With hardocks, hemlock, nettles, cuckoo-flowers, What can man's wifdom In the reftoring his bereaved fense, He, that helps him, take all my outward worth. Our fofter nurse of nature, is repofe; The which he lacks; that to provoke in him, Cor. All bleft secrets, All you unpublish'd virtues of the earth, Enter a Meffenger. Mef. News, Madam : The British pow'rs are marching hitherward. It is thy bufinefs that I go about: therefore great France No blown ambition doth our arms incite, But love, dear love, and our ag'd father's right: [Exeunt. which fmoke has, of making the eyes water. And as to the growth of it, Pliny tells us particularly that it springs up in gardens and fields of barley; (Nafcitur in bortis et fegetibus hordeaceis) which our author here calls, in our fuftaining corn-I obferve, in Chaucer it is written femetere; by a corruption either of the fcribe, or of vulgar pronuncia ton; if of the latter, it might from thence eafily flide, in progress of time, into fenitar. SCENE, SCENE, Regan's Palace. Enter Regan, and Steward. Reg. BUT are my brother's powers fet forth ? Ster. Ay, Madam. Reg. Himself in person there? Your fifter is the better foldier. Reg. Lord Edmund fpake not with your Lady at home Reg. What might import my fifter's letter to him? Reg. Faith, he is posted hence on ferious matter. His nighted life: moreover to defcry The ftrength o' th' enemy. Stew. I must needs after him, madam, with my letter. Reg. Our troops fet forth to-morrow: ftay with us: The ways are dangerous. Stew. I may not, madam; My Lady charg'd my duty in this bufinefs. Reg. Why fhould the write to Edmund ? might not you Transport her purposes by word? belike, Something-I know not what-I'll love thee much- Stew. Madam, I had rather Reg. I know, your Lady does not love her husband: I'm lure of that; and, at her late being here, She gave ftrange ceiliads, and moft fpeaking looks To noble Edmund. I know, you're of her bofom. Stew. I, madam? Reg. I speak in understanding: you are; I know't; Therefore, I do advise you, take this note, My Lord is dead; Edmund' and I have talk'd, Than Than for your Lady's: you may gather more: Preferment falls on him that cuts him off. Stew. 'Would I could meet him, madam, I fhould few What party I do follow. Reg. Fare thee well. [Exeunt. SCENE, the Country near Dover. Enter Glo'fter, and Edgar, as a Peafant. Glo. Weng. You do climb up it now. Look, how Hen fhall I come to th' top of that fame hill? Glo. Methinks, the ground is even. Edg. Horrible steep. Hark, do you hear the fea? Glo. No, truly. [we labour Edg. Why then your other fenfes grow imperfect By your eyes anguish. Glo. So may it be, indeed. Methinks, thy voice is alter'd; and thou speak'st Edg. You're much deceiv'd: in nothing am I chang'd, But in my garments. Glo. Sure, you're better spoken. [fearful Edg. Come on, Sir, here's the place-ftand ftill. How And dizzy 'tis, to caft one's eyes fo low! The crows and choughs, that wing the mid-way air, Left Lest my brain turn, and the deficient fight Glo. Set me, where you ftand. Edg. Give me your hand: you're now within a foot. Of th' extream verge: for all below the moon Glo. Let go my hand: Here, friend, 's another purse, in it a jewel Profper it with thee! Go thou further off, Glo. With all my heart. [Seems to go. Edg. Why do I trifle thus with his despair ? 'Tis done to cure it. Glo. O you mighty gods! This world I do renounce; and in your fights Edg. Good Sir, Farewel. Yields to the theft. Had he been where he thought, Glo. Away, and let me die. Edg. Had'ft thou been aught but goss'mer, feathers, air, So many fathom down precipitating, Thou'd'st shiver'd like an egg: but thou dost breathe, Hast heavy fubstance, bleed'st not; speak, art found? Ten masts at each make not the altitude, (47) Which (4-) Ten mafts attach'd-] This is Mr. Pope's reading; but I know not from what authority, Mr. Rowe gave it us, ten masts at leaft Which thou haft perpendicularly fall'n. Glo. But have I fall'n or no? Edg. From the dread fummit of this chalky bourn! Look up a height, the fhrill-gorg'd Lark so far Cannot be feen or heard: do but look up. Glo. Alack, I have no eyes. Is wretchedness depriv'd that benefit, To end itfelf by death? 'twas yet fome comfort, Edg. Give me your arm. Up, fo-how is't? feel you your legs? you ftand. Edg. This is above all ftrangeness. Upon the crown o' th' cliff, what thing was that, Gle. A poor unfortunate beggar. Edg. As I ftood here below, methought, his eyes Were two full moons; he had a thousand noses, Horns welk'd, and wav'd like the enridged fea : It was fome fiend. Therefore, thou happy father, Think, that the clearest gods, who make them honours (48) Of men's impoffibilities, have preferv'd thee. Glo. I do remember now: henceforth I'll bear Affliction, 'till it do cry out itself, Enough, enough, and die. That thing you speak of, The fiend, the fiend-he led me to that place. Enter Lear, dress'd madly with florvers. But who comes here? leaft-a -a poor, dragging expreffion. All the old copies read, as I have reftor'd in the text, ten mafts at each. 'Tis certain, 'tis a bold phrafe, but I dare warrant, it was our author's; and means ten mafts placed at the extremity of each other. (48) Think, that the dearest gods-] This too is Mr. Pope's reading. All the authentic copies have it, cleareft gods; i. e. open, and righte ous, in their dealings. So, our author again, in his Timon ; Roots, ye clear beav'ns! The |