Corn.
How now, my noble friend? Since I came hither,
Which I can call but now, I have heard strange news.

Reg.
If it be true, all vengeance comes too short,
Which can pursue th' offender. How does my lord?

Glo.
O madam, my old heart is crack'd, it's crack'd.

Reg.
What did my father's godson seek your life?
He whom my father nam'd? your Edgar?

Glo.
O lady, lady, shame would have it hid.

Reg.
Was he not companion with the riotous knights,
That tend upon my father?

Glo.
I know not, madam; 'tis too bad, too bad.

Edm.
Yes, madam, he was of that consort.

Reg.
No marvel then, though he were ill affected;
'Tis they have put him on the old man's death,

To have th' expence and waste of his revenues.
I have, this present evening, from my sister,
Been well inform'd of them; and with such cautions,
That if they come to sojourn at my house,
I'll not be there.

Corn.
Nor I, assure thee, Regan.
Edmund, I hear, that you have shown your father
A child-like office.

Edm.
'Twas my duty, sir.

Glo.
He did bewray* ^note his practice, and receiv'd
This hurt you see, striving to apprehend him.

Corn.
Is he pursued?

Glo.
Ay, my good lord.

Corn.
If he be taken, he shall never more
Be fear'd of doing harm: make your own purpose,
How in my strength you please. As for you, Edmund,
Whose virtue and obedience doth this instant
So much commend itself, you shall be ours:
Natures of such deep trust we shall much need:
You we first sieze on.

Edm.
I shall serve you, sir,
Truly, however else.

Glo.
I thank your grace.

Corn.
You know not why we came to visit you—

Reg.
Thus out of season threading dark-ey'd night;
Occasions, noble Gloster, of some prize,
Wherein we must have use of your advice.—
Our father he hath writ, so hath our sister,
Of diff'rences, which I best thought it fit
To answer from our home. The several messengers
From hence attend dispatch. Our good old friend,
Lay comforts to your bosom; and bestow
Your needful counsel to our business.
Which crave the instant use.

Glo.
I serve you, madam:
Your graces are right welcome. Enter Kent, and Steward.

Stew.
Murder! murder! murder!

Edm.
How now, what's the matter? Part—

Kent.
With you, goodman boy, if you please? Come,
I'll flesh ye; come on, young master.

Glo.
Weapons! arms! what's the matter here?

Corn.

Keep peace, upon your lives. He dies, that strikes again? What's the matter?

Reg.

The messengers from our sister and the king?

Corn.

What is your difference? Speak.

Stew.

I am scarce in breath, my lord.

Kent.

No marvel, you have so bestirred your valour; you cowardly rascal! nature disclaims all share in thee: a tailor made thee.

Corn.

Thou art a strange fellow; a tailor make a man!

Kent.

Ay, a tailor, sir; a stone-cutter, or a painter could not have made him so ill, though they had been but two hours o'th' trade.

Corn.

Speak yet, how grew your quarrel?

Stew.

This antient ruffian, sir, whose life I have spar'd at suit of his grey beard—

Kent.† ^note

Thou whorson zed! thou unnecessary letter! My lord, if you will give me leave, I will tread this unbolted villain into mortar, and daub the wall of a jakes with him. Spare my grey beard, you wagtail!

Corn.
Peace, sirrah!
Know you no reverence?

Kent.
Yes, sir, but anger hath a privilege.

Corn.
Why art thou angry?

Kent.
That such a slave as this shou'd wear a sword,
Who wears no honesty. Such smiling rogues as these,
Like rats, oft bite the holy cords in twain,
Too intrinsecate t'unloose: sooth every passion,
That in the nature of their lords rebels:
Bring oil to fire, snow to their colder moods;
Renege, affirm, and turn their halcyon beaks
With ev'ry gale and vary of their masters;
As knowing nought, like dogs, but following.&verbar2; ^note
A plague upon your epileptic visage!

Smile you my speeches, as I were a fool?
Goose, if I had you upon Sarum-plain,
I'd drive ye cackling home to Camelot.

Corn.
What art thou mad, old fellow?

Glo.
How fell you out? say that.

Kent.
No contraries hold more antipathy,
Than I and such a knave.

Corn.
Why dost thou call him knave? What is his fault?

Kent.
His countenance likes me not.

Corn.
No more, perchance, does mine; nor his; nor hers.

Kent.
Sir, 'tis my occupation to be plain;
I have seen better faces in my time,
Than stand on any shoulder that I see
Before me, at this instant.* ^note

Corn.
This is some fellow,
Who having been prais'd for bluntness, doth affect
A saucy roughness; and constrains the garb,
Quite from his nature. He can't flatter, he,—
An honest mind and plain, he must speak truth;
And they will take it, so; if not, he's plain.
These kind of knaves I know, which in this plainness
Harbour more craft, and more corrupter ends,
Than twenty silly ducking observants,
That stretch their duties nicely.

Kent.
Sir, in good faith, in sincere verity,
Under th' allowance of your grand aspect,
Whose influence, like the wreath of radiant fire
On flickering Phœbus' front—

Corn.
What mean'st by this?

Kent.

To go out of my dialect, which you discommend so much. I know, sir, I am no flatterer; he, that beguil'd you in a plain accent, was a plain knave, which for my part I will not be, though I should win your displeasure to intreat me to't.

Corn.
What was th' offence you gave him?

Stew.
I never gave him any:
It pleased the king, his master, very lately,
To strike at me upon his misconstruction;
When he, conjunct, and flatt'ring his displeasure,
Tript me behind; being down, insulted, rail'd,
And put upon him such a deal of man,
That worthied him; got praises of the king,
For him attempting who was self subdu'd;
And in the fleshment of this dread exploit,
Drew on me here again.

Kent.
None of these rogues and cowards,
But Ajax is their fool.

Corn.
Fetch forth the stocks.
We'll teach you—

Kent.
Sir, I am too old to learn.
Call not your stocks for me, I serve the king;
On whose imployment I was sent to you.
You shall do small respect, shew too bold malice
Against the grace and person of my master,
Stocking his messenger.

Corn.
Fetch forth the stocks;
As I have life and honour, there shall he fit 'till noon.

Reg.
'Till noon! 'till night, my lord; and all night too.

Kent.
Why, madam, if I were your father's dog,
You could not use me so.

Reg.
Sir, being his knave, I will.

Corn.
This is a fellow of the self same nature
Our sister speaks of. Come, bring away the stocks. [The Stocks are brought in, and Kent put in them.

Glo.
Let me beseech your grace not to do so;
His fault is much, and the good king his master
Will check him for't. Your purpos'd, low correction
Is such, as basest and the meanest wretches,* ^note
For pilf'rings, and most common trespasses,
Are punish'd with. The king must take it ill,

That he, so slightly valued in his messenger,
Should have him thus restrain'd.

Corn.
I'll answer that.

Reg.
My sister may receive it much more worse,* ^note
To have her gentleman abus'd, assaulted,
For following her affairs.
Come, my lord, away. [Exeunt Regan and Cornwall.† ^note

Glo.
I'm sorry for thee, friend; 'tis the duke's pleasure,
Whose disposition, all the world well knows,
Will not be rubb'd nor stop'd. I'll intreat for thee.

Kent.
Pray, do not, sir. I've watch'd and travell'd hard;
Sometime I shall sleep out, the rest I'll whistle.
A good man's fortune may grow out at heels;
Give you good morrow.

Glo.
The duke's to blame in this; 'twill be ill taken. [Exit.

Kent.
Good king, that must approve the common saw,
Thou out of heaven's benediction com'st,
To the warm sun!
Approach, thou beacon to this under-globe, [Looking up to the Moon.
That by thy comfortable beams I may
Peruse this letter. Nothing almost sees miracles,
But misery. I know, 'tis from Cordelia;
Who hath most fortunately been inform'd
Of my obscured course. I shall find time
From this enormous state, and seek to give
Losses their remedies. All weary and o'er-watch'd,
Take vantage, heavy eyes, not to behold
This shameful lodging.
Fortune, good night; smile once more, turn thy wheel. [He sleeps.

Scene SCENE changes to a part of the Heath. Enter Edgar.* ^note

Edg.
I've heard myself proclaim'd;
And by the happy hollow of a tree,
Escap'd the hunt. No port is free; no place,
That guard, and most unusual vigilance,
Does not attend my taking. How easy now
'Twere to defeat the malice of my trial,
And leave my griefs on my sword's reeking point;
But love detains me, from love's peaceful cell,
Still whispering me, Cordelia's in distress.
Unkind as she is, I cannot see her wretched,
But must be near, to wait upon her fortune.
Who knows but the white minute yet may come,
When Edgar may do service to Cordelia:
Whiles I may 'scape,
I will preserve myself: and am bethought
To take the basest and the poorest shape,
That ever penury, in contempt of man,
Brought near to beast: my face I'll grime with filth;‡ ^note
Blanket my loins; else all my hair in knots;
And, with presented nakedness, out-face
The winds and persecutions of the sky.
The country gives me proof and precedent
Of Bedlam beggars, who, with roaring voices,
Strike in their numb'd and mortify'd bare arms,
Pins, wooden pricks, nails, sprigs of rosemary;
And with this horrible object, from low farms,
Poor pelting villages, sheep-coats and mills,
Sometimes with lunatic bans, sometimes with pray'rs,
Inforce their charity: poor Turlygood! poor Tom!—
That's something yet. Edgar I nothing am. [Exit.

Scene SCENE changes again, to the Earl of Gloster's Castle. Enter Lear.

Lear.
'Tis strange, that they should so depart from home
And not send back my messenger.

Kent.
Hail to thee, noble master!

Lear.
Ha! mak'st thou thy shame thy pastime?

Kent.
No, my lord.

Lear.
What's he, that hath so much thy place mistook, to set thee here?

Kent.
It is both he and she: your son and daughter.

Lear.
No.

Kent.
Yes.

Lear.
No, I say.

Kent.
I say yea.

Lear.
By Jupiter, I swear, no.

Kent.
By Juno, I swear, ay.

