Edm.

Save thee, Curan.

Cur.

And you, Sir. I have been with your father; and given him notice, that the duke of Cornwall, and Regan his duchess, will be here with him to-night. Fare you well, Sir.

Edm.
The duke be here to-night? The better! Best!
This weaves itself perforce into my business!
My father has set guard to take my brother;
And I have one thing, of a queazy question,^{1 note}
Which I must act:—Briefness, and fortune, work!—
Brother, a word;—descend:—Brother, I say. Enter Edgar.
My father watches:—O Sir, fly this place;
Intelligence is given where you are hid.
Have you not spoken 'gainst the duke of Cornwall?
He's coming hither. Have you nothing said
Upon his party 'gainst the duke of Albany?^{2 note}
Advise yourself.^{3 note}

Edg.
I am sure on't, not a word.

Edm.
I hear my father coming,—Pardon me:—
In cunning I must draw my sword upon you:—
Draw: Seem to defend yourself: Now quit you well.
Yield:—come before my father;—Light, ho, here!—

Fly, brother;—Torches! torches!—So, farewell. [Exit Edgar.
Some blood drawn on me would beget opinion [Wounds his arm.
Of my more fierce endeavour: I have seen drunkards
Do more than this in sport.—Father! father!
Stop, stop! No help? Enter Gloster, and Servants with Torches.

Glo.
Now, Edmund, where's the villain?

Edm.
Here stood he in the dark, his sharp sword out,
Mumbling of wicked charms.

Glo.
But where is he?

Edm.
Look, Sir, I bleed.

Glo.
Where is the villain, Edmund?

Edm.
Fled this way, Sir. When by no means he could—

Glo.
Pursue him, ho!—Go after.—(Exit Servants.) By no means,—what?

Edm.
Persuade me to the murder of your lordship;
Seeing how loathly opposite I stood
To his unnatural purpose, in fell motion,
With his prepared sword, he charges home
My unprovided body, lanc'd mine arm:
But when he saw my best alarum'd spirits,
Bold in the quarrel's right, rous'd to the encounter,
Or whether frighted by the noise I made,
Full suddenly he fled.

Glo.
Let him fly far:
Not in this land shall he remain uncaught.
The noble duke my master, comes to-night:
By his authority I will proclaim it,
That he, which finds him, shall deserve our thanks;
He, that conceals him, death. [Trumpets within.
Hark, the duke's trumpets! I know not why he comes!—
All ports I'll bar; the villain shall not 'scape;
The duke must grant me that: and of my land,
Loyal and natural boy, I'll work the means
To make thee capable.^{4 note}

Enter Cornwall, Regan, and Attendants.

Corn.
How now, my noble friend; since I came hither,
(Which I can call but now), I have heard strange news.

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

Glo.
O, lady, lady, shame would have it hid!
Edmund bewray'd his practice,^{5 note} and receiv'd
This hurt you see, striving to apprehend him.

Corn.
Is he pursued?

Glo.
Ay, my good lord, he is.

Corn.
If he be taken, he shall never more
Be fear'd of doing harm.—For you, Edmund,
Whose virtuous obedience doth this instant
So much commend itself, you shall be ours.

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.
Our father he hath writ, so hath our sister,
Of differences, which I best thought it fit
To answer from our home;^{6 note} the several messengers
From hence attend despatch. Our good old friend,
Lay comforts to your bosom; and bestow
Your needful counsel to our business.

Glo.
I serve you, Madam:
Your graces are right welcome. [Exeunt. Enter Kent and Steward, severally.

Stew.

Good dawning to thee, friend: Art of the house?

Kent.

Ay.

Stew.

Where may we set our horses?

Kent.

I'the mire.

Stew.

Pr'ythee, if thou love me, tell me.

Kent.

I love thee not.

Stew.

Why, then I care not for thee.

Kent.

If I had thee elsewhere, I would make thee care for me.

Stew.

Why dost thou use me thus? I know thee not.

Kent.

