Kent. Who's here, beside foul weather?

Gent. One minded like the weather, most unquietly.

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

Gent. Contending with the fretful elements;
Bids the wind blow the earth into the sea, ⁠5
Or swell the curled waters 'bove the main,
That things might change or cease; [tears his white hair,
Which the impetuous blasts, with eyeless rage, ⁠8
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 couch, ⁠12
The lion and the belly-pinched wolf
Keep their fur dry, unbonneted he runs,
And bids what will take all.]

​Kent. ⁠But who is with him?

Gent. None but the fool, who labours to out-jest ⁠16
His heart-struck injuries.

Kent. ⁠Sir, I do know you;
And dare, upon the warrant of my note,
Commend a dear thing to you. There is division,
Although as yet the face of it be cover'd ⁠20
With mutual cunning, 'twixt Albany and Cornwall;
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, ⁠25
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; ⁠29
[But, true it is, from France there comes a power
Into this scatter'd kingdom; who already,
Wise in our negligence, have secret feet ⁠32
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 ⁠36
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, ⁠40
And from some knowledge and assurance offer
This office to you.]

Gent. I will talk further with you.

​Kent. ⁠No, do not.
For confirmation that I am much more ⁠44
Than my out-wall, open this purse, and take
What it contains. If you shall see Cordelia,—
As doubt not but you shall,—show her this ring,
And she will tell you who your fellow is ⁠48
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; ⁠52
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.

Lear. Blow, winds, 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, ⁠4
Vaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thunderbolts,
Singe my white head! And thou, all-shaking thunder,
Strike flat the thick rotundity o' the world!
Crack nature's moulds, all germens spill at once
​That make ingrateful man! ⁠9

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 man nor fool.

Lear. Rumble thy bellyful! Spit fire! spout rain! ⁠14
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: then, let fall
Your horrible pleasure; here I stand, your slave,
A poor, infirm, weak, and despis'd old man. ⁠20
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. ⁠24

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, ⁠28
⁠The head and he shall louse;
⁠So beggars marry many.
⁠The man that makes his toe
⁠What he his heart should make, ⁠32
⁠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. ⁠36

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

​Kent. Who's there?

Fool. Marry, here's grace and a cod-piece;
that's a wise man and a fool. ⁠41

Kent. Alas! sir, are you here? things that love night
Love not such nights as these; the wrathful skies
Gallow the very wanderers of the dark, ⁠44
And make them keep their caves. Since I was man
Such sheets of fire, such bursts of horrid thunder,
Such groans of roaring wind and rain, I never
Remember to have heard; man's nature cannot carry ⁠48
The affliction nor the fear.

Lear. ⁠Let the great gods,
That keep this dreadful pother o'er our heads,
Find out their enemies now. Tremble, thou wretch,
That hast within thee undivulged crimes, ⁠52
Unwhipp'd of justice; hide thee, thou bloody hand;
Thou perjur'd, and thou simular of virtue
That art incestuous; caitiff, to pieces shake,
That under covert and convenient seeming ⁠56
Hast practis'd on man's life; close pent-up guilts
Rive your concealing continents, and cry
These dreadful summoners grace. I am a man
More sinn'd against than sinning.

Kent. ⁠Alack! bare-headed!
Gracious my lord, hard by here is a hovel; ⁠61
Some friendship will it lend you 'gainst the tempest;
Repose you there while I to this hard house,—
More harder than the stone whereof 'tis rais'd,—
Which even but now, demanding after you, ⁠65
Denied me to come in, return and force
Their scanted courtesy.

​Lear. ⁠My wits begin to turn.
Come on, my boy. How dost, my boy? Art cold? ⁠68
I am cold myself. Where is this straw, my fellow?
The art of our necessities is strange,
That can make vile things precious. Come, your hovel.
Poor fool and knave, I have one part in my heart ⁠72
That's sorry yet for thee.

Fool.
⁠He that has a little tiny wit,
⁠With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
⁠Must make content with his fortunes fit, ⁠76
⁠Though the rain it raineth every day.

Lear. True, my good boy. Come, bring us to this hovel.

