The Oxford Shakespeare: The Complete Works

by William Shakespeare

  If they not thought the profits of my death

  Were very pregnant and potential spurs

  To make thee seek it.’

  GLOUCESTER Strong and fastened villain!

  Would he deny his letter? I never got him.

  Trumpets within

  Hark, the Duke’s trumpets. I know not why he comes.

  All ports I’ll bar. The villain shall not scape.

  The Duke must grant me that; besides, his picture

  I will send far and near, that all the kingdom

  May have note of him—and of my land,

  Loyal and natural boy, I’ll work the means

  To make thee capable.

  Enter the Duke of Cornwall and Regan

  CORNWALL

  How now, my noble friend? Since I came hither,

  Which I can call but now, I have heard strange news.

  REGAN

  If it be true, all vengeance comes too short

  Which can pursue the offender. How dost, my lord?

  GLOUCESTER

  Madam, my old heart is cracked, is cracked.

  REGAN

  What, did my father’s godson seek your life?

  He whom my father named, your Edgar?

  GLOUCESTER

  Ay, lady, lady; shame would have it hid.

  REGAN

  Was he not companion with the riotous knights

  That tend upon my father?

  GLOUCESTER

  I know not, madam. ’Tis too bad, too bad.

  EDMUND Yes, madam, he was.

  REGAN

  No marvel, then, though he were ill affected.

  ’Tis they have put him on the old man’s death,

  To have the spoil and waste of his revenues.

  I have this present evening from my sister

  Been well informed of them, and with such cautions

  That if they come to sojourn at my house

  I’ll not be there.

  CORNWALL Nor I, assure thee, Regan.

  Edmund, I heard that you have shown your father

  A childlike office.

  EDMUND ’Twas my duty, sir.

  GLOUCESTER (to Cornwall)

  He did betray his practice, and received

  This hurt you see striving to apprehend him.

  CORNWALL

  Is he pursued?

  GLOUCESTER Ay, my good lord.

  CORNWALL

  If he be taken, he shall never more

  Be feared of doing harm. Make your own purpose

  How in my strength you please. For you, Edmund,

  Whose virtue and obedience doth this instant

  So much commend itself, you shall be ours.

  Natures of such deep trust we shall much need.

  You we first seize on.

  EDMUND I shall serve you truly,

  However else.

  GLOUCESTER (to Cornwall) For him I thank your grace.

  CORNWALL

  You know not why we came to visit you—

  REGAN

  This out-of-season threat’ning dark-eyed night-

  Occasions, noble Gloucester, of some poise,

  Wherein we must have use of your advice.

  Our father he hath writ, so hath our sister,

  Of differences which I least thought it fit

  To answer from our home. The several messengers

  From hence attend dispatch. Our good old friend,

  Lay comforts to your bosom, and bestow

  Your needful counsel to our business,

  Which craves the instant use.

  GLOUCESTER I serve you, madam.

  Your graces are right welcome.

  Exeunt

  Sc. 7 Enter the Earl of Kent, disguised, at one door, and Oswald the steward, at another door

  OSWALD Good even to thee, friend. Art of the house?

  KENT Ay.

  OSWALD Where may we set our horses?

  KENT I’th’ mire.

  OSWALD Prithee, if thou love me, tell me.

  KENT I love thee not.

  OSWALD Why then, I care not for thee.

  KENT If I had thee in Lipsbury pinfold I would make thee care for me.

  OSWALD Why dost thou use me thus? I know thee not.

  KENT Fellow, I know thee.

  OSWALD What dost thou know me for?

  KENT A knave, a rascal, an eater of broken meats, a base, proud, shallow, beggarly, three-suited, hundred-pound, filthy worsted-stocking knave; a lily-livered, action-taking knave; a whoreson, glass-gazing, superfinical rogue; one-trunk-inheriting slave; one that wouldst be a bawd in way of good service, and art nothing but the composition of a knave, beggar, coward, pander, and the son and heir of a mongrel bitch, whom I will beat into clamorous whining if thou deny the least syllable of the addition.

  OSWALD What a monstrous fellow art thou, thus to rail on one that’s neither known of thee nor knows thee!

  KENT What a brazen-faced varlet art thou, to deny thou knowest me! Is it two days ago since I beat thee and tripped up thy heels before the King? Draw, you rogue; for though it be night, the moon shines.