Lear.
They durst not do't.
They could not, would not do't.
Resolve me, with all modest haste, which way
Though might'st deserve, or they impose, this usage,
Coming from us?

Kent.
My lord, when at their home
I did commend your highness' letters to them,
Ere I was risen from the place, that shew'd
My duty kneeling, came a reeking post,
Stew'd in his haste, half breathless, panting forth
From Goneril his mistress, salutation;
Deliver'd letters spight of intermission,
Which presently they read: on whose contents
They summon'd up their meiny;&verbar2; ^note strait took horse;
Commanded me to follow, and attend
The leisure of their answer; gave me cold looks;
And meeting here the other messenger,
Whose welcome, I perceiv'd, had poison'd mine
(Being the very fellow, which of late
Display'd so sawcily against your highness,)
Having more man than wit about me, I drew;* ^note

He rais'd the house, with loud and coward cries.
Your son and daughter found this trespass worth
The shame which here it suffers.

Lear.
Oh, how this mother swells up tow'rd my heart!
Hysterica passio—down, thou climbing sorrow,
Thy element's below; where is this daughter?

Kent.
With the earl, sir, here within. Enter Gloster.

Lear.
How, Gloster! [Gloster whispers Lear.
Deny to speak with me? they're sick, they're weary,
They have travell'd all the night? mere fetches,
The images of revolt and flying off.
Bring me a better answer—

Glo.
My dear lord,
You know the fiery quality of the duke.

Lear.
Vengeance! plague! death! confusion!—
Fiery? what fiery quality? Why, Gloster,
I'd speak with the duke of Cornwall, and his wife.

Glo.
Well, my good lord, I have inform'd them so.

Lear.
Inform'd them! Dost thou understand me, man?

Glo.
Ay, my good lord.

Lear.
The king would speak with Cornwall; the dear father,
Wou'd with his daughter speak; commands her service:
Are they inform'd of this?—my breath and blood!—
Fiery! the fiery duke! Tell the hot duke, that—† ^note
No, but not yet; may be, he is not well;
Infirmity doth still neglect all office,
Whereto our health is bound; I'll chide my rashness
That took the indispos'd and sickly fit,
For the sound man.—Death on my state; but wherefore
Should he sit here? This act persuades me,
That this remotion of the duke and her,

Is practice only. Give me my servant forth;
Go, tell the duke and's wife, I'd speak with them:
Now, presently,—bid them come forth and hear me,
Or at their chamber-door I'll beat the drum,
'Till it cry, sleep to death. O, are you come. Enter Cornwall, Regan, &c.

Corn.
Hail to your grace!

Lear.
Oh, me! my heart! my rising heart! bent down.
Good morrow to you both.

Reg.
I am glad to see your highness.

Lear.
Regan, I think you are; I know what reason
I have to think so; if thou wert not glad,
I would divorce me from my mother's tomb,
Sepulchring an adultress.
Beloved Regan,
Thy sister's naught. Oh, Regan, she hath tied
Sharp-tooth'd unkindness, like a vulture, here;* ^note [Points to his heart.
I can scarce speak to thee—Oh, Regan!—

Reg.
I pray you, sir, take patience. I have hope,
You less know how to value her desert,
Than she to scant her duty.

Lear.
Say! How is that?

Reg.
I cannot think my sister, in the least,
Would fail her obligation. If, perchance,
She have restrain'd the riots of your followers;
'Tis on such ground, and to such wholsom end,
As clears her from all blame.

Lear.
My curses on her!

Reg.
O sir, you are old;
Nature in you stands on the very verge
Of her confine; you should be rul'd and led
By some discretion, that discerns your state
Better than you, yourself: therefore, I pray you,
Say, you have wrong'd her, sir.

Lear.
Ask her forgiveness?
Do you but mark, how this becomes the use?
Dear daughter, I confess that I am old;
Age is unnecessary. On my knees I beg,
That you'll vouchsafe me rayment, bed, and food.

Reg.
Good sir, no more; these are unsightly tricks:
Return you to my sister.

Lear.
Never, Regan:
She hath abated me of half my train;
Look'd blank upon me; struck me with her tongue,
Most serpent-like, upon the very heart.
All the stor'd vengeances of heaven fall
On her ungrateful top!

Reg.
O the best gods!
So will you wish on me, when the rash mood is on.

Lear.
No, Regan, thou shalt never have my curse:
Thy tender-hefted nature shall not give
Thee o'er to harshness. Her eyes are fierce, but thine
Do comfort, and not burn. Thou better know'st
The offices of nature, bond of child-hood,
Effects of courtesy, dues of gratitude;
Thy half o'th' kingdom thou hast not forgot,
Wherein I thee endow'd.

Reg.
Good sir, to th' purpose.

Lear.
Who put my man i'th' stocks?* ^note [Trumpet within. Enter Steward.

Cor.
What trumpet's that?

Reg.
I know't, my sister's: this approves her letter,
That she would soon be here. Is your lady come?

Lear.
Out, varlet, from my sight.

Corn.
What means your grace? Enter Goneril.

Lear.
Who stockt my servant? Regan, I've good hope
Thou didst not know on't. [Flourish.
Who comes here?
O heav'ns!

[Cornwall makes a sign to have Kent set at liberty.
If you do love old men; if your sweet sway
Hallow obedience; if your selves are old,
Make it your cause: send down and take my part.
Art not asham'd to look upon this beard?
O Regan, will you take her by the hand?

Gon.
Why not by th' hand, sir? how have I offended?
All's not offence that indiscretion finds,
And dotage terms so.

Lear.
O sides, you are too tough!

Reg.
I pray you, father, being weak, seem so.
If, 'till the expiration of your month,
You will return and sojourn with my sister,
Dismissing half your train, come then to me?
I'm now from home, and out of that provision,
Which shall be needful for your entertainment.

Lear.
Return to her? and fifty men dismiss'd?
No, rather I abjure all roofs, and chuse
To be a comrade with the wolf and owl;
To wage against the enmity o'th' air,
Than have my smallest wants supply'd by her.

Gon.
At your choice, sir.

Lear.
I pr'ythee, daughter, do not make me mad.
I will not trouble thee, my child. Farewel;
We'll no more meet, no more see one another;
But I'll not chide thee.
Let shame come when it will, I do not call it;
I do not bid the thunder-bearer shoot,
Nor tell tales of thee to high-judging Jove.
Mend, when thou canst; be better, at thy leisure.
I can be patient; I can stay with Regan;
I, and my hundred knights.* ^note

Reg.
Not altogether so;
I look'd not for you, yet; nor am provided
For your fit welcome.

Lear.
Is this well spoken?

Reg.
I dare avouch it, sir. What, fifty followers!
Is it not well? what should you need of more?
Yea, or so many? since both charge and danger
Speak 'gainst so great a number. How in one house
Should many people, under two commands,
Hold amity? 'Tis hard, almost impossible.

Lear.
O let me not be mad! Sweet heaven,
Keep me in temper! I would not be mad.

Gon.
Why might not you, my lord, receive attendance,
From those that she calls servants, or from mine?

Reg.
Why not, my lord? If then they chanc'd to slack ye,
We could controul them; if you'll come to me,
(For now I spy a danger) I intreat you
To bring but five and twenty; to no more
Will I give place or notice.

Lear.
O gods! I gave you all—

Reg.
And in good time you gave it. [Thunder.

Lear.
You Heav'ns, give me that patience which I need!
You see me here, you gods, a poor old man,
As full of grief as age; wretched in both!
If it be you that stir these daughters hearts
Against their father, fool me not so much
To bear it tamely; touch me with noble anger.
O let not women's weapons, water-drops,
Stain my man's cheeks. No, you unnat'ral hags—
I will have such revenges on you both,
That all the world shall—I will do such things,
What they are, yet I know not; but they shall be
The terrors of the earth. You think I'll weep:
No, I'll not weep. I have full cause of weeping:
This heart shall break into a thousand flaws,
Or ere I weep. O gods! I shall go mad. [Thunder. [Exeunt.&verbar2; ^note End of the Second Act.

ACT III. Scene SCENE a Heath. A Storm, with Thunder and Lightning.* ^note Enter Lear and Kent.

Lear.
Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! rage, blow!
You cataracts, and hurricanoes, spout
Till you have drench'd our steeples, drown'd the cocks!
You sulph'rous and thought-executing fires,
Vaunt-couriers of oak-cleaving thunderbolts,
Singe my white head. And thou, all-shaking thunder,
Strike flat the thick rotundity o'th' world;
Crack nature's mould; all germins† ^note spill at once,
That make ingrateful man.

Kent.
Not all my best entreaties can persuade him
Into some needful shelter, or to 'bide
This poor, slight cov'ring on his aged head,
Expos'd to this wild war of earth and heav'n. [Thunder.

Lear.
Rumble thy belly full! Spit, fire; spout, rain:
Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire, are my daughters.
I tax not you, you elements, with unkindness;
I never gave you kingdoms, call'd you children;
You owe me no subscription. Then let fall
Your horrible pleasure—here I stand your slave;

A poor, infirm, weak, and despis'd old man!
But yet I call you servile ministers,
That have, with two pernicious daughters, join'd
Your high-engender'd battles 'gainst a head
So old and white as this. [Thunder.] Oh, oh! 'tis foul!

Kent.
Hard by, sir, is a hovel that will lend
Some shelter from this tempest.

Lear.
No, I will be the pattern of all patience;
I will say nothing.

Kent.
Alas, sir, things that love night,
Love not such nights as these: the wrathful skies
Gallow† ^note the very wand'rers of the dark,
And make them keep their caves. Since I was man,
Such sheets of fire, such bursts of horrid thunder,
Such groans of roaring wind and rain, I never
Remember to have heard. Man's nature cannot carry
Th' affliction, nor the force.

