will, upon all hazards, well believe

Thou art my friend, that know'st my tongue so well.

Who art thou?

Faul.

Who thou wilt: an if thou please,

Thou may'st befriend me so much, as to think

I come one way of the Plantagenets.

Hub. Unkind remembrance! thou, and eyeless night, Have done me shame :-Brave soldier, pardon me,

That any accent, breaking from thy tongue,

Should 'scape the true acquaintance of mine ear.

Faul. Come, come; sans compliment, what news abroad?
Hub. Why, here walk I, in the black brow of night,
To find you out.

Faul.

Brief, then; and what's the news? Hub. O, my sweet sir, news fitting to the night, Black, fearful, comfortless, and horrible.

Faul. Show me the very wound of this ill news;
I am no woman, I'll not swoon at it.

Hub. The king, I fear, is poison'd by a monk:
I left him almost speechless, and broke out
To acquaint you with this evil; that you might
The better arm you to the sudden time,

Than if you had at leisure known of this.

Faul. How did he take it? who did taste to him?
Hub. A monk, I tell you; a resolved villain.
The king yet speaks, and peradventure may recover.
Faul. Who didst thou leave to tend his majesty ?

Hub. Why, know you not? the lords are all come back,
And brought prince Henry in their company;

At whose request the king hath pardon'd them,

And they are all about his majesty.

Faul. Withhold thine indignation, mighty heaven,
And tempt us not to bear above our power!-
I'll tell thee, Hubert, half my power this night
Passing these flats, are taken by the tide,
These Lincoln washes have devoured them;
Myself, well-mounted, hardly have escap'd.
Away, before! conduct me to the king;
I doubt, he will be dead, or ere I come.

SCENE.-The Orchard of Swinstead-Abbey.

Enter PRINCE HENRY, SALISBURY, and BIGOT.

P. Hen. It is too late; the life of all his blood

Is touch'd corruptibly; and his pure brain

(Which some suppose the soul's frail dwelling-house,) Doth, by the idle comments that it makes,

Foretell the ending of mortality.

[Exeunt

Enter PEMBROKE.

Pem. His highness yet doth speak; and holds belief, That, being brought into the open air,

It would allay the burning quality

Of that fell poison which assaileth him.

P. Hen. Let him be brought into the orchard here.Doth he still rage?

Pem.

Than when you

He is more patient

left him; even now he sung.
P. Hen. O vanity of sickness! fierce extremes,
In their continuance, will not feel themselves.
Death, having prey'd upon the outward parts,
Leaves them insensible; and his siege is now
Against the mind, the which he goads and wounds
With many legions of strange fantasies;

Which, in their throng and press to that last hold,

[Exit BIGOT.

Confound themselves. "Tis strange, that death should sing.

I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan,

Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death;

And, from the organ-pipe of frailty, sings

His soul and body to their lasting rest.

Sal. Be of good comfort, prince; for you are born

To set a form upon that indigest,

Which he hath left so shapeless and so rude.

Re-enter BIGOT and Attendants, who bring in King John, in
a chair.

K. John. Ay, marry, now my soul hath elbow-room;
It would not out at windows, nor at doors.
There is so hot a summer in my bosom,
That all my bowels crumble up to dust:
I am a scribbled form, drawn with a pen
Upon a parchment; and against this fire
Do I shrink up.

P. Hen.

How fares your majesty?

K. John. Poison'd,-ill fare;-dead, forsook, cast off;
And none of you will bid the winter come,
To thrust his icy fingers in my maw;
Nor let my kingdom's rivers take their course
Through my burn'd bosom; nor entreat the north
To make his bleak winds kiss my parched lips,

And comfort me with cold:-I do not ask you much,
I beg cold comfort; and you are so strait,
And so ingrateful, you deny me that.

P. Hen. O, that there were some virtue in my tears,
That might relieve you!

K. John.
The salt in them is hot.-
Within me is a hell; and there the poison

Is, as a fiend, confin'd to tyrannize

On unreprievable condemned blood.

