THE TRAGEDIE OF KING LEAR.
Actus Primus. Scoena Prima.
Enter Kent, Gloucester, and Edmond.
I thought the King had more affected the Duke of
Albany,
then
Cornwall.
It did alwayes seeme so to vs: But now in the diuision of the Kingdome, it ap- peares not which of the Dukes hee valewes most, for qualities are so weigh'd, that curiosity in nei- ther, can make choise of eithers moity.
Is not this your Son, my Lord?
His breeding Sir, hath bin at my charge. I haue so often blush'd to acknowledge him, that now I am braz'd too't.
I cannot conceiue you.
Sir, this yong Fellowes mother could; where- vpon she grew round womb'd, and had indeede (Sir) a Sonne for her Cradle, ere she had a husband for her bed. Do you smell a fault?
I cannot wish the fault vndone, the issue of it, being so proper.
But I haue a Sonne, Sir, by order of Law, some yeere elder then this; who, yet is no deerer in my ac- count, though this Knaue came somthing sawcily to the world before he was sent for: yet was his Mother fayre, there was good sport at his making, and the horson must be acknowledged. Doe you know this Noble Gentle- man,
Edmond
?
No, my Lord.
My Lord of Kent: Remember him heereafter, as my Honourable Friend.
My seruices to your Lordship.
I must loue you, and sue to know you better.
Sir, I shall study deseruing.
He hath bin out nine yeares, and away he shall againe. The King is comming.
Sennet. Enter King Lear, Cornwall, Albany, Gonerill, Re- gan, Cordelia, and attendants.
Attend the Lords of France & Burgundy, Gloster.
I shall, my Lord.
Exit.
Meane time we shal expresse our darker purpose. Giue me the Map there. Know, that we haue diuided In three our Kingdome: and 'tis our fast intent, To shake all Cares and Businesse from our Age, Conferring them on yonger strengths, while we Vnburthen'd crawle toward death. Our son of
Cornwal,
And you our no lesse louing Sonne of
Albany,
We haue this houre a constant
will
to publish Our daughters seuerall Dowers, that future strife May be preuented now. The Princes,
France
&
Burgundy,
Great Riuals in our yongest daughters loue, Long in our Court, haue made their amorous soiourne, And heere are to be answer'd. Tell me my daughters (Since now we will diuest vs both of Rule, Interest of Territory, Cares of State) Which of you shall we say doth loue vs most, That we, our largest bountie may extend Where Nature doth with merit challenge.
Gonerill,
Our eldest borne, speake first.
Sir, I loue you more then word can weild
matter, Deerer then eye-sight, space, and libertie, Beyond what can be valewed, rich or rare, No lesse then life, with grace, health, beauty, honor: As much as Childe ere lou'd, or Father found. A loue that makes breath poore, and speech vnable, Beyond all manner of so much I loue you.
What shall
Cordelia
speake? Loue, and be silent.
Of all these bounds euen from this Line, to this, With shadowie Forrests, and with Champains rich'd With plenteous Riuers, and wide-skirted Meades We make thee Lady. To thine and
Albanies
issues Be this perpetuall. What sayes our second Daughter? Our deerest
Regan,
wife of
Cornwall
?
I am made of that selfe-mettle as my Sister, And prize me at her worth. In my true heart, I finde she names my very deede of loue: Onely she comes too short, that I professe My selfe an enemy to all other ioyes, Which the most precious square of sense professes, And finde I am alone felicitate In your deere Highnesse loue.
Then poore
Cordelia,
And yet not so, since I am sure my loue's More ponderous then my tongue.
To thee, and thine hereditarie euer, Remaine this ample third of our faire Kingdome, No lesse in space, validitie, and pleasure Then that conferr'd on
Gonerill.
Now our Ioy, Although our last and least; to whose yong loue, The Vines of France, and Milke of Burgundie, Striue to be interest. What can you say, to draw A third, more opilent then your Sisters? speake.
Nothing my Lord.
Nothing?
Nothing.
Nothing will come of nothing, speake againe.
Vnhappie that I am, I cannot heaue My heart into my mouth: I loue your Maiesty According to my bond, no more nor lesse.
How, how
Cordelia
? Mend your speech a little, Least you may marre your Fortunes.
Good my Lord, You haue begot me, bred me, lou'd me. I returne those duties backe as are right fit, Obey you, Loue you, and most Honour you. Why haue my Sisters Husbands, if they say They loue you all? Happily when I shall wed, That Lord, whose hand must take my plight, shall carry Halfe my loue with him, halfe my Care, and Dutie, Sure I shall neuer marry like my Sisters.
But goes thy heart with this?
I
my good Lord.
So young, and so vntender?
So young my Lord, and true.
Let it be so, thy truth then be thy dowre: For by the sacred radience of the Sunne, The misteries of
Heccat
and the night: By all the operation of the Orbes, From whom we do exist, and cease to be, Heere I disclaime all my Paternall care, Propinquity and property of blood, And as a stranger to my heart and me, Hold thee from this for euer. The barbarous
Scythian,
Or he that makes his generation messes To gorge his appetite, shall to my bosome Be as well neighbour'd, pittied, and releeu'd, As thou my sometime Daughter.
Good my Liege.
Peace
Kent,
Come not betweene the Dragon and his wrath, I lou'd her most, and thought to set my rest On her kind nursery. Hence and avoid my sight: So be my graue my peace, as here I giue Her Fathers heart from her; call
France,
who stirres? Call
Burgundy, Cornwall,
and
Albanie,
With my two Daughters Dowres, digest the third, Let pride, which she cals plainnesse, marry her: I doe inuest you ioyntly with my power, Preheminence, and all the large effects That troope with Maiesty. Our selfe by Monthly course, With reseruation of an hundred Knights, By you to be sustain'd, shall our abode Make with you by due turne, onely we shall retaine The name, and all th' addition to a King: the Sway, Reuennew, Execution of the rest, Beloued Sonnes be yours, which to confirme, This Coronet part betweene you.
Royall
Lear,
Whom I haue euer honor'd as my King, Lou'd as my Father, as my Master follow'd, As my great Patron thought on in my praiers.
The bow is bent & drawne, make from the shaft.
Let it fall rather, though the forke inuade The region of my heart, be
Kent
vnmannerly, When
Lear
is mad, what wouldest thou do old man? Think'st thou that dutie shall haue dread to speake, When power to flattery bowes? To plainnesse honour's bound, When Maiesty falls to folly, reserue thy state, And in thy best consideration checke This hideous rashnesse, answere my life, my iudgement: Thy yongest Daughter do's not loue thee least, Nor are those empty hearted, whose low sounds Reuerbe no hollownesse.
Kent,
on thy life no more.
My life I neuer held but as pawne To wage against thine enemies, nere feare to loose it, Thy safety being motiue.
Out of my sight.
See better
Lear,
and let me still remaine The true blanke of thine eie.
Now by
Apollo,
Now by
Apollo,
King Thou swear'st thy Gods in vaine.
O Vassall! Miscreant.
Deare Sir forbeare.
Kill thy Physition, and thy fee bestow Vpon the foule disease, reuoke thy guift, Or whil'st I can vent clamour from my throate, Ile tell thee thou dost euill.
Heare me recreant, on thine allegeance heare me; That thou hast sought to make vs breake our vowes, Which we durst neuer yet; and with strain'd pride, To come betwixt our sentences, and our power, Which, nor our nature, nor our place can beare; Our potencie made good, take thy reward. Fiue dayes we do allot thee for prouision, To shield thee from disasters of the world, And on the sixt to turne thy hated backe Vpon our kingdome: if on the tenth day following, Thy banisht trunke be found in our Dominions, The moment is thy death, away. By
Iupiter,
This shall not be reuok'd,
Fare thee well King, sith thus thou wilt appeare, Freedome liues hence, and banishment is here; The Gods to their deere shelter take thee Maid, That iustly think'st, and hast most rightly said: And your large speeches, may your deeds approue, That good effects may spring from words of loue: Thus
Kent,
O Princes, bids you all adew, Hee'l shape his old course, in a Country new.
Exit.
Flourish. Enter Gloster with France, and Bur- gundy, Attendants.
Heere's
France
and
Burgundy,
my Noble Lord.
My Lord of
Burgundie,
We first addresse toward you, who with this King Hath riuald for our Daughter; what in the least Will you require in present Dower with her, Or cease your quest of Loue?
Most Royall Maiesty, I craue no more then hath your Highnesse offer'd, Nor will you tender lesse?
Right Noble
Burgundy,
When she was deare to vs, we did hold her so, But now her price is fallen: Sir, there she stands, If ought within that little seeming substance, Or all of it with our displeasure piec'd, And nothing more may fitly like your Grace, Shee's there, and she is yours.
I know no answer.
Will you with those infirmities she owes, Vnfriended, new adopted to our hate, Dow'rd with our curse, and stranger'd with our oath, Take her or, leaue her.
Pardon me Royall Sir, Election makes not vp in such conditions.
Then leaue her sir, for by the powre that made me, I tell you all her wealth. For you great King, I would not from your loue make such a stray, To match you where I hate, therefore beseech you T' auert your liking a more worthier way, Then on a wretch whom Nature is asham'd Almost t' acknowledge hers.
This is most strange, That she whom euen but now, was your obiect, The argument of your praise, balme of your age, The best, the deerest, should in this trice of time Commit a thing so monstrous, to dismantle So many folds of fauour: sure her offence Must be of such vnnaturall degree, That monsters it: Or your fore-voucht affection Fall into taint, which to beleeue of her Must be a faith that reason without miracle Should neuer plant in me.
I yet beseech your Maiesty. If for I want that glib and oylie
Art
, To speake and purpose not, since what I will intend, Ile do't before I speake, that you make knowne It is no vicious blot, murther, or foulenesse, No vnchaste action or dishonoured step That hath depriu'd me of your Grace and fauour, But euen for want of that, for which I am richer, A still soliciting eye, and such a tongue, That I am glad I haue not, though not to haue it, Hath lost me in your liking.
Better thou had'st Not beene borne, then not t'haue pleas'd me better.
Is it but this? A tardinesse in nature, Which often leaues the history vnspoke That it intends to do: my Lord of
Burgundy,
What say you to the Lady? Loue's not loue When it is mingled with regards, that stands Aloofe from th' intire point, will you haue her? She is herselfe a Dowrie.
Royall King, Giue but that portion which your selfe propos'd, And here I take
Cordelia
by the hand, Dutchesse of
Burgundie.
Nothing, I haue sworne, I am firme.
I am sorry then you haue so lost a Father, That you must loose a husband.
Peace be with
Burgundie,
Since that respect and Fortunes are his loue, I shall not be his wife.
Fairest
Cordelia,
that art most rich being poore, Most choise forsaken, and most lou'd despis'd, Thee and thy vertues here I seize vpon, Be it lawfull I take vp what's cast away. Gods, Gods! 'Tis strange, that from their cold'st neglect My Loue should kindle to enflam'd respect. Thy dowrelesse Daughter King, throwne to my chance, Is Queene of vs, of ours, and our faire
France:
Not all the Dukes of watrish
Burgundy,
Can buy this vnpriz'd precious Maid of me. Bid them farewell
Cordelia,
though vnkinde, Thou loosest here a better where to finde.
Thou hast her
France,
let her be thine, for we Haue no such Daughter, nor shall euer see That face of hers againe, therfore be gone, Without our Grace, our Loue, our Benizon: Come Noble
Burgundie.
Flourish. Exeunt.
Bid farwell to your Sisters.
The Iewels of our Father, with wash'd eies
Cordelia
leaues you, I know you what you are, And like a Sister am most loth to call Your faults as they are named. Loue well our Father: To your professed bosomes I commit him, But yet alas, stood I within his Grace, I would prefer him to a better place, So farewell to you both.
Prescribe not vs our dutie.
Let your study Be to content your Lord, who hath receiu'd you At Fortunes almes, you haue obedience scanted, And well are worth the want that you haue wanted.
Time shall vnfold what plighted cunning hides, Who couers faults, at last with shame derides: Well may you prosper.
Come my faire
Cordelia.
Exit France and Cor.
Sister, it is not little I haue to say, Of what most neerely appertaines to vs both, I thinke our Father will hence to night.
That's most certaine, and with you: next moneth
with vs.
You see how full of changes his age is, the ob- seruation we haue made of it hath beene little; he alwaies lou'd our Sister most, and with what poore iudgement he hath now cast her off, appeares too grossely.
'Tis the infirmity of his age, yet he hath euer but slenderly knowne himselfe.
The best and soundest of his time hath bin but rash, then must we looke from his age, to receiue not a- lone the imperfections of long ingraffed condition, but therewithall the vnruly way-wardnesse, that infirme and cholericke yeares bring with them.
Such vnconstant starts are we like to haue from him, as this of
Kents
banishment.
There is further complement of leaue-taking be- tweene
France
and him, pray you let vs sit together, if our Father carry authority with such disposition as he beares, this last surrender of his will but offend vs.
We shall further thinke of it.
We must do something, and i'th' heate.
Exeunt.
Scena Secunda.
Enter Bastard.
Thou Nature art my Goddesse, to thy Law My seruices are bound, wherefore should I Stand in the plague of custome, and permit The curiosity of Nations, to depriue me? For that I am some twelue, or fourteene Moonshines Lag of a Brother? Why Bastard? Wherefore base? When my Dimensions are as well compact, My minde as generous, and my shape as true As honest Madams issue? Why brand they vs With Base? With basenes Bastardie? Base, Base? Who in the lustie stealth of Nature, take More composition, and fierce qualitie, Then doth within a dull stale tyred bed Goe to th' creating a whole tribe of Fops Got 'tweene
a
sleepe, and wake? Well then, Legitimate
Edgar,
I must haue your land, Our Fathers loue, is to the Bastard
Edmond,
As to th' legitimate: fine word: Legitimate.
Well, my Legittimate, if this Letter speed, And my inuention thriue,
Edmond
the base Shall to'th' Legitimate: I grow, I prosper: Now Gods, stand vp for Bastards.
Enter Gloucester.
Kent banish'd thus? and France in choller parted? And the King gone to night? Prescrib'd his powre, Confin'd to exhibition? All this done Vpon the gad?
Edmond,
how now? What newes?
So please your Lordship, none.
Why so earnestly seeke you to put vp
Letter?
I know no newes, my Lord.
What Paper were you reading?
Nothing my Lord.
No? what needed then that terrible dispatch of it into your Pocket? The quality of nothing, hath not such neede to hide it selfe. Let's see: come, if it bee no- thing, I shall not neede Spectacles.
I beseech you Sir, pardon mee; it is a Letter from my Brother, that I haue not all ore-read; and for so much as I haue perus'd, I finde it not fit for your ore-loo- king.
Giue me the Letter, Sir.
I shall offend, either to detaine, or giue it: The Contents, as in part I vnderstand them, Are
too
blame.
Let's see, let's see.
I hope for my Brothers iustification, hee wrote this but as an essay, or taste of my Vertue.
This policie, and reuerence of Age, makes the
world bitter to the best of our times: keepes our Fortunes from
vs, till our oldnesse cannot rellish them. I begin to finde an idle
and fond bondage, in the oppression of aged tyranny, who swayes
not as it hath power, but as it is suffer'd. Come to me, that of
this I may speake more. If our Father would sleepe till I wak'd
him, you should enioy halfe his Reuennew for euer, and liue the beloued of your Brother.
Edgar. Hum? Conspiracy? Sleepe till I wake him, you should enioy halfe his Reuennew: my Sonne
Edgar,
had hee a hand to write this? A heart and braine to breede it in? When came you to this? Who brought it?
It was not brought mee, my Lord; there's the cunning of it. I found it throwne in at the Casement of my Closset.
You know the character to be your Brothers?
If the matter were good my Lord, I durst swear it were his: but in respect of that, I would faine thinke it were not.
It is his.
It is his hand, my Lord: but I hope his heart is not in the Contents.
