KING LEAR

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

(PAGINA 7)

KING LEAR



ACT IV





SCENE I The heath.



[Enter EDGAR]

EDGAR Yet better thus, and known to be contemn'd,

Than still contemn'd and flatter'd. To be worst,

The lowest and most dejected thing of fortune,

Stands still in esperance, lives not in fear:

The lamentable change is from the best;

The worst returns to laughter. Welcome, then,

Thou unsubstantial air that I embrace!

The wretch that thou hast blown unto the worst

Owes nothing to thy blasts. But who comes here?

[Enter GLOUCESTER, led by an Old Man]

My father, poorly led? World, world, O world!

But that thy strange mutations make us hate thee,

Lie would not yield to age.

Old Man O, my good lord, I have been your tenant, and

your father's tenant, these fourscore years.

GLOUCESTER Away, get thee away; good friend, be gone:

Thy comforts can do me no good at all;

Thee they may hurt.

Old Man Alack, sir, you cannot see your way.

GLOUCESTER I have no way, and therefore want no eyes;

I stumbled when I saw: full oft 'tis seen,

Our means secure us, and our mere defects

Prove our commodities. O dear son Edgar,

The food of thy abused father's wrath!

Might I but live to see thee in my touch,

I'ld say I had eyes again!

Old Man How now! Who's there?

EDGAR [Aside] O gods! Who is't can say 'I am at

the worst'?

I am worse than e'er I was.

Old Man 'Tis poor mad Tom.

EDGAR [Aside] And worse I may be yet: the worst is not

So long as we can say 'This is the worst.'

Old Man Fellow, where goest?

GLOUCESTER Is it a beggar-man?

Old Man Madman and beggar too.

GLOUCESTER He has some reason, else he could not beg.

I' the last night's storm I such a fellow saw;

Which made me think a man a worm: my son

Came then into my mind; and yet my mind

Was then scarce friends with him: I have heard

more since.

As flies to wanton boys, are we to the gods.

They kill us for their sport.

EDGAR [Aside] How should this be?

Bad is the trade that must play fool to sorrow,

Angering itself and others.--Bless thee, master!

GLOUCESTER Is that the naked fellow?

Old Man Ay, my lord.

GLOUCESTER Then, prithee, get thee gone: if, for my sake,

Thou wilt o'ertake us, hence a mile or twain,

I' the way toward Dover, do it for ancient love;

And bring some covering for this naked soul,

Who I'll entreat to lead me.

Old Man Alack, sir, he is mad.

GLOUCESTER 'Tis the times' plague, when madmen lead the blind.

Do as I bid thee, or rather do thy pleasure;

Above the rest, be gone.

Old Man I'll bring him the best 'parel that I have,

Come on't what will.

[Exit]

GLOUCESTER Sirrah, naked fellow,--

EDGAR Poor Tom's a-cold.

[Aside]

I cannot daub it further.

GLOUCESTER Come hither, fellow.

EDGAR [Aside] And yet I must.--Bless thy sweet eyes, they bleed.

GLOUCESTER Know'st thou the way to Dover?

EDGAR Both stile and gate, horse-way and foot-path. Poor

Tom hath been scared out of his good wits: bless

thee, good man's son, from the foul fiend! five

fiends have been in poor Tom at once; of lust, as

Obidicut; Hobbididence, prince of dumbness; Mahu, of

stealing; Modo, of murder; Flibbertigibbet, of

mopping and mowing, who since possesses chambermaids

and waiting-women. So, bless thee, master!

GLOUCESTER Here, take this purse, thou whom the heavens' plagues

Have humbled to all strokes: that I am wretched

Makes thee the happier: heavens, deal so still!

Let the superfluous and lust-dieted man,

That slaves your ordinance, that will not see

Because he doth not feel, feel your power quickly;

So distribution should undo excess,

And each man have enough. Dost thou know Dover?

EDGAR Ay, master.

GLOUCESTER There is a cliff, whose high and bending head

Looks fearfully in the confined deep:

Bring me but to the very brim of it,

And I'll repair the misery thou dost bear

With something rich about me: from that place

I shall no leading need.

EDGAR Give me thy arm:

Poor Tom shall lead thee.

[Exeunt]







KING LEAR



ACT IV





SCENE II Before ALBANY's palace.



[Enter GONERIL and EDMUND]

GONERIL Welcome, my lord: I marvel our mild husband

Not met us on the way.

[Enter OSWALD]

Now, where's your master'?

OSWALD Madam, within; but never man so changed.

I told him of the army that was landed;

He smiled at it: I told him you were coming:

His answer was 'The worse:' of Gloucester's treachery,

And of the loyal service of his son,

When I inform'd him, then he call'd me sot,

And told me I had turn'd the wrong side out:

What most he should dislike seems pleasant to him;

What like, offensive.

GONERIL [To EDMUND] Then shall you go no further.

It is the cowish terror of his spirit,

That dares not undertake: he'll not feel wrongs

Which tie him to an answer. Our wishes on the way

May prove effects. Back, Edmund, to my brother;

Hasten his musters and conduct his powers:

I must change arms at home, and give the distaff

Into my husband's hands. This trusty servant

Shall pass between us: ere long you are like to hear,

If you dare venture in your own behalf,

A mistress's command. Wear this; spare speech;

[Giving a favour]

Decline your head: this kiss, if it durst speak,

Would stretch thy spirits up into the air:

Conceive, and fare thee well.

