What they are, yet I know not; but they shall be
The terrors of the earth: you think, I'll weep:
No, I'll not weep.-I have full caufe of weeping:—
This heart fhall break into a thoufand flaws

Or ere I weep.

Corn.

L

O fool, I fhall go mad.

[Exeunt Lear, Glo'fter, Kent and Fool.

ET us withdraw, 'twill be a form.

[Storm and tempest. Reg. This houfe is little; the old man and his people Cannot be well beftow'd.

Gon. 'Tis his own blame hath put himself from reft, And muft needs tafte his folly.

Reg. For his particular, I'll receive him galdly; But not one follower.

Gon. So am I purpos'd.

Where is my lord of Glofter?

Enter Glo'fter.

Corn. Follow'd the old man forth; he is return'd. Glo. The king is in high rage, and will I know not whither.

Corn. 'Tis beft to give him way, he leads himself. Gon. My lord, intreat him by no means to stay. Glo. Alack, the night comes on: and the high winds Do forely ruffle, for many miles about There's fcarce a bush.

Reg. O Sir, to wilful men,

The injuries, that they themselves procure,

Must be their school-masters: fhut up your doors;
He is attended with a desp'rate train;

And what they may incense him to, being apt
To have his ear abus'd, wisdom bids fear.

Corn. Shut up your doors, my lord, 'tis a wild night. My Regan counfels well: come out o' th' ftorm.

[Exeunt.

ACT

АСТ III.

SCENE I.

А НЕАТ Н.

Aftorm is heard, with thunder and lightning. Enter Kent, and a Gentleman, feverally.

KENT.

HO's there, befides foul weather?

WHO

Gent. One minded like the weather, moft unquietly.

Kent. I know you; where's the King?

Gent. Contending with the fretful elements; Bids the wind blow the earth into the sea ;

Or fwell the curled waters 'bove the main,

That things might change, or ceafe: tears his white hair;

(Which the impetuous blafts with eyeless rage
Catch in their fury, and make nothing of.)
Strives in his little World of Man t' outfcorn
The to-and-fro-conflicting Wind and Rain.
This 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-jeft His heart-ftruck injuries.

Kent. Sir, I do know you,

And dare upon the warrant of my note, Commend a dear thing to you. There's divifion (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 ftars Throne and fet high?) fervants, who seem no less; Which are to France the fpies and fpeculations Intelligent of our ftate. What hath been feen,

D 4

Either

Either in fnuffs and packings of the Dukes;

Or the hard rein, which both of them have borne
Against the old kind king; or fomething deeper,
(Whereof, perchance, these are but furnishings—)
But true it is, from France there comes a power
Into this fcathed kingdom; who already,
Wife in our negligence, have fecret feize
In fome of our best ports, and are at point
To fhow their open banner-Now to you,
If on my credit you dare build fo far

To make your speed to Dover, you fhall find
Some that will thank you, make just report
Of how unnatural and bemadding forrow
The King hath caufe to plain.

I am a gentleman of blood and breeding,
And from fome knowledge and affurance 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 purfe and take
What it contains. If you fhall fee Cordelia,
(As, fear not, but you fhall) fhew her that Ring,
And he will tell you who this fellow is,
That yet you do not know. Fie on this form!
I will go feek the King.

Gent. Give me your hand, have you no more to fay? 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 firft lights on him,

Halloo the other.

SCENE

[Exeunt feverally.

II.

Storm ftill. Enter Lear and Fool.

BLOW winds, and crack your cheeks; rage,

Lear. B

blow!

You

You cataracts, and hurricanoes, fpout

[cocks!

'Till you have drencht our fteeples, drown'd the You fulph'rous and thought-executing fires,

Vaunt-couriers of oak-cleaving thunder-bolts,
Singe my white head. And thou all-fhaking thunder,
Strike flat the thick rotundity o`th' world;
Crack nature's mould, all germins fpill at once
That make ingrateful man.

Fool. O nuncle, court-holy-water in a dry houfe is better than the rain-waters out o'door. Good nuncle, in, and afk thy daughters bleffing: here's a night, that pities neither wife men nor fools.

Lear. Rumble thy belly full, fpit 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 fubfcription. Then let fall Your horrible pleasure ;- -here I ftand, your

Brave;

A poor, infirm, weak, and despis'ď old man !
But yet I call you fervile minifters,

That have with two pernicious daughters join'd
Your high-engender'd battles, 'gainst a head
So old and white as this. Oh! oh! 'tis foul.

Fool. He that has a houfe to put's head in, has a good head-piece:

The cod-piece that will houfe before the head has any, The head and he shall lowfe; fo beggars marry many. That man that makes his toe, what he his heart should

make,

Shall of a corn cry woe, and turn his fleep to wake. For there was never yet fair woman, but she made mouths in a glass.

SCENE III.

To them, Enter Kent.

Lear. Ni will fay nothing.

O, I will be the pattern of all patience,

D 5

Kent.

Kent, Who's there?

Fool. Marry here's grace, and a cod-piece, that's a wifeman and a fool.

Kent. Alas, Sir, are you here? things that love night,

Love not fuch nights as thefe: the wrathful skies

* Gallow the very wand'rers of the dark,

And make them keep their Caves: fince I was man, Such fheets of fire, fuch burfts 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. Let the great Gods,

That keep this dreadful pother o'er our heads,
Find out their enemies now. Tremble, thou wretch,
That haft within thee undivulged crimes,

Unwhipt of juftice. Hide thee, thou bloody hand,
Thou Perjure, thou Simular of virtue,

That art incestuous: caitiff, fhake to pieces,
That under covert, and convenient feeming,
Haft practis'd on man's life!—Clofe pent-up guilts,
Rive your concealing continents, and afk
Thefe dreadful fummoners grace. I am a man,
More finn'd againft, than finning.

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 ftone whereof 'tis rais'd;
Which even but now, demanding after you,
Deny'd me to come in) return, and force,
Their fcanted courtesy.

Lear. My wits begin to turn.

Come on, my boy. How doft, my boy? art cold? I'm cold myfelf. Where is the ftraw, my fellow? The art of our neceffities is ftrange,

Gallow the very wand'rers of the dark,] Gallow, a West-country

Word, fignifies to scar or frighten.

That