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! Glo. Here, take this purse, thou whom the heavens' plagues Have humbled to all strokes: that I am wretched That slaves your ordinance, that will not see And each man have enough. Dost thou know Dover? Glo. There is a cliff, whose high and bending head Bring me but to the very brim of it, And I'll repair the misery thou dost bear With something rich about me: from that place I shall no leading need. Edg. Give me thy arm: Poor Tom shall lead thee. SCENE II. Before the Duke of Albany's palace. Enter GONERIL and EDMUND. [Exeunt. Gon. Welcome, my lord: I marvel our mild husband Not met us on the way. Enter OSWALD. Now, where's your master? 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 Gloster's treachery, When I inform'd him, then he call'd me sot, And told me I had turn'd the wrong side out: Gon. [to Edm.] Then shall you go no further. That dares not undertake: he'll not feel wrongs, I must change arms at home, and give the distaff A mistress's command. Wear this; spare speech; [Giving a favour. Edm. Yours in the ranks of death. My most dear Gloster! O, the difference of man and man! To thee Usurps my body. [Exit Edmund. Osw. Madam, here comes my lord. [Exit. Enter ALBANY. O Goneril! Gon. I have been worth the whistle. That nature which contemns its origin Gon. No more; the text is foolish. Alb. Wisdom and goodness to the vile seem vile: Whose reverence the head-lugg'd bear would lick, If that the heavens do not their visible spirits Humanity must perforce prey on itself, Like monsters of the deep. Gon. Milk-liver'd man! That bear'st a cheek for blows, a head for wrongs; Ere they have done their mischief. Where's thy drum? Alb. See thyself, devil! Proper deformity seems not in the fiend So horrid as in woman. Alb. Thou changèd and self-cover'd thing, for shame Be-monster not thy feature. Were 't my fitness To let these hands obey my blood, They're apt enough to dislocate and tear Thy flesh and bones: - howe'er thou art a fiend, Gon. Marry, your manhood now! Enter a Messenger. Alb. What news? Mess. O, my good lord, the Duke of Cornwall's dead; Slain by his servant, going to put out The other eye of Gloster. Alb. Gloster's eyes! Mess. A servant that he bred, thrill'd with remorse, Oppos'd against the act, bending his sword To his great master; who, thereat enrag'd, Flew on him, and amongst them fell'd him dead; Alb. This shows you are above, Mess. Both, both, my lord. This letter, madam, craves a speedy answer; "Tis from your sister. Gon. [aside] One way I like this well; But being widow, and my Gloster with her, Upon my hateful life: another way The news is not so tart. I'll read, and answer. [Exit. Alb. Where was his son when they did take his eyes? Alb. He's not here. Mess. No, my good lord; I met him back again. Alb. Knows he the wickedness? Mess. Ay, my good lord; 'twas he inform'd against him; And quit the house on purpose, that their punishment Might have the freer course. Alb. Gloster, I live To thank thee for the love thou show'dst the king, And to revenge thine eyes. Come hither, friend: Tell me what more thou know'st. [Exeunt. SCENE III. The French camp near Dover. Enter KENT and a Gentleman. Kent. Why the King of France is so suddenly gone back know you the reason? Gent. Something he left imperfect in the state, which since his coming forth is thought of; which imports to the kingdom so much fear and danger, that his personal return was most required and necessary. Kent. Who hath he left behind him general? Gent. The 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; And now and then an ample tear trill'd down Her delicate cheek: it seem'd she was a queen Over her passion; who, most rebel-like, Sought to be king o'er her. Kent. O, then it mov'd her. Gent. Not to a rage: patience and sorrow strove Kent. Made she no verbal question? Gent. Faith, once or twice she heav'd the name of "father" Pantingly forth, as if it press'd her heart; Cried "Sisters, sisters! Shame of ladies! sisters! |