Glo. Now, good sir, what are you? Edg. A most poor man, made tame to fortune's blows; Who, by the art of known and feeling sorrows, Am pregnant to good pity. Give me your hand, I'll lead you to some biding. Glo. Hearty thanks: The bounty and the benison of heaven To boot, and boot! Osw. Enter OSWALD. A proclaim'd prize! Most happy! That eyeless head of thine was first fram'd flesh To raise fortunes. Put strength enough to it. Thou old unhappy traitor, Now let thy friendly hand [Edgar interposes. Wherefore, bold peasant, Dar'st thou support a publish'd traitor? Hence; Like hold on thee. Let go his arm. Edg. Chill not let go, zir, without vurther 'casion. Edg. Good gentleman, go your gait, and let poor volk pass. An chud ha' been zwaggered out of my life, 'twould not ha' been zo long as 'tis by a vortnight. Nay, come not near the old man; keep out, che vor ye, or ise try whether your costard or my ballow be the harder: chill be plain with you. Osw. Out, dunghill! Edg. Chill pick your teeth, zir: come; no matter vor your foins. [They fight, and Edgar knocks him down. villain, take my purse: Osw. Slave, thou hast slain me: [Dies. Edg. I know thee well: a serviceable villain; As duteous to the vices of thy mistress Glo. What, is he dead? Let's see his pockets: these letters that he speaks of 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: [Reads] "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 gaol; from the loathed warmth whereof deliver me, and supply the place for your labour. "Your-wife, so I would say affectionate servant, O undistinguish'd space of woman's will! And the exchange my brother! - Here, in the sands, Of murderous lechers: and, in the mature time, Of the death-practis'd duke: for him 'tis well That of thy death and business I can tell. Glo. The king is mad: how stiff is my vile sense, So should my thoughts be sever'd from my griefs, The knowledge of themselves. Edg. Give me your hand: Far off, methinks, I hear the beaten drum: [Drum afar off. [Exeunt. SCENE VII. A tent in the French camp. LEAR on a bed asleep, soft music playing; Doctor, Gentleman, and others attending.`. Enter CORDELIA and KENT. Cor. O thou good Kent, how shall I live and work, To match thy goodness? My life will be too short, And every measure fail me. Kent. To be acknowledg'd, madam, is o'erpaid. All my reports go with the modest truth; Nor more nor clipp'd, but so. Cor. Be better suited: These weeds are memories of those worser hours: Kent. Till time and I think meet. Cor. Then be't so, my good lord. - [To the Doctor] How does the king? Doct. Madam, sleeps still. Cor. O you kind gods, Cure this great breach in his abusèd nature! Of this child-changed father! Doct. So please your majesty That we may wake the king: he hath slept long. Cor. Be govern'd by your knowledge, and proceed I' the sway of your own will. Is he array'd? Gent. Ay, madam; in the heaviness of sleep We put fresh garments on him. Doct. Be by, good madam, when we do awake him; I doubt not of his temperance. Cor. Very well. Doct. Please you, draw near. —Louder the music there! Thy medicine on my lips; and let this kiss Repair those violent harms that my two sisters Kent. Kind and dear princess! Cor. Had you not been their father, these white flakes Had challeng'd pity of them. Was this a face To be oppos'd against the warring winds? Of quick, cross lightning? to watch poor perdu! With this thin helm? Mine enemy's dog, He wakes; speak to him. Doct. Madam, do you; 'tis fittest. Cor. How does my royal lord? how fares your majesty? Lear. You do me wrong to take me out o' 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. Cor. Sir, do you know me? Lear. You are a spirit, I know: when did you die? Doct. He's scarce awake: let him alone awhile. Lear. Where have I been? Where am I? - Fair daylight? I'm mightily abus'd. I should e'en die with pity, To see another thus. — I know not what to say. I will not swear these are my hands: Cor. O, look upon me, sir, And hold your hands in benediction o'er me: Lear. Pray, do not mock me: I am a very foolish fond old man, Fourscore and upward, not an hour more nor less; I fear I am not in my perfect mind. Methinks I should know you, and know this man; To be my child Cordelia. Cor. Lear. 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 Cor. Lear. Am I in France? Lear. Do not abuse me. No cause, no cause. In your own kingdom, sir. Doct. Be comforted, good madam: the great rage, Cor. Will't please your highness walk? You must bear with me: Pray you now, forget and forgive: I'm old and foolish. [Exeunt all except Kent and Gentleman. Gent. Holds it true, sir, that the Duke of Cornwall was so slain? Kent. Most certain, sir. Gent. Who is conductor of his people? Kent. As 'tis said, the bastard son of Gloster. Gent. They say Edgar, his banished son, is with the Earl of Kent in Germany. |