Introductory matter
note
-- 351 --
INTRODUCTION.
The most remarkable circumstance connected with the early publication
of “King Lear” is, that the same stationer published three
quarto impressions of it in 1608, that stationer being a person who
had not put forth any of the authentic (as far as they can deserve
to be so considered) editions of Shakespeare's plays. After it had
been thus thrice printed (for they were not merely re-issues with
fresh title-pages) in the same year, the tragedy was not again printed
until it appeared in the folio of 1623. Why it was never republished
in quarto, in the interval, must be matter of speculation, but such
was not an unusual occurence with the works of our great dramatist:
his “Midsummer Night's Dream,” “Merchant of Venice,” and
“Troilus and Cressida” were each twice printed, the two first in
1600, and the last in 1609, and they were not again seen in type
until they were inserted in the folio of 1623: there was also no
second quarto edition of “Much ado about Nothing,” nor of “Love's
Labour's Lost.” The extreme popularity of “King Lear” seems
proved by the mere fact that the public demand for it, in the first
year of its publication, could not be satisfied without three distinct
impressions.
It will be seen by the exact copies of the title-pages which we
have inserted on the opposite leaf, that although Nathaniel Butter
was the publisher of the three quarto editions, he only put his address
on the title-page of one of them. It is perhaps impossible now to
ascertain on what account the difference was made; but it is to be
observed that “Printed by J. Roberts,” without any address, is
found at the bottom of the title-pages of some of the copies of
“The Merchant of Venice” and “Midsummer Night's Dream” in
1600. A more remarkable circumstance, in relation to the title-pages
of “King Lear,” is, that the name of William Shakespeare
is made so obvious at the top of them, the type being larger than
that used for any other part of the work: moreover, we have it
again at the head of the leaf on which the tragedy commences,
“M. William Shake-speare, his History of King Lear.” This
peculiarity has never attracted sufficient attention, and it belongs not
only to no other of Shakespeare's plays, but to no other production
of any kind of that period which we recollect. It was clearly intended
to enable purchasers to make sure that they were buying the
drama which “M. William Shakespeare” had written upon the story
of King Lear.
-- 352 --
The cause of it is, perhaps, to be found in the fact, that there was another
contemporary drama upon the same subject, and with very nearly
the same names to the principal characters, which was not by Shakespeare,
but which the publisher probably had endeavoured to pass off
as his work. An edition of this play was printed in 1605, under the
following title:—“The True Chronicle History of King Leir and his
three Daughters, Gonorill, Ragan, and Cordella. As it hath bene divers
and sundry times lately acted.” It was printed, by Simon Stafford,
for John Wright; and we agree with Malone in thinking that this
impression was put forth in consequence of the popularity of Shakespeare's
“King Lear,” which was then in a course of successful performance
at the Globe theatre. That this edition of “The True
Chronicle History of King Leir” was a re-impression we have little
doubt, because it was entered at Stationers' Hall for publication as
early as 14th May, 1594: it was entered again on 8th May, 1605,
anterior to the appearance of the impression with that date, the title-page
of which we have above quoted.
We may presume that in 1605 no bookseller was able to obtain
from the King's Players a copy of Shakespeare's “King Lear;” for
there is perhaps no point in our early stage-history more clear, than
that the different companies took every precaution in order to prevent
the publication of plays belonging to them. However, in the
autumn of 1607, Nathaniel Butter had in some way possessed him
of a manuscript of “King Lear,” and on the 26th November he
procured the following unusually minute memorandum to be made
in the Stationers' Registers:—
“26 Nov. 1607.
Na. Butter and Jo. Busby] Entered for their Copie under
t' hands of Sir Geo. Bucke, Kt. and the Wardens, a booke
called Mr. Willm Shakespeare, his Historye of Kinge
Lear, as yt was played before the King's Majestie at
Whitehall, upon St. Stephen's night at Christmas last, by
his Majesties Servants playing usually at the Globe on the
Bank-side.”
This entry establishes that Shakespeare's “King Lear” had been
played at Court on the 26th December, 1606, and not on the 26th
December, 1607, as we might infer from the title-pages of the three
editions of 1608.
The memorandum we have just inserted would lead us to believe
that John Busby was the printer of “King Lear,” although his
name does not otherwise at all appear in connection with it. The
differences between the quartos are seldom more than verbal, but
they are sometimes important: after a very patient comparison,
we may state, that the quartos without the publisher's address
are more accurate than that with his address; and we presume
-- 353 --
that the latter was first issued. It would seem that the folio of
1623 was composed from a manuscript, which had been much,
and not very judiciously, abridged for the purposes of the theatre;
and, although it contains some additions, not in any of the quartos,
there are, perhaps, few quartos of any of Shakespeare's plays more
valuable for the quantity of matter they contain, of which there is
no trace in the folio.
We have said that we agree with Malone in opinion that “King
Lear” was brought out at the Globe Theatre in the spring of 1605,
according to our present mode of computing the year. We may
decide with certainty that it was not written until after the appearance
of Harsnet's “Discovery of Popish Impostors” in 1603,
because from it, as Steevens established, are taken the names of
various fiends mentioned by Edgar in the course of his scenes of
pretended madness.
As we find a “King Leir” entered on the Stationers' books in
1594, we can have no hesitation in arriving at the conclusion that
the old play, printed by Simon Stafford for John Wright, in 1605,
when Shakespeare's “King Lear” was (as we have supposed) experiencing
a run of popularity at the Globe, was considerably anterior
in point of date. There is little doubt that Shakespeare was
acquainted with it, and probably adopted from it at least that part of
the conduct of his story which relates to the faithful Kent. There
are other general, but few particular resemblances: for both the
chief materials were evidently derived from Holinshed, but Shakespeare
varied from all authorities in his catastrophe: he seems to
have thought, that to abandon the course of the ordinary and popular
narrative would heighten and improve the effect of his drama, and
give a novelty to its termination.
The story of Lear and his daughters is briefly told by Spencer in
B. ii. c. 10, of his “Fairie Queene,” and thence it has been thought
that Shakespeare obtained the name of Cordelia, 'till then usually
called Cordella. That portion of the plot which relates to the Earl
of Gloster, he may have procured from Sir Philip Sidney's “Arcadia,”
first printed in 1590, 4to: B. ii. c. 10, of that romance is thus headed:
—“The pitifull state and storie of the Paphalgonian unkinde King,
and his kind son.” An early ballad on King Lear was also published
(see Percy's Reliques, vol. ii. p. 249. Edit. 1812), but no copy
with a date has come down to us: although it employs the older
names of some of the characters, it adopts that of Cordelia; and
there are several circumstances, besides a more modern style of
composition, which lead us to the belief that it was written posterior
to the production of Shakespeare's Tragedy.
-- 354 --
1 note.
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ
LEAR, King of Britain.
King of France.
Duke of Burgundy.
Duke of Cornwall.
Duke of Albany.
Earl of Kent.
Earl of Gloster [Earl of Gloucester].
EDGAR, Son to Gloster.
EDMUND, Bastard Son to Gloster.
CURAN, a Courtier.
OSWALD, Steward to Goneril.
Old Man, Tenant to Gloster.
Physician [Doctor].
Fool.
An Officer, employed by Edmund [Captain].
Gentleman, Attendant on Cordelia.
A Herald.
Servants to Cornwall [Servant], [Servant 1], [Servant 2].
GONERIL, Daughter to Lear.
REGAN, Daughter to Lear.
CORDELIA, Daughter to Lear.
Knights of Lear's train, Officers, Messengers, Soldiers, and Attendants.
[Knight], [Messenger]
SCENE, Britain.
-- 355 --
KING LEAR.
ACT I.
SCENE I.
A Room of State in King Lear's Palace.
Enter Kent, Gloster, and Edmund.
Kent.
I thought, the king had more affected the
duke of Albany, than Cornwall.
Glo.
It did always seem so to us: but now, in the
division of the kingdoms, it appears not which of the
dukes he values most; for equalities are so weighed,
that curiosity in neither can make choice of either's
moiety1 note.
Kent.
Is not this your son, my Lord?
Glo.
His breeding, sir, hath been at my charge: I
have so often blushed to acknowledge him, that now
I am brazed to it.
Kent.
I cannot conceive you.
Glo.
Sir, this young fellow's mother could; whereupon
she grew round-wombed, and had, indeed, sir, a
son for her cradle ere she had a husband for her bed.
Do you smell a fault?
-- 356 --
Kent.
I cannot wish the fault undone, the issue of it
being so proper.
Glo.
But I have a son, sir, by order of law, some
year elder than this, who yet is no dearer in my
account: though this knave came somewhat saucily
into the world2 note, before he was sent for, yet was his
mother fair, there was good sport at his making, and
the whoreson must be acknowledged.—Do you know
this noble gentleman, Edmund?
Edm.
No, my lord.
Glo.
My lord of Kent: remember him hereafter as
my honourable friend.
Edm.
My services to your lordship.
Kent.
I must love you, and sue to know you better.
Edm.
Sir, I shall study deserving.
Glo.
He hath been out nine years, and away he shall
again.—The king is coming.
[Sennet within.
Enter Lear, Cornwall, Albany, Goneril, Regan,
Cordelia, and Attendants.
Lear.
Attend the lords of France and Burgundy,
Gloster.
Glo.
I shall, my liege3 note.
[Exeunt Gloster and Edmund.
Lear.
Mean-time we shall express our darker purpose.
Give me the map there.—Know, that we have divided,
In three, our kingdom; and 'tis our fast intent4 note
To shake all cares and business from our age,
Conferring them on younger strengths5 note, while we
-- 357 --
Unburden'd crawl toward 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' several dowers, that future strife
May be prevented now. The princes, France and Burgundy6 note,
Great rivals in our youngest daughter's love,
Long in our court have made their amorous sojourn,
And here are to be answer'd.—Tell me, my daughters,
(Since now we will divest us, both of rule,
Interest of territory, cares of state7 note)
Which of you, shall we say, doth love us most?
That we our largest bounty may extend
Where nature doth with merit challenge8 note.—Goneril,
Our eldest-born, speak first.
Gon.
Sir, I love you more than words can wield the matter; 11Q1046
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 found9 note;
A love that makes breath poor, and speech unable;
Beyond all manner of so much I love you.
Cor.
What shall Cordelia speak1 note? Love, and be silent.
[Aside.
Lear.
Of all these bounds, even from this line to this,
With shadowy forests, and with champains rich'd,
-- 358 --
With plenteous rivers2 note
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? Speak3 note.
Reg.
I am 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
Myself an enemy to all other joys,
Which the most precious square of sense possesses 11Q10474 note,
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 richer than my tongue5 note.
Lear.
To thee, and thine, hereditary ever,
Remain this ample third of our fair kingdom;
No less in space, validity, and pleasure,
Than that conferr'd on Goneril.—Now, our joy,
Although our last, and least6 note
; to whose young love
The vines of France, and milk of Burgundy,
Strive to be interess'd; what can you say, to draw
A third more opulent than your sisters? Speak.
Cor.
Nothing, my lord.
Lear.
Nothing?
-- 359 --
Cor.
Nothing7 note.
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; nor more, nor less.
Lear.
How? how, Cordelia8 note? 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? Haply, 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,
To love my father all 11Q10489 note.
Lear.
But goes this with thy heart?
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 dower;
For, by the sacred radiance of the sun,
The mysteries of Hecate, and the night1 note,
By all the operation of the orbs,
From whom we do exist, and cease to be,
Here I disclaim all my paternal care,
Propinquity and property of blood,
-- 360 --
And as a stranger to my heart and me,
Hold thee from this for ever. The barbarous Scythian,
Or he that makes his generation messes
To gorge his appetite, shall to my bosom2 note
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 nursery.—Hence, and avoid my sight!—
[To Cordelia.
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' dowers digest the third:
Let pride, which she calls plainness, marry her.
I do invest you jointly with my power,
Pre-eminence, and all the large effects
That troop with majesty.—Ourself, 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, we still retain3 note
The name, and all th' additions to a king;
The sway, revenue, execution of the rest,
Beloved sons, be yours: which to confirm,
This coronet part between you.
[Giving the Crown.
Kent.
Royal Lear,
Whom I have ever honour'd as my king,
Lov'd as my father, as my master follow'd,
As my great patron thought on in my prayers, 11Q1049—
Lear.
The bow is bent and drawn, make from the shaft.
-- 361 --
Kent.
Let it fall rather, though the fork invade
The region of my heart: be Kent unmannerly,
When Lear is mad4 note.—What would'st thou do, old man?
Think'st thou, that duty shall have dread to speak,
When power to flattery bows? To plainness honour's bound,
When majesty stoops to folly. Reverse thy doom5 note;
And in thy best consideration check
This hideous rashness: answer my life my judgment,
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 thine enemies; nor fear to lose it6 note,
Thy safety being the motive.
Lear.
Out of my sight!
Kent.
See better, Lear; and let me still remain
The true blank of thine eye7 note.
Lear.
Now, by Apollo,—
Kent.
Now, by Apollo, king,
Thou swear'st thy gods in vain.
Lear.
O, vassal! recreant8 note!
[Laying his hand upon his Sword.
Alb. Corn.
Dear sir, forbear.
Kent.
Do;
Kill thy physician, and the fee bestow
Upon the foul disease. Revoke thy gift;
-- 362 --
Or, whilst I can vent clamour from my throat,
I'll tell thee, thou dost evil.
Lear.
Hear me, recreant!
On thine allegiance hear me.
Since 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 power9 note,
(Which nor our nature nor our place can bear)
Our potency made good, take thy reward.
Five days we do allot thee10 note for provision
To shield thee from diseases of the world,
And on the sixt to turn thy hated back
Upon our kingdom: if on the tenth day following,
Thy banish'd trunk be found in our dominions, 11Q1050
The moment is thy death. Away! By Jupiter,
This shall not be revok'd.
Kent.
Fare thee well, king: since thus thou wilt appear,
Freedom lives hence1 note, and banishment is here.—
The gods to their dear shelter take thee, maid,
[To Cordelia.
That justly think'st, and hast most rightly said2 note!—
And your large speeches may your deeds approve,
[To Regan and Goneril.
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.
-- 363 --
Flourish. Re-enter Gloster; with France, Burgundy, and Attendants.
Glo.
Here's France and Burgundy, my noble lord3 note.
Lear.
My lord of Burgundy,
We first address toward you, who with this king
Hath rivall'd for our daughter: what, in the least,
Will you require in present dower with her,
Or cease your quest of love?
Bur.
Most royal majesty,
I crave no more than hath your highness offer'd4 note,
Nor will you tender less.
Lear.
Right noble Burgundy,
When she was dear to us, we did hold her so;
But now her price is fall'n. Sir, there she stands:
If aught within that little seeming substance,
Or all of it, with our displeasure piec'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,
Dower'd with our curse5 note, and stranger'd with our oath,
Take her, or leave her?
Bur.
Pardon me, royal sir;
Election makes not up on such conditions.
Lear.
Then leave her, sir; for, by the power 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
-- 364 --
T' avert your liking a more worthier way,
Than on a wretch whom nature is asham'd
Almost t' acknowledge hers.
France.
This is most strange,
That she, that even but now was your best object,
The argument of your praise, balm of your age,
Most best, most dearest6 note, should in this trice of time
Commit a thing so monstrous, to dismantle
So many folds of favour. Sure, her offence
Must be of such unnatural degree,
That monsters it, or your fore-vouch'd affection
Fall'n into taint: which to believe of her,
Must be a faith that reason, without miracle,
Could 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 intend7 note,
I'll do't before I speak) that you make known
It is no vicious blot, murder, or foulness,
No unchaste action8 note, or dishonour'd step,
That hath depriv'd me of your grace and favour; 11Q1051
But even for want of that for which I am richer,
A still-soliciting eye, and such a tongue
That I am glad I have not, though not to have it,
Hath lost me in your liking.
