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Scene, a camp.

Enter Cordelia, Phyfician, and Soldiers.
Cord. Alack, 'tis he! why, he was met ev'n now
As mad as the vex'd sea, finging aloud,

Crowned with flowers, and all the weeds that grow
In our sustaining corn.-Their poor old father!
Oh, fifters, fifters! fhame of ladies! fifters !
Ha, Regan, Gonerill! what! i'th'ftorm? i'th' night?
Let pity ne'er believe it! oh, my heart!

Phyf. Take comfort, madam; there are means to cure him.

Cord. No, 'tis too probable the furious storm
Has pierc'd his tender body past all cure;
And the bleak winds, cold rain, and fulph'rous
light'ning,

Unfettled his care-wearied mind for ever.
Send forth a cent'ry, bring him to our eye;
Try all the art of man, all med'cine's power,
For the reftoring his bereaved fenfe!
He that helps him, take all!

Phyf. Be patient, madam:

Our fofter nurse of Nature is repofe,
The which he lacks that to provoke in him
Are many lenient fimples, which have power
To close the eye of anguish.

Cord

Cord. All bleft fecrets,

All you unpublish'd virtues of the earth,
Spring with my tears; be aidant and remediate
In the good man's diftrefs! feek, feek for him;
Left his ungovern'd rage diffolve his life.

[Exeunt Attendants.

If it be fo, one only boon I beg;

That you'd convey me to his breathless trunk,
With my own hands to close a father's eyes,
With show'rs of tears to wafh his clay-cold cheeks,
Then o'er his limbs, with one heart-rending

figh,

To breathe my spirit out, and die beside him.

Enter a Meffenger.

Meff. News, madam:

The British pow'rs are marching hitherward.
Cord. "Tis known before. Our preparation

ftands

In expectation of them. Oh, dear father,

It is thy business that I go about: therefore, great
France

My mourning and important tears hath pitied.
No blown ambition doth our arms incite,

But love, dear love, and our ag'd father's right.

N 3

[Exeunt. Scene,

Scene, the country near Dover.

Enter Glocefter, and Edgar as a peafant.

Gloc. When fhall I come to th' top of that same hill?

Edgar. You do climb up it now. Mark, how we labour.

Gloc. Methinks, the ground is even.

Edgar. Horrible steep.

Hark, do you hear the sea?

Gloc. No, truly.

Edgar.Why then your other senses grow imperfect By your eyes' anguish,

Gloc. So may it be, indeed.

Methinks, thy voice is alter'd; and thou speak'st
In better phrafe and matter than thou didft.
Edgar. You're much deceiv'd: In nothing am I
chang'd,

But in my garments.

Gloc. Sure, you're better spoken,

Edgar. Come on, Sir; here's the place-stand ftill. How fearful

And dizzy 'tis, to caft one's eyes fo low!
The crows and choughs, that wing the midway air,
Shew fearce fo grofs as beetles. Half way down
Hangs one that gathers famphire; dreadful trade!

Methinks,

Methinks, he feems no bigger than his head.
The fishermen, that walk upon the beach,
Appear like mice; and yon tall anchoring bark,
Diminish'd to her cock; her cock! a buoy
Almost too fmall for fight. The murmuring furge
Cannot be heard fo high. I'll look no more,
Left my brain turn, and the deficient fight
Topple down headlong.

Gloc. Set me where you ftand.

Edgar. Give me your hand: You're now within a foot

Of th' extreme verge: For all below the moon
Would I not now leap forward.

Gloc. Let go my hand:

Here, friend, 's another purse, in it a jewel
Well worth a poor man's taking. May the gods
Profper it with thee! Go thou further off;
Bid me farewell, and let me hear thee going.
Edgar. Now fare you well, good Sir. [Seems to go.
I trifle thus with his despair to cure it.

Gloc. Oh, you mighty gods!

This world I do renounce; and in your fights
Shake patiently my great affliction off:

If I could bear it longer, and not fall
To quarrel with your great opposeless wills,
My fnuff and latter part of nature should
Burn itself out. If Edgar live, oh, bless him!

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Enter Lear, dreft madly with flowers. Lear. No, they cannot touch me for coining; I am the king himself.

Gloc. Ha! who comes here?

Edgar. Oh, thou fide-piercing fight!

Lear. Nature's above art in that refpect. There's your prefs-money, That fellow handles his bow like a crow-keeper: Draw me a clothier's yard. Look, look, a mouse! peace, peace; there's my gauntlet, I'll prove it on a giant. Bring up the brown bills. Oh, well flown barb! i'th' clout, i'th' clout; hewgh !-give the word, Edgar. Sweet marjoram,

Lear. Pafs!

Gloc. I know that voice.

Lear. Ha! Gonerill! ha! Regan! they flatter'd me like a dog, and told me I had white hairs in my beard ere the black ones were there. To say ay, and no, to every thing that I faid.-Ay, and no too, was no good divinity. When the rain came to wet me once, and the wind to make me chatter; when the thunder would not peace at my bidding: there I found 'em, there I fmelt 'em out! Go to, they are not men o' their words; they told me, I was every thing; 'tis a lie, I am not ague-proof. Gloc. The trick of that voice I do well remember: Is't not the king?

Lear.

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