Gent. No, fince.

Kent. Well, Sir; the poor diftreffed Lear's in town; Who fometimes, in his better tune, remembers What we are come about; and by no means Will yield to fee his daughter.

Gent. Why, good Sir?

Kent. A fov'reign fhame fo bows him; his unkindness,
That ftript her from his benediction, turn'd her
To foreign cafualties, gave her dear rights

To his dog-hearted daughters; Thefe things fting him
So venomously, that burning fhame detains him
From his Cordelia.

Gent. Alack, poor gentleman!

Kent. Of Albany's, and Cornwall's pow'rs you heard not? Gent. 'Tis fo, they are a-foot.

Kent. Well, Sir, I'll bring you to our master Lear, And leave you to attend him. Some dear caufe Will in concealment wrap me up awhile :

When I am known aright, you shall not grieve Lending me this acquaintance. Pray, along with me.

SCENE, a Camp.

Enter Cordelia, Physician, and Soldiers

A

[Exeunt

Cor. Lack, 'tis he; why, he was met even now
As mad as the vext fea; finging aloud;
Crown'd with rank fumiterr, and furrow-weeds, (46)

With

(46) Crown'd with rark fenitar;] There is no fuch herb, or weed, that I can find, of English growth; tho' all the copies agree in the corruption. I dare fay, I have reftor'd its right name; and we meet with it again in our author's Henry V. and partly in the same company as we have it here;

her fallow leas

The darnel, bemlock, and rank fumitory

Do root upon.

For this weed is call'd both fumitory and fumiterr, nearer to the French derivation fume-terre: which the Latin fhopmen term fumaria. It is the fame, which by Pliny (from Diofcorides and the other Greek phyficians) is named xazrds: because the juice of it has the effect,

With hardocks, hemlock, nettles, cuckoo-flowers
Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow

In our fuftaining corn.

Send forth a cent'ry;

Search every acre in the high-grown field,

And bring him to our eye. What can man's wisdom
In the restoring his bereaved fenfe,

He, that helps him, take all my outward worth.
Phyf. There are means, Madam:

Our fofter nurfe of nature, is repofe;

The which he lacks; that to provoke in him,
Are many fimples operative, whofe power
Will close the eye of anguish.

Cor. All bleft fecrets,

All you unpublish'd virtues of the earth,
Spring with my tears; be aidant, and remediate
In the good man's diftrefs! feek, feek for him;
Left his ungovern'd rage diffolve the life,
That wants the means to lead it.

Enter a Messenger

Mef. News, Madam:

The British pow'rs are marching hitherward.
Cor. 'Tis known before. Our preparation ftands
In expectation of them. O dear, father,

It is thy bufinefs that I go about: therefore great France
My mourning and important tears hath pitied.

No blown ambition doth our arms incite,

But love, dear love, and our ag'd father's right:
Soon may I hear, and fee him!

1

[Exeunt.

which Smoke has, of making the eyes water. And as to the growth of it, Pliny tells us particularly that it fprings up in gardens and fields of barley; (Nafcitur in bortis et fegetibus bordeaceis) which our author bere calls, in our fuftaining corn. I obferve, in Chaucer it is written femetere; by a corruption either of the fcribe, or of vulgar pronunciation; if of the latter, it might from thenge eafily flide, in progrefs of time, into fenitar.

SCENE

Reg⋅ B

SCENE, Regan's Palace.

Enter Regan, and Steward.

UT are my brother's powers fet forth ?

Stew. Ay, madam.

Reg. Himfelf in person there?

Stew. With much ado.

Your fifter is the better foldier.

Reg. Lord Edmund spake not with your Lady at home?
Stew. No, madam.

Reg. What might import my fifter's letter to him?
Stew. I know not, Lady.

Reg. Faith, he is posted hence on serious matter.
It was great ign'rance, Glofter's eyes being out,
To let him live; where he arrives, he moves
All hearts against us: Edmund, I think, is gone,
In pity of his mifery, to dispatch

His nighted life: moreover to descry

The ftrength o' th' enemy.

Stew. I muft needs after him, madam, with my letter Reg. Our troops fet forth to-morrow: ftay with use The ways are dangerous.

