Enter Albany.

Gon. I have been worth the whistle.

Alb. Oh Gonerill,

You are not worth the duft, which the rude wind
Blows in your face.-I fear your difpofition:
That nature, which contemns its origine,
Cannot be border'd certain in itself;

She that herself will fliver, and difbranch, (40)
From her maternal fap, perforce muft wither, (41)
And come to deadly ufe.

Gon

(40) She that berfelf will fhiver, and disbranch,] Shiver, in this place fhould bear the fenfe of difbranch; whereas it means, to shake; to fly a-pieces into splinters; in which fenfe he afterwards ufes the word in this act ;

Thou'd'ft fhiver'd like an egg;

So that we may be affured, he would not have used the word in fo contrary and falfe a fenfe here; especially, when there is a proper word to exprefs the fenfe of dibranching, so near this in found, and which he ufes in other places, and that is, liver which, without doubt, is the true reading here. So in Macbeth;

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 fiver. But I owed this note to my friend's fagacity, who never once faw that copy. On the other hand, what an inftance is it of Mr. Pope's inaccuracy in collation, who first added this paffage from the old Quarto ?

(41) From ber material fap,] Thus the old 4to; but material sap, I own, is a phrafe that I don't understand. The mother tree is the true technical term; and confidering, our author has faid but just above, That nature, which contemns its origine, there is little room to question but he wrote,----Frem ber maternal fap.

And fo cur beff claffical writers.

Hic plantas tenero abfcindens de corpore matrum; Virg. And again,

Cum femel in fylvis ima de ftirpe vecifum

Matre caret,

And Valerius Flaccus;

Quæ neque jam frondes, virides neque proferet umbras,
Ut femel eft avulla jugis, & matre perempta,

And

Gon. No more; 'tis foolish.

Alb. Wisdom and goodness to the vile feem vile;
Filths favour but themselves-What have you done?
Tigers, not daughters, what have you perform'd?
A father, and a gracious aged man,

Moft barb'rous, moft degenerate, have you madded.
Cou'd my good brother fuffer you to do it,
A man, a Prince by him fo benefited?

If that the heav'ns do not their vifible fpirits
Send quickly down to tame the vile offences,
Humanity muft perforce prey on itself,
Like monfters of the deep.

Gon. Milk-liver'd man!

That bear'st a cheek for blows, a head for wrongs; Who haft not in thy brows an eye difcerning

Thine honour, from thy fuffering: that not know'ft, (42)
Fools do thefe villains pity, who are punish'd

Ere they have done their mischief. Where's thy drum?
France fpreads his banners in our noifelefs land,
With plumed helm thy flayer begins his threats;
Whilft thou, a moral fool, fit'ft ftill, and cry'ft,
"Alack! why does he fo?

Alb. See thyfelf, devil:

Proper deformity feems not in the fiend

So horrid as in woman.

Gon, O vain fool!

Alb. Thou chang'd, and felf-converted thing! For fhame, (43)

And Seneca in his Trojan Captives,

Quæ tenera cæfo virga de trunco ftetit,

Par ipfa matri

And more inftances I might have produced from Rutgerfius, in his Varice Lection. 1. 4. c. 16.

(42) -that not know'ft,

Fools do thefe villains pity,] This I have retriev'd from the first Quarto. It feems firft to have been retrench'd by the players, for brevity's fake: but, befides that the lines are fine, they admirably difplay the taunting, termagant difpofition of Gonerill, and paint out her contempt of her husband's mild pacifick spirit.

(43) Thou chang'd, and felf-converted thing!] This reply of Albany to his imperious wife was likewife retreach'd; but ought not for the future to be loft 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 dislocate and tear

Thy flesh and bones.-Howe'er thou art a fiend,
A woman's fhape doth shield thee..

Gon. Marry, your manhood now!

Enter Messenger.

Mef. Oh, my good Lord, the Duke of Cornwall's dead; Slain by his fervant, going to put out

The other eye of Glofter.

Alb. Glo'fter's eyes!

