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To lead him where he would; his roguish madness
Allows itself to any thing.

2d Serv. Gothou; I'll fetch fome flax and whites of eggs T'apply to's bleeding face. Now, heaven help him! [Exeunt feverally.

ACT

IV.

SCENE, An open Country.

Enter Edgar.

ET better thus, and known to be contemn'd,

Yan fill contemn'd and flatter d. To be worst (36)

The lowest, moft dejected thing of fortune,
Stands ftill in efperance; lives not in fear.
The lamentable change is from the best;
The worst returns to laughter. Welcome then,
Thou unfubftantial air, that I embrace!

The wretch, that thou haft blown unto the wors
Owes nothing to thy blafts.

Enter Glo'fter, led by an old man.

But who comes here?

My father poorly led World, world, O world! (37)

(36)

f

To be worst,

Bat

The lowest, moft dejected thing of fortune.] This fentiment is fo much a-kin to a paffage in Ovid, that it feems to be copied directly from it. -Fortuna miferrima tuta eft;

Nam timor eventûs deterioris abeft.

Epift. 2. lib. 2. ex Ponto,

'(37) - World, world, O world! But that thy frange mutations make us hate thee,] The reading of this paffage, as it has thus ftood in all the editions, has been endeavour'd to be explain'd feverally into a meaning; but not fatisfactorily. Mr. Pope's mock-reafoning upon it has already been rallied in print, fo F forbear so revive it: and the gentleman, who then advanced a comment of his own upon the paffage, has fince come over to my emen

D 3

dation

But that thy ftrange Mutations make us wait thee,
Life would not yield to age.

Old Man. O my good Lord, I have been your tenant, And your father's tenant, thefe fourfcore years.

Glo. Away, get thee away: good friend, be gone; Thy comforts can do me no good at all,

Thee they may hurt.

Old Man. You cannot fee your way.

Glo. I have no way, and therefore want no eyes:
I ftumbled when I faw. Full oft 'tis feen,

Our mean fecures us; and our mere defects
Prove our commodities.- -O dear fon Edgar,
The food of thy abused father's wrath;
Might I but live to fee thee in my touch, (38)
I'd fay, I had eyes again!

Old

dation. My explanation of the poet's fentiment was, "If the num"ber of changes and viciffitudes, which happen in life, did not make "us wait, and hope for fome turn of fortune for the better, we "could never fupport the thought of living to be old, on any other "terms." And our duty, as human creatures, is pioufly inculcated in this reflection of the author. Apeliodorus, the comic poet, has left us a moral precept, upon which Shakespeare's relection might have very well been grounded.

Ουδέπο ̓ ἀθυμεῖν τὸν κακῶς πράτιονία δεῖ,

*Ανδρες, τὰ βελτίω δὲ προσδοκᾶν ἀεί.

No body, good people, ought to despond under misfortunes, but always wait for a better turn.

(38) Might I but live to fee thee in my touch,] I cannot but take notice, that thefe fine boldneffes of expreffion are very infrequent in our English poetry, tho' familiar with the Greeks and Latins. We have pafs'd another fignal one in this very play.

Such fbeets of fire, fuch burfts of horrid thunder,

Such groans of roaring wind and rain, I never
Remember to have heard.

For tho' the verb bear properly anfwers to the thunder, the wind, and rain; yet it does not fo, but figuratively, to the sheets of fire. I have obferv'd an inftance of this implex fort, exactly parallel, in the Hero and Leander of Mufæus the grammarian.

Νηχόμενον τε Λέανδρον, ὁμῶ καὶ λύχνον ακέω.

I bear Leander fwim, the candle burn.

The elder fcholiaft upon Afchylus tells us very judicioufly, [merhyaye τὰς αισθήσεις πρὸς τὸ ἐνεργέςερον] that the transferring the properties of one fenfe to another, was used to add the greater force and energy.

Old Man. How now? who's there?

Edg. O gods! who is't can fay, I'm at the worst? I'm worfe, than e'er I was.

Old Man. 'Tis poor mad Tom.

Edg. And worfe I may be yet: the worst is not,
So long as we can fay, this is the worst.
Old Man. Fellow, where goeft?

Glo. Is it a beggar-man?

Old Man. Madman, and beggar too.)

Glo. He has fome reason, elfe he could not beg.
I' th' laft night's ftorm I fuch a fellow faw;
Which made me think a man, a worm.
My fon
Came then into my mind; and yet my mind

Was then scarce friends with him. I've heard more fince,

As flies to wanton boys, are we to th' gods;
They kill us for their sport.

