By heaven, I'll hate him everlastingly,
That bids me be of comfort any more.”
Act iii. sc. 3. Bolingbroke's speech:—
“Noble lord,
Go to the rude ribs of that ancient castle,” &c.
Observe the fine struggle of a haughty sense of power and ambition in Bolingbroke with the necessity for dissimulation.
Ib. sc. 4. See here the skill and judgment of our poet in giving reality and individual life, by the introduction of accidents in his historic plays, and thereby making them dramas, and not histories. How beautiful an islet of repose—a melancholy repose, indeed—is this scene with the Gardener and his Servant. And how truly affecting and realising is the incident of the very horse Barbary, in the scene with the Groom in the last act!—
“Groom. I was a poor groom of thy stable, King,
When thou wert King; who, travelling towards York,
With much ado, at length have gotten leave