Look'd blank upon me; struck me with her tongue, (19)

Most serpent-like, upon the very heart.

All the stor'd vengeances of heaven fall

On her ingrateful Top! strike her young bones,

You taking airs, with lameness!

Corn. Fie, Sir! fie!

Lear. You nimble lightnings, dart your blinding flames

Into her scornful eyes! infect her beauty,

You fen-fuck'd fogs, drawn by the pow'rful sun
To fall, and blast her pride.

Reg. O the blest gods!

So will you wish on me, when the rash mood is en. Lear. No, Rezan, thou shalt never have my curse: Thy tender-hefted nature shall not give (20)

Thee

(19) Look'd black upon me,] This is a phrase which I do not underfland, neither have I any where else met with it. But to look blank is a known exprefion, signifying, either to give discouraging looks to another, or to stand dismay'd and disappointed one's-felf. The post means here, that Regan gave him cold looks, as he before phrafes it in this play. In Hamlet, he has chang'd the adjective into a verb;

Each oppofite, that blanks the face of joy.

Milton (a studious imitator not only of our poet's words, but

phrases;) often uses blank in our author's sense here;

There without fign of boast, or sign of joy,
Sollicitous and blank, he thus began.

And with confufion blank his worshippers.
And noble grace, that dash'd brute violence;

With sudden adoration and blank awe,

--Adam, foon as he heard

The fatal trespass done by Eve, amaz'd,
Aftonied stood and blank.

Par. Reg. B. г.
Sampl. Agonift.

Masque at Ludlow-Cafile.

Par. loft. B. 9.

And in another passage, with an equivalent expreffion;

Thus while he spake, each passion dimm'd his face. Ibid. B. 4.

(20) Thy tender-hearted nature] This, as I presume, was Mr. Pope's sophistication; I have restored from the old copies, tender-befted; (which, I am satisfied, was the poet's word) i. e, whose bufom

is beav'd with tender passions. So in Winter's Tale.

-But if one present

Th' abhor'd ingredient to his eye make known
How he hath drunk, he cracks his gorge, his fides,

With violent befts.

VOL. VI.

And

Thee o'er to harsiness; her eyes are fierce, but thine
Do comfort, and not burn. 'Tis not in thee
To grudge my pleasures, to cut off my train,
To bandy hafty words, to scant my fizes,
And, in conclusion, to oppose the bolt
Against my coming in. Thou better know'it
The offices of nature, bond of child-hood,
Effects of courtesy, dues of gratitude:
Thy half o' th' Kingdom thou hast not forgot,
Wherein I thee endow'd.

[Trumpet within.

Reg. Good Sir, to th' purpose.
Lear. Who put my man i' th' Stocks?

Enter Steward.

Corn. What trumpet's that?

Reg. I know't, my sister's: this approves her letter, That she would soon be here. Is your Lady come? Lear. This is a flave, whose easy-borrowed pride

Dwells in the fickle grace of her he follows.
Out, varlet, from my fight.

Corn. What means your Grace?

Enter Gonerill.

Lear, Who stockt my servant? Regan, I've good hope,
Thou didst not know on't. - Who comes here?
O Heav'ns,

If you do love old men, if your sweet sway (21)
Hallow obedience, if yourselves are old,

And again afterwards in the fame play;

--'Tis such as you,

That creep like shadows by him, and do figh
At each his needless heavings.

So, fpeaking of Cordelia's grief, in our present play,

Once, or twice,

She beaw'd the name of father

Pantingly forth.

And fo the Dauphin, in King John.

Lift up thy brow, renowned Salisbury;
And with a great heart heave away this storm.

(21)

if your sweet fway

Make

Allaw obedience, Could any man in his fenfes, and Lear has 'em yet, make it a question whether heaven allow'd obedience? undoubtedly,

the

Make it your cause; fend down and take my part.
Art not asham'd to look upon this beard?

O Regan, will you take her by the hand?

Gọn. Why not by th' hand, Sir? how have I offended? All's not offence, that indiscretion finds,

And dotage terms so.

Lear. O fides, you are too tough!

Will you yet hold-how came my man i' th' Stocks? Corn. I set him there, Sir: but his own disorders

Deserv'd much less advancement.

Lear. You? did you ?

