Muff be their school-mafters: fhut up your doors; And what they may incense him to, being apt Corn. Shut up your doors, my lord, 'tis a wild night. My Regan counfels well: come out o' th' ftorm. [Exeunt. SCENE, a Heath. A ftorm is heard, with thunder and lightning. Enter Kent, and a Gentleman, feverally. W KENT. HO's there, befides foul weather? Gent. One minded like the weather, moft unquietly. Kent. I know you; where's the King? Gent. Contending with the fretful elements; Bids the wind blow the earth into the fea; Or fwell the curled waters 'bove the main, That things might change, or cease: tears his white hair; This night, wherein the cub-drawn bear would couch, Keep their furr dry; unbonnetted he runs, And bids what will, take all. Kent. But who is with him? Gent. None but the Fool, who labours to out-jeft His heart-ftruck injuries. Kent. Sir, I do know you, And dare, upon the warrant of my note, Commend a dear thing to you. There's divifion Although as yet the face of it is cover'd With mutual cunning) 'twixt Albany and Cornwall: If on my I am a gentleman of blood and breeding, Gent. I'll talk further with you. Kent. No, do not: you, For confirmation that I am much more That yet you do not know. Fie on this ftorm! (13) Who have, as who ́have net,' - The eight fubfequer Verfes were degraded by Mr. Pope, as unintelligible, and to no purpose. For my part, I fee nothing in them but what is very eafie to be understood; and the Lines feem abfolutely neceffary to clear up the Motives, upon which France prepar'd his Invasion: nor without them is the Senfe of the Context complear. C 3 Gent Gent. Give me your hand, have you no more to say? Kent. Few words, but, to effect, more than all yet ; That, when we have found the King, (in which you take That way, I this :) he that firft lights on him, Halloo the other. [Exeunt feverally. Storm fill. Enter Lear and Fool. Lear. Blow winds, and crack your cheeks; rage, blow! You cataracts, and hurricanoes, fpout 'Till you have drencht our steeples, drown'd the cocks t You fulph'rous and thought-executing fires, Vaunt-couriers of oak-cleaving thunder-bolts, Singe my white head. And thou all-shaking thunder, Strike flat the thick rotundity o' th' world; Crack nature's mould, all germins fpill at once (14) That make ingrateful man. Fool. O nuncle, court-holy-water in a dry houfe is better than the rain-waters out o' door. Good nuncle, in, and ask thy daughters bleffing: here's a night, that pities neither wife men nor fools. Lear. Rumble thy belly full, fpit fire, spout rain; Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire, are my daughters; I tax not you, you elements, with unkindness; I never gave you kingdom, call'd you children; You owe me no fubfcription. Then let fall (14) Crack Natures Mould, all Germains Spill at once.] Thys all the Editions have given us this Passage, and Mr. Pope has explain'd Germains, to mean relations, or kindred Elements. Then it must have been germanes (from the Latin Adjective, germanus ;) a Word more than once used by our Author, tho always falfe fpelt by his Editors. But the Poer means here, "Crack Nature's Mould, and fpill all the Seeds of Matter, that "are hoarded within it." To retrieve which Sense, we must write Germ ins; (a Subftantive deriv'd from Germen, moeg: as the old Gloffaries expound it ;) And to put this Emendation beyond all Doubt, I'll produce one Paffage, where our Author not only uses the fame Thought again, but the Word that afcertains my Explication. In Winter's Tale ; Let Nature crush the Sides o' th' Earth together, Your Your horrible pleasure ; here I ftand, your flave; has a The codpiece that will house, before the head has any, The head and he shall lowfe; fo beggars marry many. That man that makes his toe, what he his heart should make, Shall of a corn cry woe, and turn his fleep to wake. For there was never yet fair woman, but she made mouths in a glass. To them, Enter Kent. Lear. No, I will be the pattern of all patience, I will fay nothing. Kent: Who's there? Fool. Marry here's grace, and a cod-piece, that's a wife man and a fool. Kent. Alas, Sir, are you here? things, that love night, Love not fuch nights as these : the wrathful skies Gallow the very wand'rers of the dark, And make them keep their Caves: fince I was man, Lear. Let the great Gods, That keep this dreadful pudder o'er our heads, That haft within thee undivulged crimes, Unwhipt of juftice. Hide thee, thou bloody hand, Haft practis'd on man's life! Clofe pent-up guilts, C 4 Thefe Thefe dreadful fummoners grace. I am a man, Kent. Alack, bare-headed? Gracious my lord, hard by here is a hovel; you, Deny'd me to come in) return, and force Lear. My wits begin to turn. Come on, my boy. How doft, my boy? art cold? That can make vile things precious. Come, your hovel; Feol. He that has an a little tynie wit, With beigh ho, the wind and the rain; Lear. True, my good boy: come, bring us to this hovel. Fool. 'Tis a brave night to cool a curtezan. When priests are more in words than matter, No 'Squire in debt, ner no poor Knight; Come to great confufion : Then comes the time, who lives to feet, [Exit. |