in good time you gave it. Made you my guardians, my depositaries; But kept a reservation to be follow'd With such a number. What, must I come to you With five and twenty, Regan? said you so? And speak't again, my lord; no more with me. Those wicked creatures yet do look well-favour'd, When others are more wicked: not being the worst Stands in some rank of praise. I'll go with thee: Thy fifty yet doth double five and twenty, And thou art twice her love. Hear me, my lord; What need you five and twenty, ten, or five, To follow in a house where twice so many Have a command to tend you? What need one? O, reason not the need: our basest beggars Are in the poorest thing superfluous: Allow not nature more than nature needs, Man's life's as cheap as beast's: thou art a lady; If only to go warm were gorgeous, Why, nature needs not what thou gorgeous wear'st, Which scarcely keeps thee warm. But, for true need,-- You heavens, give me that patience, patience I need! You see me here, you gods, a poor old man, As full of grief as age; wretched in both! If it be you that stir these daughters' hearts Against their father, fool me not so much To bear it tamely; touch me with noble anger, And let not women's weapons, water-drops, Stain my man's cheeks! No, you unnatural hags, I will have such revenges on you both, That all the world shall--I will do such things,-- What they are, yet I know not: but they shall be The terrors of the earth. You think I'll weep No, I'll not weep: I have full cause of weeping; but this heart Shall break into a hundred thousand flaws, Or ere I'll weep. O fool, I shall go mad! Let us withdraw; 'twill be a storm. This house is little: the old man and his people Cannot be well bestow'd. 'Tis his own blame; hath put himself from rest, And must needs taste his folly. For his particular, I'll receive him gladly, But not one follower. So am I purposed. Where is my lord of Gloucester? Follow'd the old man forth: he is return'd. The king is in high rage. Whither is he going? He calls to horse; but will I know not whither. 'Tis best to give him way; he leads himself. My lord, entreat him by no means to stay. Alack, the night comes on, and the bleak winds Do sorely ruffle; for