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 --
J. Payne Collier [1842–1844], The works of William Shakespeare. The text formed from an entirely new collation of the old editions: with the various readings, notes, a life of the poet, and a history of the Early English stage. By J. Payne Collier, Esq. F.S.A. In eight volumes (Whittaker & Co. [etc.], London) [word count] [S10101].
