Were Blindness, and not to reward it Ingratitude.

Enough! Blind and Ungrateful should I be
Not to obey the Summons of this Oracle.
Now for a fecond Letter.

Goneril.

[Opens the other. [Reads.

If Modefly be not your Enemy, doubt not to

Find me your Friend.

Excellent Sybil! O my glowing Blood!

I am already fick of Expectation,

And pant for the Poffeffion.

Regan.

Here Glofter comes

With Bufinefs on his Brow; be hush'd my Joys.

Gloft. I come to feek thee, Edmund, to impart a Bufinefs of Importance; I know thy Loyal Heart is touch'd to fee the Cruelty of thefe ungrateful Daughters against our Royal Master.

Baft. Moft favage and unnatural.

Gloft. This Change in the State fits uneafy. The Commons repine aloud at their female Tyrants; already they cry out for the Re-Inftalment of their good old King, whofe Injuries, I fear, will enflame 'em into Mutiny.

Baft. 'Tis to be hop'd, not fear'd.

Gloft. Thou haft it, Boy, 'tis to be hop'd indeed;
On me they caft their Eyes, and hourly court me
To lead 'em on; and whilst this Head is mine,

I'm theirs. A little covert Craft, my Boy,

And then for open Action; 'twill be Employment
Worthy fuch honeft daring Souls as thine.
Thou, Edmund, art my trufty Emiffary.

Hafte on the Spur, at the firft break of Day [Gives him
With these Dispatches to the Duke of Cambray; Letters
You know what mortal Feuds have always flam'd
Between this Duke of Cornwal's Family, and his ;
Full Twenty Thousand Mountaineers

Th' inveterate Prince will fend to our Affiftance.
Difpatch; commend us to his Grace, and profper
Baft. Yes, credulous old Man,

I will commend you to his Grace,

His Grace the Duke of Cornwal-instantly,
To fhew him these Contents in thy own Character,

And

And feal'd with thy own Signet; then forthwith
The Chol'rick Duke gives Sentence on thy Life;
And to my Hand thy vaft Revenues,

To glut my Pleasure that 'till now has ftarv'd.
Glofter going off is met by Cordelia ent'ring, Bastard
obferving at a Diftance.

Cord. Turn, Glofter, turn, by the facred Pow'rs
I do conjure you give my Griefs a Hearing;
You must, you fhall, nay, I am fure you will,
For you were always ftyl'd the Juft and Good.

Gloft. What wou'dft thou, Princefs? rife, and speak thy Cord. Nay, you shall promise to redress 'em too, [Griefs. Or here I'll kneel for ever; I entreat

Thy Succour for a Father, and a King,

An injur'd Father, and an injur'd King.

Baft. O charming Sorrow! How her Tears adorn her, Like Dew on Flow'rs; but fhe is virtuous,

And I must quench this hopeless Fire i'th' kindling.
Baft. Confider, Princess,

For whom thou beg'ft, 'tis for the King that wrong'd thee.
Cord. O name not that; he did not, cou'd not wrong me.
Nay, mufe not, Glofter, for it is too likely

This injur'd King, e'er this, is paft your Aid,

And gone diftracted with his favage Wrongs.

Baft. I'll gaze no more, and yet my Eyes are charm'd. Cord. Or, what if it be worfe ;

As 'tis too probable, this furious Night

Has pierc'd his tender Body; the bleak Winds

And cold Rain chill'd, or Light'ning ftruck him dead; If it be fo, your Promife is discharg'd,

And I have only one poor Boon to beg,

That you'd convey me to his breathless Trunk,
With my torn Robes to wrap his hoary Head,
With my torn Hair to bind his Hands and Feet,

Then with a Show'r of Tears

To wash his Clay-finear'd Cheeks, and die befide him, Gloft. Rife, fair Cordelia, thou haft Piety

Enough t'atone for both thy Sifters Crimes;

I have already plotted to reftore

My injur'd Malter, and thy Virtue tells me
We fhall fucceed, and fuddenly.

[Exit.

Cord

Cord. Dispatch, Arante,

Provide me a Difguife; we'll inftantly
Go feek the King, and bring him fome Relief.
Ar. How, Madam! Are you ignorant
Of what your impious Sifters have decreed?
Immediate Death for any that relieve him.

Cord. I cannot dread the Furies in this Cafe.
Ar. In fuch a Night as this? Confider, Madam,
Miles about there's scarce a Bush

For many

To fhelter in.

Cord. Therefore no Shelter for the King,
And more our Charity to find him out :

What have not Women dar'd for vicious Love?
And we'll be shining Proofs that they can dare
For Piety as much. Blow Winds, and Lightnings fall,
Bold in my Virgin Innocence I'll fly,

My Royal Father to relieve or die.

