I pr'ythee, put them off.

Kent.
Pardon, 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.

Cor.
Then be't so, my good lord. [To the Physician.] How, does the
king?

Phys.
Madam, sleeps still.

Cor.
O you kind gods,
Cure this great breach in his abused nature!
The untun'd and jarring senses, O, wind up
Of this child-changed father!

Phys.
So please your majesty
That we may wake the king: he hath slept long.

Cor.
Be govern'd by your knowledge, and proceed
I' the sway of your own will. Is he array'd?

Gent.