Whilst I was big in clamour, came there a man, As he'd burst heaven; threw him on my father; guise But who was this? Follow'd his enemy king, and did him service To lay the blame upon her own despair, Alb. The gods defend her! Bear him hence a while. [Edmund is borne off. Enter Lear, with Cordelia dead in his arms; Edgar, Officer, and others. Lear. Howl, howl, howl, howl!-0 you are Had I your tongues and eyes, I'd use them so Edg. Kent, sir, the banish'd Kent; who in dis-I know when one is dead, and when one lives; Enter a Gentleman hastily, with a bloody knife. Gent. Help! help! O help! Edg. Aib. What kind of help? Speak, man. Edg. What means that bloody knife? It came even from the heart of- Who, man? speak. Edm. I was contracted to them both; all three Now marry in an instant. Alb. Produce their bodies, be they alive or dead! This judgment of the heavens, that makes us tremble, Touches us not with pity. Enter Kent. [Exit Gentleman. Fall, and cease! I Kent. O my good master! [Kneeling. Tis noble Kent, your friend. Lear. Pr'ythee, away. Lear. A plague upon you, murderers, traitors all! 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, Did I not, fellow? Here comes Kent, sir. And these same crosses spoil me.—Who are you? The time will not allow the compliment, Kent. I am come Mine eyes are none o'the best :-I'll tell you straight. Lear. This is a dull sight: Are you not Kent? Your servant Kent: Where is your servant Caius? Speak, Edmund, where's the king? and where's He'll strike, and quickly too:-He's dead and Great thing of us forgot! Cordelia ? See'st thou this object, Kent? [The bodies of Goneril and Regan are Kent. Alack, why thus? rotten. Kent. No, my good lord; I am the very man ;- Kent. That, from your first of difference and Yet Edmund was belov'd; Have follow'd your sad steps. With boot,' and such addition as your honours Lear. And my poor fool' is hang'd! No, no, no Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life, nicely discr.minates, 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 thou no breath at all? O, thou wilt come no and shocking, and that the intervention of Edmund more, Never, never, never, never, never! Pray you, undo this button: Thank you, sir.- [He dies. destroys the simplicity of the story. These objectiors 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 by dialogue and action. But I am Edg He faints!-My lord, my lord,-not able to apologize with equal plausibility for the Kent. Break, heart; I pr'ythee, break! extrusion of Gloster's eyes, which seems an act too Edg. Look up, my lord. horrid to be endured in dram jc exhibition, and Kent. Vex not his ghost:-0, let him pass! he such as must always compel the mind to relieve its hates him, distress by incredulity. Yet let it be remembered that our author well knew what would please the audience for which he wrote. That wold upon the rack of this tough world Edg. O, he is gone, indeed. Kent. The wonder is, he hath endur'd so long: He but usurp'd his life. Alb. Bear them from hence.-Our present busi ness Is general wo. Friends of my soul, you twain [To Kent and Edgar. Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say. The injury done by Edmund to the simplicity of the action is abundantly recompensed by the addition of variety, by the art with which he is made to co-operate with the chief design, and the opport&nity 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, Snakspeare 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 nis 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 The tragedy of Lear is deservedly celebrated criticism, and that endeavours had been used to among the dramas of Shakspeare. There is perhaps discredit and decry poetical justice. A play in no play which keeps the attention so strongly fixed; which the wicked prosper, and the virtuous miswhich so much agitates our passions, and interests carry, may doubtless be good, because it is a just our curiosity. The artful involutions of distinct in-representation of the cominon events of human life: terests, the striking oppositions of contrary charac- but since all reasonable beings naturally love justers, the sudden changes of fortune, and the quick tice, I cannot easily be persuaded, that the obser succession of events, fill the mind with a perpetual vation of justice makes a play worse; or that, if tamult of indignation, pity, and hope. There is no other excellencies are equal, the audience will not sceve which does not contribute to the aggravation always rise better pleased from the final triumph of of the distress or conduct to the action, and scarce persecuted virtue.' 