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Alack! poor knave, I've one part in my heart,
That's forry yet for thee.


Scene, an apartment in Glocefter's castle.

Enter Glocefter and Edmund. Gloc. 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; charg'd me on pain of perpetual difpleasure, neither to speak of him, entreat for him, or any way sustain him.

Edm. Most favage and unnatural!

Gloc. Go to; say you nothing. There is division between the dukes, and a worse matter than that: I have receiv'd a letter this night, 'tis dangerous to be spoken! (I have lock'd the letter in my closet:) these injuries, the king now bears, will be revenged home; there is part of a power already footed; we must incline to the king: I will look for him, and privily relieve hiin; go you, and maintain talk with the dake, 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 less is threaten'd me, the king my

old master must be relieved. There are strange things toward, Edmund; pray you be careful. [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. The younger rises when the old doth fall. [Exit.

Scene changes to a part of the heath with a hovel.

Enter Lear and Kent. Kent. Here is the place, my lord; good my lord,

The tyranny o'th' open night's too rough
For nature to endure.

Lear. Let me alone.
Kent. Good my lord, enter here.
Lear. Wilt break my heart?
Kent. I'd rather break mine own; good my lord,

enter. Lear. Thou think?st'tis much, that this conten

tious storm Invades us to the skin; so 'tis to thee; But where the greater malady is fix'd, The leffer is scarce felt. The tempest in my mind Doth from my fenfes 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'll punish home.
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? Oh, Regan, Gonerill,
Your old kind father, whose frank heart gave all !
Oh, that way miadness lies; let me shun that;
No more of that!

Kent. Good my lord, enter here.

Lear. Pr’ythee, go in thyself; seek thineown ease;
This tempest will not give me leave to ponder
On things would hurt me more--but I'll go in;
In, boy, go first. You houseless poverty-
Nay, get thee in; I'll pray, and then I'll fleep
Poor naked wretches, wherefoe'er you are,
That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm!
How shall your houseless heads, and unfed fides,
Your loop'd and window'd raggedness, defend you
From seasons such as these?-Oh, I have ta'en
Too little care of this ! Take physick, pompi
Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel,
That thou mayst shake the superflux to them,
And shew the Heav'ns more just!
Edgar (within]. Fathom and half, fathom and

half !
Kent. What art thou, that dost grumble there
i'th' straw? Come forth.


poor Tom.


Enter Edgar, disguised like a madman. Edgar. Away! the foul fiend follows me. Thro? the sharp hawthorn blows the cold wind. Humph, go to thy bed and warm thee.

Lear. Didst thou give all to thy daughters? and art thou come to this?

Edgar. Who gives any thing to poor Tom ? whom the foul fiend hath led through fire and through flame, through ford and whirlpool, o'er bog and quagmire ; that hath laid knives under his pillow, and halters in his pew; set ratsbane by his porridge, made him proud of heart, to ride on a bay trotting horse, over four-inch'd bridges, to course his own shadow for a traitor, bless thy five wits ; Tom's a-cold. O do, de, do, de, do, de

[shivering:] bless thee from whirlwinds, starblasting, and taking; do poor Tom fome charity, whom the foul fiend vexes. There could I have him now, and there, and here again, and there.

[Storm still. Lear. What, have his daughters brought him to

this pass ? Couldst thou save nothing ? didst thou give 'em all? Now all the plagues, that in the pendulous air Hang fatedo’er mens' faults, light on thy daughters!

Kent. He hath no daughters, Sir. VOL. III.



Lear. Death! traitor, nothing could have sub

dued nature To such a lowness, but his unkind daughters.

Edgar. Pillicock sat on pillicock-hill, alow, alow, loo, loo !

Lear. Is it the fashion that discarded fathers Should have thus little mercy on their desh? Judicious punishment ! 'twas this flesh begot Those pelican daughters.

Edgar. Take heed o' th’ foul fiend ; obey thy parents; keep thy word justly; swear not; commit not with man's sworn spouse ; set not thy sweet heart on proud array. Tom's a-cold.

Lear. What hast thou been ?

Edgar. A ferving-man, proud in heart, that curl'd my hair, wore gloves in my cap, serv'd the lust of my mistress's heart, and did the act of darkness with her: swore as many oaths as I spoke words, and broke them in the sweet face of Heav'n. False of heart, light of ear, bloody of hand, hog in floth, fox in stealth, wolf in greediness, dog in madnefs, lion in prey. Let not the creaking of shoes, nor the rustling of silk betray thy poor heart to women. Keep thy foot out of brothels, thy hand out of plackets, thy pen from lender's book, and defy the foul fiend! Still through the hawthorn blows the cold wind.

[Storm still.


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