e mee dying life, his helpefull hand
Sent mee to sea and kept mee safe on land.
Ist not a quarrell then to seeke butts owne?

_Ga_. Oh, pray, sir--

_Jou_. When all the talents of oppression
Of usurers, lawyers and my creditors
Had fangd upon my wife and family,
Hee gave mee dying life, his helpfull hand
Sent mee to sea and kept mee safe on land.
Ist not a quarrell then to seeke but's owne?

_Ga_. Good sir--

_Jou_. Come in, sir, where I will pay all that you can demand:
Noe other quarrell, sir, shall passe your hand.

_Ga_. If every [one] should pay as well as you
The world were good, wee should have bankrupts few.

_Jac_. I'm of your mind for that. [_Exeunt_.

We now come to a play (leaves 161-185), without title, and wanting some
leaves at the end, on the subject of Richard the Second. I think with
Mr. Halliwell-Phillipps, who printed eleven copies of this piece, that
it is anterior to Shakespeare's play. There is less extravagance of
language than in most of the plays belonging to that early date (circ.
1593?); and the blank verse, though it is monotonous enough, has perhaps
rather more variety than we should expect to find. Much of the play is
taken up with _Greene_ and _Baggott_; but the playwright has chiefly
exerted himself in representing the murder of _Woodstock_ at Calais.
Before the murder, _Woodstock_ falls asleep, and there appears to him
the ghost of the _Black Prince_:

... Oh I am nought but ayre:
Had I the vigour of my former strength
When thou beheldst me fight at _Cressy_ feild,
Wher hand to hand I tooke King _John_ of _France_
And his bould sonns my captive prisoners,
Ide shake these stiff supporters of thy bed
And dragg thee from this dull securyty.
Oh yett for pittye wake; prevent thy doome;
Thy blood upon my sonne will surely come:
For which, deere brother _Woodstocke_, haste and fly,
Prevent his ruein and thy tragedy. [_Exit Ghoste_.

Undisturbed by this appeal, _Woodstock_ slumbers on. Then enters the
ghost of _Edward the Third_. His speech is worthy of Robert Greene:--

Sleepst thou so soundly and pale death so nye?
_Thomas_ of _Woodstocke_, wake my sone and fly.
Thy wrongs have roused thy royall fathers ghost,
And from his quiat grave king _Edwards_ come
To guard thy innocent life, my princely sonne.
Behould me heere, sometyme