Yet better thus, and known to be contemn'd,
Than still contemn'd and flatter'd. To be worst,
(The lowest, most dejected thing of fortune)
Stands still in esperance, lives not in fear.
The lamentable change is from the best;
The worst returns to laughter. Welcome then,
Thou unsubstantial air that I embrace!
The wretch that thou hast blown unto the worst,
Owes nothing to ^{a note}thy blasts.

Enter Glo'ster, led by an old man.
But who comes here?
My father poorly led? World, world, O world!
But that thy strange mutations make us hate thee,
Life would not yield to age.

Old Man.
O my good lord, I have been your tenant,
And your father's tenant, these fourscore years.

Glo.
Away, get thee away: good friend, be gone;
Thy comforts can do me no good at all,
Thee they may hurt.

Old Man.
You cannot see your way.

Glo.
I have no way, and therefore want no eyes:
I stumbled when I saw. Full oft 'tis seen,
Our mean secures us, and our meer defects
Prove our commodities. O dear son Edgar,
The food of thy abused father's wrath;
Might I but live to see thee in my touch,
I'd say I had eyes again.

Old Man.
How now? who's there?

Edg.
O gods! who is't can say I'm at the worst?
I'm worse than e'er I was.

Old Man.
'Tis poor mad Tom.

Edg.
And worse I may be yet: the worst is not,
So long as we can say, this is the worst.

Old Man.
Fellow, where goest?

Glo.
Is it a beggar-man?

Old Man.
Madman, and beggar too?

Glo.
He has some reason, else he could not beg.
I'th' last night's storm I such a fellow saw;
Which made me think a man, a worm. My son
Came then into my mind, and yet my mind
Was then scarce friends with him. I've heard more since.

As flies to wanton boys, are we to th' gods,
They kill us for their sport.

Edg.
How should this be?
Bad is the trade must play the fool to sorrow,
Ang'ring it self and others.—Bless thee master.

Glo.
Is that the naked fellow?

Old Man.
Ay, my lord.

Glo.
Get thee away: if for my sake
Thou wilt o'ertake us hence a mile or twain
I'th' way tow'rd Dover, do it for ancient love;
And bring some covering for ^{b note}this naked soul,
Whom I'll intreat to lead me.

Old Man.
Alack Sir, he is mad.

Glo.
'Tis the time's plague, when madmen lead the blind:
Do as I bid, or rather do thy pleasure;
Above the rest, be gone.

Old Man.
I'll bring him the best 'parrel that I have,
Come on't what will. [Exit.

Glo.
Sirrah, naked fellow.

Edg.
Poor Tom's a-cold. I cannot dance it further.

Glo.
Come hither fellow.

Edg.
And yet I must;
Bless thy sweet eyes, they bleed.

Glo.
Know'st thou the way to Dover?

Edg.

Both stile and gate, horse-way and foot-path: poor Tom hath been scar'd out of his good wits. Bless thee good man from the foul fiend. † ^noteFive fiends have been in poor Tom at once, Hobbididen Prince of dumbness, Mahu of stealing, Mohu of murder, Flibbertigibbet of moping, and Mowing who since possesses chamber-maids and waiting-women.

Glo.
Here take this purse, thou whom the heavens plagues
Have humbled to all strokes. That I am wretched

Makes thee the happier: heavens deal so still;
Let the superfluous, and lust-dieted man,
That slaves your ordinance, that will not see
Because he do's not feel, feel your power quickly:
So distribution should undo excess,
And each man have enough. Do'st thou know Dover?

Edg.
Ay master.

Glo.
There is a cliff, whose high and bending head
Looks fearfully on the confined deep:
Bring me but to the very brim of it,
And I'll repair the misery thou do'st bear
With something rich about me: from that place
I shall no leading need.

Edg.
Give me thy arm;
Poor Tom shall lead thee. [Exeunt. SCENE II. The Duke of Albany's palace. Enter Gonerill, Bastard, and Steward.

Gon.
Welcome, my lord. I marvel our mild husband
Not met us on the way. Now where's your master?

Stew.
Madam, within; but never man so chang'd:
I told him of the army that was landed;
He smil'd at it. I told him you were coming,
His answer was, the worse. Of Glo'ster's treachery
And of the loyal service of his son,
When I inform'd him, then he call'd me sot,
And told me I had turn'd the wrong side out.
What most he should dislike, seems pleasant to him;
What like, offensive.

