King Lear

by Shakespeare, William

  The matter in itself lamentable, lamentably expressed by the old Prince (which needed not take to himself the gestures of pity, since his face could not put off the marks thereof) greatly moved the two Princes to compassion, which could not stay in such hearts as theirs without seeking remedy. But by and by the occasion was presented: for Plexirtus (so was the bastard called) came thither with forty horse, only of purpose to murder this brother; of whose coming he had soon advertisement, and thought no eyes of sufficient credit in such a matter, but his own; and therefore came himself to be actor, and spectator. And as soon as he came, not regarding the weak (as he thought) guard of but two men, commanded some of his followers to set their hands to his, in the killing of Leonatus. But the young Prince (though not otherwise armed but with a sword) how falsely soever he was dealt with by others, would not betray himself: but bravely drawing it out, made the death of the first that assaulted him, warn his fellows to come more warily after him. But then Pyrocles and Musidorus were quickly become parties (so just a defense deserving as much as old friendship) and so did behave them among that company (more injurious, than valiant) that many of them lost their lives for their wicked master.

  Yet perhaps had the number of them at last prevailed, if the King of Pontus (lately by them made so) had not come unlooked for to their succor. Who (having had a dream which had fixed his imagination vehemently upon some great danger, presently to follow those two Princes whom he most dearly loved) was come in all haste, following as well as he could their track with a hundred horses in that country, which he thought (considering who then reigned) a fit place enough to make the stage of any tragedy.

  But then the match had been so ill made for Plexirtus, that his ill-led life, & worse-gotten honor should have tumbled together to destruction; had there not come in Tydeus & Telenor, with forty or fifty in their suit, to the defense of Plexirtus. These two were brothers, of the noblest house of that country, brought up from their infancy with Plexirtus: men of such prowess, as not to know fear in themselves, and yet to teach it others that should deal with them: for they had often made their lives triumph over most terrible dangers; never dismayed and ever fortunate; and truly no more settled in their valor, than disposed to goodness and justice, if either they had lighted on a better friend, or could have learned to make friendship a child, and not the father of virtue. But bringing up (rather than choice) having first knit their minds unto him, (indeed crafty enough, either to hide his faults, or never to show them, but when they might pay home) they willingly held out the course, rather to satisfy him, than all the world; and rather to be good friends, than good men: so as though they did not like the evil he did, yet they liked him that did the evil; and though not councilors of the offense, yet protectors of the offender. Now they having heard of this sudden going out, with so small a company, in a country full of evil-wishing minds toward him (though they knew not the cause) followed him; till they found him in such case as they were to venture their lives, or else he to lose his: which they did with such force of mind and body, that truly I may justly say, Pyrocles & Musidorus had never till then found any, that could make them so well repeat their hardest lesson in the feats of arms. And briefly so they did, that if they overcame not; yet were they not overcome, but carried away that ungrateful master of theirs to a place of security; howsoever the Princes labored to the contrary. But this matter being thus far begun, it became not the constancy of the Princes so to leave it; but in all haste making forces both in Pontus and Phrygia, they had in few days, left him but only that one strong place where he was. For fear having been the only knot that had fastened his people unto him, that once untied by a greater force, they all scattered from him; like so many birds, whose cage had been broken.

  In which season the blind King (having in the chief city of his realm, set the crown upon his son Leonatus’ head) with many tears (both of joy and sorrow) setting forth to the whole people, his own fault & his son’s virtue, after he had kissed him, and forced his son to accept honor of him (as of his new-become subject) even in a moment died, as it should seem: his heart broken with unkindness & affliction, stretched so far beyond his limits with this excess of comfort, as it was able no longer to keep safe his royal spirits. But the new King (having no less lovingly performed all duties to him dead, than alive) pursued on the siege of his unnatural brother, as much for the revenge of his father, as for the establishing of his own quiet. In which siege truly I cannot but acknowledge the prowess of those two brothers, than whom the Princes never found in all their travel two men of greater ability to perform, nor of abler skill for conduct.

