The bounty and the benizon' of heaven Enter Steward. Stew. A proclaim'd prize! Most happy! That eyeless head of thine was first fram'd flesh To raise my fortunes. - Thou old unhappy traitor, Briefly thyself remember: The sword is out That must destroy thee. Glo. Put strength enough to it. Now let thy friendly hand [EDGAR opposes. Wherefore, bold peasant, Dar'st thou support a publish'd traitor? Hence; Edg. Ch'ill not let go, zir, without vurther 'casion. Edg. Good gentleman, go your gait3, and let poor volk pass. And ch'ud ha' been zwagger'd out of my life, 't would not ha' been zo long as 'tis by a vortnight. Nay, come not near the old man ; keep out, che vor' ye, or ise try whether your costard or my bat' be the harder: Ch'ill be plain with you. Stew. Out, dunghill! Edg. Ch'ill pick your teeth, zir: Come; no matter vor your foins. 6 [They fight; and EDGAR knocks him down. Stew. Slave, thou hast slain me: my purse; If ever thou wilt thrive, bury my body; Villain, take And give the letters, which thou find'st about me, [Dies. Edg. I know thee well: A serviceable villain; As duteous to the vices of thy mistress, As badness would desire. Glo. What is he dead? Edg. Sit you down, father; rest you. Let's see his pockets: these 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 gaol; from which deliver me, and supply the place for your labour. Your wife, (so I would say,) and your affectionate servant, GONERIL. O undistinguish'd space of woman's will!- And the exchange, my brother!— Here, in the sands, Thee I'll rake up, and, in the mature time, [Exit EDGAR, dragging out the Body. Glo. The king is mad: How stiff is my vile sense, That I stand up, and have ingenious feeling "I'll cover thee (the dead steward) in the sands. And woes, by wrong imaginations, lose Re-enter EDGAR. Edg. Give me your hand : Far off, methinks, I hear the beaten drum. [Exeunt. SCENE VII. A Tent in the French Camp. LEAR on a Bed, asleep: Physician, Gentleman, and others, attending. Enter CORDELIA and Kent. Cor. 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 acknowledg'd, madam, is o'er-paid. All my reports go with the modest truth; Nor more, nor clipp'd, but so. Cor. Be better suited: These weeds are memories of those worser hours; I pr'y thee, put them off. Pardon me, dear madam; Kent. My boon I make it, that you know me not, Till time and I think meet. Cor. Then be it so, my good lord. How does the king? Phys. Madam, sleeps still. Cor. O you kind gods, [To the Physician. Cure this great breach in his abused nature! $ Dressed. Phys. So please your majesty, That we may wake the king? he hath slept long. Cor. Be govern'd by your knowledge, and pro ceed I' the sway of your own will. Is he array'd? Phys. Be by, good madam, when we do awake him; I doubt not of his temperance. Cor. Very well. you, sick there. draw near. Louder the mu Cor. O my dear father! Restoration, hang Thy medicine on my lips; and let this kiss Repair those violent harms, that my two sisters Have in thy reverence made! Kent. Kind and dear princess! Cor. Had you not been their father, these white flakes Had challeng'd pity of them. Was this a face To stand against the deep dread-bolted thunder? Of quick, cross lightning? to watch (poor perdu '!) Though he had bit me, should have stood that night him. Phys. Madam, do you; 'tis fittest. Cor. How does my royal lord? How fares your majesty? 9 The allusion is to the forlorn hope in an army, called in French, enfans perdus. Thin covering of hair. Lear. You do me wrong, to take me out o' the grave: Thou art a soul in bliss; but I am bound Upon a wheel of fire, that mine own tears Cor. Lear. You are a spirit, I die? Cor. Still, still, far wide! Sir, do you know me? know; When did you Phys. He's scarce awake; let him alone awhile. Lear. Where have I been? Where am I?— Fair day-light? I am mightily abus'd. I should even die with pity, To see another thus. I know not what to say. Cor. O, look upon me, sir, hands in benediction o'er me: No, sir, you must not kneel. Lear. Pray, do not mock me : I am a very foolish fond old man, Fourscore and upward; and, to deal plainly, I fear, I am not in my perfect mind. Methinks, I should know you, and know this man : To be my child Cordelia. And so I am, I am. Cor, weep not: If you have poison for me, I will drink it. |