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21

XIV.

The fifth sad spirit that stalk'd by was Lear's,
Mad as the vext sea still; and singing oft;
Crown'd, as of old, by Shakespeare's hand; with fumiter,
With hardocks, hemlocks, nettles, cuckoo flowers,
Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow
In the sustaining corn—
At sight of Garrick's tomb his wounds again
Bleed fresh. Tottering he mov'd; his words were wild:
“You do me wrong to call me out o'th' grave!
“And yet I know thee, Man!—Heav'n has thee now!
“Thou wer't Lear's friend.—In faith I do remember.—
“Yes, we were both as stout a pair:—but why
“This truant disposition? Is the greatest man
“So poor and forked an animal in death?—
“Off, off, you lendings, come unbotton here—Poor shade!
“No more of that, no more of that.—