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

worse.’ Of Gloucester’s treachery And of the loyal service of his son

When I inform’d him, then he call’d me sot 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, 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 pow’rs.

I must change arms at home and give the distaff 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. [Gives a favour.]

Spare speech.

Decline your head. This kiss, if it durst speak, Would stretch thy spirits up into the air.

Conceive, and fare thee well.

Edm. Yours in the ranks of death! Exit.

Gon. My most dear Gloucester!

O, the difference of man and man!

To thee a woman’s services are due;

My fool usurps my body.

Osw. Madam, here comes my lord. Exit.

 

Enter Albany.

 

Gon. I have been worth the whistle.

Alb. O Goneril,

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.

Gon. No more! The text is foolish.

Alb. Wisdom and goodness to the vile seem vile; 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 even the head-lugg’d 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 benefited!

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.

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 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 state begins to threat, Whiles thou, a moral fool, sit’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.

Gon. O vain fool!

Alb. Thou changed and self-cover’d 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.

Gon. Marry, your manhood mew!

 

Enter a Gentleman.

 

Alb. What news?

Gent. 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?

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

Alb. This shows you are above,

You justicers, that these our nether crimes So speedily can venge! But O poor Gloucester!

Lose he his other eye?

Gent. Both, both, my lord.

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 Upon my hateful life. Another way

The news is not so tart.- I’ll read, and answer.

Exit.

Alb. Where was his son when they did take his eyes?

Gent. Come with my lady hither.

Alb. He is not here.

Gent. No, my good lord; I met him back again.

Alb. Knows he the wickedness?

Gent. Ay, my good lord. ‘Twas he inform’d against him, And quit the house on purpose, that their punishment Might have the freer course.

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 know’st.

Exeunt.

 

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?

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 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 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, 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; Cried ‘Sisters, sisters! Shame of ladies! Sisters!

Kent! father! sisters! What, i’ th’ storm? i’ th’ night?

Let pity not be believ’d!’ There she shook The holy water from her heavenly eyes, And clamour moisten’d. 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 mate could not beget Such different issues. You spoke not with her since?

Gent. No.

Kent. Was this before the King return’d?

Gent. 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.

Gent. Why, good sir?

Kent. A sovereign shame so elbows him; his own unkindness, That stripp’d her from his benediction, turn’d 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.

Gent. Alack, poor gentleman!

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.

When I am known aright, you shall not grieve Lending me this acquaintance. I pray you go Along with me. Exeunt.

 

Scene IV.

The French camp.

 

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, With hardocks, hemlock, nettles, cuckoo flow’rs, 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.] What can man’s wisdom

In the restoring his bereaved sense?

He that helps him take all my outward worth.

Doct. 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.

Cor. All blest secrets,

All you unpublish’d virtues of the earth, 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 Messenger.

 

Mess. News, madam.

The British pow’rs 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.

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.

 

Scene V.

Gloucester’s Castle.

 

Enter Regan and [Oswald the] Steward.

 

Reg. But are my brother’s pow’rs set forth?

Osw. Ay, madam.

Reg. Himself in person there?

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?

Osw. I know not, lady.

Reg. 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’ enemy.

Osw. I must needs after him, madam, with my letter.

Reg. Our troops set forth tomorrow. Stay with us.

The ways are dangerous.

Osw. I may not, madam.

My lady charg’d my duty in this business.

Reg. 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.

Osw. Madam, I had rather—

Reg. I know your lady does not love her husband; I am sure of that; and at her late being here She gave strange eliads and most speaking looks To noble Edmund. I know you are of her bosom.

Osw. I, madam?

Reg. I speak in understanding. Y’are! I know’t.

Therefore I do advise you take this note.

My lord is dead; Edmund and I have talk’d, 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.

Osw. Would I could meet him, madam! I should show What party I do follow.

Reg. Fare thee well. Exeunt.

 

Scene VI.

The country near Dover.

 

Enter Gloucester, and Edgar [like a Peasant].

 

Glou. When shall I come to th’ top of that same hill?

Edg. You do climb up it now. Look how we labour.

Glou. Methinks the ground is even.

Edg. Horrible steep.

Hark, do you hear the sea?

Glou. No, truly.

Edg. Why, then, your other senses grow imperfect By your eyes’ anguish.

Glou. So may it be indeed.

Methinks thy voice is alter’d, and thou speak’st In better phrase and matter than thou didst.

Edg. Y’are much deceiv’d. In nothing am I chang’d But in my garments.

Glou. Methinks y’are better spoken.

Edg. 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 sampire-dreadful trade!

Methinks he seems no bigger than his head.

The fishermen that walk upon the beach Appear like mice; and yond tall anchoring bark, Diminish’d to her cock; her cock, a buoy Almost too small