| ACT IV SCENE III | The French camp near Dover. | |
| | Enter KENT and a Gentleman | |
| KENT | Why the King of France is so suddenly gone back | |
| | know you the reason? | |
| Gentleman | Something he left imperfect in the | |
| | state, which since his coming forth is thought | 5 |
| | of; which imports to the kingdom so much | |
| | fear and danger, that his personal return was | |
| | most required and necessary. | |
| KENT | Who hath he left behind him general? | |
| Gentleman | The Marshal of France, Monsieur La Far. | 10 |
| KENT | Did your letters pierce the queen to any | |
| | demonstration of grief? | |
| Gentleman | Ay, sir; she took them, read them in my presence; | |
| | And now and then an ample tear trill'd down | |
| | Her delicate cheek: it seem'd she was a queen | 15 |
| | Over her passion; who, most rebel-like, | |
| | Sought to be king o'er her. | |
| KENT | O, then it moved her. | |
| Gentleman | Not to a rage: patience and sorrow strove | |
| | Who should express her goodliest. You have seen | 20 |
| | Sunshine and rain at once: her smiles and tears | |
| | Were like a better way: those happy smilets, | |
| | That play'd on her ripe lip, seem'd not to know | |
| | What guests were in her eyes; which parted thence, | |
| | As pearls from diamonds dropp'd. In brief, | 25 |
| | Sorrow would be a rarity most beloved, | |
| | If all could so become it. | |
| KENT | Made she no verbal question? | |
| Gentleman | 'Faith, once or twice she heaved the name of 'father' | |
| | Pantingly forth, as if it press'd her heart: | 30 |
| | Cried 'Sisters! sisters! Shame of ladies! sisters! | |
| | Kent! father! sisters! What, i' the storm? i' the night? | |
| | Let pity not be believed!' There she shook | |
| | The holy water from her heavenly eyes, | |
| | And clamour moisten'd: then away she started | 35 |
| | To deal with grief alone. | |
| KENT | It is the stars, | |
| | The stars above us, govern our conditions; | |
| | Else one self mate and mate could not beget | |
| | Such different issues. You spoke not with her since? | 40 |
| Gentleman | No. | |
| KENT | Was this before the king return'd? | |
| Gentleman | No, since. | |
| KENT | Well, sir, the poor distressed Lear's i' the town; | |
| | Who sometime, in his better tune, remembers | 45 |
| | What we are come about, and by no means | |
| | Will yield to see his daughter. | |
| Gentleman | Why, good sir? | |
| KENT | A sovereign shame so elbows him: his own unkindness, | |
| | That stripp'd her from his benediction, turn'd her | 50 |
| | To foreign casualties, gave her dear rights | |
| | To his dog-hearted daughters, these things sting | |
| | His mind so venomously, that burning shame | |
| | Detains him from Cordelia. | |
| Gentleman | Alack, poor gentleman! | 55 |
| KENT | Of Albany's and Cornwall's powers you heard not? | |
| Gentleman | 'Tis so, they are afoot. | |
| KENT | Well, sir, I'll bring you to our master Lear, | |
| | And leave you to attend him: some dear cause | |
| | Will in concealment wrap me up awhile; | 60 |
| | When I am known aright, you shall not grieve | |
| | Lending me this acquaintance. I pray you, go | |
| | Along with me. | |
| | Exeunt | |