Never (O 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!) Twixt two extremes of passion, joy and grief, Burst smilingly. Edm. This speech of yours hath moved 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, And top extremity. Whilst I was big in clamour, came there a man, Who having seen me in my worst estate, Shunn'd my abhorr'd society; but then, finding Who 'twas that so endured, with his strong arms He fasten'd on my neck, and bellow'd out As he'd burst heaven; threw him on my father; 止 Told the most piteous tale of Lear and him, That ever ear received: which in recounting His grief grew puissant, and the strings of life Began to crack: Twice then the trumpet And there I left him tranced. [sounded, Alb. But who was this? [disguise Edg. Kent, sir, the banish'd Kent; who in Follow'd his enemy king, and did him service Improper for a slave. Enter a Gentleman hastily, with a bloody Knife. Gent. Help! help! O help! Edg. What kind of help? Edg. What means that bloody knife? "Tis hot, it smokes; It came even from the heart of Alb. Who, man? speak. Gent. Your lady, sir, your lady: and her By her is poison'd; she confesses it. [sister Edm.I was contracted to them both; all three Now marry in an instant. Alb. Produce their bodies, be they alive or dead![tremble, This judgment of the heavens, that makes us Touches us not with pity. [Exit Gentleman. Enter KENT. Edg. Alb. O! it is he. Here comes Kent, sir. The time will not allow the compliment, Which very manners urges. Edm. Yet Edmund, was beloved: The one the other poison'd for my sake, And after slew herself. Alb. Even so.-Cover their faces. [to do, Edm. I pant for life.-Some good I mean Despite of mine own nature. Quickly send,Be brief in it,-to the castle; for my writ Is on the life of Lear, and on Cordelia →→→→ Nay, send in time. Alb. Run, run, O, runEdg. To who, my lord?-Who hasthe office? Thy token of reprieve. [send Edm. Well thought on; take my sword, Give it the captain. Alb. Haste thee, for thy life. [Exit EDG. Edm. He hath commission from thy wife To hang Cordelia in the prison, and [and me, To lay the blame upon her own despair, That she fordid herself. Had I your tongues and eyes, I'd use them so That heaven's vault should crack:-O, she is gone for ever! I know when one is dead, and when one lives; Fall, and cease§! Lear. This feather stirs; she lives! if it be so, It is a chance that does redeem all sorrows That ever I have felt. Kent. O my good master! [Kneeling, Lear. Pr'ythee, away.. Edg. 'Tis noble Kent, your friend, Lear. A plague upon you,murderers,traitors, all! [ever!I might have saved her; now she's gone for Cordelia, Cordelia, stay a little. Ha! What is't thou sayst?-Her voice was ever soft, Gentle,and low; an excellent thing in woman:I kill'd the slave that was a hanging thee. Off. 'Tis true, my lords, he did. mo Lear. Did I not, fellow? I have seen the day, with my good biting falchion I would have made them skip: I am old now, And these same crosses spoil me.-Who are you? [straight. Mine eyes are none o'the best:-I'll tell you Kent. If fortune brag of two she loved and | One of them we behold. Kent. [hated, Lear. This is a dull sight: Are you not Kent? Kent. The same; Your servant Kent: Where is your servant Caius? Lear. He's a good fellow, I can tell you that; He'll strike, and quickly too;-He's dead and rotten. Alb. He knows not what he says, and vain it is Very Bootless Enter an Officer.onekt To him our absolute power:-You, to your Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life, Useless. + 1. e., Lear. And thou no breath at all? O, thou wilt come Look there, look there! He but usurp'd his life. Alb.The weight of this sad time we must obey; Shall never see so much, nor live so long, * Benefit. $ Titles. Poor fool, in the time of Shakspeare, was an expression of endearment. Die. The tragedy of Lear is deservedly celebrated among the dramas of Shakspeare. There is perhaps no play which keeps the attention so strongly fixed; which so much agitates our passions, and interests our curiosity. The artful involutions of distinct interests, the striking oppositions of contrary characters, the sudden changes of fortune, and the quick succession of events, fill the mind with a perpetual tumult of indignation, pity, and hope. There is no scene which does not contribute to the aggravation of the distress or conduct of the action, and scarce a line which does not conduce to the progress of the scene. So powerful is the