Scene VII. A Tent in the French Camp. Lear on a bed, asleep, soft
music playing; Physician, Gentleman, and others attending.
[Enter Cordelia, and Kent.]
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'erpaid.
All my reports go with the modest truth;
Nor more nor clipp'd, but so.
CORDELIA.
Be better suited:
These weeds are memories of those worser hours:
I pr'ythee, 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
Till time and I think meet.
CORDELIA.
Then be't so, my good lord. [To the Physician.] How, does the
king?
PHYSICIAN.
Madam, sleeps still.
CORDELIA.
O you kind gods,
Cure this great breach in his abused nature!
The untun'd and jarring senses, O, wind up
Of this child-changed father!
PHYSICIAN.
So please your majesty
That we may wake the king: he hath slept long.
