Against their father, fool me not so much

To bear it tamely. Touch me with noble anger!
O, let not woman's weapons, water-drops,

Stain my man's cheeks!

No, you unnatural hags,
I will have such revenges on you both,
That all the world shall-I will do such things,—
What they are, yet I know not; but they shall be
The terrors of the earth. You think, I'll weep,
No, I'll not weep:

I have full cause of weeping; but this heart
Shall break into a hundred thousand flaws,
Or ere I'll weep.-0, I shall go mad!

(Exeunt Lear and attendants.) Reg. Let us withdraw: 'twill be a storm. Gon. 'Tis his own blame. He hath put

Himself from rest, and must needs taste his folly.
Reg. Shut up the doors. 'Tis a wild night. (Exeunt.)
FROM SHAKSPEARE.

CCXXX.-KING LEAR.-SCENE IV.

CHARACTERS.—Lear, Kent, and a Gentleman. The place, a heath. A storm raging, with thunder and lightning.

(Enter Kent and Gentleman, meeting.)

Kent. WHO's here besides foul weather?

Gent. One minded like the weather, most unquietly.
Kent. I know you. Where's the king?

Gent. Contending with the fretful elements.

Bids the wind blow the earth into the sea,

Or swell the curl-ed waters 'bove the main,

That things might change or cease; tears his white hair,

Which the impetuous blasts, with eyeless rage,

Catch in their fury, and make nothing of:

Strives in his little world of man, to out-scorn

The to-and-fro-conflicting wind and rain.

This night, wherein the cub-drawn bear would couch,

The lion, and the hunger-pinch-ed wolf,

Keep their fur dry, unbonneted he roves,

And bids what will, take all.

(Enter King Lear.)

Lear. Blow, winds! and crack your cheeks! rage! blow!

You cataracts and hurricanes! spout
Till you have drenched our steeples.

You sulphurous and thought-executing fires,
Vaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thunder-bolts,

Singe my white head! and thou, all-shaking thunder,
Strike flat the thick rotundity o' the world!
Crack nature's molds, all germins spill at once,
That make ungrateful man! spit, fire! spout, rain!
Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire, are my daughters;
I tax not you, ye elements, with unkindness,
I never gave you kingdom, called you children:
You owe me no subscription: why, then let fall
Your horrible displeasure: here I stand, you slaves;
A poor, infirm, weak, and despised old man:
But yet I call you servile ministers,
That have with two pernicious daughters joined
Your high engendered battles, 'gainst a head
So old and white as this. O! O! 'tis foul!
Let the great gods,

That keep this dreadful pother o'er our heads,
Find out their enemies now. Tremble, thou wretch,
That hast within thee undivulg-ed crimes,
Unwhipped of justice! caitiff, to pieces shake,
That under covert and convenient seeming,

Hast practiced on man's life! Close pent-up guilt,
Rive your concealing continents, and cry

These dreadful summoners grace! I am a man
More sinned against, than sinning.

Kent. Gracious, my lord, hard by here is a hovel;
Some friendship will it lend you 'gainst the tempest;
Repose you here.

Lear. My wits begin to turn.

Kent. Here is the place, my lord; good, my lord, enter. The tyranny of the open night's too much

For nature to endure.

Lear. Let me alone.

Kent. Good, my lord, enter here.

Lear. Wilt break my heart?

Kent. I'd rather break mine own: good, my lord, enter.

Lear. Thou think'st 'tis much, that this contentious storm

Invades us to the skin: so 't is to thee:

But where the greater malady is fixed,

The less is scarcely felt. Thou'dst shun a bear;

But if thy flight lay toward the raging sea,

Thou'dst meet the bear i' the mouth. When the mind's free,

The body's delicate; the tempest in my mind

Doth from my senses take all feeling else,
Save what beats there. Filial ingratitude!
Is it not as this mouth should tear this hand
For lifting food to't? But I will punish home.
No, I will weep no more. In such a night
To shut me out! Pour on; I will endure.
In such a night as this! O Regan! Goneril!
Your old kind father, whose frank heart gave all!
O, that way madness lies; let me shun that;
No more of that.

(Exeunt.)

FROM SHAKSPEARE.

CCXXXI.-KING LEAR.-SCENE V.

