# The History of King Lear/Act IV

A Grotto.
[Edmund and Regan amorously Seated, Listning to Musick.]
Bast.
    Why were those Beauties made Another's Right
    Which None can prize like Me? charming Queen
    Take all my blooming Youth, for ever fold me
    In those soft Arms, Lull me in endless Sleep
    That I may dream of pleasures too transporting
    For Life to bear.
Reg.
    Live, live, my Gloster,
    And feel no Death but that of swooning joy,
    I yield thee Blisses on no harder Terms
    Than that thou continue to be Happy.
Bast.
    This Jealousie is yet more kind, is't possible
    That I should wander from a Paradise
    To feed on sickly Weeds? such Sweets live here
    That Constancy will be no Vertue in me,
    [Aside] And yet must I forthwith go meet her Sister,
    To whom I must protest as much—
    Suppose it be the same; why best of all,
    And I have then my Lesson ready conn'd.
Reg.
    Wear this Remembrance of me— I dare now
[Gives him a Ring.]
    Absent my self no longer from the Duke
    Whose Wound grows Dangerous— I hope Mortal.
Bast.
    And let this happy Image of your Gloster,
[Pulling out a Picture drops a Note.]
    Lodge in that Breast where all his Treasure lies.
[Exit.]
Reg.
    To this brave Youth a Womans blooming beauties
    Are due: my Fool usurps my Bed— What's here?
    Confusion on my Eyes.
[Reads.]
       Where Merit is so Transparent, not to behold it were Blindness, and not to reward it, Ingratitude.
          Gonerill.
    Vexatious Accident! yet Fortunate too,
    My Jealousie's confirm'd, and I am taught
    To cast for my Defence—
[Enter an Officer.]
    Now, what mean those Shouts? and what thy hasty Entrance?
Off.
    A most surprizing and a sudden Change,
    The Peasants are all up in Mutiny,
    And only want a Chief to lead 'em on
    To Storm your Palace.
Reg.
    On what Provocation?
Off.
    At last day's publick Festival, to which
    The Yeomen from all Quarters had repair'd,
    Old Gloster, whom you late depriv'd of Sight,
    (His Veins yet Streaming fresh) presents himself,
    Proclaims your Cruelty, and their Oppression,
    With the King's Injuries; which so enrag'd 'em,
    That now that Mutiny which long had crept
    Takes Wing, and threatens your Best Pow'rs.
Reg.
    White-liver'd Slave!
    Our Forces rais'd and led by Valiant Edmund,
    Shall drive this Monster of Rebellion back
    To her dark Cell; young Gloster's Arm allays
    The Storm, his Father's feeble Breath did Raise.
[Exit.]
The Field SCENE
[Enter Edgar.]
Edg.
    The lowest and most abject Thing of Fortune
    Stands still in Hope, and is secure from Fear,
    The lamentable Change is from the Best,
    The Worst returns to Better— who comes here
[Enter Gloster, led by an old Man.]
    My Father poorly led? depriv'd of Sight,
    The precious Stones torn from their bleeding Rings!
    Some-thing I heard of this inhumane Deed
    But disbeliev'd it, as an Act too horrid
    For the hot Hell of a curst Woman's fury,
    When will the measure of my woes be full?
Glost.
    Revenge, thou art afoot, Success attend Thee.
    Well have I sold my Eyes, if the Event
    Prove happy for the injur'd King.
Old M.
    O, my good Lord, I have been your Tenant, and your Father's Tenant these Fourscore years.
Glost.
    Away, get thee Away, good Friend, be gone,
    Thy Comforts can do me no good at All,
    Thee they may hurt.
Old M.
    You cannot see your Way.
Glost.
    I have no Way, and therefore want no Eyes,
    I stumbled when I saw: O dear Son Edgar,
    The Food of thy abused Father's Wrath,
    Might I but live to see thee in my Touch
    I'd say, I had Eyes agen.
Edg.
    Alas, he's sensible that I was wrong'd,
    And shou'd I own my Self, his tender Heart
    Would break betwixt th' extreams of Grief and Joy.
Old M.
    How now, who's There?
Edg.
    A Charity for poor Tom. Play fair, and defie the foul Fiend.
    O Gods! and must I still persue this Trade,
[Aside.]
    Trifling beneath such Loads of Misery?
Old M.
    'Tis poor mad Tom.
Glost.
