Glo. Weapons! arms! What's the matter here? Corn. Keep peace, upon your lives; He dies, that strikes again: What is the matter? Reg. The messengers from our sister and the king. Corn. What is your difference? speak. Stew. I am scarce in breath, my lord.

Kent. No marvel, you have so bestirr'd your valour. You cowardly rascal, nature disclaims in thee; a tailor made thee.

Corn. Thou art a strange fellow: a tailor make a man?

Kent. Ay, a tailor, sir; a stone-cutter, or a painter, could not have made him so ill, though they had been but two hours at the trade.

Corn. Speak yet, how grew your quarrel? Stew. This ancient ruffian, sir, whose life I have spar'd,

At suit of his grey beard,

Kent. Thou zed! thou unnecessary letter! My lord, if you will give me leave, I will tread this unbolted 9 villain into mortar, and daub the wall with him. - Spare my grey beard, you wagtail! Corn. Peace, sirrah!

You beastly knave, know you no reverence?
Kent. Yes, sir; but anger has a privilege.
Corn. Why art thou angry?

Kent. That such a slave as this should wear a sword,

Who wears no honesty. Such smiling rogues as these,

Like rats, oft bite the holy cords atwain

Kent. Sir, in good sooth, in sincere verity, Under the allowance of your grand aspéct, Whose influence, like the wreath of radiant fire On flickering Phoebus' front, —

Corn.

What mean'st by this?

Kent. To go out of my dialect, which you discommend so much. I know, sir, I am no flatterer: he that beguiled you, in a plain accent, was a plain knave; which, for my part, I will not be, though I should win your displeasure to entreat me to it. Corn. What was the offence you gave him? Stew. Never any:

It pleas'd the king his master, very late,
To strike at me, upon his misconstruction;
When he, conjunct, and flattering his displeasure,
Tripp'd me behind: being down, insulted, rail'd,
And put upon him such a deal of man,
That worthy'd him, got praises of the king
For him attempting who was self-subdu'd ;
And, in the fleshment of this dread exploit,
Drew on me here.

Kent.

None of these rogues, and cowards,

But Ajax is their fool.5

Corn. Fetch forth the stocks, bo! You stubborn ancient knave, you reverend braggart, We'll teach you

Kent.

Sir, I am too old to learn:

Call not your stocks for me: I serve the king;
On whose employment I was sent to you:
You shali do small respect, show too bold malice
Against the grace and person of my master,

passion

That in the natures of their lords rebels;
Bring oil to fire, snow to their colder moods;
Renege, affirm, and turn their halcyon 3 beaks
With every gale and vary of their masters,
As knowing nought, like dogs, but following. ·
A plague upon your epileptic visage!
Smile you my speeches, as I were a fool?
Goose, if I had you upon Sarum plain,
I'd drive ye cackling home to Camelot.4
Corn. What, art thou mad, old fellow?
Glo.

Say that.

Corn. Fetch forth the stocks: As I've life and honour, there shall he sit till noon. Reg. Till noon! till night, my lord; and all night

too.

Kent. Why, madam, if I were your father's dog, You should not use me so.

Reg.

Kent. No contraries hold more antipathy, Than I and such a knave.

Thou out of heaven's benediction com'st

To the warm sun!

Approach, thou beacon to this under globe, That by thy comfortable beams I may

Peruse this letter! - Nothing almost sees miracles,
But misery; - I know 'tis from Cordelia;
Who hath most fortunately been inform'd
Of my obscured course; and shall find time
From this enormous state, seeking to give
Losses their remedies: - All weary and o'erwatch'd,
Take vantage, heavy eyes, not to behold
This shameful lodging.

Fortune, good night; smile once more; turn thy
wheel!
[He sleeps.
A Part of the Heath.

SCENE III.

Enter EDGAR.

Edg. I heard myself proclaim'd: And, by the happy hollow of a tree,

Escap'd the hunt. No port is free; no place, That guard, and most unusual vigilance, Does not attend my taking. While I may 'scape, I will preserve myself: and am bethought To take the basest and most poorest shape, That ever penury, in contempt of man, Brought near to beast: my face I'll grime with filth; Blanket my loins: elf 7 all my hair in knots; And with presented nakedness outface The winds, and persecutions of the sky. The country gives me proof and precedent Of Bedlam beggars, who, with roaring voices, Strike in their numb'd and mortifi'd bare arms Pins, wooden pricks 8, nails, sprigs of rosemary; And with this horrible object, from low farms, Poor pelting villages, sheep-cotes and mills, Sometime with lunatic bans 9, sometime with prayers, Enforce their charity. - Poor Turlygood! poor Tom! That's something yet; - Edgar I nothing am.