current of the poet's imagination, that the mind, which once ventures within it, is hurried irresistibly along. ་་་ On the seeming improbability of Lear's conduct, it may be observed, that he is represented according to histories at that time valgarly received as true. And, perhaps, if we turn our thoughts upon the barbarity and ignorance of the age to which this story is referred, it will appear not so unlikely as while we estimate Lear's manners by our own. Such preference of one daughter to another, or resignation of dominion on such conditions, would be yet cre dible, if told of a petty prince of Guinea or Madagascar. Shakspeare, indeed, by the men tion of his earls and dukes, has given us the idea of times more civilized, and of life regulated by softer manners; and the truth is, that though he so nicely discriminates, and so minutely describes the characters of men, he commonly neglects and confounds the characters of ages by mingling customs ancient and modern, English and foreign. My learned friend, Mr. Warton*, who has, in THE ADVENTURER, very minutely criticised this play, remarks, that the instances of cruelty are too savage and shocking, and tha i the intervention of Edmund destroys the simplicity of the story. These objections may, I think, be answered by repeating, that the cruelty of the daughters is an historical fact, to which the poet has added little, having only drawn it into a series of dialogue and action. But I am not able to apologize with equal plausibility for the extrusion of Gloster's eyes, which seems an act too horrid to be endured in dramatic exhibition, and such as must always compel the mind to relieve its distress by incredulity. Yet let it be remembered, that our author well knew what would please the audience for which he wrote. The injury done by Edmund to the simplicity of the action, is abundantly recompensed by 30 Dr. Joseph Warton. y ne addition of variety, by the art with which he is made to co-operate with the chief design, and the opportunity which he gives the poet of combining perfidy with perfidy, and connecting the wicked son with the wicked daughters, to impress this important moral, that villany is never at a stop, that crimes lead to crimes, and at last terminate in ruin. But though this moral be incidentally enforced, Shakspeare has suffered the virtue of Cordelia to perish in a just cause, contrary to the natural ideas of justice, to the hope of the reader, and what is yet more strange, to the faith of chronicles. Yet this conduct is justified by THE SPECTATOR, who blames Tate for giving Cordelia success and happiness in his alteration, and declares, that in his opinion," the tragedy has lost half its beauty." Dennis has remarked, whether justly or not, that, to secure the favourable reception of " Cato, the town was poisoned with much false and abominable criticism," and that endeavours had been used to discredit and decry poetical justice. A play in which the wicked prosper, and the virtuous miscarry, may doubtless be good, because it is a just representation of the common events of human life: but since all reasonable beings naturally love justice, I cannot easily be persuaded, that the observation of justice makes a play worse; or that if other excellen, cies are equal, the audience will not always rise better pleased from the final triumph of persecuted virtue. In the present case, the public has decided. Cordelia, from the time of Tate, has always retired with victory and felicity. And, if my sensations could add any thing to the general suffrage, I might relate, I was many years ago so shocked by Cordelia's death, that I know not whether I ever endured to read again the last scenes of the play till I undertook to revise them as an editor, There is another controversy among the critics concerning this play. It is disputed whe ther the predominant image in Lear's disordered mind be the loss of his kingdom, or the cruelty of his daughters. Mr. Murphy, a very judicious critic, has evinced by induction of particular passages, that the cruelty of his daughters is the primary source of his distress, and that the loss of royalty affects him only as a secondary and subordinate evil. He observes, with great justness, that Lear would move our compassion but little, did we not rather consider the injured father than the degraded king. The story of this play, except the episode of Edmund, which is derived, I think, from Sidney, is taken originally from