Enter Steward.

Reg. I know't my fifters, this approues her letters,
That she would foone be here, is your lady come?
Lear. This is a flaue, whose easie borrowed pride
Dwels in the fickle grace of her he followes,
Out varlet, from my fight.

Duke. What meanes yonr grace?

Enter Gonorill.

Gon. Who ftrucke my feruant? Regan, I haue good hope Thou didst know ant.

Lear. Who comes here? O heauens !

If you do loue olde men, if you sweet sway alow
Obedience, if your felues are old, make it your cause,
Send downe and take my part;

Art not asham'd to looke vpon this beard?

O Regan, wilt thou take her by the hand?

Gon. Why not by the hand fir, how haue I offended? All's not offence that indifcretion findes,

And dotage tearmes fo.

Lear. O fides, you are too tough,

Will you yet hold? how came my man i'th ftockes?
Duke. I fet him there, but his owne disorders
Deferu'd much leffe aduancement.

Lear. You; did you?

Reg. I pray you father being weake, feeme fo,
If till the expiration of your moneth,

You will returne and foiourne with my fifter,
Difmiffing halfe your traine, come then to me,
I am now from home, and out of that prouifion
Which fhall be needfull for your entertainment.

Lear.

Lear. Returne to her, and fifty men dismist?
No, rather I abiure all roofes, and chufe
To wage against the cnmity of the ayre,
To be a comrade with the wolfe and owle,
Neceffities sharpe pinch, returne with her :
Why the hot blood in France, that dowerles
Tooke our yongest borne, I could as well be brought
To knee his throne, and squire-like pension beg,
To keepe bafe life afoote; returne with her?
Perfwade me rather to be flaue and fumpter
To this detefted groome.

Gon. At your choife fir.

Lear. Now I prethee daughter do not make me mad, I will not trouble thee my childe, farwell,

Wee'l no more meete, no more fee one another.

But yet thou art my flesh, my bloud, my daughter,
Or rather a disease that lies within my flesh,
Which I must needs call mine, thou art a byle,
A plague fore, an imbossed carbuncle in my
Corrupted bloud, but Ile not chide thee,
Let fhame come when it will, I do not call it,
I do not bid the thunder-bearer shoote,
Nor tell tales of thee to high iudging Ioue,

Mend when thou canft, be better at thy leisure,
I can be patient, I can ftay with Regan,

I and my hundred knights.

Reg. Not altogether fo fir, I looke not for you yet,

Nor am prouided for your fit welcome,

Giue eare to my fifter, for those

That mingle reafon with your paffion,

Must be content to thinke you are old, and fo,
But the knowes what fhe does.

Lear. Is this well spoken now?

Reg. I dare auouch it fir, what fifty followers,
Is it not well? what should you need of more,
Yea or fo many, fith that both charge and danger
Speakes gainst fo great a number, how in a house
Should many people vnder two commands.

Hold amity, tis hard, almost impossible.

Gon. Why might not you my lord, receiue attendance

From those that she cals feruants, or from mine?

Reg. Why not my lord? if then they chancft to flacke you, We could controle them; if you will come to me,

(For now I fpie a danger) I entreate you

To bring but fiue and twenty, to no more
Will I giue place or notice.

Lear. I gaue you all.

Reg. And in good time you gaue it.

Lear. Made you my guardians, my depofitaries,
But kept a referuation to be followed

With fuch a number, what, muft I come to you
With fiue and twenty, Regan, faid you fo?

Reg. And speak't againe my lord, no more with me.

Lear. Thofe wicked creatures yet do feeme well-fauour'd
When others are more wicked, not being the worst,
Stands in fome ranke of praife, Ile go with thee,
Thy fifty yet doth double fiue and twenty,
And thou art twice her loue.

Gon. Heare me my lord;

What need you fiue and twenty, ten, or fiue,
To follow in a house, where twice fo many
Haue a command to tend you?

Regan. What needs one?

Lear. O reafon not the deed, our basest beggers

Are in the pooreft thing fuperfluous,

Allow not nature more then nature needs,

Mans

Mans life's as cheap as beafts; thou art a lady,
If onely to go warme were gorgious,

Why nature needs not what thou gorgious wearest,
Which fearfely keepes thee warme, but for true need,
You heauens giue me that patience, patience I need,
You see me heere (you gods) a poore old fellow,
As full of greefe as age, wretched in both,
If it be you that ftirres thefe daughters hearts
Against their father, foole me not too much,
To beare it lamely, touch me with noble anger,
Olet not womens weapons, water drops
Staine my mans cheekes, no you vnnaturall hags,
I will haue fuch reuenges on you both,

That all the world fhall-I will do fuch things,
What they are, yet I know not, but they shall be
The terrors of the earth; you thinke ile weepe,
No, ile not weepe, I haue full cause of weeping,
But this heart fhall breake in a thousand flowes
Ere ile weepe; ô foole, I fhall go mad.

Exeunt Lear, Glocefter, Kent, and Foole.

Duke. Let vs withdraw, twill be a storme.

Reg. This houfe is little, the old man and his people, Cannot be well bestowed.

Gon. Tis his owne blame hath put himselfe from reft, And muft needs tafte his folly.

Reg. For his particular, ile receiue him gladly,

But not one follower.

Duke. So I am purpofd, where is my lord of Glocefter?

Enter Glocefter.

Reg. Followed the old man forth, he is return'd.

Glo. The king is in high rage, and will I know not whether, Reg. Tis good to giue him way, he leads himselfe.

Gon. My lord, entreate him by no meanes to stay.

Glo. Alacke, the night comes on, and the bleake windes Do forely ruffell, for many miles about there's not a bush. Reg. O fir, to wilfull men,

The iniuries that they themfelues procure,

Must be their schoole-mafters, fhut vp your doores,

He is attended with a desperate traine,

And what they may incense him too, being apt,
To haue his eare abufed, wifedome bids feare.

Duke. Shut vp your doores my lord, 'tis a wilde night,
My Regan counfels well, come out ath storme.

Exeunt omnes.

Enter Kent and a Gentleman at feuerall doores.

Kent. What's heere befide foule weather?
Gent. One minded like the weather, moft vnquietly.
Kent. I know you, where's the king?

Gent. Contending with the fretfull element,
Bids the winde blow the earth into the fea,

Or fwell the curled waters boue the maine,

That things might change or cease, teares his white haire,
Which the impetuous blafts with eieleffe rage

Catch in their fury, and make nothing of,
Striues in his little world of man to out-fcorne,

The too and fro conflicting winde and raine,

This night wherein the cub-drawne beare would couch,

The lyon, and the belly pinched wolfe

Keepe their furre dry, vnbonneted he runnes,

And bids what will take all.

Kent. But who is with him?

Gent. None but the foole, who labours to out-ieft His heart ftrooke iniuries.

Kent.