SCENE I.-The same.

Fields between Dartford and | Blackheath.

The KING's Camp on one side. On the other, enter YORK attended, with drum and colours: his Forces at some distance.

York. From Ireland thus comes York, to claim his right,

And pluck the crown from feeble Henry's head:
Ring, bells, aloud; burn, bonfires, clear and bright;
To entertain great England's lawful king.

Ah, sancta majestas! who would not buy thee dear?
Let them obey that know not how to rule;
This hand was made to handle nought but gold:
I cannot give due action to my words,
Except a sword or sceptre balance it.
A sceptre shall it have, have I a soul,

On which I'll toss the fleur-de-luce of France.

Enter BUCKINGHAM.

Whom have we here? Buckingham, to disturb me?
The king hath sent him, sure: I must dissemble.
Buck. York, if thou meanest well, I greet thee
well.

York. Humphrey of Buckingham, I accept thy
greeting.

Art thou a messenger, or come of pleasure?

Buck. A messenger from Henry, our dread liege,
To know the reason of these arms in peace;
Or why thou, being a subject as I am,
Against thy oath and true allegiance sworn,
Shouldst raise so great a power without his leave,
Or dare to bring thy force so near the court.
York. Scarce can I speak, my choler is so great.
O, I could hew up rocks, and fight with flint,
I am so angry at these abject terms;
And how, like Ajax Telamonius,

On sheep or oxen could I spend my fury!
I am far better born than is the king;
More like a king, more kingly in my thoughts:
But I must make fair weather yet a while,
Till Henry be more weak, and I more strong.-
[All the preceding is spoken aside.
Buckingham, I prithee pardon me,
That I have given no answer all this while;
My mind was troubled with deep melancholy.
The cause why I have brought this army hither,
Is, to remove proud Somerset from the king,
Seditious to his grace, and to the state.

Buck. That is too much presumption on thy part:
But if thy arms be to no other end,
The king hath yielded unto thy demand;
The duke of Somerset is in the Tower.

York. Upon thine honour, is he prisoner?
Buck. Upon mine honour, he is prisoner.

York. Then, Buckingham, I do dismiss my powers.
Soldiers, I thank you all; disperse yourselves;
Meet me to-morrow in Saint George's field,
You shall have pay, and everything you wish.
And let my sovereign, virtuous Henry,
Command my eldest son, nay, all my sons,
As pledges of my fealty and love,
I'll send them all as willing as I live;
Lands, goods, horse, armour, anything I have
Is his to use, so Somerset may die.

Buck. York, I commend this kind submission: We twain will go into his highness' tent.

bring?

York. To heave the traitor Somerset from hence;
And fight against that monstrous rebel Cade,
Who since I heard to be discomfited.

Enter IDEN, with CADE's head.

Iden. If one so rude, and of so mean condition, May pass into the presence of a king,

Lo, I present your grace a traitor's head,

The head of Cade, whom I in combat slew.

K. Hen. The head of Cade?-Great God, how just art thou!

O, let me view his visage being dead, That living wrought me such exceeding trouble. Tell me, my friend, art thou the man that slew him? Iden. I was, an 't like your majesty. K. Hen. How art thou call'd? and what is thy degree?

Iden. Alexander Iden, that 's my name;

A poor esquire of Kent, that loves his king.

Buck. So please it you, my lord, 't were not amiss He were created knight for his good service.

K. Hen. Iden, kneel down: [He kneels.] Rise up a knight.

We give thee for reward a thousand marks;
And will that thou henceforth attend on us.

Iden. May Iden live to merit such a bounty,
And never live but true unto his liege!

K. Hen. See, Buckingham! Somerset comes with the queen;

Go, bid her hide him quickly from the duke.

Enter QUEEN MARGARET and SOMERSET.

