Masters of the Theatre

by Delphi Classics

  I’d shake it on this quarrel. What do you mean? 80

  Corn. My villain! [Draws.

  First Serv. Nay then, come on, and take the chance of anger. [Draws. They fight. CORNWALL is wounded.

  Reg. Give me thy sword. A peasant stand up thus! [Takes a sword and runs at him behind.

  First Serv. O! I am slain. My lord, you have one eye left

  To see some mischief on him. O! [Dies. 85

  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 sparks of nature

  To quit this horried act. 90

  Reg. Out, treacherous villain!

  Thou call’st on him that hates thee; it was he

  That made the overture of thy treasons to us,

  Who is too good to pity thee.

  Glo. O my follies! Then Edgar was abus’d. 95

  Kind gods, forgive me that, and prosper him!

  Reg. Go thrust him out at gates, and let him smell

  His way to Dover. [Exit one with GLOUCESTER.] 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 100

  Upon the dunghill. Regan, I bleed apace:

  Untimely comes this hurt. Give me your arm. [Exit CORNWALL led by REGAN.

  Sec. Serv. I’ll never care what wickedness I do

  If this man come to good.

  Third Serv. If she live long, 105

  And, in the end, meet the old course of death,

  Women will all turn monsters.

  Sec. 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. 110

  Third Serv. Go thou; I’ll fetch some flax, and whites of eggs,

  To apply to his bleeding face. Now, heaven help him! [Exeunt severally.

  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. To be worst,

  The lowest and most dejected thing of fortune, 5

  Stands still in esperance, lives not in fear:

  The lamentable change is from the best;

  The worst returns to laughter. Welcome, then,

  Thou unsubstantial air that I embrace:

  The wretch that thou hast blown unto the worst 10

  Owes nothing to thy blasts. But who comes here?

  Enter GLOUCESTER, 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. 15

  Old Man. O my good lord!

  I have been your tenant, and your father’s tenant,

  These fourscore years.

  Glo. Away, get thee away; good friend, be gone;

  Thy comforts can do me no good at all; 20

  Thee they may hurt.

  Old Man. 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 means secure us, and our mere defects 25

  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? 30

  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.’ 35

  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, 40

  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. 45

  Edg. [Aside.] How should this be?

  Bad is the trade that must play fool to sorrow,

  Angering itself and others. — [To GLOUCESTER.] Bless thee, master!

  Glo. Is that the naked fellow?

  Old Man. Ay, my lord. 50

  Glo. Then, prithee, get thee gone. If, for my sake,

  Thou wilt o’ertake us, hence a mile or twain,

  I’ the way toward Dover, do it for ancient love;

  And bring some covering for this naked soul

  Who I’ll entreat to lead me. 55

  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, 60

  Come on ‘t what will. [Exit.

  Glo. Sirrah, naked fellow, —

  Edg. Poor Tom’s a-cold. [Aside.] I cannot daub it further.

  Glo. Come hither, fellow.

  Edg. [Aside.] And yet I must. Bless thy sweet eyes, they bleed. 65

  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 fiend! Five fiends have been in poor Tom at once; of lust, as Obidicut; Hobbididance, prince of dumbness; Mahu, of stealing; Modo, of murder; and Flibbertigibbet, of mopping and mowing; who since possesses chambermaids and waiting-women. So, bless thee, master!

  Glo. Here, take this purse, thou whom the heavens’ plagues

  Have humbled to all strokes: that I am wretched

  Makes thee the happier: heavens, deal so still! 70

  Let the superfluous and lust-dieted man,

  That slaves your ordinance, 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? 75

  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; 80

  With something rich about me; from that place

  I shall no leading need.

  Edg. Give me thy arm:

  Poor Tom shall lead thee. [Exeunt.

  Act IV. Scene II.

  Before the DUKE OF ALBANY’S Palace.

  Enter GONERIL and EDMUND.

  Gon. Welcome, my lord; I marvel our mild husband

  Not met us on the way. [Enter OSWALD.] Now, where’s your master?

  Osw. Madam, within; but never man so chang’d. 5

  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 Gloucester’s treachery,

  And of the loyal service of his son,

  When I inform’d him, then he call’d me sot, 10

  And told me I had turn’d the wrong side out:

  What most he should dislike seems pleasant to him;

  What like, offensive.

