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ance has been destroyed; with no moral sense, he can be a thief-he can betray his friends on occasion. Yet in Falstaff there are the two qualities which make him acceptable to the Prince, and cause us to have a kind of ashamed affection for him. Firstly, there is his gaiety; he is never dull, he is never cast down. This is partly the result of his self-indulgent nature; proof of incompetency and exposure of fraud, which would mean torture to any other man, have no effect upon Falstaff. He lives only for pleasure, and realises that the opinions of other people have no tangible. value. He does not mind his companions thinking him a coward. What does it matter to him, provided he can keep their society by other means?

(And the other quality is his willingness to fall in with the wishes or the pursuits of his companions. This, again, is an outcome of his self-indulgence. Such a man's

character is amorphous, able to be swayed this way and that, willing to take up the impressions of the moment. In a word, he is like a pet house-dog, always at the beck and call of animal pleasure or of other people, his wit taking the place of the beauty of form which causes the beast to be a favourite.

The secret of the fun and amusement caused by Falstaff is hard to explain; it probably is dependent upon the absolute humourousness of the man. Thanks to his character and his personal appearance, nothing he does is serious-he is in himself one vast joke. His wit and ready powers of repartee make more comic than ever situations intrinsically amusing.

Perhaps his greatest facetiousness lies in his power of assuming a comical seriousness at a moment's notice. It is this which renders his personification of the King in Act II., Sc. Iv., so much superior to that of the Prince.

Such phrases as "a goodly portly man and a corpulent.

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of a cheerful look, a pleasing and a most noble carriage" are an admirable caricature of the elevated language of preaching. Another example of this is to be comie found in his words of exhortation to the hostess to "love thy husband, look to thy servants, cherish thy guests, spoken at a moment when what was expected of him an apology.

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THE INTERPRETATION.

I. In every play by a great dramatist there are at least some lessons which we may read. More especially is this the case with a play, such as Henry IV., which has to do with actual facts; for by the aid of History, which is the foundation of the story, we can obtain a sure idea as to exactly what the author means to portray, whether in respect of motives or consequences. Thus, in Shakespeare's handling of the character of Henry Bolingbroke, in accordance in the main with historical reality, we can see clearly illustrated the truth:

"Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.

II. Some German critics of Shakespeare have seen an underlying principle in all his historic dramas. In Henry IV. it is, according to them, the working out of the retribution of History. Bolingbroke usurps the throne by violence and dissimulation, and is punished by continual rebellions. and the undutiful behaviour of his son. In support of this theory they quote such lines as these:

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.

Professor Dowden says: "There is a pathetic power in *the figure of this weary, ambitious man, who can take no rest until the rest of death comes to him."

III However, it is perhaps elsewhere that the chief lesson of the play is to be found. We have seen how the action centres round the figure of Prince Henry, and depends upon the gradual development of his nature, as he abandons the life of dissipation to assume the proper responsibilities of his station. It is therefore to the portrayal of the Prince that we must look to find the most important moral, and this can be done with more confidence, as it has been often supposed that the Henry V. of drama represents in some measure Shakespeare's ideal man.

In what respect then is he to be admired? It is because he has what is termed, for want of a better name, "character," that which an old philosopher has termed "the best posses

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sion in the world." For while he is a man of action, at the same time he possesses greatness of spirit and singleness of heart. By these attributes he stands out distinct from the other personalities of the play. The King and Worcester are energetic and prudent, but are also double-dealing and selfish; Falstaff, false and sensual, coruscates away the realities of life"; Hotspur, though active and honourable after a fashion, is vindictive and small-minded. The Prince, on every occasion where he is brought into contact with the others, in spite of his superficial foibles, is shown by his innate "character" to be their superior.

IV. It must be remembered, however, that, though Shakespeare probably designedly contrasted Prince Henry with others in the play, yet he did not do so as a moral teacher, but as a dramatist who desired to represent nature in an artistic manner; and therefore we cannot expect to find any one character ideally perfect. Nevertheless, if we consider the play as a whole to be a presentment of stirring life, we can see, as we should see if we actually shared in the scenes depicted, a clear differentiation between good and evil, made by a writer than whom no one probably has had greater power of comprehending and expressing the distinction.

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SIR MICHAEL, a friend to the Archbishop of York.

POINS.

GADSHILL.

PETO.

BARDOLPH..

LADY PERCY, wife to Hotspur, and sister to Mortimer.

Lady Mortimer, daughter to Glendower, and wife to Mortimer.
MISTRESS QUICKLY, hostess of a tavern in Eastcheap.

Lords, Officers, Sheriff, Vintner, Chamberlain, Drawers, two Carriers,
Travellers, and Attendants.

SCENE: England.

ACT I

SCENE I. London. The Palace.

Enter KING HENRY, LORD JOHN OF LANCASTER, the EARL OF
WESTMORELAND, SIR WALTER BLUNT, and others.

King. So shaken as we are, so wan with care,
Find we a time for frighted peace to pant,
And breathe short-winded accents of new broils
To be commenced in stronds afar remote.
No more the thirsty entrance of this soil

Shall daub her lips with her own children's blood;
No more shall trenching war channel her fields,
Nor bruise her flowerets with the armed hoofs
Of hostile paces: those opposed eyes,
Which, like the meteors of a troubled heaven,
All of one nature, of one substance bred,
Did lately meet in the intestine shock
And furious close of civil butchery,

Shall now, in mutual well-beseeming ranks,
March all one way and be no more opposed
Against acquaintance, kindred and allies:
The edge of war, like an ill-sheathed knife,
No more shall cut his master. Therefore, friends,

As far as to the sepulchre of Christ,

Whose soldier now, under whose blessed cross
We are impressed and engaged to fight,

Forthwith a power of English shall we levy ;
Whose arms were moulded in their mothers' womb

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