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The never-daunted Percy to the earth,

to suppose it did not happen from the arrow of a peasant, but from the sword of Henry Monmouth, whose spirit came with a higher commission from the same fiery sphere.

In Worcester, the rebel appears in all his odious colours; proud, envious, malignant, artful, he is finely contrasted by the noble Percy. Shakspeare, with the sagacity of a Tacitus, observes the jealousies which must naturally arise between a family, who have conferred a crown, and the king who has received it, who will always think the presence of such benefactors too bold and perémptory.

The character of Henry IV. is perfectly agreeable to that given him by historians. The play opens by his declaring his intention to war against the infidels, which he does not undertake, as was usual in those times, from a religious enthusiasm, but is

induced

induced to it by political motives: that the martial spirit may not break out at home in civil wars; nor peace and idleness give men opportunity to enquire into his title to the crown, and too much discuss a point which would not bear a cool and close examination. Henry had the specious talents, which assist a man under certain circumstances to usurp a kingdom: but either from the want of those great and solid qualities, which are necessary to maintain opinion loyal to the throne to which it had raised him, or from the imposs bility of satisfying the expectations of those who had assisted his usurpation, as some of the best historians with great appearance of reason have suggested*, it is certain his reign was full of discontents and troubles.

The popular arts by which he captivated the multitude, are finely described in the speech he makes to his son, in the third act Any other poet would have thought he had

*Hume's Hist. of Hen. IV.

acquitted

acquitted himself well enough in that dialogue, by a general fatherly admonition delivered with the dignity becoming a monarch; but Shakspeare rarely deals in common-place, and general morals. The peculiar temper and circumstances of the person, and the exigency of the time, influence the speaker, as in real life. It is not only the king and parent, but Henry Plantagenet, that chides the prince of Wales. How natural it is for him, on Percy's revolt, to recur to his own rebellion against Richard, and to apprehend, that the same levities which lost that king, first the opinion, then the allegiance of his subjects, should deprive the prince of his succession! Nothing can be better imagined than the parallel he draws between himself and Percy, Richard and Henry of Monmouth. The affectionate father, the offended king, the provident politician, and the conscious usurper, are all united in the following speeches :

K. HENRY.

K. HENRY.

I know not whether God will have it so,
For some displeasing service I have done
That, in his secret doom, out of my blood
He'll breed revengement, and a scourge for me.
But thou dost in thy passages of life

Make me believe that thou art only mark'd
For the hot vengeance and the rod of heav'n,
To punish my mis-treadings. Tell me, else
Could such inordinate and low desires,

Such poor, such base, such lewd, such mean attempts,
Such barren pleasures, rude society

As thou art match'd withal, and grafted to,

Accompany the greatness of thy blood,

And hold their level with thy princely heart?

K. HENRY.

Heav'n pardon thee. You let me wonder, Harry,

At thy affections, which do hold a wing
Quite from the flight of all thy ancestors.

Thy place in council thou hast rudely lost,
Which by thy younger brother is supply'd;
And art almost an alien to the hearts

Of all the court and princes of my blood.

The

The hope and expectation of thy time
Is ruin'd, and the soul of every man
Prophetically does fore-think thy fall.
Had I so lavish of my presence been,
So common-hackney'd in the eyes of men,
So stale and cheap to vulgar company;
Opinion, that did help me to the crown,
Had still kept loyal to possession,
And left me in reputeless banishment,
A fellow of no mark, nor likelihood:
But being seldom seen, I could not stir,
But like a comet, I was wonder'd at,

That men would tell their children, this is he;

Others would say, where? which is Bolingbroke?
And then I stole all courtesy from heav'n,
And drest, myself in much humility,

That I did pluck allegiance from men's hearts,
Loud shouts and salutations from their mouths,

Even in the presence of the crowned king.
Thus I did keep my person fresh and new,
My presence like a robe pontifical,

Ne'er seen, but wonder'd at; and so my state,
Seldom, but sumptuous, shew'd like a feast,
And won, by rareness, such solemnity.
The skipping king, he ambled up and down

With

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