    In the late Storm I such a Fellow saw,
    Which made me think a Man a Worm,
    Where is the Lunatick?
Old M.
    Here, my Lord.
Glost.
    Get thee now away, if for my sake
    Thou wilt o're-take us hence a Mile or Two
    I' th' way tow'rd Dover, do't for ancient Love,
    And bring some cov'ring for this naked Wretch
    Whom I'll intreat to lead me.
Old M.
    Alack, my Lord, He's Mad.
Glost.
    'Tis the Time's Plague when Mad-men lead the Blind.
    Do as I bid thee.
Old M.
    I'll bring him the best 'Parrel that I have
    Come on't what will.
[Exit.]
Glost.
    Sirrah, naked Fellow.
Edg.
    Poor Tom's a cold;— I cannot fool it longer,
    And yet I must— bless thy sweet Eyes they Bleed,
    Believe't poor Tom ev'n weeps his Blind to see 'em.
Glost.
    Know'st thou the way to Dover?
Edg.
    Both Stile and Gate, Horse-way and Foot-path, poor Tom has been scar'd out of his good Wits; bless every true Man's Son from the foul Fiend.
Glost.
    Here, take this Purse, that I am wretched
    Makes thee the Happier, Heav'n deal so still.
    Thus let the griping Userers Hoard be Scatter'd,
    So Distribution shall undo Excess,
    And each Man have enough. Dost thou know Dover?
Edg.
    I, Master.
Glost.
    There is a Cliff, whose high and bending Head
    Looks dreadfully down on the roaring Deep.
    Bring me but to the very Brink of it,
    And I'll repair the Poverty thou bearst
    With something Rich about me, from that Place
    I shall no leading need.
Edg.
    Give me thy Arm: poor Tom shall guid thee.
Glost.
    Soft, for I hear the Tread of Passengers.
[Enter Kent and Cordelia.]
Cord.
    Ah me! your Fear's too true, it was the King;
    I spoke but now with some that met him
    As Mad as the vext Sea, Singing aloud,
    Crown'd with rank Femiter and furrow Weeds,
    With Berries, Burdocks, Violets, Dazies, Poppies,
    And all the idle Flow'rs that grow
    In our sustaining Corn, conduct me to him
    To prove my last Endeavours to restore him,
    And Heav'n so prosper thee.
Kent.
    I will, good Lady.
    Ha, Gloster here! — turn, poor dark Man, and hear
    A Friend's Condolement, who at Sight of thine
    Forgets his own Distress, thy old true Kent.
Glost.
    How, Kent? from whence return'd?
Kent.
    I have not since my Banishment been absent,
    But in Disguise follow'd the abandon'd King;
    'Twas me thou saw'st with him in the late Storm.
Glost.
    Let me embrace thee, had I Eyes I now
    Should weep for Joy, but let this trickling Blood
    Suffice instead of Tears.
Cord.
    O misery!
    To whom shall I complain, or in what Language?
    Forgive, O wretched Man, the Piety
    That brought thee to this pass, 'twas I that caus'd it,
    I cast me at thy Feet, and beg of thee
    To crush these weeping Eyes to equal Darkness,
    If that will give thee any Recompence.
Edg.
    [Aside] Was ever Season so distrest as This?
Glost.
    I think Cordelia's Voice! rise, pious Princess,
    And take a dark Man's Blessing.
Cord.
    O, my Edgar,
    My Vertue's now grown Guilty, works the Bane
    Of those that do befriend me, Heav'n forsakes me,
    And when you look that Way, it is but Just
    That you shou'd hate me too.
Edg.
    O wave this cutting Speech, and spare to wound
    A Heart that's on the Rack.
Glost.
    No longer cloud thee, Kent, in that Disguise,
    There's business for thee and of noblest weight;
    Our injur'd Country is at length in Arms,
    Urg'd by the King's inhumane Wrongs and Mine,
    And only want a Chief to lead 'em on.
    That Task be Thine.
Edg.
    [Aside] Brave Britains then there's Life in 't yet.
Kent. Then have we one cast for our Fortune yet. Come, Princess, I'll bestow you with the King, Then on the Spur to Head these Forces. Farewell, good Gloster, to our Conduct trust.
Glost.
    And be your Cause as Prosp'rous as tis Just.
[Exeunt.]
Gonerill's Palace.
[Enter Gonerill, Attendants.]
Gon.
