Gon. My Lord, entreate him by no meanes to stay
Glo. Alacke the night comes on, and the high windes
Do sorely ruffle, for many Miles about
There's scarce a Bush
Reg. O Sir, to wilfull men,
The iniuries that they themselues procure,
Must be their Schoole-Masters: shut vp your doores,
He is attended with a desperate traine,
And what they may incense him too, being apt,
To haue his eare abus'd, wisedome bids feare
Cor. Shut vp your doores my Lord, 'tis a wil'd night,
My Regan counsels well: come out oth' storme.
Exeunt.
Actus Tertius. Scena Prima.
Storme still. Enter Kent, and a Gentleman, seuerally.
Kent. Who's there besides foule weather?
Gen. One minded like the weather, most vnquietly
Kent. I know you: Where's the King?
Gent. Contending with the fretfull Elements;
Bids the winde blow the Earth into the Sea,
Or swell the curled Waters 'boue the Maine,
That things might change, or cease
Kent. But who is with him?
Gent. None but the Foole, who labours to out-iest
His heart-strooke iniuries