Has he neuer before sounded you in this busines?
Neuer my Lord. But I haue heard him oft main- taine it to be fit, that Sonnes at perfect age, and Fathers declin'd, the Father should bee as Ward to the Son, and the Sonne manage his Reuennew.
O Villain, villain: his very opinion in the Let- ter. Abhorred Villaine, vnnaturall, detested, brutish Villaine; worse then brutish: Go sirrah, seeke him: Ile apprehend him. Abhominable Villaine, where is he?
I do not well know my L[ord]. If it shall please you to suspend your indignation against my Brother, til you can deriue from him better testimony of his intent, you shold run a certaine course: where, if you violently proceed a- gainst him, mistaking his purpose, it would make a great gap in your owne Honor, and shake in peeces, the heart of his obedience. I dare pawne downe my life for him, that he hath writ this to feele my affection to your Honor, & to no other pretence of danger.
Thinke you so?
If your Honor iudge it meete, I will place you where you shall heare vs conferre of this, and by an Auri- cular assurance haue your satisfaction, and that without any further delay, then this very Euening.
He cannot bee such a Monster.
Edmond
seeke him out: winde me into him, I pray you: frame the Bu- sinesse after your owne wisedome. I would vnstate my selfe, to be in a due resolution.
I will seeke him Sir, presently: conuey the bu- sinesse as I shall find meanes, and acquaint you withall.
These late Eclipses in the Sun and Moone por- tend no good to vs: though the wisedome of Nature can reason it thus, and thus, yet Nature finds it selfe scourg'd by the sequent effects. Loue cooles, friendship falls off, Brothers diuide. In Cities, mutinies; in Countries, dis- cord; in Pallaces, Treason; and the Bond crack'd, 'twixt Sonne and Father. This villaine of mine comes vnder the prediction; there's Son against Father, the King fals from byas of Nature, there's Father against Childe. We haue seene the best of our time. Machinations, hollownesse, treacherie, and all ruinous disorders follow vs disquietly to our Graues. Find out this Villain,
Edmond,
it shall lose thee nothing, do it carefully: and the Noble & true-har- ted Kent banish'd; his offence, honesty. 'Tis strange.
Exit
This is the excellent foppery of the world, that when we are sicke in fortune, often the surfets of our own behauiour, we make guilty of our disasters, the Sun, the Moone, and Starres, as if we were villaines on necessitie, Fooles by heauenly compulsion, Knaues, Theeues, and Treachers by Sphericall predominance. Drunkards, Ly- ars, and Adulterers by an inforc'd obedience of Planatary influence; and all that we are euill in, by a diuine thru- sting on. An admirable euasion of Whore-master-man, to lay his Goatish disposition on the charge of a Starre, My father compounded with my mother vnder the Dra- gons taile, and my Natiuity was vnder
Vrsa Maior,
so that it followes, I am rough and Leacherous. I should haue bin that I am, had the maidenlest Starre in the Fir- mament twinkled on my bastardizing.
Enter Edgar.
Pat: he comes like the Catastrophe of the old Comedie: my Cue is villanous Melancholly, with a sighe like
Tom
o
' Bedlam. —— O these Eclipses do portend these diui- sions. Fa, Sol,
La
,
Me
.
How now Brother
Edmond,
what serious con- templation are you in?
I am thinking Brother of a prediction I read this other day, what should follow these Eclipses.
Do you busie your selfe with that?
I promise you, the effects he writes of, succeede vnhappily. When saw you my Father last?
The night gone by.
Spake you with him?
I
, two houres together.
Parted you in good termes? Found you no dis- pleasure in him, by word, nor countenance?
None at all,
Bethink your selfe wherein you may haue offen- ded him: and at my entreaty forbeare his presence, vntill some little time hath qualified the heat of his displeasure, which at this instant so rageth in him, that with the mis-chiefe
of your person, it would scarsely alay.
Some Villaine hath done me wrong.
That's my feare, I pray you haue a continent forbearance till the speed of his rage goes slower: and as I say, retire with me to my lodging, from whence I will fitly bring you to heare my Lord speake: pray ye goe, there's my key: if you do stirre abroad, goe arm'd.
Arm'd, Brother?
Brother, I aduise you to the best, I am no honest man, if ther be any good meaning toward you: I haue told you what I haue seene, and heard: But faintly. Nothing like the image, and horror of it, pray you away.
Shall I heare from you anon?
Exit.
I do serue you in this businesse: A Credulous Father, and a Brother Noble, Whose nature is so farre from doing harmes, That he suspects none: on whose foolish honestie My practises ride easie: I see the businesse. Let me, if not by birth, haue lands by wit, All with me's meete, that I can fashion fit.
Exit.
Scena Tertia.
Enter Gonerill, and Steward.
Did my Father strike my Gentleman for chi- ding of his Foole?
I
Madam.
By day and night, he wrongs me, euery howre He flashes into one grosse crime, or other, That sets vs all at ods: Ile not endure it; His Knights grow riotous, and himselfe vpbraides vs On euery trifle. When he returnes from hunting, I will not speake with him, say I am sicke, If you come slacke of former seruices, You shall do well, the fault of it Ile answer.
He's comming Madam, I heare him.
Put on what weary negligence you please, You and your Fellowes: I'de haue it come to question; If he distaste it, let him to my Sister, Whose mind and mine I know in that are one, Remember what I haue said.
Well Madam.
And let his Knights haue colder lookes among you: what growes of it no matter, aduise your fellowes so, Ile write straight to my Sister to hold my course; pre- pare for dinner.
Exeunt.
Scena Quarta.
Enter Kent.
If but as will I other accents borrow, That can my speech defuse, my good intent May carry through it selfe to that full issue For which I raiz'd my likenesse. Now banisht
Kent,
If thou canst serue where thou dost stand condemn'd, So may it come, thy Master whom thou lou'st, Shall find thee full of labours.
Hornes within. Enter Lear and Attendants.
Let me not stay a iot for dinner, go get it rea- dy: how now, what art thou?
A man Sir.
What dost thou professe? What would'st thou with vs?
I do professe to be no lesse then I seeme; to serue him truely that will put me in trust, to loue him that is honest, to conuerse with him that is wise and saies little, to feare iudgement, to fight when I cannot choose, and to eate no fish.
What art thou?
A very honest hearted Fellow, and as poore as the King.
If thou be'st as poore for a subiect, as hee's for a King, thou art poore enough. What wouldst thou?
Seruice.
Who wouldst thou serue?
You.
Do'st thou know me fellow?
No Sir, but you haue that in your countenance, which I would faine call Master.
What's that?
Authority.
What seruices canst thou do?
I can keepe honest counsaile, ride, run, marre a curious tale in telling it, and deliuer a plaine message bluntly: that which ordinary men are fit for, I am qual- lified in, and the best of me, is Dilligence.
How old art thou?
Not so young Sir to loue a woman for singing, nor so old to dote on her for any thing. I haue yeares on my backe forty eight.
Follow me, thou shalt serue me, if I like thee no worse after dinner, I will not part from thee yet. Dinner ho, dinner, where's my knaue? my Foole? Go you and call my Foole hither. You you Sirrah, where's my Daughter?
Enter Steward.
So please you——
Exit.
What saies the Fellow there? Call the Clot- pole backe: wher's my Foole? Ho, I thinke the world's asleepe, how now? Where's that Mungrell?
He saies my Lord, your Daughters is not well.
Why came not the slaue backe to me when I call'd him?
Sir, he answered me in the roundest manner, he would not.
He would not?
My Lord, I know not what the matter is, but to my iudgement your Highnesse is not entertain'd with that Ceremonious affection as you were wont, theres a great abatement of kindnesse appeares as well in the generall dependants, as in the Duke himselfe also, and your Daughter.
Ha? Saist thou so?
I beseech you pardon me my Lord, if I bee mistaken, for my duty cannot be silent, when I thinke your Highnesse wrong'd.
Thou but remembrest me of mine owne Con- ception, I haue perceiued a most faint neglect of late, which I haue rather blamed as mine owne iealous curio- sitie, then as a very pretence and purpose of vnkindnesse; I will looke further intoo't: but where's my Foole? I haue not seene him this two daies.
Since my young Ladies going into
France
Sir, the Foole hath much pined away.
No more of that, I haue noted it well, goe you and tell my Daughter, I would speake with her. Goe you call hither my Foole; Oh you Sir, you, come you hither Sir, who am I Sir?
Enter Steward.
My Ladies Father.
My Ladies Father? my Lords knaue, you whor- son dog, you slaue, you curre.
I am none of these my Lord, I beseech your pardon.
Do you bandy lookes with me, you Rascall?
Ile not be strucken my Lord.
Nor tript neither, you base Foot-ball plaier.
I thanke thee fellow. Thou seru'st me, and Ile loue thee.
Come sir, arise, away, Ile teach you differences: away, away, if you will measure your lubbers length a- gaine, tarry, but away, goe
too
, haue you wisedome, so.
Now my friendly knaue I thanke thee, there's earnest of thy seruice.
Enter Foole.
Let me hire him too, here's my Coxcombe.
How now my pretty knaue, how dost thou?
Sirrah, you were best take my Coxcombe.
Why my Boy?
Why? for taking ones part that's out of fauour, nay, & thou canst not smile as the wind sits, thou'lt catch colde shortly, there take my Coxcombe; why this fellow ha's banish'd two on's Daughters, and did the third a blessing against his
will
, if thou follow him, thou must needs weare my Coxcombe. How now Nunckle? would I had two Coxcombes and two Daughters.
Why my Boy?
If I gaue them all my liuing, I'ld keepe my Cox- combes my selfe, there's mine, beg another of thy Daughters.
Take heed Sirrah, the whip.
Truth's a dog must to kennell, hee must bee whipt out, when the Lady Brach may stand by'th' fire and stinke.
A pestilent gall to me.
Sirha, Ile teach thee a speech.
Do.
Marke it Nuncle; Haue more then thou showest, Speake lesse then thou knowest, Lend lesse then thou owest, Ride more then thou goest, Learne more then thou trowest, Set lesse then thou throwest; Leaue thy drinke and thy whore, And keepe in a dore, And thou shalt haue more, Then two tens to a score.
This is nothing Foole.
Then 'tis like the breath of an vnfeed Lawyer, you gaue me nothing for't, can you make no vse of no- thing Nuncle?
Why no Boy, Nothing can be made out of nothing.
Prythee tell him, so much the rent of his land comes to, he will not beleeue a Foole.
A bitter Foole.
Do'st thou know the difference my Boy, be- tweene a bitter Foole, and a sweet one.
No Lad, teach me.
Nunckle, giue me an egge, and Ile giue thee two Crownes.
What two Crownes shall they be?
Why after I haue cut the egge i'th' middle and eate vp the meate, the two Crownes of the egge: when thou clouest thy Crownes i'th' middle, and gau'st away both parts, thou boar'st thine Asse on thy backe o're the durt, thou hadst little wit in thy bald crowne, when thou gau'st thy golden one away; if I speake like my selfe in this, let him be whipt that first findes it so. Fooles had nere lesse grace in a yeere, For wisemen are growne foppish, And know not how their wits to weare, Their manners are so apish.
When were you wont to be so full of Songs sirrah?
I haue vsed it Nunckle, ere since thou mad'st thy Daughters thy Mothers, for when thou gau'st them the rod, and put'st downe thine owne breeches, then they For sodaine ioy did weepe, And I for sorrow sung, That such a King should play bo-peepe, And goe the Foole among. Pry'thy Nunckle keepe a Schoolemaster that can teach thy Foole to lie, I would faine learne to lie.
And
you lie sirrah, wee'l haue you whipt.
I maruell what kin thou and thy daughters are, they'l haue me whipt for speaking true: thou'lt haue me whipt for lying, and sometimes I am whipt for holding my peace. I had rather be any kind
o
' thing then a foole, and yet I would not be thee Nunckle, thou hast pared thy wit
o
' both sides, and left nothing i'th' middle; heere comes one o'the parings.
Enter Gonerill.
How now Daughter? what makes that Frontlet on? You are too much of late i'th' frowne.
Thou wast a pretty fellow when thou hadst no need to care for her frowning, now thou art an
O
with- out a figure, I am better then thou art now, I am a Foole, thou art nothing. Yes forsooth I will hold my tongue, so your face bids me, though you say nothing. Mum, mum, he that keepes nor crust, nor crum, Weary of all, shall want some. That's a sheal'd Pescod.
Not only Sir this, your all-lycenc'd Foole, But other of your insolent retinue Do hourely Carpe and Quarrell, breaking forth In ranke, and (not to be endur'd) riots Sir. I had thought by making this well knowne vnto you, To haue found a safe redresse, but now grow fearefull By what your selfe too late haue spoke and done, That you protect this course, and put it on By your allowance, which if you should, the fault Would not scape censure, nor the redresses sleepe, Which in the tender of a wholesome weale, Mighty in their working do you that offence, Which else were shame, that then necessitie Will call discreet proceeding.
For you know Nunckle, the Hedge-Sparrow fed the Cuckoo so long, that it's had
it
head bit off by
it
young, so out went the Candle, and we were left dark- ling.
Are you our Daughter?
I would you would make vse of your good wise
dome
(Whereof I know you are fraught), and put away These dispositions, which of late transport you From what you rightly are.
May not an Asse know, when the Cart drawes the Horse? Whoop Iugge I loue thee.
Do's any heere know me? This is not
Lear:
Do's
Lear
walke thus? Speake thus? Where are his eies? Either his Notion weakens, his Discernings Are Lethargied. Ha! Waking? 'Tis not so? Who is it that can tell me who I am?
Lears
shadow.
Your name, faire Gentlewoman?
This admiration Sir, is much o'th' sauour Of other your new prankes. I do beseech you To vnderstand my purposes aright: As you are Old, and Reuerend, should be Wise. Heere do you keepe a hundred Knights and Squires, Men so disorder'd, so debosh'd and bold, That this our Court infected with their manners, Shewes like a riotous Inne; Epicurisme and Lust Makes it more like a Tauerne, or a Brothell, Then a grac'd Pallace. The shame it selfe doth speake For instant remedy. Be then desir'd By her, that else will take the thing she begges, A little to disquantity your Traine, And the remainders that shall still depend, To be such men as may besort your Age, Which know themselues, and you.
Darknesse, and Diuels. Saddle my horses: call my Traine together. Degenerate Bastard, Ile not trouble thee; Yet haue I left a daughter.
You strike my people, and your disorder'd rable, make Seruants of their Betters.
Enter Albany.
Woe, that too late repents: Is it your
will
, speake Sir? Prepare my Horses. Ingratitude! thou Marble-hearted Fiend, More hideous when thou shew'st thee in a Child, Then the Sea-monster.
Pray Sir be patient.
Detested Kite, thou lyest. My Traine are men of choice, and rarest parts, That all particulars of dutie know, And in the most exact regard, support The worships of their name. O most small fault, How vgly did'st thou in
Cordelia
shew? Which like an Engine, wrencht my frame of Nature From the fixt place: drew from my heart all loue, And added to the gall. O
Lear, Lear, Lear
! Beate at this gate that let thy Folly in, And thy deere Iudgement out. Go, go, my people.
My Lord, I am guiltlesse, as I am ignorant Of what hath moued you.
It may be so, my Lord. Heare Nature, heare deere Goddesse, heare: Suspend thy purpose, if thou did'st intend To make this Creature fruitfull: Into her Wombe conuey stirrility, Drie vp in her the Organs of increase, And from her derogate body, neuer spring A Babe to honor her. If she must teeme, Create her childe of Spleene, that it may liue And be
a
thwart disnatur'd torment to her. Let it stampe wrinkles in her brow of youth, With cadent Teares fret Channels in her cheekes, Turne all her Mothers paines, and benefits To laughter, and contempt: That she may feele, How sharper then a Serpents tooth it is, To haue a thanklesse Childe. Away, away.
Exit.
Now Gods that we adore, Whereof comes this?
