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Alb. O tis he, the time will not allow The complement that very manners vrges.

Kent. I am come to bid my king and mafter aye good night. Is he not heere?

Alb. Great things of vs forgot. Speake Edmund, where's the king, and wher's Cordelia? feest thou this obiect Kent ? The bodies of Gonorill and Regan are brought in. Kent. Alacke, why thus.

Baft. Yet Edmund was belou'd: the one the other poifond for my fake, and after flewe her felfe.

Alb. Euen fo, couer their faces.

Baft. I pant for life: fome good I meane to do defpight of my owne nature. Quickly fend, bee briefe, into the castle for my writ, tis on the life of Lear, and on Cordelia : nay, fend in time.

Alb. Run, run, O run.

Edg. To who my lord? who hath the office?

Send thy token of repreeue.

Baft. Well thought on, take my fword, giue it the captaine. Alb. Haft thee for thy life.

Baft. He hath commiffion from thy wife and me, to hang Cordelia in the prison, and to lay the blame vpon her own defpaire.

Alb. The gods defend her, beare him hence a while.

Enter Lear with Cordelia in his Armes.

Lear. Howle, howle, howle, howle: O you are men of ftones,

Had I your tongues and eyes, I wouid vfe them fo,
That heauens vault should cracke: O, she is gone
I know when one is dead, and when one liues,
Shees dead as earth: lend me a looking-glaffe.

for euer.

If that her breath will mist and staine the stone, she then liues.

Kent.

Kent. Is this the promist end?

Edg. Or image of that horror?

Alb. Fall and cease.

Lear. This feather ftirs, fhe liues, if it be fo, it is a chance that do's redeeme all forrowes that euer I haue felt.

Kent. A my good mafter.

Lear. Prethee away.

Edg. Tis noble Kent your friend.

Lear. A plague vpon you murdrous traitors all, I might haue faued her, now fhees gone for euer: Cordelia; Cordelia, ftay a litle. What ift thou fayft? her voice was euer foft, gentle and low, an excellent thing in women. I kild the flaue that was a hanging thee.

Cap. Tis true my lords hee did.

Lear. Did I not fellow? I ha feene the day, that with my biting fauchion I would haue made them skip: I am old now, and these fame croffes fpoile me. Who are you? mine eyes

are none o'th beft, Ile tell you ftraight.

Kent. If fortune brag'd of two fhe loued or hated.

One of them we behold.

Lear. Are not you Kent?

Kent. The fame your feruant Kent, where is your feruat

Gaius?

Lear. Hees a good fellow, I can tell that,

Heel ftrike and quickly too, hees dead and rotten.

Kent. No my good lord, I am the very man.

Lear. Ile fee that straight.

Kent. That from your life of difference and decay,

Haue followed your fad steps.

Lear. You are welcome hether,

Kent. Nor no man elfe: all's cheerlesse, darke, and deadly.

Your eldest daughters haue fore-doom'd themfelues,
And defperately are dead.

Lear.

Lear. So I thinke too.

Alb. He knowes not what he fees, and vaine it is That we prefent vs to him.

Edgar. Very bootleffe.

Enter Captaine.

Cap. Edmund is dead my lord.

Alb. Thats but a trifle heere: you lords and noble friends, know our intent, what comfort to this decay may come, shall be applied for vs we will refigne during the life of this old maiefty to him our abfolute power, you to your rights with boote, and fuch addition as your honors haue more then merited, al friends fhall tafte the wages of their vertue, and all foes the cup of their deferuings: O see, see.

Lear. And my poore foole is hangd: no, no life, why fhould a dog, a horse, a rat haue life, and thou no breath at all? O thou wilt come no more, neuer, neuer, neuer : pray vndo this button; thanke you fir, 0, 0, 0, 0, 0.

Edg. He faints, my lord, my lord.

Lear. Breake heart, I prethe breake.

Edg. Looke vp my lord..

Kent. Vex not his ghost, O let him paffe,

He hates him much, that would vpon the wracke
Of this tough world stretch him out longer.

Edg. O he is gone indeed.

Kent. The wonder is, he hath endured fo long, He but vfurpt his life.

Duke. Beare them from hence, our prefent bufineffe Is to generall woe: friends of my foule, you twaine Rule in this kingdome, and the good state sustaine. Kent. I haue a iourney fir, fhortly to go,

My mafter cals, and I muft not fay no.

Duke. The waight of this fad time we must obay,
Speake what we feele, not what we ought to say:
The oldeft haue borne moft, we that are yong,
Shall neuer fee fo much, nor liue fo long.

!

OF THE

Troublesome RAIGNE of

John King of England.

WITH THE

Discouerie of King RICHARD

Cordelions base Sonne

(Vulgarly named, the Baftard Fawconbridge:)

ALSO,

The Death of King Iohn at Swinftead Abbey. As they were (fundry times) lately acted by the Queenes MAIESTIES Players.

Written by W. Sh.

Imprinted at London by Valentine Simmes, for Iohn Helme, and are to be fold at his Shop in Saint Dunftons Church-yard in Fleeteftreet. 1611.

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