Q. Mar. For thousand Yorks he shall not hide his head, But boldly stand, and front him to his face.

York. How now! Is Somerset at liberty?
Then, York, unloose thy long-imprison'd thoughts,
And let thy tongue be equal with thy heart.
Shall I endure the sight of Somerset ?-
False king! why hast thou broken faith with me,
Knowing how hardly I can brook abuse?
King did I call thee? no, thou art not king;
Not fit to govern and rule multitudes,
Which dar'st not, no, nor canst not rule a traitor.
That head of thine doth not become a crown;
Thy hand is made to grasp a palmer's staff,
And not to grace an awful princely sceptre.
That gold must round engirt these brows of mine;
Whose smile and frown, like to Achilles' spear,
Is able with the change to kill and cure.
Here is a hand to hold a sceptre up,
And with the same to act controlling laws.
Give place; by Heaven, thou shalt rule no more
O'er him whom Heaven created for thy ruler.

Som. O monstrous traitor!-I arrest thee, York,
Of capital treason 'gainst the king and crown:
Obey, audacious traitor; kneel for grace.

York. Wouldst have me kneel? first let me ask of

these,a

a He probably points to his sons, who are waiting without or, it may be, to his troops.

War. Then, nobly, York; 't is for a

fight'st.

As I intend, Clifford, to thrive to-day,
It grieves my soul to leave thee unassail'd.

crown thou

[Exit.

Clif. What seest thou in me, York? why dost thou pause?

York. With thy brave bearing should I be in love, But that thou art so fast mine enemy.

Clif. Nor should thy prowess want praise and esteem, But that 't is shown ignobly, and in treason.

York. So let it help me now against thy sword,

As I in justice and true right express it!

Clif. My soul and body on the action both!York. A dreadful lay!-address thee instantly. [They fight, and CLIFFORD falls. Clif. La fin couronne les œuvres. [Dies. York. Thus war hath given thee peace, for thou art still.

Peace with his soul, Heaven, if it be thy will. [Exit. Enter Young CLIFFORD.

Y. Clif. Shame and confusion! all is on the rout;
Fear frames disorder, and disorder wounds
Where it should guard. O war, thou son of hell,
Whom angry Heavens do make their minister,
Throw in the frozen bosoms of our part

Hot coals of vengeance !-Let no soldier fly:
He that is truly dedicate to war

Hath no self-love; nor he that loves himself
Hath not essentially, but by circumstance,
The name of valour.-O, let the vile world end,
[Seeing his dead father.
And the premised flames of the last day
Knit earth and heaven together!
Now let the general trumpet blow his blast,
Particularities and petty sounds

To cease! Wast thou ordain'd, dear father,
To lose thy youth in peace, and to achieve
The silver livery of advised age,

And in thy reverence, and thy chair-days, thus
To die in ruffian battle?-Even at this sight,
My heart is turn'd to stone: and, while 't is mine
It shall be stony. York not our old men spares;
No more will I their babes: tears virginal
Shall be to me even as the dew to fire;
And beauty, that the tyrant oft reclaims,
Shall to my flaming wrath be oil and flax.
Henceforth I will not have to do with pity:
Meet I an infant of the house of York,
Into as many gobbets will I cut it,
As wild Medea young Absyrtus did:
In cruelty will I seek out my fame.
Come, thou new ruin of old Clifford's house;

day;

As did Æneas old Anchises bear,
So bear I thee upon my manly shoulders;
But then Æneas bare a living load,
Nothing so heavy as these woes of mine.

[Exit.

You have defended me from imminent death.
Well, lords, we have not got that which we have ·
'T is not enough our foes are this time fled,
Being opposites of such repairing nature.

York. I know our safety is to follow them;
For, as I hear, the king is fled to London,
To call a present court of parliament.
Let us pursue him, ere the writs go forth:
What says lord Warwick? shall we after them?
War. After them! nay, before them, if we can.
Now, by my hand, lords, 't was a glorious day:
Saint Alban's battle, won by famous York,
Shall be eterniz'd in all age to come.
Sound, drum and trumpets :-and to London all:
And more such days as these to us befall! [Ezeust
a Parts-parties-party.

