University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE, A Desert Heath.
Enter Lear and Kent in the Storm.
Lear.
Blow Winds and burst your Cheeks, rage louder yet,
Fantastick Lightning singe, singe my white Head;
Spout Cataracts, and Hurricanos fall
Till you have drown'd the Towns and Palaces
Of proud ingratefull Man.

Kent.
Not all my best intreaties can perswade him
Into some needfull shelter, or to 'bide
This poor slight Cov'ring on his aged Head
Expos'd to this wild war of Earth and Heav'n.

Lear.
Rumble thy fill, fight Whirlwind, Rain and Fire:
Not Fire, Wind, Rain or Thunder are my Daughters:
I tax not you ye Elements with unkindness;
I never gave you Kingdoms, call'd you Children,
You owe me no Obedience, then let fall
Your horrible pleasure, here I stand your Slave,
A poor, infirm, weak and despis'd old man;
Yet I will call you servile Ministers,
That have with two pernicious Daughters join'd
Their high-engendred Battle against a Head
So Old and White as mine, Oh! oh! 'tis Foul.

Kent.
Hard by, Sir, is a Hovel that will lend
Some shelter from this Tempest.

Lear.
I will forget my Nature, what? so kind a Father,
I, there's the point.

Kent.
Consider, good my Liege, Things that love Night
Love not such Nights as this; these wrathfull Skies
Frighten the very wanderers o'th' Dark,
And make 'em keep their Caves; such drenching Rain,
Such Sheets of Fire, such Claps of horrid Thunder,
Such Groans of roaring Winds have ne're been known.

Lear.
Let the Great Gods,
That keep this dreadfull pudder o're our Heads
Find out their Enemies now, tremble thou Wretch
That hast within thee undiscover'd Crimes.
Hide, thou bloody Hand,
Thou perjur'd Villain, holy, holy Hypocrite,
That drinkst the Widows Tears, sigh now and cry
These dreadfull Summoners Grace, I am a Man
More sin'd against than sinning.

Kent.
Good Sir, to th' Hovell.

Lear.
My wit begins to burn,
Come on my Boy, how dost my Boy? art Cold?
I'm cold my Self; shew me this Straw, my Fellow,
The Art of our Necessity is strange,
And can make vile things precious; my poor Knave,
Cold as I am at Heart, I've one place There
[Lond. Storm.
That's sorry yet for Thee.

[Exit.
Gloster's Palace. Enter Bastard.
Bast.
The Storm is in our louder Rev'lings drown'd.
Thus wou'd I Reign cou'd I but mount a Throne.
The Riots of these proud imperial Sisters
Already have impos'd the galling Yoke
Of Taxes, and hard Impositions on
The drudging Peasants Neck, who bellow out
Their loud Complaints in Vain—Triumphant Queens!
With what Assurance do they tread the Crowd.
O for a Tast of such Majestick Beauty,
Which none but my hot Veins are fit t' engage;
Nor are my Wishes desp'rate, for ev'n now
During the Banquet I observed their Glances
Shot thick at me, and as they left the Room
Each cast by stealth a kind inviting Smile,
The happy Earnest—ha!
Two Servants from several Entrances deliver him each a Letter, and Ex.
Where merit is so Transparent, not to behold it
[Reads.
Were Blindness, and not to reward it Ingratitude.
Enough! Blind, and Ingratefull should I be
Not to Obey the Summons of This Oracle.
Now for a Second Letter.
[Opens the other.
If Modesty be not your Enemy, doubt not to
Find me your Friend.
Excellent Sybill! O my glowing Blood!
I am already sick of expectation,
And pant for the Possession—here Gloster comes
With Bus'ness on his Brow; be husht my Joys.

Glost.

I come to seek thee, Edmund, to impart a business of
Importance; I knew thy loyal Heart is toucht to see the Cruelty
of these ingratefull Daughters against our royal Master.

Bast.

Most Savage and Unnatural.

Glost.

