You fhall get it by running: fa, fa, fa, fa.

[Exit.

Gent. A fight moft pitiful in the meanest wretch,

Paft fpeaking of in a King. Thou haft one daughter, Who redeems nature from the general curfe

Which twain have brought her to.

Edg. Hail, gentle Sir.

Gent. Sir, fpeed you: what's your will?

Edg. Do you hear ought, Sir, of a battle toward ? Gent. Moft fure, and vulgar: every one hears that, Which can distinguish found.

Edg. But by your favour, How near's the other army?

Gent. Near, and on fpeedy foot: the main defcry Stands on the hourly thought.

Edg. I thank you, Sir; that's all.

Gent. Though that the Queen on special cause is here, Her army is mov'd on.

Edg. I thank you, Sir.

[Exit.

Glo. You ever gentle gods, take my breath from me;

Let not my worfer spirit tempt me again

To die before you please.

Edg. Well pray you, father.

Glo. Now, good Sir, what are you?

Edg. A moft poor man, made tame to fortune's blows, Who, by the art of known and feeling forrows,

Am pregnant to good pity. Give me your hand,
I'll lead you to fome biding.

Glo. Hearty thanks;

The bounty and the benizon of heav'n

To boot, and boot!

Enter Steward.

Stew. A proclaim'd prize! moft happy! That eyeless head of thine was firft fram'd flesh, To raife my fortunes. Old unhappy traitor, Briefly thyfelf remember: the fword is out, That muft deftroy thee.

Glo. Let thy friendly hand

Put ftrength enough to't.

Stew. Wherefore, bold peasant,

Dar'ft

Dar'ft thou fupport a publifh'd traitor? hence,
Left that th' infection of his fortune take
Like hold on thee. Let go his arm.

Edg. Chill not let go, Zir, without vurther 'cafion.
Stew. Let go, flave, or thou dy'st.

Edg. Good gentleman, go your gate, and let poor volk pafs and 'chud ha' been zwagger'd out of my life, 'twould not ha' been zo long as 'tis by a vort-night. Nay, come not near th' old man: keep out, che vor'ye, or ice try whether your coftard or my bat be the harder; chill be plain with you.

Stew. Out, dunghill!

Edg. Chill pick your teeth, Zir: come, no matter vor your foyns. [Edgar knocks him down." Stew. Slave, thou haft flain me: villain, take my purfe; If ever thou wilt thrive, bury my body,

And give the letters, which thou find'st about me,
To Edmund Earl of Glo'fter: feek him out

Upon the English party, Oh, untimely death! [Dies.
Edg. I know thee well, a ferviceable villain;
As duteous to the vices of thy mistress,

As badnefs would defire.

Glo. What, is he dead?

Edg. Sit you down, father: reft you.

Let's fee these pockets; the letters, that he speaks of,
May be my friends: he's dead; I'm only forry,
He had no other death's-man. Let us fee

By your leave, gentle wax-and manners blame us not:
To know our enemies minds, we rip their hearts;
Their papers are more lawful.

Reads the Letter.

ET our reciprocal vows be remembred. You have many

and place will be fruitfully offer'd. There is nothing done, if he return the conqueror. Then am I the prifoner, and his bed my goal; from the loathed warmth whereof deliver me, and fupply the place for your labour.

Your (wife, fo I would fay) affectionate
Servant, Gonerill.

Oh,

Oh, undiftinguifh'd space of woman's will! (52)
A plot upon her virtuous husband's life,

And the exchange my brother. Here, i' th' fands
Thee I'll rake up, the poft unfanctified

Of murd'rous letchers: and in the mature time,
With this ungracious paper ftrike the fight
Of the death practis'd Duke: for him 'tis well,
That of thy death and business I can tell.

Glo. The King is mad; how ftiff is my vile fenfe, That I ftand up, and have ingenious feeling Of my huge forrows! better I were diftract, So fhould my thoughts be fever'd from my griefs; [Drum afar off. And woes, by wrong imaginations, lofe The knowledge of themselves.

Edg. Give me your hand :

Far off, methinks, I hear the beaten drum.

Come, father, I'll bestow you with a friend. [Exeunt.'

SCENE changes to a Chamber.

Enter Cordelia, Kent, and Phyfician.

Cor. O, thou good Kent, how fhall I live and work To match thy goodness? life will be too short, And ev'ry meafure fail me.

