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Enter Albany.
Gon. I have been worth the whistle.

Alb. Oh Gonerill,
You are not worth the dust, which the rude wind
Blows in your face. I fear your disposition:
That nature, which contemns its origine,
Cannot be border'd certain in itself;
She that herself will liver, and dilbranch, (40)
From her maternal sap, perforce must wither, (41)
And come to deadly use.

Gon, (40) Sbe that berself will fhiver, and diførareby] Sbiver, in this place should bear the sense of diforanch; whereas it means, to Make; to fly a-pieces into splinters; in whịch sense be afterwards uses the word in this a&t;

Thou'd'At fhiver'd like an egg; So that we may be assured, he would not have oféd the word in so contrary and false a sense here; especially, when there is a proper word to express the sense of disbranching, so near this in found, and which he uses in other places, and that is, Niver: which, without doubt, is the true reading here. So in Macberb;

and flips of yew, Sliver'd in the moon's eclipfe; And, again, in Hamlet;

There on the pendant boughs, her coronet weeds ·
Clamb'ring to hang, an envious Sliver broke;

Mr. Warburton. The old 4to-reads fliver. But I owed this note to my friend's lagacity, who never once fawithac copy. On the other hand, what an infance is it of Mr. Pope's inaccuracy in collation, who firft added this passage from the old Quarto

(41) From ber material fap,] Thus the old 4to; but material Jap, I own, is a phrase that I don't underfand. The mor ber tree is the irue technical term; and considering; our author has said but just above, Tbat nature, which contemns its origine, there is little room to questioa but he wrote ----From ber maternal fap. And so our best classical writers,

Hic plantas tenero abscindens de corpore matrumį Virgo And again,

Cum semel in sylvis ima de tirpe recisum

Matre caret,
And Valerius Flaccus;

que neque jam frondes, virides neque proferet umbras,
Vi femel eft avulla jugis, & matre perempia,

And

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Gon. No more; 'tis foolish.

Alb. Wisdom and goodness to the vile seem vile; Filchs favour but themselves What have you done ? Tigers, not daughters, what have you perform'd? A father, and a gracious aged man, Most barb'rous, most degenerate, have you

madded. Cou'd my good brother iuffer you to do it, A man, a Prince by him so benefited? If that the heav'ns do not their visible fpirits Send quickly down to tame the vile offences, Humanity must perforce prey on itself, Like monsters of the deep.

Gon, Milk-liver'd man!
That bear'lt a cheek for blowe, a head for wrongs ;
Who halt not in thy brows an eye discerning
Thiné honour, from thy suffering: that not know't, (42)
Fools do these villains pity, who are punish'd
Ere they have done their mischief. Where's thy drumi
France Ipreads his banners in our noiseless land,
With plumed helm thy flayer begins his threats;
Whilft thou, a moral fool, fit'it still, and cry'it,
“ Alack! why does he fo!-

Alb. See thyself, devil:
Proper deformity seems not in the fiend
So horrid as in woman.

Gon, O vain fool !
Alb. Thou chang'd, and self-converted thing! For

shame, (43)
And Seneca in his Trojan Captives,

Quæ tenera cæso virga de trunco ftetit,

Par ipsa matriAnd more instances I might have produced from Rutgerfius, in his Variæ Lection. 1. 4. c. 16. (42)

-tbat not knowl, Fools do tbefe villains pity,] This I have retriev'd from the first Quarto. It seems first to have been retrench'd by the players, for brevity's fake: but, besides that the lines are fine, they admirably display the taunting, termagant disposition of Gonerill, and paint out her contempt of her husband's mild pacifick spirit.

(43) Thou chang’d, and self-converted thing !). This reply of Albany to his imperious wife was likewise retreach'd; but ought not for the future to be lost to our author,

Bc

Be-monster not thy feature. Were't my fitness
To let these hands obey my [boiling] blood,
They're apt enough to dinocate and tear
Thy flesh and bones..- -Howe'er thou art a fiend,
A woman's shape doth shield thee.-
Gon. Marry, your, manhood now !

Enter Messenger.
Mef. Oh, my good Lord, the Duke of Cornwall's dead;
Slain by his servant, going to put out
The other eye of Glo'ster.

Alb. Glo'fer's eyes!

Meli A fervant, that he bred, thrill'd with remorse,
Oppos'd against the act; bending his sword
To his great master: who, thereat enrag'd,
Flew on him, and amongst them felld him dead :
But not without that harmful stroke, which fince
Hath pluck'd him after..

Alb. This shews you are above,
You justices, that these our nether crimes
So speedily can venge.. But O poor Glo'fter.!
Loft he his other eye?

