Lear. Never, Regan; She has abated me of half my Train, Look'd black upon me, ftab'd me with her Tongue: On her ingrateful Head; ftrike her young Bones, Reg. Ŏ the bleft Gods! Thus will you wish on me, When the rafh Mood Lear. No, Regan, Thou shalt never have my Curse; Thy tender Nature cannot give thee o'er To fuch Impiety: Thou better know'st The Offices of Nature, Bond of Childhood, And Dues of Gratitude; thou bear'st in Mind The Half o'th' Kingdom, which our Love confer'd Reg. Good Sir, to the Purpose. Lear. Who put my Man i'th' Stocks? Duke. What Trumpet's that? Reg. I know't, my Sifter's; this confirms her Letters. Sir, is your Lady come? Enter Goneril's Gentleman. Lear. More Torture ftill: This is a Slave, whofe eafy borrow'd Pride Duke. What means your Grace? Lear. Who flock'd my Servant? Regan, I have Hope Thou didst not know it. Enter Goneril. Who comes here? Oh Heav'ns! If you do love old Men; if you, sweet Sir, Allow Obedience; if yourselves are old, Make it your Cafe, fend down and take my Part! Gon Gon. Why not by th' Hand, Sir? How have I offended ? All's not Offence that Indifcretion finds, And Dotage terms fo. Lear. Heart, thou art too tough. Reg. I pray you, Sir, being old, confefs you are fo. If till the Expiration of your Month, You will return and fojourn with our Sifter, Lear. Now, I prithee, Daughter, do not make me mad; I will not trouble thee, my Child, farewell. We'll meet no more, no more fee one another; Let Shame come when it will, I do not call it, I do not bid the Thunder-bearer ftrike, Nor tell tales of thee to avenging Heav'n; Mend when thou canft, be better at thy Leifure ; I can be patient, I can ftay with Regan, I, and my hundred Knights. Reg. Your Pardon, Sir; I look'd not for you yet, nor am provided Lear. Is this well spoken now? Reg. My Sifter treats you fair; what! fifty Followers ?` Is it not well? what should you need of more? Gon. Why might not you, my Lord, receive Attendance From those whom the calls Servants, or from mine? Reg. Why not, my Lord? If then they chance to flack We cou'd controul 'em.-If you come to me, For now I fee the Danger, I intreat you Will I give Place. [you, Lear. Hold now, my Temper; ftand this Bolt unmov'd, And I am Thunder-Proof; The wicked, when compar'd with the more wicked, C 2 Seem Seem beautiful; and not to be the worst, Gon. Hear me, my Lord. What need you Five and Twenty, Ten, or Five, Have a Command t'attend you? Reg. What need one? Lear. Blood! Fire! here Leprofies and bluest Room, room for Hell to belch her Horrors up, [Plagues! And drench the Circes in a Stream of Fire; Hark, how th' Infernals eccho to my Rage Their Whips and Snakes. Reg. How lead a thing is Paffion! Gon. So old and ftomachful. [Light'ning and Thunder, Lear. Heav'ns drop your Patience down; You fee me here, ye Gods, a poor old Man, As full of Grief as Age, wretched in both-I'll bear no more. No, you unnatural Hags, I will have fuch Revenges on you both, That all the World fhall I will do fuch things, What they are yet I know not, but they fhall be The Terrors of the Earth; you think I'll weep, [Thunder This Heart fhall break into a thousand Pieces Before I'll weep. O Gods! I fhall go mad. [again. [Exit. Duke. 'Tis a wild Night, come out o'th' Storm. [Ex. The End of the Second Act. ACT Lear. ACT III. SCENE A defert Heath. Enter Lear and Kent in the Storm. LOW Winds, and burit your Cheeks, rage louder yet, Fantaftick Light'ning, finge, finge my white Head; Spout Cataracts, and Hurricanoes fall, Till you have drown'd the Towns and Palaces Of proud ingrateful Man. Kent. Not all my beit Intreaties can perfuade him Into fome needful Shelter, or to bide This poor flight Cov'ring on his aged Head, Expos'd to this wild War of Earth and Heav'n. Lear. Rumble thy fill, fight Whirlwind, Rain and Fire; Your horrible Pleafure; here I ftand your Slave, Lear. I will forget my Nature, what! fo kind a FaAy, there's the Point. [ther? Kent. Confider, good my Liege. Things that love Night C 32 Love Love not fuch Nights as this; these wrathful Skies And make 'em keep their Caves; fuch drenching Rain, That keep the dreadful Pudder o'er our Heads, Find out their Enemies now. Tremble, thou Wretch, That haft within thee undifcover'd Crimes! Hide that bloody Hand, Thou perjur'd Villain, holy Hypocrite, That drink'it the Widow's Tears; figh now, and cry Thefe dreadful Summoners Grace, I am a Man Kent, Good Sir, to th' Hovel. Come on my Boy, how doft my Boy Art cold? And can make vile things precious; my poor Knave, Glofter's Palace. Enter Baftard. [Exit. Baft. The Storm is in our louder Rev'lings drown'd. Thus wou'd I reign, cou'd I but mount a Throne. The Riots of these proud imperial Sisters Already have impos'd the galling Yoke Of Taxes, and hard Impofitions, on The drudging Peafants Necks, who bellow out ha! Two Servants, from feveral Entrances, deliver. a Letter, and Ex. Where Merit is fo tranfparent,, not to. behold it bim each t |