Commend a dear thing to you. There is division, Although as yet the face of it be cover'd ; With mutual cunning, 'twixt Albany and Cornwall; The king hath cause to plain. I am a gentleman of blood and breeding; Gent. I will talk further with you. offer No, do not. For confirmation that I am much more And she will tell you who your fellow is That yet you do not know. Fie on this storm! Gent. Give me your hand: Have you no more to say? Kent. Few words, but, to effect, more than all yet; That, when we have found the king, (in which your pain That way; I'll this;) he that first lights on him, Holla the other. [Exeunt severally. SCENE II. Another Part of the Heath. Storm continues. Enter LEAR and Fool. Lear. Blow, wind, and crack your cheeks! rage! blow! You cataracts, and hurricanoes, spout Till you have drench'd our steeples, drown'd the cocks! You sulphurous and thought-executing fires, Vaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thunder-bolts, Singe my white head! And thou, all-shaking thunder, Crack nature's moulds, all germens spill at once, Fool. O nuncle, court holy-water in a dry house is better than this rain-water out o'door. Good nuncle, in, and ask thy daughters' blessing; here's a night pities neither wise men nor fools. Lear. Rumble thy bellyfull! Spit, fire! spout, rain! Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire, are my daughters: Fool. He that has a house to put his head in, has a good head-piece. -for there was never yet fair woman, but she made mouths in a glass. Enter KENT. Lear. No, I will be the pattern of all patience, I will say nothing. Kent. Who's there? Fool. Marry, here's grace, and a cod-piece; that's a wise man, and a fool. Kent. Alas, sir, are you here? things that love night, Love not such nights as these; the wrathful skies 53 Gallow the very wanderers of the dark, And make them keep their caves: Since I was man, Such sheets of fire, such bursts of horrid thunder, Such groans of roaring wind and rain, I never Remember to have heard: man's nature cannot carry The affliction, nor the fear. Lear. Let the great gods, That keep this dreadful pother o'er our heads, Find out their enemies now. Tremble, thou wretch, That hast within thee undivulged crimes, Unwhipp'd of justice: Hide thee, thou bloody hand; That art incestuous: Caitiff, to pieces shake, Hast practis'd on man's life!-Close pent-up guilts, These dreadful summoners grace.-I am a man, Kent. Alack, bare-headed! Gracious my lord, hard by here is a hovel; Some friendship will it lend you 'gainst the tempest; Deny'd me to come in,) return, and force Lear. My wits begin to turn.— Come on, my boy: How dost, my boy? Art cold? That can make vile things precious. Come, your hovel, Poor fool and knave, I have one part in my heart That's sorry yet for thee. Fool. 54 He that has a little tiny wit,— With heigh, ho, the wind and the rain,— Must make content with his fortunes fit ; For the rain it raineth every day. Lear. True, my good boy.-Come, bring us to this hovel. [Exeunt Lear and Kent. Fool. This is a brave night to cool a courtezan.— I'll speak a prophecy ere I go : When priests are more in word than matter; 55 No hereticks burn'd, but wenches' suitors: No squire in debt, nor no poor knight; |