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.

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