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And pray, and fing, and tell old tales, and laugh
At gilted butterflies; (25) and hear poor rogues
Talk of court news, and we'll talk with them tco,
Who loses, and who wins: who's in, who's out:
And take upon's the mystery of things,

As if we were God's fpies. And we'll wear out,
In a wall'd prifon, packs and sects of great ones,
That ebb and flow by th' moon.

Edm. Take them away.

Lear. Upon fuch facrifices, my Cordelia, The gods themselves throw incense.

SCENE VIII. The Justice of the Gods.

(26) The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices Makes inftruments to fcourge us.

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Of all the gamefters of the court and city:
Which lord lies with that lady, and what gallant
Sports with that merchant's wife: and does relate
Who fells her honour for a diamond,

Who for a tiffue robe: whose husband's jealous,
And who fo kind, that, to share with his wife,
Will make the match himself: harmless conceits,
Tho' fools fay they are dangerous.

Edgar's

The Falfe One, A&t 1. Sc. i.

The word fpies in the text, is taken in the fense of spies upon any one, to infpect their conduct, not spies employed by a person.

(26) The, &c.] This retorting of punishments, and making the means by which we offended the fcourge of our offence, is very common amongst the ancients, and perhaps had its rife from the Jewish people. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, &c. Callimachus, in his hymn to Pallas, tells us, that goddefs depriv'd the young hunter of his eyes, because they had offended, having feen her in the bath. See the Hymn, p. 75. And in Sophocles, at the end of Electra, Orefies cries out to giftus;

Peace, and attend me to that place where thou
Didft murder my poor father, that even there
I too may murder thee.

Edgar's Account of his difcovering himself to his Father, &c.

Lift a brief tale,

And when 'tis told, O, that my heart would burst!
The bloody proclamation to escape,

That follow'd me fo near (O, our lives sweetness !
That we the pain of death would hourly bear,
Rather than die at once) taught me to shift
Into a madman's rags; t'affume a femblance,
The very dogs difdain'd; and in this habit,
Met I my father with his bleeding rings,
Their precious gems new loft; became his guide,
Led him, begg'd for him, fav'd him from defpair;
Never (O, fault!) reveal'd myself unto him,
Until fome half hour paft, when I was arm'd,
Not fure, tho' hoping of this good fuccefs,
I afk'd his bleffing, and from firft to last
Told him my pilgrimage. But his flaw'd heart,
Alack, too weak the conflict to fupport,
'Twixt two extremes of paffion, joy and grief,
Burft fmilingly.

Baft. This fpeech of yours hath mov'd me,
And fhall, perchance, do good; but speak you on,
You look, as you had something more to fay.

Alb. If there be more, more woeful, hold it in, For I am almoft ready to diffolve,

Hearing of this.

Edg.(27) This would have feem'd a period To fuch as love not sorrow: but another,

To

(27) This, &c.] The baftard, whofe favage nature is well difplayed by it, defires to hear more: the gentle Albany, touch'd at the fad tale, begs him no more to melt his heart: upon which, Edga obferves, fenfibly affected by Edmund's inhumanity, “One should have imagined, this would have feem'd a

period,

To amplify too much, would make much more,
And top extremity!

Whilft I was big in clamour, there came a man,
Who having feen me in my worser state,

Shunn'd my abhorr'd fociety; but now finding
Who 'twas had fo indur'd, with his strong arms
He faften'd on my neck; and bellow'd out,
As he'd burst heaven; threw him on my father;
Told the most piteous tale of Lear and him,
That ever ear receiv'd; which in recounting
His grief grew puiflant, and the strings of life
Began to crack-Twice then the trumpets founded.
And there I left him tranc'd.-

SCENE XII. Lear on the Death of Cordelia.

Howl, howl, howl, howl!-O you are men of ftone; Had I your tongues and eyes, I'd use them fo That Heav'ns vault fhou'd crack; fhe's gone for ever! I know when one's dead and when one lives; She's dead as earth! lend me a looking glass, If that her breath will mift or ftain the stone, Why then the lives.

This

period, a fufficient end of woe, to fuch as love not forrow, who are not pleased to hear of the diftreffes of others: but another (a perfon of another and more cruel temper) to amplify too much, (to augment and aggravate that which is already too great) would still make much more (would still increase it) and top extremity itself; that is, even go beyond that which is already at the utmost limit." Nothing can be plainer than this, which Mr. Warburton condemning as miferable nonfenfe, reads thus, and admits into his text !

This wou'd have feem'd a period; but fuch

As love to amplify anothers forrow,

Too much, wou'd make much more and top extremity!

'Tis remarkable, this fine fpeech, (and indeed many others) are omitted in the Oxford edition.

This feather ftirs, the lives: if it be fo

It is a chance which does redeem all forrows,
That e'er I have felt.

Kent. O my good master.

Lear. Pr'ythee away

A plague upon your murth'rous traitors all!
I might have fav'd her; now fhe's gone for ever,
Cordelia! Cordelia! stay a little. Ha!

What is't thou fayeft? Her voice was ever soft,
Gentle and low.

Lear dying.

And my poor fool is hang'd! No, no, no life. Why fhould a dog, a horse, a rat have life, And thou no breath at all? Thou'lt come no more. Never, never, never, never, never.

• General Obfervation.

THE tragedy of Lear (fays Johnfon) is defervedly celebrated among the dramas of Shakespear. There is perhaps no play which keeps the attention fo ftrongly fixed; which fo much agitates our paffions; and interefts our curiofity. The artful involutions of diftinct interefts, the ftriking oppofition of contrary characters, the fudden changes of fortune, and the quick fucceffion of events, fill the mind with a perpetual tumult of indignation, pity, and hope. There is no fcene which does not contribute to the aggravation of the distress or conduct of the action, and scarce a line which does not conduce to the progrefs of the fcene. So powerful is the current of the poet's imagination, that the mind, which once ventures within it, is hurried irresistibly along.

Macbeth.

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That look not like th' inhabitants o' th' earth,

And yet are on't? Live you, or are you aught

That man may queftion? You feem to understand me, By each at once her choppy finger laying

Upon her skinny lips;

You fhould be women:
And yet your
beards forbid me to interpret
That you are fo.

SCENE

(1) What, &c.] Shakespear's excellence in these fictitious characters hath been before obferved: In fuch circles, indeed, none could move like him; ghofts, witches, and fairies feem to acknowledge him their fovereign. We must observe, that the reality of witches was firmly believed in our author's time, not only established by law, but by fashion also, and that

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