  Gon. [To EDMUND.] Then, shall you go no further.

  It is the cowish terror of his spirit 15

  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 po
wers:

  I must change arms at home, and give the distaff 20

  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, 25

  Would stretch thy spirits up into the air.

  Conceive, and fare thee well.

  Edm. Yours in the ranks of death.

  Gon. My most dear Gloucester! [Exit EDMUND.

  O! the difference of man and man! 30

  To thee a woman’s services are due:

  My fool usurps my bed.

  Osw. Madam, here comes my lord. [Exit.

  Enter ALBANY.

  Gon. I have been worth the whistle. 35

  Alb. O Gonerill

  You are not worth the dust which the rude wind

  Blows in your face. I fear your disposition:

  That nature, which contemns its origin,

  Cannot be border’d certain in itself; 40

  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; 45

  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. 50

  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, 55

  Humanity must perforce prey on itself,

  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 60

  Thine honour from thy suffering; that not know’st

  Fools do those villains pity who are punish’d

  Ere they have done their mischief. Where’s thy drum?

  France spreads his banners in our noiseless land,

  With plumed helm thy slayer begins threats, 65

  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. 70

  Gon. O vain fool!

  Alb. Thou changed and self-cover’d thing, for shame,

  Be-monster not thy feature. Were ‘t my fitness

  To let these hands obey my blood,

  They are apt enough to dislocate and tear 75

  Thy flesh and bones; howe’er thou art a fiend,

  A woman’s shape doth shield thee.

  Gon. Marry, your manhood. — Mew!

  Enter a Messenger.

  Alb. What news? 80

  Mess. O! my good lord, the Duke of Cornwall’s dead;

  Slain by his servant, going to put out

  The other eye of Gloucester.

  Alb. Gloucester’s eyes!

  Mess. A servant that he bred, thrill’d with remorse, 85

  Oppos’d against the act, bending his sword

  To his great master; who, thereat enrag’d,

  Flew on him, and amongst them fell’d him dead;

  But not without that harmful stroke, which since

  Hath pluck’d him after. 90

  Alb. 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?

  Mess. Both, both, my lord. 95

  This letter, madam, craves a speedy answer;

  ’Tis from your sister.

  Gon. [Aside.] One way I like this well;

  But being widow, and my Gloucester with her,

  May all the building in my fancy pluck 100

  Upon my hateful life: another way,

  This news is not so tart. [To Messenger.] 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. 105

  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. 110

  Alb. Gloucester, 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.

  Act IV. 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 required and necessary.

  Kent. Who hath he left behind him general? 5

  Gent. The Marshal of France, Monsieur la Far.

  Kent. Did your letters pierce the queen to any demonstration of grief?

  Gent. Ay, sir; 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 10

  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 strove

  Who should express her goodliest. You have seen 15

  Sunshine and rain at once; her smiles and tears

  Were like a better way; those happy smilets

  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, 20

  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; 25

  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’d, then away she started 30

  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? 35

  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 40

  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 45

  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. 50

&
nbsp; 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; 55

  When I am known aright, you shall not grieve

  Lending me this acquaintance. I pray you, go

  Along with me. [Exeunt.

  Act IV. Scene VI.

  The Same. A Tent.

  Enter with drum and colours, CORDELIA, Doctor, 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, 5

  With burdocks, 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. 10

  What can man’s wisdom

  In the restoring his bereaved sense?

  He that helps him take all my outward worth.

  Phy. There is means, madam;

  Our foster-nurse of nature is repose, 15

  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, 20

  Spring with my tears! be aidant and remediate

  In the good man’s distress! Seek, seek for him,

  Lest his ungovern’d rage dissolve the life

  That wants the means to lead it.

  Enter a Messenger. 25

  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; 30

  Therefore great France

  My mourning and important tears 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. 35

  Act IV. Scene V.

  A Room in GLOUCESTER’S Castle.

  Enter REGAN and OSWALD.

  Reg. But are my brother’s powers set forth?

  Osw. Ay, madam.

  Reg. Himself in person there? 5

  Osw. Madam, with much ado:

  Your sister is the better soldier.

  Reg. Lord Edmund spake not with your lord at home?

  Osw. No, madam.

  Reg. What might import my sister’s letter to him? 10