for giving Cordelia fuccefs and happiness in his alteration, and declares, that, in his opinion, the tragedy has loft half its beauty. Dennis has remarked, whether justly or not, that, to secure the favourable reception of Cato, the town was poisoned with much falfe and abominable criticism, and that endeavours had been used to difcredit and decry poetical juftice, A play in which the wicked profper, and the virtuous mifcarry, may doubtlefs be good, because it is a juft reprefentation of the common events of human life: but fince all reasonable beings naturally love juftice, I cannot easily be perfuaded, that the obfervation of justice makes a play worse; or, that if other excellencies are equal, the audience will not always rife better pleafed from the final triumph of perfecuted virtue.

In the prefent cafe the public has decided. Cordelia, from the time of Tate, has always retired with victory and felicity. And, if my fenfations could add any thing to the general fuffrage, I might relate, I was many years ago fo 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 controverfy among the critics concerning this play. It is difputed whether the predominant image in Lear's difordered mind be the lofs of his kingdom or the cruelty of his daughters. Mr. Murphy, a very judicious critic, has evinced by induction of particular paffages, that the cruelty of his daughters is the primary fource of his diftrefs, and that the lofs of royalty affects him only as a fecondary and fubordinate evil. He obferves with great juftnefs, that Lear would move our compaffion but little, did we not rather confider the injured father than the degraded king.

The story of this play, except the epifode of Edmund, which is derived, I think, from Sidney, is taken originally from Geoffry of Monmouth, whom Hollinfhed generally copied, but perhaps immediately from an old historical ballad. My reafon for believing that the play was pofterior to the ballad, rather than the ballad to the play, is, that the ballad has nothing of Shakespeare's nocturnal tempeft, 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 firft hinted Lear's madnefs, but did not array it in circumftances. The writer of the ballad added fomething to the hiftory, which is a proof that he would have added more, if more had occurred to his mind, and more muft have occurred if he had feen Shakespeare.

A

A lamentable SONG of the Death of King Leir and bis Three Daughters.

I

KING Leir once ruled in this land

With princely power and peace,

And had all things, with heart's content,
That might his joys increase.
Amongst thofe things that nature gave
Three daughters fair had he,

So princely feeming beautiful,
As fairer could not be.

So on a time it pleas'd the king
A question thus to move,
Which of his daughters to his grace
Could fhew the dearest love :
For to my age you bring content,
Quoth he, then let me hear
Which of you three in plighted troth
The kindest will appear.

To whom the eldeft thus began;
Dear father, mind, quoth fhe,
Before your face, to do you good,
My blood fhall render'd be:
And for your fake my bleeding heart
Shall here be cut in twain,
Ere that I fee your reverend age
The smalleft grief sustain.

And fo will I, the fecond faid;

Dear father, for your fake,

The worst of all extremities

I'll gently undertake:

And ferve your highness night and day

With diligence and love;

That fweet content and quietness

Discomforts may remove.

King Leir, &c.] This ballad is given from an ancient copy in The Golden Garland, black letter. To the tune of, When flying Fame.

In

In doing fo, you glad my foul,
The aged king reply'd;

But what fayft thou, my youngest girl,
How is thy love ally'd?

My love (quoth young Cordelia then)
Which to your grace I owe,
Shall be the duty of a child,
And that is all I'll show.

Thy elder fifters loves are more
Than well I can demand,
To whom I equally bestow
My kingdome and my land,

My pompal ftate and all my goods,
That lovingly I may

With those thy fifters be maintain'd
Until my dying day.

Thus flatt'ring fpeeches won renown
By these two fifters here.

The third had caufelefs banishment,
Yet was her love more dear:
For poor Cordelia patiently

Went wand'ring up and down;
Unhelp'd, unpity'd, gentle maid,
Through many an English town.

Until at laft in famous France
She gentler fortunes found:

Though poor and bare, yet she was deem'd
The fairest on the ground:

Where when the king her virtues heard,

And this fair lady feen,

With full confent of all his court,

He made his wife and queen,

Her

Her father, old king Leir, this while
With his two daughters staid:
Forgetful of their promis'd loves,
Full foon the fame decayd;
And living in queen Ragan's court,
The eldest of the twain,

She took from him his chiefeft means,
And most of all his train.

For whereas twenty men were wont
To wait with bended knee:
She gave allowance but to ten,

And after scarce to three:

Nay one the thought too much for him:
So took the all away,

In hope that in her court, good king,
He would no longer stay.

Am I rewarded thus, quoth he,
In giving all I have
Unto my children, and to beg
For what I lately gave?
I'll go unto my Gonerill;

My fecond child, I know,
Will be more kind and pitiful,
And will relieve my woe.

Full faft he hies then to her court;
Where when she hears his moan,
Return'd him anfwer, that fhe griev'd
That all his means were gone,
But no way could relieve his wants:
Yet if that he would stay

Within her kitchen, he should have

What fcullions gave away.

When he had heard with bitter tears,

He made his answer then;

In what I did let me be made
Example to all men.

I will return again, quoth he,
Unto my Ragan's court:

She will not ufe me thus I hope,

But in a kinder fort.

Where

Where when he came fhe

gave command To drive him thence away:

When he was well within her court,
She faid, he would not stay.
Then back again to Gonorell
The woeful king did hie,
That in her kitchen he might have
What fcullion boys fet by.

But there of that he was deny'd,
Which she had promifed late:
For once refufing, he should not
Come after to her gate.

Thus 'twixt his daughters, for relief
He wander'd up and down;
Being glad to feed on beggars' food
That lately wore a crown.

And calling to remembrance then
His youngest daughter's words;
That faid, the duty of a child
Was all that love affords.
But doubting to repair to her,
Whom he had banish'd fo,
Grew frantic mad; for in his mind

He bore the wounds of woe.

Which made him rend his milk-white locks

And treffes from his head,

And all with blood beftain his cheeks,
With age and honour spread.

To hills and woods, and wat'ry founts,
He made his hourly moan,

Till hills and woods, and fenfeless things,
Did feem to figh and groan.

Even thus poffefs'd with difcontents,

He paffed o'er to France,

In hope from fair Cordelia there

To find fome gentler chance.

Moft virtuous dame! which when he heard

Of this her father's grief,

As duty bound, the quickly fent

Him comfort and relief.

And