Act III. Scene II.


Another Part of the Heath. Storm still.
   
 
Enter LEAR and Fool.
   
  Lear.  Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! rage! blow!   
You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout      4
Till you have drench’d our steeples, drown’d the cocks!   
You sulphurous and thought-executing fires,   
Vaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thunderbolts,   
Singe my white head! And thou, all-shaking thunder,      8
Strike flat the thick rotundity o’ the world!   
Crack nature’s moulds, all germens spill at once   
That make ingrateful man!   
  Fool.  O nuncle, court holy-water in a dry house is better than this rain-water out o’ door. Good nuncle, in, and ask thy daughters’ blessing; here’s a night pities neither wise man nor fool.     12
  Lear.  Rumble thy bellyful! Spit, fire! spout, rain!   
Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire, are my daughters:   
I tax not you, you elements, with unkindness;   
I never gave you kingdom, call’d you children,     16
You owe me no subscription: then, let fall   
Your horrible pleasure; here I stand, your slave,   
A poor, infirm, weak, and despis’d old man.   
But yet I call you servile ministers,     20
That have with two pernicious daughters join’d   
Your high-engender’d battles ’gainst a head   
So old and white as this. O! O! ’tis foul.   
  Fool.  He that has a house to put his head in has a good head-piece.
           The cod-piece that will house
     Before the head has any,
   The head and he shall louse;
     So beggars marry many.
   The man that makes his toe
     What he his heart should make,
   Shall of a corn cry woe,
     And turn his sleep to wake.
     24
For there was never yet fair woman but she made mouths in a glass.   
 
Enter KENT.
   
  Lear.  No, I will be the pattern of all patience;   
I will say nothing.     28
  Kent.  Who’s there?   
  Fool.  Marry, here’s grace and a cod-piece; that’s a wise man and a fool.   
  Kent.  Alas! sir, are you here? things that love night   
Love not such nights as these; the wrathful skies     32
Gallow the very wanderers of the dark,   
And make them keep their caves. Since I was man   
Such sheets of fire, such bursts of horrid thunder,   
Such groans of roaring wind and rain, I never     36
Remember to have heard; man’s nature cannot carry   
The affliction nor the fear.   
  Lear.        Let the great gods,   
That keep this dreadful pother o’er our heads,     40
Find out their enemies now. Tremble, thou wretch,   
That hast within thee undivulged crimes,   
Unwhipp’d of justice; hide thee, thou bloody hand;   
Thou perjur’d, and thou simular of virtue     44
That art incestuous; caitiff, to pieces shake,   
That under covert and convenient seeming   
Hast practis’d on man’s life; close pent-up guilts,   
Rive your concealing continents, and cry     48
These dreadful summoners grace. I am a man   
More sinn’d against than sinning.   
  Kent.        Alack! bare-headed!   
Gracious my lord, hard by here is a hovel;     52
Some friendship will it lend you ’gainst the tempest;   
Repose you there while I to this hard house,—   
More harder than the stone whereof ’tis rais’d,—   
Which even but now, demanding after you,     56
Denied me to come in, return and force   
Their scanted courtesy.   
  Lear.        My wits begin to turn.   
Come on, my boy. How dost, my boy? Art cold?     60
I am cold myself. Where is this straw, my fellow?   
The art of our necessities is strange,   
That can make vile things precious. Come, your hovel.   
Poor fool and knave, I have one part in my heart     64
That’s sorry yet for thee.   
  Fool. 
           He that has a little tiny wit,
     With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
   Must make content with his fortunes fit,
     Though the rain it raineth every day.
   
  Lear.  True, my good boy. Come, bring us to this hovel.  [Exeunt LEAR and KENT.   
  Fool.  This is a brave night to cool a courtezan.     68
I’ll speak a prophecy ere I go:   
    When priests are more in word than matter;   
    When brewers mar their malt with water;   
    When nobles are their tailors’ tutors;     72
    No heretics burn’d, but wenches’ suitors;   
    When every case in law is right;   
    No squire in debt, nor no poor knight;   
    When slanders do not live in tongues;     76
    Nor cutpurses come not to throngs;   
    When usurers tell their gold i’ the field;   
    And bawds and whores do churches build;   
    Then shall the realm of Albion     80
    Come to great confusion:   
    Then comes the time, who lives to see’t,   
    That going shall be us’d with feet.   
This prophecy Merlin shall make; for I live before his time.  [Exit.     84

Act III. Scene III.


A Room in GLOUCESTER’S Castle.
   
 
Enter GLOUCESTER and EDMUND.
   
