[Exit Gentleman.]
GLOUCESTER.
You ever-gentle gods, take my breath from me;
Let not my worser spirit tempt me again
To die before you please.
EDGAR.
Well pray you, father.
GLOUCESTER.
Now, good sir, what are you?
EDGAR.
A most poor man, made tame to fortune’s blows;
Who, by the art of known and feeling sorrows,
Am pregnant to good pity. Give me your hand,
I’ll lead you to some biding.
GLOUCESTER.
Hearty thanks:
The bounty and the benison of heaven
To boot, and boot.
Enter Oswald.
OSWALD.
A proclaim’d prize! Most happy!
That eyeless head of thine was first fram’d flesh
To raise my fortunes. Thou old unhappy traitor,
Briefly thyself remember. The sword is out
That must destroy thee.
GLOUCESTER.
Now let thy friendly hand
Put strength enough to’t.
[Edgar interposes.]