That these hot tears, which break from me perforce,
Should make thee worth them. Blasts and fogs upon thee!
The untented woundings of a father’s curse
Pierce every sense about thee! Old fond eyes,
Beweep this cause again, I’ll pluck ye out,
And cast you, with the waters that you lose,
To temper clay. Yea, it is come to this?
Let is be so: yet have I left a daughter,
Who, I am sure, is kind and comfortable:
When she shall hear this of thee, with her nails
She’ll flay thy wolvish visage. Thou shalt find
That I’ll resume the shape which thou dost think
I have cast off for ever: thou shalt,
I warrant thee.
Exeunt King Lear, Kent, and Attendants
Goneril
Do you mark that, my lord?
Albany
I cannot be so partial, Goneril,
To the great love I bear you,—
Goneril
Pray you, content. What, Oswald, ho!
To the Fool
You, sir, more knave than fool, after your master.
Fool
Nuncle Lear, nuncle Lear, tarry and take the fool with thee.
A fox, when one has caught her,
And such a daughter,
Should sure to the slaughter,
If my cap would buy a halter:
So the fool follows after.
Exit
Goneril
This man hath had good counsel:— a hundred knights!
’Tis politic and safe to let him keep
At point a hundred knights: yes, that, on every dream,
Each buzz, each fancy, each complaint, dislike,
He may enguard his dotage with their powers,
And hold our lives in mercy. Oswald, I say!
Albany
Well, you may fear too far.
Goneril
Safer than trust too far:
Let me still take away the harms I fear,
Not fear still to be taken: I know his heart.
What he hath utter’d I have writ my sister
If she sustain him and his hundred knights
When I have show’d the unfitness,—
Re-enter Oswald
How now, Oswald!
What, have you writ that letter to my sister?
Oswald
Yes, madam.
Goneril
Take you some company, and away to horse:
Inform her full of my particular fear;
And thereto add such reasons of your own
As may compact it more. Get you gone;
And hasten your return.
Exit Oswald
No, no, my lord,
This milky gentleness and course of yours
Though I condemn not, yet, under pardon,
You are much more attask’d for want of wisdom
Than praised for harmful mildness.
Albany
How far your eyes may pierce I can not tell:
Striving to better, oft we mar what’s well.
Goneril
Nay, then —
Albany
Well, well; the event.
Exeunt
SCENE V. COURT BEFORE THE SAME.
Enter King Lear, Kent, and Fool
King Lear
Go you before to Gloucester with these letters. Acquaint my daughter no further with any thing you know than comes from her demand out of the letter. If your diligence be not speedy, I shall be there afore you.
Kent
I will not sleep, my lord, till I have delivered your letter.
Exit
Fool
If a man’s brains were in’s heels, were’t not in danger of kibes?
King Lear
Ay, boy.
Fool
Then, I prithee, be merry; thy wit shall ne’er go slip-shod.
King Lear
Ha, ha, ha!
Fool
Shalt see thy other daughter will use thee kindly; for though she’s as like this as a crab’s like an apple, yet I can tell what I can tell.
King Lear
Why, what canst thou tell, my boy?
Fool
She will taste as like this as a crab does to a crab. Thou canst tell why one’s nose stands i’ the middle on’s face?
King Lear
No.
Fool
Why, to keep one’s eyes of either side’s nose; that what a man cannot smell out, he may spy into.
King Lear
I did her wrong —
Fool
Canst tell how an oyster makes his shell?
King Lear
No.
Fool
Nor I neither; but I can tell why a snail has a house.
King Lear
Why?
Fool
Why, to put his head in; not to give it away to his daughters, and leave his horns without a case.
King Lear
I will forget my nature. So kind a father! Be my horses ready?
Fool
Thy asses are gone about ’em. The reason why the seven stars are no more than seven is a pretty reason.
King Lear
Because they are not eight?
Fool
Yes, indeed: thou wouldst make a good fool.
King Lear
To take ’t again perforce! Monster ingratitude!
Fool
If thou wert my fool, nuncle, I’ld have thee beaten for being old before thy time.
King Lear
How’s that?
Fool
Thou shouldst not have been old till thou hadst been wise.
King Lear
O, let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven
Keep me in temper: I would not be mad!
Enter Gentleman
How now! are the horses ready?
Gentleman
Ready, my lord.
King Lear
Come, boy.
Fool
She that’s a maid now, and laughs at my departure,
Shall not be a maid long, unless things be cut shorter.
Exeunt
ACT II
SCENE I. GLOUCESTER’S CASTLE.
Enter Edmund, and Curan meets him
Edmund
Save thee, Curan.
Curan
And you, sir. I have been with your father, and given him notice that the Duke of Cornwall and Regan his duchess will be here with him this night.
Edmund
How comes that?
Curan
Nay, I know not. You have heard of the news abroad; I mean the whispered ones, for they are yet but ear-kissing arguments?
Edmund
Not I pray you, what are they?
Curan
Have you heard of no likely wars toward, ’twixt the
Dukes of Cornwall and Albany?
