Oldal 87 [87]
OCR
RHETORICAL AND POETICAL CONVENTIONS FooLE. Cry you mercy I tooke you for a ioine stoole. LEAR. And heres another whose warpt lookes proclaime, What store her hart is made an, stop her there, Armes, armes, sword fire, corruption in the place, False Iusticer why hast thou let her scape. Epa. Blesse thy fiue wits. KENT. O pitty: Sir, where is the patience now That you so oft haue boasted to retaine? Epa. My teares begin to take his part so much, They marre my counterfetting. LEAR. The little dogges, and all; Trey, Blanch, and Sweet-heart: see, they barke at me. Epa. Tom, will throw his head at them: Auaunt you Curres, be thy mouth or blacke or white: Tooth that poysons if it bite: Mastiffe, Grey-hound, Mongrill, Grim, Hound or Spaniell, Brache, or Hym: Or Bobtaile tight, or Troudle taile, Tom will make him weepe and waile, For with throwing thus my head; Dogs leapt the hatch, and all are fled. Do, de, de, de: sese: / loudla doodla Come, march to Wakes and Fayres, And Market Townes: poore Tom thy horne is dry, LEAR. Then let them Anatomize Regan: See what breeds about her heart. Is there any cause in Nature that makes these hard-hearts / hardnes. You sir, I entertaine for one of my hundred; only, I do not like the fashion of your garments. You will say they are Persian attire; but let them bee chang’d. Enter Gloster. KENT. Now good my Lord, lye heere, and rest awhile. LEAR. Make no noise, make no noise, draw the Curtaines: so, so, so wee’] go to Supper i’th’ morning, so, so, so, Enter Gloster. Foote. And Ile go to bed at noone. Gio. Come hither Friend: Where is the King my Master? KENT. Here Sir, but trouble him not, his wits are gon. GLo. Good friend, I prythee take him in thy armes; I haue ore-heard a plot of death vpon him: There is a Litter ready, lay him int, And driue toward Douer friend, where thou shalt meete Both welcome, and protection. Take vp thy Master, If thou should’st dally halfe an houre, his life With thine, and all that offer to defend him, « 85 ¢