  But Plexirtus finding, that if nothing else, famine would at last bring him to destruction, thought better by humbleness to creep, where by pride he could not march. For certainly so had nature formed him, & the exercise of craft conformed him to all turnings of sleights, that though no man had less goodness in his soul than he, no man could better find the places whence arguments might grow of goodness to another: though no man felt less pity, no man could tell better how to stir pity: no man more impudent to deny, where proofs were not manifest; no man more ready to confess with a repenting manner of aggravating his own evil, where denial would but make the fault fouler. Now he took this way, that having gotten a passport for one (that pretended he would put Plexirtus alive into his hands) to speak with the King his brother, he himself (though much against the minds of the valiant brothers, who rather wished to die in brave defense) with a rope about his neck, barefooted, came to offer himself to the discretion of Leonatus. Where what submission he used, how cunningly in making greater the fault he made the faultiness the less, how artificially he could set out the torments of his own conscience, with the burdensome cumber he had found of his ambitious desires, how finely seeming to desire nothing but death, as ashamed to live, he begged life, in the refusing it, I am not cunning enough to be able to express: but so fell out of it, that though at first sight Leonatus saw him with no other eye, than as the murderer of his father; & anger already began to paint revenge in many colors, ere long he had not only gotten pity, but pardon, and if not an excuse of the fault past, yet an opinion of future amendment: while the poor villains (chief ministers of his wickedness, now betrayed by the author thereof) were delivered to many cruel sorts of death; he so handling it, that it rather seemed, he had rather come into the defense of an unremediable mischief already committed, than that they had done it at first by his consent.

  From The True Chronicle History of King Leir

  Scene XXIV

  Enter the Gallian King and Queen, and Mumford, with a basket, disguised like country folk.

  King. This tedious journey all on foot, sweet Love,Cannot be pleasing to your tender joints, Which ne‘er were used to these toilsome walks.

  Cordella. I never in my life took more delightIn any journey, than I do in this:

  It did me good, when as we hapt to light

  Amongst the merry crew of country folk,

  To see what industry and pains they took,

  To win them commendations ‘mongst their friends.

  Lord, how they labor to bestir themselves,

  And in their quirks to go beyond the moon,

  And so take on them with such antic fits,

  That one would think they were beside their wits!

  Come away, Roger, with your basket.

  Mumford. Soft, Dame, here comes a couple of old youths,I must needs make myself fat with jesting at them.

  Cordella. Nay, prithy do not, they do seem to be Men much o‘ergone with grief and misery.Let’s stand aside, and harken what they say. [Enter Leir and Perillus very faintly.]

  Leir. Ah, my Perillus, now I see we bothShall end our days in this unfruitful soil.

  Oh, I do faint for want of sustenance:

  And thou, I know, in little better case.

  No gentle tree affords one taste of fruit,

  To comfort us, until we meet with men:

  No lucky path conducts our luc
kless steps

  Unto a place where any comfort dwells.

  Sweet rest betide unto our happy souls;

  For here I see our bodies must have end.

  Perillus. Ah, my dear Lord, how doth my heart lament,To see you brought to this extremity!

  O, if you love me, as you do profess,

  Or ever thought well of me in my life,

  [He strips up his arm.]

  Feed on this flesh, whose veins are not so dry

  But there is‘virtue left to comfort you.

  O, feed on this, if this will do you good,

  I’ll smile for joy, to see you suck my blood.

  Leir. I am no Cannibal, that I should delightTo slake my hungry jaws with human flesh:

  I am no devil, or ten times worse than so,

  To suck the blood of such a peerless friend.

  O, do not think that I respect my life

  So dearly, as I do thy loyal love.

  Ah, Britain, I shall never see thee more,

  That hast unkindly banished thy King:

  And yet thou dost not make me to complain,

  But they which were more near to me than thou.

  Cordella. What do I hear? this lamentable voice, Me thinks, ere now I oftentimes have heard.

  Leir. Ah, Gonorill, was half my kingdom’s giftThe cause that thou didst seek to have my life?

  Ah, cruel Ragan, did I give thee all,

  And all could not suffice without my blood?

  Ah, poor Cordella, did I give thee nought,

  Nor never shall be able for to give?

  O, let me warn all ages that ensueth,

  How they trust flattery, and reject the truth.

  Well, unkind girls, I here forgive you both,

  Yet the just heavens will hardly do the like;

  And only crave forgiveness at the end

  Of good Cordella, and of thee, my friend;

  Of God, whose maiesty I have offended,

  By my transgression many thousand ways:

  Of her, dear heart, whom I for no occasion

  Turned out of all, through flatterers’ persuasion:

  Of thee, kind friend, who but for me, I know,

  Hadst never come unto this place of woe.

  Cordella. Alack, that ever I should live to see My noble father in this misery.

  King. Sweet Love, reveal not what thou art as yet, Until we know the ground of all this ill.

  Cordella. O but some meat, some meat: do you not see,How near they are to death for want of food?

  Perillus. Lord, which didst help thy servants at their need.Or now or never send us help with speed.

