meeting.]

Kent.
Who's there, besides foul weather?

Gent.
One minded like the weather, most unquietly.

Kent.
I know you. Where's the king?

Gent.
Contending with the fretful elements;
Bids the wind blow the earth into the sea,
Or swell the curled waters 'bove the main,
That things might change or cease; tears his white hair,
Which the impetuous blasts, with eyeless rage,
Catch in their fury and make nothing of;
Strives in his little world of man to outscorn
The to-and-fro-conflicting wind and rain.
This night, wherein the cub-drawn bear would couch,
The lion and the belly-pinched wolf
Keep their fur dry, unbonneted he runs,
And bids what will take all.

Kent.
But who is with him?

Gent.
None but the fool, who labours to out-jest