LEAR

‘Here comes the lady. Oh, so light of footWill ne’er wear out the everlasting flint:A lover may bestride the gossamer,That idles in the wanton summer air,And yet not fall, so light is vanity.’

‘Here comes the lady. Oh, so light of foot

Will ne’er wear out the everlasting flint:

A lover may bestride the gossamer,

That idles in the wanton summer air,

And yet not fall, so light is vanity.’

The tragic part of this character is of a piece with the rest. It is the heroic founded on tenderness and delicacy. Of this kind are her resolution to follow the Friar’s advice, and the conflict in her bosom between apprehension and love when she comes to take the sleeping poison. Shakespear is blamed for the mixture of low characters. If this is a deformity, it is the source of a thousand beauties. One instance is the contrast between the guileless simplicity of Juliet’s attachment to her first love, and the convenient policy of the nurse in advising her to marry Paris, which excites such indignation in her mistress. ‘Ancient damnation! oh most wicked fiend,’ etc.

Romeo is Hamlet in love. There is the same rich exuberance of passion and sentiment in the one, that there is of thought and sentiment in the other. Both are absent and self-involved, both live out of themselves in a world of imagination. Hamlet is abstracted from every thing; Romeo is abstracted from every thing but his love, and lost in it. His ‘frail thoughts dally with faint surmise,’ and are fashioned out of the suggestions of hope, ‘the flatteries of sleep.’ He is himself only in his Juliet; she is his only reality, his heart’s true home and idol. The rest of the world is to him a passing dream. How finely is this character pourtrayed where he recollects himself on seeing Paris slain at the tomb of Juliet!—

‘What said my man, when my betossed soulDid not attend him as we rode? I thinkHe told me Paris should have married Juliet.’

‘What said my man, when my betossed soul

Did not attend him as we rode? I think

He told me Paris should have married Juliet.’

And again, just before he hears the sudden tidings of her death—

‘If I may trust the flattery of sleep,My dreams presage some joyful news at hand;My bosom’s lord sits lightly on his throne,And all this day an unaccustom’d spiritLifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts.I dreamt my lady came and found me dead,(Strange dream! that gives a dead man leave to think)And breath’d such life with kisses on my lips,That I reviv’d and was an emperour.Ah me! how sweet is love itself possess’d,When but love’s shadows are so rich in joy!’

‘If I may trust the flattery of sleep,

My dreams presage some joyful news at hand;

My bosom’s lord sits lightly on his throne,

And all this day an unaccustom’d spirit

Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts.

I dreamt my lady came and found me dead,

(Strange dream! that gives a dead man leave to think)

And breath’d such life with kisses on my lips,

That I reviv’d and was an emperour.

Ah me! how sweet is love itself possess’d,

When but love’s shadows are so rich in joy!’

Romeo’s passion for Juliet is not a first love: it succeeds and drives out his passion for another mistress, Rosaline, as the sun hides the stars. This is perhaps an artifice (not absolutely necessary) to give us a higher opinion of the lady, while the first absolute surrender of her heart to him enhances the richness of the prize. The commencement, progress, and ending of his second passion are however complete in themselves, not injured if they are not bettered by the first. The outline of the play is taken from an Italian novel; but the dramatic arrangement of the different scenes between the lovers, the more than dramatic interest in the progress of the story, the developement of the characters with time and circumstances, just according to the degree and kind of interest excited, are not inferior to the expression of passion and nature. It has been ingeniously remarked among other proofs of skill in the contrivance of the fable, that the improbability of the main incident in the piece, the administering of the sleeping-potion, is softened and obviated from the beginning by the introduction of the Friar on his first appearance culling simples and descanting on their virtues. Of the passionate scenes in this tragedy, that between the Friar and Romeo when he is told of his sentence of banishment, that between Juliet and the Nurse when she hears of it, and of the death of her cousin Tybalt (which bear no proportion in her mind, when passion after the first shock of surprise throws its weight into the scale of her affections) and the last scene at the tomb, are among the most natural and overpowering. In all of these it is not merely the force of any one passion that is given, but the slightest and most unlooked-for transitions from one to another, the mingling currents of every different feeling rising up and prevailing in turn, swayed by the master-mind of the poet, as the waves undulate beneath the gliding storm. Thus when Juliet has by her complaints encouraged the Nurse to say, ‘Shame come to Romeo,’ she instantly repels the wish, which she had herself occasioned, by answering—

‘Blister’d be thy tongueFor such a wish! He was not born to shame.Upon his brow shame is ashamed to sit,For ’tis a throne where honour may be crown’dSole monarch of the universal earth!O, what a beast was I to chide him so?Nurse.Will you speak well of him that kill’d your cousin?Juliet.Shall I speak ill of him that is my husband?Ah my poor lord, what tongue shall smooth thy name,When I, thy three-hours’ wife, have mangled it?’

‘Blister’d be thy tongue

For such a wish! He was not born to shame.

Upon his brow shame is ashamed to sit,

For ’tis a throne where honour may be crown’d

Sole monarch of the universal earth!

O, what a beast was I to chide him so?

Nurse.Will you speak well of him that kill’d your cousin?

Juliet.Shall I speak ill of him that is my husband?Ah my poor lord, what tongue shall smooth thy name,When I, thy three-hours’ wife, have mangled it?’

Juliet.Shall I speak ill of him that is my husband?

Ah my poor lord, what tongue shall smooth thy name,

When I, thy three-hours’ wife, have mangled it?’

And then follows on the neck of her remorse and returning fondness, that wish treading almost on the brink of impiety, but still held back by the strength of her devotion to her lord, that ‘father, mother, nay, or both were dead,’ rather than Romeo banished. If she requires any other excuse, it is in the manner in which Romeo echoes her frantic grief and disappointment in the next scene at being banished from her.—Perhaps one of the finest pieces of acting that ever was witnessed on the stage, is Mr. Kean’s manner of doing this scene and his repetition of the word,Banished. He treads close indeed upon the genius of his author.

A passage which this celebrated actor and able commentator on Shakespear (actors are the best commentators on the poets) did not give with equal truth or force of feeling was the one which Romeo makes at the tomb of Juliet, before he drinks the poison.

——‘Let me peruse this face—Mercutio’s kinsman! noble county Paris!What said my man, when my betossed soulDid not attend him as we rode? I think,He told me Paris should have married Juliet:Said he not so? or did I dream it so?Or am I mad, hearing him talk of Juliet,To think it was so?——O, give me thy hand,One writ with me in sour misfortune’s book!I’ll bury thee in a triumphant grave——For here lies Juliet.. . . . .——O, my love! my wife!Death that hath suck’d the honey of thy breath,Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty:Thou art not conquer’d; beauty’s ensign yetIs crimson in thy lips, and in thy cheeks,And Death’s pale flag is not advanced there.——Tybalt, ly’st thou there in thy bloody sheet?O, what more favour can I do to thee,Than with that hand that cut thy youth in twain,To sunder his that was thine enemy?Forgive me, cousin! Ah, dear Juliet,Why art thou yet so fair! Shall I believeThat unsubstantial death is amorous;And that the lean abhorred monster keepsThee here in dark to be his paramour!For fear of that, I will stay still with thee;And never from this palace of dim nightDepart again: here, here will I remainWith worms that are thy chamber-maids; O, hereWill I set up my everlasting rest;And shake the yoke of inauspicious starsFrom this world-wearied flesh.—Eyes, look your last!Arms, take your last embrace! and lips, O you,The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kissA dateless bargain to engrossing death!—Come, bitter conduct, come unsavoury guide!Thou desperate pilot, now at once run onThe dashing rocks my sea-sick weary bark!Here’s to my love!—[Drinks.] O, true apothecary!Thy drugs are quick.—Thus with a kiss I die.’

