SCENE II.
To them, Enter King Lear, Cornwall, Albany, Gonerill, Regan, Cordelia, and attendants.
Lear.
Attend the lords of France and Burgundy.
Glo.
I shall, my Liege.
[Exit.
Lear.
Mean time we shall express our darker purpose.
Give me the Map here. Know, we have divided
In three, our kingdom; and 'tis our intent,
To shake all cares and business from our age,
Conferring them on younger strengths, while we
Unburthen'd crawl tow'rd death. Our son of Cornwall,
And you, our no less loving son of Albany,
We have this hour a constant will to publish
Our daughters sev'ral Dow'rs, that future strife
May be prevented now. The Princes France and Burgundy,
Great rivals in our younger daughter's love,
Long in our court have made their am'rous sojourn,
And here are to be answer'd. Tell me, daughters,
-- 3 --
Since now we will divest us, both of rule,
Int'rest of territory, cares of state;
Which of you shall we say doth love us most?
That we our largest bounty may extend
Where nature doth with merit challenge. Gonerill
Our eldest born, speak first.
Gon.
I love you Sir,
Dearer than eye-sight, space and liberty,
Beyond what can be valued rich or rare,
No less than life, with grace, health, beauty, honour:
As much as child e'er lov'd, or father found.
A love that makes breath poor, and speech unable,
Beyond all manner of so much I love you.
Cor.
What shall Cordelia a note do? love and be silent.
[Aside.
Lear.
Of all these bounds, ev'n from this line to this,
With shadowy forests and with champions rich'd,
With plenteous rivers and wide-skirted meads,
We make thee lady. To thine and Albany's issue
Be this perpetual—What says our second daughter,
Our dearest Regan, wife of Cornwall? speak.
Reg.
I'm made of that self-metal as my sister,
And prize me at her worth. In my true Heart,
I find she names my very deed of love:
Only she comes too short, that I profess
My self an enemy to all other joys,
Which the most precious square of sense b note possesses,
And find I am alone felicitate
In your dear highness' love.
Cor.
Then poor Cordelia!
[Aside.
And yet not so, since I am sure my love's
More pond'rous than my tongue.
Lear.
To thee, and thine, hereditary ever,
Remain this ample third of our fair kingdom,
-- 4 --
No less in space, validity, and pleasure,
Than that confer'd on Gonerill.—Now our joy,
Although our last, c notenot least; to whose young love,
The vines of France, and milk of Burgundy,
Strive to be int'rest: what say you to draw
A third, more opulent than your sisters? speak.
Cor.
Nothing, my lord.
Lear.
Nothing?
Cor.
Nothing.
Lear.
Nothing will come of nothing, speak again.
Cor.
Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave
My heart into my mouth: I love your majesty
According to my bond, no more nor less.
Lear.
How, how, Cordelia? mend your speech a little,
Lest you may mar your fortunes.
Cor.
Good my lord,
You have begot me, bred me, lov'd me. I
Return those duties back as are right fit,
Obey you, love you, and most honour you.
Why have my sisters husbands, if they say
They love you, all? hap'ly when I shall wed,
That lord whose hand must take my plight, shall carry
Half my love with him, half my care and duty.
Sure I shall never marry like my sisters,
d noteTo love my father all—
Lear.
But goes thy heart with this?
Cor.
Ay, my good lord.
Lear.
So young, and so untender?
Cor.
So young, my lord, and true.
Lear.
Let it be so, thy truth then be thy dowre:
For by the sacred radiance of the sun,
The mysteries of Hecate, and the night,
By all the operations of the orbs
-- 5 --
From whom we do exist, and cease to be;
Here I disclaim all my paternal care,
Propinquity, and property of blood,
And as a stranger to my heart and me
Hold thee from this for ever. The barb'rous Scythian,
Or he that makes his generation, messes
To gorge his appetite; shall to my bosom
Be as well neighbour'd, pitied, and reliev'd,
As thou, my sometime daughter.
Kent.
Good my Liege—
Lear.
Peace, Kent!
Come not between the dragon and his wrath.
I lov'd her most, and thought to set my rest
On her kind nurs'ry. Hence, avoid my sight!—
[To Cor.
So be my grave my peace, as here I give
Her father's heart from her; Call France; who stirs?
Call Burgundy—Cornwall and Albany,
With my two daughters dowres, digest the third.
Let pride, which she calls plainness, marry her.
I do invest you jointly with my power,
Preheminence, and all the large effects
That troop with majesty. Our self by monthly course,
With reservation of an hundred Knights,
By you to be sustain'd, shall our abode
Make with you by due turns: only retain
The name and all th' addition to a King:
The sway, revenue, execution,
Beloved sons, be yours; which to confirm
This Cor'onet part between you.
[Giving the crown.
Kent.
Royal Lear,
Whom I have ever honour'd as a King,
Lov'd as my father, as my master follow'd,
And as my patron thought on in my pray'rs—
-- 6 --
Lear.
The bow is bent and drawn, make from the shaft.
Kent.
Let it fall rather, though the fork invade
The region of my heart; be Kent unmannerly,
When Lear is mad: what would'st thou do, old man?
Think'st thou that duty shall have dread to speak
When pow'r to flatt'ry bows? to plainness Honour
Is bound, when Majesty to folly falls.
Reserve thy State; with better judgment check
This hideous rashness; with my life I answer,
Thy youngest daughter does not love thee least,
Nor are those empty-hearted, whose low sound
Reverbs no hollowness.
Lear.
Kent, on thy life no more.
Kent.
My life I never held but as a pawn
To wage against e notethy foes; nor fear to lose it,
Thy safety being the motive.
Lear.
Out of my sight!
Kent.
See better, Lear, and let me still remain
The true blank of thine eye.
Lear.
Now by Apollo—
Kent.
Now by Apollo, King,
Thou swear'st thy gods in vain.
Lear.
O vassal! miscreant!—
[Laying his hand on his sword.
Alb. Corn.
Dear Sir, forbear.
Kent.
Kill thy physician, and thy fee bestow
Upon the foul disease; revoke thy doom,
Or whilst I can vent clamour from my throat,
I'll tell thee thou dost evil.
Lear.
Hear me recreant!
f noteSince thou hast sought to make us break our vow,
Which we durst never yet; and with strain'd pride,
To come betwixt our sentence and our power,
-- 7 --
Which nor our nature nor our place can bear,
Our potency make good, take thy reward.
Five days we do allot thee for provision,
To shield thee from disasters of the world,
And on the sixth to turn thy hated back
Upon our kingdom; if the tenth day following
Thy banish'd trunk be found in our dominions,
The moment is thy death: away. By Jupiter,
This shall not be revok'd.
Kent.
Fare thee well, King, sith thus thou wilt appear,
Freedom lives hence, and banishment is here;
The gods to their dear shelter take thee, maid,
That justly think'st, and hast most rightly said;
And your large speeches may your deeds approve,
That good effects may spring from words of love:
Thus Kent, O Princes, bids you all adieu,
He'll shape his old course in a country new.
[Exit.
SCENE III.
Enter Glo'ster, with France and Burgundy, and Attendants.
Cor.
Here's France and Burgundy, my noble lord.
Lear.
My lord of Burgundy,
We first address tow'rd you, who with this King
Have rivall'd for our daughter; what at least
Will you require in present dowre with her,
Or cease your quest of love?
Bur.
Most royal majesty,
I crave no more than what your highness offer'd,
Nor will you tender less.
Lear.
Right noble Burgundy,
When she was dear to us we held her so,
But now her price is fall'n: Sir, there she stands,
-- 8 --
If ought within that little seeming substance,
Or all of it with our displeasure pierc'd,
And nothing more, may fitly like your grace,
She's there, and she is yours.
Bur.
I know no answer.
Lear.
Will you with those infirmities she owes,
Unfriended, new-adopted to our hate,
Dowr'd with our curse, and stranger'd with our oath,
Take her, or leave her?
Bur.
Pardon, royal Sir.
Election makes not up on such conditions.
Lear.
Then leave her Sir, for by the pow'r that made me,
I tell you all her wealth.—For you, great King,
[To France.
I would not from your love make such a stray,
To match you where I hate; therefore beseech you
T' avert your liking a more worthy way
Than on a wretch whom nature is asham'd
Almost t' acknowledge hers.
France.
This is most strange!
That she, who ev'n but now was your best object,
Your Praise's argument, balm of your age,
Dearest and best; should in this trice of time
Commit a thing so monst'rous, to dismantle
So many folds of favour! sure th' offence
Must be of such unnatural degree,
As monstrous is; or your fore-voucht affection
Could not fall into taint; which to believe of her
Must be a faith that reason without miracle
Should never plant in me.
Cor.
I yet beseech your majesty,
If (for I want that glib and oily art,
To speak and purpose not, since what I well intend,
I'll do't before I speak) that you make known
-- 9 --
It is no vicious blot, murther, or foulness,
No unchaste action, or dishonour'd step,
That hath depriv'd me of your grace and favour;
But ev'n for want of that, for which I'm richer,
A still solliciting eye, and such a tongue,
That I am glad I've not, though not to have it
Hath lost me in your liking.
Lear.
Better thou
Hadst not been born, than not have pleas'd me better.
France.
Is it but this? a tardiness in nature,
Which often leaves the history unspoke
That it intends to do? my lord of Burgundy,
What say you to the lady? love's not love
When it is mingled with regards, that stand
Aloof from th'intire point. Say will you have her?
She is her self a dowry.
Bur.
Royal King,
Give but that portion which your self propos'd,
And here I take Cordelia by the hand,
Dutchess of Burgundy.
Lear.
Nothing—I've sworn.
Bur.
I'm sorry then you have so lost a father,
That you must lose a husband.
Cor.
Peace be with Burgundy,
Since that respect and fortunes are his love,
I shall not be his wife.
France.
Fairest Cordelia, that art most rich, being poor,
Most choice, forsaken; and most lov'd, despis'd!
Thee and thy virtues here I seize upon,
Be't lawful I take up what's cast away.
Gods, gods! 'tis strange, that from their cold'st neglect
My love should kindle to enflam'd respect.
-- 10 --
Thy dowreless daughter, King, thrown to my chance,
Is Queen of us, of ours, and our fair France:
Not all the Dukes of wat'rish Burgundy,
Can buy this unpriz'd precious maid of me.
Bid them farewel, Cordelia, though unkind,
Thou losest here, a better where to find.
Lear.
Thou hast her, France, let her be thine, for we
Have no such daughter, nor shall ever see
That face of hers again; therefore be gone
Without our grace, our love, our benizon:
Come noble Burgundy.
[Flourish.
[Exeunt.
SCENE IV.
France.
Bid farewell to your sisters.
Cor.
Ye jewels of our father, with wash'd eyes
Cordelia leaves you: I know what you are,
And like a sister am most loath to call
Your faults as they are nam'd. Love well our father:
To your g noteprofessing bosoms I commit him;
But yet, alas, stood I within his grace,
I would prefer him to a better place.
So farewell to you both.
Reg.
Prescribe not us our duty.
Gon.
Let your study
Be to content your lord, who hath receiv'd you
At fortunes alms; you have obedience scanted,
And well are worth the want that you have wanted.
Cor.
Time shall unfold what plighted cunning hides,
Who covers faults, at last with shame derides.
Well may you prosper.
France.
Come my fair Cordelia.
[Exeunt France and Cor.
-- 11 --
SCENE V.
Gon.
Sister, it is not little I've to say,
Of what most nearly appertains to us both;
I think our father will go hence to night.
Reg.
That's certain, and with you; next month with us.
Gon.
You see how full of changes his age is, the observation
we have made of it hath not been little; he always lov'd our sister
most, and with what poor judgment he hath now cast her
off, appears too grosly.
Reg.
'Tis the infirmity of his age; yet he hath ever but slenderly
known himself.
Gon.
The best and soundest of his time hath been but rash;
then must we look from his age, to receive not alone the imperfections
of long-engrafted condition, but therewithal the unruly
waywardness, that infirm and cholerick years bring with them.
Reg.
Such unconstant starts are we like to have from him, as
this of Kent's banishment.
Gon.
There is further complement of leave-taking between
France and him; pray you let us sit together: if our father
carry authority with such disposition as he bears, this last surrender
of his will but offend us.
Reg.
We shall further think of it.
Gon.
We must do something, and i' th' heat.
[Exeunt.
SCENE VI.
A Castle belonging to the Earl of Glo'ster. Enter Bastard with a letter.
Bast.
Thou Nature art my goddess, to thy law
My services are bound; wherefore should I
-- 12 --
Stand in the plague of custom, and permit
The h notenicety of nations to deprive me,
For that I am some twelve or fourteen moonshines
Lag of a brother? why bastard? wherefore base?
When my dimensions are as well compact,
My mind as gen'rous, and my shape as true,
As honest madam's issue? why brand they us
With base? with baseness? bastardy? base, base?
Who in the lusty stealth of nature, take
More composition and fierce quality,
Than doth within a dull, stale, tired bed,
Go to creating a whole tribe of fops,
Got 'tween a-sleep and wake? Well then,
Legitimate Edgar, I must have your land,
Our father's love is to the bastard Edmund,
As to th'legitimate; fine word—legitimate—
Well, my legitimate, if this letter speed
And my invention thrive, Edmund the base
Shall to th' legitimate—I grow, I prosper;
Now Gods stand up for bastards!
SCENE VII.
To him, Enter Glo'ster.
Glo.
Kent banish'd thus! and France in choler parted!
And the King gone to-night! subscrib'd his pow'r,
Confin'd to exhibition! all is gone
Upon the gad!—Edmund, how now? what news?
Bast.
So please your lordship, none.
[Putting up the letter.
Glo.
Why so earnestly seek you to put up that letter?
Bast.
I know no news, my lord.
Glo.
What paper were you reading?
Bast.
Nothing, my lord.
-- 13 --
Glo.
No! what needed then that terrible dispatch of it into
your pocket? the quality of nothing hath not such need to hide
it self. Let's see; come, if it be nothing, I shall not need
spectacles.
Bast.
I beseech you Sir, pardon me; it is a letter from my
brother, that I have not all o'er-read; and for so much as I
have perus'd, I find it not fit for your o'er-looking.
Glo.
Give me the letter, Sir.
Bast.
I shall offend, either to detain, or give it; the contents,
as in part I understand them, are to blame.
Glo.
Let's see, let's see.
Bast.
I hope, for my brother's justification, he wrote this but
as an essay, or taste of my virtue.
Glo. reads.]
This policy and reverence of age makes the world
bitter to the best of our times; keeps our fortunes from us, 'till our
oldness cannot relish them. I begin to find an idle and fond bondage
in the oppression of aged tyranny; which sways, not as it hath
power, but as it is suffered. Come to me, that of this I may speak
more. If our father would sleep 'till I wak'd him, you should enjoy
half his revenue for ever, and live the beloved of your brother.
Edgar.—Hum—Conspiracy!—sleep 'till I wake him—you
should enjoy half his revenue—My son Edgar! had he a hand
to write this! a heart and a brain to breed it in! When came this
to you? who brought it?
Bast.
It was not brought me, my lord; there's the cunning
of it. I found it thrown in at the casement of my closet.
Glo.
You know the character to be your brother's?
Bast.
If the matter were good, my lord, I durst swear it
were his; but in respect of that, I would fain think it were not.
Glo.
It is his.
Bast.
It is his hand, my lord; I hope his heart is not in the
contents.
Glo.
Has he never before sounded you in this business?
-- 14 --
Bast.
Never, my lord. But I have heard him oft maintain
it to be fit, that sons at perfect age, and fathers declining, the
father should be as a ward to the son, and the son manage his
revenue.
Glo.
O villain, villain! his very opinion in the letter. Abhorred
villain! unnatural, detested, bruitish villain! worse than
bruitish! Go, sirrah, seek him; I'll apprehend him. Abominable
villain! where is he?
Bast.
I do not well know, my lord; if it shall please you to
suspend your indignation against my brother, 'till you can derive
from him better testimony of his intent, you should run a certain
course; where, if you violently proceed against him, mistaking
his purpose, it would make a great gap in your honour, and shake
in pieces the heart of his obedience. I dare pawn down my life
for him, that he hath writ this to feel my Affection to your honour,
and to no other pretence of danger.
Glo.
Think you so?
Bast.
If your honour judge it meet, I will place you where you
shall hear us confer of this, and by an auricular assurance have
your satisfaction, and that without any further delay than this
very evening.
Glo.
He cannot be such a monster. Edmund, seek him out;
wind me into him, I pray you; frame the business after your own
wisdom. I would unstate my self, to be in a due resolution.
Bast.
I will seek him, Sir, presently; convey the business as
I shall find means, and acquaint you withal.
Glo.
