 Act 3. In one, a heath, a storm with thunder and lightning, enter Kent and a gentleman meeting. Who's there, besides foul weather? One minded like the weather, most unquietly. I know you. Where's the king? Contending with the fretful elements, did the wind blow the earth into the sea, or swell the curled waters above the main, that things might change or cease, tears his white hair which the impetuous blasts with eyeless rage catch in their fury and make nothing of, strives in his little world of man to outscorn the two and fro conflicting wind and rain. This night, wherein the cub-drawn bear would crouch, the lion and the belly-pinched wolf keep their fur dry, unbonneted he runs, and bids what will take all. But who is with him? None but the fool who labors to out-gest his heart-struck injuries. Sir, I do know you, and dare, upon the warrant of my note, commend a dear thing to you. There is division, although as yet the face of it be covered with mutual cunning, twixed Albany and Cornwall, who have not that their great stars throne and set high servants who seem no less, which are to France the spies and speculations intelligent of our state. But hath been seen, either in snuffs and packings of the dukes, or the hard rain which both of them have borne against the old kind king, something deeper, whereof perchance these are but furnishings. But true it is, from France there comes a power into this scattered kingdom who, already wise in our negligence, have secret feet in some of our best ports, and are at point to show their open banner. Now, to you, if on my credit you dare build so far to make your speed to Dover, you shall find some that will thank you making just report of how unnatural and be-madding sorrow the king hath caused to plain. I am a gentleman of blood and breeding, and from some knowledge and assurance offer this office to you. I will talk further with you. No, do not, for confirmation that I am much more than my outwall, open this purse and take what it contains. If you shall see Cordelia, as fear not but you shall, show her this ring, and she will tell you who your fellow is that yet you do not know. Fie on this storm, I will go seek the king. Give me your hand. Have you no more to say? Two words but, to effect, more than all yet, that when we have found the king, in which your pain that way, how this, he that first lights on him, pull of the other. Exiant, severally, seen too, another part of the heath, the storm continues, enter the lear and the fall. Blow winds and crack your cheeks, rage, blow, you cataracts and hurricane-o's, spout till you have drenched our steeples, drowned the cocks. You sulfurous and thought-executing fires, vaunt couriers to oak-cleaving thunderbolts, singe my white head, and thou, all shaking thunder, strike flat the thick redundancy of the world, crack nature's moulds. All Germans spill at once that making grateful man. O nunkel, court holy water in a dry house is better than this rainwater out of the door. Good nunkel, in, and ask thy daughter's blessing. Here's a knight, pity's, neither wise men nor fools. Rumble thy bellyful, spit, fire, spout, rain, nor rain, wind, thunder, fire, o' my daughters, I tax you not, you elements with unkindness. I never gave you kingdom, called you children, you only know subscription, then let for your horrible pleasure. Here I stand, your slave, a poor, infirm, weak, and despised old man. But yet I call you servile ministers that will with too pernicious daughters join your high-engendered battle against their heads, so old and white as this, oh, oh, tis foul. She that has a house to put his head in has a good headpiece. The codpiece that will house, before the head has any, the head in he shall else, 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. For there was never yet fair woman, but she made mouths in a glass. Enter Kent. No, I will be the pattern of all patience. I will say nothing. Who's there? Mary, here's grace in a codpiece. That's a wise man and a fool. Alas, sir, are you here? Things that love night, love not such nights as these, the wrathful skies 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 remember to have heard, man's nature cannot carry the affliction nor the fear. Let the great gods that keep this dreadful father or her head find out their enemies now. Tremble thou wretch that hast within the undyed vulget crimes, unwipped of justice. Hide thee thou bloody hand, thou perjured, and thou similar man of virtue that art incestuous. Cate if to pieces shake, then under covert and convenient seeming has practised on man's life. Use pent-up guilts, rive your concealing continents, and cry these dreadful summoners grace. I am a man more sinned against than sinning. Alack, bareheaded, gracious my lord, hard by here is a hovel. Some friendship will it lend you against the tempest, free pose you there. Alt'st I to this hard house, more harder than the stones were of tis raised, which even but now, demanding after you, denied me to come in, return, and force their scanted courtesy. Thy wits begin to turn. Come on, my boy, how dost my boy heart cold? 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 nave, I have one part in my heart that's sorry yet for thee. He that has and a little tiny wit, with hay-ho the wind and the rain, must make content with his fortunes fit, for the rain it raineth every day. Come, bring us to this hovel, exiant Lea and Kent. This is a brave night to cruel a courtesan, 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, No heretics burnt 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, Nor cut-purses come not to throngs, When users tell their gold in the field, And bods and horrors do churches build, Then shall the realm of Albion come to great confusion. Then comes the time, who lives to see it, The glowing shall be used with feet. This prophecy Merlin shall make, for I live before his time. Exit. Scene three. A room in Gloucester's castle. Enter Gloucester and Edmund. 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 my own house, charged me on pain of perpetual displeasure, neither to speak of him, and treat for him, nor any ways sustain him. Most savage and unnatural! Go to, say you nothing. There is division betwixt 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. This courtesy, forbid thee, shall the duke instantly know, and of that letter, too. This seems a fair deserving, and must draw me, that which my father loses, no less than all. The younger rises, when the old doth fall. In four, a part of the heath with a hovel, storm continues. Enter Lea, Kent, and the Fall. Here is the place, my lord. Good, my lord, enter, the tyranny of the open knights, too rough for nature to endure. Let me alone. Good, my lord, enter here. Will break my heart. I had rather break mine own. Good, my lord, enter. Thou thinksest is much that this contentious storm invades us to the skin, so tis to thee. But where the greater malady is fixed, the lesser is scarce felt. Thou dost shun a bear, that if thy flight lay toward the raging sea, thou dost meet the bear in the mouth. When the mine's free, the body's delicate. The tempest in my mind doth from my senses take all feeling else save what beats there. Fillial ingratitude. Is it not as this mouth should tear this hand for lifting food to it? But I will punish home. No, I will weep no more. In such a night to shut me out, poor on, I will endure. In such a night as this, O Regan-Gonorill, your kind Lord Father, whose frank heart gave it all. That way Maddener's lies make me shun that, no more of that. Good, my lord, enter here. Pretty go in thyself, seek thy own ease. This tempest will not give me leave to ponder on things would hurt me more. But I'll go in. In boy, go first. You houseless poverty may get thee in, I'll pray, and then I'll sleep. Exit the fall. Poor naked wretches, where so ere you are, that by the pelting of this pitiless storm, how shall your houseless heads and unfed sides, your loops and windows raggedness defend you from seasons such as these? Oh, I attain too little care of this. Keep, fizzy, pomp, expose thyself to feel what wretches feel, that thou mayst shake the super flux to them, and show the heavens more just. Adam and Arth, Adam and Arth, poor Tom. Enter the fall from the hovel. Come not in here, noon call, here's a spirit, help me, help me. Give me thy hand, who's there? A spirit, a spirit, he says his name's poor Tom. Heart, heart, thou that dust grumble, there at the straw. Come forth. Enter Edgar, disguised as poor Tom. Away! The foul fiend follows me. Through the sharp o'erthorn blows the cold wind. Go to thy cold bed and warm thee. Didst thou give all to thy two daughters, and art thou come to this? Who gives anything to poor Tom? Whom the foul fiend athled through fire and through flame, through ford and whirlpool, our bargain quagmire, that athlead knives