Introductory matter
REMARKS.
King Lear is, beyond all comparison, the most affecting tragedy
that is to be found in any language. A father, in blind confidence,
giving up all to his children—those children requiting his parental
kindness with scorn and ingratitude, rebelling against him, turning
him out to the wild tempest, to desolation and madness,—present a
picture so superhuman and appalling, that nature shrinks from the
contemplation of it. Yet Shakspeare, in the conduct of this drama,
has displayed such wonderful art, that nothing seems overstrained:
the effects, however shocking to humanity, result as naturally from
their causes, as in the ordinary affairs of life. The madness of Lear
is inevitable, since, after such bitter provocation, it was impossible
that reason could any longer hold her seat in a mind so formed of
passion and sensibility.
If it be true, with regard to human calamity, that—
“He best can paint it who has felt it most,”
What shall we say to the madness of Lear, depicted as it is with the
utmost grandeur of thought and expression, but that, as every passion
of the soul was familiar to Shakspeare, the most mysterious
and terrible of them all had engaged his deepest contemplation?
And, whether we consider the ungovernable violence of the unhappy
king, in the banishment of Cordelia, and of the faithful Kent; his
credulous fondness in giving up all to his daughters, and relying upon
their duty and affection for the support and comfort of his old age; his
rage and disappointment at finding himself deceived; his bitter imprecations
on their ingratitude; his remorse for the ill treatment of
her, whose only fault was her sincerity; his madness and death, with
all their accompanying horrors—a more overwhelming picture of human
misery never harrowed up the feelings or crushed the heart.
The prominent feature in the disposition of Lear—a feature characteristic
of the rude age in which he is supposed to reign—is impetuosity.
If he is quick in his affections, he is no less so in his resentments.
He is alive to the slightest show of neglect. In the scene
where Oswald enters singing, and the physician reminds him that he
is entertained with slender ceremony, he replies—
“Say'st thou so?
Thou but remember'st me of mine own conception.”
And, when the ingratitude of Goneril first discovers itself in abating
him of half of his train, the dreadful truth bursts full upon his
mind, and he exclaims, in an agony of rage and disappointment,—
“Darkness and devils!
Saddle my horses, call my train together.
Degenerate viper! I'll not stay with thee.”
In the subsequent scene before the Earl of Gloster's castle, fresh indignities
wait the unhappy king. He discovers his man in the
stocks, a sight which swells the spleen upward to his heart. He is
then reminded of the fiery quality of the duke, at which he loses all
patience, and retorts—
“My breath and blood!
Fiery? the fiery duke? Tell the hot duke”—
The goodness of his nature, however, instantly returns, and he adds—
“No, but not yet; may be, he is not well;
I beg his pardon, and I'll chide my rashness
-- 6 --
That took the indispos'd and sickly fit
For the sound man.”
Affronts now follow each other in such rapid succession, he is alternately
reproved and browbeaten by his disobedient children. He
is asked by Goneril—
“What need you five-and-twenty, ten, or five,
To follow in a house?”
When Regan consummates all, by rejoining—
“What need one?”
From this moment he loses all power of self-possession, and
abandons himself to despair; yet, even in this pitiable state of helplessness
and old age, does he threaten his unnatural offspring with
future vengeance:—
“I will do such things,—
What they are, yet I know not; but they shall be
The terrors of the earth.’
Till, borne down with unutterable anguish, he rushes out with an exclamation
prophetic of the heart-rending scene that immediately follows:—
“O, gods, I shall go mad!”
The scene where Lear is turned out in the storm, defies all powers
of description. We can feel the force of the poet's genius, even to
agony: but we must inherit a portion of that genius, ere we can describe
what we feel. Here are no supernatural agents called forth to
deepen the horror of the scene—no furies weaving the web of fate.
No—
“Iron sleet of arrowy shower
Hurtling through the darken'd air.”
But a dethroned monarch, an unhappy father, in the simple grandeur
of unparalleled misery, invoking those “servile ministers,” the elements,
to pour down their extremest vengeance upon his head:—
“You sulph'rous and thought executing fires,
Vaunt couriers to oak-cleaving thunberbolts,
Singe my white head.”
Here we make a stand, and call upon the genius of every age and
nation to produce a parallel to this scene. The most affecting image
in all antiquity is Priam supplicating Achilles for the dead body of
Hector. But Lear, wandering over the barren heath, amidst storm
and tempest, with a broken heart, and a bewildered brain, is so
transcendantly sublime and awful, that antiquity must acknowledge
the supremacy of Shakspeare, and bow to the immortal. One of the
most painful of morbid sensations is the pressure of one idea upon
the mind: it absorbs every other feeling, and finds in objects the
most opposite and dissimilar some sad resemblance. Hence, amidst
the wild uproar of the elements, Lear remembers but the unkindness
of his children. The tempest above, is lost in that which rages within
his bosom. Every scene calls forth some fresh image of perfidy and
ingratitude. In his distraction, he fancies himself standing on the
threshold of his palace, and his domestic favourites opposing his entrance
by their clamour:—
“The little dogs and all, Tray, Blanch, and Sweetheart,—see, they bark at me.”
To this, remorse for his unjust treatment of Cordelia adds an additional
pang. His anguish is divided between the remembrance of
his daughters' inhumanity and his own.
-- 7 --
The scenes where Lear and Edgar encounter each other, are full of
power and imagination. The ravings of assumed madness are rich
in wildness of thought and luxuriance of fancy: the pathetic aberrations
of a disordered mind, ever recurring to its own misery, are depicted
with a truth that renders the contrast wonderfully impressive.
Edgar wanders from subject to subject, from image to image; every
object in the material and immaterial world—things most foul,
strange, and unnatural, are called forth with a facility that is any
thing but akin to madness. Lear never for one moment wanders
from his misfortunes. Thus, when he first beholds Edgar, he exclaims,—
“What, have his daughters brought him to this pass!”
And when Kent replies—
“He has no daughter, sir,”
He passionately retorts—
“Death! Traitor, nothing could have subdu'd nature
To such lowness, but his unkind daughters.”
Every exclamation bears some affinity to filial ingratitude. At one
moment he anticipates vengeance—
“Right, ha! ha! Was it not pleasant to have a thousand with redhot
Spits come hissing in upon them.”
At another, he fancies that vengeance completed, and exclaims
with a ferocity that makes the blood run cold:—
“You say right; let 'em anatomize Regan, see what breeds about her heart.”
The death of Lear realizes all that can be imagined of human woe.
Any future poet who shall carry distress beyond this, may claim even
a prouder laurel than Shakspeare.
The singularly wild and grotesque character assumed by Edgar, is
that of a Turlupin, or Turlygood, or Bedlam Beggar, one of a
fraternity of itinerant rogues who obtained alms by practising the gesticulations
of madmen, in the dark ages of superstition. Mr. Douce
remarks, that the Turlupins were a fanatical sect, that overrun
France, Italy, and Germany, in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries;
and that their subsequent appellation of the fraternity of poor
men may be the reason why these Bedlam Beggars (one of which
Edgar personates) have obtained the name of Turlupins. We have a
very curious description of them in Decker's Bellman of London,
1616; where they are denominated, Tom of Bedlam's Band of
Madcaps, or Poor Tom's Flock of Wild Geese; the latter are
also called Abraham Men. The character is supported by Shakspeare
with much picturesque effect, and draws from Lear those fine
reflections on the instability and worthlessness of human grandeur.
Cordelia is a pattern of all that is amiable in woman: she has
truth, gentleness, and courage. It might have been more satisfactory
to the lovers of poetical justice, if she had survived triumphantly to
replace her father on his throne. It had saved succeeding ages many
convulsive sobs, many heart-breaking throes. With our estimate of
life, feeling that the balance of good is against us, we regard this affecting
drama as one of those wholesome contemplations that softens
and corrects the human heart. The story of Lear belongs to a very
early period of British history, the particulars of which are related
by Hollingshead. It is to be found in the French Romance, entitled
Percesorest; and in the unpublished Latin Gesta Romanorum
-- 8 --
in the Harleian Collection. It also occurs in Caxton's Chronicle, of
1480. Shakespeare produced his tragedy in 1604 or 1605. The first
edition of it was printed by Nathaniel Butter, in the year 1608.* note
It is not on record who was the original representative of Lear.
Nor do we know what succeeding actor rendered himself celebrated
in the character, until Garrick drew the tears of the town. Henderson
played it contemporary with Garrick, and almost divided the
critics. By the death of Henderson, this tragedy remained lost to the
stage, until an actor arose who carried the glory of Shakspeare beyond
any preceding effort.
Kemble's Lear was a study for Michael Angelo—the Lady Macbeth
of Siddons was not a more awful impersonation. His figure,
countenance, and manner, all conspired to give truth to the resemblance.
His angry impatience,—“The fiery duke;” his incredulity,—
“Does Lear walk thus? Speak thus?” His bitter irony,—“Dear
daughter, I confess that I am old.” Who but remembers Kemble's
look and voice when he uttered these heart-breaking words—
“I gave you all!”
But the climax of all acting was the curse upon Goneril. On his
knees, bare-headed, his white locks streaming like a meteor to the
troubled air; with heaven-ward eye, quivering lip, and hands
clasped together in convulsive agony, he pronounced that terrible
curse. In this instance, the actor almost divided the crown with the
poet. The daring presumption that marred this glorious drama, deprived
us of Mr. Kemble's exertions in the scene where Lear enters
bearing in the dead body of Cordelia. What this would have been
in the hands of such an actor, we can only anticipate. But we
deeply regret that Mr. Kemble's correct taste did not brush away this
vile interpolation, and restore the original text of Shakspeare.
Cooke gave the more unamiable parts of Lear's character with
great effect; but he lost much of the tenderness, and all the dignity.
Young plays it with his voice completely in falsetto. He wants the
plaintive tremulous tones of Kemble. Kean is, in truth—
“A very foolish fond old man;”
But he is not—
“Ev'ry inch a king.”
With what grandeur and pathos did Kemble pronounce these lines,—
“The king would speak with Cornwall; the dear father
Would with his daughter speak, commands her service.”
Mr. Kean's dying scene (for, to his credit be it spoken, he plays the
character nearly as Shakspeare wrote it), though somewhat deficient
in power, is deeply affecting. We felt, when the curtain fell, as if we
were relieved from some dreadful calamity, so strongly did his dying
looks and agonising tones impress us when he faintly exclaimed,—
“Pray you undo this button. Thank you, sir.
Do you see this? Look on her—look—her lips—
Look there—look there!”
Mr. Charles Kemble was perfect in Edgar. The assumed maniac,
like Caliban, is an imaginary being—wholly out of nature, and therefore
not subject to dramatic rules. As Shakspeare trusted to his imagination
to conceive, so must the actor to represent, this singularly
wild and romantic creature of poetic fancy. Mr. Charles Kemble's
appearance was highly picturesque: he was a figure that Salvator
Rosa would have delighted to contemplate.
-- 9 --
Costume.
KING LEAR.—First dress.—Richly embroidered Saxon
tunic and cap of crimson velvet, flesh-coloured arms, legs,
and sandals.—Second dress.—Black
DUKE OF BURGUNDY.—Yellow Saxon tunic crimson
robe and cap, flesh-coloured arms, legs, and sandals.
DUKE OF CORNWALL.—Green tunic, scarlet robe
and cap, flesh-coloured arms, legs, and red sandals.
DUKE OF ALBANY.—Crimson tunic, brown robe and
cap, flesh-coloured arms, legs, and sandals.
DUKE OF GLOSTER.—Brown tunic, blue robe and
cap, flesh-coloured arms, legs, and sandals.
DUKE OF KENT.—Crimson tunic, brown robe and cap,
flesh-coloured arms, legs, and sandals.—Second dress.—Drab-coloured
tunic and cap.
EDGAR.—First dress.—White tunic, scarlet robe and
cap.—Second dress.—Green tunic, and robe of coarse white
baize.—Third dress.—Grey tunic and cap.—Fourth dress.—
Coat of mail, armour and helmet.
EDMUND.—Scarlet tunic, blue robe and cap.—Second
dress.—Steel chain armour, helmet, and red plume.
PHYSICIAN.—Brown tunic and robe, trimmed with
black.
OLD MAN.—Drab-coloured tunic and cap, flesh-coloured
arms and legs.
OSWALD.—White tunic, blue robe and cap, flesh-coloured
arms and legs.
CAPTAIN of the GUARD.—Scarlet tunic and cap,
flesh-coloured arms and legs.
PAGE to GONERIL.—White tunic, scarlet robe, and
white cap.
PAGE to REGAN.—Blue tunic, scarlet robe, and blue
cap.
GONERIL.—White muslin dress, trimmed with gold,
scarlet cloth robe, trimmed with gold, tiara for the head,
flesh-coloured stockings and red sandals.
REGAN.—White muslin dress, trimmed with silver, and
clasped together with metal clasps in front, fawn cloth robe,
tiara for the head, flesh-coloured stockings, and russet
sandals.
CORDELIA.—First dress.—White kerseymere dress and
drapery, trimmed with scarlet velvet and gold lace, fastened
in front with metal clasps, tiara for the head, flesh-coloured
stockings and sandals.—Second dress.—White muslin dress,
-- x --
grey mantle, trimmed, black ditto, handkerchief for the head.
—Third dress.—White drapery.