  Glo.  Alack, alack! Edmund, I like not this unnatural dealing. When I desired their leave that I might pity him, they took from me the use of mine own house; charged me, on pain of their perpetual displeasure, neither to speak of him, entreat for him, nor any way sustain him.   
  Edm.  Most savage, and unnatural!      4
  Glo.  Go to; say you nothing. There is division between the dukes, and a worse matter than that. I have received a letter this night; ’tis dangerous to be spoken; I have locked the letter in my closet. These injuries the king now bears will be revenged home; there’s part of a power already footed; we must incline to the king. I will seek him and privily relieve him; go you and maintain talk with the duke, that my charity be not of him perceived. If he ask for me, I am ill and gone to bed. If I die for it, as no less is threatened me, the king, my old master, must be relieved. There is some strange thing toward, Edmund; pray you, be careful.  [Exit.   
  Edm.  This courtesy, forbid thee, shall the duke   
Instantly know; and of that letter too:   
This seems a fair deserving, and must draw me      8
That which my father loses; no less than all:   
The younger rises when the old doth fall.  [Exit.

Act III. Scene IV.


The Heath. Before a Hovel.
   
 
Enter LEAR, KENT, and Fool.
   
  Kent.  Here is the place, my lord; good my lord, enter:   
The tyranny of the open night’s too rough      4
For nature to endure.  [Storm still.   
  Lear.        Let me alone.   
  Kent.  Good my lord, enter here.   
  Lear.        Wilt break my heart?      8
  Kent.  I’d rather break mine own. Good my lord, enter.   
  Lear.  Thou think’st ’tis much that this contentious storm   
Invades us to the skin: so ’tis to thee;   
But where the greater malady is fix’d,     12
The lesser is scarce felt. Thou ’dst shun a bear;   
But if thy flight lay toward the roaring sea,   
Thou ’dst meet the bear i’ the mouth. When the mind’s free   
The body’s delicate; the tempest in my mind     16
Doth from my senses take all feeling else   
Save what beats there. Filial ingratitude!   
Is it not as this mouth should tear this hand   
For lifting food to ’t? But I will punish home:     20
No, I will weep no more. In such a night   
To shut me out! Pour on; I will endure.   
In such a night as this! O Regan, Goneril!   
Your old kind father, whose frank heart gave all,—     24
O! that way madness lies; let me shun that;   
No more of that.   
  Kent.        Good, my lord, enter here.   
  Lear.  Prithee, go in thyself; seek thine own ease:     28
This tempest will not give me leave to ponder   
On things would hurt me more. But I’ll go in.   
[To the Fool.] In, boy; go first. You houseless poverty,—   
Nay, get thee in. I’ll pray, and then I’ll sleep.  [Fool goes in.     32
Poor naked wretches, wheresoe’er you are,   
That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm,   
How shall your houseless heads and unfed sides,   
Your loop’d and window’d raggedness, defend you     36
From seasons such as these? O! I have ta’en   
Too little care of this. Take physic, pomp;   
Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel,   
That thou mayst shake the superflux to them,     40
And show the heavens more just.   
  Edg.  [Within.] Fathom and half, fathom and half! Poor Tom!  [The Fool runs out from the hovel.   
  Fool.  Come not in here, nuncle; here’s a spirit.   
Help me! help me!     44
  Kent.  Give me thy hand. Who’s there?   
  Fool.  A spirit, a spirit: he says his name’s poor Tom.   
  Kent.  What art thou that dost grumble there i’ the straw?   
Come forth.     48
 
Enter EDGAR disguised as a madman.
   
