Stew. Madam, within; but never man fo chang'd: I told him of the army that was landed;

He fmil'd at it. I told him you were coming; His anfwer was, The worse. Of Glo'fter's treachery, And of the loyal fervice of his fon,

When I inform'd him, then he call'd me Sot. What most he should diflike, feems pleasant to him; What like, offenfive.

Gon. Then fhall you go no further. [To Edm. It is the cowish terror of his fpirit,

That dares not undertake. Back, Edmund, to my brother;

Haften his mufters, and conduct his powers.

I must change arms at home, and give the distaff Into my husband's hands. This trusty servant Shall pafs between us: You ere long shall hear, If

you dare venture on your own behalf,

A mistress's command. Conceive, and fare thee

well.

Edm. Yours in the ranks of death.

Gon. My moft dear Glo'fter!

[Exit Edm.

Oh, the strange difference of man and man!

To thee a woman's fervices are due,

My fool ufurps my duty.

Stew. Madam, here comes my lord.

[Exit.

Enter

Enter Albany:

Alb. Oh, Gonerill, what have you done? Tigers, not daughters, what have you perform'd? A father and a gracious aged man,

Most barb❜rous, most degen'rate, have you madded.
How could my brother fuffer you to do it,
A man, a prince by him fo benefited?

Gon. Milk-liver'd man!

That bear'st a cheek for blows, a head for wrongs; Where's thy drum ?

France spreads his banners in our noiseless land, Whilft thou, a moral fool, fit'ft ftill, and crieft, "Alack! why does he so?"————

Alb. Thou chang'd, and self-converted thing! for shame,

Be-monster not thy feature.

Enter Messenger

Mef. Oh, my good lord, the duke of Cornwall's

dead;

Slain by his fervant, going to put out

The earl of Glo'fter's eyes.

Alb. Glo'fter's eyes!

Me. A fervant, that he bred, thrill'd with

remorfe,

Oppos'd the horrid act; bending his sword

Against

Against his master: Who, thereat enrag'd,
Flew on him, and amongst them fell'd him dead:
But not without that harmful stroke, which fince
Hath pluck'd him after.

Alb. This fhews You are above,

You Jufticers, that these our nether crimes
So fpeedily can 'venge! But oh, poor Glo'fter!
Where was his fon when they did take his eyes?
Meff. Come with my lady hither.

Alb. He's not here.

Meff. No, my good lord; he is return'd again. Alb. Knows he the wickedness?

Meff. Ay, my good lord; 'twas he inform'd against him,

And quit the houfe of purpose, that their punish

ment

Might have the freer courfe.

Alb. Glo'fter, I live

To thank thee for the love thou fhew'dft the king, And to revenge thine eyes. Come hither, friend, Tell me what more thou know'ft. [Going, returns. See thyself, Gonerill!

Proper deformity fhews not in the fiend,

Thine honour from thy fuffering!

Enter Steward, with a letter.

Stew. This letter, madam, craves a speedy answer:
"Tis from your fifter. Cornwall being dead,
His lofs your fifter has in part fupplied,
Making earl Edmund general of her forces.
Gon. One way I like this well :

But being widow, and my Glo'fter with her,
May pluck down all the building of my love.
I'll read, and answer these dispatches ftraight.
It was great ign'rance, Glo'fter's eyes being out,
To let him live. Add fpeed unto your journey,
And if you chance to meet that old blind traitor,
Preferment falls on him that cuts him off. [Exeunt.

Scene, Dover.

Enter Kent and a Gentleman.

Kent. Did your letters pierce the queen to any demonstration of grief?

Gent. Yes, Sir; fhe took 'em, read 'em in my
prefence;

And now and then a big round tear ran down
Her delicate cheek: Much mov'd, but not to rage,
Patience with forrow ftrove. Her fmiles and tears
Were like a wetter May.

Kent.

Kent. Spoke you with her fince?

Gent. No.

Kent. Well, Sir; the poor diftreffed Lear's in

town;

Who fometimes, in his better tune remembers

What we are come about; and by no means
Will yield to fee Cordelia.

Gent. Why, good Sir?

Kent. A fov'reign fhame fo bows him; his unkindness,

That stripp'd her from his benediction, turn'd her To foreign cafualties, gave her dear rights

To his dog-hearted daughters; these things fting

him

So venomously, that burning fhame detains him From his dear daughter.

Gent. Alack, poor gentleman!

Kent. Of Albany's and Cornwall's pow'rs you heard?

Gent. "Tis fo, they are afoot.

Kent. Well, Sir, I'll bring you to our mafter Lear, And leave you to attend him. Some dear cause Will in concealment wrap me up awhile: When I am known aright, you shall not grieve Lending me this acquaintance. Pray, along with

me.

[Exeunt.

N2

Scene,