These late eclipses in the sun and moon portend no good
to us; though the wisdom of nature can reason it thus and thus,
yet nature finds it self scourg'd by the sequent effects. Love
cools, friendship falls off, brothers divide. In cities, mutinies;
in countries, discord; in palaces, treason; and the bond crack'd
'twixt son and father. This villain of mine comes under the
prediction, there's son against father; the King falls from biass
-- 15 --
of nature, there's father against child. We have seen the best of
our time. Machinations, hollowness, treachery, and all ruinous
disorders follow us disquietly to our graves! Find out this villain,
Edmund; it shall lose thee nothing, do it carefully—and the
noble and true-hearted Kent banish'd! his offence, Honesty. 'Tis
strange.
[Exit.
SCENE VIII.
Bast.
This is the excellent foppery of the world, that when
we are sick in fortune, (often the surfeits of our own behaviour)
we make guilty of our disasters, the sun, the moon and stars;
as if we were villains on necessity, fools by heavenly compulsion,
knaves, thieves, and treacherousby spherical predominance, drunkards,
lyars, and adulterers by an inforc'd obedience of planetary
influence; and all that we are evil in, by a divine thrusting
on. An admirable evasion of whore-master Man, to lay his
goatish disposition on the charge of a star! my father compounded
with my mother under the Dragon's tail, and my nativity
was under Ursa major, so that it follows I am rough and
lecherous. I should have been what I am, had the maidenliest
star in the firmament twinkled on my bastardizing.
SCENE IX.
To him, Enter Edgar.
Bast.
Pat!—he comes like the catastrophe of the old comedy;
my cue is villainous Melancholy, with a sigh like † noteTom
o'Bedlam—O these eclipses portend these divisions! fa, sol, la, me—
Edg.
How now, brother Edmund, what serious contemplation
are you in?
Bast.
I am thinking, brother, of a prediction I read this other
day, what should follow these eclipses.
Edg.
Do you busie your self with that?
-- 16 --
Bast.
I promise you the effects he writes of, succeed unhappily.
When saw you my father last?
Edg.
The night gone by.
Bast.
Spake you with him?
Edg.
Ay, two hours together.
Bast.
Parted you in good terms, found you no displeasure
in him, by word or countenance?
Edg.
None at all.
Bast.
Bethink your self wherein you have offended him: and
at my intreaty forbear his presence, until some little time hath
qualified the heat of his displeasure; which at this instant so
rageth in him, that with the mischief of your person it would
scarcely allay.
Edg.
Some villain hath done me wrong.
Bast.
That's my fear; I pray you have a continent forbearance
'till the speed of his rage goes slower; and as I say, retire
with me to my lodging, from whence I will fitly bring you to
hear my lord speak: pray you go, there's my key: if you do
stir abroad, go arm'd.
Edg.
Arm'd, brother!
Bast.
Brother, I advise you to the best; I am no honest man
if there be any good meaning toward you: I have told you what
I have seen and heard, but faintly; nothing like the image and
horror of it; pray you away.
Edg.
Shall I hear from you anon?
[Exit.
SCENE X.
Bast.
I serve you in this business:
A credulous father, and a brother noble,
Whose nature is so far from doing harms,
That he suspects none; on whose foolish honesty
My practices ride easie: I see the business.
-- 17 --
Let me, if not by birth, have lands by wit,
All with me's meet, that I can fashion fit.
[Exit.
SCENE XI.
The Duke of Albany's Palace.
Enter Gonerill, and Steward.
Gon.
Did my father strike my gentleman for chiding of his fool?
Stew.
Ay, madam.
Gon.
By day and night he wrongs me; every hour
He flashes into one gross crime or other,
That sets us all at odds; I'll not endure it;
His Knights grow riotous, and himself upbraids us
On ev'ry trifle. When he returns from hunting,
I will not speak with him, say I am sick.
If you come slack of former services,
You shall do well, the fault of it I'll answer.
Stew.
He's coming, madam, I hear him.
Gon.
Put on what weary negligence you please,
You and your fellows: I'd have it come to question:
If he distaste it, let him to my sister,
Whose mind and mine I know in that are one.
Remember what I have said.
Stew.
Well, madam.
Gon.
And let his Knights have colder looks among you:
what grows of it no matter, advise your fellows so, I'll write strait
to my sister to hold my course: prepare for dinner.
[Exeunt.
SCENE XII.
Enter Kent disguis'd.
Kent.
If but as well I other accents borrow,
-- 18 --
And can my speech disuse, my good intent
May carry thro' it self to that full issue
For which I raz'd my likeness. Banish'd Kent,
If thou can'st serve where thou dost stand condemn'd,
So may it come, thy master whom thou lov'st
Shall find thee full of labours.
Horns within. Enter Lear, Knights and Attendants.
Lear.
Let me not stay a jot for dinner, go get it ready: how
now, what art thou?
Kent.
A man, Sir.
Lear.
What dost thou profess? what would'st thou with us?
Kent.
I do profess to be no less than I seem; to serve him
truly that will put me in trust, to love him that is honest, to
converse with him that is wise and says little, to fear judgment,
to fight when I cannot chuse, and to eat no fish.
Lear.
What art thou?
Kent.
A very honest-hearted fellow, and as poor as the King.
Lear.
If thou beest as poor for a subject, as he's for a King,
thou art poor enough. What would'st thou?
Kent.
Service.
Lear.
Whom would'st thou serve?
Kent.
You.
Lear.
Dost thou know me, fellow?
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 canst thou do?
Kent.
I can keep honest counsels, ride, run, marr a curious
tale in telling it, and deliver a plain message bluntly: that which
ordinary men are fit for, I am qualify'd in, and the best of me
is diligence.
-- 19 --
Lear.
How old art thou?
Kent.
Not so young, Sir, to love a woman for singing, nor
so old to doat on her for any thing. I have years on my back
forty eight.
Lear.
Follow me, thou shalt serve me; if I like thee no worse
after dinner, I will not part from thee yet. Dinner ho, dinner—
where's my knave? my fool? go you and call my fool hither.
You, you, sirrah, where's my daughter?
Enter Steward.
Stew.
So please you—
[Exit.
Lear.
What says the fellow there? call the clotpole back:
where's my fool? ho?—I think the world's asleep, how now?
where's that mungrel?
Knight.
He says, my lord, your daughter is not well.
Lear.
Why came not the slave back to me when I call'd him?
Knight.
Sir, he answer'd in the roundest manner, he would not.
Lear.
He would not?
Knight.
My lord, I know not what the matter is; but to my
judgment, your highness is not entertain'd with that ceremonious
affection as you were wont; there's a great abatement of kindness
appears as well in the general dependants, as in the Duke himself
also, and your daughter.
Lear.
Ha! say'st thou so?
Knight.
I beseech you pardon me, my lord, if I be mistaken;
for my duty cannot be silent, when I think your highness is
wrong'd.
Lear.
Thou but remember'st me of my own conception. I
have perceiv'd a most faint neglect of late, which I have rather
blamed as my own jealous curiosity, than as a very pretence and
purpose of unkindness; I will look further into't; but where's my
fool? I have not seen him these two days.
Knight.
Since my young lady's going into France, Sir, the fool
hath much pined away.
-- 20 --
Lear.
No more of that, I have noted it well; go you and tell
my daughter, I would speak with her. Go you call hither my
fool. O you Sir, come you hither Sir, who am I Sir?
Enter Steward.
Stew.
My lady's father.
Lear.
My lady's father? my lord's knave, you whorson dog,
you slave, you cur.
Stew.
I am none of these, my lord; I beseech your pardon.
Lear.
Do you bandy looks with me, you rascal?
[Striking him.
Stew.
I'll not be struck, my lord.
Kent.
Nor tript neither, you base foot-ball player.
[Tripping up his heels.
Lear.
I thank thee, fellow. Thou serv'st me, and I'll love
thee.
Kent.
Come, Sir, arise, away, I'll teach you differences: away,
away; if you will measure your lubber's length again, tarry; but
away, go to; have you wisdom, so.
Lear.
Now my friendly knave I thank thee, there's earnest
of thy service.
SCENE XIII.
To them, Enter Fool.
Fool.
Let me hire him too, here's my coxcomb.
[Giving his cap.
Lear.
How now my pretty knave? how do'st thou?
Fool.
Sirrah, you were best take my coxcomb.
Kent.
Why, my boy?
Fool.
Why? for taking one's part that is out of favour; nay,
an thou canst not smile as the wind sits, thou'lt catch cold shortly.
There take my coxcomb; why, this fellow has banish'd two
of his daughters, and did the third a blessing against his will; if
-- 21 --
thou follow him, thou must needs wear my coxcomb. How now
nuncle? would I had two coxcombs, and two daughters.
Lear.
Why, my boy?
Fool.
If I give them all my living, I'll keep my coxcomb my
self; there's mine, beg another of thy daughters.
Lear.
Take heed, Sirrah, the whip.
Fool.
Truth's a dog must to kennel, he must be whip'd out,
when the lady brach may stand by th' fire and stink.
Lear.
A pestilent gall to me.
Fool.
Sirrah, I'll teach thee a speech.
[To Kent.
Lear.
Do.
Fool.
Mark it, nuncle;
Have more than thou showest,
Speak less than thou knowest,
Lend less than thou owest,
Ride more than thou goest,
Learn more than thou trowest,
Set less than thou throwest:
Leave thy drink and thy whore,
And keep within door,
And thou shalt have more
Than two tens to a score.
Kent.
This is nothing, fool.
Fool.
Then it is like the breath of an unfee'd lawyer, you give
me nothing for't; can you make no use of nothing, nuncle?
Lear.
Why no, boy, nothing can be made out of nothing.
Fool.
Pr'ythee tell him, so much the rent of his land comes to:
he will not believe a fool.* note
[To Kent.
-- 22 --
† noteLear.
Dost thou call me fool?
&plquo;Fool.
&plquo;All thy other titles thou hast given away; that thou
wast born with.&prquo;
&plquo;Kent.
&plquo;This is not altogether fool, my lord.&prquo;
&plquo;Fool.
&plquo;No faith, Lords and great men will not let me; if I
had a monopoly on't, they would have part on't: nay the Ladies
too, they'll not let me have all fool my self, they'll be snatching.
Give me an egg nuncle, and I'll give thee two crowns.&prquo;
Lear.
What two crowns shall they be?
Fool.
Why after I have cut the egg i'th' middle and eat up
the meat, the two crowns of the egg: when thou clovest thy
crown i'th' middle and gav'st away both parts, thou bor'st thine
ass on thy back o'er the dirt; thou had'st little wit in thy bald
crown, when thou gav'st thy golden one away: if I speak like
my self in this, let him be whip'd that first finds it so.
Fools ne'er had less grace in a year,
[Singing.
For wisemen are grown foppish,
And know not how their wits to wear,
Their manners are so apish.
Lear.
When were you wont to be so full of songs, sirrah?
Fool.
I have used it, nuncle, e'er since thou mad'st thy daughters
thy mothers; for when thou gav'st them the rod, and put'st
down thine own breeches, then they
For sudden joy did weep,
[Singing.
And I for sorrow sung,
That such a King should play bo peep,
And go the fools among.
Pr'ythee nuncle keep a school-master that can teach thy fool to
lie; I would fain learn to lie.
Lear.
If you lie, sirrah, we'll have you whipt.
Fool.
I marvel what kin thou and thy daughters are: they'll
-- 23 --
have me whipt for speaking true, thou'lt have me whipt for
lying, and sometimes I am whipt for holding my peace. I had
rather be any kind o' thing than a fool, and yet I would not be
thee, nuncle; thou hast pared thy wit o' both sides, and left
nothing i'th' middle; here comes one o'th' parings.
SCENE XIV.
To them, Enter Gonerill.
Lear.
How now, daughter? what makes that frontlet on?
you are too much of late i'th'frown.
Fool.
Thou wast a pretty fellow when thou hadst no need to
care for her frowning; now thou art an O without a figure; I
am better than thou art now, I am a fool, thou art nothing—
yes forsooth I will hold my tongue, [To Goneril.] so your face
bids me, tho' you say nothing.
Mum, mum, he that keeps nor crust nor crum,
[Singing.
Weary of all, shall want some.
That's a sheal'd pescod.
Gon.
Not only, Sir, this your all-licenc'd fool,
But other of your insolent retinue,
Do hourly carp and quarrel, breaking forth
In rank and not to be endured riots, Sir.
I thought by making this well known unto you,
T' have found a safe redress; but now grow fearful
By what your self too late have spoke and done,
That you protect this course, and put it on
By your allowance; if you should, the fault
Would not 'scape censure, nor the redresses sleep,
Which in the tender of a wholsome weal,
Might in their working do you that offence,
(Which else were shame,) that then necessity
-- 24 --
Will call discreet proceeding.
Fool.
For you know, nuncle,
The hedge-sparrow fed the Cuckoo so long,
That it had it's head bit off by it's young;
So out went the candle, and we were left darkling.
Lear.
Are you our daughter?
Gon.
I would you would make use of your good wisdom,
Whereof I know you are fraught, and put away
These dispositions, which of late transport you
From what you rightly are.
Fool.
May not an Ass know when the cart draws the horse?
whoop Jug I love thee.
Lear.
Does any here know me? this is not Lear:
Does Lear walk thus? speak thus? where are his eyes?
Either his notion weakens, his discernings
Are lethargied—Ha! waking—'tis not so;
Who is it that can tell me who I am?* note
Lear's shadow? I would learn, for by the marks
Of sovereignty, of knowledge, and of reason,
I should be false persuaded I had daughters.
Your name, fair gentlewoman?—
Gon.
This admiration, Sir, is much o'th' savour
Of other your new pranks. I do beseech you
To understand my purposes aright:
You, as you're old and rev'rend, should be wise.
Here do you keep a hundred Knights and 'Squires,
Men so disorder'd, so debauch'd and bold,
That this our court, infected with their manners,
Shews like a riotous Inn; epicurism and lust
Make it more like a tavern or a brothel,
Than a grac'd palace. Shame it self doth speak
-- 25 --
For instant remedy. Be then desir'd
By her, that else will take the thing she begs,
i noteOf fifty to disquantity your train;
And the remainders that shall still depend,
To be such men as may besort your age,
And know themselves and you.
Lear.
Darkness and devils!
Saddle my horses, call my train together—
Degen'rate bastard! I'll not trouble thee;
Yet have I left a daughter.
Gon.
You strike my people, and your disorder'd rabble
Make servants of their betters.
SCENE XV.
To them, Enter Albany.
Lear.
Woe! that too late repents—
Is it your will, speak, Sir? prepare my horses.—
[To Alb.
Ingratitude! thou marble-hearted fiend,
More hideous when thou shew'st thee in a child,
Than the sea-monster.
Alb.
Pray Sir be patient.
Lear.
Detested kite! thou liest.
[To Gonerill.
My train are men of choice and rarest parts,
That all particulars of duty know,
And in the most exact regard support
The worships of their names. O most small fault!
How ugly didst thou in Cordelia shew?
Which like an engine wrencht my frame of nature
From the fixt place; drew from my heart all love,
And added to the gall. O Lear, Lear, Lear!
Beat at this gate that let thy folly in,
[Striking his head.
-- 26 --
And thy dear judgment out. Go, go, my people.
Alb.
My lord, I'm guiltless, as I'm ignorant
Of what hath moved you.
Lear.
It may be so, my lord—
Hear Nature, hear, dear goddess hear a Father!
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,
And 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 a thwart disnatur'd torment to her;
Let it stamp wrinkles in her brow of youth,
With cadent tears fret chanels in her cheeks,
Turn all her mother's pains and benefits
To laughter and contempt; that she may feel,
How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is,
To have a thankless child.—k noteGo, go, my people.
Alb.
Now Gods that we adore, whereof comes this?
Gon.
Never afflict your self to know of it:
But let his disposition have that scope
As dotage gives it.
Lear.
What, fifty of my followers at a clap?
Within a fortnight?—
Alb.
What's the matter, Sir?
Lear.
I'll tell thee—life and death! I am asham'd
That thou hast pow'r to shake my manhood thus,
That these hot tears, which break from me perforce,
Should make thee worth them—blasts and fogs upon thee;
Th' l noteuntender woundings of a father's curse
Pierce every sense about thee. Old fond eyes,
Beweep her once again, I'll pluck ye out,
-- 27 --
And cast you with the waters that you lose
To temper clay. Ha! m noteis it come to this?
Let it be so: I have another daughter,
Who I am sure is kind and comfortable;
When she shall hear this of thee, with her nails
She'll flea thy wolvish visage. Thou shalt find,
That I'll resume the shape which thou dost think
I have cast off for ever.
[Ex. Lear and attendants.
SCENE XVI.
Gon.
Do you mark that?
Alb.
I cannot be so partial, Gonerill,
To the great love I bear you.
Gon.
Pray you be content. What Oswald, ho!
You, Sir, more knave than fool, after your master.
Fool.
Nuncle Lear, nuncle Lear, tarry, take the fool with thee:
A Fox, when one has caught her,
And such a daughter,
Should sure to the slaughter,
If my cap would buy a halter,
So the fool follows after.
[Exit.
Gon.
This man hath had good counsel,—a hundred Knights!