Fool. This is a brave night to cool a courtezan.
I'll speak a prophecy ere I go: ⁠80
⁠When priests are more in word than matter;
⁠When brewers mar their malt with water;
⁠When nobles are their tailors' tutors;
⁠No heretics burn'd, but wenches' suitors; ⁠84
⁠When every case in law is right;
⁠No squire in debt, nor no poor knight;
⁠When slanders do not live in tongues;
⁠Nor cutpurses come not to throngs; ⁠88
⁠When usurers tell their gold i' the field;
⁠And bawds and whores do churches build;
⁠Then shall the realm of Albion
⁠Come to great confusion: ⁠92
⁠Then comes the time, who lives to see 't,
⁠That going shall be us'd with feet.
⁠This prophecy Merlin shall make; for I live
⁠before his time. Exit.

Glo. Alack, alack! Edmund, I like not this
unnatural dealing. When I desired their leave
that I might pity him, they took from me the
use of mine own house; charged me, on pain of
their perpetual displeasure, neither to speak of
him, entreat for him, nor any way sustain him.

Edm. Most savage, and unnatural! ⁠7

Glo. Go to; say you nothing. There is
division between the dukes, and a worse matter
than that. I have received a letter this night;
'tis dangerous to be spoken; I have locked the
letter in my closet. These injuries the king now
bears will be revenged home; there's part of
a power already footed; we must incline to the
king. I will seek him and privily relieve him;
go you and maintain talk with the duke, that
my charity be not of him perceived. If he ask
for me, I am ill and gone to bed. If I die for it,
as no less is threatened me, the king, my old
master, must be relieved. There is some strange
thing toward, Edmund; pray you, be careful. ⁠21

Exit.

Edm. This courtesy, forbid thee, shall the duke
Instantly know; and of that letter too:
This seems a fair deserving, and must draw me
That which my father loses; no less than all: ⁠25
The younger rises when the old doth fall. Exit.

Kent. Here is the place, my lord; good my lord, enter:
The tyranny of the open night's too rough
For nature to endure. Storm still.

Lear. ⁠Let me alone.

Kent. Good my lord, enter here.

Lear. ⁠Wilt break my heart? ⁠4

Kent. I'd rather break mine own. Good my lord, enter.

Lear. Thou think'st 'tis much that this contentious storm
Invades us to the skin: so 'tis to thee;
But where the greater malady is fix'd, ⁠8
The lesser is scarce felt. Thou'dst shun a bear;
But if thy flight lay toward the roaring sea,
Thou'dst meet the bear i' the mouth. When the mind's free
The body's delicate; the tempest in my mind ⁠12
Doth from my senses take all feeling else
Save what beats there. Filial ingratitude!
Is it not as this mouth should tear this hand
For lifting food to 't? But I will punish home: ⁠16
No, I will weep no more. In such a night
To shut me out! Pour on; I will endure.
In such a night as this! O Regan, Goneril!
Your old kind father, whose frank heart gave all,— ⁠20
O! that way madness lies; let me shun that;
No more of that.

Kent. ⁠Good, my lord, enter here.

​Page:King Lear (1917) Yale.djvu/85 ​Page:King Lear (1917) Yale.djvu/86 ​Page:King Lear (1917) Yale.djvu/87 ​Page:King Lear (1917) Yale.djvu/88 ​Page:King Lear (1917) Yale.djvu/89 ​Page:King Lear (1917) Yale.djvu/90 ​Page:King Lear (1917) Yale.djvu/91 ​Page:King Lear (1917) Yale.djvu/92 ​Page:King Lear (1917) Yale.djvu/93 ​Page:King Lear (1917) Yale.djvu/94 ​Page:King Lear (1917) Yale.djvu/95 ​Page:King Lear (1917) Yale.djvu/96 ​Page:King Lear (1917) Yale.djvu/97 ​Page:King Lear (1917) Yale.djvu/98 ​Page:King Lear (1917) Yale.djvu/99 ​Page:King Lear (1917) Yale.djvu/100 ​Sec. Serv. Let's follow the old earl, and get the Bedlam
To lead him where he would: his roguish madness ⁠104
Allows itself to any thing.

Third Serv. Go thou; I'll fetch some flax, and whites of eggs,
To apply to his bleeding face. Now, heaven help him!