(52) Ob, undiftinguifh'd space of woman's will!] This is the reading of the firft Folio, which Mr. Pope very unhappily degrades, and fubftitutes, wit, the mistaken reading of the 1ft Quarto. What idea he form'd to himself of the undiftinguish'd space of a woman's wit, I can't tell; I am quite at a lofs to underftand any meaning in it. But the other reading gives us, as Mr. Warburton obferves to me, a most elegant expreffion, and most fatirical thought: and more delicate than the---Varium & mutabile femper fæmina---of VIRGIL. 'Tis not the extravagance, but the mutability, of a woman's will that is here fatiriz'd. The change of which (our author would be understood to fay,) is so speedy, that there is no space of time, no diftance, between the prefent will and the next; but it is an undistinguish'd space. This fentiment may not be ill explain'd further from what honeft Sancho, in Don Quixote, with infinite humour fays upon the subject. Entre el Si y el Ño de la muger, no me atreveria yo a poner una punta d`alfiler. Betwixt a woman's yea, and no, I would not undertake to thrust a pin's point.

Kent. To be acknowledg'd, madam, is o'erpaid; All my reports go with the modeft truth, Nor more, nor clipt, but fo.

Cor. Be better fuited;

Thefe weeds are memories of thofe worfer hours:

I pr'ythee, put them off.

Kent. Pardon, dear madam,

Yet to be known, fhortens my made intent; My boon I make it, that you know me not, 'Till time and I think meet.

Cor. Then be it fo,

My Lord.-How does the King?

Phyf. Madam, fleeps ftill.

Cor. O you kind gods!

[To the Phyfician.

Cure this great breach in his abused nature;

Th' untun'd and jarring fenfes, O, wind up
Of this child-changed father.

Phyf. Please your Majefty,

That we may wake the King, he hath slept long? Cor. Be govern'd by your knowledge, and proceed I' th' fway of your own will: is he array'd?

Enter Lear in a chair, carried by fervants.

Phyf. Ay, madam; in the heaviness of sleep,
We put fresh garments on him.

Be by, good madam, when we do awake him;
I doubt not of his temperance.

Cor. O my dear father! restoration, hang
Thy medicine on my lips; and let this kifs
Repair thofe violent harms, that my two fifters.
Have in thy reverence made!

Kent. Kind and deareft Princefs!

Cor. Had you not been their father, these white flakes Did challenge pity of them. Was this a face, To be expos'd against the warring winds?

To ftand against the deep, dread-bolted thunder? (53) In the most terrible and nimble stroke

(53) To fand against the deep,] The following three lines and an half, in no wife unworthy of our author, I have refter'd from the

old 4to.

Of quick, crofs lightning? To watch poor Perdue,
With this thin helm ?-My very enemy's dog,
Though he had bit me, fhou'd have flood that night
Against my fire: And waft thou fain, poor father,
To hovel thee with fwine and rogues forlorn,
In fhort and mufty straw? alack, alack!
'Tis wonder, that thy life and wits, at once,
Had not concluded all.-He wakes; fpeak to him.
Phyf. Madam, do you; 'tis fitteft.

Cor. How does my royal Lord? how fares yourMajefty? Lear. You do me wrong to take me out o' th' grave; Thou art a foul in blifs, but I am bound

Upon a wheel of fire; that mine own tears
Do fcald like molten lead.

Cor. Sir, do you know me?

Lear. You are a fpirit, I know; when did you die? Cor. Still, ftill, far wide

Phyf. He's fcarce awake, let him alone awhile. Lear. Where have I been? where am I? fair day-light? I'm mightily abus'd; I fhould even die with pity, To fee another thus. I know not what to fay; I will not fwear, these are my hands: let's fee, I feel this pin prick: would, I were affur'd Of my. condition.

Cor. O look upon me, Sir,

And hold your hand in benediction o'er me.
No, Sir, you must not kneel.

Lear. Pray, do not mock me;

I am a very foolish fond old man,

Fourfcore and upward; and to deal plainly,

I fear, I am not in my perfect mind.

Methinks, I fhould know you, and know this man ; Yet I am doubtful: for I'm mainly ignorant,

What place this is; and all the skill I have, Remembers not thefe garments; nay, I know not Where I did lodge laft night. Do not laugh at me,' For, as I am a man, I think, this Lady

To be my child Cordelia.

Cor. And fo 1 am; I am..

Lear. Be your tears wet? yes, faith; I pray you, weep not.