What guests were in her eyes; which parted thence,
As pearls from diamonds dropp'd.—In brief, sorrow
Would be a rarity most belov'd, if all
Could so become it.
Kent.

Made she no verbal question? Gent. 'Faith, once, or twice, she heav'd the name

of father Pantingly forth, as if it press'd her heart; Cry’d, Sisters! sisters !—Shame of ladies! sisters ! Kent ! father! sisters! What? i'the sturm? i'the night? Let pity not be believed !--There she shook The holy water from her heavenly eyes, And clamour moisten’d: then away she started To deal with grief alone. Kent.

It is the stars,
The stars above us, govern our conditions ;
Else one self mate and mate78 could not beget
Such different issues. You spoke not with her since?

Gent. No.
Kent. Was this before the king return'd?
Gent.

No, since. Kent. Well, sir; The poor distress'd Lear is i'the

town:
Who sometime, in his better tune, remembers
What we are come about, and by no means
Will yield to see his daughter.

Why, good sir?
Kent. A sovereign shame so elbows him: his own

unkindness, That stripp'd her from his benediction, turn'd her

Gent.

To foreign casualties, gave her dear rights
To his dog-hearted daughters,--these things sting
His mind so venomously, that burning shame
Detains him from Cordelia.
Gent.

Alack, poor gentleman! Kent. Of Albany's and Cornwall's powers you

heard not? Gent. 'Tis so; they are afoot. Kent. Well, sir, I'll bring you to our master

Lear,
And leave you to attend him: some dear cause
Will in concealment wrap me up a while;
When I am known aright, you shall not grieve
Lending me this acquaintance. I pray you, go
Along with me.]

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

The Same. A Tent.

Enter CORDELIA, Physician, and Soldiers. Cor. Alack, 'tis he; why, he was met even now As mad as the vex'd sea: singing aloud; Crown'd with rank fumiter, and furrow weeds, With harlocks, hemlock, nettles, cuckoo-flowers, Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow In our sustaining corn.-A century send forth; Search every acre in the high-grown field, And bring him to our eye. [Exit an Officer.]—What

can man's wisdom do,

In the restoring his bereaved sense?
He, that helps him, take all my outward worth.

Phy. There is means, madam:
Our foster-nurse of nature is repose,
The which he lacks; that to provoke in him,
Are many simples operative, whose power
Will close the eye of anguish.
Cor.

All bless'd secrets,
All you unpublish'd virtues of the earth,
Spring with my tears! be aidant, and remediate,
In the good man's distress !-Seek, seek for him;
Lest his ungovern'd rage dissolve the life
That wants the means to lead it.

Enter a Messenger. Mess.

Madam, news; The British powers are marching hitherward.

Cor. 'Tis known before; our preparation stands
In expectation of them.-0 dear father,
It is thy business that I go about;
Therefore great France
My mourning, and important tears, hath pitíed.
No blown ambition doth our arms incite,
But love, dear love, and our ag'd father's right:
Soon may 'I hear, and see him!

[Exeunt.

SCENE V.

A Room in Gloster's Castle.

Ay, madam.

Enter REGAN and Steward.
Reg. But are my brother's powers set forth?
Stew.
Reg.

Himself
In person there?
Stew.

Madam, with much ado : Your sister is the better soldier. Reg. Lord Edmund spake not with your lord at

home? Stew. No, madam. Reg. What might import my sister's letter to him? Stew. I know not, lady.

Reg. 'Faith, he is posted hence on serious matter. It was great ignorance, Gloster's eyes being out, To let him live; where he arrives, he moves All hearts against us: Edmund, I think, is gone, In pity of his misery, to despatch His nighted life; moreover, to descry The strength o'the enemy. Stew. I must needs after him, madam, with my

letter. Reg. Our troops set forth to-morrow; stay with us; The ways are dangerous. Stew.

I may not, madam; My lady charg'd my duty in this business.

Reg. Why should she write to Edmund ? Might

not you

Stew.

Transport her purposes by word? Belike,
Something I know not what:-I'll love thee much,
Let me unseal the letter.

Madam, I had rather-
Reg. I know, your lady does not love her husband;
I am sure of that: and, at her late being here,
She gave strange viliads, and most speaking looks
To noble Edmund: I know, you are of her bosom.

Stew. I, madam?

Reg. I speak in understanding ; you are, I know it: Therefore, I do advise you, take this note 79: My lord is dead; Edmund and I have talk'd; And more convenient is he for my hand, Than for your lady's:-You may gather more. If you do find him, pray you, give him this; And when your mistress hears thus much from you, I pray,

desire her call her wisdom to her. So, fare

you

well. If you do chance to hear of that blind traitor, Preferment falls on him that cuts him off. Stew. 'Would I could meet him, madam! I would

show What party I do follow. Reg.

Fare thee well. [Exéunt.