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Which I must act; briefnefs, and fortune work!
Brother, a word: defcend, brother, I say.
To bim, Enter Edgar.

My father watches; O Sir, fly this place,
'Intelligence is giv'n where you are hid;
You've now the good advantage of the night-
Have you not spoken 'gainst the Duke of Cornwall?
He's coming hither, now i'th' night, in hafte,
And Regan with him; have you nothing faid
Upon his party 'gainst the Duke of Albany? *
Advise your felf.

Edg. I'm fure on't, not a word.

Baft. I hear my father coming.

Pardon me→→ In cunning I muft draw my fword upon youDraw, feem to defend your felf.

Now quit you well

Yield come before my father-light hoa, here,

Fly, brother-Torches ! -fo, farewel

[Ex. Edg.

Some blood drawn on me would beget opinion [wounds bis arm.

Of my more fierce endeavour. I've feen drunkards
Do more than this in fport. Father! father!

Stop, ftop, no help ?

SCENE III.

To him, Enter Glo'fter, and Servants with torches.
Go. Now, Edmund, where's the villain?

Baft. Here ftood he in the dark, his fharp fword out, Mumbling of wicked charms, conj'ring the moon

To ftand his aufpicious mistress.

Glo. But where is he?

Baft. Look, Sir, I bleed.

Glo. Where is the villain, Edmund ?

14 Baft. Fled this way, Sir, when by no means he could-
Glo. Purfue him, ho! go after. By no means, what ?-
Baft. Perfuade me to the murther of your Lordship;
Fut that I told him the revenging Gods

'Gainft parricides did all the thunder bend,
Spoke with how manifold and strong a bond
The child was bound to th' father. Sir, in fine,

Meaning, upon the party engaged by him against the Duke of Albany.

Seeing

Seeing how lothly oppofite I ftood
To his unnat❜ral purpose, in fell motion
With his prepared fword he charges home
My unprovided body, launch'd mine arm;
And when he faw my beft alarmed fpirit,

Bold in the quarrel's right, rouz'd to th' encounter;
Or whether gafted by the noise I måde,
Full fuddenly he fled.

Glo. Let him fly far;

Not in this land fhall he remain uncaught:
And for dispatch the noble Duke my master,
My worthy and arch-patron, comes to-night;
By his authority I will proclaim it,

That he which finds him fhall deferve our thanks
Bringing the murth'rous coward to the stake:
He that conceals him, death.

Baft. When I diffwaded him from his intent,
And found him pight to do it, with curft speech
I threaten'd to discover him ; he replied,
Thou unpoffeffing baftard, do'st thou think,
If I would ftand against thee, the repofal
Of any truft, virtue, or worth in thee

Would make thy words faith'd? no, what I'd deny,
(As this I would, although thou did't produce
My very character) would turn it all

To thy fuggeftion, plot, and damned practice;
And thou must make a dullard of the world,
If they not thought the profits of my death
Were very pregnant and potential spurs
To make thee feek it.

Glo. O ftrange, faften'd villain!

[Trumpets within.

Would he deny his letter, faid he ? hark!

Hark, the Duke's trumpets! I know not why he comes-
All ports I'll bar, the villain fhall not 'fcape,

The Duke muft grant me that; befides, his picture
I will fend far and near, that all the kingdom'
May have due note of him ; and of my land
(Loyal and natural boy) I'll work the means
To make thee capable,

SCENE

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Enter Cornwall, Regan, and Attendants.

Corn. How now, my noble friend? fince I came hither, Which I can call but now, I have heard ftrange news. Reg. If it be true, all vengeance comes too fhort Which can pursue th' offender; how does my Lord ? Glo. O Madam, my old heart is crack'd, it's crack'd. Reg. What, did my father's godfon feek your life? He whom my father nam'd, your Edgar? He? Glo. O Lady, Lady, fhame would have it hid.

Reg. Was he not companion with the riotous Knights That tended on my father?

Glo. I know not, Madam; 'tis too bad, too bad.
Baft. Yes, Madam, he was of that confort.
Reg. No marvel then, tho' he were ill-affected ;
'Tis they have put him on the old man's death,
To have th' expence and wafte of revenues.
I have this present evening from my fifter
Been well inform'd of them, and with fuch cautions,
That if they come to fojourn at my house,

I'll not be there.

Gorn. Nor I, affure thee, Regan;

Edmund, I hear that you have fhewn your father
A child-like office.

Baft. It's my duty, Sir.'