  Edg.  Away! the foul fiend follows me!   
Through the sharp hawthorn blow the winds.   
Hum! go to thy cold bed and warm thee.     52
  Lear.  Didst thou give all to thy two daughters?   
And art thou come to this?   
  Edg.  Who gives anything to poor Tom? whom the foul fiend hath led through fire and through flame, through ford and whirlpool, o’er bog and quagmire; that hath laid knives under his pillow, and halters in his pew; set ratsbane by his porridge; made him proud of heart, to ride on a bay trotting-horse over four-inched bridges, to course his own shadow for a traitor. Bless thy five wits! Tom’s a-cold. O! do de, do de, do de. Bless thee from whirlwinds, starblasting, and taking! Do poor Tom some charity, whom the foul fiend vexes. There could I have him now, and there, and there again, and there.  [Storm still.   
  Lear.  What! have his daughters brought him to this pass?     56
Couldst thou save nothing? Didst thou give them all?   
  Fool.  Nay, he reserved a blanket, else we had been all shamed.   
  Lear.  Now all the plagues that in the pendulous air   
Hang fated o’er men’s faults light on thy daughters!     60
  Kent.  He hath no daughters, sir.   
  Lear.  Death, traitor! nothing could have subdu’d nature   
To such a lowness, but his unkind daughters.   
Is it the fashion that discarded fathers     64
Should have thus little mercy on their flesh?   
Judicious punishment! ’twas this flesh begot   
Those pelican daughters.   
  Edg.  Pillicock sat on Pillicock-hill:     68
Halloo, halloo, loo, loo!   
  Fool.  This cold night will turn us all to fools and madmen.   
  Edg.  Take heed o’ the foul fiend. Obey thy parents; keep thy word justly; swear not; commit not with man’s sworn spouse; set not thy sweet heart on proud array. Tom’s a-cold.   
  Lear.  What hast thou been?     72
  Edg.  A servingman, proud in heart and mind; that curled my hair, wore gloves in my cap, served the lust of my mistress’s heart, and did the act of darkness with her; swore as many oaths as I spake words, and broke them in the sweet face of heaven; one that slept in the contriving of lust, and waked to do it. Wine loved I deeply, dice dearly, and in woman out-paramoured the Turk: false of heart, light of ear, bloody of hand; hog in sloth, fox in stealth, wolf in greediness, dog in madness, lion in prey. Let not the creaking of shoes nor the rustling of silks betray thy poor heart to woman: keep thy foot out of brothels, thy hand out of plackets, thy pen from lenders’ books, and defy the foul fiend. Still through the hawthorn blows the cold wind; says suum, mun ha no nonny. Dolphin my boy, my boy; sessa! let him trot by.   [Storm still.   
  Lear.  Why, thou wert better in thy grave than to answer with thy uncovered body this extremity of the skies. Is man no more than this? Consider him well. Thou owest the worm no silk, the beast no hide, the sheep no wool, the cat no perfume. Ha! here’s three on’s are sophisticated; thou art the thing itself; unaccommodated man is no more but such a poor, bare, forked animal as thou art. Off, off, you lendings! Come; unbutton here.   [Tearing off his clothes.   
  Fool.  Prithee, nuncle, be contented; ’tis a naughty night to swim in. Now a little fire in a wide field were like an old lecher’s heart; a small spark, all the rest on’s body cold. Look! here comes a walking fire.   
 
Enter GLOUCESTER with a torch
     76
  Edg.  This is the foul fiend Flibbertigibbet: he begins at curfew, and walks till the first cock; he gives the web and the pin, squints the eye, and makes the harelip; mildews the white wheat, and hurts the poor creature of earth.
           Swithold footed thrice the old;
   He met the night-mare, and her nine-fold;
           Bid her alight,
           And her troth plight,
   And aroint thee, witch, aroint thee!
   
  Kent.  How fares your Grace?   
  Lear.  What’s he?   
  Kent.  Who’s there? What is ’t you seek?     80
  Glo.  What are you there? Your names?   
  Edg.  Poor Tom; that eats the swimming frog; the toad, the tadpole, the wall-newt, and the water; that in the fury of his heart, when the foul fiend rages, eats cow-dung for sallets; swallows the old rat and the ditch-dog; drinks, the green mantle of the standing pool; who is whipped from tithing to tithing, and stock-punished, and imprisoned; who hath had three suits to his back, six shirts to his body, horse to ride, and weapon to wear;   
But mice and rats and such small deer   
Have been Tom’s food for seven long year.     84
Beware my follower. Peace, Smulkin! peace, thou fiend.   
  Glo.  What! hath your Grace no better company?   
  Edg.  The prince of darkness is a gentleman;   
Modo he’s call’d, and Mahu.     88
  Glo.  Our flesh and blood, my lord, is grown so vile,   
That it doth hate what gets it.   
  Edg.  Poor Tom’s a-cold.   
  Glo.  Go in with me. My duty cannot suffer     92
To obey in all your daughters’ hard commands:   
Though their injunction be to bar my doors,   
And let this tyrannous night take hold upon you,   
Yet have I ventur’d to come seek you out     96
And bring you where both fire and food is ready.   
  Lear.  First let me talk with this philosopher.   
What is the cause of thunder?   
  Kent.  Good my lord, take his offer; go into the house.    100
  Lear.  I’ll talk a word with this same learned Theban.   
What is your study?   
  Edg.  How to prevent the fiend, and to kill vermin.   
  Lear.  Let me ask you one word in private.    104
  Kent.  Importune him once more to go, my lord;   
His wits begin to unsettle.   
  Glo.        Canst thou blame him?  [Storm still.   
His daughters seek his death. Ah! that good Kent;    108
He said it would be thus, poor banish’d man!   
Thou sayst the king grows mad; I’ll tell thee, friend,   
I am almost mad myself. I had a son,   
Now outlaw’d from my blood; he sought my life,    112
But lately, very late; I lov’d him, friend,   
No father his son dearer; true to tell thee,  [Storm continues.   
The grief hath craz’d my wits. What a night’s this!   
I do beseech your Grace,—    116
  Lear.        O! cry you mercy, sir.   
Noble philosopher, your company.   
  Edg.  Tom’s a-cold.   
  Glo.  In, fellow, there, into the hovel: keep thee warm.    120
  Lear.  Come, let’s in all.   
  Kent.        This way, my lord.   
  Lear.        With him;   
I will keep still with my philosopher.    124
  Kent.  Good my lord, soothe him; let him take the fellow.   
  Glo.  Take him you on.   
  Kent.  Sirrah, come on; go along with us.   
  Lear.  Come, good Athenian.    128
  Glo.        No words, no words: hush.   
  Edg.  Child Rowland to the dark tower came,   
His word was still, Fie, foh, and fum,   
I smell the blood of a British man.  [Exeunt.    132

Act III. Scene V.