    It was great Ignorance Gloster's Eyes being out
    To let him live, where he arrives he moves
    All Hearts against us, Edmund I think is gone
    In pity to his Misery to dispatch him.
Gent.
    No, Madam, he's return'd on speedy Summons
    Back to your Sister.
Gon.
    Ha! I like not That,
    Such speed must have the Wings of Love; where's Albany.
Gent.
    Madam, within, but never Man so chang'd;
    I told him of the uproar of the Peasants,
    He smil'd at it, when I inform'd him
    Of Gloster's Treason—
Gon.
    Trouble him no further,
    It is his coward Spirit, back to our Sister,
    Hasten her Musters, and let her know
    I have giv'n the Distaff into my Husband's Hands.
    That done, with special Care deliver these Dispatches
    In private to young Gloster.
[Enter a Messenger.]
Mess.
    O Madam, most unseasonable News,
    The Duke of Cornwall's Dead of his late Wound,
    Whose loss your Sister has in part supply'd,
    Making brave Edmund General of her Forces.
Gon.
    One way I like this well;
    But being Widow and my Gloster with her
    May blast the promis'd Harvest of our Love.
    A word more, Sir,— add Speed to your Journey,
    And if you chance to meet with that blind Traytor,
    Preferment falls on him that cuts him off.
[Exeunt.]
Field SCENE
[Gloster and Edgar.]
Glost.
    When shall we come to th' Top of that same Hill?
Edg.
    We climb it now, mark how we Labour.
Glost.
    Methinks the Ground is even.
Edg.
    Horrible Steep; heark, do you hear the Sea?
Glost.
    No truly.
Edg.
    Why then your other Senses grow imperfect,
    By your Eyes Anguish.
Glost.
    So may it be indeed.
    Methinks thy Voice is alter'd, and thou speak'st
    In better Phrase and Matter than thou did'st.
Edg.
    You are much deceiv'd, in nothing am I Alter'd
    But in my Garments.
Glost.
    Methinks y'are better Spoken.
Edg.
    Come on, Sir, here's the Place, how fearfull
    And dizy 'tis to cast one's Eyes so Low.
    The Crows and Choughs that wing the Mid-way Air
    Shew scarce so big as Beetles, half way down
    Hangs one that gathers Sampire, dreadfull Trade!
    The Fisher-men that walk upon the Beach
    Appear like Mice, and yon tall Anch'ring Barque
    Seems lessen'd to her Cock, her Cock a Buoy
    Almost too small for Sight; the murmuring Surge
    Cannot be heard so high, I'll look no more
    Lest my Brain turn, and the disorder make me
    Tumble down head long.
Glost.
    Set me where you stand.
Edg.
    You are now within a Foot of th'extream Verge.
    For all beneath the Moon I wou'd not now
    Leap forward.
Glost.
    Let go my Hand,
    Here, Friend, is another Purse, in it a Jewel
    Well worth a poor Man's taking; get thee further,
    Bid me Farewell, and let me hear thee going.
Edg.
    Fare you well, Sir,— that I do Trifle thus
    With this his Despair is with Design to cure it.
Glost.
    Thus, mighty Gods, this World I do renounce,
    And in your Sight shake my Afflictions off;
    If I cou'd bear'em longer and not fall
    To quarrel with your great opposeless Wills,
    My Snuff and feebler Part of Nature shou'd
    Burn it self out; if Edgar Live, O Bless him.
    Now, Fellow, fare thee well.
Edg.
    Gone, Sir! Farewell.
    And yet I know not how Conceit may rob
    The Treasury of Life, had he been where he thought,
    By this had Thought been past— Alive, or Dead?
    Hoa Sir, Friend; hear you, Sir, speak—
    Thus might he pass indeed— yet he revives.
    What are you, Sir?
Glost.
    Away, and let me Die.
Edg.
    Hadst thou been ought but Gosmore, Feathers, Air,
    Falling so many Fathom down
    Thou hadst Shiver'd like an Egg; but thou dost breath
    Hast heavy Substance, bleedst not, speak'st, art sound;
    Thy Live's a Miracle.
Glost. But have I faln or no?
Edg.
    From the dread Summet of this chalky Bourn:
    Look up an Height, the Shrill-tun'd Lark so high
    Cannot be seen, or heard; do but look up.
Glost.
    Alack, I have no Eyes.
    Is wretchedness depriv'd that Benefit
    To End it self by Death?
Edg.
    Give me your Arm.
