Harbour more craft and more corrupter ends
Than twenty silly-ducking observants, 75
That stretch their duties nicely.
Kent. Sir, in good sooth, in sincere verity,
Under the allowance of your grand aspect,
Whose influence, like the wreath of radiant fire
On flickering Phœbus’ front, — 80
Corn. What mean’st by this?
Kent. To go out of my dialect, which you discommend so much. I know, sir, I am no flatterer: he that beguiled you in a plain accent was a plain knave; which for my part I will not be, though I should win your displeasure to entreat me to ‘t.
Corn. What was the offence you gave him?
Osw. I never gave him any:
It pleas’d the king his master very late 85
To strike at me, upon his misconstruction;
When he, conjunct, and flattering his displeasure,
Tripp’d me behind; being down, insulted, rail’d,
And put upon him such a deal of man,
That worthied him, got praises of the king 90
For him attempting who was self-subdu’d;
And, in the fleshment of this dread exploit,
Drew on me here again.
Kent. None of these rogues and cowards
But Ajax is their fool. 95
Corn. Fetch forth the stocks!
You stubborn ancient knave, you reverend braggart,
We’ll teach you.
Kent. Sir, I am too old to learn,
Call not your stocks for me; I serve the king, 100
On whose employment I was sent to you;
You shall do small respect, show too bold malice
Against the grace and person of my master,
Stocking his messenger.
Corn. Fetch forth the stocks! As I have life and honour, 105
There shall he sit till noon.
Reg. Till noon! Till night, my lord; and all night too.
Kent. Why, madam, if I were your father’s dog,
You should not use me so.
Reg. Sir, being his knave, I will. 110
Corn. This is a fellow of the self-same colour
Our sister speaks of. Come, bring away the stocks. [Stocks brought out.
Glo. Let me beseech your Grace not to do so.
His fault is much, and the good king his master
Will check him for ‘t: your purpos’d low correction 115
Is such as basest and contemned’st wretches
For pilferings and most common trespasses
Are punish’d with: the king must take it ill,
That he, so slightly valu’d in his messenger,
Should have him thus restrain’d. 120
Corn. I’ll answer that.
Reg. My sister may receive it much more worse
To have her gentleman abus’d, assaulted,
For following her affairs. Put in his legs. [KENT is put in the stocks.
Come, my good lord, away. [Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER and KENT. 125
Glo. I am sorry for thee, friend; ’tis the duke’s pleasure,
Whose disposition, all the world well knows,
Will not be rubb’d nor stopp’d: I’ll entreat for thee.
Kent. Pray, do not, sir. I have watch’d and travell’d hard;
Some time I shall sleep out, the rest I’ll whistle. 130
A good man’s fortune may grow out at heels:
Give you good morrow!
Glo. The duke’s to blame in this; ‘twill be ill taken. [Exit.
Kent. Good king, that must approve the common saw,
Thou out of heaven’s benediction com’st 135
To the warm sun.
Approach, thou beacon to this under globe,
That by thy comfortable beams I may
Peruse this letter. Nothing almost sees miracles
But misery: I know ’tis from Cordelia, 140
Who hath most fortunately been inform’d
Of my obscured course; and shall find time
From this enormous state, seeking to give
Losses their remedies. All weary and o’er-watch’d,
Take vantage, heavy eyes, not to behold 145
This shameful lodging.
Fortune, good night, smile once more; turn thy wheel! [He sleeps.
Act II. Scene III.
A Part of the Heath.
Enter EDGAR.
Edg. I heard myself proclaim’d;
And by the happy hollow of a tree
Escap’d the hunt. No port is free; no place, 5
That guard, and most unusual vigilance,
Does not attend my taking. While I may ‘scape
I will preserve myself; and am bethought
To take the basest and most poorest shape
Brought near to beast; my face I’ll grime with filth,
Blanket my loins, elf all my hair in knots,
And with presented nakedness outface
The winds and persecutions of the sky.
The country gives me proof and precedent 15
Of Bedlam beggars, who with roaring voices,
Strike in their numb’d and mortified bare arms
Pins, wooden pricks, nails, sprigs of rosemary;
And with this horrible object, from low farms,
Poor pelting villages, sheep-cotes, and mills, 20
Sometime with lunatic bans, sometime with prayers,
Enforce their charity. Poor Turlygood! poor Tom!
That’s something yet: Edgar I nothing am. [Exit.
Act II. Scene IV.
Before GLOUCESTER’S Castle. KENT in the stocks.
Enter LEAR, Fool, and Gentleman.
Lear. ’Tis strange that they should so depart from home,
And not send back my messenger.
Gent. As I learn’d, 5
The night before there was no purpose in them
Of this remove.
Kent. Hail to thee, noble master!
Lear. Ha!
Mak’st thou this shame thy pastime? 10
Kent. No, my lord.
