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   Bast. I pant for life: some good I meane to do
Despight of mine owne Nature. Quickly send,
(Be briefe in it) to'th' Castle, for my Writ
Is on the life of Lear, and on Cordelia:
Nay, send in time

   Alb. Run, run, O run

   Edg. To who my Lord? Who ha's the Office?
Send thy token of repreeue

   Bast. Well thought on, take my Sword,
Giue it the Captaine

   Edg. Hast thee for thy life

   Bast. He hath Commission from thy Wife and me,
To hang Cordelia in the prison, and
To lay the blame vpon her owne dispaire,
That she for-did her selfe

   Alb. The Gods defend her, beare him hence awhile.
Enter Lear with Cordelia in his armes.

  Lear. Howle, howle, howle: O you are men of stones,
Had I your tongues and eyes, Il'd vse them so,
That Heauens vault should crack: she's gone for euer.
I know when one is dead, and when one liues,
She's dead as earth: Lend me a Looking-glasse,
If that her breath will mist or staine the stone,
Why then she liues

   Kent. Is this the promis'd end?
  Edg. Or image of that horror

   Alb. Fall and cease

   Lear. This feather stirs, she liues: if it be so,
It is a chance which do's redeeme all sorrowes
That euer I haue felt

   Kent. O my good Master

   Lear. Prythee away

   Edg. 'Tis Noble Kent your Friend

   Lear. A plague vpon you Murderors, Traitors all,
I might haue sau'd her, now she's gone for euer:
Cordelia, Cordelia, stay a little. Ha:
What is't thou saist? Her voice was euer soft,
Gentle, and low, an excellent thing in woman.
I kill'd the Slaue that was a hanging thee

   Gent. 'Tis true (my Lords) he did

   Lear. Did I not fellow?
I haue seene the day, with my good biting Faulchion
I would haue made him skip: I am old now,
And these same crosses spoile me. Who are you?
Mine eyes are not o'th' best, Ile tell you straight

   Kent. If Fortune brag of two, she lou'd and hated,
One of them we behold

   Lear. This is a dull sight, are you not Kent?
  Kent. The same: your Seruant Kent,
Where is your Seruant Caius?
  Lear. He's a good fellow, I can tell you that,
He'le strike and quickly too, he's dead and rotten

   Kent. No my good Lord, I am the very man

   Lear. Ile see that straight

   Kent. That from your first of difference and decay,
Haue follow'd your sad steps

   Lear. You are welcome hither

   Kent. Nor no man else:
All's cheerlesse, darke, and deadly,
Your eldest Daughters haue fore-done themselues,
And desperately are dead
  Lear. I so I thinke

   Alb. He knowes not what he saies, and vaine is it
That we present vs to him.
Enter a Messenger.

  Edg. Very bootlesse

   Mess. Edmund is dead my Lord

   Alb. That's but a trifle heere:
You Lords and Noble Friends, know our intent,
What comfort to this great decay may come,
Shall be appli'd. For vs we will resigne,
During the life of this old Maiesty
To him our absolute power, you to your rights,
With boote, and such addition as your Honours
Haue more then merited. All Friends shall
Taste the wages of their vertue, and all Foes
The cup of their deseruings: O see, see

   Lear. And my poore Foole is hang'd: no, no, no life?
Why should a Dog, a Horse, a Rat haue life,
And thou no breath at all? Thou'lt come no more,
Neuer, neuer, neuer, neuer, neuer.
Pray you vndo this Button. Thanke you Sir,
Do you see this? Looke on her? Looke her lips,
Looke there, looke there.

Singh is king singh is king!
king


June, 1999 [Etext #1793] 

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