The injuries that they themselves procure,

Must be their School-Mafters: Shut up your doors;

He is attended with a defperate train,

And what they may incenfe 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' Storm. [Exeunt.

ACT III.

SCENE

SCENE I.

A Heath.

A Storm is heard with Thunder and Lightning. Enter Kent, and a Gentleman, feverally.

Kent.

foul weather?

(quietly.

Who's there befindes fd like the weather, moft un

Gent. One

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 cease.

Kent. But who is with him?

Gent. None but the Fool, who labours to out-jeft His heart-truck injuries.

Kent. Sir, I do know you,

And dare upon the warrant of

my note

Commend a dear thing to you. There is divifion
(Although as yet the face of it is cover'd
With mutual cunning) 'twixt Albany and Cornwall:
Who have, as who have not, that their great Stars
Thron'd and fet high, Servants who feem no lefs,
Which are to France the Spies and Speculations
Intelligent of our State. What hath been seen,
Either in fnuffs and packings of the Dukes,

Or the hard Rein which both of them have born
A gainst the old kind King; or fomething deeper,
Whereof, perchance, thefe are but furnishings-
Gent. I will talk further with you.

Kent. No, do not:

For confirmation that I am much more

Ff 3

Than

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 the will tell you who this Fellow is,
That yet you do not know. Fy on this form,
I will go feek the King.

Gent. Give me your hand,

Have you no more to say?

Kent. Few words, but to effect more than all yet;

That when we have found the King, in which your pain That way, I'll this: He that firft lights on him,

Hollow the other.

Storm fill. Enter Lear and Fool.

[Exeunt.

Lear. Blow Winds, and crack your Cheeks; Rage, blow You Cataracts, and Hurricano's fpour,

'Till you have drencht our Steeples, drown the Cocks.
You Sulph'rous and thought-executing fires,
Vaunt-curriors of Oak-cleaving Thunder-bolts,
Sindge my white head. And thou all-shaking Thunder,
Strike flat the thick Rotundity o'th' World,

Crack Nature's moulds, all Germains fpill at once
That makes ingrateful Man.

Fool. O Nuncle, Court-holy-water in a dry Houfe, is better than the Rain-water out o'door. Good Nuncle, in, ask thy Daughter's bleffing; here's a Night pities neither Wife-men, nor Fools.

Lear. Rumble thy Belly full, fpit Fire, fpout 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
A poor, infirm, weak, and defpis'd old Man:
But yet I call you fervile Ministers,

That will with two pernicious Daughters join
Your high-engender'd Battels, 'gainst a head
So old and white as this. O, ho! 'tis foul.

Slave,

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

The Codpiece that will house, before the head has any: The head, and he fhall Lowfe; fo Beggars marry many.

That

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 the made mouths in a Glass.

Enter Kent.

Lear. No, I will be the pattern of all Patience,

I will fay nothing.

Kent. Who's there?

Fool. Marry here's Grace, and a Codpiece, that's aWifeman, 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 wanderers of the dark,

And make them keep their Caves: Since I was Man,
Such sheets 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, not the fear.

Lear. Let the great Gods,

That keep this dreadful pudder 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 Perjur'd, and thou Simular of Virtue
That art incestuous; Caitiff, to pieces fhake
That under covert and convenient feeming
Has practis'd on Man's life. Clofe pent up guilts,
Rive your concealing Continents, and cry
Thefe dreadful Summoners 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 'gainft the tempeft:
Repofe you there, while I to this hard Houfe
(More harder than the Stones whereof 'tis rais'd;
Which even but now, demanding after you,
Deny'd me to come in) return, and force

Their fcanted courtefie.

Lear. My wits begin to turn.

Come on my Boy.

I am cold my felf.

How doft my Boy? Art cold?
Where is this Straw, my Fellow
Ff 4

The

The art of our Neceffities is ftrange,

in my heart

And can make vild things precious. Come, your Hovel;
Poor Fool, and Knave, I have one part
That's forry yet for thee.

Fool. He that has and a little tyne wit,
With heigh ho, the Wind and the Rain,
Must make Content with his Fortunes fii,
Though the Rain it raineth every day.

Lear. True Boy: come bring us to this Hovel. [Exit.

Fool. This is a brave Night to cool a Curtizan:

I'll speak a Prophecy e'er I go;

When Priefts are more in words, than matter,
When Brewers marr their Malt with Water;
When Nobles are their Tailors Tutors,
No Hereticks burn'd, but wenches Suitors,
When every Cafe in Law is right,
No Squire in Debt, nor no poor Knight,
When Slanders do not live in tongues,
Nor Cut-purfes come not to throngs,
When Ufurers tell their Gold i'th' field,

And Bawds and Whores do Churches build;

Then thall the Realm of Albion come to great confufior,

Then comes the time, who lives to fee't

That going fhall be us'd with feet.

This Prophecy Merlin shall make,

For I do live before his time.

SCENE II.

[Exit.

An Apartment in Gloster's
Caftle.

Enter Glofter and Baftard.

Glo. Alack, alack, Edmund, I like not this unnatural dealing; when I defired their leave that I might pity him, they took from me the ufe of mine own Houle, charg'd me on pain of perpetual Difpleafure, neither to speak of him, entreat for him, or any way fuftain him.

Baft. Most favage unnatural.

Glo. Go too; fay you nothing. There is divifion be tween the Dukes, and a worfe matter than that: I have received a Letter this Night, 'tis dangerous to be spoken, I have lock'd the Letter in my Clefet, thefe Injuries the King

now

now bears, will be revenged home; there is part of a Power
already footed, we must incline to the King, I will look
him, and privily relieve him; go you and maintain talk with
the Duke, that my Charity be not of him perceiv'd; if he
ask for me, I am ill, and gone to Bed, if I die for it, as
no lefs is threatned me, the King my old Mafter must be
relieved. There is ftrange things toward, Edmund, pray
you be careful.
[Exit.

Baft. This Courtefie forbid thee, fhall the Duke
Inftantly know, and of that Letter too;
This feems a fair deferving, and muft draw me
That which my Father lofes; no less than all,
The younger rifes, when the old doth fall.

[Exit.

Part of the Heath with

a Hovel.

Enter Lear, Kent, and Fool.

Kent. Here is the place, my Lord, good my Lord, enter,

The Tyranny of the open Night's too rough

For Nature to endure.

Lear. Let me alone.

Kent. Good my Lord, enter here.

Lear. Wilt break my Heart?

[Storm ftill.

Kent. I had rather break mine own; good my Lord enter. Lear. Thou think'ft 'tis much that this contentious ftorm Invades us to the Skin fo; 'cis to thee;

But where the greater Malady is fixt,

The leffer is fcarce felt. Thou'dft shun a Bear,

But if thy flight light toward the roaring Sea,

Thou'dft meet the Bear i'th' Mouth; when the Mind's free,
The Body's delicate; the tempeft in my Mind,

Doth from my Senfes take all feeling elfe,
Save what beats there. Filial ingratitude!
Is it not as this Mouth fhould tear his Hand

For lifting food to't?-But I will punish home;
No, I will weep no more-In fuch a Night,
To fhut me out? Pour on, I will endure:
In fuch a Night as this? O Regan, Goneril,

Your