ARANTHE.—Brown cloth dress, clasped together with
metal clasps, fawn coloured mantle, bound with black.
ATTENDANTS.—White dress cloth robes, flesh-coloured
stockings, and russet sandals.
Castlist
Cast of Characters at the Theatres Royal, London.
| Drury Lane, 1824, | Covent Garden, 1828. |
King Lear [Lear] | Mr. Kean. | Mr. Kean. |
| Duke of Burgundy | Mr. Mercer. | Mr. Norris. |
| Duke of Cornwall | Mr. Penley | Mr. Raymond. |
| Duke of Albany | Mr. Thompson. | Mr. Baker. |
Duke of Gloster [Earl of Gloucester] | Mr. Powell. | Mr. Egerton. |
Duke of Kent [Earl of Kent] | Mr. Terry. | Mr. Bartley. |
| Edgar | Mr. Wallack. | Mr. C. Kemble. |
| Edmund | Mr. Younge. | Mr. Deddear. |
| Oswald | Mr. Browne. | Mr. Farley. |
Captain of the Guard [Captain] | Mr. Howell. |
| Herald | Mr. Read. | Mr. Irwin. |
| Page to Goneril | Miss Smith |
| Page to Regan | Miss Carr. |
| Old Man | Mr. Gattie. | Mr. Turnour. |
Physician [Doctor] | Mr. Hughes. | Mr. Horebow. |
| Edward | Mr. Harrold. | Mr. Henry. |
| Officer | Mr. King. |
First Ruffian [Ruffian 1] | Mr. Randall. | Mr. Fuller. |
| Second Ruffian | Mr. Brady. | Mr. Crumpton. |
| Goneril | Miss Boyce. | Mrs. Vining |
| Regan | Mrs. Knight. | Mrs. Pindar. |
| Cordelia | Mrs. W. West, | Miss Jarman |
Aranthe [Arante] | Miss Phillips | Miss Henry. |
[Knight 2]
-- 11 --
KING LEAR.
ACT I.
SCENE I.
—An Antichamber in King Lear's Palace
Enter Edmund, R.
Edm. (C.)
Thou, Nature, art my goddess; to thy law
My services are bound: why am I then
Depriv'd of a son's right, because I came not
In the dull road that custom has prescrib'd?
Why bastard? Wherefore base? when I can boast
A mind as generous, and a shape as true
As honest madam's issue? Why are we
Held base, who in the lusty stealth of Nature
Take fiercer qualities than what compound
The scanted births of the stale marriage-bed?
Well, then, legitimate Edgar, to thy right
Of law I will oppose a bastard's cunning.
Our father's love is to the bastard Edmund
As to legitimate Edgar; with success
I've practis'd yet on both their easy natures.
Here comes the old man, chaf'd with the information
Which last I forg'd against my brother Edgar:
A tale so plausible, so boldly utter'd.
And heighten'd by such lucky accidents,
That now the slightest circumstance confirms him,
And base-born Edmund, spite of law, inherits.
Enter Gloster and Kent, L.
Glo.
Nay, good my lord, your charity
O'ershoots itself, to plead in his behalf;
You are yourself a father, and may feel
The sting of disobedience from a son
First-born and best-belov'd.—O, villain Edgar!
Kent. (L.)
Be not too rash; all may be forgery,
And time yet clear the duty of your son.
-- 12 --
Glo. (C.)
Plead with the seas, and reason down the winds,
Yet shalt thou ne'er convince me: I have seen
His foul designs through all a father's fondness.
Edm. [Aside.]
It works as I could wish; I'll shew myself.
[Advances.
Glo.
Ha, [Crossing to Edmund, R.] Edmund! welcome, boy.—O, Kent! see here
Inverted nature, Gloster's shame and glory:
This bye-born, the wild sally of my youth,
Pursues me with all filial offices;
Whilst Edgar, begged of heaven, and born in honour,
Draws plagues upon my head, that urge me still
To curse in age the pleasure of my youth.
Nay, weep not, Edmund, for thy brother's crimes.
O gen'rous boy! thou shar'st but half his blood,
Yet lov'st beyond the kindness of a brother:
But I'll reward thy virtue. Follow me.
My lord, you wait the king, who comes resolv'd
To quit the toils of empire, and divide
His realms amongst his daughters. Heaven succeed it!
But much I fear the change.
Kent.
I grieve to see him
With such wild starts of passion hourly seiz'd
As render majesty beneath itself.
Glo.
Alas! 'tis the infirmity of his age:
Yet has his temper ever been unfixt,
Chol'ric, and sudden.
[Flourish of Trumpets and Drums, R.
Hark, they approach.
[Flourish.—Exeunt, R.
Enter Cordelia, L. Edgar following.
Edg.
Cordelia, royal fair, turn yet once more,
And, ere successful Burgundy receive
The treasure of thy beauties from the king,
Ere happy Burgundy for ever fold thee,
Cast back one pitying look on wretched Edgar.
Cord.
Alas! what would the wretched Edgar with
The more unfortunate Cordelia?
Who, in obedience to a father's will,
Flies from her Edgar's arms to Burgundy's.
[Flourish continues till the Scene changes.—Exeunt Cordelia, R. and Edgar, L.
-- 13 --
SCENE II.
—A Room of State in the Palace.—Flourish of Drums and Trumpets, R.
King Lear seated upon his Throne, Albany, Cornwall,
Burgundy, Kent, Gloster, Goneril, Regan, Cordelia,
Captain of the Guard, three Knights, two Pages,
two Gentlemen with the Map, two Gentlemen with the
Crown, Physician, Herald, Banners, and Guards, Lords,
Ladies, &c. discovered.
Lear. (C.)
Attend, my lords of Albany and Cornwall,
With princely Burgundy.
Alb. (L. C.)
We do, my liege.
Lear.
Give me the map.
[The Gentleman who holds the Map, L. advances a little, and unrolls it.
Know, lords, we have divided
In three our kingdom, having now resolv'd
To disengage from our long toil of state,
Conferring all upon your younger years.
You, Burgundy, Cornwall, and Albany,
Long in our court have made your amorous sojourn,
And now are to be answered. Tell me, my daughters,
Which of you loves us most, that we may place
Our largest bounty with the largest merit.
Goneril, our eldest born, speak first.
Gon. (R. C.)
Sir, I do love you more than words can utter
Beyond what can be valu'd rich or rare;
Nor liberty, nor sight, health, fame, or beauty,
Are half so dear; my life for you were vile;
As much as child can love the best of fathers.
Lear.
Of all these bounds, e'en from this line to this,
With shady forests, and wide skirted meads,
We make thee lady; to thine and Albany's issue
Be this perpetual.—What says our second daughter,
Regan, wife to Cornwall?
Reg. (R. C.)
My sister, sir, in part, exprest my love;
For such as her's, is mine, though more extended:
Sense has no other joy that I can relish;
I have my all in my dear liege's love.
Lear.
Therefore, to thee and thine hereditary,
Remain this ample third of our fair kingdom.
Cord. (R.)
Now comes my trial. How am I distrest,
That must with cold speech tempt the chol'ric king
-- 14 --
Rather to leave me dowerless, than condemn me
To Burgundy's embraces.
[Aside.
[While Cordelia, is speaking, Lear, assisted by Kent
and Gloster, descends from the Throne, and comes
forward C; Kent goes below Burgundy, L. and Gloster
remains at Lear's R.
Lear.
Speak now, our last, not least in our dear love—
So ends my task of state—Cordelia, speak;
What canst thou say to win a richer third,
Than what thy sisters gained?
Cor.
Now must my love, in words, fall short of their's,
As much as it exceeds in truth. [Aside.] Nothing, my lord.
Lear.
Nothing?
Cor.
Nothing.
Lear.
Nothing can come of nothing; speak again.
Cor.
Unhappy am I that I can't dissemble:
Sir, as I ought, I love your majesty.
No more, nor less.
Lear.
Take heed, Cordelia;
Thy fortunes are at stake; think better on't,
And mend thy speech a little.
Cor. (R.)
O, my liege?
You gave me being, bred me, dearly loved me,
And I return my duty as I ought,
Obey you, love you, and most honour you.
Why have my sisters husbands, if they love you all?
Haply when I shall wed, the lord, whose hand
Shall take my plight, will carry half my love;
For I shall never marry like my sisters,
To love my father all.
Lear. (C.)
And goes thy heart with this?
'Tis said that I am chol'ric. Judge me, gods,
Is there not cause? Now, minion, I perceive
The truth of what has been suggested to us,
Thy fondness for the rebel son of Gloster.
And oh! take heed, rash girl, lest we comply
With thy fond wishes, which thou wilt too late
Repent; for know, our nature cannot brook
A child so young, and so ungentle.
Cor.
So young, my lord, and true.
Lear.
Thy truth then be thy dower:
For, by the sacred Sun, and solemn Night,
I here disclaim all my paternal care,
-- 15 --
And from this minute hold thee as a stranger
Both to my blood and favour.
Kent. (L.)
This is frenzy.
Consider, good my liege—
Lear.
Peace, Kent!
Come not between a dragon and his rage.
I lov'd her most, and in her tender trust
Design'd to have bestow'd mine age at ease.
So be my grave my peace, as here I give
My heart from her, and with it all my wealth!
[The Gentleman who holds the Crown advances from R. to R. C.
My lords of Cornwall and of Albany,
I do invest you jointly with full right
In this fair third, Cordelia's forfeit dow'r.
Mark me, my lords, observe our last resolve;
Our self, attended by an hundred knights,
Will make abode with you in monthly course;
The name alone of king remain with me,
Yours be the execution and revenues.
This is our final will; and to confirm it,
This coronet part between you.
Kent. [Kneels.]
Royal Lear,
Whom I have ever honour'd as my king,
Lov'd as my father, as my master follow'd,
And, as my patron thought on in my pray'rs—
Lear.
Away! the bow is bent, make from the shaft.
Kent. [Rises.]
No, let it fall and drench within my heart:
Be Kent unmannerly when Lear is mad;
Thy youngest daughter—
Lear.
On thy life no more.
Kent.
What wilt thou do, old man?
Lear.
Out of my sight.
Kent.
See better first.
Lear.
Now, by the gods—
Kent.
Now, by the gods, rash king, thou swear'st in vain.
[Lear, attempting to draw his sword, is prevented by
Albany and Gloster, who advance and stay his arm.
Lear.
Ha, traitor!
Kent.
Do, kill thy physician, Lear;
Strike thro' my throat; yet with my latest breath
I'll thunder in thine ear my just complaint
And tell thee to thy face that thou dost ill.
-- 16 --
Lear.
Hear me, rash man, on thine allegiance hear me;
[Sheathes his sword; Albany and Gloster retire to their former places.
Since thou hast striven to make us break our vow,
And prest between our sentence and our pow'r,
Which nor our nature, nor our place can bear,
We banish thee for ever from our sight
And kingdom: If, when three days are expir'd,
Thy hated trunk be found in our dominions,
That moment is thy death. Away!
[Turns from Kent; and confers with Goneril, Regan, Albany, and Cornwall.
Kent. (L.)
Why, fare thee well, king; since thou art resolv'd,
I take thee at thy word; I will not stay
To see thy fall. The gods protect thee, maid,
That truly thinks, and hast most justly said.
Thus to new climates my old truth I bear;
Friendship lives hence, and banishment is here.
[Exit, L.
Lear.
Now, Burgundy, you see her price is fall'n;
Yet, if the fondness of your passion still
Affect her as she stands, dow'rless, and lost
In our esteem, she's yours: take her, or leave her.
Bur.
Pardon me, royal Lear, I but demand
The dow'r yourself propos'd, and here I take
Cordelia by the hand, Duchess of Burgundy.
Lear.
Then leave her, sir; for, by a father's rage,
I tell you all her wealth.
[Cordelia throws herself at his feet.
Away! Away! Away!
[Flourish of Trumpets, &c.—Exeunt all but Cordelia, L.
Enter Edgar, R. U. E. and raises Cordelia.
Edg. (C.)
Has heav'n then weigh'd the merit of my love,
Or is it the raving of a sickly thought?
Cou'd Burgundy forego so rich a prize,
And leave her to despairing Edgar's arms?
[Raises Cordelia, C.
Smile, Princess, and convince me; for, as yet,
I doubt, and dare not trust my dazzling joy.
Cord.
Some comfort yet, that 'twas no vicious blot
That has depriv'd me of a father's grace;
-- 17 --
But merely want of that that makes me rich
In wanting it; a smooth professing tongue,
O sisters? I am loath to call your fault
As it deserves; but use our father well,
And wrong'd Cordelia never shall repine.
Edg.
O heavenly maid! that art thyself thy dow'r,
Richer in virtue than the stars in light,
If Edgar's humble fortunes may be grac'd
With thy acceptance, at thy feet he lays 'em,
Ha! my Cordelia, dost thou turn away?
What have I done t' offend thee?
Cor.
Talk'd of love.
Edg.
Then I've offended oft; Cordelia too
Has oft permitted me so to offend.
Cor.
When Edgar I permitted your addresses,
I was the darling daughter of a king!
Nor can I now forget my royal birth,
And live dependent on my lover's fortune;
I cannot to so slow a fate submit;
And therefore study to forget your passion,
And trouble me upon this theme no more.
[Crosses to R.
Edg.
Thus majesty takes most state in distress.
How are we tost on Fortune's fickle flood!
