University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE, a Castle belonging to the Earl of Gloster.
Enter Edmund and Curan, severally.
Edm.

Save thee, Curan.

Cur.

And you, sir. I have been with your
father, and given him notice, that the Duke of Cornwall,
and Regan his dutches, will be here with him,
this night.

Edm.

How comes that?

Cur.

Nay, I know not. You have heard of the
news abroad: I mean the whisper'd ones; for they
are yet but ear-kissing arguments.

Edm.

Not I. Pray you, what are they?

Cur.

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

Edm.

Not a word.

Cur.

You may do, then, in time. Fare you well, sir.

[Exit.
Edm.
The duke be here, to-night! the better! best!
This weaves itself perforce into my business.
My father hath set guard to take my brother,
And I have one thing of a queasy question,
Which I must act. Briefness and fortune, work!
Brother, a word—Descend—Brother, I say.
To him enter Edgar.
My father watches. O sir, fly this place!
Intelligence is giv'n where you are hid;
You've now the good advantage of the night—
Have you not spoken 'gainst the Duke of Cornwall?
He's coming hither, now i'th' night, i'th haste,
And Regan with him. Have you nothing said
Upon his party, 'gainst the Duke of Albany?
Advise yourself.

Edg.
I'm sure on't: not a word.

Edm.
I hear my father coming. Pardon me—
In cunning I must draw my sword upon you—
Draw; seem to defend yourself.
Now, quit you well.
Yield—Come before my father—Light hoa, here!
Fly, brother—Torches!—so, farewel.
[Exit Edgar.
Some blood drawn on me, would beget opinion
[Wounds his arm.
Of my more fierce endeavour. I've seen drunkards
Do more than this, in sport. Father! father!
Stop, stop. Ho, help!

To him enter Gloster and Servants, with Torches.
Glo.
Now, Edmund, where's the villain?

Edm.
Here stood he, in the dark, his sharp sword out,
Mumbling of wicked charms, conj'ring the moon,
To stand's auspicious mistress.

Glo.
But where is he?

Edm.
Look, sir, I bleed.

Glo.
Where is the villain, Edmund?

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

Glo.
Pursue him! Ho! go after. By no means, what?

Edm.
Persuade me to the murder of your lordship;
But that I told him the revenging gods
'Gainst parricides did all their thunder bend;
Spoke with how manifold and strong a bond
The child was bound to th' father.—Sir, in fine,
Seeing how loathly opposite I stood
To his unnat'ral purpose, in fell motion,
With his prepared sword, he charges home
My unprovided body; lanc'd my arm;
And, when he saw my best alarmed spirits,
Bold in the quarrel's right, rous'd to th' encounter,
Or whether gasted by the noise I made,
Full suddenly he fled.

Glo.
Let him fly far;
Not in this land shall he remain uncaught,
And found; dispatch—The noble duke, my master,
My worthy and arch patron, comes, to-night;
By his authority I will proclaim it,
That he which finds him, shall deserve our thanks,
Bringing the murth'rous coward to the stake:
He that conceals him, death: and of my land,
(Loyal and natural boy!) I'll work the means
To make thee capable.

[Exeunt.
SCENE a Court before Gloster's Palace.
Enter Kent, and Steward, severally.
Stew.

Good evening to thee, friend. Art of this house?

Kent.

Ay.

Stew.

Where may we set our horses?

Kent.

I'th' mire.

Stew.

Pr'ythee, if thou lov'st me, tell me.

Kent.

I love thee not.

Stew.

Why then, I care not for thee.

Kent.

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

Stew.

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

Kent.

Fellow, I know thee.

Stew.

What dost thou know me for?

Kent.

A knave; a rascal; an eater of broken meats; a
base, proud, shallow, beggarly, three-suited, hundred-pound,
filthy, worsted-stocking knave; a lilly-liver'd,
action-taking, knave; a whorson, glass-gazing, super-serviceable,
finical rogue; one-trunk-inheriting slave;
one that would'st be a bawd in way of good service;
and art nothing but the composition of a knave, beggar,
coward, pander, and the son and heir of a mungril;
one whom I will beat into clam'rous whining, if
thou deny'st the least syllable of thy addition.