Edg. How fhould this be?

Bad is the trade must play the fool to forrow,
Ang'ring itself and others.-Bless thee, master.
Glo. Is that the naked fellow ?

Old Man. Ay, my Lord.

Glo. Get thee away: if, for my fake,

Thou wilt o'ertake us hence a mile or twain

I' th' way tow'rd Dover, do it for ancient love;
And bring fome covering for this naked soul,
Whom I'll intreat to lead me.

Old Man. Alack, Sir, he is mad.

[blind:

Glo. 'Tis the time's plague, when madmen lead the Do as I bid, or rather do thy pleasure ;

Above the reft, be gone.

Old Man. I'll bring him the best 'parrel that I have, Come on't, what will.

Glo. Sirrah, naked fellow.

[Exit.

His remark is upon this paffage in the Seven Captains before Thebes; Κτύπον δέδορκα,

Πάταγόν τ ̓ ἐχ ἑνὸς δορός.

Alack! I fee the found, the dreadful crash,

Not of a fingle spear.

The late learned Dr. Gataker, in his treatife upon the flyle of the New Teftament, has amafs'd examples of this figure in holy writ, as well as from heathen writers, both Greek and Latin.

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Edg. Poor Tom's a-cold;-I cannot daub it further. Glo. Come hither, fellow.

Edg. And yet I must;

Blefs thy fweet eyes, they bleed.

Gl. Know't thou the way to Dover?

Edg. Both ftile and gate, horfe-way and foot-path: poor Tom hath been scar'd out of his good wits. Blefs thee, good man, from the foul fiend. (39) Five fiends have been in poor Tom at once; of luft, as Obidicut; Hobbididen, prince of dumbnefs; Mahu, of stealing; Mobu, of murder; and Flibbertigibbet, of mopping and mowing; who fince poffeffes chamber-maids and waiting-women. [plagues

Glo. Here, take this purfe, thou whom the heavens Have humbled to all ftrokes. That I am wretched, Makes thee the happier: heavens deal fo still! Let the fuperfluous, and luft-dieted man, That flates your ordinance, that will not fee Because he does not feel, feel your power quickly: So diftribution fhould undo excess,

And each man have enough. Do'ft thou know Daver Edg. Ay, mafter.

Glo. There is a cliff, whofe high and bending head Looks fearfully on the confined deep:

Bring me but to the very brim of it,

And I'll repair the mifery, thou do't bear,

With fomething rich about me: from that place

I fhall no leading need.

Edg. Give me thy arm; Poor Tom fhall lead thee.

[Exeunt.

(39) Five fiends bave been in poor Tom at once; ce;] This paffage Mr. Pope fiift refor'd from the old 4to; but miferably mangled, as it is there. I have fet it right, as it came from our author, by the help of bishop Harfenet's pamphlet, already quoted. We find there, all thefe devils were in Sarab and Frifwood Williams, Mrs. Peckham's two chamber-maids; and particularly Flibbertigibbet, who made them mop and mow like apes, fays that author. And to their fuppos'd poffefion, eur poet is here fatirically alluding,

SCENE

SCENE, the Duke of Albany's Palace.

Gon.

W

Enter Gonerill, and Edmund.

Elcome, my Lord. I marvel, our mild husband
Not met us on the way.

Enter Steward.

Now, where's your mafter?

Stew. Madam, within; but never man fo chang'd:
I told him of the army that was landed:
He fmil'd at it. I told him you were coming,
His answer was, the worse. Of Glo'fter's treachery,
And of the loyal fervice of his fon,

When I inform'd him, then he call'd me fot;
And told me, I had turn'd the wrong fide out.
What most he should dislike, feems pleasant to him;
What like, offenfive.

Gon. Then fhall you go no further.

It is the cowish terror of his fpirit,

That dares not undertake: he'll not feel wrongs,
Which tie him to an answer; our wishes on the way
May prove effects. Back, Edmund, to my brother;
Haften his muffers, and conduct his powers.
I must change arms at home, and give the diftaff
Into my husband's hands. This trufty fervant
Shall pass between us: you ere long fhall hear,
If
you dare venture in your own behalf,

A miftrefs's command. Wear this; fpare fpeech;
Decline your head. This kifs, if it durft fpeak,
Would ftretch thy fpirits up into the air:

Conceive, and fare thee well..

Edm. Yours in the ranks of death.

Gon. My moft dear Glo'fter!

[Exit Edmund

Oh, the strange difference of man, and man!

To thee a woman's fervices are due,

My fool ufurps my body..

Stew. Madam, here comes my Lord.

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