A miftrefs's command. Conceive, and fare thee well. Edm. Yours in the ranks of death. Gon. My most dear Glo'ster! [Exit Edmund, Oh, the ftrange difference of man and man! To thee a woman's fervices are due, My fool ufurps my duty. Stew. Madam, here comes my lord. [Exit. Enter Albany. Alb. Oh Gonerill, what have you done? Tygers, not daughters, what have you performed? A father and a gracious aged man, Moft barb'rous, moft degenerate, have you madded. How cou'd my brother fuffer you to do it, A man, a prince by him fo benefited? Gon. Milk liver'd man! That bear'ft a cheek for blows, a head for wrongs; Where's thy drum? France fpreads his banners in our noiseless land, Whilft thou, a moral fool, fit'ft ftill, and cry'ft, "Alack! why does he fo?" Alb. Thou chang'd, and felf-converted thing! for shame, Be monfter not thy feature. Enter Messenger. Mef. Oh, my good lord, the Duke of Cornwall's dead; Slain by his fervant, going to put out The earl of Glo'fter's eyes. Alb. Glo'fter's eyes! Mef. A fervant, that he bred, thrill'd with remorse, Oppos'd the horrid act; bending his fword Against his master: who, thereat inrag'd, Flew on him, and amongst them fell'd him dead: But not without that harmful ftroke, which fince Hath pluck'd him after. Alb. This fhews you are above, You You juftices, that these our nether crimes Alb. He's not here. Mef. No, my good lord, he is return'd again. Alb. Knows he the wickedness? Mef. Ay, my good lord, 'twas he inform'd against him, And quit the house of purpose, that their punish ment Might have the freer courfe. Alb. Glo'fter, I live To thank thee for the love thou fhew'dft the King,.. And to revenge thine eyes. Come hither, friend, Tell me what more thou know't. [Going, returns. See thyfelf, Goneril!! Proper deformity fhews not in the fiend, So horrid as in woman. Gon. O vain fool! [Exit Alb. and Meff. That haft not in thy brows an eye discerning Thine honour from thy fuffering! Enter Steward, with a letter. Stew. This letter, madam, craves a speedy answer: But being widow, and my Glo'ster with her, Enter Kent, and a Gentleman. Kent. Did your letters pierce the Queen to any demonftration of grief? Gent. Yes, fir; she took 'em, read 'em in my presence; And now and then a big round tear ran down Kent. Spoke you with her fince? Gent. No. Kent. Well, fir; the poor diftreffed Lear's in town; Who fometimes, in his better tune remembers What we are come about; and by no means Will yield to fee Cordelia. Gent. Why, good fir? Kent. A fov'reign fhame fo bows him; his unkindness, That ftript her from his benediction, turn'd her Gent. Alack, poor gentleman! Kent. Of Albany's, and Cornwall's Pow'rs you heard. Gent. 'Tis fo, they are a-foot. Kent. Well, fir, I'll bring you to our mafter Lear, And leave you to attend him. Some dear caufe Will in concealment wrap me up awhile: When I am known aright, you shall not grieve Lending me this acquaintance. Pray, along with [Exeunt. me. SCENE, a Camp. Enter Cordelia, Phyfician, and Soldiers. Cor: Alack, 'tis he; why he was met ev'n now As mad as the vext fea, finging aloud, Crowned with flowers, and all the weeds that grow In our fuftaining corn. -Their poor old father! Phyf. Take comfort, madam; there are means to cure him. Cor. No; 'tis too probable the furious storm Unfettled his care-wearied mind for ever. Phyf. Be patient, madam: Our fofter nurfe of Nature is Repofe, The which he lacks; that to provoke in him To close the eye of anguish. Cord. All bleft fecrets, power All you unpublish'd virtues of the earth, [Exeunt Attendants. If it be fo, one only boon I beg; That you'd convey me to his breathless trunk, Mef. News, madam: The British pow'rs are marching hitherward. In expectation of them. O dear father, It is thy business that I go about: therefore great France My mourning and important tears hath pitied. [Exeunt. SCENE, the Country, near Dover. Enter Glocefter, and Edgar as a Peasant. Glo. When fhall I come to th'top of that fame hill? Edg. You do climb up it now. Mark how we labour. Glo. Methinks, the ground is even. Edg. Horrible fteep. Hark, do you hear the fea? Glo. No, truly. . Edg. Why then your other fenfes grow imperfect By your eyes anguifh.. Glo. So may it be, indeed. Methinks, thy voice is alter'd; and thou speak'st But in my garments. Glo. Sure, you're better spoken. Edg. Come on, fir, here's the place-stand still. And dizzy 'tis, to caft one's eyes fo low ! The crows and choughs, that wing the midway air, Glo. Set me, where you ftand. Edg. |