Upon which verdict, I, their judge, condemn them.

Cou. O perjured beauty! more corrupted judge!

When, to the great star-chamber o'er our heads,

The universal sessions calls to count

This packing evil, we both shall tremble for it.

Edw. What says my fair love? is she resolute?

Cou. Resolute to be dissolved; and, therefore, this,

Keep but thy word, great king, and I am thine.

Stand where thou dost, I'll part a little from
thee,

And see how I will yield me to thy hands.
[Turning suddenly upon him, and showing
two daggers.
Here by my side do hang my wedding knives:
Take thou the one, and with it kill thy

queen,

And learn by me to find her where she lies;
And with the other I'll despatch my love,
Which now lies fast asleep within my heart:
When they are gone, then I'll consent to
love.

Stir not, lascivious king, to hinder me;
My resolution is more nimbler far,
Than thy prevention can be in my rescue,
And, if thou stir, I strike; therefore stand
still,

And hear the choice that I will put thee to:
Either swear to leave thy most unholy suit,
And never henceforth to solicit me;

The remarks of Ulrici upon this portion of the play are conceived upon his usual principle of connecting the action and characterization of Shakspere's dramas with the development of a high moral, or rather Christian, principle. He is sometimes carried too far by his theory; but there is something far more satisfying in the criticism of his school than in the husks of antiquarianism with which we have been too long familiar: -"We see, in the first two acts, how the powerful king (who in his rude greatness, in his reckless iron energy, reminds us of the delineations of character in the elder 'King John,' 'Henry VI.,' and 'Richard III.') sinks down into the slough of common life before the virtue and faithfulness of a powerless woman; how he, suddenly enchained by an unworthy passion, abandons his great plans in order to write verses and spin intrigues. All human greatness, power, and splendour fall of themselves, if not planted upon the soil of genuine morality: the highest energies of mankind are not proof against the attacks of sin, when they are directed against the weak unguarded side this is the substance of the view of life here taken, and it forms the basis of the first Part. But true energy is enabled again to elevate itself! it strengthens itself from the virtues of others, which by God's appointment are placed in opposition to it. With this faith, and with the highest, most masterly, deeply penetrating, and even sub

Or else, by heaven [kneeling], this sharp- lime picture of the far greater energy of a pointed knife

woman, who, in order to save her own honour

Shall stain thy earth with that which thou and that of her royal master, is ready to

wouldst stain,

My poor chaste blood. Swear, Edward, swear,
Or I will strike, and die, before thee here.
Edw. Even by that Power I swear, that
gives me now

The power to be ashamed of myself,
I never mean to part my lips again
In any word that tends to such a suit.
Arise, true English lady; whom our isle
May better boast of, than e'er Roman might
Of her, whose ransack'd treasury hath task'd
The vain endeavour of so many pens:
Arise; and be my fault thy honour's fame,
Which after ages shall enrich thee with.
I am awaked from this idle dream."

commit self-murder, the second act closes. This forms the transition to the following second Part, which shows us the true heroic greatness, acquired through self-conquest, not only in the king, but also in his justly celebrated son. For even the prince has also gone through the same school: he proves this, towards the end of the second act, by his quick silent obedience to the order of his father, although directly opposed to his wishes."

In the third act we are at once in the heart of war; we have the French camp, where John with his court hears of the

arrival of Edward's fleet, and the discom- | dramatist has worked out this circumstance fiture of his own. The descriptions of these with remarkable spirit; it is, we think, the events are, as we think, tedious and over- best business scene in the play-not overstrained; at any rate they are undramatic. wrought, but simple, and therefore most The writer is endeavouring to put out his effective*. power, where the highest power would be wasted. There is less ambition, but much more force, in the following speech of a poor Frenchman who is flying before the invaders :

"Fly, countrymen, and citizens of France ! Sweet-flow'ring peace, the root of happy life, Is quite abandon'd and expulsed the land : Instead of whom, ransack-constraining war Sits like to ravens on your houses' tops; Slaughter and mischief walk within your streets,

And, unrestrain'd, make havoc as they pass:
The form whereof even now myself beheld,
Now, upon this fair mountain, whence I came.
For, so far as I did direct mine eyes,
I might perceive five cities all on fire,
Corn-fields, and vineyards, burning like an

oven:

And, as the leaking vapour in the wind
Turned aside, I likewise might discern
The poor inhabitants, escaped the flame,
Fall numberless upon the soldiers' pikes :
Three ways these dreadful ministers of wrath
Do tread the measures of their tragic march;
Upon the right hand comes the conquering
king,

Upon the left his hot unbridled son,

And in the midst our nation's glittering host;
All which, though distant, yet conspire in

one

To leave a desolation where they come."

