In pity of his mifery, to dispatch

His nighted life: Moreover to descry

The ftrength o'th' Enemy.

Stew. I muft needs after him, Madam, with my Letter. Reg. Our Troops fet forth to morrow, ftay with us: The ways are dangerous.

Stew. I may not, Madam;

My Lady cha g'd my duty in this business.

Reg. Why should the write to Edmund?

Might not you tranfport her purposes by word? Belike,

Some things, I know not what

Let me unfeal the Letter.

Stew. Madam, I had rather

-I'll love thee much

Reg. I know your Lady do's not love her Husband,
I am fure of that: and at her late being here,
She gave ftrange ciliads, and moft fpeaking looks
To Noble Edmund. I know you are of her bofom.
Stew. I, Madam?

Reg. I fpeak in understanding: You're; I know't;
Therefore I do advise you take this Note,
My Lord is dead; Edmund and I have talk'd,
And more convenient is he for my hand
Than for your Lady's: You may gather more:
If you do find him, pray you give him this;

And when your Miftrefs hears thus much from you,
I pray defire her call her wifdom to her.

So fare you well.

If you do chance to hear of that blind Traitor,

Preferment falls on him, that cuts him off.

Stew. Would I could meet him, Madam, I should shew

Enter Glofter and Edgar.

Glo. When fhall I come to th' top of that fame Hill? Edg. You do climb up it now. Look how we labour.

Glo. Methinks the ground is even.

Edg. Horrible fteep.

Hark, do you hear the Sea?

Glo.

Glo. No truly.

Edg. Why then your other Senfes grow imperfect By your Eyes anguish.

Glo. So may it be indeed.

Methinks thy Voice is alter'd, and thou speak'st
In better phrafe, and matter than thou didft.

Edg. You're much deceived: in nothing am I chang'd But in my Garments.

Gle. Methinks you're better spoken.
Edg. Come on, Sir,

Here's the place; ftand ftill. How fearful
And dizzy 'tis to caft ones Eyes fo low!

The Crows and Choughs, that wing the midway air
Shew scarce fo grofs as Beetles. Half way down
Hangs one that gathers Samphire; dreadful trade!
Methinks he seems no bigger than his head.
The Fisher-men that walk upon the beach,
Appear like Mice; and yond tall Anchoring Bark,
Diminish'd to her Cock; her Cock, a Buoy
Almoft too small for fight. The murmuring Surge,
That on th' unnumbred idle Pebble chafes
Cannot be heard fo high. I'll look no more,
Left my brain turn, and the deficient fight
Topple down headlong.

Glo. Set me where you ftand.

Edg. Give me your hand:

You are now within a foot of th' extream Verge:
For all beneath the Moon would not I leap upright.
Glo. Let go my hand:

Here Friend's, another purfe, in it, a Jewel

Well worth a poor Man's taking. Fairies, and gods
Profper it with thee. Go thou further off,
Bid me farewel, and let me hear thee going.
Edg. Now fare ye well, good Sir.
Glo. With all my heart.

Edg. Why do I trifle thus with his despair? 'Tis done to cure it.

Glo. O you mighty gods!

This World I do renounce, and in your fights
Shake patiently my great affliction off:

If I could bear it longer, and not fall

[Seems to go.

Το

To quarrel with your great oppofelefs wills,
My inuff, and loathed part of Nature should
Burn it felf out. If Edgar live, O bless him.
Now Fellow, fare thee well.

Edg. Good Sir, farewel.

[He leaps and falls along.

And yet I know not how conceit may rob

The treasure of Life, when Life it felf

Yields to the Theft. Had he been where he thought,
By this had thought been paft. Alive, or dead?
Hoa, you Sir! Friend! her, you Sir! fpeak!

Thus night he pafs indeed-yet he revives.
What are you, Sir?

Glo. Away, and let me die.

Edg. Had't thou been ought butGozemore, feathers and Air, So many fathom down precipitating,

Thoud'ft fhiver'd like an Egg: but thou doft breath;
Haft heavy fubftance, bleed'st not; fpeak, art found?
Ten Mafts at leaft, make not the altitude
Which thou haft perpendicularly fallen;
Thy Life's a Miracle. Speak yet again.
Glo. But have I fall'n, or no?

Edg. From the dread Summet of this Chalky Bourn
Look up, a height, the fhrill gor'd Lark fo far
Cannot be feen or heard: Do but look up.

Glo, Alack, I have no Eyes;

Is wretchedness depriv'd that benefit

To end it felf by death? 'Twas yet fome comfort,
When mifery could beguile the Tyrant's rage,
And fruftrate his proud will.

Edg. Give me your arm.

