R.
Edgar.
Yet better thus, and known to be contemn'd,
Than still contemn'd and flatter'd. To be worst,
The lowest, and most dejected thing of fortune,
Stands still in esperance, 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.—But who comes here?
Enter Gloster, with a bandage round his eyes, led by an Old Man, L. 2 E.
My father, poorly led?—World, world, O world!
But that thy strange mutations make us hate thee,
Life would not yield to age.
Gloster.
Away, get thee away; good friend, be gone.
Thy comforts can do me no good at all;
Thee they may hurt.
Old Man.
Alack, sir! you cannot see your way.
Gloster.
I have no way, and therefore want no eyes;
I stumbled when I saw. Ah! dear son Edgar,
The food of thy abused father's wrath,
Might I but live to see thee in my touch,
I'd say, I had eyes again!
Old Man. (C.)
How now? Who's there?
Edgar. (aside)
O gods! Who is 't can say, I am at the worst?
I am worse than e'er I was.
Old Man.
'Tis poor mad Tom.
Edgar. (aside)
And worse I may be yet: the worst is not
So long as we can say, “This is the worst.”
Gloster.
Is it a beggar-man?
-- 56 --
Old Man.
Madman and beggar too.
Gloster.
He has some reason, else he could not beg.
I' the 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 then scarce friends with him: I have heard more since.
Edgar. (aside)
How should this be?
Bad is the trade that must play fool to sorrow,
Angering itself and others. Bless thee, master!
Gloster.
Is that the naked fellow?
Old Man.
Ay, my lord.
Gloster.
Then, pr'ythee, get thee gone: If, for my sake,
Thou wilt o'ertake us, hence a mile or twain,
I' the way to Dover, do it for ancient love;
And bring some covering for this naked soul,
Whom I'll entreat lead me.
Old Man.
Alack, sir, he's mad.
Gloster.
'Ts the times' plague, when madmen lead the blind.
Do as I bid thee, or rather do thy pleasure.
Old Man.
I'll bring him the best 'parrel that I have,
Come on 't what will,
Crosses and exits, L.
Gloster.
Sirrah, naked fellow.
Edgar.
Poor Tom 's a-cold.
Gloster.
Come hither, fellow.
Edgar.
Bless thy sweet eyes, they bleed.
Gloster.
Know'st thou the way to Dover?
Edgar.
Both stile and gate, horse-way and footpath.
Poor Tom has been scared out of his good wits: bless
thee good man's son from the foul fiend!
Gloster.
Here, take this purse, thou whom the heaven's plagues
Have humbled to all strokes: that I am wretched,
Makes thee the happier:—Heavens, deal so still!
Let the superfluous, and lust-dieted man,
That will not see
Because he doth not feel, feel your power quickly;
So distribution should undo excess,
And each man have enough.—Dost thou know Dover?
Edgar.
Ay, master.
-- 57 --
Gloster.
There is a cliff, whose high and bending head.
Looks fearfully in 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.
Edgar.
Give me thy arm;
Poor Tom shall lead thee.
Exeunt, R.
Scene III.
—The Duke of Albany's Palace.
Enter Goneril and Edmund, L.; Oswald meeting them, R. 2 E.
Goneril.
Welcome, my lord: I marvel, our mild husband
Not met us on the way:—Now, where's your master?
Oswald.
Madam, within; but never man so chang'd:
I told him of the army that was landed;
He smil'd at it: I told him, you were coming;
His answer was, “The worse.”
What most he should dislike, seems pleasant to him;
What like, offensive.
Goneril.
Then shall you go no farther.
(to Edmund)
It is the cowish terror 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, to my brother;
Hasten his musters and conduct his powers:
I must change arms at home, and give the distaff
Into my husband's hands. This trusty servant
Shall pass between us.
Wear this; (giving a ring) spare speech;
Conceive, and fare thee well.
Edmund.
Yours in the ranks of death.
Goneril.
My most dear Gloster!
Exit Edmund, L.
O, the difference of man, and man!
To thee a woman's services are due;
My fool usurps my body.
Oswald.
Madam, here comes my lord.
Exit, L.
-- 58 --
Enter Albany, R. 2 E.
Goneril.
I have been worth the whistle.
Albany.
O Goneril!
You are not worth the dust which the rude wind
Blows in your face.—What have you done?