Enter FAULCONBRIDGE.

Faul. O, I am scalded with my violent motion,
And spleen of speed to see your majesty.

K. John. O cousin, thou art come to set mine eye:
The tackle of my heart is crack'd and burn'd;
And all the shrouds, wherewith my life should sail,
Are turned to one thread, one little hair:
My heart hath one poor string to stay it by,
Which holds but till thy news be utter'd;
And then all this thou seest is but a clod,
And module of confounded royalty.

Faul. The dauphin is preparing hitherward;
Where, heaven he knows, how we shall answer him:
For, in a night, the best part of my power,
As I upon advantage did remove,
Were in the washes, all unwarily
Devour'd by the unexpected flood.

[The KING dias.

Sal. You breathe these dead news in as dead an ear.
My liege! my lord !-But now a king,-now thus.
P. Hen. Even so must I run on, and even so stop.
What surety of the world, what hope, what stay,
When this was now a king, and now is clay!

Faul. Art thou gone so? I do but stay behind,
To do the office for thee of revenge;

And then my soul shall wait on thee to heaven,
As it on earth hath been thy servant still.-

Now, now, you stars, that move in your right spheres,

Where be your powers? Show now your mended faiths;

And instantly return with me again,

To push destruction, and perpetual shame,

Out of the weak door of our fainting land:

Straight let us seek, or straight we shall be sought;

The dauphin rages at our very heels.

Sal. It seems, you know not then so much as we:

The cardinal Pandulph is within at rest,

Who half an hour since came from the dauphin;
And brings from him such offers of our peace
As we with honor and respect may take,
With purpose presently to leave this war.
Faul. He will the rather do it, when he sees
Ourselves well sinewed to our defence.

Sal. Nay, it is in a manner done already;
For many carriages he hath despatch'd
To the seaside, and put his cause and quarrel
To the disposing of the cardinal.

With whom yourself, myself, and other lords,

If you think meet, this afternoon will post
To consummate this business happily.

Faul. Let it be so:-And you, my noble prince,
With other princes that may best be spar'd,
Shall wait upon your father's funeral.

P. Hen. At Worcester must his body be interr'd;
For so he will'd it.

And happily may your sweet self put on
The lineal state and glory of the land!
To whom, with all submission, on my knee,
I do bequeath my faithful services

And true subjection everlastingly.

Sal. And the like tender of our love we make,

To rest without a spot for evermore.

P. Hen. I have a kind soul, that would give you thanks,

And knows not how to do it, but with tears.

Faul. O, let us pay the time but needful woe,

Since it hath been beforehand with our griefs.-
This England never did, (nor never shall,)
Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror,

But when it first did help to wound itself.
Now these her princes are come home again,
Come the three corners of the world in arms,

And we shall shock them: Nought shall make us rue,
If England to itself do rest but true.

[Exeunt

KING HENRY IV.

The chronicles of Hollingshed and Stowe, appear to have been the sources from which Shakspeare drew the materials for constructing his series of English Historica. Plays, adding, however, characters and incidents from his own teeming imagination, and heightening the real personages he introduces, with all the vivid touches of his excelling skill.

In the first and second parts of Henry IV, appears that marvel of his creative genius, Falstaff,-who is aptly made the leader of the dissolute set of profligates which surrounded the young Prince, afterwards Henry V. An isolated extract could not do justice to this inimitable creation; we have, therefore, preferred to confine our selections to the historical incidents of the Play. "The transactions contained in it are comprised within the period of about ten months. The action commences with the news brought of Hotspur having defeated the Scots under Archibald earl of Douglas, at Holmedon (or Halidown-hill), which battle was fought on Holyrood day (the 14th of September), 1402; and it closes with the defeat and death of Hotspur at Shrewsbury; which engagement happened on Saturday the 21st of July (the eve of Saint Mary Magdalen), in the year 1403."