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Whilst I was big in clamour, came there a man,
Who having seen me in my worst estate,
Shunn'd my abhorr'd society; but then, finding
Who 'twas that so endur'd, with his strong arms
He fasten’d on my neck, and bellow'd out
As he'd burst heaven; threw him on my father;
Told the most piteous tale of Lear and him,
That ever ear receiv'd: which in recounting
His grief grew puissant, and the strings of life
Began to crack? Twice then the trumpet sounded,
And there I left him tranc'd,
.11b. But who was this?
Edg. Kent, sir, the banish’d Kent; who in dis-

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Edg. Here comes Kent, sir.

...Alb. O! it is he.
The time will not allow the compliment,
Which very manners urges.

Kent. - I am come
To bid my o; and master ayel good night;
Is he not here

JAlb. Great thing of us forgot!— Speak, Edmund, where's the king? and where's

Cordelia?— See'st thou this object, Kent? [The bodies of Goneril and Regan are brought in.

Kent. Alack, why thus?

Edm. Yet Edmund was belov'd: The one the other poison'd for my sake, And after slew herself.

.Alb. Even so.-Cover their faces.

Edm. I pant for life:–Some good I mean to do, Despite of mine own nature. Quickly send,+ Be brief in it, to the castle; for my writ Is on the life of Lear, and on Cordelia: Nay, send in time.

.Alb. Run, run, O, run—

Edg. To jo. my lord?—Who has the office?


Thy token of reprieve.

Edm. Well thought on; take my sword, Give it the captain.

all. Haste thee, for thy life. [Erit Edgar.

Edm. He hath commission from thy wife and

ne To hang Cordelia in the prison, and

(1) For ever, (2) Destroyed herself. (3) The end of the world, or the horrible circumstances preceding it.

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I might have sav'd her; now she's gone for ever!—
Cordelia, Cordelia, stay a little. Ha!
What is't thou say'st?—Her voice was ever soft,
Gentle, and low; an excellent thing in woman:-
I kill'd the slave that was a hanging thee.
% 'Tis true, my lords, he did.
Lear. Did I not, fellow *
I have seen the day, with my good biting faulchion
I would have made them skip: I am old now,
And these same crosses spoil me.—Who are you?
Mine eyes are none o'the best:-I'll tell you straight.
Kent. If fortune brag of two she lov’d and hated,
One of them we behold.
Lear. This is a dull sight: Are you not Kent?
Kent. The same;
Your servant Kent: Where is yourservant Caius?
Lear. He's a jo. fellow, I can tell you that:
He'll strike, and quickly too:-He's dead and

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With boot, and such addition? as your honours
Have more than merited.—All friends shall taste
The wages of their virtue, and all foes
The cup of their deservings—0, see, see!
Lear. And my poor fool” is hang'd : No, no, no
Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life,
And thou no breath at all? O, thou wilt come no
Never, never, never, never, never!
Pray you, undo this button: Thank you, sir.—
Do you see this? Look on her, look, her lips,
Look there, look there!— He dies.
Edg. He faints!—My lord, my lord,
Kent. Break, heart; I pr’ythee, break
Edg. Look up, my lord.
Kent. Wex not his ghost:-O, let him pass!" he
hates him,
That would upon the rack of this tough world
Stretch him out longer.
Edg. O, he is gone, indeed.
Kent. The wonder is, he hath endur'd so long:
He but usurp'd his life.
.Alb. Bear them from hence.—Our present busi-

ness Is general wo. Friends of my soul, you twain [To Kent and Edgar. Rule in this realm, and the gor'd state sustain. Kent. I have a journey, sir, shortly to go; My master calls, and I must not say, no. Alb. The weight of this sad time we must obey ; i. what 3. feel, not what we ought to say. he oldest hath borne most: we, that are young, Shall never see so much, nor live so long. [Exeunt, with a dead march.

The tragedy of Lear is deservedly celebrated among the dramas of Shakspeare. There is perhaps no play which keeps the attention so strongly fixed: which so much agitates our passions, and interests our curiosity. The artful involutions of distinct interests, the striking oppositions of contrary characters, the sudden changes of fortune, and the quick succession of events, fill the mind with a o tumult of indignation, pity, and hope. There is no scene which does not contribute to the aggravation of the distress or conduct to the action, and scarce a line which does not conduce to the progress of the scene. So powerful is the current of the poet's imagination, that the mind, which once ventures within it, is hurried irresistibly along.