——‘Let me peruse this face—

Mercutio’s kinsman! noble county Paris!

What said my man, when my betossed soul

Did not attend him as we rode? I think,

He told me Paris should have married Juliet:

Said he not so? or did I dream it so?

Or am I mad, hearing him talk of Juliet,

To think it was so?——O, give me thy hand,

One writ with me in sour misfortune’s book!

I’ll bury thee in a triumphant grave——

For here lies Juliet.

. . . . .

——O, my love! my wife!Death that hath suck’d the honey of thy breath,Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty:Thou art not conquer’d; beauty’s ensign yetIs crimson in thy lips, and in thy cheeks,And Death’s pale flag is not advanced there.——Tybalt, ly’st thou there in thy bloody sheet?O, what more favour can I do to thee,Than with that hand that cut thy youth in twain,To sunder his that was thine enemy?Forgive me, cousin! Ah, dear Juliet,Why art thou yet so fair! Shall I believeThat unsubstantial death is amorous;And that the lean abhorred monster keepsThee here in dark to be his paramour!For fear of that, I will stay still with thee;And never from this palace of dim nightDepart again: here, here will I remainWith worms that are thy chamber-maids; O, hereWill I set up my everlasting rest;And shake the yoke of inauspicious starsFrom this world-wearied flesh.—Eyes, look your last!Arms, take your last embrace! and lips, O you,The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kissA dateless bargain to engrossing death!—Come, bitter conduct, come unsavoury guide!Thou desperate pilot, now at once run onThe dashing rocks my sea-sick weary bark!Here’s to my love!—[Drinks.] O, true apothecary!Thy drugs are quick.—Thus with a kiss I die.’

——O, my love! my wife!

Death that hath suck’d the honey of thy breath,

Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty:

Thou art not conquer’d; beauty’s ensign yet

Is crimson in thy lips, and in thy cheeks,

And Death’s pale flag is not advanced there.——

Tybalt, ly’st thou there in thy bloody sheet?

O, what more favour can I do to thee,

Than with that hand that cut thy youth in twain,

To sunder his that was thine enemy?

Forgive me, cousin! Ah, dear Juliet,

Why art thou yet so fair! Shall I believe

That unsubstantial death is amorous;

And that the lean abhorred monster keeps

Thee here in dark to be his paramour!

For fear of that, I will stay still with thee;

And never from this palace of dim night

Depart again: here, here will I remain

With worms that are thy chamber-maids; O, here

Will I set up my everlasting rest;

And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars

From this world-wearied flesh.—Eyes, look your last!

Arms, take your last embrace! and lips, O you,

The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss

A dateless bargain to engrossing death!—

Come, bitter conduct, come unsavoury guide!

Thou desperate pilot, now at once run on

The dashing rocks my sea-sick weary bark!

Here’s to my love!—[Drinks.] O, true apothecary!

Thy drugs are quick.—Thus with a kiss I die.’

The lines in this speech, describing the loveliness of Juliet, who is supposed to be dead, have been compared to those in which it is said of Cleopatra after her death, that she looked ‘as she would take another Antony in her strong toil of grace’; and a question has been started which is the finest, that we do not pretend to decide. We can more easily decide between Shakespear and any other author, than between him and himself.—Shall we quote any more passages to shew his genius or the beauty ofRomeo and Juliet? At that rate, we might quote the whole. The late Mr. Sheridan, on being shewn a volume of the Beauties of Shakespear, very properly asked—‘But where are the other eleven?’ The character of Mercutio in this play is one of the most mercurial and spirited of the productions of Shakespear’s comic muse.

We wish that we could pass this play over, and say nothing about it. All that we can say must fall far short of the subject; or even of what we ourselves conceive of it. To attempt to give a description of the play itself or of its effect upon the mind, is mere impertinence; yet we must say something.—It is then the best of all Shakespear’s plays, for it is the one in which he was the most in earnest. He was here fairly caught in the web of his own imagination. The passion which he has taken as his subject is that which strikes its root deepest into the human heart; of which the bond isthe hardest to be unloosed; and the cancelling and tearing to pieces of which gives the greatest revulsion to the frame. This depth of nature, this force of passion, this tug and war of the elements of our being, this firm faith in filial piety, and the giddy anarchy and whirling tumult of the thoughts at finding this prop failing it, the contrast between the fixed, immoveable basis of natural affection, and the rapid, irregular starts of imagination, suddenly wrenched from all its accustomed holds and resting-places in the soul, this is what Shakespear has given, and what nobody else but he could give. So we believe.—The mind of Lear, staggering between the weight of attachment and the hurried movements of passion, is like a tall ship driven about by the winds, buffetted by the furious waves, but that still rides above the storm, having its anchor fixed in the bottom of the sea; or it is like the sharp rock circled by the eddying whirlpool that foams and beats against it, or like the solid promontory pushed from its basis by the force of an earthquake.

The character of Lear itself is very finely conceived for the purpose. It is the only ground on which such a story could be built with the greatest truth and effect. It is his rash haste, his violent impetuosity, his blindness to every thing but the dictates of his passions or affections, that produces all his misfortunes, that aggravates his impatience of them, that enforces our pity for him. The part which Cordelia bears in the scene is extremely beautiful: the story is almost told in the first words she utters. We see at once the precipice on which the poor old king stands from his own extravagant and credulous importunity, the indiscreet simplicity of her love (which, to be sure, has a little of her father’s obstinacy in it) and the hollowness of her sisters’ pretensions. Almost the first burst of that noble tide of passion, which runs through the play, is in the remonstrance of Kent to his royal master on the injustice of his sentence against his youngest daughter—‘Be Kent unmannerly, when Lear is mad!’ This manly plainness, which draws down on him the displeasure of the unadvised king, is worthy of the fidelity with which he adheres to his fallen fortunes. The true character of the two eldest daughters, Regan and Gonerill (they are so thoroughly hateful that we do not even like to repeat their names) breaks out in their answer to Cordelia who desires them to treat their father well—‘Prescribe not us our duties’—their hatred of advice being in proportion to their determination to do wrong, and to their hypocritical pretensions to do right. Their deliberate hypocrisy adds the last finishing to the odiousness of their characters. It is the absence of this detestable quality that is the only relief in the character of Edmund the Bastard, and that at times reconciles us to him. We are not tempted to exaggerate theguilt of his conduct, when he himself gives it up as a bad business, and writes himself down ‘plain villain.’ Nothing more can be said about it. His religious honesty in this respect is admirable. One speech of his is worth a million. His father, Gloster, whom he has just deluded with a forged story of his brother Edgar’s designs against his life, accounts for his unnatural behaviour and the strange depravity of the times from the late eclipses in the sun and moon. Edmund, who is in the secret, says when he is gone—‘This is the excellent foppery of the world, that when we are sick in fortune (often the surfeits of our own behaviour) we make guilty of our disasters the sun, the moon, and stars: as if we were villains on necessity; fools by heavenly compulsion; knaves, thieves, and treacherous by spherical predominance; drunkards, liars, and adulterers by an enforced obedience of planetary influence; and all that we are evil in, by a divine thrusting on. An admirable evasion of whore-master man, to lay his goatish disposition on the charge of a star! My father compounded with my mother under the Dragon’s tail, and my nativity was under Ursa Major: so that it follows, I am rough and lecherous. Tut! I should have been what I am, had the maidenliness star in the firmament twinkled on my bastardising.’—The whole character, its careless, light-hearted villainy, contrasted with the sullen, rancorous malignity of Regan and Gonerill, its connection with the conduct of the under-plot, in which Gloster’s persecution of one of his sons and the ingratitude of another, form a counterpart to the mistakes and misfortunes of Lear,—his double amour with the two sisters, and the share which he has in bringing about the fatal catastrophe, are all managed with an uncommon degree of skill and power.

