King Lear by William Shakespeare (ap literature book list TXT) 📖
- Author: William Shakespeare
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O, my good lord, the Duke of Cornwall’s dead;
Slain by his servant, going to put out
The other eye of Gloster.
Alb.
Gloster’s eyes!
Mess.
A servant that he bred, thrill’d with remorse,
Oppos’d against the act, bending his sword
To his great master; who, thereat enrag’d,
Flew on him, and amongst them fell’d him dead;
But not without that harmful stroke which since
Hath pluck’d him after.
Alb.
This shows you are above,
You justicers, that these our nether crimes
So speedily can venge!—But, O poor Gloster!
Lost he his other eye?
Mess.
Both, both, my lord.—
This letter, madam, craves a speedy answer;
‘Tis from your sister.
Gon.
[Aside.] One way I like this well;
But being widow, and my Gloster with her,
May all the building in my fancy pluck
Upon my hateful life: another way
The news is not so tart.—I’ll read, and answer.
[Exit.]
Alb.
Where was his son when they did take his eyes?
Mess.
Come with my lady hither.
Alb.
He is not here.
Mess.
No, my good lord; I met him back again.
Alb.
Knows he the wickedness?
Mess.
Ay, my good lord. ‘Twas he inform’d against him;
And quit the house on purpose, that their punishment
Might have the freer course.
Alb.
Gloster, I live
To thank thee for the love thou show’dst the king,
And to revenge thine eyes.—Come hither, friend:
Tell me what more thou know’st.
[Exeunt.]
Scene III. The French camp near Dover.
[Enter Kent and a Gentleman.]
Kent.
Why the king of France is so suddenly gone back know you the
reason?
Gent.
Something he left imperfect in the state, which since his coming
forth is thought of, which imports to the kingdom so much fear
and danger that his personal return was most required and
necessary.
Kent.
Who hath he left behind him general?
Gent.
The Mareschal of France, Monsieur La Far.
Kent.
Did your letters pierce the queen to any demonstration of grief?
Gent.
Ay, sir; she took them, read them in my presence;
And now and then an ample tear trill’d down
Her delicate cheek: it seem’d she was a queen
Over her passion; who, most rebel-like,
Sought to be king o’er her.
Kent.
O, then it mov’d her.
Gent.
Not to a rage: patience and sorrow strove
Who should express her goodliest. You have seen
Sunshine and rain at once: her smiles and tears
Were like, a better day: those happy smilets
That play’d on her ripe lip seem’d not to know
What guests were in her eyes; which parted thence
As pearls from diamonds dropp’d.—In brief, sorrow
Would be a rarity most belov’d, if all
Could so become it.
Kent.
Made she no verbal question?
Gent.
Faith, once or twice she heav’d the name of ‘father’
Pantingly forth, as if it press’d her heart;
Cried ‘Sisters, sisters!—Shame of ladies! sisters!
Kent! father! sisters! What, i’ the storm? i’ the night?
Let pity not be believ’d!’—There she shook
The holy water from her heavenly eyes,
And clamour moisten’d: then away she started
To deal with grief alone.
Kent.
It is the stars,
The stars above us, govern our conditions;
Else one self mate and mate could not beget
Such different issues. You spoke not with her since?
Gent.
No.
Kent.
Was this before the king return’d?
Gent.
No, since.
Kent.
Well, sir, the poor distressed Lear’s i’ the town;
Who sometime, in his better tune, remembers
What we are come about, and by no means
Will yield to see his daughter.
Gent.
Why, good sir?
Kent.
A sovereign shame so elbows him: his own unkindness,
That stripp’d her from his benediction, turn’d her
To foreign casualties, gave her dear rights
To his dog-hearted daughters,—these things sting
His mind so venomously that burning shame
Detains him from Cordelia.
Gent.
Alack, poor gentleman!
Kent.
Of Albany’s and Cornwall’s powers you heard not?
Gent.
‘Tis so; they are a-foot.
Kent.
Well, sir, I’ll bring you to our master Lear
And leave you to attend him: some dear cause
Will in concealment wrap me up awhile;
When I am known aright, you shall not grieve
Lending me this acquaintance. I pray you go
Along with me.
[Exeunt.]
Scene IV. The French camp. A Tent.
[Enter Cordelia, Physician, and Soldiers.]
Cor.
Alack, ‘tis he: why, he was met even now
As mad as the vex’d sea; singing aloud;
Crown’d with rank fumiter and furrow weeds,
With harlocks, hemlock, nettles, cuckoo-flowers,
Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow
In our sustaining corn.—A century send forth;
Search every acre in the high-grown field,
And bring him to our eye. [Exit an Officer.]
What can man’s wisdom
In the restoring his bereaved sense?
He that helps him take all my outward worth.
Phys.
There is means, madam:
Our foster nurse of nature is repose,
The which he lacks; that to provoke in him
Are many simples operative, whose power
Will close the eye of anguish.
Cor.
