fuper- ferviceable, finical rogue; one-trunk- inheriting flave; one that would't be a bawd in way of good service; and art nothing but the compofition of a knave, beggar, coward, pander, and the fon and heir of a mungril bitch; one whom I will beat into clam'rous whining, if thou deny 'ft the leaft fyllable of thy addition. Stew. Why, what a monftrous fellow art thou, thus to rail on one, that is neither known of thee, nor knows thee? Kent. What a brazen-fac'd varlet art thou, to deny thou know'ft me? is it two days ago, fince I tript up thy heels, and beat thee before the King? draw, you rogue; for tho' it be night, yet the moon fhines; I'll make a fop o'th' moonshine of you; you whorfon, cullionly, barber-monger, draw. [Drawing his fword. Stew. Away, I have nothing to do with thee. Kent. Draw, you rafcal; you come with letters against the King; and take Vanity, the Puppet's part, against the royalty of her father; draw, you rogue, or I'll fo carbonado your shanks draw, you rascal, come your ways. Stew. Help, ho! murther! help! Kent. Strike, you flave; ftand, rogue, ftand, you neat flave, ftrike. Stew. Help ho! murther! murther! [Beating him. Enter Edmund, Cornwall, Regan, Glo'fter, and Servants. Edm. How now, what's the matter? Part Kent. With you, goodman boy, if you please; come, I'll flesh ye; come on, young master. Glo. Weapons? arms? what's the matter here? Corn. Keep peace, upon your lives; he dies, that strikes again; what's the matter? Reg. The meffengers from our fifter and the King? your valour you cowardly rafcal! nature difclaims all fhare in thee: a tailor made thee. Corn. Thou art a strange fellow; a tailor make a man ? Kent. I, a tailor, Sir; a ftone-cutter, or a painter could not have made him fo ill, tho' they had been but two hours o'th' trade. Corn. Speak yet, how grew your quarrel? Stew. This ancient ruffian, Sir, whofe life I have spar'd at fuit of his grey beard Kent. Thou whorfon zed! thou unneceffary letter! my lord, if you will give me leave, I will tread this un bolted villain into mortar, and daub the wall of a jakes with him. Spare my grey beard? you wagtail!Corn. Peace, Sirrah! You beastly knave, know you no reverence? Kent. That fuch a flave as this fhou'd wear a fword, (8) Like rats, oft bite the holy Cords atwaine, Which are t'intrince, t'unloofe ;] Thus the firft Editors blunder'd this Paffage into unintelligible Nonfenfe. Mr. Pope fo far has difengag'd them, as to give us plain Sense; but by throwing out the Epithet boly, 'tis evident, he was not aware of the Poet's fine Meaning. I'll first establish and prove the Reading; then explain the Allufion. Thus the Poet gave it ; Like rats, oft bite the holy Cords in twain, Too 'intrinficate t'unloofe It means, inward, hidden; perplext; as a Knot, hard to be unravell'd; it is deriv'd from the Latin adverb intrinfecùs; from which the Italians have coin'd a very beautiful Phrase, intrinficarfi col uno, i. e. to grow intimate with, to wind one felf into another. And now to our Author's Senfe. Kent is rating the Steward, as a Parafite of Gonerill's; and fuppofes very justly, that he has fomented the Quarrel betwixt that Princess and her Father: in which Office, he compares him to a facrilegious Rat: and by a fine Metaphor, as Mr. Warburton obferved to me, ftiles the Union between Parents and Children the holy Cords. Bring oil to fire, fnow to their colder moods; Kent. No contraries hold more antipathy, Corn. Why dost thou call him knave? what is his fault? Kent. His countenance likes me not. Corn. No more, perchance, does mine, nor his, nor hers. Kent. Sir, 'tis my occupation to be plain; Than ftand on any fhoulder that I fee Corn. This is fome fellow, Who having been prais'd for bluntnefs, doth affect That ftretch their duties nicely. Kent. Sir, in good faith, in fincere verity, Under th' allowance of your grand afpect, Corn. What mean'ft by this? Kent. To go out of my dialect, which you difcommend fo much I know, Sir, I am no flatterer; he, that beguil'd you in a plain accent, was a plain knave; which for my part I will not be, though I should win your dif pleasure to intreat me to't. Corn. Corn. What was th' offence you gave him ? It pleas'd the King his mafter very lately Kent. None of these rogues But Ajax is their fool. Corn. Fetch forth the Stocks. and cowards, You ftubborn ancient knave, you rev'rend braggart, Kent. Sir, I am too old to learn: Call not your Stocks for me, I ferve the King; You shall do fmall refpect, fhew too bold malice Corn. Fetch forth the Stocks; As I have life and honour, there fhall he fit till noon. Reg. 'Till noon! till night, my lord, and all night too. Kent. Why, Madam, if I were your father's dog, You could not ufe me fo. Reg. Sir, being his knave, I will. [Stocks brought out. Corn. This is a fellow of the self-fame nature Our fifter speaks of. Come, bring away the Stocks. Glo. Let me befeech your Grace not to do fo; His fault is much, and the good King his master Will check him for❜t; your purpos'd low correction Is fuch, as basest and the meanest wretches For pilf'rings, and most common trefpaffes, Are punish'd with. The King must take it ill, That he, fo flightly valued in his messenger, Should have him thus reftrain'd. Corn. I'll answer that. Reg. My Sifter may receive it much more worse, To To have her Gentleman abus'd, affaulted, [Kent is put in the Stocks. Come, my lord, away. [Exeunt Regan and Cornwall. Glo. I'm forry for thee, friend; 'tis the Duke's pleasure, Whofe difpofition, all the world well knows, Will not be rubb'd nor ftop'd. I'll intreat for thee. Kent. Pray, do not, Sir. I've watch'd and travell'd hard; Some time I fhall fleep out, the rest I'll whistle: Glo. The Duke's to blame in this, 'twill be ill taken. [Exit. Kent. Good King, that must approve the common Saw, Thou out of heaven's benediction com'ft To the warm fun! Approach, thou beacon to this under-globe, may [Looking up to the moon. That by thy comfortable beams I Perufe this letter. Nothing almoft fees miracles, But mifery. I know, 'tis from Cordelia ; Who hath most fortunately been inform'd Of my obfcured courfe. I fhall find time From this enormous state, and seek to give Loffes their remedies. All weary and o'er-watch'd, Take vantage, heavy eyes, not to behold This fhameful lodging. Fortune, good night; fmile once more, turn thy wheel. [He fleeps. SCENE changes to a part of a Heath. Enter Edgar. Edg. And, by the happy hollow of a tree, 'VE heard my felf proclaim'd; Escap'd the hunt. No port is free, no place, Does not attend my taking. Whiles I may 'scape, |