Neuer afflict your selfe to know more of it: But let his disposition haue that scope As dotage giues it.
Enter Lear.
What fiftie of my Followers at a clap? Within a fortnight?
What's the matter, Sir?
Ile tell thee: Life and death, I am asham'd That thou hast power to shake my manhood thus, That these hot teares, which breake from me perforce Should make thee worth them. Blastes and Fogges vpon thee: Th' vntented woundings of a Fathers curse Pierce euerie sense about thee. Old fond eyes, Beweepe this cause againe, Ile plucke ye out, And cast you with the waters that you loose To temper Clay. Ha? Let it be so. I haue another daughter, Who I am sure is kinde and comfortable: When she shall heare this of thee, with her nailes Shee'l flea thy Woluish visage. Thou shalt finde, That Ile resume the shape which thou dost thinke I haue cast off for euer.
Exit
Do you marke that?
I cannot be so partiall
Gonerill,
To the great loue I beare you.
Pray you content. What
Oswald,
hoa? You Sir, more Knaue then Foole, after your Master.
Nunkle
Lear,
Nunkle
Lear,
Tarry, take the Foole 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 Foole followes after.
Exit
This man hath had good Counsell, A hundred Knights? 'Tis politike, and safe to let him keepe At point a hundred Knights: yes, that on euerie dreame, Each buz, each fancie, each complaint, dislike, He may enguard his dotage with their powres, And hold our liues in mercy.
Oswald,
I say.
Well, you may feare too farre.
Safer then trust too farre; Let me still take away the harmes I feare, Not feare still to be taken. I know his heart, What he hath vtter'd I haue writ my Sister: If she sustaine him, and his hundred Knights When I haue shew'd th' vnfitnesse.
Enter Steward.
How now
Oswald
? What haue you writ that Letter to my Sister?
I
Madam.
Take you some company, and away to horse, Informe her full of my particular feare, And thereto adde such reasons of your owne, As may compact it more. Get you gone,
And hasten your returne; no, no, my Lord, This milky gentlenesse, and course of yours Though I condemne not, yet vnder pardon You are much more at task for want of wisedome, Then prais'd for harmefull mildnesse.
How farre your eies may pierce I cannot tell; Striuing to better, oft we marre what's well.
Nay then——
Well, well, th' euent.
Exeunt
Scena Quinta.
Enter Lear, Kent, Gentleman, and Foole.
Go you before to
Gloster
with these Letters; acquaint my Daughter no further with any thing you know, then comes from her demand out of the Letter, if your Dilligence be not speedy, I shall be there afore you.
I will not sleepe my Lord, till I haue deliuered your Letter.
Exit.
If a mans braines were in's heeles,
wert
not in danger of kybes?
I
Boy.
Then I prythee be merry, thy wit shall not go slip-shod.
Ha, ha, ha.
Shalt see thy other Daughter will vse thee kind- ly, for though she's as like this, as a Crabbe's like an Apple, yet I can tell what I can tell.
What can'st tell Boy?
She will taste as like this as, a Crabbe do's to a Crab: thou canst, tell why ones nose stands i'th' middle on's face?
No.
Why to keepe ones eyes of either side 's nose, that what a man cannot smell out, he may spy into.
I did her wrong.
Can'st tell how an Oyster makes his shell?
No.
Nor I neither; but I can tell why a Snaile ha's a house.
Why?
Why to put's head in, not to giue it away to his daughters, and leaue his hornes without a case.
I will forget my Nature, so kind a Father? Be my Horsses ready?
Thy Asses are gone about 'em; the reason why the seuen Starres are no mo then seuen, is a pretty reason.
Because they are not eight.
Yes indeed, thou would'st make a good Foole.
To tak't againe perforce; Monster Ingratitude!
If thou wert my Foole Nunckle, Il'd haue thee beaten for being old before thy time.
How's that?
Thou shouldst not haue bin old, till thou hadst bin wise.
O let me not be mad, not mad sweet Heauen: keepe me in temper, I would not be mad. How now are the Horses ready?
Ready my Lord.
Come Boy.
She that's a Maid now, & laughs at my departure, Shall not be a Maid long, vnlesse things be cut shorter.
Exeunt.
Actus Secundus. Scena Prima.
Enter Bastard, and Curan, seuerally.
Saue thee
Curan.
And you Sir, I haue bin With your Father, and giuen him notice That the Duke of
Cornwall,
and
Regan
his Duchesse Will be here with him this night.
How comes that?
Nay I know not, you haue heard of the newes a- broad, I meane the whisper'd ones, for they are yet but ear-kissing arguments.
Not I: pray you what are they?
Haue you heard of no likely Warres toward, 'Twixt the Dukes of
Cornwall,
and
Albany
?
Not a word.
You may do then in time, Fare you well Sir.
Exit.
The Duke be here to night? The better best, This weaues it selfe perforce into my businesse, My Father hath set guard to take my Brother, And I haue one thing of a queazie question Which I must act, Briefenesse, and Fortune worke.
Enter Edgar.
Brother, a word, discend; Brother I say, My Father watches: O Sir, fly this place, Intelligence is giuen where you are hid; You haue now the good aduantage of the night, Haue you not spoken 'gainst the Duke of
Cornewall
? Hee's comming hither, now i'th' night, i'th' haste, And
Regan
with him, haue you nothing said Vpon his partie 'gainst the Duke of
Albany
? Aduise your selfe.
I am sure on't, not a word.
I heare my Father comming, pardon me: In cunning, I must draw my Sword vpon you: Draw, seeme to defend your selfe, Now quit you well. Yeeld, come before my Father, light hoa, here, Fly Brother, Torches, Torches, so farewell.
Exit Edgar.
Some blood drawne on me, would beget opinion Of my more fierce endeauour. I haue seene drunkards Do more then this in sport; Father, Father, Stop, stop, no helpe?
Enter Gloster, and Seruants with Torches.
Now
Edmund,
where's the villaine?
Here stood he in the dark, his sharpe Sword out, Mumbling of wicked charmes, coniuring the Moone To stand auspicious Mistris.
But where is he?
Looke Sir, I bleed.
Where is the villaine,
Edmund
?
Fled this way Sir, when by no meanes he could.
Pursue him, ho: go after. By no meanes, what?
Perswade me to the murther of your Lordship, But that I told him the reuenging Gods, 'Gainst Paricides did all the thunder bend, Spoke with how manifold, and strong a Bond The Child was bound to'th' Father; Sir in fine, Seeing how lothly opposite I stood To his vnnaturall purpose, in fell motion With his prepared Sword, he charges home My vnprouided body, latch'd mine arme; And when he saw my best alarum'd spirits Bold in the quarrels right, rouz'd to th' encounter, Or whether gasted by the noyse I made, Full sodainely he fled.
Let him fly farre: Not in this Land shall he remaine vncaught And found; dispatch, the Noble Duke my Master, My worthy Arch and Patron comes to night, By his authoritie I will proclaime it, That he which finds him shall deserue our thankes, Bringing the murderous Coward to the stake: He that conceales him death.
When I disswaded him from his intent, And found him pight to doe it, with curst speech I threaten'd to discouer him; he replied, Thou vnpossessing Bastard, dost thou thinke, If I would stand against thee, would the reposall Of any trust, vertue, or worth in thee Make thy words faith'd? No, what should I denie, (As this I would, though thou didst produce My very Character) I'ld turne 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 potentiall spirits To make thee seeke it.
Tucket within.
O strange and fastned Villaine, Would he deny his Letter, said he? Harke, the Dukes Trumpets, I know not wher he comes; All Ports Ile barre, the villaine shall not scape, The Duke must grant me that: besides, his picture I will send farre and neere, that all the kingdome May haue due note of him, and of my land, (Loyall and naturall Boy) Ile worke the meanes To make thee capable.
Enter Cornewall, Regan, and Attendants.
How now my Noble friend, since I came hither (Which I can call but now,) I haue heard strangenesse.
If it be true, all vengeance comes too short Which can pursue th' offender; how dost my Lord?
O Madam, my old heart is crack'd, it's crack'd.
What, did my Fathers Godsonne seeke your life? He whom my Father nam'd, your
Edgar
?
O Lady, Lady, shame would haue it hid.
Was he not companion with the riotous Knights That tended vpon my Father?
I know not Madam, 'tis too bad, too bad.
Yes Madam, he was of that consort.
No maruaile then, though he were
ill
affected, 'Tis they haue put him on the old mans death, To haue th' expence and
wast
of his Reuenues: I haue this present euening from my Sister Beene well inform'd of them, and with such cautions, That if they come to soiourne at my house, Ile not be there.
Nor I, assure thee
Regan; Edmund,
I heare that you haue shewne your Father A Child-like Office.
It was my duty Sir.
He did bewray his practise, and receiu'd This hurt you see, striuing to apprehend him.
Is he pursued?
I
my good Lord.
If he be taken, he shall neuer more Be fear'd of doing harme, make your owne purpose, How in my strength you please: for you
Edmund,
Whose vertue and obedience doth this instant So much commend it selfe, you shall be ours, Nature's of such deepe trust, we shall much need: You we first seize on.
I shall serue you Sir truely, how euer else.
For him I thanke your Grace.
You know not why we came to visit you?
Thus out of season, thredding darke ey'd night, Occasions Noble
Gloster
of some prize, Wherein we must haue vse of your aduise. Our Father he hath writ, so hath our Sister, Of differences, which I best thought it fit To answere from our home: the seuerall Messengers From hence attend dispatch, our good old Friend, Lay comforts to your bosome, and bestow Your needfull counsaile to our businesses, Which craues the instant vse.
I serue you Madam, Your Graces are right welcome.
Exeunt. Flourish.
Scena Secunda.
Enter Kent, and Steward seuerally.
Good dawning to thee Friend, art of this house?
I
.
Where may we set our horses?
I'th' myre.
Prythee, if thou lou'st me, tell me.
I loue thee not.
Why then I care not for thee.
If I had thee in
Lipsbury
Pinfold, I would make thee care for me.
Why do'st thou vse me thus? I know thee not.
Fellow I know thee.
What do'st thou know me for?
A Knaue, a Rascall, an eater of broken meates, a base, proud, shallow, beggerly, three-suited-hundred pound, filthy woosted-stocking knaue, a Lilly-liuered, action-taking, whoreson glasse-gazing super-seruiceable finicall Rogue, one Trunke-inheriting slaue, one that would'st be a Baud in way of good seruice, and art no- thing but the composition of a Knaue, Begger, Coward, Pandar, and the Sonne and Heire of a Mungrill Bitch, one whom I will beate into clamours whining, if thou deny'st the least sillable of thy addition.
Why, what a monstrous Fellow art thou, thus to raile on one, that is neither knowne of thee, nor knowes thee?
What a brazen-fac'd Varlet art thou, to deny thou knowest me? Is it two dayes since I tript vp thy heeles, and beate thee before the King? Draw you rogue, for though it be night, yet the Moone shines, Ile make a sop oth' Moonshine of you, you whoreson Cullyenly Barber-monger, draw.
Away, I haue nothing to do with thee.
Draw you Rascall, you come with Letters a- gainst the King, and take Vanitie the puppets part, a- gainst the Royaltie of her Father: draw you Rogue, or Ile so carbonado your shanks, draw you Rascall, come your waies.
Helpe, ho, murther, helpe.
Strike you slaue: stand rogue, stand you neat slaue, strike.
Helpe hoa, murther, murther.
Enter Bastard, Cornewall, Regan, Gloster, Seruants.
How now, what's the matter? Part.
With you goodman Boy, if you please, come, Ile flesh ye, come on yong Master.
Weapons? Armes? what's the matter here?
Keepe peace vpon your liues, he dies that strikes againe, what is the matter?
The Messengers from our Sister, and the King?
What is your difference, speake?
I am scarce in breath my Lord.
No Maruell, you haue so bestir'd your valour, you cowardly Rascall, nature disclaimes in thee: a Taylor made thee.
Thou art a strange fellow, a Taylor make a man?
A Taylor Sir, a Stone-cutter, or a Painter, could not haue made him so
ill
, though they had bin but two yeares oth' trade.
Speake yet, how grew your quarrell?
This ancient Ruffian Sir, whose life I haue spar'd at sute of his gray-beard.
Thou whoreson Zed, thou vnnecessary letter: my Lord, if you will giue me leaue, I will tread this vn- boulted villaine into morter, and daube the wall of a Iakes with him. Spare my gray-beard, you wagtaile?
Peace sirrah, You beastly knaue, know you no reuerence?
Yes Sir, but anger hath a priuiledge.
Why art thou angrie?
That such a slaue as this should weare a Sword, Who weares no honesty: such smiling rogues as these, Like Rats oft bite the holy cords
a
twaine, Which are t' intrince, t' vnloose: smooth euery passion That in the natures of their Lords rebell, Being oile to fire, snow to the colder moodes, Reuenge, affirme, and turne their Halcion beakes With euery gall, and varry of their Masters, Knowing naught (like dogges) but following: A plague vpon your Epilepticke visage, Smoile you my speeches, as I were a Foole? Goose, if I had you vpon
Sarum
Plaine, I'ld driue ye cackling home to
Camelot.
What art thou mad old Fellow?
How fell you out, say that?
No contraries hold more antipathy, Then I, and such a knaue.
Why do'st thou call him Knaue? What is his fault?
His countenance likes me not.
No more perchance do's mine, nor his, nor hers.
Sir, 'tis my occupation to be plaine, I haue seene better faces in my Time, Then stands on any shoulder that I see Before me, at this instant.
This is some Fellow, Who hauing beene prais'd for bluntnesse, doth affect A saucy roughnes, and constraines the garb Quite from his Nature. He cannot flatter he, An honest mind and plaine, he must speake truth, And they will take it so, if not, hee's plaine. These kind of Knaues I know, which in this plainnesse Harbour more craft, and more corrupter ends, Then twenty silly-ducking obseruants, That stretch their duties nicely.
Sir, in good faith, in sincere verity, Vnder th' allowance of your great aspect, Whose influence like the wreath of radient fire On flickring
Phoebus
front.
What mean'st by this?
To go out of my dialect, which you discom- mend so much; I know Sir, I am no flatterer, he that be- guild you in a plaine accent, was a plaine Knaue, which for my part I will not be, though I should win your displeasure to entreat me too't.
What was th' offence you gaue him?
I neuer gaue him any: It pleas'd the King his Master very late To strike at me vpon his misconstruction, When he compact, and flattering his displeasure Tript me behind: being downe, insulted, rail'd, And put vpon him such a deale of Man, That worthied him, got praises of the King, For him attempting, who was selfe-subdued, And in the fleshment of this dead exploit, Drew on me here againe.
None of these Rogues, and Cowards But
Aiax
is there Foole.
Fetch forth the Stocks? You stubborne ancient Knaue, you reuerent Bragart, Wee'l teach you.
Sir, I am too old to learne: Call not your Stocks for me, I serue the King. On whose imployment I was sent to you, You shall doe small respects, show too bold malice Against the Grace, and Person of my Master, Stocking his Messenger.
Fetch forth the Stocks; As I haue life and Honour, there shall he sit till Noone.
Till noone? till night my Lord, and all night too.
Why Madam, if I were your Fathers dog, You should not vse me so.
Sir, being his Knaue, I will.
Stocks brought out.
This is a Fellow of the selfe same colour, Our Sister speakes of. Come, bring away the Stocks.
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 haue him thus restrained.
Ile answere that.
My Sister may recieue it much more worsse, To haue her Gentleman abus'd, assaulted.
Come my Lord, away.
Exit.
I am sorry for thee friend, 'tis the Dukes pleasure, Whose disposition all the world well knowes Will not be rub'd nor stopt, Ile entreat for thee.
Pray do not Sir, I haue watch'd and trauail'd hard, Some time I shall sleepe out, the rest Ile whistle: A good mans fortune may grow out at heeles: Giue you good morrow.
The Duke's
too
blame in this, 'Twill be
ill
taken.
