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Such groans-of roaring wind-and rain,-I never

Remember to have heard: man's nature-can not carry
The affliction-nor the fear.

Lear.

Let the great gods,
(That keep this dreadful pother-o'er our heads,)
Find out their enemies-now. Tremble,-thou wretch,
Th't hast—within thee-undivulged crimes,
Unwhipp'd-of justice: hide thee, thou bloody hand;
Thou perjured, and thou simular man of virtue
That art incestuous: caitiff,-to pieces shake,
Th't-(under covert-and convenient seeming)—
Hast practiced-on man's life! Close pent-up guilts,
Rive-your concealing continents,—and cry

These dreadful summoners-grace! I-am a man—
More-sinned against-than sinning.

Kent.

Alack, bare-headed!

Gracious my lord, hard by here—is a hovel ;

Some friendship-will it lend you-'gainst the tempest.
My wits-begin to turn.

Lear.

Come on,-my boy: how dost, my boy? Art cold?

I am cold-myself. Where is this straw, my fellow?
The art-of our necessities-is strange,

Th't can make vile things-precious. Come, your hovel.

Poor fool-and knave, I have one part in my heart

That's sorry yet-for thee. Come,-bring us to this hovel. [Exeunt.

SCENE FOURTH. Enter Lear, Kent, and Fool.

Kent. Here is the place, my lord; good my lord, enter: The tyranny of this open night's-too rough

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Good my lord, enter.

Kent. I'd rather break mine own.

Lear. Thou-think'st 't is much-th't this contentious storm

Invades us-to the skin: so 'tis-to thee;

But where the greater malady is fix'd

The lesser-is scarce felt. Thou 'dst shun a bear;

But-if thy flight-lay toward the raging sea,—

Thou'dst meet the bear-i' the mouth. When the mind's-free
The body's delicate: the tempest—in my mind—
Doth-from my senses-take all feeling-else,—
Save-what beats-there. Filial-ingratitude!
Is it not-as this mouth-should tear-this hand-
For lifting food to 't? But-I will punish-home:
No, I will weep-no-more. In such a night-
To shut me out! Pour on; I will endure.
In such a night-as this! O Regan, Goneril!

Your old-kind-father, whose frank heart-gave all,—

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Lear. Prithee,—go in thyself; seek thine own ease:
This tempest-will not give me leave-to ponder
On things would hurt me-more. But I'll go in.
Poor-naked wretches,-(wheresoe'er you are,
Th't bide the pelting-of this pitiless storm,)
How shall your houseless heads-and unfed sides,
Your loop'd-and window'd raggedness, defend you
From seasons-such as these? Oh,-I-have ta'en
Too little care of this! Take physic,—pomp ;
Expose thyself—to feel—what wretches feel;
Th't thou may'st shake the superflux-to them,
And show the heavens-more just.

ACT IV. SCENE FOURTH. Enter Cordelia, Physician, and Soldiers.
Cor. Alack! 'tis he: why, he was met-even now-

As mad-as the vex'd sea; singing aloud;
Crown'd-with rank fumiter-and furrow weeds,
With hardocks, hemlock, nettles,-cuckoo-flowers,
Darnel, and all the idle weeds-th't grow
In our sustaining corn. A century send forth;
Search every acre-in the high-grown field,
And bring him—to our eye.

[Exit an Officer.
What-can man's wisdom do-

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All bless'd secrets,

All you unpublished virtues of the earth,—
Spring-with my tears! be aidant—and remediate
In the good man's distress! Seek, seek for him;
Lest his ungoverned rage-dissolve the life—
Th't wants the means-to lead it.

Messenger.

[Enter Messenger.

News, madam:

The British powers—are marching hitherward.

Cor. 'Tis known-before; our preparation-stands

In expectation of them. O dear father!

It is thy business-th't I go about;

Therefore-great France

My mourning-and important tears-hath pitied.
No blown ambition-doth our arms incite,

But love, dear love, and our ag'd father's right:
Soon-may I hear-and see him!

[Exeunt.

SCENE SEVENTH. Lear asleep. Enter Cordelia, Kent, and Physician.

Cor. O thou good Kent, how shall I live-and work,

To match thy goodness? My life-will be too short,

And every measure-fail me.

Kent. To be acknowledged,—madam, is o'er-paid.
All my reports-go with the modest truth;

Nor more, nor clipp'd,—but so.

Cor.

These weeds

Be better suited:

—are memories of those worser hours:

I prithee,-put them off.

Kent.

Pardon me, dear madam;

Yet to be known-shortens-my made intent:
My boon-I make it th't you know me not-

Till time-and I-think meet.

Cor. Then be't so, my good lord. [To Phys.] How does the king?
Phys. Madam, sleeps still.

Cor.
O you kind gods,
Cure-this great breach-in his abused nature!
The untuned—and jarring senses, oh, wind up—
Of this child-changed father!

Phys.
So please your majesty,-
Th't we may wake the king? he hath slept long.

Cor. Be govern'd by your knowledge, and proceed

I' the sway of your own will. Is he arrayed?

Gent. Ay,-madam; in the heaviness of his sleep

We put fresh garments on him.

Phys. Be by, (good madam,) when we do awake him;

I doubt not-of his temperance.