under his pillow, and hulters in his pew, set rats bane by his porridge, made him proud of heart, to ride on a bay trotting horse, over four inch bridges to course his own shadow for a traitor. Bless thy five wets. Oh, do do do, do do, do do, bless thee from whirlwind, star-blasting and taking. Do poor Tom some charity, you'n the foul fiend, Vexus. There could I have him now, and there, and there again, and there. What? Have his daughters brought him to this pass? Couldst thou save nothing? Didst thou give them all? Nay, he reserved a blanket. Else we had been all shamed. Now all the plagues that in the pendulous air hang fated omen's false light on thy daughters. He hath no daughters, sir. Death-traitor! Nothing could have subdued nature to such lowness but his unkind daughters. Is it the fashion that discarded fathers should have thus little mercy on their flesh? Judicious punishment! Was this flesh be got those pellic and daughters? Pillicock sat down Pillicock Hill, halloe, halloe, loo, loo. This cold night will turn us all to fools and madmen. Take heed of 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. What has thou been? A serving man, 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. I loved I deeply, dice dearly, and in woman, out paramour the Turk, false of heart, light of air, bloody of hand, hogging sloth, foxing stealth, wolf-ingredient as 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 brothel, thy hand out of placket, thy pen from lender's book, and defy the foul fiend. Still, through the hawthorn blows the cold wind, says some un-n-n-n-n-noney, dolphin, my boy, boy, sa-sa-sa. Let him trope by. Why thou wart 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 host the worm no silk, the beast no hide, the sheep no wool, the cat no perfume. Ah, here's three ones are sophisticated, but I want 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." He tears off his clothes. Pritheenunkel, be contented. It is a naughty night to swim in. Now, a little fire in a wild field where like an old lecher's heart, a small spark, all the rest one's body cold. Look! Here comes a walking fire. Enter Gloucester with a torch. This is the foul-themed flippity-jibbit. He begins at curfew and walks till the first cock. He gives the web and the pen, squints the eye and makes the hair lip. Mildews the white weight and hurts the poor creature of earth. Swithold footed thrice the old. He met the nightmare and her ninefold. Bid her a light and her a troth plate. And I write thee, which I write thee. How fares your grace? What's he? To Gloucester. Who's there? What is't you seek? What are you there? Your names? Poor Tom. That eats the swimming frog, the toad, the todpole, the walnut and the water. That in the fury of his heart, when the foul-themed rages, eats cow dung for salads. Swallows the old rat and the ditch-dog. Drinks the green mantel of the standing pool, who is whipped from tithing to tithing, and stocked, punished and imprisoned. Who hath had three suits to his back, six shirts to his body, horse to ride, and weapons to wear? But mice and rats and such small dear have been Tom's food for seven long years. Beware, my follower, peace-smoking, peace thou fiend. What hath your grace no better company? The Prince of Darkness is a gentleman. Moudau, he's called, and mahoo. Our flesh and blood, my lord, is grown so vile that it doth hate what gets it. Poor Tom's a cold. Go in with me. My duty cannot suffer to obey in all your daughter's hard commands, though their injunction be to bar my doors, and let this tyrannous night take hold upon you. Yet have I ventured to come seek you out, and bring you where both fire and food is ready. First, let me talk with this philosopher. To Edgar. What is the cause of thunder? Good, my lord. Take this offer. Go into the house. I'll talk a word with this same learned Theban. To Edgar. What is your study? How to prevent the fiend and to kill vermin. Let me ask you one word in private. Lear and Edgar talk apart. Him fortune him once more to go, my lord. His wits begin to unsettle. Kent's thou blame him? His daughters seek his death. Ah, that good Kent. He said it would be thus. Poor banished man. Thou sayest the king grows mad. I'll tell thee, friend, I am almost mad myself. I had a son now outlawed from my blood. He sought my life. But lately, very late, I loved him, friend. No father, his son, dearer. True to tell thee, the greeth hath crazed my wits. What a night's this. I do beseech your grace. Oh, cry you mercy, sir, noble philosopher, your company. Tom's a cold. In, fellow, there, into the hovel. Keep thee warm. Come, let's in all. This way, my lord. With him I will keep still with my philosopher. Good my lord. Soothe him. Let him take the fellow. Take him you on. Sirah, come on. Go along with us. Come, good Athenian. No words. No words. Hush. Child Roland to the dark tower came. His word was still. Fie, foe, and fum. I smell the blood of a British man. Exiant. Scene five. A room in Gloucester's castle. Enter Cornwall and Edmund. I will have my revenge ere I depart his house. How, my lord, I may be censured, that nature thus gives way to loyalty, something fears me to think of. 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 reprovable badness in himself. 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, oh heavens, that this treason were not, or not I, the detector. Go with me to the Duchess. If the matter of this paper be certain, you have mighty business in hand. True or false, it hath made the Earl of Gloucester. Seek out where thy father is, that he may be ready for our apprehension. If I find him comforting the king, it will stuff his suspicion more fully. I will persevere in my course of loyalty, though the conflict be sore between that and my blood. I will lay trust upon thee, and thou shalt find a dearer father in my love. Exiant. Scene six. A chamber in a farmhouse adjoining the castle. Enter Gloucester, Lear, Kent, the Fall, and Edgar. Here is better than the open air. Take it, thankfully. I will peace out the comfort with what addition I can. I will not be long from you. All the power of his wits have given way to his impatience. The gods reward your kindness. Exit Gloucester. Frateretto calls me, and tells me Nero is an angler in the lake of darkness. Pray innocent, and beware of the foul fiend. Pretty Nunco, tell me whether a madman be a gentleman or a yeoman. A king. A king. 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. To have a thousand with red burning spits come hissing in upon him. The foul fiend bites my back. He's mad that trusts in the tameness of a wolf, a horse's health, a boy's love, or a whore's oath. It shall be done. I will arraign them straight. To Edgar. Come, sit thou here most learned just as her. To the fool. Thou, sapient sir, sit here. Now, you she-froxes. Look, where he stands and glares. Once thou eyes at trial, madam. Come over the borne, Bessie, to me. Her boat hath a leak, and she must not speak, why she dares not come over to thee. The foul fiend haunts poor Tam in the voice of a nightingale. Hoppy dance, cries in Tam's belly for two white herring. Croak not, black angel, I have no food for thee. How do you, sir? Stand, you not so amazed. Will you lie down and rest upon the cushions? I'll see their trial first. Bring in their evidence. 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 of the commission a situ too. Let us deal justly. Sleepest or wakest thou, jolly shepherd? Thy sheep be in the corn, and for one blast of noy minigain mouth, thy sheep shall take no arm. Prrrr. The cat is grey. Arraign her first, Tizgonaril, I here take my oath before this honourable assembly. She kicked the poor king her father. Come here, there, mistress. Is your name Gonaril? She cannot deny it. Cry you mercy, I took you for a joint stool. And here's another, whose warped looks proclaim what store her heart is made on. Upper there, arms, arms, sword, fire, corruption in the place, false justice, why has their letter escaped? Bless thy five wets. Oh, pity! Sir, where is the patience now that you so oft have boasted to retain? My tears begin to take his part so much they'll mar my counter-fitting. The little dogs and all, trey, blanch and sweet-heart, see, they bark at me. Tom will throw his head at them, avanches, currs. Be thy mouth or black or white, tooth that poisons if it bite, mastiff, grey-ound, mongrel-grim, hound or spaniel, brach or lem, or bub-tail, tyke or trundle-tail, Tom will make them weep and wail, for with throwing thus my head, dogs leap the hatch and all are fled. Do-dee-dee-dee, sissa! Come, march to wakes and fares and market-towns, poor Tom thy own is dry. Then let them anatomise Regan, see what breeds about her heart. Is there any cause in nature that makes these hard hearts? You, sir, I entertain you for one of my hundred, only I do not like the fashion of your garments. You'll say they are Persian, but let them be changed. Now, good my lord, lie here and rest awhile. Make no noise, make no noise, draw the curtains. So, so, we'll go to supper in the morning. And I'll go to bed at noon. Enter Gloucester. Come hither, friend, where is the king, my master? Here, sir, but trouble him not, his wits are gone. Good friend, I prithee, take him in thy arms. I have o'erheard a plot of death upon him. There is a litter ready, lay him in it, and drive towards Dover, friend, where thou shalt meet both welcome and protection. Take up thy master. 