King Lear - William Shakespeare (electronic reader txt) 📗

are they?

 

Cur.

Have you heard of no likely wars toward, ‘twixt the two 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!

 

[Enter Edgar.]

 

My father watches:—sir, fly this place;

Intelligence is given where you are hid;

You have now the good advantage of the night.—

Have you not spoken ‘gainst the Duke of Cornwall?

He’s coming hither; now, i’ the night, i’ the haste,

And Regan with him: have you nothing said

Upon his party ‘gainst the Duke of Albany?

Advise yourself.

 

Edg.

I am 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, ho, here!

Fly, brother.—Torches, torches!—So farewell.

 

[Exit Edgar.]

 

Some blood drawn on me would beget opinion

Of my more fierce endeavour: [Wounds his arm.]

I have seen drunkards

Do more than this in sport.—Father, father!

Stop, stop! No help?

 

[Enter Gloster, and Servants with torches.]

 

Glou.

Now, Edmund, where’s the villain?

 

Edm.

Here stood he in the dark, his sharp sword out,

Mumbling of wicked charms, conjuring the moon

To stand auspicious mistress,—

 

Glou.

But where is he?

 

Edm.

Look, sir, I bleed.

 

Glou.

Where is the villain, Edmund?

 

Edm.

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

 

Glou.

Pursue him, ho!—Go after.

 

[Exeunt Servants.]

 

—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 thunders bend;

Spoke with how manifold and strong a bond

The child was bound to the father;—sir, in fine,

Seeing how loathly opposite I stood

To his unnatural purpose, in fell motion

With his prepared sword, he charges home

My unprovided body, lanc’d mine arm;

But when he saw my best alarum’d spirits,

Bold in the quarrel’s right, rous’d to the encounter,

Or whether gasted by the noise I made,

Full suddenly he fled.

 

Glou.

Let him fly far;

Not in this land shall he remain uncaught;

And found—dispatch’d.—The noble duke my master,

My worthy arch and patron, comes to-night:

By his authority I will proclaim it,

That he which finds him shall deserve our thanks,

Bringing the murderous coward to the stake;

He that conceals him, death.

 

Edm.

When I dissuaded him from his intent,

And found him pight to do it, with curst speech

I threaten’d to discover him: he replied,

‘Thou unpossessing bastard! dost thou think,

If I would stand against thee, would the reposal

Of any trust, virtue, or worth in thee

Make thy words faith’d? No: what I should deny

As this I would; ay, though thou didst produce

My very character, I’d turn it all

To thy suggestion, plot, and damned practice:

And thou must make a dullard of the world,

If they not thought the profits of my death

Were very pregnant and potential spurs

To make thee seek it.

 

Glou.

Strong and fast’ned villain!

Would he deny his letter?—I never got him.

 

[Trumpets within.]

 

Hark, the duke’s trumpets! I know not why he comes.—

All ports I’ll bar; the villain shall not scape;

The duke must grant me that: besides, his picture

I will send far and near, that all the kingdom

May have due note of him; and of my land,

Loyal and natural boy, I’ll work the means

To make thee capable.

 

[Enter Cornwall, Regan, and Attendants.]

 

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 the offender. How dost, my lord?

 

Glou.

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?

 

Glou.

O lady, lady, shame would have it hid!

 

Reg.

Was he not companion with the riotous knights

That tend upon my father?

 

Glou.

I know not, madam:—

It is 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 the expense 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 childlike office.

 

Edm.

‘Twas my duty, sir.

 

Glou.

He did bewray his practice; and receiv’d

This hurt you see, striving to apprehend him.

 

Corn.

Is he pursu’d?

 

Glou.

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.—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 seize on.

 

Edm.

I shall serve you, sir,

Truly, however else.

 

Glou.

For him 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 poise,

Wherein we must have use of your advice:—

Our father he hath writ, so hath our sister,

Of differences, which I best thought it fit

To answer from our home; the several messengers

From hence attend despatch. Our good old friend,

Lay comforts to your bosom; and bestow

Your needful counsel to our business,

Which craves the instant use.

