A Heath. | |
| |
A storm, with thunder and lightning. Enter KENT and a Gentleman, meeting. | |
| Kent. Who’s here, beside foul weather? | |
| Gent. One minded like the weather, most unquietly. | 4 |
| Kent. I know you. Where’s the king? | |
| Gent. Contending with the fretful elements; | |
| Bids the wind blow the earth into the sea, | |
| Or swell the curled waters ’bove the main, | 8 |
| That things might change or cease; tears his white hair, | |
| Which the impetuous blasts, with eyeless rage, | |
| Catch in their fury, and make nothing of; | |
| Strives in his little world of man to out-scorn | 12 |
| The to-and-fro-conflicting wind and rain. | |
| This night, wherein the cub-drawn bear would couch, | |
| The lion and the belly-pinched wolf | |
| Keep their fur dry, unbonneted he runs, | 16 |
| And bids what will take all. | |
| Kent. But who is with him? | |
| Gent. None but the fool, who labours to out-jest | |
| His heart-struck injuries. | 20 |
| 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 be cover’d | 24 |
| With mutual cunning, ’twixt Albany and Corn-wall; | |
| Who have—as who have not, that their great stars | |
| Thron’d and set high—servants, who seem no less, | |
| Which are to France the spies and speculations | 28 |
| Intelligent of our state; what hath been seen, | |
| Either in snuffs and packings of the dukes, | |
| Or the hard rein which both of them have borne | |
| Against the old kind king; or something deeper, | 32 |
| Whereof perchance these are but furnishings; | |
| But, true it is, from France there comes a power | |
| Into this scatter’d kingdom; who already, | |
| Wise in our negligence, have secret feet, | 36 |
| In Some of our best ports, and are at point | |
| To show their open banner. Now to you: | |
| If on my credit you dare build so far | |
| To make your speed to Dover, you shall find | 40 |
| Some that will thank you, making just report | |
| Of how unnatural and bemadding sorrow | |
| The king hath cause to plain. | |
| I am a gentleman of blood and breeding, | 44 |
| And from some knowledge and assurance offer | |
| This office to you. | |
| Gent. I will talk further with you. | |
| Kent. No, do not. | 48 |
| 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 doubt not but you shall,—show her this ring, | 52 |
| And she will tell you who your fellow is | |
| That yet you do not know. Fie on this storm! | |
| I will go seek the king. | |
| Gent. Give me your hand. Have you no more to say? | 56 |
| 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. [Exeunt severally. | 60 |
