Gent. Most sure, and vulgar: every one hears that, Which can distinguish sound. Edg. But, by your favour, How near's the other army? Gent. Near, and on speedy foot; the main descry Stands on the hourly thought. Edg. I thank you, sir: that's all. Gent. Though that the queen on special cause is here, Her army is mov'd on. Edg. I thank you, sir. [Exit Gent. Glo. You ever-gentle gods, take thy breath from me; Let not my worser spirit tempt me again, To die before you please! Edg. Well pray you, father. Glo. Now, good sir, what are you? Edg. A most poor man, made tame by fortune's blows; Who, by the art of known and feeling sorrows, Glo. Hearty thanks: The bounty and the benizon of heaven To boot, and boot! Enter Steward. Stew. A proclaim'd prize! Most happy! That eyeless head of thine was first fram'd flesh To raise my fortunes. Thou old unhappy traitor, Briefly thyself remember:-The sword is out That must destroy thee. Glo. Now let thy friendly hand Put strength enough to it. Stew. Wherefore, bold peasant, [Edgar opposes. Dar'st thou support a publish'd traitor? Hence; Lest that the infection of his fortune take Edg. Ch'ill not let go, zir, without vurther 'casion. Stew. Let go, slave, or thou diest. Edg. Good gentleman, go your gait, and let poor volk pass. And ch'ud ha' been zwagger'd out of my life, 'twould not ha' been zo long as 'tis by a vortnight. Nay, come not near the old man; keep out, che vor'ye, or ise try whether your costard or my bat be the harder: Ch'ill be plain with you. Stew. Out, dunghill! Edg. Ch'ill pick your teeth, zir: Come; no matter vor your foins. [They fight; and Edgar knocks him down. Stew. Slave, thou hast lain me :-Villain, take my purse; If ever thou wilt thrive, bury my body; And give the letters, which thou find'st about me, As badness would desire. Glo. What, is he dead? Edg. Sit you down, father; rest you. Let's see his pockets: these letters, that he speaks of, [Reads.] Let our reciprocal vows be remembered. You have many opportunities to cut him off: if your will want not, time and place will be fruitfully offered. There is nothing done, if he return the conqueror: Then am I the prisoner, and his bed my gaol; from the loathed warmth whereof deliver me, and supply the place for your labour. Your wife, (so I would say,) and your affectionate servant, GONERIL. O undistinguish'd space of woman's will! And the exchange, my brother!-Here, in the sands, [Exit Edgar, dragging out the body. Re-enter EDGAR. Edg. Give me your hand : Far off, methinks, I hear the beaten drum. [Exeunt. SCENE VII. A tent in the French camp. LEAR on a bed, asleep; Physician, Gentlemen, and others, attending. Enter CORDELIA, and Kent. Cor. O thou good Kent, how shall I live, and work, To match thy goodness: My life will be too short, And every measure fail me. Kent. To be acknowledg'd, madam, is o'erpaid. All my reports go with the modest truth; Nor more, nor clipp'd, but so. Cor. Be better suited: These weeds are memories of those worser hours; I pr'ythee, put them off. Kent. Pardon me, dear madam ; Yet to be known, shortens my made intent : Cor. Then be it so, my good lord.-How does the [To the Physician. king? Phys. Madam, sleeps still. Cor. O you kind gods, Cure this great breach in his abused nature! Phys. So please your majesty, That we may wake the king? he hath slept long. Cor. Be govern'd by your knowledge, and proceed I'the sway of your own will. Is he array'd? Gent. Ay, madam; in the heaviness of his sleep, We put fresh garments on him. Phys. Be by, good madam, when we do awake hini; I doubt not of his temperance. Cor. Very well. Phys. Please you, draw near.-Louder the music there. Cor. O my dear father! Restoration, hang Thy medicine on my lips; and let this kiss Repair those violent harms, that my two sisters Have in thy reverence made! Kent. Kind and dear princess! Cor. Had you not been their father, these white flakes Had challeng'd pity of them. Was this a face Of quick, cross lightning? to watch (poor perdu!) Though he had bit me, should have stood that night Cor. How does my royal lord? How fares your Lear. You do me wrong, to take me out o'the Thou art a soul in bliss; but I am bound Cor. Sir, do you know me? Lear. You are a spirit, I know; When did you die? Cor. Still, still, far wide! Phys. He's scarce awake; let him alone awhile. I am mightily abus'd.—I should even die with pity, Cor. O, look upon me, sir, And hold your hands in benediction o'er me:- |