Lear.
Let the great gods,
That keep this dreadful pudder o'er our heads,
Find out their enemies now. Tremble, thou wretch,
That hast within thee undivulged crimes,
Unwhipt of justice. Hide thee, thou bloody hand;
Thou perjure, and thou similar of virtue,
That art incestuous. Caitiff, shake to pieces,
That under covert, and convenient seeming,
Hast practis'd on man's life!—Close pent-up guilts,
Rive your concealing continents, and ask
These dreadful summoners grace.—I am a man,
More sinn'd against than sinning.* ^note

Kent.
Good sir, to th' hovel.

Lear.
My wits begin to turn.
Come on, my boy. How dost, my boy? Art cold?
I'm cold myself. Where is the straw, my fellow?
The art of our necessities is strange,
That can make vile things precious. Come, your hovel,

My poor knave, I've one string in my heart,
That's sorry yet for thee.† ^note [Exeunt. Scene SCENE an Apartment in Gloster's Castle. Enter Gloster and Edmund.

Glo.

Alack, alack, Edmund, I like not this unnatural dealing. When I desired their leave that I might pity him, they took from me the use of mine own house; charg'd me, on pain of perpetual displeasure, neither to speak of him, entreat for him, or any way sustain him.

Edm.

Most savage, and unnatural!

Glo.

Go to; say you nothing. There is division between the dukes; and a worse matter than that: I have received a letter, this night; 'tis dangerous to be spoken. I have locked the letter in my closet. These injuries the king now bears, will be revenged home. There is part of a power already footed; we must incline to the king; I will look for him, and privily relieve him. Go you and maintain talk with the duke, that my charity be not of him perceived. If he ask for me, I am ill, and gone to bed. If I die for it, as no less is threaten'd me, the king, my old master, must be relieved.

Edm.
This courtesy forbid thee, shall the duke
Instantly know; and of that letter too.
This seems a fair deserving, and must draw me
That which my father loses: no less than all.
The younger rises, when the old doth fall. [Retires. Gloster returns, followed by Cordelia and Arante; Edmund observing at a distance.

Cord.
Turn, Gloster, turn; by the sacred pow'rs,
I do conjure you give my griefs a hearing.

You must, you shall, nay, I am sure you will,
For you were always styl'd the just and good.

Glost.
What wou'dst thou, princess? Rise, and speak thy griefs.

Cor.
Nay, you shall promise to redress 'em too,
Or here I'll kneel for ever. I entreat
Thy succour for a father, and a king!
An injur'd father, and an injur'd king!

Edm.
O charming sorrow! How her tears adorn her.

Glo.
Consider, princess,
For whom thou begg'st; 'tis for the king that wrong'd thee.

Cord.* ^note














O name not that; he did not, cou'd not wrong me.
Nay, muse not, Gloster, for it is too likely
This injur'd king, e'er this, is past your aid,
And gone distracted with his savage wrongs.

Edm.
I'll gaze no more—and yet my eyes are charm'd.

Cord.
Or, what if it be worse;
As 'tis too probable this furious night
Has pierc'd his tender body; the bleak winds
And cold rain chill'd, or light'ning struck him dead;
If it be so your promise is discharg'd,
And I have only one poor boon to beg,

That you'd convey me to his breathless trunk,
With my torn robes to wrap his hoary head,
With my torn hair to bind his hands and feet,
Then, with a show'r of tears,
To wash his clay-smear'd cheeks, and die beside him.* ^note

Glost.
Rise, fair Cordelia, thou hast piety
Enough t'atone for both thy sister's crimes:
I have already plotted to restore
My injur'd master; and thy virtue tells me
We shall succeed, and suddenly. [Exit.

Cord.
Dispatch, Arante. We'll instantly
Go seek the king, and bring him some relief.

Ar.
How, madam! are you ignorant
Of what your impious sisters have decreed?
Immediate death for any that relieve him.

Cord.
I cannot dread the furies, in this case.

Ar.
In such a night as this! Consider, madam,
For many miles about, there's scarce a bush
To shelter in.

Cord.
Therefore no shelter for the king;
And more our charity to find him out.
What have not women dar'd for vicious love?
And we'll be shining proofs that they can dare
For piety as much. [Thunder.] Blow winds, and lightnings fall,
Bold in my virgin innocence I'll fly,
My royal father to relieve or die. [Exit.

Edm.
We'll instantly
Go seek the king.—Ha! ha! a lucky change!
That virtue which I fear'd would be my hind'rance,
Has prov'd the bond to my design:
I'll bribe two ruffians shall at a distance follow,
And seize 'em in some desert place; and there
Whilst one retains her t'other shall return
T'inform me where she's lodg'd. I'll be disguis'd, too,
Whilst they are poching for me, I'll to the duke;

Then to the field;
Where, like the vig'rous Jove, I will enjoy
This Semele in a storm. [Exit. Scene Storm continued. The Heath. Enter Lear and Kent.

Kent.
Here is the place, my lord. Good my lord, enter.
The tyranny of this open night's too rough
For nature to endure.

Lear.
Let me alone.

Kent.
Good my lord, enter here.

Lear.
Wilt break my heart?

Kent.
I had rather break my own. Good my lord, enter.

Lear.
Thou think'st 'tis much that this contentious storm
Invades us to the skin; so 'tis to thee;
But where the greater malady is fix'd,
The lesser is scarce felt. When the mind's free,
The body's delicate; the tempest in my mind
Doth from my senses take all feeling else,
Save what beats there. Filial ingratitude!
Is it not as this mouth should tear this hand,
For lifting food to't?—But I'll punish home;
No, I will weep no more—In such a night,
To shut me out?—Pour on, I will endure.
In such a night as this! O Regan, Goneril,
Your old, kind father, whose frank heart gave all—
O, that way madness lies! let me shun that!
No more of that.

Kent.
Good my lord, enter here.

Lear.
Pr'ythee, go in thyself; seek thine own ease;
This tempest will not give me leave to ponder
On things would hurt me more—but I'll go in.
In; thou go first. You houseless poverty—
Nay, get thee in; I'll pray, and then I'll sleep—
Poor, naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are,
That bide the pelting of this pityless storm!
How shall your houseless heads, and unfed sides,
Your loop'd and window'd raggedness, defend you
From seasons such as these?—O, I have ta'en

Too little care of this! Take physick, pomp;
Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel,
That thou may'st shake the superflux to them,
And shew the heav'ns more just.* ^note

Edg. (within)
Fathom and half, fathom and half! poor Tom.

Kent.

What art thou, that dost grumble there i'th' straw? come forth.

Edg.

Away! the foul fiend follows me. Through the sharp hawthorn blows the cold wind. Humph, go to thy bed and warm thee. What do I see! The poor old king bare-headed, and drench'd In this foul storm! Professing syrens, Are all your protestations come to this?

Lear.

Did'st thou give all to thy daughters? and art thou come to this?

Edg.

Who gives any thing to poor Tom? whom the fould fiend hath led through fire and through flame, through ford and whirlpool, o'er bog and quagmire; that hath laid knives under his pillow, and halters in his pew; set rasbane by his porridge; made him proud of heart, to ride on a bay trotting horse, over four-inch'd bridges, to course his own shadow for a traitor,—bless thy five wits; Tom's a-cold. O do, de, do, de, do, de;—bless thee from whirl-winds, star-blasting, and taking; do poor Tom some charity, whom the foul fiend vexes. There could I have him now, and there, and here again, and there.

Lear.
What, have his daughters brought him to this pass?
Couldst thou save nothing? Didst thou give 'em all?

Kent.

He hath no daughters, sir.

Lear.

Death! traitor, nothing could have subdu'd nature

Edg.

Pillicock sat on pillicock-hill, alow, alow, loo, loo!

Lear.
Is it the fashion, that discarded fathers
Should have such little mercy on their flesh?
Ludicrous punishment! 'Twas this flesh begot
Those pelican daughters.* ^note

Edg.

Take heed o'th' fould fiend; obey thy parents; keep thy word justly; swear not; commit not with man's sworn spouse; set not thy sweet-heart on proud array. Tom's a-cold.

Lear.

What hast thou been?

Edg.

A serving-man, proud in heart and mind; that curl'd my hair, wore gloves in my cap, serv'd the lust of my mistress's heart, and did the act of darkness with her: swore as many oaths as I spake words, and broke them in the sweet face of heav'n. One that slept in the contriving lust, and wak'd to do it; wine lov'd I deeply; dice dearly; and in women, out-paramour'd the Turk; false of heart, light of ear,† ^note bloody of hand; hog in sloth, fox in stealth, wolf in greediness, dog in madness, lion in prey. Let not the creaking of shoes, nor the rustling of silks, betray thy poor heart to woman. Keep thy foot out of brothels, thy hand out of plackets, thy pen from lender's books; and defy the foul fiend. Still through the hawthorn blows the cold wind.

Lear.

Thou wert better in thy grave, than to answer with thy uncover'd body this extremity of the skies. Is man no more than this? Consider him well. Thou ow'st the worm no silk, the beast no hide, the sheep no wool, the cat no perfume. Ha! here's two of us are sophisticated. Thou art the thing itself; unaccommodated man is no more, but such a poor, bare,

forked animal as thou art. Off, off, you lendings: come, unbutton here.

Kent.

O pity, sir; where is the patience now you have so often boasted to retain.

Lear.

One point I had forgot. What's your name?

Edg.

Poor Tom, that eats the swimming frog, the wall-newt, and the water-newt; that in the fury of his heart, when the foul fiend rages, eats cow-dung for sallads, swallows the old rat, and the ditch-dog, that drinks the green mantle of the standing pool, that's whipt from tithing to tithing, that has three suits to his back, six shirts to his body:

Horse to ride, and weapon to wear,
But rats and mice, and such small deer,
Have been Tom's food, for seven long year.

Beware, my follower; peace, smulk'n, peace, thou foul fiend.

Lear.
One word more, but be sure true counsel;
Tell me, is a madman a gentleman or a yeoman?

Kent.

All the power of his wits has given way to his impatience.

Edg.

Fraterretto calls me, and tells me, Nero is an angler in the lake of darkness. Pray, Innocent, and beware the foul fiend.

Lear.

Right, ha! ha! Was it not pleasant to have a thousand with red hot spits come hissing in upon 'em.

Edg.