Tigers, not daughters, what have you perform'd?
A father, and a gracious aged man,
Whose reverence the head-lugg'd bear would lick,
Most barbarous, most degenerate! have you madded.
Could my good brother suffer you to do it?
A man, a prince, by him so benefitted?
Goneril.
Milk-liver'd man!
That bear'st a cheek for blows, a head for wrongs:
Where's thy drum?
France spreads his banners in our noiseless land;
Whilst thou, a moral fool, sitt'st still, and cry'st,
“Alack! why does he so?”
Albany.
See thyself, devil!
Proper deformity seems not in the fiend
So horrid, as in woman.
Goneril.
O, vain fool!
Enter a Messenger, L.
Albany.
What news?
Messen.
O, my good lord, the Duke of Cornwall's dead:
Slain by his servant, who interposed his arm to save
The eyes of Gloster.
Albany.
Gloster's eyes!
Messen.
A servant that he bred, thrill'd with remorse
Oppos'd against the act, bending his sword
To his great master; who, thereat enrag'd,
Flew on him, and amongst them fell'd him dead;
But not without that harmful stroke which since
Hath pluck'd him after.
Albany.
This shows you are above,
Yon justiciers, that these our nether crimes
So speedily can venge!—But, O, poor Gloster!
Lost he his other eye?
Messen.
Both, both, my lord.
(gives letter to Goneril)
This letter, madam, craves a speedy answer;
'Tis from your sister.
-- 59 --
Goneril. (aside)
One way I like this well;
But being widow, and my Gloster with her,
May all the building in my fancy pluck
Upon my hateful life: I'll read, and answer.
Exit, L.
Albany.
Where was his son, when they did take his eyes?
Messen.
Come with my lady hither.
Albany.
He is not here.
Messen.
No, my good lord; I met him back again.
Albany.
Knows he the wickedness?
Messen.
Ay, my good lord; 'twas he inform'd against him,
And quit the house on purpose, that their punishment
Might have a freer course.
Albany.
Gloster, I live
To thank thee for the love thou show'dst the king,
And to revenge thine eyes.—Come hither, friend;
Tell me what more thou knowest.
Exeunt, R.
Re-enter Goneril and Oswald, L.
It was sad ignorance Gloster's eyes being out,
To let him live: where he arrives he'll move
All hearts against us. It were well dispatch
His nighted life. Take this note.
(gives letter)
With all speed seek out lord Edmund, to his
Own hand give this: so fare you well,
If you do chance to hear of that blind traitor,
Preferment falls on him, that cuts him off.
Exeunt Goneril, R. 2 E., Steward, L. 2 E.
Scene IV.
—A Tent.
Enter Soldiers, Cordelia, and Physician, L.
Cordelia.
Alack! 'tis he: why, he was met even now
As mad as the vex'd sea: singing aloud;
Crown'd with rank fumiter, and furrow weeds,
With hoar-docks, hemlock, nettles, cuckoo-flowers,
Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow
In our sustaining corn.—A century send forth;
Search every acre in the high-grown field,
And bring him to our eye.
Exit an Officer, L.
-- 60 --
What can man's wisdom,
In the restoring his bereaved sense?
He, that helps him, take all my outward worth.
Physician.
There is means, madam:
Our foster-nurse of nature is repose,
The which he lacks; that to provoke in him,
Are many simples operative, whose power
Will close the eye of anguish.
Cordelia.
All bless'd secrets,
And you unpublish'd virtues of the earth,
Spring with my tears! be aidant, and remediate,
In the good man's distress!—Seek, seek for him;
Lest his ungovern'd rage dissolve the life
That wants the means to lead it.
Enter a Messenger, L.
Messenger.
News, madam:
The British powers are marching hitherward.
Cordelia.
'Tis known before; our preparation stands
In expectation of them.—O, dear father!
It is thy business that I go about,
Therefore great France
My mourning, and important tears, hath pitied.
No blown ambition doth our arms incite,
But love, dear love, and our ag'd father's right.
Soon may I hear, and see him!
Exeunt R.
Scene V.
—The Country near Dover.
Enter Gloster, and Edgar dressed like a peasant, with a quarter-staff, L. U. E.
Gloster.
When shall I come to the top of that same hill?
Edgar.
You do climb up it now: look how we labor.
Gloster.
