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But they are cruell tears. This sorrow's heavenly ;
It strikes where it doth love.
FROM KING LEAR.
ACT 11. sc. 2.
LEAR IN THE STORM.
A heath.—Lear, Kent, the Fool.
Lear. No, I will be the pattern of all patience,
I will say nothing.
Kent. Alas, Sir, are you here? Things that love night,
Love not such nights as these: the wrathful skies
Gallows the very wanderers of the dark,
And make them keep their caves. Since I was man,
Such sheets of fire, such bursts of horrid thunder,
Such groans of roaring wind and rain I never
Remember to have heard. Man's nature cannot carry
Th' 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,
That hast within thee undivulged crimes,
Unwhipt of justice. Hide thee, thou bloody hand,
Thou perjured, and thou simular man of virtue,
That art incestuous. Caitiff, shake to pieces,
That under covert and convenient seeming
Hast practised on man's life !-Close pent-up guilts,
Rive your concealing continents, 4 and ask
These dreadful summoners grace. I am a man
More sinned against than simning.
Kent. Alack, bare-headed ?
Gracious my Lord, hard by here is a hovel,
Some friendship will it lend you 'gainst the tempest;
Repose you there, while I to this hard house,5
More hard than is the stone whereof 'tis raised,
Which even but now, demanding after you,
Denied me to come in, return, and force
Their scanted courtesy.
Lear. My wits begin to turn.
Come on, my boy. How dost, my boy? art cold? [To the Fool.
I'm cold myself. Where is this straw, my fellow? [To Kent.6
The art of our necessities is strange,
That can make vile things precious. Come, your hovel.
Poor fool and knave,' I've one part in my heart
That's sorry yet for thee.
Scene changes to another part of the heath, with a hore.
Kent. Here is the place, my Lord ;-good my Lord, enter.
The tyranny o'the open night's too rough
For nature to endure.
Lear. Let me alone.
Kent. Good my Lord, enter here.
Lear. Let me alone.
Kent. Good my Lord, enter here.
Lear. Wilt break my heart ?
Kent. I'd rather break mine own ; good my Lord, enter.
Lear. Thou thinkest 'tis much that this contentious storm
Invades us to the skin ; so 'tis to thee;
But where the greater malady is fixed,
The lesser is scarce felt. Thou'dst shun a bear;
But if thy flight lay toward the roaring sea,
Thou'dst meet the bear i'th' 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'll 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 !-0 Regan, Gonerill !
Your old kind father, whose frank heart gave all-
O, that way madness lies; let me shun that ;
No more of that.-
Kent. Good my Lord, enter here.
Lear. Prythee 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.
In, boy, go first. [To the fool.] You houseless poverty,
Nay, get thee in ; I'll pray, and then I'll sleep. -
[Fool goes in.
Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are,
That 'bide the pelting of this pitiless storm,
How shall your houseless heads, and unfed sides,
Your looped and windowed raggedness, defend you
From seasons such as these? O! I have ta'en
Too little care of this. Take physic, Pomp;
Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel,
That thou may'st shake the superflux 3 to them,
And show the Heavens more just. 1 Servant : knabe (German), a boy. a llave too little regarded this when I had the power of a king. 3 SuperQuity.
ACT V. sc. 3.
DEATH OF LEAR.
Albany, Kent, Edgar, Officer, &c.
Enter Lear, with Cordelial dead in his arms.
Lear. Howl, howl, howl, howl!-0, you are men of stone;
Had I your tongues and eyes, I'd use them so
That heaven's vault should crack. She's gone for ever.
I know when one is dead, and when one lives;
She's dead as earth! Lend me a looking-glass;
If that her breath will mist or stain the stone,
Why then she lives.
Kent. Is this the promis'd end ?
Edg. O image of that horror-
Alb. Fall and cease.2
Lear. This feather stirs, she lives : if it be so,
It is a chance which does redeem all sorrows
That ever I have felt.
Kent. O my good master!
[Kneeling. Lear. Pr'ythee, awayEdg. 'Tis noble Kent, your friend.
