THE transactions contained in this historical drama are comprised within the period of about ten months; for the action commences with the sens brought of Hotspur having defeated the Scots under Archibald earl of Douglas at Holmedon, (or Halidown-hill,) which battle was fought on Holy-rood day, (the 14th of September) 1402; and it closes with the defeat and death of Hotspur at Shrewsbury; which enagement happened on Saturday the 21st of July, the eve of Saint Mary Magdalen,) in the year 1403. THEOBALD. This play was first entered at Stationers' Hall, Feb. 25, 1597, by Andrew Wise. Again, by M. Woolff, Jan. 9. 1598. For the piece supposed to have been its original, see Six old Plays on which Shakspeare founded, &c. pubished for S. Leacroft, Charing-Cross. STEEVENS. Shakspeare has apparently designed a regular connection of these dramatic histories from Richard the Second to Henry the Fifth. King Henry, at the end of Richard the Second, dedares his purpose to visit the Holy Land, which he resumes in the first speech of this play. The complaint made by King Henry in the last Act of Richard the Second, of the wildness of his son, prepares the reader for the frolics which are there to be recounted, and the characters which are now to be exhibited. JOHNSON. The persons of the drama were originally collected by Mr. Rowe, who has given the title of Duke of Lancaster to Prince John, a mistake which Shakspeare has been no where guilty of in the first part of this play, though in the second he has fallen into the same error. King Henry IV. was himself the last person that ever bore the title of Duke of Lancaster. But all his sons, (till they had peerages, as Clarence, Bedford, Gloucester) were distinguished by the name of the royal house, as John of Lancaster, Humphrey of Lancaster, &c. and in that proper style, the present John (who became afterwards so illustrious by the title of Duke of Bedford) is always mentioned in the play before us. STBEVENS. This comedy was written. I believe, in the year 1597. MALONE. A PART I I fancy every reader, when he ends this play, cries out with Desdemona, O most lame and impotent conclusion!" As this play was not, to our knowledge, divided into acts by the author, I could be content to conclude it with the death of Henry the Fourth: In that Jerusalem shall Harry die. These scenes, which now make the fifth act of Henry the Fourth, might then be the first of Henry the Fifth: but the truth is, they do not unite very commodiously to either play. When these plays were represented, I believe they ended as they are now ended in the books; but Shakspeare seems to have designed that the whole series of action, from the beginning of Richard the Second, to the end of Henry the Fifth, should be considered by the reader as one work, upon one plan, only broken into parts by the necessity of exhibition. None of Shakspeare's plays are more read than the First and Second Parts of Henry the Fourth. Perhaps no author has ever, in two plays, afforded so much delight. The great events are interesting, for the fate of kingdoms depend upon them; the sighter occurrences are diverting, aud, except one or two, sufficiently probable; the incidents are multiplied with wonderful fertility of invention, and the characters diversified with the utmost nicety of discernBeet, and the profoundest skill in the nature of man. The prince, who is the hero both of the comic and tragic part, is a young man of great abilities, and violent passions, whose sentiments are right, though his actions are wrong; whose virtues are obscured by negligence, and whose understanding is dissipated by levity. In his idle hours he is rather loose than wicked; and when the ccasion forces out his latent qualities, he is great without effort, and brave without tumult. The trifler is roused ista bero, and the hero again reposes in the trifler. The character is great, original, and just. Percy is a ruzzed soldier, choleric and quarrelsome, and has only the soldier's virtues, generosity and courage. But Falstaff! Quimitated, unimitable Falstaff! how shall I describe thee? thou compound of sense and vice; of sease which may be admired, but not esteemed; of vice which may be despised, but hardly detested. Falstaff is a caracter loaded with faults, and with those faults which naturally produce contempt. He is a thief and a glutton, a card and a boaster; always ready to cheat the weak, and prey upon the poor; to terrify the timorous, and salt the defenceless. At once obsequious and malignant, he satirizes in their absence those whom he lives by Catering He is familiar with the prince only as an agent of vice; but of this familiarity he is so proud, as not yuh to be supercilious and haughty with common men, but to think his interest of importance to the duke of La caster Yet the man thus corrupt, thus despicable, makes himself necessary to the prince that despises him, by the most pleasing of all qualities, perpetual gaiety: by an unfailing power of exciting laughter, which is the more freely indulget, as his wit is not of the splendid or ambitious