The Oxford Shakespeare: The Complete Works

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The Oxford Shakespeare: The Complete Works Page 301

by William Shakespeare

To thee a woman’s services are due;

  My foot usurps my body.

  OSWALD Madam, here comes my lord.

  Exit

  Enter the Duke of Albany

  GONORIL

  I have been worth the whistling.

  ALBANY O Gonoril,

  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.

  GONORIL No more. The text is foolish.

  ALBANY

  Wisdom and goodness to the vile seem vile;

  Filths savour but themselves. What have you done?

  Tigers, not daughters, what have you performed?

  A father, and a gracious, aged man,

  Whose reverence even the head-lugged 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 benefacted?

  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.

  GONORIL Milk-livered 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 punished

  Ere they have done their mischief: where’s thy drum?

  France spreads his banners in our noiseless land,

  With plumed helm thy flaxen biggin threats,

  Whiles thou, a moral fool, sits still and cries

  ‘Alack, why does he so?’

  ALBANY See thyself, devil.

  Proper deformity shows not in the fiend

  So horrid as in woman.

  GONORIL O vain fool! 60

  ALBANY

  Thou changed and self-covered 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.

  GONORIL Marry your manhood, mew—

  Enter ⌈Second⌉ Gentleman

  ALBANY What news?

  ⌈SECOND⌉ GENTLEMAN

  O my good lord, the Duke of Cornwall’s dead,

  Slain by his servant going to put out

  The other eye of Gloucester.

  ALBANY Gloucester’s eyes?

  ⌈FSECOND⌉ GENTLEMAN

  A servant that he bred, thralled with remorse,

  Opposed against the act, bending his sword

  To his great master, who thereat enraged

  Flew on him, and amongst them felled him dead,

  But not without that harmful stroke which since

  Hath plucked him after.

  ALBANY This shows you are above,

  You justicers, that these our nether crimes

  So speedily can venge. But O, poor Gloucester!

  Lost he his other eye?

  ⌈SECOND⌉ GENTLEMAN Both, both, my lord. 80

  (To Gonoril) This letter, madam, craves a speedy

  answer.

  ’Tis from your sister.

  GONORIL (aside) One way I like this well;

  But being widow, and my Gloucester with her,

  May all the building on my fancy pluck

  Upon my hateful life. Another way

  The news is not so took.—I’ll read and answer. Exit

  ALBANY

  Where was his son when they did take his eyes?

  ⌈ECOND⌉GENTLEMAN

  Come with my lady hither.

  ALBANY He is not here.

  ⌈ECOND⌉GENTLEMAN

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

  ALBANY Knows he the wickedness? 90

  ⌈ECOND⌉GENTLEMAN

  Ay, my good lord; ’twas he informed against him,

  And quit the house on purpose that their punishment

  Might have the freer course.

  ALBANY Gloucester, I live

  To thank thee for the love thou showed’st the King,

  And to revenge thy eyes.—Come hither, friend

  Tell me what more thou knowest. Exeunt

  Sc. 17 Enter the Earl of Kent disguised, and ⌈First⌉ Gentleman

  KENT Why the King of France is so suddenly gone back know you no reason?

  ⌈FIRST⌉ GENTLEMAN

  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?

  ⌈IRST⌉ NTLEMAN

  The Maréchal of France, Monsieur la Far.

  KENT Did your letters pierce the Queen to any demonstration of grief? II

  ⌈IRST⌉ ENTLEMAN

  Ay, sir. She took them, read them in my presence,

  And now and then an ample tear trilled down

  Her delicate cheek. It seemed she was a queen

  Over her passion who, most rebel-like,

  Sought to be king o’er her.

  KENT O, then it moved her.

  ⌈IRST⌉GENTLEMAN

  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 played on her ripe lip seemed not to know

  What guests were in her eyes, which parted thence

  As pearls from diamonds dropped. In brief,

  Sorrow would be a rarity most beloved

  If all could so become it.

  KENT Made she no verbal question?

