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Cord. All blest Secrets, |
All you vnpublish'd Vertues of the earth |
Spring with my teares; be aydant, and remediate |
In the Goodmans desires: seeke, seeke for him, |
Least his vngouern'd rage, dissolue the life |
That wants the meanes to leade it. |
Enter Messenger. |
Mes. Newes Madam, |
The Brittish Powres are marching hitherward |
Cor. 'Tis knowne before. Our preparation stands |
In expectation of them. O deere Father, |
It is thy businesse that I go about: Therfore great France |
My mourning, and importun'd teares hath pittied: |
No blowne Ambition doth our Armes incite, |
But loue, deere loue, and our ag'd Fathers Rite: |
Soone may I heare, and see him. |
Exeunt. |
Scena Quarta. |
Enter Regan, and Steward. |
Reg. But are my Brothers Powres set forth? |
Stew. I Madam |
Reg. Himselfe in person there? |
Stew. Madam with much ado: |
Your Sister is the better Souldier |
Reg. Lord Edmund spake not with your Lord at home? |
Stew. No Madam |
Reg. What might import my Sisters Letter to him? |
Stew. I know not, Lady |
Reg. Faith he is poasted hence on serious matter: |
It was great ignorance, Glousters eyes being out |
To let him liue. Where he arriues, he moues |
All hearts against vs: Edmund, I thinke is gone |
In pitty of his misery, to dispatch |
His nighted life: Moreouer to descry |
The strength o'th' Enemy |
Stew. I must needs after him, Madam, with my Letter |
Reg. Our troopes set forth to morrow, stay with vs: |
The wayes are dangerous |
Stew. I may not Madam: |
My Lady charg'd my dutie in this busines |
Reg. Why should she write to Edmund? |
Might not you transport her purposes by word? Belike, |
Some things, I know not what. Ile loue thee much |
Let me vnseale the Letter |
Stew. Madam, I had rather- |
Reg. I know your Lady do's not loue her Husband, |
I am sure of that: and at her late being heere, |
She gaue strange Eliads, and most speaking lookes |
To Noble Edmund. I know you are of her bosome |
Stew. I, Madam? |
Reg. I speake in vnderstanding: Y'are: I know't, |
Therefore I do aduise you take this note: |
My Lord is dead: Edmond, and I haue talk'd, |
And more conuenient is he for my hand |
Then for your Ladies: You may gather more: |
If you do finde him, pray you giue him this; |
And when your Mistris heares thus much from you, |
I pray desire her call her wisedome to her. |
So fare you well: |
If you do chance to heare of that blinde Traitor, |
Preferment fals on him, that cuts him off |
Stew. Would I could meet Madam, I should shew |
What party I do follow |
Reg. Fare thee well. |
Exeunt. |
Scena Quinta. |
Enter Gloucester, and Edgar. |
Glou. When shall I come to th' top of that same hill? |
Edg. You do climbe vp it now. Look how we labor |
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