It has been said, and we think justly, that the third act ofOthelloand the three first acts ofLear, are Shakespear’s great master-pieces in the logic of passion: that they contain the highest examples not only of the force of individual passion, but of its dramatic vicissitudes and striking effects arising from the different circumstances and characters of the persons speaking. We see the ebb and flow of the feeling, its pauses and feverish starts, its impatience of opposition, its accumulating force when it has time to recollect itself, the manner in which it avails itself of every passing word or gesture, its haste to repel insinuation, the alternate contraction and dilatation of the soul, and all ‘the dazzling fence of controversy’ in this mortal combat with poisoned weapons, aimed at the heart, where each wound is fatal. We have seen inOthello, how the unsuspecting frankness and impetuous passions of the Moor are played upon and exasperated by the artful dexterity of Iago. In the present play, that which aggravates the sense of sympathy in the reader, and of uncontroulable anguish in theswoln heart of Lear, is the petrifying indifference, the cold, calculating, obdurate selfishness of his daughters. His keen passions seem whetted on their stony hearts. The contrast would be too painful, the shock too great, but for the intervention of the Fool, whose well-timed levity comes in to break the continuity of feeling when it can no longer be borne, and to bring into play again the fibres of the heart just as they are growing rigid from overstrained excitement. The imagination is glad to take refuge in the half-comic, half-serious comments of the Fool, just as the mind under the extreme anguish of a surgical operation vents itself in sallies of wit. The character was also a grotesque ornament of the barbarous times, in which alone the tragic ground-work of the story could be laid. In another point of view it is indispensable, inasmuch as while it is a diversion to the too great intensity of our disgust, it carries the pathos to the highest pitch of which it is capable, by shewing the pitiable weakness of the old king’s conduct and its irretrievable consequences in the most familiar point of view. Lear may well ‘beat at the gate which let his folly in,’ after, as the Fool says, ‘he has made his daughters his mothers.’ The character is dropped in the third act to make room for the entrance of Edgar as Mad Tom, which well accords with the increasing bustle and wildness of the incidents; and nothing can be more complete than the distinction between Lear’s real and Edgar’s assumed madness, while the resemblance in the cause of their distresses, from the severing of the nearest ties of natural affection, keeps up a unity of interest. Shakespear’s mastery over his subject, if it was not art, was owing to a knowledge of the connecting links of the passions, and their effect upon the mind, still more wonderful than any systematic adherence to rules, and that anticipated and outdid all the efforts of the most refined art, not inspired and rendered instinctive by genius.

One of the most perfect displays of dramatic power is the first interview between Lear and his daughter, after the designed affronts upon him, which till one of his knights reminds him of them, his sanguine temperament had led him to overlook. He returns with his train from hunting, and his usual impatience breaks out in his first words, ‘Let me not stay a jot for dinner; go, get it ready.’ He then encounters the faithful Kent in disguise, and retains him in his service; and the first trial of his honest duty is to trip up the heels of the officious Steward who makes so prominent and despicable a figure through the piece. On the entrance of Gonerill the following dialogue takes place:—

‘Lear.How now, daughter? what makes that frontlet on?Methinks, you are too much of late i’ the frown.

‘Lear.How now, daughter? what makes that frontlet on?

Methinks, you are too much of late i’ the frown.

Fool.Thou wast a pretty fellow, when thou had’st no need to care for her frowning; now thou art an O without a figure: I am better than thou art now; I am a fool, thou art nothing.——Yes, forsooth, I will hold my tongue; [To Gonerill], so your face bids me, though you say nothing. Mum, mum.

He that keeps nor crust nor crum,Weary of all, shall want some.——

He that keeps nor crust nor crum,

Weary of all, shall want some.——

That’s a sheal’d peascod!|[Pointing to Lear.|

Gonerill.Not only, sir, this your all-licens’d fool,But other of your insolent retinueDo hourly carp and quarrel; breaking forthIn rank and not-to-be-endured riots.I had thought, by making this well known unto you,To have found a safe redress; but now grow fearful,By what yourself too late have spoke and done,That you protect this course, and put it onBy your allowance; which if you should, the faultWould not ‘scape censure, nor the redresses sleep,Which in the tender of a wholesome weal,Might in their working do you that offence,(Which else were shame) that then necessityWould call discreet proceeding.Fool.For you trow, nuncle,The hedge sparrow fed the cuckoo so long,That it had its head bit off by its young.So out went the candle, and we were left darkling.Lear.Are you our daughter?Gonerill.Come, sir,I would, you would make use of that good wisdomWhereof I know you are fraught; and put awayThese dispositions, which of late transform youFrom what you rightly are.Fool.May not an ass know when the cart draws the horse?——Whoop, Jug, I love thee.Lear.Does any here know me?—Why, this is not Lear:Does Lear walk thus? speak thus?—Where are his eyes?Either his notion weakens, or his discerningsAre lethargy’d——Ha! waking?—’Tis not so.——Who is it that can tell me who I am?—Lear’s shadow?I would learn that: for by the marksOf sov’reignty, of knowledge, and of reason,I should be false persuaded I had daughters.——Your name, fair gentlewoman?Gonerill.Come, sir:This admiration is much o’ the favourOf other your new pranks. I do beseech youTo understand my purposes aright:As you are old and reverend, you should be wise:Here do you keep a hundred knights and squires;Men so disorder’d, so debauch’d, and bold,That this our court, infected with their manners,Shews like a riotous inn: epicurism and lustMake it more like a tavern, or a brothel,Than a grac’d palace. The shame itself doth speakFor instant remedy: be then desir’dBy her, that else will take the thing she begs,A little to disquantity your train;And the remainder, that shall still depend,To be such men as may besort your age,And know themselves and you.Lear.Darkness and devils!——Saddle my horses; call my train together.——Degenerate bastard! I’ll not trouble thee;Yet have I left a daughter.Gonerill.You strike my people; and your disorder’d rabbleMake servants of their betters.EnterAlbany.Lear.Woe, that too late repents—O, sir, are you come?Is it your will? speak, sir.—Prepare my horses.——|[To Albany.|Ingratitude! thou marble-hearted fiend,More hideous, when thou shew’st thee in a child,Than the sea-monster!Albany.Pray, sir, be patient.Lear.Detested kite! thou liest.|[To Gonerill.|My train are men of choice and rarest parts,That all particulars of duty know;And in the most exact regard supportThe worships of their name.——O most small fault,How ugly didst thou in Cordelia shew!Which, like an engine, wrench’d my frame of natureFrom the fixt place; drew from my heart all love,And added to the gall. O Lear, Lear, Lear!Beat at the gate, that let thy folly in,|[Striking his head.|And thy dear judgment out!——Go, go, my people!Albany.My lord, I am guiltless, as I am ignorantOf what hath mov’d you.Lear.It may be so, my lord——Hear, nature, hear! dear goddess, hear!Suspend thy purpose, if thou didst intendTo make this creature fruitful!Into her womb convey sterility;Dry up in her the organs of increase;And from her derogate body never springA babe to honour her! If she must teem,Create her child of spleen: that it may live,To be a thwart disnatur’d torment to her!Let it stamp wrinkles in her brow of youth;With cadent tears fret channels in her cheeks;Turn all her mother’s pains, and benefits,To laughter and contempt; that she may feelHow sharper than a serpent’s tooth it isTo have a thankless child!——Away, away!|[Exit.|Albany.Now, gods, that we adore, whereof comes this?Gonerill.Never afflict yourself to know the cause;But let his disposition have that scopeThat dotage gives it.Re-enterLear.Lear.What, fifty of my followers at a clap!Within a fortnight!Albany.What’s the matter, sir?Lear.I’ll tell thee; life and death! I am asham’dThat thou hast power to shake my manhood thus:|[To Gonerill.|That these hot tears, which break from me perforce,Should make thee worth them.——Blasts and fogs upon thee!The untented woundings of a father’s cursePierce every sense about thee!——Old fond eyesBeweep this cause again, I’ll pluck you out;And cast you, with the waters that you lose,To temper clay.——Ha! is it come to this?Let it be so:——Yet have I left a daughter,Who, I am sure, is kind and comfortable;When she shall hear this of thee, with her nailsShe’ll flea thy wolfish visage. Thou shalt find,That I’ll resume the shape, which thou dost thinkI have cast off for ever.|[Exeunt Lear, Kent, and Attendants.’|

