Gon.
Welcome, my lord: I marvel our mild husband
Not met us on the way. Enter Oswald ^note.
Now, where's your master?

Osw.
Madam, within; but never man so changed.
I told him of the army that was landed;
He smiled at it: I told him you were coming;
His answer was, ‘The worse:’ of Gloucester's treachery
And of the loyal service of his son
When I inform'd him, then he call'd me sot
And told me I had turn'd the wrong side out:
What most he should dislike ^note seems pleasant to him;
What like, offensive. ^note

Gon. [To Edm.] ^note
Then shall you ^note go no further.
It is the cowish terror ^note of his spirit,
That dares not undertake: he'll not feel wrongs,
Which tie him to an answer. Our wishes on the way
May prove effects. Back, Edmund ^note, to ^note my brother;

Hasten his musters and conduct his powers:
I must change arms ^note at home and give the distaff
Into my husband's hands. This trusty servant
Shall pass between us: ere long you are like to hear ^note,
If you dare venture ^note in your own behalf,
A mistress's command ^note. Wear this; spare ^note speech; [Giving a favour. ^note
Decline your head: this kiss, if it durst speak,
Would stretch thy spirits up into the air:
Conceive, and fare thee well ^note.

Edm.
Yours in the ranks of death.

Gon.
My most dear Gloucester! [Exit Edmund. ^note
O, ^note the difference ^note of man and man! ^{note note}
To thee a ^note woman's services are due:
My fool usurps my body. ^{note note}

Osw.
Madam, here comes my lord. [Exit. ^note Enter Albany. ^note

Gon.
I have been worth the whistle ^note.

Alb.
O Goneril!
You are not worth the dust which the rude ^note wind ^note
Blows in your face. I fear your disposition:
That nature which contemns its ^note origin
Cannot be border'd ^note certain in itself;
She that herself will sliver ^note and disbranch
From her material ^note sap, perforce must wither
And come to deadly use.

Gon.
No more; the text is ^note foolish.

Alb.
Wisdom and goodness to the vile seem vile:
Filths savour but themselves. What have you done? ^note
Tigers, not daughters, what have you perform'd?
A father, and a gracious aged man,
Whose reverence even ^note the head-lugg'd bear ^note would lick, ^note
Most barbarous, most degenerate! have you madded.
Could my good brother suffer you to do it? ^note
A man, a prince, by him so benefited ^note!
If that the heavens do not their visible spirits
Send quickly down to tame these vile ^note offences,
It will come, ^{note note}
Humanity ^note must perforce prey on itself,

Like monsters of the deep. ^{note note}

Gon.
Milk-liver'd man!
That bear'st ^note a cheek for blows, a head for wrongs;
Who hast not ^note in thy brows an eye discerning ^note
Thine honour ^note from thy suffering; that not know'st
Fools do ^note those ^note villains pity who are punish'd
Ere they have done their mischief. Where's thy drum?
France spreads his banners in our noiseless ^note land,
With plumed ^note helm thy state begins to threat ^note,
Whiles ^note thou, a moral ^note fool, sit'st still and criest ^note
‘Alack, why does he so? ^note’

Alb.
See thyself, devil!
Proper deformity ^note seems ^note not in the fiend
So horrid as in woman. ^note

Gon.
O vain fool!

Alb.
Thou changed ^note and self-cover'd ^note thing, for shame,
Be-monster not thy feature. Were 't ^note my fitness

To ^note let these hands ^note obey my blood ^note,
They are ^note apt enough to dislocate ^note and tear ^note
Thy flesh and bones: howe'er ^note thou art a fiend,
A woman's shape doth shield thee.

Gon.
Marry, your manhood mew. ^{note note} Enter a Messenger. ^note

Alb.
What news? ^note

Mess. ^note
O, my good lord, the Duke of Cornwall's dead,
Slain by his servant, going to put out
The other eye of Gloucester. ^note

Alb.
Gloucester's eyes!

Mess.
A servant that he bred, thrill'd ^note with remorse,
Opposed against the act, bending his sword
To ^note his great master; who thereat enraged ^note
Flew on him and amongst them fell'd him ^note dead,
But not ^note without that harmful stroke which since
Hath pluck'd him after. ^note

Alb.
This shows you are above,
You justicers ^note, that these our nether ^note crimes

So speedily can venge. But, O poor Gloucester!
Lost he his other eye? ^note

Mess.
Both, both, my lord.
This letter, madam, craves a speedy answer;
'Tis from your sister. ^note

Gon. [Aside] ^note
One way I like this well;
But being ^note widow, and my Gloucester with her,
May all the building in ^note my fancy pluck
Upon my hateful life: another way,
The news is not so tart. ^note I'll read, and answer. [Exit. ^note

Alb.
Where was his son when they did take his eyes? ^note

Mess.
Come with my lady hither.

Alb.
He is ^note not here.

Mess.
No, my good lord; I met him back again.

Alb.
Knows he the wickedness?

Mess.
Ay, my good lord; 'twas he inform'd against him,
And quit the house on purpose ^note, that their ^note punishment
Might have the freer course.

Alb.
Gloucester, I live
To thank thee for the love thou show'dst ^note the king,
And to revenge thine ^note eyes. ^note Come hither, friend:
Tell me what more thou know'st ^note. ^note [Exeunt. ^note

^note

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