Текст книги "William Shakespeare: The Complete Works 2nd Edition"

Автор книги: William Shakespeare

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Sc. 3 Enter Gonoril and Oswald, her gentleman

GONORIL

Did my father strike my gentleman

For chiding of his fool?

OSWALD Yes, madam.

GONORIL

By day and night he wrongs me. Every hour

He flashes into one gross crime or other

That sets us all at odds. I’ll not endure it.

His knights grow riotous, and himself upbraids us

On every trifle. When he returns from hunting

I will not speak with him. Say I am sick.

If you come slack of former services

You shall do well; the fault of it I’ll answer.

⌈Hunting horns within⌉

OSWALD He’s coming, madam. I hear him.

GONORIL

Put on what weary negligence you please,

You and your fellow servants. I’d have it come in

question.

If he dislike it, let him to our sister,

Whose mind and mine I know in that are one,

Not to be overruled. Idle old man,

That still would manage those authorities

That he hath given away! Now, by my life,

Old fools are babes again, and must be used

With checks as flatteries, when they are seen abused.

Remember what I tell you.

OSWALD Very well, madam.

GONORIL

And let his knights have colder looks among you.

What grows of it, no matter. Advise your fellows so.

I would breed from hence occasions, and I shall,

That I may speak. I’ll write straight to my sister

To hold my very course. Go prepare for dinner.

Exeunt severally

Sc. 4 Enter the Earl of Kent, disguised

KENT

If but as well I other accents borrow

That can my speech diffuse, my good intent

May carry through itself to that full issue

For which I razed my likeness. Now, banished Kent,

If thou canst serve where thou dost stand condemned,

Thy master, whom thou lov’st, shall find thee full of

labour.

Enter King Lear and servants from hunting

LEAR Let me not stay a jot for dinner. Go get it ready.

⌈Exit one⌉

(To Kent) How now, what art thou?

KENT A man, sir.

LEAR What dost thou profess? What wouldst thou with us?

KENT I do profess to be no less than I seem, to serve him truly that will put me in trust, to love him that is honest, to converse with him that is wise and says little, to fear judgement, to fight when I cannot choose, and to eat no fish.

LEAR What art thou?

KENT A very honest-hearted fellow, and as poor as the King.

LEAR If thou be as poor for a subject as he is for a king, thou’rt poor enough. What wouldst thou?

KENT Service.

LEAR Who wouldst thou serve?

KENT You.

LEAR Dost thou know me, fellow?

KENT No, sir, but you have that in your countenance which I would fain call master.

LEAR What’s that?

KENT Authority.

LEAR What services canst do?

KENT I can keep honest counsel, ride, run, mar a curious tale in telling it, and deliver a plain message bluntly. That which ordinary men are fit for I am qualified in; and the best of me is diligence.

LEAR How old art thou?

KENT Not so young to love a woman for singing, nor so old to dote on her for anything. I have years on my back forty-eight.

LEAR Follow me. Thou shalt serve me, if I like thee no worse after dinner. I will not part from thee yet.—Dinner, ho, dinner! Where’s my knave, my fool? Go you and call my fool hither.

⌈Exit one⌉

Enter Oswald the steward

You, sirrah, where’s my daughter?

OSWALD So please you—

Exit

LEAR What says the fellow there? Call the clotpoll back.

Exeunt Servant ⌈and Kent⌉

Where’s my fool? Ho, I think the world’s asleep.

Enter the Earl of Kent ⌈and a Servant⌉

How now, where’s that mongrel?

KENT He says, my lord, your daughter is not well.

LEAR Why came not the slave back to me when I called him?

SERVANT Sir, he answered me in the roundest manner he would not.

LEAR A would not?

SERVANT My lord, I know not what the matter is, but to my judgement your highness is not entertained with that ceremonious affection as you were wont. There’s a great abatement appears as well in the general dependants as in the Duke himself also, and your daughter.

LEAR Ha, sayst thou so?

SERVANT I beseech you pardon me, my lord, if I be mistaken, for my duty cannot be silent when I think your highness wronged.

LEAR Thou but rememberest me of mine own conception. I have perceived a most faint neglect of late, which I have rather blamed as mine own jealous curiosity than as a very pretence and purport of unkindness. I will look further into’t. But where’s this fool? I have not seen him these two days.

SERVANT Since my young lady’s going into France, sir, the fool hath much pined away.