Exit.
Good King, that must approue the common saw, Thou out of Heauens benediction com'st To the warme Sun. Approach thou Beacon to this vnder Globe, That by thy comfortable Beames I may Peruse this Letter. Nothing almost sees miracles But miserie. I know 'tis from
Cordelia,
Who hath most fortunately beene inform'd Of my obscured course. And shall finde time From this enormous State, seeking to giue Losses their remedies. All weary and o're-watch'd, Take vantage heauie eyes, not to behold This shamefull lodging. Fortune goodnight, Smile once more, turne thy wheele.
Enter Edgar.
I heard my selfe proclaim'd, And by the happy hollow of a Tree, Escap'd the hunt. No Port is free, no place That guard, and most vnusall vigilance Do's not attend my taking. Whiles I may scape I will preserue myselfe: and am bethought To take the basest, and most poorest shape That euer penury in contempt of man, Brought neere to beast; my face Ile grime with filth, Blanket my loines, else all my haires in knots, And with presented nakednesse out-face The Windes, and persecutions of the skie; The Country giues me proofe, and president Of Bedlam beggers, who with roaring voices, Strike in their num'd and mortified Armes. Pins, Wodden-prickes, Nayles, Sprigs of Rosemarie: And with this horrible obiect, from low Farmes, Poore pelting Villages, Sheeps-Coates, and Milles, Sometimes with Lunaticke bans, sometime with Praiers Inforce their charitie: poore
Turlygod
poore
Tom,
That's something yet:
Edgar
I nothing am.
Exit.
Enter Lear, Foole, and Gentleman.
'Tis strange that they should so depart from home, And not send backe my Messengers.
As I learn'd, The night before, there was no purpose in them Of this remoue.
Haile to thee Noble Master.
Ha? Mak'st thou this shame thy pastime?
No my Lord.
Hah, ha, he weares Cruell Garters Horses are tide by the heads, Dogges and Beares by'th' necke, Monkies by'th' loynes, and Men by'th' legs: when a man ouerlustie at legs, then he weares wodden nether-stocks.
What's he, That hath so much thy place mistooke To set thee heere?
It is both he and she, Your Son, and Daughter.
No.
Yes.
No I say.
I say yea.
By
Iupiter
I sweare no.
By
Iuno,
I sweare
I
.
They durst not do't: They could not, would not do't: 'tis worse then murther, To do vpon respect such violent outrage: Resolue me with all modest haste, which way Thou might'st deserue, or they impose this vsage, Comming from vs.
My Lord, when at their home I did commend your Highnesse Letters to them, Ere I was risen from the place, that shewed My dutie kneeling, came there a reeking Poste, Stew'd in his haste, halfe breathlesse, painting forth From
Gonerill
his Mistris, salutations; Deliuer'd Letters spight of intermission, Which presently they read; on those contents They summon'd vp their meiney, straight tooke Horse, Commanded me to follow, and attend The leisure of their answer, gaue me cold lookes, And meeting heere the other Messenger, Whose welcome I perceiu'd had poison'd mine, Being the very fellow which of late Displaid so sawcily against your Highnesse, Hauing more man then wit about me, drew; He rais'd the house, with loud and coward cries, Your Sonne and Daughter found this trespasse worth The shame which heere it suffers.
Winters not gon yet, if the wil'd Geese fly that
way
, Fathers that weare rags, do make their Children blind, But Fathers that beare bags, shall see their children kind. Fortune that arrant whore, nere turns the key toth' poore. But for all this thou shalt haue as many Dolors for thy Daughters, as thou canst tell in a yeare.
Oh how this Mother swels vp toward my heart!
Historica passio,
downe thou climing sorrow, Thy Elements below where is this Daughter?
With the Earle Sir, here within.
Follow me not, stay here.
Exit.
Made you no more offence, But what you speake of?
None: How chance the King comes with so small a number?
And
thou hadst beene set i'th' Stockes for that question, thoud'st well deseru'd it.
Why Foole?
Wee'l set thee to schoole to an Ant, to teach thee ther's no labouring i'th' winter. All that follow their noses, are led by their eyes, but blinde men, and there's not a nose among twenty, but can smell him that's stink- ing; let go thy hold when a great wheele runs downe a hill, least it breake thy necke with following. But the great one that goes vpward, let him draw thee after: when a wiseman giues thee better counsell giue me mine againe, I would haue none but knaues follow it, since a Foole giues it. That
Sir
, which serues and seekes for gaine, And followes but for forme; Will packe, when it begins to raine, And leaue thee in the storme, But I will tarry, the Foole will stay, And let the wiseman flie: The knaue turnes Foole that runnes away, The Foole no knaue perdie.
Enter Lear, and Gloster
:
Where learn'd you this Foole?
Not i'th' Stocks Foole.
Deny to speake with me? They are sicke, they are weary, They haue trauail'd all the night? meere fetches, The images of reuolt and flying off. Fetch me a better answer.
My deere Lord, You know the fiery quality of the Duke, How vnremoueable and fixt he is In his owne course.
Vengeance, Plague, Death, Confusion: Fiery? What quality? Why
Gloster, Gloster,
I'ld speake with the Duke of
Cornewall,
and his wife.
Well my good Lord, I haue inform'd them so.
Inform'd them? Do'st thou vnderstand me man.
I
my good Lord.
The King would speake with
Cornwall,
The deere Father Would with his Daughter speake, commands, tends, ser
uice
, Are they inform'd of this? My breath and blood: Fiery? The fiery Duke, tell the hot Duke that—— No, but not yet, may be he is not well, Infirmity doth still neglect all office, Whereto our health is bound, we are not our selues, When Nature being opprest, commands the mind To suffer with the body; Ile forbeare, And am fallen out with my more headier
will
, To take the indispos'd and sickly fit, For the sound man. Death on my state: wherefore Should he sit heere? This act perswades me, That this remotion of the Duke and her Is practise only. Giue me my Seruant forth; Goe tell the Duke, and's wife, Il'd speake with them: Now, presently: bid them come forth and heare me, Or at their Chamber doore Ile beate the Drum, Till it crie sleepe to death.
I would haue all well betwixt you.
Exit.
Oh me my heart! My rising heart! But downe.
Cry to it Nunckle, as the Cockney did to the Eeles, when she put 'em i'th' Paste aliue, she knapt 'em o'th' coxcombs with a sticke, and cryed downe wantons, downe; 'twas her Brother, that in pure kindnesse to his Horse buttered his Hay.
Enter Cornewall, Regan, Gloster, Seruants.
Good morrow to you both.
Haile to your Grace.
Kent here set at liberty.
I am glad to see your Highnesse.
Regan,
I thinke you are. I know what reason I haue to thinke so, if thou should'st not be glad, I would diuorce me from thy Mother Tombe, Sepulchring an Adultresse. O are you free? Some other time for that. Beloued
Regan,
Thy Sisters naught: oh
Regan,
she hath tied Sharpe-tooth'd vnkindnesse, like a vulture heere, I can scarce speake to thee, thou'lt not beleeue With how deprau'd a quality. Oh
Regan.
I pray you Sir, take patience, I haue hope You lesse know how to value her desert, Then she to scant her dutie.
Say? How is that?
I cannot thinke my Sister in the least Would faile her Obligation. If Sir perchance She haue restrained the Riots of your Followres, 'Tis on such ground, and to such wholesome end, As cleeres her from all blame.
My curses on her.
O Sir, you are old, Nature in you stands on the very Verge Of his confine: you should be rul'd, and led By some discretion, that discernes your state Better then you your selfe: therefore I pray you, That to our Sister, you do make returne, Say you haue wrong'd her.
Aske her forgiuenesse? Do you but marke how this becomes the house? Deere daughter, I confesse that I am old; Age is vnnecessary: on my knees I begge, That you'l vouchsafe me Rayment, Bed, and Food.
Good Sir, no more: these are vnsightly trickes: Returne you to my Sister.
Neuer
Regan:
She hath abated me of halfe my Traine; Look'd blacke vpon me, strooke me with her Tongue Most Serpent-like, vpon the very Heart. All the stor'd Vengeances of Heauen, fall On her ingratefull top: strike her yong bones You taking Ayres, with Lamenesse.
Fye sir, fie.
You nimble Lightnings, dart your blinding flames Into her scornfull eyes: Infect her Beauty, You Fen-suck'd Fogges, drawne by the powrfull Sunne, To fall, and blister.
O the blest Gods! So will you wish on me, when the rash moode is on.
No
Regan,
thou shalt neuer haue my curse: Thy tender-hefted Nature shall not giue Thee o're to harshnesse: Her eyes are fierce, but thine Do comfort, and not burne. 'Tis not in thee To grudge my pleasures, to cut off my Traine, To bandy hasty words, to scant my sizes, And in conclusion, to oppose the bolt Against my comming in. Thou better know'st The Offices of Nature, bond of Childhood, Effects of Curtesie, dues of Gratitude: Thy halfe o'th' Kingdome hast thou not forgot, Wherein I thee endow'd.
Good Sir, to'th' purpose.
Tucket within.
Who put my man i'th' Stockes?
Enter Steward.
What Trumpet's that?
I know't, my Sisters: this approues her Letter, That she would soone be heere. Is your Lady come?
This is a Slaue, whose easie borrowed pride Dwels in the sickly grace of her he followes. Out Varlet, from my sight.
What meanes your Grace?
Enter Gonerill.
Who stockt my Seruant?
Regan,
I haue good hope Thou did'st not know on't. Who comes here? O Heauens! If you do loue old men; if your sweet sway Allow Obedience; if you your selues are old, Make it your cause: Send downe, and take my part. Art not asham'd to looke vpon this Beard? O
Regan,
will you take her by the hand?
Why not by'th' hand Sir? How haue I offended? All's not offence that indiscretion findes, And dotage termes so.
O sides, you are too tough! Will you yet hold? How came my man i'th' Stockes?
I set him there, Sir: but his owne Disorders
Deseru'd much lesse aduancement.
You? Did you?
I pray you Father being weake, seeme so. If till the expiration of your Moneth You will returne and soiourne with my Sister, Dismissing halfe your traine, come then to me, I am now from home, and out of that prouision Which shall be needfull for your entertainement.
Returne to her? and fifty men dismiss'd? No, rather I abiure all roofes, and chuse To wage against the enmity oth' ayre, To be a Comrade with the Wolfe, and Owle, Necessities sharpe pinch. Returne with her? Why the hot-bloodied
France,
that dowerlesse tooke Our yongest borne, I could as well be brought To knee his Throne, and Squire-like pension beg, To keepe base life
a
foote; returne with her? Perswade me rather to be slaue and sumpter To this detested groome.
At your choice Sir.
I prythee Daughter do not make me mad, I will not trouble thee my Child; farewell: Wee'l no more meete, no more see one another. But yet thou art my flesh, my blood, my Daughter, Or rather a disease that's in my flesh, Which I must needs call mine. Thou art a Byle, A plague sore, or imbossed Carbuncle In my corrupted blood. But Ile not chide thee, Let shame come when it will, I do not call it, I do not bid the Thunder-bearer shoote, Nor tell tales of thee to high-iudging
Ioue,
Mend when thou can'st, be better at thy leisure, I can be patient, I can stay with
Regan,
I and my hundred Knights.
Not altogether so, I look'd not for you yet, nor am prouided For your fit welcome, giue eare Sir to my Sister, For those that mingle reason with your passion, Must be content to thinke you old, and so, But she knowes what she doe's.
Is this well spoken?
I dare auouch it Sir, what fifty Followers? Is it not well? What should you need of more? Yea, or so many? Sith that both charge and danger, Speake 'gainst so great a number? How in one house Should many people, vnder two commands Hold amity? 'Tis hard, almost impossible.
Why might not you my Lord, receiue attendance From those that she cals Seruants, or from mine?
Why not my Lord? If then they chanc'd to slacke ye, We could comptroll them; if you will come to me, (For now I spie a danger) I entreate you To bring but fiue and twentie, to no more Will I giue place or notice.
I gaue you all.
And in good time you gaue it.
Made you my Guardians, my Depositaries, But kept a reseruation to be followed With such a number? What, must I come to you With fiue and twenty?
Regan,
said you so?
And speak't againe my Lord, no more with me.
Those wicked Creatures yet do look wel fauor'd When others are more wicked, not being the worst Stands in some ranke of praise, Ile go with thee, Thy fifty yet doth double fiue and twenty, And thou art twice her Loue.
Heare me my Lord; What need you fiue and twenty? Ten? Or fiue? To follow in a house, where twice so many Haue a command to tend you?
What need one?
O reason not the need: our basest Beggers Are in the poorest thing superfluous. Allow not Nature, more then Nature needs: Mans life is cheape as Beastes. Thou art a Lady; If onely to go warme were gorgeous, Why Nature needs not what thou gorgeous wear'st, Which scarcely keepes thee warme, but for true need: You Heauens, giue me that patience, patience I need, You see me heere (you Gods) a poore old man, As full of griefe as age, wretched in both, If it be you that stirres these Daughters hearts Against their Father, foole me not so much, To beare it tamely: touch me with Noble anger, And let not womens weapons, water drops, Staine my mans cheekes. No you vnnaturall Hags, I will haue such reuenges on you both, That all the world shall—— I will do such things, What they are yet, I know not, but they shalbe The terrors of the earth? you thinke Ile weepe, No, Ile not weepe, I haue full cause of weeping.
Storme and Tempest.
But this heart shal break into a hundred thousand flawes Or ere Ile weepe; O Foole, I shall go mad.
Exeunt.
Let vs withdraw, 'twill be a Storme.
This house is little, the old man and's people, Cannot be well bestow'd.
'Tis his owne blame hath put himselfe from rest, And must needs taste his folly.
For his particular, Ile receiue him gladly, But not one follower.
So am I purpos'd, Where is my Lord of
Gloster
?
Enter Gloster.
Followed the old man forth, he is return'd.
The King is in high rage.
Whether is he going?
He cals to Horse, but will I know not whether.
'Tis best to giue him way, he leads himselfe.
My Lord, entreate him by no meanes to stay.
Alacke the night comes on, and the high windes Do sorely ruffle, for many Miles about There's scarce a Bush.
O Sir, to wilfull men, The iniuries that they themselues procure, Must be their Schoole-Masters: shut vp your doores, He is attended with a desperate traine, And what they may incense him
too
, being apt, To haue his eare abus'd, wisedome bids feare.
Shut vp your doores my Lord, 'tis a wil'd night, My
Regan
counsels well: come out oth' storme.
Exeunt.
Actus Tertius. Scena Prima.
Storme still. Enter Kent, and a Gentleman, seuerally.
Who's there besides foule weather?
One minded like the weather, most vnquietly.
I know you: Where's the King?
Contending with the fretfull Elements; Bids the winde blow the Earth into the Sea, Or swell the curled Waters 'boue the Maine, That things might change, or cease.
But who is with him?
None but the Foole, who labours to out-iest His heart-strooke iniuries.
Sir, I do know you, And dare vpon the warrant of my note Commend a deere thing to you. There is diuision (Although as yet the face of it is couer'd With mutuall cunning) 'twixt Albany, and Cornwall: Who haue, as who haue not, that their great Starres Thron'd and set high; Seruants, who seeme no lesse, Which are to France the Spies and Speculations Intelligent of our State. What hath bin seene, Either in snuffes, and packings of the Dukes, Or the hard Reine which both of them hath borne Against the old kinde King; or something deeper, Whereof (perchance) these are but furnishings.
I will talke further with you.
No, do not: For confirmation that I am much more Then my out-wall; open this Purse, and take What it containes. If you shall see
Cordelia,
(As feare not but you shall) shew her this Ring, And she will tell you who that Fellow is That yet you do not know. Fye on this Storme, I will go seeke the King.
Giue me your hand, Haue you no more to say?
Few words, but to effect more then all yet; That when we haue found the King, in which your pain That way, Ile this: He that first lights on him, Holla the other.
