This present summons? 140
Edg. Know, my name is lost;
By treason’s tooth bare-gnawn and canker-bit:
Yet am I noble as the adversary
I come to cope.
Alb. Which is that adversary? 145
Edg. What’s he that speaks for Edmund Earl of Gloucester?
Edm. Himself: what sayst thou to him?
Edg. Draw thy sword,
That, if my speech offend a noble heart,
Thy arm may do thee justice; here is mine: 150
Behold, it is the privilege of mine honours,
My oath, and my profession: I protest,
Maugre thy strength, youth, place, and eminence,
Despite thy victor sword and fire-new fortune,
Thy valour and thy heart, thou art a traitor, 155
False to thy gods, thy brother, and thy father,
Conspirant ‘gainst this high illustrious prince,
And, from the extremest upward of thy head
To the descent and dust below thy foot,
A most toad-spotted traitor. Say thou ‘No,’ 160
This sword, this arm, and my best spirits are bent
To prove upon thy heart, whereto I speak,
Thou liest.
Edm. In wisdom I should ask thy name;
But since thy outside looks so fair and war-like, 165
And that thy tongue some say of breeding breathes,
What safe and nicely I might well delay
By rule of knighthood, I disdain and spurn;
Back do I toss these treasons to thy head,
With the hell-hated lie o’erwhelm thy heart, 170
Which, for they yet glance by and scarcely bruise,
This sword of mine shall give them instant way,
Where they shall rest for ever. Trumpets, speak! [Alarums. They fight. EDMUND falls.
Alb. Save him, save him!
Gon. This is practice, Gloucester: 175
By the law of arms thou wast not bound to answer
An unknown opposite; thou art not vanquish’d,
But cozen’d and beguil’d.
Alb. Shut your mouth, dame,
Or with this paper shall I stop it. Hold, sir; 180
Thou worse than any name, read thine own evil:
No tearing, lady; I perceive you know it. [Gives the letter to EDMUND.
Gon. Say, if I do, the laws are mine, not thine:
Who can arraign me for ‘t? [Exit.
Alb. Most monstrous! 185
Know’st thou this paper?
Edm. Ask me not what I know.
Alb. Go after her: she’s desperate; govern her. [Exit an Officer.
Edm. What you have charg’d me with, that have I done,
And more, much more; the time will bring it out: 190
’Tis past, and so am I. But what art thou
That hast this fortune on me? If thou’rt noble,
I do forgive thee.
Edg. Let’s exchange charity.
I am no less in blood than thou art, Edmund; 195
If more, the more thou hast wrong’d me.
My name is Edgar, and thy father’s son.
The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices
Make instruments to plague us:
The dark and vicious place where thee he got 200
Cost him his eyes.
Edm. Thou hast spoken right, ’tis true;
The wheel is come full circle; I am here.
Alb. Methought thy very gait did prophesy
A royal nobleness: I must embrace thee: 205
Let sorrow split my heart, if ever I
Did hate thee or thy father.
Edg. Worthy prince, I know ‘t.
Alb. Where have you hid yourself?
How have you known the miseries of your father? 210
Edg. By nursing them, my lord. List a brief tale;
And, when ’tis told, O! that my heart would burst,
The bloody proclamation to escape
That follow’d me so near, — O! our lives’ sweetness,
That we the pain of death would hourly die 215
Rather than die at once! — taught me to shift
Into a madman’s rags, to assume a semblance
That very dogs disdain’d: and in this habit
Met I my father with his bleeding rings,
Their precious stones new lost; became his guide, 220
Led him, begg’d for him, sav’d him from despair;
Never, — O fault! — reveal’d myself unto him,
Until some half hour past, when I was arm’d;
Not sure, though hoping, of this good success,
I ask’d his blessing, and from first to last 225
Told him my pilgrimage: but his flaw’d heart, —
Alack! too weak the conflict to support;
‘Twixt two extremes of passion, joy and grief,
Burst smilingly.
