And Baudes, and whores, do Churches build,
Then shal the Realme of Albion, come to great confusion:
Then comes the time, who liues to see't,
That going shalbe vs'd with feet.
This prophecie Merlin shall make, for I liue before his timeExit.
Scæna Tertia.
Enter Gloster, and Edmund.
Glo.
Alacke, alacke Edmund, I like not this vnnaturall dealing; when I desired their leaue that I might pity him, they tooke from me the vse of mine owne house, charg'd me on paine of perpetuall displeasure, neither to speake of him, entreat for him, or any way sustaine him.
Bast.
Most sauage and vnnaturall.
Glo.
Go too; say you nothing. There is diuision betweene the Dukes, and a worsse matter then that: I haue receiued a Letter this night, 'tis dangerous to be spoken, I haue lock'd the Letter in my Closset, these iniuries the King now beares, will be reuenged home; ther is part of a Power already footed, we must incline to the King, I will looke him, and priuily relieue him; goe you and maintaine talke with the Duke, that my charity be not of him perceiued; If he aske for me, I am ill, and gone to bed, if I die for it, (as no lesse is threatned me) the King my old Master must be relieued. There is strange things toward Edmund, pray you be carefull.Exit.
Bast.
This Curtesie forbid thee, shall the Duke
Instantly know, and of that Letter too;
This seemes a faire deseruing, and must draw me
That which my Father looses: no lesse then all,
The yonger rises, when the old doth fall.Exit.
Scena Quarta.
Enter Lady.
Enter Lear, Kent, and Foole.
Kent.
Here is the place my Lord, good my Lord enter,
The tirrany of the open night's too rough
For Nature to endure.Storme still
Lear.
Let me alone.
Kent.
Good my Lord enter here.
Lear.
Wilt breake my heart?
Kent.
I had rather breake mine owne,
Good my Lord enter.
Lear.
Thou think'st 'tis much that this contentious storme
Inuades vs to the skin so: 'tis to thee,
But where the greater malady is fixt,
The lesser is scarce felt. Thou'dst shun a Beare,
But if thy flight lay toward the roaring sea,
Thou'dst meete the Beare i'th' mouth, when the mind's free,
The bodies delicate: the tempest in my mind,
Doth from my sences take all feeling else,
Saue what beates there, Filliall ingratitude,
Is it not as this mouth should teare this hand
For lifting food too't? But I will punish home;
No, I will weepe no more; in such a night,
To shut me out? Poure on, I will endure:
In such a night as this? O Regan, Gonerill,
Your old kind Father, whose franke heart gaue all,
O that way madnesse lies, let me shun that:
No more of that.
Kent.
Good my Lord enter here.
Lear.
Prythee go in thy selfe, seeke thine owne ease,
This tempest will not giue me leaue to ponder
On things would hurt me more, but Ile goe in,
In Boy, go first. You houselesse pouertie,Exit.
Nay get thee in; Ile pray, and then Ile sleepe.
Poore naked wretches, where so ere you are
That bide the pelting of this pittilesse storme,
How shall your House‐lesse heads, and vnfed sides,
Your lop'd, and window'd raggednesse defend you
From seasons such as these? O I haue tane
Too little care of this: Take Physicke, Pompe,
Expose thy selfe to feele what wretches feele,
That thou maist shake the superflux to them,
And shew the Heauens more iust.
Enter Edgar, and Foole.
Edg.
Fathom, and halfe, Fathom and halfe; poore Tom.
Foole.
Come not in heere Nuncle, here's a spirit, helpe me, helpe me.
Kent.
Giue my thy hand, who's there?
Foole.
A spirite, a spirite, he sayes his name's poore Tom.
Kent.
What art thou that dost grumble there i'th' straw? Come forth.
Edg.
Away, the foule Fiend followes me, through the sharpe Hauthorne blow the windes. Humh, goe to thy bed and warme thee.
Lear.
Did'st thou giue all to thy Daughters? And art thou come to this?
Edgar.
Who giues any thing to poore Tom? Whom the foule fiend hath led through Fire, and through Flame, through Sword, and Whirle‐Poole, o're Bog, and Quagmire, that hath laid Kniues vnder his Pillow, and Halters in his Pue, set Rats‐bane by his Porredge, made him Proud of heart, to ride on a Bay trotting Horse, ouer foure incht Bridges, to course his owne shadow for a Traitor. Blisse thy fiue Wits, Toms a cold. O do, de, do, de, do, de, blisse thee from Whirle‐Windes, Starre‐blasting, and taking, do poore Tom some charitie, whom the foule Fiend vexes. There could I haue him now, and there, and there againe, and there. Storme still.
Lear.
Ha's his Daughters brought him to this passe?
Could'st thou saue nothing? Would'st thou giue 'em all?
Foole.
Nay, he reseru'd a Blanket, else we had bin all sham'd.
Lea.
Now all the plagues that in the pendulous ayre
Hang fated o're mens faults, light on thy Daughters.
Kent.
He hath no Daughters Sir.
Lear.
Death Traitor, nothing could haue subdue'd Nature
To such a lownesse, but his vnkind Daughters.
Is it the fashion, that discarded Fathers,
Should haue thus little mercy on their flesh:
Iudicious punishment, 'twas this flesh begot
Those Pelicane Daughters.
Edg.
Pillicock sat on Pillicock hill, alow: alow, loo, loo.
Foole.
This cold night will turne vs all to Fooles, and Madmen.
Edgar.
Take heed o'th' foule Fiend, obey thy Parents, keepe thy words Iustice, sweare not, commit not,
with
