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head piece.

But yet I call you servile ministers,
That have with two pernicious daughters join'd
Your high-engender'd battles, 'gainst a head
So old and white as this. Oh! oh! 'tis foul.
Fool. He that has a house to put's head in, has a good

The codpiece that will house,
Before the head has any,
The head and he shall lowse ;
So beggars inarry many:
That 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 yer fair woman, but Me made mouths in a glass.

Enter Kent. rar. No, I will be the pattern of all patience ; I will fay 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:

Lear. Let the great Gods,
That keep this dreadful pother o'er our heads,
Find out their enemies now, Tremble, thou wretch,
That haft within thee undivulged crimes,
Unwhipt of justice. Hide thee, thou bloody hand,
Thou perjure, and thou fimular of virtue,
That art incestuous. Caitiff, thake to pieces,
That, under covert and convenient seeming,
Hast practis'd on man's life!--Close pent-up guilts,
Rive your concealing continents, and ask


These dreadful summoners grace. I am a man,
More finned against, than sinning.

Kent. Alack, bare-headed !

my Lord, hard by here is a hovel ;
Some friendship will it lend you 'gainst the tempeft.
Repose you there, while I to this hard house,
More hard than is the stone whereof 'tis rais'd,
Which even but now, demanding after you,
Denied me to come in, return, and force
Their fcanted courtefy.

Lear. My wits begin to turn.
Come on, my boy. How doft, my boy: art cold?
I'm cold myself. Where is the straw, my fellow?
The art of our necessities is strange,
That can make vile things precious. Come, your lovet.
Poor fool and knave, I've one part in my heart,
That's sorry yet for thee.
Fool. He that has a little tyny wit,

With, heigh he! the wind and the rain,
Must make content with his fortunes fit,

Though the rain it raineth every day.
Lear. True, my good boy. Come, bring us to this hovel.

[Exit. Fool. 'Tis a brave night to cool a courtezan. I'll speak a prophecy ere I go.

When priests are more in words than matter i
When brewers marr their malt with water;
When nobles are their tailors' tutors;
No heretics burn, but wenches' suitors :
Then comes the time, who lives to see't,
That going shall be us’d with feet.

case in law is right,
No 'squire in debt, and no poor knight;
When slanders do not live in tongues,
Nor cut-purses come not to throngs;
When usurers tell their gold i' th' field,
And bawds and whores do churches build:
Then shall the realm of Albion

Come to great confusion. This prophecy Merlin shall make, for I do live before his time.


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Act III. Scene IV. Changes to a part of the Heath

with a Hovel.
Enter Léar, Kent, and Fool.

Here is the place, my Lord; good, my Lord, enter.
The tyranny of the open night's too rough
For nature to endure

(Storm fill

. Lear. Let me alone. Kent. Good my Lord, enter here. Lear. Will't break my

heart? Kent. I'd rather break mine own. Good my Lord,

enter. Lear. Thou think'ft'tis much, that this contentious

Invades us to the kin; fo 'tis to thee :
But where the greater malady is fix’d,
The lesser is scarce felt. Thou’dst fhun a bear;
But if thy flight lay toward the roaring sea,
Thou'dit' meet the bear i' the mouth. When the mind's free,
The body's delicate : the tempest in my mind
Doth from my senses take all feeling else,
Save what beats there. Filial ingratitude !
Is it not, as this mouth should tear this hand
For lifting food to't?-But I'll punish home;
No, I will weep no morem

-In such a night,
To shut me out! Pour on, I will endure-
In such a night as this ! O Regan, Gonerill!
Your old kind father, whose frank heart gave all-
O, that way madness lies; let me fun that ;
No more of that.

Kent. Good my Lord, enter here.
Lear. Pr’ythee, go in thyself; seek thine own ease :
This tempest will not give me leave to ponder
On things would hurt me more- But I'll


in. In boy, go firft. (To the Fool.] You houseless poverty – Nay, get thee in ; I'll pray, and then I'll fleep-[Fool goes in.


Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are,
That 'bide the pelting of this pitiless itorm!
How shall

your houselefs heads, and unfed fides,
Your-loop'd and window'd raggedness, defend you
From seasons such as these? O, I have ta’en
Too little care of this. Take physic, Pomp;
Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel,
That thou mayst shake the superflux to them,
And shew the heavens more juft.
Edg. [within.] Fathom and half, fathom and half! poor

Fool. Come not in here, nuncle, here's a spirit.
Help me, help me; [The Fool runs out from the Hovel.

Kent. Give me thy hand. Who's there?
Fool. A spirit, a spirit! He says, his name's poor

Tom. Kent. What art thou, that dost grumble there i' the straw? Come forth.

Enter Edgar, disguised 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. Didst 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, through ford and through whirlpool, o'er bog and quagmire ; that hath laid knives under his pillow, and halters in his pew;

fet ratsbane by his porridge; inade him proud of heart, to ride on a bay trotting horle over four-inch'd bridges, to course his own shadow for a traitor. Bless thy five wits : Tom's a-cold. O do de, do de, do de. Bless thee from whirlwinds, ftar-blafting, and taking. Do poor Tom fome charity, whom the foul fiend vexes. There could I have him now and there and here again, and there! [Storm ftill. Lear. 'What! have his daughters brought him to this

pass? Couldst thou save nothing ? didst thou give 'em all? Fool. Nay, he reserv'd a blanket, else we had been all

ashain'd. Lear. Now all the plagues, that in the pendulous air Hang fated o'er men's faults, light on thy daughters !

Kent. curled my

Kent. He hath no daughters, Sir.

Lear. Death! traitor. Nothing could have fubdued nature To such a lowness, but his unkind daughters. Is it the fashion, that discarded fathers Should have thus little mercy on their flesh? Judicious punishment ! 'twas this flesh beget Those pelícan daughters.

Edg. Pillicock fat on pillicock-hill, Halloo, halloo, loo, loo !

Fool. This cold night will turn us all to foolsand madmen

Edg. Take heed of the foul fiend. Obey thy parents. Keep thy word juftly. Swear not. Commit not with man's · sworn fpouse. Set not thy fweet heart on proud array. Tom's a-cold.

Lear. What haft thou been?
Edg. A serving man, proud in heart and mind; that

ir, wore gloves in my cap, served the luft of my mistress's heart, and did the act of darkness with her; swore as many oaths as I spake words, and broke them in the sweet face of heaven. One that slept in the contriving luft, and waked to do it. Wine loved I deeply; dice dearly; and in woman, out-paramoured the Turk. False of heart, light of ear, bloody of hand, hog in sloth, fox in stealth, wolf in greediness, dog in madness, lion in prey. Let not the creaking of shoes, nor the rustling of filks, betray thy poor heart to woman. Keep thy foot out of brothels, thy hand out of plackets, thy pen from lenders' books, and defy the foul fiend. Still through the hawthorn blows the cold wind: says fuum, mun, nonny, dolphin, my boy, boy, Sefey, let him trot by.

[Storm ftill. Lear. Why thou wert better in thy grave, than to answer with thy uncovered body this extremity of the skies-

Is man no more than this? Consider him well :
Thou owest the worm no filk, the beast no hide ;
The sheep na wool, the cat no perfume :-Ha! here's
Three of us are sophisticated! Thou art the thing
Itself: unaccommodated man is no more than
Such a poor bare forked animal as thou art-Off, off,
You lendings:-Come, unbutton here.-

[Tearing off his clothes. Foal. Pr’ythee, nuncle, be contented: 'tis a naughty night

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