Edm. This speech of yours hath mov’d me, 230
And shall perchance do good; but speak you on;
You look as you had something more to say.
Alb. If there be more, more woeful, hold it in;
For I am almost ready to dissolve,
Hearing of this. 235
Edg. This would have seem’d a period
To such as love not sorrow; but another,
To amplify too much, would make much more,
And top extremity.
Whilst I was big in clamour came there a man, 240
Who, having seen me in my worst estate,
Shunn’d my abhorr’d society; but then, finding
Who ’twas that so endur’d, with his strong arms
He fasten’d on my neck, and bellow’d out
As he’d burst heaven; threw him on my father; 245
Told the most piteous tale of Lear and him
That ever ear receiv’d; which in recounting
His grief grew puissant, and the strings of life
Began to crack: twice then the trumpet sounded,
And there I left him tranc’d. 250
Alb. But who was this?
Edg. Kent, sir, the banish’d Kent; who in disguise
Follow’d his enemy king, and did him service
Improper for a slave.
Enter a Gentleman, with a bloody knife. 255
Gent. Help, help! O help!
Edg. What kind of help?
Alb. Speak, man.
Edg. What means that bloody knife?
Gent. ’Tis hot, it smokes; 260
It came even from the heart of — O! she’s dead.
Alb. Who dead? speak, man.
Gent. Your lady, sir, your lady: and her sister
By her is poison’d; she confesses it.
Edm. I was contracted to them both: all three 265
Now marry in an instant.
Edg. Here comes Kent.
Alb. Produce the bodies, be they alive or dead:
This judgment of the heavens, that makes us tremble,
Touches us not with pity. [Exit Gentleman. 270
Enter KENT.
O! is this he?
The time will not allow the compliment
Which very manners urges.
Kent. I am come 275
To bid my king and master aye good-night;
Is he not here?
Alb. Great thing of us forgot!
Speak, Edmund, where’s the king? and where’s Cordelia?
Seest thou this object, Kent? [The bodies of GONERIL and REGAN are brought in. 280
Kent. Alack! why thus?
Edm. Yet Edmund was belov’d:
The one the other poison’d for my sake,
And after slew herself.
Alb. Even so. Cover their faces. 285
Edm. I pant for life: some good I mean to do
Despite of mine own nature. Quickly send,
Be brief in it, to the castle; for my writ
Is on the life of Lear and on
Cordelia.
Nay, send in time. 290
Alb. Run, run! O run!
Edg. To whom, my lord? Who has the office? send
Thy token of reprieve.
Edm. Well thought on: take my sword,
Give it the captain. 295
Alb. Haste thee, for thy life. [Exit EDGAR.
Edm. He hath commission from my wife and me
To hang Cordelia in the prison, and
To lay the blame upon her own despair,
That she fordid herself. 300
Alb. The gods defend her! Bear him hence awhile. [EDMUND is borne off.
Enter LEAR, with CORDELIA dead in his arms; EDGAR, Officer, and Others.
Lear. Howl, howl, howl, howl! O! you are men of stones:
Had I your tongues and eyes, I’d use them so
That heaven’s vaults should crack. She’s gone for ever. 305
I know when one is dead, and when one lives;
She’s dead as earth. Lend me a looking-glass;
If that her breath will mist or stain the stone,
Why, then she lives.
Kent. Is this the promis’d end? 310
Edg. Or image of that horror?
Alb. Fall and cease?
Lear. This feather stirs; she lives! if it be so,
It is a chance which does redeem all sorrows
That ever I have felt. 315
Kent. [Kneeling.] O, my good master!
Lear. Prithee, away.
Edg. ’Tis noble Kent, your friend.
Lear. A plague upon you, murderers, traitors all!
I might have sav’d her; now, she’s gone for ever! 320
Cordelia, Cordelia! stay a little. Ha!
What is ‘t thou sayst? Her voice was ever soft,
Gentle and low, an excellent thing in woman.
