Your name, fair gentlewoman?

Gon. This admiration, Sir, is much o' th' favour
Of other your new pranks. I do befeech you,
To understand my purposes aright.

You, as you're old and reverend, fhould be wife.
Here do you keep a hundred Knights and Squires,
Men fo diforder'd, so debauch'd and bold,

That this our Court, infected with their manners,
Shews like a riotous Inn; Epicurism and luft
Make it more like a tavern or a brothel,
Than a grac'd Palace. Shame itfelf doth speak
For instant remedy. Be then defir'd

By her, that elfe will take the thing she begs,
Of fifty to difquantity your train;
And the remainders that fhall ftill depend,
To be fuch men as may befort your age,
And know themselves and you.

Lear. Darkness and devils!

Saddle my horfes, call my train together.-
Degen'rate baftard! I'll not trouble thee!
Yet have I left a daughter.

Gon. You ftrike my people, and
Make fervants of their betters.

your

diforder'd rabble

[come?

To them, Enter Albany.

Lear. Woe! that too late repents-O, Sir, are you Is it your will, fpeak, Sir, prepare my horfes.

Ingratitude! thou marble-hearted fiend,

[To Albany.

More hideous when thou fhew'ft thee in a child,
Than the fea-monster.

Alb. Pray, Sir, be patient.

Lear. Detefted kite! thou lieft.

My train are men of choice and rareft parts,
That all particulars of duty know;

And in the most exact regard support

The worships of their names.

[To Gonerill.

O moft fmall fault!

A little is the common reading; but it appears, from what Lear fays in the next Scene, that this number fifty was required to be cut off, which (as the editions flood) is no where specified by Gonerill.

Mr. Pope,

How

How ugly didft thou in Cordelia shew?

Which, like an engine, wrencht my frame of nature
From the fixt place; drew from my heart all love,
And added to the gall. O Lear, Lear, Lear!

Beat at this gate that let thy folly in, [Striking his head.
And thy dear judgment out.-Go, go, my people.
Alb. My lord, I'm guiltless as I'm ignorant,

Of what hath moved you.

Lear. It may be so, my lord.

Hear, Nature, hear; dear Goddess, hear a Father!
Sufpend thy purpose, if thou didst intend
To make this creature fruitful:
Into her womb convey fterility,
Dry up in her the organs of increase,
And from her derogate body never spring
A babe to honour her! If the muft teem,
Create her child of fpleen, that it may live,
And be a thwart difnatur'd torment to her;
Let it ftamp wrinkles in her brow of youth,
With candent tears fret chanels in her cheeks: (11)
Turn all her mother's pains and benefits

To laughter and contempt; that the may f
How sharper than a ferpent's tooth it is,

feel,

To have a thanklefs child.-Go, go, my people.

Alb. Now, Gods, that we adore, whereof comes this? Gon. Never afflict yourself to know of it;

But let his difpofition have that scope,

That dotage gives it.

Lear. What, fifty of my followers at a clap?

Within a fortnight ?

Alb. What's the matter, Sir?

(11) With cadent tears.] Mr. Warburton very happily here suspects our author wrote, candent; as an epithet of much more energy, and more likely to effect Lear's imprecation. He brings in confirmation, what the king fays prefently after;

That thefe hot tear, that break from me perforce And what he fays towards the end of the 4th act: -but I am bound

Upon a wheel of fire, that mine own tears

Do fcald like molt.■ lead.

Lear. I'll tell thee- life and death! I am afham'd, That thou haft power to shake my manhood thus ;

[To Gon. That thefe hot tears, which break from me perforce, Should make thee worth them.--Blasts and fogs upon

thee!

Th' untented woundings of a father's curfe (12)
Pierce every fenfe about thee! Old fond eyes,
Beweep this caufe again, I'll pluck ye out,
And caft you, with the waters that you lofe,
To temper clay. Ha! is it come to this?
Let it be fo: I have another daughter,
Who, I am fure, is kind and comfortable;
When he shall hear this of thee, with her nails
She'll flea thy wolfish vifage. Thou shalt find,
'That I'll refume the fhape, which thou doft think
I have caft off for ever.

Gon. Do you mark that?
Alb. I cannot be fo partial,

To the great love I bear you,

[Ex. Lear and attendants.

