King Lear raged and strutted his fretful hour on the heath as the tempest beat sleet and hail alternate on his pate.

He dwelt on the theme of ingratitude and spoke of cormorant chickadees pecking at the bloody breast of their unfortunate forebear.

"Forbear, dullard!" quoth the Fool, arrayed in soggy motley, his clown makeup running like tragic mascara.

"I told you you shouldna oughtna mustna done it, nuncle! Now look! Here we's is, out on th' open range, under th' open sky, with nary a shelter to gimme, soaked and empapped in th' rainy day blues like so many squelchy urchins..."

He shook out a shaking stick, a rattle with his own head on it embroidered in minimotley, its features all grotesqued, nose a penisknob. It failed to ring or rattle as it had in better days, and dripped merely.

The cowled Fool scowled comical, and even his displeasure would have been hilarious - except none were there to witness it, for the Old King raved unaware and only a blind raven watched on from its perch on a blasted sapling with nulled eyes stormweeping in sympathy.

The Fool stuttered on: "I da-da-done told ya, fella! Don't be puttin' no faith in them honeyed words, honey! Don't be unwrapping no word-present all swathed in fancy sycophancy only to discover the gift inside is a mere disappoopment, a caca just for dada."

"Rage winds!" stormed the King at the stormfront, swinging an impotent fist. "Crack your cheeks, ye hurricanadoes and tornagants! Blow!"

"O can it, busta! Blow you, daddy!" cracked the Fool, cavorting a measure or two in the mud. His hilarity was exhaustive and exhausted, routine and worn-out like last year's comedy roast. But it was his, it was his art, it was his artistic statement, it was his artistic estate and his legacy medium.

He fell down dead in the slosh like a trooper. No claps were clapped, but the raven croaked unknown syllables of console, and the King even paused a moment in his rant.

Then the lightning flashed, the thunder crashed, the rain intensified, and the King railed on his rail like he was on rails, unchanged.

The drama went on.

== THE FOOL ON THE HEATH / END ==

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