I kill’d the slave that was a hanging thee.
Off. ’Tis true, my lord, he did. 325
Lear. Did I not, fellow?
I have seen the day, with my good biting falchion
I would have made them skip: I am old now,
And these same crosses spoil me. Who are you?
Mine eyes are not o’ the best: I’ll tell you straight. 330
Kent. If fortune brag of two she lov’d and hated,
One of them we behold.
Lear. This is a dull sight. Are you not Kent?
Kent. The same,
Your servant Kent. Where is your servant Caius? 335
Lear. He’s a good fellow, I can tell you that;
He’ll strike, and quickly too. He’s dead and rotten.
Kent. No, my good lord; I am the very man —
Lear. I’ll see that straight.
Kent. That, from your first of difference and decay, 340
Have follow’d your sad steps.
Lear. You are welcome hither.
Kent. Nor no man else; all’s cheerless, dark, and deadly:
Your eldest daughters have fordone themselves,
And desperately are dead. 345
Lear. Ay, so I think.
Alb. He knows not what he says, and vain it is
That we present us to him.
Edg. Very bootless.
Enter an Officer. 350
Off. Edmund is dead, my lord.
Alb. That’s but a trifle here.
You lords and noble friends, know our intent;
What comfort to this great decay may come
Shall be applied: for us, we will resign, 355
During the life of this old majesty,
To him our absolute power: — [To EDGAR and KENT.] You, to your rights;
With boot and such addition as your honours
Have more than merited. All friends shall taste
The wages of their virtue, and all foes 360
The cup of their deservings. O! see, see!
Lear. And my poor fool is hang’d! No, no, no life!
Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life,
And thou no breath at all? Thou’lt come no more,
Never, never, never, never, never! 365
Pray you, undo this button: thank you, sir.
Do you see this? Look on her, look, her lips,
Look there, look there! [Dies.
Edg. He faints! — my lord, my lord!
Kent. Break, heart; I prithee, break. 370
Edg. Look up, my lord.
Kent. Vex not his ghost: O! let him pass; he hates him
That would upon the rack of this tough world
Stretch him out longer.
Edg. He is gone, indeed. 375
Kent. The wonder is he hath endur’d so long:
He but usurp’d his life.
Alb. Bear them from hence. Our present business
Is general woe. [To KENT and EDGAR.] Friends of my soul, you twain
Rule in this realm, and the gor’d state sustain. 380
Kent. I have a journey, sir, shortly to go;
My master calls me, I must not say no.
Alb. The weight of this sad time we must obey;
Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say.
The oldest hath borne most: we that are young, 385
Shall never see so much, nor live so long. [Exeunt, with a dead march.
THE ALCHEMIST by Ben Jonson
1610
First performed in 1610 by the King’s Men, The Alchemist is generally considered to be Jonson’s greatest achievement in comedy, celebrated for having a ‘perfect plot’, its vivid depiction of human folly and the ingenious working of it denouement. Internal references indicate that the play was written for performance at Blackfriars; ironically, given its initial scenario, plague forced the company to tour, and The Alchemist premiered at Oxford in 1610, with performances in London later that year. Its success may be indicated by its performance at court in 1613 and again in 1623. The Alchemist was also among the first plays chosen for performance at the Blackfriars theatre by the King’s Men.
Jonson’s play reflects a new confidence in his work, where he applies his classical conception of drama to a setting in contemporary London for the first time, with original results. In the drama, an outbreak of plague in London forces a gentleman, Lovewit, to flee temporarily to the country, leaving his house under the sole charge of his butler, Jeremy, who uses this opportunity to use the house as the headquarters for fraudulent acts. He transforms himself into ‘Captain Face’, and enlists the aid of Subtle, a fellow conman and Dol Common, a prostitute.
