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We term it mulier : which mulier, I divine, Is this most constant wife who, even now, Answering the letter of the oracle,

Unknown to you, unsought, were clipp'd about With this most tender air.

Cym. This bath some seeming.

Sooth. The lofty cedar, royal Cymbeline, Personates thee: and thy lopp'd



Thy two sons forth: who, by Belarius stolen, For many years thought dead, are now reviv'd, To the majestic cedar join'd; whose issue Promises Britain peace and plenty.

Cym. Well,

By peace we will begin :-And, Caius Lucius,
Although the victor, we submit to Cesar,
And to the Roman empire; promising

To pay our wonted tribute, from the which
We were dissuaded by our wicked queen;
Whom heavens, in justice, (both on her and

Have laid most heavy hand.

Sooth. The fingers of the powers above do

The harmony of this peace. The vision
Which I made known to Lucius, ere the stroke
Of this yet scarce-cold battle, at this instant
Is full accomplish'd: For the Roman eagle,
From south to west on wing soaring aloft,
Lessen'd herself, and in the beams o'the sun
So vanish'd; which foreshow'd our princely

The imperial Cesar, should again unite
His favour with the radiant Cymbeline,
Which shines here in the west.

Cym. Laud we the gods;

And let our crooked smokes climb to their


From our bless'd altars! Publish we this peace To all our subjects. Set we forward: Let

A Roman and a British ensign wave


Friendly together: so through Lud's march:


And in the temple of great Jupiter Our peace we'll ratify; seal it with feasts.Set on there:- Never was a war did cease, Ere bloody hands were wash'd, with such a [Exeunt peace.


Sung by Guiderius and Arviragus over Fidele, supposed to be dead.


To fair Fidele's grassy tomb,

Soft maids and village hinds shall bring Each opening sweet, of earliest bloom, And rifle all the breathing spring. No wailing ghost shall dare appear To vex with shrieks this quiet grove; But shepherd lads assemble here,

And melting virgins own their love. No wither'd witch shall here be seen,

No goblins lead their nightly crew: The female fays shall haunt the green, And dress thy grave with pearly dew. The red-breast oft at evening hours Shall kindly lend his little aid, With hoary moss, and gather'd flowers, To deck the ground where thou art laid. When howling winds and beating rain. In tempests shake the sylvan cell: Or midst the chase on every plain,

The tender thought on thee shall dwell, Each lonely scene shall thee restore; For thee the tear be duly shed: Belov'd, till life could charm no more; And mourn'd, till pity's self be dead.

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THE subject of this interesting tragedy, which was probably written in 1605, is derived from an old historical ballad, founded on a story in Holinshed's Chronicles, and originally told by Geoffery of Monmouth. "Leir (says the Welsh historian) was the eldest son of Bladud, nobly governed his country for sixty years, and died about 800 years before Christ." Camden tells a similar story of Isra, king of the West Saxons, and his three daughters.---The episode of Gloster and his sons is taken from Sidney's Arcadia. Tate,the laureat, greatly altered, and in a degree polished this play, inserting new scenes or passages, and transposing or omitting others in particular, he avoided its original heart-rending catastrophe, by which the virtue of Cordelia was suffered to perish in a just cause, contrary to the natural ideas of justice, to the hope of the reader, and to the facts of the ancient narrative. He also introduced Edgar to the audience as the suitor of Cordelia, cancelling the excellent scene in which, after being rejected as dowerless, by Burgundy, her misfortunes and her goodness recommend her to the love of the king of France. Yet the restauration of the king, and the final happiness of Cordelia, have been censured (in the Spectator especially) as at variance with true tragic feeling and poetical beauty: although it may fairly be presumed, since mankind naturally love justice, that an attention to its dictates will never make a play worse, and that an audience will generally rise more satisfied where persecuted virtue is rewarded and triumphant. Lear's struggles against his accumulated injuries, and his own strong feelings of sorrow and indignation, are exquisitely drawn. The daughters severally working him up to madness, and his finally falling a martyr to that malady, is a more deep and skilful combination of dramatic portraiture than can be found in any other writer. "There is no play (says Dr. Johnson,) which keeps the attention so constantly fixed; which so much agitates our passions and interests our curiosity." The celebrated Dr. Warton, who minutely criticised this play in the Adventurer, objected to the instances of cruelty, as too savage and too shocking. But Johnson observes, that the barbarity of the daughters is an historical fact, to which Shakspeare has added little, although he cannot so readily apologize for the extrusion of Gloster's eyes, which is too horrid an act for dramatic exhibition, and such as must always compel the mind to relieve its distresses by incredulity. Colman, as well as Tate, re-modelled this celebrated Drama, but it is acted, with trifling variations, on the original plan of the latter.

