And she will tell you who that fellow30 is
That yet you do not know. Fie on this storm!
I will go seek the king.
GENTLEMAN Give me your hand. Have you no more to say?
KENT Few words, but, to effect34, more than all yet:
That when we have found the king — in which your pain35
That way, I’ll this — he that first lights on him
Holla37 the other.
Exeunt [separately]
Act 3 Scene 2
running scene 6 continues
Storm still. Enter Lear and Fool
LEAR Blow winds and crack your cheeks! Rage, blow,
You cataracts and hurricanoes2, spout
Till you have drenched our steeples, drown the cocks3!
You sulphurous and thought-executing fires4,
Vaunt-couriers5 of oak-cleaving thunderbolts,
Singe my white head! And thou, all-shaking thunder,
Strike flat the thick rotundity o’th’world!
Crack nature’s moulds, all germens8 spill at once
That makes ingrateful man!
FOOL O, nuncle, court holy-water10 in a dry house is better
than this rain-water out o’door. Good nuncle, in, ask thy
daughters’ blessing: here’s a night pities neither wise men
nor fools.
LEAR Rumble thy bellyful! Spit fire! Spout rain!
Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire, are my daughters.
I tax not you, you elements, with16 unkindness:
I never gave you kingdom, called you children;
You owe me no subscription18. 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 ministers21,
That will with two pernicious22 daughters join
Your high-engendered battles gainst a head23
So old and white as this. O, ho, ’tis foul24!
FOOL He that has a house to put’s25 head in has a good
head-piece26:
Sings
The codpiece that will house27
Before the head has any28,
The head and he shall louse29,
So beggars marry many30.
The man that makes his toe31
What he his heart should make
Shall of a corn33 cry woe,
And turn his sleep to wake.
For there was never yet fair woman, but she made mouths35
in a glass.
Enter Kent
Disguised as Caius
LEAR No, I will be the pattern of all patience:
I will say nothing.
KENT Who’s there?
FOOL Marry, here’s grace and a codpiece40: that’s a wise
man and a fool.
KENT Alas, sir, are you here? Things that love night
Love not such nights as these: the wrathful skies
Gallow the very wanderers of the dark44
And make them keep their caves. Since I was man,
Such sheets of fire, such bursts of horrid thunder,
Such groans of roaring wind and rain, I never
Remember to have heard: man’s nature cannot carry
Th’affliction nor the fear.
LEAR Let the great gods,
That keep this dreadful pudder51 o’er our heads,
Find out their enemies now. Tremble, thou wretch,
That hast within thee undivulgèd crimes
Unwhipped of54 justice: hide thee, thou bloody hand,
Thou perjured, and thou simular55 of virtue
That art incestuous: caitiff56, to pieces shake,
That under covert and convenient seeming57
Has practised on58 man’s life: close pent-up guilts,
Rive your concealing continents and cry59
These dreadful summoners grace. I am a man
More sinned against than sinning.
KENT Alack, bare-headed?
Gracious my lord, hard by here is a hoveclass="underline"
Some friendship will it lend you gainst the tempest.
Repose you there while I to this hard house65 —
More harder than the stones whereof ’tis raised,
Which even but now, demanding67 after you,
Denied me to come in — return and force
Their scanted69 courtesy.
LEAR My wits begin to turn.
Come on, my boy: how dost, my boy? Art cold?
I am cold myself.— Where is this straw, my fellow72?
The art of our necessities is strange73,
And can make vile things precious. Come, your hovel.—
Poor fool and knave, I have one part in my heart
That’s sorry yet for thee.
Sings
FOOL He that has and a little tiny wit77,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
Must make content with his fortunes fit79,
Though the rain it raineth every day.
LEAR True, boy.— Come, bring us to this hovel.
Exeunt [Lear and Kent]
FOOL This is a brave night to cool a courtesan82.
I’ll speak a prophecy ere I go:
When priests are more in word than matter84;
When brewers mar85 their malt with water;
When nobles are their tailors’ tutors86;
No heretics burned, but wenches’ suitors87;
When every case in law is right88;
No squire in debt, nor no poor knight;
When slanders do not live in tongues;
Nor cutpurses come not to throngs91;
When usurers tell their gold i’th’field92,
And bawds93 and whores do churches build,
Then shall the realm of Albion94
Come to great confusion95:
Then comes the time, who96 lives to see’t,
That going shall be used with feet97.
This prophecy Merlin98 shall make, for I live before his time.
Exit
Act 3 Scene 3
running scene 7
Carrying torches
Enter Gloucester and Edmund
GLOUCESTER Alack, alack, Edmund, I like not this unnatural
dealing. When I desired their leave that I might pity2 him,
they took from me the use of mine own house, charged me
on pain of perpetual displeasure neither to speak of him,
entreat for him, or any way sustain him.
EDMUND Most savage and unnatural.
GLOUCESTER Go to7; say you nothing. There is division between
the dukes, and a worse matter than that. I have received a
letter this night — ’tis dangerous to be spoken — I have
locked the letter in my closet10. These injuries the king now
bears will be revenged home; there is part of a power11 already
footed. We must incline to the king: I will look12 him and
privily relieve13 him. Go you and maintain talk with the duke,
that my charity be not of14 him perceived: if he ask for me, I
am ill and gone to bed: if I die for it — as no less is threatened
me — the king my old master must be relieved. There is
strange things toward17, Edmund: pray you be careful.
Exit
EDMUND This courtesy forbid thee18 shall the duke
Instantly know, and of that letter too:
This seems a fair deserving20 and must draw me
That which my father loses: no less than all.
The younger rises when the old doth fall.
Exit
Act 3 Scene 4