Glo. He did bewray his practice, and receiv'd This hurt you fee, ftriving to apprehend him, Corn. Is he pursued?

Glo. Ay, my good Lord, he is.

Gorn. If he be taken, he fhall never more

Be fear'd of doing harm: make your own purpose,
How in my ftrength you please. As for you, Edmund,
Whofe virtue and obedience doth this inftant

So much commend itself, you fhall be ours;
Natures of fuch deep truft we shall much need:
You we firft feize on.

Baft. I fhall ferve you, Sir,

Truly, however else.

Glo. I thank your Grace.

Corn. You know not why we came to vifit you

Thus

Thus out of feafon thredding dark-ey'd night.
Reg. Occafions, noble Glofter, of fome prize,
Wherein we must have use of your advice-
Our father he hath writ, fo hath our fifter,
Of diff'rences, which I beft thought it fit
To answer from our home; the fev'ral meffengers
From hence attend difpatch. Our good old friend,
Lay comforts to your bofom, and bestow
Your needful counfel to our bufineffes,
Which crave the inftant ufe.

Glo. I ferve you, Madam;

Your Graces are right welcome.

SCENE V.

Enter Kent, and Steward, feverally.

[Exeunt.

Stew. Good dawning to thee, friend; art of this house?

Kent. Ay.

Stew. Where may we fet our horfes ?

Kent. I'th' mire.

Stew. Prythee, if thou lov'ft me tell me.

Kent. I love thee not,

Stew. Why then I care not for thee.

Kent. If I had thee in Lipfbury pinfold, I would make thee care for me.

Stew. Why doft thou ufe me thus? I know thee not. Kent. Fellow, I know thee.

Stew. What doft thou know me for?

Kent. A knave, a rascal, an eater of broken meats, a bafe, proud, fhallow, beggarly, three fuited, hundred-pound, filthy woofted-ftocking knave; a lilly-liver'd, action-taking, whorfon, glass-gazing, super-serviceable finical rogue; onetrunk-inheriting flave; one that would't be a bawd in way of good service; and art nothing but the compofition of a knave, beggar, coward, pander, and the fon and heir of a mungril bitch; one whom I will beat into clam'rous whining, if thou deny'ft the leaft fyllable of thy addition.

Stew. Why, what a monftrous fellow art thou, thus to rail on one, that is neither known of thee, nor knows thee! Kent. What a brazen-fac'd varlet art thou to deny thou knoweft me! is it two days fince I tript up thy heels, and beat thee before the King? draw, you rogue; for tho' it be

night, yet the moon fhines; I'll make a fop o'th' moonfhine of you; you whorfon, cullionly barber-monger, draw. [Drawing bis ford.

Stew. Away, I have nothing to do with thee.

Kent. Draw, you rafcal; you come with letters against the King, and take Vanity the puppet's part, against the royalty of her father; draw, you rogue, or I'll fo carbonado your fhanks-draw, you rafcal, come your ways. Stew. Help, ho! murther! help!

Kent. Strike, you flave; ftand, rogue, ftand, you neatflave, ftrike! [Beating bim.

Stew, Help, ho! murther! murther!

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Enter Baftard, Cornwall, Regan, Glo'fter, and Servants. Baft. How now, what's the matter? Part

Kent. With you, goodman boy, if you please; come, I'll flesh ye; come on, young master.

Glo. Weapons? arms? what's the matter here?

Corn. Keep peace, upon your lives; he dies that ftrikes again; what's the matter?

Reg. The meffengers from our fifter and the King?
Corn. What is your difference? speak?

Stew. I am fcarce in breath, my Lord.

Kent. No marvel, you have fo beftir'd your valour; you cowardly rafcal, nature difclaims all fhare in thee: a tailor made thee,

Corn, Thou art a ftrange fellow; a tailor make a man? Kent. A tailor, Sir? a ftone-cutter, or a painter could not have made him fo ill, tho' they had been but two hours o'th' trade.

Corn. Speak you, how grew your quarrel?

Stew. This ancient ruffian, Sir, whofe life I have fpar'd at fuit of his grey beard

Kent. Thou whorfon zed! thou unneceffary letter! my Lord, if you will give me leave, I will tread this unbolted villain into mortar, and daub the wall of a jakes with him, Spare my grey beard? you wag-tail !—

Corn. Peace, Sirrah!
You beaftly knave, know you no reverence?
Kent, Yes, Sir, but anger hath a privilege,

Corn.

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