Gon.
Then shall you go no further.

It is the cowish terror of his spirit
That dares not undertake: he'll not feel wrongs
Which tie him to an answer; our wishes on the way
May prove effects. Back Edmund to my brother,
Hasten his musters, and conduct his powers.
I must change arms at home, and give the distaff
Into my husband's hands. This trusty servant
Shall pass between us: you ere long shall hear,
If you dare venture in your own behalf,
A mistress's command. Wear this; spare speech,
Decline your head. This kiss, if it durst speak,
Would stretch thy spirits up into the air:
Conceive, and fare thee well.

Bast.
Yours in the ranks of death

Gon.
My most dear Glo'ster. [Exit Bastard.
Oh, the strange difference of man, and man!
To thee a woman's services are due,
My fool usurps my body.

Stew.
Madam, here comes my lord. Enter Albany.

Gon.
I have been worth the whistle.

Alb.
Oh Goneril,
You are not worth the dust which the rude wind
Blows in your face.—† ^note I fear your disposition.
That nature which contemns its origine,
Cannot be border'd certain in it self;
She that her self will shiver and dis-branch
From her material sap, perforce must wither,
And come to deadly use.

Gon.
No more, tis foolish.

Alb.
Wisdom and goodness to the vile seem vile;
Tygers, not daughters, what have you perform'd?
A father, and a gracious aged man,
Most barb'rous, most degenerate, have you madded.
Cou'd my good brother suffer you to do it,
A man, a Prince by him so benefited?
If that the heav'ns do not their visible spirits
Send quickly down to tame the vile offences,
Humanity must perforce prey on itself
Like monsters of the deep.

Gon.
Milk-liver'd man!
That bear'st a cheek for blows, a head for wrongs;
Who hast not in thy brows an eye discerning
Thine honour, from thy suffering.

Alb.
See thy self, devil:
Proper deformity seems not in the fiend
So horrid as in woman.

Gon.
Oh vain fool! Enter a Messenger.

Mes.
Oh my good lord, the Duke of Cornwall's dead,
Slain by his servant, going to put out
The other eye of Glo'ster.

Alb.
Glo'ster's eyes?

Mes.
A servant that he bred, thrill'd with remorse,
Oppos'd against the act; bending his sword
To his great master: who thereat enrag'd,
Flew on him, and amongst them fell'd him dead.
But not without that harmful stroke which since
Hath pluck'd him after.

Alb.
This shews you are above,
You justices, that these our nether crimes
So speedily can venge. But O poor Glo'ster!

Lost he his other eye?

Mes.
Both, both, my lord.
This letter, Madam, craves a speedy answer:
'Tis from your sister.

Gon.
One way I like this well;
But being widow, and my Glo'ster with her,
May all the building in my fancy pluck
Upon my hateful life. Another way
The news is not so tart. I'll read, and answer. [Exit.

Alb.
Where was his son, when they did take his eyes?

Mes.
Come with my lady hither.

Alb.
He's not here.

Mes.
No, my good lord, I met him back again.

Alb.
Knows he the wickedness?

Mes.
Ay, my good lord, 'twas he inform'd against him,
And quit the house of purpose, that their punishment
Might have the freer course.

Alb.
Glo'ster, I live
To thank thee for the love thou shew'dst the King,
And to revenge thine eyes. Come hither friend,
Tell me what more thou know'st. [Exeunt. ^noteSCENE III.

† [Footnote: Enter Kent and a Gentleman.

Kent.
The King of France so suddenly gone back!
Know you the reason?

Gent.
Something he left imperfect in the state,
Which since his coming forth is thought of, which
Imports the Kingdom so much fear and danger,
That his return was most requir'd and necessary.

Kent.
Who hath he left behind him general?

Gent.
The Mareschal of France, Monsieur le Far.

Kent.

Did your letters pierce the Queen to any demonstration of grief?

Gent.
I say she took 'em, read 'em in my presence,
And now and then an ample tear trill'd down
Her delicate cheek: it seem'd she was a Queen
Over her passion, which most rebel-like
Sought to be King o'er her.

Kent.
O then it mov'd her.