Fool. Ha, ha! he wears cruel garters. Horses are tied by the head, dogs and bears by the neck, monkeys by the loins, and men by the legs: when a man is over-lusty at legs, then he wears wooden nether-stocks.
Lear. What’s he that hath so much thy place mistook
To set thee here?
Kent. It is both he and she, 15
Your son and daughter.
Lear. No.
Kent. Yes.
Lear. No, I say.
Kent. I say, yea. 20
Lear. No, no; they would not.
Kent. Yes, they have.
Lear. By Jupiter, I swear, no.
Kent. By Juno, I swear, ay.
Lear. They durst not do ‘t; 25
They could not, would not do ‘t; ’tis worse than murder,
To do upon respect such violent outrage.
Resolve me, with all modest haste, which way
Thou mightst deserve, or they impose, this usage,
Coming from us. 30
Kent. My lord, when at their home
I did commend your highness’ letters to them,
Ere I was risen from the place that show’d
My duty kneeling, there came a reeking post,
Stew’d in his haste, half breathless, panting forth 35
From Goneril his mistress salutations;
Deliver’d letters, spite of intermission,
Which presently they read: on whose contents
They summon’d up their meiny, straight took horse;
Commanded me to follow, and attend 40
The leisure of their answer; gave me cold looks:
And meeting here the other messenger,
Whose welcome, I perceiv’d, had poison’d mine, —
Being the very fellow which of late
Display’d so saucily against your highness, — 45
Having more man than wit about me, — drew:
He rais’d the house with loud and coward cries.
Your son and daughter found this trespass worth
The shame which here it suffers.
Fool. Winter’s not gone yet, if the wild geese fly that way. 50
Fathers that wear rags
Do make their children blind,
But fathers that bear bags
Shall see their children kind.
Fortune, that arrant whore, 55
Ne’er turns the key to the poor.
But for all this thou shalt have as many dolours for thy daughters as thou canst tell in a year.
Lear. O! how this mother swells up toward my heart;
Hysterica passio! down, thou climbing sorrow!
Thy element’s below. Where is this daughter? 60
Kent. With the earl, sir: here within.
Lear. Follow me not; stay here. [Exit.
Gent. Made you no more offence than what you speak of?
Kent. None.
How chance the king comes with so small a number? 65
Fool. An thou hadst been set i’ the stocks for that question, thou hadst well deserved it.
Kent. Why, fool?
Fool. We’ll set thee to school to an ant, to teach thee there’s no labouring i’ the winter. All that follow their noses are led by their eyes but blind men; and there’s not a nose among twenty but can smell him that’s stinking. Let go thy hold when a great wheel runs down a hill, lest it break thy neck with following it; but the great one that goes up the hill, let him draw thee after. When a wise man gives thee better counsel, give me mine again: I would have none but knaves follow it, since a fool gives it.
And follows but for form, 70
Will pack when it begins to rain,
And leave thee in the storm.
But I will tarry; the fool will stay,
And let the wise man fly:
The knave turns fool that runs away; 75
The fool no knave, perdy.
Kent. Where learn’d you this, fool?
Fool. Not i’ the stocks, fool.
Re-enter LEAR, with GLOUCESTER.
Lear. Deny to speak with me! They are sick! they are weary, 80
They have travell’d hard to-night! Mere fetches,
The images of revolt and flying off.
Fetch me a better answer.
Glo. My dear lord,
You know the fiery quality of the duke; 85
How unremovable and fix’d he is
In his own course.
Lear. Vengeance! plague! death! confusion!
Fiery! what quality? Why, Gloucester, Gloucester,
I’d speak with the Duke of Cornwall and his wife. 90
Glo. Well, my good lord, I have inform’d them so.
Lear. Inform’d them! Dost thou understand me, man?
Glo. Ay, my good lord.
Lear. The king would speak with Cornwall; the dear father
Would with his daughter speak, commands her service: 95
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 ourselves 100
When nature, being oppress’d, commands the mind
To suffer with the body. I’ll forbear;
And am fall’n out with my more headier will,
To take the indispos’d and sickly fit
For the sound man. Death on my state! [Looking on KENT.] Wherefore 105
Should he sit here? This act persuades me
That this remotion of the duke and her
Is practice only. Give me my servant forth.
Go, tell the duke and’s wife I’d speak with them,
Now, presently: bid them come forth and hear me, 110
Or at their chamber-door I’ll beat the drum
Till it cry sleep to death.
Glo. I would have all well betwixt you. [Exit.
Lear. O, me! my heart, my rising heart! but, down!
Fool. Cry to it, nuncle, as the cockney did to the eels when she put ’em i’ the paste alive; she knapped ’em o’ the coxcombs with a stick, and cried, ‘Down, wantons, down!’ ’Twas her brother that, in pure kindness to his horse, buttered his hay. 115
Enter CORNWALL, REGAN, GLOUCESTER, and Servants.
Lear. Good morrow to you both.
Corn. Hail to your Grace! [KENT is set at liberty.
