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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.

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 down

Her delicate cheek. It seem'd she was a queen

Over her passion, 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

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

What guests were in her eyes, which parted thence

As pearls from diamonds dropp'd. In brief,

Sorrow would be a rarity most belov'd,

If all could so become it.

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!

Kent! father! sisters! What, i' th' storm? i' th' night?

Let pity not be believ'd!' There she shook

The holy water from her heavenly eyes,

And clamour moisten'd. Then away she started

To deal with grief alone.

Kent. It is the stars,

The stars above us, govern our conditions;

Else one self mate and mate could not beget

Such different issues. You spoke not with her since?

Gent. No.

Kent. Was this before the King return'd?

Gent. No, since.

Kent. Well, sir, the poor distressed Lear's i' th' town;

Who sometime, in his better tune, remembers

What we are come about, and by no means

Will yield to see his daughter.

Gent. Why, good sir?

Kent. A sovereign shame so elbows him; his own unkindness,

That stripp'd her from his benediction, turn'd her

To foreign casualties, gave her dear rights

To his dog-hearted daughters- these things sting

His mind so venomously that burning shame

Detains him from Cordelia.

Gent. Alack, poor gentleman!

Kent. Of Albany's and Cornwall's powers 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 cause

Will in concealment wrap me up awhile.

When I am known aright, you shall not grieve

Lending me this acquaintance. I pray you go

Along with me. Exeunt.

Scene IV. The French camp.

Enter, with Drum and Colours, Cordelia, Doctor, and Soldiers.

Cor. Alack, 'tis he! Why, he was met even now

As mad as the vex'd sea, singing aloud,

Crown'd with rank fumiter and furrow weeds,

With hardocks, hemlock, nettles, cuckoo flow'rs,

Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow

In our sustaining corn. A century send forth.

Search every acre in the high-grown field

And bring him to our eye. [Exit an Officer.] What can man's wisdom

In the restoring his bereaved sense?

He that helps him take all my outward worth.

Doct. There is means, madam.

Our foster nurse of nature is repose,

The which he lacks. That to provoke in him

Are many simples operative, whose power

Will close the eye of anguish.

Cor. All blest secrets,

All you unpublish'd virtues of the earth,

Spring with my tears! be aidant and remediate

In the good man's distress! Seek, seek for him!

Lest his ungovern'd rage dissolve the life

That wants the means to lead it.

Enter Messenger.

Mess. News, madam.

The British pow'rs are marching hitherward.

Cor. 'Tis known before. Our preparation stands

In expectation of them. O dear father,

It is thy business that I go about.

Therefore great France

My mourning and important tears hath pitied.

No blown ambition doth our arms incite,

But love, dear love, and our ag'd father's right.

Soon may I hear and see him!

Exeunt.

Scene V. Gloucester's Castle.

Enter Regan and [Oswald the] Steward.

Reg. But are my brother's pow'rs set forth?

Osw. Ay, madam.

Reg.