Gent.
But not to rage. Patience and sorrow strove
Which should express her goodliest; you have seen
Sun-shine and rain at once. Those happy smiles
That play'd on her ripe lip, seem'd not to know
What guests were in her eyes, which parted thence,
As pearls from diamonds dropt—in brief
Sorrow would be a rarity most belov'd,
If all could so become it.

Kent.
Made she no verbal question?

Gent.
Once or twice
She heav'd the name of Father,
Pantingly forth, as if it prest her heart.
Cry'd, sisters! sisters! what? i'th' storm of night?
Let Pity ne'er believe it! then she shook
The holy water from her heav'nly eyes,
And then retir'd, to deal with grief alone.

Kent.
The stars above us govern our conditions:
Else one self-mate and mate could not beget
Such diff'rent issues. Spoke you with her since?

Gent.
No.

Kent.
Was this before the King return'd?

Gent.
No, since.

Kent.
The poor distressed Lear's in town,

Who sometimes in his better tune remembers
What we are come about, and by no means
Will yield to see his daughter.

Gent.
Why, good Sir?

Kent.
A sov'reign shame so bows him, his unkindness
That stript her from his benediction, turn'd her
To foreign casualties, gave her dear rights
To his dog-hearted daughters. These things sting him
So venomously, that burning shame detains him
From his Cordelia.

Gent.
Alack poor gentleman!

Kent.
Of Albany's and Cornwall's pow'rs you heard not?

Gent.
'Tis so, they are a-foot.

Kent.
Well Sir, I'll bring you to our master Lear,
And leave you to attend him. Some dear cause
Will in concealment wrap me up awhile:
When I am known aright, you shall not grieve
Lending me this acquaintance. Pray along with me. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. A Camp. Enter Cordelia, Physician and Soldiers.

Cor.
Alack, 'tis he; why he was met even now
As mad as the vext sea, singing aloud,
Crown'd with rank fenitar, and furrow weeds,
With hardocks, hemlock, nettles, cuckow flowers,
Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow
In our sustaining corn. Send forth a cent'ry,
Search every acre in the high-grown field,
And bring him to our eye. What can man's wisdom
In the restoring his bereaved sense?

He that helps him, take all my outward worth.

Phys.
There are means, Madam:
Our foster nurse of nature, is repose,
The which he lacks; that to provoke in him,
Are many simples operative, whose power
Will close the eye of anguish.

Cor.
All blest secrets!
All you unpublish'd virtues of the earth!
Spring with my tears; be aidant, and remediate
In the good man's ^{c note}distress: seek, seek for him,
Lest his ungovern'd rage dissolve the life
That wants the means to lead it. Enter a Messenger.

Mes.
News, Madam:
The British pow'rs are marching hitherward.

Cord.
'Tis known before. Our preparation stands
In expectation of them. O dear father,
It is thy business that I go about: therefore great France
My mourning and important tears hath pitied.
No blown ambition doth our arms incite,
But love, dear love, and our ag'd father's right:
Soon may I hear, and see him! [Exeunt. SCENE V. Regan's Palace. Enter Regan and Steward.

Reg.
But are my brother's powers set forth?

Stew.
Ay Madam.

Reg.
Himself in person there?

Stew.
With much adoe.

Your sister is the better soldier.

Reg.
Lord Edmund spake not with your lady at home?

Stew.
No, Madam.

Reg.
What might import my sister's letter to him?

Stew.
I know not, lady.

Reg.
Faith he is posted hence on serious matter.
It was great ign'rance, Glo'ster's eyes being out
To let him live; where he arrives, he moves
All hearts against us: Edmund, I think, is gone,
In pity of his misery, to dispatch
His nighted life: moreover to descry
The strength o'th' enemy.

Stew.
I must needs after him, Madam, with my letter.

Reg.
Our troops set forth to-morrow: stay with us:
The ways are dangerous.

Stew.
I may not, Madam;
My lady charg'd my duty in this business.

Reg.
Why should she write to Edmund? might not you
Transport her purposes by word?
Something—I know not what—I'll love thee much—
Let me unseal the letter.

Stew.
Madam, I had rather—

Reg.
I know your lady do's not love her husband,
I'm sure of that; and at her late being here
She gave strange † ^noteœiliads, and most speaking looks
To noble Edmund. I know you're of her bosom.