Gonerill.Not only, sir, this your all-licens’d fool,

But other of your insolent retinue

Do hourly carp and quarrel; breaking forth

In rank and not-to-be-endured riots.

I had thought, by making this well known unto you,

To have found a safe redress; but now grow fearful,

By what yourself too late have spoke and done,

That you protect this course, and put it on

By your allowance; which if you should, the fault

Would not ‘scape censure, nor the redresses sleep,

Which in the tender of a wholesome weal,

Might in their working do you that offence,

(Which else were shame) that then necessity

Would call discreet proceeding.

Fool.For you trow, nuncle,

The hedge sparrow fed the cuckoo so long,That it had its head bit off by its young.

The hedge sparrow fed the cuckoo so long,

That it had its head bit off by its young.

So out went the candle, and we were left darkling.

Lear.Are you our daughter?

Gonerill.Come, sir,I would, you would make use of that good wisdomWhereof I know you are fraught; and put awayThese dispositions, which of late transform youFrom what you rightly are.

Gonerill.Come, sir,

I would, you would make use of that good wisdom

Whereof I know you are fraught; and put away

These dispositions, which of late transform you

From what you rightly are.

Fool.May not an ass know when the cart draws the horse?——Whoop, Jug, I love thee.

Fool.May not an ass know when the cart draws the horse?

——Whoop, Jug, I love thee.

Lear.Does any here know me?—Why, this is not Lear:Does Lear walk thus? speak thus?—Where are his eyes?Either his notion weakens, or his discerningsAre lethargy’d——Ha! waking?—’Tis not so.——Who is it that can tell me who I am?—Lear’s shadow?I would learn that: for by the marksOf sov’reignty, of knowledge, and of reason,I should be false persuaded I had daughters.——Your name, fair gentlewoman?

Lear.Does any here know me?—Why, this is not Lear:

Does Lear walk thus? speak thus?—Where are his eyes?

Either his notion weakens, or his discernings

Are lethargy’d——Ha! waking?—’Tis not so.——

Who is it that can tell me who I am?—Lear’s shadow?

I would learn that: for by the marks

Of sov’reignty, of knowledge, and of reason,

I should be false persuaded I had daughters.——

Your name, fair gentlewoman?

Gonerill.Come, sir:This admiration is much o’ the favourOf other your new pranks. I do beseech youTo understand my purposes aright:As you are old and reverend, you should be wise:Here do you keep a hundred knights and squires;Men so disorder’d, so debauch’d, and bold,That this our court, infected with their manners,Shews like a riotous inn: epicurism and lustMake it more like a tavern, or a brothel,Than a grac’d palace. The shame itself doth speakFor instant remedy: be then desir’dBy her, that else will take the thing she begs,A little to disquantity your train;And the remainder, that shall still depend,To be such men as may besort your age,And know themselves and you.

Gonerill.Come, sir:

This admiration is much o’ the favour

Of other your new pranks. I do beseech you

To understand my purposes aright:

As you are old and reverend, you should be wise:

Here do you keep a hundred knights and squires;

Men so disorder’d, so debauch’d, and bold,

That this our court, infected with their manners,

Shews like a riotous inn: epicurism and lust

Make it more like a tavern, or a brothel,

Than a grac’d palace. The shame itself doth speak

For instant remedy: be then desir’d

By her, that else will take the thing she begs,

A little to disquantity your train;

And the remainder, that shall still depend,

To be such men as may besort your age,

And know themselves and you.

Lear.Darkness and devils!——Saddle my horses; call my train together.——Degenerate bastard! I’ll not trouble thee;Yet have I left a daughter.

Lear.Darkness and devils!——

Saddle my horses; call my train together.——

Degenerate bastard! I’ll not trouble thee;

Yet have I left a daughter.

Gonerill.You strike my people; and your disorder’d rabbleMake servants of their betters.

Gonerill.You strike my people; and your disorder’d rabble

Make servants of their betters.

EnterAlbany.

Lear.Woe, that too late repents—O, sir, are you come?Is it your will? speak, sir.—Prepare my horses.——|[To Albany.|Ingratitude! thou marble-hearted fiend,More hideous, when thou shew’st thee in a child,Than the sea-monster!

Lear.Woe, that too late repents—O, sir, are you come?

Is it your will? speak, sir.—Prepare my horses.——|[To Albany.|

Ingratitude! thou marble-hearted fiend,

More hideous, when thou shew’st thee in a child,

Than the sea-monster!

Albany.Pray, sir, be patient.

Lear.Detested kite! thou liest.|[To Gonerill.|My train are men of choice and rarest parts,That all particulars of duty know;And in the most exact regard supportThe worships of their name.——O most small fault,How ugly didst thou in Cordelia shew!Which, like an engine, wrench’d my frame of natureFrom the fixt place; drew from my heart all love,And added to the gall. O Lear, Lear, Lear!Beat at the gate, that let thy folly in,|[Striking his head.|And thy dear judgment out!——Go, go, my people!

Lear.Detested kite! thou liest.|[To Gonerill.|

My train are men of choice and rarest parts,

That all particulars of duty know;

And in the most exact regard support

The worships of their name.——O most small fault,

How ugly didst thou in Cordelia shew!

Which, like an engine, wrench’d my frame of nature

From the fixt place; drew from my heart all love,

And added to the gall. O Lear, Lear, Lear!