The play opens with a violent argument between Subtle and Face concerning the division of the riches which they have, and will continue to gather. Dol breaks the pair apart and reasons with them that they must work as a team if they are to succeed. Their first customer is Dapper, a lawyer’s clerk who wishes Subtle to use his supposed necromantic skills to summon a “familiar” or spirit to help in his gambling ambitions. The tripartite suggest that Dapper may win favour with the ‘Queen of Fairy’, but he must subject himself to humiliating rituals in order for her to help him. Their second gull is Drugger, a tobacconist, who is keen to establish a profitable business. After this, a wealthy nobleman, Sir Epicure Mammon arrives, expressing the desire to gain himself the philosopher’s stone which he believes will bring him huge material and spiritual wealth.
Throughout the drama, Jonson unashamedly satirises the vanities and vices of mankind, with hilarious results. People of all social classes are subjected to Jonson’s unmerciful and satirical wit, whilst the audience are given a vivid portrait of life in Jacobean London.
Richard Burbage (1567-1619) was the leading actor of his time, playing the roles of many of Jonson’s and Shakespeare’s greatest leading parts.
“David Garrick as Abel Drugger in Jonson’s The Alchemist” by Johann Zoffany
This play was taken from our Complete Works edition:
CONTENTS
TO THE READER
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
ARGUMENT
PROLOGUE
ACT 1
SCENE 1
ACT 2
SCENE 1
ACT 3
SCENE 1
SCENE 2
ACT 4
SCENE 1
SCENE 2
SCENE 3
SCENE 4
ACT 5
SCENE 1
SCENE 2
SCENE 3
THE ALCHEMIST
TO THE LADY MOST DESERVING HER NAME AND BLOOD: LADY MARY WROTH.
Madam,
In the age of sacrifices, the truth of religion was not in the greatness and fat of the offerings, but in the devotion and zeal of the sacrificers: else what could a handle of gums have done in the sight of a hecatomb? or how might I appear at this altar, except with those affections that no less love the light and witness, than they have the conscience of your virtue? If what I offer bear an acceptable odour, and hold the first strength, it is your value of it, which remembers where, when, and to whom it was kindled. Otherwise, as the times are, there comes rarely forth that thing so full of authority or example, but by assiduity and custom grows less, and loses. This, yet, safe in your judgment (which is a Sidney’s) is forbidden to speak more, lest it talk or look like one of the ambitious faces of the time, who, the more they paint, are the less themselves.
Your ladyship’s true honourer,
BEN JONSON.
TO THE READER
If thou beest more, thou art an understander, and then I trust thee. If thou art one that takest up, and but a pretender, beware of what hands thou receivest thy commodity; for thou wert never more fair in the way to be cozened, than in this age, in poetry, especially in plays: wherein, now the concupiscence of dances and of antics so reigneth, as to run away from nature, and be afraid of her, is the only point of art that tickles the spectators. But how out of purpose, and place, do I name art? When the professors are grown so obstinate contemners of it, and presumers on their own naturals, as they are deriders of all diligence that way, and, by simple mocking at the terms, when they understand not the things, think to get off wittily with their ignorance. Nay, they are esteemed the more learned, and sufficient for this, by the many, through their excellent vice of judgment. For they commend writers, as they do fencers or wrestlers; who if they come in robustuously, and put for it with a great deal of violence, are received for the braver fellows: when many times their own rudeness is the cause of their disgrace, and a little touch of their adversary gives all that boisterous force the foil. I deny not, but that these men, who always seek to do more than enough, may some time happen on some thing that is good, and great; but very seldom; and when it comes it doth not recompense the rest of their ill. It sticks out, perhaps, and is more eminent, because all is sordid and vile about it: as lights are more discerned in a thick darkness, than a faint shadow. I speak not this, out of a hope to do good to any man against his will; for I know, if it were put to the question of theirs and mine, the worse would find more suffrages: because the most favour common errors. But I give thee this warning, that there is a great difference between those, that, to gain the opinion of copy, utter all they can, however unfitly; and those that use election and a mean. For it is only the disease of the unskilful, to think rude things greater than polished; or scattered more numerous than composed.
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