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 give thee quick conduct. O presid nature sleeps. This rest might yet have bound thy broken sinews, which, if convenience will not allow, stand in hard cure to the fool. Come, help to bear thy master. Come, come, away! Exiant Kent Gloucester and the fool bearing off the king. When we, our betters, see bearing our woes, we scarcely think our miseries are foes. Who alone suffers, suffers most in the mind, leaving free things and happy shows behind? But then the mind much sufferens doth o'erskip 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 childhood as I fathered. Time away! Mark the eye noises and thyself beret, when false opinion whose wrong thought defiles thee, in thy just proof repeals and reconciles thee. What will app more tonight? Safe, scape the king. Lurk. Lurk. Exit. Scene seven, a room in Gloucester's castle. Enter Cornwall, Regan, Gonarill, Edmund and Servants. To Gonarill. Host speedily to my lord your husband. Show him this letter. The army of France is landed. Seek out the traitor Gloucester. Exit some Servants. Hang him instantly. Pluck out his eyes. Leave him to my displeasure. Edmund, keep you our sister company. The revenges we are bound to take upon your traitor's 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? My lord of Gloucester hath conveyed 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 dependence, are gone with him towards Dover, where they boast to have well-armed friends? Get horses for your mistress. Exit Oswald. Farewell, sweet lord and sister. Edmund, farewell. Exit Gonryl and Edmund. Go seek the traitor Gloucester. Pinyon him like a thief. Bring him before us. Exit Servants. Though well we may not pass upon his life without the form of justice, yet our power shall do a courtesy to our wrath. Which men may blame, but not control. Enter Gloucester, brought in by two or three servants. Who's there? The traitor? Ingrateful fox, dizzy. Bind fast his corky arms. What mean your graces? Good, my friends. Consider you are my guests. Do me no foul play, friends. Bind him, I say. Servants tie his hands. Hard-eyed old filthy traitor. Unmerciful lady as you are, I'm none. To this chair bind him. Villain, thou shalt find. Regan plucks his beard. By the kind gods, Tiz most ignobly done to pluck me by the beard. So whiten, sedutrator. Naughty lady, these hairs which thou dost ravish from my chin will quicken and accuse thee. I am your host. With robbers' hands despicable favours you should not ruffle thus. What will you do? Come, sir. What letters had you late from France? Be simple answered, for we know the truth. And what confederacy have you with the traitors late-footed in the kingdom? To whose hands have you sent the lunatic in speak? I have a letter, guessingly, set down which came from one that's of a neutral heart and not from one opposed. Cunning. And false. Where hast thou sent the king? To Dover. Wherefore to Dover? Was thou not charged at peril? Wherefore to Dover? Let him first answer that. I am tied to the stake, and I must stand the course. Wherefore to Dover, sir? Because I would not see thy cruel nails pluck out his poor old eyes. Nor thy fierce sister in his anointed flesh stick borish fangs. The sea, with such a storm as his bare head in hell-black night endured, would have buoyed up and quenched the stelled fires. Yet, poor old heart, he hoped the heavens to reign. If wolves had at thy gate howled that stern time, thou shouldst have said, Good Porter, turn the key. All crools else subscribed, but I shall see the winged vengeance overtake such children. See it, thou shalt never. Fellows, hold the chair. Upon these eyes of thine I'll set my foot. He that will think to live till he be old give me some help. Oh, cruel! Oh ye gods! One side will mark another, the other do. If you see vengeance Hold your hand, my lord. I have served you ever since I was a child, but better service have I never done you than now to bid you hold. How now, you dog? If you did wear a beard upon your chin, I'd shake it on this quarrel. Cornwall draws his sword. What do you mean? My villain. He lunges at him. Nay then, come on, and take the chance of anger. He wounds Cornwall. Give me thy sword. A peasant stand up thus. She takes a sword and runs at him behind. Oh, I am slain! My lord, you have one eye left to see some mischief on him. Oh! He dies. Lest it see more, prevent it. Out, vile jelly. Where is thy luston now? All dark and comfortless. Where's my son, Edmund? Edmund, in kindle all the sparks of nature to quit this horrid act. Our treacherous villain, thou gullst on him that hates thee. It was he that made the overture of thy treasons do us who is too good to pity thee. Oh, my follies! Then Edgar was abused. Kind gods, forgive me that and prosper him. Go thrust him out at gates and let him smell his way to Dover. Exit a servant with Gloucester. How is it, my lord? How look you? I have received a hurt. Follow me, lady. Turn out that eyeless villain. Throw this slave upon the dung hill. Regan, I bleed a pace. Untimely comes this hurt. Give me your arm. Exit Cornwall, supported by Regan. I'll never care what wickedness I do. If this man come to good. If she live long and in the end meet the old course of death women will all turn monsters. Let's follow the old earl and get the bedlam to lead him where he would. His roguish madness allows itself to anything. Go thou. I'll fetch some flax and whites of eggs to apply to his bleeding face. Now heaven help it. Exit by opposite doors. End of Act 3 Act 4 of King Lear This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org King Lear by William Shakespeare Act 4 Scene 1 The Heath Enter Edgar Yet better thus and known to be contemmed than still contemmed and flattered. To be worst, the lowest and most dejected thing of fortune stands still in aspirants, lives not in fear. The lamentable change from the best. The worst returns to laughter. Welcome, then, thou unsubstantial air that I embrace. The wretch that thou has blown unto the worst owes nothing to thy blasts. Enter Gloucester, led by an old man. But who comes here? My father, poorly led. World, world, oh, world! But that thy strange mutations make us hate the life would not yield to age. Oh, my good lord! I have been your tenant and your father's tenant these four score years. Away, get thee away, good friend be gone. Thy comforts can do me no good at all. Thee they may hurt. You cannot see your way. I have no way, and therefore want no eyes. I stumbled when I saw, full off to see our means secure us and our mere defects prove our commodities. Oh, dear son, Edgar, the food of thy abused father's wrath might I but live to see thee in my touch. I'd say I had eyes again. Oh, no! Who's there? Oh, God! Whoest can say I am at the worst? I am worse than air I was. It is poor, mad, calm. And worse I may be yet. The worst is not so long as we can say this is the worst. Fellow, where ghost? Is it a beggar man? Mad man and beggar too. He has some reason else he could not beg. In the 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 then scarce friends with him. I have heard more since. As flies to wanton boys are we to the gods, they kill us for their sport. How should this be? Bad is the trade that must play fool to sorrow angering itself and others. Bless thee, master. Is that the naked fellow? Aye, my lord. Then prithee get thee gone if for my sake thou wilt or take us hence a mile or twain in the way toward Dover do it for ancient love and bring some covering for this naked soul which I'll entreat to lead me. I like so. He is mad. Tis the time's plague when mad men lead the blind. Do as I bid thee or rather do thy pleasure. Above the rest be gone. I bring him the best peril that I have. Command what will. Exit. Serah, naked fellow. Poor Tom's are cold. I cannot door but further. Come hither, fellow. And yet I must bless thy sweet eyes. They plead. Nor is thou the way to Dover. Both Stoil and Gate or sway and footpath poor Tom hath been scared out of his good wit. Bless thee, good man's son from the fowl fiend. Five fiends have been in poor Tom at once. Of lust as obidicut obididence prince of dumbness maho of stealing modo of murder flippity gibbit of mopping and mowing who since possesses chambermates and waiting women. Why? 