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

Автор книги: William Shakespeare

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1.3 Enter Goneril and Oswald, her steward GONERIL

Did my father strike my gentleman

For chiding of his fool?

OSWALD Ay, madam.

GONERIL

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.

⌈Horns within⌉

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

GONERIL

Put on what weary negligence you please,

You and your fellows. I’d have it come to question.

If he distaste it, let him to my sister,

Whose mind and mine I know in that are one.

Remember what I have said.

OSWALD Well, madam.

GONERI,

And let his knights have colder looks among you.

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

I’ll write straight to my sister to hold my course.

Prepare for dinner.

Exeunt severally

1.4 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,

So may it come thy master, whom thou lov’st,

Shall find thee full of labours.

Horns within. Enter King Lear and attendants 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‘st as poor for a subject as he’s 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, sir, 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, you, sirrah, where’s my daughter?

OSWALD So please you—

Exit

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

Exit a knight

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

Enter a Knight

How now? Where’s that mongrel?

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

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

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

LEAR A would not?

KNIGHT 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 of kindness appears as well in the general dependants as in the Duke himself also, and your daughter.

LEAR Ha, sayst thou so?

KNIGHT 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 purpose of unkindness. I will look further into’t. But where’s my fool? I have not seen him these two days.

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

LEAR No more of that, I have noted it well. 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, come you hither, sir, 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 these, my lord, I beseech your pardon.

LEAR Do you bandy looks with me, you rascal?

⌈Lear strikes him⌉

OSWALD I’ll not be strucken, 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, arise, away. I’ll teach you differences. Away, away. If you will measure your lubber’s length again, tarry; but away, go to. Have you wisdom? So. Exit Oswald

LEAR Now, my 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.

LEAR Why, my boy?

FOOL Why? For taking one’s part that’s out of favour. (To Kent) Nay, an thou canst not smile as the wind sits, thou’lt catch cold shortly. There, take my coxcomb. Why, this fellow has banished two on’s daughters and did 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 all my living I’d keep my coxcombs myself. There’s mine; beg another off thy daughters.

LEAR Take heed, sirrah—the whip.

FOOL Truth’s a dog must to kennel. He must be whipped out when the Lady Brach may stand by th’ fire and stink.

LEAR A pestilent gall to me!

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

LEAR Do.

FOOL Mark it, nuncle:

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.

KENT This is nothing, fool.

FOOL Then ’tis like the breath of an unfee’d lawyer: you gave me nothing for’t. (To Lear) Can you make no use of nothing, nuncle?

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.

LEAR A bitter fool.

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

LEAR No, lad. Teach me.

FOOL Nuncle, give me an egg, and I’ll give thee two crowns.

LEAR What two crowns shall they be?

FOOL Why, after I have cut the egg i‘th’ 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 thine 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 grace in a year,

For wise men are grown foppish,

And know not how their wits to wear,

Their manners are so apish.

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

FOOL I have used it, nuncle, e’er since thou madest thy daughters thy mothers; 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, sirrah, we’ll have you whipped.

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

Enter Goneril

Here comes one o’ the parings.

LEAR

How now, daughter? What makes that frontlet on?

You are too much of late i’th’ frown.

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

⌈Sings⌉ Mum, mum.

He that keeps nor crust nor crumb,

Weary of all, shall want some.

That’s a shelled peascod.

GONERIL (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 redresses sleep

Which in the tender of a wholesome weal

Might in their working do you that offence,

Which else were shame, that then necessity

Will call discreet proceeding.

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

⌈Sings⌉ The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long

That it’s had it head bit off by it young;

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

LEAR (to Goneril) Are you our daughter?

GONERIL

I would you would make use of your good wisdom,

Whereof I know you are fraught, and put away

These dispositions which of late transport 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

Does any here know me? This is not Lear.

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

Either his notion weakens, his discernings

Are lethargied—ha, waking? ’Tis not so.

Who is it that can tell me who I am?

FOOL Lear’s shadow.

LEAR (to Goneril) Your name, fair gentlewoman?

GONERIL

This admiration, sir, is much o’th’ savour

Of other your new pranks. I do beseech you

To 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

Makes it more like a tavern or a brothel

Than a graced palace. The shame itself doth speak

For instant remedy. Be then desired,

By her that else will take the thing she begs,

A little to disquantity your train,

And the remainders that shall still depend

To be such men as may besort your age,

Which 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.

GONERIL

You strike my people, and your disordered rabble

Make servants of their betters.

Enter the Duke of Albany

LEAR

Woe that too late repents!

Is it your will? Speak, sir.—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—

ALBANY Pray sir, be patient.

LEAR (to Goneril) 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,

Which, 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, 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

Of what hath moved you.

LEAR It may be so, my lord.

Hear, nature; hear, dear goddess, hear:

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. Away, away!

Exeunt Lear, ⌈Kent, and attendants⌉

ALBANY

Now, gods that we adore, whereof comes this?

GONERIL

Never afflict yourself to know more of it,

But let his disposition have that scope

As dotage gives it.

Enter King Lear

LEAR

What, fifty of my followers at a clap?

Within a fortnight?

ALBANY

What’s the matter, sir?

LEAR

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

That thou hast power to shake my manhood thus,

That these hot tears, which break from me perforce,

Should make thee worth them. Blasts and fogs upon

thee!

Th’untented woundings of a father’s curse

Pierce every sense about thee! Old fond eyes,

Beweep this cause again I’ll pluck ye out

And cast you, with the waters that you loose,

To temper clay. Ha! Let it be so.

I have another daughter

Who, 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.

