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A Storm is heard, with Thunder and Lightning. Enter KENT and a Gentleman, meeting.
Kent. Who's here, beside foul weather?
Gent. One minded like the weather, most unquietly.
That things might change, or cease: tears his white hair :
Strives in his little world of man; to out-scorn
This night, wherein the cub-drawn bear would couch,
Keep their fur dry, unbonnetted he runs,
And bids what will take all.
But who is with him?
Gent. None but the fool; who labours to out-jest His heart-struck injuries.
Sir, I do know you;
And dare, upon the warrant of my art,
With mutual cunning, 'twixt Albany and Cornwall;
I am a gentleman of blood and breeding;
Gent. I will talk further with you.
No, do not.
Gent. Give me your hand: Have you no more to say? Kent. Few words, but, to effect, more than all yet; That, when we have found the king (in which your pain That way; I'll this;) he that first lights on him, [Exeunt severally.
Holla the other.
SCENE 11. Another Part of the Heath.
Storm continues. Enter LEAR and Fool.
Lear. Blow, wind, and crack your cheeks! rage! blow! You cataracts, and hurricanoes, spout
Till you have drench'd our steeples, drown'd the cocks!
Crack nature's moulds, all germens spill at once,
Fool. O nuncle, court holy-water in a dry house is better than this rain-water out o'door.-Good nuncle, in, and ask thy daughters' blessing: here's a night pities neither wise men nor fools.
Lear. Rumble thy bellyful! Spit, fire! spout, rain!
That have with two pernicious daughters join'd
Fool. He that has a house to put his head in, has a good head-piece.
The cod-piece that will house,
The head and he shall louse ;-
The man that makes his toe
What he his heart should make,
Shall of a corn cry woe,
And turn his sleep to wake.
for there was never yet fair woman, but she made
mouths in a glass.
Lear. No, I will be the pattern of all patience, I will say nothing.
Kent. Who's there?
Fool. Marry, here's grace, and a cod-piece; that's a wise man, and a fool.
Kent. Alas, sir, are you here? things that love night, Love not such nights as these; the wrathful skies Gallow the very wanderers of the dark,
And make them keep their caves: Since I was man, Such sheets of fire, such bursts of horrid thunder, Such groans of roaring wind and rain, I never Remember to have heard: man's nature cannot carry The affliction, nor the fear.
Let the great gods,
That keep this dreadful pother o'er our heads,
Unwhipp'd of justice: Hide thee, thou bloody hand;
Some friendship will it lend you 'gainst the tempest;
Their scanted courtesy.
My wits begin to turn.
Come on, my boy: How dost, my boy? Art cold?
I am cold myself.—Where is this straw, my fellow? The art of our necessities is strange,
That can make vile things precious. Come, your hovel, Poor fool and knave, I have one part in my heart That's sorry yet for thee.
Fool. He that has a little tiny wit,—
With heigh, ho, the wind and the rain,--
Lear. True, my good boy.-Come, bring us to this hovel. [Exeunt Lear and Kent. Fool. This is a brave night to cool a courtezan.—I'll speak a prophecy ere I go:
When priests are more in word than matter;
No squire in debt, nor no poor knight;
Come to great confusion.
Then comes the time, who lives to see't,
This prophecy Merlin shall make; for I live before his
SCENE 111. A Room in GLOSTER's Castle.
Enter GLOSTER and EDMUND.
Glo. Alack, alack, Edmund, I like not this unnatural dealing: When I desired their leave that I might pity him, they took from me the use of mine own house; charged me, on pain of their perpetual displeasure, neither to speak of him, entreat for him, nor any way sustain him.
Edm. Most savage, and unnatural!
Glo. Go to; say you nothing: There is division between the dukes: and a worse matter than that: I have received a letter this night;-'tis dangerous to be spoken;-I have locked the letter in my closet: these injuries the king now bears will be revenged at home; there is part of a power already footed: we must in