And fallen it might have long remained;
But Greece, who saw her moment now,
Caught up the prize, though prostrate, stained,
And waved it round her beauteous brow.
And Fancy bade me mark where, o'er

Her altar, as its flame ascended,
Fair laureled spirits seemed to soar,

Who thus in song their voices blended:

"Shine, shine forever, glorious Flame,
Divinest gift of gods to men!
From Greece thy earliest splendor came,
To Greece thy ray returns again.
Take, Freedom, take thy radiant round;
When dimmed, revive; when lost, return,
Till not a shrine through earth be found,
On which thy glories shall not burn!"
FROM MOORE.

CCXXVII.-KING LEAR.-SCENE I.

THIS scene may be spoken alone, or in connection with either the three or the four following. To give the story, however, its full interest, they should all be spoken in connection.

CHARACTERS.-King Lear; Goneril, Regan, and Cordelia, his daughters; and Kent, a friend of Lear. All present.

Lear. TELL me, my daughters,

Since now we will divest us, both of rule,

Interest of territory, cares of state,

Which of you, shall we say, doth love us most?

That we our largest bounty may extend

Where merit doth most challenge it. Goneril,
Our eldest-born, speak first.

Gon. Sir, I

Do love you more than words can wield the matter,
Dearer than eyesight, space, and liberty;

Beyond what can be valued, rich, or rare;

No less than life, with grace, health, beauty, honor;

As much as child e'er loved, or father found.

A love that makes breath poor, and speech unable :
Beyond all manner of so much I love you.

Cor.

(Aside.) What shall Cordelia do? Love and be silent. Lear. Of all these bounds, even from this line to this, With shadowy forests, and with champaigns riched, With plenteous rivers, and wide-skirted meads,

We make thee lady.

What says our second daughter,

Our dearest Regan? Speak.

Reg. I am made of that self metal as my sister,
And prize me at her worth. In my true heart
I find, she names my very deed of love;

Only she comes too short; that I profess
Myself an enemy to all other joys,

Which the most precious square of sense possesses;
And find, I am alone felicitate

In your dear highness' love.

Cor. (Aside.) Then poor Cordelia!

And yet not so: since, I am sure, my love's
More richer than my tongue.

Lear. To thee, and thine, hereditary ever,
Remain this ample third of our fair kingdom;
No less in space, validity, and pleasure,

Than that conferred on Goneril. Now our joy,
Although the last, not least; what can you say, to draw
A third more opulent than your sisters? Speak.

Cor. Nothing, my lord.

Lear. Nothing?

Cor. Nothing.

Lear. Nothing can come of nothing. Speak again.
Unhappy that I am, I can not heave

Cor.

My heart into my mouth. I love your majesty,

According to my bond; nor more, nor less.

Lear. How, how, Cordelia? Mend your speech a little, Lest it may mar your fortunes.

Cor. Good my lord,

You are my father, have bred me, loved me.

I return those duties back as are right fit,
Obey you, love you, and most honor you.
Why have my sisters husbands, if they say
They love you, all? Haply, when I shall wed,

That lord, whose hand must take my plight, shall carry

Half my love with him, half my care and duty.

Sure, I shall never marry like my sisters,

To love my father all.

Lear. But goes this with thy heart?

Cor. Ay, good my lord.

Lear. So young, and so untender!

Cor.

So young, my lord, and true.

Lear. Let it be so. Thy truth, then, be thy dower;
For, by the sacred radiance of the sun;

The mysteries of Hecate, and the night;
By all the operations of the orbs,

From whom we do exist, and cease to be;
Here I disclaim all my paternal care,
Propinquity and property of blood,

And as a stranger to my heart and me,
Hold thee, from this, forever.

Kent. Good, my liege,—

Lear. Peace, Kent!

Come not between the dragon and his wrath;
I loved her most, and thought to set my rest

On her kind nursery.

Hence, and avoid my sight

So be my grave my peace, as here I give

Her father's heart from her!

(To Cordelia.)

Let pride, which she calls plainness, marry her.

Regan and Goneril,

I do invest you jointly with my power,

Pre-eminence, and all the large effects

That troop with majesty. Ourself, by monthly course,
With reservation of a hundred knights,

By you to be sustained, shall our abode

Make with you by due turns. Only we still retain

The name, and all additions to a king.