    Up, so, how is't? feel you your Legs? you stand.
Glost.
    Too well, too well.
Edg.
    Upon the Crow o'th' Cliff, what Thing was that
    Which parted from you?
Glost.
    A poor unfortunate Begger.
Edg.
    As I stood here below, me-thought his Eyes
    Were two Full Moons, wide Nostrils breathing Fire.
    It was some Fiend, therefore thou happy Father,
    Think that th'all-powerfull Gods who make them Honours
    Of Mens Impossibilities have preserv'd thee.
Glost.
    'Tis wonderfull; henceforth I'll bear Affliction
    Till it expire; the Goblin which you speak of,
    I took it for a Man: oft-times 'twould say,
    The Fiend, the Fiend: He led me to that Place.
Edg.
    Bear free and patient Thoughts: but who comes here?
[Enter Lear, a Coronet of Flowers on his Head. Wreaths and Garlands about him.]
Lear.
    No, no, they cannot touch me for Coyning, I am the King Himself.
Edg.
    O piercing Sight.
Lear.
    Nature's above Art in that Respect; There's your Press-money: that Fellow handles his Bow like a Cow-keeper, — draw me a Clothier's yard. A Mouse, a Mouse; peace hoa: there's my Gauntlet, I'll prove it on a Giant: bring up the brown Bills: O well flown Bird; i' th' White, i' th' White — Hewgh! give the Word.
Edg.
    Sweet Marjorum.
Lear.
    Pass.
Glost.
    I know that Voice.
Lear.
    Ha! Gonerill with a white Beard! they flatter'd me like a Dog, and told me I had white Hairs on my Chin, before the Black ones were there; to say I and No to every thing that I said, I and No too was no good Divinity. When the Rain came once to wet me, and the Winds to make me Chatter; when the Thunder wou'd not Peace at my Bidding. There I found 'em, there I smelt 'em out; go too, they are not men of their words, They told me I was a King, 'tis a Lie, I am not Argue proof.
Glost.
    That Voice I well remember, is't not the King's?
Lear.
    I, every Inch a King, when I do Stare
    See how the Subject quakes.
    I pardon that Man's Life, what was the Cause?
    Adultery? Thou shalt not Die. Die for Adultery!
    The Wren goes to't, and the small gilded Flie
    Engenders in my Sight: Let Copulation thrive,
    For Gloster's Bastard Son was kinder to his Father
    Than were my Daughters got i'th' lawfull Bed.
    To't Luxury, pell mell, for I lack Souldiers.
Glost.
    Not all my Sorrows past so deep have toucht me,
    As the sad Accents: Sight were now a Torment—
Lear.
    Behold that simp'ring Lady, she that starts
    At Pleasure's Name, and thinks her Ear profan'd
    With the least wanton Word, wou'd you believe it,
    The Fitcher nor the pamper'd Steed goes to't
    With such a riotous Appetite: down from the Wast they are Centaurs, tho Women all Above; but to the Girdle do the Gods inherit, beneath is all the Fiends; There's Hell, there's Darkness, the Sulphurous unfathom'd — Fie! fie! pah! — an Ounce of Civet, good Apothecary, to sweeten my Imagination— There's Money for thee.
Glost.
    Let me kiss that Hand.
Lear.
    Let me wipe it first; it smells of Mortality.
Glost.
    Speak, Sir; do you know me?
Lear.
    I remember thy Eyes well enough: Nay, do thy worst, blind Cupid, I'll not Love — read me this Challenge, mark but the penning of it.
Glost.
    Were all the Letters Suns I cou'd not see.
Edg.
    I wou'd not take this from Report: wretched Cordelia,
    What will thy Vertue do when thou shalt find
    This fresh Affliction added to the Tale
    Of thy unparrallel'd Griefs.
Lear.
    Read.
Glost.
    What with this Case of eyes?
Lear.
    O ho! are you there with me? no Eyes in your Head, and no money in your Purse? yet you see how this World goes.
Glost.
    I see it Feelingly.
Lear.
    What? art Mad? a Man may see how this World goes with no Eyes. Look with thy Ears, see how yon Justice rails on that simple Thief; shake'em together, and the first that drops, be it Thief or Justice, is a Villain. — Thou hast seen a Farmer's Dog bark at a Beggar.
Glost.
    I, Sir.
Lear.