Geoffry of Monmouth, whom Holingshed generally copied; but perhaps immediately from an old historical ballad. My reason for believing that the play was posterior to the ballad, rather than the ballad to the play, is, that the ballad. has nothing of Shakspeare's nocturnal tempest, which is too striking to have been omitted, and that it follows the chronicle; it has the rudiments of the play, but none of its amplifications: it first hinted Lear's madness, but did not array it in circumstances. The writer of the ballad added something to the history, which is a poof that he would have added more, if more had occurred to his mind, and more must have occurred if he had seen Shakspeare. JOHNSON. SCENE I. A public Place. Swords and Bucklers. I. Gre. That shows thee a weak slave; for the weakest goes to the wall. Sam. True; and therefore women, being the weaker vessels, are ever thrust to the wall: Sam. Gregory, o'my word we'll not carry therefore I will push Montague's men from the coals. Gre. No, for then we should be colliers. Sam. I mean, an we be in choler, we'll draw. Gre. Ay, while you live, draw your neck cut of the collar. Sam. I strike quickly, being moved. Gre. But thou art not quickly moved to strike. Sam. A dog of the house of Montague moves me. Gre. To move, is-to stir; and to be valiant, is to stand to it: therefore, if thou art moved, thou runn'st away. Sam. A dog of that house shall move me to stand: I will take the wall of any man or maid of Montague's. wall, and thrust his maids to the wall. Gre. The quarrel is between our masters, and us their men. Sam. 'Tis all one, I will show myself a ty rant: when I have fought with the men, I will be cruel with the maids; I will cut off their heads. Gre. The heads of the maids? Sam. Ay, the heads of the maids, or their maidenheads; take it in what sense thou wilt. Gre. They must take it in sense, that feel it. Sam. Me they shall feel, while I am able to stand: and, 'tis known, I am a pretty piece of flesh. Gre. 'Tis well thou art not fish; if thos hadst, thou hadst been poor Johnt. Draw thy A phrase formerly in use to signify the bearing injuries. tool; here comes two of the house of the Mon- Enter ABRAM and BALTHASAR. will back thee. f. Gre. How? turn thy back and run? Gre. No, marry: I fear thee! Sum. Let us take the law of our sides; let them begin. Gre. I will frown, as I pass by; and let them take it as they list. Sam. Nay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb at them; which is a disgrace to them, if they bear it. Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir? Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir? Sam. No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at Abr. Quarrel, sir? no, sir. La. Mon. Thou shalt not stir one foot to seek Enter Prince, with Attendants. That quench the fire of your pernicious rage And hear the sentence of your moved prince.- Sam. If you do, sir, I am for you; I serve And, Montague, come you this afternoon, as good a man as you. Abr. No better. Sam. Well, sir. Enter BENVOLIO, at a distance. Gre. Say-better; here comes one of my master's kinsmen." Sam. Yes, better, sir. Abr. You lie. Sam. Draw, if you be men.-Gregory, remember thy swashing blow. [They fight. Ben. Part, fools; put up your swords; you know not what you do. [Beats down their Swords. Enter TYBALT. Tyb. What! art thou drawn among these heartless hinds? Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death. Ben. I do but keep the peace; put up thy sword, Or manage it to part these men with me. As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee: 1 Cit. Clubst, bills, and partisans! strike! Cap. What noise is this!-Give me my long sword, ho! [for a sword? La. Cap. A crutch, a crutch!-Why call you Cap. My sword, I say!-Old Montague is And flourishes his blade in spite of me. [come, Enter MONTAGUE and Lady MONTAGUE. Mon. Thou villain Capulet.-Hold me not, let me go. To know our further pleasure in this case,[place, sary And yours, close fighting ere I did approach :// Came more and more, and fought on part and Right glad I am, he was not at this fray. [sun Ben. Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd seen, [dew, With tears augmenting the fresh morning's Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep But all so soon as the all-cheering sun {sighs: The disregard of concord is in character at an affray in the streets, as we now call watch! + Clubs! was the usual exclamation + Angry. Appeared. |