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You shall get it by running : fa, fa, fa, fa. Exit.
Gent. A fight most pitiful in the meanest wretch,
Edg. Hail, gentle Sir.
will ? Edg. Do you hear ought, Sir, of a battle toward ?
Gent. Most sure, and vulgar: every one hears that, Which can distinguish found.
Edg. But by your favour, How near's the other
? Gent. Near, and on speedy foot: the main descry Stands on the hourly thought.
Edg. I thank you, Sir; that's all.
Gent. Though that the Queen on special cause is here, Her army is moy'd on.
[Exit. Edg. I thank you, Sir.
Glo. You ever gentle gods, take my breath from me; Let not my worser fpirit tempt me again To die before you please.
Edg. Well pray you, father.
Glo. Hearty thanks;
Glo. Let thy friendly hand
Stew. Wherefore, bold peasant,
Dar'ft thou support a publish'd traitor ? hence,
Edg. Chill not let go, Zir, without vurther 'casion.
Edg. Good gentleman, go your gate, and let poor volk pass : and 'chud ha' been zwagger'd out of my life, 'rwould not ha' been zo long as 'tis by a vort-night. Nay, come not near th' old man: keep out, che vor'ye, or ice try whether your coftard or my bat be the harder ; chill be plain with you.
Stew. Out, dunghill!
Edg. Chill pick your teeth, Zir : come, no matter vor your foyns.
[Edgar knocks him down.'
Edg. I know thee well, a serviceable villain ;
Glo. What, is he dead ?
Edg. Sit you down, father : rest you.
Reads the Letter.
opportunities to cut him off: if your will want not, time and place will be fruitfully offer'd. There is nothing done, if he return the conqueror. Then am I the prisoner, and his bed my goal; from the loathed warmth whereof deliver me, and supply the place for your labour.
Your (wife, so I would say) affectionate
Oh, undistinguish'd space of woman's will! (52)
Glo. The King is mad; how ftiff is my vile sense,
[Drum afar off And woes, by wrong imaginations, lose The knowledge of themselves.
Edg. Give me your hand : Far off, methinks, I hear the beaten drum. Come, father, I'll bestow you with a friend. [Exeunt,'
SCENE changes to a Chamber.
Enter Cordelia, Kent, and Physician. Cor. O, thou good Kent, how shall I live and work To match thy goodness ? life will be too short, And ev'ry measure fail me.
(52) Oh, undistinguish'd space of woman's will!] This is the read. ing of the first Folio, which Mr. Pope very unhappily degrades, and subtitutes, wit, the mistaken reading of the ist Quarto. What idea he form’d to himself of the undistinguish'd space of a woman's wit, I can't tell; I am quite at a loss to understand any meaning in it. But the other reading gives us, as Mr. Warburton observes to me, a most elegant expression, and most satirical thought: and more delicate than the---Varium & mutabile semper fæmina---of VIRGIL. 'Tis not the extravagance, but the mutability, of a woman's will that is here satiriz'd. The change of which (our author would be understood to say,) is so speedy, that there is no space of time, no distance, between the present will and the next; but it is an undistinguish'd space. This sentiment may not be ill explain'd further from what honest Sancho, in Don Quixote, with infinite humour says upon the subject. Entre el Si y el Ño de la muger, no me atreveria yo, a poner una punta d' alfiler. Betwixt a woman's you, and no, I would not undertake to thrust a pin's point.
Kent. To be acknowledg'd, madam, is o?erpaid ;
Cor. Be better suited ;
Kent. Pardon, dear madam,
know me not, 'Till time and I think meet.
Cor. Then be it so, My Lord.--How does the King? [To the Physician.
Phys. Madam, sleeps ftill.
Cor. O you kind gods !
Phys. Please your Majesty,
Cor. Be govern’d by your knowledge, and proceed l'th' fway of your own will: is he array'd ?
Enter Lear in a chair, carried by servants. Phys. Ay, madam; in the heaviness of sleep, We put fresh
garments on him. Be by, good madam, when we do awake him ; I doubt not of his temperance.
Cor. O my dear father! restoration, hang Thy medicine on my lips; and let this kiss Repair those violent harms, that my two fifters Have in thy reverence made!
Kent. Kind and deareft Princess!
Cor. Had you not been their father, these white flakes Did challenge pity of them. Was this a face, To be expos'd against the warring winds ? To stand against the deep, dread-bolted thunder? (53) In the moft terrible and nimble stroke
(53) To fand against the deep,] The following three lines and an half, in no wise unworthy of our author, I have restor'd from the
Of quick, cross lightning? To watch poor Perdue,
Phys. Madam, do you; 'tis fitteit.
Lear. You do me wrong to take me out o’th' grave;
Cor. Sir, do you know me?
Lear. Where have I been? where am I? fair day-light:
Cor. O look upon me, Sir,
Lear. Pray, do not mock me ;
Cor. And I am; I am.