'Tis politick and safe to let him keep
A hundred Knights; yes, that on ev'ry dream,
Each buz, each fancy, each complaint, dislike,
He may enguard his dotage with their pow'rs,
And hold our lives at mercy. Oswald, I say.
Alb.
Well, you may fear too far;—
Gon.
Safer than trust too far.
Let me still take away the harms I fear,
Not fear still to be harm'd. I know his heart;
What he hath utter'd, I have writ my sister;
-- 28 --
If she'll sustain him and his hundred Knights,
When I have shew'd th' unfitness—
Enter Steward.
How now, Oswald?
What, have you writ that letter to my sister?
Stew.
Ay, madam.
Gon.
Take you some company, away to horse,
Inform her full of my particular fears,
And thereto add such reasons of your own
As may compact it more. So get you gone,
And hasten your return.
[Exit Steward.
—No, no my lord,
This milky gentleness and course of yours,
Though I condemn it not, yet under pardon
You are much more at task for want of wisdom,
Than prais'd for harmless mildness.
Alb.
How far your eyes may pierce I cannot tell;
Striving to better, oft we mar what's well.
Gon.
Nay then—
Alb.
Well, well, th' event.
[Exeunt.
SCENE XVII.
Re-enter Lear, Kent, Gentleman and Fool.
Lear.
Go you before to Glo'ster with these letters; acquaint
my daughter no further with any thing you know, than comes
from her demand out of the letter; if your diligence be not
speedy, I shall be there afore you.
Kent.
I will not sleep, my lord, 'till I have delivered your
letter.
[Exit.
Fool.
If a man's brain were in his heels, wer't not in danger
of kibes?
Lear.
Ay boy.
-- 29 --
Fool.
Then I pr'ythee be merry, thy wit shall not go slip-shod.
Lear.
Ha, ha, ha.
Fool.
Shalt see thy other daughter will use thee kindly; for
though she's as like this as a crab's like an apple, yet I can tell
what I can tell.
Lear.
What canst tell, boy?
Fool.
She will taste as like this, as a crab does to a crab.
Canst thou tell why one's nose stands i'th' middle of one's face?
Lear.
No.
Fool.
Why, to keep one's eyes of either side one's nose;
that what a man cannot smell out, he may spy into.
Lear.
I did her wrong!
Fool.
Can'st tell how an oyster makes his shell?
Lear.
No.
Fool.
Nor I neither; but I can tell why a snail has a house.
Lear.
Why?
Fool.
Why to put's head in, not to give it away to his daughters,
and leave his horns without a case.
Lear.
I will forget my nature: so kind a father! be my horses
ready?
Fool.
Thy asses are gone about 'em; the reason why the seven
stars are no more than seven, is a pretty reason.
Lear.
Because they are not eight.
Fool.
Yes indeed; thou would'st make a good fool.
Lear.
To take't again perforce!—monster ingratitude!
Fool.
If you were my fool, nuncle, I'd have thee beaten for
being old before thy time.
Lear.
How's that?
Fool.
Thou should'st not have been old, 'till thou hadst
been wise.
Lear.
O let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heav'n!
Keep me in temper, I would not be mad.
How now, are the horses ready?
-- 30 --
Gent.
Ready my lord.
Lear.
Come, boy.
Fool.
She that's a maid now, and laughs at my departure,
Shall not be a maid long, unless things be cut shorter.
[Exe.
ACT II.
SCENE I.
A Castle belonging to the Earl of Glo'ster.
Enter Bastard and Curan, severally.
Bastard.
Save thee, Curan.
Cur.
And you, Sir. I have been with your
father, and given him notice that the Duke of
Cornwall, and Regan his Dutchess, will be here
with him this night.
Bast.
How comes that?
Cur.
Nay I know not; you have heard of the news abroad,
I mean the whisper'd ones, for they are yet but ear-kissing arguments.
Bast.
Not I; pray you what are they?
Cur.
Have you heard of no likely wars toward, 'twixt the
Dukes of Cornwall and Albany?
Bast.
Not a word.
Cur.
You may then in time. Fare you well, Sir.
[Exit.
SCENE II.
Bast.
The Duke be here to-night! the better! best!
This weaves it self perforce into my business.
-- 31 --
My father hath set guard to take my brother,
And I have one thing of a queazy question
Which I must act; briefness, and fortune work!
To him, Enter Edgar.
Bast.
Brother, a word, descend, brother, I say,
My father watches; O Sir, fly this place,
Intelligence is giv'n where you are hid;
You've now the good advantage of the night—
Have you not spoken 'gainst the Duke of Cornwall?
He's coming hither, now i'th' night, haste,
And Regan with him; have you nothing said
Upon his party 'gainst the Duke of Albany?
Advise your self.
Edg.
I'm sure on't, not a word.
Bast.
I hear my father coming. Pardon me—
In cunning I must draw my sword upon you—
Draw, seem to defend your self.
Now quit you well—
Yield—come before my father—light hoa, here,—
Fly, brother—Torches!—so farewel—
[Ex. Edg.
Some blood drawn on me would beget opinion
[Wounds his arm.
Of my more fierce endeavour. I've seen drunkards
Do more than this in sport. Father! father!
Stop, stop, no help?—
SCENE III.
To him, Enter Glo'ster, and servants with torches.
Glo.
Now Edmund, where's the villain?
Bast.
Here stood he in the dark, his sharp sword out,
Mumbling of wicked charms, conj'ring the moon
-- 32 --
To stand his auspicious mistress.
Glo.
But where is he?
Bast.
Look Sir, I bleed.
Glo.
Where is the villain, Edmund?
Bast.
Fled this way, Sir, when by no means he could—
Glo.
Pursue him, ho! go after. By no means, what?—
Bast.
Persuade me to the murther of your lordship;
But that I told him the revenging gods
'Gainst parricides did all the thunder bend,
Spoke with how manifold and strong a bond
The child was bound to th' father. Sir, in fine,
Seeing how lothly opposite I stood
To his unnat'ral purpose, in fell motion
With his prepared sword, he charges home
My unprovided body, launch'd mine arm;
And when he saw my best alarmed spirits,
Bold in the quarrel's right, rouz'd to th' encounter,
Or whether † notegasted by the noise I made,
Full suddenly he fled.
Glo.
Let him fly far;
Not in this land shall he remain uncaught
And found; dispatch—the noble Duke, my master
My worthy arch and patron, comes to-night,
By his authority I will proclaim it,
That he which finds him shall deserve our thanks,
Bringing the murth'rous coward to the Stake:
He that conceals him, death.
Bast.
When I disswaded him from his intent,
And found him pight to do it, with curst speech
I threaten'd to discover him; he replied,
Thou unpossessing bastard, do'st thou think,
If I would stand against thee, would the reposal
Of any trust, virtue, or worth in thee
-- 33 --
Make thy words faith'd? no, by what I should deny,
(As this I would, although thou did'st produce
My very character) I'd turn it all
To thy suggestion, plot, and damned practice;
And thou must make a dullard of the world,
If they not thought the profits of my death
Were very pregnant and potential a notespurrs
To make thee seek it.
[Trumpets within.
Glo.
O strange, fasten'd villain!
Would he deny his letter, said he?
Hark, the Duke's trumpets! I know not why he comes—
All ports I'll bar, the villain shall not scape,
The Duke must grant me that; besides, his picture
I will send far and near, that all the kingdom
May have due note of him; and of my land,
(Loyal and natural boy) I'll work the means
To make thee capable.
SCENE IV.
Enter Cornwall, Regan, and attendants.
Corn.
How now, my noble friend? since I came hither,
Which I can call but now, I have heard b notestrange news.
Reg.
If it be true, all vengeance comes too short
Which can pursue th' offender; how does my lord?
Glo.
O madam, my old heart is crack'd, it's crack'd.
Reg.
What, did my father's godson seek your life?
He whom my father nam'd, your Edgar?
Glo.
O lady, lady, shame would have it hid.
Reg.
Was he not companion with the riotous Knights
That tended upon my father?
Glo.
I know not, madam; 'tis too bad, too bad.
Bast.
Yes, madam, he was of that consort.
-- 34 --
Reg.
No marvel then, though he were ill-affected;
'Tis they have put him on the old man's death,
To have th' expence and waste of revenues.
I have this present evening from my sister
Been well inform'd of them, and with such cautions,
That if they come to sojourn at my house,
I'll not be there.
Corn.
Nor I, assure thee, Regan;
Edmund, I hear that you have shewn your father
A child-like office.
Bast.
It's my duty, Sir.
Glo.
He did bewray his practice, and receiv'd
This hurt you see, striving to apprehend him.
Corn.
Is he pursued?
Glo.
Ay, my good lord.
Corn.
If he be taken, he shall never more
Be fear'd of doing harm: make your own purpose,
How in my strength you please. As for you Edmund,
Whose virtue and obedience doth this instant
So much commend it self, you shall be ours;
Natures of such deep trust we shall much need:
You we first seize on.
Bast.
I shall serve you, Sir,
Truly, however else.
Glo.
I thank your grace.
Corn.
You know not why we came to visit you
Thus out of season thredding dark-ey'd night?
Reg.
Occasions, noble Glo'ster, of some prize,
Wherein we must have use of your advice—
Our father he hath writ, so hath our sister,
Of diff'rences, which I best thought it fit
To answer from our home; the sev'ral messengers
From hence attend dispatch. Our good old friend
-- 35 --
Lay comforts to your bosom, and bestow
Your needful counsel to our businesses,
Which crave the instant use.
Glo.
I serve you, madam,
Your graces are right welcome.
[Exeunt.
SCENE V.
Enter Kent, and Steward, severally.
Stew.
Good † note evening to thee friend, art of this house?
Kent.
Ay.
Stew.
Where may we set our horses?
Kent.
I'th' mire.
Stew.
Pr'ythee if thou lov'st me tell me.
Kent.
I love thee not.
Stew.
Why then I care not for thee.
Kent.
If I had thee in Lipsbury pinfold, I would make thee
care for me.
Stew.
Why dost thou use me thus? I know thee not.
Kent.
Fellow, I know thee.
Stew.
What dost thou know me for?
Kent.
A knave, a rascal, an eater of broken meats, a base,
proud, shallow, beggarly, three-suited, hundred pound, filthy
woosted-stocking knave; a lilly-liver'd, action-taking, Whorson:
Glass-gazing, super-serviceable finical rogue; one trunk-inheriting
slave; one that would'st be a bawd in way of good
service; and art nothing but the composition of a knave, beggar,
coward, pander, and the son and heir of a mungril bitch;
one whom I will beat into clam'rous whining, if thou deny'st
the least syllable of thy addition.
Stew.
Why what a monstrous fellow art thou, thus to rail on
one, that is neither known of thee, nor knows thee?
-- 36 --
Kent.
What a brazen-fac'd varlet art thou to deny thou
knowest me? is it two days since I tript up thy heels, and beat
thee before the King? draw you rogue, for tho' it be night,
yet the moon shines; I'll make a sop o'th' moonshine of you,
you whorson culleinly barber-monger, draw.
[Drawing his sword.
Stew.
Away, I have nothing to do with thee.
Kent.
Draw, you rascal; you come with letters against the
King, and take Vanity the puppet's part, against the royalty of
her father; draw you rogue, or I'll so carbonado your shanks—
draw, you rascal, come your ways.
Stew.
Help, ho! murther! help!—
Kent.
Strike, you slave; stand, rogue, stand, you neat slave,
strike.
[Beating him.
Stew.
Help ho! murther! murther!—
SCENE VI.
Enter Bastard, Cornwal, Regan, Glo'ster, and Servants.
Bast.
How now, what's the matter? Part—
Kent.
With you, goodman boy, if you please, come, I'll
flesh ye, come on young master.
Glo.
Weapons? arms? what's the matter here?
Corn.
Keep peace upon your lives, he dies that strikes again,
what's the matter?
Reg.
The messengers from our sister and the King?
Corn.
What is your difference? speak.
Stew.
I am scarce in breath, my lord.
Kent.
No marvel, you have so bestir'd your valour, you cowardly
rascal, nature disclaims all share in thee: a tailor made
thee.
Corn.
Thou art a strange fellow, a tailor make a man?
Kent.
A tailor, Sir? a stone-cutter, or a painter could
-- 37 --
not have made him so ill, tho' they had been but two c notehours
o'th' trade.
Corn.
Speak you, how grew your quarrel?
Stew.
This ancient ruffian, Sir, whose life I have spar'd at
sute of his grey beard—
Kent.
Thou whorson zed! thou unnecessary letter! my lord,
if you will give me leave, I will tread this unbolted villain into
mortar, and daub the wall of a jakes with him. Spare my grey
beard? you wag-tail!—
Corn.
Peace, Sirrah!
You beastly knave, know you no reverence?
Kent.
Yes, Sir, but anger hath a privilege.
Corn.
Why art thou angry?
Kent.
That such a slave as this shou'd wear a sword,
Who wears no honesty: such smiling rogues
d note
As these, like rats oft bite those cords in twain
Too intricate t' unloose: sooth ev'ry passion
That in the nature of their lords rebels;
e noteBring oil to fire, snow to their colder moods;
Renege, affirm, and turn their halcyon beaks
With ev'ry gale and Vary of their masters,
As knowing nought, like dogs, but following.
A plague upon your epileptick visage!
Smile you my speeches, as I were a fool?
Goose, if I had you upon Sarum plain,
I'd drive ye cackling home to Camelot.
Corn.
What art thou mad, old fellow?
Glo.
How fell you out? say that.
Kent.
No contraries hold more antipathy,
Than I and such a knave.
Corn.
Why dost thou call him knave? what is his fault?
-- 38 --
Kent.
His countenance likes me not.
Corn.
No more perchance does mine, nor his, nor hers.
Kent.
Sir, 'tis my occupation to be plain;
I have seen better faces in my time,
Than stand on any shoulder that I see
Before me at this instant.
Corn.
This is some fellow,
Who having been prais'd for bluntness, doth affect
A sawcy roughness, and constrains the garb
Quite from his nature. He can't flatter, he,
An honest mind and plain, he must speak truth,
An they will take it, so; if not, he's plain.
These kind of knaves I know, which in this plainness
Harbour more craft, and far corrupter ends,
Than twenty silly ducking observants,
That stretch their duties nicely.
Kent.
Sir, in good faith, in sincere verity,
Under th' allowance of your grand aspect,
Whose influence, like the wreath of radiant fire,
Or flickering Phœbus' front—
Corn.
What mean'st by this?
Kent.
To go out of my dialect, which you discommend so
much; I know, Sir, I am no flatterer; he that beguil'd you in
a plain accent, was a plain knave; which for my part I will not
be, though I should win your displeasure to intreat me to't.
Corn.
What was th' offence you gave him?
Stew.
I never gave him any:
It pleas'd the King his master very lately
To strike at me upon his misconstruction;
When he f noteconjunct, and flatt'ring his displeasure,
Tript me behind; being down, insulted, rail'd,
And put upon him such a deal of man,
That worthied him, got praises of the King,
-- 39 --
For him attempting who was self-subdu'd,
And in the fleshment of this dread exploit
Drew on me here again.
Kent.
None of these rogues and cowards,
But Ajax is their fool.
Corn.
Fetch forth the stocks.
You stubborn ancient knave, you rev'rend braggart,
We'll teach you.
Kent.
Sir, I am too old to learn;
Call not your stocks for me, I serve the King;
On whose imployment I was sent to you.
You shall do small respect, shew too bold malice
Against the grace and person of my master,
Stocking his messenger.
Corn.
Fetch forth the stocks;
As I have life and honour, there shall he sit 'till noon.
Reg.
'Till noon! 'till night my lord, and all night too.
Kent.
Why madam, if I were your father's dog
You could not use me so.
Reg.
Sir, being his knave, I will.
[Stocks brought out.
Corn.
This is a fellow of the self-same g notenature
Our sister speaks of. Bring away the stocks.
Glo.
Let me beseech your grace not to do so;
† noteHis fault is much, and the good King his master
Will check him for't; your purpos'd low correction
Is such, as basest and the meanest wretches
For pilf'rings, and most common trespasses,
Are punish'd with. The King must take it ill
That he's so slightly valued in his messenger,
To have him thus restrain'd.
Corn.
I'll answer that.
Reg.
My sister may receive it much more worse,
To have her gentleman abus'd, assaulted
-- 40 --
For following her affairs. Put in his legs—
[Kent is put in the stocks.
Come my lord, away.
[Exeunt Regan and Cornwall.
SCENE VI.
Glo.
I'm sorry for thee, friend; 'tis the Duke's pleasure,
Whose disposition all the world well knows
Will not be rubb'd nor stop'd. I'll intreat for thee.
Kent.
Pray do not, Sir. I've watch'd and travell'd hard,
Some time I shall sleep out, the rest I'll whistle:
A good man's fortune may grow out at heels;
Give you good morrow.
Glo.
The Duke's to blame in this, 'twill be ill taken.
[Exit.
