Some officers take them away: good guard

Until their greater pleasures first be known

That are to censure them.

We are not the first

Who with best meaning have incurr’d the worst.

For thee, oppressed King, I am cast down;

Myself could else out-frown false fortune’s frown.

Shall we not see these daughters and these sisters?

No, no, no, no. Come, let’s away to prison:

We two alone will sing like birds i’ the cage:

When thou dost ask me blessing I’ll kneel down

And ask of thee forgiveness. So we’ll live,

And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh

At gilded butterflies, and hear poor rogues

Talk of court news; and we’ll talk with them too,

Who loses and who wins; who’s in, who’s out;

And take upon’s the mystery of things,

As if we were God’s spies. And we’ll wear out,

In a wall’d prison, packs and sects of great ones

That ebb and flow by the moon.

Take them away.

Upon such sacrifices, my Cordelia,

The gods themselves throw incense. Have I caught thee?

He that parts us shall bring a brand from heaven,

And fire us hence like foxes. Wipe thine eyes;

The good years shall devour them, flesh and fell,

Ere they shall make us weep!

We’ll see ’em starve first: come.

Come hither, captain, hark.

Take thou this note [_giving a paper_]; go follow them to prison.

One step I have advanc’d thee; if thou dost

As this instructs thee, thou dost make thy way

To noble fortunes: know thou this, that men

Are as the time is; to be tender-minded

Does not become a sword. Thy great employment

Will not bear question; either say thou’lt do’t,

Or thrive by other means.

I’ll do’t, my lord.

About it; and write happy when thou hast done.

Mark, I say, instantly; and carry it so

As I have set it down.

I cannot draw a cart, nor eat dried oats;

If it be man’s work, I’ll do’t.

Regan, Officers and Attendants.

Sir, you have show’d today your valiant strain,

And fortune led you well: you have the captives

Who were the opposites of this day’s strife:

I do require them of you, so to use them

As we shall find their merits and our safety

May equally determine.

Sir, I thought it fit

To send the old and miserable King

To some retention and appointed guard;

Whose age has charms in it, whose title more,

To pluck the common bosom on his side,

And turn our impress’d lances in our eyes

Which do command them. With him I sent the queen;

My reason all the same; and they are ready

Tomorrow, or at further space, to appear

Where you shall hold your session. At this time

We sweat and bleed: the friend hath lost his friend;

And the best quarrels in the heat are curs’d

By those that feel their sharpness.

The question of Cordelia and her father

Requires a fitter place.

Sir, by your patience,

I hold you but a subject of this war,

Not as a brother.

That’s as we list to grace him.

Methinks our pleasure might have been demanded

Ere you had spoke so far. He led our powers;

Bore the commission of my place and person;

The which immediacy may well stand up

And call itself your brother.

Not so hot:

In his own grace he doth exalt himself,

More than in your addition.

In my rights,

By me invested, he compeers the best.

That were the most, if he should husband you.

Jesters do oft prove prophets.

Holla, holla!

That eye that told you so look’d but asquint.

Lady, I am not well; else I should answer

From a full-flowing stomach. General,

Take thou my soldiers, prisoners, patrimony;

Dispose of them, of me; the walls are thine:

Witness the world that I create thee here

My lord and master.

Mean you to enjoy him?

The let-alone lies not in your good will.

Nor in thine, lord.

Half-blooded fellow, yes.

[_To Edmund._] Let the drum strike, and prove my title thine.

Stay yet; hear reason: Edmund, I arrest thee

On capital treason; and, in thine arrest,

This gilded serpent. [_pointing to Goneril._]

For your claim, fair sister,

I bar it in the interest of my wife;

’Tis she is sub-contracted to this lord,

And I her husband contradict your bans.

If you will marry, make your loves to me,

My lady is bespoke.

An interlude!

Thou art arm’d, Gloucester. Let the trumpet sound:

If none appear to prove upon thy person

Thy heinous, manifest, and many treasons,

There is my pledge. [_Throwing down a glove._]

I’ll make it on thy heart,

Ere I taste bread, thou art in nothing less

Than I have here proclaim’d thee.

Sick, O, sick!

[_Aside._] If not, I’ll ne’er trust medicine.

There’s my exchange. [_Throwing down a glove._]

What in the world he is

That names me traitor, villain-like he lies.

Call by thy trumpet: he that dares approach,

On him, on you, who not? I will maintain

My truth and honour firmly.

A herald, ho!

Trust to thy single virtue; for thy soldiers,

All levied in my name, have in my name

Took their discharge.

My sickness grows upon me.

She is not well. Convey her to my tent.

Come hither, herald. Let the trumpet sound

And read out this.

Sound, trumpet!

