Storm still. Enter KENT disguised and GENTLEMAN, severally
The storm continues. KENT (in disguise) and the GENTLEMAN enter from different directions.
Who’s there, besides foul weather?
Who's there, besides bad weather?
One minded like the weather, most unquietly.
One whose mood is like the weather—very troubled.
I know you. Where’s the king?
I know you. Where's the king?
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Contending with the fretful elements. Bids the winds blow the earth into the sea Or swell the curlèd water '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 outscorn The to-and-fro–conflicting wind and rain. This night—wherein the cub-drawn bear would couch, The lion and the belly-pinchèd wolf Keep their fur dry—unbonneted he runs, And bids what will take all.
Out struggling with the elements. He cries out for the winds to blow the earth into the sea, or make the sea's waves flood the land, that all life might end or change forever. He tears at his white hair, which the fierce winds blow about disdainfully, blind in their fury. He is just a small mortal against the elements, but he's trying to be even angrier and wilder than the rain and winds blowing back and forth. On a night like this, when even hungry bears, lions, and wolves would hide in their dens—he runs about bareheaded, calling for the world to end.
But who is with him?
But who is with him?
None but the fool, who labors to outjest His heart-struck injuries.
Only the fool, who tries to soothe the wounds in the king's heart with his joking.
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. I am a gentleman of blood and breeding, And from some knowledge and assurance offer This office to you.
Sir, I know you, and based on what I know about you, I will dare to trust you with an important job. There is a feud growing between Albany and Cornwall, though they've cleverly hidden it so far. Like other rulers given power by destiny, Albany and Cornwall both have some servants who seem to be loyal to them, but who are actually French spies and scouts gathering intelligence against our country. The spies have noticed something—the quarrels and intrigues of the dukes, or their harsh treatment of the kind old king, or something deeper, which is perhaps the root of both those problems. But it's true. There are already French troops entering this divided kingdom. They are aware of our negligence and have secretly occupied some of our best ports. And they're almost at the point of declaring open war. But this is where you come in. If you trust me enough to hurry to Dover, you'll find some people there who will be very grateful if you'll deliver an accurate report of the monstrous and maddening sorrow of the king's suffering. I am a gentleman of noble blood, and I know what I'm doing in offering this task to you.
I will talk further with you.