Stew.
I, Madam?

Reg.
I speak in understanding: you are; I know't;
Therefore I do advise you take this note.
My lord is dead; Edmund and I have talk'd,
And more convenient is he for my hand
Than for your lady's: you may gather more:
If you do find him, pray you give him this;

And when your Mistress hears thus much from you,
I pray desire her call her wisdom to her. So farewel.
If you do chance to hear of that blind traitor,
Preferment falls on him that cuts him off.

Stew.
Would I could meet him, Madam, I should shew
What lady I do follow.

Reg.
Fare thee well. [Exeunt. SCENE VI. The Country. Enter Glo'ster and Edgar.

Glo.
When shall I come to th' top of that same hill?

Edg.
You do climb up it now. Look how we labour.

Glo.
Methinks the ground is even.

Edg.
Horrible steep.
Hark, do you hear the sea?

Glo.
No truly.

Edg.
Why then your other senses grow imperfect
By your eyes anguish.

Glo.
So may it be indeed.
Methinks thy voice is alter'd, and thou speak'st
In better phrase and matter than thou didst.

Edg.
You're much deceiv'd: in nothing am I chang'd
But in my garments.

Glo.
Sure you're better spoken.

Edg.
Come on, Sir, here's the place—stand still. &plquo;How fearful
&plquo;And dizzy 'tis, to cast one's eyes so low!
&plquo;The crows and choughs, that wing the midway air
&plquo;Shew scarce so gross as beetles. Half way down
&plquo;Hangs one that gathers samphire; dreadful trade!

&plquo;Methinks he seems no bigger than his head.
&plquo;The fisher-men that walk upon the beach
&plquo;Appear like mice; and yond tall anchoring bark,
&plquo;Diminish'd to her cock; her cock, a buoy
&plquo;Almost too small for sight. The murmuring surge,
&plquo;That on th' unnumbred idle pebbles chafes,
&plquo;Cannot be heard so high. I'll look no more,
&plquo;Lest my brain turn and the deficient sight
&plquo;Topple down headlong.

Glo.
Set me where you stand.

Edg.
Give me your hand: you're now within a foot
Of th' extream verge: for all below the moon
Would not I leap upright.

Glo.
Let go my hand:
Here friend's another purse, in it a Jewel
Well worth a poor man's taking. Fairies and gods
Prosper it with thee. Go thou further off,
Bid me farewel, and let me hear thee going.

Edg.
Now fare ye well, good Sir. [Seems to go.

Glo.
With all my heart.

Edg.
Why do I trifle thus with his despair?
'Tis done to cure it.

Glo.
O you mighty gods!
This world I do renounce, and in your sights
Shake patiently my great affliction off:
If I could bear it longer, and not fall
To quarrel with your great opposeless wills,
My snuff and loathed part of nature should
Burn it self out. If Edgar live, O bless him.
Now fellow, fare thee well. [He leaps and falls along.

Edg.
Good Sir, farewell.
And yet I know not how conceit may rob
The treasury of life, when life it self

Yields to the theft. Had he been where he thought,
By this, had thought been past.—Alive or dead?
Hoa, you Sir! friend! here, you Sir! speak!
Thus might he pass indeed—yet he revives.
What are you, Sir?

Glo.
Away, and let me die.

Edg.
Had'st thou been ought but Goss'mer, feathers, air,
So many fathom down precipitating,
Thou'dst shiver'd like an egg: but thou dost breathe,
Hast heavy substance, bleed'st not; speak, art sound?
Ten masts ^{d note}attacht make not the altitude
Which thou hast perpendicularly fall'n.
Thy life's a miracle. Speak yet again.

Glo.
But have I fall'n, or no?

Edg.
From the dread summit of this chalky bourn!
Look up a height, the shrill-gorg'd Lark so far
Cannot be seen or heard: do but look up.

Glo.
Alack, I have no eyes.
Is wretchedness depriv'd that benefit
To end it self by death? 'twas yet some comfort,
When misery could beguile the tyrant's rage,
And frustrate his proud will.

Edg.
Give me your arm.
Up, so—how is't? feel you your legs? you stand.

Glo.
Too well, too well.