 

Glou.

I serve you, madam:

Your graces are right welcome.

 

[Exeunt.]

 

Scene II. Before Gloster’s Castle.

 

[Enter Kent and Oswald, severally.]

 

Osw.

Good dawning to thee, friend: art of this house?

 

Kent.

Ay.

 

Osw.

Where may we set our horses?

 

Kent.

I’ the mire.

 

Osw.

Pr’ythee, if thou lov’st me, tell me.

 

Kent.

I love thee not.

 

Osw.

Why then, I care not for thee.

 

Kent.

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

 

Osw.

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

 

Kent.

Fellow, I know thee.

 

Osw.

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 lily-livered, action-taking, whoreson,

glass-gazing, superserviceable, finical rogue;

one-trunk-inheriting slave; one that wouldst 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 mongrel

bitch: one whom I will beat into clamorous whining, if thou

denyest the least syllable of thy addition.

 

Osw.

Why, what a monstrous fellow art thou, thus to rail on one that’s

neither known of thee nor knows thee?

 

Kent.

What a brazen-faced varlet art thou, to deny thou knowest me! Is

it two days ago since I beat thee and tripped up thy heels before

the king? Draw, you rogue: for, though it be night, yet the moon

shines; I’ll make a sop o’ the moonshine of you: draw, you

whoreson cullionly barbermonger, draw!

 

[Drawing his sword.]

 

Osw.

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!

 

Osw.

Help, ho! murder! help!

 

Kent.

Strike, you slave; stand, rogue, stand; you neat slave, strike!

 

[Beating him.]

 

Osw.

Help, ho! murder! murder!

 

[Enter Edmund, Cornwall, Regan, Gloster, and Servants.]

 

Edm.

How now! What’s the matter?

 

Kent.

With you, goodman boy, an you please: come, I’ll flesh you; come

on, young master.

 

Glou.

Weapons! arms! What’s the matter here?

 

Corn.

Keep peace, upon your lives;

He dies that strikes again. What is the matter?

 

Reg.

The messengers from our sister and the king.

 

Corn.

What is your difference? speak.

 

Osw.

I am scarce in breath, my lord.

 

Kent.

No marvel, you have so bestirr’d your valour. You cowardly

rascal, nature disclaims in thee; a tailor made thee.

 

Corn.

Thou art a strange fellow: a tailor make a man?

 

Kent.

Ay, a tailor, sir: a stonecutter or a painter could not have

made him so ill, though he had been but two hours at the trade.

 

Corn.

Speak yet, how grew your quarrel?

 

Osw.

This ancient ruffian, sir, whose life I have spared at suit of

his grey

beard,—

 

Kent.

Thou whoreson zed! thou unnecessary letter!—My lord, if you’ll

give me leave, I will tread this unbolted villain into mortar and

daub the walls of a jakes with him.—Spare my grey beard, you

wagtail?

 

Corn.

Peace, sirrah!

You beastly knave, know you no reverence?

 

Kent.

Yes, sir; but anger hath a privilege.

 

Corn.

Why art thou angry?

 

Kent.

That such a slave as this should wear a sword,

Who wears no honesty. Such smiling rogues as these,

Like rats, oft bite the holy cords a-twain

Which are too intrinse t’ unloose; smooth every passion

That in the natures of their lords rebel;

Bring oil to fire, snow to their colder moods;

Renege, affirm, and turn their halcyon beaks

With every gale and vary of their masters,

Knowing naught, like dogs, but following.—

A plague upon your epileptic visage!

Smile you my speeches, as I were a fool?

Goose, an I had you upon Sarum plain,

I’d drive ye cackling home to Camelot.

 

Corn.

What, art thou mad, old fellow?

 

Glou.

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, or his, or hers.

 

Kent.

Sir, ‘tis my occupation to be plain:

I have seen better faces in my time

Than stands 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 cannot flatter, he,—

An honest mind and plain,—he must speak truth!

An 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 the allowance of your great aspect,

Whose influence, like the wreath of radiant fire

On flickering Phoebus’ 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 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