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Some that will thank you, making juft report,
Of how unnatural and bemadding forrow
The King hath cause to plain.

I am a gentleman of blood and breeding,"
And from fome knowledge and affurance of you,
Offer this Office.]

Gent. I'll talk further with you."

Kent. No, do not.

For confirmation that I am much more

Than my out-wall, open this purfe and take
What it contains. If you fhall fee Cordelia,
As, fear not, but you fhall, fhew her that Ring,
And the will tell you who this fellow is,
That yet you do not know. Fy on this ftorm!
I will
go feek the King.

Gent. Give me your hand, have you no more to say? Kent. Few words, but, to effect, more than all yet; That, when we have found the King, for which you

take

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That way, I this, he that firft lights on him,
Halloo the other.

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SCENE

II.

Storm fill. Enter Lear and Fool.

Lear. Blow winds, and crack your cheeks; rage, blow!

You cataracts, and hurricanoes, fpout.

'Till you have drencht our steeples, drown'd the cocks!
You fulph'rous and * thought-executing fires,
Vaunt couriers of oak-cleaving thunder-bolts,
Singe my white-head. And thou all-fhaking thunder,

I'll this: He that

$ -for avhich take you That way, I this: The quarto reads,

-the King, Pll this way, You that

6

[Exeunt feverally

That
way,
firft, &c.

So that the prefent reading is
conjectural.

The folio,

-the King, in which your to thought.

pain

-thought-executing-] Doing execution with rapidity equal

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Strike flat the thick rotundity o'th' world,
'Crack nature's mould, all germins fpill at once
That make ingrateful man.

Fool. O nuncle, court-holy-water in a dry house is better than the rain-waters out o'door. Good nuncle, in and ask thy daughters bleffing, here's a night that pi ties neither wife men nor fools.

Lear. Rumble thy belly full, fpit fire, spout rain; Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire, are my daughters. I tax not you, you elements, with unkindness, I never gave you kingdoms, call'd you children; ? You owe me no fublcription; then let fall Your horrible displeasure. Here I ftand, your flave,' poor, infirm, weak, and defpis'd old man. But yet I call you fervile minifters, That have with two pernicious daughters join'd Your high engender'd battles, 'gainst a head So old and white as this. Oh! oh! 'tis foul. tion; yet fure he owed them none. We should read,

here I ft and your BRAVE; .e. I defy your worst rage, as he had faid just before. What led the editors into this blunder was what should have kept them out of it, namely the following line,

• Crack Nature's Mould, all Germains pill at once] Thus, all the Editions have given us this Paffage, and Mr. Pope has explain'd Germains to mean relations, or kindred Elements. But the Poct means here," Crack "Nature's Mould, and fpill all "the Seeds of Matter, that are

hoarded within it." To retrieve which Senfe, we must write Germins, from Germen. Our Author not only uses the fame Thought again, but the Word that afcertains my Explication. In Winter's Tale;

Let Nature crush the Sides o't
Earth together,

And marr the Seeds within. THEOBALD. 7 You owe me no fubfcription.] Subfcription, for obedience. WAR. bere I fand your SLAVE ;] But why for It is true, he fays, that they owed him no fubfcripVOL. VI.

8

A poor, infirm, weak, and de-
Spis'd old man!

And this was the wonder, that
fuch a one should brave them all.
WARBURTON.
The meaning is plain enough,
he was not their flave by right
or compact, but by neceflity and
compulfion. Why should a paf
fage be darkened for the fake of
changing it? Befides, of Brave
in that fenfe I remember r
no ex-
ample.

tis foul.] Shameful; difhonourable.

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Fool. He that has a house to put's head in, has a

good head-piece.

The codpiece that will house,
Before the head has any,
The head and he shall lowfe;
*So beggars marry many.
That man that makes his toe,
What he his heart fhould make,

Shall of a corn cry woe,
And turn his fleep to wake.

For there was never yet fair woman, but she made. mouths in a glass.

SCENE

III.

To them, Enter Kent.

Lear. No, I will be the pattern of all patience, I will fay nothing.

Kent. Who's there?

Fool. Marry here's grace and a cod-piece, that's a wife man and a fool.

Kent. Alas, Sir, are you here? Things that love night,

Love not fuch nights as these, the wrathful fkies • Gallow the very wand'rers of the dark,

And make them keep their Caves. Since I was man, Such sheets of fire, fuch bursts of horrid thunder, Such groans of roaring wind and rain, I never Remember to have heard. Man's nature cannot carry Th' affliction, nor the 'fear.

Lear. Let the great Gods,

That keep this dreadful pother o'er our heads,
Find out their enemies now. Tremble, thou wretch,

So beggars marry many.] That is, a beggar marries a wife and ji e.

2 Gallow the very wand'rers of the dark, Gallow, a

weft-country word, fignifies to fcar or frighten.. WARBURTON, C So the folio, the later edi-a tions read, with the quarto, forca for fear, lefs elegantly.

ཛཱཧི,

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That haft within thee undivulged crimes,

Unwhipt of justice. H.de thee, thou bloody hand,
Thou Perjure, and thou Simular of virtue,
That art incertuous. Caitiff, thake to pieces,
'That under covert and convenient feeming,
Haft practis'd on man's life!-Clofe pent-up guilts,
Rive your concealing continents and ask

4

Thefe dreadful fummoners grace.- I am a man,
More finn'd against, than finning.

Kent. Ala k, bare-headed?

Gracious my Lord, hard by here is a hovel,
Some friendship will it lend you 'gainst the tempeft;
Repofe you there, while I to this hard houfe,
More hard than is the ftone whereof 'tis rais'd,
Which ev'n but now, demanding after you,
Deny'd me to come in, return, and force
Their fcanted courtesy.

Lear. My wits begin to turn.
Come on, my boy. How doft, my boy? art cold?

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I'm cold myself. Where is the ftraw, my fellow?

The art of our neceffities is ftrange,

That can make vile things precious. Come, your hovel.

Poor fool and knave, I've one part in
That's forry yet for thee.

6

Fool. He that has an a little tyny wit,
With beigh bo, the wind and the rain;
Muft make content with his fortunes fit,
Though the rain it raineth every day.

Lear. True, my good boy. Come, bring us to this

[Exit,

hovel.

Fool. 'Tis a brave night to cool a curtezan, ? I'll speak a prophecy ere I go.

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my heart,

than matter;

When brewers marr their malt with water;

When

1

When nobles are their tailors

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That Going fhall be us'd with

feet.] The judicious reader will obferve through this heap of nonfenfe and confufion, that this is not one, but two prophecies. The first, a fatyrical defcription of the prefent manners as future: And the fecond, a fatyrical defcription of future manners, which the corruption of

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