Lear.
Better thou9 note
Hadst not been born, than not to have pleas'd me better.
France.
Is it but this1 note? a tardiness in nature,
-- 365 --
Which often leaves the history unspoke,
That it intends to do?—My lord of Burgundy,
What say you to the lady? Love is not love,
When it is mingled with respects, that stand
Aloof from the entire point. Will you have her?
She is herself a dowry.
Bur.
Royal Lear2 note,
Give but that portion which yourself propos'd,
And here I take Cordelia by the hand,
Duchess of Burgundy.
Lear.
Nothing: I have sworn; I am firm3 note.
Bur.
I am sorry, then, you have so lost a father,
That you must lose a husband.
Cor.
Peace be with Burgundy:
Since that respects of fortune4 note 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 it lawful, I take up what's cast away.
Gods, gods! 'tis strange, that from their cold't neglect
My love should kindle to inflam'd respect.—
Thy dowerless daughter, king, thrown to my chance,
Is queen of us, of ours, and our fair France:
Not all the dukes of waterish Burgundy
Shall buy5 note this unpriz'd precious maid of me.—
Bid them farewell, Cordelia, though unkind:
Thou losest here, a better where to find6 note.
-- 366 --
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 benison.—
Come, noble Burgundy.
[Flourish. Exeunt Lear, Burgundy, Cornwall, Albany, Gloster, and Attendants.
France.
Bid farewell to your sisters.
Cor.
The jewels of our father, with wash'd eyes
Cordelia leaves you: I know you what you are;
And, like a sister, am most loath to call
Your faults as they are nam'd. Love well our father7 note:
To your professed 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.
Gon.
Prescribe not us our duty.
Reg.
Let your study
Be to content your lord, who hath receiv'd you
At fortune's alms: you have obedience scanted,
And well are worth the want8 note that you have wanted.
Cor.
Time shall unfold what plighted cunning hides;
Who cover faults, at last shame them derides9 note.
Well may you prosper!
France.
Come, my fair Cordelia.
[Exeunt France and Cordelia.
Gon.
Sister, it is not little I have to say of what
most nearly appertains to us both. I think, our father
will hence to-night.
Reg.
That's most certain, and with you; next month
with us.
-- 367 --
Gon.
You see how full of changes his age is; the
observation we have made of it hath not been little10 note:
he always loved our sister most, and with what poor
judgment he hath now cast her off, appears too grossly.
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 to receive from his age,
not alone the imperfections of long-engrafted condition,
but, therewithal, the unruly waywardness that infirm
and choleric years bring with them.
Reg.
Such unconstant starts are we like to have
from him, as this of Kent's banishment.
Gon.
There is farther compliment of leave-taking
between France and him. Pray you, let us hit together1 note:
if our father carry authority with such dispositions
as he bears, this last surrender of his will but
offend us.
Reg.
We shall farther think of it.
Gon.
We must do something and i' the heat.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.
A Hall in the Earl of Gloster's Castle.
Enter Edmund, with a letter.
Edm.
Thou, nature, art my goddess2 note; to thy law
My services are bound. Wherefore should I
-- 368 --
Stand in the plague of custom, and permit
The curiosity of nations3 note to deprive me,
For that I am some twelve or fourteen moon-shines
Lag of a brother? Why bastard? wherefore base,
When my dimensions are as well compact,
My mind as generous, and my shape as true,
As honest madam's issue? Why brand they us
With base? with baseness? bastardy? base, base4 note?
Who in the lusty stealth of nature take
More composition and fierce quality,
Than doth within a dull, stale, tired bed,
Go to the creating a whole tribe of fops,
Got 'tween asleep and wake?—Well then,
Legitimate Edgar, I must have your land:
Our father's love is to the bastard Edmund,
As to the legitimate. Fine word,—legitimate5 note!
Well, my legitimate, if this letter speed,
And my invention thrive, Edmund the base
Shall top the legitimate6 note. I grow; I prosper:—
Now, gods, stand up for bastards!
Enter Gloster.
Glo.
Kent banish'd thus! And France in choler parted!
And the king gone to-night! subscrib'd his power7 note!
Confin'd to exhibition! All this done
-- 369 --
Upon the gad!—Edmund, How now! what news?
Edm.
So please your lordship, none.
[Putting up the Letter.
Glo.
Why so earnestly seek you to put up that letter?
Edm.
I know no news, my lord.
Glo.
What paper were you reading?
Edm.
Nothing, my lord.
Glo.
No! What needed, then, that terrible despatch
of it into your pocket? the quality of nothing hath not
such need to hide itself. Let's see: come; if it be
nothing, I shall not need spectacles.
Edm.
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 perused, I find it not fit for your
o'erlooking8 note.
Glo.
Give me the letter, sir.
Edm.
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.
Edm.
I hope, for my brother's justification, he wrote
this but as an essay or taste of my virtue.
Glo. [Reads.]
“This policy, and reverence9 note 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
oppresion of aged tyranny, who 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
waked him, you should enjoy half his revenue for ever,
and live the beloved of your brother, Edgar.”—
Humph!—Conspiracy!—“Sleep till I waked him,—
-- 370 --
you should enjoy half his revenue.”—My son Edgar!
Had he a hand to write this? a heart and brain to
breed it in?—When came this to you10 note? Who brought
it?
Edm.
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?
Edm.
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.
Edm.
It is his hand, my lord; but, I hope, his heart
is not in the contents.
Glo.
Hath he never heretofore sounded you in this
business?
Edm.
Never, my lord: but I have often heard him
maintain it to be fit, that sons at perfect age, and
fathers declined, the father1 note should be as ward to the
son, and the son manage his revenue.
Glo.
O villain, villain!—His very opinion in the
letter!—Abhorred villain! Unnatural, detested, brutish
villain! worse than brutish!—Go, sirrah, seek him; I'll
apprehend him. Abominable villain!—Where is he?
Edm.
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 shall run a certain course; where, if
you violently proceed against him, mistaking his purpose,
it would make a great gap in your own honour,
and shake in pieces the heart of his obedience. I dare
pawn down my life for him, that he hath writ this to
-- 371 --
feel my affection to your honour, and to no other pretence2 note
of danger.
Glo.
Think you so?
Edm.
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 farther delay than this very evening.
Glo.
He cannot be such a monster.
Edm.
Nor is not, sure3 note.
Glo.
To his father, that so tenderly and entirely
loves him.—Heaven and earth!—Edmund, seek him
out; wind me into him, I pray you: frame the business
after your own wisdom. I would unstate myself to be
in a due resolution4 note.
Edm.
I will seek him, sir, presently, convey the
business as I shall find means5 note, 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 itself scourged
by the sequent effects. Love cools, friendship falls off,
brothers divide: in cities, mutinies; in countries, discord;
in palaces, treason, and the bond cracked between
son and father. This villain of mine6 note comes under the
prediction; there's son against father: the king falls
from bias 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
-- 372 --
to our graves!—Find out this villain, Edmund;
it shall lose thee nothing: do it carefully.—And the
noble and true-hearted Kent banished! his offence,
honesty!—'Tis strange.
[Exit.
Edm.
This is the excellent foppery of the world, that,
when we are sick in fortune, (often the surfeit of our
own behaviour) we make guilty of our disasters, the
sun, the moon, and the stars: as if we were villains by
necessity; fools, by heavenly compulsion; knaves,
thieves, and treachers7 note, by spherical predominance;
drunkards, liars, and adulterers, by an enforced 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 to the
charge of stars8 note! 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.—Tut! I should have been that I am, had
the maidenliest star in the firmament twinkled on my
bastardizing9 note. Edgar—
Enter Edgar.
and1 note pat he comes, like the catastrophe of the old
comedy: my cue is villainous melancholy, with a sigh
like Tom o'Bedlam.—O! these eclipses do portend
these divisions. Fa, sol, la, mi.
Edg.
How now, brother Edmund! What serious
contemplation are you in?
Edm.
I am thinking, brother, of a prediction I read
this other day, what should follow these eclipses.
-- 373 --
Edg.
Do you busy yourself with that?
Edm.
I promise you, the effects he writes of, succeed
unhappily; as of unnaturalness2 note between the child
and the parent; death, dearth, dissolution of ancient
amities; divisions in state; menaces and maledictions
against king and nobles; needless diffidences, banishment
of friends, dissipation of cohorts3 note, nuptial breaches,
and I know not what.
Edg.
How long have you been a sectary astronomical?
Edm.
Come, come; when saw you my father last?
Edg.
The night gone by.
Edm.
Spake you with him?
Edg.
Ay, two hours together.
Edm.
Parted you in good terms? Found you no
displeasure in him, by word, or countenance?
Edg.
None at all.
Edm.
Bethink yourself, wherein you may have offended
him: and at my entreaty forbear his presence,
till some little time hath qualified the heat of his displeasure4 note,
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.
Edm.
That's my fear5 note. 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 armed.
Edg.
Armed, brother?
-- 374 --
Edm.
Brother, I advise you to the best6 note; I am no
honest man, if there be any good meaning towards
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?
Edm.
I do serve you in this business.—
[Exit Edgar.
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 easy!—I see the business.—
Let me, if not by birth, have lands by wit:
All with me's meet, that I can fashion fit.
[Exit.
SCENE III.
A Room in the Duke of Albany's Palace.
Enter Goneril, and Oswald her Steward.
Gon.
Did my father strike my gentleman for chiding
of his fool?
Osw.
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 every 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.
Osw.
He's coming, madam; I hear him.
[Horns within.
-- 375 --
Gon.
Put on what weary negligence you please,
You and your fellows; I'd have it come to question:
If he distaste it7 note, let him to my sister,
Whose mind and mine, I know, in that are one,
Not to be over-ruled. Idle old man8 note,
That still would manage those authorities,
That he hath given away!—Now, by my life,
Old fools are babes again; and must be us'd
With checks; as flatteries, when they are seen, abus'd.
Remember what I have said.
Osw.
Well, madam.
Gon.
And let his knights have colder looks among you.
What grows of it, no matter; advise your fellows so:
I would breed from hence occasions, and I shall,
That I may speak9 note
:—I'll write straight to my sister,
To hold my course.—Prepare for dinner.
[Exeunt.
SCENE IV.
A Hall in the Same.
Enter Kent, disguised.
Kent.
If but as well I other accents borrow,
That can my speech diffuse1 note, my good intent
-- 376 --
May carry through itself to that full issue
For which I raz'd my likeness.—Now, banish'd Kent,
If thou canst serve where thou dost stand condemn'd,
(So may it come2 note!) 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. [Exit an Attendant.] How now! what art thou?
Kent.
A man, sir.
Lear.
What dost thou profess? What wouldest
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
choose, and to eat no fish.
Lear.
What art thou?
Kent.
A very honest-hearted fellow, and as poor as
the king.
Lear.
If thou be as poor for a subject, as he is for a
king, thou art poor enough. What wouldest thou?
Kent.
Service.
Lear.
Whom wouldest 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 counsel, ride, run, mar a
curious tale in telling it, and deliver a plain message
bluntly: that which ordinary men are fit for, I am
qualified in; and the best of me is diligence.
-- 377 --
Lear.
How old art thou?
Kent.
Not so young, sir, to love a woman for singing;
nor so old, to dote on her for any thing: I have
years on my back forty-eight.
Lear.
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.
Enter Oswald.
You, you, sirrah, where's my daughter?
Osw.
So please you,—
[Exit.
Lear.
What says the fellow there? Call the clodpole
back.—Where's my fool, ho?—I think the world's
asleep.—How now! where's that mongrel?
Knight.
He says, my lord, your daughter is not well3 note.
Lear.
Why came not the slave back to me, when I
called him?
Knight.
Sir, he answered me 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 entertained
with that ceremonious affection as you were wont:
there's a great abatement of kindness4 note appears, as well
in the general dependants, as in the duke himself also,
and your daughter.
Lear.
Ha! sayest 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 wronged.
Lear.
Thou but rememberest me of mine own conception.
I have perceived a most faint neglect of
-- 378 --
late; which I have rather blamed as mine own jealous
curiosty, than as a very pretence and purpose of unkindness:
I will look farther into't.—But where's my
fool? I have not seen him this two days.
Knight.
Since my young lady's going into France,
sir, the fool hath much pined away.
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.—
Re-enter Oswald.
O! you sir, you sir, come you hither. Who am I, sir?
Osw.
My lady's father.
Lear.
My lady's father! my lord's knave: you whore-son
dog! you slave! you cur!
Osw.
I am none of these, my lord5 note; I beseech your
pardon.
Lear.
Do you bandy looks with me, you rascal?
[Striking him.
Osw.
I'll not be struck, my lord.
Kent.
Nor tripped neither, you base foot-ball player.
[Tripping up his Heels.
Lear.
I thank thee, fellow; thou servest 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.
[Pushes Oswald out.
Lear.
Now, my friendly knave, I thank thee: there's
earnest of thy service.
[Giving Kent Money.
Enter Fool.
Fool.
Let me hire him too:—here's my coxcomb.
[Giving Kent his Cap.
-- 379 --
Lear.
How now, my pretty knave! how dost thou?
Fool.
Sirrah, you were best take my coxcomb.
Lear.
Why, my boy6 note?
Fool.
Why? For taking one's part that's 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 banished two on's daughters, and
did the third a blessing against his will: if 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 gave them all my living, I'd keep my
coxcombs myself. 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
whipped out, when the lady brach7 note may stand by the
fire and stink.
Lear.
A pestilent gall to me.
Fool.
Sirrah, I'll teach thee a speech.
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 in-a-door,
And thou shalt have more
Than two tens to a score.
-- 380 --
Lear.
This is nothing, fool8 note.
Fool.
Then, 'tis like the breath of an unfee'd lawyer;
you gave 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.
Lear.
A bitter fool!
Fool.
Dost thou know the difference, my boy, between
a bitter fool and a sweet one?
Lear.
No, lad; teach me.
Fool.
That lord, that counsell'd thee9 note
To give away thy land,
Come place him here by me;
Do thou for him stand:
The sweet and bitter fool
Will presently appear;
The one in motley here,
The other found out there.
Lear.
Dost thou call me fool, boy?
Fool.
All thy other titles thou hast given away, that
thou wast born with.
Kent.
This is not altogether fool, my lord.
Fool.
No, 'faith; lords and great men will not let
me: if I had a monopoly out, they would have part
on't, and loads too1 note: they will not let me have all fool
to myself; they'll be snatching.—Give me an egg,
nuncle, and I'll give thee two crowns.
-- 381 --
Lear.
What two crowns shall they be?
Fool.
Why, after I have cut the egg i' the middle,
and eat up the meat, the two crowns of the egg.
When thou clovest thy crown i' the middle, and gavest
away both parts, thou borest thine ass on thy back o'er
the dirt: thou hadst little wit in thy bald crown,
when thou gavest thy golden one away. If I speak
like myself in this, let him be whipped that first finds
it so.
Fools had ne'er less grace in a year 11Q10522 note;
[Singing.
For wise men 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, ever since thou madest
thy daughters thy mothers: for, when thou gavest them
the rod and putt'st down thine own breeches,
Then they for sudden joy did weep3 note
,
[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.
An you lie, sirrah, we'll have you whipped.
-- 382 --
Fool.
