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Alack! poor knave, I've one part in my heart,
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,
Lear. Let me alone.
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.
Kent. Good my lord, enter here.
Lear. Pr’ythee, go in thyself; seek thineown ease;
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.