In doing so, you glad my soul,
The aged king reply'd;

But what say'st 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.

And wilt thou show no more, quoth he,
Than doth thy duty bind?
I well perceive thy love is small,
When as no more I find:
Henceforth I banish thee my court,
Thou art no child of mine;
Nor any part of this my realm
By favour shall be thine.

Thy eldest sisters' loves are more

Than well I can demand,

To whom I equally bestow

My kingdome and my land,
My pompal state and all my goods,
That lovingly I may

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

This flattering speeches won renown
By these two sisters here:

The third had causeless 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 last in famous France
She gentler fortunes found;

Though poor and bare, yet she was deem'
The fairest on the ground:
Where when the king her virtues heard,

And this fair lady seen,

With full consent of all his court

He made his wife and queen.

Her father, old king Leir, this while
With his two daughters staid;
Forgetful of their promis'd loves,
Full soon the same decay'd;

And living in queen Ragan's court,
The eldest of the twain,

She took from him his chiefest 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 she thought too much for him :
So took she 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 Gonorell;
My second child, I know,
Will be more kind and pitiful,
And will relieve my woe.

Full fast he hies then to her court;
Where when she hears his moan
Return'd him answer, That she 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 scullions gave away.

But there of that he was deny'd,
Which she had promis'd late:
For once refusing, 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 beggar's food,
That lately wore a crown.

And calling to remembrance then
His youngest daughter's words,
That said, the duty of a child
Was all that love affords:
But doubting to repair to her,
Whom he had banish'd so,
Grew frantick mad; for in his mind
He bore the wounds of woe:

Which made him rend his milk-white locks,

And tresses from his head,

And all with blood bestain his cheeks,
With age and honour spread:

To hills and woods, and watry founts,
He made his hourly moan,

Till hills and woods, and senseless things,
Did seem to sigh and groan.

Even thus possest with discontents,
He passed o'er to France,

In hopes from fair Cordelia there

To find some gentler chance:

Most virtuous dame! which when she heard

Of this her father's grief,

As duty bound, she quickly sent

Him comfort and relief:

And by a train of noble peers,

In brave and gallant sort,

She gave in charge he should be brought

To Aganippus' court;

Whose royal king, with noble mind,

So freely gave consent,

To muster up his knights at arms,

To fame and courage bent.

And so to England came with speed,

To repossess king Leir,

And drive his daughters from their thrones By his Cordelia dear:

Where she, true-hearted noble queen,

Was in the battle slain :

Yet he, good king, in his old days,
Possest his crown again.

But when he heard Cordelia's death,
Who died indeed for love

Of her dear father, in whose cause
She did this battle move;
He swooning fell upon her breast,
From whence he never parted:
But on her bosom left his life,
That was so truely hearted.

The lords and nobles when they saw
The end of these events,

The other sisters unto death

They doomed by consents;

And being dead, their crowns they left
Unto the next of kin :

Thus have you seen the fall of pride,
And disobedient sin. Johnson.*

*This ballad, which by no means deserves a place in any edition of Shakspeare, is evidently a most servile pursuit,-not, indeed, of our author's play, which the writer does not appear to have read, but-of Holinshed's Chronicle, where, as in Geoffrey of Monmouth, the King of France is called Aganippus. I suppose, however, that the performance and celebrity of the play might have set the balladmaker at work, and furnished him with the circumstance of Lear's madness, of which there is no hint either in the historian or the old play. The omission of any other striking incident may be fairly imputed to his want of either genius or information. All he had to do was to spin out a sort of narrative in a sort of verse, to be sung about the streets, and make advantage of the publick curiosity. I much doubt whether any common ballad can be produced anterior to a play upon the same subject, unless in the case of some very recent event. Ritson.