Had challeng'd pity of them. Was this a face Of quick, cross lightning? And wast thou fain, poor father, To hovel thee with swine, and rogues forlorn, SCENE BETWEEN LEAR AND CORDELIA. Cor. How does my royal lord? How fares your majesty? Lear. You do me wrong to take me out o' the grave: Thou art a soul in bliss; but I am bound Upon a wheel of fire, that mine own tears Do scald like molten lead. Cor. Sir, do you know me? Lear. You are a spirit, I know; when did you die? Cor. Still, still, far wide! Phys. He's scarce awake; let him alone awhile. Lear. Where have I been;-Where am I?-Fair daylight? I am mightily abus'd.—I should even die with pity, Cor. O, look upon me, sir, And hold your hands in benediction o'er me:- Lear. Pray, do not mock me: I am a very foolish fond old man, Fourscore and upward; and to deal plainly, Methinks I should know you, and know this man: To be my child Cordelia. Cor. Lear. Be your tears wet? If you have poison for me, I And so I am, I am. [not. Yes, faith, I pray, weep will drink it. I know you do not love me; for your sisters Have, as I do remember, done me wrong: You have some cause, they have not. 'Cor. Lear. Am I in France. No cause, no cause. In your own kingdom, sir, Lear. Do not abuse me. Phys. Be comforted, good madam: the great rage, Desire him to go in; trouble him no more, Cor. Will't please your highness walk? You must bear with me; Pray now, forget and forgive: I am old and foolish. ACT V. LEAR TO CORDELIA WHEN TAKEN PRISONERS, No, no, no, no! Come, let's away to prison: We two alone will sing like birds i' the cage: When thou dost ask me blessing, I'll kneel down, And ask of thee forgiveness: so we'll live, * To reconcile it to his apprehension, And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh Talk of court news; and we'll talk with them too,- As if we were God's spies: and we'll wear out, Edm. Take them away. Lear. Upon such sacrifices, my Cordelia, The gods themselves throw incense. THE JUSTICE OF THE GODS. The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices Make instruments to scourge us. EDGAR'S ACCOUNT OF HIS DISCOVERING HIMSELF List* a brief tale;— And, when 'tis told, O, that my heart would burst!The bloody proclamation to escape, That follow'd me so near, (O our lives' sweetness! That with the pain of death we'd hourly die, Rather than die at once!) taught me to shift Into a madman's rags; to assume a semblance That very dogs disdain'd; and in this habit Met I my father with his bleeding rings, Their precious stones new lost; became his guide, Led him, begg'd for him, sav'd him from despair; Never (0 fault!) reveal'd myself unto him, Until some half-hour past, when I was arm'd, Not sure, though hoping, of this good success, I ask'd his blessing, and from first to last Told him my pilgrimage: but his flaw'd heart (Alack, too weak the conflict to support!) * Elear. 'Twixt two extremes of passion, joy and grief, Burst smilingly. Edm. This speech of yours hath mov'd me, And shall, perchance, do good; but speak you on; You look as you had something more to say. Alb. If there be more, more woful, hold it in; For I am almost ready to dissolve, Hearing of this. Edg. This would have seem'd a period To such as love not sorrow; but another, To amplify too much, would make much more, Whilst I was big in clamour, came there a man, Shunn'd m As he'd burst heaven; threw him on my father; LEAR ON THE DEATH OF CORDELIA. Howl, howl, howl, howl!-0, you are men of stones; Had I your tongues and eyes, I'd use them so [ever!That heaven's vault should crack:-0, she is gone for I know when one is dead, and when one lives; She's dead as earth.-Lend me a looking-glass; If that her breath will mist or stain the stone, Why then she lives. This feather stirs: she lives! if it be so, It is a chance that does redeem all sorrows A plague upon you, murderers, traitors all! I might have sav'd her; now she's gone for ever!— What is't thou say'st?--Her voice was ever soft, LEAR DYING. And my poor fool* is hang'd! No, no, no life; Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life, And thou no breath at all? O, thou wilt come no more, Never, never, never, never, never! Macbeth. ACT I. WITCHES DESCRIBED. WHAT are these, So wither'd, and so wild in their attire; That look not like the inhabitants o' the earth, That man may question? You seem to understand me, Upon her skinny lips: You should be women, And yet your beards forbid me to interpret That you are so. MACBETH'S TEMPER. Yet do I fear thy nature; It is too full o' the milk of human kindness, To catch the nearest way: Thou would'st be great; *Poor fool, in the time of Shakspeare, was an |