Edmund
Not a word.
Curan
You may do, then, in time. Fare you well, sir.
Exit
Edmund
The duke be here to-night? The better! best!
This weaves itself perforce into my business.
My father hath set guard to take my brother;
And I have one thing, of a queasy question,
Which I must act: briefness and fortune, work!
Brother, a word; descend: brother, I say!
Enter Edgar
My father watches: O sir, fly this place;
Intelligence is given where you are hid;
You have now the good advantage of the night:
Have you not spoken ’gainst the Duke of Cornwall?
He’s coming hither: now, i’ the night, i’ the haste,
And Regan with him: have you nothing said
Upon his party ’gainst the Duke of Albany?
Advise yourself.
Edgar
&n
bsp; I am sure on’t, not a word.
Edmund
I hear my father coming: pardon me:
In cunning I must draw my sword upon you
Draw; seem to defend yourself; now quit you well.
Yield: come before my father. Light, ho, here!
Fly, brother. Torches, torches! So, farewell.
Exit Edgar
Some blood drawn on me would beget opinion.
Wounds his arm
Of my more fierce endeavour: I have seen drunkards
Do more than this in sport. Father, father!
Stop, stop! No help?
Enter Gloucester, and Servants with torches
Gloucester
Now, Edmund, where’s the villain?
Edmund
Here stood he in the dark, his sharp sword out,
Mumbling of wicked charms, conjuring the moon
To stand auspicious mistress,—
Gloucester
But where is he?
Edmund
Look, sir, I bleed.
Gloucester
Where is the villain, Edmund?
Edmund
Fled this way, sir. When by no means he could —
Gloucester
Pursue him, ho! Go after.
Exeunt some Servants
By no means what?
Edmund
Persuade me to the murder of your lordship;
But that I told him, the revenging gods
’Gainst parricides did all their thunders bend;
Spoke, with how manifold and strong a bond
The child was bound to the father; sir, in fine,
Seeing how loathly opposite I stood
To his unnatural purpose, in fell motion,
With his prepared sword, he charges home
My unprovided body, lanced mine arm:
But when he saw my best alarum’d spirits,
Bold in the quarrel’s right, roused to the encounter,
Or whether gasted by the noise I made,
Full suddenly he fled.
Gloucester
Let him fly far:
Not in this land shall he remain uncaught;
And found — dispatch. The noble duke my master,
My worthy arch and patron, comes to-night:
By his authority I will proclaim it,
That he which finds him shall deserve our thanks,
Bringing the murderous coward to the stake;
He that conceals him, death.
Edmund
When I dissuaded him from his intent,
And found him pight to do it, with curst speech
I threaten’d 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 faith’d? No: what I should deny,—
As this I would: ay, though thou didst produce
My very character,— I’ld turn it all
To thy suggestion, plot, and damned practise:
And thou must make a dullard of the world,
If they not thought the profits of my death
Were very pregnant and potential spurs
To make thee seek it.’
Gloucester
Strong and fasten’d villain
Would he deny his letter? I never got him.
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 the due note of him; and of my land,
Loyal and natural boy, I’ll work the means
To make thee capable.
Enter 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 the offender. How dost, my lord?
Gloucester
O, madam, my old heart is crack’d, it’s crack’d!
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.
Edmund
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 the expense and waste of his revenues.
I have this present evening from my sister
Been well inform’d 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 hear that you have shown your father
A child-like office.
Edmund
’Twas my duty, sir.
Gloucester
He did bewray his practise; 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 fear’d 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, sir,
Truly, however else.
Gloucester
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 business,
Which craves the instant use.
Gloucester
I serve you, madam:
Your graces are right welcome.
Exeunt
SCENE II. BEFORE GLOUCESTER’S CASTLE.
Enter Kent and Oswald, severally
Oswald
Good dawning to thee, friend: art of this house?
Kent
Ay.
Oswald
Where may we set our horses?
Kent
I’ the mire.
Oswald
Prithee, if thou lovest 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, act
ion-taking knave, a 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, pandar, 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 ago since I tripped up thy heels, and beat thee before the king? Draw, you rogue: for, though it be night, yet the moon shines; I’ll make a sop o’ the moonshine of you: draw, you whoreson cullionly barber-monger, draw.
Drawing his sword
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.
Beating him
Oswald
Help, ho! murder! murder!
Enter Edmund, with his rapier drawn, Cornwall, Regan, Gloucester, and Servants
Edmund
How now! What’s the matter?
Kent
With you, goodman boy, an 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
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
Ay, a tailor, sir: a stone-cutter or painter could not have made him so ill, though he had been but two hours at the trade.
Cornwall
Speak yet, how grew your quarrel?
Oswald
This ancient ruffian, sir, whose life I have spared at suit of his gray beard,—
Kent
Thou whoreson zed! thou unnecessary letter! My lord, if you will give me leave, I will tread this unbolted villain into mortar, and daub the wall of a jakes with him. Spare my gray 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,
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