Before the battle of Cressy we have an interview between the rival kings. The debate is not managed with any very great dignity on either side. Upon the retiring of John and his followers, the Prince of Wales is solemnly armed upon the field :—

"And, Ned, because this battle is the first That ever yet thou fought'st in pitched field, As ancient custom is of martialists, To dub thee with the type of chivalry, In solemn manner we will give thee arms." The famous incident of the battle of Cressy, that of the king refusing to send succour to his gallant son, is told by Froissart. The

There is a fine scene where the Prince of Wales is surrounded by the French army before the batttle of Poitiers; but it is something too prolonged and rhetorical; it has not the Shaksperean rush which belongs to such a situation. One specimen will suffice, where the prince exhorts his companion in arms, old Audley, to fly from the danger :

"Now, Audley, sound those silver wings of

thine,

And let those milk-white messengers of time
Show thy time's learning in this dangerous
time :

Thyself art bruised and bent with many broils,
And stratagems forepast with iron pens
Are texed in thine honourable face;
Thou art a married man in this distress,
But danger woos me as a blushing maid;
Teach me an answer to this perilous time.

Aud. To die is all as common as to live;
The one in choice, the other holds in chace;
For, from the instant we begin to live,
We do pursue and hunt the time to die:
First bud we, then we blow, and after seed;
Then presently we fall; and, as a shade
Follows the body, so we follow death.
If then we hunt for death, why do we fear it!
Or, if we fear it, why do we follow it?
If we do fear, with fear we do but aid
The thing we fear to seize on us the sooner:
If we fear not, then no resolved proffer
Can overthrow the limit of our fate:
For, whether ripe or rotten, drop we shall,
As we do draw the lottery of our doom.

Pri. Ah, good old man, a thousand thou-
sand armours

These words of thine have buckled on my
back:

Ah, what an idiot hast thou made of life,
To seek the thing it fears! and how disgraced
The imperial victory of murdering death!
Since all the lives his conquering arrows
strike

Seek him, and he not them, to shame his

glory.

* Of the historical portions of Edward III.' we shall have to give full extracts in the proposed volume of this series- The Dramatic History of England.'

I will not give a penny for a life,
Nor half a halfpenny to shun grim death;
Since for to live is but to seek to die,
And dying but beginning of new life:
Let come the hour when he that rules it will!
To live, or die, I hold indifferent."

The victory of Poitiers ensues; but, previous to the knowledge of this triumph, the celebrated scene of the surrender of Calais is dramatized. It appears to us very inferior, in the higher requisites of poetry, to the exquisite narrative of Froissart.

The concluding scene, in which the Prince of Wales offers up to the Most High a prayer and thanksgiving, is imbued with a patriotic spirit, but it has not the depth and discrimination of Shakspere's patriotism :

"Now, father, this petition Edward makes: To Thee [kneels], whose grace hath been his

strongest shield,

That, as thy pleasure chose me for the man
To be the instrument to show thy power,
So thou wilt grant, that many princes more,
Bred and brought up within that little isle,
May still be famous for like victories !—
And, for my part, the bloody scars I bear,
The weary nights that I have watch'd in field,
The dangerous conflicts I have often had,
The fearful menaces were proffer'd me,

of being a very youthful performance of any man. Its great fault is tameness; the author does not rise with the elevation of his subject. To judge of its inferiority to the matured power of Shakspere, dealing with a somewhat similar theme, it should be compared with the 'Henry V.' The question then should be asked, Will the possible difference of age account for this difference of power? We say possible, for we have no evidence that the 'Edward III.' was produced earlier than 1595, nor have we evidence that the 'Henry V.,' in some shape, was produced later. Ulrici considers that this play forms an essential introduction to that series of plays commencing with 'Richard II.' If Shakspere wrote that wonderful series upon a plan which necessarily included 'Henry V.,' we think he would advisedly have omitted 'Edward III.;' for the main subject of the conquest of France would be included in each play, The concluding observation of Ulrici is "Truly, if this piece, as the English critics assert, is not Shakspere's own, it is a shame for them that they have done nothing to recover from forgetfulness the name of this second Shakspere, this twin-brother of their great poet." Resting this opinion upon one play only, the expres

The heat, and cold, and what else might dis- sion "twin-brother" has somewhat an un

please,

I wish were now redoubled twenty-fold;
So that hereafter ages, when they read
The painful traffic of my tender youth,
Might thereby be inflamed with such resolve,

As not the territories of France alone,
But likewise Spain, Turkey, and what coun-
tries else

That justly would provoke fair England's ire,
Might, at their presence, tremble, and retire!"