This change in the State sits uneasie. The Commons
repine aloud at their female Tyrants, already they Cry out for
the re-installment of their good old King, whose Injuries I fear
will inflame 'em into Mutiny.

Bast.
'Tis to be hopt, not fear'd.

Glost.
Thou hast it Boy, 'tis to be hopt indeed,
On me they cast their Eyes, and hourly Court me
To lead 'em on, and whilst this Head is Mine
I am Theirs, a little covert Craft, my Boy,
And then for open Action, 'twill be Employment
Worthy such honest daring Souls as Thine.
Thou, Edmund, art my trusty Emissary,
Haste on the Spur at the first break of day
With these Dispatches to the Duke of Combray;
Gives him Letters.
You know what mortal Feuds have alwaies flam'd
Between this Duke of Cornwall's Family, and his
Full Twenty thousand Mountaners
Th' invetrate Prince will send to our Assistance.
Dispatch; Commend us to his Grace, and Prosper.

Bast.
Yes, credulous old Man,
[Aside.
I will commend you to his Grace,
His Grace the Duke of Cornwall—instantly
To shew him these Contents in thy own Character,
And Seal'd with thy own Signet; then forthwith
The Chol'rick Duke gives Sentence on thy Life;
And to my hand thy vast Revenues fall
To glut my Pleasure that till now has starv'd.

Gloster going off is met by Cordelia entring, Bastard observing at a Distance.
Cord.
Turn, Gloster, Turn, by all the sacred Pow'rs
I do conjure you give my Griefs a Hearing,
You must, you shall, nay I am sure you will,
For you were always stil'd the Just and Good.

Glost.
What wou'dst thou, Princess? rise and speak thy Griefs.

Cord.
Nay, you shall promise to redress 'em too,
Or here I'll kneel for ever; I intreat
Thy succour for a Father and a King,
An injur'd Father and an injur'd King.

Bast.
O charming Sorrow! how her Tears adorn her
Like Dew on Flow'rs, but she is Virtuous,
And I must quench this hopeless Fire i'th' Kindling.

Glost.
Consider, Princess,
For whom thou begg'st, 'tis for the King that wrong'd Thee.

Cord.
O name not that; he did not, cou'd not wrong me.
Nay muse not, Gloster, for it is too likely
This injur'd King e're this is past your Aid,
And gone Distracted with his savage Wrongs.

Bast.
I'll gaze no more—and yet my Eyes are Charm'd.

Cord.
Or what if it be Worse? can there be Worse?
As 'tis too probable this furious Night
Has pierc'd his tender Body, the bleak Winds
And cold Rain chill'd, or Lightning struck him Dead;
If it be so your Promise is discharg'd,
And I have only one poor Boon to beg,
That you'd Convey me to his breathless Trunk,
With my torn Robes to wrap his hoary Head,
With my torn Hair to bind his Hands and Feet,
Then with a show'r of Tears
To wash his Clay-smear'd Cheeks, and Die beside him.

Glost.
Rise, fair Cordelia, thou hast Piety
Enough t' attone for both thy Sisters Crimes.
I have already plotted to restore
My injur'd Master, and thy Vertue tells me
We shall succeed, and suddenly.

[Exit.
Cord.
Dispatch, Arante,
Provide me a Disguise, we'll instantly
Go seek the King, and bring him some Relief.

Ar.
How, Madam? are you Ignorant
Of what your impious Sisters have decreed?
Immediate Death for any that relieve him.

Cord.
I cannot dread the Furies in this case.

Ar.
In such a Night as This? Consider, Madam,
For many Miles about there's scarce a Bush
To shelter in.

Cord.
Therefore no shelter for the King,
And more our Charity to find him out:
What have not Women dar'd for vicious Love,
And we'll be shining Proofs that they can dare
For Piety as much; blow Winds, and Lightnings fall,
Bold in my Virgin Innocence, I'll flie
My Royal Father to Relieve, or Die.

