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Lear. Ay, every inch a king.

When I do ftare, see how the subject quakes.
I pardon that man's life. What was the cause?
Adultry? thou shalt not die; die for adultry? no;
To't, luxury, pell mell; for I lack foldiers.

Gloc. Not all my forrows past so deep have touch'd me

As these fad accents. Sight were now a torment.

Lear. Behold yon fimpering dame, whose face prefages fnow; that minces virtue, and does fhake the head to hear of pleasure's name! The fitchew, nor the pampered steed, goes to it with a more riotous appetite; down from the waist they are centaurs, tho' women all above: But to the girdle do the gods inherit, beneath is all the fiends'. There's hell, there's darknefs, there's the fulphurous pit; fy, fy, fy; pah, pah; an ounce of civet, good apothecary, to fweeten my imagination! there's money for thee.

Gloc. Oh, let me kifs that hand.

Lear. Let me wipe it firft, it smells of mortality.
Gloc. Oh, ruin'd piece of nature!

Lear. Arraign her firft! 'tis Gonerill. I here

take my oath before this honourable assembly, she struck the poor king her father.

Gloc. Patience, good Sir!

Lear.

Lear. And here's another, whose warpt looks

proclaim

What store her heart is made of.-Stop her there! Arms, arms! fword, fire!-Corruption in the place! Falfe jufticer, why haft thou let her fcape!

Gloc. Oh, pity, Sir! where is the firmness now That you fo oft have boafted?-Do you know me? Lear. I do remember thine eyes well enough! do thy worst, blind Cupid; I'll not love. Read thou this challenge, mark but the penning of it.

Gloc. Were all the letters funs, I could not fee

one.

Edgar. I would not take this from report; it is, And my heart breaks at it.

Lear. Read.

Gloc. What, with this cafe of eyes?

Lear. Oh, oh, are you there with me? no eyes in your head, nor no money in your purse? yet you fee how this world goes.

Gloc. I fee it feelingly.

with no eyes.

Lear. What, art mad? a man may see how this world goes, Look with thine ears: fee, how yond justice rails upon yond fimple thief. Hark in thine ear: Change places, and handydandy, which is the justice, which is the thief? Thou haft feen a farmer's dog bark at a beggar?

Gloc.

Gloc. Ay, Sir.

Lear. And the beggar run from the cur? there thou might'st behold the great image of authority; a dog's obey'd in office.

Thou rascal-beadle, hold thy bloody hand:

Why doft thou lash that whore? strip thy own back; Thou hotly luft'ft to use her in that kind,

For which thou whip'ft her. Th' ufurer hangs the

cozener.

Through tatter'd weeds fmall vices do appear; Robes and furr'd gowns hide all. Plate fins with gold, And the strong lance of justice hurtlefs breaks; Arm it in rags, a pigmy's ftraw doth pierce it. Get thee glafs eyes,

And, like a fcurvy politician, feem

To fee the things thou dost not.

Now, now, now, now. Pull off my boots: Harder, harder, fo.

Edgar. Oh, matter and impertinency mix'd, Reafon in madness!

Lear. If thou wilt weep my fortunes, take my

eyes.

I know thee well enough, thy name is Glo'fter; Thou must be patient; we came crying hither: Thou know'ft, the first time that we smell the air, We waule and cry. I will preach to thee; mark

Gloc.

Gloc. Alack, alack the day!

Lear. When we are born, we cry, that we are

come

To this great stage of fools.

Enter a Gentleman, with attendants.

Gent. Oh, here he is, lay hand upon him; Sir, Your moft dear daughter

Lear. No refcue? what, a prifoner? I am even The natural fool of fortune. Use me well, You shall have ranfom. Let me have furgeons; I am cut to th' brain.

Gent. You fhall have any thing.

Lear. No feconds? all myself? I will die bravely, Like a smug bridegroom. What? I will be jovial. Come, come, I am a king, my mafters; know you that?

Gent. You are a royal one, and we obey you. Lear. Then there's life in't.

It were an excellent ftratagem to fhoe a troop of horfe with felt: I'll put it in proof-no noife! no noife! now will we fteal upon these fons-in-law; and then-kill, kill, kill, kill! [Exit with Gent. Gloc. The king is mad. How stiff is my vile sense That I stand up, and have ingenious feeling Of my huge forrows! Better I were distract,

And

And woe, by wrong imaginations, lofe
The knowledge of itself.-Ye gentle gods,
Take my breath from me! let not mifery
Tempt me again to die before you please.
Edgar. Well pray you, father.

Gloc. Now, good Sir, what are you?

Edgar. A moft poor man, made tame to fortune's blows,

Who, by the art of known and feeling forrows, Am pregnant to good pity. Give me your hand, I'll lead you to fome biding.

Gloc. Hearty thanks!

Enter Steward.

Stew. A proclaim'd prize! moft happy! That eyeless head of thine was first fram'd flesh, To raise my fortunes. Old, unhappy traitor, The fword is out, that must destroy thee.

Gloc. Let thy friendly hand put strength enough

to't.

Stew. Wherefore, bold peafant,

Dar'ft thou fupport a publish'd traitor! hence,
Left I destroy thee too. Let go his arm.

Edgar. Chill not let go, zir, without vurther 'cafion.

Stew. Let go, flave, or thou diest.

Edgar.

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