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
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 doth not feel, feel your power quickly;
So distribution should undo excess,

And each man have enough. Dost thou know Dover?
Edg. Ay, master.

Glo. There is a cliff, whose high and bending head
Looks fearfully in the confinèd 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.

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,
And of the loyal service of his son,

"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:
What most he should dislike seems pleasant to him;
What like, offensive.

Gon. [to Edm.] 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: ere long you're like to hear,
If you dare venture in your own behalf,

A mistress's command. Wear this; spare speech;

[Giving a favour.
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.
Gon.

My most dear Gloster!

O, the difference of man and man! To thee
A woman's services are due: my fool

Usurps my body.

[Exit Edmund.

Osw.

Madam, here comes my lord.

[Exit.

Enter ALBANY.

O Goneril!

Gon. I have been worth the whistle.
Alb.
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;
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.

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 agèd man,

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!

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,

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
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;
With plumed helm thy slayer begins threats;
Whiles thou, a moral fool, sitt'st still, and criest
"Alack, why does he so?"

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,
A woman's shape doth shield thee.

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;
But not without that harmful stroke which since
Hath pluck'd him after.

Alb.

This shows you are above,
You justicers, that these our nether crimes
So speedily can venge! - But, 0 poor Gloster!
Lost he his other eye?

Mess.

Both, both, my lord. This letter, madam, craves a speedy answer;

"Tis from your sister.

Gon. [aside] One way I like this well;

But being widow, and my Gloster with her,
May all the building in my fancy pluck

Upon my hateful life: another way

The news is not so tart. I'll read, and answer.

[Exit.

Alb. Where was his son when they did take his eyes?
Mess. Come with my lady hither.

Alb.

He'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
Who should express her goodliest. You have seen
Sunshine and rain at once: her smiles and tears
Were like a better day: those happy smilets
That play'd on her ripe lip seem'd not to know
What guests were in her eyes; which parted thence
As pearls from diamonds dropt. In brief, sorrow
Would be a rarity most belov'd, if all
Could so become it.

Kent.

Made she no verbal question?

Gent. Faith, once or twice she heav'd the name of

"father"

Pantingly forth, as if it press'd her heart;

Cried "Sisters, sisters! Shame of ladies! sisters!