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Edg. Chill not let go, zir, without vurther 'casion. Stew. Let go, slave, or thou diest.
Edg. Good gentleman, go your gait, and let poor volk pass. And ch'ud ha' been zwagger'd out of my life, 'twould not ha' been zo long as 'tis by a vortnight. Nay, come not near the old man; keep out, che vor'ye, or ise try whether your costard or my bat be the harder: Ch'ill be plain with you.
Stew. Out, dunghill!
Edg. Ch'ill pick your teeth, zir: Come; no matter vor your foins. [They fight; and Edg. knocks him down. Stew. Slave, thou hast slain me:-Villain, take my purse;
If ever thou wilt thrive, bury my body;
And give the letters, which thou find'st about me,
Upon the British party;- -O, untimely death! [Dies.
As duteous to the vices of thy mistress,
As badness would desire.
What, is he dead?
Edg. Sit you down, father; rest you.—
Let's see his pockets: these letters, that he speaks of,
[Reads] Let our reciprocal vows be remembered. You have many opportunities to cut him off: if your will want not, time and place will be fruitfully offered. There is nothing done, if he return the conqueror: Then am I the prisoner, and his bed my gaol; from the loathed warmth whereof deliver me, and supply the place for your labour.
Your wife (so I would say), and your affectionate servant, GONERIL.
O undistinguish'd space of woman's will!
A plot upon her virtuous husband's life:
And the exchange, my brother!-Here, in the sands,
Thee I'll rake up, the post unsanctified
[Exit Edgar, dragging out the Body. Glo. The king is mad: How stiff is my vile sense, That I stand up, and have ingenious feeling
Of my huge sorrows! Better I were distract:
Give me your hand:
Far off, methinks, I hear the beaten drum.
SCENE VII. A Tent in the French Camp.
LEAR on a Bed, asleep; Physician, Gentleman, and others, attending; Enter CORDELIA and KENT. Cor. O thou good Kent, how shall I live, and work, To match thy goodness? My life will be too short, And every measure fail me.
Kent. To be acknowledg'd, madam, is o'erpaid. All my reports go with the modest truth;
Nor more, nor clipp'd, but so.
These weeds are memories of those worser hours;
I pr'ythee, put them off.
Pardon me, dear madam;
Yet to be known, shortens my made intent:
Till time and I think meet.
Cor. Then be it so, my good lord.-How does the
Phys. Madam, sleeps still.
Cor. O you kind gods,
[To the Physician.
Cure this great breach in his abused nature!
The untun'd and jarring senses, O, wind up
Phys. So please your majesty, That we may wake the king? he hath slept long. Cor. Be govern'd by your knowledge, and proceed I'the sway of your own will. Is he array'd?
Gent. Ay, madam; in the heaviness of his sleep, We put fresh garments on him.
Phys. Be by, good madam, when we do awake him; I doubt not of his temperance.
Very well. Phys. Please you, draw near.-Louder the music
Cor. O my dear father! Restoration, hang Thy medicine on my lips; and let this kiss Repair those violent harms, that my two sisters Have in thy reverence made!
Kind and dear princess!
Of quick, cross lightning? to watch (poor perdu!)
Though he had bit me, should have stood that night
Cor. How does my royal lord? How fares your majesty?
Lear. You do me wrong, to take me out o'the grave:Thou art a soul in bliss; but I am bound
Upon a wheel of fire, that mine own tears
Do scald like molten lead.
Sir, do you know me?
Lear. You are a spirit, I know; When did you die?
Cor. Still, still, far wide!
Phys. He's scarce awake; let him alone awhile.
I am mightily abus'd.-I should even die with pity,
O, look upon me, sir,
Pray, do not mock me:
I am a very foolish fond old man,
Fourscore and upward; and, to deal plainly,
I fear, I am not in my perfect mind.
Methinks, I should know you, and know this man :
To be my child Cordelia.
And so I am, I am.
Lear. Be your tears wet? Yes, 'faith. I pray, weep
If you have poison for me, I will drink it.
Lear. Am I in France?
Lear. Do not abuse me.
No cause, no cause.
In your own kingdom, sir.
Phys. Be comforted, good madam: the great rage, is cur'd in him: and yet it is danger To make him even o'er the time he has lost. Desire him to go in; trouble him no more, Till further settling.
Cor. Will't please your highness walk?
You must bear with me:
Pray now, forget and forgive: I am old, and foolish. [Exeunt Lear, Cordelia, Physician, and Attendants. Gent. Holds it true, sir,
That the duke of Cornwall was so slain?
Most certain, sir.
Gent. Who is conductor of his people?
The bastard son of Gloster.
As 'tis said,
They say, Edgar,
His banish'd son, is with the earl of Kent
Report is changeable.
"Tis time to look about; the powers o'the kingdoin
Gent. The arbitrement is like to be a bloody.
Fare you well, sir.
Kent. My point and period will be throughly wrought, Or well, or ill, as this day's battle's fought.