dolph and Hastings, it is the man of the church who really decides to risk the encounter.

Such is the internal nature of the scene; it is a study in character. But in the meantime the plot is being advanced; and its effect as a whole, in relation to the plot, is to leave us with a deep impression of the ticklish situation of the rebel cause. Here we have Mowbray, who, though he is Lord Marshal, says practically nothing. The Archbishop, who formally opens the conference, naturally directs his attention to the Lord Marshal first; but he simply defers to the opinions of the others and is heard from no more till, at the end, he says, "Shall we draw our numbers and set on?" — a question. This, and the fact that the churchman virtually decides the military question, in the lack of agreement, show us the rebel plight. Having now considered the substance of the scene in detail, and seen its general function as a unit in the plot, we may note how deftly Shakespeare does all this. The solution of the crux will present itself when we see that it is engaged upon the point of character presented by the two opposite men, Bardolph and Hastings.

Opening the argument, Mowbray makes inquiry as to their present numbers and the prospect of reinforcement. To this Hastings offers the answer.

Hast. Our present numbers grow upon the file
To five and twenty thousand men of choice;
And our supplies live largely in the hope

Of great Northumberland, whose bosom burns

With an incensed fire of injuries.

Note the nature of Hastings' answer; they are five and twenty men "of choice." The number of men alone is not good enough for him; he must raise their value by looking at them as being more than ordinary men. And though Northumberland has so far disappointed them by not arriving, Hastings is careful to add that Northumberland's "bosom burns" with the fire of injuries received from the king their foe.

The character of Lord Bardolph at once asserts itself. He throws aside these mere hopeful expectations and sanguine points of view and brings it down to a matter of facts and figures as they actually stand here and now.

L. Bardolph. The question then, Lord Hastings, standeth thus;

Whether our present five and twenty thousand

May hold up head without Northumberland.

He is interested in what they may expect with their present five and twenty thousand (note this point of view). And in what they may do without the man who has, so far, not arrived, and who may therefore have gone back on them. He is not one to rely upon what may be in the "bosom" of any man; he wants performance and not promises. He wants to see the soldiers. He has virtually restated the question that Mowbray asked, seeing that Hastings is the kind to drift away from a plain

question of present facts. Hastings, in reply to this question as to whether they may hope to succeed without Northumberland, replies: Hast. With him we may.

Hastings is not the kind of man who would ever answer, Without him we may not. He shuts his eyes to facts. He is a man who will not get down to actual facts in present circumstances. Shakespeare is here bringing his character before us with stronger emphasis. At first he only indicated it in the deftest way, by having him speak of his men as "men of choice." We may expect to see this emphasis grow stronger, for Shakespeare is particular to make his points tacit.

Hastings' plain answer should have been No. Bardolph again brings him back to the case in hand.

Bardolph. Yea, marry, there's the point.
But if without him we be thought too feeble,
My judgement is, we should not step too far
Till we have had his assistance by the hand;
For in a theme so bloody-faced as this
Conjecture, expectation and surmise

Of aids uncertain should not be admitted.

There is a touch of sarcasm in the, "Yea, marry, there's the point!" It is the point which Hastings will not answer. His mind is one that cannot be made to get down to actual present facts. Bardolph speaks of using "judgement" as opposed to "conjecture, expectation and surmise." The Archbishop, seeing the force of this, agrees with Bardolph:

Archbishop. 'Tis very true, Lord Bardolph; for indeed It was young Hotspur's case at Shrewsbury.

Bardolph, now that the scholarly Archbishop has mentioned a precedent, put Hotspur's case in very strong terms a biting reflection on Hastings himself.

Bardolph. It was, my lord; who lined himself with hope, Eating the air on promise of supply,

Flattering himself in project of a power

Much smaller than the smallest of his thoughts:

And so, with great imagination

Proper to madmen, led his powers to death

And winking leap'd into destruction.

And now Hastings, seeing the rest against him, and feeling the sting of this way of putting things, replies weakly

Hastings. But, by your leave, it never yet did hurt

To lay down likelihoods and forms of hope.

This brings us to the "crux." It consists in Bardolph's emphatic reply to this view which Hastings will persist in.

Bardolph, disgusted, becomes somewhat sarcastic. He intimates that if their present outlook is so much a matter of hope as Hastings' unwillingness to look at facts would indicate then their plans are like a bud upon a tree in an early spring - - more likely to be frost-bitten than ever to come to fruit. But before he gives this touch of sarcasm, he denies Hastings statement directly: Yes, it does hurt.

If there is anything calculated to try Bardolph's patience it is this, "It never yet did

hurt." "Never yet" means in other cases heretofore, in general. Hastings seems utterly unable to get down to this actual case of theirs and take account of present facts. The never yet means nothing; it is simply a weak way of insisting without reason. And Bardolph, in replying, refuses to be led off into such general instances but insists still more strongly repeatedly -upon sticking to the subject. He says: Yes, it does hurt, if this business in hand right here and now, this particular quality of war- rebellion, this instant action we are engaged in, this cause actually on foot, lives so in hope, then it does hurt to indulge in vague surmises and delude our minds with "forms of hope." Or to put it in the words of the text:

L. Bard. Yes, if this present quality of war,
Indeed the instant action, a cause on foot,

Lives so in hope as in an early spring

We see th' appearing buds, which, to prove fruit
Hope give not so much warrant as despair

That frosts will bite them.

These are the very words of the First Folio, the original text of this particular passage. All editors have had to change words, some this word and some that, in the effort to twist it into some statement other than it is. But could there be a plainer, more specific reply, or one which better fits the case and hangs grammatically together with closer sense? It is all a case of following the argument and