[_Reads._] ‘If any man of quality or degree within the lists of

the army will maintain upon Edmund, supposed Earl of Gloucester,

that he is a manifold traitor, let him appear by the third sound

of the trumpet. He is bold in his defence.’

Sound!

Again!

Again!

Ask him his purposes, why he appears

Upon this call o’ the trumpet.

What are you?

Your name, your quality? and why you answer

This present summons?

Know my name is lost;

By treason’s tooth bare-gnawn and canker-bit.

Yet am I noble as the adversary

I come to cope.

Which is that adversary?

What’s he that speaks for Edmund, Earl of Gloucester?

Himself, what say’st thou to him?

Draw thy sword,

That if my speech offend a noble heart,

Thy arm may do thee justice: here is mine.

Behold, it is the privilege of mine honours,

My oath, and my profession: I protest,

Maugre thy strength, youth, place, and eminence,

Despite thy victor sword and fire-new fortune,

Thy valour and thy heart, thou art a traitor;

False to thy gods, thy brother, and thy father;

Conspirant ’gainst this high illustrious prince;

And, from the extremest upward of thy head

To the descent and dust beneath thy foot,

A most toad-spotted traitor. Say thou ‘No,’

This sword, this arm, and my best spirits are bent

To prove upon thy heart, whereto I speak,

Thou liest.

In wisdom I should ask thy name;

But since thy outside looks so fair and warlike,

And that thy tongue some say of breeding breathes,

What safe and nicely I might well delay

By rule of knighthood, I disdain and spurn.

Back do I toss those treasons to thy head,

With the hell-hated lie o’erwhelm thy heart;

Which for they yet glance by and scarcely bruise,

This sword of mine shall give them instant way,

Where they shall rest for ever. Trumpets, speak!

Save him, save him!

This is mere practice, Gloucester:

By the law of arms thou wast not bound to answer

An unknown opposite; thou art not vanquish’d,

But cozen’d and beguil’d.

Shut your mouth, dame,

Or with this paper shall I stop it. Hold, sir;

Thou worse than any name, read thine own evil.

No tearing, lady; I perceive you know it.

Say if I do, the laws are mine, not thine:

Who can arraign me for’t?

Most monstrous! O!

Know’st thou this paper?

Ask me not what I know.

[_To an Officer, who goes out._] Go after her; she’s desperate;

govern her.

What you have charg’d me with, that have I done;

And more, much more; the time will bring it out.

’Tis past, and so am I. But what art thou

That hast this fortune on me? If thou’rt noble,

I do forgive thee.

Let’s exchange charity.

I am no less in blood than thou art, Edmund;

If more, the more thou hast wrong’d me.

My name is Edgar and thy father’s son.

The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices

Make instruments to plague us:

The dark and vicious place where thee he got

Cost him his eyes.

Thou hast spoken right, ’tis true;

The wheel is come full circle; I am here.

Methought thy very gait did prophesy

A royal nobleness. I must embrace thee.

Let sorrow split my heart if ever I

Did hate thee or thy father.

Worthy prince, I know’t.

Where have you hid yourself?

How have you known the miseries of your father?

By nursing them, my lord. List a brief tale;

And when ’tis told, O that my heart would burst!

The bloody proclamation to escape

That follow’d me so near,—O, our lives’ sweetness!

That with the pain of death we’d hourly die

Rather than die at once!—taught me to shift

Into a madman’s rags; t’assume a semblance

That very dogs disdain’d; and in this habit

Met I my father with his bleeding rings,

Their precious stones new lost; became his guide,

Led him, begg’d for him, sav’d him from despair;

Never,—O fault!—reveal’d myself unto him

Until some half hour past, when I was arm’d;

Not sure, though hoping of this good success,

I ask’d his blessing, and from first to last

Told him my pilgrimage. But his flaw’d heart,

Alack, too weak the conflict to support!

’Twixt two extremes of passion, joy and grief,

Burst smilingly.

This speech of yours hath mov’d me,

And shall perchance do good, but speak you on;

You look as you had something more to say.

If there be more, more woeful, hold it in;

For I am almost ready to dissolve,

Hearing of this.

This would have seem’d a period

To such as love not sorrow; but another,

To amplify too much, would make much more,

And top extremity.

Whilst I was big in clamour, came there a man

Who, having seen me in my worst estate,

Shunn’d my abhorr’d society; but then finding

Who ’twas that so endur’d, with his strong arms

He fastened on my neck, and bellow’d out

As he’d burst heaven; threw him on my father;

Told the most piteous tale of Lear and him

That ever ear receiv’d, which in recounting

His grief grew puissant, and the strings of life

Began to crack. Twice then the trumpets sounded,

And there I left him tranc’d.

