Thou old unhappy traitor, Briefly thyself remember:-the sword is out That must destroy thee. Glo. Put strength enough to't. Osw. Now, let thy friendly hand [EDGAR interposes. Wherefore, bold peasant, Dar'st thou support a publish'd traitor? Hence; Edg. Chill not let go, zir, without vurther 'casion. Osw. Let go, slave, or thou diest! Edg. Good gentleman, go your gait, and let poor volk pass. An chud ha' been zwaggered out of my life, 'twould not ha' been zo long as 'tis by a vortnight. Nay, come not near the old man; or ise try whether your costard or my bat be the harder. Osw. Out, dunghill! Edg. Chill pick your teeth, zir. [They fight. [OSWALD falls Give the letters which thou find'st about me Upon the British party :-O, untimely death ! Edg. I know thee well-a serviceable villain. Edg. Sit you down, father; rest you.— [Dies. Let's see his pockets: these letters that he speaks of [Reads.] "Let our reciprocal vows be remember'd. You have many opportunities to cut him off: if your will want not, time and place will be fruitfully offer'd. There is nothing done, if he return the conqueror; then am I the prisoner, and his bed my gaol. "Your-wife, so I would say-affectionate servant, "GONERIL." O undistinguish'd space of woman's will! And the exchange my brother! In the mature time, [Distant drum. Far off, methinks, I hear the beaten drum : SCENE 4.-The French Camp. Enter KENT and a Gentleman. Kent. HY the King of France is so suddenly gone back know you the reason? Gent. Something he left imperfect in the state, which since his coming forth is thought of. Kent. Did your letters pierce the queen to any demonstration of grief? Gent. Ay, sir; she took them, read them in my presence; And now and then an ample tear trill'd down Sought to be king o'er her. O, then it mov'd her. Kent. Gent. Not to a rage: patience and sorrow strove Who should express her goodliest. You have seen Sunshine and rain at once: her smiles and tears Were like a better way: those happy smilets, That played on her ripe lip, seem'd not to know What guests were in her eyes. In brief, Sorrow would be a rarity most belov❜d, If all could so become it. Kent. Made she no verbal question? Gent. Faith, once or twice she heav'd the name of "father" Pantingly forth, as if it press'd her heart; Cried "Sisters! sisters! What, i' the storm? i' the night? Let pity not be believ'd!" There she shook And clamour moisten'd: then away she started You spoke not with her since? Kent. Gent. No. Kent. Was this before the king return'd? Gent. No, since. Kent. Well, sir, the poor distress'd Lear's i' the town; Who sometime in his better tune remembers What we are come about, and by no means Will yield to see his daughter. Gent. Kent. His own unkindness, Why, good sir? That stripp'd her from his benediction, stings Gent. Alack, poor gentleman! Kent. Of Albany's and Cornwall's powers you heard not? Gent. 'Tis so, they are afoot. Kent. Well, sir, I'll bring you to our master Lear, And leave you to attend him : When I am known aright, you shall not grieve Lending me this acquaintance. I pray you, [Exeunt. E SCENE 5-A Tent in the French Camp. Soft music playing. CORDELIA and KENT. Physician, Gentleman, and others watching. Cordelia. THOU good Kent, how shall I live and work, And every measure fail me. Kent. To be acknowledg'd, madam, is o'erpaid. Phy. Madam, sleeps well. Cor. O you kind gods, Cure this great breach in his abusèd nature! So please your majesty Phy. Phy. Ay, madam; in the heaviness of sleep Kent. Be by, good madam, when we do awake him ; I doubt not of his temperance. Cor. Very well. Phy. Please you, draw near. Louder the music there! Cor. O my dear father! Restoration hang Thy med'cine on my lips; and let this kiss Have in thy reverence made! Kent. Kind and dear princess! Cor. Had you not been their father, these white flakes L Had challeng'd pity of them. Was this a face Mine enemy's dog, Though he had bit me, should have stood that night Had not concluded all.—He wakes; speak to him. Cor. How does my royal lord? how fares your majesty ? 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. Sir, do you know me? Lear. You are a spirit, I know: when did you die? Cor. Still, still, far wide! Phy. He's scarce awake: let him alone awhile. Lear. Where have I been? Where am I?-Fair daylight ?— I'm mightily abus'd.-I should e'en die with pity, Cor. O, look upon me, sir, And hold your 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, not an hour more or less; And, to deal plainly, I fear I am not in my perfect mind. E 2 |