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.
Edmund Kean [1830], King Lear. A tragedy, In Five Acts, by William Shakspeare. Printed from the acting copy, with remarks, biographical and critical, by D.—G. To which are added, description of the costume,—cast of the characters,—entrances and exits,—relative positions of the performers on the stage, and the whole of the stage business, As performed at the Theatres Royal, London. Embellished with a fine engraving, By Mr. White, from a Drawing taken in the Theatre, by Mr R. Cruikshank (John Cumberland [etc.], London) [word count] [S34400].