LEAR No more of that, I have noted it. Go you and tell my daughter I would speak with her. ⌈Exit one⌉ Go you, call hither my fool. ⌈Exit one⌉

Enter Oswald the steward ⌈crossing the stage⌉

O you, sir, you, sir, come you hither. Who am I, sir?

OSWALD My lady’s father.

LEAR My lady’s father? My lord’s knave, you whoreson dog, you slave, you cur!

OSWALD I am none of this, my lord, I beseech you pardon me.

LEAR Do you bandy looks with me, you rascal?

⌈Lear strikes him⌉

OSWALD I’ll not be struck, my lord—

KENT (tripping him) Nor tripped neither, you base football player.

LEAR (to Kent) I thank thee, fellow. Thou serv’st me, and I’ll love thee.

KENT (to Oswald) Come, sir, I’ll teach you differences. Away, away. If you will measure your lubber’s length again, tarry; but away if you have wisdom.

Exit Oswald

LEAR Now, friendly knave, I thank thee.

Enter Lear’s Fool

There’s earnest of thy service.

He gives Kent money

FOOL Let me hire him, too. (To Kent) Here’s my coxcomb.

LEAR How now, my pretty knave, how dost thou?

FOOL (to Kent) Sirrah, you were best take my coxcomb.

KENT Why, fool?

FOOL Why, for taking one’s part that’s out of favour. Nay, an thou canst not smile as the wind sits, thou’lt catch cold shortly. There, take my coxcomb. Why, this fellow hath banished two on’s daughters and done the third a blessing against his will. If thou follow him, thou must needs wear my coxcomb. (To Lear) How now, nuncle? Would I had two coxcombs and two daughters.

LEAR Why, my boy?

FOOL If I gave them my living I’d keep my coxcombs myself. There’s mine; beg another off thy daughters.

LEAR Take heed, sirrah—the whip.

FOOL Truth is a dog that must to kennel. He must be whipped out when Lady the brach may stand by the fire and stink.

LEAR A pestilent gall to me!

FOOL ⌈to Kent⌉ Sirrah, I’ll teach thee a speech.

LEAR Do.

FOOL Mark it, uncle.

Have more than thou showest,

Speak less than thou knowest,

Lend less than thou owest,

Ride more than thou goest,

Learn more than thou trowest,

Set less than thou throwest,

Leave thy drink and thy whore,

And keep in-a-door,

And thou shalt have more

Than two tens to a score.

LEAR This is nothing, fool.

FOOL Then, like the breath of an unfee’d lawyer, you gave me nothing for’t. Can you make no use of nothing, uncle?

LEAR Why no, boy. Nothing can be made out of nothing.

FOOL (to Kent) Prithee, tell him so much the rent of his land comes to. He will not believe a fool. 130

LEAR A bitter fool.

FOOL Dost know the difference, my boy, between a bitter fool and a sweet fool?

LEAR No, lad. Teach me.

FOOL ⌈sings⌉

That lord that counselled thee To give away thy land,

Come, place him here by me;

Do thou for him stand.

The sweet and bitter fool

Will presently appear,

The one in motley here,

The other found out there.

LEAR Dost thou call me fool, boy?

FOOL All thy other titles thou hast given away. That thou wast born with.

KENT (to Lear) This is not altogether fool, my lord.

FOOL No, faith; lords and great men will not let me. If I had a monopoly out, they would have part on’t, and ladies too, they will not let me have all the fool to myself—they’ll be snatching. Give me an egg, nuncle, and I’ll give thee two crowns.

LEAR What two crowns shall they be?

FOOL Why, after I have cut the egg in the middle and eat up the meat, the two crowns of the egg. When thou clovest thy crown i‘th’ middle and gavest away both parts, thou borest thy ass o’th’ back o’er the dirt. Thou hadst little wit in thy bald crown when thou gavest thy golden one away. If I speak like myself in this, let him be whipped that first finds it so.

⌈Sings ⌉

Fools had ne’er less wit in a year,

For wise men are grown foppish.

They know not how their wits do wear,

Their manners are so apish.

LEAR When were you wont to be so full of songs, sirrah?

FOOL I have used it, nuncle, ever since thou madest thy daughters thy mother; for when thou gavest them the rod and puttest down thine own breeches,

⌈Sings⌉

Then they for sudden joy did weep, And I for sorrow sung,

That such a king should play bo-peep

And go the fools among.

Prithee, nuncle, keep a schoolmaster that can teach thy fool to lie. I would fain learn to lie.

LEAR An you lie, we’ll have you whipped.