Exeunt.
Scena Secunda.
Storme still. Enter Lear, and Foole.
Blow windes, & crack your cheeks; Rage, blow You Cataracts, and Hyrricano's spout, Till you haue drench'd our Steeples, drown the Cockes. You Sulph'rous and Thought-executing Fires, Vaunt-curriors of Oake-cleauing Thunder-bolts, Sindge my white head. And thou all-shaking Thunder, Strike flat the thicke Rotundity o'th' world, Cracke Natures moulds, all germaines spill at once That makes ingratefull Man.
O Nunkle, Court holy-water in a dry house, is better then this Rain-water out
o
' doore. Good Nunkle, in, aske thy Daughters blessing, heere's a night pitties neither Wisemen, nor Fooles.
Rumble thy belly full: spit Fire, spowt Raine: Nor Raine, Winde, Thunder, Fire are my Daughters; I taxe not you, you Elements with vnkindnesse. I neuer gaue you Kingdome, call'd you Children; You owe me no subscription. Then let fall Your horrible pleasure. Heere I stand your Slaue, A poore, infirme, weake, and dispis'd old man: But yet I call you Seruile Ministers, That will with two pernicious Daughters ioyne Your high-engender'd Battailes, 'gainst a head So old, and white as this. O, ho! 'tis foule.
He that has a house to put's head in, has a good Head-peece: The Codpiece that will house, before the head has any; The Head, and he shall Lowse: so Beggers marry many. The man
makes his Toe, what he his Hart shold make, Shall of a Corne cry woe, and turne his sleepe to wake. For there was neuer yet faire woman, but shee made mouthes in a glasse.
Enter Kent.
No, I will be the patterne of all patience, I will say nothing.
Who's there?
Marry here's Grace, and a Codpiece, that's a Wiseman, and a Foole.
Alas Sir are you here? Things that loue night, Loue not such nights as these: The wrathfull Skies Gallow the very wanderers of the darke And make them keepe their Caues: Since I was man, Such sheets of Fire, such bursts of horrid Thunder, Such groanes of roaring Winde, and Raine, I neuer Remember to haue heard. Mans Nature cannot carry Th' affliction, nor the feare.
Let the great Goddes That keepe this dreadfull pudder o're our heads, Finde out their enemies now. Tremble thou Wretch, That hast within thee vndivulged Crimes Vnwhipt of Iustice. Hide thee, thou Bloudy hand; Thou Periur'd, and thou Simular of Vertue That art Incestuous. Caytiffe, to peeces shake That vnder couert, and conuenient seeming Ha's practis'd on mans life. Close pent-vp guilts, Riue your concealing Continents, and cry These dreadfull Summoners grace. I am a man, More sinn'd against, then sinning.
Alacke, bare-headed? Gracious my Lord, hard by heere is a Houell, Some friendship will it lend you 'gainst the Tempest: Repose you there, while I to this hard house, (More harder then the stones whereof 'tis rais'd, Which euen but now, demanding after you, Deny'd me to come in) returne, and force Their scanted curtesie.
My wits begin to turne. Come on my boy. How dost my boy? Art cold? I am cold my selfe. Where is this straw, my Fellow? The
Art
of our Necessities is strange, And can make vilde things precious. Come, your Houel; Poore Foole, and Knaue, I haue one part in my heart That's sorry yet for thee.
He that has
and
a little-tyne wit, With heigh-ho, the Winde and the Raine, Must make content with his Fortunes fit, Though the Raine it raineth euery day.
True Boy: Come bring vs to this Houell.
Exit.
This is a braue night to coole a Curtizan: Ile speake a Prophesie ere I go: When Priests are more in word, then matter; When Brewers marre their Malt with water; When Nobles are their Taylors Tutors, No Heretiques burn'd, but wenches Sutors; When euery Case in Law, is right; No Squire in debt, nor no poore Knight; When Slanders do not liue in Tongues; Nor Cut-purses come not to throngs; When Vsurers tell their Gold i'th' Field,
And Baudes, and whores, do Churches build, Then shal the Realme of
Albion,
come to great confusion: Then comes the time, who liues to see't, That going shalbe vs'd with feet. This prophecie
Merlin
shall make, for I liue before his
time
.
Exit.
Scaena Tertia.
Enter Gloster, and Edmund.
Alacke, alacke
Edmund,
I like not this vnnaturall dealing; when I desired their leaue that I might pity him, they tooke from me the vse of mine owne house, charg'd me on paine of perpetuall displeasure, neither to speake of him, entreat for him, or any way sustaine him.
Most sauage and vnnaturall.
Go
too
; say you nothing. There is diuision be- tweene the Dukes, and a worsse matter then that: I haue receiued a Letter this night, 'tis dangerous to be spoken, I haue lock'd the Letter in my Closset, these iniuries the King now beares, will be reuenged home; ther is part of a Power already footed, we must incline to the King, I will looke him, and priuily relieue him; goe you and maintaine talke with the Duke, that my charity be not of him perceiued; If he aske for me, I am
ill
, and gone to bed, if I die for it, (as no lesse is threatned me) the King my old Master must be relieued. There is strange things toward
Edmund,
pray you be carefull.
Exit.
This Curtesie forbid thee, shall the Duke Instantly know, and of that Letter too; This seemes a faire deseruing, and must draw me That which my Father looses: no lesse then all, The yonger rises, when the old doth fall.
Exit.
Scena Quarta.
Enter Lear, Kent, and Foole.
Here is the place my Lord, good my Lord enter, The tirrany of the open night's too rough For Nature to endure.
Storme still
Let me alone.
Good my Lord enter heere.
Wilt
breake my heart?
I had rather breake mine owne, Good my Lord enter.
Thou think'st 'tis much that this contentious
storme
Inuades vs to the skin so: 'tis to thee, But where the greater malady is fixt, The lesser is scarce felt. Thou'dst shun a Beare, But if thy flight lay toward the roaring sea, Thou'dst meete the Beare i'th' mouth, when the mind's
free
, The bodies delicate: the tempest in my mind, Doth from my sences take all feeling else, Saue what beates there, Filliall ingratitude, Is it not as this mouth should teare this hand For lifting food too't? But I will punish home; No, I will weepe no more; in such a night, To shut me out? Poure on, I will endure: In such a night as this? O
Regan, Gonerill,
Your old kind Father, whose franke heart gaue all, O that way madnesse lies, let me shun that: No more of that.
Good my Lord enter here.
Prythee go in thy selfe, seeke thine owne ease, This tempest will not giue me leaue to ponder On things would hurt me more, but Ile goe in, In Boy, go first. You houselesse pouertie,
Exit.
Nay get thee in; Ile pray, and then Ile sleepe. Poore naked wretches, where so ere you are That bide the pelting of this pittilesse storme, How shall your House-lesse heads, and vnfed sides, Your lop'd, and window'd raggednesse defend you From seasons such as these? O I haue tane Too little care of this: Take Physicke, Pompe, Expose thy selfe to feele what wretches feele, That thou maist shake the superflux to them, And shew the Heauens more iust.
Enter Edgar, and Foole.
Fathom, and halfe, Fathom and halfe; poore
Tom.
Come not in heere Nuncle, here's a spirit, helpe me, helpe me.
Giue my thy hand, who's there?
A spirite, a spirite, he sayes his name's poore
Tom.
What art thou that dost grumble there i'th' straw? Come forth.
Away, the foule Fiend followes me, through the sharpe Hauthorne blow the windes. Humh, goe to thy bed and warme thee.
Did'st thou giue all to thy Daughters? And art thou come to this?
Who giues any thing to poore
Tom
? Whom the foule fiend hath led through Fire, and through Flame, through Sword, and Whirle-Poole, o're Bog, and Quag- mire, that hath laid Kniues vnder his Pillow, and Halters in his Pue, set Rats-bane by his Porredge, made him Proud of heart, to ride on a Bay trotting Horse, ouer foure incht Bridges, to course his owne shadow for a Traitor. Blisse thy fiue Wits,
Tom
s
a
cold. O
do
,
de
,
do
,
de
,
do
,
de
, blisse thee from Whirle-Windes, Starre-blasting, and ta- king, do poore
Tom
some charitie, whom the foule Fiend vexes. There could I haue him now, and there, and there againe, and there.
Storme still.
Ha's his Daughters brought him to this passe? Could'st thou saue nothing? Would'st thou giue 'em all?
Nay, he reseru'd a Blanket, else we had bin all sham'd.
Now all the plagues that in the pendulous ayre Hang fated o're mens faults, light on thy Daughters.
He hath no Daughters Sir.
Death Traitor, nothing could haue subdu'd
Nature
To such a lownesse, but his vnkind Daughters. Is it the fashion, that discarded Fathers, Should haue thus little mercy on their flesh: Iudicious punishment, 'twas this flesh begot Those Pelicane Daughters.
Pillicock sat on Pillicock hill, alow: alow, loo, loo.
This cold night will turne vs all to Fooles, and Madmen.
Take heed o'th' foule Fiend, obey thy Pa- rents, keepe thy words Iustice, sweare not, commit not,
with mans sworne Spouse: set not thy Sweet-heart on proud array.
Tom
's
a
cold.
What hast thou bin?
A Seruingman? Proud in heart, and minde; that curl'd my haire, wore Gloues in my cap; seru'd the Lust of my Mistris heart, and did the acte of darkenesse with her. Swore as many Oathes, as I spake words, & broke them in the sweet face of Heauen. One, that slept in the contriuing of Lust, and wak'd to doe it. Wine lou'd I deerely, Dice deerely; and in Woman, out-Paramour'd the Turke. False of heart, light of eare, bloody of hand; Hog in sloth, Foxe in stealth, Wolfe in greedinesse, Dog in madnes, Lyon in prey. Let not the creaking of shooes, Nor the rustling of Silkes, betray thy poore heart to wo- man. Keepe thy foote out of Brothels, thy hand out of Plackets, thy pen from Lenders Bookes, and defye the foule Fiend. Still through the Hauthorne blowes the cold winde: Sayes suum, mun, nonny, Dolphin my Boy, Boy
Sesey:
let him trot by.
Storme still.
Thou wert better in a Graue, then to answere with thy vncouer'd body, this extremitie of the Skies. Is man no more then this? Consider him well. Thou ow'st the Worme no Silke; the Beast, no Hide; the Sheepe, no Wooll; the Cat, no perfume. Ha? Here's three on's are sophisticated. Thou art the thing it selfe; vnaccommo- dated man, is no more but such a poore, bare, forked A- nimall as thou art. Off, off you Lendings: Come, vn- button heere.
Enter Gloucester, with a Torch.
Prythee Nunckle be contented, 'tis a naughtie night to swimme in. Now a little fire in a wilde Field, were like an old Letchers heart, a small spark, all the rest on's body, cold: Looke, heere comes a walking fire.
This is the foule Flibbertigibbet; hee begins at Curfew, and walkes at first Cocke: Hee giues the Web and the Pin, squints the eye, and makes the Hare-lippe; Mildewes the white Wheate, and hurts the poore Crea- ture of earth.
Swithold
footed thrice the old, He met the Night-Mare, and her nine-fold; Bid her a-light, and her troth-plight, And aroynt thee Witch, aroynt thee.
How fares your Grace?
What's he?
Who's there? What is't you seeke?
What are you there? Your Names?
Poore Tom, that eates the swimming Frog, the Toad, the Tod-pole, the wall-Neut, and the water: that in the furie of his heart, when the foule Fiend rages, eats Cow-dung for Sallets; swallowes the old Rat, and the ditch-Dogge; drinkes the green Mantle of the standing Poole: who is whipt from Tything to Tything, and stockt, punish'd, and imprison'd: who hath three Suites to his backe, sixe shirts to his body: Horse to ride, and weapon to weare: But Mice, and Rats, and such small Deare, Haue bin Toms food, for seuen long yeare: Beware my Follower. Peace Smulkin, peace thou Fiend.
What, hath your Grace no better company?
The Prince of Darkenesse is a Gentleman.
Modo
he's call'd, and
Mahu.
Our flesh and blood, my Lord, is growne so vilde, that it doth hate what gets it.
Poore Tom's
a
cold.
Go in with me; my duty cannot suffer T' obey in all your daughters hard commands: Though their Iniunction be to barre my doores, And let this Tyrannous night take hold vpon you, Yet haue I ventured to come seeke you out, And bring you where both fire, and food is ready.
First let me talke with this Philosopher, What is the cause of Thunder?
Good my Lord take his offer, Go into th' house.
Ile talke a word with this same lerned Theban: What is your study?
How to preuent the Fiend, and to kill Vermine.
Let me aske you one word in priuate.
Importune him once more to go my Lord, His wits begin t' vnsettle.
Canst thou blame him?
Storm still
His Daughters seeke his death: Ah, that good Kent, He said it would be thus: poore banish'd man: Thou sayest the King growes mad, Ile tell thee Friend I am almost mad my selfe. I had a Sonne, Now out-law'd from my blood: he sought my life But lately: very late: I lou'd him (Friend) No Father his Sonne deerer: true to tell thee, The greefe hath craz'd my wits. What a night's this? I do beseech your grace.
O cry you mercy, Sir: Noble Philosopher, your company.
Tom's
a
cold.
In fellow there, into th' Houel; keep thee warm.
Come, let's in all.
This way, my Lord.
With him; I will keepe still with my Philosopher.
Good my Lord, sooth him: Let him take the Fellow.
Take him you on.
Sirra, come on: go along with vs.
Come, good Athenian.
No words, no words, hush.
Childe
Rowland
to the darke Tower came, His word was still, fie, foh, and fumme, I smell the blood of a Brittish man.
Exeunt
Scena Quinta.
Enter Cornwall, and Edmund.
I will haue my reuenge, ere I depart his house.
How my Lord, I may be censured, that Nature thus giues way to Loyaltie, something feares mee to thinke of.
I now perceiue, it was not altogether your Brothers euill disposition made him seeke his death: but a prouoking merit set a-worke by a reprouable badnesse in himselfe.
How malicious is my fortune, that I must re- pent to be iust? This is the Letter which hee spoake of; which approues him an intelligent partie to the aduanta- ges of France. O Heauens! that this Treason were not; or not I the detector.
Go with me to the Dutchesse.
If the matter of this Paper be certain, you haue mighty businesse in hand.
True or false, it hath made thee Earle of Glou- cester: seeke out where thy Father is, that hee may bee ready for our apprehension.
If I finde him comforting the King, it will stuffe his suspition more fully. I will perseuer in my course of Loyalty, though the conflict be sore betweene that, and my blood.
I will lay trust vpon thee: and thou shalt finde a deere Father in my loue.
Exeunt.
Scena Sexta.
Enter Kent, and Gloucester.
Heere is better then the open ayre, take it thank- fully: I will peece out the comfort with what addition I can: I will not be long from you.
Exit
All the powre of his wits, haue giuen way to his impatience: the Gods reward your kindnesse.
Enter Lear, Edgar, and Foole.
Fraterretto
cals me, and tells me
Nero
is an Ang- ler in the Lake of Darknesse: pray Innocent, and beware the foule Fiend.
Prythee Nunkle tell me, whether a madman be a Gentleman, or a Yeoman.
A King, a King.
No, he's a Yeoman, that ha's a Gentleman to his Sonne: for hee's a mad Yeoman that sees his Sonne a Gentleman before him.
To haue a thousand with red burning spits Come hizzing in vpon 'em.
Blesse thy fiue wits.
O pitty: Sir, where is the patience now That you so oft haue boasted to retaine?
My teares begin to take his part so much, They marre my counterfetting.
The little dogges, and all; Trey, Blanch, and Sweet-heart: see, they barke at me.
Tom, will throw his head at them: Auaunt you Curres, be thy mouth or blacke or white: Tooth that poysons if it bite: Mastiffe, Grey-hound, Mongrill, Grim, Hound or Spaniell, Brache, or Hym: Or Bobtaile tight, or Troudle taile, Tom will make him weepe and waile, For with throwing thus my head; Dogs leapt the hatch, and all are fled.