I marvel, what kin thou and thy daughters
are: they'll have me whipped for speaking true, thou'lt
have me whipped for lying; and sometimes I am
whipped 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' the middle. Here comes one o' the
parings.
Enter Goneril.
Lear.
How now, daughter! what makes that frontlet on?
Methinks, you are too much of late i' the frown4 note.
Fool.
Thou wast a pretty fellow, when thou hadst
no need to care for her frowning; now thou art an O
without a figure5 note. I am better than thou art now: I
am a fool; thou art nothing.—Yes, forsooth, I will hold
my tongue! so your face [To Gon.] bids me, though
you say nothing. Mum, mum:
He that keeps nor crust nor crum,
Weary of all, shall want some.—
That's a shealed peascod.
Gon.
Not only, sir, this your all-licens'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 had thought, by making this well known unto you,
To have found a safe redress, but now grow fearful,
By what yourself too late have spoke and done,
That you protect this course, and put it on,
By your allowance; which if you should, the fault
-- 383 --
Would not 'scape censure, nor the redresses sleep,
Which, in the tender of a wholesome weal,
Might in their working do you that offence,
Which else were shame, that then necessity
Will call discreet proceeding6 note.
Fool.
For you trow, nuncle,
The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long,
That it had its head bit off by its 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 wisdom7 note,
Whereof I know you are fraught, and put away
These dispositions, which of late transform 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?—Why this is not
Lear: does Lear walk thus? speak thus? Where are
his eyes? Either his notion weakens, or his discernings
are lethargied.—Sleeping or waking?—Ha! sure 'tis
not so.—Who is it that can tell me who I am?—Lear's
shadow8 note? I would learn that; for by the marks of
sovereignty, knowledge, and reason, I should be false
persuaded I had daughters.
Fool.
Which they will make an obedient father.
Lear.
Your name, fair gentlewoman?
Gon.
This admiration, sir, is much o' the favour9 note
-- 384 --
Of other your new pranks. I do beseech you
To understand my purposes aright,
As you are old and reverend, should be wise1 note.
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,
Shows like a riotous inn: epicurism and lust
Make it more like a tavern, or a brothel,
Than a grac'd palace2 note. The shame itself doth speak
For instant remedy: be, then, desir'd
By her, that else will take the thing she begs,
A little to disquantity your train;
And the remainder, that shall still depend,
To be such men as may besort your age3 note,
Which know themselves and you.
Lear.
Darkness and devils!—
Saddle my horses; call my train together.—
Degenerate 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.
Enter Albany.
Lear.
Woe, that too late repents4 note,—O sir! [To Alb.] are you come?
Is it your will? Speak, sir.—Prepare my horses.
-- 385 --
Ingratitude, thou marble-hearted fiend,
More hideous, when thou show'st thee in a child,
Than the sea-monster!
Alb.
Pray, sir, be patient.
Lear.
Detested kite! thou liest:
[To Goneril.
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 name.—O, most small fault!
How ugly didst thou in Cordelia show,
Which, like an engine, wrench'd my frame of nature
From the fix'd 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.
And thy dear judgment out!—Go, go, my people.
Alb.
My lord, I am guiltless, as I am ignorant
Of what hath mov'd you5 note.
Lear.
It may be so, my lord.—
Hear, nature, hear! dear goddess, hear!
Suspend thy purpose, if thou didst intend
To make this creature fruitful!
Into her womb convey sterility!
Dry up in her the organs of increase;
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 channels in her cheeks;
Turn all her mother's pains, and benefits,
-- 386 --
To laughter and contempt; that she may feel
How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is
To have a thankless child!—Away! away6 note!
[Exit.
Alb.
Now, gods that we adore, whereof comes this?
Gon.
Never afflict yourself to know the cause7 note;
But let his disposition have that scope
That dotage gives it.
Re-enter Lear.
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! [To Goneril.] I am ashamed,
That thou hast power to shake my manhood thus:
That these hot tears8 note, which break from me perforce,
Should make thee worth them. Blasts and fogs upon thee!
Th' untended woundings of a father's curse
Pierce every sense about thee!—Old fond eyes,
Beweep this cause again, I'll pluck you out,
And cast you, with the waters that you lose,
To temper clay.—Ha!
Let it be so:—I have another daughter9 note
,
Who, I am sure, is kind and comfortable:
When she shall hear this of thee, with her nails
-- 387 --
She'll flay thy wolfish visage. Thou shalt find,
That I'll resume the shape, which thou dost think
I have cast off for ever1 note.
[Exeunt Lear, Kent, and Attendants.
Gon.
Do you mark that, my lord?
Alb.
I cannot be so partial, Goneril,
To the great love I bear you,—
Gon.
Pray you, content2 note.—What, Oswald, ho!
You, sir, more knave than fool, after your master.
[To the Fool.
Fool.
Nuncle Lear, nuncle Lear! tarry, and 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 counsel3 note.—A hundred knights!
'Tis politic, and safe, to let him keep
At point a hundred knights: yes, that on every dream,
Each buz, each fancy, each complaint, dislike,
He may enguard his dotage with their powers,
And hold our lives in 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 taken: I know his heart.
What he hath utter'd I have writ my sister:
If she sustain him and his hundred knights,
-- 388 --
When I have show'd th' unfitness,—how now, Oswald4 note
Re-enter Oswald.
What, have you writ that letter to my sister?
Osw.
Ay, madam.
Gon.
Take you some company, and away to horse:
Inform her full of my particular fear;
And thereto add such reasons of your own,
As may compact it more. Get you gone,
And hasten your return. [Exit Osw.] No, no, my lord,
This milky gentleness, and course of yours,
Though I condemn not, yet, under pardon,
You are much more attask'd5 note for want of wisdom,
Than prais'd for harmful 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; the event.
[Exeunt.
SCENE V.
Court before the Same.
Enter Lear, Kent, and Fool.
Lear.
Go you before to Gloster with these letters.
Acquaint my daughter no farther with any thing you
know, than comes from her demand out of the letter.
If your diligence be not speedy, I shall be there before
you.
-- 389 --
Kent.
I will not sleep, my lord, till I have delivered
your letter.
[Exit.
Fool.
If a man's brains were in's heels, were't not in
danger of kibes?
Lear.
Ay, boy.
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 is like an
apple, yet I can tell what I can tell6 note.
Lear.
What canst tell, boy?
Fool.
She will taste as like this, as a crab does to a
crab. Thou canst tell why one's nose stands i' the
middle on's face.
Lear.
No.
Fool.
Why, to keep one's eyes of either side's nose;
that what a man cannot smell out, he may spy into.
Lear.
I did her wrong.—
Fool.
Canst 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 his 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 wouldest make a good fool.
-- 390 --
Lear.
To take it again perforce!—Monster ingratitude!
Fool.
If thou wert my fool, nuncle, I'd have thee
beaten for being old before thy time.
Lear.
How's that?
Fool.
Thou shouldst not have been old before thou
hadst been wise.
Lear.
O, let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven!
Keep me in temper: I would not be mad!—
Enter Gentleman.
How now! Are the horses ready?
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.
[Exeunt.
ACT II.
SCENE I.
A Court within the Castle of the Earl of Gloster.
Enter Edmund and Curan, meeting.
Edm.
Save thee, Curan.
Cur.
And you sir. I have been with your father,
and given him notice, that the duke of Cornwall, and
Regan his duchess, will be here with him to-night.
Edm.
How comes that?
Cur.
Nay, I know not. You have heard of the news
abroad? I mean, the whispered ones, for they are yet
but ear-bussing arguments7 note.
-- 391 --
Edm.
Not I: pray you, what are they?
Cur.
Have you heard of no likely wars toward, 'twixt
the dukes of Cornwall and Albany?
Edm.
Not a word8 note.
Cur.
You may do, then, in time. Fare you well, sir.
[Exit.
Edm.
The duke be here to-night? The better! Best!
This weaves itself perforce into my business.
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, work9 note!—
Brother, a word;—descend:—brother, I say;
Enter Edgar.
My father watches.—O sir! fly this place;
Intelligence is given where you are hid:
You have now the good advantage of the night.—
Have you not spoken 'gainst the duke of Cornwall?
He's coming hither; now, i' the night, i' the haste,
And Regan with him: have you nothing said
Upon his party 'gainst the duke of Albany?
Advise yourself1 note.
Edg.
I am sure on't, not a word.
Edm.
I hear my father coming.—Pardon me;
In cunning, I must draw my sword upon you:
Draw: seem to defend yourself. Now 'quit you well.
Yield:—come before my father;—Light, ho! here!—
Fly, brother;—Torches! torches!—So, farewell.—
[Exit Edgar.
-- 392 --
Some blood drawn on me would beget opinion
[Wounds his arm.
Of my more fierce endeavour: I have seen drunkards
Do more than this in sport2 note.—Father! father!
Stop, stop! No help?
Enter Gloster, and Servants with Torches.
Glo.
Now, Edmund, where's the villain?
Edm.
Here stood he in the dark, his sharp sword out,
Mumbling of wicked charms3 note, conjuring the moon
To stand auspicious mistress.—
Glo.
But where is he?
Edm.
Look, sir, I bleed.
Glo.
Where is the villain, Edmund?
Edm.
Fled this way, sir. When by no means he could—
Glo.
Pursue him, ho!—Go after.—[Exit Serv.] By no means,—what?
Edm.
Persuade me to the murder of your lordship;
But that I told him, the revenging gods
'Gainst parricides did all their thunders bend4 note;
Spoke, with how manifold and strong a bond
The child was bound to the father;—sir, in fine,
Seeing how loathly opposite I stood
To his unnatural purpose, in fell motion,
With his prepared sword he charges home
My unprovided body, lanc'd mine arm:
But when he saw my best alarum'd spirits,
-- 393 --
Bold in the quarrel's right, rous'd to th' encounter,
Or whether gasted 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 arch5 note and patron, comes to-night: 11Q1053
By his authority I will proclaim it,
That he, which finds him, shall deserve our thanks,
Bringing the murderous coward6 note to the stake;
He, that conceals him, death.
Edm.
When I dissuaded him from his intent,
And found him pight to do it7 note, with curst speech
I threaten'd to dicover him: he replied,
“Thou unpossessing bastard! dost thou think,
If I would stand against thee, would the reposal8 note
Of any trust, virtue, or worth, in thee
Make thy words faith'd? No: what I should deny,
(As this I would; ay, though thou didst produce
My very character9 note) 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 spurs1 note
To make thee seek it.”
Glo.
Strong and fasten'd villain!
Would he deny his letter?—I never got him2 note.
[Tucket within.
-- 394 --
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.
Enter Cornwall, Regan, and Attendants.
Corn.
How now, my noble friend! since I came hither,
(Which I can call but now) I have heard strange news3 note.
Reg.
If it be true, all vengeance comes too short,
Which can pursue th' offender. How dost, 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? 11Q1054
Glo.
O, lady, lady! shame would have it hid.
Reg.
Was he not companion with the riotous knights
That tend upon my father?
Glo.
I know not, madam: 'tis too bad, too bad.—
Edm.
Yes, madam, he was of that consort4 note.
Reg.
No marvel, then, though he were ill affected:
'Tis they have put him on the old man's death,
To have th' expense and waste of his revenues5 note.
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,
-- 395 --
I'll not be there.
Corn.
Nor I, assure thee, Regan.—
Edmund, I hear that you have shown your father
A child-like office.
Edm.
'Twas my duty, sir.
Glo.
He did bewray his practice6 note; 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.—For you, Edmund,
Whose virtue and obedience doth this instant
So much commend itself, you shall be ours:
Natures of such deep trust we shall much need;
You we first seize on.
Edm.
I shall serve you, sir,
Truly, however else.
Glo.
For him I thank your grace.
Corn.
You know not why we came to visit you.
Reg.
Thus out of season, threading dark-ey'd night7 note.
Occasions, noble Gloster, of some poize8 note,
Wherein we must have use of your advice.
Our father he hath writ, so hath our sister,
Of differences, which I best thought it fit
To answer from our home: the several messengers
From hence attend despatch. Our good old friend,
Lay comforts to your bosom, and bestow
Your needful counsel to our business9 note,
-- 396 --
Which craves the instant use.
Glo.
I serve you, madam.
Your graces are right welcome.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.
Before Gloster's Castle.
Enter Kent and Oswald, severally.
Osw.
Good dawning to thee, friend: art of this house1 note?
Kent.
Ay.
Osw.
Where may we set our horses?
Kent.
I' the mire.
Osw.
Pr'ythee, if thou love me, tell me.
Kent.
I love thee not.
Osw.
Why, then I care not for thee.
Kent.
If I had thee in Lipsbury pinfold, I would
make thee care for me. 11Q1055
Osw.
Why dost thou use me thus? I know thee
not.
Kent.
Fellow, I know thee.
Osw.
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, worsted-stocking knave; a lily-liver'd,
action-taking knave, a whoreson glass-gazing, superserviceable,
finical rogue2 note; one-trunk-inheriting slave;
one that wouldest be a bawd, in way of good service,
and art nothing but the composition of a knave, beggar,
-- 397 --
coward, pandar, and the son and heir of a mongrel
bitch: one whom I will beat into clamorous whining,
if thou deniest the least syllable of thy addition.
Osw.
Why, what a monstrous fellow art thou, thus
to rail on one, that is neither known of thee, nor knows
thee.
Kent.
What a brazen-faced varlet art thou, to deny
thou knowest me. Is it two days since I tripped up
thy heels, and beat thee, before the king? Draw, you
rogue; for, though it be night, yet the moon shines:
I'll make a sop o' the moonshine of you: [Drawing his
Sword.] Draw, you whoreson cullionly barber-monger,
draw.
Osw.
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, part3 note,
against the royalty of her father. Draw, you rogue, or
I'll so carbonado your shanks:—draw, you rascal; come
your ways.
Osw.
Help, ho! murder! help!
Kent.
Strike, you slave: stand, rogue, stand; you
neat slave, strike.
[Beating him.
Osw.
Help, ho! murder! murder!
Enter Cornwall, Regan, Gloster, Edmund, and Servants.
Edm.
How now! What's the matter? Part4 note.
Kent.
With you, goodman boy, if you please: come,
I'll flesh you; come on, young master.
Glo.
Weapons! arms! What's the matter here?
Corn.
Keep peace, upon your lives:
He dies, that strikes again. What is the matter?
-- 398 --
Reg.
The messengers5 note from our sister and the king.
Corn.
What is your difference? speak.
Osw.
I am scarce in breath, my lord.
Kent.
No marvel, you have so bestirred your valour.
You cowardly rascal, nature disclaims in thee6 note
: a tailor
made thee.
Corn.
Thou art a strange fellow: a tailor make a
man?
Kent.
Ay, a tailor, sir: a stone-cutter, or a painter,
could not have made him so ill7 note, though they had been
but two hours at the trade.
Corn.
Speak yet, how grew your quarrel?
Osw.
This ancient ruffian, sir, whose life I have spar'd,
At suit of his grey beard,—
Kent.
Thou whoreson zed! thou unnecessary letter!
—My lord, if you will give me leave, I will tread this
unbolted villain8 note into mortar, and daub the wall of a
jakes with him.—Spare my grey beard, you wagtail?
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 should wear a sword,
Who wears no honesty. Such smiling rogues as these,
Like rats, oft bite the holy cords atwain
-- 399 --
Which are too intrinse t' unloose9 note; smooth every passion
That in the natures of their lords rebels;
Bring oil to fire10 note, snow to their colder moods;
Renege, affirm, and turn their halcyon beaks
With every gale and vary of their masters,
Knowing nought, like dogs, but following.—
A plague upon your epileptic 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 Camelot11 note.
