Queen.  Stay, yet look back with me unto the Tower;
     Pity, you ancient stones, those tender babes,
     Whom envy hath immured within your walls;
     Rough cradle for such little pretty ones,
     Rude, rugged nurse, old sullen play-fellow,
     For tender princes!  The other passage is the account of their
      death by Tyrrel: 

   Dighton and Forrest, whom I did suborn
     To do this piece of ruthless butchery,
     Albeit they were flesh’d villains, bloody dogs,—­
     Wept like to children in their death’s sad story: 
     O thus! quoth Dighton, lay the gentle babes;
     Thus, thus, quoth Forrest, girdling one another
     Within their innocent alabaster arms;
     Their lips were four red roses on a stalk,
     And in that summer beauty kissed each other;
     A book of prayers on their pillow lay,
     Which once, quoth Forrest, almost changed my mind: 
     But oh the devil!—­there the villain stopped;
     When Dighton thus told on—­we smothered
     The most replenished sweet work of nature,
     That from the prime creation ere she framed.

These are some of those wonderful bursts of feeling, done to the life, to the very height of fancy and nature, which our Shakespeare alone could give.  We do not insist on the repetition of these last passages as proper for the stage:  we should indeed be loath to trust them in the mouth of almost any actor:  but we should wish them to be retained in preference at least to the fantoccini exhibition of the young princes, Edward and York, bandying childish wit with their uncle.

HENRY VIII

This play contains little action or violence of passion, yet it has considerable interest of a more mild and thoughtful cast, and some of the most striking passages in the author’s works.  The character of Queen Katherine is the most perfect delineation of matronly dignity, sweetness, and resignation, that can be conceived.  Her appeals to the protection of the king, her remonstrances to the cardinals, her conversations with her women, show a noble and generous spirit accompanied with the utmost gentleness of nature.  What can be more affecting than her answer to Campeius and Wolsey, who come to visit her as pretended friends.

     —­’Nay, forsooth, my friends,
     They that must weigh out my afflictions,
     They that my trust must grow to, live not here;
     They are, as all my comforts are, far hence,
     In mine own country, lords.’

Dr. Johnson observes of this play, that ’the meek sorrows and virtuous distress of Katherine have furnished some scenes, which may be justly numbered among the greatest efforts of tragedy.  But the genius of Shakespeare comes in and goes out with Katherine.  Every other part may be easily conceived and easily written.’  This is easily said; but with all due deference to so great a reputed authority