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 that slaves your ordinance that will not see because he does not feel feel your power quickly so distribution should undo excess and each man have enough. Let thou know dover. Aye, master. There is a cliff whose high and bending head looks fearfully in 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. Give me thy arm. Poor Tom shall lead thee. Exiant seen too the Duke of Albany's palace. Enter Goneril and Edmund. Oswald meeting them. Welcome, my lord. I marvel our mild husband not met us on the way. Now where's your master? Madam, within. But never man so changed. I told him of the army that was landed. He smiled at it. I told him you were coming. His answer was the worse. Of Gloucester's treachery and the loyal service of his son, when I informed him then he called me sought and told me I had turned the wrong side out. What most he should dislike seems pleasant to him. What like offensive. 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 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 into my husband's hands. This trusty servant shall pass between us. Air long you are like to hear, if you dare venture on your own behalf, a mistress's command. Giving a favour. Where this spare speech decline your head. This kiss, if it dares speak, would stretch its up into the air. Conceive and fairly well. Yours in the ranks of death. My most dear Gloucester. Exit Edmund. Oh, the difference of man and man. To thee a woman's services are due. My fool usurps my body. Madam, here comes my lord. Exit. Enter Albany. I have been worth the whistle. Oh, Goneril. You are not worth the dust which the rude wind blows in your face. I fear your disposition. That nature which contems it, origin cannot be bordered certain in itself. She that herself will sliver and disbranch from her material sap, must perforce wither and come to deadly use. No more. The text is foolish. Wisdom and goodness to the vile seem vile. Both savor but themselves. What have you done? Tigers, not daughters. What have you performed? A father and a gracious, aged man whose reverence even the head-lugged 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. If that the heavens do not their visible spirits send quickly down to tame these vile offenses, it will come. Humanity must perforce prey on itself, like monsters of the deep. Milk-livered man, the bearest a cheek for blows, a head for wrongs, who has not in thy brows an eye discerning thine honour from thy suffering, that not noest fools do those villains pity who are punished by mischief. Where's thy drum? France spreads his banners in our noiseless land. With plumed helm thy slayer begins threats, whilst thou, a mortal fool, sits still in Christ. Alack, why does he so? See thyself, devil! Proper deformity seems not in the fiend so horrid as in woman. Oh, vain fool! Thou changed and self-covered thing for shame. Monster, not thy feature, worth my fitness to let these hands obey my blood. They are apt enough to dislocate and tear thy flesh and bones. How ere thou art a fiend, a woman's shape doth shield thee. Mary, your manhood now! Enter a messenger. What news? Oh, my good lord, the Duke of Cornwall's dead, slain by his servant, going to put out the other eye of Glouster. Glouster's eyes! A servant that he bred, thrilled with remorse, opposed against the act bending his sore to his great master, who, there at enraged, flew on him, and amongst them felled him dead. But not without that harmful stroke which since hath plucked him after. This shows you are above, you justices, that these are nether crimes so speedily canvenge. Oh, poor Glouster! Lost he his other eye? Both, both, my lord. This letter, madam, craves a speedy answer. Tis from your sister. One way I like this well. But being widow and my Glouster 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 an answer. Exit. Where was his son when they did take his eyes? Come with my lady hither. He is not here. My lord, I met him back again. Knows he the wickedness? I am, my good lord, twas he informed against him, and quit the house on purpose that their punishment might have the freer course. Glouster, I live to thank thee for the love thou shouts the king and to revenge thine eyes. Come hither, friend, tell me what more thou knowest. Exit. Scene three. The French camp near Dover. Enter Kent and a gentleman. Why the king of France is so suddenly gone back, know you the reason? 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. Who hath he left behind him general? The Marachal of France, M. Le Farre. Did your letters pierce the queen to any demonstration of grief? Aye, sir, she took them, read them in my presence, and now and then an ample tear trilled down her delicate cheek. It seemed she was a queen over her passion, who most rebel like sought to be king or her. Oh! Then it moved her. 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 smile-its that played on her ripe lip seemed not to know what guests were in her eyes, which part then says pearls from diamonds dropped. In brief sorrow would be a rarity most beloved, if all could so become it. Made she. No verbal question. Faith once or twice she heaved the name of Father, pantingly forth, as if it pressed her heart, cried, Sisters, sisters, shame of ladies. Sisters, Kent, Father, sisters, what, in the storm, in the night? Let pity not be believed. There she shook the holy water from her heavenly eyes and clamor moistened. Then away she started to deal with grief alone. 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 sense. No. Was this before the king returned? No, since. Sir, the poor distressed leers in the town who sometime, in his better tune, remembers what we are come about and by no means will yield to see his daughter. Why, good sir? A sovereign shame so elbows him. His own unkindness that stripped her from his benediction turned 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. A lack, poor gentleman. Of albany's and cornwall's powers you heard not. To so they are afoot. Well, sir, I'll bring you to our master leer and leave you to attend him. Some dear cause will in concealment wrap me up a while. When I am known a right you shall not grieve lending me this acquaintance. I pray you go along with me. Exiant. Scene four, the French camp, attend. Enter Cordelia, physician and soldiers. A lacked is he. Why, he was met even now as mad as the vexed sea, singing aloud, crowned with rank-fumitor and furrow weeds, with harlocks, hemlock, nettles, cuckoo-flowers, darnal, and all the idle weeds that grow in our sustaining corn. To soldiers. A century send forth, search every acre in the high-grown field and bring him to our eye. Exiant soldiers. To physician. What can man's wisdom in the restoring his bereaved sense? He that helps him take all my outward worth. There is means, madam. Our foster nurse of nature is repose, the witch he lacks. That, to provoke in him, are many simple operative whose power will close the eye of anguish. All blessed secrets. All you unpublished virtues of the earth spring with my tears. Be adent and remediate in the good man's distress. Seek, seek for him. Lest his ungoverned rage dissolve the life that wants the means to lead it. Enter a messenger. News, madam. The British powers are marching hitherward. 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 aged father's right. Soon may I hear and see him. Exiant. Scene five. A room in Gloucester's castle. Enter Regan and Oswald. But are my brother's powers set forth? Aye, madam. Himself in person there? Madam, with much ado, your sister is the better soldier. Lord Edmunds, bake not with your lord at home. No, madam. What might import my sister's letter to him? I know not, lady. Faith he has posted ends on serious matter. It was great ignorance, Gloucester'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 dispatch his knighted life moreover, to describe the strength of the enemy. I must needs after him, madam, with my letter. Our troops set forth to-morrow. Stay with us. The ways are dangerous. I may not, madam. My lady charged my duty in this business. Why should she write to Edmund? Might not you transport her purposes by word? But like something I know not what. I'll love thee much. Let me unseal the letter. Madam, I had rather- I know your lady does not love her husband. I am sure of that. And at her late being year, she gave strange eyelids and most speaking looks to noble Edmund. I know you are of a bosom. I, madam? I speak in understanding. You are, I know it. Therefore I do advise you. Take this note. My lord is dead. Edmund and I have talked. 