Shakespeare - First Folio facsimile (1910)/The Tragedy of King Lear/Act 3 Scene 6
Scena Sexta.
Enter Kent, and Gloucester.
Glou.
Heere is better then the open ayre, take it thankfully:
I will peece out the comfort with what addition I
can: I will not be long from you.Exit.
Kent.
All the powre of his wits, haue giuen way to his
impatience: the Gods reward your kindnesse.
Enter Lear, Edgar, and Foole.
Edg.
Fraterretto cals me, and tells me Nero is an Angler in the Lake of Darknesse: pray Innocent, and beware the foule Fiend.
Foole.
Prythee Nunkle tell me, whether a madman be a Gentleman, or a Yeoman.
Lear.
A King, a King.
Foole.
No, he's a Yeoman, that ha's a Gentleman to his Sonne: for hee's a mad Yeoman that sees his Sonne a Gentleman before him.
Lear.
To haue a thousand with red burning spits
Come hizzing in vpon 'em.
Edg.
Blesse thy fiue wits.
Kent.
O pitty: Sir, where is the patience now
That you so oft haue boasted to retaine?
Edg.
My teares begin to take his part so much,
They marre my counterfetting.
Lear.
The little dogges, and all;
Trey, Blanch, and Sweet‐heart: see, they barke at me.
Edg.
Tom, will throw his head at them: Auaunt you
Curres, be thy mouth or blacke or white:
Tooth that poysons if it bite:
Mastiffe, Grey‐hound, Mongrill, Grim,
Hound or Spaniell, Brache, or Hym:
Or Bobtaile tight, or Troudle taile,
Tom will make him weepe and waile,
For with throwing thus my head;
Dogs leapt the hatch, and all are fled.
Do, de, de, de: sese: Come, march to Wakes and Fayres,
And Market Townes: poore Tom thy horne is dry,
Lear.
Then let them Anatomize Regan: See what breeds about her heart. Is there any cause in Nature that make these hard‐hearts. You sir, I entertaine for one of my hundred; only, I do not like the fashion of your garments. You will say they are Persian; but let them bee chang'd.
Enter Gloster.
Kent.
Now good my Lord, lye heere, and rest awhile.
Lear.
Make no noise, make no noise, draw the Curtaines: so, so, wee'l go to Supper i'th' morning.
Foole.
And Ile go to bed at noone.
Glou.
Come hither Friend:
Where is the King my Master?
Kent.
Here Sir, but trouble him not, his wits are gon.
Glou.
Good friend, I prythee take him in thy armes;
I haue ore‐heard a plot of death vpon him:
There is a Litter ready, lay him in't,
And driue toward Douer friend, where thou shalt meete
Both welcome, and protection. Take vp thy Master,
If thou should'st dally halfe an houre, his life
With thine, and all that offer to defend him,
Stand in assured losse. Take vp, take vp,
And follow me, that will to some prouision
Giue thee quicke conduct. Come, come, away.Exeunt.