Fellow, I know thee.

Stew.

What dost thou know me for?

Kent.

A slave; a rascal; a base, proud, shallow, beggarly knave; a lily-liver'd, superserviceable, finical rogue; one that art nothing but the composition of a knave, beggar, coward, and pandar; a cur whom I will beat into clamorous whining, if thou deny the least syllable of thy addition.^{7 note}

Stew.

Why what a monstrous fellow art thou, thus to rail on one, that is neither known of thee, nor knows thee.

Kent.

What a brazen-faced varlet art thou, to deny thou know'st me? Is it two days ago since I tripp'd up thy heels, and beat thee, before the king? Draw, you rogue: draw, you barber-monger,^{8 note} draw.

Stew.

Away; I have nothing to do with thee.

Kent.

Draw, you rascal: you come with letters against the king: Draw, you rogue, or I'll so carbonado your shanks: —Draw you rascal.

Stew.

Help, oh! murder! help!

Kent.

Strike, you slave; stand, rogue, stand.

Stew.

Help, oh! murder! murder!

Edm.
How now? What's the matter? Part.

Corn.
Keep peace, upon your lives;
He dies, that strikes again: What is 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 bestirr'd your valour. You cowardly rascal, nature disclaims in thee; a tailor made thee.

Corn.
Speak yet, how grew your quarrel?

Stew.
This ancient ruffian, Sir, whose life I have spar'd,
At suit of his grey hairs.—

Kent.

My lord, if you will give me leave, I will tread this unbolted villain^{9 note} into mortar.—Spare my grey hairs, you wagtail?

Corn.
Peace, sirrah!
Know you no reverence?

Kent.
Yes, Sir; but anger has a privilege.

Corn.
Why art thou angry?

Kent.
That such a knave as this should wear a sword,
Who wears no honesty.

Corn.
Why dost thou call him knave? What's his offence?

Kent.
His countenance likes me not.

Corn.
No more, perchance, does mine, or his, or hers.

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

Corn.
This is some fellow,
Who, having been praised for bluntness, doth affect
A saucy roughness.
What was the offence you gave him?

Stew.
Never any.
It pleas'd the king his master, very late,
To strike at me, upon his misconstruction;
When he, thus flattering his displeasure,
Tripp'd me behind; being down, insulted, rail'd,
And put upon him such a deal of man,
That worthy'd him, got praises of the king
For him attempting who was self-subdued,
And, in the fleshment^{10 note} of this dread exploit,

Drew on me here.

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

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

Corn.
Fetch forth the stocks:—
As I've life and honour, there shall he sit till noon.

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

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

Reg.
Sir, being his knave, I will. [Stocks brought out.^{11 note}

Glo.
Let me beseech your grace not to do so:
The king must take it ill,
That he's 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.
To have her gentleman abus'd, assaulted,
For following her affairs. [Kent is put in the stocks.
Come, my good lord; away. [Exeunt Regan and Cornwall.

Glo.
I am sorry for thee, friend; 'tis the duke's pleasure.
I'll entreat for thee.

Kent.
Pray do not, Sir: I have watch'd and travell'd hard;
Some time I shall sleep out, the rest I'll whistle.

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

Kent.
Good king, that must approve the common saw!^{12 note}
Thou out of heaven's benediction com'st
To the warm sun.

Approach, thou beacon to this under globe,
That by thy comfortable beams I may
Peruse this letter!—I know, 'tis from Cordelia;
Who hath most fortunately been inform'd
Of my obscured course; and shall find time
From this enormous state,—seeking to give
Losses their remedies.^{13 note} All weary and o'erwatch'd,
Take vantage, heavy eyes, not to behold
This shameful lodging.
Fortune, good night; smile once more; turn thy wheel! [He sleeps. Scene II. —A PART OF THE HEATH. Enter Edgar.