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. Cor In the present case the public has decided. delia, 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 On the seeming improbability of Lear's conduct, relate, I was many years ago so shocked by Corit may be observed, that he is represented accord- delia's death, that I know not whether I ever ening to histories at that time vulgarly received as dured to read again the last scenes of the play, till true. An, perhaps, if we turn our thoughts upon I undertook to revise them as an editor. the barbarity and ignorance of the age to which There is another controversy among the critics this story is referred, it will appear not so unlikely concerning this play. It is disputed whether the as while we estimate Lear's manners by our own. prominent image in Lear's disordered mind be the Such preference of one daughter to another, or re-loss of his kingdom or the cruelty of his daughters. signation of dominion on such conditions, would Mr. Murphy, a very judicious er tic, has evinced be vet credible, if told of a petty prince of Guinea by induction of particular passages, that the cruelor Madagascar. Shakspeare, indeed, by the men- ty of his daughters is the primary source of his distion of his earls and dukes, has given us the idea tress, and that the loss of rovally affects him only of times more civilized, and of life regulated by as a secondary and subordinate evil. He observes, softer manners; and the truth is, that though he so with great justness, that Lear would move our compassion but little, did we not rather consider the injured father than the degraded king. (1) Benefit. (2) Titles. (3) Poor fool in the time of Shakspeare, was an expression of endearment. 386 The story of this play, except the episode of Ed- that it follows the chronicle; it has the rudiments mund, which is derived, I think, from Sidney, is of the play, but none of its amplifications: it first taken originally from Geoffry of Monmouth, whom hinted Lear's madness, but did not array it in cirThe writer of the ballad added Holinshed generally copied; but perhaps immedi- cumstances. ately from an old historical ballad. My reason for something to the history, which is a proof that he believing that the play was posterior to the ballad, would have added more, if more had occurred to ather than the ballad to the play, is, that the bal- his mind; and more must have occurred if he had ad has nothing of Shakspeare's nocturnal tempest, seen Shakspeare. which is too striking to have been omitted, and JOHNSON. PROLOGUE. Two households, both alike in dignity, A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life; Do, with their death, bury their parents' strife. The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love, And the continuance of their parents' rage, Which, but their children's end, nought could re Nurse to Juliet. Citizens of Verona; several Men and Women, te lations to both houses; Maskers, Guards, Watchmen, and Attendants. Scene, during the greater part of the play, in Vero na: once, in the fifth act, at Mantua. stand: I will take the wall of any man or maid of Montague's. 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:-therefore I will push Montague's men from the 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 tyrant: 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 thou hadst, thou hadst been poor John. Draw thy tool; here comes two of the house of the Montagues.' Enter Abram and Balthazar. Sam. My naked weapon is out; quarrel, I will back thee. Gre. How? turn thy back, and run? Gre. No, marry: I fear thee! Sam. Let us take the law of our sides; let them begin. Gre. I will frown, as I pass by; and let thein take it as they list. Sam. Nay, as they dare. I will lite my thumb at them; which is a disgrace to them, if they Gre. To move, is-to stir; and to be valiant, is-bear it. to stand to it: therefore, if thou art moved, thou runn'st away. Sam. A dog of that house shall move me to (1) A phrase formerly in use to signify the bearing injuries. VOL. 11. Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir? (2) Poor John is hake, dried and salted. Sam. Is the law on our side, if I say-ay? Sam. No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir; but I bite my thumb, sir. Gre. Do you quarrel, sir? Sam. If you do, sir I am for you; I serve as good a man as you. Abr. No better. Sam. Well, sir. Enter Benvolio, at a distance. For this time, all the rest depart away: Gre. Say-better; here comes one of my mas- I drew to part them; in the instant came 'er'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. [Exe. Prince, and Attendants; Capulet, Lady La. Mon. O, where is Romeo?-saw you him Tyb. What, art thou drawn among these heart- Right glad I am, he was not at this fray. less hinds? Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death. sword, I hate As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee: 1 Cil. Clubs,' bills, and partizans! strike! beat Down with the Capulets! down with the Montagues! Enter Capulet, in his gown; and Lady Capulet. Cap. What noise is this?-Give me my long sword, ho! La. Cap. A crutch, a crutch! Why call you for a sword? Cap. My sword, I say!-Old Montague is come, Enter Montague and Lady Montague. me go. La. Mon. Thou shalt not stir one foot to seek a foc. Enter Prince, with Attendants. (1) Clubs! was the usual exclamation at an afGray in the streets, as we now call Watch! Ben. Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd sun Mon. Many a morning hath he there been seen, Ben. My noble uncle, do you know the cause? Enter Romeo, at a distance. Ben. See, where he comes: So please you, step I'll know his grievance, or be much denied. Ben. Good morrow, cousin. |