Glo.
I'm sorry for thee, friend; 'tis the Duke's pleasure,
Whose disposition, all the world well knows,
^{7 note}Will not be rubb'd nor stop'd. I'll intreat for thee.

Kent.
Pray, do not, Sir. I've watch'd and travell'd hard;
Some time I shall sleep out, the rest I'll whistle:
A good man's fortune may grow out at heels;
Give you good morrow.

Glo.
The Duke's to blame in this, 'twill be ill taken. [Exit.

Kent.
Good King, that must approve the common Saw,

Thou out of heaven's benediction com'st
To the warm sun!
Approach, thou beacon to this under-globe, [Looking up to the moon.
That by thy comfortable beams I may
Peruse this letter. Nothing almost sees miracles,
But misery. I know, 'tis from Cordelia;
Who hath most fortunately been inform'd
Of my obscured course. I shall find time
From this enormous state, and seek to give
Losses their remedies. All weary and o'er-watch'd,
Take vantage, heavy eyes, not to behold
This shameful lodging.
Fortune, good night; smile once more, turn thy wheel. [He sleeps. Enter Edgar.

Edg.
I've heard myself proclaim'd;
And, by the happy hollow of a tree,
Escap'd the hunt. No port is free, no place,
That Guard and most unusual vigilance
Does not attend my taking. While I may 'scape,
I will preserve myself: and am bethought
To take the basest and the poorest shape,
That ever Penury in contempt of man
Brought near to beast: my face I'll grime with filth;
Blanket my loins; elfe all my hair in knots;
And with presented nakedness out-face
The winds, and persecutions of the sky.
The country gives me proof and president
Of bedlam beggars, who, with roaring voices,
Strike in their numb'd and mortify'd bare arms
Pins, wooden pricks, nails, sprigs of rosemary;
And with this horrible object, from low farms,
^{8 note}Poor pelting villages, sheep-coats and mills,

Sometimes with lunatick bans, sometimes with pray'rs,
^{9 note}