old man; keep out, che vor ye, or ise try whether your costard or my ballow be the harder: chill be plain with

you.

Osw. Out, dunghill!

[They fight.

Edg. Chill pick your teeth, zir: come; no matter vor your foins.

[Oswald falls. 221 Villain, take my purse:

Osw. Slave, thou hast slain me.
If ever thou wilt thrive, bury my body;
And give the letters which thou find'st about me
To Edmund earl of Gloucester; seek him out
Upon the British party: O, untimely death!
Death!

Edg. I know thee well: a serviceable villain;
As duteous to the vices of thy mistress

As badness would desire.

Glou.

What, is he dead?

Edg. Sit you down, father; rest you.

Let's see these pockets: the letters that he speaks of
May be my friends. He's dead; I am only sorry

He had no other deathsman. Let us see:
Leave, gentle wax; and, manners, blame us not:
To know our enemies' minds, we 'ld rip their hearts;
Their papers, is more lawful.

[Dies.

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[Reads] Let our reciprocal vows be remembered. You have many opportunities to cut him off: if your will want not, time and place will be fruitfully offered. There is nothing done, if he return the conqueror: then am I the prisoner, and his bed my gaol; from the loathed warmth whereof deliver me, and supply the place for your labour. 'Your-wife, so I would say-affectionate servant,

O indistinguish'd space of woman's will!
A plot upon her virtuous husband's life;

'GONERIL.'

And the exchange my brother! Here, in the sands,
Thee I'll rake up, the post unsanctified

Of murderous lechers: and in the mature time

With this ungracious paper strike the sight

250

Of the death-practised duke: for him 'tis well
That of thy death and business I can tell.

Glou. The king is mad: how stiff is my vile sense,
That I stand up, and have ingenious feeling

Of my huge sorrows! Better I were distract:

So should my thoughts be sever'd from my griefs,
And woes by wrong imaginations lose

Edg.

The knowledge of themselves.

[Drum afar of.

Give me your hand:

Far off, methinks, I hear the beaten drum:

260

Come, father, I'll bestow you with a friend.

[Exeunt.

SCENE VII. A tent in the French camp. LEAR on a bed asleep, soft music playing; Gentleman, and others attending.

Enter CORDELIA, KENT, and Doctor.

Cor. O thou good Kent, how shall I live and work, To match thy goodness? My life will be too short, And every measure fail me.

Kent. To be acknowledged, madam, is o'er-paid. All my reports go with the modest truth;

Nor more nor clipp'd, but so.

Cor.

Be better suited:

These weeds are memories of those worser hours:
I prithee, put them off.

Kent.

Pardon me, dear madam;

Yet to be known shortens my made intent:
My boon I make it, that you know me not

Till time and I think meet.

Cor. Then be 't so, my good lord. [To the Doctor] How does the king?

Doct. Madam, sleeps still.

Cor. O you kind gods,

Cure this great breach in his abused nature!

The untuned and jarring senses, O, wind up
Of this child-changed father!

Doct.

So please your majesty That we may wake the king: he hath slept long.

Cor. Be govern'd by your knowledge, and proceed I' the sway of your own will. Is he array'd?

Gent. Ay, madam; in the heaviness of his sleep We put fresh garments on him.

Doct. Be by, good madam, when we do awake him; I doubt not of his temperance.

Cor.

20

Very well.

Louder the music there!

Restoration hang

Doct. Please you, draw near.

Cor. O my dear father!

Thy medicine on my lips; and let this kiss
Repair those violent harms that my two sisters
Have in thy reverence made!

Kent.

Kind and dear princess!

Cor. Had you not been their father, these white flakes Had challenged pity of them. Was this a face

To be opposed against the warring winds?

To stand against the deep dread-bolted thunder?
In the most terrible and nimble stroke

Of quick, cross lightning? to watch-poor perdu!—
With this thin helm? Mine enemy's dog,

Though he had bit me, should have stood that night
Against my fire; and wast thou fain, poor father,
To hovel thee with swine, and rogues forlorn,
In short and musty straw? Alack, alack!
'Tis wonder that thy life and wits at once

Had not concluded all. He wakes; speak to him.

Doct. Madam, do you; 'tis fittest.

31

40

Cor. How does my royal lord? How fares your majesty ? Lear. You do me wrong to take me out o' the grave: Thou art a soul in bliss; but I am bound

Upon a wheel of fire, that mine own tears
Do scald like molten lead.

Cor.

Sir, do you know me?

Lear. You are a spirit, I know: when did you die?

Cor. Still, still, far wide!

Doct.

He's scarce awake: let him alone awhile.

50

Lear. Where have I been? Where am I? Fair daylight?

I am mightily abused. I should e'en die with pity,
To see another thus. I know not what to say.

I will not swear these are my hands: let's see;

I feel this pin prick.

Of my condition!

Cor.

Would I were assured

O, look upon me, sir,

And hold your hands in benediction o'er me:
No, sir, you must not kneel.

Lear.

Pray, do not mock me:

I am a very foolish fond old man,
Fourscore and upward, not an hour more nor less;
And, to deal plainly,

I fear I am not in my perfect mind.

Methinks I should know you, and know this man;
Yet I am doubtful: for I am mainly ignorant
What place this is; and all the skill I have
Remembers not these garments; nor I know not
Where I did lodge last night. Do not laugh at me;
For, as I am a man, I think this lady

To be my child Cordelia.

Cor.

And so I am,

I am.

60

70

Lear. Be your tears wet? yes, 'faith. I pray, weep not;

If you have poison for me, I will drink it,

I know you do not love me, for your sisters
Have, as I do remember, done me wrong:
You have some cause, they have not.

Cor.

No cause, no cause.

Lear. Am I in France?

Kent.

Lear. Do not abuse me.

In your own kingdom, sir.

Doct. Be comforted, good madam: the great rage,
You see, is kill'd in him: and yet it is danger
To make him even o'er the time he has lost.
Desire him to go in; trouble him no more
Till further settling.

Cor. Will 't please your highness walk?

80

Lear. You must bear with me; pray you now, forget and forgive: I am old and foolish.

[Exeunt all but Kent and Gentleman.

Gent. Holds it true, sir, that the Duke of Cornwall was so slain?

Kent. Most certain, sir.

Gent. Who is conductor of his people?

Kent. As 'tis said, the bastard son of Gloucester.

90

Gent. They say Edgar, his banished son, is with the Earl of Kent in Germany.

Kent. Report is changeable. 'Tis time to look about: the powers of the kingdom approach apace.

Gent. The arbitrement is like to be bloody. Fare you

well, sir.

[Exit.

Kent. My point and period will be throughly wrought, Or well or ill, as this day's battle's fought.

[Exit.

ACT V.

SCENE I. The British camp, near Dover.

Enter, with drum and colours, Edmund, REGAN, Gentlemen, and Soldiers.

Edm. Know of the duke if his last purpose hold,

Or whether since he is advised by aught