proper, and obvious enough; or close at hand, and ready to be produced, in case any serious inquiry should be made for it; though the poet might seem, perhaps, to a severely critical mind, disposed to pursue his philosophical inquiry a little too curiously into the awful secrets of majesty, retired within itself, and pondering its own position;--openly searching what Lord Bacon reverently tells us, the Scriptures pronounce to be inscrutable, namely, _the hearts_ of _kings_, and audaciously laying bare those private passages, those confessions, and misgivings, and frailties, for which policy and reverence prescribe concealment, and which are supposed in the play, indeed, to be shrouded from the profane and vulgar eye, a circumstance which, of course, was expected to modify the impression. So, too, that profoundly philosophical suspicion, that a rose, or a violet, did actually smell, to a person occupying this sublime position, very much as it did to another; a suspicion which, in the mouth of a common man, would have been literally sufficient to 'make a star-chamber matter of'; and all that thorough-going analysis of the trick and pageant of majesty which follows it, would, of course, come only as a graceful concession, from the mouth of that genuine piece of royalty, who contrives to hide so much of the poet's own 'sovereignty of nature,' under the mantle of his free and princely humours, the brave and gentle hero of Agincourt. 'Though _I_ speak it to you,' he says, talking in the disguise of a 'private,' '_I think the King is but a man as I am_, the violet smells to him as it doth to me; all his senses, _have but human conditions_. His ceremonies laid by, in his nakedness, he appears but a man; and though his affections are higher mounted than ours, yet, when they stoop, they stoop with the like wing. When he sees reason of fears, as we do, his fears, out of doubt, be of the same relish as ours are'; and in the same scene, thus the royal philosopher versifies, and soliloquises on the same delicate question. 'And what have _kings_ that "_privates_" have not, too, save ceremony,--save general ceremony? And what art thou, thou _idol ceremony?_--_What is_ thy _soul_ of _adoration_?' A grave question, for a man of an inquiring habit of mind, in those times: let us see how a Poet can answer it. 'Art thou aught else but _place, degree_ and _form_, Creating awe and fear in _other men?_ Wherein, thou _art less happy, being feared_, _Than they in fearing_?