  Oh comfort, comfort! yonder is a banquet,

  And men and women, my Lord: be of good cheer;

  For I see comfort coming very near.

  O my Lord, a banquet, and men and women!

  Leir. O, let kind pity mollify their hearts,That-they may help us in our great extremes.

  Perillus. God save you, friends; & if this blessèd banquetAffordeth any food or sustenance,

  Even for his sake that saved us all from death,

  Vouchsafe to save us from the grip of famine.

  [She bringeth him to the table.]

  Cordella. Here father, sit and eat, here sit and drink: And would it were far better for your sakes.

  Perillus takes Leir by the hand to the table.

  Perillus. I’ll give you thanks anon: my friend doth faint,And needeth present comfort.

  [Leir drinks.]

  Mumford. I warrant, he ne‘er stays to say grace:O, there’s no sauce to a good stomach.

  Perillus. The blessed God of heaven hath thought upon us.

  Leir. The thanks be his, and these kind courteous folk,By whose humanity we are preserved.

  They eat hungrily, Leir drinks.

  Cordella. And may that draught be unto him, as wasThat which old Eson drank, which did renew

  His withered age, and made him young again.

  And may that meat be unto him, as was

  That which Elias ate, in strength whereof

  He walkèd forty days, and never fainted.

  Shall I conceal me longer from my father?

  Or shall I manifest myself to him?

  King. Forbear a while, until his strength return,Lest being overjoyed with seeing thee,

  His poor weak senses should forsake their office,

  And so our cause of joy be turned to sorrow.

  Perillus. What cheer, my Lord? how do you feel yourself?

  Leir. Me thinks, I never ate such savory meat:It is as pleasant as the blessed manna,

  That rained from heaven amongst the Israelites:

  It hath recalled my spirits home again,

  And made me fresh, as erst I was before.

  But how shall we congratulate their kindness?

  Perillus. In faith, I know not how sufficiently;But the best mean that I can think on, is this:

  I’ll offer them my doublet in requital;

  For we have nothing else to spare.

  Leir. Nay, stay, Perillus, for they shall have mine.

  Perillus. Pardon, my Lord, I swear they shall have mine.Perillus proffers his doublet: they will not take it.

  Leir. Ah, who would think such kindness should remainAmong such strange and unacquainted men:

  And that such hate should harbor in the breast

  Of those, which have occasion to be best?

  Cordella. Ah, good old father, tell to me thy grief, I’ll sorrow with thee, if not add relief.

  Leir. Ah, good young daughter, I may call thee so; For thou art like a daughter I did owe.

  Cordella. Do you not owe her still? what, is she dead?

  Leir. No, God forbid: but all my interest’s gone,By showing myself too much unnatural:

  So have I lost the title of a father,

  And may be called a stranger to her rather.

  Cordella Your title’s good still; for ‘tis always known,A man may do as him list with his own.

  But have you but one daughter then in all?

  Leir. Yes, I have more by two, than would I had.

  Cordella. O, say not so, but rather see the end:They that are bad, may have the grace to mend: But how have they offended you so much?

  Leir. If from the first I should relate the cause,‘Twould make a heart of adamant to weep;

  And thou, poor soule, kindhearted as thou art,

  Dost weep already, ere I do begin.

  Cordella. For God’s love tell it, and when you have done,I’ll tell the reason why I weep so soon.

  Leir. Then know this first, I am a Briton born,And had three daughters by one loving wife;

  And though I say it, of beauty they were sped;

  Especially the youngest of the three,

  For her perfections hardly matched could be:

  On these I doted with a jealous love,

  And thought to try which of them loved me best,

  By asking them, which would do most for me?

  The first and second flattered me with words,

  And vowed they loved me better than their lives:

  The youngest said, she loved me as a child

  Might do: her answer I esteemed most vile,

  And presently in an outrageous mood,

  I turned her from me to go sink or swim:

  And all I had, even to the very clothes,

  I gave in dowry with the other two:

  And she that best deserved the greatest share,

  I gave her nothing, but disgrace and care.

  Now mark the sequel: When I had done thus,

  I sojourned in my eldest daughter’s house,

  Where for a time I was entreated well,

  And lived in state sufficing my content:

  But every day her kindness did grow cold,

  Which I with patience put up well enough,

  And seemed not to see the things I saw:

  But at the last she grew so far incensed

  With moody fury, a
nd with causeless hate,

  That in most vile and contumelious terms,

  She bade me pack, and harbor somewhere else.

  Then was I fain for refuge to repair