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Lewis Theobald [1733], The works of Shakespeare: in seven volumes. Collated with the Oldest Copies, and Corrected; With notes, Explanatory and Critical; By Mr. Theobald (Printed for A. Bettesworth and C. Hitch [and] J. Tonson [etc.], London) [word count] [S11201].
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Scene 5 SCENE, a Court-Yard belonging to the Duke of Albany's Palace. Re-enter Lear, Kent, Gentleman and Fool.

Lear.

Go you before to Glo'ster with these letters; acquaint my daughter no further with any thing you know, than comes from her demand out of the letter; if your diligence be not speedy, I shall be there afore you.

Kent.

I will not sleep, my lord, 'till I have delivered your letter.

[Exit.

-- 132 --

Fool.

If a man's brain were in his heels, wer't not in danger of kibes?

Lear.

Ay, boy.

Fool.

Then, I pr'ythee, be merry, thy wit shall not go slip-shod.

Lear.

Ha, ha, ha.

Fool.

Shalt see, thy other daughter will use thee kindly; for though she's as like this as a crab's like an apple, yet I can tell what I can tell.

Lear.

What can'st tell, boy?

Fool.

She will taste as like this, as a crab does to a crab. Can'st thou tell, why one's nose stands i'th' middle of one's face?

Lear.

No.

Fool.

Why, to keep one's eyes of either side one's nose; that what a man cannot smell out, he may spy into.

Lear.

I did Her wrong—

Fool.

Can'st tell how an oyster makes his shell?

Lear.

No.

Fool.

Nor I neither; but I can tell, why a snail has a house.

Lear.

Why?

Fool.

Why, to put's head in, not to give it away to his daughters, and leave his horns without a case.

Lear.

I will forget my nature: so kind a father! be my horses ready?

Fool.

Thy asses are gone about 'em; the reason, why the seven stars are no more than seven, is a pretty reason.

Lear.

Because they are not eight.

Fool.

Yes, indeed; thou wouldst make a good fool.

Lear.

To take't again perforce!—monster ingratitude!

Fool.

If you were my fool, nuncle, I'd have thee beaten for being old before thy time.

Lear.

How's that?

Fool.

Thou should'st not have been old, 'till thou hadst been wise.

Lear.
O, let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heav'n!
Keep me in temper, I would not be mad.

-- 133 --

Enter Gentleman.
How now, are the horses ready?

Gent.
Ready, my lord.

Lear.
Come, boy.

Fool.
She that's a maid now, and laughs at my departure,
Shall not be a maid long, unless things be cut shorter.
[Exeunt.
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Lewis Theobald [1733], The works of Shakespeare: in seven volumes. Collated with the Oldest Copies, and Corrected; With notes, Explanatory and Critical; By Mr. Theobald (Printed for A. Bettesworth and C. Hitch [and] J. Tonson [etc.], London) [word count] [S11201].
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