Edg.
I 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. While I may scape,
I will preserve myself: and am bethought
To take the basest and most poorest shape,
That ever penury, in contempt of man,
Brought near to beast: my face I'll grime with filth;
Blanket my loins; elf all my hair in knots;^{14 note}
And with presented nakedness out-face
The winds, and persecutions of the sky.
The country gives me proof and precedent
Of Bedlam beggars,(B)8Q0096 who, with roaring voices,
Strike in their numb'd and mortified bare arms

Pins, sharp skewers, nails, sprigs of rosemary;
And with this horrible object, from low farms,
Poor pelting^{15 note} villages, sheep-cotes, and mills,
Sometime with lunatic bans,^{16 note} sometime with prayers,
Enforce their charity.—Poor Turlygood!(C)8Q0097 poor Tom!
That's something yet; Edgar I nothing am.^{17 note} [Exit. Scene III. —GLOSTER'S CASTLE, AS BEFORE. Enter Lear, Fool, and Gentleman.

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

Gent.
As I learn'd,
The night before there was no purpose in them
Of this remove.

Fool.

Nuncle, can'st tell how an oyster makes his shell?

Lear.

No. Ah, I did her wrong!—^{18 note}

Fool.

Nor I either; but I can tell why a snail has a house.

Lear.

Why?

Fool.

Why, to put his head in; not to give it away to his daughters.

Lear.

I will forget my nature. So kind a father!

Fool.

If thou wert my fool, nuncle, I would have thee beaten for being old before thy time.

Lear.

How's that?

Fool.

Thou should'st not have been old, before thou had'st been wise.

Lear.
O, let me not be mad—not mad—sweet Heaven!
Keep me in temper; I would not be mad!

Kent.
Hail to thee, noble master!

Lear.
How!
Mak'st thou this shame thy pastime?

Kent.
No, my lord.

Fool.
Ha, ha; look! he wears cruel garters!

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.
No, no; they would not

Kent.
Yes, they have.

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
Thou 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 show'd
My duty kneeling, came there a reeking post.
Stew'd in his haste, half breathless, panting forth
From Goneril his mistress, salutations;
Deliver'd letters, on whose contents,
They straight 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 that of late
Display'd so saucily against your highness,)
Having more man than wit about me, drew;
He rais'd the house with loud and coward cries:
Your son and daughter found this trespass worth
The shame which here it suffers.

Fool.

Winter's not gone yet, if the wild geese fly that way.^{19 note}

(Singing.)
Fathers, that wear rags,
  Do make their children blind;
But father's, that bear bags,
  Shall see their children kind.

Lear.
O, how this mother(D)8Q0098 swells up toward my heart!
Hysterica passio! down, thou climbing sorrow,
Thy element's below!—Where is this daughter?

Kent.
With the earl, Sir, here within.

Lear.
Follow me not;
Stay here. [Exit.

Kent.
How chance the king comes with so small a train?

Fool.

An thou hadst been set i'the stocks for that question, thou hadst well deserved it.

(Singing.)
That, Sir, which serves and seeks for gain,
  And follows but for form,
Will pack, when it begins to rain,
  And leave thee in the storm.

Kent.
Where learn'd you this, fool?

Fool.
Not i'the stocks, fool. Re-enter Lear, with Gloster.

Lear.
Deny to speak with me? They are sick? they are weary?
They have travell'd hard to-night? Mere fetches;
Bring me a better answer.

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

Lear.
Vengeance! plague! death! confusion!—
Fiery? what quality? Why, Gloster, 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
Would 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—
No, but not yet:—may be, he is not well:
Infirmity doth still neglect all office,
Whereto our health is bound; we are not ourselves,
When nature, being oppress'd, commands the mind
To suffer with the body: I'll forbear;
And am fallen out with my more headier will,
To take the indispos'd and sickly fit
For the sound man.—Death on my state! wherefore [Looking on Kent.
Should he sit here? This act persuades me,
That this remotion^{20 note} of the duke and her
Is practice only.^{21 note} Give me my servant forth:
Go, tell the duke and his wife, I'd speak with them,
Now, presently: bid them come forth and hear me,
Or at the chamber door I'll beat the drum,
Till it cry, Sleep to death.^{22 note}

Enter Cornwall, Regan, Gloster, and Servants.
Good morrow to you both.

