"Till you have drencht our steeples, drown'd the cocks!
You fulph'rous and thought-executing fires,
Vaunt-couriers of oak-cleaving thunder-bolts,

Singe my white head! And thou all-shaking thunder,
Strike flat the thick rotundity o' th' world,

Crack nature's mould, all germins fpill at once
That make ingrateful man!

Fool. O nuncle, court-holy-water in a dry house is better than the rain-water out o' door.

Good nuncle, in, ask thy daughters bleffing; here's a night that pities neither wife men nor fools.

Lear. Rumble thy belly full, fpit 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 fubmiffion. Then let fall
Your horrible pleasure ;-here I stand your slave,
A poor, imfirm, weak, and defpis'd old man!
But yet I call you fervile ministers,

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

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

The cod-piece that will houfe, before the head has
any:
The head and he fhall lowfe; fo beggars marry many.
That man that makes his toe, what he his heart fhould make,
Shall of a corn cry woe, and turn his fleep to wake.

For there was never yet fair woman, but the made mouths in a glass.

SCENE III. To them, Enter Kent.

Lear. No, I will be the pattern of all patience, I will fay nothing.

Kent. Who's there?

Fool. Marry, here's grace, and a cod-piece, that's a wife man and a fool.

Kent. Alas, Sir, are you here? things that love night,
Love not fuch nights as thefe: the wrathful skies
Gallow the very wand'rers of the dark,

And make them keep their caves: fince I was man,
VOL. IV.

N

Such

Such sheets of fire, fuch burfts of horrid thunder,
Such groans of roaring wind and rain, I never
Remember to have heard. Man's nature cannot carry
Th' affliction, nor the force.

Lear. Let the great Gods,

That keep this dreadful thund'ring o'er our heads,
Find out their enemies now.

Tremble, thou wretch,

That haft within thee undivulged crimes

Unwhipt of justice! Hide thee, thou bloody hand;
Thou perjure, and thou fimular of virtue,
That art inceftuous! caitiff, fhake to pieces,
That under covert and convenient seeming
Haft practis'd on man's life! Close pent-up guilts,
Rive your concealing continents, and afk
Thefe dreadful fummoners, grace !-
More finn'd againft, than finning.

Kent. Alack, bare-headed?

I am a man,

Gracious my Lord, hard by here is a hovel,
Some friendship will it lend you 'gainst the tempeft:
Rep fe you there, while I to this hard houfe

(More hard than is the stone whereof 'tis rais'd;
Which even but now, demanding after you,
Deny'd me to come in) return, and force
Their fcanted courtefie.

Lear. My wits begin to turn.

Come on, my boy. How doft, my boy? art cold?
I'm cold myself. Where is this ftraw, my fellow ?
The art of our neceffities is ftrange,

That can make vile things precious. Come, your hovel;

Poor fool and knave, I've one ftring in my heart

That's forry yet for thee.

Fool. He that bas and a little tiny wit,

With beigh bo, the wind and the rain,
Muft make content with his fortunes fit,
Though the rain it raineth every day.

Lear. True, my good boy: come, bring us to this hovel.

Fool. 'Tis a brave night to cool a courtezan.

I'll fpeak a prophecy or e'er I go;

When priefts are more in words than matter,

[Exit.

When

When brewers marr their malt with water;
When nobles are their tailors tutors;
No hereticks burn'd, but wenches fuitors;
Then comes the time, who lives to fee't,
That going shall be us'd with feet.
When every cafe in law is right,

No 'Squire in debt, nor no poor Knight;
When flanders do not live in tongues,
And cut-purfes come not to throngs;
-When ufurers tell their gold i' th' field,
And bawds and whores do churches build:
Then fhall the realm of Albion

Come unto great confufion.

This prophecy Merlin fhall make, for I do live before his time.

[Exit. SCENE IV. An apartment in Glo'fter's Caftle. Enter Glo'fter and Baftard.

Glo. Alack, alack, Edmund, I like not this unnatural dealing; when I defired their leave that I might pity him, they took from me the use of mine own house, charg'd me on pain of perpetual displeasure, neither to speak of him, entreat for him, or any way fuftain him.

Baft. Most favage and unnatural!

