My Regan
counsels
well.
Shakespeare
Glou. He calls to horse, but will I know not whither.
Corn. 'Tis best to give him way; he leads himself.
Gon. My lord, entreat him by no means to stay.
Glou. Alack, the night comes on, and the bleak winds
Do sorely ruffle. For many miles about
There's scarce a bush.
Reg. O, sir, to wilful men
The injuries that they themselves procure
Must be their schoolmasters. Shut up your doors.
He is attended with a desperate train,
And what they may incense him to, being apt
To have his ear abus'd, wisdom bids fear.
Corn. Shut up your doors, my lord: 'tis a wild night.
My Regan counsels well. Come out o' th' storm. [Exeunt. ]
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ACT III. Scene I.
A heath.
Storm still. Enter Kent and a Gentleman at several doors.
Kent. Who's there, besides foul weather?
Gent. One minded like the weather, most unquietly.