Methinks, the ground is even.
Edgar.
Horrible steep:
Hark, do you hear the sea?
Gloster.
No, truly.
Edgar.
Why, then your other senses grow imperfect
By your eyes' anguish.
-- 61 --
Gloster.
So may it be, indeed:
Methinks, thy voice is alter'd; and thou speak'st
In better phrase, and matter, than thou didst.
Edgar.
You are much deceiv'd; in nothing am I chang'd
But in my garments.
Gloster.
Methinks, y' are better spoken.
Edgar.
Come on, sir; here's the place;—stand still.—How fearful
And dizzy 'tis, to cast one's eyes so low!
The crows, and choughs, that wing the midway air,
Show 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 yond' tall anchoring bark,
Diminish'd to the cock; her cock, a boy
Almost too small for sight: the murmuring surge,
That on the 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.
Gloster.
Set me where you stand.
Edgar.
Give me your hand. You are now within a foot
Of the extreme verge: for all beneath the moon
Would I not leap upright.
Gloster.
Let go my hand.
Here, friend, is 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 farewell, and let me hear thee going.
Edgar.
Now fare you well, good sir.
(seems to go—crossing)
Gloster.
With all my heart.
Edgar.
Why I do trifle thus with his despair,
(going back)
Is done to cure it.
Gloster. (kneels)
O you mighty gods!
This world I do 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
-- 62 --
Burn itself out. If Edgar live, O, bless him!—
Now, fellow, fare thee well.
(Edgar stays him R., as he is about to leap)
Edgar.
But who comes here?
Enter Lear, L. 3 E., fantastically dressed with wild flowers.
Lear.
No, they cannot touch me for coining; I am the
king himself.
Edgar. (R. C.)
O, thou side-piercing sight!
Lear. (L. C.)
Nature's above art in that respect.—There's
your press-money. That fellow handles his bow like a
crow-keeper: draw me a clothier's yard.—Look, look! a
mouse. Peace, peace!—this piece of toasted cheese will
do't.—There's my gauntlet; I'll prove it on a giant.—
Bring up the brown bills.—O, well flown, bird!—i' the
clout, i' the clout: hewgh!—Give the word.
Edgar.
Sweet marjoram.
Lear.
Pass.
(Edgar passes over to L.)
Gloster. (R.)
I know that voice.
Lear.
Ha! Goneril!—with a white beard!—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 every thing 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.
Gloster.
The trick of that voice I do well remember:
Is't not 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 thy cause?—
Adultery.—
Thou shalt not die: die for adultery? No:
For Gloster's bastard son
Was kinder to his father, than my daughters
Got 'tween the lawful sheets.
To't, luxury, pell-mell, for I lack soldiers.—
Behold yond' simpering dame,
That minces virtue, and does shake the head
-- 63 --
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,
Though women all above:
But to the girdle do the gods inherit,
Beneath is all the fiends: there's hell, there's darkness,
there is 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.
(crosses, R.)
Gloster. (C.)
O, let me kiss that hand!
Lear.
Let me wipe it first; it smells of mortality.
Gloster.
O ruin'd piece of nature! This great world
shall so wear out to nought.—Dost thou know me?
Lear.
I remember thine eyes well enough. Dost thou
squiny at me? No, do thy worst, blind Cupid; I'll not
love.—Read thou this challenge: mark but the penning
of it.
Gloster.
Were all the letters suns, I could not see one.
Lear.
Read.
Gloster.
What! with the case of eyes?
Lear.
O, ho! are you there with me? No eyes in
your head, nor no money in your purse? Your eyes are
in a heavy case, your purse in a light: yet you see how
this world goes.
Gloster.
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 yond'
justice rails upon yond' simple thief. Hark, in thine ear:
change places; and, handy-dandy, which is the justice,
which is the thief?—(crosses, L.) Thou hast seen a farmer's
dog bark at a beggar?
Gloster.
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.—
Thou rascal beadle, hold thy bloody hand!
Why dost thou lash that wench? Strip thine own back;
Thou hotly lust'st to use her in that kind
-- 64 --
For which thou whipp'st her. The usurer hangs the cozener.
Through tatter'd clothes small vices do appear;
Robes, and furr'd gowns, hide all. Plate sin with gold
And the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks:
Arm it in rags, a pigmy's straw doth pierce it.