Do
,
de
,
de
,
de
: sese: Come, march to Wakes and Fayres, And Market Townes: poore Tom thy horne is dry,
Then let them Anatomize
Regan:
See what breeds about her heart. Is there any cause in Nature that make these hard-hearts. You sir, I entertaine for one of my hundred; only, I do not like the fashion of your gar- ments. You will say they are Persian; but let them bee chang'd.
Enter Gloster.
Now good my Lord, lye heere, and rest awhile.
Make no noise, make no noise, draw the Cur- taines: so, so, wee'l go to Supper i'th' morning.
And Ile go to bed at noone.
Come hither Friend: Where is the King my Master?
Here Sir, but trouble him not, his wits are gon.
Good friend, I prythee take him in thy armes; I haue ore-heard a plot of death vpon him: There is a Litter ready, lay him in't, And driue toward Douer friend, where thou shalt meete Both welcome, and protection. Take vp thy Master, If thou should'st dally halfe an houre, his life With thine, and all that offer to defend him, Stand in assured losse. Take vp, take vp, And follow me, that will to some prouision Giue thee quicke conduct. Come, come, away.
Exeunt
Scena Septima.
Enter Cornwall, Regan, Gonerill, Bastard, and Seruants.
Poste speedily to my Lord your husband, shew him this Letter, the Army of France is landed: seeke out the Traitor Glouster.
Hang him instantly.
Plucke out his eyes.
Leaue him to my displeasure.
Edmond,
keepe you our Sister company: the reuenges wee are bound to take vppon your Traitorous Father, are not fit for your beholding. Aduice the Duke where you are going, to a most festinate preparation: we are bound to the like. Our Postes shall be swift, and intelligent betwixt vs. Fare- well deere Sister, farewell my Lord of Glouster.
Enter Steward.
How now? Where's the King?
My Lord of Glouster hath conuey'd him hence Some fiue or six and thirty of his Knights Hot Questrists after him, met him at gate, Who, with some other of the Lords, dependants, Are gone with him toward Douer; where they boast To haue well armed Friends.
Get horses for your Mistris.
Farewell sweet Lord, and Sister.
Exit
Edmund
farewell: go seek the Traitor Gloster, Pinnion him like a Theefe, bring him before vs: Though well we may not passe vpon his life Without the forme of Iustice: yet our power Shall do a curt'sie to our wrath, which men May blame, but not comptroll.
Enter Gloucester, and Seruants.
Who's there? the Traitor?
Ingratefull Fox, 'tis he.
Binde fast his corky armes.
What meanes your Graces? Good my Friends consider you are my Ghests: Do me no foule play, Friends.
Binde him I say.
Hard, hard: O filthy Traitor.
Vnmercifull Lady, as you are, I'me none.
To this Chaire binde him, Villaine, thou shalt finde.
By the kinde Gods, 'tis most ignobly done To plucke me by the Beard.
So white, and such a Traitor?
Naughty Ladie, These haires which thou dost rauish from my chin Will quicken and accuse thee. I am your Host, With Robbers hands, my hospitable fauours You should not ruffle thus. What will you do?
Come Sir. What Letters had you late from France?
Be simple answer'd, for we know the truth.
And what confederacie haue you with the Trai- tors, late footed in the Kingdome?
To whose hands You haue sent the Lunaticke King: Speake.
I haue a Letter guessingly set downe Which came from one that's of a newtrall heart, And not from one oppos'd.
Cunning.
And false.
Where hast thou sent the King?
To Douer.
Wherefore to Douer? Was't thou not charg'd at perill.
Wherefore to Douer? Let him answer that.
I am tyed to'th' Stake, And I must stand the Course.
Wherefore to Douer?
Because I would not see thy cruell Nailes Plucke out his poore old eyes: nor thy fierce Sister, In his Annointed flesh, sticke boarish phangs. The Sea, with such a storme as his bare head, In Hell-blacke-night indur'd, would haue buoy'd vp And quench'd the Stelled fires: Yet poore old heart, he holpe the Heauens to raine. If Wolues had at thy Gate howl'd that sterne time, Thou should'st haue said, good Porter turne the Key: All Cruels else subscribe: but I shall see The winged Vengeance ouertake such Children.
See't shalt thou neuer. Fellowes hold
Chaire, Vpon these eyes of thine, Ile set my foote.
He that will thinke to liue, till he be old, Giue me some helpe. —— O cruell! O you Gods.
One side will mocke another: Th' other too.
If you see vengeance.
Hold your hand, my Lord: I haue seru'd you euer since I was a Childe: But better seruice haue I neuer done you, Then now to bid you hold.
How now, you dogge?
If you did weare a beard vpon your chin, I'ld shake it on this quarrell. What do you meane?
My Villaine?
Nay then come on, and take the chance of anger.
Giue me thy Sword.
A
pezant stand vp thus?
Killes him.
Oh I am slaine: my Lord, you haue one eye left To see some mischefe on him. Oh.
Lest it see more, preuent it; Out vilde gelly: Where is thy luster now?
All darke and comfortlesse? Where's my Sonne
Edmund
?
Edmund,
enkindle all the sparkes of Nature To quit this horrid acte.
Out treacherous Villaine, Thou call'st on him, that hates thee. It was he That made the ouerture of thy Treasons to vs: Who is too good to pitty thee.
O my Follies! then
Edgar
was abus'd, Kinde Gods, forgiue me that, and prosper him.
Go thrust him out at gates, and let him smell His way to Douer.
Exit with Glouster.
How is't my Lord? How looke you?
I haue receiu'd a hurt: Follow me Lady; Turne out that eyelesse Villaine: throw this Slaue Vpon the Dunghill:
Regan,
I bleed apace, Vntimely comes this hurt. Giue me your arme.
Exeunt.
Actus Quartus. Scena Prima.
Enter Edgar.
Yet better thus, and knowne to be contemn'd, Then still contemn'd and flatter'd, to be worst: The lowest, and most deiected thing of Fortune, Stands still in esperance, liues not in feare: The lamentable change is from the best, The worst returnes to laughter. Welcome then, Thou vnsubstantiall ayre that I embrace: The Wretch that thou hast blowne vnto the worst, Owes nothing to thy blasts.
Enter Glouster, and an Oldman.
But who comes heere? My Father poorely led? World, World, O world! But that thy strange mutations make vs hate thee, Life would not yeelde to age.
O my good Lord, I haue bene your Tenant, And your Fathers Tenant, these fourescore yeares.
Away, get thee away: good Friend be gone, Thy comforts can do me no good at all, Thee, they may hurt.
You cannot see your way.
I haue no way, and therefore want no eyes: I stumbled when I saw. Full oft 'tis seene, Our meanes secure vs, and our meere defects Proue our Commodities. Oh deere Sonne
Edgar,
The food of thy abused Fathers wrath: Might I but liue to see thee in my touch, I'ld say I had eyes againe.
How now? who's there?
O Gods! Who is't can say I am at the worst? I am worse then ere I was.
'Tis poore mad Tom.
And worse I may be yet: the worst is not, So long as we can say this is the worst.
Fellow, where goest?
Is it a Beggar-man?
Madman, and beggar too.
He has some reason, else he could not beg. I'th' last nights storme, I such a fellow saw; Which made me thinke a Man, a Worme. My Sonne Came then into my minde, and yet my minde Was then scarse Friends with him. I haue heard more since: As Flies to wanton Boyes, are we to th' Gods, They kill vs for their sport.
How should this be? Bad is the Trade that must play Foole to sorrow, Ang'ring it selfe, and others. Blesse thee Master.
Is that the naked Fellow?
I
, my Lord.
Get thee away: If for my sake Thou wilt ore-take vs hence a mile or twaine I'th' way toward Douer, do it for ancient loue, And bring some couering for this naked Soule, Which Ile intreate to leade me.
Alacke sir, he is mad.
'Tis the times plague, When Madmen leade the blinde: Do as I bid thee, or rather do thy pleasure: Aboue the rest, be gone.
Ile bring him the best Parrell that I haue Come on't what will.
Exit
Sirrah, naked fellow.
Poore Tom's
a
cold. I cannot daub it further.
Come hither fellow.
And yet I must: Blesse thy sweete eyes, they bleede.
Know'st thou the way to Douer?
Both style, and gate; Horseway, and foot-path: poore Tom hath bin scarr'd out of his good wits. Blesse thee good mans sonne, from the foule Fiend.
Here take this purse,
whom the heau'ns plagues Haue humbled to all strokes: that I am wretched Makes thee the happier: Heauens deale so still: Let the superfluous, and Lust-dieted man, That slaues your ordinance, that will not see Because he do's not feele, feele your powre quickly: So distribution should vndoo excesse, And each man haue enough. Dost thou know Douer?
I
Master.
There is a Cliffe, whose high and bending head Lookes fearfully in the confined Deepe: Bring me but to the very brimme of it, And Ile repayre the misery thou do'st beare With something rich about me: from that place, I shall no leading neede.
Giue me thy arme; Poore Tom shall leade thee.
Exeunt.
Scena Secunda.
Enter Gonerill, Bastard, and Steward.
Welcome my Lord. I meruell our mild husband Not met vs on the way. Now, where's your Master?
Madam within, but neuer man so chang'd: I told him of the Army that was Landed: He smil'd at it. I told him you were comming, His answer was, the worse. Of Glosters Treachery, And of the loyall Seruice of his Sonne When I inform'd him, then he call'd me Sot, And told me I had turn'd the wrong side out: What most he should dislike, seemes pleasant to him; What like, offensiue.
Then shall you go no further. It is the Cowish terror of his spirit That dares not vndertake: Hee'l not feele wrongs Which tye him to an answer: our wishes on the way May proue effects. Backe
Edmond
to my Brother, Hasten his Musters, and conduct his powres. I must change names at home, and giue the Distaffe Into my Husbands hands. This trustie Seruant Shall passe betweene vs: ere long you are like to heare (If you dare venture in your owne behalfe) A Mistresses command. Weare this; spare speech, Decline your head. This kisse, if it durst speake Would stretch thy Spirits vp into the ayre: Conceiue, and fare thee well.
Yours in the rankes of death.
Exit.
My most deere Gloster. Oh, the difference of man, and man, To thee a Womans seruices are due, My Foole vsurpes my body.
Madam, here come's my Lord.
Enter Albany.
I haue beene worth the whistle.
Oh
Gonerill,
You are not worth the dust which the rude winde Blowes in your face.
Milke-Liuer'd man, That bear'st a cheeke for blowes, a head for wrongs, Who hast not in thy browes an eye-discerning Thine Honor, from thy suffering.
See thy selfe diuell: Proper deformitie seemes not in the Fiend So horrid as in woman.
Oh vaine Foole.
Enter a Messenger.
Oh my good Lord, the Duke of
Cornwal
s dead, Slaine by his Seruant, going to put out The other eye of Glouster.
Glousters eyes.
A Seruant that he bred, thrill'd with remorse, Oppos'd against the act: bending his Sword To his great Master, who, threat-enrag'd Flew on him, and among'st them fell'd him dead, But not without that harmefull stroke, which since Hath pluckt him after.
This shewes you are aboue You Iustices, that these our neather crimes So speedily can venge. But (O poore Glouster) Lost he his other eye?
Both, both, my Lord. This Leter Madam, craues a speedy answer: 'Tis from your Sister.
One way I like this well. But being widdow, and my Glouster with her, May all the building in my fancie plucke Vpon my hatefull life. Another way The Newes is not so tart. Ile read, and answer.
Where was his Sonne, When they did take his eyes?
Come with my Lady hither.
He is not heere.
No my good Lord, I met him backe againe.
Knowes he the wickednesse?
I
my good Lord: 'twas he inform'd against him And quit the house on purpose, that their punishment Might haue the freer course.
Glouster, I liue To thanke thee for the loue thou shew'dst the King, And to reuenge thine eyes. Come hither Friend, Tell me what more thou know'st.
Exeunt.
Scena Tertia.
Enter with Drum and Colours, Cordelia, Gentlemen, and Souldiours.
Alacke, 'tis he: why he was met euen now As mad as the vext Sea, singing alowd. Crown'd with ranke Fenitar, and furrow weeds, With Hardokes, Hemlocke, Nettles, Cuckoo flowres, Darnell, and all the idle weedes that grow In our sustaining Corne. A Centery send forth; Search euery Acre in the high-growne field, And bring him to our eye. What can mans wisedome In the restoring his bereaued Sense; he that helpes him, Take all my outward worth.
There is meanes Madam: Our foster Nurse of Nature, is repose, The which he lackes: that to prouoke in him Are many Simples operatiue, whose power Will close the eye of Anguish.
All blest Secrets, All you vnpublish'd Vertues of the earth Spring with my teares; be aydant, and remediate In the Goodmans desires: seeke, seeke for him, Least his vngouern'd rage, dissolue the life That wants the meanes to leade it.
Enter Messenger.
Newes Madam, The Brittish Powres are marching hitherward.
'Tis knowne before. Our preparation stands In expectation of them. O deere Father, It is thy businesse that I go about: Therfore great France My mourning, and importun'd teares hath pittied: No blowne Ambition doth our Armes incite, But loue, deere loue, and our ag'd Fathers Rite: Soone may I heare, and see him.
Exeunt.
Scena Quarta.
Enter Regan, and Steward.
But are my Brothers Powres set forth?
I
Madam.
Himselfe in person there?
Madam with much ado: Your Sister is the better Souldier.
Lord
Edmund
spake not with your Lord at home?
No Madam.
What might import my Sisters Letter to him?
I know not, Lady.
Faith he is poasted hence on serious matter: It was great ignorance, Glousters eyes being out To let him liue. Where he arriues, he moues All hearts against vs:
Edmund,
I thinke is gone In pitty of his misery, to dispatch His nighted life: Moreouer to descry The strength o'th' Enemy.
I must needs after him, Madam, with my Letter.
Our troopes set forth to morrow, stay with vs: The wayes are dangerous.
I may not Madam: My Lady charg'd my dutie in this busines.
Why should she write to
Edmund
? Might not you transport her purposes by word? Belike, Some things, I know not what. Ile loue thee much Let me vnseale the Letter.
Madam, I had rather——
I know your Lady do's not loue her Husband, I am sure of that: and at her late being heere, She gaue strange Eliads, and most speaking lookes To Noble
Edmund.
I know you are of her bosome.
I, Madam?
I speake in vnderstanding: Y'are: I know't, Therefore I do aduise you take this note: My Lord is dead:
Edmond,
and I haue talk'd, And more conuenient is he for my hand Then for your Ladies: You may gather more: If you do finde him, pray you giue him this; And when your Mistris heares thus much from you, I pray desire her call her wisedome to her. So fare you well: If you do chance to heare of that blinde Traitor, Preferment fals on him, that cuts him off.
Would I could meet Madam, I should shew What party I do follow.
Fare thee well.
Exeunt
Scena Quinta.
Enter Gloucester, and Edgar.
When shall I come to th' top of that same hill?
You do climbe vp it now. Look how we labor.
Me thinkes the ground is eeuen.
Horrible steepe. Hearke, do you heare the Sea?
No truly.
Why then your other Senses grow imperfect By your eyes anguish.
So may it be indeed. Me thinkes thy voyce is alter'd, and thou speak'st In better phrase, and matter then thou did'st.
Y'are much deceiu'd: In nothing am I chang'd But in my Garments.
Me thinkes y'are better spoken.
Come on Sir, Heere's the place: stand still: how fearefull And dizie 'tis, to cast ones eyes so low, The Crowes and Choughes, that wing the midway ayre Shew scarse so grosse as Beetles. Halfe way downe Hangs one that gathers Sampire: dreadfull Trade: Me thinkes he seemes no bigger then his head. The Fishermen, that walk'd vpon the beach Appeare like Mice: and yond tall Anchoring Barke, Diminish'd to her Cocke: her Cocke, a Buoy Almost too small for sight. The murmuring Surge, That on th' vnnumbred idle Pebble chafes Cannot be heard so high. Ile looke no more, Least my braine turne, and the deficient sight Topple downe headlong.
