King Lear
Or whether gasted by the noise I made,
Full suddenly he fled.
GLOUCESTER.
Let him fly far;
Not in this land shall he remain uncaught;
And found—dispatch’d. The noble Duke my master,
My worthy arch and patron, comes tonight:
By his authority I will proclaim it,
That he which finds him shall deserve our thanks,
Bringing the murderous coward to the stake;
He that conceals him, death.
EDMUND.
When I dissuaded him from his intent,
And found him pight to do it, with curst speech
I threaten’d to discover him: he replied,
‘Thou unpossessing bastard! dost thou think,
If I would stand against thee, would the reposal
Of any trust, virtue, or worth in thee
Make thy words faith’d? No: what I should deny
As this I would; ay, though thou didst produce
My very character, I’d turn it all
To thy suggestion, plot, and damned practice:
And thou must make a dullard of the world,
If they not thought the profits of my death
Were very pregnant and potential spurs
To make thee seek it.
GLOUCESTER.
O strange and fast’ned villain!
Would he deny his letter, said he? I never got him.
[_Tucket within._]
Hark, the Duke’s trumpets! I know not why he comes.
All ports I’ll bar; the villain shall not scape;
The Duke must grant me that: besides, his picture
I will send far and near, that all the kingdom
May have due note of him; and of my land,
Loyal and natural boy, I’ll work the means
To make thee capable.
Enter Cornwall, Regan and
Attendants.
CORNWALL.
How now, my noble friend! since I came hither,
Which I can call but now, I have heard strange news.
REGAN.
If it be true, all vengeance comes too short
Which can pursue th’offender. How dost, my lord?
GLOUCESTER.
O madam, my old heart is crack’d, it’s crack’d!
REGAN.
What, did my father’s godson seek your life?
He whom my father nam’d? your Edgar?
GLOUCESTER.
O lady, lady, shame would have it hid!
REGAN.
Was he not companion with the riotous knights
That tend upon my father?
GLOUCESTER.
I know not, madam; ’tis too bad, too bad.
EDMUND.
Yes, madam, he was of that consort.
REGAN.
No marvel then though he were ill affected:
’Tis they have put him on the old man’s death,
To have the expense and waste of his revenues.
I have this present evening from my sister
Been well inform’d of them; and with such cautions
That if they come to sojourn at my house,
I’ll not be there.
CORNWALL.
Nor I, assure thee, Regan.
Edmund, I hear that you have shown your father
A childlike office.
EDMUND.
It was my duty, sir.
GLOUCESTER.
He did bewray his practice; and receiv’d
This hurt you see, striving to apprehend him.
CORNWALL.
Is he pursued?
GLOUCESTER.
Ay, my good lord.
CORNWALL.
If he be taken, he shall never more
Be fear’d of doing harm: make your own purpose,
How in my strength you please. For you, Edmund,
Whose virtue and obedience doth this instant
So much commend itself, you shall be ours:
Natures of such deep trust we shall much need;
You we first seize on.
EDMUND.
I shall serve you, sir, truly, however else.
GLOUCESTER.
For him I thank your grace.
CORNWALL.
You know not why we came to visit you?
REGAN.
Thus out of season, threading dark-ey’d night:
Occasions, noble Gloucester, of some poise,
Wherein we must have use of your advice.
Our father he hath writ, so hath our sister,
Of differences, which I best thought it fit
To answer from our home; the several messengers
From hence attend dispatch. Our good old friend,
Lay comforts to your bosom; and bestow
Your needful counsel to our business,
Which craves the instant use.
GLOUCESTER.
I serve you, madam:
Your graces are right welcome.
[_Exeunt. Flourish._]
SCENE II. Before Gloucester’s Castle
Enter Kent and Oswald,
severally.
OSWALD.
Good dawning to thee, friend: art of this house?
KENT.
Ay.
OSWALD.
Where may we set our horses?
KENT.
I’ the mire.
OSWALD.
Prythee, if thou lov’st me, tell me.
KENT.
I love thee not.
OSWALD.