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's his offence12 note?
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 stands on any shoulder that I see
Before me at this instant.
Corn.
This is some fellow,
-- 400 --
Who, having been prais'd for bluntness, doth affect
A saucy roughness, and constrains the garb,
Quite from his nature: he cannot flatter, he;
An honest mind and plain1 note,—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 more corrupter ends,
Than twenty silly ducking observants,
That stretch their duties nicely.
Kent.
Sir, in good sooth, in sincere verity,
Under th' allowance of your grand aspect,
Whose influence, like the wreath of radiant fire
On flickering Phœbus' front2 note,—
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 beguiled you in a plain accent was a plain knave;
which, for my part, I will not be, though I should win
your displeasure to entreat me to 't.
Corn.
What was the offence you gave him?
Osw.
I never gave him any:
It pleas'd the king, his master, very late,
To strike at me, upon his misconstruction;
When he, compact3 note, and flattering his displeasure,
Tripp'd me behind; being down, insulted, rail'd,
And put upon him such a deal of man,
That worthied him, got praises of the king
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.
-- 401 --
Corn.
Fetch forth the stocks!
You stubborn ancient knave, you reverend braggart4 note,
We'll teach you—
Kent.
Sir, I am too old to learn.
Call not your stocks for me; I serve the king,
On whose employment I was sent to you:
You shall do small respect, show too bold malice
Against the grace and person of my master,
Stocking his messenger.
Corn.
Fetch forth the stocks!
As I 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 should not use me so.
Reg.
Sir, being his knave, I will.
[Stocks brought out.
Corn.
This is a fellow of the self-same colour
Our sister speaks of.—Come, bring away the stocks.
Glo.
Let me beseech your grace not to do so.
His fault is much5 note, and the good king his master
Will check him for't: your purpos'd low correction
Is such, as basest and contemned'st wretches,
For pilferings and most common trespasses,
Are punish'd with. The king must take it ill,
That he, so slightly valued in his messenger,
Should have him thus restrain'd.
Corn.
I'll answer that.
Reg.
My sister may receive it much more worse,
To have her gentleman abus'd, assaulted,
-- 402 --
For following her affairs.—Put in his legs6 note.—
[Kent is put in the Stocks.
Come, my lord, away.
Exeunt Regan and Cornwall.
Glo.
I am sorry for thee, friend; 'tis the duke's pleasure,
Whose disposition, all the world well knows,
Will not be rubb'd, nor stopp'd: I'll entreat for thee.
Kent.
Pray, do not, sir. I have watch'd, and travell'd hard;
Some time I shall sleep out, the rest I'll whistle.
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,
That by thy comfortable beams I may
Peruse this letter.—Nothing almost sees miracles7 note,
But misery:—I know, 'tis from Cordelia;
Who hath most fortunately been inform'd
Of my obscured course; and shall find time
From this enormous state,—seeking to give
Losses their remedies8 note.—All weary and o'er-watch'd,
Take vantage, heavy eyes, not to behold
-- 403 --
This shameful lodging. Fortune, good night;
Smile once more; turn thy wheel!
[He sleeps.
SCENE III.
A Part of the Heath.
Enter Edgar.
Edg.
I heard myself proclaim'd;
And by the happy hollow of a tree
Escap'd the hunt. No port is free; no place,
That guard, and most unusual vigilance,
Does not attend my taking. While I may 'scape,
I will preserve myself; and am bethought
To take the basest and most poorest shape,
That ever penury, in contempt of man,
Brought near to beast: my face I'll grime with filth,
Blanket my loins, elf all my hair in knots,
And with presented nakedness out-face
The winds, and persecutions of the sky.
The country gives me proof and precedent
Of Bedlam beggars9 note
, who, with roaring voices,
Strike in their numb'd and mortified bare arms
Pins, wooden pricks, nails, sprigs of rosemary;
-- 404 --
And with this horrible object, from low farms1 note,
Poor pelting villages, sheep-cotes and mills,
Sometime with lunatic bans, sometime with prayers,
Enforce their charity.—Poor Turlygood2 note! poor Tom!
That's something yet:—Edgar I nothing am.
[Exit.
SCENE IV.
Before Gloster's Castle.
Enter Lear, Fool, and a Gentleman.
Lear.
'Tis strange that they should so depart from home,
And not send back my messenger.
Gent.
As I learn'd,
The night before there was no purpose in them
Of this remove.
Kent.
Hail to thee, noble master!
Lear.
Ha!
Mak'st thou this shame thy pastime?
Kent.
No, my lord.
Fool.
Ha, ha! look; he wears cruel garters. Horses
are tied by the head; dogs, and bears, by the neck;
monkeys by the loins, and men by the legs: when a
man is over-lusty at legs, then he wears wooden nether-stocks3 note.
Lear.
What's he, that hath so much thy place mistook,
-- 405 --
To set thee here?
Kent.
It is both he and she;
Your son and daughter.
Lear.
No.
Kent.
Yes.
Lear.
No, I say.
Kent.
I say, yea.
Lear.
No, no; they would not.
Kent.
Yes, they have4 note.
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 murder,
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 show'd
My duty kneeling, came there a reeking post,
Stew'd in his haste, half breathless, panting forth
From Goneril, his mistress, salutations;
Deliver'd letters, spite of intermission,
Which presently they read: on whose contents,
They summon'd up their meiny5 note, straight took horse;
Commanded me to follow, and attend
The leisure of their answer; gave me cold looks:
And meeting here the other messenger,
Whose welcome, I perceiv'd, had poison'd mine,
(Being the very fellow which of late
Display'd so saucily against your highness)
-- 406 --
Having more man than wit about me, drew:
He rais'd the house with loud and coward cries.
Your son and daughter found this trespass worth
The shame which here it suffers.
Fool.
Winter's not gone yet6 note, 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 the poor.—
But, for all this, thou shalt have as many dolours for
thy daughters, as thou canst tell in a year. 11Q1056
Lear.
O, how this mother swells up toward my heart!
Hysterica passio! down, thou climbing sorrow!
Thy element's below.—Where is this daughter?
Kent.
With the earl, sir; here, within.
Lear.
Follow me not:
Stay here.
[Exit.
Gent.
Made you no more offence than what you speak of?
Kent.
None.
How chance the king comes with so small a train?
Fool.
An thou hadst been set i' the stocks for that
question, thou hadst well deserved it.
Kent.
Why, fool?
Fool.
We'll set thee to school to an ant, to teach
thee there's no labouring i' the 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
-- 407 --
runs down a hill, lest it break thy neck with following
it; but the great one that goes up the hill7 note, 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 and seeks for gain,
And follows but for form,
Will pack when it begins to rain,
And leave thee in the storm.
But 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' the stocks, fool.
Re-enter Lear, with Gloster.
Lear.
Deny to speak with me? They are sick? they are weary?
They have travell'd hard to-night8 note? Mere fetches,
The images of revolt and flying off.
Fetch me a better answer.
Glo.
My dear lord,
You know the fiery quality of the duke;
How unremovable and fix'd he is
In his own course.
Lear.
Vengeance! plague! death! confusion!—
Fiery? what quality9 note? Why, Gloster, Gloster,
I'd speak with the duke of Cornwall and his wife.
Glo.
Well, my good lord, I have inform'd them so.
-- 408 --
Lear.
Inform'd them! Dost thou understand me, man1 note?
Glo.
Ay, my good lord.
Lear.
The king would speak with Cornwall; the dear father
Would with his daughter speak, commands her service2 note:
Are they inform'd of this? My breath and blood!—
Fiery? the fiery duke?—Tell the hot duke, that3 note—
No, but not yet;—may be, he is not well:
Infirmity doth still neglect all office,
Whereto our health is bound; we are not ourselves,
When nature, being oppress'd, commands the mind
To suffer with the body. I'll forbear;
And am fallen out with my more headier will,
To take the indispos'd and sickly fit
For the sound man.—Death on my state! wherefore
[Looking on Kent.
Should he sit here? This act persuades me,
That this remotion 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.
O me! my heart, my rising heart!—but, down4 note.
Fool.
Cry to it, nuncle, as the cockney5 note
did to the
-- 409 --
eels, when she put them i' the paste alive; she rapp'd
'em o' the coxcombs with a stick, and cried, “Down,
wantons, down:” 'twas her brother, that in pure kindness
to his horse buttered his hay.
Enter Cornwall, Regan, Gloster, 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 shouldst not be 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: O 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—O Regan!
Reg.
I pray you, sir, take patience. I have hope,
You less know how to value her desert,
Than she to scant her duty6 note.
Lear.
Say, how is that7 note?
Reg.
I cannot think, my sister in the least
Would fail her obligation: if, sir, perchance,
She have restrain'd the riots of your followers,
-- 410 --
'Tis on such ground, and to such wholesome end,
As clears her from all blame.
Lear.
My curses on her!
Reg.
O, sir! you are old;
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 yourself. Therefore, I pray you,
That to our sister you do make return:
Say, you have wrong'd her, sir.
Lear.
Ask her forgiveness?
Do you but mark how this becomes the house:
“Dear daughter, I confess that I am old; 11Q1057
Age is unnecessary: on my knees I beg,
[Kneeling.
That you'll vouchsafe me raiment, bed, and food.”
Reg.
Good sir, no more: these are unsightly tricks.
Return you to my sister.
Lear.
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 ungrateful top! Strike her young bones,
You taking 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 powerful sun,
To fall and blast her pride8 note!
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:
-- 411 --
Thy tender-hefted nature9 note 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 sizes1 note,
And, in conclusion, to oppose the bolt
Against my coming in: thou better know'st
The offices of nature, bond of childhood,
Effects of courtesy, dues of gratitude;
Thy half o' the kingdom hast thou not forgot,
Wherein I thee endow'd.
Reg.
Good sir, to the purpose.
Lear.
Who put my man i' the stocks?
[Tucket within.
Corn.
What trumpet's that?
Enter Oswald.
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 easy-borrow'd pride
Dwells in the fickle grace of her he follows.—
Out, varlet, from my sight!
Corn.
What means your grace?
Lear.
Who stock'd my servant2 note? Regan, I have good hope
Thou didst not know on't.—Who comes here? O heavens!
Enter Goneril.
If you do love old men, if your sweet sway
-- 412 --
Allow obedience, if yourselves are old,
Make it your cause; send down, and take my part!—
Art not asham'd to look upon this beard?—
[To Goneril.
O Regan! wilt thou take her by the hand?
Gon.
Why not by the hand, sir? How have I offended?
All's not offence, that indiscretion finds,
And dotage terms so.
Lear.
O sides! you are too tough:
Will you yet hold?—How came my man i' the 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,
Dismissing half your train, come then to me:
I am now from home, and out of that provision
Which shall be needful for your entertainment.
Lear.
Return to her? and fifty men dismiss'd?
No, rather I abjure all roofs, and choose
To wage against the enmity o' the air;
To be a comrade with the wolf and owl.—
Necessity's sharp pinch! 11Q1058—Return with her?
Why, the hot-blooded France, that dowerless took
Our youngest born, I could as well be brought
To knee his throne, and, squire-like, pension beg
To keep base life afoot.—Return with her?
Persuade me rather to be slave and sumpter3 note
To this detested groom.
[Looking at Oswald.
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;
-- 413 --
But yet thou art my flesh, my blood, my daughter;
Or, rather, a disease that's in my flesh4 note,
Which I must needs call mine: thou art a boil,
A plague-sore, an embossed 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 altogether so:
I look'd not for you yet, nor am provided
For your fit welcome. Give ear, sir, to my sister;
For those that mingle reason with your passion,
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, sith that 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 you,
We could control them. If you will come to me,
(For now I spy a danger) I entreat you
To bring but five and twenty: to no more
Will I give place, or notice.
Lear.
I gave you all—
Reg.
And in good time you gave it.
-- 414 --
Lear.
Made you my guardians, my depositaries,
But kept a reservation to be follow'd
With such a number. What! 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 the worst,
Stands in some rank of praise.—I'll go with thee:
[To Goneril.
Thy fifty yet doth double five and twenty,
And thou art 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 need one?
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 beast's. 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 heavens, give me that patience, patience I need!
You see me here, you gods, a poor old man5 note,
As full of grief as age; wretched in both:
If it be you that stir these daughters' hearts
Against their father, fool me not so much
To bear it tamely; touch me with noble anger.
O! let not women's weapons, water-drops,
Stain my man's cheeks.—No, you unnatural hags,
I will have such revenges on you both,
-- 415 --
That all the world shall—I will do such things,—
What they are, yet I know not; but they shall be
The terrors of the earth. You think, I'll weep;
No, I'll not weep:—
I have full cause of weeping; but this heart
[Storm heard at a distance.
Shall break into a hundred thousand flaws,
Or ere I'll weep.—O, fool! I shall go mad.
[Exeunt Lear, Gloster, Kent, and Fool.
Corn.
Let us withdraw, 'twill be a storm.
Reg.
This house is little: the old man and 's 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.
Gon.
So am I purpos'd.
Where is my lord of Gloster?
Re-enter Gloster.
Corn.
Follow'd the old man forth.—He is return'd.
Glo.
The king is in high rage.
Corn.
Whither is he going?
Glo.
He calls to horse6 note; but will I know not whither.
Corn.
'Tis best to give him way; he leads himself.
Gon.
My lord, entreat him by no means to stay.
Glo.
Alack! the night comes on, and the bleak winds7 note
Do sorely ruffle; for many miles about
There's scarce a bush8 note.
Reg.
O, sir! to wilful men,
-- 416 --
The injuries that they themselves procure
Must be their schoolmasters. Shut up your doors:
He is attended with a desperate 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' the storm.
[Exeunt.
ACT III.
SCENE I.
A Heath.
A Storm, with Thunder and Lightning. Enter Kent, and a Gentleman, meeting9 note.
Kent.
Who's here, beside 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 hair10 note,
Which the impetuous blasts, with eyeless rage,
Catch in their fury, and make nothing of:
Strives in his little world of man to out-scorn
The to-and-fro-conflicting wind and rain.
This night, wherein the cub-drawn bear would couch,
The lion and the belly-pinched wolf
-- 417 --
Keep their fur dry, unbonneted he runs,
And bids what will take all.
Kent.
But who is with him?
Gent.
None but the fool, who labours to outjest
His heart-struck injuries.
Kent.
Sir, I do know you,
And dare, upon the warrant of my note1 note,
Commend a dear thing to you. There is division,
Although as yet the face of it be cover'd
With mutual cunning, 'twixt Albany and Cornwall;
Who have (as who have not, that their great stars
Thron'd and set high?) servants, who seem no less,
Which are to France the spies and speculations
Intelligent of our state; 11Q1059 what hath been seen,
Either in snuffs and packings2 note of the dukes,
Or the hard rein which both of them have borne
Against the old kind king; or something deeper,
Whereof, perchance, these are but furnishings3 note;—
But, true it is, from France there comes a power
Into this scatter'd kingdom; who already,
Wise in our negligence, have secret feet
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 bemadding sorrow
The king hath cause to plain.
I am a gentleman of blood and breeding,
And from some knowledge and assurance offer
This office to you.
-- 418 --
Gent.
I will talk farther with you.
Kent.
No, do not.
For confirmation that I am much more
Than my out wall, open this purse, and take
What it contains. If you shall see Cordelia,
(As fear not but you shall) show her this ring,
And she will tell you who that fellow is4 note
That yet you do not know. [Thunder.] 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 your pain
That way, I'll this5 note
, he that first lights on him,
Holloa the other.
[Exeunt severally.
SCENE II.
