Bast.

Pat!—he comes like the catastrophe of the old comedy; my cue is villainous Melancholy, with a sigh like † ^noteTom o'Bedlam—O these eclipses portend these divisions! fa, sol, la, me—

Edg.

How now, brother Edmund, what serious contemplation are you in?

Bast.

I am thinking, brother, of a prediction I read this other day, what should follow these eclipses.

Edg.

Do you busie your self with that?

Bast.

I promise you the effects he writes of, succeed unhappily. When saw you my father last?

Edg.

The night gone by.

Bast.

Spake you with him?

Edg.

Ay, two hours together.

Bast.

Parted you in good terms, found you no displeasure in him, by word or countenance?

Edg.

None at all.

Bast.

Bethink your self wherein you have offended him: and at my intreaty forbear his presence, until some little time hath qualified the heat of his displeasure; which at this instant so rageth in him, that with the mischief of your person it would scarcely allay.

Edg.

Some villain hath done me wrong.

Bast.

That's my fear; I pray you have a continent forbearance 'till the speed of his rage goes slower; and as I say, retire with me to my lodging, from whence I will fitly bring you to hear my lord speak: pray you go, there's my key: if you do stir abroad, go arm'd.

Edg.

Arm'd, brother!

Bast.

Brother, I advise you to the best; I am no honest man if there be any good meaning toward you: I have told you what I have seen and heard, but faintly; nothing like the image and horror of it; pray you away.

Edg.

Shall I hear from you anon?