Kent.
Who's there besides 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,† ^note
Which the impetuous blasts with eyeless rage
Catch in their fury, and make nothing of.
This night, in which the cub-drawn bear would couch,
The lion, and the belly-pinched wolf
Keep their furr dry; unbonneted he runs,
And bids what will, take all.

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 note

Commend a dear thing to you. There's division
(Although as yet the face of it is cover'd
With mutual craft) 'twixt Albany and Cornwal:* ^note










But true it is from France there comes a pow'r
Into this scatter'd kingdom, who already
Wise in our negligence, have secret sea
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 madding sorrow
The King hath cause to plain.
I am a gentleman of blood and breeding,
And from some knowledge and assurance of you,
Offer this office.

Gent.
I'll talk further with you.

Kent.
No, do not:
† ^noteFor confirmation that I am much more
Than my out-wall, open this purse and take
What it contains. If you shall see Cordelia;

(As fear not but you shall) shew her that Ring,
And she will tell you who this fellow is,
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, (in which you take
That way, I this:) he that first lights on him,
Hollow the other. [Exeunt.

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