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That I stand up, and have ingenious feeling
Of my huge sorrows! Better I were distract:
Sò should my thoughts be sever'd from my griefs ;
And woes, by wrong imaginations, lose
The knowlege of themselves.

Re-enter EDGAR.

Edg.

Give me your hand :
Far off, methinks, I hear the beaten drum.
Come, father, I 'll bestow you with a friend.

[Exeunt.

SCENE VII.

A tent in the French camp. LEAR on a bed, asleep;

PHYSICIAN, GENTLEMAN, and others attending.
Enter CORDELIA and KENT.
Cor. O thou good Kent, how shall I live, and

work, To match thy goodness ? My life will be too short, And every measure fail me.

Kent. To be acknowleged, madam, is o'erpaid.
All my reports go with the modest truth ;
Nor more, nor clipp'd, but so.
Cor.

Be better suited : 1
These weeds are memories 2 of those worser hours ;
I pr’ythee, put them off.
Kent.

Pardon me, dear madam;

1 Dressed,

2 For memorials.

Yet to be known, shortens my made intent:
My boon I make it, that you know me not,
Till time and I think meet.
Cor. Then be it so, my good lord.—How does
the king ?

[to the Physician. Phy. Madam, sleeps still.

Cor. O you kind gods,
Cure this great breach in his abused nature !
The untuned and jarring senses, O, wind up
Of this child-changed father!
Phy.

So please your majesty, That we may wake the king ? he hath slept long.

Cor. Be govern'd by your knowlege, and proceed l'the sway of your own will. Is he array'd ?

Gen. Ay, madam; in the heaviness of his sleep, We put fresh garments on him.

Phy. Be by, good madam, when we do awake

him;

I doubt not of his temperance.
Cor.

Very well.
Phy. Please

you,
draw near.

1.-Louder the music there. Cor. O my dear father! Restoration, hang Thy medicine on my lips; and let this kiss Repair those violent harms, that my two sisters Have in thy reverence made ! Kent.

Kind and dear princess ! Cor. Had you not been their father, these white

flakes Had challenged pity of them. Was this a face To be exposed against the warring winds ?

To stand against the deep dread-bolted thunder,
In the most terrible and nimble stroke
Of quick, cross lightning ? to watch (poor perdu!")
With this thin helm ? ? Mine enemy's dog,
Though he had bit me, should have stood that night
Against my fire. And wast thou fain, poor father,
To hovel thee with swine, and rogues forlorn,
In short and musty straw? Alack, alack !
'Tis wonder, that thy life and wits at once
Had not concluded all.--He wakes ; speak to him.
Phy. Madam, do

you;

'tis fittest. Cor. How does my royal lord ? How fares your

majesty ? Lear. You do me wrong,

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. Cor.

Sir, do you know me? Lear. You are a spirit, I know: when did you

die? Cor. Still, still, far wide! Phy. He's scarce awake; let him alone awhile. Lear. Where have I been ? Where am I?-Fair

daylight I am mightily abused : I should even die with pity, To see another thus.--I know not what to say.-

1 In allusion to the forlorn hope of an army, called in French enfans perdus.

2 Thin covering of hair,

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