Glos. (L.)

I come to seek thee, Edmund, to impart a business of importance. I know thy loyal heart is touched to see the cruelty of these ungrateful daughters against our royal master.

Edm.
Most savage and unnatural.

Glo.
Thou, Edmund, art my trusty emissary.
Haste on the spur, at the first break of day,
With these dispatches to the Duke of Cambray, [Gives him letters.
You know what mortal feuds have always flam'd
Between this Duke of Cornwall's family and his;
Full twenty thousand hardy mountaineers
Th' inveterate prince will send to our assistance,
Dispatch; commend us to his grace, and prosper. [Exit. L.

Edm.
Yes, credulous old man,
I will commend you to his grace,
His grace the Duke of Cornwall:—instantly,
I'll shew him these contents in thy own character,
And seal'd with thy own signet; then forthwith
The chol'ric duke gives sentence on thy life.
And to my hand thy vast revenues fall,
To glut my pleasures that till now have starv'd. [Retires, R Re-enter Gloster L. followed by Cordelia and Aranthe, poorly dressed; Edmund observing at a distance.

Cor. (L.)
Turn, Gloster, turn; by all the sacred pow'rs
I do conjure you, give my grief a hearing: [Kneels.
You must, you shall, nay, I am sure you will;
For you were always stil'd the just and good.

Glo. (C.)
What would'st thou, princess? Rise, and speak thy griefs.

Cor.
Nay, you shall promise to redress 'em too,
Or here I kneel for ever. I entreat

Thy succour for a father and a king.
An injur'd father, and an injur'd king.

Edm. [Aside.] (R.)
O, charming sorrow! How her tears adorn her!

Glo. [Raising her.]
Consider, princess,
For whom thou begg'st, 'tis for the king that wrong'd thee.

Cor.
O, name not that: he did not, could not wrong me.
Nay, muse not, Gloster; for it is too likely
The injur'd king ere this is past your aid,
And gone distracted with his savage wrongs.

Edm. [Aside.]
I'll gaze no more;—and yet my eyes are charm'd.

Cor.
Or, what if it be worse?—Can there be worse?
Ah, 'tis too probable, this furious night
Has pierc'd is tender body; the bleak winds
And cold rain chill'd, or lightning struck him dead;
If it be so, your promise is discharg'd.
And I have only one poor boon to beg;
That you convey me to his breathless trunk.
With my torn robes to wrap his hoary head,
With my torn hair to bind his hands and feet,
Then with a show'r of tears
To wash his clay-smear'd cheeks, and die beside him.

Glo.
Oh, fair Cordelia, thou hast piety
Enough t'atone for both thy sisters' crimes;
I have already plotted to restore
My injur'd master; and thy virtue tells me
We shall succeed, and suddenly. [Exit, R.

Cor.
Dispatch. Aranthe:
For in this disguise, we'll instantly
Go seek the king, and bring him some relief. [Crosses to L.

Ar.
How, madam! are you ignorant
That your most impious sisters have decreed
Immediate death for any that relieve him?

Cor.
I cannot dread the furies in this cause.

Ar.
In such a night as this! Consider, madam,
For many miles about there's scarce a bush
To shelter in.

Cor.
Therefore no shelter for the king,
And more our charity to find him out.
What have not women dar'd for vicious love?
And we'll be shining proofs that they can dare
For piety as much. [Thunder.
Blow winds, and lightnings fall;

Bold in my virgin innocence I'll fly,
My royal father to relieve, or die. Exeunt Cordelia and Aranthe, L.

Edm.
“In this disguise, we'll instantly
Go seek the king?”—Ah! ah! lucky change:
That virtue, which I fear'd would be my hindrance,
Has prov'd the bawd to my design.
I'll bribe two ruffians shall at distance follow,
And seize them in some desert place; and there,
Whilst one retains her, t'other shall return
T' inform me where she's lodg'd: I'll be disguis'd too.
Whilst they are poaching for me, I'll to the duke
With these dispatches; then to the field,
Where, like the vig'rous Jove, I will enjoy
This Semele in a storm; 'twill deaf her cries,
Like drums in battle, lest her groans should pierce
My pitying ear, and make the am'rous fight less fierce. [Exit, L.

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