None does offend, none, I say, none; I'll able 'em:
Take that of me, my friend, who have the power
To seal th' accuser's lips. Get thee glass eyes;
And, like a scurvy politician, seem
To see the things thou dost not.—(crosses, R., and sits on a bank) Now, now, now, now:
Pull off my boots: harder, harder; so.
Edgar. (L.)
O, matter and impertinency mix'd!
Reason in madness!
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 wawl, and cry. I will preach to thee: mark me.
Gloster.
Alack! alack the day!
Lear.
When we were born, we cry that we are come
To this great stage of fools.
Enter Physician with Attendants, L. U. E.
Physician.
O! here he is: lay hand upon him.—Sir,
Your most dear daughter.—
(they lay hold of him gently on each side)
Lear.
No rescue? What! a prisoner? I am even
The natural fool of fortune.—Use me well;
You shall have ransom. Let me have a surgeon,
I am cut to the brains.
Physician.
You shall have any thing.
Lear.
No seconds? All myself?
Physician.
Good sir,—
Lear.
I will die bravely,
Like a smug bridegroom. What! I will be jovial.
Come, come; I am a king, my masters, know you that?
(throws them off, and crosses to L.)
Physician.
You are a royal one, and we obey you.
-- 65 --
Lear.
It were a delicate stratagem, to shoe
A troop of horse with felt: I'll put it in proof;
And when I have stolen upon these sons-in-law,
Then, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill.
(crosses, R.)
*Nay, an you get it, you shall get it by running. Sa, sa, sa, sa.
Exit, R.—Physician and Attendants follow.
Edgar.
A sight most pitiful in the meanest wretch,
Past speaking of in a king!—Thou hast one daughter,
Who redeems nature from the general curse
Which twain have brought her to.
Gloster.
You ever-gentle gods, take my breath from me:
Let not my worser spirit tempt me again
To die before you please!
Edgar.
Well pray you, father.
Gloster.
Now, good sir, what are you?
Edgar.
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.
Gloster.
Hearty thanks;
The bounty and the benison of heaven
To boot, and boot!
(going, L.)
Enter Oswald, L.
Oswald.
A proclaim'd prize! Most happy!
That eyeless head of thine was first fram'd flesh
To raise my fortunes. Thou old unhappy traitor,
Briefly thyself remember;—(draws) the sword is out
That must destroy thee.
Gloster.
Now let thy friendly hand
Put strength enough to it.
(Edgar interposes, C.)
Oswald.
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.
Edgar.
Chill not let go, zir, without varther 'casion.
Oswald.
Let go, slave, or thou diest.
Edgar.
Good gentleman, go your gait, and let poor volk
pass. And ch'ud ha' been zwagger'd out of my life,
'twould not ha' been zo long as 'tis by a vortnight. Nay,
-- 66 --
come not near the old man; keep out, che vor'ye, or Ise
try whether your costard or my ballow be the harder.
Ch'ill be plain with you.
Oswald.
Out, dunghill!
Edgar.
Ch'ill pick your teeth, zir. Come; no matter
vor your foins.
(They fight; and Edgar strikes him down, L. C.)
Oswald.
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 British party:—O, untimely death!
(dies)
Edgar.
I know thee well: a serviceable villain;
As duteous to the vices of thy mistress,
As badness would desire.
Gloster.
What! is he dead?
Edgar.
Sit you down, father; rest you.—
(he sits, R.)
Let's see his pockets: these letters, that he speaks of,
May be my friends.—He's dead; I am only sorry
He had no other death's-man.—Let us see:—
Leave, gentle wax; and, manners, blame us not:
To know our enemies' minds, we rip their hearts,
Their papers is more lawful.
(finding letter, which he opens and reads)
“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 conqueror; then, I am 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.”
O, undistinguish'd space of woman's will!
A plot upon her virtuous husband's life;
And the exchange, my brother!—Here in the sands,
Thee I'll rake up, the post unsanctified
Of murderous lechers; and in the mature time,
With this ungracious paper strike the sight
Of the death-practis'd duke. For him 'tis well,
That of thy death and business I can tell.
(draws off the body, L.—drum afar off—he returns and raises Gloster)
-- 67 --
Give me your hand:
Far off, methinks, I hear the beaten drum.
Come, father; I'll bestow you with a friend.
Exeunt, R.