Another Part of the Heath. Storm continues.
Enter Lear and Fool.
Lear.
Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! rage! blow!
You cataracts and hurricanoes spout,
Till you have drench'd our steeples, drown'd the cocks!
You sulphurous and thought-executing fires,
Vaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thunder-bolts,
Singe my white head! And thou, all-shaking thunder,
Strike flat6 note the thick rotundity o' the world!
-- 419 --
Crack nature's moulds, all germins spill at once,
That make ingrateful man!
Fool.
O nuncle, court holy-water7 note in a dry house is
better than this rain-water out o' door. Good nuncle,
in, and ask thy daughter's blessing: here's a night
pities neither wise men nor fools.
Lear.
Rumble thy bellyfull! 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 subscription: 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 will with two pernicious daughters join8 note
Your high-engender'd battles 'gainst a head
So old and white as this. O! O! 'tis foul!
Fool.
He that has a house to put 's head in has a
good head-piece.
The cod-piece that will house,
Before the head has any,
The head and he shall louse;—
So beggars marry many.
The man that makes his toe
What he his heart should make,
Shall of a corn cry woe9 note,
And turn his sleep to wake.
—for there was never yet fair woman, but she made
mouths in a glass.
-- 420 --
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 cod-piece; 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
Gallow the very wanderers of the dark1 note,
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 fear2 note.
Lear.
Let the great gods,
That keep this dreadful pother3 note o'er our heads,
Find out their enemies now. Tremble, thou wretch,
That hast within thee undivulged crimes,
Unwhipp'd of justice: hide thee, thou bloody hand;
Thou perjur'd, and thou simular of virtue4 note
That art incestuous: caitiff, to pieces shake,
That under covert and convenient seeming
Hast practis'd on man's life: close pent-up guilts,
Rive your concealing continents5 note, and cry
-- 421 --
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 stone6 note whereof 'tis rais'd,
Which even but now, demanding after you,
Denied me to come in) return, and force
Their scanted courtesy.
Lear.
My wits begin to turn.—
Come on, my boy. How dost, my boy? Art cold?
I am cold myself.—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 have one part in my heart
That's sorry yet for thee7 note.
Fool.
He that has a little tiny wit,—
[Sings.
With heigh, ho, the wind and the rain,—
Must make content with his fortunes fit;
For the rain it raineth every day8 note.
Lear.
True, my good boy.—Come, bring us to this hovel.
[Exeunt Lear and Kent.
Fool.
This is a brave night to cool a courtezan.—I'll
speak a prophecy ere I go:
When priests are more in word than matter;
When brewers mar their malt with water;
When nobles are their tailors' tutors;
No heretics burn'd, but wenches suitors:
When every case in law is right;
No squire in debt, nor no poor knight;
-- 422 --
When slanders do not live in tongues,
Nor cutpurses come not to throngs;
When usurers tell their gold i' the 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 live before his
time9 note
.
[Exit.
SCENE III.
A Room in Gloster's Castle.
Enter Gloster and Edmund.
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; charged me, on pain of their perpetual displeasure,
neither to speak of him, entreat for him, nor any
way sustain him.
Edm.
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 locked the letter in my closet. These
injuries the king now bears will be revenged home;
there is part of a power already footed10 note: we must
-- 423 --
incline to the king. I will seek him, and privily relieve
him: go you, and maintain talk with the duke, that
my charity be not of him perceived. If he ask for me,
I am ill, and gone to bed. If I die for it, as no less is
threatened me, the king, my old master, must be relieved.
There is some strange thing toward, Edmund;
pray you, be careful.
[Exit.
Edm.
This courtesy, 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 IV.
A 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 the 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 storm1 note
-- 424 --
Invades us to the skin: so 'tis to thee;
But where the greater malady is fix'd,
The lesser is scarce felt. Thou'dst shun a bear;
But if thy flight lay toward the roaring sea2 note,
Thou'dst meet the bear i' the 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,
For lifting food to't?—But I will punish home.—
No, I will weep no more.—In such a night
To shut me out!—Pour on; I will endure3 note:—
In such a night as this! O Regan, Goneril!—
Your old kind father, whose frank heart gave all4 note,—
O! that way madness lies; let me shun that;
No more of that.
Kent.
Good my lord, enter here.
Lear.
Pr'ythee, go in thyself; 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.—[To the Fool.] You houseless poverty,—
Nay, get thee in. I'll pray, and then I'll sleep5 note.—
[Fool goes in.
Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are,
That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm6 note,
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
-- 425 -- 11Q1060
Too little care of this. Take physic, pomp;
Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel,
That thou may'st shake the superflux to them,
And show the heavens more just.
Edg. [Within.]
Fathom and half7 note, fathom and half! Poor Tom!
[The Fool runs out from the Hovel.
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 dost grumble there i' the straw?
Come forth.
Enter Edgar, disguised as a Madman.
Edg.
Away! the foul fiend follows me!—
Through the sharp hawthorn blows the cold wind8 note.—
Humph! go to thy cold bed, and warm thee.
Lear.
Hast thou given all to thy two 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 flame9 note,
through ford and whirlpool, over bog and quagmire;
that hath laid knives under his pillow, and halters in
his pew; set ratsbane by his porridge1 note; made him
proud of heart, to ride on a bay trotting-horse over
four-inched bridges, to course his own shadow for a
traitor.—Bless thy five wits2 note
! Tom's a-cold.—O! do
-- 426 --
de, do de, do de.—Bless thee from whirlwinds, star-blasting,
and taking3 note
! Do poor Tom some charity,
whom the foul fiend vexes.—There could I have him
now,—and there,—and there,—and there again, and
there.
[Storm continues.
Lear.
What! have his daughters brought him to this pass4 note?—
Could'st thou save nothing? Didst thou give them all?
Fool.
Nay, he reserved 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 subdued nature
To such a lowness, but his unkind daughters.—
-- 427 --
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-hill5 note
:—
Halloo, halloo, loo, loo!
Fool.
This cold night will turn us all to fools and
madmen.
Edg.
Take heed o' the foul fiend. Obey thy parents;
keep thy word justly6 note; swear not; commit not with
man's sworn spouse; set not thy sweet heart on proud
array. Tom's a-cold.
Lear.
What hast thou been?
Edg.
A serving-man, proud in heart and mind; that
curled my hair, wore gloves in my cap, served 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 heaven: one, that slept in
the contriving of lust, and waked to do it. Wine loved
I deeply; dice dearly; and in woman, out-paramoured
the Turk: false of heart, light of ear, bloody 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 lenders' books, and defy the
foul fiend.—Still through the hawthorn blows the cold
-- 428 --
wind; says suum, mun, ha no nonny. Dolphin my
boy, my boy; sessa! let him trot by7 note.
[Storm still continues.
Lear.
Why, thou wert better in thy grave, than to
answer with thy uncovered body this extremity of the
skies.—Is man no more than this? Consider him well.
Thou owest the worm no silk, the beast no hide, the
sheep no wool, the cat no perfume.—Ha! here's three
on's are sophisticated: thou art the thing itself: unaccommodated
man is no more but such a poor, bare,
forked animal as thou art.—Off, off, you lendings.—
Come; unbutton here8 note.—
[Tearing off his clothes.
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 lecher's heart; a small spark, all
the rest on's body cold.—Look! here comes a walking
fire.
Edg.
This is the foul fiend Flibbertigibbet: he begins
at curfew, and walks till the first cock; he gives
the web and the pin9 note, squints the eye, and makes the
hare-lip; mildews the white wheat, and hurts the poor
creature of earth.
Saint Withold footed thrice the wold1 note;
He met the night-mare, and her nine-fold;
-- 429 --
Bid her alight,
And her troth plight,
And, aroint thee, witch, aroint thee2 note!
Kent.
How fares your grace?
Enter Gloster, 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 tadpole, the wall-newt, and the water; that
in the fury of his heart3 note, 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 whipped from tything to tything, and
stocked, punished, and imprisoned4 note; who hath had
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 year5 note
.
Beware my follower.—Peace, Smulkin6 note! peace, thou fiend!
-- 430 --
Glo.
What! hath your grace no better company?
Edg.
The prince of darkness is a gentleman;
Modo he's call'd, and Mahu7 note
.
Glo.
Our flesh and blood, my lord, is grown so vile,
That it doth hate what gets it.
Edg.
Poor Tom's a-cold.
Glo.
Go in with me. My duty cannot suffer
To obey in all your daughters' hard commands:
Though their injunction be to bar my doors,
And let this tyrannous night take hold upon you,
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.
Good my lord, take his offer: go into the house.
Lear.
I'll talk a word with this same learned Theban8 note.—
What is your study?
Edg.
How to prevent the fiend, and to kill vermin.
Lear.
Let me ask you one word in private.
Kent.
Importune him once more to go, my lord,
His wits begin t' unsettle.
Glo.
Canst thou blame him?
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,
-- 431 --
I am almost mad myself. I had a son,
Now outlaw'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!
[Storm continues.
I do beseech your grace,—
Lear.
O! cry you mercy, sir.—
Noble philosopher, your company.
Edg.
Tom's a-cold.
Glo.
In fellow, there, into the 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, soothe him; let him take the fellow.
Glo.
Take him you on.
Kent.
Sirrah, come on; go along with us.
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 V.
A Room in Gloster's Castle.
Enter Cornwall and Edmund.
Corn.
I will have my revenge, ere I depart his house.
Edm.
How, my lord, I may be censured, that nature
thus gives way to loyalty, something fears me to think
of.
-- 432 --
Corn.
I now perceive, it was not altogether your
brother's evil disposition made him seek his death; but
a provoking merit9 note, set a-work by a reproveable badness
in himself.
Edm.
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. O heavens! that this treason were
not, or not I the detector!
Corn.
Go with me to the duchess.
Edm.
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.
Edm. [Aside.]
If I find him comforting the king, it
will stuff his suspicion more fully.—[To him.] 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 father1 note in my love.
[Exeunt.
SCENE VI.
A Chamber in a Farm-House, adjoining the Castle.
Enter Gloster, Lear, Kent, Fool, and Edgar.
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.
-- 433 --
Kent.
All the power of his wits has given way to his
impatience.—The gods reward your kindness2 note!
[Exit Gloster.
Edg.
Frateretto calls me, and tells me, Nero is an
angler in the lake of darkness. Pray, innocent3 note, 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 mad yeoman, that sees his son a
gentleman before him4 note.
Lear.
To have a thousand with red burning spits
Come whizzing in upon them:—
Edg.
The foul fiend bites my back5 note.
Fool.
He's mad, that trusts in the tameness of a wolf,
a horse's health, a boy's love, or a whore's oath.
Lear.
It shall be done; I will arraign them straight.—
Come, sit thou here, most learned justicer6 note;—
[To Edgar.
Thou, sapient sir, sit here. Now, you she foxes!—
Edg.
Look, where he stands and glares!—
Wantest thou eyes at trial, madam?
Come o'er the bourn, Bessy, to me7 note
:—
-- 434 --
Fool.
Her boat hath a leak,
And she must not speak
Why she dares not come over to thee.
Edg.
The foul fiend haunts poor Tom in the voice of
a nightingale. Hopdance cries in Tom's belly for two
white herring. Croak not, black angel; I have no food
for thee.
Kent.
How do you, sir? Stand you not so amaz'd:
Will you lie down and rest upon the cushions?
Lear.
I'll see their trial first.—Bring in the evidence.—
Thou robed man of justice, take thy place;—
[To Edgar.
And thou, his yoke-fellow of equity,
[To the Fool.
Bench by his side.—You are o' the commission,
Sit you too.
[To Kent.
Edg.
Let us deal justly.
Sleepest, or wakest thou, jolly shepherd?
Thy sheep be in the corn;
And for one blast of thy minikin mouth,
Thy sheep shall take no harm.
Pur! the cat is grey.
Lear.
Arraign her first; 'tis Goneril. I here take
-- 435 --
my oath before this honourable assembly, she kicked8 note
the poor king her father.
Fool.
Come hither, mistress. Is your name Goneril?
Lear.
She cannot deny it.
Fool.
Cry you mercy, I took you for a joint-stool.
Lear.
And here's another, whose warp'd looks proclaim
What store her heart is made on.—Stop her there!
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. [Aside.]
My tears begin to take his part so much,
They'll mar my counterfeiting.
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, greyhound, mongrel, grim,
Hound, or spaniel, brach, or lym9 note;
Or bobtail tike, or trundle-tail,
Tom will make them1 note weep and wail:
For with throwing thus my head,
Dogs leap the hatch, and all are fled.
Do, de, de, de. See, see2 note! Come, march to wakes
-- 436 --
and fairs, and market towns.—Poor Tom, thy horn is
dry3 note.
Lear.
Then, let them anatomize Regan, see what
breeds about her heart. Is there any cause in nature,
that makes these hard hearts4 note?—You, sir, [To Edgar.]
I entertain you for one of my hundred; only, I do not
like the fashion of your garments: you will say, they
are Persian attire5 note; but let them be changed.
Kent.
Now, good my lord, lie here, and rest awhile.
Lear.
Make no noise, make no noise: draw the curtains.
So, so, so: we'll go to supper i' the morning:
so, so, so.
Fool.
And I'll go bed at noon6 note.
Re-enter Gloster.
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,
-- 437 --
And drive toward 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.
Kent.
Oppress'd nature sleeps7 note:—
This rest might yet have balm'd thy broken senses8 note,
Which, if convenience will not allow,
Stand in hard cure.—Come, help to bear thy master;
Thou must not stay behind.
[To the Fool.
Glo.
Come, come, away.
[Exeunt Kent, Gloster, and the Fool, bearing off the King.
Edg.
When we our betters see bearing our woes,
We scarcely think our miseries our foes.
Who alone suffers, suffers most i' the mind,
Leaving free things, and happy shows behind;
But then the mind much sufferance doth o'erskip,
When grief hath mates, and bearing fellowship.
How light and portable my pain seems now,
When that which makes me bend, makes the king bow:
He childed, as I father'd!—Tom, away!
Mark the high noises; and thyself bewray,
When false opinion, whose wrong thought defiles thee,
In thy just proof, repeals and reconciles thee.
What will hap more to-night, safe 'scape the king!
Lurk, lurk.
[Exit.
-- 438 --
SCENE VII.
A Room in Gloster's Castle.
Enter Cornwall, Regan, Goneril, Edmund, and Servants.
Corn.
Post speedily to my lord your husband; show
him this letter:—the army of France is landed.—Seek
out the traitor Gloster9 note.
[Exeunt some of the Servants.
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 traitorous father are not fit for your
beholding. Advise the duke, where you are going, to
a most festinate preparation: we are bound to the
like. Our posts shall be swift and intelligent betwixt
us. Farewell, dear sister:—farewell, my lord of
Gloster.
Enter Oswald.
How now! Where's the king?
Osw.
My lord of Gloster hath convey'd him hence:
Some five or six and thirty of his knights,
Hot questrists after him, met him at gate;
Who, with some other of the lord's dependants,
Are gone with him towards Dover, where they boast
To have well-armed friends.
Corn.
Get horses for your mistress.
Gon.
Farewell, sweet lord, and sister.
[Exeunt Goneril, Edmund, and Oswald.
Corn.
Edmund, farewell.—Go, seek the traitor Gloster,
-- 439 --
Pinion him like a thief, bring him before us.
[Exeunt other Servants.
Though well we may not pass upon his life
Without the form of justice, yet our power
Shall do a courtesy to our wrath, which men
May blame, but not control. Who's there? The traitor?
Re-enter Servants, with Gloster.
Reg.
Ingrateful fox! 'tis he.