Up, fo--- How is't? Feel you your Legs? You ftande,
Glo. Too well, too well.

Edg. This is above all ftrargenefs.

Upon the Crown o'th' Cliff, what thing was that
Which parted from you?

Glo. A poor unfortunate Beggar.

Edg. As I ftood here below, methought his Eyes
Were two full Moons: he had a thousand Nofes,
Horns walk'd, and wav'd like the enraged Sta;
It was fome Fiend: therefore thou happy Father,
Think that the cleareft gods, who make them honours

Of

Of Mens impoffibilities, have preferv'd thee.
Glo. I do remember now: henceforth I'll bear
Affliction, 'till it do cry out it felf

That thing you speak of,

Enough, enough, and die.
I took it for a Man; often 'twould fay
The Fiend, the Fiend

he led me to that place,

Edg. Bear free and patient thoughts.

But who comes here?

Enter Lear.

The fafer Sense will ne'er accommodate
His Mafter thus.

Lear. No, they cannot touch me for Coyning, I am the King himfelf.

Edg. O thou fide-piercing fight!

Lear. Nature's above Art, in that refpe&t. There's your Prefs-mony. That Fellow handles his Bow like a Cow keeper: draw me a Clothier's Yard. Look, look, a Mouse. Peace, Peace, this piece of toafted Cheese will do't— There's my Gauntlet, I'll prove it on a Giant. Bring up the brown Bills. O well flown Bird: 'th' clout, i'th clout: Hewgh. Give the word.

Edg. Sweet Marjoram,
Lear. Pafs.

Glo. I know that Voice.

Lear. Ha! Gonerill with a white Beard? They flatter'd me like a Dog, and told me I had white Hairs in my Beard, e'er the black ones were there. To fay Ay, and No, to every thing that I faid—Ay and No too, was no good Di. vinity. When the Rain came to wet me once, and Wind to make me chatter: when the Thunder would not peace at my bidding, there I found 'em, there I fmelt 'em out. Go to, they are not Men o' their words; they told me I was every thing: 'Tis a Lie, I am not Ague proof.

Glo. The trick of that Voice, I do well remember: Is't not the King?

Lear. Ay, every inch a King.

When I do ftare, fee how the Subje& quakes.
I pardon that Man's Life. What was thy caufe?
Adultery? thou shalt not die; die for Adultery?
No, the Wren goes to't, and the small gilded Flie
Doe's letcher in my fight. Let Copulation thrive:

For

For Glofter's Baftard Son was kinder to his Father, Than my Daughters got 'tween the lawful fheets. To't Luxury pell-mell, for I lack Soldiers. Behold yon fimpering Dame, whofe face, between her Forks, prefages Snow; that minces Virtue, and do's fhake the Head to hear of Pleafures name. The Fitchew, nor the foyled Horfe goes to't with a more riotous Appetite: down from the wafte they are Centaures, though Women all above: but to the Girdle do the Gods inherit, beneath is all the fiends. There's Hell, there's Darkness, there is the fulphurous Pit, Burning, Scalding, Stench, Confumption: Fie, fic, fie; pah, pah: Give me an Ounce of Civet; good Apothecary fweeten my Imagination: There's Mony for thee. Glo. O let me kifs that Hand.

Lear. Let me wipe it firft, it fmells of Mortality. Glo. O ruin'd piece of Nature, this great World Shall fo wear out to naught. Do'st thou know me?

Lear. I remember thine Eyes well enough: do'st thou fquiny at me? No, do thy worst blind Cupid, I'll not love. Read thou this challenge, mark but the penning of it. Glo. Were all thy Letters Suns, I could not fee one, Edg. I would not take this from report ;

It is, and my Heart breaks at it.

Lear. Read.

Glo. What, with this Cafe of Eyes?

Lear. Oh ho, are you there with me? No Eyes in your Head, nor no Mony in your Purfe? Your Eyes are in heavy cafe, your Purfe in a light, yet you fee how this World goes. Glo. I fee it feelingly.

Lear. What, art mad? A Man may fee how this World goes, with no Eyes. Look with thine Ears: See how yond Juftice rails upon yond fimple Thief. Hark in thine Ear: Change places, and Handy-dandy, which is the Juftice, which is the Thief: Thou haft feen a Farmer's Dog bark at a Beggar?

Glo. Ay Sir.

Lear. And the Creature run from the Cur: there thou might'ft behold the great Image of Authority, a Dog's obey'd in Office. Thou, Rafcal Beadle, hold thy bloody Hand: why do'st thou lafh that Whore? Strip thy own Back, thon hotly luft'ft to ufe her in that kind, for which

thou