SCENE II.
Storm still. Enter Lear and Fool.
Lear.
Blow winds, and crack your cheeks; rage, blow!
You cataracts, and hurricanoes spout
'Till you have drencht our steeples, drown'd the cocks.
You sulph'rous and thought-executing fires,
‡ noteVaunt-couriers of oak-cleaving thunder-bolts,
Singe my white head. And thou all-shaking thunder,
Strike flat the thick rotundity o'th' world,
Crack nature's mould, all † note germains spill at once
That make ingrateful man.
Fool.
O nuncle, court-holy-water in a dry house, is better
than the rain-water out o' door. Good nuncle, in, ask thy daughter's
blessing; here's a night that pities neither wise men nor fools.
Lear.
Rumble thy belly full, spit fire, spout rain;
Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire, are my daughters;
I tax not you, you elements, with unkindness,
I never gave you kingdom, call'd you children,
You owe me no a notesubmission. Then let fall
Your horrible pleasure;—here I stand your slave,
A poor, infirm, weak, and despis'd old man!
But yet I call you servile ministers,
That have with two pernicious daughters join'd
-- 56 --
Your high-engender'd battels, 'gainst a head
So old and white as this. O, ho! 'tis foul.
Fool.
He that has a house to put's head in, has a good head-piece:
The codpiece that will house, before the head has any:
The head and he shall lowse; so beggars marry many.
That man that makes his toe, what he his heart should make,
Shall of a corn cry woe, and turn his sleep to wake.
For there was never yet fair woman, but she made mouths in
a glass.
George Sewell [1723–5], The works of Shakespear in six [seven] volumes. Collated and Corrected by the former Editions, By Mr. Pope ([Vol. 7] Printed by J. Darby, for A. Bettesworth [and] F. Fayram [etc.], London) [word count] [S11101].
