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Gentleman
A sight most pitiful in the meanest wretch,
Past speaking of in a king! Thou hast one daughter,
Who redeems nature from the general curse
Which twain have brought her to.
EDGAR
Hail, gentle sir.
Gentleman
Sir, speed you: what's your will?
EDGAR
Do you hear aught, sir, of a battle toward?
Gentleman
Most sure and vulgar: every one hears that,
Which can distinguish sound.
EDGAR
But, by your favour,
How near's the other army?
Gentleman
Near and on speedy foot; the main descry
Stands on the hourly thought.
EDGAR
I thank you, sir: that's all.
Gentleman
Though that the queen on special cause is here,
Her army is moved on.
EDGAR
I thank you, sir.
Exit Gentleman
GLOUCESTER
You ever-gentle gods, take my breath from me:
Let not my worser spirit tempt me again
To die before you please!
EDGAR
Well pray you, father.
GLOUCESTER
Now, good sir, what are you?
EDGAR
A most poor man, made tame to fortune's blows;
Who, by the art of known and feeling sorrows,
Am pregnant to good pity. Give me your hand,
I'll lead you to some biding.
GLOUCESTER
Hearty thanks:
The bounty and the benison of heaven
To boot, and boot!
Enter OSWALD
OSWALD
A proclaim'd prize! Most happy!
That eyeless head of thine was first framed flesh
To raise my fortunes. Thou old unhappy traitor,
Briefly thyself remember: the sword is out
That must destroy thee.
GLOUCESTER
Now let thy friendly hand
Put strength enough to't.
EDGAR interposes
OSWALD
Wherefore, bold peasant,
Darest thou support a publish'd traitor? Hence;
Lest that the infection of his fortune take
Like hold on thee. Let go his arm.
EDGAR
Chill not let go, sir, without vurther 'casion.
OSWALD
Let go, slave, or thou diest!
EDGAR
Good gentleman, go your gait, and let poor volk
pass. An 'chud ha' been swaggered out of my life,
'twould not ha' been so long as 'tis by a vortnight.
Nay, come not near th' old man; keep out, che vor
ye, or I'se try whether your costard or my ballow be
the harder: chill be plain with you.
OSWALD
Out, dunghill!
EDGAR
Chill pick your teeth, sir: come; no matter vor your foins.
They fight, and EDGAR knocks him down
OSWALD
Slave, thou hast slain me: villain, take my purse:
If ever thou wilt thrive, bury my body;
And give the letters which thou find'st about me
To Edmund earl of Gloucester; seek him out
Upon the British party: O, untimely death!
Dies
EDGAR
I know thee well: a serviceable villain;
As duteous to the vices of thy mistress
As badness would desire.
GLOUCESTER
What, is he dead?
EDGAR
Sit you down, father; rest you
Let's see these pockets: the letters that he speaks of
May be my friends. He's dead; I am only sorry
He had no other death's-man. Let us see:
Leave, gentle wax; and, manners, blame us not:
To know our enemies' minds, we'd rip their hearts;
Their papers, is more lawful.
[Reads]
'Let our reciprocal vows be remembered. You have
many opportunities to cut him off: if your will
want not, time and place will be fruitfully offered.
There is nothing done, if he return the conqueror: then am I the prisoner, and his bed my goal; from
the loathed warmth whereof deliver me, and supply
the place for your labour.
'Your--wife, so I would say--
'Affectionate servant,
'GONERIL.'
O undistinguish'd space of woman's will!
A plot upon her virtuous husband's life;
And the exchange my brother! Here, in the sands,
Thee I'll rake up, the post unsanctified
Of murderous lechers: and in the mature time
With this ungracious paper strike the sight
Of the death practised duke: for him 'tis well
That of thy death and business I can tell.
GLOUCESTER
The king is mad: how stiff is my vile sense,
That I stand up, and have ingenious feeling
Of my huge sorrows! Better I were distract:
So should my thoughts be sever'd from my griefs,
And woes by wrong imaginations lose
The knowledge of themselves.
EDGAR
Give me your hand:
Drum afar off
Far off, methinks, I hear the beaten drum:
Come, father, I'll bestow you with a friend.
Exeunt
SCENE VII. A tent in the French camp
LEAR on a bed asleep,
soft music playing; Gentleman, and others attending.
Enter CORDELIA, KENT, and Doctor
CORDELIA
O thou good Kent, how shall I live and work,
To match thy goodness? My life will be too short,
And every measure fail me.
KENT
To be acknowledged, madam, is o'erpaid.
All my reports go with the modest truth;
Nor more nor clipp'd, but so.
CORDELIA
Be better suited:
These weeds are memories of those worser hours:
I prithee, put them off.
KENT
Pardon me, dear madam;
Yet to be known shortens my made intent:
My boon I make it, that you know me not
Till time and I think meet.
CORDELIA
Then be't so, my good lord.
[To the Doctor]
How does the king?
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