Reg. Our troops fet forth to morrow: stay with us: The ways are dangerous.

Stew. I may not, Madam;

My lady charg'd my duty in this bufinefs.

Reg. Why fhould she write to Edmund ? might not

you

Tranfport her purposes by word? Belike,
Something- I know not what-

much

Let me unfeal the letter.

Stew. Madam, I had rather

-I'll love thee

Reg. I know, your lady do's not love her husband: I'm fure of that; and, at her late being here, She gave ftrange ciliads, and most speaking looks To noble Edmund. I know, you're of her bofom. Stew. I, Madam ?

Reg. Ifpeak in understanding: you are; I know't; Therefore, I do advise you, take this note.

My lord is dead; Edmund and I have talk'd,
And more convenient is he for my hand,
Than for your lady's: you may gather more:
If you do find him, pray you, give him this;
And when your Miftrefs hears thus much from you,
pray, defire her call her wisdom to her. So farewel.
you do chance to hear of that blind traitor,
Preferment falls on him that cuts him off.

I

If

Stew. 'Would I could meet him, Madam, I fhould

What

fhew

party I do follow. Reg. Fare thee well.

[Exeunt.

SCENE, the Country, near Dover.

Glo.

Enter Glo'fter, and Edgar as a Peasant.

W

Hen fhall come to th' top of that fame hill? Edg. You do climb up it now. Look, how we labour.

Glo. Methinks, the ground is even.
Edg. Horrible steep.

Hark,

Hark, do you hear the fea?

Glo. No, truly.

Edg. Why then your other fenfes grow imperfect By your eyes' anguish.

Glo. So may it be, indeed.

Methinks, thy voice is alter'd; and thou speak'ft
In better phrase and matter than thou didft.

Edg. You're much deceiv'd: in nothing am 1 chang'd, But in my garments.

Glo. Sure, you're better spoken.

Edg. Come on, Sir, here's the place

How fearful

And dizzy 'tis, to caft one's eyes fo low!

ftand ftill.'

The crows and choughs, that wing the midway air,
Shew fcarce fo grofs as beetles. Half way down
Hangs one, that gathers Samphire; dreadful trade!
Methinks, he seems no bigger than his head.
The fisher-men, that walk upon the beach,
Appear like mice; and yond tall anchoring bark,
Diminish'd to her cock; her cock, a buoy
Almoft too fmall for fight. The murmuring furge,
That on th' unnumbred idle pebbles chafes,
Cannot be heard fo high. I'll look no more,
Left my brain turn, and the deficient fight,
Topple down headlong.

Glo. Set me, where you ftand.

Edg. Give me your hand: you're now within a foot Of th' extream verge: for all below the moon

Would I not leap upright.

Glo. Let go my hand:

Here, friend,'s another purfe, in it a Jewel

Well worth a poor man's taking. Fairies, and Gods,'

Profper it with thee! Go thou further off,

Bid me farewel, and let me hear thee going.
Edg. Now fare ye well, good Sir.

Glo. With all my heart.

[Seems to go

Edg. Why do I trifle thus with his despair?

'Tis done to cure it.

Glo. O you mighty Gods!

This world I do renounce; and in your fights

Shake

Shake patiently my great affliction off:
If I could bear it longer, and not fall
To quarrel with your great oppofeless Wills,
My fnuff and loathed part of nature fhould
Burn it felf out. If Edgar live, O bless him!

Now, fellow, fare thee well. [He leaps, and falls along.
Edg. Good Sir, farewel.

And yet I know not how Conceit may rob

The treasury of life, when life it felf

Yields to the theft.

Had he been where he thought,

By this, had thought been past.

-Alive or dead?

Hoa, you, hear you, friend! Sir! Sir! fpeak!

Thus might he pafs, indeed

What are you, Sir?

Glo. Away, and let me die.

-yet he revives.

Edg. Had'ft thou been aught but Gofs'mer, feathers, air,

So many fathom down precipitating,

Thou'd'ft fhiver'd like an egg: but thou doft breathe,
Haft heavy substance, bleed'st not; fpeak, art found?
Ten mafts at each make not the altitude,
Which thou haft perpendicularly fall'n.
Thy life's a miracle. Speak yet again.
Glo. But have I fall'n, or no?

Edg. From the dread fummit of this chalky bourn! Look up a-height, the fhrill-gorg'd Lark fo far Cannot be feen or heard: do but look

Glo. Alack, I have no eyes.

