Masters of the Theatre

by Delphi Classics

  Within a fortnight?

  Alb. What’s the matter, sir?

  Lear. I’ll tell thee. [To GONERIL.] Life and death! I am asham’d

  That thou hast power to shake my manhood thus, 215

  That these hot tears, which break from me perforce,

  Should make thee worth them. Blasts and fogs upon thee!

  Th’ untented woundings of a father’s curse

  Pierce every sense about thee! Old fond eyes,

  Beweep this cause again, I’ll pluck ye out, 220

  And cast you, with the waters that you lose,

  To temper clay. Yea, is it come to this?

  Let it be so: I have another daughter,

  Who, I am sure, is kind and comfortable:

  When she shall hear this of thee, with her nails 225

  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 LEAR, KENT, and Attendants.

  Gon. Do you mark that?

  Alb. I cannot be so partial, Goneril, 230

  To the great love I bear you. —

  Gon. 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, 235

  And such a daughter,

  Should sure to the slaughter,

  If my cap would buy a halter;

  So the fool follows after. [Exit.

  Gon. This man hath had good counsel. A hundred knights! 240

  ’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! 245

  Alb. Well, you may fear too far.

  Gon. 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; 250

  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? 255

  Osw. Ay, madam.

  Gon. 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, 260

  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 prais’d for harmful mildness. 265

  Alb. How far your eyes may pierce I cannot tell:

  Striving to better, oft we mar what’s well.

  Gon. Nay, then —

  Alb. Well, well; the event. [Exeunt.

  Act I. Scene V.

  Court before the Same.

  Enter LEAR, KENT, and Fool.

  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 before 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? 5

  Lear. Ay, boy.

  Fool. Then, I prithee, be merry; thy wit shall not go slip-shod.

  Lear. Ha, ha, ha!

  Fool. Shalt see thy other daughter will use thee kindly; for though she’s as like this as a crab is like an apple, yet I can tell what I can tell.

  Lear. What canst tell, boy? 10

  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?

  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.

  Lear. I did her wrong, —

  Fool. Canst tell how an oyster makes his shell? 15

  Lear. No.

  Fool. Nor I neither; but I can tell why a snail has a house.

  Lear. Why?

  Fool. Why, to put his head in; not to give it away to his daughters, and leave his horns without a case.

  Lear. I will forget my nature. So kind a father! Be my horses ready? 20

  Fool. Thy asses are gone about ‘em. The reason why the seven stars are no more than seven is a pretty reason.

  Lear. Because they are not eight?

  Fool. Yes, indeed: thou wouldst make a good fool.

  Lear. To take it again perforce! Monster ingratitude!

  Fool. If thou wert my fool, nuncle, I’d have thee beaten for being old before thy time. 25

  Lear. How’s that?

  Fool. Thou shouldst not have been old before thou hadst been wise.

  Lear. O! let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven;

  Keep me in temper; I would not be mad!

  Enter Gentleman. 30

  How now! Are the horses ready?

  Gent. Ready, my lord.

  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. 35

  Act II. Scene I.

  A Court within the Castle of the EARL OF GLOUCESTER.

  Enter EDMUND and CURAN, meeting.

  Edm. Save thee, Curan.

  Cur. 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 to-night.

  Edm. How comes that? 5

  Cur. Nay, I know not. You have heard of the news abroad? I mean the whispered ones, for they are yet but ear-kissing arguments?

  Edm. Not I: pray you, what are they?

  Cur. Have you heard of no likely wars toward, ‘twixt the Dukes of Cornwall and Albany?

  Edm. Not a word.

  Cur. You may do then, in time. Fare you well, sir. [Exit. 10

  Edm. 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! 15

  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. 20

  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. 25

  Edg. I am sure on ‘t, not a word.

  Edm. 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! 30

  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? 35

  Enter GLOUCESTER, and Servants with torches.

  Glo. Now, Edmund, where’s the villain?

  Edm. Here stood he in the dark, his sharp sword out,

  Mumbling of wicked charms, conjuring the moon
<
br />   To stand auspicious mistress. 40

  Glo. But where is he?

  Edm. Look, sir, I bleed.

  Glo. Where is the villain, Edmund?

  Edm. Fled this way, sir. When by no means he could —

  Glo. Pursue him, ho! Go after. [Exeunt some Servants.] ‘By no means’ what? 45

  Edm. 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, 50

  Seeing how loathly opposite I stood

  To his unnatural purpose, in fell motion,

  With his prepared sword he charges home

  My unprovided body, lanc’d mine arm:

  But when he saw my best alarum’d spirits 55

  Bold in the quarrel’s right, rous’d to the encounter,

  Or whether gasted by the noise I made,

  Full suddenly he fled.

  Glo. Let him fly far:

  Not in this land shall he remain uncaught; 60

  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; 65

  He that conceals him, death.