THIS drama appears in the original folio collection under the title of The Third Part of Henry the Sixt, with the Death of the Duke of Yorke.' In 1595 was published The True Tragedie of Richard Duke of Yorke, and the Death of good King Henry the Sixt, with the whole Contention between the two Houses Lancaster and Yorke, as it was sundrie times acted by the Right Honourable the Earle of Pembrooke his Servants. Upon this drama is founded The Third Part of Henry VI.,' in the form in which we have received it as Shakspere's. We believe, as in the case of the two previous dramas, and of the Richard III.,' which is a continuation of the History, that to Shakspere belongs the original authorship. The schemes of York are successful, and he is at length in arms; but he still dissembles.

:

Shakspere has given us every light and shadow of the partisanship of chivalry in his delineation of the various characters in these two wonderful dramas of the Second and Third Parts of Henry VI.' Apart and isolated from all active agency in the quarrel stands out the remarkable creation of Henry. The poet, with his instinctive judgment, has given the king a much higher character than the chroniclers assign to him. Their relations leave little doubt upon our minds that his imbecility was very nearly allied to utter incapacity; and that the thin partition between weakness and idiocy was sometimes wholly removed. But Shakspere has never painted Henry under this aspect he has shown us a king with virtues unsuited to the age in which he lived; with talents unfitted for the station in which he moved; contemplative amidst friends and foes hurried along by a distempered energy; peaceful under circumstances that could have no issue but in appeals to arms; just in thought, but powerless to assert even his own sense of right amidst the contests of injustice which hemmed him in. The entire conception of the character of Henry, in connexion with the circumstances to which it was subjected, is to be found in the Parliament-scene of The Third Part of Henry VI.' This scene is copied from the Contention,' with scarcely the addition or alteration of a word. We may boldly affirm that none but Shakspere could have depicted with such marvellous truth the weakness, based upon a hatred of strife-the vacillation, not of imbecile cunning, but of clear-sighted candour-the assertion of power through the influence of habit, but of a power trembling even at its own authority-the glimmerings of courage utterly extinguished by the threats of " armed men," and proposing compro

mise even worse than war. It was weakness such as this which inevitably raised up the fiery partisans that the poet has so wonderfully depicted; the bloody Clifford-the "she-wolf of France"-the dissembling York the haughty Warwick-the voluptuous Edward— and, last and most terrible of all, he that best explains his own character, " I am myself alone.”

One by one the partisans that are thus marshalled by the poet in the Parliament-scene of London are swept away by the steady progress of that justice which rides over their violence and their subtlety. The hollow truce is broken. Margaret is ready to assail York in his castle; York is prepared for the field, having learned from the precocious sophist Richard how an “oath is of no moment." Now are let loose all the "dogs of war." The savage Clifford strikes down the innocent Rutland; the more savage Margaret dips her napkin in his blood. York perishes under the prolonged retribution that awaited the ambition that dallied with murder and rebellion. Clifford, to whom nothing is so odious as "harmful pity," falls in the field of Towton, where the son was arrayed against the father, and the father against the son; and the king, more "woebegone" than the unwilling victims of ambition, moralises upon the "happy life" of the "homely swain." The great actors of the tragedy are changed. Edward and Richard have become the leaders of the Yorkists, with Warwick, "the king-maker," to rest upon. Henry has fled to Scotland; Margaret to France. Then is unfolded another leaf of that Sibylline book. Edward is on the throne, careless of everything but self-gratification; despising his supporters, offending even his brothers. Warwick takes arms against him; Clarence deserts to Warwick; Richard alone remains faithful, sneering at his brother, and laughing in the concealment of his own motives for fidelity. Edward is a fugitive, and finally a captive; but Richard redeems him, and Clarence again cleaves to him. The second revolution is accomplished. The "king-maker" yields his "body to the earth" in the field of Barnet; Margaret and her son become captives in the plains near Tewksbury. Then comes the terrible hour to the unhappy queen-that hour which she foresaw not when she gave the "bloody napkin" to the wretched Yorkthat hour whose intensity of suffering reached its climax of expression in "You have no children." But Richard is fled,

"To make a bloody supper in the Tower."