SCENE II.
Another Part of the Heath. Storm continues.
Enter Lear and Fool.
Lear.
Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! rage! blow!
You cataracts and hurricanoes spout,
Till you have drench'd our steeples, drown'd the cocks!
You sulphurous and thought-executing fires,
Vaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thunder-bolts,
Singe my white head! And thou, all-shaking thunder,
Strike flat6 note the thick rotundity o' the world!
-- 419 --
Crack nature's moulds, all germins spill at once,
That make ingrateful man!
Fool.
O nuncle, court holy-water7 note in a dry house is
better than this rain-water out o' door. Good nuncle,
in, and ask thy daughter's blessing: here's a night
pities neither wise men nor fools.
Lear.
Rumble thy bellyfull! Spit, fire! spout, rain!
Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire, are my daughters:
I tax not you, you elements, with unkindness;
I never gave you kingdom, call'd you children,
You owe me no subscription: then, let fall
Your horrible pleasure; here I stand, your slave,
A poor, infirm, weak, and despis'd old man.
But yet I call you servile ministers,
That will with two pernicious daughters join8 note
Your high-engender'd battles 'gainst a head
So old and white as this. O! O! 'tis foul!
Fool.
He that has a house to put 's head in has a
good head-piece.
The cod-piece that will house,
Before the head has any,
The head and he shall louse;—
So beggars marry many.
The man that makes his toe
What he his heart should make,
Shall of a corn cry woe9 note,
And turn his sleep to wake.
—for there was never yet fair woman, but she made
mouths in a glass.
-- 420 --
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
wise man, and a fool.
Kent.
Alas, sir! are you here? things that love night,
Love not such nights as these; the wrathful skies
Gallow the very wanderers of the dark1 note,
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 fear2 note.
Lear.
Let the great gods,
That keep this dreadful pother3 note o'er our heads,
Find out their enemies now. Tremble, thou wretch,
That hast within thee undivulged crimes,
Unwhipp'd of justice: hide thee, thou bloody hand;
Thou perjur'd, and thou simular of virtue4 note
That art incestuous: caitiff, to pieces shake,
That under covert and convenient seeming
Hast practis'd on man's life: close pent-up guilts,
Rive your concealing continents5 note, and cry
-- 421 --
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 stone6 note whereof 'tis rais'd,
Which even but now, demanding after you,
Denied me to come in) return, and force
Their scanted courtesy.
Lear.
My wits begin to turn.—
Come on, my boy. How dost, my boy? Art cold?
I am cold myself.—Where is this straw, my fellow?
The art of our necessities is strange,
That can make vile things precious. Come, your hovel.
Poor fool and knave, I have one part in my heart
That's sorry yet for thee7 note.
Fool.
He that has a little tiny wit,—
[Sings.
With heigh, ho, the wind and the rain,—
Must make content with his fortunes fit;
For the rain it raineth every day8 note.
Lear.
True, my good boy.—Come, bring us to this hovel.
[Exeunt Lear and Kent.
Fool.
This is a brave night to cool a courtezan.—I'll
speak a prophecy ere I go:
When priests are more in word than matter;
When brewers mar their malt with water;
When nobles are their tailors' tutors;
No heretics burn'd, but wenches suitors:
When every case in law is right;
No squire in debt, nor no poor knight;
-- 422 --
When slanders do not live in tongues,
Nor cutpurses come not to throngs;
When usurers tell their gold i' the field,
And bawds and whores do churches build;
Then shall the realm of Albion
Come to great confusion:
Then comes the time, who lives to see't,
That going shall be us'd with feet.
This prophecy Merlin shall make; for I live before his
time9 note
.
[Exit.
J. Payne Collier [1842–1844], The works of William Shakespeare. The text formed from an entirely new collation of the old editions: with the various readings, notes, a life of the poet, and a history of the Early English stage. By J. Payne Collier, Esq. F.S.A. In eight volumes (Whittaker & Co. [etc.], London) [word count] [S10101].