A Room in GLOUCESTER’S Castle.
   
 
Enter CORNWALL and EDMUND.
   
  Corn.  I will have my revenge ere I depart his house.   
  Edm.  How, my lord, I may be censured, that nature thus gives way to loyalty, something fears me to think of.      4
  Corn.  I now perceive it was not altogether your brother’s evil disposition made him seek his death; but a provoking merit, set a-work by a reproveable badness in himself.   
  Edm.  How malicious is my fortune, that I must repent to be just! This is the letter he spoke of, which approves him an intelligent party to the advantages of France. O heavens! that this treason were not, or not I the detector!   
  Corn.  Go with me to the duchess.   
  Edm.  If the matter of this paper be certain, you have mighty business in hand.      8
  Corn.  True, or false, it hath made thee Earl of Gloucester. Seek out where thy father is, that he may be ready for our apprehension.   
  Edm.  [Aside.] If I find him comforting the king, it will stuff his suspicion more fully. I will persever in my course of loyalty, though the conflict be sore between that and my blood.   
  Corn.  I will lay trust upon thee; and thou shalt find a dearer father in my love.  [Exeunt.   

Act III. Scene VI.


A Chamber in a Farmhouse adjoining the Castle.
   
 
Enter GLOUCESTER, LEAR, KENT, Fool, and EDGAR.
   
  Glo.  Here is better than the open air; take it thankfully. I will piece out the comfort with what addition I can: I will not be long from you.   
  Kent.  All the power of his wits has given way to his impatience. The gods reward your kindness!  [Exit GLOUCESTER.      4
  Edg.  Frateretto calls me, and tells me Nero is an angler in the lake of darkness. Pray, innocent, and beware the foul fiend.   
  Fool.  Prithee, nuncle, tell me whether a madman be a gentleman or a yeoman!   
  Lear.  A king, a king!   
  Fool.  No; he’s a yeoman that has a gentleman to his son; for he’s a mad yeoman that sees his son a gentleman before him.      8
  Lear.  To have a thousand with red burning spits   
Come hizzing in upon ’em,—   
  Edg.  The foul fiend bites my back.   
  Fool.  He’s mad that trusts in the tameness of a wolf, a horse’s health, a boy’s love, or a whore’s oath.     12
  Lear.  It shall be done; I will arraign them straight.   
[To EDGAR.] Come, sit thou here, most learned justicer;   
[To the Fool.] Thou, sapient sir, sit here. Now, you she foxes!   
  Edg.  Look, where he stands and glares! wantest thou eyes at trial, madam?     16
Come o’er the bourn, Bessy, to me,—   
  Fool.  Her boat hath a leak,   
And she must not speak   
Why she dares not come over to thee.     20
  Edg.  The foul fiend haunts poor Tom in the voice of a nightingale. Hopdance cries in Tom’s belly for two white herring. Croak not, black angel; I have no food for thee.   
  Kent.  How do you, sir? Stand you not so amaz’d:   
Will you lie down and rest upon the cushions?   
  Lear.  I’ll see their trial first. Bring in their evidence.     24
[To EDGAR.] Thou robed man of justice, take thy place;   
[To the Fool.] And thou, his yoke-fellow of equity,   
Bench by his side. [To KENT.] You are o’ the commission,   
Sit you too.     28
  Edg.  Let us deal justly.
           Sleepest or wakest thou, jolly shepherd?
     Thy sheep be in the corn;
   And for one blast of thy minikin mouth,
     Thy sheep shall take no harm.
   