Corn.
Bind fast his corky arms1 note.
Glo.
What mean your graces?—Good my friends, consider
You are my guests: do me no foul play, friends.
Corn.
Bind him, I say.
[Servants bind him.
Reg.
Hard, hard.—O filthy traitor!
Glo.
Unmerciful lady as you are, I am none2 note.
Corn.
To this chair bind him.—Villain, thou shalt find—
Regan plucks his Beard.
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 am your host:
With robbers' 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-answer'd, for we know the truth.
Corn.
And what confederacy have you with the traitors
Late footed in the kingdom?
-- 440 --
Reg.
To whose hands
Have you sent the lunatic 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 tied to the 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 rash boarish fangs3 note
.
The sea, with such a storm as his bare head4 note
In hell-black night endured, would have buoy'd up,
And quench'd the stelled fires;
Yet, poor old heart, he holp the heavens to rain.
If wolves had at thy gate howl'd that stern time5 note,
Thou should'st have said, “Good porter, turn the key,”
All cruels else subscrib'd6 note: but I shall see
-- 441 --
The winged vengeance overtake such children.
Corn.
See it shalt thou never.—Fellows, hold the chair.—
Upon these eyes of thine I'll set my foot.
Glo.
He, that will think to live till he be old,
Give me some help!—O cruel! O ye gods!
Reg.
One side will mock another; the other too.
Corn.
If you see, vengeance,—
Serv.
Hold your hand, my lord.
I have 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!
[Draws and runs at him.
Serv.
Nay then, come on, and take the chance of anger.
[Draws. Cornwall is wounded.
Reg.
Give me thy sword. A peasant stand up thus7 note!
Serv.
O, I am slain!—My lord, you have one eye left
To see some mischief on him.—O!
[Dies.
Corn.
Lest it see more, prevent it.—Out, vile jelly!
Where is thy lustre now?
Glo.
All dark and comfortless.—Where's my son Edmund?
Edmund, enkindle all the sparks8 note of nature,
To quit this horrid act.
Reg.
Out, treacherous villain!
Thou call'st on him that hates thee: it was he
That made the overture of thy treasons to us,
-- 442 --
Who is too good to pity thee.
Glo.
O my follies! Then Edgar was abus'd.—
King gods, forgive me that, and prosper him!
Reg.
Go, thrust him out at gates, and let him smell
His way to Dover.—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 dunghill.—Regan, I bleed apace:
Untimely comes this hurt. Give me your arm.
[Exit Cornwall, led by Regan;—Servants unbind Gloster, and lead him out.
1 Serv.
I'll never care what wickedness I do9 note,
If this man comes to good.
2 Serv.
If she live long,
And in the end meet the old course of death,
Women will all turn monsters.
1 Serv.
Let's follow the old earl, and get the Bedlam
To lead him where he would: his roguish madness
Allows itself to any thing.
2 Serv.
Go thou: I'll fetch some flax, and whites of eggs,
To apply to his bleeding face. Now, heaven help him10 note!
[Exeunt severally.
-- 443 --
ACT IV.
SCENE I.
The Heath.
Enter Edgar.
Edg.
Yet better thus, and known to be contemn'd,
Than still contemn'd and flatter'd. 11Q1061 To be worst,
The lowest and most dejected thing of fortune,
Stands still in esperance1 note, lives not in fear:
The lamentable change is from the best;
The worst returns to laughter. Welcome, then2 note,
Thou unsubstantial air, that I embrace:
The wretch, that thou hast blown unto the worst,
Owes nothing to thy blasts.—But who comes here?—
Enter Gloster, led by an old Man.
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 years3 note.
Glo.
Away, get thee away; good friend, be gone:
Thy comforts can do me no good at all;
Thee they may hurt.
Old Man.
Alack, sir! you cannot see your way.
Glo.
I have no way, and therefore want no eyes:
I stumbled when I saw. Full oft 'tis seen,
Our mean secures us4 note; and our mere defects
-- 444 --
Prove our commodities.—Ah! dear son Edgar,
The food of thy abused father's wrath,
Might I but live to see thee in my touch,
I'd say I had eyes again!
Old Man.
How now! Who's there?
Edg. [Aside.]
O gods! Who is't can say, “I am at the worst?”
I am worse than e'er I was.
Old Man.
'Tis poor mad Tom.
Edg. [Aside.]
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' the last night's storm I such a fellow saw,
Which made me think a man a worm: my son
Came then into my mind; and yet my mind
Was then scarce friends with him: I have heard more since.
As flies to wanton boys, are we to the gods;
They kill us for their sport.
Edg.
[Aside.]
How should this be?—
Bad is the trade that must play fool to sorrow,
Angering itself and others. [To him.] Bless thee, master!
Glo.
Is that the naked fellow?
Old Man.
Ay, my lord.
Glo.
Then, pr'ythee, get thee gone. If, for my sake5 note,
Thou wilt o'ertake us, hence a mile or twain,
I' the way toward Dover, do it for ancient love;
-- 445 --
And bring some covering for this naked soul,
Whom I'll entreat to lead me.
Old Man.
Alack, sir! he is mad.
Glo.
'Tis the times' plague, when madmen lead the blind.
Do as I bid thee, or rather do thy pleasure;
Above the rest, be gone.
Old Man.
I'll bring him the best 'parel that I have,
Come on't what will.
[Exit.
Glo.
Sirrah; naked fellow.
Edg.
Poor Tom's a-cold.—[Aside.] I cannot daub it farther6 note.
Glo.
Come hither, fellow.
Edg. [Aside.]
And yet I must.—[To him.] 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 scared out of his good wits: bless
thee, good man's son, from the foul fiend7 note! Five fiends
have been in poor Tom at once8 note; of lust, as Obidicut;
Hobbididance, prince of dumbness; Mahu,
of stealing; Modo, of murder; and Flibbertigibbet,
of mopping and mowing, who since possesses
chamber-maids and waiting-women. So, bless thee,
master!
Glo.
Here, take this purse, thou whom the heaven's plagues
Have humbled to all strokes: that I am wretched,
Makes thee the happier:—Heavens, deal so still!
Let the superfluous, and lust-dieted man,
-- 446 --
That slaves your ordinance 11Q10629 note, that will not see
Because he doth not feel, feel your power quickly;
So distribution should undo excess,
And each man have enough.—Dost thou know Dover?
Edg.
Ay, master,
Glo.
There is a cliff, whose high and bending head
Looks fearfully in the confined deep:
Bring me but to the very brim of it,
And I'll repair the misery thou dost bear,
With something rich about me: from that place
I shall no leading need.
Edg.
Give me thy arm:
Poor Tom shall lead thee.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.
Before the Duke of Albany's Palace.
Enter Goneril and Edmund; Oswald meeting them.
Gon.
Welcome, my lord: I marvel, our mild husband
Not met us on the way.—Now, where's your master?
Osw.
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 Gloster'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 dislike1 note, seems pleasant to him;
What like, offensive.
-- 447 --
Gon.
Then, shall you go no farther.
[To Edmund.
It is the cowish terror of his spirit,
That dares not undertake: he'll not feel wrongs,
Which tie him to an answer. Our wishes on the way
May prove effects. Back, Edmund, to my brother;
Hasten his musters, and conduct his powers:
I must change arms at home2 note, and give the distaff
Into my husband's hands. This trusty servant
Shall pass between us: ere long you are like to hear,
If you dare venture in your own behalf,
A mistress's command. Wear this; spare speech;
[Giving a Favour.
Decline your head: this kiss, if it durst speak,
Would stretch thy spirits up into the air.—
Conceive, and fare thee well.
Edm.
Yours in the ranks of death.
Gon.
My most dear Gloster!
[Exit Edmund.
O, the difference of man, and man3 note!
To thee a woman's services are due:
My fool usurps my body4 note.
Osw.
Madam, here comes my lord.
[Exit Oswald.
Enter Albany.
Gon.
I have been worth the whistle5 note.
-- 448 --
Alb.
O Goneril!
You are not worth the dust which the rude wind
Blows in your face.—I fear your disposition6 note:
That nature, which contemns its origin,
Cannot be border'd certain in itself7 note
;
She that herself will sliver and disbranch
From her material sap, perforce must wither,
And come to deadly use.
Gon.
No more: the text is foolish.
Alb.
Wisdom and goodness to the vile seem vile;
Filths savour but themselves. What have you done?
Tigers, not daughters, what have you perform'd?
A father, and a gracious aged man,
Whose reverence the head-lugg'd bear would lick,
Most barbarous, most degenerate! have you madded.
Could my good brother suffer you to do it?
A man, a prince, by him so benefited?
If that the heavens do not their visible spirits
Send quickly down to tame these vile offences,
It will come,
Humanity must perforce prey on itself8 note,
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; that not know'st9 note,
Fools do those villains pity, who are punish'd
Ere they have done their mischief. Where's thy drum?
-- 449 --
France spreads his banners in our noiseless land;
With plumed helm thy slayer begins threats;
Whilst thou, a moral fool, sitt'st still, and criest,
“Alack! why does he so?”
Alb.
See thyself, devil!
Proper deformity seems not in the fiend
So horrid, as in woman.
Gon.
O vain fool1 note!
Alb.
Thou changed and self-cover'd thing, for shame,
Be-monster not thy feature. Were it my fitness
To let these hands obey my blood,
They are apt enough to dislocate and tear
Thy flesh and bones: howe'er thou art a fiend,
A woman's shape doth shield thee.
Gon.
Marry, your manhood now!—
Enter a Messenger.
Alb.
What news?
Mess.
O, my good lord! the duke of Cornwall's dead;
Slain by his servant, going to put out
The other eye of Gloster.
Alb.
Gloster's eyes!
Mess.
A servant that he bred, thrill'd with remorse,
Oppos'd against the act, bending his sword
To his great master; who, thereat enrag'd2 note,
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 shows you are above,
You justicers3 note, that these our nether crimes
-- 450 --
So speedily can venge!—But, O poor Gloster!
Lost he his other eye?
Mess.
Both, both, my lord.—
This letter, madam, craves a speedy answer;
'Tis from your sister.
Gon. [Aside.]
One way I like this well;
But being widow, and my Gloster with her,
May all the building in my fancy pluck
Upon my hateful life4 note
. Another way,
The news is not so tart5 note. [To him.] I'll read, and answer.
[Exit.
Alb.
Where was his son, when they did take his eyes?
Mess.
Come with my lady hither.
Alb.
He is not here.
Mess.
No, my good lord; I met him back again.
Alb.
Knows he the wickedness?
Mess.
Ay, my good lord; 'twas he inform'd against him,
And quit the house, on purpose that their punishment
Might have the freer course.
Alb.
Gloster, I live
To thank thee for the love thou show'dst the king,
And to revenge thine eyes.—Come hither, friend:
Tell me what more thou knowest.
[Exeunt.
-- 451 --
6 note
SCENE III.
The French Camp near Dover.
Enter Kent, and a Gentleman.
Kent.
Why the king of France is 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 to the kingdom so much fear and danger,
That his personal return was most requir'd,
And necessary.
Kent.
Whom hath he left behind him general?
Gent.
The Mareschal of France, Monsieur le Fer.
Kent.
Did your letters pierce the queen to any demonstration
of grief?
Gent.
Ay, sir7 note; she took them, read them 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, who, most rebel-like,
Sought to be king o'er her.
Kent.
O! then it mov'd her.
Gent.
Not to a rage: patience and sorrow strove8 note
Who should express her goodliest. You have seen
Sunshine and rain at once: her smiles and tears
Were like a better May9 note: those happy smilets,
-- 452 --
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 dropp'd.—In brief, sorrow
Would be a rarity most belov'd, if all
Could so become it.
Kent.
Made she no verbal question?
Gent.
'Faith, once, or twice, she heav'd the name of “father”
Pantingly forth, as if it press'd her heart;
Cried, “Sisters! sisters!—Shame of ladies! sisters!
Kent! father! sisters! What? i' the storm? i' the night?
Let pity not be believed!”—There she shook
The holy water from her heavenly eyes,
And clamour moisten'd10 note: then, away she started
To deal with grief alone.
Kent.
It is the stars,
The stars above us, govern our conditions;
Else one self mate and mate1 note could not beget
Such different issues. You spoke not with her since?
Gent.
No.
Kent.
Was this before the king return'd?
Gent.
No, since.
Kent.
Well, sir, the poor distress'd Lear's i' the town,
Who sometime, 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 sovereign shame so elbows him; his own unkindness,
That stripp'd her from his benediction, turn'd her
-- 453 --
To foreign casualties, gave her dear rights
To his dog-hearted daughters: these things sting
His mind so venomously, that burning shame
Detains him from Cordelia.
Gent.
Alack, poor gentleman!
Kent.
Of Albany's and Cornwall's powers you heard not?
Gent.
'Tis so they are afoot.
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. I pray you, go
Along with me.
[Exeunt.
SCENE IV.
The Same. A Tent.
Enter Cordelia, Physician, and Soldiers.
Cor.
Alack! 'tis he: why, he was met even now
As mad as the vex'd sea: singing aloud;
Crown'd with rank fumiter, and furrow weeds,
With hoar-docks2 note, hemlock, nettles, cuckoo-flowers,
Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow
In our sustaining corn.—A century send forth;
Search every acre in the high-grown field,
And bring him to our eye. [Exit an Officer.]—What can man's wisdom,
In the restoring his bereaved sense?
He, that helps him, take all my outward worth.
-- 454 --
Phy.
There is means, madam:
Our foster-nurse of nature is repose,
The which he lacks; that to provoke in him,
Are many simples operative, whose power
Will close the eye of anguish.
Cor.
All bless'd secrets,
All you unpublish'd virtues of the earth,
Spring with my tears! be aidant, and remediate,
In the good man's distress 11Q10633 note!—Seek, seek for him;
Lest his ungovern'd rage dissolve the life
That wants the means to lead it.
Enter a Messenger.
Mess.
News, madam:
The British powers are marching hitherward.
Cor.
'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 tears4 note, 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.
A Room in Gloster's Castle.
Enter Regan and Oswald.
Reg.
But are my brother's powers set forth?
Osw.
Ay, madam.
Reg.
Himself in person there?
-- 455 --
Osw.
Madam, with much ado:
Your sister is the better soldier.
Reg.
Lord Edmund spake not with your lord5 note at home?
Osw.
No, madam.
Reg.
What might import my sister's letter to him?
Osw.
I know not, lady.
Reg.
'Faith, he is posted hence on serious matter.
It was great ignorance, Gloster's eyes being out,
To let him live: where he arrives he moves
All hearts against us. Edmund, I think, is gone6 note,
In pity of his misery, to despatch
His nighted life; moreover, to descry
The strength o' the enemy.
Osw.
I must needs after him, madam, with my letter.
Reg.
Our troops set forth to-morrow: stay with us;
The ways are dangerous.
Osw.
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? Belike,
Something—I know not what.—I'll love thee much;
Let me unseal the letter.
Osw.
Madam, I had rather—
Reg.
I know your lady does not love her husband,
I am sure of that; and, at her late being here,
She gave strange œiliads7 note, and most speaking looks
To noble Edmund. I know, you are of her bosom.
Osw.
I, madam?
Reg.
I speak in understanding: y' are, I know it;
-- 456 --
Therefore, I do advise you, take this note8 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 this9 note;
And when your mistress hears thus much from you,
I pray, desire her call her wisdom to her:
So, fare you well.
If you do chance to hear of that blind traitor,
Preferment falls on him that cuts him off.
Osw.
Would I could meet him, madam: I would show
What party I do follow.
Reg.
