Gon. No more; 'tis foolish. Alb. Wisdom and goodness to the vile feem vile; Moft barb'rous, moft degenerate, have you madded. Gon. Milk-liver'd man!" That bear'ft a cheek for blows, a head for wrongs; Thine honour, from thy fuffering: that not know'ft, (42) Ere they have done their mischief. Where's thy drum? Alb. See thyfelf, devil: Proper deformity feems not in the fiend Gon. O vain fool! Alb. Thou chang'd, and felf-converted thing! For fhame, (43) And Seneca in his Trojan Captives. Quæ tenera cæfo virga de trunco ftetit, Par ipfa matri And more inftances I might have produced from Rutgurfius, in his Varia Lection. 1. 4. c. 16. (42) -that not know'ft, Fools do thefe villains pity,] This I have retriev'd from the first Quarto. It feems first to have been retrench'd by the players, for brevity's Lake: but, befides that the lines are fine, they admirably display the taunting, termagant difpofition of Gonerill, and paint out her contempt of her husband's mild pacifick spirit. (43) Thou chang'd, and felf-converted thing!] This reply of Albany to his imperious wife was likewife retrench'd; but ought not for the future to be loft to our author.. Be-monfter not thy feature. Were't my fitness Thy flesh and bones.Howe'er thou art a fiend, Gon. Marry, your manhood now! Enter Meffenger. Mef. Oh, my good Lord, the Duke of Cornwall's dead, Slain by his fervant, going to put out The other eye of Glofter. Alb. Glo'fter's eyes! Mef. A fervant, that he bred, thrill'd with remorfe, Oppos'd against the act; bending his fword To his great mafter: who, thereat enrag'd, Alb. This fhews you are above, You Juftices, that these our nether crimes Mef. Both, both, my Lord. This letter, madam, craves a fpeedy answer: 'Tis from your fifter. Gon. One way, I like this well; But being widow, and my Glo'fter with her, Upon my hateful life. Another way, The news is not fo tart. I'll read, and answer. [Exit. Alb. Where was his fon, when they did take his eyes? Mef. Come with my Lady hither. Alb. He's not here. Mef. No, my good Lord, I met him back again. Alb. Knows he the wickedness? Mef. Ay, my good Lord, 'twas he inform'd against him, And quit the houfe of purpofe, that their punishment Might have the freer courfe. Alb. Glofter, I live To thank thee for the love thou fhew't the King, And And to revenge thine eyes. Come hither, friend, Tell me, what more thou know'it. Kent. T SCENE, Dover. Enter Kent, and a Gentleman. [Exeunt. HE King of France fo fuddenly gone back! Gent. Something he left imperfect in the ftate, Gent. Ay, Sir, fhe took 'em, read 'em in my presence; And now and then an ample tear trill'd down Her delicate cheek: it feem'd, she was a Queen Sought to be King o'er her. Kent. O, then it mov'd her. Gent. But not to rage. Patience and forrow ftrove Which fhould exprefs her goodlieft; you have seen Were (44)ber fmiles and tears Were like a better day.] Mr. Pope, who thought fit to restore this scene from the old 4to, tacitly funk this paffage upon us, because he did not understand it. Indeed, it is corrupt; and he might have done himself fome honour in attempting the cure; but rhyme and criticism, he has convinc'd us, do not always center in the fame perfon. My friend Mr. Warburton with very happy fagacity ftruck out the emendation, which I have inferted in the text. And in confir mation of it I muft obferve, that it is very familiar with our poet, in the defcription of perfons, to allude to the feasons of the year. To give a few inftances; Much Ado about Nothing. Defpight his nice fence and his active practice, Rich. 2d. My Queen to France, from whence, fet forth in pomp, Sent back, like Hallowmas, or fhorteft day, Were like a wetter May. Thofe happiest smiles, If all could fo become it. Kent. Made the no verbal queftion? Gent. Yes, once, or twice, the heav'd the name of Father Pantingly forth, as if it preft her heart. Cry'd, fifters! fifters !-Shame of Ladies! fifters ! The holy water from her heavenly eyes; And, clamour-motion'd, then away fhe ftarted (45) Kent. It is the stars, The ftars above us, govern our conditions: Kent. Was this before the King return'd Timon of Athens; She whom the fpittle-houfe and ulc'rous fores Hamlet; -O rofe of May! Dear maid! kind fifter! &c. (45) And clamour-moiften'd,] This paffage, again, Mr. Pope funk upon us; and for the fame reafon, I fuppofe. Mr. Warburton dif cover'd likewife, that this was corrupt: for tho' clamour (as he obferves) may diftort the mouth, it is not wont to moiften the eyes. But clamour-motioned conveys a very beautiful idea of grief in Cordelia, and exactly in character. She bore her grief hitherto, fays the relater, in filence; but being no longer able to contain it, and wanting to vent it in groans and cries, fhe flies away and retires to her clofet to deal with it in private. This he finely calls, clamour-motion'd; or provok'd to a loud expreffion of her forrow, which drives her from company !-It is not impoffible, but Shakespeare might have form'd this fine picture of Cordelia's agony from holy writ, in the conduct of Jofeph; who, being no longer able to reftrain the vehemence of his affection, commanded all his retinue from his prefence; and then wept aloud, and discover'd himself to his brethren, Gent. Gent. No, fince. Kent. Well, Sir; the poor diftreffed Lear's in town; Who fometimes, in his better tune, remembers What we are come about; and by no means Gent. Why, good Sir? Kent. A fov'reign fhame fo bows him; his unkindnefs, That ftript her from his benediction, turn'd her To foreign cafualties, gave her dear rights To his dog-hearted daughters; Thefe things fting him Gent. Alack, poor gentleman! Kent. Of Albany's, and Cornwall's pow'rs you heard Gent. 'Tis fo, they are a-foot. [not ? Kent. Well, Sir, I'll bring you to our mafter Lear,. And leave you to attend him. Some dear caufe Will in concealment rap me up awhile: When I am known aright, you fhall not grieve Lending me this acquaintance. Pray, along with me. Cor. A SCENE, a Camp. Enter Cordelia, Phyfician, and Soldiers. [Exeunt Lack, 'tis he; why, he was met even now As mad as the vext fea; singing aloud; Crown'd with rank fumiterr, and furrow-weeds, (46) With (46) Crown'd with rank fenitar ;] There is no fuch herb, or weed, that I can find, of English growth; tho' all the copies agree in the corruption. I dare fay, I have reftor'd its right name; and we meet with it again in our author's Henry V. and partly in the fame company as we have it here; -her fallow leas The darnel, hemlock, and rank fumitory Do root upon. For this weed is call'd both fumitory and fumiterr, nearer to the French derivation fume-terre; which the Latin fhopmen term fumaria. It is the fame, which by Pliny (from Diofcorides and the other Greek phyficians) is named waves: because the juice of it has the effect, |