My tears begin to take his part so much, They mar my counterfeiting.

Lear.

The little dogs and all, Tray, Blanch, and Sweet-heart, see they bark at me.

Edg.

Tom will throw his head at 'em; avaunt ye curs.
Be thy mouth, or black, or white,
Tooth, that poisons if it bite;
Mastiff, grey-hound, mungrel grim,
Hound, or spaniel, brach, or hym;
Bob-tail, hight, or trundle-tail,
Tom will make 'em weep and wail;
For with throwing thus my head,
Dogs leap the hatch, and all are fled.

Come, march to wakes, and fairs, and market towns.—Poor Tom, thy horn is dry.

Lear.

You, sir, I entertain you for one of my hundred, only I don't like the fashion of your garments; you'll say they're Persian; but no matter, let 'em be changed.

Edg.

This is the foul Flibertigibet; he begins at curfew, and walks at first cock; be gives the web,* ^note and the pin; knits the elflock; squints the eye, and makes the hair-lip; mildews the white wheat, and hurts the poor creature of the earth.

Swithin footed thrice the cold,
He met the night-mare and her nine-fold,
  'Twas there he did appoint her;
He bid her alight, and her troth plight,
  And arroynt the witch arroynt her.

Lear.

What's he?

Glo.

What! has your grace no better company?

Edg.

The prince of darkness is a gentleman; Modo he is call'd, and Mahu.

Glo.

Go in with me, sir.

My duty cannot suffer me to obey in all your daughters hard commands, tho' their injunction be to bar my doors, and let this tyrannous night take hold upon you. Yet have I ventur'd to come to seek you out, and bring you where both fire and food are ready.

Kent.
Good my lord, take his offer.

Lear.
First let me talk with this philosopher.
What is the cause of thunder?

Kent.
My good lord, take his offer; go into the house.

Lear.
I'll talk a word with this same learned Theban.
What is your study?

Edg.

How to prevent the fiend, and to kill vermin.

Lear.

Let me ask you a word in private.

Kent.

Importune him to go, my lord; his wits begin to unsettle.

Glo.

Can'st blame him? His daughters seek his death; this bedlam but disturbs him the more. Fellow, be gone.

Edg.
Child Rowland to the dark tow'r came,
His word was still fi, fo, fum,
I smell the blood of a British man.—Oh! Torture! [Exit.

Good sir, along with us.

Lear.

You say right, let 'em anatomize Regan, for what breeds about her heart; is there any cause in nature, for these hard hearts?

Kent.

I beseech your grace.

Lear.

Hist!—Make no noise, make no noise— draw the curtains—so, so; we'll to supper i'th' morning. Oh! oh! oh!

Glo.
Good friend, I prithee take him in thy arms,
I have o'er heard a plot upon his life.
There is a litter ready, lay him in't,
And drive towards Dover, friend, where thou shalt meet
Both welcome and protection. [Gloster and Kent carry him off. Enter Cordelia and Arante.

Ar.
Dear madam, rest ye here; our search is vain,
Look, here's a shed; beseech ye, enter here.

Cord.
Prithee go thyself, seek thy own ease:
Where the mind's free, the body's delicate.
This tempest but diverts me from the thought
Of what would hurt me more. Enter two Ruffians. They sieze Cordelia and Arante, who shriek out.

Cord.
Help! murder! help! Enter Edgar.* ^note

Edg.
What cry was that?—Ha! Women seized by ruffians!
Avaunt, ye bloodhounds. [Drives them off with his quarter-staff.
O speak, what are ye that appear to be
O'th' tender sex, and yet unguarded wander
Through the dread mazes of this dreadful night,

Where (though at full) the clouded moon scarce darts
Imperfect glimmerings?

Cord.
First say, what art thou?
Our guardian angel, that wert pleas'd t'assume
That horrid shape to fright the ravishers?
We'll kneel to thee.

Edg.
O my tumultuous blood!
By all my trembling veins Cordelia's voice!
'Tis she herself!—My senses sure conform
To my wild garb, and I am mad indeed. [Aside.

Cord.
Whate'er thou art, befriend a wretched virgin;
And, if thou canst direct our weary search.

Edg.
Who relieves poor Tom, that sleeps on the nettle,
With the hedge-pig for his pillow? O torture!

Ar.
Alack! madam, a poor wand'ring lunatic.

Cord.
And yet his language seem'd but now well temper'd.
Speak, friend, to one more wretched than thyself:
And if thou hast one interval of sense,
Inform us, if thou canst, where we may find
A poor old man, who through this heath has stray'd,
The tedious night.—Speak, saw'st thou such a one?

Edg.
The king her father, whom she's come to seek,
Through all the terrors of this night: O gods!
That such amazing piety, such tenderness
Shou'd yet to me be cruel. [Aside.
Yes, fair one, such a one was lately here,
And is convey'd by some that came to seek him,
To a neighb'ring cottage; but distinctly where,
I know not.

Cord.
Blessings on 'em;
Let's find him out, Arante, for thou seest
We are in Heaven's protection. [Going off.

Edg.
O Cordelia!

Cord.
Ha!—Thou know'st my name.

Edg.
As you did once know Edgar's.

Cord.
Edgar!

Edg.
The poor remains of Edgar, what your scorn
Has left him.

Cord.
Do we wake, Arante?

Edg.
My father seeks my life, which I preserv'd,
In hopes of some blest minute to oblige
Distrest Cordelia, and the gods have given it;
That thought alone prevail'd with me to take
This frantic dress, to make the earth my bed,
With these bare limbs all change of seasons bide,
Noon's scorching heat, and midnight's piercing cold,
To feed on offals, and to drink with herds,
To combat with the winds, and be the sport
Of clowns, or what's more wretched yet, their pity.
But such a fall as this, I grant, was due
To my aspiring love; for 'twas presumptuous,
Though not presumptuously pursued;
For well you know I wore my flames conceal'd,
And silent as the lamps that burn in tombs,
Till you perceiv'd my grief, with modest grace
Drew forth the secret, and then seal'd my pardon.* ^note

Cord.
You had your pardon, nor can you challenge more.

Edg.
What do I challenge more?
Such vanity agrees not with these rags,
When in my prosp'rous state, rich Gloster's heir,
You silenc'd my pretences, and enjoin'd me
To trouble you upon that theme no more.
Then what reception must love's language find
From these bare limbs and beggar's humble weeds!

Cord.
Such as a voice of pardon to a wretch condemn'd;
Such as the shouts
Of succouring forces, to a town besieg'd.

Edg.
Ah! what new method now of cruelty?

Cord.
Come to my arms, thou dearest, best of men,† ^note
And take the kindest vows that e'er were spoke
By a protesting maid.

Edg.
Is't possible?

Cord.
By the dear vital stream that bathes my heart,
These hallowed rags of thine, and naked virtue,
These abject tassels, these fantastic shreds,
To me are dearer than the richest pomp,
Of purple monarchs. [Embracing.

Edg.
Generous, charming maid,
The Gods alone that made, can rate thy worth!
This most amazing excellence shall be
Fame's triumph in succeeding ages, when
Thy bright example shall adorn the scene,
And teach the world perfection.

Cord.
Cold and weary,
We'll rest, a while, Arante, on that straw,
Then forward, to find out the poor old king.

Edg.
Look, I have flint and steel, the implements
Of wand'ring lunatics; I'll strike a light,
And make a fire beneath this shed, to dry
Thy storm-drench'd garments, are thou lie to rest thee;
Then, fierce and wakeful as th' Hesperian dragon,
I'll watch beside thee to protect thy sleep;
Mean while the stars shall dart their kindest beams,
And angels visit my Cordelia's dreams. [Exeunt into the Hovel. Scene SCENE, the Palace. Enter Cornwall, Regan, Edmund, Servants. Cornwall with Gloster's Letters.* ^note

Corn.
I will have my revenge, 'ere I depart this house.
Regan, see here, a plot upon our state;
'Tis Gloster's character, that has betray'd
His double trust, of subject and of host.

Reg.
Then double be our vengeance; this confirms
The intelligence that we now received,

That he has been this night to seek the king;
But who, sir, was the kind discoverer?

Corn.
Our Eagle, quick to spy, and fierce to seize;
Our trusty Edmund.

Reg.
'Twas a noble service.
O Cornwall, take him to thy deepest trust,
And wear him as a jewel at thy heart.

Edm.
Think, sir, how hard a fortune I sustain,
That makes me thus repent of serving you? [Weeps.
O that this treason had not been, or I
Not the discoverer.

Corn.
Edmund, thou shalt find
A father in our love; and from this minute
We call thee earl of Gloster. But there yet
Remains another justice to be done,
And that's to punish this discarded traitor;
But left thy tender nature should relent
At his just sufferings,
We wish thee to withdraw.

Reg.
The Grotto, sir, within the lower grove,
Has privacy to suit a mourner's thought. [To Edmund, aside.

Edm.
And there I may expect a comforter—
Ha, madam!

Reg.
What may happen, sir, I know not;
But 'twas a friend's advice. [Ex. Edmund.

Corn.
Bring in the traitor. Gloster brought in by Soldiers.
Bind fast his arms.

Glost.
What mean your graces?
You are my guests, pray do me, no foul play.

Corn.
Bind him, I say, hard; harder yet. [They bind him.

Reg.
Now, traitor, thou shalt find—

Corn.
Speak, rebel, where hast thou sent the king?
Whom, spight of our decree, thou saw'st last night.

Glost.
I'm ty'd to th' stake, and so must stand the course.

Reg.
Say where, and why thou hast conceal'd him?

Glost.
Because I wou'd not see thy cruel hands
Tear out his poor old eyes, nor thy fierce sister
Carve his anointed flesh;* ^note





but I shall see
The swift wing'd vengeance overtake such children.

Corn.
See't thou shalt never; slaves perform your work,
Out with those treacherous eyes. Dispatch, I say.
If thou seek vengeance— [They force Gloster off.

Glost. (Within.)
He that will think to live, 'till he be old—
Give me some help.—O cruel! oh! ye Gods. [They put out his Eyes.

