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Suspend thy purpose, if thou did'st intend |
To make this Creature fruitfull: |
Into her Wombe conuey stirrility, |
Drie vp in her the Organs of increase, |
And from her derogate body, neuer spring |
A Babe to honor her. If she must teeme, |
Create her childe of Spleene, that it may liue |
And be a thwart disnatur'd torment to her. |
Let it stampe wrinkles in her brow of youth, |
With cadent Teares fret Channels in her cheekes, |
Turne all her Mothers paines, and benefits |
To laughter, and contempt: That she may feele, |
How sharper then a Serpents tooth it is, |
To haue a thanklesse Childe. Away, away. |
Enter. |
Alb. Now Gods that we adore, |
Whereof comes this? |
Gon. Neuer afflict your selfe to know more of it: |
But let his disposition haue that scope |
As dotage giues it. |
Enter Lear. |
Lear. What fiftie of my Followers at a clap? |
Within a fortnight? |
Alb. What's the matter, Sir? |
Lear. Ile tell thee: |
Life and death, I am asham'd |
That thou hast power to shake my manhood thus, |
That these hot teares, which breake from me perforce |
Should make thee worth them. |
Blastes and Fogges vpon thee: |
Th' vntented woundings of a Fathers curse |
Pierce euerie sense about thee. Old fond eyes, |
Beweepe this cause againe, Ile plucke ye out, |
And cast you with the waters that you loose |
To temper Clay. Ha? Let it be so. |
I haue another daughter, |
Who I am sure is kinde and comfortable: |
When she shall heare this of thee, with her nailes |
Shee'l flea thy Woluish visage. Thou shalt finde, |
That Ile resume the shape which thou dost thinke |
I haue cast off for euer. |
Exit |
Gon. Do you marke that? |
Alb. I cannot be so partiall Gonerill, |
To the great loue I beare you |
Gon. Pray you content. What Oswald, hoa? |
You Sir, more Knaue then Foole, after your Master |
Foole. Nunkle Lear, Nunkle Lear, |
Tarry, take the Foole with thee: |
A Fox, when one has caught her, |
And such a Daughter, |
Should sure to the Slaughter, |
If my Cap would buy a Halter, |
So the Foole followes after. |
Exit |
Gon. This man hath had good Counsell, |
A hundred Knights? |
'Tis politike, and safe to let him keepe |
At point a hundred Knights: yes, that on euerie dreame, |
Each buz, each fancie, each complaint, dislike, |
He may enguard his dotage with their powres, |
And hold our liues in mercy. Oswald, I say |
Alb. Well, you may feare too farre |
Gon. Safer then trust too farre; |
Let me still take away the harmes I feare, |
Not feare still to be taken. I know his heart, |
What he hath vtter'd I haue writ my Sister: |
If she sustaine him, and his hundred Knights |
When I haue shew'd th' vnfitnesse. |
Enter Steward. |
How now Oswald? |
What haue you writ that Letter to my Sister? |
Stew. I Madam |
Gon. Take you some company, and away to horse, |
Informe her full of my particular feare, |
And thereto adde such reasons of your owne, |
As may compact it more. Get you gone, |
And hasten your returne; no, no, my Lord, |
This milky gentlenesse, and course of yours |
Though I condemne not, yet vnder pardon |
You are much more at task for want of wisedome, |
Then prais'd for harmefull mildnesse |
Alb. How farre your eies may pierce I cannot tell; |
Striuing to better, oft we marre what's well |
Gon. Nay then- |
Alb. Well, well, th' euent. |