    And the Man ran from the Curr; there thou mightst behold the great Image of Authority, a Dog's obey'd in Office. Thou Rascal, Beadle, hold thy bloody Hand, why dost thou Lash that Strumpet? thou hotly Lust'st to enjoy her in that kind for which thou whipst her, do, do, the Judge that sentenc'd her has been before-hand with thee.
Glost.
    How stiff is my vile Sense that yields not yet?
Lear.
    I tell thee the Usurer hangs the Couz'ner, through tatter'd Robes small Vices do appear, Robes and Fur-gowns hide All: Place Sins with Gold, why there 'tis for thee, my Friend, make much of it, it has the Pow'r to seal the Accuser's Lips. Get thee glass Eyes, and like a scurvy Politician, seem to see the Things thou dost not. Pull, pull off my Boots, hard, harder, so, so.
Glost.
    O Matter and Impertinency mixt
    Reason in Madness.
Lear.
    If thou wilt weep my Fortunes take my Eyes,
    I know thee well enough, thy Name is Gloster.
    Thou must be patient, we came Crying hither
    Thou knowst, the first time that We tast the Air
    We Wail and Cry— I'll preach to thee, Mark.
Edg.
    Break lab'ring Heart.
Lear.
    When we are Born we Cry that we are come
    To this great Stage of Fools.—
[Enter Two or Three Gentlemen.]
Gent.
    O here he is, lay hand upon him, Sir,
    Your dearest Daughter sends—
Lear.
    No Rescue? what, a Prisoner? I am even the natural Fool of Fortune: Use me well, you shall have Ransome— let me have Surgeons, Oh I am cut to th' Brains.
Gent.
    You shall have any Thing.
Lear.
    No Second's? all my Self? I will Die bravely like a smug Bridegroom, flusht and pamper'd as a Priest's Whore. I am a King, my Masters, know ye that?
Gent.
    You are a Royal one, and we Obey you.
    Lear.
It were an excellent Stratagem to Shoe a Troop of Horse with Felt, I'll put in proof — no Noise, no Noise— now will we steal upon these Sons in Law, and then —Kill, kill, kill, kill! [Ex. Running.]
Glost.
    A Sight most moving in the meanest Wretch,
    Past speaking in a King. Now, good Sir, what are you?
Edg.
    A most poor Man made tame to Fortune's strokes,
    And prone to Pity by experienc'd Sorrows; give me your Hand.
Glost.
    You ever gentle Gods take my Breath from me,
    And let not my ill Genius tempt me more
    To Die before you please.
[Enter Gonerill's Gentleman Usher.]
Gent.
    A proclaim'd Prize, O most happily met,
    That Eye-less Head of thine was first fram'd Flesh
    To raise my Fortunes; Thou old unhappy Traytor,
    The Sword is out that must Destroy thee.
Glost.
    Now let thy friendly Hand put Strength enough to't.
Gent.
    Wherefore, bold Peasant,
    Darst thou support a publisht Traytor, hence,
    Lest I destroy Thee too. Let go his Arm.
Edg.
    'Chill not Let go Zir, without 'vurther 'Casion.
Gent.
    Let go Slave, or thou Dyest.
Edg.
    Good Gentleman go your Gate, and let poor Volk pass, and 'Chu'd ha' bin Zwagger'd out of my Life it wou'd not a bin zo long as 'tis by a Vort-night — Nay, an' thou com'st near th' old Man, I'ce try whether your Costard or my Ballow be th' harder.
Gent.
    Out, Dunghill.
Edg.
    'Chill pick your Teeth, Zir; Come, no matter vor your Voines.
Gent.
    Slave, thou hast Slain me; oh untimely Death.
Edg.
    I know thee well, a serviceable Villain,
    As duteous to the Vices of thy Mistress
    As Lust cou'd wish.
Glost.
    What, is he Dead?
Edg.
    Sit you, Sir, and rest you.
    This is a Letter Carrier, and may have
    Some Papers of Intelligence that may stand
    Our Party in good stead, to know— what's here?
[Takes a Letter out of his Pocket, opens, and reads.]
    To Edmund Earl of Gloster.
       Let our Mutual Loves be remembred, you have many opportunities to Cut him off, if he return the Conqueror then I am still a Prisoner, and his Bed my Goal, from the loath'd Warmth of which deliver me, and supply the Place for your Labour.
          Gonerill.
    A Plot upon her Husband's Life,
    And the Exchange my Brother— here i'th' Sands.
