The Complete Works of William Shakespeare Part 288

Gent. O, here he is! Lay hand upon him.- Sir, Your most dear daughter- Lear. No rescue? What, a prisoner? I am even The natural fool of fortune. Use me well; You shall have ransom. Let me have a surgeon; I am cut to th' brains.

Gent. You shall have anything.

Lear. No seconds? All myself?

Why, this would make a man a man of salt, To use his eyes for garden waterpots, Ay, and laying autumn's dust.

Gent. Good sir- Lear. I will die bravely, like a smug bridegroom. What!

I will be jovial. Come, come, I am a king; My masters, know you that?

Gent. You are a royal one, and we obey you.

Lear. Then there's life in't. Nay, an you get it, you shall get it by running. Sa, sa, sa, sa!

Exit running. [Attendants follow.]

Gent. A sight most pitiful in the meanest wretch, Past speaking of in a king! Thou hast one daughter Who redeems nature from the general curse Which twain have brought her to.

Edg. Hail, gentle sir.

Gent. Sir, speed you. What's your will?

Edg. Do you hear aught, sir, of a battle toward?

Gent. Most sure and vulgar. Every one hears that Which can distinguish sound.

Edg. But, by your favour, How near's the other army?

Gent. Near and on speedy foot. The main descry Stands on the hourly thought.

Edg. I thank you sir. That's all.

Gent. Though that the Queen on special cause is here, Her army is mov'd on.

Edg. I thank you, sir Exit [Gentleman].

Glou. You ever-gentle G.o.ds, take my breath from me; Let not my worser spirit tempt me again To die before you please!

Edg. Well pray you, father.

Glou. Now, good sir, what are you?

Edg. A most poor man, made tame to fortune's blows, Who, by the art of known and feeling sorrows, Am pregnant to good pity. Give me your hand; I'll lead you to some biding.

Glou. Hearty thanks.

The bounty and the benison of heaven To boot, and boot!

Enter [Oswald the] Steward.

Osw. A proclaim'd prize! Most happy!

That eyeless head of thine was first fram'd flesh To raise my fortunes. Thou old unhappy traitor, Briefly thyself remember. The sword is out That must destroy thee.

Glou. Now let thy friendly hand Put strength enough to't.

[Edgar interposes.]

Osw. Wherefore, bold peasant, Dar'st thou support a publish'd traitor? Hence!

Lest that th' infection of his fortune take Like hold on thee. Let go his arm.

Edg. Chill not let go, zir, without vurther 'cagion.

Osw. Let go, slave, or thou diest!

Edg. Good gentleman, go your gait, and let poor voke pa.s.s. An chud ha' bin zwagger'd out of my life, 'twould not ha' bin zo long as 'tis by a vortnight. Nay, come not near th' old man. Keep out, che vore ye, or Ise try whether your costard or my ballow be the harder. Chill be plain with you.

Osw. Out, dunghill!

They fight.

Edg. Chill pick your teeth, zir. Come! No matter vor your foins.

[Oswald falls.]

Osw. Slave, thou hast slain me. Villain, take my purse.

If ever thou wilt thrive, bury my body, And give the letters which thou find'st about me To Edmund Earl of Gloucester. Seek him out Upon the British party. O, untimely death! Death!

He dies.

Edg. I know thee well. A serviceable villain, As duteous to the vices of thy mistress As badness would desire.

Glou. What, is he dead?

Edg. Sit you down, father; rest you.

Let's see his pockets; these letters that he speaks of May be my friends. He's dead. I am only sorry He had no other deathsman. Let us see.

Leave, gentle wax; and, manners, blame us not.

To know our enemies' minds, we'ld rip their hearts; Their papers, is more lawful. Reads the letter.

'Let our reciprocal vows be rememb'red. You have many opportunities to cut him off. If your will want not, time and place will be fruitfully offer'd. There is nothing done, if he return the conqueror. Then am I the prisoner, and his bed my jail; from the loathed warmth whereof deliver me, and supply the place for your labour.

'Your (wife, so I would say) affectionate servant, 'Goneril.'

O indistinguish'd s.p.a.ce of woman's will!

A plot upon her virtuous husband's life, And the exchange my brother! Here in the sands Thee I'll rake up, the post unsanctified Of murtherous lechers; and in the mature time With this ungracious paper strike the sight Of the death-practis'd Duke, For him 'tis well That of thy death and business I can tell.

Glou. The King is mad. How stiff is my vile sense, That I stand up, and have ingenious feeling Of my huge sorrows! Better I were distract.

So should my thoughts be sever'd from my griefs, And woes by wrong imaginations lose The knowledge of themselves.

A drum afar off.

Edg. Give me your hand.

Far off methinks I hear the beaten drum.

Come, father, I'll bestow you with a friend. Exeunt.

Scene VII.

A tent in the French camp.

Enter Cordelia, Kent, Doctor, and Gentleman.

Cor. O thou good Kent, how shall I live and work To match thy goodness? My life will be too short And every measure fail me.

Kent. To be acknowledg'd, madam, is o'erpaid.

All my reports go with the modest truth; Nor more nor clipp'd, but so.

Cor. Be better suited.

These weeds are memories of those worser hours.

I prithee put them off.

Kent. Pardon, dear madam.

Yet to be known shortens my made intent.

My boon I make it that you know me not Till time and I think meet.

Cor. Then be't so, my good lord. [To the Doctor] How, does the King?

Doct. Madam, sleeps still.

Cor. O you kind G.o.ds, Cure this great breach in his abused nature!

Th' untun'd and jarring senses, O, wind up Of this child-changed father!

Doct. So please your Majesty That we may wake the King? He hath slept long.

Cor. Be govern'd by your knowledge, and proceed I' th' sway of your own will. Is he array'd?

Enter Lear in a chair carried by Servants.

Gent. Ay, madam. In the heaviness of sleep We put fresh garments on him.

Doct. Be by, good madam, when we do awake him.

I doubt not of his temperance.

Cor. Very well.

Music.

Doct. Please you draw near. Louder the music there!

Cor. O my dear father, restoration hang Thy medicine on my lips, and let this kiss Repair those violent harms that my two sisters Have in thy reverence made!

Kent. Kind and dear princess!

Cor. Had you not been their father, these white flakes Had challeng'd pity of them. Was this a face To be oppos'd against the warring winds?

To stand against the deep dread-bolted thunder?