Catch in their fury and make nothing of;

Strives in his little world of man to outstorm

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,

And bids what will take all.

KENT But who is with him?

FIRST GENTLEMAN

None but the fool, who labours to outjest

His heart-struck injuries.

KENT Sir, I do know you,

And dare upon the warrant of my art

Commend a dear thing to you. There is division,

Although as yet the face of it be covered

With mutual cunning, ’twixt Albany and Cornwall;

But true it is. From France there comes a power

Into this scattered kingdom, who already,

Wise in our negligence, have secret feet

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

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,

And from some knowledge and assurance offer

This office to you.

FIRST GENTLEMAN I will talk farther 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 your fellow is,

That yet you do not know. Fie on this storm!

I will go seek the King.

FIRST 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 endeavour I’ll this way, you that—

He that first lights on him holla the other.

Exeunt severally

Sc. 9 Storm. Enter King Lear and his Fool

LEAR

Blow, wind, and crack your cheeks! Rage, blow,

You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout

Till you have drenched the steeples, drowned the

cocks!

You sulphurous and thought-executing fires,

Vaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thunderbolts,

Singe my white head; and thou all-shaking thunder,

Smite flat the thick rotundity of the world,

Crack nature’s mould, all germens spill at once

That make ingrateful man.

FOOL O nuncle, court holy water in a dry house is better than this rain-water out o’ door. Good nuncle, in, and ask thy daughters blessing. Here’s a night pities neither wise man nor fool.

LEAR

Rumble thy bellyful; spit, fire; spout, rain.

Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire are my daughters.

I tax not you, you elements, with unkindness.

I never gave you kingdom, called you children.

You owe me no subscription. Why then, let fall

Your horrible pleasure. Here I stand your slave,

A poor, infirm, weak and despised old man,

But yet I call you servile ministers,

That have with two pernicious daughters joined

Your high engendered battle ‘gainst a head

So old and white as this. O, ’tis foul!

FOOL He that has a house to put his head in has a good headpiece.

⌈Sings⌉

The codpiece that will house Before the head has any,

The head and he shall louse,

So beggars marry many.

The man that makes his toe

What he his heart should make

Shall have a corn cry woe,

And turn his sleep to wake— for there was never yet fair woman but she made mouths in a glass.

LEAR

No, I will be the pattern of all patience.

⌈He sits.⌉ Enter the Earl of Kent disguised

I will say nothing.

KENT Who’s there?

FOOL Marry, here’s grace and a codpiece—that’s a wise man and a fool.

KENT (to Lear)

Alas, sir, sit you here? Things that love night

Love not such nights as these. The wrathful skies

Gallow the very wanderers of the dark

And makes them keep their caves. Since I was man

Such sheets of fire, such bursts of horrid thunder,

Such groans of roaring wind and rain I ne’er

Remember to have heard. Man’s nature cannot carry

The affliction nor the force.

LEAR Let the great gods,

That keep this dreadful pother o’er our heads,

Find out their enemies now. Tremble, thou wretch

That hast within thee undivulgèd crimes

Unwhipped of justice; hide thee, thou bloody hand,

Thou perjured and thou simular man of virtue

That art incestuous; caitiff, in pieces shake,

That under covert and convenient seeming

Hast practised on man’s life;

Close pent-up guilts, rive your concealed centres

And cry these dreadful summoners grace.

I am a man more sinned against than sinning.

KENT Alack, bare-headed?

Gracious my lord, hard by here is a hovel.

Some friendship will it lend you ‘gainst the tempest.

Repose you there whilst I to this hard house-

More hard than is the stone whereof ’tis raised,

Which even but now, demanding after you,

Denied me to come in—return and force