  ⌈He draws his sword⌉

  I’ll make a sop of the moonshine o’ you. Draw, you whoreson, cullionly barber-monger, draw!

  OSWALD Away. I have nothing to do with thee.

  KENT Draw, you rascal. You bring 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!

  OSWALD Help, ho, murder, help!

  KENT Strike, you slave! Stand, rogue! Stand, you neat slave, strike!

  OSWALD Help, ho, murder, help!

  Enter Edmund the bastard with his rapier drawn, ⌈then⌉ the Duke of Gloucester, ⌈then⌉ the Duke of Cornwall and Regan the Duchess

  EDMUND ⌈parting them⌉ How now, what’s the matter?

  KENT With you, goodman boy. An you please come, I’ll flesh you. Come on, young master.

  GLOUCESTER Weapons? Arms? What’s the matter here?

  CORNWALL Keep peace, upon your lives. He dies that strikes again. What’s the matter?

  REGAN The messengers from our sister and the King.

  CORNWALL (to Kent and Oswald) What’s your difference? Speak.

  OSWALD I am scarce in breath, my lord.

  KENT No marvel, you have so bestirred your valour, you cowardly rascal. Nature disclaims in thee; a tailor made thee.

  CORNWALL Thou art a strange fellow—a tailor make a man?

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

  GLOUCESTER Speak yet; how grew your quarrel?

  OSWALD This ancient ruffian, sir, whose life I have spared at suit of his grey beard—

  KENT Thou whoreson Z, thou unnecessary letter—(to Cornwall) my lord, if you’ll give me leave I will tread this unboulted villain into mortar and daub the walls of a jakes with him. (To Oswald) Spare my grey beard, you wagtail?

  CORNWALL

  Peace, sir. You beastly knave, have you no reverence?

  KENT

  Yes, sir, but anger has a privilege.

  CORNWALL Why art thou angry?

  KENT

  That such a slave as this should wear a sword,

  That wears no honesty. Such smiling rogues

  As these, like rats, oft bite those cords in twain

  Which are too entrenched to 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.

  (To Oswald) A plague upon your epileptic visage!

  Smile you my speeches as I were a fool?

  Goose, an I had you upon Sarum Plain

  I’d send you cackling h
ome to Camelot.

  CORNWALL

  What, art thou mad, old fellow?

  GLOUCESTER ⌈to Kent⌉ How fell you out? Say that.

  KENT

  No contraries hold more antipathy

  Than I and such a knave.

  CORNWALL Why dost thou call him knave?

  What’s his offence?

  KENT His countenance likes me not.

  CORNWALL

  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.

  CORNWALL This is a fellow

  Who, having been praised for bluntness, doth affect

  A saucy roughness, and constrains the garb

  Quite from his nature. He cannot flatter, he.

  He must be plain, he must speak truth.

  An they will take’t, 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 sooth, or in sincere verity,

  Under the allowance of your grand aspect,

  Whose influence, like the wreath of radiant fire

  In flickering Phoebus’ front—

  CORNWALL What mean’st thou by this?

  KENT To go out of my dialect, which you discommend so much. I know, sir, I am no flatterer. He that beguiled 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.

  CORNWALL (to Oswald)

  What’s the offence you gave him?

  OSWALD I never gave him any.

  It pleased the King his master very late

  To strike at me upon his misconstruction,

  When he, conjunct, and flattering his displeasure,

  Tripped me behind; being down, insulted, railed,

  And put upon him such a deal of man that

  That worthied him, got praises of the King

  For him attempting who was self-subdued,

  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.

  CORNWALL ⌈calling⌉ Bring forth the stocks, ho!—

  You stubborn, ancient knave, you reverend braggart,

  We’ll teach you.

  KENT I am too old to learn.

  Call not your stocks for me. I serve the King,

  On whose employments I was sent to you.

  You should do small respect, show too bold malice

  Against the grace and person of my master,

  Stocking his messenger.

  CORNWALL ⌈calling⌉ Fetch forth the stocks!—

  As I have life and honour, there shall he sit till noon.

  REGAN

  Till noon?—till night, my lord, and all night too.

  KENT

  Why, madam, if I were your father’s dog

  You could not use me so.

  REGAN Sir, being his knave, I will.

