To thee a woman’s services are due;
My foot usurps my body.
OSWALD Madam, here comes my lord.
Exit
Enter the Duke of Albany
GONORIL
I have been worth the whistling.
ALBANY O Gonoril,
You are not worth the dust which the rude wind
Blows in your face. I fear your disposition.
That nature which contemns it origin
Cannot be bordered certain in itself.
She that herself will sliver and disbranch
From her material sap perforce must wither,
And come to deadly use.
GONORIL No more. The text is foolish.
ALBANY
Wisdom and goodness to the vile seem vile;
Filths savour but themselves. What have you done?
Tigers, not daughters, what have you performed?
A father, and a gracious, aged man,
Whose reverence even the head-lugged 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 benefacted?
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 itself,
Like monsters of the deep.
GONORIL Milk-livered 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’st
Fools do those villains pity who are punished
Ere they have done their mischief: where’s thy drum?
France spreads his banners in our noiseless land,
With plumed helm thy flaxen biggin threats,
Whiles thou, a moral fool, sits still and cries
‘Alack, why does he so?’
ALBANY See thyself, devil.
Proper deformity shows not in the fiend
So horrid as in woman.
GONORIL O vain fool! 60
ALBANY
Thou changed and self-covered thing, for shame
Bemonster not thy feature. Were’t 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.
GONORIL Marry your manhood, mew—
Enter ⌈Second⌉ Gentleman
ALBANY What news?
⌈SECOND⌉ GENTLEMAN
O my good lord, the Duke of Cornwall’s dead,
Slain by his servant going to put out
The other eye of Gloucester.
ALBANY Gloucester’s eyes?
⌈FSECOND⌉ GENTLEMAN
A servant that he bred, thralled with remorse,
Opposed against the act, bending his sword
To his great master, who thereat enraged
Flew on him, and amongst them felled him dead,
But not without that harmful stroke which since
Hath plucked him after.
ALBANY This shows you are above,
You justicers, that these our nether crimes
So speedily can venge. But O, poor Gloucester!
Lost he his other eye?
⌈SECOND⌉ GENTLEMAN Both, both, my lord. 80
(To Gonoril) This letter, madam, craves a speedy
answer.
’Tis from your sister.
GONORIL (aside) One way I like this well;
But being widow, and my Gloucester with her,
May all the building on my fancy pluck
Upon my hateful life. Another way
The news is not so took.—I’ll read and answer. Exit
ALBANY
Where was his son when they did take his eyes?
⌈ECOND⌉GENTLEMAN
Come with my lady hither.
ALBANY He is not here.
⌈ECOND⌉GENTLEMAN
No, my good lord; I met him back again.
ALBANY Knows he the wickedness? 90
⌈ECOND⌉GENTLEMAN
Ay, my good lord; ’twas he informed against him,
And quit the house on purpose that their punishment
Might have the freer course.
ALBANY Gloucester, I live
To thank thee for the love thou showed’st the King,
And to revenge thy eyes.—Come hither, friend
Tell me what more thou knowest. Exeunt
Sc. 17 Enter the Earl of Kent disguised, and ⌈First⌉ Gentleman
KENT Why the King of France is so suddenly gone back know you no reason?
⌈FIRST⌉ GENTLEMAN
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 required
And necessary.
KENT
Who hath he left behind him general?
⌈IRST⌉ NTLEMAN
The Maréchal of France, Monsieur la Far.
KENT Did your letters pierce the Queen to any demonstration of grief? II
⌈IRST⌉ ENTLEMAN
Ay, sir. She took them, read them in my presence,
And now and then an ample tear trilled down
Her delicate cheek. It seemed she was a queen
Over her passion who, most rebel-like,
Sought to be king o’er her.
KENT O, then it moved her.
⌈IRST⌉GENTLEMAN
Not to a rage. Patience and sorrow strove
Who should express her goodliest. You have seen
Sunshine and rain at once; her smiles and tears
Were like, a better way. Those happy smilets
That played on her ripe lip seemed not to know
What guests were in her eyes, which parted thence
As pearls from diamonds dropped. In brief,
Sorrow would be a rarity most beloved
If all could so become it.