But who was this?

Kent, sir, the banish’d Kent; who in disguise

Follow’d his enemy king and did him service

Improper for a slave.

with a bloody knife.

Help, help! O, help!

What kind of help?

Speak, man.

What means this bloody knife?

’Tis hot, it smokes;

It came even from the heart of—O! she’s dead!

Who dead? Speak, man.

Your lady, sir, your lady; and her sister

By her is poisoned; she hath confesses it.

I was contracted to them both, all three

Now marry in an instant.

Here comes Kent.

Produce their bodies, be they alive or dead.

This judgement of the heavens that makes us tremble

Touches us not with pity. O, is this he?

The time will not allow the compliment

Which very manners urges.

I am come

To bid my King and master aye good night:

Is he not here?

Great thing of us forgot!

Speak, Edmund, where’s the King? and where’s Cordelia?

Regan are brought in.

Seest thou this object, Kent?

Alack, why thus?

Yet Edmund was belov’d.

The one the other poisoned for my sake,

And after slew herself.

Even so. Cover their faces.

I pant for life. Some good I mean to do,

Despite of mine own nature. Quickly send,

Be brief in it, to the castle; for my writ

Is on the life of Lear and on Cordelia;

Nay, send in time.

Run, run, O, run!

To who, my lord? Who has the office? Send

Thy token of reprieve.

Well thought on: take my sword,

Give it the captain.

Haste thee for thy life.

He hath commission from thy wife and me

To hang Cordelia in the prison, and

To lay the blame upon her own despair,

That she fordid herself.

The gods defend her! Bear him hence awhile.

Officer and others following.

Howl, howl, howl, howl! O, you are men of stone.

Had I your tongues and eyes, I’ld use them so

That heaven’s vault should crack. She’s gone for ever!

I know when one is dead, and when one lives;

She’s dead as earth. Lend me a looking glass;

If that her breath will mist or stain the stone,

Why, then she lives.

Is this the promis’d end?

Or image of that horror?

Fall, and cease!

This feather stirs; she lives! If it be so,

It is a chance which does redeem all sorrows

That ever I have felt.

O, my good master! [_Kneeling._]

Prythee, away!

’Tis noble Kent, your friend.

A plague upon you, murderers, traitors all!

I might have sav’d her; now she’s gone for ever!

Cordelia, Cordelia! stay a little. Ha!

What is’t thou say’st? Her voice was ever soft,

Gentle, and low, an excellent thing in woman.

I kill’d the slave that was a-hanging thee.

’Tis true, my lords, he did.

Did I not, fellow?

I have seen the day, with my good biting falchion

I would have made them skip. I am old now,

And these same crosses spoil me. Who are you?

Mine eyes are not o’ the best, I’ll tell you straight.

If Fortune brag of two she lov’d and hated,

One of them we behold.

This is a dull sight. Are you not Kent?

The same,

Your servant Kent. Where is your servant Caius?

He’s a good fellow, I can tell you that;

He’ll strike, and quickly too:. He’s dead and rotten.

No, my good lord; I am the very man.

I’ll see that straight.

That from your first of difference and decay

Have follow’d your sad steps.

You are welcome hither.

Nor no man else. All’s cheerless, dark and deadly.

Your eldest daughters have fordone themselves,

And desperately are dead.

Ay, so I think.

He knows not what he says; and vain is it

That we present us to him.

Very bootless.

Edmund is dead, my lord.

That’s but a trifle here.

You lords and noble friends, know our intent.

What comfort to this great decay may come

Shall be applied. For us, we will resign,

During the life of this old majesty,

To him our absolute power;

[_to Edgar and Kent_] you to your rights;

With boot and such addition as your honours

Have more than merited. All friends shall taste

The wages of their virtue and all foes

The cup of their deservings. O, see, see!

And my poor fool is hang’d! No, no, no life!

Why should a dog, a horse, a rat have life,

And thou no breath at all? Thou’lt come no more,

Never, never, never, never, never!

Pray you undo this button. Thank you, sir.

Do you see this? Look on her: look, her lips,

Look there, look there!

He faints! My lord, my lord!

Break, heart; I prythee break!

Look up, my lord.

Vex not his ghost: O, let him pass! He hates him

That would upon the rack of this rough world

Stretch him out longer.

He is gone indeed.

The wonder is, he hath endur’d so long:

He but usurp’d his life.

Bear them from hence. Our present business

Is general woe. [_To Edgar and Kent._] Friends of my soul, you twain,

Rule in this realm and the gor’d state sustain.

I have a journey, sir, shortly to go;

My master calls me, I must not say no.

The weight of this sad time we must obey;

Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say.

The oldest hath borne most; we that are young

Shall never see so much, nor live so long.