Serv.
Hold, hold, my lord, I bar your cruelty;
I cannot love your safety, and give way
To such a barbarous practice.

Corn.
Ha! my villain!

Serv.
I have been your servant from my infancy;
But better service have I never done you,
Than with this boldness.—

Corn.
Take thy death, slave.

Serv.
Nay, then revenge whilst yet my blood is warm. [Fight.

Reg.
Help here—Are you not hurt, my lord? [Enter Gloster, blind.

Glost.
Edmund, enkindle all the sparks of nature
To quit this horrid act.

Reg.
Out, treacherous villain,
Thou call'st on him that hates thee. It was he
That broach'd thy treason, shew'd us thy dispatches:
There—read, and save the Cambrian prince a labour.
If thy eyes fail thee, call for spectacles.

Glost.
O my folly!
Then Edgar was abus'd. Kind Gods, forgive me that.

Reg.
How is't, my lord?

Corn.
Turn out that eyeless villain; let him smell
His way to Cambray.
Regan, I bleed apace; give me your arm.

Glost.
All dark, and comfortless!
Where are those various objects that, but now,
Employ'd my busy eyes?
O misery! What words can sound my grief?
Shut from the living, whilst among the living;
Dark as the grave, amidst the bustling world.
Yet still one way th'extremest fate affords,
And ev'n the blind can find the way to death.
Must I then tamely die, and unreveng'd?
So Lear may fall. No, with these bleeding rings
I will present me to the pitying crowd,
And with the rhetoric of these dropping veins,
Enflame 'em to revenge their king and me;
Then, when the glorious mischief's on the wing,
This lumber from some precipice I'll throw,
And dash it on the ragged flint below;
Whence my freed soul to her bright sphere shall fly,
Through boundless orbs, eternal regions spy,
And (like the sun) be all one glorious eye.* ^note [Ex. End of the Third Act.

ACT IV. Scene SCENE an open Country.

Enter Edgar.
Yet better thus, and known to be contemn'd,
Than still contemn'd and flatter'd. To be worst,
The lowest, most dejected thing of fortune,
Stands still in esperance;* ^note lives not in fear.
The lamentable change is from the best;
The worst returns to laughter. Welcome, then,
Thou unsubstantial air that I embrace!
The wretch that thou hast blown unto the worst,
Owes nothing to thy blasts. Enter Gloster, led by an Old Man.
But who comes here?
My father poorly led? World, world, O world!† ^note
But that thy strange mutations make us wait thee,
Life would not yield to age.

Old Man.
O, my good lord, I have been your tenant,
And your father's tenant, these fourscore years.

Glo.
Away! get thee away! Good friend, be gone;
Thy comforts can do me no good at all:
Thee they may hurt.

Old Man.
You cannot see your way.

Glo.
I have no way, and therefore want no eyes.
I stumbled, when I saw. Full oft 'tis seen,
Our mean secures us; and our mere defects
Prove our commodities. O dear son Edgar,
Might I but live to see thee in my touch,
I'd say I had eyes again!

Old Man.
How now! Who's there?

Edg.
O gods! who is't can say, I'm at the worst?* ^note
I'm worse than e'er I was.

Old Man.
'Tis poor mad Tom.

Edg.
And worse I may be, yet.

Old Man.
Fellow, where goest?

Glo.
Is it a beggar man?

Old Man.
Madman and beggar too.

Glo.
He has some reason, else he could not beg.
I'th last night's storm I such a fellow saw;
Which made me think a man a worm. My son
Came then into my mind; and yet my mind
Was scarce then friends with him. I've heard more, since.
As flies to wanton boys, are we to th' gods:
They kill us for their sport.

Edg.
How should this be?
Bad is the trade must play the fool to sorrow,
Ang'ring itself and others. Bless thee, master.

Glo.
Is that the naked fellow?

Old Man.
Ay, my lord.

Glo.
Get thee away. If, for my sake,
Thou wilt o'ertake us hence a mile or twain,
I'th way tow'rd Dover, do it for ancient love;
And bring some covering for this naked soul,
Whom I'll entreat to lead me.

Old Man.
Alack, sir, he's mad.

Glo.
'Tis the time's plague, when madmen lead the blind.
Do as I bid; or rather do thy pleasure;
Above the rest, be gone.

Old Man.
I'll bring him the best 'parel that I have,
Come on't what will. [Exit.

Glo.
Sirrah, naked fellow.

Edg.
Poor Tom's a cold;—I cannot daub it further.

Glo.
Come hither, fellow.

Edg.
And yet I must.
Bless thy sweet eyes, they bleed.

Glo.
Know'st thou the way to Dover?

Edg.

Both stile and gate, horse-way and foot-path;

poor Tom hath been scar'd out of his good wits. Bless thee, good man, from the foul fiend.

Glo.
Here, take this purse, thou whom the heaven's plagues
Have humbled to all strokes. That I am wretched,
Makes thee the happier.* ^note





Dost thou know Dover?

Edg.
Ay, master.

Glo.
There is a cliff, whose high and bending head
Looks fearfully on the confined deep:
Bring me but to the very brim of it.
And I'll repair the misery thou dost bear,
With something rich about me; from that place
I shall no leading need.

Edg.
Give me thy arm,
Poor Tom shall lead thee. [A trampling without.

Glo.
Soft, for I hear the tread of passengers. Enter Kent and Cordelia.† ^note

Cord.
Ah me! your fear's too true, it was the king;
I spoke but now, with some that met him
As mad as the vex'd sea; singing aloud,
Crown'd with rank fumiter, and furrow weeds,
With berries, burdocks, violets, daisies, poppies,

And all the idle flowers that grow
In our sustaining corn. Conduct me to him,
And Heav'n so prosper thee.

Kent.
I will, good lady.
Ha, Gloster here!—Turn poor dark man, and hear
A friend's condolement, who, at sight of thine,
Forgets his own distress; thy old true Kent.

Glost.
How Kent! From whence return'd?

Kent.
I have not, since my banishment, been absent;
But in disguise follow'd th'abandon'd king.
'Twas me thou saw'st with him, in the late storm.

Glost.
Let me embrace thee. Had I eyes, I now
Should weep for joy: but let this trickling blood
Suffice instead of tears.

Cord.
O misery!
To whom shall I complain, or in what language?
Forgive, O, wretched man, the piety
That brought thee to this pass. 'Twas I that caus'd it.
I cast me at thy feet, and beg of thee
To crush these weeping eyes to equal darkness,
If that will give thee any recompence.

Edg.
Was ever season so distrest as this? [Aside.

Glost.
I think Cordelia's voice! Rise, pious princess,
And take a dark man's blessing.

Cord.
O, my Edgar!
My virtue's now grown guilty, works the bane
Of those that do befriend me. Heaven forsakes me;
And when you look that way, it is but just
That you should hate me too.

Edg.
O wave this cutting speech, and spare to wound
A heart that's on the rack.

Glo.
No longer cloud thee, Kent, in that disguise;

There's business for thee, and of noblest weight;
Our injur'd country is, at length, in arms,
Urg'd by the king's inhuman wrongs and mine,
And only want a chief to lead them on.
That task be thine.

Edg.
Brave Britains! then there's life in't yet. [Aside.

Kent.
Then have we one cast for our fortune, still.
Come, princess, I'll bestow you with the king,
Then on the spur to head these forces.
Farewel, good Gloster, to our conduct trust.

Glost.
And be your cause as prosp'rous as 'tis just. [Exit. Scene SCENE, Goneril's Palace. Enter Goneril, and Attendants.

Gon.
It was great ignorance, Gloster's eyes being out,
To let him live; where he arrives, he moves
All hearts against us: Edmund I think is gone,
In pity to his misery, to dispatch him.

Gent.
No, madam, he's return'd, on speedy summons,
Back to your sister.

Gon.
Ha! I like not that;
Such speed must have the wings of love. [Aside.
Where's Albany?

Gent.
Madam, within; but never man so chang'd.
I told him of the uproar of the peasants,
He smil'd at it; when I inform'd him
Of Gloster's treason—

Gon.
Trouble him no farther,
It is his coward spirit; back to our sister,
Hasten her musters, and let her know
I have given the distaff into my husband's hands.
That done, with special care deliver these dispatches
In private to young Gloster. Enter a Messenger.

Mess.
O madam, most unseasonable news:
The duke of Cornwall's dead of his late wound,
Whose loss your sister has in part supply'd,
Making brave Edmund general of her forces.

Gon.
One way I like this well.
But being a widow, and my Gloster with her,

May blast the promis'd harvest of our love. [Aside.
A word more, sir—add speed to your journey,
And if you chance to meet with that blind traitor,
Preferment falls on him that cuts him off. [Ex. Scene SCENE, the Country, near Dover. Enter Gloster, and Edgar as a Peasant.

Glo.
When shall I come to the top of that same hill?

Edg.
You do climb up it now. Look, how we labour.

Glo.
Methinks the ground is even.

Edg.
Horrible steep.
Hark, do you hear the sea?

Glo.
No, truly.

Edg.
Why then your other senses grow imperfect,
By your eyes anguish.

Glo.
So may it be, indeed.
Methinks, thy voice is altered; and thou speak'st
In better phrase and matter, than thou didst.

Edg.
You're much deceiv'd: in nothing am I chang'd,
But in my garments.

Glo.
Sure, you're better spoken.

Edg.
Come on, sir, here's the place—stand still. How fearful* ^note
And dizzy 'tis, to cast one's eyes so low!
The crows and choughs,† ^note that wing the midway air,
Shew scarce so gross as beetles. Half way down
Hangs one that gathers samphire; dreadful trade!
Methinks he seems no bigger than his head.
The fishermen, that walk upon the beach,
Appear like mice; and you tall anchoring bark,
Diminish'd to her cock; her cock a buoy
Almost too small for sight. The murmuring surge,
That on th' unnumber'd idle pebbles chafes,
Cannot be heard so high. I'll look no more,
Lest my brain turn, and the deficient sight
Topple down headlong.

