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 element: ^note
Bids the wind blow the earth into the sea,
Or swell the curled waters 'bove the main,^{2 note}
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.

Kent.
But who is with him?

Gent.
None but the fool, who labours to out-jest
His heart-struck injuries.

Kent.
Sir, I do know you;
And dare, upon the warrant of my art,^{3 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 are at point

To show their open banner. I pray you
Make your speed to Dover, where you shall find
Some that will thank you, making just report
Of how unnatural and bemadding sorrow
The king hath cause to plain.^{4 note}
If you shall see Cordelia
(As fear not but you shall)^{5 note} show her this ring;
And she will tell you who your fellow is^{6 note}
That yet you do not know. Fie on this storm!
I will go seek the king.

Gent.
Give me your hand. Have you no more to say?

Kent.
Few words, but, to effect, more than all yet;
That, when we have found the king (I'll this way,
You that) he that first lights on him,
Holla the other. [Exeunt severally.

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