Beat at the gate, that let thy folly in,|[Striking his head.|

And thy dear judgment out!——Go, go, my people!

Albany.My lord, I am guiltless, as I am ignorantOf what hath mov’d you.

Albany.My lord, I am guiltless, as I am ignorant

Of what hath mov’d you.

Lear.It may be so, my lord——Hear, nature, hear! dear goddess, hear!Suspend thy purpose, if thou didst intendTo make this creature fruitful!Into her womb convey sterility;Dry up in her the organs of increase;And from her derogate body never springA babe to honour her! If she must teem,Create her child of spleen: that it may live,To be a thwart disnatur’d torment to her!Let it stamp wrinkles in her brow of youth;With cadent tears fret channels in her cheeks;Turn all her mother’s pains, and benefits,To laughter and contempt; that she may feelHow sharper than a serpent’s tooth it isTo have a thankless child!——Away, away!|[Exit.|

Lear.It may be so, my lord——

Hear, nature, hear! dear goddess, hear!

Suspend thy purpose, if thou didst intend

To make this creature fruitful!

Into her womb convey sterility;

Dry up in her the organs of increase;

And from her derogate body never spring

A babe to honour her! If she must teem,

Create her child of spleen: that it may live,

To be a thwart disnatur’d torment to her!

Let it stamp wrinkles in her brow of youth;

With cadent tears fret channels in her cheeks;

Turn all her mother’s pains, and benefits,

To laughter and contempt; that she may feel

How sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is

To have a thankless child!——Away, away!|[Exit.|

Albany.Now, gods, that we adore, whereof comes this?

Gonerill.Never afflict yourself to know the cause;But let his disposition have that scopeThat dotage gives it.

Gonerill.Never afflict yourself to know the cause;

But let his disposition have that scope

That dotage gives it.

Re-enterLear.

Lear.What, fifty of my followers at a clap!Within a fortnight!

Lear.What, fifty of my followers at a clap!

Within a fortnight!

Albany.What’s the matter, sir?

Lear.I’ll tell thee; life and death! I am asham’dThat thou hast power to shake my manhood thus:|[To Gonerill.|That these hot tears, which break from me perforce,Should make thee worth them.——Blasts and fogs upon thee!The untented woundings of a father’s cursePierce every sense about thee!——Old fond eyesBeweep this cause again, I’ll pluck you out;And cast you, with the waters that you lose,To temper clay.——Ha! is it come to this?Let it be so:——Yet have I left a daughter,Who, I am sure, is kind and comfortable;When she shall hear this of thee, with her nailsShe’ll flea thy wolfish visage. Thou shalt find,That I’ll resume the shape, which thou dost thinkI have cast off for ever.|[Exeunt Lear, Kent, and Attendants.’|

Lear.I’ll tell thee; life and death! I am asham’d

That thou hast power to shake my manhood thus:|[To Gonerill.|

That these hot tears, which break from me perforce,

Should make thee worth them.——Blasts and fogs upon thee!

The untented woundings of a father’s curse

Pierce every sense about thee!——Old fond eyes

Beweep this cause again, I’ll pluck you out;

And cast you, with the waters that you lose,

To temper clay.——Ha! is it come to this?

Let it be so:——Yet have I left a daughter,

Who, I am sure, is kind and comfortable;

When she shall hear this of thee, with her nails

She’ll flea thy wolfish visage. Thou shalt find,

That I’ll resume the shape, which thou dost think

I have cast off for ever.|[Exeunt Lear, Kent, and Attendants.’|

This is certainly fine: no wonder that Lear says after it, ‘O let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heavens,’ feeling its effects by anticipation; but fine as is this burst of rage and indignation at the first blow aimed at his hopes and expectations, it is nothing near so fine as what follows from his double disappointment, and his lingering efforts to see which of them he shall lean upon for support and find comfort in, when both his daughters turn against his age and weakness. It is with some difficulty that Lear gets to speak with his daughter Regan, and her husband, at Gloster’s castle. In concert with Gonerill they have left their own home on purpose to avoid him. His apprehensions are first alarmed by this circumstance, andwhen Gloster, whose guests they are, urges the fiery temper of the Duke of Cornwall as an excuse for not importuning him a second time, Lear breaks out—

‘Vengeance! Plague! Death! Confusion!——Fiery? What quality? Why, Gloster, Gloster,I’d speak with the Duke of Cornwall, and his wife.’

‘Vengeance! Plague! Death! Confusion!——

Fiery? What quality? Why, Gloster, Gloster,

I’d speak with the Duke of Cornwall, and his wife.’

Afterwards, feeling perhaps not well himself, he is inclined to admit their excuse from illness, but then recollecting that they have set his messenger (Kent) in the stocks, all his suspicions are roused again, and he insists on seeing them.

‘EnterCornwall,Regan,Gloster,and Servants.

