King Lear, William Shakespeare [android e book reader .TXT] 📗

sea:

It was some fiend; therefore, thou happy father,

Think that the clearest gods, who make them honours

Of men’s impossibility, have preserv’d thee.

 

Glou.

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 ‘twould say,

‘The fiend, the fiend’:—he led me to that place.

 

Edg.

Bear free and patient thoughts.—But who comes here?

 

[Enter Lear, fantastically dressed up with flowers.]

 

The safer sense will ne’er accommodate

His master thus.

 

Lear.

No, they cannot touch me for coining;

I am the king himself.

 

Edg.

O thou side-piercing sight!

 

Lear.

Nature ‘s 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 piece

of toasted cheese will do’t. There’s my gauntlet; I’ll prove it

on a giant.—Bring up the brown bills. O, well flown, bird!—i’

the clout, i’ the clout: hewgh!—Give the word.

 

Edg.

Sweet marjoram.

 

Lear.

Pass.

 

Glou.

I know that voice.

 

Lear.

Ha! Goneril with a white beard!—They flattered me like a dog;

and told me I had white hairs in my beard ere the black ones were

there. To say ‘ay’ and ‘no’ to everything I said!—‘Ay’ and ‘no’,

too, was no good divinity. When the rain came to wet me once, and

the wind to make me chatter; when the thunder would not peace at

my bidding; there I found ‘em, there I smelt ‘em out. Go to, they

are not men o’ their words: they told me I was everything; ‘tis a

lie—I am not ague-proof.

 

Glou.

The trick of that voice I do well remember:

Is’t not the king?

 

Lear.

Ay, every inch a king:

When I do stare, see how the subject quakes.

I pardon that man’s life.—What was thy cause?—

Adultery?—

Thou shalt not die: die for adultery! No:

The wren goes to’t, and the small gilded fly

Does lecher in my sight.

Let copulation thrive; for Gloster’s bastard son

Was kinder to his father than my daughters

Got ‘tween the lawful sheets.

To’t, luxury, pell-mell! for I lack soldiers.—

Behold yond simpering dame,

Whose face between her forks presages snow;

That minces virtue, and does shake the head

To hear of pleasure’s name;—

The fitchew nor the soiled horse goes to’t

With a more riotous appetite.

Down from the waist they are centaurs,

Though women all above:

But to the girdle do the gods inherit,

Beneath is all the fiend’s; there’s hell, there’s darkness,

There is the sulphurous pit; burning, scalding, stench,

consumption; fie, fie, fie! pah, pah!

Give me an ounce of civet, good apothecary, to sweeten my

imagination: there’s money for thee.

 

Glou.

O, let me kiss that hand!

 

Lear.

Let me wipe it first; it smells of mortality.

 

Glou.

O ruin’d piece of nature! This great world

Shall so wear out to naught.—Dost thou know me?

 

Lear.

I remember thine eyes well enough. Dost thou squiny at me?

No, do thy worst, blind Cupid; I’ll not love.—Read thou this

challenge; mark but the penning of it.

 

Glou.

Were all the letters suns, I could not see one.

 

Edg.

I would not take this from report;—it is,

And my heart breaks at it.

 

Lear.

Read.

 

Glou.

What, with the case of eyes?

 

Lear.

O, ho, are you there with me? No eyes in your head, nor no money

in your purse? Your eyes are in a heavy case, your purse in a

light: yet you see how this world goes.

 

Glou.

I see it feelingly.

 

Lear.

What, art mad? A man may see how the world goes with no eyes.

Look with thine ears: see how yond justice rails upon yond simple

thief. Hark, in thine ear: change places; and, handy-dandy, which

is the justice, which is the thief?—Thou hast seen a farmer’s

dog bark at a beggar?

 

Glou.

Ay, sir.

 

Lear.

And the creature run from the cur? There thou mightst behold

the great image of authority: a dog’s obeyed in office.—

Thou rascal beadle, hold thy bloody hand!

Why dost thou lash that whore? Strip thine own back;

Thou hotly lust’st to use her in that kind

For which thou whipp’st her. The usurer hangs the cozener.

Through tatter’d clothes small vices do appear;

Robes and furr’d gowns hide all. Plate sin with gold,

And the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks;

Arm it in rags, a pygmy’s straw does pierce it.

None does offend, none.—I say none; I’ll able ‘em:

Take that of me, my friend, who have the power

To seal the accuser’s lips. Get thee glass eyes;

And, like a scurvy politician, seem

To see the things thou dost not.—Now, now, now, now:

Pull off my boots: harder, harder:—so.

 

Edg.

O, matter and impertinency mix’d!

Reason, in madness!

 

Lear.

If thou wilt weep my fortunes, take my eyes.

I know thee well enough; thy name is Gloster:

Thou must be patient; we came crying hither:

Thou know’st, the first time that we smell the air

We wawl and cry.—I will preach to thee: mark.

 

Glou.

Alack, alack the day!

 

Lear.

When we are born, we cry that we are come

To this great stage of fools—This’ a good block:—

It were a delicate stratagem to shoe

A troop of horse with felt: I’ll put’t in proof,;

And when I have stol’n upon these sons-in-law,

Then kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill!

 

[Enter a Gentleman, with Attendants].

 

Gent.

O, here he is: lay hand upon him.—Sir,

Your most dear daughter,—

 

Lear.

No rescue? What, a prisoner? I am even

The natural fool of fortune.—Use me well;

You shall have ransom. Let me have surgeons;

I am cut to the brains.

 

Gent.

You shall have anything.

 

Lear.

No seconds? all myself?

Why, this would make a man a man of salt,

To use his eyes for garden water-pots,

Ay, and for laying Autumn’s dust.

