SCENE III.
To them, Enter Kent.
Lear.
No, I will be the pattern of all patience,
I will say nothing.
Kent.
Who's there?
Fool.
Marry here's grace, and a cod-piece, that's a
wiseman and a fool.
Kent.
Alas, Sir, you are here? things that love night,
Love not such nights as these: the wrathful skies
9 noteGallow the very wand'rers of the dark,
And make them keep their Caves: since I was man,
Such sheets of fire, such bursts of horrid thunder,
Such groans of roaring wind and rain, I never
Remember to have heard. Man's nature cannot carry
Th' affliction, nor the force.
Lear.
&wlquo;Let the great Gods,
&wlquo;That keep this dreadful pudder o'er our heads,
&wlquo;Find out their enemies now. Tremble, thou wretch,
&wlquo;That hast within thee undivulged crimes,
&wlquo;Unwhipt of justice. Hide thee, thou bloody hand,
&wlquo;Thou Perjure, 1 note
thou Simular of virtue,
-- 75 --
&wlquo;That art incestuous: caitiff, shake to pieces,
&wlquo;2 note
That under covert, and convenient seeming,
&wlquo;Hast practis'd on man's life!—Close pent-up guilts,
&wlquo;Rive your concealing continents, and ask&wrquo;
These dreadful summoners grace.—I am a man,
More sinn'd against, than sinning.
Kent.
Alack bare-headed?
Gracious my lord, hard by here is a hovel;
Some friendship will it lend you 'gainst the tempest,
Repose you there, while I to this hard house
(More hard than is the stone whereof 'tis rais'd;
Which even but now, demanding after you,
Deny'd me to come in) return, and force,
Their scanted courtesie.
Lear.
My wits begin to turn.
Come on, my boy. How dost, my boy? art cold?
I'm cold myself. Where is the straw, my fellow?
-- 76 --
The art of our necessities is strange,
That can make vile things precious. Come, your hovel;
Poor fool and knave, I've (a) note one string in my heart,
That's sorry yet for thee.
Fool.
He that has an a little tynie wit,
With heigh ho, the wind and the rain;
Must make content with his fortunes fit,
Though the rain it raineth every day.
Lear.
True, my good boy: come bring us to this
hovel.
[Exit.
Fool.
3 note'Tis a brave night to cool a curtezan.
4 note
I'll speak a prophecy or two ere I go.
When priests are more in words than matter,
When brewers marr their malt with water;
-- 77 --
5 noteWhen nobles are their tailors' tutors;
No hereticks burnt, but wenches' suitors;
Then comes the time, who lives to see't,
That Going shall be us'd with feet.
When every case in law is right,
No squire in debt, and no poor knight;
When slanders do not live in tongues;
And cut-purses come not to throngs;
When usurers tell their gold i' th' field;
And bawds and whores do churches build:
Then shall the realm of Albion
Come to great confusion.
This prophecy Merlin shall make, for I do live before
his time.
[Exit.
-- 78 --
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].