Purr! the cat is grey.   
  Lear.  Arraign her first; ’tis Goneril. I here take my oath before this honourable assembly, she kicked the poor king her father.   
  Fool.  Come hither, mistress. Is your name Goneril?     32
  Lear.  She cannot deny it.   
  Fool.  Cry you mercy, I took you for a joint-stool.   
  Lear.  And here’s another, whose warp’d looks proclaim   
What store her heart is made on. Stop her there!     36
Arms, arms, sword, fire! Corruption in the place!   
False justicer, why hast thou let her ’scape?   
  Edg.  Bless thy five wits!   
  Kent.  O pity! Sir, where is the patience now     40
That you so oft have boasted to retain?   
  Edg.  [Aside.] My tears begin to take his part so much,   
They’ll mar my counterfeiting.   
  Lear.  The little dogs and all,     44
Tray, Blanch, and Sweet-heart, see, they bark at me.   
  Edg.  Tom will throw his head at them.   
Avaunt, you curs!   
    Be thy mouth or black or white,     48
    Tooth that poisons if it bite;   
    Mastiff, greyhound, mongrel grim,   
    Hound or spaniel, brach or lym;   
    Or bobtail tike or trundle-tail;     52
    Tom will make them weep and wail:   
    For, with throwing thus my head,   
    Dogs leap the hatch, and all are fled.   
Do de, de, de. Sessa! Come, march to wakes and fairs and market-towns. Poor Tom, thy horn is dry.     56
  Lear.  Then let them anatomize Regan, see what breeds about her heart. Is there any cause in nature that makes these hard hearts? [To EDGAR.] You, sir, I entertain you for one of my hundred; only I do not like the fashion of your garments: you will say, they are Persian attire; but let them be changed.   
  Kent.  Now, good my lord, lie here and rest awhile.   
  Lear.  Make no noise, make no noise; draw the curtains: so, so, so. We’ll go to supper i’ the morning: so, so, so.   
  Fool.  And I’ll go to bed at noon.     60
 
Re-enter GLOUCESTER.
   
  Glo.  Come hither, friend: where is the king my master?   
  Kent.  Here, sir; but trouble him not, his wits are gone.   
  Glo.  Good friend, I prithee, take him in thy arms;     64
I have o’erheard a plot of death upon him.   
There is a litter ready; lay him in ’t,   
And drive toward Dover, friend, where thou shalt meet   
Both welcome and protection. Take up thy master:     68
If thou shouldst dally-half an hour, his life,   
With thine, and all that offer to defend him,   
Stand in assured loss. Take up, take up;   
And follow me, that will to some provision     72
Give thee quick conduct.   
  Kent.        Oppress’d nature sleeps:   
This rest might yet have balm’d thy broken sinews,   
Which, if convenience will not allow,     76
Stand in hard cure.—[To the Fool.] Come, help to bear thy master;   
Thou must not stay behind.   
  Glo.        Come, come, away.  [Exeunt KENT, GLOUCESTER, and the Fool, bearing away LEAR.   
  Edg.  When we our betters see bearing our woes,     80
We scarcely think our miseries our foes.   
Who alone suffers suffers most i’ the mind,   
Leaving free things and happy shows behind;   
But then the mind much sufferance doth o’erskip,     84
When grief hath mates, and bearing fellowship.   
How light and portable my pain seems now,   
When that which makes me bend makes the king bow;   
He childed as I father’d! Tom, away!     88
Mark the high noises, and thyself bewray   
When false opinion, whose wrong thought defiles thee,   
In thy just proof repeals and reconciles thee.   
What will hap more to-night, safe ’scape the king!     92
Lurk, lurk.  [Exit.   

Act III. Scene VII.


A Room in GLOUCESTER’S Castle.
   
 
Enter CORNWALL, REGAN, GONERIL, EDMUND, and Servants.
   
  Corn.  Post speedily to my lord your husband; show him this letter: the army of France is landed. Seek out the traitor Gloucester.  [Exeunt some of the Servants.   
  Reg.  Hang him instantly.      4
  Gon.  Pluck out his eyes.   
  Corn.  Leave him to my displeasure. Edmund, keep you our sister company: the revenges we are bound to take upon your traitorous father are not fit for your beholding. Advise the duke, where you are going, to a most festinate preparation: we are bound to the like. Our posts shall be swift and intelligent betwixt us. Farewell, dear sister: farewell, my Lord of Gloucester.   
 
Enter OSWALD.
   
How now? Where’s the king?      8
  Osw.  My Lord of Gloucester hath convey’d him hence:   
Some five or six and thirty of his knights,   
Hot questrists after him, met him at gate;   
Who, with some other of the lord’s dependants,     12
Are gone with him toward Dover, where they boast   
To have well-armed friends.   
  Corn.        Get horses for your mistress.   
  Gon.  Farewell, sweet lord, and sister.     16
  Corn.  Edmund, farewell.  [Exeunt GONERIL, EDMUND, and OSWALD. Go seek the traitor Gloucester,   
Pinion him like a thief, bring him before us.  [Exeunt other Servants.   
Though well we may not pass upon his life   
Without the form of justice, yet our power     20
Shall do a courtesy to our wrath, which men   
May blame but not control. Who’s there? The traitor?   
 
Re-enter Servants, with GLOUCESTER.
   
