Gon.
It was great ignorance, Gloster's eyes being out,
To let him live; where he arrives, he moves
All hearts against us: Edmund I think is gone,
In pity to his misery, to dispatch him.

Gent.
No, madam, he's return'd, on speedy summons,
Back to your sister.

Gon.
Ha! I like not that;
Such speed must have the wings of love. [Aside.
Where's Albany?

Gent.
Madam, within; but never man so chang'd.
I told him of the uproar of the peasants,
He smil'd at it; when I inform'd him
Of Gloster's treason—

Gon.
Trouble him no farther,
It is his coward spirit; back to our sister,
Hasten her musters, and let her know
I have given the distaff into my husband's hands.
That done, with special care deliver these dispatches
In private to young Gloster. Enter a Messenger.

Mess.
O madam, most unseasonable news:
The duke of Cornwall's dead of his late wound,
Whose loss your sister has in part supply'd,
Making brave Edmund general of her forces.

Gon.
One way I like this well.
But being a widow, and my Gloster with her,

May blast the promis'd harvest of our love. [Aside.
A word more, sir—add speed to your journey,
And if you chance to meet with that blind traitor,
Preferment falls on him that cuts him off. [Ex.

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