Stew. I may not, madam;

My Lady charg'd my duty in this bufinefs.

Reg. Why fhould the write to Edmund? might not you
Tranfport her purposes by word? belike,

Something-I know not what-I'll love thee much-
Let me unfeal the letter.

Stew. Madam, I had rather

Reg. I know, your Lady does not love her husband
I'm fure of that; and, at her late being here,
She gave ftrange œiliads, and most speaking looks
To noble Edmund. I know, you're of her bofom.
Stew. I, madam ?

Reg. I fpeak in understanding: you are; I know't;
Therefore, I do advise you, take this note.

My Lord is dead; Edmund and I have talk'd,
And more convenient is he for my hand,,

Than

an for your Lady's: you may gather more: If you do find him, pray you, give him this; And when your miftrefs hears thus much from you, pray, defire her call her wifdom to her.

I

If

So farewel.

you do chance to hear of that blind traitor, Preferment falls on him that cuts him off.

Stew. 'Would I could meet him, madam, I should fhew What party I do follow.

Reg. Fare thee well.

[Exeunt.

Glo.

SCENE, the Country, near Dover.

Enter Glo'fter, and Edgar, as a Peafant.

W

Hen fhall I come to th' top of that fame hill?
Edg. You do climb up it now. Look, how

Glo. Methinks, the ground is even.

Edg. Horrible steep.

Hark, do you hear the fea?

Glo. No, truly.

[we labour.

Edg. Why then your other fenfes grow imperfect

By your eyes anguish.

Glo. So may it be, indeed.

Methinks, thy voice is alter'd; and thou speak'st
In better phrafe and matter than thou didft.

Edg. You're much deceiv'd: in nothing am I chang'd, But in my garments.

Glo. Sure, you're better spoken.

[fearful Edg. Come on, Sir, here's the place--ftand ftill. How And dizzy 'tis, to caft one's eyes fo low!

The crows and choughs, that wing the midway air,
Shew fcarce fo grofs as beetles. Half way down
Hangs one, that gathers famphire; dreadful trade!
Methinks, he feems no bigger than his head.
The fisher-men, that walk upon the beach,
Appear like mice; and yond tall anchoring bark,
Diminish'd to her cock; her cock, a buoy
Almoft too small for fight. The murmuring furge,
That on th' unnumbred idle pebbles chafes,
Cannot be heard fo high. I'll look no more,

Left

Left my brain turn, and the deficient fight
Topple down headlong.

Glo. Set me, where you ftand.

Edg. Give me your hand: you're now within a foot Of th' extream verge: for all below the moon Would I not leap upright.

Glo. Let go my hand:

Here, friend, 's another purfe, in it a jewel

Well worth a poor man's taking. Fairies, and gods,
Profper it with thee! Go thou further off,

Bid me farewel, and let me hear thee going.
Edg. Now fare ye well, good Sir.
Glo. With all my heart.

[Seems to go.

Edg. Why do I trifle thus with his despair? "Tis done to cure it.

Glo. O you mighty gods!

This world I do renounce; and in your fights
Shake patiently my great affliction off:
If I could bear it longer, and not fall
To quarrel with your great oppofelefs wills,
My inuff and loathed part of nature should
Burn itfelf out. If Edgar live, O blefs him!

Now, fellow, fare thee well. [He leaps and falls along.
Edg. Good Sir, farewel.

And yet I know not how conceit may rob
The treafury of life, when life itfelf

Yields to the theft. Had he been where he thought,
By this, had thought been paft.Alive or dead?
Hoa, you, hear you, friend! Sir! Sir! fpeak!
Thus might he pafs, indeed-yet he revives.
What are you, Sir?

Glo. Away, and let me die.

Edg. Had'ft thou been aught but gofs'mer, feathers, air, So many fathom down precipitating,

Thoa'd'ft fhiver'd like an egg: but thou doft breathe, Haft heavy fubftance, bleed' not; fpeak, art found? Ten mafts at each make not the altitude, (47)

Which

(47) Ten mafis attach'd-] This is Mr. Pope's reading; but, I know not from what authority. Mr. Rowe gave it us, ten masts at

leaf