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 is thus much from you, I pray desire her call, her wisdom do her. So fare you well. And if you do chance to hear of that blind raider, performance polls on him that cuts him off. Would I could meet him, madam? I should show what party I do follow. Fare thee well. Exiant. Scene six. The country near Dover. Enter Gloucester and Edgar dressed as a peasant. When shall I come to the top of that same hill? You do climb up it now. Look how we labour. Methinks the ground is even. Horrible steep. Hark, do you hear the sea? No, truly. Why, then your other senses grow imperfect by your eyes anguish. So may it be indeed. Methinks thy voice is altered and thou speaks'd in better phrase and matter than thou didst. You're much deceived. In nothing am I changed but in my garments. Methinks you're better spoken. Come on, sir. Here's the place. Stand still. How fearful and dizzy it is to cast one's eyes so low. The crows and chuffs that wing the midway air show scarce, so gross as beetles. Halfway down hangs one that gathers sam- fi a dreadful trade. Methinks he seems no bigger than his head. The fishermen that walk upon the beach appear like mice and yawned tall, anchoring bark diminished to her cock. Her cock a boy almost too small for sight. The murmuring surge that on the unnumbered idle pebble-chafes can't be heard so high. I'll look no more. That's my brain turn and the deficient sight toppled down headlong. Set me where you stand. Give me your hand. You are now within a foot of the extreme verge. For all beneath the moon would I not leap upright. Let go my hand. Hear, friends, 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. Now, fare ye well, good sir? With all my heart. Why I do trifle thus with his despair is done to cure it. Nailing. 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. Gone, sir. Farewell. Gloucester throws himself forward. 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 passed. Alive or dead. O you, sir. Friend. Hear you, sir. Speak. Thus mighty pass indeed. Yet he revives. What are you, sir? Away, and let me die. Hadst thou been awed but gossamer, feathers, air, so many fathom down precipitating, thou'dst shiver like an egg. But thou dost breathe, hast heavy substance, bleeds not, speaks art sound, ten mass at each make not the altitude which thou hast perpendicularly fell. Thy life is a miracle. Speak yet again. But have I fallen or no? From the dread summit of this chalky borne, look up a height. A real, gorged lark so far cannot be seen or heard, but do but look up. A lark I have no eyes. Is wretchedness deprived that benefit to end itself by death? To has yet some comfort when misery could beguile the tyrant's rage and frustrate his proud will? Give me your arm. Yep, so. Howist, fill you your legs. You stand. Too well, too well. This is of all strangeness. Upon the crown of the cliff, what thing was that which parted from you? A poor, unfortunate beggar. As I stood here below and we thought his eyes were two full moons, he had a thousand noses, horns welked and waved like the enriched sea. It was some fiend. Therefore, thou happy father, think that the clearest gods who make them honours of men's impossibility have reserved thee. I do remember now. As forth 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 twid'd say the fiend, the fiend. He led me to that place. Bare free and patient thought, but who comes here? Enter Lear, fantastically dressed with wild flowers. The safer sense will ne'er accommodate his master thus. No, they cannot touch me for coining. I am the king himself. Oh, thou side-piercing sight! Nature's above art in that respect. There's your press-money. That fellow handles his bow like a crow-keeper. Draw me a clothier's yard. Look, look a mouse. Peace, peace. This piece of toasted cheese will do it. There's my gauntlet. I'll prove it on a giant. Bring up the brown-bills. Oh, well-flown bird, in the clout, in the clout, you! Give the word. Sweet Marger. Pass. I know that voice. He falls to his knees. Ha! gone a-rill with a white beard. They flattered me like a dog, and told me I had white hairs in my beard, and the black ones were there, to say I and no to everything I said. I 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 knock peace at my bidding, there I found them. There I smelt them out. Go to. They are not men of their words. They told me I was everything. It is a lie. I'm not ague-proof. The trick of that voice I do well remember. It's not the king. I, every inch a king, when I do stare, see how the subject quakes. I pardon that man's life. What was thy cause? Adultery. Thou shalt not die, die for adultery, no. The rain goes to it, and the small gilded flight is a letter in my sight. Let copulation thrive. For Gloucester's bastard son was kinder to his father than what has got between the lawful sheets. To it, luxury, pell-mell, for I lack soldiers. Behold, yon simpering dame, whose face between her forks presages snow. That means his virtue, and does shake the head to hear of pleasure's name. The fit you nor the soiled horse goes to it with a more riotous appetite. Down from the waist they are centaurs, they're women all above. But to the girdle do the gods inherit. Beneath is all the fiends. And as hell, as darkness, there is the sulfurous pit, burning, scalding, stench, consumption, of high-fi, high-pa. Give me an ounce of civet good apothecary to sweeten my imagination. There's money for thee. He gives flowers. Oh, let me kiss that hand. Let me wipe it first. It smells of mortality. O ruined piece of nature, this great world shall so wear out to not. Does thou know me? I remember thine eyes well enough. Does thou squinny at me? No, did I worst blind-cupid. Well, not love. Read thou this challenge, mark but the penning of it. Were all the letters, sons, I could not see one. I would not take this from report, it is. And my heart breaks at it. Read. What, with the case of eyes? Oh, oh, are you there with me? No eyes in your head, nor no money in your purse. Your eyes are in a heavy case, your purse in the light. Yet you see how this world goes. I see it, feelingly. What, odd mad? A man may see how the world goes with no eyes. Look with thine ears. See how yon justice rails upon yon simple thief. Hark, in thine ear, chains places, and handy-dandy which is the justice which is the thief. Thou hast seen a farmer's dog bark at a beggar. Aye, sir. And the creature runs from the ker. There thou mightst behold the great image of authority. A dog's obeyed in office. Thou rascal beetle hold thy bloody hand. Why dost thou lash that whore? Strike thine own back. Thou hotly lusted to use her in that kind for which thou whipped her. The userer hangs a cousin a. Through tattered clothes small vices do appear. Robes and furred gowns hide all. Plates sin with gold and the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks. Armitin rags a pygmy's straw does pierce it. Nondeth offend. Non, I say non, I label them. Giving flowers. Take that of me, my friend, who have the power to seal the 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. O matter and impertinence he mixed. Reason in madness. If thou wilt weep my fortunes, take my eyes. I know thee well enough. Thy name is Gloucester. Thou must be patient. We came crying hither thou most. The first time we smelt the air, we wall and cry. I will preach to thee, Mark. He takes off his coronet of flowers. Alack! Alack the day! When we are born we cry that we are come to this great stage of fools. This a good block. It were a delicate stratidum to shoo a trooper-horse with felt. I'll put it in proof, and when I have stolen upon these sons-in-law, then kill, kill, kill, kill, kill. He throws down his flowers and stamps on them. Enter a gentleman and two attendants. Gloucester and Edgar draw back. Oh, here he is. Lay hand upon him. Sir, your most dear daughter. 