Part 104

EDGAR. This is the foul fiend Flibbertigibbet: he begins at curfew, and walks till the first cock; he gives the web and the pin, squints the eye, and makes the harelip; mildews the white wheat, and hurts the poor creature of earth. Swithold footed thrice the old; He met the nightmare, and her nine-fold; Bid her alight and her troth plight, And aroint thee, witch, aroint thee!

KENT. How fares your grace?

Enter Gloucester with a torch.

LEAR. What’s he?

KENT. Who’s there? What is’t you seek?

GLOUCESTER. What are you there? Your names?

EDGAR. Poor Tom; that eats the swimming frog, the toad, the todpole, the wall-newt and the water; that in the fury of his heart, when the foul fiend rages, eats cow-dung for sallets; swallows the old rat and the ditch-dog; drinks the green mantle 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 weapon to wear. But mice and rats and such small deer, Have been Tom’s food for seven long year. Beware my follower. Peace, Smulkin; peace, thou fiend!

GLOUCESTER. What, hath your grace no better company?

EDGAR. The prince of darkness is a gentleman: Modo he’s call’d, and Mahu.

GLOUCESTER. Our flesh and blood, my lord, is grown so vile That it doth hate what gets it.

EDGAR. Poor Tom’s a-cold.

GLOUCESTER. Go in with me: my duty cannot suffer T’obey in all your daughters’ hard commands; Though their injunction be to bar my doors, And let this tyrannous night take hold upon you, Yet have I ventur’d to come seek you out, And bring you where both fire and food is ready.

LEAR. First let me talk with this philosopher. What is the cause of thunder?

KENT. Good my lord, take his offer; go into the house.

LEAR. I’ll talk a word with this same learned Theban. What is your study?

EDGAR. How to prevent the fiend and to kill vermin.

LEAR. Let me ask you one word in private.

KENT. Importune him once more to go, my lord; His wits begin t’unsettle.

GLOUCESTER. Canst thou blame him? His daughters seek his death. Ah, that good Kent! He said it would be thus, poor banish’d man! Thou sayest the King grows mad; I’ll tell thee, friend, I am almost mad myself. I had a son, Now outlaw’d from my blood; he sought my life But lately, very late: I lov’d him, friend, No father his son dearer: true to tell thee,

[_Storm continues._]

The grief hath craz’d my wits. What a night’s this! I do beseech your grace.

LEAR. O, cry you mercy, sir. Noble philosopher, your company.

EDGAR. Tom’s a-cold.

GLOUCESTER. In, fellow, there, into the hovel; keep thee warm.

LEAR. Come, let’s in all.

KENT. This way, my lord.

LEAR. With him; I will keep still with my philosopher.

KENT. Good my lord, soothe him; let him take the fellow.

GLOUCESTER. Take him you on.

KENT. Sirrah, come on; go along with us.

LEAR. Come, good Athenian.

GLOUCESTER. No words, no words, hush.

EDGAR. Child Rowland to the dark tower came, His word was still—Fie, foh, and fum, I smell the blood of a British man.

[_Exeunt._]

SCENE V. A Room in Gloucester’s Castle

Enter Cornwall and Edmund.

CORNWALL. I will have my revenge ere I depart his house.

EDMUND. How, my lord, I may be censured, that nature thus gives way to loyalty, something fears me to think of.

CORNWALL. 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 reproveable badness in himself.

EDMUND. 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. O heavens! that this treason were not; or not I the detector!

CORNWALL. Go with me to the Duchess.

EDMUND. If the matter of this paper be certain, you have mighty business in hand.

CORNWALL. True or false, it hath made thee Earl of Gloucester. Seek out where thy father is, that he may be ready for our apprehension.

EDMUND. [_Aside._] If I find him comforting the King, it will stuff his suspicion more fully. I will persever in my course of loyalty, though the conflict be sore between that and my blood.

CORNWALL. I will lay trust upon thee; and thou shalt find a dearer father in my love.