Glo.
Set me where you stand.

Edg.
Give me your hand: you're now within a foot
Of th' extreme verge: for all below the moon
Would I not leap upright.

Glo.
Let go my hand:
Here, friend,'s another purse, in it a jewel
Well worth a poor man's taking. Fairies, and gods,
Prosper it with thee! Go thou further off,
Bid me farewel, and let me hear thee going.

Edg.
Now fare ye well, good sir. [Seems to go.

Glo.
With all my heart.

Edg.
Why do I trifle thus with his despair?
'Tis done to cure it.

Glo.
O you mighty Gods!
This world do I renounce; and in your sights
Shake patiently my great affliction off;
If I could bear it longer, and not fall
To quarrel with your great opposeless wills,
My snuff and loathed part of nature should
Burn itself out. If Edgar live, O bless him!
Now, fellow, fare thee well. [He leaps, and falls along.* ^note

Edg.
Good sir, farewel.
And yet I know not how conceit may rob
The treasury of life. Had he been where he thought,
By this, had thought been past—Alive or dead?
Hoa, you, hear you, friend! sir! sir! speak!
Thus might he pass, indeed—yet he revives.
What are you, sir?

Glo.
Away, and let me die.

Edg.
Had'st thou been aught but goss'mer, feathers, air,
So many fathom down precipitating,
Thou'd'st shiver'd like an egg: but thou dost breathe,
Hast heavy substance, bleed'st not; speak, art sound?
Ten masts at each make not the altitude,
Which thou hast perpendicularly fall'n.
Thy life's a miracle.

Glo.
But have I fall'n, or no?

Edg.
From the dread summit of this chalky bourn!

Look up a height, the shrill-gorg'd lark so far
Cannot be seen or heard. Do but look up.

Glo.
Alack, I have no eyes.
Is wretchedness depriv'd that benefit,
To end itself by death? 'Twas yet some comfort,
When misery could beguile the tyrant's rage,
And frustrate his proud will.

Edg.
Give me your arm.
Up, so—how is't? Feel you your legs? You stand.

Glo.
Too well, too well.

Edg.
Upon the crown o'th' cliff, what thing was that,
Which parted from you?

Glo.
A poor unfortunate beggar.

Edg.
As I stood here below, methought his eyes
Were two full moons; he had a thousand noses,
Horns welk'd,* ^note and wav'd, like the enridged sea:
It was some fiend. Therefore, thou happy father,
Think, that the clearest Gods, who make them honours,
Of men's impossibilities, have preserv'd thee.

Glo.
I do remember now: henceforth I'll bear
Affliction, 'till it do cry out itself,
Enough, enough, and die. That thing you speak of,
I took it for a man; often 'twould say,
The fiend, the fiend—he led me to that place.

Edg.
Bear free and patient thoughts. Enter Lear, drest madly with Flowers.
But who comes here?

Lear.

No, they cannot touch me for coining. I am the king himself.

Edg.

O thou side piercing sight:

Lear.

Nature's above art in that respect. There's your press-money. That fellow handles his bow like a crow-keeper: draw me a cloathier's yard. Look, look, a mouse! Peace, peace;—there's my gauntlet, I'll prove it on a giant. Bring up the brown bills. O, well flown barb! i'th' clout, i'th' clout: hewgh. —Give the word.

Edg.

Sweet marjoram.

Lear.

Pass.

Glo.

I know that voice.

Lear.

Ha! Gonerill! ha! Regan! they flatter'd me like a dog, and told me I had white hairs in my beard, ere the black ones were there. To say, ay, and no, to hear every thing that I said—Ay, and no too, was no good divinity. When the rain came to wet me once, and the wind to make me chatter; when the thunder would not peace at my bidding; there I found 'em, there I smelt 'em out. Go to, they are not men o' their words; they told me, I was every thing: 'tis a lie, I am not ague-proof.

Glo.
The trick of that voice I do well remember:
Is't the king?

Lear.
Ay, every inch a king.
When I do stare, see, how the subject quakes.
I pardon that man's life. What was the cause?

Adultery? thou shalt not die; die for adultery! no, the wren goes to't, and the small gilded fly does letcher in my sight. Let copulation thrive; for Gloster's bastard son was kinder to his father, than my daughters, got 'tween the lawful sheets. To't luxury, pellmell; for I lack soldiers.

Glo.
O ruin'd piece of nature! This great world
Shall so wear out to nought.

Lear.

Behold yon simpering dame, whose face 'tween her forks presages snow: that minces virtue, and does shake the head to hear of pleasure's name. The fitchew, nor the soiled horse, goes to't with a more riotous appetite: down from the waist they are centaurs, tho' women all above; but to the girdle do the gods inherit, beneath is all the fiend. There's hell, there's darkness, there's the sulphurous pit, burning, scalding, stench, consumption: fie, fie, fie; pah, pah; give me an ounce of civet, good apothecary, to sweeten my imagination! there's money for thee.* ^note

Glo.

O, let me kiss that hand.

Lear.

Let me wipe it first, it smells of mortality.

Glo.

Dost thou know me?

Lear.

I remember thine eyes well enough! no, do thy worst, blind Cupid; I'll not love. Read thou this challenge, mark but the penning of it.

Glo.

Were all the letters suns, I could not see one.

Lear.

Read.

Glo.

What, with this case of eyes?

Lear.

Oh, oh, are you there with me? No eyes in your head, nor no money in your purse? yet you see how this world goes.

Glo.

I see it, feelingly.

Lear.

What, art mad? a man may see how this world goes, with no eyes! Look with thine ears: see, how yon justice rails upon yon simple thief. Hark, in thine ear; change places, and handy-dandy, which is the justice, which is the thief? Thou hast seen a farmer's dog bark at a beggar?

Glo.

Ay, sir.

Lear.

And the creature run from the cur. There thou might'st behold the great image of authority; a dog's obey'd, in office.—

Edg.
O matter and impertinence mixt,
Reason in madness.
I would not take this from report.

Wretched Cordelia!
What will thy virtue do, when thou shalt find
This fresh affliction added to the tale
Of thy unparallel'd griefs.

Lear.
If thou wilt weep my fortunes, take my eyes.
I know thee well enough, thy name is Gloster;
Thou must be patient; we came crying hither;
Thou know'st, the first time that we smell the air,
We wawle and cry. I will preach to thee; mark—

Glo.
Alack, alack! the day!

Lear.
When we are born, we cry, that we are come
To this great stage of fools.— Enter Two Gentlemen.

Gent.
O, here he is, lay hand upon him; sir,
Your most dear daughter—

Lear.
No rescue? what, a prisoner? I am even
The natural fool of fortune. Use me well,
You shall have ransom. Let me have surgeons,
I am cut to th' brains.

Gent.
You shall have any thing.

Lear.
No seconds? all myself?
I will die bravely,
Like a smug bride-groom. What? I will be jovial.
Come, come, I am king, my masters, know you that?

Gent.
You are a royal one, and we obey you.

Lear.
It were an excellent stratagem,
To shoe a troop of horse with felt;
I'll put 't in proof—No noise, no noise—
Now will we steal upon these sons in law,
And then, kill, kill, kill. [Exit, led by two Gent.

Glo.
A sight most pitiful in the meanest wretch,
Past speaking of in a king.
You ever gentle Gods, take my breath from me;
Let not my worser spirit tempt me again,
To die before you please.

Edg.
Well, pray you, father.

Glo.
Now, good sir, what are you?

Edg.
A most poor man, made tame to fortune's blows,
Who by the art of known and feeling sorrows,

Am pregnant to good pity. Give me your hand,
I'll lead you to some biding.

Glo.
Hearty thanks;
The bounty, and the benizon of heav'n
To boot, and boot!— Enter Steward.

Stew.
A proclaim'd prize! most happy!
That eyeless head of thine was first fram'd flesh,
To raise my fortunes. Old unhappy traitor,
Briefly thyself remember; the sword is out,
That must destroy thee.

Glo.
Let thy friendly hand
Put strength enough to't.

Stew.
Wherefore, bold peasant,
Dar'st thou support a publish'd traitor? Hence,
Lest that th' infection of his fortune take
Like hold on thee. Let go his arm.

Edg.

Chill not let go, zir, without vurther 'casion.

Stew.
Let go, slave, or thou dy'st.

Edg.

Good gentleman, go your gate, and let poor volk pass; and 'chud ha' been zwagger'd out o' my life, 'twould not ha' been zo long as 'tis by a vortnight. Nay, come not near th' old man; keep out, che vo'ye, or ise try whether your costard† ^note or my bat be the harder; chill be plain with you.

Stew.

Out, dunghill!

Edg.

Chill pick your teeth, zir; come, no matter vor your soyns.

Stew.
Slave, thou hast slain me! villain, take my purse;
If ever thou wilt thrive, bury my body,
And give the letters, which thou find'st about me,
To Edmund, earl of Gloster: seek him out,
Upon the English party. Oh, untimely death!— [Dies.

Edg.
I know thee well, a serviceable villain;
As duteous to the vices of thy mistress,
As badness would desire.

Let's see these pockets; the letters that he speaks of,
May be my friends. He's dead; I'm only sorry,
He had no other death's-man. Let us see—
By your leave, gentle wax—and manners blame us not;
To know our enemies minds, we rip their hearts;
Their papers are more lawful. Reads the letter.

Let our reciprocal vows be remembered. You have many opportunities to cut him off: if your will want not, time and place will be fruitfully offered. There is nothing done, if he return the conquerer. Then am I the prisoner, and his bed my gaol; from the loathed warmth whereof, deliver me, and supply the place, for your labour.

Your (wife, so I would say) affectionate

servant, Goneril.

Edg.
Give me your hand: [A distant march.
Far off, methinks, I hear the beaten drum.
Come, father, I'll bestow you with a friend. [Exeunt.* ^note End of the Fourth Act.

ACT V. Scene SCENE, a Chamber. Lear asleep on a Couch; Cordelia and Attendants standing by him.‡ ^note

Cord.
His sleep is sound, and may have good effect
To cure his jarring senses, and repair
This breach of nature.

