Page 1903 - Shakespeare - Vol. 3

EDGAR

Give me your hand:
Far off, methinks, I hear the beaten drum. [280]
Come, father, I’ll bestow you with a friend.

(Exeunt.)

Scene VII IT

(A Tent in the French Camp.)

Enter Cordelia, Kent, Doctor, and Gentleman.

CORDELIA
O thou good Kent! how shall I live and work

To match thy goodness? My life will be too short,
And every measure fail me.

KENT
To be acknowledg’d, Madam, is o’er-paid.
All my reports go with the modest truth, [5]
Nor more nor clipp’d, but so.

CORDELIA
Be better suited:

These weeds are memories of those worser hours;
I prithee, put them off.

KENT
Pardon, dear Madam:
Yet to be known shortens my made intent:

My boon I make it that you know me not [10]
Till time and I think meet.

CORDELIA
Then be’t so, my good Lord. (To the Doctor.) How does the King?

DOCTOR