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Kent. Is not this your son, my lord?
Glo. His breeding, Sir, hath been at my

SCENE I-A Room of State in King LEAR'S charge: I have so often blush'd to acknowledge

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him, that now I am brazed to it.
Kent. I cannot conceive you.
Glo. Sir, this young fellow's mother could:
whereupon she grew round-wombed; and bad,
indeed, Sir, a sou for her cradle, ere she had a
husband for her bed. Do you smell a fault?
Kent. I cannot wish the fault undone, the
issue of it being so proper.

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Glo. But I have, Sir, a son, by order of law, some year elder than this, who yet is no dearer


In my account: though this knave came some- | No less in space, validity, and pleasure, what saucily into the world before he was sent Than that confirm'd on Goneril,-Now, our joy, for, yet his mother was fair; there was good Although the last, not least; to whose young love sport at his making, and the whoreson must be acknowledged.-Do you know this noble gentleman, Edmund ?

Edm. No, my lord.

The vines of France, and milk of Burgundy, Strive to be interess'd:t what can you say, to draw

Glo. My lord of Kent: remember him here- A third more opulent than your sisters? Speak. after as my honourable friend.

Edm. My services to your lordship.

Kent. I must love you, and sue to know you better.

Edm. Sir, I shall study deserving.

Glo. He hath been out nine years, and away he shall again :-The king is coming.


[Trumpets sound within

REGAN, CORDELIA, and Attendants.
Lear. Attend the lords of France and Bur-
Glo. I shall, my liege.
Lear. Meantime we shall express our darker

Give me the map there.-Know, that we have

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In three, our kingdom: and 'tis our fast intent
To shake all cares and business from our age;
Conferring them on younger strengths, while we
Unburden'd crawl toward death.-Our son of

And you, our no less loving son of Albany,
We have this hour a constant will to publish
Our daughter's several dowers, that



May be prevented now. The princes, France and Burgundy,


Great rivals in our youngest daughter's love,
Long in our court have made their amorous
And here are to be answer'd.-Tell me, my
(Since now we will divest us, both of rule,
Interest of territory, cares of state,)
Which of you, shall we say, doth love us most ?
That we our largest bounty may extend
Where merit doth most challenge it.-Goneril,
Our eldest-born, speak first.

Gon. Sir, I


Do love you more than words can wield the
Dearer than eye-sight, space and liberty;
Beyond what can be valued, rich or rare;
No less than life, with grace, health, beauty,


As much as child e'er lov'd, or father found:
A love that makes breath poor, and speech


Beyond all manner of so much I love you.
Cor. What shall Cordelia do? Love, and be


line to this,

Lear. Of all these bounds, even from this With shadowy forests and with champains rich'd,


With plenteous rivers and wide-skirted meads,
We make thee lady: To thine and Albany's
Be this perpetual. What says our second
Our dearest Regan, wife to Cornwall? Speak.
Reg. I am made of that self metal as my

And prize me at her worth. In my true heart,
I find she names my very deed of love;
Only she comes too short,-that I profess
Myself an enemy to all other joys,


Which the most precious square of sense pos-
And find I am alone felicitate §

In your dear highness' love.

Cor. Then poor Cordelia !


And yet not so; since, I am sure, my love's
More richer than my tongue.

Lear. To thee and thine hereditary ever
Remain this ample third of our fair kingdom;

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You have begot me, bred me, lov'd me: I
Return those duties back as are right fit,
Obey you, love you, and most honour you.
Why have my sisters husbands, if they say,
They love you all? Haply, when 1 shall wed,
That lord, whose hand must take my plight,
shall carry

Half my love with him, half my care, and duty:
Sure, I shall never marry like my sisters,
To love my father all?

Lear. But goes this with thy heart?
Cor. Ay, good my lord.

Lear. So young, and so untender ?
Cor. So young, my lord, and true.

Lear. Let it be so.-Thy truth then be thy
dower :

For, by the sacred radiance of the sun;
The mysteries of Hecate, and the night;
By all the operations of the orbs,
From whom we do exist, and cease to be;
Here I disclaim all my paternal care,
Propinquity and property of blood,
And as a stranger to my heart and me
Hold thee, from this, for ever. The barbarous

Or he that makes his generation | messes
To gorge his appetite, shall to my bosom
Be as well neighbour'd, pitied, and reliev'd,
As thou my sometime daughter.

Kent. Good my liege,

Lear. Peace, Kent!

Come not between the dragon and his wrath:
I lov'd her most, and thought to set my rest
On her kind nursery.-Hence, and avoid my
So be my grave my peace, as here I give
Her father's heart from her I-Call France ;-
Who stirs ?

Call Burgundy,-Cornwall and Albany,
With my two daughter's dowers digest this
third :
Let pride, which she calls plainness, marry her.
do invest you jointly with my power,
Pre-eminence, and all the large effects
That troop with majesty.-Ourself, by monthly
with reservation of a hundred knights,
By you to be sustain'd, shall our abode [retain
Make with you by due turns. Only we still
The name, and all the additions ¶ to a king;

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