Set me where you stand.
Giue me your hand: You are now within a foote of th' extreme Verge: For all beneath the Moone would I not leape vpright.
Let go my hand: Heere Friend's another purse: in it, a Iewell Well worth a poore mans taking. Fayries, and Gods Prosper it with thee. Go thou further off, Bid me farewell, and let me heare thee going.
Now fare ye well, good Sir.
With all my heart.
Why I do trifle thus with his dispaire, Is done to cure it.
O you mighty Gods! This world I do renounce, and in your sights Shake patiently my great affliction off: If I could beare it longer, and not fall To quarrell with your great opposelesse willes, My snuffe, and loathed part of Nature should Burne it selfe out. If
Edgar
liue, O blesse him: Now Fellow, fare thee well.
Gone Sir, farewell: And yet I know not how conceit may rob The Treasury of life, when life it selfe Yeelds to the Theft. Had he bin where he thought, By this had thought bin past. Aliue, or dead? Hoa, you Sir: Friend, heare you Sir, speake: Thus might he passe indeed: yet he reuiues. What are you Sir?
Away, and let me dye.
Had'st thou beene ought But Gozemore, Feathers, Ayre, (So many fathome downe precipitating) Thou'dst shiuer'd like an Egge: but thou do'st breath: Hast heauy substance, bleed'st not, speak'st, art sound, Ten Masts at each, make not the altitude Which thou hast perpendicularly fell, Thy life's a Myracle. Speake yet againe.
But haue I falne, or no?
From the dread Somnet of this Chalkie Bourne Looke vp a height, the shrill-gorg'd Larke so farre Cannot be seene, or heard: Do but looke vp.
Alacke, I haue no eyes: Is wretchednesse depriu'd that benefit To end it selfe by death? 'Twas yet some comfort, When misery could beguile the Tyrants rage, And frustrate his proud
will
.
Giue me your arme. Vp, so: How is't? Feele you your Legges? You stand.
Too well, too well.
This is aboue all strangenesse, Vpon the crowne o'th' Cliffe. What thing was that Which parted from you?
A poore vnfortunate Beggar.
As I stood heere below, me thought his eyes Were two full Moones: he had a thousand Noses, Hornes wealk'd, and waued like the enraged Sea: It was some Fiend: Therefore thou happy Father, Thinke that the cleerest Gods, who make them Honors Of mens Impossibilities, haue preserued thee.
I do remember now: henceforth Ile beare Affliction, till it do cry out it selfe Enough, enough, and dye. That thing you speake of, I tooke it for a man: often 'twould say The Fiend, the Fiend, he led me to that place.
Beare free and patient thoughts.
Enter Lear.
But who comes heere? The safer sense will ne're accommodate His Master thus.
No, they cannot touch me for crying. I am the King himselfe.
O thou side-piercing sight!
Nature's aboue
Art
, in that respect. Ther's your Presse-money. That fellow handles his bow, like a Crow- keeper: draw mee a Cloathiers yard. Looke, looke, a Mouse: peace, peace, this peece of toasted Cheese will doo't. There's my Gauntlet, Ile proue it on a Gyant. Bring vp the browne Billes. O well flowne Bird: i'th' clout, i'th' clout: Hewgh. Giue the word.
Sweet Mariorum.
Passe.
I know that voice.
Ha!
Gonerill
with a white beard? They flatter'd me like a Dogge, and told mee I had the white hayres in my Beard, ere the blacke ones were there. To say
I
, and no, to euery thing that I said:
I
, and no too, was no good Diuinity. When the raine came to wet me once, and the winde to make me chatter: when the Thunder would not peace at my bidding, there I found 'em, there I smelt 'em out. Go
too
, they are not men o'their words; they told me, I was euery thing: 'Tis a Lye, I am not Agu-proofe.
The tricke of that voyce, I do well remember: Is't not the King?
I
, euery inch a King. When I do stare, see how the Subiect quakes. I pardon that mans life. What was thy cause? Adultery? thou shalt not dye: dye for Adultery? No, the Wren goes too't, and the small gilded Fly Do's letcher in my sight. Let Copulation thriue: For Glousters bastard Son was kinder to his Father, Then my Daughters got 'tweene the lawfull sheets. Too't Luxury pell-mell, for I lacke Souldiers. Behold yond simpring Dame, whose face betweene her Forkes presages Snow; that minces Vertue, & do's shake the head to heare of pleasures name. The Fitchew, nor the soyled Horse goes too't with a more riotous appe- tite: Downe from the waste they are Centaures, though Women all aboue: but to the Girdle do the Gods inhe- rit, beneath is all the Fiends. There's
hell
, there's darke- nes, there is the sulphurous pit; burning, scalding, stench, consumption: Fye, fie, fie; pah, pah: Giue me an Ounce of Ciuet; good Apothecary sweeten my immagination: There's money for thee.
O let me kisse that hand.
Let me wipe it first, It smelles of Mortality.
O ruin'd peece of Nature, this great world Shall so weare out to naught. Do'st thou know me?
I remember thine eyes well enough: dost thou squiny at me? No, doe thy worst blinde Cupid, Ile not loue. Reade thou this challenge, marke but the penning of it.
Were all thy Letters Sunnes, I could not see.
I would not take this from report, It is, and my heart breakes at it.
Read.
What with the Case of eyes?
Oh ho, are you there with me? No eies in your head, nor no mony in your purse? Your eyes are in a hea- uy case, your purse in a light, yet you see how this world goes.
I see it feelingly.
What,
art
mad? A man may see how this world goes, with no eyes. Looke with thine eares: See how yond Iustice railes vpon yond simple theefe. Hearke in thine eare: Change places, and handy-dandy, which is the Iustice, which is the theefe: Thou hast seene a Far- mers dogge barke at a Beggar?
I
Sir.
And the Creature run from the Cur: there thou might'st behold the great image of Authoritie, a Dogg's obey'd in Office. Thou, Rascall Beadle, hold thy bloody hand: why dost thou lash that Whore? Strip thy owne backe, thou hotly lusts to vse her in that kind, for which thou whip'st her. The Vsurer hangs the Cozener. Tho-rough tatter'd cloathes great Vices do appeare: Robes, and Furr'd gownes hide all. Place sinnes with Gold, and the strong Lance of Iustice, hurtlesse breakes: Arme it in ragges, a Pigmies straw do's pierce it. None do's offend, none, I say none, Ile able 'em; take that of me my Friend, who haue the power to seale th' accusers lips. Get thee glasse-eyes, and like a scuruy Politician, seeme to see the things thou dost not. Now, now, now, now. Pull off my Bootes: harder, harder, so.
O matter, and impertinency mixt, Reason in Madnesse.
If thou wilt weepe my Fortunes, take my eyes. I know thee well enough, thy name is Glouster: Thou must be patient; we came crying hither: Thou know'st, the first time that we smell the Ayre We wawle, and cry. I will preach to thee: Marke.
Alacke, alacke the day.
When we are borne, we cry that we are come To this great stage of Fooles.
This
a good blocke: It were a delicate stratagem to shoo A Troope of Horse with Felt: Ile put't in proofe, And when I haue stolne vpon these Son in Lawes, Then kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill.
Enter a Gentleman.
Oh heere he is: lay hand vpon him, Sir. Your most deere Daughter——
No rescue? What, a Prisoner? I am euen The Naturall Foole of Fortune. Vse me well, You shall haue ransome. Let me haue Surgeons, I am cut to'th' Braines.
You shall haue any thing.
No Seconds? All my selfe? Why, this would make a man, a man of Salt To vse his eyes for Garden water-pots. I wil die brauely, Like a smugge Bridegroome. What? I will be Iouiall: Come, come, I am a King, Masters, know you that?
You are a Royall one, and we obey you.
Then there's life in't. Come,
and
you get it, You shall get it by running: Sa, sa, sa, sa.
Exit.
A sight most pittifull in the meanest wretch, Past speaking of in a King. Thou hast a Daughter Who redeemes Nature from the generall curse Which twaine haue brought her to.
Haile gentle Sir.
Sir, speed you: what's your
will
?
Do you heare ought (Sir) of a Battell toward.
Most sure, and vulgar: Euery one heares that, which can distinguish sound.
But by your fauour: How neere's the other Army?
Neere, and on speedy foot: the maine descry Stands on the hourely thought.
I thanke you Sir, that's all.
Though that the Queen on special cause is here Her Army is mou'd on.
Exit.
I thanke you Sir.
You euer gentle Gods, take my breath from me, Let not my worser Spirit tempt me againe To dye before you please.
Well pray you Father.
Now good sir, what are you?
A most poore man, made tame to Fortunes blows Who, by the
Art
of knowne, and feeling sorrowes, Am pregnant to good pitty. Giue me your hand, Ile leade you to some biding.
Heartie thankes: The bountie, and the benizon of Heauen To boot, and boot.
Enter Steward.
A proclaim'd prize: most happie That eyelesse head of thine, was first fram'd flesh To raise my fortunes. Thou old, vnhappy Traitor, Breefely thy selfe remember: the Sword is out That must destroy thee.
Now let thy friendly hand Put strength enough too't.
Wherefore, bold Pezant, Dar'st thou support a publish'd Traitor? Hence, Least that th' infection of his fortune take Like hold on thee. Let go his arme.
Chill not let go Zir, Without vurther 'casion.
Let go Slaue, or thou dy'st.
Good Gentleman goe your gate, and let poore volke passe:
and
'chud
ha
' bin zwaggerd out of my life, 'twould not
ha
' bin zo long as 'tis, by a vortnight. Nay, come not neere th' old man: keepe out che vor' ye, or Ile try whither your Costard, or my Ballow be the harder; chill be plaine with you.
Out Dunghill.
Chill picke your teeth Zir: come, no matter vor your foynes.
Slaue thou hast slaine me: Villain, take my purse; If euer thou wilt thriue, bury my bodie, And giue the Letters which thou find'st about me, To
Edmund
Earle of Glouster: seeke him out Vpon the English party. Oh vntimely death, death.
I know thee well. A seruiceable Villaine, As duteous to the vices of thy Mistris, As badnesse would desire.
What, is he dead?
Sit you downe Father: rest you. Let's see these Pockets; the Letters that he speakes of May be my Friends: hee's dead; I am onely sorry He had no other Deathsman. Let vs see: Leaue gentle waxe, and manners: blame vs not To know our enemies mindes, we rip their hearts, Their Papers is more lawfull.
Reads the Letter.
Let our reciprocall vowes be remembred. You haue manie
opportunities to cut him off: if your
will
want not, time and
place will be fruitfully offer'd. There is nothing done. If hee
returne the Conqueror, then am I the Prisoner, and his bed, my
Gaole, from the loathed warmth whereof, deliuer me, and sup- ply the place for your Labour. Your (Wife, so I would say) affectio- nate Seruant.
Gonerill. Oh indistinguish'd space of Womans
will
, A plot vpon her vertuous Husbands life, And the exchange my Brother: heere, in the sands Thee Ile rake vp, the poste vnsanctified Of murtherous Letchers: and in the mature time, With this vngracious paper strike the sight Of the death-practis'd Duke: for him 'tis well, That of thy death, and businesse, I can tell.
The King is mad: How stiffe is my vilde sense That I stand vp, and haue ingenious feeling Of my huge Sorrowes? Better I were distract, So should my thoughts be seuer'd from my greefes,
Drum afarre off.
And woes, by wrong imaginations loose
The knowledge of themselues.
Giue me your hand: Farre off methinkes I heare the beaten Drumme. Come Father, Ile bestow you with a Friend.
Exeunt.
Scaena Septima.
Enter Cordelia, Kent, and Gentleman.
O thou good
Kent,
How shall I liue and worke To match thy goodnesse? My life will be too short, And euery measure faile me.
To be acknowledg'd Madam is ore-pai'd, All my reports go with the modest truth, Nor more, nor clipt, but so.
Be better suited, These weedes are memories of those worser houres: I prythee put them off.
Pardon deere Madam, Yet to be knowne shortens my made intent, My boone I make it, that you know me not, Till time, and I, thinke meet.
Then be't so my good Lord: How do's the King?
Madam sleepes still.
O you kind Gods! Cure this great breach in his abused Nature, Th' vntun'd and iarring senses, O winde vp, Of this childe-changed Father.
So please your Maiesty, That we may wake the King, he hath slept long?
Be gouern'd by your knowledge, and proceede I'th' sway of your owne
will
: is he array'd?
Enter Lear in a chaire carried by Seruants
I
Madam: in the heauinesse of sleepe, We put fresh garments on him. Be by good Madam when we do awake him, I doubt of his Temperance.
O my deere Father, restauratian hang Thy medicine on my lippes, and let this kisse Repaire those violent harmes, that my two Sisters Haue in thy Reuerence made.
Kind and deere Princesse.
Had you not bin their Father, these white flakes Did challenge pitty of them. Was this a face To be oppos'd against the iarring windes? Mine Enemies dogge, though he had bit me, Should haue stood that night against my fire, And was't thou faine (poore Father) To houell thee with Swine and Rogues forlorne, In short, and musty straw? Alacke, alacke, 'Tis wonder that thy life and wits, at once Had not concluded all. He wakes, speake to him.
Madam do you, 'tis fittest.
How does my Royall Lord? How fares your Maiesty?
You do me wrong to take me out o'th' graue, Thou art a Soule in blisse, but I am bound Vpon a wheele of fire, that mine owne teares Do scal'd, like molten Lead.
Sir, do you know me?
You are a spirit I know, where did you dye?
Still, still, farre wide.
He's scarse awake, Let him alone
a
while.
Where haue I bin? Where am I? Faire day light? I am mightily abus'd; I should eu'n dye with pitty To see another thus. I know not what to say: I will not sweare these are my hands: let's see, I feele this pin pricke, would I were assur'd Of my condition.
O looke vpon me Sir, And hold your hand in benediction o're me, You must not kneele.
Pray do not mocke me: I am a very foolish fond old man, Fourescore and vpward, Not an houre more, nor lesse: And to deale plainely, I feare I am not in my perfect mind. Me thinkes I should know you, and know this man, Yet I am doubtfull: For I am mainely ignorant What place this is: and all the skill I haue Remembers not these garments: nor I know not Where I did lodge last night. Do not laugh at me, For (as I am a man) I thinke this Lady To be my childe
Cordelia.
And so I am: I am.
Be your teares wet? Yes faith: I pray weepe not, If you haue poyson for me, I will drinke it: I know you do not loue me, for your Sisters Haue (as I do remember) done me wrong. You haue some cause, they haue not.
No cause, no cause.
Am I in France?
In your owne kingdome Sir.
Do not abuse me.
Be comforted good Madam, the great rage You see is kill'd in him: desire him to go in, Trouble him no more till further setling.
Wilt
please your Highnesse walke?
You must beare with me: Pray you now forget, and forgiue, I am old and foolish.
Exeunt
Actus Quintus. Scena Prima.
Enter with Drumme and Colours, Edmund, Regan. Gentlemen, and Souldiers.
Know of the Duke if his last purpose hold, Or whether since he is aduis'd by ought To change the course, he's full of alteration, And selfereprouing, bring his constant pleasure.
Our Sisters man is certainely miscarried.
'Tis to be doubted Madam.
Now sweet Lord, You know the goodnesse I intend vpon you: Tell me but truly, but then speake the truth, Do you not loue my Sister?
In honour'd Loue.
But haue you neuer found my Brothers way, To the fore-fended place?
No by mine honour, Madam.
I neuer shall endure her, deere my Lord Be not familiar with her.
Feare not, she and the Duke her husband.
Enter with Drum and Colours, Albany, Gonerill, Soldiers.
