 | King Lear |  |
31
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;
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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,
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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.
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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!
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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?
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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.
Kent, though relating what we are before acquainted with, does it with such blunt, unaffected perspicuity, that we must be pleased both with the matter and manner of his narration.
Here falls in a fine turn of recollection, for the actor who performs Lear. It is one of the noblest breaks we recollect: indeed, the whole speech is inimitable. This is a melting address; the numerous transitions are most masterly. Lear's struggles against his powerful injuries, and his own strong feelings, are exquisite; the daughters working him severally up to madness, and his at length falling into, it are an irresistible combination that none but Shakespeare could frame or express.
The idea of filial ingratitude placing in his breast a vulture, to prey upon that liberal heart which gave all, is nervously figurative.
This sudden start of passion, from the extreme tenderness of his preceeding speech, is a fine mark of character.
| King Lear | |