Lear.
Good morrow to you both.

Corn.
Hail to your Grace! [Kent is set at Liberty.

Reg.
I am glad to see your Highness.

Lear.
Regan, I think you are; I know, what reason
I have to think so; if thou wert not glad,
I would divorce me from thy mother's tomb,
Sepulchring an adulteress. O, are you free? [To Kent.
Some other time for that. Beloved Regan,
Thy sister's naught: oh Regan, ^{2 note}
she hath tied

Sharp-tooth'd unkindness, like a vulture here; [Points to his heart.
I can scarce speak to thee; thou'lt not believe,
^{3 note}
Of how deprav'd a quality—Oh Regan?—

Reg.
I pray you, Sir, take patience; I have Hope,
You less know how to value her desert,
^{4 note}

Lear.
Say? How is that?—

Reg.
I cannot think, my sister in the least
Would fail her obligation. If, perchance,
She have restrained the riots of your followers,
'Tis on such ground, and to such wholesome end,
As clears her from all blame.

Lear.
My curses on her!—

Reg.
O Sir, you are old,
Nature in you stands on the very verge
Of her confine; you should be rul'd and led
By some discretion, that discerns your state
Better than you your Self; therefore, I pray you,
That to our sister you do make return;
Say, you have wrong'd her, Sir.

Lear.
Ask her forgiveness?
^{5 note}

Dear daughter, I confess, that I am old,
^{6 note}Age is unnecessary; on my knees I beg, [Kneeling.
That you'll vouchsafe me raiment, bed, and food.

Reg.
Good Sir, no more. These are unsightly tricks.
Return you to my sister.

Lear.
Never, Regan:
She hath abated me of half my train;
^{7 note}

Corn.
Fy! Sir, fy!

Lear.
You nimble lightnings, dart your blinding flames
Into her scornful eyes! Infect her beauty
You fen-suck'd fogs, drawn by the pow'rful sun
^{8 note}


To fall, and blast her pride.

Reg.
O the blest Gods!
So will you wish on me, when the rash mood is on.

Lear.
No, Regan, thou shalt never have my curse:
Thy * ^notetender hefted nature shall not give
Thee o'er to rashness; her eyes are fierce, but thine
Do comfort, and not burn. 'Tis not in thee
To grudge my pleasures, to cut off my train,
To bandy hasty words, ^{9 note}to scant my sizes,
And, in conclusion, to oppose the bolt
Against my coming in. Thou better know'st
The offices of nature, bond of child-hood,
Effects of court'sy, dues of gratitude:
Thy half o'th' Kingdom thou hast not forgot,
Wherein I thee endow'd.

Reg.
Good Sir, to th' purpose. [Trumpet within.

Lear.
Who put my man i' th' Stocks? Enter Steward.

Corn.
What trumpet's that?

Reg.
I know't, my sister's. This approves her letter,
That she would soon be here. Is your lady come?

Lear.
This is a slave, whose easy-borrowed pride
Dwells in the fickle grace of her he follows.
Out, varlet, from my sight.

Corn.
What means your Grace?

Lear.
Who stockt my servant? Regan, I've good hope,
Thou didst not know on't.—Who comes here?

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