SCENE I.
A HEATH.
A storm is heard, with thunder and lightning. Enter Kent, and a Gentleman, severally.
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;
-- 70 --
Or swell the curled waters 'bove the main,
That things might change, or cease: 1 notetears his white hair;
[(2 noteWhich the impetuous blasts with eyeless rage
Catch in their fury, and make nothing of.)]
Strives in his little World of Man t' outscorn
The to-and-fro-conflicting Wind and Rain.
3 noteThis night, wherein the cub-drawn bear would couch,
The lion, and the belly-pinched wolf
Keep their furr dry; unbonnetted 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 cunning) 'twixt Albany and Cornwall:
Who have (as who have not, whom their great stars
Throne and set high?) servants, who seem no less;
Which are to France the spies and speculations
Intelligent of our state. What hath been seen,
Either in snuffs and packings of the Dukes;
Or the hard rain note, which both of them have borne
Against the old kind king; or something deeper,
-- 71 --
(Whereof, perchance, these are but furnishings—)
4 noteBut true it is, 5 note
from France there comes a power
Into this scathed kingdom; who already,
Wise in our negligence, have secret seize
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 bemadding sorrow
The King hath cause to plain.
-- 72 --
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:
For 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,
Halloo the other.
[Exeunt severally.
Alexander Pope [1747], The works of Shakespear in eight volumes. The Genuine Text (collated with all the former Editions, and then corrected and emended) is here settled: Being restored from the Blunders of the first Editors, and the Interpolations of the two Last: with A Comment and Notes, Critical and Explanatory. By Mr. Pope and Mr. Warburton (Printed for J. and P. Knapton, [and] S. Birt [etc.], London) [word count] [S11301].
