 | King Lear |  |
ACT IV.
SCENE an open Country.Enter Edgar.
Yet better thus, and known to be contemn'd,
Than still contemn'd and flatter'd. To be worst,
The lowest, most dejected thing of fortune,
Stands still in esperance; lives not in fear.
The lamentable change is from the best;
The worst returns to laughter. Welcome, then,
Thou unsubstantial air that I embrace!
The wretch that thou hast blown unto the worst,
Owes nothing to thy blasts.
Enter Gloster, led by an Old Man.
But who comes here?
My father poorly led? World, world, O world!
But that thy strange mutations make us wait thee,
Life would not yield to age.
Old Man.
O, my good lord, I have been your tenant,
And your father's tenant, these fourscore years.
Glo.
Away! get thee away! Good friend, be gone;
Thy comforts can do me no good at all:
Thee they may hurt.
Old Man.
You cannot see your way.
Glo.
I have no way, and therefore want no eyes.
I stumbled, when I saw. Full oft 'tis seen,
Our mean secures us; and our mere defects
Prove our commodities. O dear son Edgar,
Might I but live to see thee in my touch,
I'd say I had eyes again!
Old Man.
How now! Who's there?
O gods! who is't can say, I'm at the worst?
I'm worse than e'er I was.
Old Man.
'Tis poor mad Tom.
Edg.
And worse I may be, yet.
Old Man.
Fellow, where goest?
Glo.
Is it a beggar man?
Old Man.
Madman and beggar too.
Glo.
He has some reason, else he could not beg.
I'th last night's storm I such a fellow saw;
Which made me think a man a worm. My son
Came then into my mind; and yet my mind
Was scarce then friends with him. I've heard more, since.
As flies to wanton boys, are we to th' gods:
They kill us for their sport.
Edg.
How should this be?
Bad is the trade must play the fool to sorrow,
Ang'ring itself and others. Bless thee, master.
Glo.
Is that the naked fellow?
Old Man.
Ay, my lord.
Glo.
Get thee away. If, for my sake,
Thou wilt o'ertake us hence a mile or twain,
I'th way tow'rd Dover, do it for ancient love;
And bring some covering for this naked soul,
Whom I'll entreat to lead me.
Old Man.
Alack, sir, he's mad.
Glo.
'Tis the time's plague, when madmen lead the blind.
Do as I bid; or rather do thy pleasure;
Above the rest, be gone.
Old Man.
I'll bring him the best 'parel that I have,
Come on't what will.
[Exit.
Glo.
Sirrah, naked fellow.
Edg.
Poor Tom's a cold;—I cannot daub it further.
Glo.
Come hither, fellow.
Edg.
And yet I must.
Bless thy sweet eyes, they bleed.
Glo.
Know'st thou the way to Dover?
Edg.
Both stile and gate, horse-way and foot-path;
thee, good man, from the foul fiend.
Glo.
Here, take this purse, thou whom the heaven's plagues
Have humbled to all strokes. That I am wretched,
Makes thee the happier. Dost thou know Dover?
Edg.
Ay, master.
Glo.
There is a cliff, whose high and bending head
Looks fearfully on the confined deep:
Bring me but to the very brim of it.
And I'll repair the misery thou dost bear,
With something rich about me; from that place
I shall no leading need.
Edg.
Give me thy arm,
Poor Tom shall lead thee.
[A trampling without.
Glo.
Soft, for I hear the tread of passengers.
Enter Kent and Cordelia.
Cord.
Ah me! your fear's too true, it was the king;
I spoke but now, with some that met him
As mad as the vex'd sea; singing aloud,
Crown'd with rank fumiter, and furrow weeds,
With berries, burdocks, violets, daisies, poppies,
In our sustaining corn. Conduct me to him,
And Heav'n so prosper thee.
Kent.
I will, good lady.
Ha, Gloster here!—Turn poor dark man, and hear
A friend's condolement, who, at sight of thine,
Forgets his own distress; thy old true Kent.
Glost.
How Kent! From whence return'd?
Kent.
I have not, since my banishment, been absent;
But in disguise follow'd th'abandon'd king.