Exit

GONERIL

Do you mark that?

ALBANY

I cannot be so partial, Goneril,

To the great love I bear you—

GONERIL

Pray you, content. What, Oswald, ho!—

You, sir, more knave than fool, after your master.

FOOL

Nuncle Lear, nuncle Lear,

Tarry, 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

GONERIL

This man hath had good counsel—a hundred

knights?

’Tis politic and safe to let him keep

At point a hundred knights, yes, that on every dream,

Each buzz, each fancy, each complaint, dislike,

He may enguard his dotage with their powers

And hold our lives in mercy.—Oswald, I say!

ALBANY

Well, you may fear too far.

GONERIL

Safer than trust too far.

Let me still take away the harms I fear,

Not fear still to be taken. I know his heart.

What he hath uttered I have writ my sister.

If she sustain him and his hundred knights

When I have showed th’unfitness—

Enter Oswald the steward

How now, Oswald?

What, have you writ that letter to my sister?

OSWALD Ay, madam.

GONERIL

Take you some company, and away to horse.

Inform her full of my particular fear,

And thereto add such reasons of your own

As may compact it more. Get you gone,

And hasten your return.

Exit Oswald

No, no, my lord,

This milky gentleness and course of yours,

Though I condemn not, yet under pardon

You are much more attasked for want of wisdom

Than praised for harmful mildness.

ALBANY

How far your eyes may pierce I cannot tell.

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

GONERIL Nay, then—

ALBANY Well, well, th’event.

Exeunt

1.5 Enter King Lear, the Earl of Kent disguised, the First Gentleman, and Lear’s Fool

LEAR ⌈to the Gentleman, giving him a letter⌉ Go you before to Gloucester with these letters. ⌈Exit Gentleman⌉ ⌈To Kent, giving him a letter⌉ 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 afore you.

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

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

LEAR Ay, boy.

FOOL Then, I prithee, be merry: thy wit shall not 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’s like an apple, yet I can tell what I can tell.

LEAR What canst tell, boy?

FOOL She will taste as like this as a crab does to a crab. Thou canst tell why one’s nose stands i’th’ middle on ’s face?

LEAR No.

FOOL Why, to keep one’s eyes of 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 ’s head in, not to give it away to his daughters 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 ’em. The reason why the seven stars are no more than seven is a pretty reason.

LEAR Because they are not eight.

FOOL Yes, indeed, 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 till thou hadst been wise.

LEAR

O, let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven!

Keep me in temper. I would not be mad.

⌈Enter the First Gentleman⌉

How now, are the horses ready?

⌈FIRST⌉ GENTLEMAN Ready, my lord.

LEAR (to Fool) Come, boy.

⌈Exeunt Lear and Gentleman⌉

FOOL

She that’s a maid now, and laughs at my departure,

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

⌈Exit⌉

2.1 Enter Edmond the bastard, and Curan, severally EDMOND Save thee, Curan.

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

EDMOND How comes that? CURAN Nay, I know not. You have heard of the news abroad?—I mean the whispered ones, for they are yet but ear-kissing arguments.

EDMOND Not I. Pray you, what are they?

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

EDMOND Not a word.

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

Exit

EDMOND

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 I must act. Briefness and fortune work!—

Brother, a word, descend. Brother, I say.

⌈Edgar climbs down⌉

My father watches. O sir, 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?

He’s coming hither, now, i’th’ night, i‘th’ haste,

And Regan with him. Have you nothing said

Upon his party ’gainst the Duke of Albany?

Advise yourself.

EDGAR

I am sure on’t, not a word.

EDMOND

I hear my father coming. Pardon me.

In cunning I must draw my sword upon you.

Draw. Seem to defend yourself. Now, quit you well.

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

(To Edgar) Fly, brother! (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 servants with torches

GLOUCESTER

Now, Edmond, where’s the villain?

EDMOND

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

Mumbling of wicked charms, conjuring the moon

To stand ’s auspicious mistress.

GLOUCESTER

But where is he?

EDMOND

Look, sir, I bleed.

GLOUCESTER

Where is the villain, Edmond?

EDMOND

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

GLOUCESTER

Pursue him, ho! Go after.

Exeunt servants

By no means what?

EDMOND

Persuade me to the murder of your lordship,

But that I told him the revenging gods

‘Gainst parricides did all the thunder bend,

Spoke with how manifold and strong a bond

The child was bound to th’ father. Sir, in fine,

Seeing how loathly opposite I stood

To his unnatural purpose, in fell motion

With his prepared sword he charges home

My unprovided body, latched mine arm;

And when he saw my best alarumed spirits

Bold in the quarrel’s right, roused to th’encounter,

Or whether ghasted 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. 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.

EDMOND

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, would the reposal

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 practice,

And thou must make a dullard of the world

If they not thought the profits of my death

Were very pregnant and potential spirits

To make thee seek it.’

GLOUCESTER

O strange and fastened villain!

Would he deny his letter, said he?

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 the Duke of 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 cracked, it’s cracked.

REGAN

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

He whom my father named, 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.

EDMOND

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 th’expense and spoil 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. Edmond, I hear that you have shown your father A childlike office.

EDMOND

It was my duty, sir. GLOUCESTER (to Cornwall)

He did bewray 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, Edmond,

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.

EDMOND

I shall serve you, sir,

Truly, however else.

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

CORNWALL

You know not why we came to visit you—

REGAN

Thus out of season, threading 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 businesses,

Which craves the instant use.

GLOUCESTER I serve you, madam.

Your graces are right welcome.

Flourish. Exeunt