Corn.
Hail to your grace! [Kent is set at liberty.

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 should'st not be glad,
I would divorce me from thy mother's tomb,
Sepulch'ring an adultress. Beloved Regan,

Thy sister's naught: O Regan, she hath tied
Sharp-tooth'd unkindness, like a vulture, here;— [Points to his heart.
I can scarce speak to thee.

Reg.
I pray you, Sir, take patience; I have hope,
You less know how to value her desert,
Than she to scant her duty.^{23 note}

Lear.
Say, how is that?

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

Lear.
My curses on her!

Reg.
O, Sir, you are old;
You should be rul'd, and led
By some discretion, that discerns your state
Better than you yourself. Therefore, I pray you
That to our sister you do make return;
Say, you have wrong'd her.

Lear.
Ask her forgiveness?
Do you but mark how this becomes the house:^{24 note}
Dear daughter, I confess that I am old;
Age is unnecessary: on my knees I beg [Kneeling.
That you'll vouchsafe me raiment, bed, and food.

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

Lear (rising).
Never, Regan:
She hath abated me of half my train;
Look'd black upon me; struck me with her tongue,
Most serpent-like, upon the very heart:—
All the stor'd vengeances of heaven fall
On her ingrateful top! Strike her young bones,
You taking airs, with lameness!

Reg.
O the blest gods!
So will you wish on me, when the rash mood's on.

Lear.
No, Regan, thou shalt never have my curse;
Thy tender-hested nature^{25 note} shall not give
Thee o'er to harshness: thou better knowest
The offices of nature, bond of childhood,
Effects of courtesy, dues of gratitude;
Thy half o' the kingdom has thou not forgot,
Wherein I thee endow'd.

Reg.
Good Sir, to the purpose. [Trumpets without.

Lear.
Who put my man i' the stocks?

Corn.
What trumpet's that? Enter Steward.

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

Lear.
This slave again?
Out, varlet, from my sight!

Corn.
What means your grace?

Lear.
Who stock'd my servant? Regan, I have good hope
Thou didst not know of't.—Who comes here? O heavens, Enter Goneril, attended.
If you do love old men, if your sweet sway
Allow^{26 note} obedience, if yourselves are old,
Make it your cause; send down, and take my part!—
Art not asham'd to look upon this beard? [To Goneril.
O, Regan, wilt thou take her by the hand?

Gon.
Why not by the hand, Sir? How have I offended?
All's not offence that indiscretion finds,^{27 note}
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 am 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 choose
To wage^{28 note} against the enmity o' the air;
To be a comrade with the wolf, and howl
Necessity's sharp pinch.

Gon.
At you choice, Sir.

Lear.
I pr'ythee, daughter, do not make me mad;
I will not trouble thee, my child; farewell:
We'll no more meet, no more see one another.
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.

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

Lear.
Is this well spoke now?

Reg.
What, fifty followers?
Is it not well? What should you need of more?
Yea, or so many?

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 you,
We could control them: If you will come to me
(For now I spy a danger), I entreat you
To bring but five and twenty; to no more
Will I give place or notice.

Lear.
I gave you all—

Reg.
And in good time you gave it.

Gon.
Hear me, my lord;
What need you five and twenty, ten, or five,

To follow in a house, where twice so many
Have a command to tend you?

Reg.
What need one?

Lear.
O, reason not the need: our basest beggars
Are in the poorest things superfluous:
Allow not nature more than nature needs,
Man's life is cheap as beast's. But for true need,
You heavens, give me that patience, patience 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 unnatural 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; but this heart
Shall break into a hundred thousand flaws,^{29 note}
Or ere I'll weep:—O, fool, I shall go mad! [Exeunt Lear, Kent, and Fool. Storm heard at a distance. END OF ACT SECOND.

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