FOOL I marvel what kin thou and thy daughters are. They’ll have me whipped for speaking true, thou wilt have me whipped for lying, and sometime I am whipped for holding my peace. I had rather be any kind of thing than a fool; and yet I would not be thee, nuncle. Thou hast pared thy wit o’ both sides and left nothing in the middle.

Enter Gonoril

Here comes one of the parings.

LEAR

How now, daughter, what makes that frontlet on?

Methinks you are too much o’ late i’th’ frown.

FOOL Thou wast a pretty fellow when thou hadst no need to care for her frown. Now thou art an O without a figure. I am better than thou art, now. I am a fool; thou art nothing. ⌈To Gonoril⌉ Yes, forsooth, I will hold my tongue; so your face bids me, though you say nothing.

⌈Sings⌉

Mum, mum. He that keeps neither crust nor crumb,

Weary of all, shall want some.

That’s a shelled peascod.

GONORIL (to Lear)

Not only, sir, this your all-licensed fool,

But other of your insolent retinue

Do hourly carp and quarrel, breaking forth

In rank and not-to-be-endured riots.

Sir, I had thought by making this well known unto

you

To have found a safe redress, but now grow fearful,

By what yourself too late have spoke and done,

That you protect this course, and put it on

By your allowance; which if you should, the fault

Would not scape censure, nor the redress sleep

Which in the tender of a wholesome weal

Might in their working do you that offence,

That else were shame, that then necessity

Must call discreet proceedings.

FOOL (to Lear) For, you trow, nuncle,

⌈Sings⌉

The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long

That it had it head bit off by it young;

so out went the candle, and we were left darkling.

LEAR (to Gonoril) Are you our daughter?

GONORIL

Come, sir, I would you would make use of that good

wisdom

Whereof I know you are fraught, and put away

These dispositions that of late transform you

From what you rightly are.

FOOL May not an ass know when the cart draws the horse? ⌈Sings⌉ ‘Whoop, jug, I love thee!’

LEAR

Doth any here know me? Why, this is not Lear.

Doth Lear walk thus, speak thus? Where are his eyes?

Either his notion weakens, or his discernings

Are lethargied. Sleeping or waking, ha?

Sure, ’tis not so.

Who is it that can tell me who I am?

Lear’s shadow? I would learn that, for by the marks

Of sovereignty, knowledge, and reason

I should be false persuaded I had daughters.

FOOL Which they will make an obedient father.

LEAR (to Gonoril)

Your name, fair gentlewoman?

GONORIL Come, sir,

This admiration is much of the savour

Of other your new pranks. I do beseech you

Understand my purposes aright,

As you are old and reverend, should be wise.

Here do you keep a hundred knights and squires,

Men so disordered, so debauched and bold

That this our court, infected with their manners,

Shows like a riotous inn, epicurism

And lust make more like to a tavern, or brothel,

Than a great palace. The shame itself doth speak

For instant remedy. Be thou desired,

By her that else will take the thing she begs,

A little to disquantity your train,

And the remainder that shall still depend

To be such men as may besort your age,

That know themselves and you.

LEAR Darkness and devils!

Saddle my horses, call my train together!—

⌈Exit one or more⌉

Degenerate bastard, I’ll not trouble thee.

Yet have I left a daughter.

GONORIL

You strike my people, and your disordered rabble

Make servants of their betters.

Enter the Duke of Albany

LEAR

We that too late repent‘s—O sir, are you come?

Is it your will that we—prepare my horses.

⌈Exit one or more⌉

Ingratitude, thou marble-hearted fiend,

More hideous when thou show’st thee in a child

Than the sea-monster—(to Gonoril) detested kite, thou

liest.

My train are men of choice and rarest parts,

That all particulars of duty know,

And in the most exact regard support

The worships of their name. O most small fault,

How ugly didst thou in Cordelia show,

That, like an engine, wrenched my frame of nature

From the fixed place, drew from my heart all love,

And added to the gall! O Lear, Lear!

Beat at this gate that let thy folly in

And thy dear judgement out.—Go, go, my people!

ALBANY

My lord, I am guiltless as I am ignorant.

LEAR

It may be so, my lord. Hark, nature, hear:

Dear goddess, suspend thy purpose if

Thou didst intend to make this creature fruitful.

Into her womb convey sterility.

Dry up in her the organs of increase,

And from her derogate body never spring

A babe to honour her. If she must teem,

Create her child of spleen, that it may live

And be a thwart disnatured torment to her.