Cor.

Very well.

Phys. Please you, draw near. Louder-the music there!
Cor. O my dear father! Restoration, hang

Thy medicine-on my lips; and let this kiss

Repair-those violent harms-th't my two sisters—

Have-in thy reverence-made!

Kent.

Kind-and dear princess!

Cor. Had you-not been their father,-these-white flakesHad challenged pity of them. Was this a face

To be opposed against the warring winds?

To stand-against the deep-dread-bolted thunder;

In the most terrible-and nimble stroke

Of quick, cross lightning? to watch,—(poor perdu!)

With this-thin helm? Mine enemy's dog,

(Though he had bit me,) should have stood-(that night)
Against my fire; and-wast thou fain, (poor father,)
To hovel thee-with swine and rogues forlorn,

In short-and musty straw? Alack, alack!
'Tis wonder-th't thy life-and wits—(at once)—
Had not concluded all. He wakes! speak to him!

Phys. Madam,—do you; 't is fittest.

Cor.

How does my royal lord? How fares your majesty? Lear. You do me wrong—to take me out o' the grave: Thou art a soul-in bliss; but I-am bound

Upon a wheel of fire, th't mine own tears—

Do scald-like molten lead.

Cor.

Sir, do you know me?

Lear. You are a spirit,—I know: when did you die?
Cor.

Still,-STILL-far wide!

Phys. He's scarce awake; let him alone-awhile.

Lear. Where have I been? Where am I? Fair daylight?

I am mightily-abused. I should e'en die-with pity

To see another thus. I know not-what to say.

I will not swear-these are my hands: let's see;
I feel this pin prick. Would-I were assured-
Of my condition.

Cor.

Oh, 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,

Fourscore-and upward; not an hour-more nor less:
And, (to deal plainly,)

I fear I am not-in my perfect mind.

Methinks I should know you, and know this man;
Yet-I am doubtful: for I am mainly ignorant—

What place this is: and all the skill I have

Remembers not-these-garments; nor-I know not-
Where I did lodge-last night. Do not laugh at me;
For, as I am a man, I think this lady-

To be my child-Cordelia.

Cor.

And so I am,—I am.

Lear. Be your tears-wet? Yes, 'faith. I pray-weep not: If you have poison for me I will drink it.

I know-you-do not love me; for your sisters—

Have,-(as I do remember,) done me wrong:

You-have some cause, they-have not.

Cor.

Lear. Am I-in France?
Kent.

Lear. Do not abuse me.

No cause,-no cause !

In your own kingdom, sir.

Phys. Be comforted,—good madam: the great rage,

(You see,) is cured in him: and yet it is danger— To make him-even o'er the time-he has lost.

Desire him to go in; trouble him no more

Till further settling.

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You must bear with me;

Pray you now,-forget-and forgive: I am old-and foolish.

ACT V-SCENE THIRD. Lear and Cordelia, as prisoners.
Cor. We are not the first-

Who, (with best meaning,)—have incurr'd the worst.
For thee,-(oppressed king,) am I cast down;

Myself-could-else-out-frown-false fortune's frown.
Shall we not see-these daughters,—and these sisters?
Lear. No, no, no, no! Come,-let's away-to prison;
We two-alone-will sing-like birds-i' the cage:
When thou-dost ask me—blessing, I'll kneel down,
And ask of thee-forgiveness: so—we'll live,
And pray,—and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh—
At gilded butterflies, and hear poor rogues

Talk of court news; and we'll talk with them-too,
Who-loses, and who-wins; who's in, who's out;
And take upon us-the mystery of things,-

As if we were God's spies: and we'll wear out,

(In a wall'd prison,) packs-and sects-of great ones, That ebb and flow-by the moon.

Upon such sacrifices, (my Cordelia,)

The gods (themselves) throw incense. Have I caught thee?
He-th't parts us-shall bring a brand-from heaven

And fire us hence,-like foxes. Wipe thine eyes;

The good-years-shall devour them, flesh-and fell,

Ere they shall make us weep: we'll see 'em starve-first.

XXIX.-LADY MACBETH AND HER HUSBAND.

SHAKESPEARE.

Lady Macbeth. Glamis-thou art, and Cawdor; and shalt beWhat thou art promised. Yet-do I fear-thy nature;

It is too full o' the milk of human kindness

To catch the nearest way. Thou would'st be great;—

Art not without ambition: but-without

The illness-should attend it. What thou would'st-highly,

That would'st thou holily; would'st not play false,—
And yet-would'st wrongly-win: thou'dst have, (great Glamis,)
That-which cries,-'Thus-thou must do, if thou have it;

And that--which-rather-thou dost fear to do

Than wishest-should be undone.' Hie thee hither,

Th't I may pour my spirits-in thine ear;
And chastise-(with the valor of my tongue)--

All th't impedes thee-from the golden round,

Which fate-and metaphysical aid—doth seem

To have thee crown'd withal. What is your tidings? [Enter Messenger. Messenger. The king-comes here to-night.

Lady M.

Thou'rt mad to say

it:

Is not thy master with him? who, (were 't so,)

Would have inform'd—for preparation.

Mess. So, (please you,) it is true; our thane-is coming: One of my fellows-had the speed of him;

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