Scene VI.
—A Tent in the French Camp.
Lear on a bed asleep, his attire changed, R. C.; Physician, Gentleman, and others attending.
Enter Cordelia and Kent, L.
Cordelia.
O thou good Kent! how shall I live, and work,
To match thy goodness? My life will be too short,
And every measure fail me.
Kent.
To be acknowledg'd, madam, is o'er paid.
All my reports go with the modest truth;
No more, nor clipp'd, but so.
Cordelia.
Be better suited:
These weeds are memories of those worser hours.
I pr'ythee, put them off.
Kent.
Pardon me, 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.
Cordelia.
Then be't so, my good lord.—How does the king?
(to the Physician)
Physician. (R.)
Madam, sleeps still.
Cordelia.
O, you kind gods,
Cure this great breach in his abused nature!
Th' untun'd and jarring senses, O, wind up
Of this child-changed father!
Physician.
So please your majesty,
That we may wake the king? he hath slept long.
Cordelia.
Be govern'd by your knowledge, and proceed
I' the sway of your own will. Is he array'd?
Physician.
Ay, madam; in the heaviness of his sleep,
We put fresh garments on him. Please you, draw near.
(music)
Cordelia.
O, my dear father! Restoration, hang
Thy medicine on my lips; and let this kiss
Repair those violent harms, that my two sisters
Have in thy reverence made!
-- 68 --
Had you not been their father, these white flakes
Had challeng'd pity of them. Was this a face
To be expos'd against the warring winds?
To stand against the deep dread-bolted thunder?
In the most terrible and nimble stroke
Of quick cross lightning? to watch (poor perdu!)
With this thin helm? Mine enemy's dog,
Though he had bit me, should have stood that night
Against my fire; and wast thou fain, poor father,
To hovel thee with swine, and rogues forlorn,
In short and musty straw? Alack, alack!
'Tis wonder, that thy life and wits at once
Had not concluded all.—He wakes; speak to him.
Physician.
Madam, do you; 'tis fittest.
Cordelia.
How does my royal lord? How fares your majesty?
Lear.
You do me wrong, to take me out o' the grave.—
Thou art a soul in bliss, but I am bound
Upon a wheel of fire, that mine own tears
Do scald like molten lead.
Cordelia.
Sir, do you know me?
Lear.
You are a spirit, I know. When did you die?
Cordelia.
Still, still, far wide.
Physician.
He's scarce awake: let him alone awhile.
Lear.
Where have I been? Where am I?—Fair daylight?—
I am mightily abus'd.—I should even die with pity
To see another thus.—I know not what to say.—
I will not swear, these are my hands:—let's see;
I feel this pin prick. Would I were assur'd
Of my condition.
Cordelia. (kneels)
O! look upon me, sir,
And hold your hands in benediction o'er me.—
(Lear about to kneel)
No, sir, you must not kneel.
Lear.
Pray, do not mock me:
I am a very foolish fond old man,
Fourscore and upwards,—and, to deal plainly,
I fear, I am not in my perfect mind.
Methinks, I should know you, and know this man;
Yet I am doubtful, for I am mainly ignorant
What place this is; and all the skill I have
-- 69 --
Remembers not these garments; nor I know not
Where I did lodge last night. Do not laugh at me,
For, as I am a man, I think this lady
To be my child Cordelia.
Cordelia. (falls on his bosom, embracing him)
And so I am, I am.
Lear.
Be your tears wet? Yes, 'faith. I pray, weep not:
If you have poison for me, I will drink it.
I know, you do not love me; for your sisters
Have, as I do remember, done me wrong:
You have some cause, they have not.
Cordelia.
No cause, no cause.
Lear.
Am I in France?
Kent.
In your own kingdom, sir.
Lear.
Do not abuse me.
Physician.
Be comforted, good madam: the great rage,
You see, is cur'd in him;
Desire him to go in: trouble him no more,
Till farther settling.
Cordelia.
Will't please your highness walk?
Lear.
You must bear with me:
Pray you now forget and forgive: I am old and foolish.
Exeunt Lear, embracing Cordelia, Kent, Physician, and Attendants, R.
END OF ACT IV.
William Macready [1857], King Lear. A Tragedy, in five acts, by William Shakespeare (Thomas Hailes Lacy [etc.], London) [word count] [S41000].