Kent.
Good King, that must approve the common saw,
Thou out of heaven's benediction com'st
To the warm sun.
Approach thou beacon to this under globe,
[Looking up to the moon.
That by thy comfortable beams I may
Peruse this letter. Nothing almost sees miracles
But misery. I know 'tis from Cordelia,
Who hath most fortunately been inform'd
Of my obscured course. I shall find time
From this enormous state, and seek to give
Losses their remedies. All weary and o'er-watch'd,
Take vantage heavy eyes, not to behold
This shameful lodging.
Fortune, good night, smile once more, turn thy wheel.
[He sleeps.
-- 41 --
SCENE VII.
SCENE changes.
Enter Edgar.
Edg.
I've heard my self proclaim'd,
And by the happy hollow of a tree
Escap'd the hunt. No port is free, no place
That guard and most unusual vigilance
Does not attend my taking. Whiles I may scape
I will preserve my self: and am bethought
To take the basest and the poorest shape
That ever penury in contempt of man
Brought near to beast: my face I'll grime with filth,
Blanket my loins, put all my hair in knots,
And with presented nakedness out-face
The winds, and persecutions of the sky.
The country gives me proof and president
Of bedlam beggars, who with roaring voices
Strike in their numb'd and mortify'd bare arms
Pins, wooden pricks, nails, sprigs of rosemary;
And with this horrible object, from low farms
Poor pelting villages, sheep-coats and mills,
Sometimes with lunatick bans, sometimes with pray'rs,
Inforce their charity; poor Turlygod, poor Tom,
That's something yet: Edgar I nothing am.
[Exit.
SCENE VIII.
Changes again to the Earl of Glo'ster's Castle.
Enter Lear, Fool, and Gentleman.
Lear.
'Tis strange that they should so depart from home,
And not send back my messenger.
-- 42 --
Gent.
As I learn'd,
The night before there was no purpose in them
Of this remove.
Kent.
Hail to thee, noble master.
Lear.
Ha, mak'st thou shame thy pastime?
Kent.
No, my lord.
Fool.
Ha, ha, he wears cruel garters; horses are ty'd by the
heads, dogs and bears by th' neck, monkeys by th' loins, and
men by th' legs; when a man is over-lusty at legs, then he wears
wooden nether stocks.
Lear.
What's he, that hath so much thy place mistook,
To set thee here?
Kent.
It is both he and she,
Your son and daughter.
Lear.
No.
Kent.
Yes.
Lear.
No, I say.
Kent.
I say, yea.
Lear.
By Jupiter, I swear no.
Kent.
By Juno, I swear ay.
Lear.
They durst not do't.
They could not, would not do't; 'tis worse than murther;
To do upon respect such violent outrage:
Resolve me with all modest haste, which way
Thou might'st deserve or they impose this usage,
Coming from us?
Kent.
My lord, when at their home
I did commend your highness' letters to them,
Ere I was risen from the place, that shew'd
My duty kneeling, came a reeking post,
Stew'd in his haste, half breathless, panting forth
From Gonerill his mistress, salutation;
Deliver'd letters spight of intermission,
-- 43 --
Which presently they read: on those contents
They summon'd up their † notemeiny, strait took horse,
Commanded me to follow and attend
The leisure of their answer; gave me cold looks;
And meeting here the other messenger,
Whose welcome I perceiv'd had poison'd mine,
Being the very fellow which of late
Display'd so sawcily against your highness,
Having more man than wit about me, I drew;
He rais'd the house with loud and coward cries:
Your son and daughter found this trespass worth
The shame which here it suffers.
Fool.
Winter's not gone yet, if the wild geese fly that way.
Fathers that wear rags
Do make their children blind,
But fathers that bear bags
Shall see their children kind.
Fortune, that arrant whore,
Ne'er turns the key to th' poor.
But for all this thou shalt have as many dolours for thy dear
daughters, as thou canst tell in a year.
Lear.
Oh how this mother swells up tow'rd my heart!
Hysterica passio, down thou climbing sorrow,
Thy element's below; where is this daughter?
Kent.
With the Earl, Sir, here within.
Lear.
Follow me not, stay here.
[Exit.
Gen.
Made you no more offence
But what you speak of?
Kent.
None;
How chance the King comes with so small a number?
Fool.
An thou hadst been set i'th' stocks for that question,
thou'dst well deserve it.
Kent.
Why, fool?
-- 44 --
Fool.
We'll set thee to school to an Ant, to teach thee there's
no lab'ring i'th' winter. All that follow their noses are led by
their eyes, but blind men; and there's not a nose among twenty
but can smell him that's stinking—let go thy hold when a
great wheel runs down a hill, lest it break thy neck with following;
but the great one that goes upward, let him draw thee
after. When a wise man gives thee better counsel, give me mine
again; I would have none but knaves follow it, since a fool
gives it.
That Sir which serves for gain,
And follows but for form,
Will pack when it begins to rain,
And leave thee in a storm:
And I will tarry, the fool will stay,
And let the wise man fly:
The knave turns fool that runs away,
The fool no knave perdy.
Kent.
Where learn'd you this, fool?
Fool.
Not i'th' stocks, fool.
SCENE IX.
Enter Lear and Glo'ster.
Lear.
Deny to speak with me? they're sick, they're weary,
They have travell'd all the night? meer fetches,
The images of revolt and flying off.
Bring me a better answer—
Glo.
My dear lord,
You know the fiery quality of the Duke,
How unremoveable and fixt he is
In his own course.
Lear.
Vengeance! plague! death! confusion!—
Fiery? what fiery quality? why Glo'ster,
-- 45 --
I'd speak with th' Duke of Cornwall, and his wife.
Glo.
Well, my good lord, I have inform'd them so.
Lear.
Inform'd them? dost thou understand me, man?
Glo.
Ay, my good lord.
Lear.
The King would speak with Cornwall, the dear father
Would with his daughter speak, h notecommands her service:
Are they inform'd of this?—my breath and blood!—
Fiery? the fiery Duke? tell the hot Duke that—
No, but not yet, may be he is not well,
Infirmity doth still neglect all office,
Whereto our health is bound; we're not our selves,
When nature being opprest commands the mind
To suffer with the body. I'll forbear,
And am fall'n out with my more heady will,
To take the indispos'd and sickly fit,
For the sound man.—Death on my state! but wherefore
Should he sit here? this act perswades me,
That this remotion of the Duke and her
Is practice only. Give me my servant forth;
Go, tell the Duke and's wife, I'd speak with them:
Now presently—bid them come forth and hear me,
Or at their chamber door I'll beat the drum,
'Till it cry, sleep to death.
Glo.
I would have all well betwixt you.
[Exit.
Lear.
Oh me, my heart! my rising heart! but down.
Fool.
Cry to it, nuncle, as the cockney did to the Eels, when
he put them i'th' Pasty alive; he rapt 'em o'th' coxcombs with
a stick, and cry'd down wantons, down; 'Twas his brother, that
in pure kindness to his horse buttered his hay.
-- 46 --
SCENE X.
Enter Cornwall, Regan, Glo'ster, and Servants.
Lear.
Good morrow to you both.
Corn.
Hail to your grace.
[Kent is set at liberty.
Reg.
I am glad to see your highness.
Lear.
Regan, I think you are, I know what reason
I have to think so; if thou wert not glad,
I would divorce me from thy mother's tomb,
Sepulchring an adult'ress. O, are you free?
[To Kent.
Some other time for that. Beloved Regan,
Thy sister's naught: oh Regan, she hath tied
Sharp-tooth'd unkindness, like a vulture, here;
[Points to his heart.
I can scarce speak to thee, thou'lt not believe
With how deprav'd a quality—oh Regan!—
Reg.
I pray you, Sir, take patience; I have hope
You less know how to value her desert,
Than she to scant her duty.
Lear.
How is that?—
Reg.
I cannot think my sister in the least
Would fail her obligation. If perchance
She have restrain'd the riots of your followers,
'Tis on such ground, and to such wholesom end,
As clears her from all blame.
Lear.
My curses on her.
Reg.
O Sir, you are old,
Nature in you stands on the very verge
Of her confine; you should be rul'd and led
By some discretion, that discerns your state
Better than you your self: therefore I pray you,
That to our sister you do make return,
Say you have wrong'd her, Sir.
-- 47 --
Lear.
Ask her forgiveness?
Do you but mark how this becomes the house?
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; these are unsightly tricks:
Return you to my sister.
Lear.
Never, Regan:
She hath abated me of half my train;
Look'd black upon me, struck me with her tongue
Most serpent-like, upon the very heart.
All the stor'd vengeances of heaven fall
On her ingrateful i notehead: strike her young bones,
k noteInfecting airs, with lameness.
Corn.
Fie, Sir! fie!
Lear.
You nimble lightnings, dart your blinding flames
Into her scornful eyes: infect her beauty,
You fen-suck'd fogs, drawn by the pow'rful sun
To fall, and l note blast her pride.
Reg.
O the blest gods!
So will you wish on me, when the rash mood is on.
Lear.
No, Regan, thou shalt never have my curse:
Thy tender-hearted nature shall not give
Thee o'er to harshness; her eyes are fierce, but thine
Do comfort, and not burn. 'Tis not in thee
To grudge my pleasures, to cut off my train,
To bandy hasty words, to scant my sizes,
And in conclusion to oppose the bolt
Against my coming in. Thou better know'st
The offices of nature, bond of child-hood,
Effects of courtesie, and dues of gratitude:
Thy half o'th' kingdom thou hast not forgot,
Wherein I thee endow'd.
-- 48 --
Reg.
Good Sir, to th' purpose.
[Trumpet within.
Lear.
Who put my man i'th' stocks?
Enter Steward.
Corn.
What trumpet's that?
Reg.
I know't, my sister's: this approves her letter,
That she would soon be here. Is your lady come?
Lear.
This is a slave, whose easie borrowed pride
Dwells in the k notefickle grace of her he follows.
Out varlet, from my sight.
Corn.
What means your grace?
SCENE XI.
Enter Gonerill.
Lear.
Who stockt my servant? Regan, I've good hope
Thou didst not know on't.—Who comes here? O heav'ns!
If you do love old men, if your sweet sway
Allow obedience, if your selves are old,
Make it your cause; send down and take my part.
Art not asham'd to look upon this beard?
O Regan, will you take her by the hand?
Gon.
Why not by th' hand, Sir? how have I offended?
All's not offence that indiscretion finds,
And dotage terms so.
Lear.
O sides, you are too tough!
Will you yet hold? how came my man i'th' stocks?
Corn.
I set him there, Sir: but his own disorders
Deserv'd much less advancement.
Lear.
You? did you?
Reg.
I pray you, father, being weak, seem so.
If, 'till the expiration of your month,
You will return and sojourn with my sister,
-- 49 --
Dismissing half your train, come then to me,
I'm now from home, and out of that provision
Which shall be needful for your entertainment.
Lear.
Return to her? and fifty men dismiss'd?
No, rather I abjure all roofs, and chuse
To wage against the enmity o'th' air,
To be a comrade with the wolf and owl,
Necessity's sharp pinch—Return with her?
Why? the hot-blooded France, that dow'rless took
Our youngest born, I could as well be brought
To knee his throne, and Squire-like pension beg,
To keep base life a-foot;—Return with her?
Persuade me rather to be slave and sumpter
To this detested groom.
Gon.
At your choice, Sir.
Lear.
I pr'ythee, daughter, do not make me mad,
I will not trouble thee, my child. Farewell:
We'll no more meet, no more see one another,
But yet thou art my flesh, my blood, my daughter,
Or rather a disease that's in my flesh,
Which I must needs call mine; thou art a bile,
A plague-sore, or imbossed carbuncle
In my corrupted blood; but I'll not chide thee.
Let shame come when it will, I do not call it,
I do not bid the thunder-bearer shoot,
Nor tell tales of thee to high-judging Jove.
Mend when thou canst, be better at thy leisure,
I can be patient, I can stay with Regan,
I and my hundred Knights.
Reg.
Not all together,
I look'd not for you yet, nor am provided
For your fit welcome; give ear to my sister;
For those that mingle reason with your passion,
-- 50 --
Must be content to think you old, and so—
But she knows what she does.
Lear.
Is this well spoken?
Reg.
I dare avouch it, Sir; what, fifty followers?
Is it not well? what should you need of more?
Yea, or so many? since both charge and danger
Speak 'gainst so great a number: how in one house
Should many people under two commands
Hold amity? 'tis hard, almost impossible.
Gon.
Why might not you, my lord, receive attendance
From those that she calls servants, or from mine?
Reg.
Why not, my lord? if then they chanc'd to slack ye
We could controll them; if you'll come to me,
(For now I spy a danger) I intreat you
To bring but five and twenty; to no more
Will I give place or notice.
Lear.
I gave you all—
Reg.
And in good time you gave it.
Lear.
Made you my guardians, my depositaries,
But kept a reservation to be follow'd
With such a number; must I come to you
With five and twenty? Regan, said you so?
Reg.
And speak't again, my lord, no more with me.
Lear.
Those wicked creatures yet do look well favour'd
When others are more wicked. Not being worst
Stands in some rank of praise; I'll go with thee,
Thy fifty yet doth double five and twenty;
And thou hast twice her love.
Gon.
Hear me, my lord;
What need you five and twenty? ten? or five?
To follow in a house, where twice so many
Have a command to tend you?
Reg.
What needs one?
-- 51 --
Lear.
O reason not the need: our basest beggars
Are in the poorest thing superfluous;
Allow not nature more than nature needs,
Man's life is cheap as beasts. Thou art a lady;
If only to go warm were gorgeous,
Why nature needs not what thou gorgeous wear'st,
Which scarcely keeps thee warm; but for true need,
You heav'ns give me that patience which I need!
You see me here, you gods, a poor old man,
As full of grief as age, wretched in both!
If it be you that stir these daughters hearts
Against their father, fool me not so much
To bear it tamely: touch me with noble anger;
O let not womens weapons, water-drops,
Stain my man's cheeks. No, you unnat'ral hags,
I will have such revenges on you both,
That all the world shall—I will do such things,
What they are yet I know not, but they shall be
The terrors of the earth: you think I'll weep:
No, I'll not weep. I have full cause of weeping:
This heart shall break into a thousand flaws
Or e'er I weep. O fool, I shall go mad.
[Exeunt.
SCENE XII.
Corn.
Let us withdraw, 'twill be a storm.
[Storm and Tempest.
Reg.
This house is small, the old man and his people
Cannot be well bestow'd.
Gon.
'Tis his own blame hath put himself from rest,
And must needs taste his folly.
Reg.
For his particular, I'll receive him gladly,
But not one follower.
-- 52 --
Gon.
So am I purpos'd.
Where is my lord of Glo'ster?
Enter Glo'ster.
Corn.
Follow'd the old man forth;—he is return'd.
Glo.
The King is in high rage, and will I know not whither.
Corn.
'Tis best to give him way, he leads himself.
Gon.
My lord, intreat him by no means to stay.
Glo.
Alack, the night comes on: and the high winds
Do sorely russle, for many miles about
There's scarce a bush.
Reg.
O Sir, to wilful men,
The injuries that they themselves procure
Must be their school-masters: shut up your doors;
He is attended with a desp'rate train,
And what they may incense him to, being apt
To have his ear abus'd, wisdom bids fear.
Corn.
Shut up your doors, my lord, 'tis a wild night.
My Regan counsels well: come out o'th' storm.
[Exeunt.
-- 53 --
ACT III.
SCENE I.
SCENE A Heath.
A storm is heard with thunder and lightning. Enter Kent, and a Gentleman, severally.
Kent.
Who's there besides foul weather?
Gent.
One minded like the weather, most unquietly.
Kent.
I know you: where's the King?
Gent.
Contending with the fretful elements;
Bids the wind blow the earth into the sea,
Or swell the curled waters 'bove the main,
That things might change or cease: tears his white hair,† note
Which the impetuous blasts with eyeless rage
Catch in their fury, and make nothing of.
This night, in which the cub-drawn bear would couch,
The lion, and the belly-pinched wolf
Keep their furr dry; unbonneted he runs,
And bids what will, take all.
Kent.
But who is with him?
Gent.
None but the fool, who labours to out-jest
His heart-struck injuries.
Kent.
Sir, I do know you,
And dare upon the warrant of my note
-- 54 --
Commend a dear thing to you. There's division
(Although as yet the face of it is cover'd
With mutual craft) 'twixt Albany and Cornwal:*
note
But true it is from France there comes a pow'r
Into this scatter'd kingdom, who already
Wise in our negligence, have secret sea
In some of our best ports, and are at point
To show their open banner—Now to you,
If on my credit you dare build so far
To make your speed to Dover, you shall find
Some that will thank you, making just report
Of how unnatural and madding sorrow
The King hath cause to plain.
I am a gentleman of blood and breeding,
And from some knowledge and assurance of you,
Offer this office.
Gent.
I'll talk further with you.
Kent.
