Enter Edgar.
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 thy blasts. Enter Glo'ster, led by an old man.
But who comes here?
My father poorly led? World, world, ^{1 note}

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,
^{2 note}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! ^{3 note}




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,
(a) ^noteAng'ishing itself 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 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;—^{4 note}I cannot daub 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. Five fiends have been in poor Tom at once; of Lust, as Obidicut; Hobbididen, Prince of dumbness; Mahu, of stealing; Mohu, of murder; and Flibbertigibbet, of mopping and mowing; who since ^{5 note}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!
^{6 note}
Let the superfluous, and lust dieted man,
That braves 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, and Edmund.

Gon.
Welcome, my lord. I marvel, our mild husband
Not met us on the way.

Enter Steward.
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 terrour 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.

Edm.
Yours in the ranks of death.

Gon.
My most dear Glo'ster! [Exit Edmund.
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 Gonerill,
You are not worth the dust which the rude wind

Blows in your face.—^{7 note}I fear your disposition:
That Nature, which contemns its origine,
^{8 note}Cannot be border'd certain in itself;
^{9 note}

^{2 note}And come to deadly use.

Gon.
No more; 'tis foolish.

Alb.
Wisdom and goodness to the vile seem vile;
Filths savour but themselves—What have you done;
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,
^{3 note}

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: that not know'st,

Fools do these villains pity, who are punish'd
Ere they have done their mischef. Where's thy Drum?
France spreads his Banners in our noiseless land,
With plumed helm thy slayer begins his threats;
Whilst thou, a moral fool, sit'st still, and cry'st,
“Alack! why does he so?”—

Alb.
See thyself, devil:
^{4 note}Proper deformity seems not in the fiend
So horrid as in woman.

Gon.
O vain fool!

Alb.
Thou chang'd, and self-converted thing! For shame,
Be-monster not thy feature. Wer't my fitness
To let these hands obey my [boiling] blood,
They're apt enough to dislocate and tear
Thy flesh and bones.—Howe'er thou art a fiend,
A woman's shape doth shield thee.—

Gon.
Marry, your manhood now!— Enter 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 now 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. 5 ^noteSCENE III.

DOVER. 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.
Whom 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, Sir, 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. &wlquo;Patience and Sorrow strove
&wlquo;Which should express her goodliest; you have seen
&wlquo;Sun-shine and rain at once—^{6 note}

Kent.
^{7 note}

Gent.
Yes, once, or twice, she heav'd the Name of Father
Pantingly forth, as if it prest her heart.
Cry'd, sisters! sisters!—Shame of Ladies! sisters!
Kent! Father! Sisters! what? i' th' storm? i'th' night?
Let Pity ne'er believe it!—there she shook
The holy water from her heav'nly Eyes;
^{8 note}And, Clamour-motion'd, then away she started
To deal with grief alone.

Kent.
—^{9 note}It is the Stars,
The Stars above us, govern our conditions:
^{1 note}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.
Well, Sir; 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: ^{2 note}
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.
^{3 note}
'Tis said they are a-foot.

Kent.
Well, Sir, I'll bring you to our master Lear,
And leave you to attend him. ^{4 note}Some dear cause
Will in Concealment wrap me up a while:
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.

&wlquo;Cor.
&wlquo;Alack, 'tis he; why, he was met even now
&wlquo;As mad as the vext sea; singing aloud;
&wlquo;Crown'd with rank fumiterr, and furrow-weeds
&wlquo;With hardocks, hemlock, nettles, cuckoo-flowers,
&wlquo;Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow
&wlquo;In our sustaining corn.&wrquo; Send forth a cent'ry;
Search evr'y 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.

&wlquo;Cor.
&wlquo;All blest Secrets,
&wlquo;All you unpublish'd Virtues of the Earth,
&wlquo;Spring with my tears; be aidant, and remediate
&wlquo;In the good man's distress!&wrquo;—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.

Cor.
'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? Belike,
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,
^{5 note}She gave œiliads, 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 party I do follow

Reg.
Fare thee well. [Exeunt. SCENE VI. The Country, near Dover. Enter Glo'ster, and Edgar as a Peasant.

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 ^{6 note}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.&prquo;

Glo.
Set me, where you stand,

Edg.
Give me your hand: you're now within a foot
Of th' extream verge: ^{7 note}

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.