Phys.
We have employ'd the utmost pow'r of art,
And this deep rest will perfect our design.

Cord.
O Regan! Goneril! inhuman sisters!
Had he not been your father, these white hairs
Had challeng'd sure some pity! Was this a face
To be expos'd against the jarring winds?
My enemy's dog, tho' he had bit me, shou'd
Have stood that night against my fire.—He wakes; speak to him.

Phys.
Madam, do you; 'tis fittest.

Cord.
How does my royal lord? How fares your majesty?

Lear.
You do me wrong, to take me out o'th' grave.
Ha! is this too a world of cruelty?
I know my privilege; think not that I will
Be us'd still like a wretched mortal: no,
No more of that.

Cord.
Speak to me, sir; who am I?

Lear.
You are a soul in bliss; but I am bound
Upon a wheel of fire, that my own tears
Do scald like molten lead.

Cord.
Sir, do you know me?

Lear.
You are a spirit, I know; when did you die?

Cord.
Still, still, far wide—

Phys.
Madam, he's scarce awake; he'll soon grow more compos'd.

Lear.
Where have I been? Where am I? fair day-light?
I am mightily abus'd, I should even die with pity
To see another thus. I will not swear
These are my hands.

Cord.
O look upon me, sir,
And hold your hand in blessing o'er me; nay,
You must not kneel.

Lear.
Pray, do not mock me;
I am a very foolish, fond old man,
Fourscore and upward; and to deal plainly,
I fear I am not in my perfect mind.

Cord.
Nay, then farewel to patience: witness for me,
Ye mighty pow'rs, I ne'er complain'd till now!

Lear.
Methinks I shou'd know you, and know this man:
Yet, I am doubtful; for I'm mainly ignorant
What place this is; and all the skill I have,
Remembers not these garments; nor do I know
Where I did sleep last night.—Pray do not mock me,
For, as I am a man, I think that lady
To be my child Cordelia.

Cord.
O my dear, dear father!

Lear.
Be your tears wet? Yes faith; pray do not weep.
I know I have giv'n thee cause, and am so humbled
With crosses since, that I cou'd ask
Forgiveness of thee, were it possible
That thou cou'dst grant it; but I'm well assur'd
Thou can'st not; therefore, I do stand thy justice;
If thou hast poison for me I will drink it,
Bless thee, and die

Cord.
O pity, sir, a bleeding heart, and cease
This killing language.

Lear.
Tell me, friends, where am I?

Phys.
In your own kingdom, sir.

Lear.
do not abuse me.

Phys.
Be comforted, good madam, for the violence
Of his distemper's past; we'll lead him in,
Nor trouble him, 'till he is better settled.
Will't please you, sir, walk into freer air?

Lear.
You must bear with me, I am old and foolish. [They lead him off.

Cord.
The Gods restore you. [A distant march.
Hark, I hear afar
The beaten drum. Old Kent's a man of's word.
Oh! for an arm
Like the fierce thunderer's, when the earth-born sons
Storm'd Heav'n, to fight this injur'd father's battle!
That I cou'd shift my sex, and dye me deep
In his opposer's blood! But, as I may,
With women's weapons, piety, and prayers,
I'll aid his cause.—You never erring Gods,
Fight on his side, and thunder on his foes
Such tempests as his poor ag'd head sustain'd:
Your image suffers, when a monarch bleeds.
'Tis your own cause, for that your succours bring;
Revenge yourselves, and right an injur'd king. [Exit. Scene Enter Edmund, from his Tent.

Edm.
To both these sisters have I sworn my love;
Each jealous of the other, as the stung
Are of the adder;—neither can be held,
If both remain alive.—Where shall I fix?
Cornwall is dead, and Regan's empty bed
Seems cast by fortune for me—But already
I have enjoy'd her; and bright Goneril,
With equal charms, brings dear variety,
And yet untasted beauty; I will use
Her husband's count'nance for the battle, then
Usurp at once his bed and throne. [Enter Officers.
My trusty scouts, you're well return'd. Have ye descried

The strength and posture of the enemy?

Off.
We have, and were surpriz'd to find
The banish'd Kent return'd, and at their head;
That with
Th' approaching dawn we must expect a battle.

Edm.
You bring a welcome hearing. Each to his charge;
Line well your ranks, and stand on your award.
To-night repose you; and i'th' morn we'll give
The sun a sight that shall be worth his rising. [Exeunt. Scene SCENE, a Valley near the Camp. Enter Edgar and Gloster.

Edg.
Here, sir, take you the shadow of this tree
For your good host; pray that the right may thrive:
If ever I return to you again,
I'll bring you comfort. [Exit.

Glost.
Thanks, friendly sir;
The fortune your good cause deserves, betide you. An Alarm; after which Gloster speaks.
The fight grows hot; the whole war's now at work,
And the gor'd battle bleeds in every vein,
Whilst drums and trumpets drown loud slaughter's roar.
Where's Gloster now, that us'd to head the fray,
And scour the ranks where deadliest danger lay?
Here, like a shepherd, in a lonely shade,
Idle, unarm'd, and list'ning to the fight.
Yet the disabled courser, main'd and blind,
When in his stall he hears the rattling war,
Foaming with rage, tears up the batter'd ground,
And tugs for liberty.
No more of shelter, thou blind worm, but forth
To th' open field; the war may come this way,
And crush thee into rest.—Here lay thee down,
And tear the earth; that work befits a mole.
O dark despair! When, Edgar, wilt thou come

To pardon, and dismiss me to the grave? [A Retreat sounded.
Hark! a retreat; the king I fear has lost. Re-enter Edgar.

Edg.
Away, old man, give me your hand, away!
King Lear has lost; he and his daughter ta'en:
And this, ye Gods, is all that I can save
Of this most precious wreck. Give me your hand.

Glost.
No farther, sir; a man may rot, even here.

Edg.
What! in ill thoughts again? Men must endure
Their going hence, ev'n as their coming hither.

Glost.
And that's true too. [Exeunt. Flourish. Enter in Conquest, Albany, Goneril, Regan, Edmund, Capt. of the Guards, &c.—Lear, Kent, Cordelia, Prisoners.

Alb.
It is enough to have conquer'd, cruelty
Shou'd ne'er survive the fight. Captain o'th' guards,
Treat well your royal prisoners, 'till you have
Our farther orders, as you hold our pleasure.

Gon.
Hark, sir, not as you hold our husband's
Pleasure, [To the Captain, aside.
But as you hold your life, dispatch your pris'ners.
Our empire can have no sure settlement,
But in their death; the earth that covers them
Binds fast our throne. Let me hear they are dead.

Capt.
I shall obey your orders.

Edm.
Sir, I approve it safest to pronounce
Sentence of death upon this wretched king,
Whose age has charms in it, his title more,
To draw the commons once more to his side;
'Twere best prevent—

Alb.
Sir, by your favour,
I hold you but a subject of this war,
Not as a brother.

Reg.
That's as we list to grace him.
Have you forgot that he did lead our pow'rs?
Bore the commission of our place and person?

And that authority may well stand up,
And call itself your brother.

Gon.
Not so hot,
In his own merits, he exalts himself,
More than in your addition. Enter Edgar, disguis'd.

Alb.
What art thou?

Edg.
Pardon me, sir, that I presume to stop
A prince, and conqu'ror; yet, ere you triumph,
Give ear to what a stranger can deliver,
Of what concerns you, more than triumph can.
I do impeach your general there, of treason,
Lord Edmund, that usurps the name of Gloster,
Of foulest practice 'gainst your life and honour;
This charge is true: and wretched though I seem,
I can produce a champion, that will prove,
In single combat, what I do avouch,
If Edmund dares but trust his cause, and sword.

Edm.
What will not Edmund dare? My lord, I beg
The favour that you'd instantly appoint
The place, where I may meet this challenger,
Whom I will sacrifice to my wrong'd fame:
Remember, sir, that injur'd honour's nice,
And cannot brook delay.

Alb.
Anon, before our tent, i'th' army's view,
There, let the herald cry.

Edg.
I thank your highness, in my champion's name:
He'll wait your trumpet's call.

Alb.
Lead. [A flourish. Exeunt. Manent Lear, Kent, Cordelia, guarded.

Lear.
O Kent! Cordelia!
You are the only pair that I e'er wrong'd,
And the just Gods have made you witnesses,
Of my disgrace; the very shame of fortune;
To see me chain'd and shackled, at these years!
Yet, were you but spectators of my woes,
Not fellow-sufferers, all were well.

Cord.
This language, sir, adds yet to our affliction.

Lear.
Thou, Kent, didst head the troops that fought my battles;
Expos'd thy life and fortunes for a master,
That had (as I remember) banish'd thee.

Kent.
Pardon me, sir, that once I broke your orders.
Banish'd by you, I kept me here, disguis'd,
To watch your fortunes, and protect your person:
You know you entertain'd a rough, blunt fellow,
One Caius, and you thought he did you service.

Lear.
My trusty Caius, I have lost him too! [Weeps.
'Twas a rough honesty.

Kent.
I was that Caius,
Disguis'd in that coarse dress, to follow you.

Lear.
My Caius, too! Wer't thou my trusty Caius?
Enough, enough.—

Cord.
Ah me, he faints! his blood forsakes his cheek.
Help, Kent!—

Lear.
No, no, they shall not see us weep,
We'll see them rot first.—Guards, lead away to prison.
Come Kent, Cordelia, come;
We two will sit alone, like birds i'th' cage.
When thou dost ask me blessing, I'll kneel down
And ask of thee forgiveness; thus we'll live,
And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh
At gilded butterflies; hear sycophants
Talk of court news, and we'll talk with them too,
Who loses, and who wins; who's in, who's out;
And, take upon us the mystery of things,
As if we were Heaven's spies.

Cord.
Upon such sacrifices
The Gods themselves throw incense.

Lear.
Have I caught ye?
He that parts us, must bring a brand from Heav'n:
Together, we'll out-toil the spite of hell,
And die, the wonders of the world. Away. [Exeunt, guarded.