'Twas me thou saw'st with him, in the late storm.
Glost.
Let me embrace thee. Had I eyes, I now
Should weep for joy: but let this trickling blood
Suffice instead of tears.
Cord.
O misery!
To whom shall I complain, or in what language?
Forgive, O, wretched man, the piety
That brought thee to this pass. 'Twas I that caus'd it.
I cast me at thy feet, and beg of thee
To crush these weeping eyes to equal darkness,
If that will give thee any recompence.
Edg.
Was ever season so distrest as this?
[Aside.
Glost.
I think Cordelia's voice! Rise, pious princess,
And take a dark man's blessing.
Cord.
O, my Edgar!
My virtue's now grown guilty, works the bane
Of those that do befriend me. Heaven forsakes me;
And when you look that way, it is but just
That you should hate me too.
Edg.
O wave this cutting speech, and spare to wound
A heart that's on the rack.
Glo.
No longer cloud thee, Kent, in that disguise;
Our injur'd country is, at length, in arms,
Urg'd by the king's inhuman wrongs and mine,
And only want a chief to lead them on.
That task be thine.
Edg.
Brave Britains! then there's life in't yet.
[Aside.
Kent.
Then have we one cast for our fortune, still.
Come, princess, I'll bestow you with the king,
Then on the spur to head these forces.
Farewel, good Gloster, to our conduct trust.
Glost.
And be your cause as prosp'rous as 'tis just.
[Exit.
This is a fine moral reflection, rather obscurely expressed: to us it means, that man, amidst the various disappointments and vicissitudes of this world, could not, but for hope, wait the approach of old age.
Edgar, in his soliloquy that begins the act, says he is blown to the worst; but here very morally retracts that precipitate assertion, seeing his mangled father. Scarce any state of life is so bad, but it might be worse—hence misery often collects patience from calamity.
These lines, we think, should be retained:
Heav'ns deal so still:Let the superfluous and lust-dieted man,
That slaves your ordinance, that will not see,
Because he does not feel, feel your pow'r quickly:
So distribution should undo success,
And each man have enough.
There is in Shakespeare, a scene between Kent and a Gentleman, wherein Cordelia's concern for her father is so delightfully depicted, that we must present our readers with the striking part of it.
Kent.Then it moved her?
Gent.
Not to a rage. Patience and sorrow strove
Which should express her goodliest. You have seen
Sunshine and rain at once; her smiles and tears
Were like a wetter May: those happy smiles
That play'd on her ripe lips, seem'd not to know
What guests were in her eyes; which parted thence
Like pearls from diamonds drop'd—In brief,
Sorrow would be a rarity most beloved,
If all could so come by it.
Kent.
Made she no verbal question?
Gent.
Yes, once or twice she heav'd the name of Father!
Pantingly forth, as if it prest her heart.
Cried, Sisters—sisters—what! i'th' storm! i'th night!
Let pity ne'er believe—There she shook
The holy water from her heav'nly eyes,
And clamour moisten'd her—Then away she started,
To deal with grief alone.
Though the above description is given of Cordelia as queen of France, it might well and ought to have been brought into the alteration.
Enter Goneril, and Attendants.
Gon.
It was great ignorance, Gloster's eyes being out,
To let him live; where he arrives, he moves
All hearts against us: Edmund I think is gone,
In pity to his misery, to dispatch him.
Gent.
No, madam, he's return'd, on speedy summons,
Back to your sister.
Gon.
Ha! I like not that;
Such speed must have the wings of love.
[Aside.
Where's Albany?
Gent.
Madam, within; but never man so chang'd.
I told him of the uproar of the peasants,
He smil'd at it; when I inform'd him
Of Gloster's treason—
Gon.
Trouble him no farther,
It is his coward spirit; back to our sister,
Hasten her musters, and let her know
I have given the distaff into my husband's hands.
That done, with special care deliver these dispatches
In private to young Gloster.
Enter a Messenger.
Mess.
O madam, most unseasonable news:
The duke of Cornwall's dead of his late wound,
Whose loss your sister has in part supply'd,
Making brave Edmund general of her forces.
