Which, for they yet glance by, and scarcely bruise, This sword of mine shall give them instant way,
Edm. There's my exchange: [Throwing down a Where they shall rest for ever.-Trumpets, speak!
Glove.] what in the world he is
That names me traitor, villain-like he lies. Call by thy trumpet: he that dares approach, On him, on you, who not? I will maintain My truth and honour firmly.
Alb. Trust to thy single virtue; for thy soldiers,
All levied in my name, have in my name
Took their discharge.
Reg.
My sickness grows upon me.
Alb. She is not well; convey her to my tent.
[Exit REGAN, led.
Behold, it is the privilege of mine honours,
My oath, and my profession. I protest,
Maugre thy strength, skill, youth, and eminence,
Despite thy victor sword, and fire-new fortune,
Thy valour, and thy heart, thou art a traitor:
False to thy gods, thy brother, and thy father;
Conspirant gainst this high illustrious prince;
And, from th' extremest upward of thy head,
To the descent and dust below thy foot,
A most toad-spotted traitor. Say thou, "No,"
This sword, this arm, and my best spirits, are bent
То prove upon thy heart, whereto I speak,
In wisdom, I should ask thy name;
But since thy outside looks so fair and warlike,
And that thy tongue some 'say of breeding breathes,
What safe and nicely I might well delay
By rule of knighthood, I disdain and spurn.
Back do I toss these treasons to thy head;
With the hell-hated lie o'erwhelm thy heart;
[Alarums. They fight. EDMUND falls. Alb. O, save him! save him!" Gon. This is mere practice, Gloster. By the laws of arms, thou wast not bound to answer An unknown opposite; thou art not vanquish'd, But cozen'd and beguil'd.
Alb. Or with this paper shall I stop it?-Hold, sir!Thou worse than any name, read thine own evil. [She snatches at the Letter. No tearing, lady; I perceive, you know it.
[Gives the Letter to EDMUND. Gon. Say, if I do, the laws are mine, not thine: Who can arraign me for't?
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And more, much more; the time will bring it out:
Tis past, and so am I. But what art thou,
That hast this fortune on me? If thou'rt noble,
I do forgive thee.
Edg.
Let's exchange charity.
I am no less in blood than thou art, Edmund;
If more, the more thou hast wrong'd me.
[Taking off his Helmet.
My name is Edgar, and thy father's son.
The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices
Make instruments to plague us:
The dark and vicious place where thee he got
Cost him his eyes.
Edm.
Thou hast spoken right, 'tis true;
The wheel is come full circle: I am here.
Alb. Methought, thy very gait did prophesy
A royal nobleness. I must embrace thee:
Let sorrow split my heart, if ever I
Did hate thee, or thy father.
Edg.
Worthy prince, I know't. Alb. Where have you hid yourself?
How have you known the miseries of your father? Edg. By nursing them, my lord.-List a brief
And, when 'tis told, O, that my heart would burst!-
The bloody proclamation to escape,
That follow'd me so near, (O, our lives' sweetness!
That with the pain of death we'd hourly die,
Rather than die at once!) taught me to shift
Into a madman's rags, t' assume a semblance
That very dogs disdain'd; and in this habit
Met I my father with his bleeding rings,
Their precious stones new lost; became his guide,
Led him, begg'd for him, sav'd him from despair;
Never (O fault!) reveal'd myself unto him,
Until some half hour past, when I was arm'd,
Not sure, though hoping, of this good success,
I ask'd his blessing, and from first to last
Told him my pilgrimage: but his flaw'd heart,
(Alack! too weak the conflict to support)
"Twixt two extremes of passion, joy and grief,
Burst smilingly.
Edm.
This speech of yours hath mov'd me,
And shall, perchance, do good; but speak you on:
You look as you had something more to say.
Alb. If there be more more woful, hold it in,
For I am almost ready to dissolve,
Hearing of this.
This would have seem'd a period
To such as love not sorrow; but another,
To amplify too-much, would make much more,
And top extremity.
Whilst I was big in clamour, came there a man,
Who, having seen me in my worst estate,
Shunn'd my abhorr'd society; but then, finding
Who 'twas that so endur'd, with his strong arms
He fasten'd on my neck, and bellow'd out
As he'd burst heaven; threw me on my father;
Told the most piteous tale of Lear and him,
That ever ear receiv'd; which in recounting,
His grief grew puissant, and the strings of life
Began to crack; twice, then, the trumpets sounded,
And there I left him tranc'd.
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Edg. What means that bloody knife?
Gent.
"Tis hot, it smokes ;
It came even from the heart of-O! she's dead:
Alb. Who dead? speak, man.
Gent. Your lady, sir, your lady: and her sister
By her is poisoned; she hath confess'd it.
Edm. I was contracted to them both: all three Now marry in an instant.
Alb. Produce the bodies, be they alive or dead!
This judgment of the heavens, that makes us tremble,
Touches us not with pity.
[Exit Gentleman.
The time will not allow the compliment,
Which very manners urges.
To bid my king and master aye good night:
Great thing of us forgot!—
Is this the promis'd end?