[_Exeunt._]

SCENE VI. A Chamber in a Farmhouse adjoining the Castle

Enter Gloucester, Lear, Kent, Fool and Edgar.

GLOUCESTER. Here is better than the open air; take it thankfully. I will piece out the comfort with what addition I can: I will not be long from you.

KENT. All the power of his wits have given way to his impatience:— the gods reward your kindness!

[_Exit Gloucester._]

EDGAR. Frateretto calls me; and tells me Nero is an angler in the lake of darkness. Pray, innocent, and beware the foul fiend.

FOOL. Prithee, nuncle, tell me whether a madman be a gentleman or a yeoman.

LEAR. A king, a king!

FOOL. 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.

LEAR. To have a thousand with red burning spits Come hissing in upon ’em.

EDGAR. The foul fiend bites my back.

FOOL. He’s mad that trusts in the tameness of a wolf, a horse’s health, a boy’s love, or a whore’s oath.

LEAR. It shall be done; I will arraign them straight. [_To Edgar._] Come, sit thou here, most learned justicer; [_To the Fool._] Thou, sapient sir, sit here. Now, you she-foxes!—

EDGAR. Look, where he stands and glares! Want’st thou eyes at trial, madam? Come o’er the bourn, Bessy, to me.

FOOL. Her boat hath a leak, And she must not speak Why she dares not come over to thee.

EDGAR. The foul fiend haunts poor Tom in the voice of a nightingale. Hoppedance cries in Tom’s belly for two white herring. Croak not, black angel; I have no food for thee.

KENT. How do you, sir? Stand you not so amaz’d; Will you lie down and rest upon the cushions?

LEAR. 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 yokefellow of equity, Bench by his side. [_To Kent._] You are o’ the commission, Sit you too.

EDGAR. Let us deal justly. Sleepest or wakest thou, jolly shepherd? Thy sheep be in the corn; And for one blast of thy minikin mouth Thy sheep shall take no harm. Purr! the cat is grey.

LEAR. Arraign her first; ’tis Goneril. I here take my oath before this honourable assembly, she kicked the poor King her father.

FOOL. Come hither, mistress. Is your name Goneril?

LEAR. She cannot deny it.

FOOL. Cry you mercy, I took you for a joint-stool.

LEAR. And here’s another, whose warp’d looks proclaim What store her heart is made on. Stop her there! Arms, arms! sword! fire! Corruption in the place! False justicer, why hast thou let her ’scape?

EDGAR. Bless thy five wits!

KENT. O pity! Sir, where is the patience now That you so oft have boasted to retain?

EDGAR. [_Aside._] My tears begin to take his part so much They mar my counterfeiting.

LEAR. The little dogs and all, Trey, Blanch, and Sweetheart, see, they bark at me.

EDGAR. Tom will throw his head at them. Avaunt, you curs! Be thy mouth or black or white, Tooth that poisons if it bite; Mastiff, greyhound, mongrel grim, Hound or spaniel, brach or him, Or bobtail tike 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, de, de, de. Sessa! Come, march to wakes and fairs and market towns. Poor Tom, thy horn is dry.

LEAR. Then let them anatomize Regan; see what breeds about her heart. Is there any cause in nature that makes these hard hearts? [_To Edgar._] 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.

KENT. Now, good my lord, lie here and rest awhile.

LEAR. Make no noise, make no noise; draw the curtains. So, so. We’ll go to supper i’ the morning.

FOOL. And I’ll go to bed at noon.

Enter Gloucester.

GLOUCESTER. Come hither, friend; Where is the King my master?

KENT. Here, sir; but trouble him not, his wits are gone.

GLOUCESTER. 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’t 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.

KENT. Oppressed nature sleeps. This rest might yet have balm’d thy broken sinews, Which, if convenience will not allow, Stand in hard cure. Come, help to bear thy master; [_To the Fool._] Thou must not stay behind.

GLOUCESTER. Come, come, away!

