might'st behold the great image of authority; a dog's obeyed in office.

Thou rascal beadle, hold thy bloody hand;

Why dost thou lash that whore? Strip thine own back;
Thou hotly lust'st to use her in that kind

For which thou whipp'st her. The usurer hangs the cozener.
Through tattered clothes small vices do appear;
Robes, and furred gowns, hide all. Plate sin with gold,
And the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks;
Arm it in rags, a pygmy's straw doth pierce it.
None does offend, none, I say none; I'll able 'em.
Take that of me, my friend, who have the power
To seal the 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 mixed!

Reason in madness!

Lear. If thou wilt weep my fortunes, take my eyes. I know thee well enough; thy name is Gloster. Thou must be patient; we came crying hither. Thou know'st the first time that we smell the air, We wawl, and cry.-I will preach to thee; mark me. 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 it in proof;
And when I have stolen upon these sons-in-law,
Then, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill.

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.

I am cut to the brains.

Gent.

Let me have a surgeon;

You shall have any thing.

Lear. No seconds? All myself?

Why, this would make a man, a man of salt,

To use his eyes for garden water-pots,

Ay, and for laying autumn's dust.

Gent.

Good sir,

Lear. I will die bravely, like a 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 it. Nay, an you get it, you shall get it by running. Sa, sa, sa, sa.

[Exit, running; Attendants follow.

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.

How near's the other army?

But, by your favor,

Gent. Near, and on speedy foot; the main descry Stands on the hourly thought.

I thank you, sir; that's all.

Edg. Gent. Though that the queen on special cause is here, Her army is moved on.

Edg. I thank you, sir. [Exit Gent. 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 lame by fortune's blows; 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 benison of Heaven
To boot, and boot!

Stew.

Enter Steward.

A proclaimed prize! Most happy!

That eyeless head of thine was first framed flesh
To raise my fortunes.-Thou old unhappy traitor,
Briefly thyself remember.-The sword is out
That must destroy thee.

Glo.

Put strength enough to it.
Stew.

Now let thy friendly hand

[EDGAR opposes.

Wherefore, bold peasant,

Dar'st thou support a published traitor? Hence;

Lest that the infection of his fortune take

Like hold on thee. Let go his arm.

Edg. Ch'ill not let go, zir, without vurther 'casion.
Stew. Let go, slave, or thou diest.

Edg. Good gentleman, go your gait, and let poor volk pass. And ch'ud ha' been zwaggered out of my life, 'twould not ha' been zo long as 'tis by a vortnight. Nay, come not near the old man; keep out, che vor'ye, or ise try whether your costard or my bat be the harder. Ch'ill be plain with you.

Stew. Out, dunghill!

Edg. Ch'ill pick your teeth, zir; come; no matter vor your foins. [They fight; and EDGAR knocks him down. 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 Gloster; seek him out
Upon the British party.―0, untimely death.
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.—

[Dies.

Let's see his pockets; these letters, that he speaks of,
May be my friends.-He's dead; I am only sorry
He had no other deathsman.-Let us see:
Leave, gentle wax; and, manners, blame us not;
To know our enemies' minds, we'd rip their hearts;
Their papers, is more lawful.

You

[Reads.] Let our reciprocal vows be remembered. have many opportunities to cut him off; if your will want not, time and place will be fruitfully offered. There is nothing done, if he return the conqueror. Then am I the prisoner, and his bed my jail; from the loathed warmth whereof, deliver me, and supply the place for your labor. Your wife, (so I would say,) and your affectionate servant,

O undistinguished space of woman's will!

A plot upon her virtuous husband's life;

GONERIL.

And the exchange, my brother! Here, in the sands, Thee I'll rake up, the post unsanctified

Of murderous lechers; and, in the mature time,

With this ungracious paper strike the sight
Of the death-practised duke: for him 'tis well,

That of thy death and business I can tell.

[Exit EDGAR, dragging out the body. Glo. The king is mad. How stiff is my vile sense, That I stand up, and have ingenious feeling

Of my huge sorrows! Better I were distract;
So should my thoughts be severed from my griefs;
And woes, by wrong imaginations, lose

The knowledge of themselves.

Edg.

Far off, methinks, I hear the beaten drum.
Come, father, I'll bestow you with a friend.

Re-enter EDGAR.

Give me your hand;

[Exeunt.

LEAR on a

SCENE VII. A Tent in the French Camp. bed asleep: Physician, Gentleman, and others attending.

Enter CORDELIA and KENT.

Cor. O thou good Kent, how shall I live, and work, To match thy goodness? My life will be too short, And every measure fail me.

Kent. To be acknowledged, madam, is o'erpaid. All my reports go with the modest truth;

Nor more, nor clipped, but so.

Be better suited.

Cor.
These weeds are memories of those worser hours;

I pr'ythee, put them off.

Pardon me, dear madam;

Kent.
Yet to be known, shortens 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 good lord.-How does the king?

Phys. Madam, sleeps still.

[To the Physician.

Cor.
O you kind gods,
Cure this great breach in his abused nature!
The untuned and jarring senses, O, wind up,
Of this child-changed father!

Phys.
So please your majesty,
That we may wake the king? he hath slept long.
Cor. Be governed by your knowledge, and proceed

I' the sway of your own will. Is he arrayed?

Gent. Ay, madam; in the heaviness of his sleep, We put fresh garments on him.

Phys. Be by, good madam, when we do awake him; I doubt not of his temperance.

Cor. Very well.

Phys. Please you, draw near.-Louder the music there. Cor. O my dear father! Restoration, hang Thy medicine on my lips; and let this kiss Repair those violent harms, that my two sisters Have in thy reverence made!

Kent.

Kind and dear princess!

Cor. Had you not been their father, these white flakes Had challenged pity of them. Was this a face

To be exposed against the warring winds?

To stand against the deep, dread-bolted thunder?
In the most terrible and nimble stroke

Of quick, cross lightning? to watch (poor perdu!)
With this thin helm? Mine enemy's dog,

Though he had bit me, should have stood that night
Against my fire; and wast thou fain, poor father,
To hovel thee with swine, and rogues forlorn,
In short and musty straw? Alack, alack!
'Tis wonder, that thy life and wits at once
Had not concluded all. He wakes; speak to him.
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' the 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 awhile.

Lear. Where have I been? Where am I?-Fair daylight? I am mightily abused. 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 assured Of my condition.

O, look upon me, sir,

Cor.
And hold your hands 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:
VOL. IV. - 25