[Exit.
Bast.
Provide me a Disguise, we'll instantly
Go seek the King:—ha! ha! a lucky change,
That Vertue which I fear'd would be my hindrance
Has prov'd the Bond to my Design;
I'll bribe two Ruffians that shall at a distance follow,
And seise 'em in some desert Place, and there
Whilst one retains her t' other shall return
T' inform me where she's Lodg'd; I'll be disguis'd too.
Whilst they are poching for me I'll to the Duke
With these Dispatches, then to th'Field
Where like the vig'rous Jove I will enjoy
This Semele in a Storm, 'twill deaf her Cries
Like Drums in Battle, lest her Groans shou'd pierce
My pittying Ear, and make the amorous Fight less fierce.

[Exit.
Storm still. The Field Scene. Enter Lear and Kent.
Kent.
Here is the place, my Lord; good my Lord enter;
The Tyranny of this open Night 's too rough
For Nature to endure.

Lear.
Let me alone.

Kent.
Good my Lord, enter.

Lear.
Wilt break my Heart?

Kent.
Beseech you, Sir.

Lear.
Thou think'st 'tis much that this contentious Storm
Invades us to the Skin so, 'tis to thee
But where the greater Malady is fixt
The lesser is scarce felt: the Tempest in my Mind
Do's from my Senses take all feeling else
Save what beats there. Filial Ingratitude!
Is it not as this Mouth shou'd tear this Hand
For lifting Food to't?—but I'll punish home.
No, I will weep no more; in such a Night
To shut me out—pour on, I will endure
In such a Night as this: O Regan, Gonerill,
Your old kind Father whose frank heart gave All,
O that way madness lies, let me shun that,
No more of that.

Kent.
See, my Lord, here's the Entrance.

Lear.
Well, I'll go in
And pass it all, I'll pray and then I'll sleep:
Poor naked Wretches wherefor'ere you are,
That 'bide the pelting of this pittiless Storm,
How shall your houseless Heads and unfed Sides
Sustain this Shock? your raggedness defend you
From Seasons such as These.
O I have ta'ne too little Care of this,
Take Physick, Pomp,
Expose thy self to feel what Wretches feel,
That thou may'st cast the superflux to them,
And shew the Heav'ns more Just.

Edgar
in the Hovell.
Five Fathom and a half, poor Tom.

Kent.
What art thou that dost grumble there i' th' Straw?
Come forth.

Edg.

Away! The foul Fiend follows me—through the

sharp Haw-thorn blows the cold Wind—Mum, Go to thy
Bed and warm Thee.—ha! what do I see? by all my Griefs
the poor old King beheaded,

[Aside.
And drencht in this fow Storm, professing Syren,
Are all your Protestations come to this?

Lear.

Tell me, Fellow, dist thou give all to thy Daughters?

Edg.

Who gives any thing to poor Tom, whom the foul
Fiend has led through Fire and through Flame, through Bushes
and Boggs, that has laid Knives under his Pillow, and Halters
in his Pue, that has made him proud of Heart to ride on a Bay-trotting
Horse over four inch'd Bridges, to course his own Shadow
for a Traytor.—bless thy five Wits, Tom's a cold [Shivers.]

bless thee from Whirlwinds, Star-blasting and Taking: do poor
Tom some Charity, whom the foul Fiend vexes—Sa, sa, there
I could have him now, and there, and there agen.

Lear.
Have his Daughters brought him to this pass?
Cou'dst thou save Nothing? didst thou give 'em All?

Kent.
He has no Daughters, Sir.

Lear.
Death, Traytor, nothing cou'd have subdu'd Nature
To such a Lowness but his unkind Daughters.

Edg.
Pillicock sat upon Pillicock Hill; Hallo, hallo, hallo.

Lear.
Is it the fashion that discarded Fathers
Should have such little Mercy on their Flesh?
Iudicious punishment, 'twas this Flesh begot
Those Pelican Daughters.

Edg.