  ⌈IRST⌉ ENTLEMAN

  Faith, once or twice she heaved the name of ‘father’

  Pantingly forth as if it pressed her heart,

  Cried ‘Sisters, sisters, shame of ladies, sisters,

  Kent, father, sisters, what, i‘th’ storm, i’th’ night,

  Let piety not be believed!’ There she shook

  The holy water from her heavenly eyes

  And clamour mastered, 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 make could not beget

  Such different issues. You spoke not with her since?

  ⌈IRST⌉ ENTLEMAN No.

  KENT

  Was this before the King returned?

  ⌈IRST⌉ ENTLEMAN 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.

  ⌈IRST⌉ NTLEMAN Why, good sir?

  KENT

  A sovereign shame so elbows him: his own unkindness,

  That stripped her from his benediction, turned 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.

  ⌈IRST⌉ ENTLEMAN Alack, poor gentleman!

  KENT

  Of Albany’s and Cornwall’s powers you heard not?

  ⌈IRST⌉ ENTLEMAN ’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 a while.

  When I am known aright you shall not grieve

  Lending me this acquaintance. I pray you go

  Along with me. Exeunt

  Sc. 18 Enter Queen Cordelia, a Doctor, and others

  CORDELIA

  Alack, ’tis he! Why, he was met even now,

  As mad as the racked sea, singing aloud,

  Crowned with rank fumitor and furrow-weeds,

  With burdocks, hemlock, nettles, cuckoo-flowers,

  Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow

  In our sustaining corn. The centuries send forth.

  Search every acre in the high-grown field,

  And bring him to our eye.

  ⌈Exit one or more⌉

  What can man’s wisdom

  In the restoring his bereaved sense,

  He that can help him

  Take all my outward worth.

  DOCTOR 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.

  CORDELIA All blest secrets,

  All you unpublished virtues of the earth,

  Spring with my tears, be aidant and remediate

  In the good man’s distress!—Seek, seek for him,

  Lest his ungoverned rage dissolve the life

  That wants the means to lead it.

  Enter a Messenger

  MESSENGER News, madam.

  The British powers are marching hitherward.

  CORDELIA

  ’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 aged father’s right.

  Soon may I hear and see him! Exeunt

  Sc. 19 Enter Regan and Oswald, Gonoril’s steward

  REGAN

  But are my brother’s powers set forth?

  OSWALD Ay, madam.

  REGAN

  Himself in person?

  OSWALD Madam, with much ado.

  Your sister is the better soldier.

  REGAN

  Lord Edmund spake not with your lord at home?

  OSWALD No, madam.

  REGAN

  What might import my sister’s letters to him?

  OSWALD I know not, lady.

  REGAN

  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’ army.

  OSWALD

  I must needs after with my letters, madam.

  REGAN

  Our troop sets forth tomorrow. Stay with us.

  The ways are dangerous.

  OSWALD I may not, madam.

  My lady charged my duty in this business.

  REGAN

  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.

  OSWALD Madam, I’d rather—

  REGAN

  I know your lady does not love her husband.

  I am sure of that, and at her late being here

  She gave strange oeillades and most speaking looks

  To noble Edmund. I know you are of her bosom.

  OSWALD I, madam?

  REGAN

  I speak in understanding, for I know’t.

  Therefore I do advise you take this note.

  My lord is dead. Edmund and I have talked,

  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.

  OSWALD

  Would I could meet him, madam. I would show

  What lady I do follow.

  REGAN Fare thee well. Exeunt severally

  Sc. 20 Enter Edgar disguised as a peasant, with a staff, guiding the blind Duke of Gloucester

  GLOUCESTER

  When shall we come to th’ top of that same hill?

  EDGAR

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

  GLOUCESTER

  Methinks the ground is even.

  EDGAR Horrible steep.

  Hark, do you hear the sea?

  GLOUCESTER No, truly.

  EDGAR

  Why, then your other senses grow imperfect

  By your eyes’ anguish.

  GLOUCESTER So may it be indeed.

  Methinks thy voice is altered, and thou speak’st

  With better phrase and matter than thou didst.

