Enter Lear, with Cordelia dead in his arms. Lear. Howl, howl, howl, howl,--O you are men offtone, Had I your tongues and eyes, I'd use them fo, That heaven's vault fhould crack: fhe's gone for ever! Kent. Is this the promis'd end? Lear. This feather ftirs, the lives; if it be fo, It is a chance which does redeem all forrows, That ever I have felt. Kent. O my good mafter! Lear. Pr'ythee, away- Edg. 'Tis noble Kent, your friend. [Kneeling. Lear. A plague upon you, murd'rous traitors all! What is't thou fay'ft?' her voice was ever soft, Lear. Did I not, fellow ? I've feen the d ay, with my good biting faulchion Lear. Are you not Kent? Kent. The fame; your fervant Kent; Where is your fervant Caius? Lear. 'Twas a good fellow, I can tell you that, (62) He'd ftrike, and quickly too:-he's dead and rotten. (62) He's a good fellow, I can tell you that, He'll frike and quickly too: he's dead and rotten.] We have feen Lear mad; but, never, a stark fool till this moment; to tell us, that - a dead and rotten man will ftrike quickly. But it was a stupidity of the editors, and not chargeable on the poet. Kent. Kent. No, my good Lord, I am the very man,- Kent. That, from your firft of difference and decay, Have follow'd your fad fteps Lear. You're welcome hither. Kent. Nor no man elfe;--all's cheerlefs, dark, and dead: Your eldest daughters have fore-done themselves, And defp'rately are dead. Lear. Ay, fo I think. Alb. He knows not what he says; and vain is it, That we present us to him. Edg. Very bootlefs. Enter a Messenger. Mef. Edmund is dead, my Lord. Alb. That's but a trifle. You Lords and noble friends, know our intent; To him our abfolute power: to you, your rights, [To Edgar. With boot, and fuch addition as your honours Have more tan erited. All friends fhall tafte The wages their virtue, and all foes r The cup of their defervings: O fee, fee Lear. And my poor fool is hang'd: no, no, no life. Why should a dog, a horse, a rat have life, And thou no breath at all? thou'lt come no more, never Thank you, Sir; Do you fee this? look on her, look on her lips, (63) Look there, look there [He dies. Edg. (63) Do you fee this? look on her, look on her lips; Look there, look there.] Our poet has taken the liberty in the catastrophe of this play to depart from the Chronicles; in which Lear is faid to be reinftated in his throne by Cordelia, and to have reign'd upwards of two years after his reftoration. He might have done this for two reafons. Either, to heighten the compaffion towards the poor old King: or to vary from another, but most execrable, dramatic performance Edg. He faints; my Lord, Kent. Break heart, I pr'ythee, break! Edg. performance upon this ftory: which I certainly believe to have preceded our author's piece, and which none of our ftage- hiftorians appear to have had any knowledge of. The edition, which I have of it, bears this title. The true chronicle hiftory of King LEIR, and his three daught rs, Gonorill, Ragan, and Cordella. As it hath bene divers and jundry times lately acted. London; printed by Simon Stafford for John Wright, and are to be fold at bis fhop at Chriftes Church dore next Newgate Market. 1605. That Shakespeare, however, may stand acquitted from the leaft fufpicion of plagiarism, in the opinion of his readers, I'll fubjoin a small taste of this other anonymous author's abilities both in conduct and diction. Leir, with one Perillus his friend, embarks for France to try what reception he fhould find from his daughter Cordella. When they come afhore, neither of them has a rag of money: and they are forc'd to give their cloaks to the mariners to pay for their paffage. This, no doubt, our playwright intended for a mastery in diftrefs: as he must think it a notable fetch of invention to bring the King and Queen of France difguis'd like rufticks, travelling a long way on foot into the woods, with a basket of provifions, only that they may have the cafual opportunity of relieving Leir and Perillus from being starv'd. Now for a little specimen of ftyle, and dignity of thinking. Cordella, now Queen of France, and in her own palace, comes in and makes this pathetick foliloquy. I have been over negligent to day In going to the temple of my god, To render thanks for all his benefits, Which he miraculously hath beftow'd on me; In raising me out of my mean eftate, When as I was devoid of worldly friends; So Edg. Look up, my Lord. Kent. Vex not his ghoft: O, let him pass! he hates him, That would upon the rack of this rough world Stretch him out longer. Edg. He is gone, indeed. Kent. The wonder is, he hath endur'd so long: Alb. Bear them from hence, our present business [Dies. Alb. The weight of this fad time we must obey, (64) Speak what we feel, not what we ought to fay. The oldeft hath borne moft; we, that are young, Shall never fee fo much, nor live so long. [Exeunt with a dead March. So he but to forgive me once would please, and me, [Exit. I will to church, and pray unto my Saviour, That, e'er I die, I may obtain his favour. This is, furely, fuch po.try as one might hammer out, Stans pede in uno; or, as our author fays, it is the right butter-woman's rank "to market: and a man might verfify you so eight years together, "dinners, and fuppers, and fleeping hours excepted."-----Again, Shakespeare was too well vers'd in Holing fhead not to know, that King Lear reign'd above 800 years before the period of chriftianity. The gode his King talks of are Jupiter, Juno, Apollo; and not any deities more modern than his own time. Licentious as he was in anachronifms, he would have judg'd it an unpardonable abfurdity to have made a Briton of Cordella's time talk of her Saviour. And, his not being trapt into fuch ridiculous flips of ignorance, feems a plain proof to me that he stole neither from his predeceffors, nor contemporaries of the English theatre, both which abounded in them. (64) Alb. The weight of this fad time, &c.] This fpeech from the authority of the old 4to is rightly plac'd to Albany: in the edition by the players it is given to Edgar, by whom, I doubt not, it was of custom spoken. And the cafe was this: He who play'd Edgar, being a more favourite actor, than he who perfonated Albany; in fpight of decorum, it was thought proper he should have the laft word. ΤΙΜΟΝ |