CHARACTERS.-King Lear, his daughter Cordelia, and a Physician. All

present.

Cor. O My dear father! Restoration hang

Her medicine on thy lips, and let this kiss
Repair those violent harms, that my two sisters
Have in thy reverence made!

Had you not been their father, these white flakes
Did challenge pity of them. Was this a face
To be exposed against the warring winds?
To stand against the deep, dread-bolted thunder?
In the most terrible and nimble stroke

Of quick, cross-lightning? My enemy's dog,

Though he had bit me, should have stood that night
Against my fire: and wast thou fain, poor father,
To hovel thee with swine, and rogues forlorn,
In short and musty straw? Alack, alack!
'Tis wonder, that thy life and wits, at once,

Had not concluded all. He wakes; speak to him.

Phys. Madam, do you; 't is fittest.

Cor. How does my royal lord? How fares your majesty?

Lear. You do me wrong to take me out o' th' grave:

Thou art a soul in bliss, but I am bound

Upon a wheel of fire, that mine own tears

Do scald like molten lead.

Cor. Sir, do you know me?

Lear. You are a spirit, I know; when did you die?
Cor. Still, still far wide.

NEW EC. S.—34

Phys. He's scarce awake; let him alone awhile.

Lear. Where have I been? where am I? fair daylight? I'm mightily abused; I should even die with pity

To see another thus. I know not what to say;
I will not swear these are my hands: let's see.

I feel this pin prick: would I were assured
Of my condition.

Cor.

Oh! look upon me, sir,

And hold your hand in benediction o'er me;
Nay, you must not kneel.

Lear. Pray, do not mock me;

I am a very foolish, fond, old man,
Fourscore and upward; and, to deal plainly,
I fear I am not in my perfect mind.

Methinks I should know you, and know this man;
Yet I am doubtful: for I'm mainly ignorant
What place this is; and all the skill I have
Remembers not these garments; nay, I know not
Where I did lodge last night. Pray, do not mock me!
For, as I am a man, I think this lady

To be my child Cordelia.

Cor. And so I am: I am.

Lear. Be your tears wet? Yes. I pray you, weep not. If you have poison for me, I will drink it.

I know you do not love me; for your sisters
Have, as I do remember, done me wrong.
You have some cause; they have not.
Cor. No cause, no cause.

Lear. Am I in France?

Cor. In your own kingdom, sir.

Lear. Do not abuse me.

Phys. Be comforted, good madam;

Desire him to go in; trouble him no more

Till further settling.

Cor.

Will't please your highness walk?

Lear. You must bear with me;

Pray you now forget and forgive:

I am old and foolish.

FROM SHAKSPEARE.

CCXXXII. THE QUACK.

LADIES and gentlemen, my name is Puff Stuff, the physician to that great and mighty Kou Kann, Emperor of all the Chinas. I was converted to Christianity during the embassy of the late lord Macartney, and left that there country, and came to this here, which may be reckoned the greatest blessing that ever happened to Europe, for I've brought with me the following unparalleled, inestimable, and never-to-be-matched medicines.

The first is called the great Parry Mandyron Rapskianum, from Whandy Whang Whang. One drop of this, poured into any of your gums, if you should have the misfortune to lose your teeth, will cause a new set to sprout out like mushrooms from a hot-bed. And if any lady should happen to be troubled with that unpleasant and redundant exuberance called a beard, it will remove it in three applications, and with greater ease than Packwood's razor strops.

I'm also very celebrated in the cure of the eyes. The late Emperor of China had the misfortune to lose his eyes by a cataract. I very dexterously took out the eyes of his majesty, and after anointing the sockets with a particular glutinous happlication, I placed in two eyes from the head of a living lion, which not only restored his majesty's wision, but made him dreadful to all his enemies and beholders. I beg leave to say, that I ave hyes from different hannimals, and to suit all your different faces and professions.

This here bottle, which I olds in my and, is called the great elliptical, asiatical, panticurial, nervous cordial, which cures all diseases incident to humanity. I don't like to talk of myself, ladies and gentlemen, because the man who talks of imself is a Hegotist, but this I vill wenture to say of myself, that I am not only the greatest physician and philosopher of the age, but the greatest genius that ever illuminated mankind. But you know I don't like to talk of myself.