Kent.
Who's here, beside foul weather?

Gent.
One minded, like the weather, most unquietly.

Kent.
I know you. Where's the king?

Gent.
Contending with the fretful elements:
Bids the wind blow the earth into the sea,
Or swell the curled waters 'bove the main,
That things might change or cease: tears his white hair;
Which the impetuous blasts, with eyeless rage,
Catch in their fury, and make nothing of:
Strives in his little world of man to out-scorn
The to-and-fro-conflicting wind and rain.
This night, wherein the cub-drawn bear would couch,
The lion and the belly-pinched wolf
Keep their fur dry, unbonneted he runs,
And bids what will take all. (storm)

Kent.
But who is with him?

Gent.
None but the fool; who labors to out-jest
His heart-struck injuries.

Kent.
Sir, I do know you;
And dare, upon the warrant of my note,
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;
And, true it is, from France there comes a power
Into this scatter'd kingdom; who already,

Wise is 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.
If you shall see Cordelia,
(As fear not but you shall,) show her this ring;
And she will tell you who that fellow is
That yet you do not know. (thunder) Fie on this storm!
I will go seek the king. (crosses to L.)

Gent.
Give me your hand: (shakes hands) Have you no more to say?

Kent.
Few words, but, to effect, more than all yet;
That, when we have found the king, in which your pain
That way; I'll this: he that first lights on him
Holloa the other. (storm) Exeunt Gentleman, R., Kent, L. Violent thunder, stage dark; storm as violent as possible before change of scene.

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