864And hasten your returne; no, no, my Lord,

865This milky gentlenesse, and course of yours

866Though I condemne not, yet vnder pardon

867Your are much more at task for want of wisedome,

868Then prai'sd for harmefull mildnesse.

869Alb. How farre your eies may pierce I cannot tell;

870Striuing to better, oft we marre what's well.

871Gon. Nay then----

872Alb. Well, well, th'euent. Exeunt

875Lear. Go you before to Gloster with these Letters;

876acquaint my Daughter no further with any thing you

877know, then comes from her demand out of the Letter,

878if your Dilligence be not speedy, I shall be there afore

879you.

880Kent. I will not sleepe my Lord, till I haue deliuered

881your Letter. Exit.

882Foole. If a mans braines were in's heeles, wert not in

883danger of kybes?

884Lear. I Boy.

885Foole. Then I prythee be merry, thy wit shall not go

886slip-shod.

887Lear. Ha,ha,ha.

888Fool. Shalt see thy other Daughter will vse thee kind-

889ly, for though she's as like this, as a Crabbe's like an

890Apple, yet I can tell what I can tell.

891Lear. What can'st tell Boy?

892Foole. She will taste as like this as, a Crabbe do's to a

893Crab: thou canst tell why ones nose stands i'th'middle

894on's face?

895Lear. No.

896Foole. Why to keepe ones eyes of either side's nose,

897that what a man cannot smell out, he may spy into.

898Lear. I did her wrong.

899Foole. Can'st tell how an Oyster makes his shell?

900Lear. No.

901Foole. Nor I neither; but I can tell why a Snaile ha's

902a house.

903Lear. Why?

904Foole. Why to put's head in, not to giue it away to his

905daughters, and leaue his hornes without a case.

906Lear. I will forget my Nature, so kind a Father? Be

907my Horsses ready?

908Foole. Thy Asses are gone about 'em; the reason why

909the seuen Starres are no mo then seuen, is a pretty reason.

910Lear. Because they are not eight.

911Foole. Yes indeed, thou would'st make a good Foole.

912Lear. To tak't againe perforce; Monster Ingratitude!

913Foole. If thou wert my Foole Nunckle, Il'd haue thee

914beaten for being old before thy time.

915Lear. How's that?

916Foole. Thou shouldst not haue bin old, till thou hadst

917bin wise.

918Lear. O let me not be mad, not mad sweet Heauen:

919keepe me in temper, I would not be mad. How now are

920the Horses ready?

921Gent. Ready my Lord.

922Lear. Come Boy.

923Fool. She that's a Maid now, & laughs at my departure,

924Shall not be a Maid long, vnlesse things be cut shorter.

928Bast. Saue thee Curan.

929Cur. And your Sir, I haue bin

930With your Father, and giuen him notice

931That the Duke of Cornwall, and Regan his Duchesse

932Will be here with him this night.

933Bast. How comes that?

934Cur. Nay I know not, you haue heard of the newes a-

935broad, I meane the whisper'd ones, for they are yet but

936ear-kissing arguments.

937Bast. Not I: pray you what are they?

938Cur. Haue you heard of no likely Warres toward,

939'Twixt the Dukes of Cornwall, and Albany?

940Bast. Not a word.

941Cur. You may do then in time,

942Fare you well Sir. Exit.

943Bast. The Duke be here to night? The better best,

944This weaues it selfe perforce into my businesse,

945My Father hath set guard to take my Brother,

946And I haue one thing of a queazie question

947Which I must act, Briefenesse, and Fortune worke.

949Brother, a word, discend; Brother I say,

950My Father watches: O Sir, fly this place,

951Intelligence is giuen where you are hid;

952You haue now the good aduantage of the night,

953Haue you not spoken 'gainst the Duke of Cornewall?

954Hee's comming hither, now i'th'night, i'th'haste,

955And Regan with him, haue you nothing said

956Vpon his partie 'gainst the Duke of Albany?

957Aduise your selfe.

958Edg. I am sure on't, not a word.

959Bast. I heare my Father comming, pardon me:

960In cunning, I must draw my Sword vpon you:

961Draw, seeme to defend your selfe,

962Now quit you well.

963Yeeld, come before my Father, light hoa, here,

964Fly Brother, Torches, Torches, so farewell.

966Some blood drawne on me, would beget opinion

967Of my more fierce endeauour. I haue seene drunkards

968Do more then this in sport; Father, Father,

969Stop, stop, no helpe?

971Glo. Now Edmund, where's the villaine?

972Bast. Here stood he in the dark, his sharpe Sword out,

973Mumbling of wicked charmes, coniuring the Moone

974To stand auspicious Mistris.

975Glo. But where is he?

976Bast. Looke Sir, I bleed.

977Glo. Where is the villaine, Edmund?

978Bast. Fled this way Sir, when by no meanes he could.

979Glo. Pursue him, ho: go after. By no meanes, what?

980Bast. Perswade me to the murther of your Lordship,