The wave that with surprising kindness brought
The dear wreck to my arms, has snatch'd it back,
And left me mourning on the barren shore.
Cor.
This baseness of the ignoble Burgundy
Draws just suspicion on the race of men;
His love was int'rest, so may Edgar's be,
And he but with more compliment dissemble;
If so, I shall oblige him by denying;
But, if his love be fix'd, such constant flame
As warms my breast, if such I find his passion,
My heart as grateful to his truth shall be,
And cold Cordelia prove as kind as he.
[Exit R.
Enter Edmund, hastily, L.
Edm.
Brother, I've found you in a lucky minute;
Fly, and be safe: some villain has incens'd
Our father against your life.
Edg.
Distrest Cordelia!—but, oh, more cruel!
Edm.
Here me, sir; your life, your life's in danger.
'Wake, 'wake, sir.
Edg.
Say you, brother?—
-- 18 --
No tears, good Edmund; if thou bring'st me tidings
To strike me dead, for charity delay not;
That present will befit so kind a hand.
Edm.
Your danger, sir, comes on so fast,
That I want time t'inform you; but retire,
Whilst I take care to turn the pressing stream.
O Gods! for heaven's sake, sir—
Edg.
Pardon me, Edmund;
But you talk'd of danger,
And wish'd me to retire.—Must all our vows
End thus?—Friend, I obey you.—O, Cordelia!
[Exit, R.
Edm.
Ha! ha! Fond man! Such credulous honesty
Lessens the glory of my artifice,
His nature is so far from doing wrongs,
That he suspects none: [Takes out a Letter.] If this letter speed,
And pass for Edgar's, as himself would own
The counterfeit, but for the foul contents,
Then my designs are perfect.—Here comes Gloster.
[Attempts to conceal the letter.
Enter Gloster, L.
Glo.
Stay, Edmund, turn; what paper were you reading?
Edm.
A trifle, sir.
Glo.
What needed then that terrible despatch of it
Into your pocket? Come, produce it, sir.
Edm.
A letter from my brother, sir: I had
Just broke the seal, but know not the contents:
[Gives the Letter to Gloster.
Yet, fearing they might prove to blame,
Endeavour'd to conceal it from your sight.
Glo.
This is Edgar's character.
[Reads.]
—“This policy of father's is intolerable, that
keeps our fortunes from us till age will not suffer us to enjoy
them; I am weary of the tyranny. Come to me, that of this
I may speak more. If our father would sleep till I waked
him, you should enjoy half his possessions, and live belov'd
of your brother.”
Sleep till I wak'd him, you should enjoy
Half his possessions!—Edgar to write this
'Gainst his indulgent father! Death and hell!
[Crosses to R.
Fly, Edmund, seek him out; wind me into him,
-- 19 --
That I may bite the traitor's heart, and fold
His bleeding entrails on my vengeful arm.
Edm.
Perhaps 'twas writ, my lord, to prove my virtue.
Glo.
These late eclipses of the sun and moon
Can bode no less; love cools, and friendship fails;
In cities mutiny, in countries discord;
The bond of nature crack'd 'twixt son and father.—
Find out the villain! do it carefully,
And it shall lose thee nothing.
[Exit, R.
Edm.
So, now my projoct's firm; but, to make sure,
I'll throw in one proof more, and that a bold one;
I'll place old Gloster where he shall o'er-hear us
Confer of this design; whilst, to his thinking,
Deluded Edgar shall accuse himself.
Be honesty my int'rest, and I can
Be honest too; and what saint so divine,
That will successful villainy decline.
[Exit, R.
SCENE III.
—The Court before the Duke of Albany's Palace.
Enter Kent, disguised, R.
Kent.
Now, banish'd Kent, if thou can'st pay thy duty,
In this disguise, where thou dost stand condemn'd,
Thy master Lear shall find thee full of labours.
Enter King Lear, attended by his Physician, and three Knights, L.
Lear. (L.)
In there, and tell our daughter we are here.
[Exit First Knight, R.
Now what art thou?
Kent. (advancing, R.)
A man, sir.
Lear.
What dost thou profess, or would'st with us?
Kent.
I do profess to be no less than I seem, to serve him
truly that puts me in trust, to love him that's honest, to converse
with him that's wise and speaks little, to fight when I
can't choose, and to eat no fish.
Lear.
I say, what art thou?
Kent.
A very honest-hearted fellow, and as poor as the
king.
Lear.
If thou art as poor for a subject, as he is for a king,
thou art poor enough.—Dost thou know me, fellow?
-- 20 --
Kent.
No, sir, but you have that in your countenance,
which I would fain call master.
Lear.
What's that?
Kent.
Authority.
Lear.
What services can'st thou do!
Kent.
I can keep honest counsel, mar a curious tale in
the telling, deliver a plain message bluntly; that which
ordinary men are fit for, I am qualified in; and the best of
me, is diligence.
Lear.
How old art thou?
Kent.
Not so young, sir, to love a woman for singing;
nor so old, to dote on her for any thing; I have years on my
back forty-eight.
Lear.
Thy name?
Kent.
Caius.
Lear.
Follow me; thou shalt serve me.
[Kent goes to R. of the Second Knight.
Enter Oswald, L. singing, and passing King Lear carelessly.
Now, sir?
Osm.
Sir!—Tol de rol, &c.
[Exit singing, R.
Lear.
What says the fellow? call the clodpole back.
[Exeunt Kent and the Second Knight, R.
Physic. (L.)
My lord, I know not; but, methinks, your
highness is entertain'd with slender ceremony.
Lear.
Say'st thou so!
Thou but remember'st me of mine own conception.
Re-enter the Second Knight, R.
Why came not that slave back when I call'd him?
Second Knight. (R.)
My lord, he answer'd i' th' surliest
manner that he would not.
[Goes to his former place.
Lear. (L. C.)
I hope our daughter did not so instruct
him.
Enter Oswald brought in by Kent.
Now, who am I, sir?
Osw. (C.)
My lady's father.
Lear.
My lady's father! My lord's knave
[Strikes him.
Osw.
I'll not be struck, my lord.
-- 21 --
Kent.
Nor tript, neither, you vile civit-box.
[Trips up his heels.
Lear.
I thank thee fellow: thou serv'st me.
Kent.
Come, sir, arise, away; I'll teach you differences.
[Exit Oswald, crying out R. U. E.—Kent pursues him
with his staff till he is off and then returns to the Knights, L.
Gon. [Without, R.]
By day and night! this is insufferable;
I will not bear it.
Enter Goneril, R. U. E. attended by a Page and two Ladies.
Lear. (C.)
Now, daughter, why that frontlet on?
Speak, does that frown become our presence?
Gon. (R.)
Sir, this licentious insolence of your servants
Is most unseemly: hourly they break out
In quarrels, bred by their unbounded riots;
I had fair hope, by making this known to you,
To have had a quick redress; but find too late
That you protect and countenance their outrage;
And therefore, sir, I take this freedom, which
Necessity makes discreet.
Lear.
Are you our daughter?
Gon.
Come, sir, let me intreat you to make use
Of your discretion, and put off betimes
This disposition that of late transforms you
From what you rightly are.
Lear.
Does any here know me? Why, this is not Lear!
Does Lear walk thus? Speak thus? Where are his eyes?
Who is it that can tell me who I am?
Your name, fair gentlewoman?
Gon.
Come, sir, this admiration's much o'th' savour
Of other your new honours; I beseech you
To understand my purposes aright;
As you are old, you should be staid and wise:
Here do you keep an hundred knights and 'squires,
Men so debauch'd and bold, that this our palace
Shews like a riotous inn, a tavern, brothel:
Be then advis'd by her, that else will take
That which she begs, to lessen your attendants;
Take half away, and see that the remainder
Be such as may befit your age, and know
Themselves and you.
-- 22 --
Lear.
Darkness and devils!—
Saddle my horses, call my train together.
Degenerate viper! I'll not stay with thee;
I yet have left a daughter—Serpent! Monster!—
Lessen my train, and call 'em riotous!
All men approv'd, of choice and rarest parts,
That each particular of duty know.—
How small, Cordelia, was thy fault?—O, Lear,
Beat at this gate—[Strikes his head]—that let thy folly in,
And thy dear judgment out! Go, go, my people.
Enter Albany, R. U. E.
Ingrateful Duke!—Prepare my horses.—Was this your will?
Who stirs?
[Exit Third Knight, L.
Alb.
What, sir?
Lear.
Death! fifty of my followers at a clap!
Alb. [To Goneril.]
The matter, madam?
Gon.
Never afflict yourself to know the cause,
But give his dotage way.
Lear.
Blasts upon thee!
Th' untented woundings of a father's curse
Pierce every sense about thee!—Old fond eyes,
Beweep this cause again, I'll pluck ye out,
And cast ye, with the waters that ye lose,
To temper clay.—No, Gorgon; thou shalt find
That I'll resume the shape, which thou dost think
I have cast off for ever.
Gon. (R.)
Mark ye that?
Alb. (R. C.)
I'm ignorant—
Lear. (L.)
It may be so, my lord.—[Lear throws away his hat and staff as he falls on his knees.]—Hear Nature, hear;
Dear goddess, hear! Suspend thy purpose, if
Thou didst intend to make this creature fruitful!
Into her womb convey sterility!
Dry up in her the organs of increase;
That from her derogate body never spring
A babe to honour her—If she must teem,
Create her child of spleen; that it may live,
And be athwart disnatur'd torment to her!
Let it stamp wrinkles in her brow of youth;
With cadent tears fret channels in her cheeks;
Turn all her mother's pains, and benefits,
-- 23 --
To laughter and contempt; that she may feel,
How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is,
To have a thankless child! [Kent and the Physician raise the King; the First Knight takes up his hat and staff.] Away! away!
[Exeunt King Lear and his Attendants, L.—Albany, Goneril, and their Attendants, R.
END OF ACT I.
ACT II.
SCENE I.
—The Earl of Gloster's Castle.
Enter Edmund, L.
Edm. (L.)
The duke comes here to night; I'll take advantage
Of this arrival to complete my project.
[Knocks, C. D.
Brother, a word; come forth; it's I, your friend!
Enter Edgar, C. D.
My father watches for you, fly this place;
Intelligence is giv'n where you are hid!
Take the advantage of the night.—Bethink,
Have you not spoke against the Duke of Cornwall.
Something might shew you a favourer of
Duke Albany's party?
Edg. (R.)
Nothing; why ask you?
Edm. (L.)
Because he's coming here to-night in haste,
And Regan with him.
Edg.
Let him come on; I'll stay and clear myself.
Edm.
Your innocence at leisure may be heard,
But Gloster's storming rage as yet is deaf,
And you may perish ere allow'd the hearing.
[Gloster without, L.
This way, this way.
I hear our father coming—Pardon me:—
In cunning I must draw my sword upon you:—
Draw: seem to defend yourself; [They draw and fight.] now quit you well.
Yield: come before my father; help, ho, here!—
Fly, brother;—help, here, help!—Farewell, farewell.—
[Exit Edgar, R.
-- 24 --
Some blood drawn on me wou'd beget opinion
Of our more fierce encounter. I have seen
Drunkards do more than this in sport.
[Stabs himself in the arm.
Enter Gloster and two Servants, L. with torches.
Glo.
Now, Edmund, where's the traitor?
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!
[Wraps his arm up.
Glo.
Where is the villain, Edmund?
Edm.
Sir, he is fled. When by no means he could—
Glo.
By no means, what?
Edm.
Persuade me to the murder of your lordship;
But that I told him the revenging Gods
'Gainst parricides did all their thunders bend;
Spoke with how manifold and strong a bond
The child was bound to the father;—sir, in fine,
Seeing how loathly opposite I stood
To this 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 gasted by the noise I made,
Full suddenly he fled.
Glo.
Let him fly far, this kingdom shall not hide him.
The noble duke my partron comes to-night;
By his authority I will proclaim
Rewards for him that brings him to the stake,
And death for the concealer;
Then of my lands, loyal and natural boy,
I'll work the means to make thee capable.
[Exeunt, L.
SCENE II.
—The Gates of Gloster's Castle.
Enter Kent, R. in disguise, and Oswald, L.
Osw.
Good dawning to thee, friend; art of the house?
Kent.
Ask them will answer thee.
Osw.
Where may we set our horses?
Kent.
I'th' mire.
Osw
I am in haste, pr'ythee, an' thou lov'st me, tell me.
Kent.
I love thee not.
-- 25 --
Osw
Why then, I care not for thee.
Kent.
An I had thee in Lipsbury pinfold, I'd make thee
care for me.
Osw.
What dost thou mean? I know thee not.
Kent.
But, minion, I know thee.
Osw.
What dost thou know me for?
Kent.
For a base, proud, beggarly, white liver'd, glass-gazing,
super-serviceable, finical rogue; one that wou'd be a
a pimp in a way of good service, and art nothing but a composition
of knave, beggar, coward, pander—.
Osw.
What a monstrous fellow art thou, to rail at one that
is neither known of thee, nor knows thee?
Kent.
Impudent slave! not know me, who but two days
since, tript up thy heels before the king? Draw, miscreant,
or I'll make the moon shine through thee.
[Draws his sword.
Osw.
What means the fellow? I tell thee, I have nothing
to do with thee.
Kent.
Draw, you rascal. I know your rogueship's office;
you come with letters against the king, taking my young lady
Vanity's part against her royal father: Draw, rascal.
