Edg. Chi'll not let go, zir, without vurther 'casion. Stew. Let go, slave, or thou diest. Edg. Good gentleman, go your gait, and let poor volk pass. And ch'ud 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; keep out, che vor'ye, or ise try whether your costard 1 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.2 [they fight; and Edgar knocks him down. Stew. Slave, thou hast slain me.-Villain, take my purse. If ever thou wilt thrive, bury my body; 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. Glos. What, is he dead? Edg. Sit you down, father; rest you.Let's see his pockets: these letters, that he speaks of, 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 jail; from the loathed warmth whereof deliver me, and supply the place for your labor. Your wife, (so I would say) and your affectionate servant, 'GONERIL.' O undistinguish'd space of woman's will! A plot upon her virtuous husband's life; And the exchange, my brother!-Here, in the sands, Thee I'll rake up,1 the post unsanctified Of murderous lechers; and, in the mature time, [Exit Edgar, dragging out the body. Glos. The king is mad. How stiff is my vile sense, 1 1 will cover thee. That I stand up, and have ingenious feeling Of my huge sorrows! Better I were distract: The knowlege of themselves. Re-enter EDGAR. Edg. Give me your hand : Far off, methinks, I hear the beaten drum. Come, father, I'll bestow you with a friend. [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 acknowleged, madam, is o'erpaid. All my reports go with the modest truth; Nor more, nor clipp'd, but so. Cor. Be better suited: 1 These weeds are memories 2 of those worser hours; I pr'ythee, put them off. Kent. Pardon me, dear madam; I Dressed. 2 For memorials. Yet to be known, shortens my made intent: Cor. Then be it so, my good lord.-How does [to the Physician. the king? Phy. Madam, sleeps still. Cor. O you kind gods, Cure this great breach in his abused nature! Phy. Gen. Ay, madam; in the heaviness of his sleep, We put fresh garments on him. Phy. 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 Cor. Had you not been their father, these white flakes Had challenged pity of them. Was this a face To be exposed against the warring winds? 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 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 Do scald like molten lead. 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 am mightily abused: I should even die with pity, To see another thus.-I know not what to say. In allusion to the forlorn hope of an army, called in French efans perdus. 2 Thin covering of hair. |