Glo. Go to; fay you nothing. There is divifion between the Dukes, and a worse matter than that I have received a letter this night, 'tis dangerous to be fpoken, "I have lock'd the letter in my clofet: thefe injuries the King now bears will be revenged home; there is part of a power already footed; we' muft incline to the King, I will look for him, and privily relieve him; go you and maintain talk with the Duke, that my charity be not of him perceiv'd; if he afk for me, I am ill, and gone to bed; if I die for it, as no less is threatned me, the King my old mafter must be relieved. There are ftrange things toward, Edmund; pray you, be careful.

Baft. This courtefie forbid thee shall the Duke
Inftantly know, and of that letter too.
This feems a fair deferving, and must draw me
That which my father lofes; no less than all.
The younger rifes, when the old doth fall.

N 2

[Exit.

[Exit. SCENE

SCENE V. Part of the Heath with a Hovel. Enter Lear, Kent, and Fool.

Kent. Here is the place, my Lord; good my Lord, enter; The tyranny of th; open night's too rough

For nature to endure.

Lear. Let me alone.

Kent. Good my Lord, enter here.

Lear. Wilt break my heart?

[Storm ftill,

Kent. I'd rather break mine own; good my Lord, enter. Lear. Thou think'ft 'tis much that this contentious storm Invades us to the skin; fo 'tis to thee;

But where the greater malady is fixt,

The leffer is scarce felt. Thou'dft shun a bear;

But if thy flight lay toward the roaring sea,

Thou'dft meet the bear i'th' mouth; when the mind's free,
The body's delicate; the tempeft in my mind
Doth from my fenfes take all feeling else,
Save what beats there. Filial ingratitude!
Is it not, as this mouth fhould tear this hand
For lifting food to't?-But I'll punish home;
No, I will weep no more-in fuch a night,
To fhut me out?-pour on, I will endure:
In such a night as this? O Regan, Gonerill,
Your old kind father, whose frank heart gave all-
O, that way madness lyes, let me fhun that,
No more of that.

Kent. Good my Lord, enter here.

Lear. Pr'ythee, go in thy felf, seek thine own ease, This tempeft will not give me leave to ponder

On things would hurt me more-but I'll go in ;
In, boy, go first. You houseless poverty-

Nay, get thee in; I'll pray, and then I'll fleep- [Ex. Fool.
Poor naked wretches, wherefoe'er you are
That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm!
How fhall your houseless heads, and unfed fides,
Your loop'd and window'd raggednefs, defend
From feafons fuch as these?O, I have ta'en
Too little care of this: take phyfick, pomp!
Expofe thy felf to feel what wretches feel,

That thou may'st shake the fuperflux to them,

you

And

And fhew the heav'ns more juft.

Edg. [Within.] Fathom and half, fathom and half! poor Tom!

Fool. Come not in here, nuncle, here's a fpirit, help me, help me. [The fool runs out from the Hovel. Kent. Give me thy hand, who's there? Fool. A fpirit, a fpirit, he says his name's poor Tom.~2 Kent. What art thou that do'st grumble there i'th'.ftraw? come forth.

SCENE VI.

Enter Edgar, difguis'd like a Madman.

Edg. Away, the foul fiend follows me. Through the fharp hawthorn blows the cold wind. Humph; go to thy bed and warm thee.

Lear. Didft thou give all to thy daughters? and art thou come to this?

門

Edg. Who gives any thing to poor Tom? whom the foul fiend hath led through fire and through flame, through ford and whirl-pool, o'er bog and quagmire, that hath laid knives under his pillow, and halters in his pue; fet ratfbane by his porridge, made him proud of heart, to ride on a bay trotting horfe, over four inch'd bridges, to course his own fhadow for a traitor, bless thy five wits, Tom's a-cold. O do, de, do, de, do, de,-bless thee from whirl-winds, ftar-blafting, and taking; do poor Tom fome charity, whom the foul fiend vexes. There could I have him now, and there, and here again, and there. [Storm ftill. Lear. What! have his daughters brought him to this pass? Could't thou fave nothing? didst thou give 'em all? Fool. Nay, he referv'd a blanket, elfe we had been all fhamed.

Lear. 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 fubdu'd nature To fuch a lowness, but his unkind daughters.

Is it the fashion, that difcarded fathers
Should have thus little mercy on their flesh?
Judicious punishment! 'twas this flesh begot
Those pelican daughters.

N 3

Edg