She's fond of any hour that yields repose.

King H., (waking.) Who's there! Lieutenant, is it you? Come hither!

Lieut. You shake, my lord, and look affrighted.
King H.

Oh! I have had the fearful'st dream! such sights. That, as I live,

I would not pass another hour so dreadful,

Though 't were to buy a world of happy days.
Reach me a book: I'll try if reading can

Divert these melancholy thoughts. (Lieut. gives him a book.,
Enter GLOSTER, R.

Gloster. Good-day, my lord; what, at your book so hard?

I disturb you.

King H. You do, indeed.

Glos. (to Lieut.) Friend, leave us to ourselves, we must

confer.

(Exit Lieut. R.) King H. What bloody scene has Roscius now to act? Glos. Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind;The thief does fear each bush an officer.

King II. Where thieves without controlment rob and kill, The traveler does fear each bush a thief:

The poor bird that has been already limed,

With trembling wings misdoubts of every bush:
And I, the hapless mate of one sweet bird,
Have now the fatal object in my eye,

By whom my young one bled, was caught, and killed.
Glos. Why, what a peevish fool was that of Crete,
That taught his son the office of a fowl!

And yet, for all his wings, the fool was drowned;
Thou should'st have taught thy boy his prayers alone,
And then he had not broke his neck with climbing.

King H. Ah! kill me with thy weapon, not thy words; My breast can better brook thy dagger's point,

Than can my ears that piercing story;

But wherefore dost thou come? Is 't for my life?
Glos.

Think'st thou I am an executioner?

King H. If murdering innocents be executing, Then thou'rt the worst of executioners.

Glos. Thy son I killed for his presumption.

King H. Had'st thou been kill'd when first thou didst

presume,

Thou hadst not lived to kill a son of mine;
But thou wert born to massacre mankind.

How many old men's sighs, and widow's moans;
How many orphans' water-standing eyes;

Men for their sons', wives for their husbands' fate,
And children for their parents' timeless death,
Will rue the hour that ever thou wert born?
The owl shriek'd at thy birth, an evil sign!
The night-crow cry'd, forboding luckless times;
Dogs howl'd, and hideous tempests shook down trees;
The raven rook'd her on the chimney top,
And chattering pies in dismal discord sung;

Teeth hadst thou in thy head when thou wert born,
Which plainly said, thou cam'st to bite mankind;
And if the rest be true which I have heard,

Thou cam❜st

Glos. I'll hear no more;-die, prophet, in thy speech: For this, among the rest, was I ordained. (Stabs him.) King H. Oh! and for much more slaughter after this: Just heav'n forgive my sins, and pardon thee!

(Dies.)

Glos. What! will the aspiring blood of Lancaster Sink in the ground? I thought it would have mounted. See how my sword weeps for the poor king's death.

Oh, may such purple tears be always shed

From those that wish the downfall of our house!

If any spark of life be yet remaining,

Down, down to hell, and say I sent thee thither

I, that have neither pity, love, nor fear.
Indeed, 'tis true what Henry told me of;
Then since the heav'ns have shaped my body so,
Let hell make crook'd my mind to answer it!
I have no brother, and am like no brother
Let this word love, which grey-beards call divine,

(Stabs him.,

Be resident in men like one another,

And not in me; - I am myself alone.

Clarence, beware, thou keep'st me from the light;
But if I fail not in my deep intent,

Thou'st not another day to live; which done,
Heaven take the weak king Edward to his mercy,

And leave the world for me to bustle in.

But soft; — I'm sharing spoil before the field is won. Clarence still breathes, Edward still lives and reigns,When they are gone, then I must count my gains. (Exit R.

R.,

SCENE FROM THE PLAY OF LOVE.

BY SHERIDAN KNOWLES.

COSTUMES.

HUON. A dark-colored blouse, | COUNTESS. A handsome, white and black belt. silk, satin, or muslin dress.

REMARKS. The lowly in station, though possessed in mind of all that ennobles, are too often compelled to feel their inferiority, as recognized by the arbitrary laws which govern society, to those, who, perhaps, by the aid of adventitious circumstances alone, rank amongst the rich, the noble. The serf may be in all respects, so far as his manhood is concerned, his master's superior; but to the world he is known only as that master's vassal. He may love one, who, in rank, towers far above him, with a holy love, but death awaits him if he but breathes a hint of his passion; he may be loved in return; but what high-born dame would dare stoop to an alliance with one of lowly birth and vulgar lineage? Vulgar only by the laws of heraldry, not by the laws of God. Such is the situation of the characters in the play-the Countess, and Huon, the serf- from which the following scene is taken. As yet, the Countess is not represented as loving the serf: she feels an interest in his welfare, which her pride will not allow her to acknowledge to herself; nothing more. Huon, reasoning from the poet's text, that station should not build up itself as a barrier between two souls