Edg. [aside] And yet I must.- Bless thy sweet eyes, they bleed.
Glou. Know"st thou the way to Dover?
Edg. Both stile and gate, horseway and footpath. Poor Tom hath been scar"d 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 l.u.s.t, as Obidicut; Hobbididence, prince of dumbness; Mahu, of stealing; Modo, of murder; Flibbertigibbet, of mopping and mowing, who since possesses chambermaids and waiting women. So, bless thee, master!
Glou. 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 l.u.s.t-dieted man, That slaves your ordinance, that will not see Because he does not feel, feel your pow"r quickly; So distribution should undo excess, And each man have enough. Dost thou know Dover?
Edg. Ay, master.
Glou. 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.
Edg. Give me thy arm.
Poor Tom shall lead thee.
Exeunt.
Scene II.
Before the Duke of Albany"s Palace.
Enter Goneril and [Edmund the] b.a.s.t.a.r.d.
Gon. Welcome, my lord. I marvel our mild husband Not met us on the way.
Enter [Oswald the] Steward.
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 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.
Gon. [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 pow"rs.
I must change arms at home and give the distaff Into my husband"s hands. This trusty servant Shall pa.s.s between us. Ere long you are like to hear (If you dare venture in your own behalf) A mistress"s command. Wear this. [Gives a favour.]
Spare speech.
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! Exit.
Gon. My most dear Gloucester!
O, the difference of man and man!
To thee a woman"s services are due; My fool usurps my body.
Osw. Madam, here comes my lord. Exit.
Enter Albany.
Gon. I have been worth the whistle.
Alb. O Goneril, You are not worth the dust which the rude wind Blows in your face! I fear your disposition.
That nature which contemns it 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.
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 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 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 state begins to threat, Whiles thou, a moral fool, sit"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.
Gon. O vain fool!
Alb. Thou changed and self-cover"d thing, for shame!
Bemonster 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.
Gon. Marry, your manhood mew!
Enter a Gentleman.
Alb. What news?
Gent. O, my good lord, the Duke of Cornwall "s dead, Slain by his servant, going to put out The other eye of Gloucester.
Alb. Gloucester"s eyes?
Gent. 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 O poor Gloucester!
Lose he his other eye?
Gent. 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 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.
Alb. Where was his son when they did take his eyes?
Gent. Come with my lady hither.
Alb. He is not here.
Gent. No, my good lord; I met him back again.
Alb. Knows he the wickedness?
Gent. 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. Gloucester, 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?