Reg. I am glad to see your highness.
Lear. Regan, I think you are; I know what reason 120
I have to think so: if thou shouldst not be glad,
I would divorce me from thy mother’s tomb,
Sepulchring an adult’ress. — [To KENT.] O! are you free?
Some other time for that. Beloved Regan,
Thy sister’s naught: O Regan! she hath tied 125
Sharp-tooth’d unkindness, like a vulture, here: [Points to his heart.
I can scarce speak to thee; thou’lt not believe
With how deprav’d a quality — O Regan!
Reg. I pray you, sir, take patience. I have hope
You less know how to value her desert 130
Than she to scant her duty.
Lear. Say, how is that?
Reg. I cannot think my sister in the least
Would fail her obligation: if, sir, perchance
She have restrain’d the riots of your followers, 135
’Tis on such ground, and to such wholesome end,
As clears her from all blame.
Lear. My curses on her!
Reg. O, sir! you are old;
Nature in you stands on the very verge 140
Of her confine: you should be rul’d and led
By some discretion that discerns your state
Better than you yourself. Therefore I pray you
That to our sister you do make return;
Say, you have wrong’d her, sir. 145
Lear. Ask her forgiveness?
Do you but mark how this becomes the house:
‘Dear daughter, I confess that I am old;
Age is unnecessary: on my knees I beg [Kneeling.
That you’ll vouchsafe me raiment, bed, and food.’ 150
Reg. Good sir, no more; these are unsightly tricks:
Return you to my sister.
Lear. [Rising.] Never, Regan.
She hath abated me of half my train;
Look’d black upon me; struck me with her tongue, 155
Most serpent-like, upon the very heart.
All the stor’d vengeances of heaven fall
On her ingrateful top! Strike her young bones,
You taking airs, with lameness!
Corn. Fie, sir, fie! 160
Lear. You nimble lightnings, dart your blinding flames
Into her scornful eyes! Infect her beauty,
You fen-suck’d fogs, drawn by the powerful sun,
To fall and blast her pride!
Reg. O the blest gods! So will you wish on me, 165
When the rash mood is on.
Lear. No, Regan, thou shalt never have my curse:
Thy tender-hefted nature shall not give
Thee o’er to harshness: her eyes are fierce, but thine
Do comfort and not burn. ’Tis not in thee 170
To grudge my pleasures, to cut off my train,
To bandy hasty words, to scant my sizes,
And, in conclusion, to oppose the bolt
Against my coming in: thou better know’st
The offices of nature, bond of childhood, 175
Effects of courtesy, dues of gratitude;
Thy half o’ the kingdom hast thou not forgot,
Wherein I thee endow’d.
Reg. Good sir, to the purpose.
Lear. Who put my man i’
the stocks? [Tucket within. 180
Corn. What trumpet’s that?
Reg. I know ‘t, my sister’s; this approves her letter,
That she would soon be here. Is your lady come?
Enter OSWALD.
Lear. This is a slave, whose easy-borrow’d pride 185
Dwells in the fickle grace of her he follows.
Out, varlet, from my sight!
Corn. What means your Grace?
Lear. Who stock’d my servant? Regan, I have good hope
Thou didst not know on ‘t. Who comes here? O heavens, 190
Enter GONERIL.
If you do love old men, if your sweet sway
Allow obedience, if yourselves are old,
Make it your cause; send down and take my part!
[To GONERIL.] Art not asham’d to look upon this beard? 195
O Regan, wilt thou take her by the hand?
Gon. Why not by the hand, sir? How have I offended?
All’s not offence that indiscretion finds
And dotage terms so.
Lear. O sides! you are too tough; 200
Will you yet hold? How came my man i’ the stocks?
Corn. I set him there, sir: but his own disorders
Deserv’d much less advancement.
Lear. You! did you?
Reg. I pray you, father, being weak, seem SQ. 205
If, till the expiration of your month,
You will return and sojourn with my sister,
Dismissing half your train, come then to me:
I am now from home, and out of that provision
Which shall be needful for your entertainment. 210
Lear. Return to her? and fifty men dismiss’d!
No, rather I abjure all roofs, and choose
To wage against the enmity o’ the air;
To be a comrade with the wolf and owl,
Necessity’s sharp pinch! Return with her! 215
Why, the hot-blooded France, that dowerless took
Our youngest born, I could as well be brought
To knee his throne, and, squire-like, pension beg
To keep base life afoot. Return with her!
Persuade me rather to be slave and sumpter 220
To this detested groom. [Pointing at OSWALD.
Gon. At your choice, sir.
Lear. I prithee, daughter, do not make me mad:
I will not trouble thee, my child; farewell.
We’ll no more meet, no more see one another; 225
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 boil,
A plague-sore, an embossed carbuncle,
In my corrupted blood. But I’ll not chide thee; 230
Let shame come when it will, I do not call it:
I do not bid the thunder-bearer shoot,