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The French camp near Dover
Enter KENT and a Gentleman
Kent. Why the King of France is so suddenly gone back, know you no 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 required and necessary. | |
| Kent. Who hath he left behind him General? | |
| Gent. The Marshal of France, Monsieur La Far. | 4 |
| 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 trill’d 1 down | |
| Her delicate cheek. It seem’d she was a queen | 8 |
| Over her passion, 2 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 | 12 |
| Who should express her goodliest. You have seen | |
| Sunshine and rain at once: her smiles and tears | |
| Were like a better way; those happy smilets | |
| That play’d on her ripe lip seem’d not to know | 16 |
| What guests were in her eyes, which, parted thence, | |
| As pearls from diamonds dropp’d. In brief, | |
| Sorrow would be a rarity most beloved, | |
| If all could so become it. | 20 |
| 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! | 24 |
| Kent! father! sisters! What, i’ the storm? i’ the night? | |
| Let pity 3 not be believ’d!” There she shook | |
| The holy water from her heavenly eyes; | |
| And, clamour-moistened, then away she started | 28 |
| To deal with grief alone. | |
| Kent. It is the stars, | |
| The stars above us, govern our conditions; 4 | |
| Else one self mate and make 5 could not beget | 32 |
| Such different issues. You spoke not with her since? | |
| Gent. No. | |
| Kent. Was this before the King return’d? | |
| Gent. No, since. | 36 |
| Kent. Well, sir, the poor distressed Lear’s 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. | 40 |
| Gent. Why, good sir? | |
| Kent. A sovereign shame so elbows 6 him. His own unkindness, | |
| That stripp’d her from his benediction, turn’d her | |
| To foreign casualties, gave her dear rights | 44 |
| To his dog-hearted daughters,—these things sting | |
| His mind so venomously, that burning shame | |
| Detains him from Cordelia. | |
| Gent. Alack, poor gentleman! | 48 |
| Kent. Of Albany’s and Cornwall’s powers 7 you heard not? | |
| Gent. ’Tis so, they are afoot. | |
| Kent. Well, sir, I’ll bring you to our master Lear, | |
| And leave you to attend him. Some dear 8 cause | 52 |
| Will in concealment wrap me up a while; | |
| When I am known aright, you shall not grieve | |
| Lending me this acquaintance. I pray you, go | |
| Along with me.] Exeunt. | 56 |