Edg.
This is above all strangeness.
Upon the crown o'th' cliff, what thing was that
Which parted from you?

Glo.
A poor unfortunate beggar.

Edg.
As I stood here below, methought his eyes
Were two full moons; he had a thousand noses,
† ^noteHorns ^{e note}welk'd and wav'd like the ^{f note}enridged sea:

It was some fiend. Therefore, thou happy father,
Think that the dearest gods, who make them honours
Of men's impossibilities, have preserv'd thee.

Glo.
I do remember now: henceforth I'll bear
Affliction, 'till it do cry out it self,
Enough, enough, and die. That thing you speak of,
I took it for a man; often 'twould say
The fiend, the fiend—he led me to that place.

Edg.
Bear free and patient thoughts. SCENE VII. Enter Lear.

But who comes here?
The safer sense will ne'er accommodate
His master thus.

Lear.

No, they cannot touch me for coyning, I am the King himself.

Edg.

O thou side-piercing sight!

Lear.

Nature's above art in that respect. There's your pressmony. That fellow handles his bow like a cow-keeper: draw me a clothier's yard. Look, look, a mouse! Peace, peace, this piece of toasted cheese will do't—there's my gauntlet, I'll prove it on a giant. Bring up the brown bills. O well flown bird: i'th' clout, i'th' clout: hewgh. Give the word.

Edg.

Sweet marjoram.

Lear.

Pass.

Glo.

I know that voice.

Lear.

Ha! Gonerill! ^{g note}hah Regan! they flatter'd me like a dog, and told me I had white hairs in my beard, ere the black ones were there. To say ay, and no, to every thing that I said—Ay and no too, was no good divinity. When the rain came to wet me once, and wind to make me chatter; when

the thunder would not peace at my bidding, there I found 'em, there I smelt 'em out. Go to, they are not men o' their words; they told me I was every thing: 'tis a lie, I am not ague-proof.

Glo.

The trick of that voice I do well remember: is't not the King?

Lear.
Ay, every inch a King.
When I do stare, see how the subject quakes.
I pardon that man's life. What was thy cause?

Adultery? thou shalt not die; die for adultery? no, the wren goes to't, and the small gilded flie does letcher in my sight. Let copulation thrive: for Glo'ster's bastard son was kinder to his father, than my daughters got 'tween the lawful sheets. To't luxury pell-mell, for I lack soldiers. Behold yon simpering dame, whose face 'tween her forks presages snow; that minces virtue, and does shake the head to hear of pleasure's name. The † ^notefitchew, nor the soyled horse goes to't with a more riotous appetite: down from the waste they are centaurs, though women all above; but to the girdle do the gods inherit, beneath is all the fiends. There's hell, there's darkness, there is the sulphurous pit, burning, scalding, stench, consumption: fie, fie, fie; pah, pah; give me an ounce of civet, good apothecary, to sweeten my imagination! there's mony for thee.

Glo.
O let me kiss that hand.

Lear.

Let me wipe it first, it smells of mortality.

Glo.
O ruin'd piece of nature! this great world
Shall so wear out to nought. Do'st thou know me?

Lear.

I remember thine eyes well enough: dost thou squint at me? no, do thy worst blind Cupid, I'll not love. Read thou this challenge, mark but the penning of it.

Glo.
Were all the letters suns, I could not see one.

Edg.
I would not take this from report;
It is, and my heart breaks at it.

Lear.
Read.

Glo.
What, with this case of eyes?

Lear.

Oh ho, are you there with me? no eyes in your head, nor mony in your purse? your eyes are in heavy case, your purse in a light, yet you see how this world goes.

Glo.

I see it feelingly.

Lear.

What, art mad? a man may see how this world goes with no eyes. Look with thine ears: see how yond justice rails upon yond simple thief. Hark in thine ear: change places, and handy-dandy, which is the justice, which is the thief? thou hast seen a farmer's dog bark at a beggar.

Glo.

Ay Sir.

Lear.

And the creature run from the cur: there thou might'st behold the great image of authority, a dog's obey'd in office.

Edg.
O matter and impertinency mixt,
Reason in madness.

Lear.
If thou wilt weep my fortunes, take my eyes.
I know thee well enough, thy name is Glo'ster;
Thou must be patient; we came crying hither:
Thou know'st, the first time that we smell the air

We wawle and cry. I will preach to thee: mark—

Glo.
Alack, alack the day!