Osw.
Murder, murder, help.
[Exit Oswald, Kent following.
Flourish of Trumpets.
Enter Duke of Cornwall, Regan, Captain of the Guard,
Attendants, Gloster, and Edmund, from the Gates, L. C.
Glo.
All welcome to your graces, you do me honour.
Corn.
Gloster, we have heard with sorrow that you life
Has been attempted by your impious son.
But Edmund here has paid you strictest duty.
Glo.
He did bewray his practice, and receiv'd
The hurt you see, striving to apprehend him.
Corn.
Is he pursued!
Glo.
He is, my lord?
Reg.
Use our authority to apprehend
The traitor, and do justice on his head.
For you, Edmund, that have signaliz'd
Your virtue, you from henceforth shall be ours;
Natures of such firm trust we much shall need.
Corn.
Lay comfort, noble Gloster, to your breast,
As we to ours. This night be spent in revels.
We choose you, Gloster, for our host to-night,
A troublesome expression of our love.
On, to the sports before us! [Noise within, R.] Who are these?
-- 26 --
Enter Oswald, R. pursued by Kent. Oswald crying out
for help, crosses to L. The captain of the Guards stops
Kent, R. and retires up, R.
Glo. (C.)
Now, what's the matter?
Corn. (C.)
Keep peace, upon your lives; he dies that strikes.
Whence, and what are ye?
Reg.
The messengers from our sister and the king.
Corn.
Your difference? speak.
Osw. (L. C.)
I'm scarce in breath, my lord.
Kent.
No marvel, you have so bestir'd your valour.
Nature disclaims the dastard; a taylor made him.
Corn.
Speak yet, how grew your quarrel?
Osw.
Sir, this old ruffian here, whose life I spar'd
In pity to his beard—
Kent. (R.)
Thou essence bottle!
In pity to my beard!—Your leave, my lord,
And I will tread the musk cat into mortar.
Corn.
Know'st thou our presence?
Kent. (R. C.)
Yes, sir, but anger has a privilege.
Corn.
Why art thou angry?
Kent.
That such a slave as this should wear a sword,
And have no courage; office and no honesty;
Not frost and fire hold more antipathy
Than I and such a knave?
Glo.
Why dost thou call him knave?
Kent.
His countenance likes me not.
Corn.
No more, perhaps, does mine, nor his, or hers.
Kent.
Plain dealing is my trade; and, to be plain, sir,
I have seen better faces in my time,
Than stand on any shoulders now before me.
Reg. (L. C.)
This is some fellow, that having once been prais'd
For bluntness, affects a saucy rudeness:
But I have known one of these surly knaves,
That in his plainness harbour'd more design
Than twenty cringing complimenting minions.
Cor.
What's the offence you gave him?
Osw.
Never any, sir;
It pleas'd the king, his master, lately
To strike me on a slender misconstruction;
Whilst watching his advantage, this old lurcher
-- 27 --
Tript me behind, for which the king extoll'd him;
And, flush'd with the honour of this bold exploit,
Drew on me here again.
Corn.
The stocks! [Exeunt two Guards at the Gate.] we'll teach you.
Kent.
Sir, I am too old to learn;
I serve the king
On whose employment I was sent to you:
You'll shew too small respect, and too bold malice
Against the person of my royal master,
Stocking his messenger.
Re-enter two Guards with the Stocks and Seat, which they place R. of the Gates.
Corn.
As I have life and honour,
There shall he sit till noon.
[Guards seize Kent.
Reg,
Till noon, my lord! Till night, and all night too.
Kent.
Why madam, if I were your father's dog,
You would not use me so.
Reg.
Sir, being his knave, I will.
[Captain and Guards lead Kent away, and put him in the Stocks.
Glo.
Let me beseech your graces to forbear him;
His fault is much, and the good king, his master,
Will check him for't; but needs must take it ill
To be thus slighted in his messenger.
Gon.
We'll answer that;
Our sister may receive it worse to have
Her gentleman assaulted. To our business, lead.
[Flourish.—Exeunt all but Gloster and Oswald into the Castle, L.
Glo.
I am sorry for thee, friend; 'tis the duke's pleasure,
Whose disposition will not be controuled.
But I'll intreat 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:
Farewell t'ye, sir.
[Exit Gloster into the Castle, followed by Oswald.
Good king, that must approve the common saw!
Thou out of heaven's benediction com'st
To the warm sun—All weary and o'erwatch'd,
I feel the drowsy guest steal on me; take
Advantage, heavy eyes, of this kind slumber,
Not to behold this vile and shameful lodging.
[Sleeps.
-- 28 --
SCENE III.
—A Forest.
Enter Edgar, L. muffled up.
Edg.
I heard myself proclaim'd
And, by the friendly hollow of a tree,
Escap'd the hunt. No port is free, no place,
Where guards and most unusual vigilance
Do not attend to take me.—How easy now
'Twere to defeat the malice of my trial,
And leave my griefs on my swords reeking point:
But love detains me from death'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 blest minute yet may come,
When Edgar may do service to Cordelia?
That charming hope still ties me to the oar
Of painful life, and makes me too submit,
To th' humblest shifts to keep that life a-foot.
My face I will besmear, and knit my locks;
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, iron spikes, thorns, sprigs of rosemary:
And thus from sheep-cotes, villages and mills,
Sometimes with pray'rs, sometimes with lunatic bans,
Enforce their charity. Poor Turlygood! poor Tom!
That's something yet. Edgar I am no more.
[Exit, R.
SCENE IV.
—Before the Earl of Gloster's Castle.—
Kent discovered in the Stocks.—Flourish of Trumpets, L.
Enter King Lear and Physician, L. Knights, L S. E.
Lear.
'Tis strange, that they should so depart from home,
And not send back our messenger.
Kent.
Hail, noble master!
Lear. (C.)
How! mak'st thou this shame thy pastime!
What's he that has so much mistook thy place,
To set thee here?
Kent.
It is both he and she, sir; your son and daughter.
Lear.
No.
Kent.
Yes.
-- 29 --
Lear.
No, I say.
Kent.
I say, yea.
Lear.
They durst not do't
They could not, would not do't:
Resolve me with all modest haste, which way
Thou may'st deserve, or they impose this usage.
Kent.
My lord, when at their home
I did commend your highness' letters to them,
Ere I was ris'n, arriv'd another post,
Stew'd in his haste, breathless and panting forth
From Goneril, his mistress, salutations:
Whose message being deliver'd, they took horse,
Commanding me to follow, and attend
The leisure of their answer; which I did:
But meeting here that other messenger,
Whose welcome I perceiv'd had poison'd mine,
Being the very fellow that of late
Had shewn such rudeness to your highness, I,
Having more man than wit about me, drew;
On which he rais'd the house with coward cries:
This was the trespass, which your son and daughter
Thought worth the shame you see it suffer here.
Lear.
Oh! this spleen swells upwards to my heart,
And heaves for passage! Down, thou climbing rage,
Thy element's below. Where is this daughter?
Enter Gloster, from the Castle, R. he advances.
Kent.
Within, sir, at a masque.
Lear. (L.)
Now, Gloster?—Ha!
[Gloster whispers Lear.
Deny to speak with me? Th'are sick, th'are weary,
They've travell'd hard to-night?—Mere fetches, sir;
Bring me a better answer.
Glo. (L.)
My dear lord.
You know the fiery quality of the duke—
Lear.
Vengeance! death! plague! confusion!
Fiery?—What quality?—Why, Gloster, Gloster,
I'd speak with the Duke of Cornwall and his wife.
Glost.
I have informed them so.
Lear.
Inform'd them? dost thou understand me, man?
I tell thee, Gloster—
Glo.
Ay, my good lord.
Lear.
The king would speak with Cornwell; the dear father
-- 30 --
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—
No, but not yet; may be, he is not well;
Infirmity doth still neglect all office;
I beg his pardon, and I'll chide my rashness
That took the indispos'd and sickly fit
For the sound man.—But wherefore sits he there?
Death on my state! This act convinces me
[Pointing to the Stoc's.
That this retiredness of the duke and her
Is plain contempt.—Give me my servant forth.
Go tell the duke and's wife I'd speak with 'em,
Now, instantly.—Bid 'em come forth and hear me;
Or at their chamber door I'll beat the drum;
'Till it cry, Sleep to death.
Enter Cornwall, Regan, Page, two Soldiers, Captain of the Guard, and Guards from the Castle, L. C.
Oh! are you come?
Cor. (R.)
Health to the king!
Reg. (R. C.)
I am glad to see your highness.
Lear. (C.)
Regan, I think you are: I know what cause
I have to think so. Should'st thou not be glad,
I would divorce me from thy mother's tomb,
Sepulchring an adultress—
Beloved Regan, thou wilt shake to hear
What I shall utter; thou could'st ne'er ha' thought it;—
Thy sister's naught: O, Regan! she hath tied
Ingratitude like a keen vulture, here;
I scarce can speak to thee.
Reg.
I pray you, sir, take patience; I have hope
That you know less to value her desert,
Than she to slack her duty.
Lear.
Ha! How's that?
Reg.
I cannot think my sister in the least
Would fail in her respects, but if, perchance,
She has restrain'd the riots of your followers,
'Tis on such grounds, and to such wholesome ends,
As clear her from all blame.
Lear.
My curses on her!
Reg. (R. C.)
O, sir! you're old,
-- 31 --
And shou'd content you to he rul'd and led
By some discretion that discerns you state
Better than yourself; therefore, good sir,
Return to our sister, and say you have wrong'd her.
Do you but mark how this becomes the house:
Lear. (C.)
Ha! ask her forgiveness!
[Kneeling.
Dear daughter, I confess that I am old:
Age is unnecessary; on my knees I beg,
That you'll vouchsafe me raiment, bed, and food.
Reg.
Good sir, no more of these unsightly passions;
Return back to our sister,
Lear.
Never, Regan;
[Rises.
She hath abated me of half my train,
Look'd black upon me, stabb'd me with her tongue:
All the stor'd vengeances of heav'n fall
On her ingratefull head! Strike her young bones,
Ye taking airs, with lameness!—
Reg.
O the blest gods! thus will you wish me,
When the rash mood—
Lear.
No, Regan, thou shalt never have my curse;
Thy tender nature cannot give thee o'er
To such impiety: thou better know'st
The offices of nature, bond of childhood,
And dues of gratitude; thou bear'st in mind
The half o'th' kingdom, which our love conferred
On thee and thine.
Reg.
Good sir, to th' purpose,
Lear.
Who put my man i'th' stocks?
[Trumpet sounds, L.
Corn.
What trumpet's that?
Reg.
I know't, my sister's; this confirms her letters.
Enter Oswald, L.
Sir, is your lady come?
Lear.
More torture still!
Out, varlet, from my sight!
[Strikes Oswald who crosses towards Kent; Kent
threatens him; he then escapes R. U. E. crying.
Corn.
What means your grace?
Lear.
Who stock'd my servant? Regan, I have hope
Thou didst not know of it.
[Trumpet sounds.
-- 32 --
Enter Goneril, Page, two Ladies, Guards, and two Banners, L.
Who comes here? Oh, heav'ns!
[Crosses to R.
If you do love old men; if your sweet sway
Allow obedience; if yourselves are old,
Make it your cause [To Goneril]: send down, and take my part! (C.)
Why, Gorgon, dost thou come to haunt me here?
[To Goneril.
Art thou not asham'd to look upon this beard?—
[Regan takes Goneril by the hand.
Darkness upon my eyes, they play me false!—
O, Regan! wilt thou take her by the hand?
Gon.
Why not by th' hand, sir? [Crosses to Lear.] How have I offended?
All's not offence that indiscretion finds,
And dotage terms so.
Lear. (C.)
Heart, thou art too tough!
Reg.
I pray you, sir, being old, confess you are so.
If, till the expiration of your month,
You will return, and sojourn with our sister,
Dismissing half your train, come then to me:
I'm now from home, and out of that provision
That shall be needful for your entertainment.
Lear.
Return with her, and fifty knights dismiss'd?
No, rather I'll abjure all roofs, and choose
To be companion to the midnight wolf,
My naked head expos'd to th' merciless air,
[Throws down his hat, Kent takes it up.
Than have my smallest wants supply'd by her.
Gon.
At your choice, sir.
Lear.
Now, I pr'ythee daughter, do not make me mad!
I will not trouble thee, my child; farewell;
Let shame come when it will, I do not call it;
I do not bid the thunder-bearer strike,
Nor tell tales of thee to avenging heaven.
Mend when thou canst; be better at thy leisure;
I can be patient, I can stay with Regan,
I, and my hundred knights.
Reg.
Your pardon, sir;
I looked not for you yet, nor am provided
For your fit welcome.
Lear.
Is this well spoken now?
-- 33 --
Reg.
My sister treats you fair. What! fifty followers?
Is it not well? What should you need of more?
Gon.
Why might not you, my lord, receive attendance
From those whom she calls servants, or from mine?
Reg.
Why not, my lord! If then they chance to slack you,
We could control them.—If you come to me,
For now I see the danger, I intreat you
To bring but five-and-twenty; to no more
Will I give place.
Lear.
I gave you all
Reg.
And in good time you gave it.
Lear.
Hold now, my temper, stand this bolt unmov'd,
And I am thunder-proof.—
[It begins to rain.
Gon. (L.)
