Kent.
Well, sir, the poor distressed Lear's i' the town;
Who sometime, in his better tune, remembers
What we are come about, and by no means
Will yield to see his daughter.

Gent.
Why, good sir?

Kent.
A sovereign shame so elbows him: his own unkindness,
That stripp'd her from his benediction, turn'd her
To foreign casualties, gave her dear rights
To his dog-hearted daughters,--these things sting
His mind so venomously that burning shame
Detains him from Cordelia.

Gent.
Alack, poor gentleman!

Kent.
Of Albany's and Cornwall's powers you heard not?

Gent.
'Tis so; they are a-foot.

Kent.
Well, sir, I'll bring you to our master Lear
And leave you to attend him: some dear cause