  Reg.  Ingrateful fox! ’tis he.     24
  Corn.  Bind fast his corky arms.   
  Glo.  What mean your Graces? Good my friends, consider   
You are my guests: do me no foul play, friends   
  Corn.  Bind him, I say.  [Servants bind him.     28
  Reg.        Hard, hard. O filthy traitor!   
  Glo.  Unmerciful lady as you are, I’m none.   
  Corn.  To this chair bind him. Villain, thou shalt find—  [REGAN plucks his beard.   
  Glo.  By the kind gods, ’tis most ignobly done     32
To pluck me by the beard.   
  Reg.  So white, and such a traitor!   
  Glo.        Naughty lady,   
These hairs, which thou dost ravish from my chin,     36
Will quicken, and accuse thee: I am your host:   
With robbers’ hands my hospitable favours   
You should not ruffle thus. What will you do?   
  Corn.  Come, sir, what letters had you late from France?     40
  Reg.  Be simple-answer’d, for we know the truth.   
  Corn.  And what confederacy have you with the traitors   
Late footed in the kingdom?   
  Reg.  To whose hands have you sent the lunatic king?     44
Speak.   
  Glo.  I have a letter guessingly set down,   
Which came from one that’s of a neutral heart,   
And not from one oppos’d.     48
  Corn.        Cunning.   
  Reg.        And false.   
  Corn.  Where hast thou sent the king?   
  Glou.        To Dover.     52
  Reg.  Wherefore to Dover? Wast thou not charg’d at peril—   
  Corn.  Wherefore to Dover? Let him answer that.   
  Glo.  I am tied to the stake, and I must stand the course.   
  Reg.  Wherefore to Dover?     56
  Glo.  Because I would not see thy cruel nails   
Pluck out his poor old eyes; nor thy fierce sister   
In his anointed flesh stick boarish fangs.   
The sea, with such a storm as his bare head     60
In hell-black night endur’d, would have buoy’d up,   
And quench’d the stelled fires;   
Yet, poor old heart, he holp the heavens to rain.   
If wolves had at thy gate howl’d that dern time,     64
Thou shouldst have said, ‘Good porter, turn the key,’   
All cruels else subscrib’d: but I shall see   
The winged vengeance overtake such children.   
  Corn.  See ’t shalt thou never. Fellows, hold the chair.     68
Upon these eyes of thine I’ll set my foot.   
  Glo.  He that will think to live till he be old,   
Give me some help! O cruel! O ye gods!  [GLOUCESTER’S eye put out.   
  Reg.  One side will mock another; the other too.     72
  Corn.  If you see vengeance.—   
  First Serv.        Hold your hand, my lord:   
I have serv’d you ever since I was a child,   
But better service have I never done you     76
Than now to bid you hold.   
  Reg.        How now, you dog!   
  First Serv.  If you did wear a beard upon your chin,   
I’d shake it on this quarrel. What do you mean?     80
  Corn.  My villain!  [Draws.   
  First Serv.  Nay then, come on, and take the chance of anger.  [Draws. They fight. CORNWALL is wounded.   
  Reg.  Give me thy sword. A peasant stand up thus!  [Takes a sword and runs at him behind.   
  First Serv.  O! I am slain. My lord, you have one eye left     84
To see some mischief on him. O!  [Dies.   
  Corn.  Lest it see more, prevent it. Out, vile jelly!   
Where is thy lustre now?   
  Glo.  All dark and comfortless. Where’s my son Edmund?     88
Edmund, enkindle all the sparks of nature   
To quit this horried act.   
  Reg.        Out, treacherous villain!   
Thou call’st on him that hates thee; it was he     92
That made the overture of thy treasons to us,   
Who is too good to pity thee.   
  Glo.  O my follies! Then Edgar was abus’d.   
Kind gods, forgive me that, and prosper him!     96
  Reg.  Go thrust him out at gates, and let him smell   
His way to Dover.  [Exit one with GLOUCESTER.]   
How is ’t, my lord? How look you?   
  Corn.  I have receiv’d a hurt. Follow me, lady.    100
Turn out that eyeless villain; throw this slave   
Upon the dunghill. Regan, I bleed apace:   
Untimely comes this hurt. Give me your arm.  [Exit CORNWALL led by REGAN.   
  Sec. Serv.  I’ll never care what wickedness I do    104
If this man come to good.   
  Third Serv.        If she live long,   
And, in the end, meet the old course of death,   
Women will all turn monsters.    108
  Sec. Serv.  Let’s follow the old earl, and get the Bedlam   
To lead him where he would: his roguish madness   
Allows itself to any thing.   
  Third Serv.  Go thou; I’ll fetch some flax, and whites of eggs,    112
To apply to his bleeding face. Now, heaven help him!  [Exeunt severally.   

Act IV. Scene I.


The Heath.
   
 
Enter EDGAR.
   
  Edg.  Yet better thus, and known to be contemn’d,   
Than still contemn’d and flatter’d. To be worst,      4
The lowest and 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,      8
Thou unsubstantial air that I embrace:   
The wretch that thou hast blown unto the worst   
Owes nothing to thy blasts. But who comes here?   
 
