Lear. A plague upon you, murderers, 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?-Her voice was ever soft, Lear. Did I not, fellow? I have seen the day, with my good biting faulchion Lear. This is a dull sight: Are you not Kent? Your servant Kent: Where is your servant Caius? Lear. He's a good fellow, I can tell you that; He'll strike, and quickly too:-He's dead and rotten. Kent. No, my good lord; I am the very man ;Lear. I'll see that straight. Kent. That, from the first of difference and de cay, Have follow'd your sad steps. Lear. You are welcome hither. Kent. Nor no man else: all's cheerless, dark, and deadly. Your eldest daughters have foredoom'd themselves, And desperately are dead. Lear. Ay, so I think. Alb. He knows not what he says; and vain it is, That we present us to him. Edg. Very bootless. Enter an Officer. Off. Edmund is dead, my lord. Alb. That's but a trifle here. You lords, and noble friends, know our intent. To him our absolute power:-You, to your rights; [To Edgar and Kent. With boot, and such addition as your honours Have more than merited.-All friends shall taste The wages of their virtue, and all foes The cup of their deservings.-O see, see! Lear. And my poor fool is hang'd! No, no, no life: Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life, And thou no breath at all? O, thou wilt 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, my lord, Kent. Break, heart; I pr'ythee, break! [He dies. Kent. Vex not his ghost: O, let him pass! he hates him, That would upon the rack of this tough world Stretch him out longer. Edg. O, he is gone, indeed. Kent. The wonder is, he hath endur'd so long: He but usurp'd his life. Alb. Bear them from hence.-Our present business Is general woe. Friends of my soul, you twain [To Kent and Edgar. Rule in this realm, and the gor'd state sustain. Kent. I have a journey, sir, shortly to go; My master calls, and I must not say, no. Alb. The weight of this sad time we must obey; Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say. The oldest hath borne most: we, that are young, Shall never see so much, nor live so long. [Exeunt, with a dead march. END OF VOLUME EIGHTH. Printed by Walker and Greig, |