[_Exeunt Kent, Gloucester and the Fool bearing off Lear._]

EDGAR. When we our betters see bearing our woes, We scarcely think our miseries our foes. Who alone suffers, suffers most i’ the mind, Leaving free things and happy shows behind: But then the mind much sufferance 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 childed as I fathered! Tom, away! Mark the high noises; and thyself bewray, When false opinion, whose wrong thoughts defile thee, In thy just proof repeals and reconciles thee. What will hap more tonight, safe ’scape the King! Lurk, lurk.

[_Exit._]

SCENE VII. A Room in Gloucester’s Castle

Enter Cornwall, Regan, Goneril, Edmund and Servants.

CORNWALL. Post speedily to my lord your husband, show him this letter: the army of France is landed. Seek out the traitor Gloucester.

[_Exeunt some of the Servants._]

REGAN. Hang him instantly.

GONERIL. Pluck out his eyes.

CORNWALL. Leave him to my displeasure. Edmund, keep you our sister company: the revenges we are bound to take upon your traitorous 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?

OSWALD. My lord of Gloucester hath convey’d 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 dependants, Are gone with him toward Dover: where they boast To have well-armed friends.

CORNWALL. Get horses for your mistress.

GONERIL. Farewell, sweet lord, and sister.

CORNWALL. Edmund, farewell.

[_Exeunt Goneril, Edmund and Oswald._]

Go seek the traitor Gloucester, Pinion him like a thief, bring him before us.

[_Exeunt other 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. Who’s there? The traitor?

Enter Gloucester and Servants.

REGAN. Ingrateful fox! ’tis he.

CORNWALL. Bind fast his corky arms.

GLOUCESTER. What mean your graces? Good my friends, consider you are my guests. Do me no foul play, friends.

CORNWALL. Bind him, I say.

[_Servants bind him._]

REGAN. Hard, hard. O filthy traitor!

GLOUCESTER. Unmerciful lady as you are, I’m none.

CORNWALL. To this chair bind him. Villain, thou shalt find—

[_Regan plucks his beard._]

GLOUCESTER. By the kind gods, ’tis most ignobly done To pluck me by the beard.

REGAN. So white, and such a traitor!

GLOUCESTER. Naughty lady, These hairs which thou dost ravish from my chin Will quicken, and accuse thee. I am your host: With robber’s hands my hospitable favours You should not ruffle thus. What will you do?

CORNWALL. Come, sir, what letters had you late from France?

REGAN. Be simple answer’d, for we know the truth.

CORNWALL. And what confederacy have you with the traitors, Late footed in the kingdom?

REGAN. To whose hands have you sent the lunatic King? Speak.

GLOUCESTER. I have a letter guessingly set down, Which came from one that’s of a neutral heart, And not from one oppos’d.

CORNWALL. Cunning.

REGAN. And false.

CORNWALL. Where hast thou sent the King?

GLOUCESTER. To Dover.

REGAN. Wherefore to Dover? Wast thou not charg’d at peril,—

CORNWALL. Wherefore to Dover? Let him first answer that.

GLOUCESTER. I am tied to the stake, and I must stand the course.

REGAN. Wherefore to Dover, sir?

GLOUCESTER. Because I would not see thy cruel nails Pluck out his poor old eyes; nor thy fierce sister In his anointed flesh stick boarish fangs. The sea, with such a storm as his bare head In hell-black night endur’d, would have buoy’d up, And quench’d the stelled fires; Yet, poor old heart, he holp the heavens to rain. If wolves had at thy gate howl’d that stern time, Thou shouldst have said, ‘Good porter, turn the key.’ All cruels else subscrib’d: but I shall see The winged vengeance overtake such children.

CORNWALL. See’t shalt thou never. Fellows, hold the chair. Upon these eyes of thine I’ll set my foot.

[_Gloucester is held down in his chair, while Cornwall plucks out one of his eyes and sets his foot on it._]

GLOUCESTER. He that will think to live till he be old, Give me some help!—O cruel! O you gods!

REGAN. One side will mock another; the other too!