Enter GLOUCESTER, led by an old Man.
     12
My father, poorly led? World, world, O world!   
But that thy strange mutations make us hate thee,   
Life would not yield to age.   
  Old Man.        O my good lord!     16
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;     20
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,     24
Our means secure us, and our mere defects   
Prove our commodities. Ah! dear son Edgar.   
The food of thy abused father’s wrath;   
Might I but live to see thee in my touch,     28
I’d say I had eyes again.   
  Old Man.        How now! Who’s there?   
  Edg.  [Aside.] O gods! Who is ’t can say, ‘I am at the worst?’   
I am worse than e’er I was.     32
  Old Man.        ’Tis poor mad Tom.   
  Edg  [Aside.] And worse I may be yet; the worst is not,   
So long as we can say, ‘This is the worst.’   
  Old Man.  Fellow, where goest?     36
  Glo.        Is it a beggar-man?   
  Old Man.  Madman and beggar too.   
  Glo.  He has some reason, else he could not beg.   
I’ the last night’s storm I such a fellow saw,     40
Which made me think a man a worm: my son   
Came then into my mind; and yet my mind   
Was then scarce friends with him: I have heard more since.   
As flies to wanton boys, are we to the gods;     44
They kill us for their sport.   
  Edg.        [Aside.] How should this be?   
Bad is the trade that must play fool to sorrow,   
Angering itself and others.—[To GLOUCESTER.]     48
Bless thee, master!   
  Glo.  Is that the naked fellow?   
  Old Man.        Ay, my lord.   
  Glo.  Then, prithee, get thee gone. If, for my sake,     52
Thou wilt o’ertake us, hence a mile or twain,   
I’ the way toward Dover, do it for ancient love;   
And bring some covering for this naked soul   
Who I’ll entreat to lead me.     56
  Old Man.        Alack, sir! he is mad.   
  Glo.  ’Tis the times’ plague, when madmen lead the blind.   
Do as I bid thee, or rather do thy pleasure;   
Above the rest, be gone.     60
  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. [Aside.] I cannot daub it further.     64
  Glo.  Come hither, fellow.   
  Edg.  [Aside.] 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. Poor Tom hath been scared out of his good wits: bless thee, good man’s son, from the foul fiend! Five fiends have been in poor Tom at once; of lust, as Obidicut; Hobbididance, prince of dumbness; Mahu, of stealing; Modo, of murder; and Flibbertigibbet, of mopping and mowing; who since possesses chambermaids and waiting-women. So, bless thee, master!     68
  Glo.  Here, take this purse, thou whom the heavens’ plagues   
Have humbled to all strokes: that I am wretched   
Makes thee the happier: heavens, deal so still!   
Let the superfluous and lust-dieted man,     72
That slaves your ordinance, that will not see   
Because he doth not feel, feel your power quickly;   
So distribution should undo excess,   
And each man have enough. Dost thou know Dover?     76
  Edg.  Ay, master.   
  Glo.  There is a cliff, whose high and bending head   
Looks fearfully in the confined deep;   
Bring me but to the very brim of it,     80
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:     84
Poor Tom shall lead thee.  [Exeunt.   

Act IV. Scene II.


Before the DUKE OF ALBANY’S Palace.
   
 
Enter GONERIL and EDMUND.
   
  Gon.  Welcome, my lord; I marvel our mild husband   
Not met us on the way. [Enter OSWALD.] Now, where’s your master?      4
  Osw.  Madam, within; but never man so chang’d.   
I told him of the army that was landed;   
He smil’d at it: I told him you were coming;   
His answer was, ‘The worse:’ of Gloucester’s treachery,      8
And of the loyal service of his son,   
When I inform’d him, then he call’d me sot,   
And told me I had turn’d the wrong side out:   
What most he should dislike seems pleasant to him;     12
What like, offensive.   
  Gon.  [To EDMUND.] Then, shall you go no further.   
It is the cowish terror of his spirit   
That dares not undertake; he’ll not feel wrongs     16
Which tie him to an answer. Our wishes on the way   
May prove effects. Back, Edmund, to my brother;   
Hasten his musters and conduct his powers:   
I must change arms at home, and give the distaff     20
Into my husband’s hands. This trusty servant   
Shall pass between us; ere long you are like to hear,   
If you dare venture in your own behalf,   
A mistress’s command. Wear this; spare speech;  [Giving a favour.     24
Decline your head: this kiss, if it durst speak,   
Would stretch thy spirits up into the air.   
Conceive, and fare thee well.   
  Edm.  Yours in the ranks of death.     28
  Gon.        My most dear Gloucester!  [Exit EDMUND.   
O! the difference of man and man!   
To thee a woman’s services are due:   
My fool usurps my bed.     32
  Osw.        Madam, here comes my lord.  [Exit.   
 
