Online Book Reader

Home Category

The Complete Works of William Shakespeare - Israel Gollancz William Shakespeare [911]

By Root 19176 0
of their betters.

Enter Albany.

Lear. Woe that too late repents!- O, sir, are you come?

Is it your will? Speak, sir!- Prepare my horses.

Ingratitude, thou marble-hearted fiend,

More hideous when thou show'st thee in a child

Than the sea-monster!

Alb. 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, wrench'd my frame of nature

From the fix'd 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 [Strikes his head.]

And thy dear judgment out! Go, go, my people.

Alb. My lord, I am guiltless, as I am ignorant

Of what hath mov'd 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 disnatur'd 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

How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is

To have a thankless child! Away, away! Exit.

Alb. Now, gods that we adore, whereof comes this?

Gon. Never afflict yourself to know the cause;

But let his disposition have that scope

That dotage gives it.

Enter Lear.

Lear. What, fifty of my followers at a clap?

Within a fortnight?

Alb. What's the matter, sir?

Lear. I'll tell thee. [To Goneril] Life and death! I am asham'd

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 lose,

To temper clay. Yea, is it come to this?

Let it be so. Yet have I left a 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; thou shalt, I warrant thee.

Exeunt [Lear, Kent, and Attendants].

Gon. Do you mark that, my lord?

Alb. I cannot be so partial, Goneril,

To the great love I bear you -

Gon. Pray you, content.- What, Oswald, ho!

[To the Fool] 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.

Gon. 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 pow'rs

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

Alb. Well, you may fear too far.

Gon. 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 utter'd I have writ my sister.

If she sustain him and his hundred knights,

When I have show'd th' unfitness-

Enter [Oswald the] Steward.

How now, Oswald?

What, have you writ that letter to my sister?

Osw. Yes, madam.

Gon. 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 it not, yet, under pardon,

You are much more at task for want of wisdom

Than prais'd

Return Main Page Previous Page Next Page

®Online Book Reader