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

Edg.
Good Sir, farewel.
And yet I know not how Conceit may rob
The treasury of life, when life itself
Yields to the theft. Had he been where he thought,
By this, had thought been past.—Alive or dead?
Hoa, you, hear you, friend! Sir! 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 aught but Goss'mer, feathers, air,
So many fathom down precipitating,
Thou'd'st shiver'd like an egg: but thou dost breathe,
Hast heavy substance, bleed'st not; speak, art sound?
^{8 note}Ten masts 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.
&wlquo;Is wretchedness depriv'd that benefit,
&wlquo;To end itself by death? 'twas yet some comfort,
&wlquo;When misery could beguile the tyrant's rage,
&wlquo;And frustrate his proud will.&wrquo;

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,
^{9 note}Horns welk'd, and wav'd like the enridged sea:
It was some fiend. Therefore, thou happy father,
^{1 note}Think, that the clearest 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 itself,
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, drest madly with flowers.

But who comes here?
^{2 note}

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 press-mony. That fellow handles his bow like a crow-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. ^{3 note}O, well flown, Barb! i'th' clout, i'th' clout: hewgh.—Give the word.

Edg.

Sweet marjoram.

Lear.

Pass.

Glo.

I know that voice.

Lear.

Ha! Gonerill! ha! 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 the 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.
^{4 note}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 the 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, ^{5 note}whose face 'tween her forks presages snow; that minces virtue, and does shake the head to hear of pleasure's name. ^{6 note}The fitchew, nor the ^{7 note}stalled 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 it 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 money 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 squiny 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 no mony in your purse? your eyes are in a 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—

To seal th' accuser's lips. Get thee glass eyes,
And, like a scurvy politician, seem
To see the things thou dost not.
Now, now, now, now. Pull off my boots: harder, harder so.

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 a good block!—
It were a delicate stratagem to shoe
A troop of horse with Felt; I'll put't in proof;
And when I've stoln 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 one 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 aught, Sir, of a battle 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: That's all.

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

Edg.
I thank you, Sir.

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,
^{9 note}
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, and 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,
^{1 note}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 vort-night. 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 Glo'ster: 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 death's-man. Let us see—
By your leave, gentle wax—and manners blame us not:
^{2 note}
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.

And the exchange my brother. Here, i'th' sands
Thee I'll rake up, the post unsanctified
Of murth'rous lechers: and in the mature time,
With this ungracious paper strike the sight
Of the death-practis'd Duke: for him 'tis well,
That of thy death and business I can tell.

Glo.
The King is mad: how stiff is my vile sense,
That I stand up, ^{4 note}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. Changes to a Chamber. Enter Cordelia, Kent, and 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, ^{5 note}shortens my laid 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? [To the Physician.

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! ^{6 note}
Restauration, hang

&wlquo;Thy medicine on my lips; and let this kiss&wrquo;
Repair those violent harms, that my two sisters
Have in thy reverence made!

Kent.
Kind and dearest Princess!

Cor.
Had you not been their Father, these white flakes
Did challenge pity of them. Was this a face,
To be expos'd against the warring winds?
To stand against the deep, dread-bolted Thunder?
In the most terrible and nimble Stroke
Of quick, cross Lightning? ^{7 note}

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 a while.

Lear.
Where have I been? where am I? fair day-light?
I'm mightily abus'd; I should even 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:—and, yet, 'twere danger
^{9 note}To make him even o'er the Time, h'as lost.
Desire him to go in; 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 Lear, Cord. Phys. and attendants. Manent Kent and Gentleman.

Gent.
Holds it true, Sir, that the Duke of Cornwall was so slain?

Kent.
Most certain, Sir.

Gent.
Who is Conductor of his people?

Kent.
As 'tis said, the Bastard Son of Glo'ster.

Gent.

They say, Edgar, his banisht Son, is with the Earl of Kent in Germany.

Kent.

Report is changeable: 'Tis time to look about: the Powers of the Kingdom approach apace.

Gent.
The Arbitrement is like to be bloody.—
Fare you well, Sir. [Exit Gent.

Kent.
My Point and Period will be throughly wrought,
Or well, or ill, as this day's Battle's fought. [Exit Kent.

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