Take heed of the fow Fiend, obey thy Parents, keep
thy Word justly, Swear not, commit not with Man's sworn
Spouse, set not thy sweet Heart on proud Array: Tom's a Cold.

Lear.

What hast thou been?

Edg.

A Serving-man proud of Heart, that curl'd my Hair,
us'd Perfume and Washes, that serv'd the Lust of my Mistresses
Heart, and did the Act of Darkness with her. Swore as many
Oaths as I spoke Words, and broke 'em all in the sweet Face of
Heaven: Let not the Paint, nor the Patch, nor the rushing of
Silks betray thy poor Heart to Woman, keep thy Foot out of
Brothels, thy Hand out of Plackets, thy Pen from Creditors
Books, and defie the foul Fiend—still through the Hawthorn
blows the cold Wind—Sess, Suum, Mun, Nonny,

Dolphin my Boy—hist! the Boy, Sesey! soft let him
Trot by.

Lear.

Death, thou wert better in thy Grave, than thus to
answer with thy uncover'd Body this Extremity of the Sky.
And yet consider him well, and Man's no more than This;
Thou art indebted to the Worm for no Silk, to the Beast for no
Hide, to the Cat for no Perfume—ha! here's Two of us are
Sophisticated; Thou art the Thing it self, unaccommated
Man is no more than such a poor bare forkt Animal as thou
art.

Off, Off, ye vain Disguises, empty Lendings,
I'll be my Original Self, quick, quick, Uncase me.

Kent.

Defend his Wits, good Heaven!

Lear.

One point I had forgot; what's your Name?

Edg.

Poor Tom that eats the swimming Frog, the Wall-nut,
and the Water-nut; that in the fury of his Heart when the foul
Fiend rages eats Cow dung for Sallets, swallows the old Rat
and the Ditch-dog, that drinks the green Mantle of the standing
Pool that's whipt from Tithing to Tithing; that has Three Suits
to his Back, Six Shirts to his Body,

Beware, my Follower; Peace, Smulkin; Peace, thou foul
Fiend.

Lear.

One word more, but be sure true Councel; tell me, is
a Madman a Gentleman, or a Yeoman?

Kent.

I fear'd 't wou'd come to This, his Wits are gone.

Edg.

Fraterreto calls me, and tells me, Nero is an Angler in
the Lake of Darkness. Pray, Innocent, and beware the foul
Fiend.

Lear.

Right, ha! ha! was it not pleasant to have a Thousand
with red hot Spits come hizzing in upon 'em?

Edg.
My Tears begin to take his part so much
They marr my Counterfeiting.

Lear.

The little Dogs and all, Trey, Blanch and Sweet-heart,
see they Bark at me.

Edg.

Tom will throw his Head at 'em; Avaunt ye Curs.

Ud, de, de, de. Se, se, se. Come march to Wakes, and Fairs, and
Market-Towns,—poor Tom, thy Horn is dry.

Lear.

You Sir, I entertain you for One of my Hundred, only
I do not like the fashion of your Garments, you'll say they're
Persian, but no matter, let 'em be chang'd.

Enter Gloster.
Edg.

This is the foul Flibertigibet, he begins at Curfew and
walks at first Cock, he gives the Web and the Pin, knits the Elflock,
squints the Eye, and makes the Hair-lip, mildews the
white Wheat, and hurts the poor Creature of the Earth;

Glost.

What, has your Grace no better Company?

Edg.

The Prince of Darkness is a Gentleman; Modo he is
call'd, and Mahu.

Glost.
Go with me, Sir, hard by I have a Tenant.

My Duty cannot suffer me to obey in all your Daughters hard
Commands, who have enjoyn'd me to make fast my Doors, and
let this Tyrannous Night take hold upon you. Yet have I ventur'd
to come seek you out, and bring you where both Fire and
Food is ready.

Kent.
Good my Lord, take his offer.

Lear.
First let me talk with this Philosopher,
Say, Stagirite, what is the Cause of Thunder.

Glost.
Beseech you, Sir, go with me.