CORNWALL. If you see vengeance—

FIRST SERVANT. Hold your hand, my lord: I have serv’d you ever since I was a child; But better service have I never done you Than now to bid you hold.

REGAN. How now, you dog!

FIRST SERVANT. If you did wear a beard upon your chin, I’d shake it on this quarrel. What do you mean?

CORNWALL. My villain?

[_Draws, and runs at him._]

FIRST SERVANT. Nay, then, come on, and take the chance of anger.

[_Draws. They fight. Cornwall is wounded._]

REGAN. [_To another servant._] Give me thy sword. A peasant stand up thus?

[_Snatches a sword, comes behind, and stabs him._]

FIRST SERVANT. O, I am slain! My lord, you have one eye left To see some mischief on him. O!

[_Dies._]

CORNWALL. Lest it see more, prevent it. Out, vile jelly! Where is thy lustre now?

[_Tears out Gloucester’s other eye and throws it on the ground._]

GLOUCESTER. All dark and comfortless. Where’s my son Edmund? Edmund, enkindle all the sparks of nature To quit this horrid act.

REGAN. Out, treacherous villain! Thou call’st on him that hates thee: it was he That made the overture of thy treasons to us; Who is too good to pity thee.

GLOUCESTER. O my follies! Then Edgar was abus’d. Kind gods, forgive me that, and prosper him!

REGAN. Go thrust him out at gates, and let him smell His way to Dover. How is’t, my lord? How look you?

CORNWALL. I have receiv’d a hurt: follow me, lady. Turn out that eyeless villain. Throw this slave Upon the dunghill. Regan, I bleed apace: Untimely comes this hurt: give me your arm.

[_Exit Cornwall, led by Regan; Servants unbind Gloucester and lead him out._]

SECOND SERVANT. I’ll never care what wickedness I do, If this man come to good.

THIRD SERVANT. If she live long, And in the end meet the old course of death, Women will all turn monsters.

SECOND SERVANT. Let’s follow the old Earl, and get the bedlam To lead him where he would: his roguish madness Allows itself to anything.

THIRD SERVANT. Go thou: I’ll fetch some flax and whites of eggs To apply to his bleeding face. Now heaven help him!

[_Exeunt._]

ACT IV

SCENE I. The heath

Enter Edgar.

EDGAR. Yet better thus, and known to be contemn’d, Than still contemn’d and flatter’d. To be worst, The lowest and most dejected thing of fortune, Stands still in esperance, lives not in fear: The lamentable change is from the best; The worst returns to laughter. Welcome then, Thou unsubstantial air that I embrace; The wretch that thou hast 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, O world! But that thy strange mutations make us hate thee, Life would not yield to age.

OLD MAN. O my good lord, I have been your tenant, and your father’s tenant these fourscore years.

GLOUCESTER. Away, get thee away; good friend, be gone. Thy comforts can do me no good at all; Thee they may hurt.

OLD MAN. You cannot see your way.

GLOUCESTER. I have no way, and therefore want no eyes; I stumbled when I saw. Full oft ’tis seen Our means secure us, and our mere defects Prove our commodities. O 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!

OLD MAN. How now! Who’s there?

EDGAR. [_Aside._] O gods! Who is’t can say ‘I am at the worst’? I am worse than e’er I was.

OLD MAN. ’Tis poor mad Tom.

EDGAR. [_Aside._] And worse I may be yet. The worst is not So long as we can say ‘This is the worst.’

OLD MAN. Fellow, where goest?

GLOUCESTER. Is it a beggar-man?

OLD MAN. Madman, and beggar too.

GLOUCESTER. He has some reason, else he could not beg. I’ 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.

EDGAR. [_Aside._] How should this be? Bad is the trade that must play fool to sorrow, Angering itself and others. Bless thee, master!

GLOUCESTER. Is that the naked fellow?

OLD MAN. Ay, my lord.

GLOUCESTER. Then prithee get thee away. If for my sake Thou wilt o’ertake us hence a mile or twain, I’ the way toward Dover, do it for ancient love, And bring some covering for this naked soul, Which I’ll entreat to lead me.