Gon.
One way I like this well.
But being a widow, and my Gloster with her,
[Aside.
A word more, sir—add speed to your journey,
And if you chance to meet with that blind traitor,
Preferment falls on him that cuts him off.
[Ex.
SCENE, the Country, near Dover.
Enter Gloster, and Edgar as a Peasant.
Glo.
When shall I come to the top of that same hill?
Edg.
You do climb up it now. Look, how we labour.
Glo.
Methinks the ground is even.
Edg.
Horrible steep.
Hark, do you hear the sea?
Glo.
No, truly.
Edg.
Why then your other senses grow imperfect,
By your eyes anguish.
Glo.
So may it be, indeed.
Methinks, thy voice is altered; and thou speak'st
In better phrase and matter, than thou didst.
Edg.
You're much deceiv'd: in nothing am I chang'd,
But in my garments.
Glo.
Sure, you're better spoken.
Edg.
Come on, sir, here's the place—stand still. How fearful
And dizzy 'tis, to cast one's eyes so low!
The crows and choughs, that wing the midway air,
Shew scarce so gross as beetles. Half way down
Hangs one that gathers samphire; dreadful trade!
Methinks he seems no bigger than his head.
The fishermen, that walk upon the beach,
Appear like mice; and you tall anchoring bark,
Diminish'd to her cock; her cock a buoy
Almost too small for sight. The murmuring surge,
That on th' unnumber'd idle pebbles chafes,
Cannot be heard so high. I'll look no more,
Lest my brain turn, and the deficient sight
Topple down headlong.
Set me where you stand.
Edg.
Give me your hand: you're now within a foot
Of th' extreme verge: for all below the moon
Would I not leap upright.
Glo.
Let go my hand:
Here, friend,'s another purse, in it a jewel
Well worth a poor man's taking. Fairies, and gods,
Prosper it with thee! Go thou further off,
Bid me farewel, and let me hear thee going.
Edg.
Now fare ye well, good sir.
[Seems to go.
Glo.
With all my heart.
Edg.
Why do I trifle thus with his despair?
'Tis done to cure it.
Glo.
O you mighty Gods!
This world do I renounce; and in your sights
Shake patiently my great affliction off;
If I could bear it longer, and not fall
To quarrel with your great opposeless wills,
My snuff and loathed part of nature should
Burn itself out. If Edgar live, O bless him!
Now, fellow, fare thee well.
[He leaps, and falls along.
Edg.
Good sir, farewel.
And yet I know not how conceit may rob
The treasury of life. Had he been where he thought,
By this, had thought been past—Alive or dead?
Hoa, you, hear you, friend! sir! sir! speak!
Thus might he pass, indeed—yet he revives.
What are you, sir?
Glo.
Away, and let me die.
Edg.
Had'st thou been aught but goss'mer, feathers, air,
So many fathom down precipitating,
Thou'd'st shiver'd like an egg: but thou dost breathe,
Hast heavy substance, bleed'st not; speak, art sound?
Ten masts at each make not the altitude,
Which thou hast perpendicularly fall'n.
Thy life's a miracle.
Glo.
But have I fall'n, or no?
Edg.
From the dread summit of this chalky bourn!
Cannot be seen or heard. Do but look up.
Glo.
Alack, I have no eyes.
Is wretchedness depriv'd that benefit,
To end itself by death? 'Twas yet some comfort,
When misery could beguile the tyrant's rage,
And frustrate his proud will.
Edg.
Give me your arm.
Up, so—how is't? Feel you your legs? You stand.
Glo.
Too well, too well.
Edg.
Upon the crown o'th' cliff, what thing was that,
Which parted from you?
Glo.
A poor unfortunate beggar.
Edg.
As I stood here below, methought his eyes
Were two full moons; he had a thousand noses,
Horns welk'd, and wav'd, like the enridged sea:
It was some fiend. Therefore, thou happy father,
Think, that the clearest Gods, who make them honours,
Of men's impossibilities, have preserv'd thee.
Glo.