Reg. I pray you, father, being weak, seem fo.
If, 'till the expiration of your month,
You will return and fojourn with my fifter,
Dismissing half your train, come then to me,
I'm now from home, and out of that provision
Which shall be needful for your entertainment.
Lear. Return to her? and fifty men dismiss'd?
No, rather I abjure all roofs, and chuse (22)
To be a comrade with the wolf and owl;
To wage, against the enmity o' th' air,
Neceffity's sharp pinch-Return with her?
Why, the hot-blooded France, that dow'rless took
Our youngest born, I could as well be brought
To knee his throne, and 'Squire-like pension beg,
To keep base life a-foot; - Return with her?
Perfuade me rather to be slave, and sumpter,
To this detested groom.

Gon. At your choice, Sir.

the poet wrote----hallow obedience,----i. e. if by your ordinances you hold and pronounce it fanttified; and punish the violators of it as fa

crilegious persons.

To wage against the enmity o th' air,
To be a comrade with the wolf and otul,

Mr. Warburton.

Neceffuy's sharp pinch.] The breach of the fenfe here is a manifeft proof, that these lines were transpos'd by the first editors: Neither can there be any syntax or grammatical coherence, unless we fuppofe Neceffity's sharp pinch to be the accufative to wage. As I've plac'd the verfes, the sense is fine and easy; and the fentence compleat and

finish'd.

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Lear. I pr'ythee, daughter, do not make me mad, I will not trouble thee, my child. Farewel; We'll no more meet, no more see one another; But yet thou art my flesh, my blood, my daughter, Or rather a disease that's in my flesh, Which I must needs call mine; thou art a bile, A plague-fore, or imboffed carbuncle, In my corrupted blood; but I'll not chide thee. Let shame come when it will, I do not call it; I do not bid the thunder-bearer shoot, Nor tell tales of thee to high-judging Jove. Mend, when thou can'ft; be better, at thy leisfure, I can be patient, I can stay with Regan; I, and my hundred Knights.

Reg. Not altogether so;

I look'd not for you yet, nor am provided
For your fit welcome; give ear to my sister;
For those that mingle reason with your paffion,
Must be content to think you old, and fo
But the knows what she does.

Lear. Is this well spoken ?

Reg. I dare avouch it, Sir; what, fifty followers? Is it not well? what should you need of more? Yea, or so many? since both charge and danger Speak 'gainst so great a number: how in one house Should many people under two commands Hold amity? 'tis hard, almost impossible.

Gon. Why might not you, my Lord, receive attendance From those that she calls servants, or from mine?

Reg. Why not, my Lord? if then they chanc'd to

flack ye,

We could controul them; if you'll come to me,

(For now I spy a danger) I intreat you

To bring but five and twenty; to no more

Will I give place or notice.

Lear. I gave you all

Reg. And in good time you gave it,

Lear. Made you my Guardians, my depofitaries;

But kept a reservation to be follow'd

With

With such a number; must I come to you

With five and twenty? Regan, said you so?

Rez. And speak't again, my Lord, no more with me
Lear. Thosewicked creatures yet do look well-favour'd,

When others are more wicked: Not being worst,
Stands in fome rank of praise; I'll go with thee;
Thy fifty yet doth double five and twenty;

And thou art twice her love.

Gon. Hear me, my lord;

What need you five and twenty, ten, or five,
To follow in a house, where twice so many
Have a command to tend you?

Reg. What needs one?

Lear. O, reason not the need: our basest beggars
Are in the poorest thing superfluous;
Allow not nature more than nature needs,
Man's life is cheap as beasts. Thou art a Lady;
If only to go warm were gorgeous,

Why, nature needs not what thou gorgeous wear'ft,
Which scarcely keeps thee warm; but for true need,
You heav'ns, give me that patience which I need!
You fee me here, you gods, a poor old man,
As full of grief as age; wretched in both!
If it be you, that ftir these daughters hearts
Againft their father, fool me not so much

To bear it tamely; touch me with noble anger; (23)

(23) touch me with noble anger.] It would puzzle one at first, to find the sense, and drift, and coherence of this petition. For if the gods fent this affliction for his punishment, how could he expect that they would defeat their own design, and affit him to revenge his injuries by touching him with noble anger? This question cannot well be answer'd, without going a little further than ordinary for the folution. We may be affured then, that Shakespeare had here in his mind those opinions the ancient poets held of the misfortunes of particular families. They tell us, that when the anger of the gods (for any act of impiety) was rais'd against an offending family, that their method of punishment was this: first, they inflamed the breafts of the children to unnatural acts against their parents; and then, of the parents against their children; that they might deftroy one another: and that both these outrages were the acts of the gods. To confider

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