Stew.

Why, what a monstrous fellow art thou, thus

to rail on one, that is neither known of thee, not
knows thee?

Kent.

What a brazen-fac'd varlet art thou, to deny
thou know'st me? Is it two days ago, since I tript up
thy heels, and beat thee before the king? Draw, you
rogue: for tho' it be night, yet the moon shines; I'll
make a sop o'th' moonshine of you. You whorson, cullionly,
barber-monger, draw.

[Drawing his sword.
Stew.

Away, I have nothing to do with thee.

Kent.

Draw, you rascal! you come with letters against
the king; and take vanity, the puppet's part, against
the royalty of her father; draw, you rogue, or I'll so
carbonado your shanks—draw, you rascal; come your
ways.

Stew.

Help! ho! murther! help!—

Kent.

Strike, you slave. Stand, rogue; stand, you
near slave; strike.

[Beating him.
Stew.

Help! ho! murther! murther!—

[Exeunt.
SCENE Gloster's Palace.
Enter Edmund, Cornwall, Regan, Gloster, and Servants.
Corn.
How now, my noble friend? Since I came hither,
Which I can call but now, I have heard strange news.

Reg.
If it be true, all vengeance comes too short,
Which can pursue th' offender. How does my lord?

Glo.
O madam, my old heart is crack'd, it's crack'd.

Reg.
What did my father's godson seek your life?
He whom my father nam'd? your Edgar?

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

Reg.
Was he not companion with the riotous knights,
That tend upon my father?

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

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

Reg.
No marvel then, though he were ill affected;
'Tis they have put him on the old man's death,
To have th' expence and waste of his revenues.
I have, this present evening, from my sister,
Been well inform'd of them; and with such cautions,
That if they come to sojourn at my house,
I'll not be there.

Corn.
Nor I, assure thee, Regan.
Edmund, I hear, that you have shown your father
A child-like office.

Edm.
'Twas my duty, sir.

Glo.
He did bewray his practice, and receiv'd
This hurt you see, striving to apprehend him.

Corn.
Is he pursued?

Glo.
Ay, my good lord.

Corn.
If he be taken, he shall never more
Be fear'd of doing harm: make your own purpose,
How in my strength you please. As for you, Edmund,
Whose virtue and obedience doth this instant
So much commend itself, you shall be ours:
Natures of such deep trust we shall much need:
You we first sieze on.

Edm.
I shall serve you, sir,
Truly, however else.

Glo.
I thank your grace.

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

Reg.
Thus out of season threading dark-ey'd night;
Occasions, noble Gloster, of some prize,
Wherein we must have use of your advice.—
Our father he hath writ, so hath our sister,
Of diff'rences, which I best thought it fit
To answer from our home. The several messengers
From hence attend dispatch. Our good old friend,
Lay comforts to your bosom; and bestow
Your needful counsel to our business.
Which crave the instant use.

Glo.
I serve you, madam:
Your graces are right welcome.

Enter Kent, and Steward.
Stew.
Murder! murder! murder!

Edm.
How now, what's the matter? Part—

Kent.
With you, goodman boy, if you please? Come,
I'll flesh ye; come on, young master.

Glo.
Weapons! arms! what's the matter here?

Corn.

Keep peace, upon your lives. He dies, that
strikes again? What's the matter?

Reg.

The messengers from our sister and the king?

Corn.

What is your difference? Speak.

Stew.

I am scarce in breath, my lord.

Kent.

No marvel, you have so bestirred your valour;
you cowardly rascal! nature disclaims all share in thee:
a tailor made thee.

Corn.

Thou art a strange fellow; a tailor make a man!

Kent.

Ay, a tailor, sir; a stone-cutter, or a painter
could not have made him so ill, though they had been
but two hours o'th' trade.

Corn.

Speak yet, how grew your quarrel?

Stew.

This antient ruffian, sir, whose life I have
spar'd at suit of his grey beard—

Kent.

Thou whorson zed! thou unnecessary letter!
My lord, if you will give me leave, I will tread this
unbolted villain into mortar, and daub the wall of a
jakes with him. Spare my grey beard, you wagtail!

