You are not worth the dust which the rude wind Blows in your face. That nature, which contemns its origin, Cannot be border'd certain in itself; She that herself will sliver and disbranch From her material sap, perforce must wither, Gon. No more: the text is foolish. Alb. Wisdom and goodness to the vile seem vile; Whose reverence the head-lugg'd bear would lick, A man, a prince, by him so benefited? If that the heavens do not their visible spirits Humanity must perforce prey on itself, Like monsters of the deep. Gon. Milk-liver'd man! That bear'st a cheek for blows, a head for wrongs; Ere they have done their mischief. Where's thy drum? Alb. See thyself, devil! Proper deformity seems not in the fiend So horrid, as in woman. Gon. O vain fool! Alb. Thou changed and self-cover'd thing, for shame, Be-monster not thy feature. Were it my fitness To let these hands obey my blood, They are apt enough to dislocate and tear Thy flesh and bones: howe'er thou art a fiend, Gon. Marry, your manhood now! Alb. What news? Enter a Messenger. Mess. O, my good lord! the duke of Cornwall's dead; Slain by his servant, going to put out The other eye of Gloster. Alb. Gloster's eyes! Mess. A servant that he bred, thrill'd with remorse, Oppos'd against the act, bending his sword To his great master; who, thereat enrag'd, Flew on him, and amongst them fell'd him dead, Alb. You justicers, that these our nether crimes So speedily can venge! Lost he his other eye? Mess. This shows you are above, But, O poor Gloster! Both, both, my lord. This letter, Madam, craves a speedy answer; 'Tis from your sister. Gon. [Aside.] One way I like this well; But being widow, and my Gloster with her, May all the building in my fancy pluck Upon my hateful life. Another way, The news is not so tart. [To him.] I'll read, and answer. [Exit. Alb. Where was his son, when they did take his eyes? Alb. He is not here. Mess. No, my good lord; I met him back again. Alb. Knows he the wickedness? Mess. Ay, my good lord; 't was he inform❜d against him, And quit the house, on purpose that their punishment Might have the freer course. Alb. Gloster, I live To thank thee for the love thou show'dst the king, SCENE III. The French Camp near Dover. Enter KENT, and a Gentleman. [Exeunt. Kent. Why 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; which And necessary. Kent. Whom bath he left behind him general? Gent. The Mareschal of France, Monsieur le Fer. 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 Her delicate cheek: it seem'd, she was a queen Over her passion, who, most rebel-like, O! then it mov'd her. Kent. Were like a better May: those happy smilets, Could so become it. Kent. Made she no verbal question? Gent. 'Faith, once, or twice, she heav'd the name of "fa ther" Pantingly forth, as if it press'd her heart; Cried, "Sisters! sisters! - Shame of ladies! sisters! Kent! father! sisters! What? i' the storm? i' the night? Let pity not be believed!" - There she shook The holy water from her heavenly eyes, And clamour moisten'd: then, away she started Kent. It is the stars, The stars above us, govern our conditions; Such different issues. You spoke not with her since? No. 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. Why, good Sir? Kent A sovereign shame so elbows him; his own unkindness, That stripp'd her from his benediction, turn'd her To foreign casualties, gave her dear rights To his dog-hearted daughters: these things sting Gent. Alack, poor gentleman! Kent. Of Albany's and Cornwall's powers you heard not? Gent. T is so they are afoot. Kent. Well, Sir, I'll bring you to our master Lear, When I am known aright, you shall not grieve Lending me this acquaintance. I pray you, go Along with me. SCENE IV. The Same. A Tent. Enter CORDELIA, Physician, and Soldiers. Cor. Alack! 't is he: why, he was met even now As mad as the vex'd sea: singing aloud; Crown'd with rank fumiter, and furrow weeds, With hoar-docks, hemlock, nettles, cuckoo-flowers, In our sustaining corn. A century send forth; Search every acre in the high-grown field, [Exeunt. And bring him to our eye. [Exit an Officer.] - What can man's wisdom, In the restoring his bereaved sense? He, that helps him, take all my outward worth. Phy. There is means, Madam: Our foster-nurse of nature is repose, The which he lacks; that to provoke in him, Cor. All bless'd secrets, All you unpublish'd virtues of the earth, Spring with my tears! be aidant, and remediate, In the good man's distress! Seek, seek for him; Let his ungovern'd rage dissolve the life That wants the means to lead it. Enter a Messenger. Mess. News, Madam: The British powers are marching hitherward. |