  Edm. 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, 70

  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’d turn it all 75

  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 spurs

  To make thee seek it.’ 80

  Glo. 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 85

  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 CORNWALL, REGAN, and Attendants. 90

  Corn. How now, my noble friend! since I came hither, —

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

  Reg. If it be true, all vengeance comes too short

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

  Glo. O! madam, my old heart is crack’d, it’s crack’d. 95

  Reg. What! did my father’s godson seek your life?

  He whom my father nam’d? your Edgar?

  Glo. O! lady, lady, shame would have it hid.

  Reg. Was he not companion with the riotous knights

  That tend upon my father? 100

  Glo. I know not, madam; ’tis too bad, too bad.

  Edm. Yes, madam, he was of that consort.

  Reg. 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. 105

  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.

  Corn. Nor I, assure thee, Regan. 110

  Edmund, I hear that you have shown your father

  A child-like office.

  Edm. ’Twas my duty, sir.

  Glo. He did bewray his practice; and receiv’d

  This hurt you see, striving to apprehend him. 115

  Corn. Is he pursu’d?

  Glo. Ay, my good lord.

  Corn. 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, 120

  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.

  Edm. I shall serve you, sir, 125

  Truly, however else.

  Glo. For him I thank your Grace.

  Corn. You know not why we came to visit you, —

  Reg. Thus out of season, threading dark-ey’d night:

  Occasions, noble Gloucester, of some prize, 130

  Wherein we must have use of your advice.

  Our father he hath writ, so hath our sister,

  Of differences, which I best thought it fit

  To answer from our home; the several messengers

  From hence attend dispatch. Our good old friend, 135

  Lay comforts to your bosom, and bestow

  Your needful counsel to our businesses,

  Which craves the instant use.

  Glo. I serve you, madam.

  Your Graces are right welcome. [Exeunt. 140

  Act II. Scene II.

  Before GLOUCESTER’S Castle.

  Enter KENT and OSWALD, severally.

  Osw. Good dawning to thee, friend: art of this house?

  Kent. Ay.

  Osw. Where may we set our horses? 5

  Kent. I’ the mire.

  Osw. Prithee, if thou lovest me, tell me.

  Kent. I love thee not.

  Osw. Why, then I care not for thee.

  Kent. If I had thee in Lipsbury pinfold, I would make thee care for me. 10

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

  Kent. Fellow, I know thee.

  Osw. 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-liver’d, action-taking knave; a whoreson, glass-gazing, superserviceable, 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.

  Osw. Why, what a monstrous fellow art thou, thus to rail on one that is neither known of thee nor knows thee! 15

  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: I’ll make a sop o’ the moonshine of you. [Drawing his sword.] Draw, you whoreson, cullionly, barber-monger, draw.

  Osw. 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.

  Osw. Help, ho! murder! help!

  Kent. Strike, you slave; stand, rogue, stand; you neat slave, strike. [Beating him. 20

  Osw. Help, oh! murder! murder!

  Enter EDMUND with his rapier drawn.

  Edm. How now! What’s the matter? [Parting them.

  Kent. With you, goodman boy, if you please: come,

  I’ll flesh ye; come on, young master. 25

  Enter CORNWALL, REGAN, GLOUCESTER, and Servants.

  Glo. Weapons! arms! What’s the matter here?

  Corn. Keep peace, upon your lives:

  He dies that st
rikes again. What is the matter?

  Reg. The messengers from our sister and the king. 30

  Corn. What is your difference? speak.

  Osw. 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.

  Corn. 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 they had been but two hours o’ the trade. 35

  Corn. Speak yet, how grew your quarrel?

  Osw. This ancient ruffian, sir, whose life I have spar’d at suit of his grey 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 grey beard, you wagtail?

  Corn. Peace, sirrah!

  You beastly knave, know you no reverence? 40

  Kent. Yes, sir; but anger hath a privilege.

  Corn. 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 45

  Which are too intrinse t’ 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, 50

  Knowing nought, like dogs, but following.

  A plague upon your epileptic visage!

  Smile you my speeches, as I were a fool?

  Goose, if I had you upon Sarum plain,

  I’d drive ye cackling home to Camelot. 55

  Corn. What! art thou mad, old fellow?

  Glo. How fell you out? say that.

  Kent. No contraries hold more antipathy

  Than I and such a knave.

  Corn. Why dost thou call him knave? What is his fault? 60

  Kent. His countenance likes me not.

  Corn. 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 65

  Before me at this instant.

  Corn. This is some fellow,

  Who, having been prais’d for bluntness, doth affect

  A saucy roughness, and constrains the garb

  Quite from his nature: he cannot flatter, he, 70

  An honest mind and plain, he must speak truth:

  An they will take it, so; if not, he’s plain.

  These kind of knaves I know, which in this plainness