  ⌈Stocks brought out⌉

  CORNWALL

  This is a fellow of the selfsame nature

  Our sister speaks of.—Come, bring away the stocks.

  GLOUCESTER

  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 purposed low correction

  Is such as basest and contemnèd wretches

  For pilf’rings and most common trespasses

  Are punished with. The King must take it ill

  That he’s so slightly valued in his messenger,

  Should have him thus restrained.

  CORNWALL I’ll answer that.

  REGAN

  My sister may receive it much more worse

  To have her gentlemen abused, assaulted,

  For following her affairs. Put in his legs.

  They put Kent in the stocks

  Come, my good lord, away!

  Exeunt all but Gloucester and Kent

  GLOUCESTER

  I am sorry for thee, friend. ’Tis the Duke’s pleasure,

  Whose disposition, all the world well knows,

  Will not be rubbed nor stopped. I’ll entreat for thee.

  KENT

  Pray you, do not, sir. I have watched and travelled

  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.

  GLOUCESTER

  The Duke’s to blame in this; ’twill be ill took.

  Exit

  KENT

  Good King, that must approve the common say:

  Thou out of heaven’s benediction com’st

  To the warm sun.

  ⌈He takes out a letter⌉

  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 now fortunately been informed

  Of my obscured course, and shall find time

  For this enormous state, seeking to give

  Losses their remedies. All weary and overwatched,

  Take vantage, heavy eyes, not to behold

  This shameful lodging. Fortune, good night;

  Smile; once more turn thy wheel.

  He sleeps

  Enter Edgar

  EDGAR I heard myself proclaimed,

  And by the happy hollow of a tree

  Escaped the hunt. No port is free, no place

  That guard and most unusual vigilance

  Does not attend my taking. While 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 with knots,

  And with presented nakedness outface

  The wind and persecution of the sky.

  The country gives me proof and precedent

  Of Bedlam beggars who with roaring voices

  Strike in their numbed and mortified bare arms

  Pins, wooden pricks, nails, sprigs of rosemary,

  And with this horrible object from low farms,

  Poor pelting villages, sheep-cotes and mills

  Sometime with lunatic bans, sometime with prayers

  Enforce their charity. ‘Poor Tuelygod, Poor Tom!’

  That’s something yet. Edgar I nothing am.

  Exit

  Enter King Lear, his Fool, and a Knight

  LEAR

  ’Tis strange that they should so depart from home

  And not send back my messenger.

  KNIGHT As I learned,

  The night before there was no purpose

  Of his remove.

  KENT (waking) Hail to thee, noble master.

  LEAR

  How! Mak’st thou this shame thy pastime?

  FOOL Ha, ha, look, he wears cruel garters! Horses are tied by the heads, 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 (to Kent)

  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. They durst not do‘t,

  They would not, could not do’t. ’Tis worse than murder,

  To do upon respect such violent outrage.

  Resolve me with all modest haste which way

  Thou mayst deserve or they propose 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 showed

  My duty kneeling, came there a reeking post

  Stewed in his haste, half breathless, panting forth

  From Gonoril, his mistress, salutations,

  Delivered letters spite of intermission,

  Which presently they read, on whose contents

  They summoned 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 perceived had poisoned mine—

  Being the very fellow that of late

  Displayed so saucily against your highness—

  Having more man than wit about me, drew.

  He raised the house with loud and coward cries.

  Your son and daughter found this trespass worth

  This shame which here it suffers.

  LEAR

  O, how this mother swells up toward my heart!

  Histerica passio, down, thou climbing sorrow;

  Thy element’s betow.—Where is this daughter?

  KENT

  With the Earl, sir, within.

  LEAR Follow me not; stay there.

  Exit

  KNIGHT (to Kent)

  Made you no more offence than what you speak of?

  KENT

  No. How chance the King comes with so small a train?

  FOOL An thou hadst been set in the stocks for that question, thou hadst well deserved it.

  KENT Why, fool?

  FOOL We’ll set thee to school to an ant, to teach thee there’s no labouring in the winter. All that follow their noses are led by their eyes but blind men, and there’s not a nose among a hundred 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 up the hill, 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.

  ⌈Sings⌉That sir that serves for gain And follows but for form,

  Will pack when it begin to rain,

  And leave thee in the storm.