    I'll rake thee up thou Messenger of Lust,
    Griev'd only that thou hadst no other Deaths-man.
    In Time and Place convenient I'll produce
    These Letters to the Sight of th' injur'd Duke
    As best shall serve our Purpose; Come, your Hand.
    Far off methinks I hear the beaten Drum,
    Come, Sir, I will bestow you with a Friend.
[Exeunt.]
A Chamber. Lear a Sleep on a Couch; Cordelia, and Attendants standing by him.
Cord.
    His Sleep is sound, and may have good Effect
    To Cure his jarring Senses, and repair
    This Breach of Nature.
Phys.
    We have employ'd the utmost Pow'r of Art,
    And this deep Rest will perfect our Design.
Cord.
    O Regan, Gonerill, inhumane Sisters,
    Had he not been your Father, these white Hairs
    Had challeng'd sure some pity, was this a Face
    To be expos'd against the jarring Winds?
    My Enemy's Dog though he had bit me shou'd
    Have stood that Night against my Fire — he wakes, speak to him.
Gent.
    Madam, do you, 'tis fittest.
Cord.
    How do's my royal Lord? how fares your Majesty?
Lear.
    You do me wrong to take me out o'th' Grave.
    Ha! is this too a World of Cruelty?
    I know my Priviledge, think not that I will
    Be us'd still like a wretched Mortal, no,
    No more of That.
Cord.
    Speak to me, Sir, who am I?
Lear.
    You are a Soul in Bliss, but I am bound
    Upon a wheel of Fire, which my own Tears
    Do scald like Molten Lead.
Cord.
    Sir, do you know me?
Lear.
    You are a Spirit, I know, where did you Die?
Cord.
    Still, still, far wide.
Phys.
    Madam, he's scarce awake; he'll soon grow more compos'd.
Lear.
    Where have I been? where am I? fair Day-light!
    I am mightily abus'd, I shou'd ev'n Die with pity
    To see Another thus. I will not swear
    These are my Hands.
Cord.
    O look upon me, Sir,
    And hold your Hands in Blessing o're me, nay,
    You must not kneel.
Lear.
    Pray do not mock me.
    I am a very foolish fond Old Man,
    Fourscore and upward, and to deal plainly with you,
    I fear I am not in my perfect Mind.
Cord.
    Nay, then farewell to patience; witness for me
    Ye mighty Pow'rs, I ne're complain'd till now!
Lear.
    Methinks I shou'd know you, and know this Man,
    Yet I am Doubtfull, for I am mainly Ignorant
    What Place this is, and all the skill I have
    Remembers not these Garments, nor do I know
    Where I did Sleep last Night— pray do not mock me—
    For, as I am a Man, I think that Lady
    To be my Child Cordelia.
Cord.
    O my dear, dear Father!
Lear.
    Be your Tears wet? yes faith; pray do not weep,
    I know I have giv'n thee Cause, and am so humbled
    With Crosses since, that I cou'd ask
    Forgiveness of thee were it possible
    That thou cou'dst grant it, but I'm well assur'd
    Thou canst not; therefore I do stand thy Justice,
    If thou hast Poyson for me I will Drink it,
    Bless thee and Die.
Cord.
    O pity, Sir, a bleeding Heart, and cease
    This killing Language.
Lear.
    Tell me, Friends, where am I?
Gent.
    In your own Kingdom, Sir.
Lear. Do not Abuse me.
Gent.
    Be comforted, good Madam, for the Violence
    Of his Distemper's past; we'll lead him in
    Nor trouble him, till he is better Setled.
    Wilt please you, Sir, walk into freer Air.
Lear.
    You must bear with me, I am Old and Foolish.
[They lead him off.]
Cord.
    The Gods restore you— heark, I hear afar
    The beaten Drum, Old Kent's a Man of's Word.
    O for an Arm
    Like the fierce Thunderer's, when th' earth-born Sons
    Storm'd Heav'n, to fight this injur'd Father's Battle.
    That I cou'd shift my Sex, and die me deep
    In his Opposer's Blood, but as I may
    With Womens Weapons, Piety and Pray'rs,
    I'll aid his Cause— You never-erring Gods
    Fight on his side, and Thunder on his Foes
    Such Tempest as his poor ag'd Head sustain'd;
    Your Image suffers when a Monarch bleeds.
    'Tis your own Cause, for that your Succours bring,
    Revenge your Selves, and right an injur'd King.
End of the Fourth Act.