[Exit. SCENE IV. - Before Gloster's Castle. Enter LEAR, Fool, and Gentleman. Lear. 'Tis strange, that they should so depart

from home,

And not send back my messenger.

Gent.

As I learn'd,

The night before there was no purpose in them Of this remove.

Lear. No, no; they would not.
Kent. Yes, they have.

Lear. By Jupiter, I swear, no.
Kent. By Juno, I swear, ay.
Lear. They durst not do't.

They could not, would not do't; 'tis worse than murder,

To do upon respect such violent outrage:
Resolve me, with all modest haste, which way
Thou might'st deserve, or they impose, this usage,
Coming from us.

Kent.
My lord, when at their home
I did commend your highness' letters to them,
Ere I was risen from the place that show'd
My duty kneeling, came there a reeking post,
Stew'd in his haste, half breathless, panting forth
From Goneril his mistress, salutations;
Deliver❜d letters, spite of intermission,

Which presently they read: on whose contents, They summon'd up their meiny 3, straight took horse;

Commanded me to follow, and attend

The leisure of their answer: gave me cold looks:
And meeting here the other messenger,
Whose welcome, I perceiv'd, had poison'd mine,
(Being the very fellow that of late

Display'd so saucily against your highness,)
Having more man than wit about me, drew:
He raised the house with loud and coward cries:
Your son and daughter found this trespass worth
The shame which here it suffers.

Fool. Winter's not gone yet, if the wild geese fly that way.

Fathers, that wear rags,

Do make their children blind;
But fathers, that bear bags,

Shall see their children kind.

But, for all this, thou shalt have as many dolours 4 for thy daughters, as thou canst tell in a year.

Lear. O, how this mother swells up toward my

heart!

Kent. Why, fool!

Fool. We'll set thee to school to an ant, to teach thee there's no labouring in the winter. Let go thy hold, when a great wheel runs down a hill, lest it break thy neck with following it; but the great one that goes up the hill, let him draw thee after. When a wise man gives thee better counsel, give me mine again: I would have none but knaves follow it, since a fool gives it.

That, sir, which serves and seeks for gain,
And follows but for form,

Will pack, when it begins to rain,

And leave thee in the storm.

3 People, train or retinue.

A quibble between dolours and dollars.

5 The disease called the mother.

You! did you?

Reg. I pray you, father, being weak, seem so. If, till the expiration of your month, You will return and sojourn with my sister, Dismissing half your train, come then to me; I am now from home, and out of that provision Which shall be needful for your entertainment. Lear. Return to her, and fifty men dismiss'd? No, rather I abjure all roofs, and choose To wage against the enmity o' the air; To be a comrade with the wolf and owl,Necessity's sharp pinch!- Return with her? Why, the hot-blooded France, that dowerless took Our youngest born, I could as well be brought To knee his throne, and, squire-like, pension beg To keep base life afoot: - Return with her? Persuade me rather to be slave and sumpter ? To this detested groom. [Looking on the Steward. At your choice, sir. Lear. I pr'ythee, daughter, do not make me mad; I will not trouble thee, my child; farewell: We'll no more meet, no more see one another :

Gon.

But yet thou art my flesh, my blood, my daughter;
Or, rather, a disease that's in my flesh,
Which I must needs call mine: but I'll not chide;
Let shame come when it will, I do not call it :
I do not bid the thunder-bearer shoot,
Nor tell tales of thee to high-judging Jove:
Mend when thou canst; be better at thy leisure:
I can be patient; I can stay with Regan,
I, and my hundred knights.

Reg

Not altogether so, sir; I look'd not for you yet, nor am provided For fit welcome: Give ear, sir, to my sister; your For those that mingle reason with your passion, Must be content to think you old, and so But she knows what she does.

Lear.
Is this well spoken now?
Reg. I dare avouch it, sir: What, fifty followers?
Is it not well? What should you need of more?
Yea, or so many? sith that both charge and danger
Speak 'gainst so great a number? How, in one
house,

Should many people, under two commands,
Hold amity? 'Tis hard; almost impossible.

Gon. Why might not you, my lord, receive attendance

From those that she calls servants, or from mine? I Approve.

