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 arguments^{7 note}.

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 word^{8 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, work^{9 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 yourself^{1 note}.

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

Edm.
I hear my father coming.—Pardon me;
In cunning, I must draw my sword upon you:
Draw: seem to defend yourself. Now 'quit you well.
Yield:—come before my father;—Light, ho! here!—
Fly, brother;—Torches! torches!—So, farewell.— [Exit Edgar.

Some blood drawn on me would beget opinion [Wounds his arm.
Of my more fierce endeavour: I have seen drunkards
Do more than this in sport^{2 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 charms^{3 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 bend^{4 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,

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 arch^{5 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 coward^{6 note} to the stake;
He, that conceals him, death.

Edm.
When I dissuaded him from his intent,
And found him pight to do it^{7 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 reposal^{8 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 character^{9 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 spurs^{1 note}
To make thee seek it.”

Glo.
Strong and fasten'd villain!
Would he deny his letter?—I never got him^{2 note}. [Tucket within.

Hark! the duke's trumpets. I know not why he comes.—
All ports I'll bar; the villain shall not 'scape;
The duke must grant me that: 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 news^{3 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 consort^{4 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 revenues^{5 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,

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 practice^{6 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 night^{7 note}.
Occasions, noble Gloster, of some poize^{8 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 business^{9 note},

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 house^{1 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 rogue^{2 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,

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, part^{3 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.

Osw.

Help, ho! murder! murder!

Edm.
How now! What's the matter? Part^{4 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?

Reg.
The messengers^{5 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 thee^{6 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 ill^{7 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 villain^{8 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

Which are too intrinse t' unloose^{9 note}; smooth every passion
That in the natures of their lords rebels;
Bring oil to fire^{10 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 Camelot^{11 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 offence^{12 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,

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 plain^{1 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' front^{2 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, compact^{3 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.

Corn.
Fetch forth the stocks!
You stubborn ancient knave, you reverend braggart^{4 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 much^{5 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,

For following her affairs.—Put in his legs^{6 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 miracles^{7 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 remedies^{8 note}.—All weary and o'er-watch'd,
Take vantage, heavy eyes, not to behold

This shameful lodging. Fortune, good night;
Smile once more; turn thy wheel! [He sleeps. 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 beggars^{9 note}

And with this horrible object, from low farms^{1 note},
Poor pelting villages, sheep-cotes and mills,
Sometime with lunatic bans, sometime with prayers,
Enforce their charity.—Poor Turlygood^{2 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-stocks^{3 note}.

Lear.
What's he, that hath so much thy place mistook,

To set thee here?

Kent.
It is both he and she;
Your son and daughter.

Lear.
No.

Kent.
Yes.

Lear.
No, I say.

Kent.
I say, yea.

Lear.
No, no; they would not.

Kent.
Yes, they have^{4 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 meiny^{5 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)

Having more man than wit about me, drew:
He rais'd the house with loud and coward cries.
Your son and daughter found this trespass worth
The shame which here it suffers.

Fool.
Winter's not gone yet^{6 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

runs down a hill, lest it break thy neck with following it; but the great one that goes up the hill^{7 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.