 

Gent.

Good sir,—

 

Lear.

I will die bravely, like a smug bridegroom. What!

I will be jovial: come, come, I am a king,

My masters, know you that.

 

Gent.

You are a royal one, and we obey you.

 

Lear.

Then there’s life in’t. Nay, an you get it, you shall get it

by running. Sa, sa, sa, sa!

 

[Exit running. Attendants follow.]

 

Gent.

A sight most pitiful in the meanest wretch,

Past speaking of in a king!—Thou hast one daughter

Who redeems nature from the general curse

Which twain have brought her to.

 

Edg.

Hail, gentle sir.

 

Gent.

Sir, speed you. What’s your will?

 

Edg.

Do you hear aught, sir, of a battle toward?

 

Gent.

Most sure and vulgar: every one hears that

Which can distinguish sound.

 

Edg.

But, by your favour,

How near’s the other army?

 

Gent.

Near and on speedy foot; the main descry

Stands on the hourly thought.

 

Edg.

I thank you sir: that’s all.

 

Gent.

Though that the queen on special cause is here,

Her army is mov’d on.

 

Edg.

I thank you, sir.

 

[Exit Gentleman.]

 

Glou.

You ever-gentle gods, take my breath from me;

Let not my worser spirit tempt me again

To die before you please!

 

Edg.

Well pray you, father.

 

Glou.

Now, good sir, what are you?

 

Edg.

A most poor man, made tame to fortune’s blows;

Who, by the art of known and feeling sorrows,

Am pregnant to good pity. Give me your hand,

I’ll lead you to some biding.

 

Glou.

Hearty thanks:

The bounty and the benison of heaven

To boot, and boot!

 

[Enter Oswald.]

 

Osw.

A proclaim’d prize! Most happy!

That eyeless head of thine was first fram’d flesh

To raise my fortunes.—Thou old unhappy traitor,

Briefly thyself remember:—the sword is out

That must destroy thee.

 

Glou.

Now let thy friendly hand

Put strength enough to it.

 

[Edgar interposes.]

 

Osw.

Wherefore, bold peasant,

Dar’st thou support a publish’d traitor? Hence;

Lest that the infection of his fortune take

Like hold on thee. Let go his arm.

 

Edg.

Chill not let go, zir, without vurther ‘casion.

 

Osw.

Let go, slave, or thou diest!

 

Edg.

Good gentleman, go your gait, and let poor voke pass. An chud

ha’ bin zwaggered out of my life, ‘twould not ha’ bin zo long as

‘tis by a vortnight. Nay, come not near the old man; keep out,

che vore ye, or ise try whether your costard or my bat be the

harder: chill be plain with you.

 

Osw.

Out, dunghill!

 

Edg.

Chill pick your teeth, zir. Come! No matter vor your foins.

 

[They fight, and Edgar knocks him down.]

 

Osw.

Slave, thou hast slain me:—villain, take my purse:

If ever thou wilt thrive, bury my body;

And give the letters which thou find’st about me

To Edmund Earl of Gloster; seek him out

Upon the British party: O, untimely death!

[Dies.]

 

Edg.

I know thee well: a serviceable villain;

As duteous to the vices of thy mistress

As badness would desire.

 

Glou.

What, is he dead?

 

Edg.

Sit you down, father; rest you.—

Let’s see these pockets; the letters that he speaks of

May be my friends.—He’s dead; I am only sorry

He had no other death’s-man. Let us see:—

Leave, gentle wax; and, manners, blame us not:

To know our enemies’ minds, we’d rip their hearts;

Their papers is more lawful.

[Reads.] ‘Let our reciprocal vows be remembered. You have many

opportunities to cut him off: if your will want not, time and

place will be fruitfully offered. There is nothing done if he

return the conqueror: then am I the prisoner, and his bed my

gaol; from the loathed warmth whereof deliver me, and supply the

place for your labour.

‘Your (wife, so I would say) affectionate servant,

‘Goneril.’

O indistinguish’d space of woman’s will!

A plot upon her virtuous husband’s life;

And the exchange my brother!—Here in the sands

Thee I’ll rake up, the post unsanctified

Of murderous lechers: and in the mature time

With this ungracious paper strike the sight

Of the death-practis’d duke: for him ‘tis well

That of thy death and business I can tell.

 

[Exit Edgar, dragging out the body.]

 

Glou.

The king is mad: how stiff is my vile sense,

That I stand up, and have ingenious feeling

Of my huge sorrows! Better I were distract:

So should my thoughts be sever’d from my griefs,

And woes by wrong imaginations lose

The knowledge of themselves.

 

Edg.

Give me your hand:

[A drum afar off.]

Far off methinks I hear the beaten drum:

Come, father, I’ll bestow you with a friend.

 

[Exeunt.]

 

Scene VII. A Tent in the French Camp. Lear on a bed, asleep, soft

music playing; Physician, Gentleman, and others attending.

 

[Enter Cordelia, and Kent.]

 

Cor.

O thou good Kent, how shall I live and work

To match thy goodness? My life will be too short

And every measure fail me.

 

Kent.

To be acknowledg’d, madam, is o’erpaid.

All my reports go with the modest truth;

Nor more nor clipp’d, but so.

 

Cor.

Be better suited:

These weeds are memories of those worser hours:

I pr’ythee, put them off.

 

Kent.

Pardon, dear madam;

Yet to be known shortens my made intent:

My boon I make it that you know me not

Till time and I think meet.

 

Cor.

Then be’t so, my good lord. [To the Physician.] How, does the

king?

 

Phys.

Madam, sleeps still.

 

Cor.

O you kind gods,

Cure this great breach in his abused nature!

The untun’d and jarring senses, O, wind up

Of