Mef. A fervant, that he bred, thrill'd with remorse, Oppos'd against the act; bending his sword

To his great mafter: who, thereat enrag'd,

Flew on him, and amongst them fell'd him dead:
But not without that harmful stroke, which fince
Hath pluck'd him after..

Alb. This fhews you are above,

You juftices, that thefe our nether crimes

So speedily can venge.. But O poor Glofter!
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 Glo'fter with her,
May all the building in my fancy pluck

Upon my hateful life. Another way,

The news is not fo tart. I'll read, and anfwer. [Exit.. Alb. Where was his fon, when they did take his eyas ? 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?

Mef. 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 fhew'dft the King,

And

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

SCENE, Dover.

Enter Kent, and a Gentleman.

[Exeunt

Know you the reafon?

HE King of France fo fuddenly gone back!

Gent. Something he left imperfect in the state, Which fince his coming forth is thought of, which Imports the kingdom fo much fear and danger, That his return was moft requir'd and neceffary. Kent. Who hath he left behind him General? Gent. The Marefchal of France, Monfieur le Far. Kent. Did your letters pierce the Queen to any de monftration of grief?

Gent. Ay, Sir, fhe took 'em, read 'em in my prefence; And now and then an ample tear trill'd down Her delicate cheek: it feem'd, fhe was a Queen Over her paffion, 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 fhould exprefs her goodlieft; you have feen Sun-fhine and rain at once:-her smiles and tears (44)

ber fmiles and tears

Were

(44) Were like a better day.] Mr. Pope, who thought fit to restore this fcene from the old 4to, tacitly funk this paffage upon us, because he did not underftand it. Indeed, it is corrupt;, and he might have done himself fome honour in attempting the cure; but rhyme and criticifm, he has convinc'd us, do not always center in the fame perfon. My friend Mr. Warburton with very happy fagacity ftruck out the emendation, which I have inferted in the text. And in conftrmation of it I muft observe, that it is very familiar with our poet, in the defcription of perfons, to allude to the feasons of the year. To give a few inftances; Much Ado about Nothing.

Defpight his nice fence and his active practice,

His May of youth and bloom of luftihood.

Rich. zd.

My Queen to France, from whence, fet forth in pomp, .
She came adorned hither like sweet May;

Seat back, like Hallormas, or shortest day.

Were like a wetter May. Thofe happiest fmiles,
That play'd on her ripe lip, feem'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 fhe no verbal question?

Gent. Yes, once, or twice, fhe heav'd the name of Father Pantingly forth, as if it preft her heart.

Cry'd, fifters! fifters! Shame of Ladies! fifters!
Kent! Father! fifters! what? i' th' ftorm? i' th' night
Let pity ne'er believe it!-there she shook
The holy water from her heav'nly eyes;

And, clamour-motion'd, then away fhe started (45)
To deal with grief alone.

Kent. -It is the ftars,

The ftars above us, govern our conditions:
Elfe one felf-mate and mate could not beget
Such diff'rent iffues. Spoke you with her fince
Gent. No.

Kent. Was this before the King return'd?

Timon of Athens;

She whom the spittle-house and ulc'rous fores
Would caft the gorge at, this embalms and spices
To th' April day again.

Hamlet;

O rofe of May!

Dear maid! kind-fifter! &c.

(45) And clamour-moiften'd,] This paffage, again, Mr. Pope funk upon us; and for the fame reafon, I fuppofe. Mr. Warburton difcover'd likewife, that this was corrupt: for tho' clamour, (as he obferves,) may distort the mouth, it is not wont to moiften the eyes. But clamour-motioned conveys a very beautiful idea of grief in Cordelia, and exactly in character. She bore her grief hitherto, fays 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 clofet to deal with it in private. This he finely calls, clamour-motion'd; or provok'd to a loud expreffion of her forrow, which drives her from company!-It is not impoffible, but Shakespeare might have form'd this fine picture of Cordelia's agony from holy writ, in the conduct of Joseph; who, being no longer able to reftrain the vehe mence of his affection, commanded all his retinue from his prefence ; and then wept aloud, and discover'd himself to his brethren.

Gent