Lear.
I'll talk a Word with this same Learned Theban.
What is your Study?

Edg.
How to prevent the Fiend, and to kill Vermin.

Lear.
Let me ask you a Word in private.

Kent.

His Wits are quite unsetled; Good Sir, let's force him
hence.

Glost.

Canst blame him? his Daughters seek his Death; This
Bedlam but disturbs him the more. Fellow, be gone.

Edg.
Child Rowland to the dark Tow'r came,
His Word was still Fie, Fo, and Fum,
I smell the Bloud of a British Man.—Oh Torture!

[Exit.
Glost.

Now, I prethee Friend, let's take him in our Arms,
and carry him where he shall meet both Welcome, and Protection.

Good sir, along with us.

Lear.

You say right, let 'em Anatomize Regan, see what
breeds about her Heart; is there any Cause in Nature for these
hard Hearts?

Kent.

Beseech your Grace.

Lear.

Hist!—Make no Noise, make no Noise—so so;
we'll to Supper i'th' Morning.

[Exeunt.
Enter Cordelia and Arante.
Ar.
Dear Madam, rest ye here, our search is Vain,
Look here's a shed, beseech ye, enter here.

Cord.
Prethee go in thy self, seek thy own Ease,
Where the Mind's free, the Body's Delicate:
This Tempest but diverts me from the Thought
Of what wou'd hurt me more.

Enter Two Ruffians.
1 Ruff.
We have dog'd 'em far enough, this Place is private,
I'll keep 'em Prisoners here within this Hovell,
Whilst you return and bring Lord Edmund Hither;
But help me first to House 'em.

2 Ruff.
Nothing but this dear Devil
[Shows Gold.
Shou'd have drawn me through all this Tempest;
But to our Work.
[They seize Cordelia and Arante, who Shriek out.
Soft, Madam, we are Friends, dispatch, I say.

Cord.
Help, murder, help! Gods! some kind Thunderbolt
To strike me Dead.

Enter Edgar.
Edg.
What Cry was That?—ha, Women seiz'd by Ruffians?
Is this a Place and Time for Villany?
Avaunt ye Bloud-hounds.

[Drives 'em with his Quarter-staff.
Both.
The Devil, the Devil!

[Run off.
Edg.
O speak, what are ye that appear to be
O'th' tender Sex, and yet unguarded Wander
Through the dead Mazes of this dreadfull Night,
Where (tho' at full) the Clouded Moon scarce darts
Imperfect Glimmerings.

Cord.
First say what art thou
Our Guardian Angel, that wer't pleas'd t' assume
That horrid shape to fright the Ravishers?
We'll kneel to Thee.

Edg.
O my tumultuous Bloud!
By all my trembling Veins Cordelia's Voice!
'Tis she her self!—My Senses sure conform
To my wild Garb, and I am Mad indeed.

Cord.
Whate're thou art, befriend a wretched Virgin,
And if thou canst direct our weary search.

Edg.

Who relieves poor Tom, that sleeps on the Nettle, with
the Hedge-pig for his Pillow.

Yet Swithin made Oberon jealous—Oh! Torture.

Ar.
Alack, Madam, a poor wandring Lunatick.

Cord.
And yet his Language seem'd but now well temper'd.
Speak, Friend, to one more wretched than thy self,
And if thou hast one Interval of sense,
Inform us if thou canst where we may find
A poor old Man, who through this Heath has stray'd
The tedious Night—Speak, sawest thou such a One?

Edg.
The King, her Father, whom she's come to seek
[Aside.
Through all the Terrors of this Night. O Gods!
That such amazing Piety, such Tenderness
Shou'd yet to me be Cruel—
Yes, Fair One, such a One was lately here,
And is convey'd by some that came to seek him,
T' a Neighb'ring Cottage; but distinctly where,
I know not.

Cord.
Blessings on 'em,
Let's find him out, Arante, for thou seest
We are in Heavens Protection.

[Going off.
Edg.
O Cordelia!