KENT Made she no verbal question?
⌈IRST⌉ ENTLEMAN
Faith, once or twice she heaved the name of ‘father’
Pantingly forth as if it pressed her heart,
Cried ‘Sisters, sisters, shame of ladies, sisters,
Kent, father, sisters, what, i‘th’ storm, i’th’ night,
Let piety not be believed!’ There she shook
The holy water from her heavenly eyes
And clamour mastered, 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 make could not beget
Such different issues. You spoke not with her since?
⌈IRST⌉ ENTLEMAN No.
KENT
Was this before the King returned?
⌈IRST⌉ ENTLEMAN No, since.
KENT
Well, sir, the poor distressed Lear’s i’th’ town,
Who sometime in his better tune remembers
What we are come about, and by no means
Will yield to see his daughter.
⌈IRST⌉ NTLEMAN Why, good sir?
KENT
A sovereign shame so elbows him: his own unkindness,
That stripped her from his benediction, turned her
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.
⌈IRST⌉ ENTLEMAN Alack, poor gentleman!
KENT
Of Albany’s and Cornwall’s powers you heard not?
⌈IRST⌉ ENTLEMAN ’Tis so; they are afoot.
KENT
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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 a while.
When I am known aright you shall not grieve
Lending me this acquaintance. I pray you go
Along with me. Exeunt
Sc. 18 Enter Queen Cordelia, a Doctor, and others
CORDELIA
Alack, ’tis he! Why, he was met even now,
As mad as the racked sea, singing aloud,
Crowned with rank fumitor and furrow-weeds,
With burdocks, hemlock, nettles, cuckoo-flowers,
Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow
In our sustaining corn. The centuries send forth.
Search every acre in the high-grown field,
And bring him to our eye.
⌈Exit one or more⌉
What can man’s wisdom
In the restoring his bereaved sense,
He that can help him
Take all my outward worth.
DOCTOR 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.
CORDELIA All blest secrets,
All you unpublished virtues of the earth,
Spring with my tears, be aidant and remediate
In the good man’s distress!—Seek, seek for him,
Lest his ungoverned rage dissolve the life
That wants the means to lead it.
Enter a Messenger
MESSENGER News, madam.
The British powers are marching hitherward.
CORDELIA
’Tis known before; our preparation stands
In expectation of them.—O dear father,
It is thy business that I go about;
Therefore great France
My mourning and important tears hath pitied.
No blown ambition doth our arms incite,
But love, dear love, and our aged father’s right.
Soon may I hear and see him! Exeunt
Sc. 19 Enter Regan and Oswald, Gonoril’s steward
REGAN
But are my brother’s powers set forth?
OSWALD Ay, madam.
REGAN
Himself in person?
OSWALD Madam, with much ado.
Your sister is the better soldier.
REGAN
Lord Edmund spake not with your lord at home?
OSWALD No, madam.
REGAN
What might import my sister’s letters to him?
OSWALD I know not, lady.
REGAN
Faith, he is posted hence on serious matter.
It was great ignorance, Gloucester’s eyes being out,
To let him live. Where he arrives he moves
All hearts against us. Edmund, I think, is gone,
In pity of his misery, to dispatch
His ‘nighted life, moreover to descry
The strength o’th’ army.
OSWALD
I must needs after with my letters, madam.
REGAN
Our troop sets forth tomorrow. Stay with us.
The ways are dangerous.
OSWALD I may not, madam.
My lady charged my duty in this business.
REGAN
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.
OSWALD Madam, I’d rather—
REGAN
I know your lady does not love her husband.
I am sure of that, and at her late being here
She gave strange oeillades and most speaking looks
To noble Edmund. I know you are of her bosom.
OSWALD I, madam?
REGAN
I speak in understanding, for I know’t.
Therefore I do advise you take this note.
My lord is dead. Edmund and I have talked,
And more convenient is he for my hand
Than for your lady’s. You may gather more.
If you do find him, pray you give him this,
And when your mistress hears thus much from you,
I pray desire her call her wisdom to her.
So, farewell.
If you do chance to hear of that blind traitor,
Preferment falls on him that cuts him off.
