For which thou whipp'st her. The usurer hangs the

Cozener.

Through tatter'd clothes small vices do appear; Robes, and furr'd gowns, hide all. Plate sin with gold,

And the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks;
Arm it in rags, a pigmy's straw doth pierce it.
None does offend, none, I say, none; I'll able 'em:
Take that of me, my friend, who have the power
To seal the accuser's lips. Get thee glass eyes;
And, like a scurvy politician, seem
To see the things thou dost not.

CORDELIA ON THE INGRATITUDE OF HER SISTERS.

O my dear father! Restoration, hang
Thy medicine on my lips; and let this kiss
Repair those violent harms, that my two sisters
Have in thy reverence made!

Had you not been their father, these white flakes
Had challeng'd pity of them. Was this a face

To be expos'd against the warring winds?

To stand against the deep dread-bolted thunder?
In the most terrible and nimble stroke
Of quick, cross lightning?

*

*

And wast thou fain, poor father,

To hovel thee with swine, and rogues forlorn,
In short and musty straw? Alack, alack!
'Tis wonder, that thy life and wits at once
Had not concluded all.

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 day-light?

I am mightily abus'd.-I should even die with pity,
To see another thus.-I know not what to say.-
I will not swear, these are my hands: let's see:
I feel this pin prick. 'Would I were assur'd
Of my condition.

Cor.

O, look upon me, sir,

And hold your hands in benediction o'er me:-
No, sir, you must not kneel.

Lear.

Pray, do not mock me

I am a very foolish fond old man,

Fourscore and upward; and, to deal plainly,
I fear, I am not in my perfect mind.

Methinks, I should know you, and know this man:
Yet I am doubtful: for I am mainly ignorant
What place this is; and all the skill I have
Remembers not these garments; nor I know not
Where I did lodge last night: Do not laugh at me;
For, as I am a man, I think this lady

To be my child Cordelia.

Cor.

And so I am, I am.

Lear. Be your tears wet? Yes, 'faith. I pray, weep

not:

If you have poison for me, I 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?
Kent.

Lear. Do not abuse me.

No cause, no cause.

In your own kingdom, sir.

Phys. Be comforted, good madam: the great rage, You see, is cur'd in him: and yet it is danger To make him even* o'er the time he has lost. Desire him to go in; trouble him no more, Till further settling.

Cor. Will't please your highness walk?

*To reconcile it to its apprehension.

Lear.

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,
And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh
At gilded butterflies, and hear poor rogues
Talk of court news; and we'll talk with them too,-
Who loses, and who wins; who's in, who's out;-
And take upon us the mystery of things,

As if we were God's spies: And we'll wear out,
In a wall'd prison, packs and sects of great ones,
That ebb and flow by the moon.

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 Made instruments to scourge us.

EDGAR'S ACCOUNT OF HIS

DISCOVERING

TO HIS FATHER.

List a brief tale;

HIMSELF

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 dog's 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 (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,

• Hear.

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 your's 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,
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 endur'd, with his strong arms
He fasten'd on my neck, and bellow'd out
As he'd burst heaven; threw him on my father;
Told the most piteous tale of Lear and him,
That ever ear receiv'd: which in recounting
His grief grew puissant, and the strings of life
Began to crack. Twice then the trumpet sounded
And there I left him tranc'd.

LEAR ON THE DEATH OF CORDELIA.

Howl, howl, howl, howl;-O, you are men of stones;

Had I your tongues and eyes, I'd use them so
That heaven's vault should crack:-0, she is gone
for ever!--

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
That ever I have felt.

Kent

O my good master! [Kneeling

Lear. Pr'ythee, away.

A plague upon you, murderers, traitors all!
I might have sav'd her; now she's gone for ever!-
Cordelia, Cordelia, stay a little. Ha!

What is't thou say'st?-Her voice was ever soft,
Gentle, and low.

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,
And yet are o'nt? Live you? or are you aught
That man may question? you seem to understand

me,

By each at once her choppy finger laying
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
Art not without ambition; but without

The illness should attend it. What thou would'st highly,

That would'st thou holily; would'st not play false, And yet would'st wrongly win.

Poor Fool, in the time of Shakespeare, was an expression of endearment.