kind, but consists in easy scapes and sallies of levity, rh make sport, but raise no envy. It must be observed, that he is stained with no enormous or sanguinary tries, so that his licentiousness is not so offensive but thaf it may be borne for his mirth. The moral to be drawn from this representation is, that no man is more dangerous than he that, with a will to current, bath the power to please; and that neither wit nor honesty ought to think themselves safe with such a companion, when they see Henry seduced by Falstaff. Johnson. KING HENRY THE FOURTH PRINCE JOHN of Lancaster, SIR WALTER BLUNT, PERSONS REPRESENTED. Suns to the King. Friends to the King. THOMAS PERCY, Earl of Worcester. ALCHIBALD. Earl of Douglas. SIR RICHARD VERNON. ACT I. SCENE, England. SCENE I.-London. A Room in the Palace. K. Hen. So shaken as we are, so wan with care, Shail daub her lips with her own children's blood; Whose soldier now, under whose blessed cross To chase these pagans, in those holy fields, West. My liege, this haste was hot in question, Brake off our business for the Holy Land. lord; For more uneven and unwelcome news Where they did spend a sad and bloody hour: And shape of likelihood, the news was told; K. Hen. Here is a dear and true-industrious friend, Sir Walter Blunt, new lighted from his horse, Stain'd with the variation of each soil Betwixt that Holmedon and this seat of ours; Of Murray, Angus, and Menteith. And is not this an honourable spoil? A gallant prize? ha, cousin, is it not? It is a conquest for a prince to boast of. K. Hen. Yea, there thou mak'st me sad, and In envy, that my lord Northumberland Of this young Percy's pride the prisoners, West. This is his uncle's teaching, this is Wor cester, Malevolent to you in all aspects: Which makes him prane himself, and bristle up The crest of youth against your dignity. K. Hen. But I have sent for him to answer this: Cousin, on Wednesday next our council we and not by Phorbis, h, that wandering knigh so fair. And, I pray thee, sweet wa,,, when the art king, as, God'sive thy grice, majesty, Istorică say; for grace thou wilt have none. P. Hr. What none ? Fal. No, by my troth; not so much as will serve to be prologue to an egg and butter. P. Hen. Well, how then come, roundly, roundly. Fal. Marry, then, sweet wag, when thon art king, let not us, that are squires of the mht's body, be called theves of the day's beauty: let us be-Diana 9 foresters, gentlemen of the shade, m'nors of the moon: And let men say, we be men of good 1, vernment; being governed as the sea is, by our noble and chaste mistress the moon, under whose countenance we-steal. P. Hen. Thou say 'st well; and it holds well too : for the fortune of us, that are the moon's men, dth ebb and flow like the sea; being govern, d as the sta is, by the moon. As, for proof, now: A purse of gold most resolutely snatched on Monday night, and most dissolutely spent on Tuesday morning, Lot with swearing lay by and spent with crying --bring in : now, m as low an ebb as the foot of the ladder; and, by and by, in as high a flow as the ridge of the gallows. Fal. By the Lord, thou say'st true, lad. And is not my hostess of the tavern a most sweet wench? P. Hen. As the honey of Hybla, my old lad of the castle. And is not a but jerkin a most sweet robe of durance? Fal. How now, how now, mad wag" what, in thy quips, and thy quiddities what a plague have I to do with a buti jerkin? P. Hen. Why, what a pox have I to do with my hostess of the tavern Fal. Well, thou hast called her to a reckoning, many a time and oft. P. Hen. Did I ever call for thee to pay thy part Fal. No: Til give thee thy due, thou hast paid all there. P. Hen. Yea, and elsewhere, so far as my coin would stretch; and, where it would not, I have used my credit. Ful. Yea, and so used it, that were it not here apparent that thou art heir apparent.--But, I prythee, sweet wag, shall there be gallows standing in England when thou art king? and resolution thus tobbed as it is, with the rusty curb of old father autic the law Do not thou, when thou art ki..., hing & thuet. P. How No; thon shalt. Fal. Shall I' O rare! By the Lord, Til b brave judge. P. ita. Thou in 1st false already; I inen, thầu shalt have the hang of the thieves,, nd so becomie Ful. Yea, for obtaislag of suits: whereof the Txeant.haugman hath role in wardrobe. Slood, I am as the Encholy is a To cat, or al ed i ar SCENE HI-The same. Another Room in the Palace. Enter HENRY Prince of Wales, and PALSTAFF. Fal. Now, Hal, what time of day is it la 1? P. Hen. Thou art so fat with d with dunking of old sack, and unbuttoning the after supper, and sleeping upon beuches after noon, that tuon hast forgotten to demand that truly, which taon wouldst truly know. What a devil hast thou to do wit te time of the day? unless hours were cups and minutes capons, and clocks the tongues of bawds, and dials the signs of leaping houses, and the bless ed suo himself a fair hot wench in the colour d taffeta: I see no reason way tho sho ddst be so superfluous to demand the time of the day. Fal. Indeed, you come near