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 t'attend you?
Reg. (R.)
What need one?
[Distant thunder
Lear. (C)
Heav'ns, drop your patience down!
You see me here, ye 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 cheek!—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.—[Crosses to L.]—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,
Or ere I'll weep.—
[Rain and thunder.
O, gods, I shall go mad!
[Exeunt King Lear, Kent, Knights, Cornwall, Regan,
Goneril, Gloster, Oswald, and attendants, into the Castle, L.
END OF ACT II.
-- 34 --
ACT III.
SCENE I.
—A Desert Heath.—Stage darkened.—Rain, Thunder and Lightning.
Enter Lear and Kent, L. S. E.
Lear. (C.)
Blow, wind, and crack your cheeks! rage! blow!
You cataracts, and hurricanoes, spout
'Till you have drench'd our steeples!
You sulph'rous and thought-executing fires,
Vaunt couriers to oak-cleaving thunder-bolts,
Singe my white head! And thou, all shaking thunder,
Strike flat the thick rotundity o' the world!
Crack nature's moulds, all germens spill at once,
That make ingrateful man!
Kent. (L. C.)
Not all my best intreaties can persuade him
Into some needful shelter, or to 'bide
This poor slight cov'ring on his aged head,
Exposed to this wild war of earth and heav'n.
[Thunder, lightning, and rain.
Lear.
Rumble thy fill! fight whirlwind, rain, and fire!
Not fire, wind, rain, or thunder, are my daughters:
I tax not you, ye elements, with unkindness;
I never gave you kingdoms, called you children;
You owe me no obedience.—Then let fall
Your horrible pleasure!—Here I stand your slave,
A poor, infirm, weak, and despis'd old man.—
[Rain, thunder, and lightning,
Yet I will call you servil ministers,
That have with two pernicious daughters join'd
Your high engender'd battle 'gainst a head
So old and white as this. Oh! oh! 'tis foul!
Kent.
Hard by, sir, is a hovel, that will lend
Some shelter from this tempest.
Lear.
I will forget my nature. What! so kind a father!—
Ay, there's the point.
[Rain, thunder, and lightning.
Kent. (C.)
Consider, good my liege, things that love night,
Love not such nights as this; these wrathful skies
Gallow the very wanderers of the dark,
And make them keep their caves: such drenching rain,
Such sheets of fire, such claps of horrid thunder,
Such groans of roaring winds, have ne'er been known.
[Thunder very loud.
-- 35 --
Lear.
Let the great gods,
That keep this dreadful pother o'er our heads,
Find out their enemies now. Tremble, thou wretch,
That hast within thee undiscovered crimes!—
Hide, hide, thou murd'rer, hide thy bloody hand!—
Thou perjur'd villain, holy hypocrite,
That drink'st the widow's tears, sigh now, and ask
These dreadful summoners grace!—I am a man
More sinn'd against, than sinning.
[Crosses to R.
Kent.
Good sir, to th' hovel.
Lear. (R.)
My wits begin to turn.
[Lightning, R.
Come on, my boy: How dost, my boy? art cold?
I'm cold myself: shew me this straw, my fellow;
The art of our necessity is strange,
And can make vile things precious—My poor knave,
Cold as I am at heart, I've one place there
That's sorry yet for thee.
[Rain—Thunder—Lightning.—Exeunt R.
SCENE II.
—A Room in Gloster's Castle.
Enter Edmund, R.
Edm.
The storm is in our louder rev'lings drown'd.
Thus would I reign, could I but mount a throne.
The riots of these proud imperial sisters
Already have impos'd the galling yoke
Of taxes, and hard impositions, on
The drudging peasant's neck, who bellows out
His loud complaints in vain.—Triumphant queens!
With what assurance do they tread the crowd!
Oh! for a taste of such majestic beauty,
Which none but my hot veins are fit t'engage:
Nor are my wishes desp'rate: for ev'n now,
During the banquet, I observ'd their glances
Shot thick at me; and, as they left the room,
Each cast, by stealth, a kind inviting smile,
The happy earnest—ah!
Enter two Pages from opposite sides, each delivering him a
letter, and exeunt, R. and L.
[Reads.]
“Where merit is so transparent, not to behold
it were blindness, and not to reward it, ingratitude.
“Goneril.”
Enough! blind and ungrateful should I be,
-- 36 --
Not to obey the summons of this oracle.
Now for the second letter.
[Reads.]
“If modesty be not your enemy, doubt not to
find me your friend.
“Regan.”
Excellent Sibil! O, my glowing blood!
I am already sick with expectation,
And pant for the possession.—Here Gloster comes,
With business on his brow; be hush'd, my joys.
Enter Gloster, L.
Glos. (L.)
I come to seek thee, Edmund, to impart a business
of importance. I know thy loyal heart is touched to see
the cruelty of these ungrateful daughters against our royal
master.
Edm.
Most savage and unnatural.
Glo.
Thou, Edmund, art my trusty emissary.
Haste on the spur, at the first break of day,
With these dispatches to the Duke of Cambray,
[Gives him letters.
You know what mortal feuds have always flam'd
Between this Duke of Cornwall's family and his;
Full twenty thousand hardy mountaineers
Th' inveterate prince will send to our assistance,
Dispatch; commend us to his grace, and prosper.
[Exit. L.
Edm.
Yes, credulous old man,
I will commend you to his grace,
His grace the Duke of Cornwall:—instantly,
I'll shew him these contents in thy own character,
And seal'd with thy own signet; then forthwith
The chol'ric duke gives sentence on thy life.
And to my hand thy vast revenues fall,
To glut my pleasures that till now have starv'd.
[Retires, R
Re-enter Gloster L. followed by Cordelia and Aranthe,
poorly dressed; Edmund observing at a distance.
Cor. (L.)
Turn, Gloster, turn; by all the sacred pow'rs
I do conjure you, give my grief a hearing:
[Kneels.
You must, you shall, nay, I am sure you will;
For you were always stil'd the just and good.
Glo. (C.)
What would'st thou, princess? Rise, and speak thy griefs.
Cor.
Nay, you shall promise to redress 'em too,
Or here I kneel for ever. I entreat
-- 37 --
Thy succour for a father and a king.
An injur'd father, and an injur'd king.
Edm. [Aside.] (R.)
O, charming sorrow! How her tears adorn her!
Glo. [Raising her.]
Consider, princess,
For whom thou begg'st, 'tis for the king that wrong'd thee.
Cor.
O, name not that: he did not, could not wrong me.
Nay, muse not, Gloster; for it is too likely
The injur'd king ere this is past your aid,
And gone distracted with his savage wrongs.
Edm. [Aside.]
I'll gaze no more;—and yet my eyes are charm'd.
Cor.
Or, what if it be worse?—Can there be worse?
Ah, 'tis too probable, this furious night
Has pierc'd is tender body; the bleak winds
And cold rain chill'd, or lightning struck him dead;
If it be so, your promise is discharg'd.
And I have only one poor boon to beg;
That you 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.
Glo.
Oh, fair Cordelia, thou hast piety
Enough t'atone for both thy sisters' crimes;
I have already plotted to restore
My injur'd master; and thy virtue tells me
We shall succeed, and suddenly.
[Exit, R.
Cor.
Dispatch. Aranthe:
For in this disguise, we'll instantly
Go seek the king, and bring him some relief.
[Crosses to L.
Ar.
How, madam! are you ignorant
That your most impious sisters have decreed
Immediate death for any that relieve him?
Cor.
I cannot dread the furies in this cause.
Ar.
In such a night as this! Consider, madam,
For many miles about there's scarce a bush
To shelter in.
Cor.
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;
-- 38 --
Bold in my virgin innocence I'll fly,
My royal father to relieve, or die.
Exeunt Cordelia and Aranthe, L.
Edm.
“In this disguise, we'll instantly
Go seek the king?”—Ah! ah! lucky change:
That virtue, which I fear'd would be my hindrance,
Has prov'd the bawd to my design.
I'll bribe two ruffians shall at distance follow,
And seize them 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 poaching for me, I'll to the duke
With these dispatches; then to the field,
Where, like the vig'rous Jove, I will enjoy
This Semele in a storm; 'twill deaf her cries,
Like drums in battle, lest her groans should pierce
My pitying ear, and make the am'rous fight less fierce.
[Exit, L.
SCENE III.
—Another part of the Heath.—Rain—Thunder Lightning.—Lamps down.
Enter King Lear and Kent, L.
Kent.
Here is the place, my lord; good, my lord enter:
The tyranny of this open night's too rough
For nature to endure.
[The storm increases.
Lear.
Let me alone.
Kent.
Good, my lord, enter.
Lear.
Wilt break my heart?
Kent.
I'd rather break my own.
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 fixt,
The lesser is scarce felt: 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.
[Rain—Thunder—Lightning.
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—
Oh, that way madness lies? let me shun that;
No more of that.
Crosses to L.
-- 39 --
Kent.
See, my lord, here's the entrance.
Lear.
Well I'll go in.
And pass it all: I'll pray, and then I'll sleep.
[Thunder.
Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are,
That 'bide the pelting of this pitiless storm,
How shall your houseless heads and unfed sides
Sustain this shock; your raggedness defend you
From seasons such as these? Oh, I have ta'en
Too little care of this. Take physic, pomp;
Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel,
That thou may'st cast the superflux to them,
And shew the heav'ns more just!
Edg. [In the Hovel, R. U. E. throwing out Straw.]
Five fathom and a half.—Poor Tom!
Kent. (C.)
What art thou that dost grumble there i'th' straw? Come forth.
Enter Edgar, disguised, from the Hovel, R. U. E.—Advances, R.
Edg.
Away! the foul fiend follows me—Through the sharp
hawthorn blows the cold wind—Mum, go to thy bed and
warm thee.—[Aside.] Ha! what do I see?
By all my griefs, the poor old king bare-headed,
And drench'd in this foul storm! Professing Syrens,
Are all your protestations come to this?
Lear. (L.)
Tell me, fellow, didst thou give all to thy two daughters?
[Crosses to Edgar, R.
Edg. (R. C.)
Who gives any thing to poor Tom, whom the
foul fiend has led through fire and through flame, through
bushes and bogs; that has laid knives under his pillow,
and halters in his pew; that has made him proud
of heart to ride on a bay trotting horse over four-inc'd bridges,
to course his own shadow for a traitor? Bless thy five wits!
Tom's a-cold. Bless thee from whirlwinds, star-blasting,
and taking! Do poor Tom some charity, whom the foul
fiend vexes. Sa, sa; there I could have him now, and there,
and there again.
[Strikes with his Staff.
Lear. (R. C.)
What, have his daughters brought him to
this pass! Could'st thou save nothing? Didst thou give
them all?
Kent. (L. C.)
He has no daughter, sir.
Lear.
Death! traitor, nothing could have subdu'd nature
To such a lowness, but his unkind daughters.
Edg.
Pillicock sat upon pillicock hill, hallo, hallo, hallo.
-- 40 --
Lear.
Is it the fashion that discarded fathers
Should have such little mercy on their flesh?
Judicious punishment! 'Twas this flesh begot
Those pelican daughters.
Edg.
Take heed of the foul 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. Wind and
rain.] Tom's a-cold.
Lear.
What hast thou been?
Edg.
A serving-man, proud of heart; that curl'd my hair;
used perfume and washes; that serv'd the lust of my mistress's
heart, and did the act of darkness with her; swore as many
oaths as I spoke words; and broke them all in the sweet face
of heaven. Let not the paint nor the patch, 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 creditors'
books, and defy the foul fiend. [Wind.] Still through the hawthorn
blows the cold wind. Ha, no nonny, dolphin my boy,
my boy, sessa; let him trot by.
Lear.
Death! thou were better in thy grave, than thus to
answer with thy uncovered body this extremity of the sky. Yet
consider him well, and man's no more than this; thou art
indebted to the worm for no silk, to the beast for no hide, to
the cat for no perfume. Ha! here's two of us are sophisticated:
thou art the thing itself; unaccommodated man is no
more than such a poor, bare, forked animal as thou art.
Off, off, ye vain disguises, empty lendings,
I'll be my original self; quick, quick, uncase me.
Kent.
Defend his wits, good heaven!
Lear.
One point I had forgot: what is 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 tything to tything; 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 followers; peace, Smolkin, peace, thou foul fiend!
Lear.
One word more, but be sure true counsel; tell me,
is a madman a gentleman, or a yeoman?
Kent.
I fear'd 'twould come to this; his wits are gone.
[Aside.
-- 41 --
Edg.
Frateretto 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 them?
Edg.
My tears begin to take his part so much,
They mar my counterfeiting.
[Aside.
Lear.
The little dogs and all, Tray, Blanch, and Sweetheart,
see, they bark at me.
Edg.
Tom will throw his head at 'em: 'vaunt, ye curs!
Be thy mouth or black, or white,
Tooth that poisons, if it bite.
Mastiff, greyhound, mongrel grim,
Hound, or spaniel, brache, or lym,
Bob-tail tike, or trundle-tail;
Tom will make 'em weep and wail;
For with throwing thus my head,
Dogs leap the hatch, and all are fled.
See, see, see.
[Throws his straw head-dress at them.
Come, march to wakes, and fairs, and market towns.
Poor Tom, thy horn is dry.
[Crosses to L.
Lear.
You, sir, I entertain you for one of my hundred;
only I do not like the fashion of your garments; you'll say
they're Persian; but no matter, let 'em be changed.