Corn.
Peace, sirrah!
Know you no reverence?

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

Corn.
Why art thou angry?

Kent.
That such a slave as this shou'd wear a sword,
Who wears no honesty. Such smiling rogues as these,
Like rats, oft bite the holy cords in twain,
Too intrinsecate t'unloose: sooth every passion,
That in the nature of their lords rebels:
Bring oil to fire, snow to their colder moods;
Renege, affirm, and turn their halcyon beaks
With ev'ry gale and vary of their masters;
As knowing nought, like dogs, but following.
A plague upon your epileptic visage!
Smile you my speeches, as I were a fool?
Goose, if I had you upon Sarum-plain,
I'd drive ye cackling home to Camelot.

Corn.
What art thou mad, old fellow?

Glo.
How fell you out? say that.

Kent.
No contraries hold more antipathy,
Than I and such a knave.

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

Kent.
His countenance likes me not.

Corn.
No more, perchance, does mine; nor his; nor hers.

Kent.
Sir, 'tis my occupation to be plain;
I have seen better faces in my time,
Than stand on any shoulder that I see
Before me, at this instant.

Corn.
This is some fellow,
Who having been prais'd for bluntness, doth affect
A saucy roughness; and constrains the garb,
Quite from his nature. He can't flatter, he,—
An honest mind and plain, he must speak truth;
And they will take it, so; if not, he's plain.
These kind of knaves I know, which in this plainness
Harbour more craft, and more corrupter ends,
Than twenty silly ducking observants,
That stretch their duties nicely.

Kent.
Sir, in good faith, in sincere verity,
Under th' allowance of your grand aspect,
Whose influence, like the wreath of radiant fire
On flickering Phœbus' front—

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 beguil'd you in a plain accent, was a plain knave,
which for my part I will not be, though I should win
your displeasure to intreat me to't.

Corn.
What was th' offence you gave him?

Stew.
I never gave him any:
It pleased the king, his master, very lately,
To strike at me upon his misconstruction;
When he, conjunct, and flatt'ring his displeasure,
Tript me behind; being down, insulted, rail'd,
And put upon him such a deal of man,
That worthied him; got praises of the king,
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.

Corn.
Fetch forth the stocks.
We'll teach you—

Kent.
Sir, I am too old to learn.
Call not your stocks for me, I serve the king;
On whose imployment I was sent to you.
You shall do small respect, shew 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, there shall he fit 'till noon.

Reg.
'Till noon! 'till night, my lord; and all night too.

Kent.
Why, madam, if I were your father's dog,
You could not use me so.

Reg.
Sir, being his knave, I will.

Corn.
This is a fellow of the self same nature
Our sister speaks of. Come, bring away the stocks.

[The Stocks are brought in, and Kent put in them.
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
Is such, as basest and the meanest wretches,
For pilf'rings, and most common trespasses,
Are punish'd with. The king must take it ill,
That he, so slightly valued in his messenger,
Should have him thus restrain'd.

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.
Come, my lord, away.

[Exeunt Regan and Cornwall.
Glo.
I'm sorry for thee, friend; 'tis the duke's pleasure,
Whose disposition, all the world well knows,
Will not be rubb'd nor stop'd. I'll intreat for thee.

Kent.
Pray, do not, sir. I've watch'd and travell'd hard;
Sometime I shall sleep out, the rest I'll whistle.
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,
To the warm sun!
Approach, thou beacon to this under-globe,
[Looking up to the Moon.
That by thy comfortable beams I may
Peruse this letter. Nothing almost sees miracles,
But misery. I know, 'tis from Cordelia;
Who hath most fortunately been inform'd
Of my obscured course. I shall find time
From this enormous state, and seek to give
Losses their remedies. All weary and o'er-watch'd,
Take vantage, heavy eyes, not to behold
This shameful lodging.
Fortune, good night; smile once more, turn thy wheel.