No, do not:
† noteFor confirmation that I am much more
Than my out-wall, open this purse and take
What it contains. If you shall see Cordelia;
-- 55 --
(As fear not but you shall) shew her that Ring,
And she will tell you who this fellow is,
That yet you do not know. Fie on this storm!
I will go seek the King.
Gent.
Give me your hand, have you no more to say?
Kent.
Few words, but to effect more than all yet;
That, when we have found the King, (in which you take
That way, I this:) he that first lights on him,
Hollow the other.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.
Storm still. Enter Lear and Fool.
Lear.
Blow winds, and crack your cheeks; rage, blow!
You cataracts, and hurricanoes spout
'Till you have drencht our steeples, drown'd the cocks.
You sulph'rous and thought-executing fires,
‡ noteVaunt-couriers of oak-cleaving thunder-bolts,
Singe my white head. And thou all-shaking thunder,
Strike flat the thick rotundity o'th' world,
Crack nature's mould, all † note germains spill at once
That make ingrateful man.
Fool.
O nuncle, court-holy-water in a dry house, is better
than the rain-water out o' door. Good nuncle, in, ask thy daughter's
blessing; here's a night that pities neither wise men nor fools.
Lear.
Rumble thy belly full, spit fire, spout rain;
Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire, are my daughters;
I tax not you, you elements, with unkindness,
I never gave you kingdom, call'd you children,
You owe me no a notesubmission. Then let fall
Your horrible pleasure;—here I stand your slave,
A poor, infirm, weak, and despis'd old man!
But yet I call you servile ministers,
That have with two pernicious daughters join'd
-- 56 --
Your high-engender'd battels, 'gainst a head
So old and white as this. O, ho! 'tis foul.
Fool.
He that has a house to put's head in, has a good head-piece:
The codpiece that will house, before the head has any:
The head and he shall lowse; so beggars marry many.
That man that makes his toe, what he his heart should make,
Shall of a corn cry woe, and turn his sleep to wake.
For there was never yet fair woman, but she made mouths in
a glass.
SCENE III.
To them, Enter Kent.
Lear.
No, I will be the pattern of all patience,
I will say nothing.
Kent.
Who's there?
Fool.
Marry here's grace, and a codpiece, that's a wise man
and a fool.
Kent.
Alas Sir, are you here? things that love night,
Love not such nights as these: the wrathful skies
† noteGallow the very wand'rers of the dark,
And make them keep their caves: since I was man,
Such sheets of fire, such bursts of horrid thunder,
Such groans of roaring wind and rain, I never
Remember to have heard. Man's nature cannot carry
Th' affliction, nor the force.
Lear.
Let the great gods,
That keep this dreadful thund'ring o'er our heads,
Find out their enemies now. Tremble thou wretch,
That hast within thee undivulged crimes
Unwhipt of justice. Hide thee, thou bloody hand;
-- 57 --
b note
Thou perjur'd, and thou simular man of virtue,
That art incestuous: caitiff, shake to pieces
That under covert and convenient seeming
Hast practis'd on man's life. Close pent-up guilts,
Rive your concealing continents, and ask
These dreadful summoners grace.—I am a man,
More sinn'd against, than sinning.
Kent.
Alack, bare-headed?
Gracious my lord, hard by here is a hovel,
Some friendship will it lend you 'gainst the tempest:
Repose you there, while I to this hard house
(More hard than is the stone whereof 'tis rais'd;
Which even but now, demanding after you,
Deny'd me to come in) return, and force
Their scanted courtesie.
Lear.
My wits begin to turn.
Come on my boy. How dost my boy? art cold?
I'm cold my self. Where is this straw, my fellow?
The art of our necessities is strange,
That can make vile things precious. Come, your hovel;
Poor fool and knave, I've one thing in my heart
That's sorry yet for thee.
Fool.
He that has and a little tynie wit,
With heigh ho, the wind and the rain,
Must make content with his fortunes fit,
Though the rain it raineth every day.
Lear.
True my good boy: come bring us to this hovel.
[Ex.
† noteFool.
'Tis a brave night to cool a curtezan.
I'll speak a prophecy or ere I go;
-- 58 --
When priests are more in words than matter,
When brewers marr their malt with water;
When nobles are their tailors tutors;
No hereticks burn'd, but wenches suitors;
When every case in law is right,
No Squire in debt, nor no poor Knight;
When slanders do not live in tongues,
And cut-purses come not to throngs;
When usurers tell their gold i'th' field,
And bawds and whores do churches build:
Then shall the realm of Albion
Come to great confusion,
Then comes the time, who lives to see't,
That going shall be us'd with feet,
This prophecy Merlin shall make, for I do live before his time.
[Ex.
SCENE IV.
An apartment in Glo'ster's castle.
Enter Glo'ster and Bastard.
Glo.
Alack, alack, Edmund, I like not this unnatural
dealing; when I desired their leave that I might pity
him, they took from me the use of mine own house, charg'd
me on pain of perpetual displeasure, neither to speak of him,
entreat for him, or any way sustain him.
Bast.
Most savage and unnatural!
Glo.
Go to; say you nothing. There is division between
the Dukes, and a worse matter than that: I have received a letter
this night, 'tis dangerous to be spoken, I have lock'd the
letter in my closet: these injuries the King now bears will be revenged
home; there is part of a power already, c notelanded; we must
incline to the King, I will look for him, and privily relieve him;
-- 59 --
go you and maintain talk with the Duke, that my charity be not
of him perceiv'd; if he ask for me, I am ill, and gone to bed;
if I die for it, as no less is threatned me, the King my old master
must be relieved. There are strange things toward, Edmund,
pray you be careful.
[Exit.
Bast.
This courtesie forbid thee shall the Duke
Instantly know, and of that letter too.
This seems a fair deserving, and must draw me
That which my father loses; no less than all.
The younger rises, when the old doth fall.
[Exit.
SCENE V.
Part of the Heath with a hovel.
Enter Lear, Kent, and Fool.
Kent.
Here is the place, my lord; good my lord, enter;
The tyranny of open night's too rough
For nature to endure.
[Storm still.
Lear.
Let me alone.
Kent.
Good my lord, enter here.
Lear.
Wilt break my heart?
Kent.
I'd rather break mine own; good my lord enter.
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. Thou'dst shun a bear,
But if thy flight light toward the roaring sea
Thou'dst meet the bear i'th' mouth; when the mind's free,
The body's delicate; 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
-- 60 --
For lifting food to't?—But I'll punish home;
No, I will weep no more—in such a night,
To shut me out?—pour on, I will endure:
In such a night as this? O Regan, Gonerill,
Your old kind father, whose frank heart gave all—
O that way madness lyes, let me shun that,
No more of that.
Kent.
Good my lord, enter here.
Lear.
Pr'ythee go in thy self, seek thine own ease,
This tempest will not give me leave to ponder
On things would hurt me more—but I'll go in,
In boy, go first. You houseless poverty—
Nay, get thee in; I'll pray, and then I'll sleep—
Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are
That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm!
How shall your houseless heads, and unfed sides,
Your loop'd and window'd raggedness, defend you
From seasons such as these?—O I have ta'en
Too little care of this! take physick, pomp,
Expose thy self to feel what wretches feel,
That thou may'st shake the superflux to them,
And shew the heav'ns more just.
SCENE VI.
Enter Edgar, disguis'd like a madman, and Fool.
Edg.
Fathom and half, fathom and half! poor Tom.
Fool.
Come not in here nuncle, here's a spirit, help me,
help me.
Kent.
Give me thy hand, who's there?
Fool.
A spirit, a spirit, he says his name's poor Tom.
Kent.
What art thou that do'st grumble there i'th' straw?
come forth.
-- 61 --
Edg.
Away, the foul fiend follows me. Through the sharp
hawthorn blows the cold wind. Humph, go to thy bed and
warm thee.
Lear.
Didst thou give all to thy daughters? and art thou come
to this?
Edg.
Who gives any thing to poor Tom? whom the foul
fiend hath led through fire and through flame, through d noteford
and whirlpool, o'er bog and quagmire, that hath laid knives
under his pillow, and halters in his pue; set ratsbane by his
porredge, made him proud of heart, to ride on a bay trotting
horse, over four e noteinch'd bridges, to course his own shadow for
a traitor,—bless thy five wits, Tom's a-cold. O do, de, do, de, do,
de, bless thee from whirl-winds, star-blasting, and taking, do
poor Tom some charity, whom the foul fiend vexes. There could
I have him now, and there, and here again, and there.
[Storm still.
Lear.
Have his daughters brought him to this pass?
Could'st thou save nothing? didst thou give 'em all?
Fool.
Nay, he reserv'd a blanket, else we had been all shamed.
Lear.
Now all the plagues that in the pendulous air
Hang fated o'er men's faults, light on thy daughters!
Kent.
He hath no daughters, Sir.
Lear.
Death, traitor, nothing could have subdu'd nature
To such a lowness, but his unkind daughters.
Is it the fashion, that discarded fathers
Should have thus little mercy on their flesh?
Judicious punishment! 'twas this flesh begot
Those pelican daughters.
Edg.
Pillicock sat on pillicock-hill, alow, alow, loo, loo.
Fool.
This cold night will turn us all to fools, and mad-men.
Edg.
Take heed o'th' 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. Tom's a-cold.
-- 62 --
Lear.
What hast thou been?
Edg.
A serving-man, proud in heart and mind; that curl'd
my hair, wore gloves in my cap, serv'd the lust of my mistress's
heart, and did the act of darkness with her: swore as many
oaths as I spake words, and broke them in the sweet face of
heav'n. One that slept in the contriving lust, and wak'd to do
it. Wine lov'd I f notedeeply; dice dearly; and in woman, out-paramour'd
the Turk. False of heart, light of ear, bloodyg note of hand;
hog in sloth, fox in stealth, wolf in greediness, dog in madness,
lion in prey. Let not the creaking of shoes, 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
lender's books, and defie the foul fiend. Still through the hawthorn
blows the cold wind: says suum, mun, nonny, dolphin
my boy, boy, Sessey: let him trot by.
[Storm still.
Lear.
Thou wert better in a grave, than to answer with thy
uncover'd body this extremity of the skies. Is man no more
than this? Consider him well. Thou ow'st the worm no silk,
the beast no hide, the sheep no wool, the cat no perfume. Ha!
here's three of us are sophisticated. Thou art the thing it self;
unaccommodated man is no more but such a poor, bare, forked
animal as thou art. Off, off you lendings: come, unbutton
here.
[Tearing off his cloaths.
Fool.
Pr'ythee nuncle be contented; 'tis a naughty night to
swim in. Now a little fire in a wild field, were like an old letcher's
heart, a small spark, and all the rest on's body cold; look,
here comes a walking fire.
Edg.
This is the foul Flibbertigibbet; he begins at curfew,
and walks 'till the first cock; he gives the web and the pin,
squints the eye, and makes the hair-lip; mildews the white wheat,
and hurts the poor creature of the earth.
Swithold footed thrice the old;
He met the night-mare, and her nine-fold,
-- 63 --
Bid her alight, and her troth plight,
And aroynt thee witch, aroynt thee.
Kent.
How fares your grace?
SCENE VII.
Enter Glo'ster with a torch.
Lear.
What's he?
Kent.
Who's there? what is't you seek?
Glo.
What are you there? your names?
Edg.
Poor Tom, that eats the swimming frog, the toad, the
tod-pole; the wall-newt, and the water-newt; that in the fury
of his heart, when the foul fiend rages, eats cow-dung for sallets;
swallows the old rat, and the ditch-dog; drinks the green
mantle of the standing pool; who is whipt from tything to tything,
and stock-punish'd, and imprison'd: who hath three suits
to his back, six shirts to his body;
Horse to ride, and weapon to wear;
But mice, and rats, and such small deer
Have been Tom's food for seven long year;
Beware my follower. Peace smulkin, peace thou fiend.
Glo.
What, hath your grace no better company?
Edg.
The Prince of darkness is a gentleman, Modo he's call'd,
and Mahu.
Glo.
Our flesh and blood, my lord, is grown so vile,
That it doth hate what gets it.
Edg.
Tom's a-cold.
Glo.
Go in with me; my duty cannot suffer
T' obey in all your daughters hard commands:
Though their injunction be to bar my doors,
And let this tyrannous night take hold upon you,
-- 64 --
Yet have I ventur'd to come seek you out,
And bring you where both fire and food is ready.
Lear.
First let me talk with this philosopher;
What is the cause of thunder?
Kent.
My good lord, take his offer,
Go into th' house.
Lear.
I'll talk a word with this same learned Theban:
What is your study?
Edg.
How to prevent the fiend, and to kill vermin.
Lear.
Let us ask you one word in private.
Kent.
Importune him to go, my lord,
His wits begin t' unsettle.
Glo.
Can'st thou blame him?
[Storm still.
His daughters seek his death: ah, that good Kent!
He said it would be thus; poor banish'd man.
Thou say'st the King grows mad; I'll tell thee friend,
I'm almost mad my self; I had a son,
Now out-law'd from my blood, he sought my life
But lately, very late; I lov'd him, friend,
No father his son dearer: true to tell thee,
The grief hath craz'd my wits. What a night's this?
I do beseech your grace.
Lear.
O cry you mercy, Sir:
Noble philosopher, your company.
Edg.
Tom's a-cold.
Glo.
In, fellow, into th' hovel; keep thee warm.
Lear.
Come, let's in all.
Kent.
This way, my lord.
Lear.
With him;
I will keep still with my philosopher.
Kent.
Good, my lord, sooth him; let him take the fellow.
Glo.
Take him you on.
Kent.
Sirrah, come on; along with us.
-- 65 --
Lear.
Come, good Athenian.
Glo.
No words, no words, hush.
Edg.
Child Rowland to the dark tower came,
His word was still, fie, foh, and fum,
I smell the blood of a British man.
[Exeunt.
SCENE VIII.
Glo'ster's Castle.
Enter Cornwall and Bastard.
Corn.
I will have revenge, ere I depart his house.
Bast.
How, my lord! I may be censur'd, that nature
thus gives way to loyalty; something fears me to think of.
Corn.
I now perceive, it was not altogether your brother's
evil disposition made him seek his death: but a provoking merit
set a-work by a reprovable badness in himself.
Bast.
How malicious is my fortune, that I must repent to be
just? this is the letter which he spoke of; which approves him
an intelligent party to the advantages of France. Oh heav'ns!
that this treason were not; or not I the detector.
Corn.
Go with me to the dutchess.
Bast.
If the matter of this paper be certain, you have mighty
business in hand.
Corn.
True or false, it hath made thee Earl of Gloster: seek
out where thy father is, that he may be ready for our apprehension.
Bast.
If I find him comforting the King, it will stuff his suspicion
more fully. I will persevere in my course of loyalty,
though the conflict be sore between that and my blood.
Corn.
I will lay trust upon thee; and thou shalt find a dearer
father in my love.
[Exeunt.
-- 66 --
SCENE IX.
A Chamber.
Enter Kent and Glo'ster.
Glo.
Here is better than the open air, take it thankfully:
I will piece out the comfort with what addition I can;
I will not be long from you.
[Exit.
Kent.
All the pow'r of his wits has given way to his impatience:
the gods reward your kindness.
Enter Lear, Edgar, and Fool.
Edg.
Fraterreto calls me, and tells me Nero is an angler in
the lake of darkness: pray innocent, and beware the foul fiend.
Fool.
Pr'ythee, nuncle, tell me, whether a madman be a gentleman,
or a yeoman?
Lear.
A King, a King.
Fool.
No, he's a yeoman that has a gentleman to his son:
for he's a yeoman that sees his son a gentleman before him.
Lear.
To have a thousand with red burning spits
Come hizzing in upon 'em.* note
Edg.
The foul fiend bites my back.
Fool.
He's mad that trusts in the tameness of a wolf, the health
of a horse, the love of a boy, or the oath of a whore.
Lear.
It shall be done, I will arraign 'em strait.
Come sit thou here, most learned justice,
Thou sapient Sir, sit here—now ye she foxes.
Edg.
The foul fiend haunts poor Tom in the voice of a nightingale.
Hopdance cries in Tom's belly for two white herrings.
Croak not black angel, I have no food for thee.
-- 67 --
Lear.
I'll see their tryal, bring me in the evidence.
Thou robed man of justice take thy place,
And thou his yoke-fellow of equity
Bench by his side. You are o'th' commission, sit you too.
Arraign her first, 'tis Gonerill.
Fool.
Come hither Mistress, is your name Gonerill?
Lear.
She cannot deny it.
Fool.
Cry you mercy, I took you for a Joint-stool
Lear.
Arms, arms, sword, fire, corruption in the place!
False justicer, why hast thou let her scape?
Edg.
Bless thy five wits.
Kent.
O pity! Sir, where is the patience now,
That you so oft have boasted to retain?
Edg.
My tears begin to take his part so much
They mar my counterfeiting.
[Aside.
Lear.
The little dogs and all,
Tray, Blanch, and Sweet-heart; see, they bark at me—
Edg.