EDMUND Yours in the ranks of death.

GONERIL My most dear Gloucester!

[Exit EDMUND]

O, the difference of man and man!

To thee a woman's services are due:

My fool usurps my body.

OSWALD Madam, here comes my lord.

[Exit]

[Enter ALBANY]

GONERIL I have been worth the whistle.

ALBANY O Goneril!

You are not worth the dust which the rude wind

Blows in your face. I fear your disposition:

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

And come to deadly use.

GONERIL No more; the text is foolish.

ALBANY Wisdom and goodness to the vile seem vile:

Filths savour but themselves. What have you done?

Tigers, not daughters, what have you perform'd?

A father, and a gracious aged man,

Whose reverence even the head-lugg'd bear would lick,

Most barbarous, most degenerate! have you madded.

Could my good brother suffer you to do it?

A man, a prince, by him so benefited!

If that the heavens do not their visible spirits

Send quickly down to tame these vile offences,

It will come,

Humanity must perforce prey on itself,

Like monsters of the deep.

GONERIL Milk-liver'd man!

That bear'st a cheek for blows, a head for wrongs;

Who hast not in thy brows an eye discerning

Thine honour from thy suffering; that not know'st

Fools do those villains pity who are punish'd

Ere they have done their mischief. Where's thy drum?

France spreads his banners in our noiseless land;

With plumed helm thy slayer begins threats;

Whiles thou, a moral fool, sit'st still, and criest

'Alack, why does he so?'

ALBANY See thyself, devil!

Proper deformity seems not in the fiend

So horrid as in woman.

GONERIL O vain fool!

ALBANY Thou changed and self-cover'd thing, for shame,

Be-monster not thy feature. Were't 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,

A woman's shape doth shield thee.

GONERIL Marry, your manhood now--

[Enter a Messenger]

ALBANY What news?

Messenger O, my good lord, the Duke of Cornwall's dead:

Slain by his servant, going to put out

The other eye of Gloucester.

ALBANY Gloucester's eye!

Messenger A servant that he bred, thrill'd with remorse,

Opposed against the act, bending his sword

To his great master; who, thereat enraged,

Flew on him, and amongst them fell'd him dead;

But not without that harmful stroke, which since

Hath pluck'd him after.

ALBANY This shows you are above,

You justicers, that these our nether crimes

So speedily can venge! But, O poor Gloucester!

Lost he his other eye?

Messenger Both, both, my lord.

This letter, madam, craves a speedy answer;

'Tis from your sister.

GONERIL [Aside] One way I like this well;

But being widow, and my Gloucester with her,

May all the building in my fancy pluck

Upon my hateful life: another way,

The news is not so tart.--I'll read, and answer.

[Exit]

ALBANY Where was his son when they did take his eyes?

Messenger Come with my lady hither.

ALBANY He is not here.

Messenger No, my good lord; I met him back again.

ALBANY Knows he the wickedness?

Messenger Ay, my good lord; 'twas he inform'd against him;

And quit the house on purpose, that their punishment

Might have the freer course.

ALBANY Gloucester, I live

To thank thee for the love thou show'dst the king,

And to revenge thine eyes. Come hither, friend:

Tell me what more thou know'st.

[Exeunt]







KING LEAR



ACT IV





SCENE III The French camp near Dover.



[Enter KENT and a Gentleman]

KENT Why the King of France is so suddenly gone back

know you the reason?

Gentleman Something he left imperfect in the

state, which since his coming forth is thought

of; which imports to the kingdom so much

fear and danger, that his personal return was

most required and necessary.

KENT Who hath he left behind him general?

Gentleman The Marshal of France, Monsieur La Far.

KENT Did your letters pierce the queen to any

demonstration of grief?

Gentleman 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,

Sought to be king o'er her.

KENT O, then it moved her.

Gentleman 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 play'd on her ripe lip, seem'd not to know

What guests were in her eyes; which parted thence,

As pearls from diamonds dropp'd. In brief,

Sorrow would be a rarity most beloved,

If all could so become it.

KENT Made she no verbal question?

Gentleman 'Faith, once or twice she heaved the name of 'father'

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

To deal with grief alone.

KENT It is the stars,

The stars above us, govern our conditions;

Else one self mate and mate could not beget

Such different issues. You spoke not with her since?

Gentleman No.

KENT Was this before the king return'd?

Gentleman No, since.

KENT Well, sir, the poor distressed 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.

Gentleman 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

His mind so venomously, that burning shame

Detains him from Cordelia.

Gentleman Alack, poor gentleman!

KENT Of Albany's and Cornwall's powers you heard not?

Gentleman 'Tis so, they are afoot.

KENT Well, sir, I'll bring you to our master Lear,

And leave you to attend him: some dear cause

Will in concealment wrap me up awhile;

When I am known aright, you shall not grieve

Lending me this acquaintance. I pray you, go

Along with me.

[Exeunt]


<Pagina anterioara       Pagina urmatoare>