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 the brains. You shall have anything. No seconds. All myself. Why, this would make a man of salt to use his eyes for garden water-pots. I am for laying autumn's dust. I will die bravely like a smug bridegroom. What? I will be jovial. Come, I am a king, my masters. Know you that. You are a royal one, and we obey you. Then there's life in it. Nay, and you get it, and you shall get it by running. Sa-sa-sa-sa. Exit running, followed by attendance. A sight most pitiful in the meanest wretch, past speaking of in a king. Thou hast one daughter who redeems nature from the general curse which Twain have brought her to. Hail, gentle sir! Sir, speed you. What's your will? Do you hear ought, sir, of a battle toward? Most sure and vulgar. Everyone hears that which can distinguish sound. But by your favour, how nears the other army? Near and on speedy foot. The main disguise stands on the hourly thought. I thank you, sir, that's all. Though that the queen, on special cause, is here, her army is moved on. I thank you, sir. Exit, gentlemen. You ever-gentle gods, take my breath from me. Let not my worser spirit tempt me again to die before you, please. Well, pray you, father. Now, good sir, what are you? A most poor man, made tame to fortune's blows, who by the art of known and feeling sorrows and pregnant to good pity. Give me your hand. I'll lead you to some biding. Hearty thanks. The bounty and the benison of heaven to boot and boot. Enter Oswald. A proclaimed prize, most happy. That eyeless head of thine was first framed flesh to raise my fortunes. Thou old unhappy traitor, briefly thyself remember. The sword is out that must destroy thee. Now let thy friendly hand put strength enough to it. Edgar intervenes. Wherefore, bold peasant, doush thou support a published traitor? Hence, lest that the infection of his fortune take like hold on thee. Let go his arm. So not let go, sir, without further occasion. Let go, slave, or thou dyest! Good, gentlemen, go your gate, and let poor vote pass. And Chad had been swaggered out of my life, to had not been so long as to his way of work-night. Nay, come not near the old man, keep out, to worry your eyes, try whether your cost out of my bat be the ardour. She'll be plain with you. Out, dung hill! She'll pick your teeth, sir. Come, no matter for your voines. They fight. Slave, thou hast slain me, villain! Take my purse. If ever thou wilt thrive, bury my body, and give the letters which thou finds'd about me to Edmund Earl of Gloucester. Seek him out upon the British party. Oh, untimely death! I know thee well, a serviceable villain, as dutious to the vices of thy mistress's badness would desire. What? Is he dead? Sit ye down, father, rest ye. Let's see these pockets, the letters that he speaks of may be my friend. He's dead. I'm only sorry he had no other death's man. Let us see. Leave gentle wax, and manners blame us not. To know our enemy's minds we'd rip their hearts. Their papers is more lawful. He 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 conqueror. Then am I the prisoner and his bed my jail, from the loathed warmth whereof deliver me and supply the place for your labour. Your wife, so I would say, affectionate servant, gonerill. How indistinguished space of woman's will applaud upon her virtuous husband's life in the exchange, my brother! Here in the sands thee are the rake-up, the post unsanctified of murderous leches, and in the mature time with this ungracious paper strike the sight of the death-practice-juke. For him it is well that of thy death and business I can tell. The king is mad. How stiff is my vile sense that I stand up and have ingenious feeling of my huge sorrows. Better I were distract, so should my thoughts be severed from my griefs and woes by wrong imaginations lose the knowledge of themselves. Give me your hand. Far off me thinks I hear the beaten drum. Come, father, I'll bestow you with a friend. Exiant. Scene seven. Attend in the French camp. Leer on a bed, asleep. Soft music playing. Enter Cordelia and Kent. Physician, gentlemen, and others attending. O thou good Kent! How shall I live and work to match thy goodness? My life will be too short, and every measure will fail me. Two. Be acknowledged, madam, is ore paid. All my reports go with the modest truth. Nor more nor clipped, but so. Be better suited. These weeds are memories of those worse hours. I prithee put them off. Pardon, dear madam, yet to be known shortens my made intent, my boon I make it that you know me not till time and I think meet. Then be it so, my good lord. To the physician. How does the king? Madam, sleep still. Cure this great breach in his abused nature. The untuned and jarring senses. O wind up of this child-changed father. So please, your majesty, that we may wake the king he hath slept long. Be governed by your knowledge and proceed in the sway of your own will. Is he a raid? Aye, madam, in the heaviness of sleep we put fresh garments on him. Be by, good madam, when we do awake him I doubt not of his temperance. Very well. Music sounds offstage. Please, you draw near. Louder the music there. Kneeling by the chair and kissing his hand. O my dear father, restoration hang thy medicine on my lips and let this kiss repair those violent harms that my two sisters have in thy reverence made. Kind and dear princess. Had you not been there, father, these white flakes had challenged pity of them. Was this a face to be opposed against the warring winds? To stand against the deep dread-bolted thunder? In the most terrible and nimble stroke of quick cross lightning? To watch, poor Purdue, with this thin helm? My enemy's dog, though he had bit me, should have stood that night against my fire. And was thou feign, poor father, to harvelled thee with swine and rogues forlorn? In short and musty straw? A lack, a lack, to his wonder that thy life and wits at once had not concluded all. He wakes. Speak to him. Madam, do you, tis fittest? How does my royal lord? How fares your majesty? You do me wrong to take me out the grave. Thou art a soul in bliss, but I am bound upon a wheel of fire that mine own tears do scald like molten lead. Sir, do you know me? You are a spirit, I know. When did you die? Still, still far wide. He's scarce awake. Let him alone awhile. Where have I been? Where am I? Fair daylight, I am mightily abused. I shall even die with pity to see another thus. I know not what to say. I will not swear these are my hands. Let's see, I feel this pinprick. Would I were assured of my condition? Oh, look upon me, sir, and hold your hands in benediction o'er me. Lear falls to his knees. No, sir, you must not kneel. Pray do not mock me. I am a very foolish, fond old man, forescore and upward. Not an hour more nor less. And to deal plainly I fear I am not in my perfect mind. The myth thinks I should know you, and know this man. Yet I am doubtful for I am mainly ignorant what place this is. And all the skill I have remembers not these garments, nor I know not where I did lodge last night. Do not laugh at me, for as I am a man I think this lady to be my child Cordelia. And so I am. I am. Be your tears wet. Yes. Faith, I pray, weep not. If you have poison for me I will drink it. I know you do not love me, for your sisters have as I do remember done me wrong. You have some cause, they have not. No cause. No cause. Am I in France? In your own kingdom, sir. Do not abuse me. Be comforted, good madam. The great rage you see is killed in him, and yet it is danger to make him even or the time he has lost. Desire him to go in, trouble him no more till further settling. Will to please your highness walk? You must bear with me. Pray you now, forget and forgive. I am old and foolish. Exiant all but Kent and gentlemen. Holds it true, sir, that the Duke of Cornwall was so slain? Most certain, sir. Who is conductor of his people? As to said the bastard son of Gloucester. They say Edgar, his banished son, is with the Earl of Kent in Germany. Report is changeable. It is time to look about. The powers of the kingdom approach apace. The arbitrement is like to be bloody. Fare you well, sir. Exit. My point and period will be thoroughly wrought. Or well or ill, as this day's battles fought. Exit. End of Act IV. Act V. of King Lear. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. King Lear by William Shakespeare. Act V. Scene I. The camp of the British forces near Dover. Enter with drum and collars, Edmund Regan, officers, soldiers, and others. To an officer. Know of the Duke if his last purpose hold, or whether since he is advised by ought to change the course. To Regan. He's full of alteration and self-reproving. To an officer. Bring his constant pleasure. Exit. Officer. Our sister's man is certainly miscarried. Tis to be doubted, madam. Now, sweet Lord, you know the goodness I intend upon you. Tell me, but truly. But then speak the truth. Do you not love my sister? In honoured love. But have you never found my brother's way to be the for-fended place? That thought abuses you. I am doubtful that you have been conjunct and bosomed with her, as far as we call us. No, by in my honour, madam. I never shall endure, dear my lord. Be not familiar with her. Fear me not. She and the Duke, her husband. Enter with drum and collars, Albany, Goneril, and soldiers. I had rather lose the battle than that sister should loosen him and me. Our very loving sister, well be met. Sir, this I heard. The King has come to his daughter, with others whom the rigor of our state forced to cry out. Where I could not be honest, I never yet was valiant. For this business it toucheth us, as France invades our land, not bolts the King with others whom I fear most just and heavy causes make a pose. Sir, you speak nobly. Why is this reasoned? Combine together against the enemy, for these domestic and particular broils are not the question here. Let's then determine with the ancient of war on our proceeding. I shall attend you presently at your tent. Sister, you'll go with us? No. To the most convenient. Pray you go with us. Oh, I know the riddle. I will