Edg.
This is the foul fiend Flibbertigibbet; he begins at
curfew, and walks till the first cock: he gives the web, and
the pin; knits the elflock; squints the eye, and makes the
hair-lip; mildews the white wheat, and hurts the poor creatures
of the earth.
Saint Withold footed thrice the wold;
He met the night-mare, and her nine fold,
'Twas there he did appoint her;
He bid her alight, and her troth plight,
And, aroint the witch, aroint her.
Enter Gloster, and two Servants with Torches, L.
Glost.
What, has your grace no better company?
Edg.
The prince of darkness is a gentleman; Modo he is
call'd, and Mahu.
Glost. [To Lear.]
Go with me, sir; hard by I have a
tenant. My duty cannot suffer me to obey in all your daughters
hard commands; though their injunctions be to bar my doors,
and let this tyrannous night take hold upon you, yet I have
-- 42 --
ventur'd to come seek you out, and bring you where both fire
and food are ready.
Kent.
Good, my lord, take this offer.
Lear.
First, let me talk with this philosopher.
[Lear and Edgar sit on the ground.
Say, Stagyrite, what is the cause of thunder?
Glost. (R.)
Beseech you, sir, go with me.
Lear. (C.)
I'll talk a word with this same learned Theban.
What is your study?
Edg. (L. C.)
How to prevent the fiend, and to kill vermin.
Lear. [Whispers Edgar.]
Let me ask you a word in private.
Kent. [To Gloster, R. C.]
His wits are quite unsettled;
good sir, let's force him hence.
Glost. [To Kent.]
Can'st blame him? His daughters seek his death,
This bedlam but disturbs him the more: fellow, be gone.
[Edgar rises.
Edg.
Child Rowland to the dark tower came,
His word was still fie, foh, and fum,
[Crosses to R.
I smell the blood of a British man.—O, torture!
[Aside.
[Exit R. U. E. into the Hovel.
Glost.
Now, I pr'ythee, friend, let's take him in our arms;
There is a litter ready; lay him in't,
And drive toward Dover, friend, where thou shalt meet
Both welcome and protection.
Good sir, along with us.
Lear.
You say right; let 'em anatomize Regan, see what
breeds about her heart. Is there any cause in nature for
these hard hearts?
Kent.
I beseech your grace—
[They raise him.
Lear.
Hist!—make no noise, make no noise;—draw the
curtains; closer, closer;—so, so, so—we'll go to supper i'the
morning—so, so, so.
[Lear falls asleep, and is carried off by Gloster and Kent, R.—Thunder and lightning.
Enter Cordelia and Aranthe, L. U. E.
Ara.
Dear madam, rest you here, our search is vain;
Look, here's a shed; beseech you, enter here.
Cor.
Pr'ythee, go in 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.
-- 43 --
Enter two Ruffians, L. U. R.
First Ruff.
We've dogg'd them far enough; this place is
private: I'll keep 'em prisoners here within this hovel whilst
you return and bring Lord Edmund hither: but help me first
to house 'em.—Now, dispatch.
[They seize Cordelia and Aranthe.
Cor.
Help!—murder?—help!—Gods, some kind thunderbolt
To strike me dead!
Ara.
Help! help!
Enter Edgar from the Hovel, R. U. E.
Edg.
What cry was that?—Ha! women seiz'd by ruffians.
Is this a place and time for villainy?
Avaunt, ye bloodhounds.
[Drives them off with his quarter-staff, L.
O, speak, what are ye, that appear to be
O' th' tender sex, and yet unguarded wander
Through the dead mazes of this dreadful night,
Where, though at full, the clouded moon scarce darts
Imperfect glimmerings?
Cor.
First, say, what art thou?
Our Guardian Angel, that wert pleas'd to assume
That horrid shape to fright the ravishers?
We'll kneel to thee.
[Kneels.
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.
Cor.
Whate'er thou art, befriend a wretched virgin,
And if thou can'st, direct our weary search.
[Aside.
Edg.
Who relieves poor Tom, that sleeps on the nettle,
with the hedge-pig for his pillow?
Whilst Smug ply'd the bellows,
She truck'd with her fellows:
The freckle fac'd Mab
Was a blouze and a drab.
Yet Swithin made Oberon jealous.—O, torture!
[Aside.
Ara.
Alack! madam, a poor wand'ring lunatic.
Cor.
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
-- 44 --
A poor old man, who through this heath hath 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 neighbouring cottage; but distinctly where
I know not.
Cor.
Blessings on them!
[Crosses to R.
Let's find him out, Aranthe; for thou see'st
We are in heaven's protection
[Going off, R.
Edg. (C.)
O, Cordelia!
Cor.
Ha!—Thou know'st my name.
Edg.
As you did once know Edgar's.
Cor.
Edgar!
Edg.
The poor remains of Edgar, what
Your scorn has left him.
Cor.
Do we wake, Aranthe?
Edg.
My father seeks my life, which I preserv'd,
In hope 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.
Cor.
Was ever tale so full of misery!
Edg.
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 flame 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.
Cor.
You had your pardon, nor can 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
-- 45 --
Then what reception must love's language find,
From these bare limbs, and beggar's humble weeds?
Cor.
Such as the voice of pardon to a wretch condemned;
Such as the shouts
Of succouring forces to a town besieg'd.
Edg.
Ah! what new method now of cruelty?
Cor.
Come to my arms, thou dearest, best of men,
And take the kindest vows that e'er were spoke
By a protesting maid.
Edg.
I'st possible?
Cor.
By the dear vital stream that bathes my heart,
These hallow'd rags of thine, and naked virtue,
These abject tassels, these fantastic shreds,
To me are dearer than the richest pomp
Of purpled monarchs.
Edg.
Generous, charming maid!
[They embrace.
Cor.
Cold and weary,
We'll rest a while, Aranthe, on that straw,
Then forward to find out the poor old king.
[Exit Aranthe into the hovel, R. U. E.
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, ere thou lie to rest thee;
Then, fierce and wakeful as th' Hesperian dragon,
I'll watch beside thee to protect thy sleep:
Meanwhile the stars shall dart their kindest beams,
And angels visit my Cordelia's dreams.
[Exeunt into the hovel, R. U. E.
END OF ACT III.
ACT IV.
SCENE I.
—An Apartment in the Earl of Gloster's Castle.
Enter the Duke of Cornwall, a letter in his hand; Regan,
Edmund, Edward, and Servants, R. Officer and four
Guards, R. S. E.
Cor. (R.)
I will have my revenge ere I depart his house.
Regan, see here, a plot upon our state;
[Gives her a Letter.
'Tis Gloster's character, who has betray'd
His double trust, of subject and of host.
-- 46 --
Reg.
Then double be our vengeance; this confirms
Th' intelligence that we but now receiv'd,
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.
Oh, 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 the discarded traitor;
But, lest thy tender nature should relent
At his just sufferings, nor brook the sight,
We wish thee to withdraw.
Corn. (C.)
Bring in the traitor.
[Exit Edmund, R
Enter Gloster, brought in by two Servants, L.
Bind fast his arms.
Glo. (L.)
What mean your graces?
You are my guests; pray, do me no foul play.
Corn.
Bind him, [They bind him.] I say, hard, harder yet.
Reg. (L. C.)
Now, traitor, thou shalt find—
[Crosses up C.
Corn.
Speak, rebel, where hast thou sent the king?
Whom, spite of our decree, thou saved'st last night.
Glo.
I'm tied to th' stake, and I must stand the course.
Reg.
Say where, and why, thou hast conceal'd him, traitor.
[Comes down to Gloster.
Glo.
Because I would not see thy cruel hands
Tear out his poor old eyes, nor thy fierce sister
Carve his anointed flesh; but I shall see
The swift wing'd vengeance overtake such children.
Corn.
See't thou shalt never: slaves, perform your work;
[The Servants take Gloster out, L.
Out with those treacherous eyes; dispatch, I say.
-- 47 --
Glo. [Without, L.]
He that will think to live 'till he be old,
Give me some help.—O cruel! oh, ye gods!
Edw. (R. C.)
Hold, hold, my lord. I bar your cruelty;
I cannot love your safety, and give way
To such inhuman practice.
Corn.
Ah, my villian!
Edw.
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.
[Stabs Edward, and puts up his dagger.
Edw.
Nay, then, revenge, whilst yet my blood is warm!
[Draws his sword, runs Cornwall through the body, and is
carried off by the Guard, R. Cornwall is supported by Servants.
Reg.
Help here—are you not hurt, my lord?
Glost. [Without, L.]
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.
[Throws the letter out to him, L.
Glo. [Without, L.]
O my folly!
Then Edgar was abus'd; kind gods, forgive me that!
Reg. [To Corwall.]
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.
[Exeunt Regan, L. Cornwall, supported by his Servants, R.
SCENE II.
—The Open Country.
Enter Edgar, in disguise, R.
Edg.
The lowest and most abject thing of fortune
Stands still in hope, and is secure from fear.
The lamentable change is from the best,
The worst returns to better.—Who comes here?
[Retires up.
My father poorly led! depriv'd of sight!
The precious stones torn from their bleeding rings!
World! world! world!
-- 48 --
But that thy strange mutations make us hate thee.
Life would not yield to age.
Enter Gloster, led by an Old Man, L.
Old M.
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 M.
You cannot see your way.
Glo.
I have no way, and therefore want no eyes;
I stumbled when I saw: O, 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.
Edg. [Aside.]
Alas! he's sensible that I was wrong'd,
And, should I own myself, his tender heart
Would break betwixt the extremes of grief and joy.
Old M.
How now? who's there?
Edg. [Advances R. of Gloster.]
A charity for poor om.—Play fair, and defy the foul fiend.
O gods! and must I still pursue this trade.
Trifling beneath such loads of misery?
[Aside.
Old M. (R. C.)
'Tis poor mad Tom.
Glo. (R. C.)
In the late storm I such a fellow saw
Which made me think a man a worm.
Where is the lunatic?
Old M.
Here, my lord.
Glo.
Get thee now away; if for my sake
Thou wilt o'ertake us hence a mile or two,
I'th' way to Dover, do't for ancient love,
And bring some cov'ring for this naked wretch,
Whom I'll intreat to lead me.
Old M.
Alack, my lord, he's mad.
Glo.
'Tis the times' plague, when madmen lead the blind.
Do as I bid thee.
Old M.
I'll bring him the best 'parel that I have,
Come on't what will.
[Exit, L.
Glo.
Sirrah! naked fellow!
Edg. (R.)
Poor Tom's a-cold.—I cannot fool it longer.
[Aside.
And yet I must.—Bless thy sweet eyes, they bleed;
Believe't, poor Tom e'en weeps his blind to see 'em.
-- 49 --
Glo.
Know'st thou the way to Dover?
Edg.
Both stile and gate, horse-way and foot-path.
Poor Tom has been scared out of his good wits.
Bless every true man's son from the foul fiend!
Glo.
Here, take this purse; that I am wretched
Makes thee the happier. Heav'n deal so still!
Thus let the griping usurer's hoard be scatter'd,
So distribution shall undo excess,
And each man have enough. Dost thou know Dover?
Edg.
Ay, master.
Glo.
There is a cliff, whose high and bending head
Looks dreadfully down on the roaring deep;
Bring me but to the very brink of it,
And I'll repair the poverty thou bear'st
With something rich about me.—From that place
I shall no leading need.
Edg.
Give me thy arm; poor Tom shall guide thee.
Glo.
Soft! for I hear the tread of passengers.
Enter Kent, in his own character, and Cordelia, L.
Cor. (L.)
Ah me! your fear's too true, it was the king,
I spoke but even 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,
To prove my last endeavours to restore him,
And heav'n so prosper thee!
Kent. (C.)
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.
Glo.
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.
Glo.
Let me embrace thee; had I eyes, I now
Should weep for joy; but let this trickling blood
Suffice instead of tears.
Cor. (L. C. Seeing Gloster.)
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;
-- 50 --
I cast me at thy feet, and beg of thee
[Kneels.
To crush these weeping eyes to equal darkness,
If that will give thee any recompense.
Edg. [Aside.]
Was ever season so distrest as this?
Glo.
I think, Cordelia's voice; rise, pious princess,
And take a dark man's blessing.
[Cordelia rises.—Kent and Gloster retire up and confer.
Cor.
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.
[Retire up; Gloster and Kent come down L.
Glo. (L.)
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. [Aside.]
Brave Britons! then there's life in't yet.
[Comes down L.
Kent. (R. C.)
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.
Farewell, good Gloster; to our conduct trust.
Glo.
And be your cause as prosp'rous, as 'tis just.
[Exeunt Kent and Cordelia, R. Edgar and Gloster, L.
SCENE III.
—Albany's Palace.
Enter Goneril, with a letter, and Oswald, L.
Gon. (L. C.)
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.
Osw. (L.)
No, madam, he's return'd on speedy summons
Back to your sister.
Gon.
Ah! I like not that;
Such speed must have the wings of love. Where's Albany?
Osw.
Madam, within; but never man so chang'd;
I told him of the uproar of the peasants,
-- 51 --
He smil'd at it; when I inform'd him
Of Gloster's treason—
Gon.
Trouble him no further;
It is his coward spirit. Back to our sister.
Hasten her musters on, 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 Captain of the Guard, R.
Cap. (R.)