Let it stamp wrinkles in her brow of youth,

With cadent tears fret channels in her cheeks,

Turn all her mother’s pains and benefits

To laughter and contempt, that she may feel—

That she may feel

How sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is

To have a thankless child.—Go, go, my people!

Exeunt Lear, ⌈Kent, Fool, and servants⌉

ALBANY

Now, gods that we adore, whereof comes this?

GONORIL

Never afflict yourself to know the cause,

But let his disposition have that scope

That dotage gives it.

Enter King Lear ⌈and his Fool⌉

LEAR

What, fifty of my followers at a clap?

Within a fortnight?

ALBANY What is the matter, sir?

LEAR

I’ll tell thee. (To Gonoril) Life and death! I am

ashamed

That thou hast power to shake my manhood thus,

That these hot tears, that break from me perforce

And should make thee—worst blasts and fogs upon

thee!

Untented woundings of a father’s curse

Pierce every sense about thee! Old fond eyes,

Beweep this cause again I’ll pluck you out

And cast you, with the waters that you make,

To temper clay. Yea,

Is’t come to this? Yet have I left a daughter

Whom, I am sure, is kind and comfortable.

When she shall hear this of thee, with her nails

She’ll flay thy wolvish visage. Thou shalt find

That I’ll resume the shape which thou dost think

I have cast off for ever; thou shalt, I warrant thee.

Exit

GONORIL Do you mark that, my lord?

ALBANY

I cannot be so partial, Gonoril,

To the great love I bear you—

GONORIL Come, sir, no more.—

You, more knave than fool, after your master!

FOOL Nuncle Lear, nuncle Lear, tarry, and take the fool with thee.

A fox when one has caught her,

And such a daughter,

Should sure to the slaughter,

If my cap would buy a halter.

So, the fool follows after.

Exit

GONORIL What, Oswald, ho!

Enter Oswald

OSWALD Here, madam.

GONORIL

What, have you writ this letter to my sister?

OSWALD Yes, madam.

GONORIL

Take you some company, and away to horse.

Inform her full of my particular fears,

And thereto add such reasons of your own

As may compact it more. Get you gone,

And after, your retinue.

Exit Oswald

Now, my lord,

This milky gentleness and course of yours,

Though I dislike not, yet under pardon

You’re much more ataxed for want of wisdom

Than praised for harmful mildness.

ALBANY

How far your eyes may pierce I cannot tell.

Striving to better aught, we mar what’s well.

GONORIL Nay, then—

ALBANY Well, well, the event. Exeunt

Sc. 5 Enter King Lear, the Earl of Kent disguised, and Lear’s Fool

LEAR ⌈to Kent⌉ Go you before to Gloucester with these letters. Acquaint my daughter no further with anything you know than comes from her demand out of the letter. If your diligence be not speedy, I shall be there before you.

KENT I will not sleep, my lord, till I have delivered your letter.

Exit

FOOL If a man’s brains were in his heels, were’t not in danger of kibes?

LEAR Ay, boy.

FOOL Then, I prithee, be merry: thy wit shall ne’er go slipshod.

LEAR Ha, ha, ha!

FOOL Shalt see thy other daughter will use thee kindly, for though she’s as like this as a crab is like an apple, yet I con what I can tell.

LEAR Why, what canst thou tell, my boy?

FOOL Why, to keep his eyes on either side ’s nose, that what a man cannot smell out, a may spy into.

LEAR I did her wrong.

FOOL Canst tell how an oyster makes his shell?

LEAR No.

FOOL Nor I neither; but I can tell why a snail has a house.

LEAR Why?

FOOL Why, to put his head in, not to give it away to his daughter and leave his horns without a case.

LEAR

I will forget my nature. So kind a father!

Be my horses ready?

FOOL Thy asses are gone about them. The reason why the seven stars are no more than seven is a pretty reason.

LEAR Because they are not eight.

FOOL Yes. Thou wouldst make a good fool.

LEAR

To take’t again perforce—monster ingratitude!

FOOL If thou wert my fool, nuncle, I’d have thee beaten for being old before thy time.

LEAR How’s that?

FOOL Thou shouldst not have been old before thou hadst been wise.

LEAR

O, let me not be mad, sweet heaven!

I would not be mad.

Keep me in temper. I would not be mad.

Enter a Servant

Are the horses ready?

SERVANT Ready, my lord.

LEAR (to Fool) Come, boy. Exeunt Lear and Servant

FOOL

She that is maid now, and laughs at my departure,

Shall not be a maid long, except things be cut shorter.

