KENT.
Is this the promis’d end?
EDGAR.
Or image of that horror?
ALBANY.
Fall, and cease!
LEAR.
This feather stirs; she lives! If it be so,
It is a chance which does redeem all sorrows
That ever I have felt.
KENT.
O, my good master! [Kneeling.]
LEAR.
Prythee, away!
EDGAR.
’Tis noble Kent, your friend.
LEAR.
A plague upon you, murderers, traitors all!
I might have sav’d her; now she’s gone for ever!
Cordelia, Cordelia! stay a little. Ha!
What is’t thou say’st? Her voice was ever soft,
Gentle, and low, an excellent thing in woman.
I kill’d the slave that was a-hanging thee.
OFFICER.
’Tis true, my lords, he did.
LEAR.
Did I not, fellow?
I have seen the day, with my good biting falchion
I would have made them skip. I am old now,
And these same crosses spoil me. Who are you?
Mine eyes are not o’ the best, I’ll tell you straight.