OSWALD
Would I could meet him, madam. I would show
What lady I do follow.
REGAN Fare thee well. Exeunt severally
Sc. 20 Enter Edgar disguised as a peasant, with a staff, guiding the blind Duke of Gloucester
GLOUCESTER
When shall we come to th’ top of that same hill?
EDGAR
You do climb up it now. Look how we labour.
GLOUCESTER
Methinks the ground is even.
EDGAR Horrible steep.
Hark, do you hear the sea?
GLOUCESTER No, truly.
EDGAR
Why, then your other senses grow imperfect
By your eyes’ anguish.
GLOUCESTER So may it be indeed.
Methinks thy voice is altered, and thou speak’st
With better phrase and matter than thou didst.
EDGAR
You’re much deceived. In nothing am I changed
But in my garments.
GLOUCESTER Methinks you’re better spoken.
EDGAR
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. Halfway 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 yon tall anchoring barque
Diminished to her cock, her cock a buoy
Almost too small for sight. The murmuring surge
That on the unnumbered idle pebble chafes
Cannot be heard, it’s so high. I’ll look no more,
Lest my brain turn and the deficient sight
Topple down headlong.
GLOUCESTER Set me where you stand.
EDGAR
Give me your hand. You are now within a foot
Of th’extreme verge. For all beneath the moon
Would I not leap upright.
GLOUCESTER Let go my hand.
Here, friend, ’s another purse; in it a jewel
Well worth a poor man’s taking. Fairies and gods
Prosper it with thee! Go thou farther off.
Bid me farewell, and let me hear thee going.
EDGAR
Now fare you well, good sir.
He stands aside
GLOUCESTER With all my heart.
EDGAR (aside)
Why I do trifle thus with his despair
Is done to cure it.
GLOUCESTER O you mighty gods,
He kneels
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.
EDGAR Gone, sir. Farewell.
Gloucester falls forward
(Aside) 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.—Ative or dead?
(Aside) Thus might he pass indeed. Yet he revives.
(To Gloucester) What are you, sir?
GLOUCESTER Away, and let me die.
EDGAR
Hadst thou been aught but goss‘mer, feathers, air,
So many fathom down precipitating
Thou hadst shivered like an egg. But thou dost breathe,
Hast heavy substance, bleed’st not, speak’st, art sound.
Ten masts a-length make not the altitude
Which thou hast perpendicularly fell.
Thy life’s a miracle. Speak yet again.
GLOUCESTER But have I fallen, or no?
EDGAR
From the dread summit of this chalky bourn.
Look up a-height. The shrill-gorged lark so far
Cannot be seen or heard. Do but look up.
GLOUCESTER Alack, I have no eyes.
Is wretchedness deprived that benefit
To end itself by death? ’Twas yet some comfort
When misery could beguile the tyrant’s rage
And frustrate his proud will.
EDGAR Give me your arm.
Up. So, how now? Feel you your legs? You stand.
GLOUCESTER
Too well, too well.
EDGAR This is above all strangeness.
Upon the crown of the cliff what thing was that
Which parted from you?
GLOUCESTER A poor unfortunate beggar.
EDGAR
As I stood here below, methoughts his eyes
Were two full moons. A had a thousand noses,
Horns whelked and waved like the enridged sea.
It was some fiend. Therefore, thou happy father,
Think that the clearest gods, who made their honours
Of men’s impossibilities, have preserved thee.
GLOUCESTER
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 would it say
‘The fiend, the fiend!’ He led me to that place.
EDGAR
Bear free and patient thoughts.
Enter King Lear mad, ⌈crowned with weeds and flowers⌉
But who comes here?
The safer sense will ne’er accommodate
His master thus.
LEAR No, they cannot touch me for coining. I am the King himself.
EDGAR O thou side-piercing sight!
LEAR Nature is above art in that respect. There’s your press-money. That fellow handles his bow like a crow-keeper. Draw me a clothier’s yard. Look, look, a mouse! Peace, peace, this toasted cheese will do it. There’s my gauntlet. I’ll prove it on a giant. Bring up the brown bills. O, well flown, bird, in the air. Hal Give the word.
The Oxford Shakespeare: The Complete Works Page 301
