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Enter Cordelia, Kent, and Gentleman.
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Cor. O thou good Kent,
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How shall I liue and worke
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To match thy goodnesse?
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My life will be too short,
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And euery measure faile me
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Kent. To be acknowledg'd Madam is ore-pai'd,
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All my reports go with the modest truth,
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Nor more, nor clipt, but so
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Cor. Be better suited,
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These weedes are memories of those worser houres:
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I prythee put them off
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Kent. Pardon deere Madam,
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Yet to be knowne shortens my made intent,
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My boone I make it, that you know me not,
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Till time, and I, thinke meet
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Cor. Then be't so my good Lord:
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How do's the King?
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Gent. Madam sleepes still
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Cor. O you kind Gods!
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Cure this great breach in his abused Nature,
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Th' vntun'd and iarring senses, O winde vp,
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Of this childe-changed Father
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Gent. So please your Maiesty,
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That we may wake the King, he hath slept long?
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Cor. Be gouern'd by your knowledge, and proceede
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I'th' sway of your owne will: is he array'd?
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Enter Lear in a chaire carried by Seruants]
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Gent. I Madam: in the heauinesse of sleepe,
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We put fresh garments on him.
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Be by good Madam when we do awake him,
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I doubt of his Temperance
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Cor. O my deere Father, restauratian hang
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Thy medicine on my lippes, and let this kisse
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Repaire those violent harmes, that my two Sisters
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Haue in thy Reuerence made
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Kent. Kind and deere Princesse
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Cor. Had you not bin their Father, these white flakes
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Did challenge pitty of them. Was this a face
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To be oppos'd against the iarring windes?
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Mine Enemies dogge, though he had bit me,
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Should haue stood that night against my fire,
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And was't thou faine (poore Father)
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To houell thee with Swine and Rogues forlorne,
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In short, and musty straw? Alacke, alacke,
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'Tis wonder that thy life and wits, at once
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Had not concluded all. He wakes, speake to him
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Gen. Madam do you, 'tis fittest
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Cor. How does my Royall Lord?
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How fares your Maiesty?
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Lear. You do me wrong to take me out o'th' graue,
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Thou art a Soule in blisse, but I am bound
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Vpon a wheele of fire, that mine owne teares
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Do scal'd, like molten Lead
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Cor. Sir, do you know me?
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Lear. You are a spirit I know, where did you dye?
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Cor. Still, still, farre wide
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Gen. He's scarse awake,
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Let him alone a while
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Lear. Where haue I bin?
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Where am I? Faire day light?
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I am mightily abus'd; I should eu'n dye with pitty
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To see another thus. I know not what to say:
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I will not sweare these are my hands: let's see,
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I feele this pin pricke, would I were assur'd
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Of my condition
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Cor. O looke vpon me Sir,
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And hold your hand in benediction o're me,
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You must not kneele
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Lear. Pray do not mocke me:
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I am a very foolish fond old man,
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Fourescore and vpward,
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Not an houre more, nor lesse:
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And to deale plainely,
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I feare I am not in my perfect mind.
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Me thinkes I should know you, and know this man,
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Yet I am doubtfull: For I am mainely ignorant
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What place this is: and all the skill I haue
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Remembers not these garments: nor I know not
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Where I did lodge last night. Do not laugh at me,
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For (as I am a man) I thinke this Lady
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To be my childe Cordelia
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