The sway, revenue, execution of the rest, be yours.
Kent. Royal Lear,

Whom I have ever honored as my king,

Loved as my father, as my master followed,

As my great patron, thought on in my prayers,—

old man

?

Lear. The bow is bent and drawn, make from the shaft. Kent. Let it fall rather, though the fork invade The region of my heart. Be Kent unmannerly When Lear is mad. What wouldst thou do, Think'st thou, that duty shall have dread to speak When power to flattery bows? To plainness, honor's bound, When majesty stoops to folly. Reverse thy doom:

And, in thy best consideration, check

This hideous rashness; answer my life, my judgment,
Thy youngest daughter does not love thee least,

Nor are those empty hearted, whose low sound
Reverbs no hollowness.

Lear. Kent, on thy life, no more.

Kent. My life I never held but as a pawn, To wage against thine enemies.

Lear. Out of my sight!

If, on the tenth day following,

Thy banished trunk be found in our dominions,
That moment is thy death. (Exeunt.)

FROM SHAKSPEARE.

CCXXVIII.-KING LEAR. SCENE II.

CHARACTERS.-Lear, Kent, Goneril, Steward, and attendant.

place, a hall in Goneril's palace.

(Enter Kent, disguised.)

Kent. Now, banished Kent,

If thou canst serve where thou dost stand condemned, (So may it come!) thy master, whom thou lov'st,

Shall find thee full of labors.

(Enter Lear and attendants.)

The

Lear. Let me not stay a jot for dinner. Go, get it ready.— (Exit an attendant.)—How now, what art thou?

Kent. A man, sir.

Lear. What dost thou profess? What wouldst thou with

us?

Kent. I do profess to be no less than I seem; to serve him truly, that will put me in trust; to love him that is honest; to converse with him that is wise, and says little; to fear judgment; to fight, when I can not choose; and to eat no fish.

Lear. What art thou?

Kent. A very honest-hearted fellow, and as poor as the king. Lear. If thou be as poor for a subject, as he is for a king, thou art poor enough. What wouldst thou?

Kent. Service.

Lear. Whom wouldst thou serve?

Kent. You.

Lear. Dost thou know me, fellow?

Kent. No, sir; but you have that in your countenance, which I would fain call master.

Lear. What's that?

Kent. Authority.

Lear. What service canst thou do?

Kent. I can keep honest counsel, ride, run, mar a curious tale in telling it, and deliver a plain message bluntly; that which ordinary men are fit for, I am qualified in: and the best of me is diligence.

Lear. How old art thou?

Kent. Not so young, sir, to love a woman for singing; nor so old to dote on her for any thing. I have years on my back forty-eight.

Lear. Follow me; thou shalt serve me. If I like thee no worse after dinner, I will not part from thee yet. Dinner, ho, dinner.

(Enter Steward.)

You, you, sirrah, where's my daughter?

Stew. So please you—

Lear. What says the fellow? the world's asleep. How now?

(Exit.)

Call the clodpoll back. I think
Where's my daughter?

Kent. He says, my lord, your daughter is not well.

Lear. Why come not the slave back to me when I called him? Kent. Sir, he answered me in the roundest manner, he would not.

Lear. He would not?

Kent. My lord, I know not what the matter is; but, to my judgment, your highness is not entertained with that ceremonious affection as you were wont; there's a great abatement of kindness appears, as well in the general dependents, as in the duke himself also, and your daughter.

Lear. Ha! say'st thou so?

Kent. I beseech you, pardon me, my lord, if I be mistaken: for my duty can not be silent, when I think your highness is wronged.

Lear. Thou but remindest me of mine own conceptions. I have perceived a most faint neglect of late; which I have rather blamed as mine own jealous curiosity, than as a very pretense and purpose of unkindness. I will inquire into't. Go you, and tell my daughter I would speak with her.

Who am I, sir?

(Re-enter Steward.) O, you sir, you sir, come you hither. Stew. My lady's father.

Lear. My lady's father? my lord's knave: you dog! you slave! you cur!

Stew. I am none of this, my lord.

Lear. Do you bandy looks with me, you rascal? (Striking him.)