The Complete Works of William Shakespeare, William Shakespeare [book recommendations based on other books txt] 📗

ago since I beat thee and tripp’d up thy heels before the King? [Draws his sword.] Draw, you rogue! for, though it be night, yet the moon shines. I’ll make a sop o’ th’

moonshine o’ you. Draw, you whoreson cullionly barbermonger!

draw!

Osw. Away! I have nothing to do with thee.

Kent. Draw, you rascal! You come with letters against the King, and take Vanity the puppet’s part against the royalty of her father.

Draw, you rogue, or I’ll so carbonado your shanks! Draw, you rascal! Come your ways!

Osw. Help, ho! murther! help!

Kent. Strike, you slave! Stand, rogue! Stand, you neat slave!

Strike! [Beats him.]

Osw. Help, ho! murther! murther!

 

Enter Edmund, with his rapier drawn, Gloucester, Cornwall, Regan, Servants.

 

Edm. How now? What’s the matter? Parts [them].

Kent. With you, goodman boy, an you please! Come, I’ll flesh ye!

Come on, young master!

Glou. Weapons? arms? What’s the matter here?

Corn. Keep peace, upon your lives!

He dies that strikes again. What is the matter?

Reg. The messengers from our sister and the King Corn. What is your difference? Speak.

Osw. I am scarce in breath, my lord.

Kent. No marvel, you have so bestirr’d your valour. You cowardly rascal, nature disclaims in thee; a tailor made thee.

Corn. Thou art a strange fellow. A tailor make a man?

Kent. Ay, a tailor, sir. A stonecutter or a painter could not have made him so ill, though he had been but two hours at the trade.

Corn. Speak yet, how grew your quarrel?

Osw. This ancient ruffian, sir, whose life I have spar’d At suit of his grey beard-Kent. Thou whoreson zed! thou unnecessary letter! My lord, if you’ll give me leave, I will tread this unbolted villain into mortar and daub the walls of a jakes with him. ‘Spare my grey beard,’ you wagtail?

Corn. Peace, sirrah!

You beastly knave, know you no reverence?

Kent. Yes, sir, but anger hath a privilege.

Corn. Why art thou angry?

Kent. That such a slave as this should wear a sword, Who wears no honesty. Such smiling rogues as these, Like rats, oft bite the holy cords atwain Which are too intrinse t’ unloose; smooth every passion That in the natures of their lords rebel, Bring oil to fire, snow to their colder moods; Renege, affirm, and turn their halcyon beaks With every gale and vary of their masters, Knowing naught (like dogs) but following.

A plague upon your epileptic visage!

Smile you my speeches, as I were a fool?

Goose, an I had you upon Sarum Plain, I’ld drive ye cackling home to Camelot.

Corn. What, art thou mad, old fellow?

Glou. How fell you out? Say that.

Kent. No contraries hold more antipathy Than I and such a knave.

Corn. Why dost thou call him knave? What is his fault?

Kent. His countenance likes me not.

Corn. No more perchance does mine, or his, or hers.

Kent. Sir, ‘tis my occupation to be plain.

I have seen better faces in my time

Than stands on any shoulder that I see Before me at this instant.

Corn. This is some fellow

Who, having been prais’d for bluntness, doth affect A saucy roughness, and constrains the garb Quite from his nature. He cannot flatter, he!

An honest mind and plain-he must speak truth!

An they will take it, so; if not, he’s plain.

These kind of knaves I know which in this plainness Harbour more craft and more corrupter ends Than twenty silly-ducking observants That stretch their duties nicely.

Kent. Sir, in good faith, in sincere verity, Under th’ allowance of your great aspect, Whose influence, like the wreath of radiant fire On flickering Phoebus’ front-Corn. What mean’st by this?

Kent. To go out of my dialect, which you discommend so much. I know, sir, I am no flatterer. He that beguil’d you in a plain accent was a plain knave, which, for my part, I will not be, though I should win your displeasure to entreat me to’t.

Corn. What was th’ offence you gave him?

Osw. I never gave him any.

It pleas’d the King his master very late To strike at me, upon his misconstruction; When he, conjunct, and flattering his displeasure, Tripp’d me behind; being down, insulted, rail’d And put upon him such a deal of man

That worthied him, got praises of the King For him attempting who was self-subdu’d; And, in the fleshment of this dread exploit, Drew on me here again.

Kent. None of these rogues and cowards

But Ajax is their fool.

Corn. Fetch forth the stocks!

You stubborn ancient knave, you reverent braggart, We’ll teach you-Kent. Sir, I am too old to learn.

Call not your stocks for me. I serve the King; On whose employment I was sent to you.

You shall do small respect, show too bold malice Against the grace and person of my master, Stocking his messenger.

Corn. Fetch forth the stocks! As I have life and honour, There shall he sit till noon.

Reg. Till noon? Till night, my lord, and all night too!

Kent. Why, madam, if I were your father’s dog, You should not use me so.

Reg. Sir, being his knave, I will.

Corn. This is a fellow of the selfsame colour Our sister speaks of. Come, bring away the stocks!

Stocks brought out.

Glou. Let me beseech your Grace not to do so.

His fault is much, and the good King his master Will check him for’t. Your purpos’d low correction Is such as basest and contemn’dest wretches For pilf’rings and most common trespasses Are punish’d with. The King must take it ill That he, so slightly valued in his messenger, Should have him thus restrain’d.

Corn. I’ll answer that.

Reg. My sister may receive it much more worse, To have her gentleman abus’d, assaulted, For following her affairs. Put in his legs.-

[Kent is put in the stocks.]

Come, my good lord, away.