Our very louing Sister, well be-met: Sir, this I heard, the King is come to his Daughter With others, whom the rigour of our State Forc'd to cry out.
Why is this reasond?
Combine together 'gainst the Enemie: For these domesticke and particular broiles, Are not the question heere.
Let's then determine with th' ancient of warre On our proceeding.
Sister you'le go with vs?
No.
'Tis most conuenient, pray go with vs.
Oh ho, I know the Riddle, I will goe.
Exeunt both the Armies.
Enter Edgar.
If ere your Grace had speech with man so poore, Heare me one word.
Ile ouertake you, speake.
Before you fight the Battaile, ope this Letter: If you haue victory, let the Trumpet sound For him that brought it: wretched though I seeme, I can produce a Champion, that will proue What is auouched there. If you miscarry, Your businesse of the world hath so an end, And machination ceases. Fortune loues you.
Stay till I haue read the Letter.
I was forbid it: When time shall serue, let but the Herald cry, And Ile appeare againe.
Exit.
Why farethee well, I will o're-looke thy paper.
Enter Edmund.
The Enemy's in view, draw vp your powers, Heere is the guesse of their true strength and Forces, By dilligent discouerie, but your
hast
Is now vrg'd on you.
We will greet the time.
Exit.
To both these Sisters haue I sworne my loue: Each iealous of the other, as the stung Are of the Adder. Which of them shall I take? Both? One? Or neither? Neither can be enioy'd If both remaine aliue: To take the Widdow, Exasperates, makes mad her Sister
Gonerill,
And hardly shall I carry out my side, Her husband being aliue. Now then, wee'l vse His countenance for the Battaile, which being done, Let her who would be rid of him, deuise His speedy taking off. As for the mercie Which he intends to
Lear
and to
Cordelia,
The Battaile done, and they within our power, Shall neuer see his pardon: for my state, Stands on me to defend, not to debate.
Exit.
Scena Secunda.
Alarum within. Enter with Drumme and Colours, Lear, Cordelia, and Souldiers, ouer the Stage, and Exeunt. Enter Edgar, and Gloster.
Heere Father, take the shadow of this Tree For your good hoast: pray that the right may thriue: If euer I returne to you againe, Ile bring you comfort.
Grace go with you Sir.
Exit.
Alarum and Retreat within. Enter Edgar.
Away old man, giue me thy hand, away: King
Lear
hath lost, he and his Daughter tane, Giue me thy hand: Come on.
No further Sir, a man may rot euen heere.
What in
ill
thoughts againe? Men must endure Their going hence, euen as their comming hither, Ripenesse is all come on.
And that's true too.
Exeunt.
Scena Tertia.
Enter in conquest with Drum and Colours, Edmund, Lear, and Cordelia, as prisoners, Souldiers, Captaine.
Some Officers take them away: good guard, Vntill their greater pleasures first be knowne That are to censure them.
We are not the first, Who with best meaning haue incurr'd the worst: For thee oppressed King I am cast downe, My selfe could else out-frowne false Fortunes frowne. Shall we not see these Daughters, and these Sisters?
No, no, no, no: come let's away to prison, We two alone will sing like Birds i'th' Cage: When thou dost aske me blessing, Ile kneele downe And aske of thee forgiuenesse: So wee'l liue, And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh At gilded Butterflies: and heere (poore Rogues) Talke of Court newes, and wee'l talke with them too, Who looses, and who wins; who's in, who's out; And take vpon's the mystery of things, As if we were Gods spies: And wee'l weare out In a wall'd prison, packs and sects of great ones, That ebbe and flow by th' Moone.
Take them away.
Vpon such sacrifices my
Cordelia,
The Gods themselues throw Incense. Haue I caught thee? He that parts vs, shall bring a Brand from Heauen, And fire vs hence, like Foxes: wipe thine eyes, The good yeares shall deuoure them, flesh and fell, Ere they shall make vs weepe? Weele see 'em staru'd first: come.
Exit.
Come hither Captaine, hearke. Take thou this note, go follow them to prison, One step I haue aduanc'd thee, if thou do'st As this instructs thee, thou dost make thy way To Noble Fortunes: know thou this, that men Are as the time is; to be tender minded Do's not become a Sword, thy great imployment Will not beare question: either say thou'lt do't, Or thriue by other meanes.
Ile do't my Lord.
About it, and write happy, when th'hast done, Marke I say instantly, and carry it so As I haue set it downe.
Exit Captaine.
Flourish. Enter Albany, Gonerill, Regan, Soldiers.
Sir, you haue shew'd to day your valiant straine And Fortune led you well: you haue the Captiues Who were the opposites of this dayes strife: I do require them of you so to vse them, As we shall find their merites, and our safety May equally determine.
Sir, I thought it fit, To send the old and miserable King to some retention, Whose age had Charmes in it, whose Title more, To plucke the common bosome on his side, And turne our imprest Launces in our eies Which do command them. With him I sent the Queen: My reason all the same, and they are ready To morrow, or at further space, t' appeare Where you shall hold your Session.
Sir, by your patience, I hold you but a subiect of this Warre, Not as a Brother.
That's as we list to grace him. Methinkes our pleasure might haue bin demanded Ere you had spoke so farre. He led our Powers, Bore the Commission of my place and person, The which immediacie may well stand vp, And call it selfe your Brother.
Not so hot: In his owne grace he doth exalt himselfe, More then in your addition.
In my rights, By me inuested, he compeeres the best.
That were the most, if he should husband you.
Iesters do oft proue Prophets.
Hola, hola, That eye that told you so, look'd but
a
squint.
Lady I am not well, else I should answere From a full flowing stomack. Generall, Take thou my Souldiers, prisoners, patrimony, Dispose of them, of me, the walls is thine: Witnesse the world, that I create thee heere My Lord, and Master.
Meane you to enioy him?
The let alone lies not in your good
will
.
Nor in thine Lord.
Halfe-blooded fellow, yes.
Let the Drum strike, and proue my title thine.
Stay yet, heare reason:
Edmund,
I arrest thee On capitall Treason; and in thy arrest, This guilded Serpent: for your claime faire Sisters, I bare it in the interest of my wife, 'Tis she is sub-contracted to this Lord, And I her husband contradict your Banes. If you will marry, make your loues to me, My Lady is bespoke.
An enterlude.
Thou art armed
Gloster,
Let the Trumpet sound: If none appeare to proue vpon thy person, Thy heynous, manifest, and many Treasons, There is my pledge: Ile make it on thy heart Ere I taste bread, thou art in nothing lesse Then I haue heere proclaim'd thee.
Sicke, O sicke.
If not, Ile nere trust medicine.
There's my exchange, what in the world hes That names me Traitor, villain-like he lies, Call by the Trumpet: he that dares approach; On him, on you, who not, I will maintaine My truth and honor firmely.
Enter a Herald.
A Herald, ho. Trust to thy single vertue, for thy Souldiers All leuied in my name, haue in my name Tooke their discharge.
My sicknesse growes vpon me.
She is not well, conuey her to my Tent. Come hither Herald, let the Trumpet sound, And read out this.
A Trumpet sounds.
Herald reads.
If any man of qualitie or degree, within the lists of the Ar-my,
will maintaine vpon Edmund, supposed Earle of Gloster,
that he is a manifold Traitor, let him appeare by the third
sound of the Trumpet: he is bold in his defence.
1
Trumpet.
Againe.
2
Trumpet.
Againe.
3
Trumpet.
Trumpet answers within.
Enter Edgar armed.
Aske him his purposes, why he appeares Vpon this Call o'th' Trumpet.
What are you? Your name, your quality, and why you answer This present Summons?
Know my name is lost By Treasons tooth: bare-gnawne, and Canker-bit, Yet am I Noble as the Aduersary I come to cope.
Which is that Aduersary?
What's he that speakes for
Edmund
Earle of Glo-
ster?
Himselfe, what saist thou to him?
Draw thy Sword, That if my speech offend a Noble heart, Thy arme may do thee Iustice, heere is mine: Behold it is my priuiledge, The priuiledge of mine Honours, My oath, and my profession. I protest, Maugre thy strength, place, youth, and eminence, Despise thy victor-Sword, and fire new Fortune, Thy valor, and thy heart, thou art a Traitor: False to thy Gods, thy Brother, and thy Father, Conspirant 'gainst this high illustrious Prince, And from th' extremest vpward of thy head, To the discent and dust below thy foote, A most Toad-spotted Traitor. Say thou no, This Sword, this arme, and my best spirits are bent To proue vpon thy heart, where to I speake, Thou lyest.
In wisedome I should aske thy name, But since thy out-side lookes so faire and Warlike, And that thy tongue (some say) of breeding breathes, What safe, and nicely I might well delay, By rule of Knight-hood, I disdaine and spurne: Backe do I tosse these Treasons to thy head, With the hell-hated Lye, ore-whelme thy heart, Which for they yet glance by, and scarcely bruise, This Sword of mine shall giue them instant way, Where they shall rest for euer. Trumpets speake.
Saue him, saue him.
Alarums. Fights.
This is practise
Gloster,
By th' law of Warre, thou wast not bound to answer An vnknowne opposite: thou art not vanquish'd, But cozend, and beguild.
Shut your mouth Dame, Or with this paper shall I stop it: hold Sir, Thou worse then any name, reade thine owne euill: No tearing Lady, I perceiue you know it.
Say if I do, the Lawes are mine not thine, Who can araigne me for't?
Exit.
Most monstrous! O, know'st thou this paper?
Aske me not what I know.
Go after her, she's desperate, gouerne her.
What you haue charg'd me with, That haue I done, And more, much more, the time will bring it out. 'Tis past, and so am I: But what art thou That hast this Fortune on me? If thou'rt Noble, I do forgiue thee.
Let's exchange charity: I am no lesse in blood then thou art
Edmond,
If more, the more th'hast wrong'd me. My name is
Edgar
and thy Fathers Sonne, The Gods are iust, and of our pleasant vices Make instruments to plague vs: The darke and vitious place where thee he got, Cost him his eyes.
Th'hast spoken right, 'tis true, The Wheele is come full circle, I am heere.
Me thought thy very gate did prophesie A Royall Noblenesse: I must embrace thee, Let sorrow split my heart, if euer I Did hate thee, or thy Father.
Worthy Prince I know't.
Where haue you hid your selfe? How haue you knowne the miseries of your Father?
By nursing them my Lord. List a breefe tale, And when 'tis told, O that my heart would burst. The bloody proclamation to escape That follow'd me so neere, (O our liues sweetnesse, That we the paine of death would hourely dye, Rather then die at once) taught me to shift Into a mad-mans rags, t' assume a semblance That very Dogges disdain'd: and in this habit Met I my Father with his bleeding Rings, Their precious Stones new lost: became his guide, Led him, begg'd for him, sau'd him from dispaire. Neuer (O fault) reueal'd my selfe vnto him, Vntill some halfe houre past when I was arm'd, Not sure, though hoping of this good successe, I ask'd his blessing, and from first to last Told him our pilgrimage. But his flaw'd heart (Alacke too weake the conflict to support) Twixt two extremes of passion, ioy and greefe, Burst smilingly.
This speech of yours hath mou'd me, And shall perchance do good, but speake you on, You looke as you had something more to say.
If there be more, more wofull, hold it in, For I am almost ready to dissolue, Hearing of this.
Enter a Gentleman.
Helpe, helpe: O helpe.
What kinde of helpe?
Speake man.
What meanes this bloody Knife?
'Tis hot, it smoakes, it came euen from the heart of—— O she's dead.
Who dead? Speake man.
Your Lady Sir, your Lady; and her Sister By her is poyson'd: she confesses it.
I was contracted to them both, all three Now marry in an instant.
Here comes
Kent.
Enter Kent.
Produce the bodies, be they aliue or dead;
Gonerill and Regans bodies brought out.
This iudgement of the Heauens that makes vs tremble. Touches vs not with pitty: O, is this he? The time will not allow the complement Which very manners vrges.
I am come To bid my King and Master aye good night. Is he not here?
Great thing of vs forgot, Speake
Edmund,
where's the King? and where's
Cordelia
? Seest thou this obiect
Kent
?
Alacke, why thus?
Yet
Edmund
was belou'd: The one the other poison'd for my sake, And after slew herselfe.
Euen so: couer their faces.
I pant for life: some good I meane to do Despight of mine owne Nature. Quickly send, (Be briefe in it) to'th' Castle, for my Writ Is on the life of
Lear,
and on
Cordelia:
Nay, send in time.
Run, run, O run.
To who my Lord? Who ha's the Office? Send thy token of repreeue.
Well thought on, take my Sword, Giue it the Captaine.
Hast
thee for thy life.
He hath Commission from thy Wife and me, To hang
Cordelia
in the prison, and To lay the blame vpon her owne dispaire, That she for-did her selfe.
The Gods defend her, beare him hence awhile.
Enter Lear with Cordelia in his armes.
Howle, howle, howle: O you are men of stones, Had I your tongues and eyes, Il'd vse them so, That Heauens vault should crack: she's gone for euer. I know when one is dead, and when one liues, She's dead as earth: Lend me a Looking-glasse, If that her breath will mist or staine the stone, Why then she liues.
Is this the promis'd end?
Or image of that horror.
Fall and cease.
This feather stirs, she liues: if it be so, It is a chance which do's redeeme all sorrowes That euer I haue felt.
O my good Master.
Prythee away.
'Tis Noble
Kent
your Friend.
A plague vpon you Murderors, Traitors all, I might haue sau'd her, now she's gone for euer:
Cordelia, Cordelia,
stay a little. Ha: What is't thou saist? Her voice was euer soft, Gentle, and low, an excellent thing in woman. I kill'd the Slaue that was
a
hanging thee.
'Tis true (my Lords) he did.
Did I not fellow? I haue seene the day, with my good biting Faulchion I would haue made him skip: I am old now, And these same crosses spoile me. Who are you? Mine eyes are not o'th' best, Ile tell you straight.
If Fortune brag of two, she lou'd and hated, One of them we behold.
This is a dull sight, are you not
Kent
?
The same: your Seruant
Kent,
Where is your Seruant
Caius
?
He's a good fellow, I can tell you that, He'le strike and quickly too, he's dead and rotten.
No my good Lord, I am the very man.
Ile see that straight.
That from your first of difference and decay, Haue follow'd your sad steps.
You are welcome hither.
Nor no man else: All's cheerlesse, darke, and deadly, Your eldest Daughters haue fore-done themselues, And desperately are dead
I
so I thinke.
He knowes not what he saies, and vaine is it That we present vs to him.
Enter a Messenger.
Very bootlesse.
Edmund
is dead my Lord.
That's but a trifle heere: You Lords and Noble Friends, know our intent, What comfort to this great decay may come, Shall be appli'd. For vs we will resigne, During the life of this old Maiesty To him our absolute power, you to your rights, With boote, and such addition as your Honours Haue more then merited. All Friends shall Taste the wages of their vertue, and all Foes The cup of their deseruings: O see, see.
And my poore Foole is hang'd: no, no, no life? Why should a Dog, a Horse, a Rat haue life, And thou no breath at all? Thou'lt come no more, Neuer, neuer, neuer, neuer, neuer. Pray you vndo this Button. Thanke you Sir, Do you see this? Looke on her? Looke her lips, Looke there, looke there.
He dies.
He faints, my Lord, my Lord.
Breake heart, I prythee breake.
Looke vp my Lord.
Vex not his ghost, O let him passe, he hates him, That would vpon the wracke of this tough world Stretch him out longer.
He is gon indeed.
The wonder is, he hath endur'd so long, He but vsurpt his life.
Beare them from hence, our present businesse Is generall woe: Friends of my soule, you twaine, Rule in this Realme, and the gor'd state sustaine.
I haue a iourney Sir, shortly to go, My Master calls me, I must not say no.
The waight of this sad time we must obey, Speake what we feele, not what we ought to say: The oldest hath borne most, we that are yong, Shall neuer see so much, nor liue so long.
Exeunt with a dead March.