The Oxford Shakespeare: The Complete Works

by William Shakespeare

  Bringing the murderous coward to the stake;

  He that conceals him, death.

  EDMOND

  When I dissuaded him from his intent

  And found him pitched to do it, with curst speech

  I threatened to discover him. He replied,

  ‘Thou unpossessing bastard, dost thou think

  If I would stand against thee, would the reposal

  Of any trust, virtue, or worth in thee

  Make thy words faithed? No, what I should deny—

  As this I would, ay, though thou didst produce

  My very character—I’d turn it all

  To thy suggestion, plot, and damned practice,

  And thou must make a dullard of the world

  If they not thought the profits of my death

  Were very pregnant and potential spirits

  To make thee seek it.’

  GLOUCESTER

  O strange and fastened villain!

  Would he deny his letter, said he?

  Tucket 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 due 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, Regan, and attendants

  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 th’offender. How dost, my lord?

  GLOUCESTER

  O madam, my old heart is cracked, it’s cracked.

  REGAN

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

  He whom my father named, your Edgar?

  GLOUCESTER

  O 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.

  EDMOND

  Yes, madam, he was of that consort.

  REGAN

  No marvel, then, though he were ill affected.

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

  To have th’expense and spoil 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. Edmond, I hear that you have shown your father A childlike office.

  EDMOND

  It was my duty, sir. GLOUCESTER (to Cornwall)

  He did bewray 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, Edmond,

  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.

  EDMOND

  I shall serve you, sir,

  Truly, however else.

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

  CORNWALL

  You know not why we came to visit you—

  REGAN

  Thus out of season, threading 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 businesses,

  Which craves the instant use.

  GLOUCESTER I serve you, madam.

  Your graces are right welcome.

  Flourish. Exeunt

  2.2 Enter the Earl of Kent, disguised, and Oswald the steward, severally

  OSWALD Good dawning to thee, friend. Art of this house? KENT Ay.

  OSWALD Where may we set our horses?

  KENT I’th’ mire.

  OSWALD Prithee, if thou lov’st me, tell me. 5 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, whoreson, glass-gazing, super-serviceable, finical 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, one whom I will beat into clamorous whining if thou deniest the least syllable of thy addition.

  OSWALD Why, what a monstrous fellow art thou, thus to rail on one that is neither known of thee nor knows thee!

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

  ⌈He draws his sword⌉

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

  OSWALD 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!

  OSWALD Help, ho, murder, help!

  KENT Strike, you slave! Stand, rogue! Stand, you neat slave, strike! 40

  OSWALD Help, ho, murder, murder!

  Enter Edmond the bastard, ⌈then⌉ the Duke of

  Cornwall, Regan, the Duke of Gloucester, and

  servants

  EDMOND How now, what’s the matter? Part.

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

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

  CORNWALL

  Keep peace, upon your lives. He dies that strikes again.

  What is the matter?

  REGAN The messengers from our sister and the King. CORNWALL (to Kent and Oswald) What is 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 A tailor, sir. A stone-cutter or a painter could not have made him so ill though they had been but two years o’th’ trade.

  CORNWALL 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 unbolted villain into mortar and daub the wall of a jakes with him. (To Oswald) Spare my grey beard, you wagtail?

  CORNWALL Peace, sirrah.

  You beastly knave, know you no reverence?

  KENT

  Yes, sir, but anger hath
a privilege.

  CORNWALL 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 a-twain

  Which are too intrince t’unloose, smooth every

  passion

  That in the natures of their lords rebel;

  Being oil to fire, snow to the colder moods,

  Renege, affirm, and turn their halcyon beaks

  With every gall 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 drive ye cackling home 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 is his fault?

  KENT His countenance likes me not.

  CORNWALL

  No more perchance does mine, nor his, nor 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 some fellow

  Who, having been praised 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’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 faith, in sincere verity,

  Under th‘allowance of your great aspect,

  Whose influence, like the wreath of radiant fire

  On flick’ring Phoebus’ front—

  CORNWALL

  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 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 was th’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, compact, and flattering his displeasure,

  Tripped me behind; being down, insulted, railed,

  And put upon him such a deal of man

  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

  Fetch forth the stocks!

  ⌈Exeunt some servants⌉

  You stubborn, ancient knave, you reverend 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.

  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 should not use me so.

  REGAN

  Sir, being his knave, I will.

  Stocks brought out

  CORNWALL

  This is a fellow of the selfsame colour

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

  GLOUCESTER

  Let me beseech your grace not to do so.

  The King his master needs must take it ill

  That he, so slightly valued in his messenger,

  Should have him thus restrained.

  CORNWALL I’ll answer that.

  ⌈Theg put Kent in the stocks⌉

  REGAN

  My sister may receive it much more worse

  To have her gentlemen abused, assaulted.

  CORNWALL 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 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 taken. 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 o’erwatched,

  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. 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 hairs 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 numbed and mortified 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 ⌈the First⌉ Gentleman

  LEAR

  ’Tis strange that they should so depart from home

  And not send back my messenger.

  ⌈FIRST⌉ GENTLEMAN

  As I learned,

  The night before there was no purpose in them

  Of this remove.

  KENT (waking)

&n
bsp; Hail to thee, noble master.

  LEAR

  Ha! Mak’st thou this shame thy pastime?

  KENT No, my lord.

  FOOL Ha, ha, 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 overlusty 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 By Jupiter, I swear no.

  KENT

  By Juno, I swear ay.

  LEAR They durst not do’t,

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

  murder,

  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 showed

  My duty kneeling, came there a reeking post

  Stewed in his haste, half breathless, painting forth

  From Goneril, his mistress, salutations,

  Delivered letters spite of intermission,

  Which presently they read, on whose contents 210

  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 which 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

  The shame which here it suffers.

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

  ⌈Sings⌉ 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!

  Histerica passio down, thou climbing sorrow;

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