Lear. A plague upon you, murd'rons traitors all !
I might have sav'd her ; now, she's gone for ever!
Cordelia, Cordelia, stay a little ! Ha!
What is't thou say'st ? Iler voice was ever soft,
Gentle and slow; an excellent thing in woman.
I kill'd the slave that was a-hanging thee.
Gentleman. 'Tis true, my Lords, he did.
Lear. Did I not, fellow ?
I've seen the day, with my good biting falchion
I would have made them skip : I am old now,
And these same crosses spoil me. Who are you?
Mine eyes are none o' th' best.—I'll tell you strait.
Kent. If Fortune brag of two she lov'd and hated,
One of them we behold.
Lear. This a dull sight. Are you not Kent?
Kent. The same; your servant Kent; Where is your servant Caius ?
Lear. "I'was a good fellow, I can tell you, that.
He'd strike, and quickly too. He's dead and rotten.
Kent. No, my good Lord, I am the very man,
Lear. I'll see that strait.
Kent. That from your first of difference and decay
Have follow'd your sad steps-
Lear. You're welcome hither.
FROM SHAKESPEARE'S LYRICS.
Kent. Nor no man else. All's cheerless, dark, and dead. Your eldest daughters have fore-done themselves, And desp'rately are dead.
Lear. Ay, so I think.
Alb. He knows not what he says; and vain is it
That we present us to him.
Edg. Very bootless.
O see, see-
Lear. And my poor fooll is hang'd. No-00—no life.
Why should a dog, a horse, a rat have life,
And thou no breath at all? Thou'lt come no more,
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
Edg. He faints. My Lord,-
Kent. Break heart, I prythee break!
Edg. Look up, my Lord.
Kent. Vex not his ghost. 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;
He but usurp'd his life.
SELECTIONS FROM SHAKESPEARE'S LYRICS.
Where the bee sucks, there lurk I;
In a cowslip's bell I lic;
There I couch, when owls do cry ;
On the bat's back I do fly.
After summer merrily,
Merrily, merrily, shall I live now,
Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.
Tempest, Act V. Sc. 1.
SERENADE TO SYLVIA.
Who is Sylvia, what is she,
That all our swains commend her ?
Holy, fair, and wise is she ;
The heavens such grace did lend her,
That she might admired be.
I A term of epdearment applied to his daughter. Expressions of reproach are often used in this manner, as, " Excellent wretch," &c., Othello, Act III. Sc. 3, applied to Desdemona. By a similar reverse of application, fellow, companion, minion, &c. are used as terms of reproach. Urchin, imp, &c. belong to the same category.
% This is a subtle touch of nature. He feels the choking sensation caused by anguish, and attempts to relieve it by unfastening his dress; his hands are unable to accomplish this, and he asks aid in these words.
Is she kind, as she is fair,
For beauty lives with kindness?
Love doth to her eyes repair,
To help him of his blindness;
And, being helped, inhabits there.
Then to Sylvia let us sing,
That Sylvia is excelling;
She excels each mortal thing
Upon the dull earth dwelling:
To her let us garlands bring.
Two Gentlemen of Verona, Act IV. Sc. 2.
THE FAIRY TO PUCK.
Over hill, over dale,
Thorough bush, thorough briar,
Over park, over pale,
Thorough flood, thorough fire,
I do wander every where,
Swifter than the moone's sphere.
And I serve the Fairy Qucen,
To dew her orbs upon the green;
The cowslips tall her pensioners be,
In their gold coats spots you see,
Those be rubies, Fairy favours :
In those freckles live their savours.
I must go seek some dew-drops here,
And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear.
Midsummer Night's Dream, Act II, Sc. 1.
Blow, blow, thou winter wind,
Thou art not so unkind
As man's ingratitude;
Thy tooth is not so keen,
Because thon art not seen,
Although thy breath be rude.
Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,
That dost not bite so nigh
As benefits forgot:
Though thou the waters warp,
Thy sting is not so sharp
As friend rememb'red not.
As you like it, Act II. Sc. 7.
Hark, hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,
And Phæbus 'gins arise,