[He sleeps.
SCENE changes to a part of the Heath.
Enter Edgar.
Edg.
I've heard myself proclaim'd;
And by the happy hollow of a tree,
Escap'd the hunt. No port is free; no place,
That guard, and most unusual vigilance,
Does not attend my taking. How easy now
'Twere to defeat the malice of my trial,
And leave my griefs on my sword's reeking point;
But love detains me, from love's peaceful cell,
Still whispering me, Cordelia's in distress.
Unkind as she is, I cannot see her wretched,
But must be near, to wait upon her fortune.
Who knows but the white minute yet may come,
When Edgar may do service to Cordelia:
Whiles I may 'scape,
I will preserve myself: and am bethought
To take the basest and the poorest shape,
That ever penury, in contempt of man,
Brought near to beast: my face I'll grime with filth;
Blanket my loins; else all my hair in knots;
And, with presented nakedness, out-face
The winds and persecutions of the sky.
The country gives me proof and precedent
Of Bedlam beggars, who, with roaring voices,
Strike in their numb'd and mortify'd bare arms,
Pins, wooden pricks, nails, sprigs of rosemary;
And with this horrible object, from low farms,
Poor pelting villages, sheep-coats and mills,
Sometimes with lunatic bans, sometimes with pray'rs,
Inforce their charity: poor Turlygood! poor Tom!—
That's something yet. Edgar I nothing am.

[Exit.
SCENE changes again, to the Earl of Gloster's Castle.
Enter Lear.
Lear.
'Tis strange, that they should so depart from home
And not send back my messenger.

Kent.
Hail to thee, noble master!

Lear.
Ha! mak'st thou thy shame thy pastime?

Kent.
No, my lord.

Lear.
What's he, that hath so much thy place mistook, to set thee here?

Kent.
It is both he and she: your son and daughter.

Lear.
No.

Kent.
Yes.

Lear.
No, I say.

Kent.
I say yea.

Lear.
By Jupiter, I swear, no.

Kent.
By Juno, I swear, ay.

Lear.
They durst not do't.
They could not, would not do't.
Resolve me, with all modest haste, which way
Though might'st deserve, or they impose, this usage,
Coming from us?

Kent.
My lord, when at their home
I did commend your highness' letters to them,
Ere I was risen from the place, that shew'd
My duty kneeling, came a reeking post,
Stew'd in his haste, half breathless, panting forth
From Goneril his mistress, salutation;
Deliver'd letters spight of intermission,
Which presently they read: on whose contents
They summon'd up their meiny; strait took horse;
Commanded me to follow, and attend
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 sawcily against your highness,)
Having more man than wit about me, I 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.

Lear.
Oh, how this mother swells up tow'rd my heart!
Hysterica passio—down, thou climbing sorrow,
Thy element's below; where is this daughter?

Kent.
With the earl, sir, here within.

Enter Gloster.
Lear.
How, Gloster!
[Gloster whispers Lear.
Deny to speak with me? they're sick, they're weary,
They have travell'd all the night? mere fetches,
The images of revolt and flying off.
Bring me a better answer—

Glo.
My dear lord,
You know the fiery quality of the duke.

Lear.
Vengeance! plague! death! confusion!—
Fiery? what fiery quality? Why, Gloster,
I'd speak with the duke of Cornwall, and his wife.

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,
Wou'd with his daughter speak; commands her service:
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; I'll chide my rashness
That took the indispos'd and sickly fit,
For the sound man.—Death on my state; but wherefore
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,
Or at their chamber-door I'll beat the drum,
'Till it cry, sleep to death. O, are you come.

Enter Cornwall, Regan, &c.
Corn.
Hail to your grace!

Lear.
Oh, me! my heart! my rising heart! bent down.
Good morrow to you both.

Reg.
I am glad to see your highness.

Lear.
Regan, I think you are; I know what reason
I have to think so; if thou wert not glad,
I would divorce me from my mother's tomb,
Sepulchring an adultress.
Beloved Regan,
Thy sister's naught. Oh, Regan, she hath tied
Sharp-tooth'd unkindness, like a vulture, here;
[Points to his heart.
I can scarce speak to thee—Oh, Regan!—

Reg.
I pray you, sir, take patience. I have hope,
You less know how to value her desert,
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, perchance,
She have restrain'd the riots of your followers;
'Tis on such ground, and to such wholsom 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
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,
Say, you have wrong'd her, sir.