Fare thee well.
[Exeunt.
SCENE VI.
The Country near Dover.
Enter Gloster, and Edgar dressed like a Peasant.
Glo.
When shall I come to the top of that same hill10 note?
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.
-- 457 --
Methinks, thy voice is alter'd; and thou speak'st
In better phrase, and matter, than thou didst.
Edg.
Y' are much deceiv'd: in nothing am I chang'd,
But in my garments.
Glo.
Methinks, y' are better spoken.
Edg.
Come on, sir; here's the place: stand still—How fearful,
And dizzy 'tis to cast one's eyes so low!
The crows, and choughs, that wing the midway air,
Show scarce so gross as beetles: half way down
Hangs one that gathers samphire; dreadful trade!
Methinks, he seems no bigger than his head.
The fishermen, that walk upon the beach,
Appear like mice; and yond' tall anchoring bark,
Diminish'd to her cock1 note
note
; her cock, a buoy
Almost too small for sight. The murmuring surge,
That on th' unnumber'd idle pebbles chafes,
Cannot be heard so high.—I'll look no more;
Lest my brain turn, and the deficient sight
Topple down headlong.
Glo.
Set me where you stand.
Edg.
Give me your hand; you are now within a foot
Of th' extreme verge: for all beneath the moon
Would I not leap upright.
Glo.
Let go my hand.
Here, friend, is another purse; in it, a jewel
Well worth a poor man's taking: fairies, and gods,
Prosper it with thee! Go thou farther off;
Bid me farewell, and let me hear thee going.
Edg.
Now fare you well, good sir.
Glo.
With all my heart.
Edg.
Why I do trifle thus with his despair,
Is done to cure it.
Glo.
O, you mighty gods2 note!
-- 458 --
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 itself out. If Edgar live, O, bless him!—
Now, fellow, fare thee well.
[He leaps, and falls along.
Edg.
Gone, sir: farewell.—
And yet I know not how conceit may rob
The treasury of life, when life itself
Yields to the theft: had he been where he thought,
By this had thought been past.—Alive, or dead?
Ho, you sir! friend!—Hear you, sir?—speak!
Thus might he pass indeed;—yet he revives.
What are you, sir?
Glo.
Away, and let me die.
Edg.
Hadst thou been aught but gossamer, 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'st; art sound.
Ten masts at each make not the altitude,
Which thou hast perpendicularly fell:
Thy life's a miracle. Speak yet again.
Glo.
But have I fallen, or no?
Edg.
From the dread summit3 note 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 itself by death? 'Twas yet some comfort,
When misery could beguile the tyrant's rage,
And frustrate his proud will.
-- 459 --
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' the 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,
Horns whelk'd, and wav'd like the enridged sea:
It was some fiend; therefore, thou happy father,
Think that the clearest 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 itself
“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.—But who comes here?
Enter Lear, fantastically dressed with wild Flowers.
The safer sense will ne'er accommodate
His master thus.
Lear.
No, they cannot touch me for coining4 note; I am
the king himself.
Edg.
O, thou side-piercing sight!
Lear.
Nature's above art in that respect.—There's
your press-money. That fellow handles his bow like a
crow-keeper5 note: 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
-- 460 --
giant.—Bring up the brown bills6 note.—O, well flown,
bird!—i' the clout, i' the clout7 note: hewgh!—Give the
word.
Edg.
Sweet marjoram.
Lear.
Pass.
Glo.
I know that voice.
Lear.
Ha! Goneril!—with a white beard8 note!—They
flatter'd me like a dog; and told me, I had white hairs
in my beard, ere the black ones were there. To say
“ay,” and “no,” to every thing I said!—“Ay” and “no”
too was no good divinity. note
When the rain came to wet
me once, and the wind to make me chatter, when the
thunder would not peace at my bidding, there I found
'em, there I smelt 'em out. Go to, they are not men
o' their words: they told me I was every thing; 'tis a
lie, I am not ague-proof.
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 fly
Does lecher in my sight.
Let copulation thrive; for Gloster's bastard son
Was kinder to his father, than my daughters
Got 'tween the lawful sheets.
To't, luxury, pell-mell, for I lack soldiers.—
Behold yond' simpering dame,
Whose face between her forks presageth snow;
That minces virtue, and does shake the head
-- 461 --
To hear of pleasure's name; 11Q1064
The fitchew, nor the soiled horse, goes to't
With a more riotous appetite.
Down from the waist they are centaurs,
Though women all above:
But to the girdle do the gods inherit,
Beneath is all the fiends: there's hell, there's darkness,
there is the sulphurous pit, burning, scalding, stench,
consumption9 note;—fie, fie, fie! pah; pah! Give me an
ounce of civet, good apothecary, to sweeten my imagination:
there's money for thee.
Glo.
O, let me kiss that hand!
Lear.
Let me wipe it first1 note; it smells of mortality.
Glo.
O ruin'd piece of nature! This great world
Shall so wear out to nought.—Dost thou know me?
Lear.
I remember thine eyes well enough. Dost
thou squiny at me? No, do thy worst, blind Cupid;
I'll not love.—Read thou this challenge: mark but the
penning of it.
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.
Glo.
What with the case of eyes?
Lear.
O, ho! are you there with me? No eyes in
your head, nor no money in your purse? Your eyes are
in a heavy case, your purse in a light: yet you see how
this world goes.
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; and2 note, handy-dandy, which
-- 462 --
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 thine own back;
Thou hotly lust'st3 note to use her in that kind
For which thou whipp'st her. The usurer hangs the cozener.
Through tatter'd clothes small vices do appear4 note;
Robes, and furr'd gowns, hide all. Plate sin with gold5 note,
And the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks:
Arm it in rags, a pigmy's straw doth pierce it.
None does offend, none, I say, none; I'll able 'em:
Take that of me, my friend, who have the power
To seal th' accuser's lips. Get thee glass eyes;
And, like a scurvy politician, seem
To see the things thou dost not.—Now, now, now, now:
Pull off my boots: harder, harder; so.
Edg.
O, matter and impertinency mix'd!
Reason in madness!
Lear.
If thou wilt weep my fortunes, take my eyes.
I know thee well enough; thy name is Gloster:
Thou must be patient. We came crying hither:
Thou know'st, the first time that we smell the air
-- 463 --
We wawl, and cry. I will preach to thee: mark me.
Glo.
Alack! alack the day!
Lear.
When we are born, we cry that we are come
To this great stage of fools.—This a good block?—
It were a delicate stratagem, to shoe
A troop of horse with felt 11Q10656 note
: I'll put it in proof;
And when I have stolen upon these sons-in-law,
Then, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill.
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 a surgeon,
I am cut to the brains.
Gent.
You shall have any thing.
Lear.
No seconds? All myself?
Why, this would make a man, a man of salt,
To use his eyes for garden water-pots,
Ay, and for laying autumn's dust7 note.
Gent.
Good sir,—
Lear.
I will die bravely,
Like a smug bridegroom8 note. 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 it. Nay, an you get it,
you shall get it by running. Sa, sa, sa, sa.
[Exit: Attendants follow.
-- 464 --
Gent.
A sight most pitiful in the meanest wretch,
Past speaking of in a king!—Thou hast one daughter,
Who redeems nature from the general curse
Which twain have brought her to.
Edg.
Hail, gentle sir!
Gent.
Sir, speed you: what's your will?
Edg.
Do you hear aught, sir, of a battle toward?
Gent.
Most sure, and vulgar: every one hears that,
Which can distinguish sound9 note
.
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: that's all.
Gent.
Though that the queen on special cause is here,
Her army is mov'd on.
Edg.
I thank you, sir.
[Exit Gent.
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 benison of heaven
To boot, and boot1 note
!
-- 465 --
Enter Oswald.
Osw.
A proclaim'd prize! Most happy!
That eyeless head of thine was first fram'd flesh
To raise my fortunes.—Thou old unhappy traitor,
Briefly thyself remember:—the sword is out
That must destroy thee.
Glo.
Now let thy friendly hand
Put strength enough to it.
[Edgar interposes.
Osw.
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 varther 'casion.
Osw.
Let go, slave, or thou diest.
Edg.
Good gentleman, go your gait, and let poor
volk pass. And ch'ud ha' been swagger'd out of my
life, 'twould not ha' been zo long as 'tis by a vortnight.
Nay, come not near the old man; keep out, che vor'ye,
or Ise try whether your costard or my ballow be the
harder2 note. Ch'ill be plain with you.
Osw.
Out, dunghill!
Edg.
Ch'ill pick your teeth, zir. Come; no matter
vor your foins.
[They fight; and Edgar knocks him down.
Osw.
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
-- 466 --
Upon the British party3 note:—O, 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 his pockets: these letters, that he speaks of,
May be my friends.—He's dead; I am only sorry
He had no other death's-man.—Let us see:—
Leave, gentle wax; and, manners, blame us not:
To know our enemies' minds, we rip their hearts,
Their papers is more lawful.
[Reads.]
“Let our reciprocal vows be remembered.
You have many opportunities to cut him off: if your
will want not, time and place will be fruitfully offered.
There is nothing done, if he return the conqueror;
then, am I the prisoner, and his bed my gaol, from the
loathed warmth whereof deliver me, and supply the
place for your labour.
“Your (wife, so I would say)
“affectionate servant4 note,
“Goneril.”
O, undistinguish'd space of woman's will5 note!
A plot upon her virtuous husband's life;
And the exchange, my brother! 11Q1066—Here, in the sands,
Thee I'll rake up6 note
, the post unsanctified
-- 467 --
Of murderous lechers; and in the mature time,
With this ungracious paper strike the sight
Of the death-practis'd duke. For him 'tis well,
That of thy death and business I can tell.
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,
And woes, by wrong imaginations, lose
The knowledge of themselves.
[Drum afar off.
Edg.
Give me your hand:
Far off, methinks, I hear the beaten drum.
Come, father; I'll bestow you with a friend.
[Exeunt.
SCENE VII.
A Tent in the French Camp. Lear on a Bed, asleep;
Doctor, Gentleman, and Others, attending: Enter Cordelia and Kent.
Cor.
O thou good Kent! how shall I live, and work,
To match thy goodness? My life will be too short,
And every measure fail me.
Kent.
To be acknowledg'd, madam, is o'er-paid.
All my reports go with the modest truth;
Nor more, nor clipp'd, but so.
Cor.
Be better suited:
These weeds are memories of those worser hours.
I pr'ythee, put them off.
Kent.
Pardon me, dear madam;
Yet to be known shortens my made intent: 11Q1067
My boon I make it, that you know me not,
Till time and I think meet.
Cor.
Then be 't so, my good lord.—How does the king?
[To the Physician.
-- 468 --
Doct.
Madam, sleeps still7 note.
Cor.
O, you kind gods,
Cure this great breach in his abused nature!
Th' untun'd and jarring senses8 note, O, wind up
Of this child-changed father!
Doct.
So please your majesty,
That we may wake the king? he hath slept long.
Cor.
Be govern'd by your knowledge, and proceed
I' the sway of your own will. Is he array'd?
Doct.
Ay, madam9 note; in the heaviness of his sleep,
We put fresh garments on him.
Kent.
Good madam, be by when we do awake him;
I doubt not of his temperance.
Cor.
Very well1 note.
[Music.
Doct.
Please you, draw near.—Louder the music there.
Cor.
O my dear father! Restoration, hang
Thy medicine on my lips; and let this kiss
Repair those violent harms, that my two sisters
Have in thy reverence made!
Kent.
Kind and dear princess!
Cor.
Had you not been their father, these white flakes
Had challeng'd pity of them. Was this a face
-- 469 --
To be expos'd against the warring winds2 note?
To stand against the deep dread-bolted thunder?
In the most terrible and nimble stroke
Of quick, cross lightning? to watch (poor perdu!)
With this thin helm? Mine enemy's dog,
Though he had bit me, should have stood that night
Against my fire; and wast thou fain, poor father,
To hovel thee with swine, and rogues forlorn,
In short and musty straw? Alack, alack!
'Tis wonder, that thy life and wits at once
Had not concluded all.—He wakes; speak to him.
Doct.
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' the grave.—
Thou art a soul in bliss, but I am bound
Upon a wheel of fire, that mine own tears
Do scald like molten lead.
Cor.
Sir, do you know me?
Lear.
You are a spirit, I know. Where did you die3 note?
Cor.
Still, still, far wide.
Doct.
He's scarce awake: let him alone awhile.
Lear.
Where have I been? Where am I?—Fair day-light?—
I am mightily abus'd.—I should even die with pity
To see another thus.—I know not what to say.—
I will not swear, these are my hands:—let's see;
I feel this pin prick. Would I were assur'd
-- 470 --
Of my condition!
Cor.
O! look upon me, sir,
And hold your hands in benediction o'er me.—
No, sir, you must not kneel4 note.
Lear.
Pray, do not mock me:
I am a very foolish fond old man,
Fourscore and upward, not an hour more nor less5 note;
And, to deal plainly,
I fear, I am not in my perfect mind.
Methinks, I should know you, and know this man;
Yet I am doubtful, for I am mainly ignorant
What place this is; and all the skill I have
Remembers not these garments; nor I know not
Where I did lodge last night. Do not laugh at me,
For, as I am a man, I think this lady
To be my child Cordelia.
Cor.
And so I am, I am.
Lear.
Be your tears wet? Yes, 'faith. I pray, weep not:
If you have poison for me, I will drink it.
I know, you do not love me; for your sisters
Have, as I do remember, done me wrong:
You have some cause, they have not.
Cor.
No cause, no cause.
Lear.
Am I in France?
Kent.
In your own kingdom, sir.
Lear.
Do not abuse me.
Doct.
Be comforted, good madam: the great rage,
You see, is cur'd in him; and yet it is danger
-- 471 --
To make him even o'er the time he has lost6 note
.
Desire him to go in: trouble him no more,
Till farther 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 Lear, Cordelia, Doctor, and Attendants.
Gent.
Holds it true, sir7 note, that the duke of Cornwall
was so slain?
Kent.
Most certain, sir.
Gent.
Who is conductor of his people?
Kent.
As 'tis said, the bastard son of Gloster.
Gent.
They say, Edgar, his banished son, is with the
earl of Kent in Germany.
Kent.
Report is changeable. 'Tis time to look
about; the powers o' the kingdom approach apace.
Gent.
The arbitrement is like to be bloody. Fare
you well, sir.
[Exit.
Kent.
My point and period will be throughly wrought,
Or well or ill, as this day's battle's fought.
[Exit.
ACT V.
SCENE I.
The Camp of the British Forces, near Dover.
Enter, with Drums and Colours, Edmund, Regan, Officers, Soldiers, and Others.
Edm.
Know of the duke, if his last purpose hold;
Or whether since he is advis'd by aught
-- 472 --
To change the course. He's full of alteration,
And self-reproving:—bring his constant pleasure.
[To an Officer, who goes out.
Reg.
Our sister's man is certainly miscarried.
Edm.
'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?
Edm.
In honour'd love.
Reg.
But have you never found my brother's way
To the forefended place?
Edm.
That thought abuses you8 note.
Reg.
I am doubtful that you have been conjunct,
And bosom'd with her, as far as we call hers.
Edm.
No, by mine honour, madam.
Reg.
I never shall endure her. Dear my lord,
Be not familiar with her.
Edm.
Fear me not.—
She, and the duke her husband,—
Enter Albany, Goneril, and Soldiers.
Gon.
I had rather lose the battle, than that sister
Should loosen him and me.
[Aside.
Alb.