Is wretchedness depriv'd that benefit,

up.

To end it felf by death? 'twas yet fome comfort,
When mifery could beguile the tyrant's rage,
And fruftrate his proud will.

Edg. Give me your arm.

Up, fo-how is't? feel you your legs? you ftand.
Glo. Too well, too well.

Edg. This is above all strangeness.

Upon the crown o'th' cliff, what thing was that,

Which parted from you?

Glo. A poor unfortunate beggar.

Edg. As I ftood here, below, methought, his eyes

Were

Were two full moons; he had a thousand nofes,
Horns welk'd, and wav'd like the enridged fea:
It was fome fiend. Therefore, thou happy father,
Think, that the cleareft gods, who make them honours
Of men's impoffibilities, have preferv'd thee.

Glo. I do remember now: henceforth I'll bear
Affliction, 'till it do cry out it felf,

Enough, enough, and die. That thing you speak of,
I took it for a man; often 'twould say,
The fiend, the fiend-

-he led me to that place.

Edg. Bear free and patient thoughts.

Enter Lear, dreft madly with flowers.

But who comes here?

The fafer fenfe will ne'er accommodate
His mafter thus.

Lear. No, they cannot touch me for coyning: I am the King himself.

Edg. O thou fide-piercing fight!

Lear. Nature's above art in that refpect. There's your prefs-mony. (25) That fellow handles his bow like a crow-keeper: draw me a clothier's yard. Look, look, a mouse! Peace, peace;-this piece of toafted cheese will do't there's my gauntlet, I'll prove it on a giant. Bring up the brown bills. O, well flown, Barb! (26) i'th' clout, i'th' clout: hewgh.Give the word. Edg. Sweet marjoram.

44

(26) That Fellow handles his Bow like a Cowkeeper. ] Thus Mr. Pope in his laft Edition; but, I am afraid, I betray'd him into the Error by an abfurd Conjecture of my own, in my SHAKESPEARE restored. 'Tis certain we must read Crowkeeper here; and, it feems, in feveral Counties to this Day, they call a ftuff'd Figure, representing a Man, and arm'd with a Bow and Arrow, (fet up to fright the Crows, and other Birds of Prey, from the Fruit and Corn;) a Crowkeeper; as well as a Scare-crow.

(26) 0 well flown Bird,] Lear is here raving of Archery, and hooting at Buts, as is plain by the Words th' Clout, that is, the white Mark they fet up and aim at: hence the Phrafe, to bit the White. So that We muft certainly read, O well-flown, Barb! i. e. the barbed, or bearded Arrow, Mr. Warburton:

Lear.

Lear. Ha! Gonerill! hah! Regan! they flatter'd me like a dog, and told me, I had white hairs in my beard, ere the black ones were there. To fay ay, and no, to every thing that I faid - Ay, and no, too was no good divinity. When the rain came to wet me once, and the wind to make me chatter; when the thunder would not peace at my bidding; there I found 'em, there I fmelt 'em out. Go to, they are not men o' their words; they told me I was every thing: 'tis a lie, I am not agueproof.

་

Glo. The trick of that voice I do well remember : Is't not the King?

Lear. Ay, every inch a King.

When I do ftare, fee, how the fubject quakes. I pardon that man's life. What was the caufe? Adultery thou shalt not die; die for adultery? no, the wren goes to't, and the fmall gilded flie does letcher in my fight. Let copulation thrive: for Glo'fter's bastardfon was kinder to his father, than my daughters got 'tween the lawful fheets. To't, luxury, pell-mell; for I lack foldiers. Behold yond fimpering Dame, whofe face 'tween her forks prefages fnow; that minces virtue, and does. fhake the head to hear of pleasure's name. The fitchew, nor the foyled horfe, goes to't with a more riotous appetite down from the wafte they are centaurs, though women all above: but to the girdle do the Gods inherit, beneath is all the fiends. There's hell, there's darkness, there is the fulphurous pit, burning, fcalding, ftench, confumption: fie, fie, fie; pah, pah; give me an ounce of civet, good apothecary, to fweeten my imagination! there's mony for thee.

Glo. O, let me kifs that hand.

Lear. Let me wipe it firft, it smells of mortality. Glo. O ruin'd piece of nature! this great world Shall fo wear out to nought. Do'st thou know me?

Lear. I remember thine eyes well enough: doft thou fquiny at me? no, do thy worst, blind Cupid; I'll not love. Read thou this challenge, mark but the penning of it.

Glo