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,
'T may blast the promis'd harvest of our love.
[Aside.
A word more, sir: [To Oswald] add speed to your journey;
And if you chance to meet with that blind traitor,
Preferment falls on him that cuts him off.
[Exeunt Goneril and Captain, R. Oswald, L.
SCENE IV.
—Another part of the Country.
Enter Gloster, and Edgar, as a Peasant, L. U. E.
Glo.
When shall we come to'th' top of that same hill?
Edg.
We climb it now; mark, how we labour.
Glo.
Methinks, the ground is even.
Edg.
Horribly 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 alter'd, and thou speak'st
In better phrase and matter than thou didst.
Edg.
You are much deceiv'd; in nothing am I alter'd,
But my garments.
Glo.
Methinks, you're better spoken.
Edg.
Come on, sir; [Crosses to R.] here's the place. How fearful
And dizzy 'tis, to cast one's eyes so low!
The crows and choughs, that wing the midway air,
Shew scarce so big as beetles; half way down
Hangs one that gathers samphire; dreadful trade!
-- 52 --
The fishermen, that walk upon the beach,
Appear like mice; and yon tall anch'ring bark
Seems lessen'd to her cock; her cock, a buoy,
Almost too small for sight; the murm'ring surge
Cannot be heard so high. I'll look no more;
Lest my brain turn, and the disorder make me
Tumble down headlong.
Glo.
Set me where you stand.
Edg. [Puts him across to R.]
You are now within a foot of th' extreme verge:
For all beneath the moon I would not now
Leap forward.
Glo. (R.)
Let go my hand.
Here is another purse, in it a jewel
Well worth a poor man's taking. Get thee farther,
Bid me farewell, and let me hear thee going.
Edg.
Fare you well, sir. [Retires a little, R.] That I do trifle thus
With his despair, is with design to cure it.
[Aside.
Glo. [Kneels.]
Thus, mighty gods, this world I do renounce,
And in your sight shake my afflictions off;
If I could bear them longer, and not fall
To quarrel with your great opposeless wills,
My snuff and feebler part of nature shou'd
Burn itself out. If Edgar live, oh, bless him!
Now, fellow, fare thee well.
[Prepares to fall, when Edgar advances, and catches him.
Edg.
Hold—who comes here?
Enter King Lear, with a Coronet of Flowers on his head, and a straw in his hand, L. U. E.
Lear.
No, no; they cannot touch me for coining;
I am the king himself.
Edg.
O, 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 clothier's yard. A mouse, a mouse!
Peace, hoa! There's my gauntlet: I'll prove it on a giant.
Bring up the brown bills; well flown, barb; I'th' white;
i'th white;—Hewgh! give the word.
Edg.
Sweet Majoram.
Lear.
Pass.
[Edgar crosses to L.
Glo.
I know that voice.
-- 53 --
Lear.
Ha, Goneril! With a white bear! They flatter'd
me like a dog, and told me I had white hairs on my chin,
before the black ones were there. (R.) To say ay and no to
every thing that I said. Ay, and no too, was no good divinity.
When the rain came once to wet me, and the winds
to make me chatter, when the thunder wou'd not peace at my
bidding, there I found 'em, there I smelt them out. Go to,
they are not men of their words; they told me I was every
thing; 'tis a lie;
I am not ague-proof. (L.)
Glo.
That voice I 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 the cause?
Adultery?
Thou shalt not die. Die for adultery? No.
The wren goes to't, and the small gilded fly
Engenders in my sight. (R.) Let copulation thrive!
For Gloster's bastard son was kinder to his father,
Than were my daughters, got i'th' lawful bed.
To't, luxury, pell mell: for I lack soldiers.
There's money for thee.
Glo. (R. C.)
Let me kiss that hand.
Lear.
Let me wipe it first; it smells of mortality.
Glo.
Speak, sir, do you know me?
Lear.
I remember thine eyes well enough. Nay, do thy
worst, blind Cupid, I'll not love.—Read me this challenge;
mark but the penning of it.
Glo.
Were all the letters suns, I could not see.
Lear.
Read, read, read.
Glo.
What, with this case of eyes!
Lear.
O ho! 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 thy ears: see how yon justice rails
on yon simple thief. Hark in thine ear; shake em together,
and the first that drops, be it thief or justice, is a villian.—
Thou hast seen a farmer's dog bark at a beggar!
Glo.
Ay, sir.
Lear. (C.)
And the man 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
-- 54 --
dost thou lash that strumpet? Thou hotly lust'st to enjoy her
in that kind for which thou whip'st her; do, do! the judge
that sentenc'd her has been beforehand with thee.
Glo.
How stiff is my vile sense that yields not yet!
Lear.
I tell thee, the usurer hangs the cozener.
Through tatter'd clothes small vices do appear;
Robes and fur 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.—
Why there 'tis for thee, friend; make much of it;
It has the power to seal the accuser's lips. Get thee glass
eyes, and, like a scurvy politician, seem to see the things thou
dost not. Pull, pull, off my boots; hard, harder; so, so.
Glo.
O, matter and impertinency mixt!
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 taste the air,
We wail and cry. I'll preach to thee; mark me.
Edg.
Break, lab'ring heart!
Lear.
When we are born, we cry, that we are come
To this great stage of fools.
Enter a Physician and two Knights, R. U. E.
Phy. (R.)
O! here he is; lay hand upon him—sir
Your dearest daughter sends—
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. Oh! I am cut to the brains.
Phy.
You shall have any thing.
Lear.
No seconds? All myself?
I will die bravely, like a bridegroom. What!
I will be jovial; come, come; I am a king,
My masters, know you that?
[Crosses to R.
Phy.
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 it in proof.—No noise, no noise.—Now
will we steal upon these sons-in-law, and then—Kill, kill,
kill, kill?
[Exeunt King Lear and the Physician, L
Edg.
A sight most moving in the meanest wretch,
Past speaking in a king.
Glo. (R.)
Now, good sir, what are you?
Edg. (C.)
A most poor man, made tame to fortune's strokes,
-- 55 --
And prone to pity by experienc'd sorrows.
Give me your hand.
Glos.
You, gentle gods, take my breath from me,
And let not my ill-genius tempt me more
To die before you please.
Enter Oswald, L.
Osw. (L.)
A proclaim'd prize! O, most happily met!
That eyeless head of thine was first fram'd flesh
To raise my fortunes. Thou old, unhappy, traitor,
The sword is out that must destroy thee.
[Draws his sword.
Glo.
Now let thy friendly hand put strength enough to't.
[Edgar raises his staff.
Osw.
Wherefore, bold peasant,
Dar'st thou support a publish'd traitor? Hence,
Lest I destroy thee too; let go his arm.
Edg.
Chill not let go, zir, without 'vurther 'casion.
Osw. (L. C.)
Let go, slave; or thou diest.
Edg. (L. C.)
Good gentleman, go your gate, and let poor
volk pass; and chu'd ha' bin' 'zwagger'd out of my life, it
would not have been zo long as 'tis by a vortnight.—Nay, an'
thou com'st near th' old man, I'st try whether your costard or
my ballow be th' harder.
Osw.
Out, dunghill!
Edg.
Chill pick your teeth, zir: come, no matter vor your
foines.
[Edgar knocks him down.
Osw.
Slave, thou hast slain me; oh! untimely death!
[Dies.
Edg.
I know thee well, a serviceable villain;
As duteous to the vices of thy mistress,
As lust could wish.
Glo. (C.)
What? Is he dead?
Edg.
This is a letter-carrier, and may have
Some papers of intelligence, that may stand
Our party in good stead to know.—What's here?
[Takes a letter out of his pocket, and reads it.
“To Edmund Earl of Gloster.
[Reads.]
—“Let our mutual loves be remember'd: you
have many opportunities to cut Albany off. If he return the
conqueror, then I am still a prisoner, and his bed my jail:
from the loath'd warmth of which deliver me, and supply the
place for your labour.
“Goneril.”
A plot upon the duke her husband's life,
And the exchange my brother!—
[Aside.
-- 56 --
In time and place convenient I'll produce
This letter to the sight of th' injur'd duke
[Music L.
As best shall serve our purpose.
Come, your hand;
Far off, methinks I hear the beaten drum;
Come, sir, I will bestow you with a friend.
[Exeunt, L.
END OF ACT IV.
ACT V.
SCENE I.
—A Chamber.
King Lear asleep on a couch, R. Cordelia, R. seated,
Physician and two Knights standing by him.
Cor.
All bless'd secrets;
All you unpublish'd virtues of the earth,
Spring with my tears—be aidant and remediate,
In the good man's distress—
Oh, you kind heavens,
Cure this great breach in his abused nature,
Th' untun'd and jarring senses, oh wind up,
Of this child-changed father.
Phy. (L.)
We have employ'd the utmost pow'r of art,
And this deep rest will perfect our design.
Cor.
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, though he had bit me, shou'd
Have stood that night against my fire.
Phy.
Be by, good madam, when we do awake him;
I doubt not of his temperance.
Cor.
O, my dear father! Restoration, hang
Thy med'cine on my lips; and let this kiss
Repair those violent harms, that my two sisters
Have in thy rev'rence made. He wakes;
Speak to him.
Phy.
Madam, do you, 'tis fittest.
Cor.
How does my royal lord? How fares your majesty?
Lear.
You do me wrong, to take me out o'th' grave.
[Lear rises and Cordelia supports him to the front.
Cor.
Speak to me, sir; who am I?
Lear. (C.)
You are a soul in bliss; but I am bound
-- 57 --
Upon a wheel of fire, which my own tears
Do scald like molten lead.
Cor.
Sir, do you know me?
Lear.
You are a spirit, I know; when did you die?
Cor.
Still, still, far wide!
Phy.
Madam he's scarce awake; he'll soon grow more compos'd.
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 will not swear,
These are my hands.
Cor.
O, look upon me, sir,
And hold your hand in blessing o'er me. [Attempts to kneel.]—Nay,
You must knot 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.
Cor.
Nay, then farewell 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.
Cor.
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 could ask
Forgiveness of thee, were it possible
That thou couldst grant it;
If thou hast poison for me, I will drink it,
Bless thee, and die.
Cor. (C.)
O, pity, sir, a bleeding heart, and cease
This killing language.
Lear. (L.)
Tell me, friends, where am I?
Phy. (R.)
In your own kingdom, sir.
Lear.
Do not abuse me.
Phy.
Be comforted, good madam; for the violence
Of his distemper's past; we'll lead him in,
-- 58 --
Nor trouble him, till he is better settled.
Will it please you, sir, walk into freer air?
Lear.
You must bear with me, I am old and foolish;
Forget and forgive.
[The Physician leads off King Lear, followed by two Knights, L.
Cor.
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 pray'rs,
I'll aid his cause.—You never-erring gods,
Fight on his side, and thunder on his foes
Such tempests, as his poor aged head sustain'd!
Your image suffers when a monarch bleeds;
'Tis your own cause; for that your succours bring;
Revenge yourselves, and right an injured king.
Exit, L.
SCENE II.
—The Camp of the British Forces, near Dover.—Flourish..
Enter Edmund, Regan, Officers, Banners, and Soldiers, L.
Edm. (C.)
Know of the Duke, if his last purpose hold;
Or, whether since he is advis'd by aught
To change the course: He's full of alteration,
And self-reproving; bring his constant pleasure.
[To Officer, who exits R.
Reg. (L.)
Now, sweet lord,
You know the goodness I intend upon you:
Tell me, but truly, but then speak the truth,
Do you not love my sister?
Edm.
In honour'd love.
Reg.
I never shall endure her.
Edm.
She and the duke her husband.
[Flourish
Enter Albany, Goneril, and Soldiers, R.
Alb. (R. C.)
Our very loving sister, well be met.
Sir, this I hear, the king is come to his daughter,
With others, whom the rigours of the state
Forc'd to cry out.
-- 59 --
Reg.
Why is this reason'd?
Gon. (R.)
Combine together 'gainst the enemy:
For these domestic and particular broils
Are not to question here.
Alb.
Let us then determine
With the ancient of war on our proceedings.
Edm.
I shall attend you presently at your tent.
Reg.
Sister, you'll go with us?
Gon.
No.
Reg.
'Tis most convenient; pray you, go with us.
Gon.
I know the riddle: [Aside.] I will go.
[Going.
[Flourish—Exeunt Edmund, Regan, Goneril, Officers, Banners, and Soldiers, L.
Enter Edgar, disguised, R.
Edg.
If e'er your grace had speech with man so poor,
Hear me one word.
Alb.
I'll overtake you.
Alb. (C.)
Speak!
Edg. (R.)
Before you fight the battle, ope this letter.
If you have victory, let the trumpet sound
For him that brought it: wretched tho' I seem,
I can produce a champion, that will prove
What is avouched there: If you miscarry,
Your business of the world hath so an end,
And machination ceases. Fortune love you!
Alb.
Stay till I have read the letter.
Edg.
I was forbid it.
When time shall serve, let but the herald cry,
And I'll appear again.
[Exit, R.
Alb.
Why, fare thee well; I will o'erlook thy paper.
Re-enter Edmund, L. with a folded Paper.
Edm.
The enemy's in view, draw up your powers.
Here is the guess of their true strength and forces,
By diligent discovery; but your haste
Is now urg'd on you.
Alb.
We will greet the time.
[Exit, L.
Edm.
