Original Text
*Storm still. Enter Kent and a Gentleman, separately.* KENT. Who's there besides foul weather? GENTLEMAN. One minded like the weather, most unquietly.
Original Text
KENT. I know you. Where's the King? GENTLEMAN. 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.
Original Text
KENT. But who is with him? GENTLEMAN. None but the Fool, who labours to outjest His heart-struck injuries.
Original Text
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 is covered 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 hath borne Against the old kind King, or something deeper, Whereof, perchance, these are but furnishings —
Original Text
GENTLEMAN. 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 that fellow is That yet you do not know. Fie on this storm, I will go seek the King.
Original Text
GENTLEMAN. Give me your hand. Have you no more to say? 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.
Original Text
*Exeunt.*