Mef. Both, both, my Lord.
This letter, madam, craves a speedy answer:-
Tis from

your

fifter.
Gon. One way, I like this well;
But being widow, and my Glofter with her,
May all the building in my fancy pluck
Upon my haceful life. Another

waya. The news is not so tart. I'll read, and answer. (Exit.

Alb. Where was his son, when they did take his eyes ?
Mef. Come with my Lady hither.
Alb. He's not here.
Mef. No, my good Lord, I met him back again.
Alb. Knows he the wickedness?

Mes. Ay, my good Lord, 'twas he inform'd againft him, And quit the house of purpose, that their punishment Might have the freer course.

Alb. Glofter, I live
To thank thee for the love thou shew'df the King,

And

And to revenge thine eyes. Come hither, friend,
Tell me, what more thou know'st.

[Exeunt.

SCENE, Dover.

Enter Kent, and a Gentlemani
Kent. HE King of France fo suddenly gone back!

Know ?
Gent. Something he left imperfect in the

state,
Which fince his coming forth is thought of, which
Imports the kingdom so much fear and danger,
That his return was most requir'd and neceflary.

Kent. Who hath he left behind him General?
Gent. The Mareschal of France, Monsieur le Far.

Kent. Did your letters pierce the Queen to any dea monftration of grief?

Gent. Ay, Sir, she took 'em, read 'em in my presence; And now and then an ample tear trill'd down Her delicate cheek: it seem'd, she was a Queen Over her passion, which, most rebel-like, Sought to be King o'er her.

Kent. O, then it mov'd her.Gent. But not to rage. Patience and forrow ftrove Which should express her goodlieft; you have seen Sun-line and rain at once:-her smiles and tears (44)

Were

(44) ber smiles and tears Were like a better day.] Mr. Pope, who thought fit to restore this scene from the old 4to, tacitly funk this passage upon us, because he did not underftand it. Indeed, it is corrupt;, and he might have done himself some honour in attempting the cure; but rb; me and criticism, he has convinc'd us, do not always center in the same perfon. My friend Mr. Warburton with very happy sagacity struck out the emendation, which I have inserted in the text. And in conftr. mation of it I must observe, that it is very familiar with our poet, in the description of persons, to allude to the seasons of the year. To give a few instances; Much Ado about Nothing.

Despight bis nice fence and his active practices

His May. of youth and bloom of luftihood.
Ricb. 28.

My Queen to France, from whence, set forth in pomp).
She came adorned hither like sweet May;
Seat back, like Hallorumas, or thortest day.

Were like a wetter May. Those happiest smiley,
That play'd on her ripe lip, seem’d not to know
What guests were in her eyes; which parted thence,
As pearls from diamonds dropt.-In brief,
Sorrow would be a rarity most belov’d,
If all could fo become it.

Kent. Made she no verbal question ?

Gent. Yes, once, or twice, she heav'd the name of Father
Pantingly forth, as if it preft her heart.
Cry'd, fisters ! filters! Shame of Ladies! fifters!
Kent! Father! fifters! what ? i' th' storm ? i'th' night?
Let pity ne'er believe it!-there the shook
The holy water from her heav'nly eyes ;
And, clamour-motion'd, then away she started (45)
To deal with grief alone.

Kert. -It is the stars,
The stars above us, govern our conditions :
Else one self-mate and mate could not beget
Such diff'rent issues. Spoke you with her fince .

Gent. No.
Kent. Was this before the King return'd?

Timon of Aibens;

She whom the fpittle-house and ulc'rous fores
Would cast the gorge at, this embalms and fpices

To th’ April day again.
Hamlets

O rore of May! Dear maid! 'kind fifter! &c. (45) And clamour-moisten’d,] This paffage, again, Mr. Pope funk upon us; and for the same reason, I suppose. Mr. Warburton discover'd likewise, that this was corrupt: for tho'clamour, (as he observes,) may diftort the mouth, it is not wont to moisten the eyes. But clamour-motioned conveys a very beautiful idea of grief in Cordelia, and exactly in character. She bore her grief hitherto, says the relater, in filence; but being no longer able to contain it, and wanting to vent it in groans and cries, the flies away, and retires to her closet to deal with it in private. This he finely calls, clamoar-morie on'd; or provok'd to a loud, expression of her forrow, which drives her from company! It is not impoflible, but Shakespeare might have fom'd this fine picture of Cordelia's agony from holy writ, in the conduct of yo'eph; who, being no longer able to restrain the vehe. mence of his affection, commanded all his retinue from his presence; and then wept aloud, and discover'd himself to his brethren.

Gents

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