Tom will throw his head at them; avaunt, you curs!
Be thy mouth or black or white,
Tooth that poisons if it bite;
Mastiff, grey-hound, mungril grim,
Hound or spaniel, † notebrache, or hym;
† noteOr bobtail tike, or trundle tail,
Tom will make him weep and wail,
For with throwing thus my head;
Dogs leap the hatch, and all are fled.
Do, de, de, de: Sessey, come, march to wakes and fairs,
And market towns; poor Tom thy horn is dry.
[Exit.
Lear.
Then let them anatomize Regan—see what breeds
about her heart—Is there any cause in nature that makes these
hard hearts? You Sir, I entertain for one of my hundred; only
I do not like the fashion of your garments. You will say they
are Persian; but let them be chang'd.
-- 68 --
Re-Enter Glo'ster.
Kent.
Now, good my lord, lye here, and rest a while.
Lear.
Make no noise, make no noise, draw the curtains:
So, so, we'll go to supper i'th' morning.
Fool.
And I'll go to bed at noon.
Glo.
Come hither, friend, where is the King, my master?
Kent.
Here, Sir, but trouble him not, his wits are gone.
Glo.
Good friend, I pr'ythee take him in thy arms;
I have o'er-heard a plot of death upon him:
There is a litter ready, lay him in't,
And drive tow'rd Dover, friend, where thou shalt meet
Both welcome and protection. Take up thy master.
If thou should'st dally half an hour, his life,
With thine, and all that offer to defend him,
Stand in assured loss. Take up, take up,
And follow me, that will to some provision
Give thee quick conduct. Come, away away.
[Exeunt.
SCENE X.
Glo'ster's Castle.
Enter Cornwall, Regan, Gonerill, Bastard, and Servants.
Corn.
Post speedily to my lord your husband, shew him
this letter, the army of France is landed; seek out the
traitor Glo'ster.
Reg.
Hang him instantly.
Gon.
Pluck out his eyes.
Corn.
Leave him to my displeasure. Edmund, keep you our
sister company; the revenges we are bound to take upon your
traiterous father are not fit for your beholding. Advise the Duke
where you are going, to a most festinate preparation; we are
-- 69 --
bound to the like. Our posts shall be swift, and intelligent betwixt
us. Farewel dear sister, farewel my lord of Glo'ster.
Enter Steward.
How now? where's the King?
Stew.
My lord of Glo'ster hath convey'd him hence.
Some five or six and thirty of his Knights,
Hot questers after him, met him at gate,
Who, with some other of the lord's dependants,
Are gone with him tow'rd Dover; where they boast
To have well-armed friends.
Corn.
Get horses for your mistress.
Gon.
Farewel, sweet lord, and sister.
[Exeunt Gon. and Bast.
Corn.
Edmund farewel:—go seek the traitor Glo'ster,
Pinion him like a thief, bring him before us:
Though well we may not pass upon his life
Without the form of justice; yet our pow'r
Shall do a court'sie to our wrath, which men
May blame, but not controul.
SCENE XI.
Enter Glo'ster Prisoner, and Servants.
Who's there? the traitor?
Reg.
Ingrateful fox! 'tis he.
Corn.
Bind fast his corky arms.
Glo.
What mean your graces?
Good my friends, consider you are my guests:
Do me no foul play, friends.
Corn.
Bind him, I say.
[They bind him.
Reg.
Hard, hard: O filthy traitor!
Glo.
Unmerciful lady as you are! I'm none.
-- 70 --
Corn.
To this chair bind him. Villain, thou shalt find—
Glo.
By the kind gods, 'tis most ignobly done
To pluck me by the beard.
Reg.
So white, and such a traitor?
Glo.
Naughty lady,
These hairs which thou dost ravish from my chin
Will quicken and accuse thee. I'm your host;
With robber's hands, my hospitable favours
You should not ruffle thus. What will you do?
Corn.
Come, Sir, what letters had you late from France?
Reg.
Be simple answerer, for we know the truth.
Corn.
And what confed'racy have you with the traitors
Late footed in the kingdom?
Reg.
To whose hands
Have you sent the lunatick King? speak.
Glo.
I have a letter guessingly set down,
Which came from one that's of a neutral heart,
And not from one oppos'd.
Corn.
Cunning—
Reg.
And false.
Corn.
Where hast thou sent the King?
Glo.
To Dover.
Reg.
Wherefore to Dover?
Wast thou not charg'd, at peril—
Corn.
Wherefore to Dover? let him answer that.
Glo.
I am ty'd to th' stake, and I must stand the course.
Reg.
Wherefore to Dover?
Glo.
Because I would not see thy cruel nails
Pluck out his poor old eyes; nor thy fierce sister
In his anointed flesh stick boarish phangs.
The sea, with such a storm as his bare head
In hell-black night indur'd, would have buoy'd up
-- 71 --
And quench'd the steeled fires:
Yet poor old heart, he help'd the heav'ns to rain.
If wolves had at thy gate howl'd that stern time,
Thou should'st have said, good porter turn the key;
All cruels else subscribe; but I shall see
The winged vengeance overtake such children.
Corn.
See't shalt thou never. Fellows, hold the chair.
Upon these eyes of thine, I'll set my foot.
[Glo'ster is held down while Cornwall treads out one of his eyes.
Glo.
He that will think to live 'till he be old,
Give me some help.—O cruel! O you gods!
Reg.
One side will mock another; th' other too.
Corn.
If you see vengeance—
Ser.
Hold your hand, my lord:
I've serv'd you ever since I was a child;
But better service have I never done you,
Than now to bid you hold.
Reg.
How now, you dog?
Serv.
If you did wear a beard upon your chin,
I'd shake it on this quarrel. What do you mean?
Corn.
My villain!
Serv.
Nay then come on, and take the chance of anger.
[Fight, in the scuffle Cornwall is wounded.
Reg.
Give me thy sword. A peasant stand up thus?
[Kills him.
Ser.
Oh, I am slain—my lord, you have one eye left
To see some mischief on him. Oh—
[Dies.
Corn.
Lest it see more, prevent it; out vile gelly:
Where is thy lustre now?
[Treads out the other eye.
Glo.
All dark and comfortless—where's my son Edmund?
Edmund, enkindle all the sparks of nature
To quit this horrid act.
Reg.
Out, treacherous villain.
-- 72 --
Thou call'st on him that hates thee: It was he
That made the overture of thy treasons to us:
Who is too good to pity thee.
Glo.
O my follies!
Then Edgar was abus'd. Kind gods, forgive
Me that, and prosper him.
Reg.
Go thrust him out
At gates, and let him smell his way to Dover.
[Ex with Glo'ster.
How is't my lord? how look you?
Corn.
I have receiv'd a hurt; follow me, lady.—
Turn out that eyeless villain; throw this slave
Upon the dunghil.—Regan, I bleed apace.
Untimely comes this hurt. Give me your arm.
[Exeunt.
ACT IV.
SCENE I.
SCENE An open Country.
Enter Edgar.
Yet better thus, and known to be contemn'd,
Than still contemn'd and flatter'd. To be worst,
(The lowest, most dejected thing of fortune)
Stands still in esperance, lives not in fear.
The lamentable change is from the best;
The worst returns to laughter. Welcome then,
Thou unsubstantial air that I embrace!
The wretch that thou hast blown unto the worst,
Owes nothing to a notethy blasts.
-- 73 --
Enter Glo'ster, led by an old man.
But who comes here?
My father poorly led? World, world, O world!
But that thy strange mutations make us hate thee,
Life would not yield to age.
Old Man.
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 Man.
You cannot see your way.
Glo.
I have no way, and therefore want no eyes:
I stumbled when I saw. Full oft 'tis seen,
Our mean secures us, and our meer defects
Prove our commodities. 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.
Old Man.
How now? who's there?
Edg.
O gods! who is't can say I'm at the worst?
I'm worse than e'er I was.
Old Man.
'Tis poor mad Tom.
Edg.
And worse I may be yet: the worst is not,
So long as we can say, this is the worst.
Old Man.
Fellow, where goest?
Glo.
Is it a beggar-man?
Old Man.
Madman, and beggar too?
Glo.
He has some reason, else he could not beg.
I'th' last night's storm I such a fellow saw;
Which made me think a man, a worm. My son
Came then into my mind, and yet my mind
Was then scarce friends with him. I've heard more since.
-- 74 --
As flies to wanton boys, are we to th' gods,
They kill us for their sport.
Edg.
How should this be?
Bad is the trade must play the fool to sorrow,
Ang'ring it self and others.—Bless thee master.
Glo.
Is that the naked fellow?
Old Man.
Ay, my lord.
Glo.
Get thee away: if for my sake
Thou wilt o'ertake us hence a mile or twain
I'th' way tow'rd Dover, do it for ancient love;
And bring some covering for b notethis naked soul,
Whom I'll intreat to lead me.
Old Man.
Alack Sir, he is mad.
Glo.
'Tis the time's plague, when madmen lead the blind:
Do as I bid, or rather do thy pleasure;
Above the rest, be gone.
Old Man.
I'll bring him the best 'parrel that I have,
Come on't what will.
[Exit.
Glo.
Sirrah, naked fellow.
Edg.
Poor Tom's a-cold. I cannot dance it further.
Glo.
Come hither fellow.
Edg.
And yet I must;
Bless thy sweet eyes, they bleed.
Glo.
Know'st thou the way to Dover?
Edg.
Both stile and gate, horse-way and foot-path: poor
Tom hath been scar'd out of his good wits. Bless thee good man
from the foul fiend. † noteFive fiends have been in poor Tom at
once, Hobbididen Prince of dumbness, Mahu of stealing, Mohu
of murder, Flibbertigibbet of moping, and Mowing who since possesses
chamber-maids and waiting-women.
Glo.
Here take this purse, thou whom the heavens plagues
Have humbled to all strokes. That I am wretched
-- 75 --
Makes thee the happier: heavens deal so still;
Let the superfluous, and lust-dieted man,
That slaves your ordinance, that will not see
Because he do's not feel, feel your power quickly:
So distribution should undo excess,
And each man have enough. Do'st thou know Dover?
Edg.
Ay master.
Glo.
There is a cliff, whose high and bending head
Looks fearfully on the confined deep:
Bring me but to the very brim of it,
And I'll repair the misery thou do'st bear
With something rich about me: from that place
I shall no leading need.
Edg.
Give me thy arm;
Poor Tom shall lead thee.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.
The Duke of Albany's palace.
Enter Gonerill, Bastard, and Steward.
Gon.
Welcome, my lord. I marvel our mild husband
Not met us on the way. Now where's your master?
Stew.
Madam, within; but never man so chang'd:
I told him of the army that was landed;
He smil'd at it. I told him you were coming,
His answer was, the worse. Of Glo'ster's treachery
And of the loyal service of his son,
When I inform'd him, then he call'd me sot,
And told me I had turn'd the wrong side out.
What most he should dislike, seems pleasant to him;
What like, offensive.
Gon.
Then shall you go no further.
-- 76 --
It is the cowish terror of his spirit
That dares not undertake: he'll not feel wrongs
Which tie him to an answer; our wishes on the way
May prove effects. Back Edmund to my brother,
Hasten his musters, and conduct his powers.
I must change arms at home, and give the distaff
Into my husband's hands. This trusty servant
Shall pass between us: you ere long shall hear,
If you dare venture in your own behalf,
A mistress's command. Wear this; spare speech,
Decline your head. This kiss, if it durst speak,
Would stretch thy spirits up into the air:
Conceive, and fare thee well.
Bast.
Yours in the ranks of death
Gon.
My most dear Glo'ster.
[Exit Bastard.
Oh, the strange difference of man, and man!
To thee a woman's services are due,
My fool usurps my body.
Stew.
Madam, here comes my lord.
Enter Albany.
Gon.
I have been worth the whistle.
Alb.
Oh Goneril,
You are not worth the dust which the rude wind
Blows in your face.—† note I fear your disposition.
That nature which contemns its origine,
Cannot be border'd certain in it self;
She that her self will shiver and dis-branch
From her material sap, perforce must wither,
And come to deadly use.
Gon.
No more, tis foolish.
-- 77 --
Alb.
Wisdom and goodness to the vile seem vile;
Tygers, not daughters, what have you perform'd?
A father, and a gracious aged man,
Most barb'rous, most degenerate, have you madded.
Cou'd my good brother suffer you to do it,
A man, a Prince by him so benefited?
If that the heav'ns do not their visible spirits
Send quickly down to tame the vile offences,
Humanity must perforce prey on itself
Like monsters of the deep.
Gon.
Milk-liver'd man!
That bear'st a cheek for blows, a head for wrongs;
Who hast not in thy brows an eye discerning
Thine honour, from thy suffering.
Alb.
See thy self, devil:
Proper deformity seems not in the fiend
So horrid as in woman.
Gon.
Oh vain fool!
Enter a Messenger.
Mes.
Oh my good lord, the Duke of Cornwall's dead,
Slain by his servant, going to put out
The other eye of Glo'ster.
Alb.
Glo'ster's eyes?
Mes.
A servant that he bred, thrill'd with remorse,
Oppos'd against the act; bending his sword
To his great master: who thereat enrag'd,
Flew on him, and amongst them fell'd him dead.
But not without that harmful stroke which since
Hath pluck'd him after.
Alb.
This shews you are above,
You justices, that these our nether crimes
So speedily can venge. But O poor Glo'ster!
-- 78 --
Lost he his other eye?
Mes.
Both, both, my lord.
This letter, Madam, craves a speedy answer:
'Tis from your sister.
Gon.
One way I like this well;
But being widow, and my Glo'ster with her,
May all the building in my fancy pluck
Upon my hateful life. Another way
The news is not so tart. I'll read, and answer.
[Exit.
Alb.
Where was his son, when they did take his eyes?
Mes.
Come with my lady hither.
Alb.
He's not here.
Mes.
No, my good lord, I met him back again.
Alb.
Knows he the wickedness?
Mes.
Ay, my good lord, 'twas he inform'd against him,
And quit the house of purpose, that their punishment
Might have the freer course.
Alb.
Glo'ster, I live
To thank thee for the love thou shew'dst the King,
And to revenge thine eyes. Come hither friend,
Tell me what more thou know'st.
[Exeunt.
noteSCENE III.
† [Footnote:
Enter Kent and a Gentleman.
Kent.
The King of France so suddenly gone back!
Know you the reason?
Gent.
Something he left imperfect in the state,
Which since his coming forth is thought of, which
Imports the Kingdom so much fear and danger,
That his return was most requir'd and necessary.
-- 79 --
Kent.
Who hath he left behind him general?
Gent.
The Mareschal of France, Monsieur le Far.
Kent.
Did your letters pierce the Queen to any demonstration
of grief?
Gent.
I say she took 'em, read 'em in my presence,
And now and then an ample tear trill'd down
Her delicate cheek: it seem'd she was a Queen
Over her passion, which most rebel-like
Sought to be King o'er her.
Kent.
O then it mov'd her.
Gent.
But not to rage. Patience and sorrow strove
Which should express her goodliest; you have seen
Sun-shine and rain at once. Those happy smiles
That play'd on her ripe lip, seem'd not to know
What guests were in her eyes, which parted thence,
As pearls from diamonds dropt—in brief
Sorrow would be a rarity most belov'd,
If all could so become it.
Kent.
Made she no verbal question?
Gent.
Once or twice
She heav'd the name of Father,
Pantingly forth, as if it prest her heart.
Cry'd, sisters! sisters! what? i'th' storm of night?
Let Pity ne'er believe it! then she shook
The holy water from her heav'nly eyes,
And then retir'd, to deal with grief alone.
Kent.
The stars above us govern our conditions:
Else one self-mate and mate could not beget
Such diff'rent issues. Spoke you with her since?
Gent.
No.
Kent.
Was this before the King return'd?
Gent.
No, since.
Kent.
The poor distressed Lear's in town,
-- 80 --
Who sometimes in his better tune remembers
What we are come about, and by no means
Will yield to see his daughter.
Gent.
Why, good Sir?
Kent.
A sov'reign shame so bows him, his unkindness
That stript her from his benediction, turn'd her
To foreign casualties, gave her dear rights
To his dog-hearted daughters. These things sting him
So venomously, that burning shame detains him
From his Cordelia.
Gent.
Alack poor gentleman!
Kent.
Of Albany's and Cornwall's pow'rs you heard not?
Gent.
'Tis so, they are a-foot.
Kent.
Well Sir, I'll bring you to our master Lear,
And leave you to attend him. Some dear cause
Will in concealment wrap me up awhile:
When I am known aright, you shall not grieve
Lending me this acquaintance. Pray along with me.
[Exeunt.
SCENE IV.
A Camp.
Enter Cordelia, Physician and Soldiers.
Cor.