2 A horse that carries necessaries on a journey. 3 Since.

You heavens, give me that patience, patience I need!
You see me here, you gods, a poor old man,
As full of grief as age; wretched in both!
If it be you that stir these daughters' hearts
Against their father, fool me not so much
To bear it tamely; touch me with noble anger!

0, let not women's weapons, water-drops,
Stain my man's cheeks! No, you unnatural bags,
That all the world shall I will do such things,
I will have such revenges on you both,
What they are yet, I know not; but they shall be
The terrors of the earth. You think, I'll weep;
No, I'll not weep:-

I have full caue of weeping; but this heart
Shall break into a hundred thousands flaws,
Or ere I'll weep: - O, fool, I shall go mad!
[Exeunt LEAR, GLOSTER, KENT, and Fool.
Corn. Let us withdraw, 'twill be a storm.
[Storm heard at a distance.
This house

Reg.
Is little; the old man and his people cannot
Be well bestow'd.

Gon.

"Tis his own blame; he hath put Himself from rest, and must needs taste his folly. Reg. For his particular, I'll receive him gladly, But not one follower.

Gon.
So am I purpos'd.
Where is my lord of Gloster?

Corn. 'Tis best to give him way; he leads himself.
Gon. My lord, entreat him by no means to stay.
Glo. Alack, the night comes on, and the bleak
winds

Do sorely ruffle; for many miles about
There's scarce a bush.

Reg.

O, sir, to wilful men, The injuries that they themselves procure,

Must be their schoolmasters: Shut up your doors;
He is attended with a desperate train;
And what they may incense 7 him to, being apt
To have his ear abus'd, wisdom bids fear.

Corn. Shut up your doors, my lord; 'tis a wild night:

My Regan counsels well: come out o' the storm. [Errant.

SCENE I. -A Heath.

quietly.

Gent. None but the fool; His heart-struck injuries.

Kent.

But who is with him? who labours to out-jest

Sir, I do know you; And dare, upon the warrant of my heart, Commend a dear thing to you. There is division, Although as yet the face of it be cover'd With mutual cunning, 'twixt Albany and Cornwall; Who have (as who have not, that their great stars Thron'd and set high?) servants, who seem no less; Which are to France the spies and speculations Intelligent of our state; what hath been seen, Either in snuffs and packings of the dukes; Or the hard rein which both of them have borne Against the old kind king: or something deeper, Whereof, perchance, these are but furnishings 6: — But, true it is, from France there comes a power Into this scatter'd kingdom; who already, Wise in our negligence, have secret feet In some of our best ports, and are at point To show their open banner. Now to you: If on my credit you dare build so far To make your speed to Dover, you shall find Some that will thank you, making just report Of how unnatural and bemadding sorrow The king hath cause to 'plain.

I am a gentleman of blood and breeding;
And from some knowledge and assurance, offer
This office to you.

Gent. I will talk further with you.
Kent.

For confirmation that I am much more
4 Whose dugs are drawn dry by its young.

No, do not.

Snuffs are dislikes, and packings underhand contrivances. • Samples.

Gent. Give me your hand: Have you no more

You cataracts, and hurricanoes, spout Till you have drench'd our steeples, drown'd the cocks!

You sulphurous and thought-executing & fires, Vaunt couriers 9 to oak-cleaving thunder-bolts, Singe my white head! And thou, all-shaking thunder, Strike flat the thick rotundity o' the world! Crack nature's moulds, all germens spill at once, That make ingrateful man!

1

Fool. O nuncle, court holy-water in a dry house is better than this rain-water out o' door. Good nuncle, in, and ask thy daughters' blessing; here's a night pities neither wise men nor fools.

Lear. Rumble thy belly-full! Spit, fire! spout,
rain!

Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire, are my daughters:
I tax not you, you elements, with unkindness,
I never gave you kingdom, call'd you children,
You owe me no subscription; why then let fall
Your horrible pleasure; here I stand your slave,
A poor infirm, weak, and depis'd old man: -
But yet I call you servile ministers,
That have with two pernicious daughters join'd
Your high engender'd battles 'gainst a head
So old and white as this. O! O! 'tis foul!
Fool. He that has a house to put his head in, has
a good head-piece.

The man that makes his toe

What he his heart should make,
Shall of a corn cry woe,

And turn his sleep to wake.

- for there was never yet fair woman, but she made mouths in a glass.