OLD MAN. Alack, sir, he is mad.

GLOUCESTER. ’Tis the time’s plague when madmen lead the blind. Do as I bid thee, or rather do thy pleasure; Above the rest, be gone.

OLD MAN. I’ll bring him the best ’parel that I have, Come on’t what will.

[_Exit._]

GLOUCESTER. Sirrah naked fellow.

EDGAR. Poor Tom’s a-cold. [_Aside._] I cannot daub it further.

GLOUCESTER. Come hither, fellow.

EDGAR. [_Aside._] And yet I must. Bless thy sweet eyes, they bleed.

GLOUCESTER. Know’st thou the way to Dover?

EDGAR. Both stile and gate, horseway and footpath. 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; Hobbididence, prince of darkness; Mahu, of stealing; Modo, of murder; Flibbertigibbet, of mopping and mowing, who since possesses chambermaids and waiting women. So, bless thee, master!

GLOUCESTER. Here, take this purse, thou whom the heaven’s 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. Dost thou know Dover?

EDGAR. Ay, master.

GLOUCESTER. 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.

EDGAR. Give me thy arm: Poor Tom shall lead thee.

[_Exeunt._]

SCENE II. Before the Duke of Albany’s Palace

Enter Goneril, Edmund; Oswald meeting them.

GONERIL. Welcome, my lord. I marvel our mild husband Not met us on the way. Now, where’s your master?

OSWALD. 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 Gloucester’s treachery And of the loyal service of his son 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.

GONERIL. [_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 names at home, and give the distaff Into my husband’s hands. This trusty servant Shall pass between us. Ere long you are like to hear, If you dare venture in your own behalf, A mistress’s command. [_Giving a favour._] Wear this; spare speech; Decline your head. This kiss, if it durst speak, Would stretch thy spirits up into the air. Conceive, and fare thee well.

EDMUND. Yours in the ranks of death.

[_Exit Edmund._]

GONERIL. My most dear Gloucester. O, the difference of man and man! To thee a woman’s services are due; My fool usurps my body.

OSWALD. Madam, here comes my lord.

[_Exit._]

Enter Albany.

GONERIL. I have been worth the whistle.

ALBANY. O Goneril! 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 bordered certain in itself. She that herself will sliver and disbranch From her material sap, perforce must wither And come to deadly use.

GONERIL. No more; the text is foolish.

ALBANY. 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 aged man, Whose reverence even 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 benefitted! 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.

GONERIL. 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 state begins to threat, Whilst thou, a moral fool, sitt’st still, and criest ‘Alack, why does he so?’

ALBANY. See thyself, devil! Proper deformity seems not in the fiend So horrid as in woman.

GONERIL. O vain fool!

ALBANY. Thou changed and self-cover’d thing, for shame! Be-monster not thy feature! Were’t my fitness To let these hands obey my blood, They are apt enough to dislocate and tear Thy flesh and bones. Howe’er thou art a fiend, A woman’s shape doth shield thee.

GONERIL. Marry, your manhood, mew!

Enter a Messenger.

ALBANY. What news?

MESSENGER. O, my good lord, the Duke of Cornwall’s dead; Slain by his servant, going to put out The other eye of Gloucester.

ALBANY. Gloucester’s eyes!

MESSENGER. 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.

ALBANY. This shows you are above, You justicers, that these our nether crimes So speedily can venge! But, O poor Gloucester! Lost he his other eye?

MESSENGER. Both, both, my lord. This letter, madam, craves a speedy answer; ’Tis from your sister.

GONERIL. [_Aside._] One way I like this well; But being widow, and my Gloucester 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._]

ALBANY. Where was his son when they did take his eyes?

MESSENGER. Come with my lady hither.

ALBANY. He is not here.

MESSENGER. No, my good lord; I met him back again.

ALBANY. Knows he the wickedness?

MESSENGER. Ay, my good lord. ’Twas he inform’d against him; And quit the house on purpose, that their punishment Might have the freer course.