All bless’d secrets,
All you unpublish’d virtues of the earth,
Spring with my tears! be aidant and remediate
In the good man’s distress!—Seek, seek for him;
Lest his ungovern’d rage dissolve the life
That wants the means to lead it.
[Enter a Messenger.]
Mess.
News, madam;
The British powers are marching hitherward.
Cor.
‘Tis known before; our preparation stands
In expectation of them.—O dear father,
It is thy business that I go about;
Therefore great France
My mourning and important tears hath pitied.
No blown ambition doth our arms incite,
But love, dear love, and our ag’d father’s right:
Soon may I hear and see him!
[Exeunt.]
Scene V. A Room in Gloster’s Castle.
[Enter Regan and Oswald.]
Reg.
But are my brother’s powers set forth?
Osw.
Ay, madam.
Reg.
Himself in person there?
Osw.
Madam, with much ado.
Your sister is the better soldier.
Reg.
Lord Edmund spake not with your lord at home?
Osw.
No, madam.
Reg.
What might import my sister’s letter to him?
Osw.
I know not, lady.
Reg.
Faith, he is posted hence on serious matter.
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 of his misery, to despatch
His nighted life; moreover, to descry
The strength o’ the enemy.
Osw.
I must needs after him, madam, with my letter.
Reg.
Our troops set forth to-morrow: stay with us;
The ways are dangerous.
Osw.
I may not, madam:
My lady charg’d my duty in this business.
Reg.
Why should she write to Edmund? Might not you
Transport her purposes by word? Belike,
Something,—I know not what:—I’ll love thee much—
Let me unseal the letter.
Osw.
Madam, I had rather,—
Reg.
I know your lady does not love her husband;
I am sure of that: and at her late being here
She gave strange eyeliads and most speaking looks
To noble Edmund. I know you are of her bosom.
Osw.
I, madam?
Reg.
I speak in understanding; you are, I know’t:
Therefore I do advise you, take this note:
My lord is dead; Edmund and I have talk’d;
And more convenient is he for my hand
Than for your lady’s.—You may gather more.
If you do find him, pray you give him this;
And when your mistress hears thus much from you,
I pray desire her call her wisdom to her
So, fare you well.
If you do chance to hear of that blind traitor,
Preferment falls on him that cuts him off.
Osw.
Would I could meet him, madam! I should show
What party I do follow.
Reg.
Fare thee well.
[Exeunt.]
Scene VI. The country near Dover.
[Enter Gloster, and Edgar dressed like a peasant.]
Glou.
When shall I come to the top of that same hill?
Edg.
You do climb up it now: look, how we labour.
Glou.
Methinks the ground is even.
Edg.
Horrible steep.
Hark, do you hear the sea?
Glou.
No, truly.
Edg.
Why, then, your other senses grow imperfect
By your eyes’ anguish.
Glou.
So may it be indeed:
Methinks thy voice is alter’d; and thou speak’st
In better phrase and matter than thou didst.
Edg.
You are much deceiv’d: in nothing am I chang’d
But in my garments.
Glou.
Methinks 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
Show 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 yond tall anchoring bark,
Diminish’d to her cock; her cock a buoy
Almost too small for sight: the murmuring surge
That on the unnumber’d idle pebble chafes
Cannot be heard so high.—I’ll look no more;
Lest my brain turn, and the deficient sight
Topple down headlong.
Glou.
Set me where you stand.
Edg.
Give me your hand:—you are now within a foot
Of th’ extreme verge: for all beneath the moon
Would I not leap upright.
Glou.
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 farewell, and let me hear thee going.
Edg.
Now fare ye well, good sir.
[Seems to go.]
Glou.
With all my heart.
Edg.
[Aside.] Why I do trifle thus with his despair
Is done to cure it.
Glou.
O you mighty gods!
This world I do 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.
Edg.
Gone, sir:—farewell.—
[Gloster leaps, and falls along.]
And yet I know not how conceit may rob
The treasury of life when life itself
Yields to the theft: had he been where he thought,
By this had thought been past.—Alive or dead?
Ho you, sir! friend! Hear you, sir?—speak!—
Thus might he pass indeed:—yet he revives.—
What are you, sir?
Glou.
Away, and let me die.
Edg.
Hadst thou been aught but gossamer, feathers, air,
So many fathom down precipitating,
Thou’dst shiver’d like an egg: but thou dost breathe;
Hast heavy substance; bleed’st not; speak’st; art sound.
Ten masts at each make not the altitude
Which thou hast perpendicularly fell:
Thy life is a miracle.—Speak yet again.
Glou.
But have I fall’n, or no?
Edg.
From the dread summit of this chalky bourn.
Look up a-height;—the shrill-gorg’d lark so far
Cannot be seen or heard: do but look up.
Glou.
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.
Glou.
Too well, too well.
Edg.
This is above all strangeness.
Upon the crown o’ the cliff what thing was that
Which parted from you?
Glou.
A poor unfortunate beggar.
Edg.
As I stood here below, methought his eyes
Were two full moons; he had a thousand noses,
Horns whelk’d and wav’d like the enridged
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