Baft. Provide me a Difguife, we'll inftantly

Go feek the King ;-ha! ha! A lucky Change,

[Exit,

That Virtue which I fear'd would be my Hind'rance,
Has prov'd the Bond to my Defign;

I'll bribe two Ruffians shall at Distance follow,
And feize 'em in fome defert Place; and there

Whilst one retains her, t'other shall return

T'inform me where fhe's lodg'd; I'll be disguis'd too:
Whilft they are poching for me, I'll to the Duke
With thefe Difpatches, then to the Field,
Where, like the vig'rous Jove, I will enjoy
This Semele in a Storm; 'twill deaf her Cries,
Like Drums in Battle; left her Groans fhould pierce
My pitying Ear, and make the am'rous Fight lefs fierce.

Storm fill. The Field Scene.

[Exit.

Enter Lear and Kent.

Kent. Here is the Place, my Lord; good my Lord, enter;

The Tyranny of this open Night's too rough

For Nature to endure.

Lear. Let me alone.

Kent. Good my Lord, enter.

Lear. Wilt break my Heart?

Kent. Befeech you, Sir.

Lear

Lear. Thou think'ft 'tis much that this contentious Invades us to the Skin; fo 'tis to thee;

But where the greater Malady is fixt,

[Storm

The leffer is fcarce felt: The Tempeft in my Mind
Does from my Senfes take all Feeling else,
Save what beats there. Filial Ingratitude!
Is it not as this Mouth fhould tear this Hand
For lifting Food to't? But I'll punish-Home!
No, I will no more in fuch a Night

To fhut me out

-Pour on, I will endure

In fuch a Night as this: O Regan, Goneril!
Your old kind Father, whofe frank Heart gave all;
O that Way Madness lies; let me fhun that;
No more of that.

Kent. See, my Lord, here's the Entrance.
Lear. Well, I'll go in

And pafs it all; I'll pray, and then I'll fleep.
Poor naked Wretches, wherefoe'er you are,
That 'bide the pelting of this pitilefs Storm,
How fhall your houfelefs Heads and unfed Sides
Suftain this Shock? Your Raggedness defend you
From Seafons fuch as these.

Oh! I have ta'en too little Care of this!
Take Phyfick, Pomp,

Expofe thyself to feel what Wretches feel,

That thou may'ft caft the Superflux to them,

And fhew the Heav'ns more juft.

Edgar in the Hovel.

Five Fathom and a half, poor Tom.

Kent. What art thou that doft grumble there i'th Straw

Come forth.

Edgar. Away; The foul Fiend follows me

the fharp Haw-thorn blows the cold Wind

Through
Mum,

go to the Bed and warm thee- -Ha! What do I fee?
By all my Griefs the poor old King bareheaded,
And drench'd in this fow Storm! Profefling Syren,
Are all your Proteftations come to this?

Lear. Tell me, Fellow, didft thou give all to thy

[Daughters?

Edgar. Who gives any thing to poor Tom, whom the foul Fiend has led through Fire, and through Flame, through

Bushes,

Bushes, and Bogs; that has laid Knives under his Pillow, and Halters in his Pew; that has made him proud of Heart to ride on a bay trotting Horfe over four inched Bridges, to courfe his own Shadow for a Traitor.

Blefs thy five Wits. Tom's a cold. [Shivers.] Blefs thee from Whirlwinds, Star-blafting, and taking; do poor Tom fome Charity, whom the foul Fiend vexes. Sa, fa; there I could have him now, and there, and there agen.

Lear. Have his Daughters brought him to this Pafs? Couldst thou fave nothing? Didft thou give them all ? Kent. He has no Daughters, Sir.

Lear. Death, Traitor, nothing could have fubdu'd NaTo fuch a Lowness, but his unkind Daughters.

[ture Edg. Pillicock fat upon Pillicock hill; hallo, hallo, Lear. Is it the Fashion that disregarded Fathers [hallo. Should have fuch little Mercy on their Flesh? Judicious Punishment, 'twas his Flesh begot Those Pelican Daughters.

Edg. Take heed of the fow Fiend; obey thy Parents keep thy Word juftly; fwear not; commit not with Man's fworn Spouse; fet not thy fweet Heart on proud Array; Tom's a cold.

Lear. What haft thou been?

Edg. A Serving-man proud of Heart, that curl'd my Hair, ufed Perfume and Wafhes; that ferved the Luft of my Mistress's Heart, and did the Act of Darkness with her; fwore as many Oaths as I fpoke Words; and broke them all in the fweet Face of Heaven: Let not the Paint, nor the Patch, nor the Ruling of Silks, betray thy poor Heart to Woman; keep thy Foot out of Brothels, thy Hand out of Plackets, thy Pen from Creditors Books, and defy the foul Fiend. Still through the Hawthorn blows the cold Wind.Sefs, Suum, Mun, Nonny, Dolphin, my Boy !-Hift, the Boy, the Boy! Sefee! Soft, let him trot by.

Lear. Death! thou wert better in thy Grave, than thus to answer with thy uncovered Body, this Extremity of the Sky. And yet confider him well, and Man's no more than this; thou art indebted to the Worm for no Silk, to the Beaft for no Hide, to the Cat for no

Perfume,