In my corrupted blood. But I'll not chide thee;
Let shame come when it will, I do not call it:
I do not bid the thunder-bearer shoot,
Nor tell tales of thee to high-judging Jove:
Mend, when thou canst; be better, at thy leisure:
I can be patient; I can stay with Regan,

I, and my hundred knights.
Reg.

Not altogether so, sir;

I look'd not for you yet, nor am provided

For your fit welcome: Give ear, sir, to my sister;

For those that mingle reason with your passion,

Must be content to think you old, and so

But she knows what she does.

Lear.

Is this well spoke now?

Reg. I dare avouch it, sir: What, fifty followers ? Is it not well? What should you need of more? Yea, or so many? sith that both charge and danger Speak 'gainst so great a number? How, in one house, Should many people, under two commands, Hold amity? 'Tis hard; almost impossible.

Gon. Why might not you, my lord, receive attendance

From those that she calls servants, or from mine?

Reg. Why not, my lord? If then they chanc'd to

slack you,

We could control them: If you will come to me,
(For now I spy a danger,) I entreat you

To bring but five and twenty; to no more
Will I give place, or notice.
Lear. I gave you all-

Reg.

And in good time you gave it.

Lear. Made you my guardians, my depositaries;

But keep a reservation to be follow'd

With such a number: What, must I come to you
With five and twenty, Regan? said you so?

Reg. And speak it again, my lord; no more with

me.

Lear. Those wicked creatures yet do look wellfavour'd,

When others are more wicked; not being the worst, Stands in some rank of praise:-I'll go with thee;

[To Goneril.

Thy fifty yet doth double five and twenty,

And thou art twice her love.

Gon.

Hear me, my lord;

What need you five and twenty, ten, or five,
To follow in a house, where twice so many

Have a command to tend you?

Reg.

What need one?

Lear. O, reason not the need: our basest beggars

Are in the poorest thing superfluous :

Allow not nature more than nature needs,

Man's life is cheap as beast's: thou art a lady;

If only to go warm were gorgeous,

Why, nature needs not what thou gorgeous wear'st, Which scarcely keeps thee warm. But, for true

need,

You heavens, give me that patience, patience I need!
You see me here, you gods, a poor old man,
As full of grief as age; wretched in both !

If it be you that stir these daughters' hearts
Against their father, fool me not so much
To bear it tamely; touch me with noble anger!
O, let not women's weapons, water-drops,
Stain my man's cheeks! -No, you unnatural hags,
I will have such revenges on you both,

That all the world shall-I will do such things, -
What they are, yet I know not; but they shall be
The terrors of the earth. You think, I'll weep;
No, I'll not weep:-

I have full cause of weeping; but this heart
Shall break into a hundred thousand flaws,
Or ere I'll weep: -- O, fool, I shall go mad!

[Exeunt Lear, Gloster, Kent, and Fool,

Corn. Let us withdraw, 'twill be a storm.

Reg.

[Storm heard at a distance.
This house

Is little; the old man and his people cannot
Be well bestow'd.
Gon.

'Tis his own blame; he hath put

Himself from rest, and must needs taste his folly.

Reg. For his particular, I'll receive him gladly,

But not one follower.

Gon.

So am I purpos'd.

Where is my lord of Gloster?

Re-enter GLOSTER.

Corn. Follow'd the old man forth: -he is return'd.

Glo. The king is in high rage.

Corn.

Whither is he going?

Glo. He calls to horse; but will I know not
whither.

Corn. 'Tis best to give him way; he leads himself.
Gon. My lord, entreat him by no means to stay.
Glo. Alack, the night comes on, and the bleak

winds

Do sorely ruffle; for many miles about

There's scarce a bush.

Reg.

O, sir, to wilful men,

The injuries, that they themselves procure,
Must be their schoolmasters: Shut up your doors;

He is attended with a desperate train;

And what they may incense him to, being apt

To have his ear abus'd, wisdom bids fear.

Corn. Shut up your doors, my lord; 'tis a wild

night;

My Regan counsels well: come out o'the storm.

[Exeunt.

ACT III. SCENE I.

A Heath.

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 un

quietly.

Kent. I know you; Where's the king?
Gent. Contending with the fretful element:

Bids the wind blow the earth into the sea,
Or swell the curled waters 'bove the main,

That things might change, or cease: tears his white

hair;

Which the impetuous blasts, with eyeless rage,
Catch in their fury, and make nothing of:

Strives in his little world of man to out-scorn

The to-and-fro-conflicting wind and rain.

This night, wherein the cub-drawn bear would

couch,

The lion and the belly-pinched wolf

Keep their fur dry, unbonneted he runs,

And bids what will take all.

Sir, I do know you;

And dare, upon the warrant of my art,