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Glo. Alack, the night comes on, and the bleak

Do sorely ruffle; for many miles about
There's scarce a bush.

O, sir, to wilful men,
The injuries, that they themselves procure,
Must be their schoolmasters: Shut up your doors;
He is attended with a desperate 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 counsels well: come out o' the storm.


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A storm is heard, with thunder and lightning. Enter

Kent, and a Gentleman, meeting.
Kent. Who's here, beside foul weather?
Gent. One minded like the weather, most un-

Kent. I know you; Where's the king?

Gent. Contending with the fretful element:
Bids the wind blow the earth into the sea,
Or swell the curled waters 'bove the main,
That things might change, or cease: tears his white

Which the impetuous blasts, with eyeless rage,
Catch in their fury, and make nothing of:
Strives in his little world of man to out-scorn
The to-and-fro-conflicting wind and rain.
This night, wherein the cub-drawn bear would

The lion and the belly-pinched wolf
Keep their fur dry, unbonneted he runs,
And bids what will take all.

But who is with him? Gent. None but the fool; who labours to out

jest His heart-struck injuries. Kent.

Sir, I do know you; And dare, upon the warrant of my art,

Commend a dear thing to you. There is division,
Although as yet the face of it be cover'd
With mutual cunning, 'twixt Albany and Corn-


Who have (as who have not, that their great stars
Thron'd and set high?) servants, who seem no less;
Which are to France the spies and speculations
Intelligent of our state; what hath been seen,
Either in snuffs and packings of the dukes;
Or the hard rein which both of them have borne
Against the old kind king; or something deeper,
Whereof, perchance, these are but furnishings;-
[But, true it is, from France there comes a power
Into this scatter'd kingdom; who already,
Wise in our negligence, have secret feet
In some of our best ports, and are at point
To show their open banner.—Now to you:
If on my credit you dare build so far
To make your speed to Dover, you shall find
Some that will thank you, making just report
Of how unnatural and bemadding sorrow
The king hath cause to plain.
I am a gentleman of blood and breeding;
And, from some knowledge and assurance, offer
This office to you.]
Gent. I will talk further with


No, do not. For confirmation that I am much more Than

my out wall, open this purse, and take
What it contains : If you shall see Cordelia,
(As fear not but you shall,) show her this ring;
And she will tell


fellow is


That yet you do not know. Fie on this storm!
I will go seek 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 first lights on him, Holla the other.

[Exeunt sederally.





Enter Lear and Fool.

Lear. Blow, wind, 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 thun

der, Strike flat the thick rotundity o'the world! Crack nature's moulds, all germens spill at once, That make ingrateful man!

Fool. O nuncle, court holy-water in a dry house

is better than this rain-water out o' door. Good nuncle, in, and ask thy daughters' 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; why 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 have with two pernicious daughters join'd 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 his 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 woe,

And turn his sleep to wake. --for there was never yet fair woman, but she made mouths in a glass.

Enter Kent. Lear. No, I will be the pattern of all patience, I will say nothing

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