Alack, 'tis he; why he was met even now
As mad as the vext sea, singing aloud,
Crown'd with rank fenitar, and furrow weeds,
With hardocks, hemlock, nettles, cuckow flowers,
Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow
In our sustaining corn. Send forth a cent'ry,
Search every acre in the high-grown field,
And bring him to our eye. What can man's wisdom
In the restoring his bereaved sense?
-- 81 --
He that helps him, take all my outward worth.
Phys.
There are means, Madam:
Our foster nurse of nature, is repose,
The which he lacks; that to provoke in him,
Are many simples operative, whose power
Will close the eye of anguish.
Cor.
All blest secrets!
All you unpublish'd virtues of the earth!
Spring with my tears; be aidant, and remediate
In the good man's c notedistress: seek, seek for him,
Lest his ungovern'd rage dissolve the life
That wants the means to lead it.
Enter a Messenger.
Mes.
News, Madam:
The British pow'rs are marching hitherward.
Cord.
'Tis known before. Our preparation stands
In expectation of them. O dear father,
It is thy business that I go about: therefore great France
My mourning and important tears hath pitied.
No blown ambition doth our arms incite,
But love, dear love, and our ag'd father's right:
Soon may I hear, and see him!
[Exeunt.
SCENE V.
Regan's Palace.
Enter Regan and Steward.
Reg.
But are my brother's powers set forth?
Stew.
Ay Madam.
Reg.
Himself in person there?
Stew.
With much adoe.
-- 82 --
Your sister is the better soldier.
Reg.
Lord Edmund spake not with your lady at home?
Stew.
No, Madam.
Reg.
What might import my sister's letter to him?
Stew.
I know not, lady.
Reg.
Faith he is posted hence on serious matter.
It was great ign'rance, Glo'ster's eyes being out
To let him live; where he arrives, he moves
All hearts against us: Edmund, I think, is gone,
In pity of his misery, to dispatch
His nighted life: moreover to descry
The strength o'th' enemy.
Stew.
I must needs after him, Madam, with my letter.
Reg.
Our troops set forth to-morrow: stay with us:
The ways are dangerous.
Stew.
I may not, Madam;
My lady charg'd my duty in this business.
Reg.
Why should she write to Edmund? might not you
Transport her purposes by word?
Something—I know not what—I'll love thee much—
Let me unseal the letter.
Stew.
Madam, I had rather—
Reg.
I know your lady do's not love her husband,
I'm sure of that; and at her late being here
She gave strange † noteœiliads, and most speaking looks
To noble Edmund. I know you're of her bosom.
Stew.
I, Madam?
Reg.
I speak in understanding: you are; I know't;
Therefore I do advise you take this note.
My lord is dead; Edmund and I have talk'd,
And more convenient is he for my hand
Than for your lady's: you may gather more:
If you do find him, pray you give him this;
-- 83 --
And when your Mistress hears thus much from you,
I pray desire her call her wisdom to her. So farewel.
If you do chance to hear of that blind traitor,
Preferment falls on him that cuts him off.
Stew.
Would I could meet him, Madam, I should shew
What lady I do follow.
Reg.
Fare thee well.
[Exeunt.
SCENE VI.
The Country.
Enter Glo'ster and Edgar.
Glo.
When shall I come to th' top of that same hill?
Edg.
You do climb up it now. Look how we labour.
Glo.
Methinks the ground is even.
Edg.
Horrible 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're much deceiv'd: in nothing am I chang'd
But in my garments.
Glo.
Sure you're better spoken.
Edg.
Come on, Sir, here's the place—stand still. &plquo;How fearful
&plquo;And dizzy 'tis, to cast one's eyes so low!
&plquo;The crows and choughs, that wing the midway air
&plquo;Shew scarce so gross as beetles. Half way down
&plquo;Hangs one that gathers samphire; dreadful trade!
-- 84 --
&plquo;Methinks he seems no bigger than his head.
&plquo;The fisher-men that walk upon the beach
&plquo;Appear like mice; and yond tall anchoring bark,
&plquo;Diminish'd to her cock; her cock, a buoy
&plquo;Almost too small for sight. The murmuring surge,
&plquo;That on th' unnumbred idle pebbles chafes,
&plquo;Cannot be heard so high. I'll look no more,
&plquo;Lest my brain turn and the deficient sight
&plquo;Topple down headlong.
Glo.
Set me where you stand.
Edg.
Give me your hand: you're now within a foot
Of th' extream verge: for all below the moon
Would not I leap upright.
Glo.
Let go my hand:
Here friend's another purse, in it a Jewel
Well worth a poor man's taking. Fairies and gods
Prosper it with thee. Go thou further off,
Bid me farewel, and let me hear thee going.
Edg.
Now fare ye well, good Sir.
[Seems to go.
Glo.
With all my heart.
Edg.
Why do I trifle thus with his despair?
'Tis done to cure it.
Glo.
O you mighty gods!
This world I do renounce, and in your sights
Shake patiently my great affliction off:
If I could bear it longer, and not fall
To quarrel with your great opposeless wills,
My snuff and loathed part of nature should
Burn it self out. If Edgar live, O bless him.
Now fellow, fare thee well.
[He leaps and falls along.
Edg.
Good Sir, farewell.
And yet I know not how conceit may rob
The treasury of life, when life it self
-- 85 --
Yields to the theft. Had he been where he thought,
By this, had thought been past.—Alive or dead?
Hoa, you Sir! friend! here, you Sir! speak!
Thus might he pass indeed—yet he revives.
What are you, Sir?
Glo.
Away, and let me die.
Edg.
Had'st thou been ought but Goss'mer, feathers, air,
So many fathom down precipitating,
Thou'dst shiver'd like an egg: but thou dost breathe,
Hast heavy substance, bleed'st not; speak, art sound?
Ten masts d noteattacht make not the altitude
Which thou hast perpendicularly fall'n.
Thy life's a miracle. Speak yet again.
Glo.
But have I fall'n, or no?
Edg.
From the dread summit of this chalky bourn!
Look up a height, the shrill-gorg'd Lark so far
Cannot be seen or heard: do but look up.
Glo.
Alack, I have no eyes.
Is wretchedness depriv'd that benefit
To end it self by death? 'twas yet some comfort,
When misery could beguile the tyrant's rage,
And frustrate his proud will.
Edg.
Give me your arm.
Up, so—how is't? feel you your legs? you stand.
Glo.
Too well, too well.
Edg.
This is above all strangeness.
Upon the crown o'th' cliff, what thing was that
Which parted from you?
Glo.
A poor unfortunate beggar.
Edg.
As I stood here below, methought his eyes
Were two full moons; he had a thousand noses,
† noteHorns e notewelk'd and wav'd like the f noteenridged sea:
-- 86 --
It was some fiend. Therefore, thou happy father,
Think that the dearest gods, who make them honours
Of men's impossibilities, have preserv'd thee.
Glo.
I do remember now: henceforth I'll bear
Affliction, 'till it do cry out it self,
Enough, enough, and die. That thing you speak of,
I took it for a man; often 'twould say
The fiend, the fiend—he led me to that place.
Edg.
Bear free and patient thoughts.
SCENE VII.
Enter Lear.
But who comes here?
The safer sense will ne'er accommodate
His master thus.
Lear.
No, they cannot touch me for coyning, I am the
King himself.
Edg.
O thou side-piercing sight!
Lear.
Nature's above art in that respect. There's your pressmony.
That fellow handles his bow like a cow-keeper: draw
me a clothier's yard. Look, look, a mouse! Peace, peace, this
piece of toasted cheese will do't—there's my gauntlet, I'll prove
it on a giant. Bring up the brown bills. O well flown bird:
i'th' clout, i'th' clout: hewgh. Give the word.
Edg.
Sweet marjoram.
Lear.
Pass.
Glo.
I know that voice.
Lear.
Ha! Gonerill! g notehah Regan! they flatter'd me like a
dog, and told me I had white hairs in my beard, ere the black
ones were there. To say ay, and no, to every thing that I
said—Ay and no too, was no good divinity. When the rain
came to wet me once, and wind to make me chatter; when
-- 87 --
the thunder would not peace at my bidding, there I found 'em,
there I smelt 'em out. Go to, they are not men o' their words;
they told me I was every thing: 'tis a lie, I am not ague-proof.
Glo.
The trick of that voice I do well remember: is't not the
King?
Lear.
Ay, every inch a King.
When I do stare, see how the subject quakes.
I pardon that man's life. What was thy cause?
Adultery? thou shalt not die; die for adultery? no, the wren
goes to't, and the small gilded flie does letcher in my sight.
Let copulation thrive: for Glo'ster's bastard son was kinder
to his father, than my daughters got 'tween the lawful
sheets. To't luxury pell-mell, for I lack soldiers. Behold yon
simpering dame, whose face 'tween her forks presages snow;
that minces virtue, and does shake the head to hear of pleasure's
name. The † notefitchew, nor the soyled horse goes to't with a
more riotous appetite: down from the waste they are centaurs,
though women all above; but to the girdle do the gods inherit,
beneath is all the fiends. There's hell, there's darkness, there
is the sulphurous pit, burning, scalding, stench, consumption:
fie, fie, fie; pah, pah; give me an ounce of civet, good apothecary,
to sweeten my imagination! there's mony for thee.
Glo.
O let me kiss that hand.
Lear.
Let me wipe it first, it smells of mortality.
Glo.
O ruin'd piece of nature! this great world
Shall so wear out to nought. Do'st thou know me?
Lear.
I remember thine eyes well enough: dost thou squint
at me? no, do thy worst blind Cupid, I'll not love. Read thou
this challenge, mark but the penning of it.
Glo.
Were all the letters suns, I could not see one.
Edg.
I would not take this from report;
It is, and my heart breaks at it.
Lear.
Read.
-- 88 --
Glo.
What, with this case of eyes?
Lear.
Oh ho, are you there with me? no eyes in your head,
nor mony in your purse? your eyes are in heavy case, your
purse in a light, 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 thine ears: see how yond justice rails
upon yond simple thief. Hark in thine ear: change places,
and handy-dandy, which is the justice, which is the thief? thou
hast seen a farmer's dog bark at a beggar.
Glo.
Ay Sir.
Lear.
And the creature run from the cur: there thou might'st
behold the great image of authority, a dog's obey'd in office.
Thou rascal beadle, hold thy bloody hand:
Why dost thou lash that whore? strip thy own back,
Thou hotly lust'st to use her in that kind,
For which thou whip'st her. Th' usurer hangs the cozener.
Through tatter'd cloaths small vices do appear;
Robes and furr'd gowns hide all. Plate sins with gold,
And the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks:
Arm it in rags, a pigmy's straw doth pierce it.
None does offend, none, I say none, I'll able 'em;
Take that of me my friend, who have the pow'r
To seal th' accuser's lips. Get thee glass eyes,
And like a scurvy politician, seem
To see the things thou do'st not.
Now, now, now, now. Pull off my boots: harder, harder, so.
Edg.
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 Glo'ster;
Thou must be patient; we came crying hither:
Thou know'st, the first time that we smell the air
-- 89 --
We wawle and cry. I will preach to thee: mark—
Glo.
Alack, alack the day!
Lear.
When we are born, we cry that we are come
To this great stage of fools.—This is a good block!—
It were a delicate stratagem to shooe
A troop of horse with Felt; I'll put't in proof,
And when I've stol'n upon these sons-in-law;
Then kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill.
SCENE VIII.
Enter a Gentleman, with attendants.
Gent.
O here he is, lay hand upon him; Sir,
Your most dear daughter—
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,
I am cut to th' brains.
Gent.
You shall have any thing.
Lear.
No seconds? all my self?
Why this would make a man, a man of salt;
To use his eyes for garden-water-pots,
And laying autumn's dust. I will die bravely,
Like a smug bridegroom. What? I will be jovial:
Come, come, I am a King. My Masters know you that?
Gent.
You are a royal one, and we obey you.
Lear.
Then there's life in't. Come, an you get it,
You shall get it by running: sa, sa, sa, sa.
[Exit.
Gent.
A sight most pitiful in the meanest wretch,
Past speaking of in a King. Thou hast a daughter
Who redeems nature from the general curse
Which twain have brought her to.
Edg.
Hail, gentle Sir.
-- 90 --
Gent.
Sir, speed you: what's your will?
Edg.
Do you hear ought, Sir, of a battel toward?
Gent.
Most sure, and vulgar: every one hears that,
Which can distinguish sound.
Edg.
But by your favour,
How near's the other army?
Gent.
Near, and on speedy foot: the main descry
Stands on the hourly thought.
Edg.
I thank you, Sir,
Gent.
Though that the Queen on special cause is here,
Her army is mov'd on.
[Exit.
Glo.
You ever gentle gods, take my breath from me,
Let not my worser spirit tempt me again
To die before you please.
Edg.
Well pray you, father.
Glo.
Now good Sir, what are you?
Edg.
A most poor man, made tame to fortune's blows,
Who by the art of known and feeling sorrows,
Am pregnant to good pity. Give me your hand,
I'll lead you to some biding.
Glo.
Hearty thanks;
The bounty and the benizon of heav'n to boot.
SCENE IX.
Enter Steward.
Stew.
A proclaim'd prize! most happy!
That eyeless head of thine was first fram'd flesh
To raise my fortunes. Old unhappy traitor,
Briefly thy self-remember: the sword is out
That must destroy thee.
Glo.
Let thy friendly hand
-- 91 --
Put strength enough to't.
Stew.
Wherefore, bold peasant,
Dar'st thou support a publish'd traitor? hence,
Lest that th' infection of his fortune take
Like hold on thee. Let go his arm.
Edg.
Chill not let go Zir, without vurther 'casion.
Stew.
Let go, slave, or thou dy'st.
Edg.
Good gentleman, go your gate, and let poor volk pass:
and 'chud ha' been zwagger'd out of my life, 'twould not ha' been
zo long as 'tis by a vortnight. Nay, come not near th' old man:
keep out che vor'ye, or ice try whether your costard or my bat
be the harder; chill be plain with you.
Stew.
Out dunghill.
Edg.
Chill pick your teeth, Zir: come, no matter vor your
foyns.
[Edgar knocks him down.
Stew.
Slave, thou hast slain me: villain, take my purse;
If ever thou wilt thrive, bury my body,
And give the letters which thou find'st about me
To Edmund Earl of Gloster: seek him out
Upon the English party. Oh untimely death,—
[Dies.
Edg.
I know thee well, a serviceable villain;
As duteous to the vices of thy Mistress,
As badness would desire.
Glo.
What, is he dead?
Edg.
Sit you down, father: rest you.
Let's see these pockets; the letters that he speaks of
May be my friends: he's dead; I'm only sorry
He had no other deathsman. Let us see—
By your leave, gentle wax—and manners blame us not:
To know our enemies minds we rip their hearts,
Their papers are more lawful.
-- 92 --
Reads the Letter.
Let our reciprocal vows be remembred. You have many opportunities
to cut him off: if your will want not, time and place
will be fruitfully offer'd. There is nothing done if he return the conqueror.
Then am I the prisoner, and his bed my goal; from the
loathed warmth whereof deliver me, and supply the place for your
labour.
Your (wife, so I would say) affectionate
Servant, Gonerill.
Oh undistinguish'd space of woman's h notewit!
(A plot upon her virtuous husband's life,
And the exchange my brother.) Here, i'th' sands
Thee I'll rake up, the post unsanctified
Of murth'rous letchers: and in mature time,
With this ungracious paper strike the sight
Of the death-practis'd Duke: for him 'tis well,
That of thy death and business I can tell.
Glo.
The King is mad; how stiff is my vile sense
That I stand up, and have ingenious feeling
Of my huge sorrows? better I were distract,
So should my thoughts be sever'd from my griefs,
[Drum afar off.
And woes, by wrong imaginations, lose
The knowledge of themselves.
Edg.
Give me your hand:
Far off methinks I hear the beaten drum.
Come, father, I'll bestow you with a friend.
[Exeunt.
-- 93 --
SCENE X.
A Chamber.
Enter Cordelia, Kent, and i note Physician.
Cor.
O thou good Kent, how shall I live and work
To match thy goodness? life will be too short,
And ev'ry measure fail me.
Kent.
To be acknowledg'd, Madam, is o'erpaid;
All my reports go with the modest truth,
Nor more, nor clipt, but so.
Cor.
Be better suited,
These weeds are memories of those worser hours:
I pr'ythee put them off.
Kent.
Pardon, dear Madam,
Yet to be known, shortens my made intent;
My boon I make it, that you know me not,
'Till time and I think meet.
Cor.
Then be it so.
My lord, how does the King?
Phys.
Madam, sleeps still.
Cor.
O you kind gods!
Cure this great breach in his abused nature,
Th' untun'd and jarring senses O wind up,
Of this child-changed father.
Phys.
Please your Majesty,
That we may wake the King, he hath slept long?
Cor.
Be govern'd by your knowledge, and proceed
I'th' sway of your own will: is he array'd?
Enter Lear in a chair, carried by servants.
Phys.
Ay Madam; in the heaviness of sleep,
We put fresh garments on him.
