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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.

[Storin continues.



LOW, winds, and crack your cheeks ! rage!


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

Strike flat the thick rotundity o' the world!
Crack nature's moulds, all gerınents 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.

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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. 0, 0, '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.

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

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,

enter. Lear.

Let me alone. Kent. Good my lord, enter here. Leav.

Wilt break my heart?
Kent. I had rather break mine own.
Lear. Thou think'st 'tis much that this contentious

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

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.

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.

Fool. [Within.] Help! Help!

Edgar. Within.] Fathom and half, fathom and half! Poor Tom !

[The Fool runs out from the hovel. Fool. Come not in here, nuncle, here's a spirit. Help me, help me!

Kent. Give me thy hand.-Who's there?

Fool. A spirit, a spirit: he says his name's poor Tom.

Kent. What art thou that dost grumble there i' the straw ? Come forth.

Enter EDGAR disguised as a madman. Edg. Away the foul fiend follows me!

Through the sharp hawthorn blows the cold wind Hum! go to thy cold bed, and warm thee.

Lear. Didst thou give all to thy two daughters? And art thou come to this ?

Edg. Who gives anything to poor Tom ? whom the foul fiend hath led through fire and through flame, through ford and whirlpool, o'er bog and quagmire; that hath made him proud of heart, to ride on a bay trotting-horse over four-inch'd bridges, to course his own shadow for a traitor. Bless thy five wits!—Tom's a-cold,- do de, do de, do de.-Do poor Tom some charity, whom the foul fiend vexes :there could I have him now,-and there,-and there again, and there. Lear. What, have his daughters brought him to

this pass ?-Now all the plagues that in the pendulous air Hang fated o'er men's faults, light on thy daughters.

Kent. He hath no daughters, sir.
Lear. Death, traitor! nothing could have subdu'd

nature To such a lowness but his únkind daughters.Why, thou wert better in thy grave than to answer with thy uncover'd body this extremity of the skies.-Is man no more than this ? Consider him well. Thou ow'st the wc ? no silk, the beast no hide, the sheep no wool, the cat no perfume.Ha! here's three on's are sophisticated !—Thou art the thing itself: unaccommodated man is no more but such a poor, bare, forked animal as thou art.-Off, off, you lendings !--come, unbutton here.

(Tearing off his clothes. Fool. Prithee, nuncle, be contented; 'tis a naughty night to swim in.-Look, here comes a walking fire.

Edg. This is the foul fiend Flibbertigibbet: he begins at curfew, and walks till the first cock; mildews the white wheat, and hurts the poor creature of earth.

Swithold footed thrice the wold;
He met the night-mare, and her nine-fold ;

Bid her alight,

And her troth plight,
And, aroint thee, witch, aroint thee right!
Kent. How fares your Grace ?
Lear. What's he?
Kent. Who's there? What is't you seek ?

Enter GLOSTER with a torch.

Glo. What, are you there? Your names ?

Edg. Poor Tom; that eats the swimming frog, the toad, the tadpole, the wall-newt and the water; that in the fury of his heart, when the foul fiend rages, swallows the old rat and the ditch-dog.

But mice and rats, and such small deer,

Have been Tom's food for seven long year. Beware my follower.--- Peace, Smulkin ; peace, thou fiend. Glo. What, hath your grace no better company

? Edg. Poor Tom's a-cold.

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