Lear.Good-morrow to you both.Cornwall.Hail to your grace!|[Kent is set at liberty.|Regan.I am glad to see your highness.Lear.Regan, I think you are; I know what reasonI have to think so: if thou should’st not be glad,I would divorce me from thy mother’s tomb,Sepulch’ring an adultress.——O, are you free?|[To Kent.|Some other time for that.——Beloved Regan,Thy sister’s naught: O Regan, she hath tiedSharp-tooth’d unkindness, like a vulture, here——|[Points to his heart.|I can scarce speak to thee; thou’lt not believe,Of how deprav’d a quality——O Regan!Regan.I pray you, sir, take patience; I have hopeYou less know how to value her desert,Than she to scant her duty.Lear.Say, how is that?Regan.I cannot think my sister in the leastWould fail her obligation; if, sir, perchance,She have restrain’d the riots of your followers,’Tis on such ground, and to such wholesome end,As clears her from all blame.Lear.My curses on her!Regan.O, sir, you are old;Nature in you stands on the very vergeOf her confine: you should be rul’d, and ledBy some discretion, that discerns your stateBetter than you yourself: therefore, I pray you,That to our sister you do make return;Say, you have wrong’d her, sir.Lear.Ask her forgiveness?Do you but mark how this becomes the use?Dear daughter, I confess that I am old;Age is unnecessary; on my knees I beg,That you’ll vouchsafe me raiment, bed, and food.Regan.Good sir, no more; these are unsightly tricks:Return you to my sister.Lear.Never, Regan:She hath abated me of half my train;Look’d blank upon me; struck me with her tongue,Most serpent-like, upon the very heart:——All the stor’d vengeances of heaven fallOn her ungrateful top! Strike her young bones,You taking airs, with lameness!Cornwall.Fie, sir, fie!Lear.You nimble lightnings, dart your blinding flamesInto her scornful eyes! Infect her beauty,You fen-suck’d fogs, drawn by the powerful sun,To fall, and blast her pride!Regan.O the blest gods!So will you wish on me, when the rash mood is on.Lear.No, Regan, thou shalt never have my curse;Thy tender-hefted nature shall not giveThee o’er to harshness; her eyes are fierce, but thineDo comfort, and not burn: ’Tis not in theeTo grudge my pleasures, to cut off my train,To bandy hasty words, to scant my sizes,And, in conclusion, to oppose the boltAgainst my coming in: thou better know’stThe offices of nature, bond of childhood,Effects of courtesy, dues of gratitude;Thy half o’ the kingdom thou hast not forgot,Wherein I thee endow’d.Regan.Good sir, to the purpose.|[Trumpets within.|Lear.Who put my man i’ the stocks?Cornwall.What trumpet’s that?Enter Steward.Regan.I know’t, my sister’s: this approves her letter,That she would soon be here.—Is your lady come?Lear.This is a slave, whose easy-borrow’d prideDwells in the fickle grace of her he follows:——Out, Varlet, from my sight!Cornwall.What means your grace?Lear.Who stock’d my servant? Regan, I have good hopeThou did’st not know on’t.——Who comes here? O heavens,EnterGonerill.If you do love old men, if your sweet swayAllow obedience, if yourselves are old,Make it your cause; send down, and take my part!—Art not asham’d to look upon this beard?—|[To Gonerill.|O, Regan, wilt thou take her by the hand?Gonerill.Why not by the hand, sir? How have I offended?All’s not offence, that indiscretion finds,And dotage terms so.Lear.O, sides, you are too tough!Will you yet hold?—How came my man i’ the stocks?Cornwall.I set him there, sir: but his own disordersDeserv’d much less advancement.Lear.You! did you?Regan.I pray you, father, being weak, seem so.If, till the expiration of your month,You will return and sojourn with my sister,Dismissing half your train, come then to me;I am now from home, and out of that provisionWhich shall be needful for your entertainment.Lear.Return to her, and fifty men dismiss’d?No, rather I abjure all roofs, and chooseTo be a comrade with the wolf and owl——To wage against the enmity o’ the air,Necessity’s sharp pinch!——Return with her!Why, the hot-blooded France, that dowerless tookOur youngest born, I could as well be broughtTo knee his throne, and squire-like pension begTo keep base life afoot.——Return with her!Persuade me rather to be slave and sumpterTo this detested groom.|[Looking on the Steward.|Gonerill.At your choice, sir.Lear.Now, I pr’ythee, daughter, do not make me mad;I will not trouble thee, my child; farewell:We’ll no more meet, no more see one another:——But yet thou art my flesh, my blood, my daughter;Or, rather, a disease that’s in my flesh,Which I must needs call mine: thou art a bile,A plague-sore, an embossed carbuncle,In my corrupted blood. But I’ll not chide thee;Let shame come when it will, I do not call it:I did not bid the thunder-bearer shoot,Nor tell tales of thee to high-judging Jove:Mend when thou canst; be better, at thy leisure:I can be patient; I can stay with Regan,I, and my hundred knights.Regan.Not altogether so, sir;I look’d not for you yet, nor am providedFor your fit welcome: Give ear, sir, to my sister;For those that mingle reason with your passionMust be content to think you old, and so——But she knows what she does.Lear.Is this well spoken now?Regan.I dare avouch it, sir: What, fifty followers?Is it not well? What should you need of more?Yea, or so many? Sith that both charge and dangerSpeak ‘gainst so great a number? How, in one house,Should many people, under two commands,Hold amity? ’Tis hard; almost impossible.Gonerill.Why might not you, my lord, receive attendanceFrom those that she calls servants, or from mine?Regan.Why not, my lord? If then they chanc’d to slack you,We would controul them: if you will come to me(For now I spy a danger) I entreat youTo bring but five-and-twenty; to no moreWill I give place, or notice.Lear.I gave you all——Regan.And in good time you gave it.Lear.Made you my guardians, my depositaries;But kept a reservation to be follow’dWith such a number: what, must I come to youWith five-and-twenty, Regan! said you so?Regan.And speak it again, my lord: no more with me.Lear.Those wicked creatures yet do look well-favour’d,When others are more wicked; not being the worst,Stands in some rank of praise:——I’ll go with thee;|[To Gonerill.|Thy fifty yet doth double five-and-twenty,And thou art twice her love.Gonerill.Hear me, my lord;What need you five-and-twenty, ten, or five,To follow in a house, where twice so manyHave a command to tend you?Regan.What need one?Lear.O, reason not the need: our basest beggarsAre in the poorest thing superfluous:Allow not nature more than nature needs,Man’s life is cheap as beast’s: thou art a lady;If only to go warm were gorgeous,Why, nature needs not what thou gorgeous wear’st;Which scarcely keeps thee warm.——But, for true need——You heavens, give me that patience which I need!You see me here, you gods; a poor old man,As full of grief as age; wretched in both!If it be you that stir these daughters’ heartsAgainst their father, fool me not so muchTo bear it tamely; touch me with noble anger!O, let no woman’s weapons, water-drops,Stain my man’s cheeks!——No, you unnatural hags,I will have such revenges on you both,That all the world shall——I will do such things——What they are, yet I know not; but they shall beThe terrors of the earth. You think, I’ll weep:No, I’ll not weep:——I have full cause of weeping; but this heartShall break into a hundred thousand flaws,Or e’er I’ll weep:——O, fool, I shall go mad!——|[Exeunt Lear, Gloster, Kent, and Fool.’|

Lear.Good-morrow to you both.

Cornwall.Hail to your grace!|[Kent is set at liberty.|

Regan.I am glad to see your highness.

Lear.Regan, I think you are; I know what reasonI have to think so: if thou should’st not be glad,I would divorce me from thy mother’s tomb,Sepulch’ring an adultress.——O, are you free?|[To Kent.|Some other time for that.——Beloved Regan,Thy sister’s naught: O Regan, she hath tiedSharp-tooth’d unkindness, like a vulture, here——|[Points to his heart.|I can scarce speak to thee; thou’lt not believe,Of how deprav’d a quality——O Regan!

Lear.Regan, I think you are; I know what reason

I have to think so: if thou should’st not be glad,

I would divorce me from thy mother’s tomb,

Sepulch’ring an adultress.——O, are you free?|[To Kent.|

Some other time for that.——Beloved Regan,

Thy sister’s naught: O Regan, she hath tied

Sharp-tooth’d unkindness, like a vulture, here——

|[Points to his heart.|

I can scarce speak to thee; thou’lt not believe,

Of how deprav’d a quality——O Regan!

Regan.I pray you, sir, take patience; I have hopeYou less know how to value her desert,Than she to scant her duty.

Regan.I pray you, sir, take patience; I have hope

You less know how to value her desert,

Than she to scant her duty.

Lear.Say, how is that?

Regan.I cannot think my sister in the leastWould fail her obligation; if, sir, perchance,She have restrain’d the riots of your followers,’Tis on such ground, and to such wholesome end,As clears her from all blame.

Regan.I cannot think my sister in the least

Would fail her obligation; if, sir, perchance,

She have restrain’d the riots of your followers,

’Tis on such ground, and to such wholesome end,

As clears her from all blame.

Lear.My curses on her!

Regan.O, sir, you are old;Nature in you stands on the very vergeOf her confine: you should be rul’d, and ledBy some discretion, that discerns your stateBetter than you yourself: therefore, I pray you,That to our sister you do make return;Say, you have wrong’d her, sir.

Regan.O, sir, you are old;

Nature in you stands on the very verge

Of her confine: you should be rul’d, and led

By some discretion, that discerns your state

Better than you yourself: therefore, I pray you,

That to our sister you do make return;

Say, you have wrong’d her, sir.

Lear.Ask her forgiveness?Do you but mark how this becomes the use?Dear daughter, I confess that I am old;Age is unnecessary; on my knees I beg,That you’ll vouchsafe me raiment, bed, and food.

