Original Text
*Enter Kent and Gloucester.* GLOUCESTER. Here is better than the open air. Take it thankfully. I will piece out the comfort with what addition I can. I will not be long from you. *Exit.* KENT. All the power of his wits have given way to his impatience. The gods reward your kindness.
Original Text
*Enter Lear, Edgar, and Fool.* EDGAR. Frateretto calls me, and tells me Nero is an angler in the Lake of Darkness. Pray, innocent, and beware the foul fiend. FOOL. Prithee, nuncle, tell me whether a madman be a gentleman or a yeoman. LEAR. A king, a king! FOOL. No, he's a yeoman that has a gentleman to his son, for he's a mad yeoman that sees his son a gentleman before him.
Original Text
LEAR. To have a thousand with red burning spits Come hissing in upon 'em — EDGAR. Bless thy five wits! KENT. O pity! Sir, where is the patience now That you so oft have boasted to retain? EDGAR. My tears begin to take his part so much, They mar my counterfeiting.
Original Text
LEAR. The little dogs and all — Tray, Blanch, and Sweetheart — see, they bark at me. EDGAR. Tom will throw his head at them. Avaunt, you curs! Be thy mouth or black or white, Tooth that poisons if it bite, Mastiff, greyhound, mongrel grim, Hound or spaniel, brach or him, Or bobtail tight or trundle-tail, Tom will make him weep and wail; For, with throwing thus my head, Dogs leapt the hatch, and all are fled. Do, de, de, de. Sese! Come, march to wakes and fairs and market towns. Poor Tom, thy horn is dry.
Original Text
LEAR. Then let them anatomize Regan. See what breeds about her heart. Is there any cause in nature that make these hard hearts? You, sir, I entertain for one of my hundred — only I do not like the fashion of your garments. You will say they are Persian, but let them be changed.
Original Text
*Enter Gloucester.* KENT. Now, good my lord, lie here and rest awhile. LEAR. Make no noise, make no noise. Draw the curtains. So, so. We'll go to supper i' the morning. FOOL. And I'll go to bed at noon.
Original Text
GLOUCESTER. Come hither, friend. Where is the King my master? KENT. Here, sir, but trouble him not. His wits are gone. GLOUCESTER. Good friend, I prithee take him in thy arms. I have o'erheard a plot of death upon him. There is a litter ready. Lay him in 't And drive toward Dover, friend, where thou shalt meet Both welcome and protection. Take up thy master. If thou shouldst dally half an hour, his life, With thine and all that offer to defend him, Stand in assured loss. Take up, take up, And follow me, that will to some provision Give thee quick conduct. Come, come, away. *Exeunt.*