The French Camp, near Dover. | |
| |
Enter KENT and a Gentleman. | |
| Kent. Why the King of France is so suddenly gone back know you the reason? | |
| Gent. Something he left imperfect in the state, which since his coming forth is thought of; which imports to the kingdom so much fear and danger, that his personal return was most required and necessary. | 4 |
| 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; | 8 |
| 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. | 12 |
| 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 | 16 |
| 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, | 20 |
| 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’ | 24 |
| Pantingly forth, as if it press’d her heart; | |
| Cried, ‘Sisters! sisters! Shame of ladies! sisters! | |
| Kent! father! sisters! What, i’ the storm? i’ the night? | |
| Let pity not be believed!’ There she shook | 28 |
| 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, | 32 |
| The stars above us, govern our conditions; | |
| Else one self mate and make could not beget | |
| Such different issues. You spoke not with her since? | |
| Gent. No. | 36 |
| Kent. Was this before the king return’d? | |
| Gent. No, since. | |
| Kent. Well, sir, the poor distress’d Lear’s i’ the town, | |
| Who sometime, in his better tune, remembers | 40 |
| 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, | 44 |
| 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 | 48 |
| 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. | 52 |
| 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 | 56 |
| Lending me this acquaintance. I pray you, go | |
| Along with me. [Exeunt. | |
