30 HISTORY AND TRADITIONS OF 



Against invasion or the hand of war, 



This happy breed of men, this little world, 



This precious stone, set in a silver sea, 



Which serves it in the office of a wall, 



Or as a moat defensive to a house 



Against the envy of less happier lands 



This blessed plot this earth this realm this England !' " 



" Chaucer, the noble Lancaster, and Wickliffe what a magnifi- 

 cent trio for a united biography! and I wonder the task is not under- 

 taken. What a powerful and characteristic speech is that of 

 Ilichard II. to the admonition of the aged nobleman! 



' And thou a lunatic lean-witted fool, 

 Presuming on an ague's privilege, 

 Dar'st with thy frozen admonition 

 Make pale our cheek ; chasing the royal blood 

 W T ith fury from his native residence. 

 Now by my seat's right royal majesty, 

 Wert thou not brother to great Edward's son, 

 This tongue, that runs so roundly in thy head, 

 Should run thy head from thy unreverend shoulders.' 



Ilichard, whose fate was so mingled with the ' Lancaster/ comes 

 vividly before me, whilst standing on the ground once occupied by the 

 mansion of John of Gaunt, whose foot has passed again and again 

 over the very spot on which we are standing. His character is 

 drawn with extraordinary skill, and contains some of the very finest 

 of Shakspeare's poetry. Here was nursed " his thrice noble cousin 

 Harry Bolingbroke ;" and, spite of his weaknesses, we cannot help 

 sympathising with the dethroned monarch. How full of beautiful 

 sentiment is Richard's speech on landing, when on his return from 

 Ireland 



Aum. ' How brooks your grace the air ? 

 K. Rich. Needs must I like it well I weep for joy 

 To stand upon my kingdom once again. 

 Dear earth! 1 do salute thee with my hand : 

 As a long parted mother with her child 

 Plays fondly with her tears, and smiles in meeting; 

 So weeping, smiling, do 1 greet thee, earth ! J 



There is, perhaps, nothing more natural or more touching than 

 these lines in the compass of our language. The passage, however, 

 where he addresses his friends, after being told of the success of 

 Bolingbroke, is, without exception, the most splendid production of 

 * the Bard,' full of power, stern truth, and magnificent imagery : 



* Nothing can we call our own but death, 

 And that small model of the barren earth, 

 Which serves as paste and cover to our bones. 

 For heaven's sake, let us sit upon the ground, 

 And tell sad stories of the death of kings 

 Some haunted by the ghosts they have deposed 

 Some poison'd by their wives some sleeping kill'd 



