Complete Plays, The (127 page)

Striking his head

And thy dear judgment out! Go, go, my people.

Albany

My lord, I am guiltless, as I am ignorant
Of what hath moved you.

King Lear

It may be so, my lord.
Hear, nature, hear; dear goddess, hear!
Suspend thy purpose, if thou didst intend
To make this creature fruitful!
Into her womb convey sterility!
Dry up in her the organs of increase;
And from her derogate body never spring
A babe to honour her! If she must teem,
Create her child of spleen; that it may live,
And be a thwart disnatured torment to her!
Let it stamp wrinkles in her brow of youth;
With cadent tears fret channels in her cheeks;
Turn all her mother’s pains and benefits
To laughter and contempt; that she may feel
How sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is
To have a thankless child! Away, away!

Exit

Albany

Now, gods that we adore, whereof comes this?

Goneril

Never afflict yourself to know the cause;
But let his disposition have that scope
That dotage gives it.

Re-enter King Lear

King Lear

What, fifty of my followers at a clap!
Within a fortnight!

Albany

What’s the matter, sir?

King Lear

I’ll tell thee:

To Goneril

Life and death! I am ashamed
That thou hast power to shake my manhood thus;
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

S
CENE
V. C
OURT
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

A
CT
II

S
CENE
I. G
LOUCESTER
’
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

 
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.