Enter CORDELIA, KENT, and Doctor
CORDELIA
O thou good Kent, how shall I live and work,
To match thy goodness? My life will be too short,
And every measure fail me.
KENT
To be acknowledged, madam, is o'erpaid.
All my reports go with the modest truth;
Nor more nor clipp'd, but so.
CORDELIA
Be better suited:
These weeds are memories of those worser hours:
I prithee, put them off.
KENT
Pardon me, dear madam;
Yet to be known shortens my made intent:
My boon I make it, that you know me not
Till time and I think meet.
CORDELIA
Then be't so, my good lord.
To the Doctor
How does the king?
Doctor
Madam, sleeps still.
CORDELIA
O you kind gods,
Cure this great breach in his abused nature!
The untuned and jarring senses, O, wind up
Of this child-changed father!
Docto