Lear.
Ask her forgiveness?
Do you but mark, how this becomes the use?
Dear daughter, I confess that I am old;
Age is unnecessary. On my knees I beg,
That you'll vouchsafe me rayment, bed, and food.

Reg.
Good sir, no more; these are unsightly tricks:
Return you to my sister.

Lear.
Never, Regan:
She hath abated me of half my train;
Look'd blank upon me; struck me with her tongue,
Most serpent-like, upon the very heart.
All the stor'd vengeances of heaven fall
On her ungrateful top!

Reg.
O the best gods!
So will you wish on me, 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. Thou better know'st
The offices of nature, bond of child-hood,
Effects of courtesy, dues of gratitude;
Thy half o'th' kingdom thou hast not forgot,
Wherein I thee endow'd.

Reg.
Good sir, to th' purpose.

Lear.
Who put my man i'th' stocks?

[Trumpet within.
Enter Steward.
Cor.
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?

Lear.
Out, varlet, from my sight.

Corn.
What means your grace?

Enter Goneril.
Lear.
Who stockt my servant? Regan, I've good hope
Thou didst not know on't.
[Flourish.
Who comes here?
O heav'ns!
[Cornwall makes a sign to have Kent set at liberty.
If you do love old men; if your sweet sway
Hallow obedience; if your selves are old,
Make it your cause: send down and take my part.
Art not asham'd to look upon this beard?
O Regan, will you take her by the hand?

Gon.
Why not by th' hand, sir? how have I offended?
All's not offence that indiscretion finds,
And dotage terms so.

Lear.
O sides, you are too tough!

Reg.
I pray you, father, being weak, seem so.
If, 'till the expiration of your month,
You will return and sojourn with my sister,
Dismissing half your train, come then to me?
I'm now from home, and out of that provision,
Which shall be needful for your entertainment.

Lear.
Return to her? and fifty men dismiss'd?
No, rather I abjure all roofs, and chuse
To be a comrade with the wolf and owl;
To wage against the enmity o'th' air,
Than have my smallest wants supply'd by her.

Gon.
At your choice, sir.

Lear.
I pr'ythee, daughter, do not make me mad.
I will not trouble thee, my child. Farewel;
We'll no more meet, no more see one another;
But I'll not chide thee.
Let shame come when it will, I do not call it;
I do not bid the thunder-bearer shoot,
Nor tell tales of thee to high-judging Jove.
Mend, when thou canst; be better, at thy leisure.
I can be patient; I can stay with Regan;
I, and my hundred knights.

Reg.
Not altogether so;
I look'd not for you, yet; nor am provided
For your fit welcome.

Lear.
Is this well spoken?

Reg.
I dare avouch it, sir. What, fifty followers!
Is it not well? what should you need of more?
Yea, or so many? since both charge and danger
Speak 'gainst so great a number. How in one house
Should many people, under two commands,
Hold amity? 'Tis hard, almost impossible.

Lear.
O let me not be mad! Sweet heaven,
Keep me in temper! I would not be mad.

Gon.
Why might not you, my lord, receive attendance,
From those that she calls servants, or from mine?

Reg.
Why not, my lord? If then they chanc'd to slack ye,
We could controul them; if you'll come to me,
(For now I spy a danger) I intreat you
To bring but five and twenty; to no more
Will I give place or notice.

Lear.
O gods! I gave you all—

Reg.
And in good time you gave it.

[Thunder.
Lear.
You Heav'ns, give me that patience which I need!
You see me here, you gods, a poor old man,
As full of grief as age; wretched in both!
If it be you that stir these daughters hearts
Against their father, fool me not so much
To bear it tamely; touch me with noble anger.
O let not women's weapons, water-drops,
Stain my man's cheeks. No, you unnat'ral hags—
I will have such revenges on you both,
That all the world shall—I will do such things,
What they are, yet I know not; but they shall be
The terrors of the earth. You think I'll weep:
No, I'll not weep. I have full cause of weeping:
This heart shall break into a thousand flaws,
Or ere I weep. O gods! I shall go mad.

[Thunder.
[Exeunt.