I do remember now: henceforth I'll bear
Affliction, 'till it do cry out itself,
Enough, enough, and die. That thing you speak of,
I took it for a man; often 'twould say,
The fiend, the fiend—he led me to that place.
Edg.
Bear free and patient thoughts.
Enter Lear, drest madly with Flowers.
But who comes here?
Lear.
No, they cannot touch me for coining. I
am the king himself.
Edg.
O thou side piercing sight:
Lear.
Nature's above art in that respect. There's
your press-money. That fellow handles his bow like
a crow-keeper: draw me a cloathier's yard. Look,
look, a mouse! Peace, peace;—there's my gauntlet,
I'll prove it on a giant. Bring up the brown bills.
O, well flown barb! i'th' clout, i'th' clout: hewgh.
—Give the word.
Edg.
Sweet marjoram.
Lear.
Pass.
I know that voice.
Lear.
Ha! Gonerill! ha! Regan! they flatter'd
me like a dog, and told me I had white hairs in my
beard, ere the black ones were there. To say, ay,
and no, to hear every thing that I said—Ay, and no
too, was no good divinity. When the rain came to
wet me once, and the wind to make me chatter;
when the thunder would not peace at my bidding;
there I found 'em, there I smelt 'em out. Go to,
they are not men o' their words; they told me, I
was every thing: 'tis a lie, I am not ague-proof.
Glo.
The trick of that voice I do well remember:
Is't the king?
Lear.
Ay, every inch a king.
When I do stare, see, how the subject quakes.
I pardon that man's life. What was the cause?
Adultery? thou shalt not die; die for adultery! no,
the wren goes to't, and the small gilded fly does letcher
in my sight. Let copulation thrive; for Gloster's
bastard son was kinder to his father, than my daughters,
got 'tween the lawful sheets. To't luxury, pellmell;
for I lack soldiers.
Glo.
O ruin'd piece of nature! This great world
Shall so wear out to nought.
Lear.
Behold yon simpering dame, whose face
'tween her forks presages snow: that minces virtue,
and does shake the head to hear of pleasure's name.
The fitchew, nor the soiled horse, goes to't with a
more riotous appetite: down from the waist they are
centaurs, tho' women all above; but to the girdle do
the gods inherit, beneath is all the fiend. There's
hell, there's darkness, there's the sulphurous pit,
burning, scalding, stench, consumption: fie, fie, fie;
pah, pah; give me an ounce of civet, good apothecary,
to sweeten my imagination! there's money
for thee.
Glo.
O, let me kiss that hand.
Let me wipe it first, it smells of mortality.
Glo.
Dost thou know me?
Lear.
I remember thine eyes well enough! no, do
thy worst, blind Cupid; I'll not love. Read thou
this challenge, mark but the penning of it.
Glo.
Were all the letters suns, I could not see one.
Lear.
Read.
Glo.
What, with this case of eyes?
Lear.
Oh, oh, are you there with me? No eyes in
your head, nor no money in your purse? yet you see
how this world goes.
Glo.
I see it, feelingly.
Lear.
What, art mad? a man may see how this
world goes, with no eyes! Look with thine ears: see,
how yon justice rails upon yon simple thief. Hark,
in thine ear; change places, and handy-dandy, which
is the justice, which is the thief? Thou hast seen
a farmer's dog bark at a beggar?
Glo.
Ay, sir.
Lear.
And the creature run from the cur. There
thou might'st behold the great image of authority; a
dog's obey'd, in office.—
Why dost thou lash that whore? strip thy own back;
Thou hotly lust'st to use her in that kind,
For which thou whip'st her. Th' usurer hangs the cozener;
Through tatter'd cloaths small vices do appear;
Robes and furr'd gowns hide all. Plate sins with gold,
And the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks;
Arm it in rags, in pigmy's straw doth pierce it.
None does offend, none, I say, none; I'll able 'em;
Take that of me, my friend, who have the pow'r
To seal th' accuser's lips. Get thee glass eyes,
And, like a scurvy politician, seem
To see the things thou dost not.
Now, now, now, now. Pull off my boots; harder, harder, so.
Edg.
