finding the letter from Gonerill to his brother upon him which leads to the final catastrophe, and brings the wheel of Justice ‘full circle home’ to the guilty parties.  The bustle and rapid succession of events in the last scenes is surprising.  But the meeting between Lear and Cordelia is by far the most affecting part of them.  It has all the wildness of poetry, and all the heartfelt truth of nature.  The previous account of her reception of the news of his unkind treatment, her involuntary reproaches to her sisters, ‘Shame, ladies, shame,’ Lear’s backwardness to see his daughter, the picture of the desolate state to which he is reduced, ’Alack,’tis he; why he was met even now, as mad as the vex’d sea, singing aloud,’ only prepare the way for and heighten our expectation of what follows, and assuredly this expectation is not disappointed when through the tender care of Cordelia he revives and recollects her.

   Cordelia.  How does my royal lord?  How fares your majesty!

   Lear.  You do me wrong, to take me out o’ the 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.

   Cordelia.  Sir, do you know me?

   Lear.  You are a spirit I know:  when did you die?

   Cordelia.  Still, still, far wide!

   Physician.  He’s scarce awake; let him alone awhile.

   Lear.  Where have I been?  Where am I?—­Fair daylight?—­
     I am mightily abus’d.—­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 assur’d
     Of my condition.

   Cordelia.  O, look upon me, sir,
     And hold your hands in benediction o’er me:—­
     No, sir, you must not kneel.

   Lear.  Pray, do not mock me: 
     I am a very foolish fond old man,
     Fourscore and upward;
     Not an hour more, nor less:  and, to deal plainly,
     I fear, I am not in my perfect mind. 
     Methinks, I shou’d know you, and know this man;
     Yet I am doubtful:  for I am mainly ignorant
     What place this is; and all the skill I have
     Remembers not these garments; nor I know not
     Where I did lodge last night:  do not laugh at me;
     For, as I am a man, I think this lady
     To be my child Cordelia.

   Cordelia.  And so I am, I am!

Almost equal to this in awful beauty is their consolation of each other when, after the triumph of their enemies, they are led to prison.

   Cordelia.  We are not the first,
     Who, with best meaning, have incurr’d the worst. 
     For thee, oppressed king, am I cast down;
     Myself could else out-frown false fortune’s frown.—­
     Shall we not see these daughters, and these sisters?