Into my

He smild at it: I told him, you were coming;
Ilis answer was, The worse: of Gloster's treachery,
And of the loyal service of his son,
When I inform'd him, then he call'd me sot;
And told me, I had turn'd the wrong side out :-
What most he should dislike, seems pleasant to him:
What like, offensive.

Gon. Then shall you go no further. [To Edmund.
It is the cowish terror of his spirit,
That dares not undertake: he'll not feel wrongs,
Which tie hijn to an answer : Our wishes, on the

way, May prove effects. Back, Edmund, to my brother ; Hasten bis musters, and conduct his powers: I must change arms at home, and give the distaff

husband's hands. This trusty servant Shall

pass between us : ere long you are like to hear, If you dare venture in your own behalf, A mistress's command. Wear this; spare speech;

[Giving a favour. Decline your head: this kiss, if it durst speak, Would stretch thy spirits up into the air ; Conceive, and fare thee well.

Edm. Yours in the ranks of death.

Gon. My most dear Gloster! [Exit Edmund. 0, the difference of man, and man! To thee A woman's services are due; my fool Usurps my bed. Stew. Madam, here comes my lord.

[Exit Steward.
Enter Albany.
Gon. I have been worth the whistle.

Alb. O Goneril !
You are not worth the dust, which the rude wind
Blows in your face.--I fear your disposition :
That nature, wbich contemns its origin,

do ne

Cannot be border'd certain in itself;
She, that herself will sliver and disbranch
From her material sap, perforce must wither,
And come to deadly use.

Gon. No more; the text is foolish.

Alb. Wisdom and goodness to the vile seem vile : Filths savour but themselves. What have

you Tigers, not daughters, what have you perform’d? A father, and a gracious aged man, Whose reverence the head-lugg'd bear would lick, Most barbarous, most degenerate! have you

madded. Could my good brother suffer you to do it? A man, a prince, by him so benefited ? If that the heavens do not their visible spirits Send quickly down to tame these vile offences, "Twill come, Humanity must perforce prey on itself, Like monsters of the deep.

Gon. Milk-liver'd man! That bear'st a cheek for blows, a head for wrongs ; Who hast not in thy brows an eye discerning Thine honour from thy suffering; that not know'st, Fools do those villains pity, who are punish'd Ere they have done their mischief.

Where's thy
drum?
France spreads his banners in our noiseless land;
With plumed helm thy slayer begins threats ;
Whilst thou, a moral fool, sit'st still, and cry'st,
Alack! why does he so?

Alb. See thyself, devil!
Proper deformity seems not in the fiend
So horrid, as in woman.

Gon. O vain fool!
Alb. Thou changed and self-cover'd thing, for

shame,
Be-monster not thy feature. Were it my

fitness To let these hands obey my blood,

They are apt enough to dislocate and tear
Thy flesh and bones :-Howe'er thou art a fiend,
A woman's shape doth shield thee.
Gon. Marry, your manhood now!

Enter a Messenger.
Alb. What news?
Mess. O, my good lord, the duke of Cornwalls

dead; Slain by bis servant, going to put out The other eye

of Gloster. Alb. Gloster's eyes! Mess. A servant that he bred, thrill’d with re

morse,
Oppos'd against the act, bending his sword
To his great master; who, thereat enrag'd,
Flew on him, and amongst them felld him dead :
But not without that harmful stroke, which since
Hath pluck'd bim after.

Alb. This shows you are above,
You justicers, that these our nether crimes
So speedily can venge!-But, O poor Gloster !
Lost he his other eye!
Mess. Both, both, lord.-

my

/
This letter, madam, craves a speedy answer;
'Tis from your sister.

Gon. [Aside.) One way I like this well;
But being widow, and my Gloster with her,
May all the building in my fancy pluck
Upon my hateful life: Another way,
The news is not so tart.- I'll read, and answer.

[Exit. Alb. Where was his 'son, when they did take liis

eyes !
Mess. Come with my lady hither.
Alb. He is not here.
Mess. No, my good lord; I met him back again.

Alb. Knows he the wickedness?
Mess. Ay, my good lord ; 'twas he inform'd against

him;

And quit the house on purpose, that their punish

ment Might have the freer course.

Alb. Gloster, I live To thank thee for the love thou show'dst the king, And to revenge thine eyes.---Come hither, friend; Tell me what more thou knowest.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.-The French camp, near Dover'.

Enter Kent, and a Gentleman. Kent. Why the king of France is so suddenly gone back know

you

the reason?
Gent. Something he left imperfect in the state,
Which, since his coming forth, is thought of; which
Imports to the kingdom so much fear and danger,
That his personal return was most requir'd,
And necessary.

Kent. Who hath he left behind him general?
Gent. The Mareschal of France, Monsieur le Fer.

Kent. Did your letters pierce the queen to any demonstration of grief? Gent. Ay, sir; she took them, read them in my

presence;
And now and then an ample tear trillid down
Her delicate cheek: it seem'd she was a queen
Over her passion; who, most rebel-like,
Sought to be king o'er her.

Kent. O, then it mov'd her.

Gent. Not to a rage: patience and sorrow strove Who should express her goodliest. You have seen Sunshine and rain at once: her smiles and tears Were like a better day: Those happy smiles,

That play'd on her ripe lip, seem'd not to know
What guests were in her eyes; which parted thence,
As pearls from diamonds dropp'd.-In brief, sorrow
Would be a rarity most belov'd, if all
Could so become it.

Kent. Made she no verbal question?
Gent. 'Faith, once, or twice, she heav'd the name

of father
Pantingly forth, as if it press'd her heart ;
Cried, Sisters ! sisters !--Shame of ladies! sisters !
Kent! father! sisters! What? i'the storno? i'the

night?
Let pity not be believ'd!--There she shook
The holy water from her heavenly eyes, ,
And clamour moisten'd: then away she started
To deal with grief alone.

Kent. It is the stars,
The stars above us, govern our conditions ;
Else one self mate and mate could not beget:
Such different issues. You spoke not with her since ?

Gent. No.
Kent. Was this before the king return'd?
Gent. No, since.
Kent. Well, sir; the poor distress'd Lear is i'the

town:
Who sometime, in his better tune, remembers
What we are come about, and by no means
Will yield to see his daughter.

Gent. Why, good sir?
Kent. A sovereign shame so elbows him : his own

unkindness,
That stripp'd her from his benediction, turn'd her
To foreign casualties, gave her dear rights
To his dog-hearted daughters,--these things sting
His mind so venomously, that burning shame
Detains him from Cordelia.

Gent. Alack, poor gentleman!

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