Exeunt [all but Gloucester and Kent].

Glou. I am sorry for thee, friend. ‘Tis the Duke’s pleasure, Whose disposition, all the world well knows, Will not be rubb’d nor stopp’d. I’ll entreat for thee.

Kent. Pray do not, sir. I have watch’d and travell’d hard.

Some time I shall sleep out, the rest I’ll whistle.

A good man’s fortune may grow out at heels.

Give you good morrow!

Glou. The Duke ‘s to blame in this; ‘twill be ill taken.

Exit.

Kent. Good King, that must approve the common saw, Thou out of heaven’s benediction com’st To the warm sun!

Approach, thou beacon to this under globe, That by thy comfortable beams I may

Peruse this letter. Nothing almost sees miracles But misery. I know ‘tis from Cordelia, Who hath most fortunately been inform’d Of my obscured course-and [reads] ‘shall find time From this enormous state, seeking to give Losses their remedies’- All weary and o’erwatch’d, Take vantage, heavy eyes, not to behold This shameful lodging.

Fortune, good night; smile once more, turn thy wheel.

Sleeps.

 

Scene III.

The open country.

 

Enter Edgar.

 

Edg. I heard myself proclaim’d,

And by the happy hollow of a tree

Escap’d the hunt. No port is free, no place That guard and most unusual vigilance Does not attend my taking. Whiles I may scape, I will preserve myself; and am bethought To take the basest and most poorest shape That ever penury, in contempt of man, Brought near to beast. My face I’ll grime with filth, Blanket my loins, elf all my hair in knots, And with presented nakedness outface The winds and persecutions of the sky.

The country gives me proof and precedent Of Bedlam beggars, who, with roaring voices, Strike in their numb’d and mortified bare arms Pins, wooden pricks, nails, sprigs of rosemary; And with this horrible object, from low farms, Poor pelting villages, sheepcotes, and mills, Sometime with lunatic bans, sometime with prayers, Enforce their charity. ‘Poor Turlygod! poor Tom!’

That’s something yet! Edgar I nothing am. Exit.

 

Scene IV.

Before Gloucester’s Castle; Kent in the stocks.

 

Enter Lear, Fool, and Gentleman.

 

Lear. ‘Tis strange that they should so depart from home, And not send back my messenger.

Gent. As I learn’d,

The night before there was no purpose in them Of this remove.

Kent. Hail to thee, noble master!

Lear. Ha!

Mak’st thou this shame thy pastime?

Kent. No, my lord.

Fool. Ha, ha! look! he wears cruel garters. Horses are tied by the head, dogs and bears by th’ neck, monkeys by th’ loins, and men by th’ legs. When a man’s over-lusty at legs, then he wears wooden nether-stocks.

Lear. What’s he that hath so much thy place mistook To set thee here?

Kent. It is both he and she—

Your son and daughter.

Lear. No.

Kent. Yes.

Lear. No, I say.

Kent. I say yea.

Lear. No, no, they would not!

Kent. Yes, they have.

Lear. By Jupiter, I swear no!

Kent. By Juno, I swear ay!

Lear. They durst not do’t;

They would not, could not do’t. ‘Tis worse than murther To do upon respect such violent outrage.

Resolve me with all modest haste which way Thou mightst deserve or they impose this usage, Coming from us.

Kent. My lord, when at their home

I did commend your Highness’ letters to them, Ere I was risen from the place that show’d My duty kneeling, came there a reeking post, Stew’d in his haste, half breathless, panting forth From Goneril his mistress salutations; Deliver’d letters, spite of intermission, Which presently they read; on whose contents, They summon’d up their meiny, straight took horse, Commanded me to follow and attend

The leisure of their answer, gave me cold looks, And meeting here the other messenger, Whose welcome I perceiv’d had poison’d mine-Being the very fellow which of late

Display’d so saucily against your Highness-Having more man than wit about me, drew.

He rais’d the house with loud and coward cries.

Your son and daughter found this trespass worth The shame which here it suffers.

Fool. Winter’s not gone yet, if the wild geese fly that way.

 

Fathers that wear rags

Do make their children blind; But fathers that bear bags

Shall see their children kind.

Fortune, that arrant whore,

Ne’er turns the key to th’ poor.

 

But for all this, thou shalt have as many dolours for thy daughters as thou canst tell in a year.

Lear. O, how this mother swells up toward my heart!

Hysterica passio! Down, thou climbing sorrow!

Thy element’s below! Where is this daughter?

Kent. With the Earl, sir, here within.

Lear. Follow me not;

Stay here. Exit.

Gent. Made you no more offence but what you speak of?

Kent. None.

How chance the King comes with so small a number?

Fool. An thou hadst been set i’ th’ stocks for that question, thou’dst well deserv’d it.

Kent. Why, fool?

Fool. We’ll set thee to school to an ant, to teach thee there’s no labouring i’ th’ winter. All that follow their noses are led by their eyes but blind men, and there’s not a nose among twenty but can smell him that’s stinking. Let go thy hold when a great wheel runs down a hill, lest it break thy neck with following it; but the great one that goes upward, let him draw thee after.

When a wise man gives thee better counsel, give me mine again. I would have none but knaves follow it, since a fool gives it.

That sir which serves and seeks for gain, And follows but for form,

Will pack when it begins to rain And leave thee in the storm.

But I will tarry; the fool will stay, And let the wise man fly.

The knave turns fool that runs away; The fool no knave, perdy.

Kent. Where learn’d you this, fool?

Fool. Not i’ th’ stocks, fool.

 

Enter Lear and Gloucester Lear. Deny to speak with me? They are