[Storm still.] KENT Who's there, besides foul weather? GENTLEMAN One minded like the weather, most unquietly. KENT I know you. Where's the King? GENTLEMAN Contending with the fretful elements; Bids the wind blow the earth into the sea, Or swell the curled waters 'bove the main, That things might change or cease; tears his white hair, Which the impetuous blasts, with eyeless rage, Catch in their fury and make nothing of; Strives in his little world of man to outstorm The to-and-fro-conflicting wind and rain. This night, wherein the cub-drawn bear would couch, The lion and the belly-pinched wolf Keep their fur dry, unbonneted he runs, And bids what will take all. KENT But who is with him? GENTLEMAN None but the Fool, who labors to outjest His heart-struck injuries. KENT Sir, I do know you, And dare upon the warrant of my note Commend a dear thing to you. There is division, Although as yet the face of it be covered With mutual cunning, 'twixt Albany and Cornwall; Who have—as who have not, that their great stars Throned and set high?—servants, who seem no less, Which are to France the spies and speculations Intelligent of our state. What hath been seen, Either in snuffs and packings of the Dukes, Or the hard rein which both of them hath borne Against the old kind King, or something deeper, Whereof perchance these are but furnishings— But true it is, from France there comes a power Into this scattered kingdom, who already, Wise in our negligence, have secret feet In some of our best ports and are at point To show their open banner. Now to you: If on my credit you dare build so far To make your speed to Dover, you shall find Some that will thank you, making just report Of how unnatural and bemadding sorrow The King hath cause to plain of. GENTLEMAN I will talk further with you. KENT No, do not. For confirmation that I am much more Than my out-wall, open this purse and take What it contains. If you shall see Cordelia— As fear not but you shall—show her this ring, And she will tell you who your fellow is That yet you do not know. Fie on this storm! I will go seek the King. GENTLEMAN Give me your hand. Have you no more to say? KENT Few words, but to effect more than all yet: That when we have found the King—in which your pain That way, I'll this—he that first lights on him Holla the other. [Exeunt severally.]