Cord.
Ha!—Thou knowst my Name.

Edg.
As you did once know Edgar's.

Cord.
Edgar!

Edg.
The poor Remains of Edgar, what your Scorn
Has left him.

Cord.
Do we wake, Arante?

Edg.
My Father seeks my Life, which I preserv'd
In hopes of some blest Minute to oblidge
Distrest Cordelia, and the Gods have giv'n it;
That Thought alone prevail'd with me to take
This Frantick Dress, to make the Earth my Bed,
With these bare Limbs all change of Seasons bide,
Noons scorching Heat, and Midnights piercing Cold,
To feed on Offals, and to drink with Herds,
To Combat with the Winds, and be the Sport
Of Clowns, or what's more wretched yet, their Pity.

Ar.
Was ever Tale so full of Misery!

Edg.
But such a Fall as this I grant was due
To my aspiring Love, for 'twas presumptuous,
Though not presumptuously persu'd;
For well you know I wore my Flames conceal'd,
And silent as the Lamps that Burn in Tombs,
'Till you perceiv'd my Grief, with modest Grace
Drew forth the Secret, and then seal'd my Pardon.

Cord.
You had your Pardon, nor can you Challenge more.

Edg.
What do I Challenge more?
Such Vanity agrees not with these Rags;
When in my prosp'rous State rich Gloster's Heir,
You silenc'd my Pretences, and enjoyn'd me
To trouble you upon that Theam no more;
Then what Reception must Love's Language find
From these bare Limbs and Beggers humble Weeds?

Cord.
Such as the Voice of Pardon to a Wretch Condemn'd;
Such as the Shouts
Of succ'ring Forces to a Town besieg'd.

Edg.
Ah! what new Method now of Cruelty?

Cord.
Come to my Arms, thou dearest, best of Men,
And take the kindest Vows that e're were spoke
By a protesting Maid.

Edg.
Is't possible?

Cord.
By the dear Vital Stream that baths my Heart,
These hallow'd Rags of Thine, and naked Vertue,
These abject Tassels, these fantastick Shreds,
(Ridiculous ev'n to the meanest Clown)
To me are dearer than the richest Pomp
Of purple Monarchs.

Edg.
Generous charming Maid,
The Gods alone that made, can rate thy Worth!
This most amazing Excellence shall be
Fame's Triumph, in succeeding Ages, when
Thy bright Example shall adorn the Scene,
And teach the World Perfection.

Cord.
Cold and weary,
We'll rest a while, Arante, on that Straw,
Then forward to find out the poor Old King.

Edg.
Look I have Flint and Steel, the Implements
Of wandring Lunaticks, I'll strike a Light,
And make a Fire beneath this Shed, to dry
Thy Storm-drencht Garments, e're thou Lie to rest thee;
Then Fierce and Wakefull as th' Hesperian Dragon,
I'll watch beside thee to protect thy Sleep;
Mean while, the Stars shall dart their kindest Beams,
And Angels Visit my Cordelia's Dreams

[Exeunt.
SCENE, The Palace.
Enter Cornwall, Regan, Bastard, Servants. Cornwall with Gloster's Letters.
Duke.
I will have my Revenge e're I depart his house.
Regan, see here, a Plot upon our State,
'Tis Gloster's Character, that has betray'd
His double Trust of Subject, and of Ost.

Reg.
Then double be our Vengeance, this confirms
Th'Intelligence that we now now receiv'd,
That he has been this Night to seek the King;
But who, Sir, was the kind Discoverer?

Duke.
Our Eagle, quick to spy, and fierce to seize,
Our trusty Edmund.

Reg.
'Twas a noble Service;
O Cornwall, take him to thy deepest Trust,
And wear him as a Jewel at thy Heart.

Bast.
Think, Sir, how hard a Fortune I sustain,
That makes me thus repent of serving you!
[Weeps.
O that this Treason had not been, or I
Not the Discoverer.

