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A miftrefs's command.

Conceive, and fare thee well.

Edm. Yours in the ranks of death.

Gon. My most dear Glo'ster! [Exit Edmund, Oh, the ftrange difference of man and man! To thee a woman's fervices are due,

My fool ufurps my duty.

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Stew. Madam, here comes my lord. [Exit. Enter Albany.

Alb. Oh Gonerill, what have you done? Tygers, not daughters, what have you performed? A father and a gracious aged man,

Moft barb'rous, moft degenerate, have you madded. How cou'd my brother fuffer you to do it,

A man, a prince by him fo benefited?

Gon. Milk liver'd man!

That bear'ft a cheek for blows, a head for wrongs; Where's thy drum?

France fpreads his banners in our noiseless land, Whilft thou, a moral fool, fit'ft ftill, and cry'ft, "Alack! why does he fo?"

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Alb. Thou chang'd, and felf-converted thing! for shame,

Be monfter not thy feature.

Enter Messenger.

Mef. Oh, my good lord, the Duke of Cornwall's dead;

Slain by his fervant, going to put out

The earl of Glo'fter's eyes.

Alb. Glo'fter's eyes!

Mef. A fervant, that he bred, thrill'd with remorse,

Oppos'd the horrid act; bending his fword

Against his master: who, thereat inrag'd,

Flew on him, and amongst them fell'd him dead: But not without that harmful ftroke, which fince Hath pluck'd him after.

Alb. This fhews you are above,

You

You juftices, that these our nether crimes
So fpeedily can venge. But O poor Glo'fter!
Where was his fon when they did take his eyes?
Mef. Come with my lady hither..

Alb. He's not here.

Mef. No, my good lord, he is return'd again. Alb. Knows he the wickedness?

Mef. Ay, my good lord, 'twas he inform'd against him,

And quit the house of purpose, that their punish

ment

Might have the freer courfe.

Alb. Glo'fter, I live

To thank thee for the love thou fhew'dft the King,.. And to revenge thine eyes. Come hither, friend, Tell me what more thou know't. [Going, returns. See thyfelf, Goneril!!

Proper deformity fhews not in the fiend,

So horrid as in woman.

Gon. O vain fool!

[Exit Alb. and Meff.

That haft not in thy brows an eye discerning

Thine honour from thy fuffering!

Enter Steward, with a letter.

Stew. This letter, madam, craves a speedy answer:
'Tis from your fifter. Cornwall being dead,
His lofs your fifter has in part fupply'd,
Making earl Edmund general of her forces.
Gon. One way I like this well:

But being widow, and my Glo'ster with her,
May pluck down all the building of my love.
I'll read, and answer these dispatches ftrait.
It was great ign'rance, Glo'ster's eyes being out,
To let him live. Add fpeed unto your journey,
And if you chance to meet that old blind traitor,
Preferment falls on him that cuts him off. [Exeunt.

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Enter Kent, and a Gentleman.

Kent. Did your letters pierce the Queen to any demonftration of grief?

Gent. Yes, fir; she took 'em, read 'em in my presence;

And now and then a big round tear ran down
Her delicate cheek: much mov'd, but not to rage,
Patience with forrow ftrove. Her fmiles and tears
Were like a wetter May,

Kent. Spoke you with her fince?

Gent. No.

Kent. Well, fir; the poor diftreffed Lear's in town; Who fometimes, in his better tune remembers What we are come about; and by no means Will yield to fee Cordelia.

Gent. Why, good fir?

Kent. A fov'reign fhame fo bows him; his unkindness,

That ftript her from his benediction, turn'd her
To foreign casualties, gave her dear rights
To his dog-hearted daughters; these things fting him
So venomously, that burning fhame detains him
From his dear daughter.

Gent. Alack, poor gentleman!

Kent. Of Albany's, and Cornwall's Pow'rs you heard.

Gent. 'Tis fo, they are a-foot.

Kent. Well, fir, I'll bring you to our mafter Lear, And leave you to attend him. Some dear caufe Will in concealment wrap me up awhile: When I am known aright, you shall not grieve Lending me this acquaintance. Pray, along with [Exeunt.

me.

SCENE, a Camp.

Enter Cordelia, Phyfician, and Soldiers.

Cor: Alack, 'tis he; why he was met ev'n now As mad as the vext fea, finging aloud,

Crowned with flowers, and all the weeds that grow

In our fuftaining corn. -Their poor old father!
Oh fifters, fifters! fhame of ladies! fifters !
Ha, Regan, Gonerill! what! i'th'ftorm! i'th'night?
Let pity ne'er believe it! Oh my heart!

Phyf. Take comfort, madam; there are means to cure him.

Cor. No; 'tis too probable the furious storm
Has pierc'd his tender body paft all cure ;
And the bleak winds, cold rain, and fulph'rous
light'ning,

Unfettled his care-wearied mind for ever.
Send forth a cent'ry, bring him to our eye;
Try all the art of man, all med'cine's power,
For the restoring his bereaved fenfe!
He that helps him, take all!

Phyf. Be patient, madam:

Our fofter nurfe of Nature is Repofe,

The which he lacks; that to provoke in him
Are many lenient fimples, which have

To close the eye of anguish.

Cord. All bleft fecrets,

power

All you unpublish'd virtues of the earth,
Spring, with my tears; be aidant and remediate
In the good man's diftrefs! feek, feek for him;
Left his ungovern'd rage diffolve his life.

[Exeunt Attendants. If it be fo, one only boon I beg;

That you'd convey me to his breathless trunk,
With my own hands to close a father's eyes,
With fhow'rs of tears to wash his clay-cold cheeks,
Then o'er his limbs, with one heart-rending figh,
To breathe my spirit out, and die befide him.
Enter a Messenger.

Mef. News, madam:

The British pow'rs are marching hitherward.
Cor. 'Tis known before. Our preparation ftands

In expectation of them. O dear father,

It is thy business that I go about: therefore great

France

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My mourning and important tears hath pitied.
No blown ambition doth our arms incite,
But love, dear love, and our ag'd father's right.

[Exeunt.

SCENE, the Country, near Dover.

Enter Glocefter, and Edgar as a Peasant.

Glo. When fhall I come to th'top of that fame hill? Edg. You do climb up it now. Mark how we

labour.

Glo. Methinks, the ground is even.

Edg. Horrible fteep.

Hark, do you hear the fea?

Glo. No, truly.

.

Edg. Why then your other fenfes grow imperfect By your eyes anguifh..

Glo. So may it be, indeed.

Methinks, thy voice is alter'd; and thou speak'st
In better phrafe and matter than thou didit.
Edg. You're much deceiv'd: in nothing am I
chang'd,

But in my garments.

Glo. Sure, you're better spoken.

Edg. Come on, fir, here's the place-stand still.
How fearful

And dizzy 'tis, to caft one's eyes fo low !

The crows and choughs, that wing the midway air,
Shew scarce fo grofs as beetles. Half way down
Hangs one that gathers famphire; dreadful trade!
Methinks, he seems no bigger than his head.
The fishermen, that walk upon the beach,
Appear like mice, and yond tall anchoring bark,
Diminish'd to her cock; her cock! a buoy
Almoft too small for fight. The murmuring furge
Cannot be heard fo high. I'll look no more,
Left my brain turn, and the deficient fight.
Topple down headlong.

Glo. Set me, where you ftand.

Edg.

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