-- 94 --
Be by, good Madam, when we do awake him,
I doubt not of his temperance.
Cor.
O my dear father! Restauration hang
Thy medicine on my lips, and let this kiss
Repair those violent harms, that my two sisters
Have in thy reverence made.
Kent.
Kind and dear Princess!
Cor.
Had you not been their father, these white flakes
Did challenge pity of them. Was this face
To be expos'd against the warring winds?
Mine enemy's dog, though he had bit me, shou'd
Have stood that night against my fire:
And wast thou fain, poor father,
To hovel thee with swine and rogues forlorn,
In short and musty straw? alack, alack,
'Tis wonder that thy life and wits, at once,
Had not concluded all. He wakes, speak to him.
Phys.
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;
Thou art a soul in bliss, but I am bound
Upon a wheel of fire, that mine 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—
Phys.
He's scarce awake, let him alone awhile.
Lear.
Where have I been? where am I? fair day-light?
I'm mightily abus'd; I should ev'n die with pity
To see another thus. I know not what to say;
I will not swear these are my hands: let's see,
I feel this pin prick: would I were assur'd
Of my condition.
-- 95 --
Cor.
O look upon me, Sir,
And hold your hand in benediction o'er me.
No Sir, you must not 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.
Methinks I should 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; nay I know not
Where I did lodge last night. Do not laugh at me,
For, as I am a man, I think this lady
To be my child Cordelia.
Cor.
And so I am; I am—
Lear.
Be your tears wet? yes faith; I pray you weep not.
If you have poison for me, I will drink it;
I know you do not love me; for your sisters
Have, as I do remember, done me wrong.
You have some cause, they have not.
Cor.
No cause, no cause.
Lear.
Am I in France?
Kent.
In your own kingdom, Sir.
Lear.
Do not abuse me.
Phys.
Be comforted, good Madam; the great rage
You see is cur'd in him: desire him to go in.
And trouble him no more 'till further settling.
Cor.
Will't please your highness walk?
Lear.
You must bear with me;
Pray you now forget and forgive,
I am old and foolish.
[Exeunt.
-- 96 --
ACT V.
SCENE I.
SCENE A Camp.
Enter Bastard, Regan, Gentlemen, and Soldiers.
Bastard.
Know of the Duke if his last purpose hold,
Or whether since he is advis'd by ought
To change the course? he's full of Alteration,
And self-reproving brings his constant pleasure.
Reg.
Our sister's man is certainly miscarry'd.
Bast.
'Tis to be doubted, Madam.
Reg.
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?
Bastard.
In honour'd love.
Reg.
But have you never found my brother's way
To the fore-fended place?
Bast.
No by mine honour.
Reg.
I never shall endure her; dear my lord,
Be not familiar with her.
Bast.
Fear not; she and the Duke her husband—
Enter Albany, Gonerill, and Soldiers.
Alb.
Our very loving sister, well be met:
Sir, this I heard, the King is come to his daughter
With others, whom the rigour of our state
Forc'd to cry out. † noteWhere I could not be honest
I never yet was valiant: for this business,
-- 97 --
It toucheth us, as France invades our land,
Not † noteholds the King, with others, whom I fear
Most just and heavy causes make oppose.
Reg.
Why is this reason'd?
Gon.
Combine together 'gainst the enemy:
For these domestick and particular broils
Are not the question here.
Alb.
Let's then determine with th' Ancient of war
On our proceeding.
Reg.
Sister, you'll go with us?
Gon.
No.
Reg.
'Tis most convenient, pray go with us.
Gon.
Oh ho, I know the riddle, I will go.
Exeunt.
SCENE II.
Manet Albany. Enter Edgar.
Edg.
If e'er your grace had speech with man so poor,
Hear me one word.
Alb.
I'll overtake you: speak.
Edg.
Before you fight the battel, ope this letter.
If you have vict'ry, let the trumpet sound
For him that brought it: wretched though 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've read the letter.
Edg.
I was forbid it.
When time shall serve, let but the herald cry,
And I'll appear again.
Exit.
Alb.
Why fare thee well, I will o'erlook thy paper.
-- 98 --
Enter Bastard.
Bast.
The enemy's in view, draw up your powers,
a noteHard 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.
SCENE III.
Bast.
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? neither can be enjoy'd,
If both remain alive: to take the widow,
Exasperates, makes mad her sister Gonerill,
And hardly shall I carry out my side,
Her husband being alive. Now then, we'll use
His countenance for the battel; 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 to Cordelia,
The battel done, and they within our power,
Shall never see his pardon: for my state
Stands on me to defend, not to debate.
Exit.
-- 99 --
SCENE IV.
A Field.
Alarum within. Enter with drum and colours, Lear, Cordelia, and Soldiers over the stage, and exeunt.
Enter Edgar and Glo'ster.
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.
Glo.
Grace be with you, Sir.
Exit Edgar.
[Alarum and retreat within.
Enter Edgar.
Edg.
Away old man, give me thy hand, away;
King Lear hath lost, he and his daughter ta'en,
Give me thy hand. Come on.
Glo.
No further, 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.
SCENE V.
A Camp.
Enter Bastard, Lear and Cordelia as prisoners, Soldiers, Captain.
Bast.
Some officers take them away; good guard,
Until their greater pleasures first be known
-- 100 --
That are to censure them.
Cor.
We're not the first,
Who with best meaning have incurr'd the worst:
For thee, oppressed King, I am cast down,
My self could else out-frown false fortune's frown.
Shall we not see these daughters and these sisters?
Lear.
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:
And take upon's the mystery of things,
As if we were God's spies. And we'll wear out,
In a wall'd prison, packs and sects of great ones
That ebb and flow by th' moon.
Bast.
Take them away.
Lear.
Upon such sacrifices, my Cordelia,
The gods themselves throw incense. Have I caught thee?
He that parts us, shall bring a brand from heav'n,
And fire us hence like foxes; wipe thine eye,
The good years shall devour them, flesh and fell,
Ere they shall make us weep; we'll see 'em starv'd first,
Come.
Ex. Lear and Cordelia.
Bast.
Come hither captain, hark.
[Whispering.
Take thou this note, go follow them to prison,
One step I have advanc'd thee, if thou dost
As this instructs thee thou dost make thy way
To noble fortunes: know thou this, that men
Are as the time is; to be tender-minded
Do's not become a sword; thy great imployment
-- 101 --
Will not bear question; either say thou'lt do't,
Or thrive by other means.
Capt.
I'll do't, my lord.
Bast.
About it, and write happy, when thou'st done.
Mark, I say,—instantly, and carry it so
As I have set it down.
[Exit Captain.
SCENE VI.
To him, Enter Albany, Gonerill, Regan, and Soldiers.
Alb.
Sir, you have shew'd to-day your valiant strain,
And fortune led you well: you have the captives
Who were the opposites of this day's strife:
I do require then of you, so to use them,
As we shall find their merits and our safety
May equally determine.
Bast.
I thought 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 bosoms on his side,
And turn our imprest launces 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, t' 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.
That's as we list to grace him.
Methinks our pleasure might have been demanded
Ere you had spoke so far. He led our pow'rs,
Bore the commission of my place and person,
-- 102 --
The which immediate may well stand up,
And call it self your brother.
Gon.
Not so hot:
In his own grace he doth exalt himself,
More than in your advancement.
Reg.
In my right,
By me invested, he compeers the best.
Alb.
That were the most, if he should husband you.
Reg.
Jesters do oft prove prophets.
Gon.
Holla, holla!
That eye that told you so, look'd but a-squint.
Reg.
Lady I am not well, else I should answer
From a full flowing stomach. General,
Take thou my soldiers, prisoners, patrimony,
Dispose of them, of me, the walls are thine:
Witness the world that I create thee here
My lord and master.
Gon.
Mean you to enjoy him?
Alb.
The lett alone lyes not in your good will.
Bast.
Nor in thine, lord.
Alb.
Half-blooded fellow, yes.
Bast.
Let the drum strike, and prove my title good.
Alb.
Stay yet; hear reason: Edmund, I arrest thee
On capital treason, and in thy arrest,
This gilded serpent: 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 banes.
If you will marry, make your loves to me,
My lady is bespoke.
Gon.
An enterlude.
Alb.
Thou art arm'd, Glo'ster, let the trumpet sound:
If none appear to prove upon thy person
-- 103 --
Thy heinous, manifest, and many treasons,
There is my pledge: I'll prove it on thy heart
Ere I taste bread, thou art in nothing less
Than I have here proclaim'd thee.
Reg.
Sick, O sick—
Gon.
If not, I'll ne'er trust a notepoison.
[Aside.
Bast.
There's my exchange, what in the world he is
That names me traitor, villain-like he lies;
Call by the trumpet: he that dares approach,
On him, on you, who not? I will maintain
My truth and honour firmly.
Enter a Herald.
Alb.
A herald, ho.
Trust to thy single virtues, for thy soldiers,
All levied in my name, have in my name
Took their discharge.
Reg.
My sickness grows upon me.
Alb.
She is not well, convey her to my tent.
[Exit Reg.
SCENE VII.
Come hither, herald, let the trumpet sound,
And read out this.
[A trumpet sounds.
Herald reads.
If any man of quality or degree within the lists of the army, will
maintain upon Edmund supposed Earl of Glo'ster, that he is a
manifold traitor, let him appear by the third sound of the trumpet:
he is bold in his defence.
1 trumpet.
Her.
Again.
2 trumpet.
Her.
Again.
3 trumpet.
[Trumpet answers him within.
-- 104 --
Enter Edgar armed.
Alb.
Ask him his purposes, why he appears
Upon this call o'th' trumpet.
Her.
What are you?
Your name, your quality, and why you answer
This present summons?
Edg.
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.
Alb.
Which is that adversary?
Edg.
What's he that speaks for Edmund Earl of Glo'ster?
Bast.
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, place, youth, and eminence,
Spite of 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 th' extreamest upward of thy head,
To the descent and dust below thy foot,
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 lyest.
Bast.
In wisdom I should ask thy name,
But since thy out-side looks so fair and warlike,
And that thy tongue some † note'say of breeding breaths,
What safe and nicely I might well delay
-- 105 --
By rule of Knight-hood, 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 glance by, and scarcely bruise)
This sword of mine shall give them instant way,
Where they shall rest for ever. Trumpets, speak.
[Alarum. Fight.
Alb.
Save him, save him.
Gon.
This is practice, Glo'ster:
By th' law of war, thou wast not bound to answer
An unknown opposite; thou art not vanquish'd,
But cozen'd and beguil'd.
Alb.
Shut your mouth, dame,
Or with this paper shall I stop it;
Thou worse than any thing, read thine own evil:
No tearing, lady, I perceive you know it.
Gon.
Say if I do, the laws are mine, not thine,
Who can arraign me for't?
Alb.
Monster, know'st thou this paper?
Gon.
Ask me not what I know—
[Exit Gon.
Alb.
Go after her, she's desperate, govern her.
SCENE VIII.
Bast.
What you have charg'd me with, that I have 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'rt noble,
I do forgive thee.
Edg.
Let's exchange our charity:
I am no less in blood than thou art, Edmund;
If more, the more thou'st wrong'd me.
My name is Edgar, and thy father's son.
-- 106 --
The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices
Make instruments to plague us:
The dark and vitious place, where thee he got,
Cost him his eyes.
Bast.
Thou'st spoken right, 'tis true,
The wheel is come full circle, I am here.
Alb.
Methought thy very gate did prophesie
A royal nobleness; I must embrace thee:
Let sorrow split my heart, if ever I
Did hate thee, or thy father.
Edg.
Worthy Prince, I know't.
Alb.
Where have you hid your self?
How have you known the miseries of your father?
Edg.
By nursing them, my lord. List a brief tale,
And when 'tis told, O that my heart would burst.
The bloody proclamation to escape
That follow'd me so near, (O our lives sweetness!
That we the pain of death would hourly bear
Rather than die at once) taught me to shift
Into a mad-man's rags, t'assume a semblance
The very dogs disdain'd: and in this habit
Met I my father with his bleeding rings,
Their precious gems new lost; became his guide,
Led him, beg'd for him, sav'd him from despair,
Never (O fault) reveal'd my self unto him,
Until some half hour past, when I was arm'd,
Not sure, though 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 extreams of passion, joy and grief,
Burst smilingly.
Bast.
This speech of yours hath mov'd me,
-- 107 --
And shall perchance do good, but speak you on,
You look as you had something more to say.
Alb.
If there be more, more woful, hold it in,
For I am almost ready to dissolve,
Hearing of this.
SCENE IX.
Enter a Gentleman.
Gent.
Help, help!
Edg.
What kind of help?
Alb.
Speak man.
Edg.
What means this bloody knife?
Gent.
'Tis hot, it smoaks, it came even from the heart
Of—O she's dead.
Alb.
Who's dead? speak man.
Gent.
Your lady, Sir, your lady; and her sister
By her is poison'd; she confesses it.
Bast.
I was contracted to them both, all three
Now marry in an instant.
Edg.
Here comes Kent.
Enter Kent.
Alb.
Produce the bodies, be they live or dead.
[Gonerill and Regan's Bodies brought out.
This judgment of the heav'ns, that makes us tremble,
Touches us not with pity. O! is this she?
The time will not allow the compliment
Which very manners urge.
Kent.
I am come
To bid my King and Master aye good night,
Is he not here?
Alb.
Great thing of us forgot!
-- 108 --
Speak Edmund, where's the King? and where's Cordelia?
See'st thou this object, Kent?
Kent.
Alack, why thus?
Bast.
Yet Edmund was belov'd:
The one the other poison'd for my sake,
And after slew her self.
Alb.
Even so; cover their faces.
Bast.
I pant for life; some good I mean to do
Despight of mine own nature. Quickly send,
(Be brief) into the castle, for my writ
Is on the life of Lear and on Cordelia:
Nay, send in time.
Alb.
Run, run, O run—
Edg.
To whom, my lord? who has the office?
Send thy token of reprieve.
Bast.
Well thought on, take my sword,
Give it the captain—
Edg.
Haste thee for thy life.
Bast.
He hath commission from thy wife and me,
To hang Cordelia in the prison, and
To lay the blame upon her own despair.
Alb.
The gods defend her, bear him hence a while.
SCENE X.
Enter Lear with Cordelia dead in his arms.
Lear.
Howl, howl, howl, howl,—O you are men of stone,
Had I your tongues and eyes, I'd use them so,
That heaven's vault should crack; she's gone for ever!
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.
-- 109 --
Kent.
Is this the promis'd end?
Lear.
This feather stirs, she lives; if it be so,
It is a chance which do's redeem all sorrows
That ever I have felt.
Kent.
O my good master!
Lear.
Pr'ythee away—
Edg.
'Tis noble Kent your friend.
Lear.
A plague upon you murth'rers, 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, an excellent thing in woman.
I kill'd the slave that was a hanging thee.
Gent.
'Tis true, my lords, he did.
Lear.
Did I not, fellow?
I've 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?
Mine eyes are none o'th' best. I'll tell you strait.
Kent.
If fortune brag of two she lov'd and hated,
One of them we behold.
Lear.
Are you not Kent?
Kent.
The same; your servant Kent;
Where is your servant Caius?
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 strait.
Kent.
That from your a notelife of difference and decay,
Have follow'd your sad steps—
Lear.
You're welcome hither.
Kent.
b note'Twas no man else; all's cheerless, dark, and deadly:
-- 110 --
Your eldest daughters have fore-done themselves,
And desp'rately are dead.
Lear.
Ay, so I think.
Alb.
He knows not what he says, and vain is it
That we present us to him.
Edg.
Very bootless.
Enter a Messenger.
Mes.
Edmund is dead, my lord.
Alb.
That's but a trifle.
You lords and noble friends know our intent;
What comfort to this great decay may come,
Shall be apply'd. For us, we will resign
During the life of this old majesty,
To him our absolute power: to you, your rights,
[To Edg.
With boot; and such addition as your honours
Have more than merited. All friends shall taste
The wages of their virtue, and all foes
The cup of their deservings: 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? thou'lt come no more,
Never, never, never, never, never,—
Pray you undo this button. Thank you, Sir,
Do you see this? look on her, look on her lips,
Look there, look there—
[He Dies.
Edg.
He faints, my lord.
Kent.
Break heart, I pr'ythee break.
Edg.
Look to my lord.
Kent.
Vex not his ghost: o let him pass! He hates him,
That would upon the rack of this rough world
Stretch him out longer.
-- 111 --
Edg.
He is gone indeed.
Kent.
The wonder is, he hath endur'd so long:
He but usurpt his life.
Alb.
Bear them from hence, our present business
Is general woe: friends of my soul, you twain,
Rule in this realm, and the gor'd state sustain.
Kent.
I have a journey, Sir, shortly to go;
My Master calls me, I must not say no.
Dies.
c noteAlb.
The weight of this sad time we must obey,
Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say.
The oldest hath born most; we that are young
Shall never see so much, nor live so long.
[Exeunt with a dead march.