go. I am valiant both the armies. As Albany is going out, enter Edgar. If ere your grace had speech with man so poor, hear me one word. To his captains. I'll overtake you. To Edgar. Speak. Before you fight the battle, open this letter. If you have victory, let the trumpet sound for him that brought it. Wretched though I seem, I can produce a champion that will prove what is avouched there. If you miscarry, your business of the world hath so an end and machination ceases. Fortune love you. Stay till I have read the letter. I was forbidden. When time shall serve, let but the herald cry, and I'll appear again. Exit. Why, fare thee well. I will or look thy paper. Enter Edmund. The enemies in view. Draw up your powers. Here is the guess of their true strength and forces by diligent discovery. But your haste is now urged on you. We will greet the time. Exit. To both these sisters have I sworn my love. Each jealous of the other as the stung are of the other. Which of them shall I take? Both? Hmm. One. Or neither? Neither can be enjoyed of both remain alive. To take the widow exasperates makes matters to goneril. And hardly shall I carry out my side her husband being alive. Now then, we'll use his countenance for the battle which, being done, let her, who would be rid of him, devise his speedy taking off. As for the mercy which he intends to leer and to cordelia, the battle done and they within our powers shall never see his pardon. For my state stands on me to defend, not to debate. Exit. Scene two. A field between the two camps. Alarum within. Enter with drum and colours, leer. Cordelia holding his hand and soldiers over the stage and exiant. Enter Edgar and Gloucester. Here, Father, take the shadow of this tree for your good host. Pray that the right may thrive. If ever I return to you again, I'll bring you comfort. Grace go with you, sir. Exit Edgar. Alarum and retreat within. Enter Edgar. Away, old man, give me thy hand away. King Lear hath lost, he and his daughter tain. Give me thy hand, come on. No further, sir. A man may rot even here. What in ill thoughts again? Men must endure their going hence even as their coming hither. Rightness is all. Come on. And that's true, too. Exiant. The British camp near Dover. Enter in conquest with drum and colours, Edmund. Lear and Cordelia as prisoners. Officers, soldiers, etc. Some officers take them away. Good guard until their greater pleasures first be known that are to censor them. We are not the first who with best meaning have incurred the worst. For thee, oppressive king, I am cast down. Myself could else out frown false fortunes frown. To Edmund. Shall we not see these daughters and these sisters? No, no, no, no. Come, let's away to prison. We, too, alone will sing like birds in the cage. When thou dost ask me blessing, I'll kneel down and ask of thee forgiveness. For we live and pray and sing and tell old tales and laugh at gilded butterflies, and hear poor rogues talk of court news, and we'll talk with them, too, who loses and who wins, who's in, who's out, and take upon the mystery of things as if we were God's spies, and we'll wear out in a walled prison packs and sects of great ones that ebb and flow by the moon. Take them away. Upon such sacrifices, my Cordelia, the gods themselves throw incense. Have I caught thee? He embraces her. He that parts us shall bring a brand from heaven and fire us hence like foxes. Wipe thine eyes. The good years shall devour them. Flesh and fell. There they shall make us weep. We'll see them starve first. Come. Exaunt Lea and Cordelia. Guarded. Come hither, Captain. Hark! Take thou this note. Go follow them to prison. One step I have advanced thee. If thou dost as this instructs thee, thou dost make thy way to noble fortunes. Know thou this. That men are as the time is. To be tender-minded does not become a sword. Thy great employment will not bear question. Either say thou doot, or thrive by other means. I'll do it, my lord. About it. And write happy when thou hast done. Mark, I say instantly and carry it so as I have set it down. I cannot draw a cart nor eat dried oats. If it be man's work, I'll do it. Exit. Flourish. Enter Albany, Goneril, Regan, and officers. Sir, you have showed to-day your valiant strain, and fortune led you well. You have the captives who were the opposites of this day's strife. We do require them of you, so to use them as we shall find their merits, and our safety may equally determine. Sir, I thought it fit to send the old and miserable king to some retention and appointed guard, whose age has charms in it with title more, to suck the common bosom on his side and turn our impressed lances in our eyes which do command them. With him I sent the queen. My reason all the same, and they are ready to morrow, or at further space, to appear where you shall hold your session. At this time we sweat and bleed. The friend hath lost his friend, and the best quarrels in the heat are cursed by those that feel their sharpness. The question of Cordelia and her father requires a fitter place. Sir, by your patience, I hold you but a subject of this war, not as a brother. That's as we list to grace him. He thinks our pleasure might have been demanded, ere you had spoke so far. He led our powers for the commission of my place and bosom, the which immediacy may well stand up and call itself your brother. Not so hot. In his own grace he doth exalt himself more than in your addition. In my rights, by me invested, he can appear as the best. That were the most if he should husband you. Jesterers do oft-proof prophets. Hala, hala, that eye that told you so looked but a squint. Lady, I am not well. Else I should answer from a full flowing stomach. To Edmund. General, take thou my soldiers, prisoners, patrimony. Dispose of them, of me. The walls are thine. Witness the world that I create thee here, my lord and master. Mean you to enjoy him? The let alone lies not in your good will. Nor in thine, lord. Half-blooded fellow, yes. To Edmund. Let the drums dry, can prove my title thine. Stay yet, hear reason. Edmund, I arrest thee on capital treason, and in thine arrest, this gilded serpent. He points to goneril. For your claim, fair sister, I bar it in the interest of my wife. Till she is subcontracted to this lord, and I, her husband, contradict your bans. If you will marry, make your loves to me. My lady is bespoke. Uninterlude. Thou art armed, Glouster. Let the trumpet sound. If none appear to prove upon thy person, thy heinous manifest and many treasons. There is my pledge. He throws down his glove. I'll prove it on thy heart ere I taste bread. Thou art in nothing less than I have here proclaimed thee. Sick, oh, sick! If not, I'll ne'er trust medicine. There's my exchange. Throwing down his glove. What in the world he is that names me traitor, villain like he lies? Call by thy trumpet. He that dares approach on him, on you, who not? I will maintain my truth and honor firmly. A herald, ho! Enter a herald. Trust to thy single virtue. For thy soldiers all levied in my name, have in my name took their discharge. My sickness grows upon me. She is not well. Convey her to my tent. Exit Regan. Supported. A herald. Ho! A herald! A trumpet sounds. If any man of quality or degree within the lists of the army will maintain upon Edmund supposed Earl of Gloucester that he is a manifold traitor, let him appear by the third sound of the trumpet. He is bold in his defence. First trumpet. Again. Second trumpet. Again. Third trumpet. Trumpet answers within. Enter Edgar, armed, a trumpet before him. Ask him his purposes why he appears upon this call the trumpet. What are you? Your name, your quality and why you answer this present summons? No, my name is lost. By treason's tooth bare, gnawn and cank a bit. Yet am I noble as the adversary I come to cope. Which is that adversary? What's he that speaks for Edmund Earl of Gloucester? Himself. What sayest thou to him? Draw thy sword. That if my speech offend noble heart thy arm may do thee justice. Here is mine. He draws his sword. Behold, it is the privilege of my owners, my oath and my profession. I protest, morger thy strength, youth, place and eminence. Despite thy victor sword and fire new fortune, thy valor and thy heart, thou art a traitor. False to thy gods, thy brother and thy father. Conspirant against this high illustrious prince and from the extremest upward of thy head to the descent and dust beneath thy foot, a most toad-spotted traitor. Say thou, no, this sword, this arm and my best spirits are bent to prove upon my hardware to I speak thou liest. In wisdom I should ask thy name, but since thy outside looks so fair and warlike and that thy tongue some say of breeding breathes, what safe and nicely I might well delay by rule of knighthood I disdain and spurn. Back do I toss those treasons to thy head, with the hell-hated lie or well thy heart, which for they