Send quickly down to tame the vile offences,
Humanity must perforce prey on itself,
Like monfters of the deep.

Gon. Milk-liver'd man!

That bear ft a cheek for blows, a head for wrongs;
Who haft not in thy brows an eye difcerning
Thine honour, from thy fuffering: that not know'st,
Fools do thefe villains pity, who are punish'd
Ere they have done their mifchief. Where's thy

Drum?

France fpreads his Banners in our noiseless land,
With plumed helm thy flayer begins his threats;
Whilst thou, a mortal fool, fit'ft ftill, and cry'ft,
Alack! why does he fo?

Alb. See thyfelf, devil:

Proper deformity feems not in the fiend
So horrid as in woman.

Gon. O vain fool!

Alb. Thou chang'd, and self-converted thing! For shame,

Be-monfter not thy feature. Were't my fitness
To let these hands obey my [boiling] blood,
They're apt enough to dislocate and tear
Thy flesh and bones.-Howe'er thou art a fiend,
A woman's fhape doth fhield thee.-
Gon. Marry, your manhood now!-

Enter Messenger.

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

dead:

Slain by his fervant, going to put out

The other eye of Glofter.

Alb. Glofter's eyes!

Mef. A fervant, that he bred, thrill'd with remorfe, Oppos'd against the act; bending his sword To his great mafter: who, thereat enrag'd, Flew on him, and amongst them fell'd him dead: But now without that harmful ftroke, which fince

E 4

Hath

4

Hath pluck'd him after.

Alb. This fhews you are above,

You Juftices, that these our nether crimes

So fpeedily can 'venge.

Loft he his other eye?

But O, poor Glofter!

Mef. Both, both, my lord.

This letter, Madam, craves a fpeedy answer: 'Tis from your fifter:

Gen. One way, I like this well;

But being widow, and my Glo'fter with her,
May all the building in my fancy pluck

Upon my hateful life.

Another way,

The news is not fo tart. I'll read, and answer. [Exit. Alb. 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, I met him back 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 punishment Might have the freer courfe.

Alb. Glofter, 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'ft.

Kent.

T

SCENE III

DOVER.

Enter Kent, and a Gentleman.

[Exeunt.

HE King of France fo fuddenly gone back!
Know you the reason?

Gent. Something he left imperfect in the State, Which fince his coming forth is thought of, which

Imports

Imports the Kingdom fo much fear and danger, That his return was moft requir'd and neceffary. Kent. Whom hath he left behind him General? Gent. The Marefchal of France, Monfieur le Far. Kent. Did your letters pierce the Queen to any demonftration of grief?

Gent. I, Sir, fhe took 'em, read 'em in my prefence; And now and then an ample tear trill'd down Her delicate cheek; it feem'd, he was a Queen Over her paffion, which, moft rebel-like, Sought to be King o'er her.

Kent. O, then it mov'd her.

Gent. But not to Rage. Patience and Sorrow ftrove Which should express her goodlieft; you have feen Sun-fhine and rain at once-her Smiles and Tears Were like a wetter May. Those happiest smiles, That play'd on her ripe lip, feem'd not to know What guests were in her Eyes; which parted thence, As pearls from diamonds dropt.- -In brief, Sorrow would be a rarity most belov'd,

If all could fo become it.

Kent. Made fhe no verbal queft?

Gent. Yes, once, or twice, the heav'd the Name of
Father

Pantingly forth; as if it preft her heart.

Cry'd, fifters! fifters !-Shame of Ladies! fifters!
Kent Father! Sifters! what? i'th' ftorm? i'th' night?
Let Pity ne'er believe it!—there fhe fhook
The holy water from her heav'nly Eyes;

And, Clamour-motion'd, then away fhe ftarted
To deal with grief alone.

Kent

It is the stars,

The Stars above us, govern our conditions:
Elfe one felf-mate and mate could not beget
Such diff'rent iffues. Spoke you with her fince?
Gent. No.

Kent. Was this before the King return'd ?
Gent. No, fince.

Kent. Well, Sir; 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 his daughter.

Gent. Why, good Sir?

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

That fript her from his benediction, turn'd her
To foreign cafualties, gave her dear rights

To his dog-hearted daughters: Thefe things fting him

So venomously, that burning fhame detains him
From his Cordelia.

Gent. Alack, poor gentleman!.

Kent. Of Albany's, and Cornwall's Pow'rs you heard not?

Gent. 'Tis faid they are a-foot.

Kent. Well, Sir, I'll bring you to our mafter Lear, And leave you to attend him. Some dear cause Will in Concealment wrap me up a while: When I am known aright, you fhall not grieve Lending me this acquaintance. Pray, along with me.

Cor.

SCENE

A CAMP.

IV.

Enter Cordelia, Phyfician, and Soldiers.

A

[Exeunt.

LACK, 'tis he; why, he was met even now
As mad as the vext fea; finging aloud;
Crown'd with rank fumiter, and furrow-weeds,
With hardocks, hemlock, nettles, cuckoo-flowers,
Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow

In our fuftaining corn. Send forth a cent'ry;
Search ev'ry acre in the high-grown field,

And bring him to our eye. What can man's Wisdom
In the reftoring his bereaved fenfe,

He

He, that helps him, take all my outward worth.
Phyf. There are means, Madam:

Our fofter nurfe of nature is repose;

The which he lacks; that to provoke in him,

Are many Simples operative, whose

Will clofe the eye of anguish.

Cor. All bleft Secrets,

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 the life,

That wants the means to lead it.

Enter a Meffenger.

Mef. News, Madam :

The British Pow'rs are marching hitherward.
Cor. 'Tis known before. Our preparation stands
In expectation of them. O, dear father,

It is thy bufinefs that I go about: therefore great
France

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:
Soon may I hear, and fee him!

SCENE V.

REGAN's PALACE.

Enter Regan and Steward.

[Exeunts

Reg. BUT are my Brother's Powers fet forth?

Stew. Ay, Madam.

Reg. Himself in person there?

Stew. With much ado.

Your fifter is the better foldier.

Reg. Lord Edmund, fpake not with your lady at

home?

Stew. No, Madam.

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Reg.