Our very loving sister, well be-met.—
Sir, this I hear,—the king is come to his daughter,
With others, whom the rigour of our state
Forc'd to cry out9 note. Where I could not be honest,
I never yet was valiant: for this business,
It toucheth us, as France invades our land,
Not bolds the king, with others, whom, I fear,
-- 473 --
Most just and heavy causes make oppose.
Edm.
Sir, you speak nobly.
Reg.
Why is this reason'd?
Gon.
Combine together 'gainst the enemy;
For these domestic and particular broils1 note
Are not the question here.
Alb.
Let us, then, determine
With the ancient of war on our proceedings.
Edm.
I shall attend you presently at your tent.
Reg.
Sister, you'll go with us?
Gon.
No.
Reg.
'Tis most convenient; pray you, go with us.
Gon.
O, ho! I know the riddle. [Aside.] I will go.
Enter Edgar, disguised.
Edg.
If e'er your grace had speech with man so poor,
Hear me one word.
Alb.
I'll overtake you.—Speak.
[Exeunt Edmund, Regan, Goneril, Officers, Soldiers, and Attendants.
Edg.
Before you fight the battle, ope this letter.
If you have victory, 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 have 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.
-- 474 --
Re-enter Edmund.
Edm.
The enemy's in view; draw up your powers.
Here is the guess of their true strength2 note and forces
By diligent discovery; but your haste
Is now urg'd on you.
Alb.
We will greet the time.
[Exit.
Edm.
To both these sisters have I sworn my love;
Each jealous of the other, as the stung3 note
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 Goneril;
And hardly shall I carry out my side4 note,
Her husband being alive. Now then, we'll use
His countenance for the battle; which being done,
Let her who would be rid of him devise
His speedy taking off. As for the mercy
Which he intends to Lear, and to Cordelia,
The battle done, and they within our power,
Shall never see his pardon; for my state
Stands on me to defend, not to debate.
[Exit.
-- 475 --
SCENE II.
A Field between the two Camps.
Alarum within. Enter, with Drum and Colours, Lear, Cordelia, and their Forces; and exeunt5 note.
Enter Edgar and Gloster.
Edg.
Here, father, take the shadow of this tree6 note
For your good host; pray that the right may thrive.
If ever I return to you again,
I'll bring you comfort.
Glo.
Grace go with you, sir!
[Exit Edgar.
Alarum; afterwards a Retreat. Re-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 farther, sir: a man may rot even here.
Edg.
What! in ill thoughts again? Men must endure
Their going hence, even as their coming hither:
Ripeness is all. Come on.
Glo.
And that's true too7 note.
[Exeunt.
-- 476 --
SCENE III.
The British Camp near Dover.
Enter, in Conquest, with Drum and Colours, Edmund;
Lear and Cordelia, as Prisoners; Captain, Officers,
Soldiers, &c.
Edm.
Some officers take them away: good guard,
Until their greater pleasures first be known8 note,
That are to censure them.
Cor.
We are not the first,
Who, with best meaning, have incurr'd the worst.
For thee, oppressed king, am I cast down;
Myself could else out-frown false fortune's frown.
Shall we not see these daughters, and these sisters?
Lear.
No, no, no, no! Come, let's away to prison:
We two alone will sing like birds i' the 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 the moon.
Edm.
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 heaven,
And fire us hence like foxes. Wipe thine eyes;
-- 477 --
The goujeers shall devour them9 note, flesh and fell,
Ere they shall make us weep: we'll see them starve first.
Come.
[Exeunt Lear and Cordelia, guarded.
Edm.
Come hither, captain; hark.
Take thou this note; [Giving a Paper.] 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
Does not become a sword. Thy great employment
Will not bear question; either say, thou'lt do't,
Or thrive by other means.
Capt.
I'll do't, my lord.
Edm.
About it; and write happy, when thou hast done.
Mark,—I say, instantly; and carry it so,
As I have set it down.
Capt.
I cannot draw a cart10 note, nor eat dried oats;
If it be man's work, I will do it.
[Exit Captain.
Flourish. Enter Albany, Goneril, Regan, Officers, and Attendants.
Alb.
Sir, you have shown to-day your valiant strain,
And fortune led you well. You have the captives
Who were the opposites of this day's strife:
-- 478 --
We do require them of you, so to use them,
As we shall find their merits, and our safety,
May equally determine.
Edm.
Sir, I thought it fit
To send the old and miserable king
To some retention, and appointed guard1 note;
Whose age has charms in it, whose title more,
To pluck the common bosom2 note on his side,
And turn our impress'd lances 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 farther space, t' appear
Where you shall hold your session. At this time3 note,
We sweat, and bleed: the friend hath lost his friend;
And the best quarrels, in the heat, are curs'd
By those that feel their sharpness.—
The question of Cordelia, and her father,
Requires a fitter place.
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 might4 note have been demanded,
Ere you had spoke so far. He led our powers,
Bore the commission of my place and person;
The which immediacy5 note may well stand up,
And call itself your brother.
Gon.
Not so hot:
-- 479 --
In his own grace he doth exalt himself,
More than in your addition.
Reg.
In my rights,
By me invested, he compeers the best.
Gon.
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 thine6 note.
Witness the world, that I create thee here
My lord and master.
Gon.
Mean you to enjoy him?
Alb.
The let-alone lies not in your good will.
Edm.
Nor in thine, lord.
Alb.
Half-blooded fellow, yes.
Reg.
Let the drum strike, and prove my title thine7 note.
[To Edmund.
Alb.
Stay yet; hear reason.—Edmund, I arrest thee
On capital treason; and, in thy arrest,
This gilded serpent. [Pointing to Gon.]—For your claim, fair sister,
I bar it in the interest of my wife;
'Tis she is sub-contracted to this lord,
And I, her husband, contradict your bans.
If you will marry, make your love to me,
My lady is bespoke.
Gon.
An interlude8 note!
Alb.
Thou art arm'd, Gloster.—Let the trumpet sound:
-- 480 --
If none appear to prove upon thy person,
Thy heinous, manifest, and many treasons,
There is my pledge. [Throwing down a Glove.] I'll prove it on thy heart,
Ere I taste bread, thou art in nothing less
Than I have here proclaim'd thee. 11Q1068
Reg.
Sick! O, sick!
Gon. [Aside.]
If not, I'll ne'er trust poison9 note.
Edm.
There's my exchange: [Throwing down a Glove.] what in the world he is
That names me traitor, villain-like he lies.
Call by thy trumpet: he that dares approach,
On him, on you, who not? I will maintain
My truth and honour firmly.
Alb.
A herald, ho!
Edm.
A herald, ho! a herald10 note!
Alb.
Trust to thy single virtue; 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 Regan, led.
Enter a Herald.
Come hither, herald.—Let the trumpet sound,
And read out this.
Capt.
Sound, trumpet1 note.
[A trumpet sounds.
Herald reads.
“If any man of quality, or degree, within the lists of
the army2 note, will maintain upon Edmund, supposed earl
of Gloster, that he is a manifold traitor, let him appear
at the third sound of the trumpet. He is bold in his
defence.”
-- 481 --
Edm.
Sound!
[1 Trumpet.
Her.
Again.
[2 Trumpet.
Her.
Again.
[3 Trumpet.
[Trumpet answers within.
Enter Edgar, armed, preceded by a Trumpet.
Alb.
Ask him his purposes, why he appears
Upon this call o' the trumpet.
Her.
What are you?
Your name? your quality? and why you answer
This present summons?
Edg.
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 withal3 note
.
Alb.
Which is that adversary?
Edg.
What's he, that speaks for Edmund earl of Gloster?
Edm.
Himself: what say'st thou to him?
Edg.
Draw thy sword,
That if my speech offend a noble heart,
Thy arm may do thee justice; here is mine:
Behold, it is my privilege4 note, the privilege of mine honours,
My oath, and my profession. I protest,
Maugre thy strength, youth, place, and eminence, 11Q1069
Despite thy victor sword5 note, 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' extremest upward of thy head,
-- 482 --
To the descent and dust below thy foot6 note,
A most toad-spotted traitor. Say thou, “No,”
This sword, this arm, and my best spirits, are bent
To prove upon thy heart, whereto I speak,
Thou liest.
Edm.
In wisdom, I should ask thy name;
But, since thy outside looks so fair and warlike,
And that thy tongue some 'say7 note of breeding breathes,
What safe and nicely I might well delay
By rule of knighthood8 note, 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.
[Alarums. They fight. Edmund falls.
Alb.
O, save him! save him!
Gon.
This is mere practice, Gloster.
By the law of arms, thou wast not bound to answer
An unknown opposite; thou art not vanquish'd,
But cozen'd and beguil'd9 note.
Alb.
Shut your mouth, dame;
Or with this paper shall I stop it?—Hold, sir1 note!—
Thou worse than any name, read thine own evil:
No tearing, lady; I perceive, you know it.
[Gives the Letter to Edmund.
Gon.
Say, if I do, the laws are mine, not thine:
Who can arraign me for't2 note?
-- 483 --
Alb.
Most monstrous!
Know'st thou this paper?
Gon.
Ask me not what I know3 note.
Exit Goneril.
Alb.
Go after her: she's desperate; govern her.
[Exit an Officer.
Edm.
What you have charg'd me with, that have I done,
And more, much more; the time will bring it out:
'Tis past, and so am I. But what art thou,
That hast this fortune on me? If thou'rt noble,
I do forgive thee.
Edg.
Let's exchange charity.
I am no less in blood than thou art, Edmund;
If more, the more thou hast wrong'd me.
My name is Edgar, and thy father's son.
The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices
Make instruments to plague us4 note
:
The dark and vicious place where thee he got,
Cost him his eyes.
Edm.
Thou hast spoken right, 'tis true5 note;
The wheel is come full circle: I am here.
Alb.
Methought, thy very gait did prophesy
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 yourself?
How have you known the miseries of your father?
-- 484 --
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 with the pain of death we'd hourly die6 note,
Rather than die at once!) taught me to shift
Into a madman's rags, t' assume a semblance
That very dogs disdain'd; and in this habit
Met I my father with his bleeding rings,
Their precious stones new lost; became his guide,
Led him, begg'd for him, sav'd him from despair;
Never (O fault!) reveal'd myself unto him,
Until some half hour past, when I 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 extremes of passion, joy and grief,
Burst smilingly.
Edm.
This speech of yours hath mov'd me,
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.
Edg.
This would have seem'd a period7 note
To such as love not sorrow; but another,
To amplify too-much, would make much more,
And top extremity.
Whilst I was big in clamour, came there a man,
Who, having seen me in my worst estate,
Shunn'd my abhorr'd society; but then, finding
Who 'twas that so endur'd, with his strong arms
-- 485 --
He fasten'd on my neck, and bellow'd out
As he'd burst heaven; threw me on my father8 note;
Told the most piteous tale of Lear and him,
That ever ear receiv'd; which in recounting,
His grief grew puissant, and the strings of life
Began to crack: twice, then, the trumpets sounded,
And there I left him tranc'd.
Alb.
But who was this?
Edg.
Kent, sir, the banish'd Kent; who in disguise
Follow'd his enemy king, and did him service
Improper for a slave.
Enter a Gentleman hastily, with a bloody Knife.
Gent.
Help, help! O help!
Edg.
What kind of help?
Alb.
Speak, man9 note.
Edg.
What means that bloody knife?
Gent.
'Tis hot, it smokes;
It came even from the heart of—O! she's dead:
Alb.
Who dead? speak, man10 note
.
Gent.
Your lady, sir, your lady: and her sister
By her is poison'd; she hath confess'd it.
Edm.
I was contracted to them both: all three
Now marry in an instant.
Alb.
Produce the bodies, be they alive or dead!—
This judgment1 note of the heavens, that makes us tremble,
Touches us not with pity.
[Exit Gentleman.
-- 486 --
Enter Kent2 note.
Edg.
Here comes Kent.
Alb.
O! it is he3 note.
The time will not allow the compliment,
Which very manners urges.
Kent.
I am come
To bid my king and master aye good night:
Is he not here?
Alb.
Great thing of us forgot!—
Speak, Edmund, where's the king? and where's Cordelia?—
Seest thou this object, Kent?
[The Bodies of Goneril and Regan are brought in.
Kent.
Alack! why thus?
Edm.
Yet Edmund was belov'd:
The one the other poison'd for my sake,
And after slew herself.
Alb.
Even so.—Cover their faces.
Edm.
I pant for life:—some good I mean to do,
Despite of mine own nature. Quickly send,—
Be brief in it,—to 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.
Edm.
Well thought on: take my sword,
Give it the captain4 note
.
-- 487 --
Alb.
Haste thee, for thy life.
[Exit Edgar.
Edm.
He hath commission from thy wife and me
To hang Cordelia in the prison, and
To lay the blame upon her own despair,
That she fordid herself.
Alb.
The gods defend her! Bear him hence awhile.
[Edmund is borne off.
Enter Lear, with Cordelia dead in his Arms; Edgar, Officer, and Others.
Lear.
Howl, howl, howl, howl!—O! you are men of stones;
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. 11Q1070
Kent.
Is this the promis'd end5 note?
Edg.
Or image of that horror?
Alb.
Fall, and cease!
Lear.
This feather stirs; she lives! if it be so,
It is a chance which does redeem all sorrows
That ever I have felt.
Kent.
O, my good master!
[Kneeling.
Lear.
Pr'ythee, away.
Edg.
'Tis noble Kent, your friend.
Lear.
A plague upon you, murderers, traitors all6 note!
-- 488 --
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.
Off.
'Tis true, my lords, he did.
Lear.
Did I not, fellow?
I have seen the day, with my good biting faulchion
I would have made them skip7 note: I am old now,
And these same crosses spoil me.—Who are you?
Mine eyes are not o' the best:—I'll tell you straight.
Kent.
If fortune brag of two she lov'd and hated8 note,
One of them we behold.
Lear.
This is a dull sight9 note.—Are you not Kent? 11Q1071
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 straight.
Kent.
That from your first of difference1 note and decay,
Have follow'd your sad steps.
Lear.
You are welcome hither.
Kent.
Nor no man else. All's cheerless, dark, and deadly:
Your eldest daughters have fordone themselves2 note,
-- 489 --
And desperately are dead.
Lear.
Ay, so I think.
Alb.
He knows not what he says3 note; and vain is it,
That we present us to him.
Edg.
Very bootless.
Enter an Officer.
Off.
Edmund is dead, my lord.
Alb.
That's but a trifle here.—
You lords, and noble friends, know our intent.
What comfort to this great decay4 note may come,
Shall be applied: for us, we will resign,
During the life of this old majesty,
To him our absolute power.—You, to your rights,
[To Edgar and Kent.
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'd5 note! 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 this6 note? Look on her,—look,—her lips,—
Look there, look there!—
[He dies.
Edg.
He faints!—My lord, my lord!—
-- 490 --
Kent.
Break, heart; I pr'ythee, break7 note!
Edg.
Look up, my lord.
Kent.
Vex not his ghost: O! let him pass: he hates him,
That would upon the rack of this tough world
Stretch him out longer.
Edg.
He is gone, indeed.
Kent.
The wonder is, he hath endur'd so long:
He but usurp'd his life.
Alb.
Bear them from hence. Our present business
Is general woe.—Friends of my soul, you twain
[To Kent and Edgar.
Rule in this realm8 note, and the gor'd state sustain.
Kent.
I have a journey, sir, shortly to go:
My master calls me; I must not say, no 11Q10729 note.
Alb.
The weight of this sad time10 note we must obey;
Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say.
The oldest hath borne most: we, that are young,
Shall never see so much, nor live so long.
[Exeunt, with a dead March.
