Glo. What, with this cafe of eyes?

Lear. Oh ho, are you there with me? no eyes in your head, nor mony in your purfe? your eyes are in heavy cafe, your parfe in a light, yet you fee how this world goes. Glo, I fee it feelingly.

Lear. What, art mad? a man may fee how this world goes with no eyes. Look with thine ears; fee how yond Juftice rails upon yond fimple thief, Hark in thine ear: change places, and handy-dandy, which is the Justice, which is the thief? thou haft feen a farmer's dog bark at a beggar. Glo. Ay, Sir.

Lear. And the creature run from the cur: there thou might'ft behold the great image of authority; a dog's obey' in office.

Thou rafcal bedel, hold thy bloody hand :

Why doft thou lafh that whore? ftrip thy own back,
Thou hotly luft'ft to use her in that kind,

For which thou whipp'ft her. Th' ufurer hangs the cozener
Through tatter'd cloaths fmall vices do appear;
Robes and furr'd gowns hide all. Plate fins with gold,
And the ftrong lance of juftice hurtlefs breaks;
Arm it in rags, a pigmy's ftraw doth pierce it,
None does offend, I fay, none, I'll abfolve 'em ;
Take that of me, my friend, who have the pow'r
To feal th' accufer's lips. Get thee glass eyes,
And, like a fcurvy politician, feem

To fee the things thou doft not.

Now, now, now, now. Pull off my boots: harder, harder, før 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 Glofter;
Thou must be patient; we came crying hither:
Thou know'ft, 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 ftage of fools.-This a good block!-
It were a delicate ftratagem to fhoe

A troop of horse with Felt; I'll put't in proof;
P 2

And

And when I've ftol'n upon these fons-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 refcue? what, a prifoner? I am even
The natural fool of fortune. Use me well,

You fhall have ranfom. Let me have furgeons,
I am cut to th' brains.

Gent. You fhall have any thing.

Lear. No feconds ? all my felf?

Why, this would make a man, a man of falt ;
To ufe his eyes for garden-water-pots,

And laying autumn's duft. I will die bravely,

Like a fmug bridegroom. What? I will be jovial: Come, come, I am a King. My Mafters, 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 fhall get it by running: fa, fa, fa, fa.

[Exita Gent. A fight most pitiful in the meanest wretch,

Paft fpeaking of in a King. Thou haft a daughter
Who redeems nature from the general curfe
Which twain have brought her to.

Edg. Hail, gentle Sir.

Gent. Sir, fpeed you: what's your will?

Edg. Do you hear ought, Sir, of a battel toward?
Gent. Moft fure, and vulgar: every one hears that,

Which can diftinguish sound.

Edg. But by your favour,

How near's the other army?

Gent. Near, and on fpeedy foot: the main defcry Stands on the hourly thought.

Edg. I thank you, Sir.

Gent. Though that the Queen on fpecial cause is here,

Her army

is mov'd on.

[Exit.

Glo. You ever gentle Gods, take my breath from mej Let not my worfer fpirit tempt me again

To die before you pleafe!

Edg. Well pray you, father.

Glo. Now, good Sir, what are you?

Edg

Edg. A moft poor man, made tame to fortune's blows, Who by the art of knowing and feeling forrows, Am pregnant to good pity. Give me your hand, I'll lead you to fome biding.

Glo. Hearty thanks;

The bounty and the benizon of heav'n
To boot!

SCENE IX. Enter Steward.
Stew. A proclaim'd prize! this is most happy!
That eyelefs head of thine was firft fram'd flesh
To raife my fortunes. Old unhappy traitor,
Briefly thy felf remember; the fword is out
That muft deftroy thee.

Glo. Let thy friendly hand

Put ftrength enough to it.

Stew. Wherefore, bold peasant,

Dar'ft thou fupport a publish'd traitor? hence,
Left that th' infection of his fortune take

Like hold on thee. Let go his arm.

Edg. Chill not let go, Zir, without vurther 'cafion
Stew. Let go, flave, or thou dy'ft.

Edg. Good gentleman, go your gate, and let poor volk pafs: an 'chud ha' been zwagger'd out of my life, 'twould not ha' been zo long as 'tis by a vortnight. Nay, come not near th' old man: keep out, che vor'ye, or ice try whether your coftard 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. [Edgar knocks him down. Stew. Slave, thou haft flain me: villain, take my purfei If ever thou wilt thrive, bury my body,

And give the letters which thou find'ft about me
To Edmund Earl of Glo'fter feek him out

On th' English party. Oh untimely death,
Edg. I know thee well, a ferviceable villain;
As duteous to the vices of thy Mistress,
As badness would defire.

Glo. What, is he dead?

Edg: Sit you down, father: reft you.

[Diesa

P 3

Let's

Let's fee these pockets; the letters that he speaks of
May be my friends: he's dead; I'm only forry
He had no other deathfman. Let us fee

By your leave, gentle wax-and manners blame us not:
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 mang 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 prifoner, and bis bed my goal; from the loathed warmth whereof deliver me, and fupply the place for your labour.

Your (wife, fo I would say) affectionate
Servant, Gonerill.
Oh undiftinguifh'd space of woman's will! *
A plot upon her virtuous husband's life,
And the exchange my brother. Here, i'th' fands
Thee I'll rake up, the poft unfanctified

Of murth'rous letchers: and in mature time,
With this ungracious paper ftrike the fight
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 ftiff is my vile fenfe, That I ftand up, and have ingenious feeling

Of my huge forrows! better I were distract,

So fhould my thoughts be fever'd from my griefs,

And woes, by wrong imaginations, lofe
The knowledge of themselves.

Edg. Give me your hand:

[Drum afar of

Far off methinks I hear the beaten drum,
Come, father, I'll beftow you with a friend.
SCENE X. A Chamber.

Enter Cordelia, Kent, and Physician.

[Excunt

Cor. O thou good Kent, how fhall I live and work To match thy goodness ? life will be too short,

*Meaning, that the variations in it are so sudden, and their Miking and loathing follow fo quick upon cach other, that there is no diflinguishable fpace between them.

And ev'ry measure fail me.

Kent. To be acknowledg'd, Madam, is o'erpaid; All my reports go with the modeft truth,

Nor more, nor clipt, but fo.

Cor. Be better fuited;

These weeds are memories of those worfer hours:
I pr'ythee, put them off.

Kent. Pardon, dear Madam,

Yet to be known fhortens my made 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?

Phyf. Madam, fleeps still.

Cor. O you kind Gods!

[To the Phyfician,

Cure this great breach in his abused nature,

Th' untun'd and jarring fenfes O wind up
Of this child-changed father!

Phyf. Please your Majefty,

That we may wake the King? He hath flept long.
Cor. Be govern'd by your knowledge, and proceed
I' th' fway of your own will: is he array'd?

Enter Lear in a chair, carried by Servants.

Phyf. Ay, Madam; in the heaviness of fleep, We put fresh garments on him.

Be by, good Madam, when we do awake him: 1 doubt not of his temperance.

Cor. O my dear father! Reftauration hang Her medicine on my lips, and let this kifs Repair thofe violent harms, that my two fifters

Have in thy reverence made!

Kent. Kind and dear Princefs!

me,

Cor. Had you not been their father, these white flakes Did challenge pity of them. Was this face To be expos'd against the warring winds? Mine enemy's dog, though he had bit fhou'd Have ftood that night against my fire: and waft Thou fain, poor father, to hovel thee with fwine And rogues forlorn, in fhort and mufty ftraw? Alack, 'tis wonder that thy life and wits,