Enter ALBANY.
   
  Gon.  I have been worth the whistle.   
  Alb.        O Gonerill     36
You are not worth the dust which the rude wind   
Blows in your face. I fear your disposition:   
That nature, which contemns its origin,   
Cannot be border’d certain in itself;     40
She that herself will sliver and disbranch   
From her material sap, perforce must wither   
And come to deadly use.   
  Gon.  No more; the text is foolish.     44
  Alb.  Wisdom and goodness to the vile seem vile;   
Filths savour but themselves. What have you done?   
Tigers, not daughters, what have you perform’d?   
A father, and a gracious aged man,     48
Whose reverence the head-lugg’d bear would lick,   
Most barbarous, most degenerate! have you madded.   
Could my good brother suffer you to do it?   
A man, a prince, by him so benefited!     52
If that the heavens do not their visible spirits   
Send quickly down to tame these vile offences,   
It will come,   
Humanity must perforce prey on itself,     56
Like monsters of the deep.   
  Gon.        Milk-liver’d man!   
That bear’st a cheek for blows, a head for wrongs;   
Who hast not in thy brows an eye discerning     60
Thine honour from thy suffering; that not know’st   
Fools do those villains pity who are punish’d   
Ere they have done their mischief. Where’s thy drum?   
France spreads his banners in our noiseless land,     64
With plumed helm thy slayer begins threats,   
Whilst thou, a moral fool, sitt’st still, and criest   
‘Alack! why does he so?’   
  Alb.        See thyself, devil!     68
Proper deformity seems not in the fiend   
So horrid as in woman.   
  Gon.        O vain fool!   
  Alb.  Thou changed and self-cover’d thing, for shame,     72
Be-monster not thy feature. Were ’t my fitness   
To let these hands obey my blood,   
They are apt enough to dislocate and tear   
Thy flesh and bones; howe’er thou art a fiend,     76
A woman’s shape doth shield thee.   
  Gon.  Marry, your manhood.—Mew!   
 
Enter a Messenger.
   
  Alb.  What news?     80
  Mess.  O! my good lord, the Duke of Cornwall’s dead;   
Slain by his servant, going to put out   
The other eye of Gloucester.   
  Alb.        Gloucester’s eyes!     84
  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;     88
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     92
So speedily can venge! But, O poor Gloucester!   
Lost he his other eye?   
  Mess.        Both, both, my lord.   
This letter, madam, craves a speedy answer;     96
’Tis from your sister.   
  Gon.        [Aside.] One way I like this well;   
But being widow, and my Gloucester with her,   
May all the building in my fancy pluck    100
Upon my hateful life: another way,   
This news is not so tart. [To Messenger.] I’ll read and answer.  [Exit.   
  Alb.  Where was his son when they did take his eyes?   
  Mess.  Come with my lady hither.    104
  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,    108
And quit the house on purpose that their punishment   
Might have the freer course.   
  Alb.        Gloucester, I live   
To thank thee for the love thou show’dst the king,    112
And to revenge thine eyes. Come hither, friend:   
Tell me what more thou knowest.  [Exeunt.

Act IV. 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.      4
  Kent.  Who hath he left behind him general?   
  Gent.  The Marshal 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;      8
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.     12
  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     16
Were like a better way; 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,     20
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’     24
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 believed!’ There she shook     28
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,     32
The stars above us, govern our conditions;   
Else one self mate and make could not beget   
Such different issues. You spoke not with her since?   
  Gent.  No.     36
  Kent.  Was this before the king return’d?   
  Gent.        No, since.   
  Kent.  Well, sir, the poor distress’d Lear’s i’ the town,   
Who sometime, in his better tune, remembers     40
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,     44
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     48
Detains him from Cordelia.   
  Gent.        Alack! poor gentleman.   
  Kent.  Of Albany’s and Cornwall’s powers you heard not?   
  Gent.  ’Tis so, they are afoot.     52
  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     56
Lending me this acquaintance. I pray you, go   
Along with me.  [Exeunt.

Act IV. Scene VI.


The Same. A Tent.
   
 
Enter with drum and colours, CORDELIA, Doctor, and Soldiers.
   
  Cor.  Alack! ’tis he: why, he was met even now   
As mad as the vex’d sea; singing aloud;      4
Crown’d with rank fumiter and furrow weeds,   
With burdocks, hemlock, nettles, cuckoo-flowers,   
Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow   
In our sustaining corn. A century send forth;      8
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?     12
He that helps him take all my outward worth.   
  Phy.  There is means, madam;   
Our foster-nurse of nature is repose,   
The which he lacks; that to provoke in him,     16
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,     20
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.     24
 
Enter a Messenger.
   
  Mess.        News, madam;   
The British powers are marching hitherward.   
  Cor.  ’Tis known before; our preparation stands     28
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,     32
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.