At the court of Edward’s grandson and successor, Richard II., the ordinary official joculators were doubtless to be found; but we are unacquainted with the name of any especial or favourite individual. They formed part of a very gay and extravagant household, as long as Richard could maintain such an establishment. The very idea of the outlay of this rollicking court even frightened the Commons into a respectful remonstrance; but the King reminded them that, as long as he did not ask them to pay for his pleasures, their interference was only an impertinence. The epoch was undoubtedly one of vast extravagance. It was the period when ladies in England first wore trains,--a fashion which elicited a biting satire from a merry divine. He entitled his work, ‘Contra caudas dominarum,’ _Against the tails of the ladies_, and it was productive of more mirth at court than a whole year’s wit of a whole household of jesters. What little gaiety there was at the court of Henry IV. was to be found at Eltham; but even there it was of a very indifferent quality. If kings could not be merry but by the aid of a jester, no monarch more needed a joculator than the once handsome Bolingbroke, whose face became so ugly by eruptions, that even a jester could hardly have looked at it with a smile. Henry, too, was one of those men who are satisfied in their own minds that success in an enterprise is warrant of the approbation of Heaven! He required some of the rough homilies of the court fool to drive him out of a belief which he did not surrender till he ceased to enjoy his usual triumphs. His son kept court apart, and it may fairly be said, that if there was ever Prince or King at whose court we might have expected to meet a more than ordinary number of the licensed mirth-makers to royalty, it was that of Harry of Monmouth, who has been poetically, popularly, and historically represented to us as, from his youth upwards, addicted to associate with dissipated and facetious companions; and who, according to tradition, thought as little of smiting the heart of his father as he did of striking his father’s representative, solemn Judge Gascoyne. But all these matters are proved to have been myths, and the son of Bonligbroke neither drank deep with Falstaff, nor fooled it with the philosophic fool Pistol, nor sang staves with Bardolph, nor bandied nonsense with Poins. The Boar’s Head, Eastcheap, is a picture, but it represents no historical fact. The dying father was not robbed of his crown by his son; and they who look upon the tomb of Gascoyne in Harewood Church, Yorkshire, waste all their sympathy, if they give any there to the sleeping judge, on the ground of his having been insulted by a lawless prince. All this, however, will continue to be believed, for Shakespeare, who has set Mark Antony down to whist, has said it; and Rapin, dull, pompous, and obstinate, has declared that Prince Henry’s court was the receptacle of libertines, debauchees,