Lear.
When we are born, we cry that we are come
To this great stage of fools.—This is a good block!—
It were a delicate stratagem to shooe
A troop of horse with Felt; I'll put't in proof,
And when I've stol'n upon these sons-in-law;
Then kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill. SCENE VIII. Enter a Gentleman, with attendants.

Gent.
O here he is, lay hand upon him; Sir,
Your most dear daughter—

Lear.
No rescue? what, a prisoner? I am even
The natural fool of fortune. Use me well,
You shall have ransom. Let me have surgeons,
I am cut to th' brains.

Gent.
You shall have any thing.

Lear.
No seconds? all my self?
Why this would make a man, a man of salt;
To use his eyes for garden-water-pots,
And laying autumn's dust. I will die bravely,
Like a smug bridegroom. What? I will be jovial:
Come, come, I am a King. My Masters know you that?

Gent.
You are a royal one, and we obey you.

Lear.
Then there's life in't. Come, an you get it,
You shall get it by running: sa, sa, sa, sa. [Exit.

Gent.
A sight most pitiful in the meanest wretch,
Past speaking of in a King. Thou hast a daughter
Who redeems nature from the general curse
Which twain have brought her to.

Edg.
Hail, gentle Sir.

Gent.
Sir, speed you: what's your will?

Edg.
Do you hear ought, Sir, of a battel toward?

Gent.
Most sure, and vulgar: every one hears that,
Which can distinguish sound.

Edg.
But by your favour,
How near's the other army?

Gent.
Near, and on speedy foot: the main descry
Stands on the hourly thought.

Edg.
I thank you, Sir,

Gent.
Though that the Queen on special cause is here,
Her army is mov'd on. [Exit.

Glo.
You ever gentle gods, take my breath from me,
Let not my worser spirit tempt me again
To die before you please.

Edg.
Well pray you, father.

Glo.
Now good Sir, what are you?

Edg.
A most poor man, made tame to fortune's blows,
Who by the art of known and feeling sorrows,
Am pregnant to good pity. Give me your hand,
I'll lead you to some biding.

Glo.
Hearty thanks;
The bounty and the benizon of heav'n to boot. SCENE IX. Enter Steward.

Stew.
A proclaim'd prize! most happy!
That eyeless head of thine was first fram'd flesh
To raise my fortunes. Old unhappy traitor,
Briefly thy self-remember: the sword is out
That must destroy thee.

Glo.
Let thy friendly hand

Put strength enough to't.

Stew.
Wherefore, bold peasant,
Dar'st thou support a publish'd traitor? hence,
Lest that th' infection of his fortune take
Like hold on thee. Let go his arm.

Edg.
Chill not let go Zir, without vurther 'casion.

Stew.
Let go, slave, or thou dy'st.

Edg.

Good gentleman, go your gate, and let poor volk pass: and 'chud ha' been zwagger'd out of my life, 'twould not ha' been zo long as 'tis by a vortnight. Nay, come not near th' old man: keep out che vor'ye, or ice try whether your costard or my bat be the harder; chill be plain with you.

Stew.

Out dunghill.

Edg.

Chill pick your teeth, Zir: come, no matter vor your foyns.

Stew.
Slave, thou hast slain me: villain, take my purse;
If ever thou wilt thrive, bury my body,
And give the letters which thou find'st about me
To Edmund Earl of Gloster: seek him out
Upon the English party. Oh untimely death,— [Dies.

Edg.
I know thee well, a serviceable villain;
As duteous to the vices of thy Mistress,
As badness would desire.

Glo.
What, is he dead?

Edg.
Sit you down, father: rest you.
Let's see these pockets; the letters that he speaks of
May be my friends: he's dead; I'm only sorry
He had no other deathsman. Let us see—
By your leave, gentle wax—and manners blame us not:
To know our enemies minds we rip their hearts,
Their papers are more lawful.

Reads the Letter.

Let our reciprocal vows be remembred. You have many opportunities to cut him off: if your will want not, time and place will be fruitfully offer'd. There is nothing done if he return the conqueror. Then am I the prisoner, and his bed my goal; from the loathed warmth whereof deliver me, and supply the place for your labour.