Lear.Ask her forgiveness?

Do you but mark how this becomes the use?

Dear daughter, I confess that I am old;

Age is unnecessary; on my knees I beg,

That you’ll vouchsafe me raiment, bed, and food.

Regan.Good sir, no more; these are unsightly tricks:Return you to my sister.

Regan.Good sir, no more; these are unsightly tricks:

Return you to my sister.

Lear.Never, Regan:She hath abated me of half my train;Look’d blank upon me; struck me with her tongue,Most serpent-like, upon the very heart:——All the stor’d vengeances of heaven fallOn her ungrateful top! Strike her young bones,You taking airs, with lameness!

Lear.Never, Regan:

She hath abated me of half my train;

Look’d blank upon me; struck me with her tongue,

Most serpent-like, upon the very heart:——

All the stor’d vengeances of heaven fall

On her ungrateful top! Strike her young bones,

You taking airs, with lameness!

Cornwall.Fie, sir, fie!

Lear.You nimble lightnings, dart your blinding flamesInto her scornful eyes! Infect her beauty,You fen-suck’d fogs, drawn by the powerful sun,To fall, and blast her pride!

Lear.You nimble lightnings, dart your blinding flames

Into her scornful eyes! Infect her beauty,

You fen-suck’d fogs, drawn by the powerful sun,

To fall, and blast her pride!

Regan.O the blest gods!So will you wish on me, when the rash mood is on.

Regan.O the blest gods!

So will you wish on me, when the rash mood is on.

Lear.No, Regan, thou shalt never have my curse;Thy tender-hefted nature shall not giveThee o’er to harshness; her eyes are fierce, but thineDo comfort, and not burn: ’Tis not in theeTo grudge my pleasures, to cut off my train,To bandy hasty words, to scant my sizes,And, in conclusion, to oppose the boltAgainst my coming in: thou better know’stThe offices of nature, bond of childhood,Effects of courtesy, dues of gratitude;Thy half o’ the kingdom thou hast not forgot,Wherein I thee endow’d.

Lear.No, Regan, thou shalt never have my curse;

Thy tender-hefted nature shall not give

Thee o’er to harshness; her eyes are fierce, but thine

Do comfort, and not burn: ’Tis not in thee

To grudge my pleasures, to cut off my train,

To bandy hasty words, to scant my sizes,

And, in conclusion, to oppose the bolt

Against my coming in: thou better know’st

The offices of nature, bond of childhood,

Effects of courtesy, dues of gratitude;

Thy half o’ the kingdom thou hast not forgot,

Wherein I thee endow’d.

Regan.Good sir, to the purpose.|[Trumpets within.|

Lear.Who put my man i’ the stocks?

Cornwall.What trumpet’s that?

Enter Steward.

Regan.I know’t, my sister’s: this approves her letter,That she would soon be here.—Is your lady come?

Regan.I know’t, my sister’s: this approves her letter,

That she would soon be here.—Is your lady come?

Lear.This is a slave, whose easy-borrow’d prideDwells in the fickle grace of her he follows:——Out, Varlet, from my sight!

Lear.This is a slave, whose easy-borrow’d pride

Dwells in the fickle grace of her he follows:——

Out, Varlet, from my sight!

Cornwall.What means your grace?

Lear.Who stock’d my servant? Regan, I have good hopeThou did’st not know on’t.——Who comes here? O heavens,

Lear.Who stock’d my servant? Regan, I have good hope

Thou did’st not know on’t.——Who comes here? O heavens,

EnterGonerill.

If you do love old men, if your sweet swayAllow obedience, if yourselves are old,Make it your cause; send down, and take my part!—Art not asham’d to look upon this beard?—|[To Gonerill.|O, Regan, wilt thou take her by the hand?

If you do love old men, if your sweet sway

Allow obedience, if yourselves are old,

Make it your cause; send down, and take my part!—

Art not asham’d to look upon this beard?—|[To Gonerill.|

O, Regan, wilt thou take her by the hand?

Gonerill.Why not by the hand, sir? How have I offended?All’s not offence, that indiscretion finds,And dotage terms so.

Gonerill.Why not by the hand, sir? How have I offended?

All’s not offence, that indiscretion finds,

And dotage terms so.

Lear.O, sides, you are too tough!Will you yet hold?—How came my man i’ the stocks?

Lear.O, sides, you are too tough!

Will you yet hold?—How came my man i’ the stocks?

Cornwall.I set him there, sir: but his own disordersDeserv’d much less advancement.

Cornwall.I set him there, sir: but his own disorders

Deserv’d much less advancement.

Lear.You! did you?

Regan.I pray you, father, being weak, seem so.If, till the expiration of your month,You will return and sojourn with my sister,Dismissing half your train, come then to me;I am now from home, and out of that provisionWhich shall be needful for your entertainment.

Regan.I pray you, father, being weak, seem so.

If, till the expiration of your month,

You will return and sojourn with my sister,

Dismissing half your train, come then to me;

I am now from home, and out of that provision

Which shall be needful for your entertainment.

Lear.Return to her, and fifty men dismiss’d?No, rather I abjure all roofs, and chooseTo be a comrade with the wolf and owl——To wage against the enmity o’ the air,Necessity’s sharp pinch!——Return with her!Why, the hot-blooded France, that dowerless tookOur youngest born, I could as well be broughtTo knee his throne, and squire-like pension begTo keep base life afoot.——Return with her!Persuade me rather to be slave and sumpterTo this detested groom.|[Looking on the Steward.|

Lear.Return to her, and fifty men dismiss’d?

No, rather I abjure all roofs, and choose

To be a comrade with the wolf and owl——

To wage against the enmity o’ the air,

Necessity’s sharp pinch!——Return with her!

Why, the hot-blooded France, that dowerless took

Our youngest born, I could as well be brought

To knee his throne, and squire-like pension beg

To keep base life afoot.——Return with her!

Persuade me rather to be slave and sumpter

To this detested groom.|[Looking on the Steward.|

Gonerill.At your choice, sir.

Lear.Now, I pr’ythee, daughter, do not make me mad;I will not trouble thee, my child; farewell:We’ll no more meet, no more see one another:——But yet thou art my flesh, my blood, my daughter;Or, rather, a disease that’s in my flesh,Which I must needs call mine: thou art a bile,A plague-sore, an embossed carbuncle,In my corrupted blood. But I’ll not chide thee;Let shame come when it will, I do not call it:I did not bid the thunder-bearer shoot,Nor tell tales of thee to high-judging Jove:Mend when thou canst; be better, at thy leisure:I can be patient; I can stay with Regan,I, and my hundred knights.

Lear.Now, I pr’ythee, daughter, do not make me mad;

I will not trouble thee, my child; farewell:

We’ll no more meet, no more see one another:——

But yet thou art my flesh, my blood, my daughter;

Or, rather, a disease that’s in my flesh,

Which I must needs call mine: thou art a bile,

A plague-sore, an embossed carbuncle,

In my corrupted blood. But I’ll not chide thee;

Let shame come when it will, I do not call it:

I did not bid the thunder-bearer shoot,

Nor tell tales of thee to high-judging Jove:

Mend when thou canst; be better, at thy leisure:

I can be patient; I can stay with Regan,

I, and my hundred knights.

