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I will have such revenges on you both,

That all the world shall-I will do such thingsWhat they are, yet I know not; but they shall be The terrors of the earth. You think I'll weep; No, I'll not weep:

I have full cause of weeping; but this heart

[Storm heard at a distance. Shall break into a hundred thousand flaws, Or e'er I'll weep.-O, fool, I shall go mad!

[Exit.

ACT III.

SCENE 1.-A Heath.

A storm, with thunder and lightning. Enter KENT and a Gentleman, meeting.

Kent.

HO'S there, besides foul weather?

Gent. One minded like the weather most unquietly.

Kent. I know you. Where's the king? Gent. Contending with the fretful elements; Bids the wind blow the earth into the sea, Or swell the curlèd waters 'bove the main, That things might change or cease.

Kent.

But who is with him?

Gent. None but the fool; who labours to out-jest His heart-struck injuries.

Kent.

Sir, I do know you;

And dare commend a dear thing to you. There's Division 'twixt Albany and Cornwall;

And, true it is, from France there comes a power

Into this scatter'd kingdom; and are at point
To show their open banner. Now to you:
If on my credit you dare build so far

To make your speed to Dover, you shall find
Some that will thank you. If you shall see Cordelia,-
As fear not but you shall,-show her this ring;
And she will tell you who your fellow is

That yet you do not know. Fie on this storm!
I will go seek the king.

Gent. Have you no more to say?

Kent. Few words, but, to effect, more than all yet,

That, when we've found the king,-he that first

lights on him

Holloa the other.

[Exeunt severally.

SCENE 2.-Another part of the Heath, with a Hovel.

Lear.

[Storm continues.

LOW, winds, and crack your cheeks! rage! blow!

You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout

Till you have drench'd our steeples, drown'd the

cocks!

You sulphurous and thought-executing fires,

Singe my white head! And thou, all-shaking

thunder,

Strike flat the thick rotundity o' the world!

Crack nature's moulds, all germents spill at once,
That make ingrateful man!

Enter Fool.

Fool. O nuncle, in and ask thy daughters' blessing: here's a night pities neither wise men nor fools.

Lear. Rumble thy bellyfull! Spit, fire! spout rain!
Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire, are my daughters:
I tax not you, you elements, with unkindness;
I never gave you kingdom, call'd you children,
You owe me no subscription: then let fall
Your horrible pleasure; here I stand, your slave,
A poor, infirm, weak, and despis'd old man.
But yet I call you servile ministers,

That have with two pernicious daughters join'd
Your high-engender'd battles 'gainst a head
So old and white as this. O, O, 'tis foul.

Fool. He that has a house to put's head in has a good head-piece.

Kent. [within.] Who's there?

Fool. Marry, a wise man and a fool.

Enter KENT.

Kent. Alas, sir, are you here? Alack, bare-headed! Gracious my lord, hard by here is a hovel;

Some friendship will it lend you 'gainst the tempest; Repose you there.

Lear.

My wits begin to turn.-

Come on, my boy: how dost, my boy? art cold? I'm cold myself.-Where is the straw, my fellow? The art of our necessities is strange,

That can make vile things precious. Come, your

hovel.

Poor fool and knave, I've one part in my heart
That's sorry yet for thee.

Fool. [Singing.] He that has and a little tiny wit,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,-

Must make content with his fortunes fit,

Though the rain it raineth every day.

Lear. True, my good boy.

Kent. Here is the place, my lord; good my lord,

[blocks in formation]

Kent. I had rather break mine own.

Lear. Thou think'st 'tis much that this contentious

storm

Invades us to the skin: so 'tis to thee;

But where the greater malady is fix'd,

The lesser is scarce felt. The tempest in my mind
Doth from my senses take all feeling else
Save what beats there.-Filial ingratitude!
No, I will weep no more.-In such a night
To shut me out!-Pour on; I will endure:
In such a night as this! O, Regan, Goneril !—
Your old kind father, whose frank heart gave all,-
O, that way madness lies; let me shun that;
No more of that.

Kent.

Good my lord, enter here.

Lear. Prithee, go in thyself; seek thine own ease: This tempest will not give me leave to ponder On things would hurt me more.-But I'll go in[To the Fool.] In, boy; go first. You houseless

poverty,

Nay, get thee in. I'll pray, and then I'll sleep.—

[Fool goes in.

Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are,
That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm,
How shall your houseless heads and unfed sides,
Your loop'd and window'd raggedness, defend you
From seasons such as these? O, I have ta'en
Too little care of this! Take physic, pomp ;
Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel,
That thou may'st shake the superflux to them,
And show the heavens more just.

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