Gonerill,

Gen. Pray you, be content. What, Ofwald, ho! You, Sir, more knave than fool, after your mafter.

Fool. Nuncle Lear, nuncle Lear, tarry, take the fool A Fox, when one has caught her,

And fuch a daughter,

Should fure to the flaughter,
If my cap would buy a halter,
So the fool follows after.

[with thee:

[Exit.

(12) Th untender woundings,] I have here reftor'd the reading of all the genuine copies, which Mr. Pope had degraded; as it seems the moft expreffive, and conveys an image exactly fuiting with the poet's thought. 'Tis true, untender fignifies, sharp, fevere, harsh, and all the oppofites to the idea of tender. But as a wound untented is apt to rankle inwards, finart, and fefter, I doubt not, but Shakespeare meant to intimate here; that a father's curfe fhall be a wounding of fuch a fharp, inveterate nature, that nothing fhall be able to tent it; i. e. to fearch the bottom, and help in the cure of it. We have a paffage in Cymbeline, that very strongly confirms this meaning. I've heard, I am a ftrumpet; and mine ear (Therein falfe ftruck) can take no greater wound, Nor tent to bottom that.

Gon.

Gon. This man hath had good counfel,-a hundred "Tis politick, and fafe, to let him keep [Knights!

A hundred Knights; yes, that on ev'ry dream,
Each buz, each fancy, each complaint, dislike,
He may enguard his dotage with their pow'rs,
And hold our lives at mercy. Ofwald, I fay.
Alb. Well, you may fear too far;
Gon. Safer than trust too far.

Let me ftill take away the harms I fear,
Not fear till to be harm'd. I know his heart;
What he hath utter'd I have writ my fitter;
If she'll fuftain him and his hundred Knights,
When I have shew'd th' unfitness-

How now, Ofwald !

Enter Steward.

What, have you writ that letter to my fifter?
Stew. Ay, Madam.

Gon. Take you fome company, and away to horse;
Inform her full of my particular fears,

And thereto add fuch reafons of your own,

As may compact it more. So get you gone,
And haften your return.

-No, no, my lord,

[Exit Steward.

This milky gentlenefs and courfe of yours,
Though I condemn it not, yet, under pardon,
You are much more at task for want of wisdom,
Than prais'd for harmful mildness.

Alb. How far your eyes may pierce, I cannot tell;
Striving to better, oft we mar what's well.

Gon. Nay, then

Alb. Well, well, th' event.

[Exeunt.

SCENE, a Court-yard belonging to the Duke of Albany's Palace.

Lear.

Re-enter Lear, Kent, Gentleman and Fool.

G

O you before to Glo'fter with these letters; acquaint my daughter no further with any thing you know, than comes from her demand out of

the letter; if your diligence be not speedy, I fhall be there afore you.

Kent. I will not fleep, my lord, 'till I have delivered your letter.

[Exit. Fool. If a man's brain were in his heels, wer't not in danger of kibes ?

Lear. Ay, boy.

Feel. Then I pr'ythee, be merry, thy wit fhall not go flip-fhod.

Lear. Ha, ha, ha.

Fool. Shalt fee, thy other daughter will ufe thee kindly; for though he is as like this as a crab's like an apple, yet I can tell what I can tell.

Lear. What can't tell, boy?

Fool. She will tafte as like this, as a crab does to a crab. Can't thou tell, why one's nose stands i' th' middle of one's face?

Lear. No.

Fool. Why, to keep one's eyes of either fide one's nofe; that what a man cannot fmell out, he may fpy into.

Lear. I did her wrong-

Fool. Can't tell how an oyster makes his fhell?

Lear. No.

Fool. Nor I neither; but I can tell, why a fnail has a houfe.

Lear. Why?

Fool. Why, to put's head in, not to give it away to his daughters, and leave his horns without a cafe.

Lear. I will forget my nature: fo kind a father! be my horfes ready?

Fool. Thy affes are gone about 'em; the reason, why the feven itars are no more than feven, is a pretty reafon.

Lear. Because they are not eight.

Fool. Yes, indeed; thou wouldst make a good fool. Lear. To take't again perforce!monster ingrati⚫tude!

Fool. If you were my fool, nuncle, I'd have thee beaten for being old before thy time.

Lear.