O matter and impertinence mixt,
Reason in madness.
I would not take this from report.
What will thy virtue do, when thou shalt find
This fresh affliction added to the tale
Of thy unparallel'd griefs.
Lear.
If thou wilt weep my fortunes, take my eyes.
I know thee well enough, thy name is Gloster;
Thou must be patient; we came crying hither;
Thou know'st, the first time that we smell the air,
We wawle and cry. I will preach to thee; mark—
Glo.
Alack, alack! the day!
Lear.
When we are born, we cry, that we are come
To this great stage of fools.—
Enter Two Gentlemen.
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 surgeons,
I am cut to th' brains.
Gent.
You shall have any thing.
Lear.
No seconds? all myself?
I will die bravely,
Like a smug bride-groom. What? I will be jovial.
Come, come, I am king, my masters, know you that?
Gent.
You are a royal one, and we obey you.
Lear.
It were an excellent stratagem,
To shoe a troop of horse with felt;
I'll put 't in proof—No noise, no noise—
Now will we steal upon these sons in law,
And then, kill, kill, kill.
[Exit, led by two Gent.
Glo.
A sight most pitiful in the meanest wretch,
Past speaking of in a king.
You ever gentle Gods, take my breath from me;
Let not my worser spirit tempt me again,
To die before you please.
Edg.
Well, pray you, father.
Glo.
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,
I'll lead you to some biding.
Glo.
Hearty thanks;
The bounty, and the benizon of heav'n
To boot, and boot!—
Enter Steward.
Stew.
A proclaim'd prize! most happy!
That eyeless head of thine was first fram'd flesh,
To raise my fortunes. Old unhappy traitor,
Briefly thyself remember; the sword is out,
That must destroy thee.
Glo.
Let thy friendly hand
Put strength enough to't.
Stew.
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 'casion.
Stew.
Let go, slave, or thou dy'st.
Edg.
Good gentleman, go your gate, and let poor
volk pass; and 'chud ha' been zwagger'd out o' my
life, 'twould not ha' been zo long as 'tis by a vortnight.
Nay, come not near th' old man; keep out,
che vo'ye, or ise try whether your costard
or my bat
be the harder; chill be plain with you.
Stew.
Out, dunghill!
Edg.
Chill pick your teeth, zir; come, no matter
vor your soyns.
[Edgar knocks him down.
Stew.
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 Gloster: seek him out,
Upon the English party. Oh, untimely death!—
[Dies.
Edg.
I know thee well, a serviceable villain;
As duteous to the vices of thy mistress,
As badness would desire.
May be my friends. He's dead; I'm only sorry,
He had no other death's-man. Let us see—
By your leave, gentle wax—and manners blame us not;
To know our enemies minds, we rip their hearts;
Their papers are more lawful.
Reads the letter.
Let our reciprocal vows be remembered. You have
many opportunities to cut him off: if your will want not,
time and place will be fruitfully offered. There is nothing
done, if he return the conquerer. Then am I the prisoner,
and his bed my gaol; from the loathed warmth whereof,
deliver me, and supply the place, for your labour.
Your (wife, so I would say) affectionate
servant, Goneril.
Oh undistinguish'd space of woman's will!A plot upon her virtuous husband's life,
And the exchange my brother. Here, i'th' sands,
Thee I'll take up, the post unsanctified
Of murth'rous letchers:
[Draws the Steward off the stage, and re-enters immediately.
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.
Edg.
Give me your hand:
[A distant march.
Far off, methinks, I hear the beaten drum.
Come, father, I'll bestow you with a friend.
[Exeunt.
This is a truly picturesque and beautiful description; it brings the objects pleasingly and fearfully to view. The ideas are poetically rich, and the verse naturally easy.
Tho' this incident has been objected to, we think as imagination works with peculiar strength, on a despairing mind, it is very defensible.
Lear's rhapsodical remarks in this scene, are strongly tinctured with just, but rather indelicate, satire; though he is mad, decency should not run mad also.
The Fourth Act has some scenes of merit, and several fine passages in it; but is, in the whole, rather languid, compared to the Third.
| King Lear | |