To both these sisters have I sworn my love;
Each jealous of the other, as the stung
Are of the adder. Which of them shall I take?
Both? one? or neither? To take the widow,
Exasperates, makes mad her sister Goneril;
-- 60 --
And hardly shall I carry out my side,
Her husband being alive. Now then, we'll use
His countenance for the battle; which being done,
Let her who would be rid of him, devise
His speedy taking off. As for the mercy
Which he intends to Lear and Cordelia—
The battle done, and they within our power,
Shall never see his pardon: for my state
Stands on me to defend, not to debate.
[Exit, R
SCENE III.
—A Valley near the Field of Battle.
Enter Edgar and Gloster, R. U. E.
Edg.
Here, father, take 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 Edgar, L.
Glo.
Grace go with you, sir.
[An alarum within, L.
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 onset,
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.
No more of shelter, thou blind worm, but forth
To th' open field; the war may come this way,
And crush thee into rest.
[Advances a little
O, dark despair! When, Edgar, wilt thou come
To pardon, and dismiss me to the grave?
[A Retreat sounded, L.
Hark! a retreat; the king, I fear, has lost.
Re-enter Edgar, L.
Edg.
Away, old man; give me your hand; away!
[Crosses to R.
King Lear has lost; he and his daughter ta'en
Give me thy hand. Come on!
Glo.
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.
Ripeness is all.—Come on!
Glo.
And that's true too.
[Exeunt, R.
-- 61 --
SCENE IV.
—The British Camp near Dover.
Enter, in conquest, with Banners, &c. Edmund, L.; Lear
and Cordelia prisoners an Officer and four Soldiers
preceding them, and the same number following, L. S. E.—Flourish.
Edm. (R.)
Some officers take them away: good guard;
Until their greater pleasures first be known
That are to censure them.
Cor. (R. C.) [Coming forward a little.]
We are not the first,
Who, with best meaning, have incurr'd the worst.
For thee, oppressed king, am I cast down;
Myself could else out-frown false fortune's frown.
Shall we not see these daughters, and these sisters?
Lear. (C.)
No, no, no, no!—Come, let's away to prison
We two alone will sing like birds i'th' cage:
When thou dost ask me blessing, I'll kneel down,
And ask of thee forgiveness: so we'll live,
And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh
At gilded butterflies, and hear poor rogues
Talk of court news; and we'll talk with them too—
Who loses, and who wins; who's in, who's out;
In a wall'd prison, packs and sects of great ones,
That ebb and flow by the moon.
Edm. [Crossing to L.]
Take them away!
[Lear and Cordelia go forward, R.
Lear. (R. C.)
Upon such sacrifices, my Cordelia,
The gods themselves throw incense. Have I caught thee?
He that parts us, shall bring a brand from heaven,
And fire us hence, like foxes. [Officer on the R. advances a little, and motions them to follow.] Wipe thine eyes;
The goujeers shall devour them, flesh and fell,
Ere they shall make us weep; we'll see them starve first.
Come.
[Exeunt Lear and Cordelia, preceded by Officer, and followed by four Soldiers, R.
Edm. (L.)
Come hither, captain; hark—
[Officer comes down R.
Take thou this note; [Giving a paper] go, follow them to prison:
One step I've advanced thee: if thou dost
As this instructs thee, thou dost make thy way
To noble fortunes. Know thou this—that men
-- 62 --
Are as the time is: to be tender-minded
Does not become a sword; that great employment
Will not bear question: either say, thou'lt do't
Or thrive by other means.
Officer.
I'll do't, my lord.
Edm.
About it; and write happy when thou hast done.
Mark—I say instantly; and carry it so,
As I have set it down.
Officer.
I will do it.
[Exit, R.
Flourish.—Enter Albany, Goneril, Regan, Officers and Guards, L.
Alb. (C.)
Sir, you have shown to-day your valiant strain,
And fortune led you well: you have the captives
Who were the opposites of this day's strife:
We do require them of you; so to use them,
As we shall find their merits and our safety
May equally determine.
Edm. (R.)
Sir, I thought it fit
To send the old and miserable king
To some retention, and appointed guard;
Whose age has charms in it, whose title more,
To pluck the common bosom on his side,
And turn our impress'd lancers in our eyes,
Which do command them. With him I sent the queen;
My reason all the same; and they are ready
To-morrow, or at further space, to appear
Where you shall hold your session.
Alb.
Sir, by your patience,
I hold you but a subject of this war,
Not as a brother.
Reg. (L.)
That's as we list to grace him,
Methinks, our pleasure might have been demanded,
Ere you had spoke so far. He led our powers;
Bore the commission of my place and person:
The which immediacy may well stand up,
And call itself your brother.
Gon. (L. C.)
Not so hot!
In his own grace he doth exalt himself,
More than in your advancement.
Reg.
In my rights,
By me invested, he compeers the best. General.
[Crosses to Edmund,
Dispose of them, of me; the walls are thine!
-- 63 --
Witness the world, that I create thee here
My lord and master!
Alb.
The let-alone lies not in your good will.
Edm.
Nor in thine, lord.
Alb.
Half-blooded fellow, yes.
Reg. (R. C.)
Let the drum strike, and prove my title thine.
[To Edmund.
Alb.
Stay yet; hear reason! Edmund, I arrest thee
On capital treason; and in thy arrest,
This gilded serpent! [Pointing to Goneril] for your claim, fair sister,
I bar it in the interest of my wife;
'Tis she is sub-contracted to this lord,
And I, her husband, contradict your bans.
Thou art arm'd, Gloster! let the trumpet sound!
If none appear to prove upon thy person,
Thy heinous, manifest, and many treasons,
There is my pledge; [Throwing down a Gaunlet.] I'll prove it on thy heart,
Ere I taste bread, thou art nothing less
Than I have here proclaim'd thee.
Reg.
Sick, O sick!
Glo.
If not, I'll ne'er trust poison.
[Exit, L.
Edm.
There's my exchange: [Throwing down Gaunlet] what in the world he is
That names me traitor, villain-like he lies.
Call by thy trumpet: he that dares approach,
On him, on you, (who not?) I will maintain
My truth and honour firmly.
Alb.
A herald, ho!
Edm.
A herald, oh, a herald!
Alb.
Trust to thy single virtue; for thy soldiers,
All levied in my name, have in my name
Took their discharge.
Reg.
This sickness grows upon me!
Enter Herald, R.
Alb.
She is not well; convey her to my tent.
And read out this [Gives a paper.] Sound, trumpet.
Regan is led off, L.
Come hither, herald—Let the trumpet sound,
[Trumpet sounds, R.
Her. (R.) [Reads.]
“If any man of quality, or degree,
within the lists of the army, will maintain upon Edmund,
supposed Earl of Gloster, that he is a manifold traitor, let him
-- 64 --
appear at the third sound of the trumpet. He is bold in his
defence.”
Edm.
Sound!
[First Trumpet.
Her.
Again! [Second Trumpet.] Again! [Third Trumpet.]
[A Trumpet answers on L. three times.
Enter Edgar, R at the end of the second sound.
Alb. (C.)
Ask him his purposes, why he appears
Upon this call o'the trumpet.
Her.
What are you?
Your name, your quality? and why you answer
This present summons?
Edg. (L.)
Know, my name is lost;
By treason's tooth bare gnawn, and canker-bit:
Yet am I noble, as the adversary
I come to cope withal.
[Herald retires up.
Alb. (C.)
Which is that adversary?
Edg.
What's he, that speaks for Edmund, Earl of Gloster?
Edm.
Himself! what say'st thou to him?
Edg.
Draw thy sword;
That, if my speech offend a noble heart,
Thy arm may do thee justice:—here is mine.
Behold, it is the privilege of mine honours,
My oath, and my profession. I protest—
Maugre thy strength, youth, place, and eminence,
Despite thy victor sword, and fire-new fortune,
Thy valour, and thy heart—thou art a traitor!
False to thy gods, thy brother, and thy father;
Conspirant 'gainst this high illustrious prince;
And from the extremest upwards of the head,
To the descent and dust beneath thy feet,
A most toad-spotted traitor. Say thou, no,
This sword, this arm, and my best spirits, are bent
To prove upon thy heart, whereto I speak,
Thou liest.
Edm.
In wisdom, I should ask thy name;
But since thy outside looks as fair and warlike,
And that thy tongue some say of breeding breathes,
What safe and nicely I might well delay
By rule of knighthood, I disdain and spurn:
Back do I toss these treasons to thy head;
With the hell-hated lie o'erwhelm thy heart;
Which (for they yet glace by, and scarcely bruise,)
This sword of mine shall give them instant way,
-- 65 --
Where they shall rest for ever. Trumpets, speak!
[Alarms.—They fight.—Edmund falls, L.
Edm.
What you have charged me with, that have I done;
And more, much more: the time will bring it out;
'Tis past, and so am I.—But what art thou,
That hast this fortune on me? If thou art noble
I do forgive thee.
Edg.
Let's exchange charity.
I am no less in blood than thou art, Edmund:
If more, the more thou hast wrong'd me.
My name is Edgar, and thy father's son.
The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices
Make instruments to scourge us:
The dark and vicious place where thee he got,
Cost him his eyes.
Alb.
Where have you hid yourself?
How have you known the mis'ries of your father?
Edg.
By nursing them, my lord.
The bloody proclamation to escape,
That follow'd me so near, taught me to shift
Into a madman's rags; became his guide,
Led him, begg'd for him, sav'd him from despair;
Never (O fault!) reveal'd myself unto him,
Until some half hour past, when I arm'd,
Not sure, tho' hoping of this good success,
I ask'd his blessing, and from first to last
Told him my pilgrimage: but his flaw'd heart,
(Alack, too weak the conflict to support!)
'Twixt two extremes of passion, joy, and grief,
Burst smilingly.
Edm. [Raised by Officers.]
I pant for life!—Some good I mean to do,
Despite of my own nature. Quickly send—
Be brief in it—to the castle; for my writ
Is on the life of Lear, and on Cordelia.
Edg.
Who has the office? Send thy token of reprieve.
Edm.
Take my sword—give it the captain.
Alb.
Haste thee, for thy life!
[Exit Edgar, R.
The gods defend her!—Bear him hence awhile.
[Flourish.—Edmund is led off L.—Albany and others exeunt R.
-- 66 --
SCENE V.
—A Prison.
Enter Lear with Cordelia dead in his arms. R.—An Officer
on guard L. U. E.; he remains at the back, L.
Lear. [Advancing to C.]
Howl, howl, howl, howl! O ye are men of stones!
Had I your tongues and eyes, I'd use them so
That heaven's vault should crack.—O, she is gone for ever?
[Kneels on his right knee, and places Cordelia across his left.
I know when one is dead, and when one lives;
She's dead as earth.—Lend me a looking-glass;
If that her breath will mist or stain the stone,
Why then she lives.
Enter Edgar, Albany, Kent, Officer, and Soldiers, R.
Kent.
Is this the promis'd end?
Edg.
Or image of that horror?
[Crosses behind Lear.
Alb.
Fall, and cease!
Lear.
This feather stirs; she lives!—If it be so,
It is a chance that does redeem all sorrows
That ever I have felt.
Kent. (R. C.) [Kneeling]
O, my good master!
Lear.
Pr'ythee away!
Edg. (L. C.)
'Tis noble Kent, your friend.
Lear.
A plague upon you, murderers, traitors, all!
I might have sav'd her; now she's gone for ever!
Cordelia, Cordelia, stay a little.—Ha!
What is't thou say'st? Her voice was ever soft,
Gentle, and low? but I did kill the slave
That was a hanging thee!
Officer. (L.) [Advancing a little.]
'Tis true my lords, he did.
Lear.
Did I not, fellow?
I have seen the day, with my good biting faulchion,
I would have made them skip; I am old now.
And these same crosses spoil me. Who are you?
My eyes are none o'the best;—I'll tell you straight.
Kent. (R. C.)
If fortune brag of two she lov'd and hated,
One of them we behold.
Lear.
This is a dull sight.—Are you not Kent?
Kent.
The same;
Your servant Kent.—Where is your servant Caius?
-- 67 --
Lear.
He's a good fellow; I can tell you that;
He'll strike, and quickly too:—He's dead and rotten.
Kent.
No, my good lord; I am the very man.
Lear.
I'll see that straight.
Kent.
That, from you first of difference and decay,
Have follow'd your sad steps.
Lear.
You are welcome hither.
Kent.
Nor no man else; all's cheerless, dark, and deadly.
Your eldest daughters have foredoom'd themselves,
And desperately are dead.
Lear.
Ay, so I think.
Kent.
He knows not what he says; and vain it is
That we present us to him. O see! see!
Lear.
And my poor fool is hang'd! No, no, no life:
Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life.
And thou no breath at all? [Laying Cordelia on the ground, and kneeling.] O, thou wilt come no more!
Never, never, never, never!
Pray you, undo this button. [Placing his hand to his throat.]
Thank you, sir.
Do you see this? Look on her—look—her lips—
[Kisses her.
Look there!—look there!
[Gives a convulsive grasp, and falls back. He is supported
by Kent, R. and Edgar, L.—The Curtain falls to slow music.
DISPOSITION OF THE CHARACTERS AT THE FALL OF THE CURTAIN.
Soldiers. Soldiers. Soldiers.
R. Officer. Kent. King Lear. Edgar. Officer. L.
Body of Cordelia