  EDGAR

  You’re much deceived. In nothing am I changed

  But in my garments.

  GLOUCESTER Methinks you’re better spoken.

  EDGAR

  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 samphire, dreadful trade!

  Methinks he seems no bigger than his head.

  The fishermen that walk upon the beach

  Appear like mice, and yon tall anchoring barque

  Diminished to her cock, her cock a buoy

  Almost too small for sight. The murmuring surge

  That on the unnumbered idle pebble chafes

  Cannot be heard, it’s so high. I’ll look no more,

  Lest my brain turn and the deficient sight

  Topple down headlong.

  GLOUCESTER Set me where you stand.

  EDGAR

  Give me your hand. You are now within a foot

  Of th’extreme verge. For all beneath the moon

  Would I not leap upright.

  GLOUCESTER Let go my hand.

  Here, friend, ’s another purse; in it a jewel

  Well worth a poor man’s taking. Fairies and gods

  Prosper it with thee! Go thou farther off.

  Bid me farewell, and let me hear thee going.

  EDGAR

  Now fare you well, good sir.

  He stands aside

  GLOUCESTER With all my heart.

  EDGAR (aside)

  Why I do trifle thus with his despair

  Is done to cure it.

  GLOUCESTER O you mighty gods,

  He kneels

  This world I do renounce, and in your sights

  Shake patiently my great affliction off!

  If I could bear it longer, and not fall

  To quarrel with your great opposeless wills,

  My snuff and loathed part of nature should

  Burn itself out. If Edgar live, O bless him!—

  Now, fellow, fare thee well.

  EDGAR Gone, sir. Farewell.

  Gloucester falls forward

  (Aside) And yet I know not how conceit may rob

  The treasury of life, when life itself

  Yields to the theft. Had he been where he thought,

  By this had thought been past.—Ative or dead?
/>   (To Gloucester) Ho you, sir; hear you, sir? Speak.

  (Aside) Thus might he pass indeed. Yet he revives.

  (To Gloucester) What are you, sir?

  GLOUCESTER Away, and let me die.

  EDGAR

  Hadst thou been aught but goss‘mer, feathers, air,

  So many fathom down precipitating

  Thou hadst shivered like an egg. But thou dost breathe,

  Hast heavy substance, bleed’st not, speak’st, art sound.

  Ten masts a-length make not the altitude

  Which thou hast perpendicularly fell.

  Thy life’s a miracle. Speak yet again.

  GLOUCESTER But have I fallen, or no?

  EDGAR

  From the dread summit of this chalky bourn.

  Look up a-height. The shrill-gorged lark so far

  Cannot be seen or heard. Do but look up.

  GLOUCESTER Alack, I have no eyes.

  Is wretchedness deprived that benefit

  To end itself by death? ’Twas yet some comfort

  When misery could beguile the tyrant’s rage

  And frustrate his proud will.

  EDGAR Give me your arm.

  Up. So, how now? Feel you your legs? You stand.

  GLOUCESTER

  Too well, too well.

  EDGAR This is above all strangeness.

  Upon the crown of the cliff what thing was that

  Which parted from you?

  GLOUCESTER A poor unfortunate beggar.

  EDGAR

  As I stood here below, methoughts his eyes

  Were two full moons. A had a thousand noses,

  Horns whelked and waved like the enridged sea.

  It was some fiend. Therefore, thou happy father,

  Think that the clearest gods, who made their honours

  Of men’s impossibilities, have preserved thee.

  GLOUCESTER

  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 would it say

  ‘The fiend, the fiend!’ He led me to that place.

  EDGAR

  Bear free and patient thoughts.

  Enter King Lear mad, ⌈crowned with weeds and flowers⌉

  But who comes here?

  The safer sense will ne’er accommodate

  His master thus.

  LEAR No, they cannot touch me for coining. I am the King himself.

  EDGAR O thou side-piercing sight!

  LEAR Nature is 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 toasted cheese will do it. There’s my gauntlet. I’ll prove it on a giant. Bring up the brown bills. O, well flown, bird, in the air. Hal Give the word.

 

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