Your (wife, so I would say) affectionate
Servant, Gonerill.

Glo.
The King is mad; how stiff is my vile sense
That I stand up, and have ingenious feeling
Of my huge sorrows? better I were distract,
So should my thoughts be sever'd from my griefs, [Drum afar off.
And woes, by wrong imaginations, lose
The knowledge of themselves.

Edg.
Give me your hand:
Far off methinks I hear the beaten drum.
Come, father, I'll bestow you with a friend. [Exeunt.

SCENE X. A Chamber. Enter Cordelia, Kent, and ^{i note} Physician.

Cor.
O thou good Kent, how shall I live and work
To match thy goodness? life will be too short,
And ev'ry measure fail me.

Kent.
To be acknowledg'd, Madam, is o'erpaid;
All my reports go with the modest truth,
Nor more, nor clipt, but so.

Cor.
Be better suited,
These weeds are memories of those worser hours:
I pr'ythee put them off.

Kent.
Pardon, dear Madam,
Yet to be known, shortens my made intent;
My boon I make it, that you know me not,
'Till time and I think meet.

Cor.
Then be it so.
My lord, how does the King?

Phys.
Madam, sleeps still.

Cor.
O you kind gods!
Cure this great breach in his abused nature,
Th' untun'd and jarring senses O wind up,
Of this child-changed father.

Phys.
Please your Majesty,
That we may wake the King, he hath slept long?

Cor.
Be govern'd by your knowledge, and proceed
I'th' sway of your own will: is he array'd? Enter Lear in a chair, carried by servants.

Phys.
Ay Madam; in the heaviness of sleep,
We put fresh garments on him.

Be by, good Madam, when we do awake him,
I doubt not of his temperance.

Cor.
O my dear father! Restauration hang
Thy medicine on my lips, and let this kiss
Repair those violent harms, that my two sisters
Have in thy reverence made.

Kent.
Kind and dear Princess!

Cor.
Had you not been their father, these white flakes
Did challenge pity of them. Was this face
To be expos'd against the warring winds?
Mine enemy's dog, though he had bit me, shou'd
Have stood that night against my fire:
And wast thou fain, poor father,
To hovel thee with swine and rogues forlorn,
In short and musty straw? alack, alack,
'Tis wonder that thy life and wits, at once,
Had not concluded all. He wakes, speak to him.

Phys.
Madam, do you, 'tis fittest.

Cor.
How does my royal lord? how fares your Majesty?

Lear.
You do me wrong to take me out o' th' grave;
Thou art a soul in bliss, but I am bound
Upon a wheel of fire, that mine own tears
Do scald like molten lead.

Cor.
Sir, do you know me?

Lear.
You are a spirit I know, when did you die?

Cor.
Still, still, far wide—

Phys.
He's scarce awake, let him alone awhile.

Lear.
Where have I been? where am I? fair day-light?
I'm mightily abus'd; I should ev'n die with pity
To see another thus. I know not what to say;
I will not swear these are my hands: let's see,
I feel this pin prick: would I were assur'd
Of my condition.

Cor.
O look upon me, Sir,
And hold your hand in benediction o'er me.
No Sir, you must not kneel.

Lear.
Pray do not mock me;
I am a very foolish fond old man,
Fourscore and upward, and to deal plainly,
I fear I am not in my perfect mind.
Methinks I should know you, and know this man,
Yet I am doubtful: for I'm mainly ignorant
What place this is, and all the skill I have
Remembers not these garments; nay I know not
Where I did lodge last night. Do not laugh at me,
For, as I am a man, I think this lady
To be my child Cordelia.

Cor.
And so I am; I am—

Lear.
Be your tears wet? yes faith; I pray you weep not.
If you have poison for me, I will drink it;
I know you do not love me; for your sisters
Have, as I do remember, done me wrong.
You have some cause, they have not.

Cor.
No cause, no cause.

Lear.
Am I in France?

Kent.
In your own kingdom, Sir.

Lear.
Do not abuse me.

Phys.
Be comforted, good Madam; the great rage
You see is cur'd in him: desire him to go in.
And trouble him no more 'till further settling.

Cor.
Will't please your highness walk?

Lear.
You must bear with me;
Pray you now forget and forgive,
I am old and foolish. [Exeunt.

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