in ever slower and smaller waves, until at length the change of aspect suddenly strikes the dull Duke, and he exclaims, "O! see, see!" and then one flicker more of reflecting thought, one gentle request, "Pray you undo this button;" expressing the physical feeling of want of air; one yearning look on her who'll "come no more," and the silver thread is loosed, the golden bowl for ever broken.
"Lear. And my poor fool is hang'd! No, no, no life:
Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life,
And thou no breath at all? Thou'lt come no more.
Never, never, never, never, never!—
Pray you undo this button: Thank you, sir.—
Do you see this? Look on her,—look,—her lips,—
Look there, look there!—[He dies.
Edg.He faints —My lord, my lord,
Kent. Break, heart; I prithee, break!
Edg.Look up, my lord.
Kent. Vex not his ghost: O, let him pass he hates him
That would upon the rack of this rough world
Stretch him out longer."
"But rather moody, mad, and desperate stags."