On the seeming improbability of Lear's conduct, it may be observed, that he is represented according to histories at that time vulgarly received as true. And, perhaps, if we turn our thoughts upon the barbarity and ignorance of the age to which this story is referred, it will appear not so unlikely as while we estimate Lear's manners by our own. Such preference of one daughter to another, or resignation of dominion on such conditions, would be yet credible, if told of a petty prince of Guinea or Madagascar. Shakspeare, indeed, by the mention of his earls and dukes, has given us the idea of times more civilized, and of life regulated by softer manners; and the truth is, that though he so

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nicely discriminates, and so minutely describes the characters of men, he commonly neglects and confounds the characters of ages, by mingling customs ancient and modern, English and foreign. My learned friend Mr. Warton,” who has in The Adventurer very minutely criticised this play, remarks, that the instances of cruelty are too savage and shocking, and that the intervention of Edmund destroys the simplicity of the story. These objections may, I think, be answered by repeating, that the o; of the daughters is an historical fact, to which the poet has added little, having only drawn it into a series by dialogue and action. But I am not able to apologize with equal plausibility for the extrusion of Gloster's eyes, which seems an act too horrid to be endured in dramatic exhibition, and such as must always compel the mind to relieve its distress by incredulity. Yet let it be remembered that our author well knew what would please the audience for which he wrote. The injury done by Edmund to the simplicity of the action is abundantly recompensed by the addition of variety, by the art with which he is made to co-operate with the chief design, and the opportunity which he gives the poet of combining perfidy with perfidy, and connecting the wicked son wit the wicked daughters, to impress this important moral, that villany is never at a stop, that crimes lead to crimes, and at last terminate in ruin. But though this moral be incidentally enforced, Shakspeare has suffered the virtue of Cordelia to perish in a just cause, contrary to the natural ideas of justice, to the hope of the reader, and what is yet more strange, to the faith of chronicles. Yet this conduct is justified by The Spectator, who blames Tate for giving Cordelia success and happiness in his alteration, and declares, that in his opinion, the tragedy has lost half its beauty. Dennis has remarked, whether justly or not, that, to secure the favourable reception of Cato, the town was poisoned with much false and abominable criticism, and that endeavours had been used to discredit and decry poetical justice. A play in which the wicked prosper, and the virtuous miscarry, may doubtless be good, because it is a . representation of the common events of human life: but since all reasonable beings naturally love justice, I cannot easily be persuaded, that the observation of justice makes a play worse; or that, if other excellencies are equal, the audience will not always rise better pleased from the final triumph of so. virtue. n the present case the public has decided. Cordelia, from the time of Tate, has always retired with victory and felicity. And, if my sensations could add anything to the general suffrage, I might relate, I was many years ago so shocked by Cordelia's death, that I know not whether I ever endured to read again the last scenes of the play, till I undertook to revise them as an editor. There is another controversy among the critics concerning this play. It is disputed whether the redominant image in Lear's disordered mind be the |. of his kingdom or the cruelty of his daughters. Mr. Murphy, a very judicious critic, has evinced by induction of particular passages, that the cruelty of his daughters is the primary source of his distress, and that the loss of royalty affects him only as a secondary and subordinate evil. He observes, with great justness, that Lear would move our compassion but little, did we not rather con. sider the injured father than the degraded king.

(4) Die. (5) Dr. Joseph Warton.

The story of this play, except the episode of Edmund, which is derived, I think, from Sidney, is taken originally from Geoffry of Monmouth, whom Hollinshed generally copied; but immediately from an old historical bal My reason for believing that the play was posterior to the ballad, rather than the ballad to the Play: is, that the ballad has nothing of Sh s nocturnal tempest, which is too striking to have been omitted, and

that it follows the chronicle; it has the rudiments of the play, but none of its am : i hinted madness, but did not array it in cumstances. The writer of the ballad added something to the history, which is a proof that he would have added more, if more had occurred to his mind; and more must have occurred if he had seen Shak

s peare. Johnson.

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