yet glance by and scarcely bruise this sort of mine shall give them instant way, where they shall rest for ever. Trumpets, speak! Alarms, fights, Edmund falls to Edgar about to kill Edmund. Save him, save him! This is mere practice, Gloucester. By the law of arms thou wasst not bound to answer an unknown opposite. Thou art not vanquished, but cozened and beguiled. Shut your mouth, Dame, or with this paper I shall stop it. Hold, sir. To Goneril. Thou, worse than any name, read thine own evil. No tearing, lady, I perceive you know it. Say if I do, the laws are mine, not thine. Who can arraign me for it? Most monstrous. Knows thou this paper? Ask me not what I know. Exit Goneril. Go after her, she's desperate. Govern her. Exit officer. What? You have charged me with that have I done. And more, much more. The time will bring it out. Tis past, and so am I. But what art thou that has this fortune on me? If thou art noble, I do forgive thee. Let's exchange charity. I am no less in blood than thou art, Edmund. If more, the more thou hast wronged me. My name is Edgar, and thy father's son. The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices make instruments to plague us. The dark and vicious place where thee he got cost him his eyes. Thou hast spoken right, tis true. The wheel has come full circle. I am here. Me thought thy very gate did prophecy a royal nobleness. I must embrace thee. Let sorrow split my heart if ever I did hate thee or thy father. Worthy prince, I note. Where have you hid yourself? How have you known the miseries of your father? By nursing them, my lord. List a brief tale. And when tis told, oh, that my heart would burst, the bloody proclamation to escape that followed me so near, oh, our life's witness. That with the pain of death we'd hourly die rather than die at once, taught me to shift into a madman's rags, to assume a semblance that very dogs disdained and in this habit that I, my father, with his bleeding rings, their precious stones knew lost, became his guide, led him, begged for him, saved him from despair. Never, oh, fault! Revealed myself unto him until some half hour passed when I was armed. Not sure. Oh, hoping of this good success, I asked his blessing and from first to last told him my pilgrimage, but his flawed heart, a lack too weak the conflict to support, to two extremes of passion, joy and grief, burst smilingly. This speech of yours hath moved me. And shall progence do good, but speak you on. You look as you had something more to say. Be more, more woeful, hold it in, for I am almost ready to dissolve hearing of this. This would have seemed a period to such as love, not sorrow, but another, to amplify too much would make much more and top extremity. Whilst I was big in clamour, came there a man who, having seen me in my worst estate, shunned my abhorred society. But then, finding who it was that so endured with his strong arms, he fastened on my neck and bellowed out as he'd burst heaven, threw him on my father, told the most piteous tale of Lear and him that ever ere received, which in recounting his grief grew puissant, and the strings of life began to crack. Twice then the trumpet sounded, and there I left him tranced. But who was this? Kent, sir. The banished Kent, who in disguise followed his enemy king and did him service improper for a slave. Enter a gentleman with a bloody knife. Help! Help! Oh, help! What kind of help? Speak, man. What means that bloody knife? It is hot. It smokes. It came even from the heart of... Oh, she's dead. Who dead? Speak, man. Your lady, sir, your lady, and her sister by her is poisoned. She hath confessed it. I was contracted to them both. All three now marry in an instant. Here comes Kent. Enter Kent. Produce their bodies, be they alive or dead. This judgment of the heaven that makes us tremble touches us not with pity. Exit, gentlemen. I am come to bid my king and master I good night. You see, not here. Great thing of us forgot. Speak, Edmund, where's the king? And where's Cordelia? Conorills and Regan's bodies are brought out. Oh, lack! Why, thus? Yet Edmund was beloved. The one the other poisoned for my sake, and after slew herself. Even so, cover their faces. I pant for life. Some good I mean to do. Despite of my own nature, quickly send, be brief in it to the castle. For my writ is on the life of Lear and on Cordelia. Nay, send in time. Run, run, oh run. To who, my lord? Who has the office? Send thy token of reprieve. Well thought on. To an officer. Take my sword. Give it to the captain. Haste thee for thy life. Exit, officer. He hath commissioned from thy wife and me to hang Cordelia in the prison and to lay the blame upon her own despair that she for did herself. The gods defend her. They're him hence a while. Edmund is born off. Enter Lear with Cordelia in his arms, followed by the officer and others. Howl, howl, howl, howl! Oh, you are men of stone! At eye your tongues and eyes I'd use them so that heaven's vault should crack. She's gone for ever. I know when one is dead and when one lives. She's dead as earth. Lend me a looking glass. If that her breath will mist or stain the stone, why he then she lives. Is this the promised end? Or image of that horror? Fall and cease. This feather stirs. She lives. If it be so, it is a chance which does redeem all sorrows that ever I have felt. Oh, my good master. Pretty away. It is noble Kent, your friend. A plague upon you, murderer. Trait at all. I might have saved her. Now she's gone for ever. Cordelia, Cordelia, stay a little. Ah! What is thou saist? Her voice was ever soft, gentle and low. An excellent thing in woman. I killed the slave that was a-hanging thee. Did I not, fellow? I have seen the day with my good-biting falchion that I would have made them skip. I am old now, and these same crosses spoil me. Who are you? My eyes are not of the best. I'll tell you straight. If fortune brag of two, she loved and hated. One of them. We behold. This is a dull sight. Are you not Kent? The same. Your servant Kent. Is your servant Chaos? He's a good fellow, I can tell you that. He'll strike, and quickly too. He's dead and rotten. Know, my good lord. I am the very man. I'll see that straight. That from your first of difference and decay have followed your sad steps. You are welcome, hither. Nor no man else. All's cheerless, dark and deadly. Your eldest daughters have foredone themselves, and desperately are dead. Aye, so I think. He knows not what he says, and vain is it that we present us to him. Very bootless. Enter a messenger. Edmund is dead, my lord. That's but a trifle here. You lords and noble friends know our intent. What comfort to this great decay may come shall be applied. For us we will resign during the life of this old majesty, to him our absolute power. To Edgar and Kent. To you your rights. With boot and such addition as your honours have more than merited. All friends shall taste the wages of their virtue, and all foes the cup of their deservings. And my poor fool is hanged. No, no, no life. Why should a dog or a rat have life, and thou no breath at all? Thou come no more. Never, never, never, never. Pray you undo this button. Thank you, sir. Do you see this? Look on her, look her lips. Look there, look there. He dies. He faints, my lord, my lord. Break heart. I pretty break. Look up, my lord. That's not his ghost. Oh, let him pass. He hates him that would upon the rack of this rough world stretch him out longer. He's gone indeed. Though wonder is he hath endured so long, he but usurped his life. Bear them from hence. Our present business is general woe. To Kent and Edgar. Friends of my soul, you twain rule this realm, and the gourd state sustain. I have a journey, sir, shortly to go. My master calls me. I must not say no. The weight of this sad, sad time we must obey. Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say. The oldest have borne most. We that are young shall never see so much, nor live so long. Exeant with a dead march. End of King Lear by William Shakespeare. Your cast have been, Andy Minter as Lear, King of Britain. Eswa as the King of France. Justin Barrett as the Duke of Burgundy, the Messenger and the Captain. Corey Samuel as the Duke of Cornwall. Christine Lemoine as the Duke of Albany. Denny Sayers as the Earl of Kent. Julian Jameson as the Earl of Gloucester. Simon Taylor as Edgar. John Gonzalez as Edmund. Karen Savage as Curran. Carl Manchester as the Old Man. Scott Walter as the Physician. Sean McGahey as the Fall. Andrew Lebrun as Oswald. Henry Freegon as the Officer. Kara Shalomberg as the Gentleman. Gazena as the Herald. Ophelia Darcy as the First Servant. Esther as the Second Servant. Kirsten Ferreri as the Third Servant and the Knight. Laura Barnes as a Messenger. Goneril was played by Rosalind Wills. Regan by Gemma Blythe. And Cordelia by Christine Hughes. Stage Directions and Production by David Barnes.