We have thus presented to our readers some of the striking passages of this play. It does not, in our opinion, bear the marks

necessary strength. Admitting, which we do not, that the best scenes of this play display the same poetical power, though somewhat immature, which is found in Shakspere's historical plays, there is one thing wanting to make the writer a twin-brother," which is found in all those productions. Where is the comedy of 'Edward III.' The heroic of Shakspere's histories might be capable of imitation; but the genius which created Faulconbridge, and Cade, and Pistol, and Fluellen (Falstaff is out of the question) could not be approached.

CHAPTER V.

THE MERRY DEVIL OF EDMONTON.

'THE Merry Deuill of Edmonton: As it hath been sundry times acted by his Maiesties Servants, at the Globe on the Bankeside,' was originally published in 1608. Kirkman, a bookseller, first affixed Shakspere's name to it in his catalogue. In 'The Companion to the Playhouse,' published in 1764, it is stated, upon the authority of a laborious antiquary, Thomas Coxeter, who died in 1747, to have been written by Michael Drayton; and in some posthumous papers of another diligent inquirer into literary history, Oldys, the same assertion is advanced. Charles Lamb, who speaks of this play with a warmth of admiration which is probably carried a little too far-and which, indeed, may in some degree be attributed to his familiarity with the quiet rural scenery of Enfield, Waltham, Cheshunt, and Edmonton, in which places the story is laid-says, "I wish it could be ascertained that Michael Drayton was the author of this piece it would add a worthy appendage to the renown of that panegyrist of my native earth; who has gone over her soil (in his Polyolbion) with the fidelity of a herald, and the painful love of a son; who has not left a rivulet (so narrow that it may be stepped over) without honourable mention; and has animated hills and streams with life and passion above the dreams of old mythology." "The Merry Devil' was undoubtedly a play of great popularity. We find, from the account-books of the Revels at Court, that it was acted before the King in the same year, 1618, with 'Twelfth Night' and 'A Winter's Tale.' In 1616, Ben Jonson, in his Prologue to 'The Devil is an Ass,' thus addresses his au

dience :

"If you'll come

:

Its popularity seems to have lasted much longer: for it is mentioned by Edmund Gayton, in 1654, in his 'Notes on Don Quixote.'+ The belief that the play was Shakspere's has never taken any root in England. Some of the recent German critics, however, adopt it as his without any hesitation. Tieck has translated it; and he says that it undoubtedly is by Shakspere, and must have been written about 1600. It has much of the tone, he thinks, of The Merry Wives of Windsor,' and "mine host of the George" and "mine host of the Garter" are alike. It is surprising that Tieck does not see that the one character is, in a great degree, an imitation of the other. Shakspere, in the abundance of his riches, is not a poet who repeats himself. Horn declares that Shakspere's authorship of 'The Merry Devil' is incontestable. Ulrici admits the bare possibility of its being a very youthful work of Shakspere's. The great merit, on the contrary, of the best scenes of this play consists in their perfect finish. There is nothing careless about them; nothing that betrays the very young adventurer; the writer is a master of his art to the extent of his power. But that is not Shakspere's power.

Fuller, in his 'Worthies,' thus records the merits of Peter Fabel, the hero of this play: "I shall probably offend the gravity of some to insert, and certainly curiosity of others to omit, him. Some make him a friar, others a lay gentleman, all a conceited person, who, with his merry devices, deceived the Devil, who by grace may be resisted, not deceived¦ by wit. If a grave bishop in his sermon, speaking of Brute's coming into this land, said it was but a bruit, I hope I may say without offence that this Fabel was but a fable, supposed to live in the reign of King Henry the Sixth." His fame is more confidingly recorded in the Prologue to 'The Merry Devil :

+ Collier's Annals of the Stage,' vol. iii. p. 417.