KING LEAR. William Shakespeare
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of it.
Glou.
Were all the letters suns, I could not see one.
Edg.
I would not take this from report;—it is,
And my heart breaks at it.
Lear.
Read.
Glou.
What, with the case of eyes?
Lear. O, ho, 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 a light: yet you see how this world goes.
Glou.
I see it feelingly.
Lear. What, art mad? A man may see how the world goes with no eyes. Look with thine ears: see how yond justice rails upon yond simple thief. Hark, in thine ear: change places; and, handy-dandy, which is the justice, which is the thief?—Thou hast seen a farmer’s dog bark at a beggar?
Glou.
Ay, sir.
Lear.
And the creature run from the cur? There thou mightst behold
the great image of authority: a dog’s obeyed in office.—
Thou rascal beadle, hold thy bloody hand!
Why dost thou lash that whore? Strip thine own back;
Thou hotly lust’st to use her in that kind
For which thou whipp’st her. The usurer hangs the cozener.
Through tatter’d clothes small vices do appear;
Robes and furr’d gowns hide all. Plate sin with gold,
And the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks;
Arm it in rags, a pygmy’s straw does pierce it.
None does offend, none.—I say none; I’ll able ‘em:
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.
Edg.
O, matter and impertinency mix’d!
Reason, in madness!
Lear.
If thou wilt weep my fortunes, take my eyes.
I know thee well enough; thy name is Gloster:
Thou must be patient; we came crying hither:
Thou know’st, the first time that we smell the air
We wawl and cry.—I will preach to thee: mark.
Glou.
Alack, alack the day!
Lear.
When we are born, we cry that we are come
To this great stage of fools—This’ a good block:—
It were a delicate stratagem to shoe
A troop of horse with felt: I’ll put’t in proof,;
And when I have stol’n upon these sons-in-law,
Then kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill!
[Enter a Gentleman, with Attendants].
Gent.
O, here he is: lay hand upon him.—Sir,
Your most dear daughter,—
Lear.
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.
Gent.
You shall have anything.
Lear.
No seconds? all myself?
Why, this would make a man a man of salt,
To use his eyes for garden water-pots,
Ay, and for laying Autumn’s dust.
Gent.
Good sir,—
Lear.
I will die bravely, like a smug bridegroom. What!
I will be jovial: come, come, I am a king,
My masters, know you that.
Gent.
You are a royal one, and we obey you.
Lear. Then there’s life in’t. Nay, an you get it, you shall get it by running. Sa, sa, sa, sa!
[Exit running. Attendants follow.]
Gent.
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.
Edg.
Hail, gentle sir.
Gent.
Sir, speed you. What’s your will?
Edg.
Do you hear aught, sir, of a battle toward?
Gent.
Most sure and vulgar: every one hears that
Which can distinguish sound.
Edg.
But, by your favour,
How near’s the other army?
Gent.
Near and on speedy foot; the main descry
Stands on the hourly thought.
Edg.
I thank you sir: that’s all.
Gent.
Though that the queen on special cause is here,
Her army is mov’d on.
Edg.
I thank you, sir.
[Exit Gentleman.]
Glou.
You ever-gentle gods, take my breath from me;
Let not my worser spirit tempt me again
To die before you please!
Edg.
Well pray you, father.
Glou.
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.
Glou.
Hearty thanks:
The bounty and the benison of heaven
To boot, and boot!
[Enter Oswald.]
Osw.
A proclaim’d prize! Most happy!
That eyeless head of thine was first fram’d flesh
To raise my fortunes.—Thou old unhappy traitor,
Briefly thyself remember:—the sword is out
That must destroy thee.
Glou.
Now let thy friendly hand