Why then, I care not for thee.
KENT.
If I had thee in Lipsbury pinfold, I would make thee care for me.
OSWALD.
Why dost thou use me thus? I know thee not.
KENT.
Fellow, I know thee.
OSWALD.
What dost thou know me for?
KENT.
A knave; a rascal; an eater of broken meats; a base, proud,
shallow, beggarly, three-suited, hundred-pound, filthy,
worsted-stocking knave; a lily-livered, action-taking, whoreson,
glass-gazing, super-serviceable, finical rogue;
one trunk-inheriting slave; one that wouldst be a bawd in way of
good service, and art nothing but the composition of a
knave, beggar, coward, pander, and the son and heir of a mongrel
bitch: one whom I will beat into clamorous whining, if thou
deniest the least syllable of thy addition.
OSWALD.
Why, what a monstrous fellow art thou, thus to rail on one that’s
neither known of thee nor knows thee?
KENT.
What a brazen-faced varlet art thou, to deny thou knowest me! Is
it two days ago since I tripped up thy heels and beat thee before
the King? Draw, you rogue: for, though it be night, yet the moon
shines; I’ll make a sop o’ the moonshine of you: draw, you
whoreson cullionly barber-monger, draw!
[_Drawing his sword._]
OSWALD.
Away! I have nothing to do with thee.
KENT.
Draw, you rascal: you come with letters against the King; and
take vanity the puppet’s part against the royalty of her father:
draw, you rogue, or I’ll so carbonado your shanks:—draw, you rascal;
come your ways!
OSWALD.
Help, ho! murder! help!
KENT.
Strike, you slave; stand, rogue, stand; you neat slave, strike!
[_Beating him._]
OSWALD.
Help, ho! murder! murder!
Enter Edmund, Cornwall, Regan,
Gloucester and Servants.
EDMUND.
How now! What’s the matter? Part!
KENT.
With you, goodman boy, if you please: come, I’ll flesh ye; come
on, young master.
GLOUCESTER.
Weapons! arms! What’s the matter here?
CORNWALL.
Keep peace, upon your lives, he dies that strikes again. What is the
matter?
REGAN.
The messengers from our sister and the King.
CORNWALL.
What is your difference? Speak.
OSWALD.
I am scarce in breath, my lord.
KENT.
No marvel, you have so bestirr’d your valour. You cowardly
rascal, nature disclaims in thee; a tailor made thee.
CORNWALL.
Thou art a strange fellow: a tailor make a man?
KENT.
Ay, a tailor, sir: a stonecutter or a painter could not have
made him so ill, though he had been but two years at the trade.
CORNWALL.
Speak yet, how grew your quarrel?
OSWALD.
This ancient ruffian, sir, whose life I have spared at suit of his grey
beard,—
KENT.
Thou whoreson zed! thou unnecessary letter! My lord, if you’ll
give me leave, I will tread this unbolted villain into mortar and
daub the walls of a jakes with him. Spare my grey beard, you wagtail?
CORNWALL.
Peace, sirrah!
You beastly knave, know you no reverence?
KENT.
Yes, sir; but anger hath a privilege.
CORNWALL.
Why art thou angry?
KENT.
That such a slave as this should wear a sword,
Who wears no honesty. Such smiling rogues as these,
Like rats, oft bite the holy cords a-twain
Which are too intrince t’unloose; smooth every passion
That in the natures of their lords rebel;
Bring oil to fire, snow to their colder moods;
Renege, affirm, and turn their halcyon beaks
With every gale and vary of their masters,
Knowing naught, like dogs, but following.
A plague upon your epileptic visage!
Smile you my speeches, as I were a fool?
Goose, if I had you upon Sarum plain,
I’d drive ye cackling home to Camelot.
CORNWALL.
What, art thou mad, old fellow?
GLOUCESTER.
How fell you out? Say that.
KENT.
No contraries hold more antipathy
Than I and such a knave.
CORNWALL.
Why dost thou call him knave? What is his fault?
KENT.
His countenance likes me not.
CORNWALL.
