621817

ILLUSTRATIONS.

VOL. EIGHTH.

Etched by M. Monziès, from the original Designs of M. Pille.

The Tragedie of King Lear. Act III., Sc. IV.

The Tragedie of Othello. Act I., Sc. III. .

The Tragedie of Anthonie and Cleopatra. Act V., Sc. II. 207

The Tragedie of Cymbeline. Act II., Sc. II.

THE TRAGEDIE OF

KING LEAR.

Actus Primus. Scana Prima.

Kent.

Enter Kent, Gloucester, and Edmond.

Thought the King had more affected the Duke of
Albany, then Cornwall,

Glou. It did alwayes seeme so to us: But now in the division of the Kingdome, it appeares not which of the Dukes hee valewes most, for qualities are so weigh'd, that curiosity in neither, can make choise of eithers moity.

Kent. Is not this your Son, my Lord?

Glou. His breeding Sir, hath bin at my charge. I have so often blush'd to acknowledge him, that now I am braz'd too't. Kent. I cannot conceive you.

Glou. Sir, this yong Fellowes mother could; whereupon she grew round womb'd, and had indeede (Sir) a Sonne for her Cradle, ere she had a husband for her bed. Do you smell a fault?

Kent. I cannot wish the fault undone, the issue of it, being so proper.

Glou. But I have a Sonne, Sir, by order of Law, some yeere elder then this; who, yet is no deerer in my account, though this Knave came somthing sawcily to the world before he was sent for: yet was his Mother fayre, there was good sport at his making,

Remember him heereafter, as my Honourable Friend.

Edm. My services to your Lordship.

Kent. I must love you, and sue to know you better.

Edm. Sir, I shall study deserving.

Glou. He hath bin out nine yeares, and away he shall againe. The King is comming.

Sennet.

Enter King Lear, Cornwall, Albany, Gonerill, Regan,
Cordelia, and attendants.

Lear. Attend the Lords of France & Burgundy, Gloster.
Glou. I shall, my Lord.
Lear. Meane time we shal expresse our darker purpose.
Give me the Map there. Know, that we have divided
In three our Kingdome: and 'tis our fast intent,
To shake all Cares and Businesse from our Age,
Conferring them on yonger strengths, while we
Unburthen'd crawle toward death. Our son of Cornwal,
And you our no lesse loving Sonne of Albany,
We have this houre a constant will to publish
Our daughters severall Dowers, that future strife

May be prevented now. The Princes, France & Burgundy,
Great Rivals in our yongest daughters love,

Long in our Court, have made their amorous sojourne,
And heere are to be answer'd. Tell me my daughters

(Since now we will divest us both of Rule,

Interest of Territory, Cares of State)

Which of you shall we say doth love us most,

That we, our largest bountie may extend

Where Nature doth with merit challenge. Gonerill,

Our eldest borne, speake first.

Exit.

Gon. Sir, I love you more then word can weild the matter,