Scene, a camp. Enter Cordelia, Phyfician, and Soldiers. Crowned with flowers, and all the weeds that grow Phyf. Take comfort, madam; there are means to cure him. Cord. No, 'tis too probable the furious storm Unfettled his care-wearied mind for ever. Phyf. Be patient, madam: Our fofter nurse of Nature is repofe, Cord Cord. All bleft fecrets, All you unpublish'd virtues of the earth, [Exeunt Attendants. If it be fo, one only boon I beg; That you'd convey me to his breathless trunk, figh, To breathe my spirit out, and die beside him. Enter a Meffenger. Meff. News, madam: The British pow'rs are marching hitherward. ftands In expectation of them. Oh, dear father, It is thy business that I go about: therefore, great My mourning and important tears hath pitied. 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 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! Methinks, Methinks, he feems no bigger than his head. 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 Gloc. Let go my hand: Here, friend, 's another purse, in it a jewel Gloc. Oh, you mighty gods! This world I do renounce; and in your fights If I could bear it longer, and not fall 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. |