Nor tell tales of thee to high-judging Jove:

Mend when thou canst; be better at thy leisure:

I can be patient; I can stay with Regan,

I and my hundred knights.

Reg.

Not altogether so:

I look'd not for you yet, nor am provided

For your fit welcome. Give ear, sir, to my sister;
For those that mingle reason with your passion
Must be content to think you old, and so

But she knows what she does.

Lear.

Is this well spoken?

Reg. I dare avouch it, sir: what, fifty followers?
Is it not well? What should you need of more?
Yea, or so many, sith that both charge and danger
Speak 'gainst so great a number? How in one house.
Should many people under two commands

Hold amity? 'Tis hard, almost impossible.

Gon. Why might not you, my lord, receive attendance

From those that she calls servants or from mine?

Reg. Why not, my lord? If then they chanced to slack you,

We could control them. If you will come to me,

For now I spy a danger, I entreat you,

To bring but five and twenty: to no more

Will I give place or notice.

Lear. I gave you all

Reg.

And in good time you gave it.

Lear. Made you my guardians, my depositaries, But kept a reservation to be follow'd

With such a number. What, must I come to you

With five and twenty, Regan? said you so?

Reg. And speak't again, my lord; no more with me.
Lear. Those wicked creatures yet do look well-favor'd,

When others are more wicked; not being the worst

Stands in some rank of praise. (To GONERIL.) I'll go with thee:

Thy fifty yet doth double five and twenty,

And thou art twice her love.

Gon.

Hear me, my lord:

What need you five and twenty, ten, or five,

To follow in a house where twice so many

Have a command to tend you?

Reg.

What need one?

Lear. O reason not the need: our basest beggars Are in the poorest thing superfluous:

Allow not nature more than nature needs,

Man's life's as cheap as beast's: thou art a lady;
If only to go warm were gorgeous,

But for true need,

Why, nature needs not what thou gorgeous wear'st,
Which scarcely keeps thee warm.
You heavens, give me that patience, patience I need!
You see me here, you gods, a poor old man,
As full of grief as age; wretched in both:
If it be you that stirs these daughters' hearts
Against their father, fool me not so much

To bear it tamely; touch me with noble anger,
And let not woman's weapons, water-drops,
Stain my man's cheeks! No, you unnatural hags,
I will have such revenges on you both

That all the world shall I will do such things,

What they are, yet I know not, but they shall be
The terrors of the earth. You think I'll weep;
No, I'll not weep:

I have full cause of weeping; but this heart
Shall break into a hundred thousand flaws,
Or ere I'll weep. O fool, I shall go mad!

[Exeunt LEAR, GLOUCESTER, KENT, and FOOL.

Corn. Let us withdraw; 'twill be a storm.

[Storm and tempest.

Reg. This house is little: the old man and his people Cannot be well bestow'd.

Gon. 'Tis his own blame; hath put himself from rest, And must needs taste his folly.

Reg. For his particular, I'll receive him gladly,

But not one follower.

Gon.

So am I purposed.

Where is my lord of Gloucester ?

Corn. Follow'd the old man forth: he is return'd.

Reënter GLOUCESTER.

Glou. The king is in high rage.

Corn.

Whither is he going?

Glou. He calls to horse; but will I know not whither.
Corn. 'Tis best to give him way; he leads himself.
Gon. My lord, entreat him by no means to stay.
Glou. Alack, the night comes on, and the bleak winds
Do sorely ruffle; for many miles about

There's scarce a bush.

Reg.

O, sir, to wilful men

The injuries that they themselves procure

Must be their schoolmasters. Shut up your doors:
He is attended with a desperate train;

And what they may incense him to, being apt

To have his ear abused, wisdom bids fear.

Corn. Shut up your doors, my lord; 'tis a wild night:

My Regan counsels well: come out o' the storm.

A heath

[Exeunt.

Storm still. Enter KENT and a GENTLEMAN, meeting.

Kent. Who's there, besides foul weather?

Gent. One minded like the weather, most unquietly.

Kent. I know you. Where's the king?

Gent. Contending with the fretful elements; Bids the wind blow the earth into the sea,

Or swell the curled waters 'bove the main,

That things might change or cease; tears his white hair,
Which the impetuous blasts, with eyeless rage

Catch in their fury, and make nothing of;

Strives in his little world of man to out-scorn

The to-and-fro-conflicting wind and rain.

This night, wherein the cub-drawn bear would couch,
The lion and the belly-pinched wolf

Keep their fur dry, unbonneted he runs,

And bids what will take all.

Kent.

But who is with him?

Gent. None but the fool; who labors to out-jest His heart-struck injuries.

Kent.

Sir, I do know you;

And dare, upon the warrant of my note,

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;
Who have as who have not, that their great stars
Throned and set high? servants, who seem no less,
Which are to France the spies and speculations
Intelligent of our state: what hath been seen,
Either in snuffs and packings of the dukes,
Or the hard rein which both of them have borne
Against the old kind king, or something deeper
Whereof perchance these are but furnishings,
But true it is, from France there comes a power
Into this scatter'd kingdom; who already,
Wise in our negligence, have secret feet
In some of our best ports, and are at point
To show their open banner. Now to you:
If on my credit you dare build so far

To make your speed to Dover, you shall find
Some that will thank you, making just report
Of how unnatural and bemadding sorrow
The king hath cause to plain.

I am a gentleman of blood and breeding,
And from some knowledge and assurance offer
This office to you.

Gent. I will talk further with you.
Kent.

No, do not.

For confirmation that I am much more
Than my out-wall, open this purse and take
What it contains. If you shall see Cordelia, -
As fear not but you shall, — show her this ring,
And she will tell you who your fellow is
That yet you do not know. Fie on this storm!
I will go seek the king.

Gent.

Have you no more to say?

Give me your hand:

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.

Another part of the heath. Storm still

Enter LEAR and FOOL.

Lear. Blow, winds, 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 thunderbolts,

Singe my white head! And thou, all-shaking thunder,
Smite flat the thick rotundity o' the world!
Crack nature's molds, all germins spill at once

That make ingrateful man!

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 man nor fool.

Lear. Rumble thy bellyful! Spit, fire! spout, rain.
Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire, are my daughters:
I tax not you, you elements, with unkindness;
I never gave you kingdom, call'd you children,
You owe me no subscription: then let fall
Your horrible pleasure; here I stand, your slave,
A poor, infirm, weak and despised old man:
But yet I call you servile ministers,

That have with two pernicious daughters join'd
Your high-engender'd battles 'gainst a head

So old and white as this. O! O! 'tis foul!

Fool. He that has a house to put's head in has a good head

piece.

The cod-piece that will house

Before the head has any,
The head and he shall louse

So beggars marry many.