Duke.
Edmund, Thou shalt find
A Father in our Love, and from this Minute
We call thee Earl of Gloster; but there yet
Remains another Justice to be done,
And that's to punish this discarded Traytor;
But least thy tender Nature shou'd relent
At his just Sufferings, nor brooke the Sight,
We wish thee to withdraw.

Reg.
The Grotto, Sir, within the lower Grove,
To Edmund Aside.
Has Privacy to suit a Mourner's Thought.

Bast.
And there I may expect a Comforter,
Ha, Madam?

Reg.
What may happen, Sir, I know not,
But 'twas a Friends Advice.

[Ex. Bastard.
Duke.
Bring in the Traytour.
Gloster brought in.
Bind fast his Arms.

Glost.
What mean your Graces?
You are my Guests, pray do me no foul Play.

Duke.
Bind him, I say, hard, harder yet.

Reg.
Now, Traytor, thou shalt find—

Duke.
Speak, Rebel, where hast thou sent the King?
Whom spight of our Decree thou saw'st last Night.

Glost.
I'm tide to th'Stake, and I must stand the Course.

Reg.
Say where, and why thou hast conceal'd him.

Glost.
Because I wou'd not see thy cruel Hands
Tear out his poor old Eyes, nor thy fierce Sister
Carve his anointed Flesh; but I shall see
The swift wing'd Vengeance overtake such Children.

Duke.
See't shalt thou never, Slaves perform your Work,
Out with those treacherous Eyes, dispatch, I say,
If thou seest Vengeance—

Glost.
He that will think to live 'till he be old,
Give me some help—O cruel! oh! ye Gods.

[They put out his Eyes.
Serv.
Hold, hold, my Lord, I bar your Cruelty,
I cannot love your safety and give way
To such a barbarous Practise.

Duke.
Ha, my Villain.

Serv.
I have been your Servant from my Infancy,
But better Service have I never done you
Then with this Boldness—

Duke.
Take thy Death, Slave.

Serv.
Nay, then Revenge whilst yet my Bloud is Warm.

[Fight.
Reg.
Help here—are you not hurt, my Lord?

Glost.
Edmund, enkindle all the sparks of Nature
To quit this horrid Act.

Reg.
Out, treacherous Villain,
Thou call'st on him that Hates thee, it was He
That broacht thy Treason, shew'd us thy Dispatches;
There—read, and save the Cambrian Prince a Labour,
If thy Eyes fail thee call for Spectacles.

Glost.
O my Folly!
Than Edgar was abus'd, kind Gods forgive me that.

Reg.
How is't, my Lord?

Duke.
Turn out that Eye-less Villain, let him smell
His way to Cambray, throw this Slave upon a Dunghill.

Regan,
I Bleed apace, give me your Arm.

[Exeunt.
Glost.
All Dark and Comfortless!
Where are those various Objects that but now
Employ'd my busie Eyes? where those Eyes?
Dead are their piercing Rays that lately shot
O're flowry Vales to distant Sunny Hills,
And drew with Joy the vast Horizon in.
These groping Hands are now my only Guids,
And Feeling all my Sight.
O Misery! what words can sound my Grief?
Shut from the Living whilst among the Living;
Dark as the Grave amidst the bustling World.
At once from Business and from Pleasure bar'd;
No more to view the Beauty of the Spring,
Nor see the Face of Kindred, or of Friend.
Yet still one way th' extreamest Fate affords,
And ev'n the Blind can find the Way to Death.
Must I then tamely Die, and unreveng'd?
So Lear may fall: No, with these bleeding Rings
I will present me to the pittying Crowd,
And with the Rhetorick of these dropping Veins
Enflame 'em to Revenge their King and me;
Then when the Glorious Mischief is on Wing,
This Lumber from some Precipice I'll throw,
And dash it on the ragged Flint below;
Whence my freed Soul to her bright Sphear shall fly,
Through boundless Orbs, eternal Regions spy,
And like the Sun, be All one glorious Eye.

[Ex.