No pity?--nay, then take an old man's vengeance.
(king Lear snatches a sword fram the officer,
and strikes down the two soldiers who had

seized Cordelia)

enter EDGAR, the duke of ALBANY, and king Lear's

KNIGHTS.

Edg. Death! hell! ye vultures, hold your impious hands,

Or take a speedier death than you would give.

Alb. Guards, seize those instruments of cruelty.
Cord. Oh, my Edgar!

Edg. My dear Cordelia ! lucky was the minute
Of our approach; the gods have weigh'd our suff'rings;
We've pass'd the fire, and now must shine to ages.
Knight. Look here, my lord; see, where the gener...
ous king

Has slain two of them.

Lear. Did I not, fellow ?

I've seen the day, with my good biting falchion
I could have made them skip ;-I am old now,
And these vile crosses spoil me; out of breath,
Fie, oh! quite out of breath, and spent.

Alb. Bring in old Kent [exit a knight] and, Edgar,
guide you hither

Your father, who. you said, was near.

enter KENT and the knight.

Lear. Who are you?

[exit Edgar

My eyes are none o' th' best, I'll tell you straight:
Oh, Albany! well, sir, we are your captives,
And you are come to see death pass upon us.
Why this delay ?- —or is't your highness' pleasure
To give us first the torture? say you so ?
Why, here's old Kent, and I, as tough a pair
As e'er bore tyrant stroke ;—but my Cordelia,
My poor Cordelia here, o pity.

Alb. Thou injured majesty,

The wheel of fortune now has made her circle,
And blessings yet stand 'twixt thy grave and thee.

Lear. Com'st thou, inhuman lord, to soothe us back

To a fool's paradise of hope, to make

Our doom more wretched? go to ; we are too well
Acquainted with misfortune, to be gull'd

With lying hope; no, we will hope no more.

Alb. I have a tale t' unfold, so full of wonder,
As cannot meet an easy faith;

But, by that royal injured head, tis true.
Kent. What would your highness?

Alb. Know, the noble Edgar

Impeach'd lord Edmund, since the fight, of treason,
And dared him for the proof to single combat,
In which the gods confirm'd his charge by conquest ;
I left e'en now the traitor wounded mortally.
Lear. And whither tends this story?
Alb. Ere they fought,

Lord Edgar gave into my hands this paper,
A blacker scroll of treason and of lust
Than can be found in the records of hell:
There, sacred sir, behold the character
Of Goneril, the worst of daughters, but
More vicious wife.

Cord. Could there be yet addition to their guilt?
What will not they, that wrong a father, do?

Alb. Since then my injuries, Lear, fall in with thine, I have resolved the same redress for both.

Kent. What says my lord ?.

Cord. Speak: for methought I heard The charming voice of a descending god.

Alb. The troops, by Edmund raised, I have disbanded:

Those, that remain, are under command.
my

What comfort may be brought to cheer your age,
And heal your savage wrongs, shall be apply'd;
For to your majesty we do resign

Your kingdom, save what part yourself conferr'd
On us in marriage.

Kent. Hear you that, my liege?

Cord. Then there are gods, and virtue is their care,
Lear. Is't possible?

Let the spheres stop their course, the sun make halt,

The winds be hush'd, the seas and fountains rest,
All nature pause, and listen to the change!
Where is my Kent, my Caius ?

Kent. Here, my liege.

Lear. Why, I have news, that will recall thy youth; Ha! did'st thou hear't ?-or did th' inspiring gods Whisper to me alone-old Lear shall be

A king again?

Kent. The prince, that like a god has power, has

said it.

Lear. Cordelia then shall be a queen, mark that; Cordelia shall be queen; winds catch the sound, And bear it on your rosy wings to heaven, Cordelia is a queen.

enter EDGAR, with GLOSTER.

Alb. Look, sir, where pious Edgar comes,
Leading his eyeless father. O, my liege,
His wondrous story well deserves your leisure;
What he has done and suffer'd for your sake,
What for the fair Cordelia's.

Glost. Where's my liege? conduct me to his knees, to hail

His second birth of empire: my dear Edgar

Has, with himself, reveal'd the king's blest restoration. Lear. My poor dark Gloster !

Glost. O, let me kiss once more that scepter'd hand! Lear. Hold, thou mistakest the majesty; kneel here;

Cordelia has our power, Cordelia's queen.
Speak, is not that the noble, suff'ring Edgar?

Glost. My pious son, more dear than my lost eyes.
Lear. I wrong'd him too; but here's the fair amends.
Edg. Your leave, my liege, for an unwelcome mes-
sage:

Edmund, but that's a trifle, is expired.

What more will touch you, your imperious daughters,
Goneril and haughty Regan, both are dead,
Each by the other poison'd at a banquet:
This, dying, they confess'd.

Cord. O, fatal period of ill govern'd life!

Lear. Ingrateful as they were, my heart feels yet A pang of nature for their wretched fall.

But, Edgar, I defer thy joys too long:

Thou served'st distress'd Cordelia; take her crown'd,
Th' imperial grace fresh blooming on her brow:
Nay, Gloster, thou hast here a father's right;
Thy helping hand to heap blessings on their heads.
Kent. Old Kent throws in his hearty wishes too.
Edg. The gods and you too largely recompense
What I have done; the gift strikes merit dumb.
Cord. Nor do I blush to own myself o'erpaid
For all my suff 'rings past.

Edg Divine Cordelia, all the gods can witness
How much thy love to empire I prefer.

Thy bright example shall convince the world,
Whatever storms of fortune are decreed,
That truth and virtue shall at last succeed.

Glost. Now, gentle gods, give Gloster his dis-
charge!

Lear. No, Gloster, thou hast business yet for life; Thou, Kent, and I, retired to some close cell, Will gently pass our short reserves of time In calm reflections on our fortunes past, Cheer'd with relation of the prosperous reign Of this celestial pair; thus our remains Shall in an even course of thought be past, Enjoy the present hour, nor fear the last.

[exeunt omnes

END OF KING LEAR.

SCOTCH SHAVING.

If north of Aberfoil you've ever been,
'Mongst Scotland's highland sons, you must have seen
A custom common and inveterate there,
That every one, almost is used to wear,

A face as thin and hardy as a hatchet.

There lived in Dornoch, long ago, a man

With jaws more lank I think than e'er you saw, Dame nature had surpassed her usual plan,

And out be-scotchified a lanthorn jaw:

From that to Solway-Firth not one could match it.

This fellow one day for a barber sent

The barber brought his shave-pot and his case, And having lathered Mac- to labor went,

To clean the crop of stubble from his face,
But first there is a thing that must be shown-
In Scotland they've a custom of their own,

Which every son of soap among them follows:
They thrust their fingers in a fellow's cheek,
Which meets the razor as if plump and sleek,
Along the varying landscape of ther jowls;
For otherwise they couldn't for their souls,

E'er touch the bristles down among the hollows.

Now this way Frizzle took, to dress the leather
That screen'd our scotchman's grinders from the weath-

er,

Still laboring on with more of haste than care,
He hardly even stopt to spit and swear;

Because forsooth he hadn't time to linger: