Lear. Oh, let me not be mad, not mad, fweet heav'n! Keep me in temper! I would not be mad! What need you five-and-twenty, ten, or five, Reg. What needs one? Lear. O, reafon not the need: our basest beggars Are in the pooreft thing fuperfluous; Allow not nature more than nature needs, Man's life is cheap as beafts. But for true need, You heav'ns, give me that patience which I need! That all the world fhall I will do fuch things, END of the SECOND ACT. D ACT You cataracts, and hurricanoes, spout Till you have drench'd our fteeples, You fulph'rous and thought-executing fires, Kent. Not all my belt intreaties can perfuade him Into fome needful fhelter, or to 'bide f This poor flight cov'ring on his aged head, [Thunder. Lear. Rumble thy belly full, fpit fire, fpout 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 fubfcription. Then let fall Your horrible pleafure;- here I ftand your flave; A poor, infirm, weak, and defpis'd old man! But yet I call you fervile minifters, That have with two pernicious daughters joyn'd You Your high engender'd battles, 'gainst a head Lear. No, I will be the pattern of all patience: I will fay nothing. Kent. Alas, Sir! 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, Such fheets of fire, fuch burfts of horrid thunder, Such groans of roaring wind and rain, I never Remember to have heard. Lear. Let the great gods, That keep this dreadful pudder o'er our heads, Kent. Good fir, to the hovel! Lear. My wits begin to turn. Come on, my boy. How doft, my boy? art cold? I'm cold myself. Where is the ftraw, my fellow ? The art of our neceffities is ftrange, That can make vile things precious. Come, your hovel; Poor knave, I've one part in my heart, [Exeunt. Enter Glocefter, and Edmund. Glo. Alack, alack, Edmund, I like not this unnatural dealing; when I defired their leave that I D 2 might might pity him, they took from me the ufe of mine own house, charg'd me on pain of perpetual dif pleasure, neither to fpeak of him, entreat for him, or any way fuftain him... Eam. Moft favage and unnatural! Glo. Go to; lay you nothing. There is divifion between the Dukes, and a worfe matter than that: I have receiv'd a letter this night, 'tis dangerous to be spoken; (I have lock'd the letter in my closet :) thefe injuries, the king now bears, will be revenged home; there is part of a power already footed; we must 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 ask for me, I am ill, and gone to bed; if I die for it, as no lefs is threaten'd me, the king my old mafter must be relieved. There are strange. things toward, Edmund; pray you be careful. [Exit. Edm. This courtesy, forbid thee, fhall the duke Inftantly know, and of that letter too.. This seems a fair deserving, and must draw me That which my father loses; no less than all. The younger rifes when the old doth fall. [Exit. SCENE changes to a Part of the Heath with a Hovel. Enter Lear and Kent. Kent. Here is the place, my lord; good my lord, enter; The tyranny oth' open night's too rough For nature to endure. Lear. Let me alone. Kent. Good my lord, enter here. Lear. Wilt break my heart? Kent. I'd rather break mine own; good my lord, enter. Lear. Thou think'ft 'tis much, that this conten ⚫tious ftorm Invades us to the fkin; fo 'tis to thee; The The leffer is fcarce felt. The tempeft in my mind Doth from my fenfes take all feeling elfe, Save what beats there. Fillal ingratitude hd fhould tear this bandw 1 Is it not, as this mouth Kent. Good my lord, enter here. Lear. Pr'yther, go in thyfelf; feek thine own eafe; This tempeft will not give me leave to ponder On things would hurt me more- but I'll go in ; In, boy, go firft. You houfelefs poverty →→→→ Nay, get thee in; I'll pray, and then I'll fleepPoor naked wretches, wherefoe'er you are, That bide the pelting of this pitiless ftorm! How fhall your houfelefs heads, and unfed fides, Your loop'd and window'd raggedness defend you From feafons fuch as thefe ?-O, I have ta'en Too little care of this! Take phyfic: pomp; Expofe thyself to feel what wretches feel, That thou may't shake the fuperflux to them, And fhew the heav'ns more just. Edg. within. Fathom and half, fathom and half! poor Tom. Kent. What art thou, that doft grumble there i'th' ftraw? come forth. Enter Edgar difguis'd like a Madman. Edg. Away! the foul fiend follows me. Through the sharp hawthorn blows the cold wind. Humph, go to thy bed and warm thee. Lear. Didit thou give all to thy daughters ? and art thou come to this? Edg. Who gives any thing to poor Tom? whom the foul fiend hath led through fire and through . flame, D 3 |