me, now, Hal: for we, that take purses, go by the moon and seven stars, P. Hon. Or an old heat or a lovers 1 te. Fol. Yea, the drow of a Lan dustine bagpipe. P. Hon Want say st thou to a hare, or tac melancy of or dit a Fal. Hon sist the most unsavoury smiles: and art, indeed, the most con purative, sweet yo dig franc", But, itd. I pry thee, trond le me no more with vanity. I would to God, them and I know watre a comidity of good nonES Were to be bought: An old lord of the comni rad me the other day in the street about you, sir; but I marked ham not: and yet he talked very wis ly; but I re, aded him not; and yet he talked wisely, and ip the street too. P. Ha. Thon did'st well; for wisdom cries out in the streets, and to man regards it. Fal. O thon hast dammable iteration; and at, in 1 deed, able to corrupt a saint. Thou hast done much harm upon me, Hal,-God forgive thee for it! Befre I knew thee, Hal, I knew nothing; and now am I, if a man should speak truly, little better than se of the wicked. I must give over this life, and I wil give it over; by the Lord, an I do not, I am a lbia; I'll be damned for never a king's son in Christendom. P. Hen. Where shall we take a purse to-morrow, Jack? Fal. Where thou wilt, lad. I'll make one; an I do Dot, call me villain, and baffle me. P. Hen. I see a good amendment of life in thee; from praying, to purse-taking. Enter POINS, at a distance. Fal. Why, Hal, 'tis my vocation, Hal; 'tis no sin for a man to labour in his vocation. Poins!Now shall we know if Gadshill have set a match. O. if men were to be saved by merit, what hole in bell were hot enough for him? This is the most omnipotent villain, that ever cried, Stand, to a true P. Hea. Good-morrow, Ned. [man. Poins. Good-morrow, sweet Hal.-What says monsieur Remorse? What says sir John Sack-andSagar? Jack, how agrees the devil and thee about thy soul, that thou soldest him on Good-Friday last, for a cup of Madeira, and a cold capon's leg?" P. Hen. Sir John stands to his word, the devil shall have his bargain; for he was never yet a breaker of proverbs, he will give the devil his due. Peins. Then art thou damned for keeping thy word with the devil. [the devil. P. Hen. Eise he had been damned for cozening Poins. But, my lads, my lads, to-morrow morning, by four o'clock, early at Gadshill: There are pilgrims going to Canterbury with rich offerings, and traders riding to London with fat purses: I have Visors for you all, you have horses for yourselves; Gadstill lies to-night in Rochester; I have bespoke sipper to-morrow night in Eastcheap; we may do it as secure as sleep: If you will go, I will stuff your purses fall of crowns; if you will not, tarry at home, and be hanged. Fal. Hear me, Yedward, if I tarry at home, and Fal. Hal, wilt thou make one? P. Hen. Who, I rob? I a thief? not I, by my faith. Pens. Sir John, I pr'ythee, leave the prince and me alone; I will lay him down such reasons for this adventure, that he shall go. Fal Well, may'st thou have the spirit of persnason, and he the ears of profiting, that what thou peakest may move, and what he hears may be beeved, that the true prince may (for recreation sake,) prove a false thief; for the poor abuses of the time want countenance. Farewell: You shali find me Eastcheap. P Hen. Farewell, thou latter spring! Farewell Al allow summer! [Exit Falstaff. Pos. Now, my good sweet honey lord, ride with us to-morrow; I have a jest to execute, that I cannot manage alone. Falstaff, Bardolph, Peto, and Garisal, shall rob those men that we have already way laid; yourself, and I, will not be there and when they have the booty, if you and I do not rob them, cut this head from my shoulders. P. Hen. But how shall we part with them in settag forts? Poins. Why, we will set forth before or after thein, and appoint them a place of meeting, wherein it is at our pleasure to fail; and then will they ad. venture upon the exploit themselves: which they shall have no sooner achieved, but we'll set upon them. P. Hen. Ay, but, 'tis like, that they will know us, by our horses, by our habits, and by every other appointment, to be ourselves. Poins. Tut! our horses they shall not see, I'll tie them in the wood; our visors we will change after we leave them; and, sirrah, I have cases of buckram for the nonce, to immask our noted outward gar. ments. P. Hen. But, I doubt, they will be too hard for us. Poins. Well, for two of them, I know them to be as true-bred cowards as ever turned back; and for the third, if he fight longer than he sees reason, I'll forswear arms. The virtue of this jest will be, the incomprehensible lies that this same fat rogue will tell us, when we meet at supper: how thirty, at least, he fought with; what wards, what blows, what extremities he endured; and, in the reproof of this, lies the jest. P. Hen. Well, I'll go with thee; provide us all things necessary, and meet me to-morrow night in Eastcheap, there I'll sup. Farewell. Poins. Farewell, my lord. [Exit Poins. Enter King HENRY, NORTHUMBERLAND, WOR K. Hen. My blood hath been too cold and tem- Unapt to stir at these indignities, |