Flourish. Enter before the Tents, Albany, Edmund, Guards, and Attendants.

Alb.
Now, Gloster, trust to thy single virtue: for thy soldiers,
All levied in my name, have in my name
Took their discharge. Now let our trumpets speak,
And herald, read out this.

[Herald reads.

If any man of quality, within the lists of the army, will maintain, upon Edmund, suppos'd Earl of Gloster, that he is a manifold traitor, let him appear, by the third sound of the trumpet: He is bold in his defence—Again, again.

Alb.
Lord Edgar!

Edm.
Ha! my brother!* ^note
This is the only combatant I could fear,
For in my breast guilt duels on his side.
But, conscience, what have I to do with thee?
Awe thou thy dull legitimate slaves: but I
Was born a libertine, and so I keep me.

Edg.
My noble prince, a word;—ere we engage,
Into your highness' hands I give this paper;
It will the truth of my impeachment prove,
Whatever be my fortune in the fight.

Alb.
We shall peruse it.

Edg.
Now, Edmund, draw thy sword,
That if my speech has wrong'd a noble heart,
Thy arm may do thee justice: here, i'th' presence
Of this high prince,
I brand thee with the spotted name of traitor;
False to thy Gods, thy father, and thy brother;
And what is more, thy friend; false to this prince:
If then thou shar'st a spark of Gloster's virtue,

Acquit thyself; or, if thou shar'st his courage,
Meet this defiance bravely.

Edm.
I have a daring soul, and so have at thy heart. [They fight, Edmund falls.
What you have charg'd me with, that I have done,
And more, much more; the time will bring it out:
'Tis past, and so am I.

Edg.
As thou art my father's son,
Exchange we charity on thy repentance.
The Gods are just, and of our pleasant vices
Make instruments to scourge us.
The dark and vicious place where he begot thee
Lost him his eyes.

Edm.
Thou'st spoken right, 'tis true.
The wheel is come, full circle—I am here,
Yet e're life leaves me, let me do some good,
Despight of my own nature. Quickly send
(Be brief) unto the castle, for my order
Is on the life of Lear, and Cordelia;
Nay, send in time.

Edg.
Run, run, O run.

Alb.
The Gods defend them; bear him hence awhile.

Edg.
O let us fly, my lord, to save their lives. [Exeunt.* ^note Scene SCENE, a Prison. Lear asleep, with his head on Cordelia's Lap.

Cord.
What toils, thou wretched king, hast thou endur'd,
To make thee draw, in chains, a sleep so sound?
Thy better angel charm thy ravish'd mind
With fancy'd freedom; peace is us'd to lodge
On cottage straw. Thou hast the beggar's bed,
Therefore, should'st have the beggar's careless thought,
And now, my Edgar, I remember thee:
What fate has seiz'd thee, in this general wreck,

I know not; but I know thou must be wretched,
Because Cordelia holds thee dear.
O Gods! a sudden gloom o'erwhelms me, and the image
Of death o'erspreads the place.—Ha! Who are these? Enter Captain and Soldiers, with Cords.

Capt.
Now, sirs, dispatch; already you are paid
In part, the best of your reward's to come.

Lear.
Charge, charge upon their flank, their left wing halts.
Push, push the battle, and the day's our own.
Their ranks are broken; down, down with Albany.
Who holds my hands?—O thou, deceiving sleep,
I was this very minute on the chace,
And now, a pris'ner here!—What mean the slaves?
You will not murder me?

Cord.
Help, earth and Heaven!
For your souls sake, dear sirs, and for the Gods.

Offi.
No tears, good lady; no pleading against gold, and preferment.
Come, sirs, make ready your cords.

Cord.
You, sir, I'll seize;
You have a human form, and if no prayers
Can touch your soul, to spare a poor king's life,
If there be any thing that you hold dear,
By that I beg you to dispatch me first.

Capt.* ^note
Comply with her request; dispatch her first.

Lear.
Off, hell-hounds; by the Gods I charge you spare her;
'Tis my Cordelia, my true pious daughter.
No pity?—Nay, then take an old man's vengeance. Snatches a Sword, and kills two of them; the rest quit Cordelia, and Exeunt. Enter, Edgar, Albany, and Attendants.

Edg.
Death! hell! ye vultures, hold your impious hands,

Or take a speedier death than you would give.

Capt.
By whose command?

Edg.
Behold the duke, your lord.

Alb.
Guards, seize those instruments of cruelty.

Cord.
Oh, my Edgar!

Edg.
My dear Cordelia! Lucky was the minute
Of our approach; the Gods have weigh'd our suff'rings;
W' have pass'd the fire, and now must shine to ages.

Gent.
Look here, my lord, see where the generous king
Has slain two of 'em.

Lear.
Did I not, fellow?
I've seen the day, with my good biting faulchion
I cou'd have made 'em skip: I am old now,* ^note
And these vile crosses spoil me; out of breath!
Fie, oh! quite out of breath, and spent.

Alb.
Bring in old Kent; and, Edgar, guide you hither
Your father, whom you said was near; [Exit Edgar.
He may be an ear-witness, at the least,
Of our proceedings. [Kent brought in here.

Lear.
Who are you?
My eyes are none o'th' best, I'll tell you straight:
Oh, Albany! Well, sir, we are your captives,
And you are come to see death pass upon us.
Why this delay?—Or, is't your highness' pleasure
To give us first the torture? Say ye so?
Why here's old Kent and I, as tough a pair
As e'er bore tyrant's stroke.—But, my Cordelia,
My poor Cordelia here, O pity—

Alb.
Thou injur'd majesty,
The wheel of fortune now has made her circle,
And blessings yet stand 'twixt thy grave and thee.

Lear.
Com'st thou, inhuman lord, to sooth us back

To a fool's paradise of hope, to make
Our doom more wretched? Go to, we are too well
Acquainted with misfortune, to be gull'd
With lying hope; no, we will hope no more.

Alb.
I have a tale t'unfold, so full of wonder,
As cannot meet an easy faith;
But by that royal injur'd head, 'tis true.

Kent.
What wou'd your highness?

Alb.
Know, the noble Edgar
Impeach'd lord Edmund, since the fight, of treason,
And dar'd him, for the proof, to single combat,
In which the Gods confirm'd his charge by conquest;
I left ev'n now the traitor wounded mortally.

Lear.
And whither tends this story?

Alb.
Ere they fought,
Lord Edgar gave into my hands this paper;
A blacker scroll of treason and of lust,
Than can be found in the records of hell.
There, sacred sir, behold the character
Of Goneril, the worst of daughters, but
More vicious wife.

Cord.
Cou'd there be yet addition to their guilt!
What would not they who wrong a father do?

Alb.
Since then my injuries, Lear, fall in with thine,
I have resolv'd the same redress for both.

Kent.
What says my lord?

Cord.
Speak, for methought I heard
The charming voice of a descending God.

Alb.
The troops, by Edmund rais'd, I have disbanded;
Those that remain, are under my command.
What comfort may be brought to chear your age,
And heal your savage wrongs, shall be apply'd;
For to your majesty we do resign
Your kingdom, save what part yourself confer'd,
On us in marriage.

Kent.
Hear you that, my liege?

Cord.
Then there are Gods, and virtue is their care.

Lear.
Is't possible?

Let the spheres stop their course, the sun make halt,
The winds be hush'd, the seas and fountains rest;
All nature pause, and listen to the change.
Where is my Kent, my Caius?

Kent.
Here, my liege.

Lear.
Why I have news that will recall thy youth.
Ha! didst thou hear't, or did th' inspiring Gods
Whisper to me alone? Old Lear shall be
A king again.

Kent.
The prince, that like a God has pow'r, has said it.

Lear.
Cordelia then shall be a queen, mark that:
Cordelia, shall be queen. Winds, catch the sound,
And bear it on your rosy wings to heav'n—
Cordelia is a queen.* ^note Re-enter Edgar with Gloster.

Alb.
Look, sir, where pious Edgar comes,
Leading his eyeless father. O my liege!
His wond'rous story well deserves your leisure;
What he has done and suffer'd for your sake,
What for the fair Cordelia's.

Glo.
Where's my liege? Conduct me to his knees, to hail
His second birth of empire: my dear Edgar
Has with himself reveal'd the king's blest restauration.

Lear.
My poor dark Gloster!

Glo.
O let me kiss that once more scepter'd hand!

Lear.
Hold, thou mistak'st the majesty: kneel here;
Cordelia has our pow'r, Cordelia's queen.
Speak, is not that the noble suff'ring Edgar?

Glo.
My pious son, more dear than my lost eyes.

Lear.
I wrong'd him too, but here's the fair amends.

Edg.
Your leave, my liege, for an unwelcome message.
Edmund (but that's a trifle) is expir'd.
What more will touch you, your imperious daughters,
Goneril, and haughty Regan, both are dead,
Each by the other poison'd at a banquet:
This, dying, they confess'd.

Cord.
O fatal period of ill-govern'd life!

Lear.
Ingrateful as they were, my heart feels yet
A pang of nature for their wretched fall.—* ^note
But, Edgar, I defer thy joys too long:
Thou serv'dst distress'd Cordelia; take her, crown'd,
Th' imperial grace fresh blooming on her brow:
Nay, Gloster, thou hast here a father's right,
Thy helping hand t'heap blessings on their heads

Kent.
Old Kent throws in his hearty wishes too.

Edg.
The Gods and you too largely recompense
What I have done; the gift strikes merit dumb.

Cord.
Nor do I blush to own myself o'er paid,
For all my suff'rings past.

Glo.
Now, gentle Gods, give Gloster his discharge.

Lear.
No, Gloster, thou hast business yet for life;
Thou, Kent, and I, retir'd from noise and strife,
Will calmly pass our short reserves of time,
In cool reflections on our fortunes past,
Cheer'd with relation of the prosp'rous reign,
Of this celestial pair; thus our remains
Shall in an even course of thoughts be past,
Enjoy the present hour, nor fear the last.† ^note [Ex. Omnes. End of the Fifth Act.

^note

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