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thieves, and treacherous, by spherical predominance; drunkards, lyars, and adulterers, by an info:c'd obedience of planetary influence; and all that we are evil in, by a divine thrusting on. An admirable evasion of whore-master Man, to lay his goatish disposition on the charge of a star! my father compounded with my mother under the Dragon's tail, and my nativity was under Ursa major; so that it follows, I am rough and lecherous. I should have been what I am, had the maidenlieft star in the firmament twinkled on my bastardizing.
To him, Enter Edgar. Pat! he comes, like the Ca'astrophe of the old comedy; my cue is villanous Melancholy, with a figh like Tom o' Bedlam--O, these eclipses portend these divisions! fa, sol, la, me
Edg. How now, brother Edmund, what serious con templation are you in?
Edm. I am thinking, brother, of a prediction I read this other day, what should follow these eclipses.
Edg. Do you busy your self with that?
Edm. I promise you, the effects, he writes of, succeed unhappily. When faw you my father last?
Edg. The night gone by.
Edg. None at all.
Edm. Bethink yourself, wherein you have offended him: and, at my intreaty, forbear his presence, until some little time hath qualified the heat of his displeafure; which at this initant so rageth in him, that with the mischief of your person it would scarcely allay,
Edg. Some villain hath done me wrong.
Edm. That's my fear; I pray you, have a continent forbearance 'till the speed of his rage goes lower: and as I say, retire with me to my lodging, from whence I will fitly bring you to hear my lord speak: pray you,
go, there's my key: if you do ftir abroad, go arm’d.
Edg. Arm'd, brother!
Edm. Brother, I advise you to the best; I am no honelt man, if there be any good meaning toward you: I have told you what I have seen and heard, but faintly; nothing like the image and horror of it; pray you, away. Edg. Shall I hear from you anon?
[Exit. Edm. I do serve you in this business. A credulous father, and a brother noble, Whole nature is so far from doing harms, That he suspects none; on whose foolish honesty My practices ride easy: I fee the bufiness. Let me,
if not by birth, have lands by wit; All with me's meet, that I can fashion fit. [Exito
SCENE, the Duke of Albany's Palace.
Enter Gonerill, and Steward. Gon. ID my father ftrike my gentleman for chiding
of his fool? Stew. Ay, madam.
Gon. By day and night, he wrongs me; every hour He flashes into one gross crime or other, That sets us all at odds ; I'll not endure it : His Knights grow riotous, and himself upbraids us On ev'ry trifle. When he returns from hunting, I will not speak with him; say, I am sick. If you come llack of former services, You shall do well; the fault of it I'll answer.
Stew. He's coming, madam, I hear him.
Gon. Put on what weary negligence you please. You and your fellows: I'd have it come to question. If he diftaste it, let him to my sister, Whose mind and mine, I know, in that are one, Not to be over-ruld: Idle old Man, (8.)
(8) Idle old M..ng] The following lines, as they are fine in themselves, and very much in character for Gonerill, I have restor'd from
That still would manage those Authorities,
Stew. Very well, madam.
Gon. And let his Knights have colder looks among you: what grows of it, no matter; advise your fellows fo: I'll write strait to my sister to hold my course: prepare for dinner.
SCENE changes to an open Place before
Enter Kent disguis'd.
And can my speech diffuse, my.good intent (9)
the old 4to. The last verse, which I have ventur'd to amend, is there printed thus;
With Checks, like Flatt'ries when they are seen abus’d. (9) And can my speech disuse,] This reading we deriv'd first from Mr. Roure's edition, and from thence it has taken possession in the two impressions given us by Mr. Pope. But the poet's word was certainly, deffuse: And Kent would say, “ If I can but so spread out my
accents," (de telle forte espandre, as the French term it;) “ vary my
tone, and utterance, so widely from what it used to be as to disguise « it; &c.” And diffused in this sense of obsolete, disguised, our poet has more than once employ'd.
Let them from forth a saw-pit rush at once,
King Henry Vth.
King Richard IIId.
Horns within. Enter Lear, Knights and Attendants.
Lear. Let me not stay a jot for dinner, go, get it ready: How now, what art thou ?
[To Kent. Kent. A man, Sir.
Lear What doft thou profess? what would'st thou with us?
Kent. I do profess to be no less than I seem; to serve him truly, that will put me in trust; to love him that is honeft; to converse with him that is wise and says little; to fear judgment; to fight when I cannot chuse, and to eat no filh.
Lear. What art thou?
Lear. If thou beeft as poor for a subject, as he is for a King, thou art poor enough. What would'st thou?
Kent. No, Sir, but you have that in your countenance, which I would fain call master.
Lear. What's that?
Kent. I can keep honeft counsels, ride, run, marr a curious tale in telling it, and deliver a plain message bluntly: that which ordinary men are fit for, I am qualify'd in; and the best of me is diligence.
Lear. How old art thou?
Kent. Not so young, Sir, to love a woman for singing; nor so old, to doat on her for any thing. I have years on my back forty eight.
Lear. Follow me, thou shalt serve me; if I like thee no worse after dinner, I will not part from thee yet. Dinner, ho, dinner -where's my krave? my fool? go you, and call my fool hither.' You, you, sirrah, where's my daughter ?
Enter Steward. Stew. So please you
[Exit. Lear. What says the fellow there? call the clotpole back; where's my fool, ho? I think, the world's asleep: how now? Where's that mungrel?
Knight. Fie says, my lord, your daughter is not well.
Lear. Uthy came not the flave back to me when I callà him?
Knight. Sii, he answer'd me in the roundest manner, he would not.
Lear, te would not?
Knight. My lord, I know not what the matter is; but to my judgment, your Highness is not entertain’d with that ceremonious affection as you were wont; there's a great abatement of kindness appears as well in the general dependants, as in the Duke himself also, and your daughter.
Lear. Ha! say'st thou so ?
Knight. I beseech you, pardon me, my lord, if I be mistaken; for my duty cannot be filent, when I think your Highness is wrong'd.
Lear Thou but remember'ft me of my own conception. I have perceiv'd a most faint neglect of late, which I have rather blamed as my own jealous curiosity, than as a very pretence and purpose of unkindness; I will look further into't; but where's my fool ? I have not seen him these two days.
Knight. Since my young lady's going into France, Sir, the fool hath much pined away.
Lear. No more of that, I have noted it well; go you and tell my daughter, I would speak with her. you, call hither
fool. O, you, Sir, come you hither, Sir; who am I, Sir?
Enter Steward. Stew. My lady's father. Lear. My lady's father? my lord's knaye! you whoreson dog, you slave, you cur,