Exit

Sc. 6 Enter Edmund the bastard, and Curan, meeting

EDMUND Save thee, Curan.

CURAN And you, sir. I have been with your father, and given him notice that the Duke of Cornwall and his duchess will be here with him tonight.

EDMUND How comes that?

CURAN Nay, I know not. You have heard of the news abroad?—I mean the whispered ones, for there are yet but ear-bussing arguments.

EDMUND Not. I pray you, what are they?

CURAN Have you heard of no likely wars towards twixt the two Dukes of Cornwall and Albany?

EDMUND Not a word.

CURAN You may then in time. Fare you well, sir.

Exit

EDMUND

The Duke be here tonight! The better, best.

This weaves itself perforce into my business.

⌈Enter Edgar at a window above⌉

My father hath set guard to take my brother,

And I have one thing of a queasy question

Which must ask briefness. Wit and fortune help!—

Brother, a word. Descend, brother, I say.

⌈Edgar climbs down

My father watches. O, fly this place.

Intelligence is given where you are hid.

You have now the good advantage of the night.

Have you not spoken ‘gainst the Duke of Cornwall

aught?

He’s coming hither now, in the night, i’th’ haste,

And Regan with him. Have you nothing said

Upon his party against the Duke of Albany?

Advise you—

EDGAR I am sure on’t, not a word.

EDMUND

I hear my father coming. Pardon me.

In cunning I must draw my sword upon you.

Seem to defend yourself. Now, quit you well.

(Calling) Yield, come before my father. Light here,

here!

(To Edgar) Fly, brother, fly! (Calling) Torches, torches!

(To Edgar) So, farewell.

Exit Edgar

Some blood drawn on me would beget opinion

Of my more fierce endeavour.

He wounds his arm

I have seen

Drunkards do more than this in sport. (Calling) Father,

father!

Stop, stop! Ho, help!

Enter the Duke of Gloucester ⌈and others⌉

GLOUCESTER Now, Edmund, where is the villain?

EDMUND

Here stood he in the dark, his sharp sword out,

Warbling of wicked charms, conjuring the moon

To stand ’s auspicious mistress.

GLOUCESTER But where is he?

EDMUND

Look, sir, I bleed.

GLOUCESTER Where is the villain, Edmund?

EDMUND

Fled this way, sir, when by no means he could—

GLOUCESTER

Pursue him, go after.

Exeunt others

By no means what?

EDMUND

Persuade me to the murder of your lordship,

But that I told him the revengive gods

’Gainst parricides did all their thunders bend,

Spoke with how manifold and strong a bond

The child was bound to the father. Sir, in fine,

Seeing how loathly opposite I stood

To his unnatural purpose, with fell motion,

With his prepared sword he charges home

My unprovided body, lanced mine arm;

But when he saw my best alarumed spirits

Bold in the quarrel’s rights, roused to the encounter,

Or whether ghasted by the noise I made

Or ⌈ ⌉ I know not,

But suddenly he fled.

GLOUCESTER Let him fly far,

Not in this land shall he remain uncaught,

And found, dispatch. 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 caitiff to the stake;

He that conceals him, death.

EDMUND

When I dissuaded him from his intent

And found him pitched to do it, with curst speech

I threatened to discover him. He replied,

‘Thou unpossessing bastard, dost thou think

If I would stand against thee, could the reposure

Of any trust, virtue, or worth in thee

Make thy words faithed? 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 pretence,

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 Strong and fastened villain!

Would he deny his letter? I never got him.

Trumpets 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 note of him—and of my land,

Loyal and natural boy, I’ll work the means

To make thee capable.

Enter the Duke of Cornwall and Regan

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 the offender. How dost, my lord?

GLOUCESTER

Madam, my old heart is cracked, is cracked.

REGAN

What, did my father’s godson seek your life?

He whom my father named, your Edgar?

GLOUCESTER

Ay, 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.

REGAN

No marvel, then, though he were ill affected.

’Tis they have put him on the old man’s death,

To have the spoil and waste of his revenues.

I have this present evening from my sister

Been well informed 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 heard that you have shown your father

A childlike office.

EDMUND ’Twas my duty, sir.

GLOUCESTER (to Cornwall)

He did betray his practice, and received

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 feared 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 truly,

However else.

GLOUCESTER (to Cornwall) For him I thank your grace.

CORNWALL

You know not why we came to visit you—

REGAN

This out-of-season threat’ning dark-eyed 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 least 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