Regan.Not altogether so, sir;I look’d not for you yet, nor am providedFor your fit welcome: Give ear, sir, to my sister;For those that mingle reason with your passionMust be content to think you old, and so——But she knows what she does.

Regan.Not altogether so, sir;

I look’d not for you yet, nor am provided

For your fit welcome: Give ear, sir, to my sister;

For those that mingle reason with your passion

Must be content to think you old, and so——

But she knows what she does.

Lear.Is this well spoken now?

Regan.I dare avouch it, sir: What, fifty followers?Is it not well? What should you need of more?Yea, or so many? Sith that both charge and dangerSpeak ‘gainst so great a number? How, in one house,Should many people, under two commands,Hold amity? ’Tis hard; almost impossible.

Regan.I dare avouch it, sir: What, fifty followers?

Is it not well? What should you need of more?

Yea, or so many? Sith that both charge and danger

Speak ‘gainst so great a number? How, in one house,

Should many people, under two commands,

Hold amity? ’Tis hard; almost impossible.

Gonerill.Why might not you, my lord, receive attendanceFrom those that she calls servants, or from mine?

Gonerill.Why might not you, my lord, receive attendance

From those that she calls servants, or from mine?

Regan.Why not, my lord? If then they chanc’d to slack you,We would controul them: if you will come to me(For now I spy a danger) I entreat youTo bring but five-and-twenty; to no moreWill I give place, or notice.

Regan.Why not, my lord? If then they chanc’d to slack you,

We would controul them: if you will come to me

(For now I spy a danger) I entreat you

To bring but five-and-twenty; to no more

Will I give place, or notice.

Lear.I gave you all——

Regan.And in good time you gave it.

Lear.Made you my guardians, my depositaries;But kept a reservation to be follow’dWith such a number: what, must I come to youWith five-and-twenty, Regan! said you so?

Lear.Made you my guardians, my depositaries;

But kept a reservation to be follow’d

With such a number: what, must I come to you

With five-and-twenty, Regan! said you so?

Regan.And speak it again, my lord: no more with me.

Lear.Those wicked creatures yet do look well-favour’d,When others are more wicked; not being the worst,Stands in some rank of praise:——I’ll go with thee;|[To Gonerill.|Thy fifty yet doth double five-and-twenty,And thou art twice her love.

Lear.Those wicked creatures yet do look well-favour’d,

When others are more wicked; not being the worst,

Stands in some rank of praise:——I’ll go with thee;|[To Gonerill.|

Thy fifty yet doth double five-and-twenty,

And thou art twice her love.

Gonerill.Hear me, my lord;What need you five-and-twenty, ten, or five,To follow in a house, where twice so manyHave a command to tend you?

Gonerill.Hear me, my lord;

What need you five-and-twenty, ten, or five,

To follow in a house, where twice so many

Have a command to tend you?

Regan.What need one?

Lear.O, reason not the need: our basest beggarsAre in the poorest thing superfluous:Allow not nature more than nature needs,Man’s life is cheap as beast’s: thou art a lady;If only to go warm were gorgeous,Why, nature needs not what thou gorgeous wear’st;Which scarcely keeps thee warm.——But, for true need——You heavens, give me that patience which I need!You see me here, you gods; a poor old man,As full of grief as age; wretched in both!If it be you that stir these daughters’ heartsAgainst their father, fool me not so muchTo bear it tamely; touch me with noble anger!O, let no woman’s weapons, water-drops,Stain my man’s cheeks!——No, you unnatural hags,I will have such revenges on you both,That all the world shall——I will do such things——What they are, yet I know not; but they shall beThe terrors of the earth. You think, I’ll weep:No, I’ll not weep:——I have full cause of weeping; but this heartShall break into a hundred thousand flaws,Or e’er I’ll weep:——O, fool, I shall go mad!——|[Exeunt Lear, Gloster, Kent, and Fool.’|

Lear.O, reason not the need: our basest beggars

Are in the poorest thing superfluous:

Allow not nature more than nature needs,

Man’s life is cheap as beast’s: thou art a lady;

If only to go warm were gorgeous,

Why, nature needs not what thou gorgeous wear’st;

Which scarcely keeps thee warm.——But, for true need——

You heavens, give me that patience which I need!

You see me here, you gods; a poor old man,

As full of grief as age; wretched in both!

If it be you that stir these daughters’ hearts

Against their father, fool me not so much

To bear it tamely; touch me with noble anger!

O, let no woman’s weapons, water-drops,

Stain my man’s cheeks!——No, you unnatural hags,

I will have such revenges on you both,

That all the world shall——I will do such things——

What they are, yet I know not; but they shall be

The terrors of the earth. You think, I’ll weep:

No, I’ll not weep:——

I have full cause of weeping; but this heart

Shall break into a hundred thousand flaws,

Or e’er I’ll weep:——O, fool, I shall go mad!——

|[Exeunt Lear, Gloster, Kent, and Fool.’|

If there is any thing in any author like this yearning of the heart, these throes of tenderness, this profound expression of all that can be thought and felt in the most heart-rending situations, we are glad of it; but it is in some author that we have not read.

The scene in the storm, where he is exposed to all the fury of the elements, though grand and terrible, is not so fine, but the moralising scenes with Mad Tom, Kent, and Gloster, are upon a par with the former. His exclamation in the supposed trial-scene of his daughters, ‘See the little dogs and all, Tray, Blanch, and Sweetheart, see they bark at me,’ his issuing his orders, ‘Let them anatomize Regan, see what breeds about her heart,’ and his reflection when he sees the misery of Edgar, ‘Nothing but his unkind daughters could have brought him to this,’ are in a style of pathos, where the extremest resources of the imagination are called in to lay open the deepest movements of the heart, which was peculiar to Shakespear. In the same style and spirit is his interrupting the Fool who asks ‘whether a madman be a gentleman or a yeoman,’ by answering ‘A king, a king.—

The indirect part that Gloster takes in these scenes where his generosity leads him to relieve Lear and resent the cruelty of his daughters, at the very time that he is himself instigated to seek the life of his son, and suffering under the sting of his supposed ingratitude, is a striking accompaniment to the situation of Lear. Indeed, the manner in which the threads of the story are woven together is almost as wonderful in the way of art as the carrying on the tide of passion, still varying and unimpaired, is on the score of nature. Among the remarkable instances of this kind are Edgar’s meeting with his old blind father; the deception he practises upon him when he pretends to lead him to the top of Dover-cliff—‘Come on, sir, here’s the place,’ to prevent his ending his life and miseries together; his encounter with the perfidious Steward whom he kills, and his finding the letter from Gonerill to his brother upon him which leads to the final catastrophe, and brings the wheel of Justice ‘full circle home’ to the guilty parties. The bustle and rapid succession of events in the last scenes is surprising. But the meeting between Lear and Cordelia is by far the most affecting part of them. It has all the wildness of poetry, and all the heart-felt truth of nature. Theprevious account of her reception of the news of his unkind treatment, her involuntary reproaches to her sisters, ‘Shame, ladies, shame,’ Lear’s backwardness to see his daughter, the picture of the desolate state to which he is reduced, ‘Alack, ’tis he; why he was met even now, as mad as the vex’d sea, singing aloud,’ only prepare the way for and heighten our expectation of what follows, and assuredly this expectation is not disappointed when through the tender care of Cordelia he revives and recollects her.

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