No more perchance does mine, or his, or hers.
KENT.
Sir, ’tis my occupation to be plain:
I have seen better faces in my time
Than stands on any shoulder that I see
Before me at this instant.
CORNWALL.
This is some fellow
Who, having been prais’d for bluntness, doth affect
A saucy roughness, and constrains the garb
Quite from his nature: he cannot flatter, he,
An honest mind and plain, he must speak truth!
An they will take it, so; if not, he’s plain.
These kind of knaves I know which in this plainness
Harbour more craft and more corrupter ends
Than twenty silly-ducking observants
That stretch their duties nicely.
KENT.
Sir, in good faith, in sincere verity,
Under th’allowance of your great aspect,
Whose influence, like the wreath of radiant fire
On flickering Phoebus’ front,—
CORNWALL.
What mean’st by this?
KENT.
To go out of my dialect, which you discommend so much. I know,
sir, I am no flatterer: he that beguiled you in a plain accent
was a plain knave; which, for my part, I will not be, though I
should win your displeasure to entreat me to’t.
CORNWALL.
What was the offence you gave him?
OSWALD.
I never gave him any:
It pleas’d the King his master very late
To strike at me, upon his misconstruction;
When he, compact, and flattering his displeasure,
Tripp’d me behind; being down, insulted, rail’d
And put upon him such a deal of man,
That worthied him, got praises of the King
For him attempting who was self-subdu’d;
And, in the fleshment of this dread exploit,
Drew on me here again.
KENT.
None of these rogues and cowards
But Ajax is their fool.
CORNWALL.
Fetch forth the stocks!
You stubborn ancient knave, you reverent braggart,
We’ll teach you.
KENT.
Sir, I am too old to learn:
Call not your stocks for me: I serve the King;
On whose employment I was sent to you:
You shall do small respect, show too bold malice
Against the grace and person of my master,
Stocking his messenger.
CORNWALL.
Fetch forth the stocks!
As I have life and honour, there shall he sit till noon.
REGAN.
Till noon! Till night, my lord; and all night too!
KENT.
Why, madam, if I were your father’s dog,
You should not use me so.
REGAN.
Sir, being his knave, I will.
[_Stocks brought out._]
CORNWALL.
This is a fellow of the selfsame colour
Our sister speaks of. Come, bring away the stocks!
GLOUCESTER.
Let me beseech your grace not to do so:
His fault is much, and the good King his master
Will check him for’t: your purpos’d low correction
Is such as basest and contemned’st wretches
For pilferings and most common trespasses,
Are punish’d with. The King must take it ill
That he, so slightly valued in his messenger,
Should have him thus restrained.
CORNWALL.
I’ll answer that.
REGAN.
My sister may receive it much more worse,
To have her gentleman abus’d, assaulted,
For following her affairs. Put in his legs.
[_Kent is put in the
stocks._]
CORNWALL.
Come, my good lord, away.
[_Exeunt all but Gloucester and Kent._]
GLOUCESTER.
I am sorry for thee, friend; ’tis the Duke’s pleasure,
Whose disposition, all the world well knows,
Will not be rubb’d nor stopp’d; I’ll entreat for thee.
KENT.
Pray do not, sir: I have watch’d, and travell’d hard;
Some time I shall sleep out, the rest I’ll whistle.
A good man’s fortune may grow out at heels:
Give you good morrow!
GLOUCESTER.
The Duke’s to blame in this: ’twill be ill taken.
[_Exit._]
KENT.
Good King, that must approve the common saw,
Thou out of heaven’s benediction com’st
To the warm sun.
Approach, thou beacon to this under globe,
That by thy comfortable beams I may
Peruse this letter. Nothing almost sees miracles
But misery. I know ’tis from Cordelia,
Who hath most fortunately been inform’d
Of my obscured course. And shall find time
From this enormous state, seeking to give
Losses their remedies. All weary and o’erwatch’d,
Take vantage, heavy eyes, not to behold
This shameful lodging.
Fortune, good night: smile once more, turn thy wheel!
[_He sleeps._]