Edg. Or image of that horror?
Alb.
Fall, and cease!
Lear. This feather stirs; she lives! if it be so,
It is a chance which does redeem all sorrows
That ever I have felt.
Kent.
Lear. Pr'ythee, away.
Edg.
'Tis noble Kent, your friend.
Lear. A plague upon you, murderers, traitors all!
I might have sav'd her; now, she's gone for ever.—
Cordelia, Cordelia! stay a little. Ha!
What is't thou say'st?-Her voice was ever soft,
Gentle, and low-an excellent thing in woman.—
I kill'd the slave that was a hanging thee.
Off. 'Tis true, my lords, he did.
Lear.
I have seen the day, with my good biting faulchion
I would have made them skip: I am old now,
And these same crosses spoil me.-Who are you?
Mine eyes are not o' the best: I'll tell you straight.
Kent. If fortune brag of two she lov'd and hated,
One of them we behold.
Lear. This is a dull light :-are you not Kent?
Kent.
The same,
Your servant Kent. Where is your servant Caius?
Lear. He's a good fellow, I can tell you that;
He'll strike, and quickly too.-He's dead and rotten.
Kent. No, my good lord; I am the very man-
Lear. I'll see that straight.
Kent. That from your first of difference and decay,
Speak, Edmund, where's the king? and where's Cor- Have follow'd your sad steps.
Edg. To whom, my lord?-Who has the office? send Shall be applied: for us, we will resign,
Thy token of reprieve.
Edm. Well thought on: take my sword,
Haste thee, for thy life. [Exit EDGAR. Edm. He hath commission from thy wife and me To hang Cordelia in the prison, and
During the life of this old majesty,
To him our absolute power.-To you your rights,
[TO EDGAR and KENT.
With boot, and such addition, as your honours
Have more than merited.-All friends shall taste
The wages of their virtue, and all foes
The cup of their deservings.-O! see, see! Lear. And my poor fool is hang'd! No, no, no life:
Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life,
And thou no breath at all? Thou'lt come no more,
Never, never, never, never, never!-
Pray you, undo this button: thank you, sir.-
Do you see this? Look on her,-look,—her lips,—
Look there, look there!-
[He dies.
Edg.
He faints. My lord, my lord!
Kent. Break, heart; I pr'ythee, break!
Edg.
Look up, my lord.
Kent. Vex not his ghost: O! let him pass: he hates
him,
That would upon the rack of this tough world
He is gone, indeed. Kent. The wonder is, he hath endur'd so long: He but usurp'd his life.
Alb. Bear them from hence. Our present business
Is general woe.-Friends of my soul, you twain
[To KENT and EDGAR.
Rule in this realm, and the gor'd state sustain.
Kent. I have a journey, sir, shortly to go:
My master calls me; I must not say, no.
Alb. The weight of this sad time we must obey;
Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say.
The oldest hath borne most: we, that are young,
Shall never see so much, nor live so long.
[Exeunt, with a dead March.
Officers, Gentlemen, Messengers, Musicians, Sailors, Attendants, &c.
SCENE, for the first Act, in Venice; during the rest of the Play, at a Sea-Port in Cyprus.
SCENE I.-Venice. A Street.
Enter RODERIGO in choler, and IAGO.
Rod. Tush! never tell me, I take it much unkindly,
That thou, Iago, who hast had my purse,
As if the strings were thine, should'st know of this.
Iago. 'Sblood! but you will not hear me :
If ever I did dream of such a matter, abhor me.
Rod. Thou told'st me thou didst hold him in thy
hate.
Iago. Despise me, if I do not. Three great ones of
the city,
In personal suit to make me his lieutenant,
Off-capp'd to him; and, by the faith of man,
I know my price: I am worth no worse a place ;
But he, as loving his own pride and purposes,
Evades them, with a bombast circumstance,
Horribly stuff'd with epithets of war;
And, in conclusion,
Nonsuits my mediators; "For certes," says he,
Rod. By heaven, I rather would have been his hangman.
Iago. But there's no remedy: 'tis the curse of
service,
Preferment goes by favour and affection,
Not by the old gradation, where each second
Stood heir t' the first. Now, sir, be judge yourself,
Whether I in any just terms am affin'd
To love the Moor.
I would not follow him, then.
Iago. O, sir! content you;
I follow him to serve my turn upon him:
We cannot all be masters, nor all masters
Cannot be truly follow'd. You shall mark
Many a duteous and knee-crooking knave,
That, doting on his own obsequious bondage,
Wears out his time, much like his master's ass,
For nought but provender; and when he's old, cashier'd:
Whip me such honest knaves. Others there are,
Who, learn'd in forms and usages of duty,
"I have already chose my officer." And what was he? Keep yet their hearts attending on themselves,
Forsooth, a great arithmetician,
One Michael Cassio, a Florentine,
A fellow almost damn'd in a fair wife;
That never set a squadron in the field,
Nor the division of a battle knows
More than a spinster; unless the bookish theoric,
Wherein the toged consuls can propose
As masterly as he mere prattle, without practice,
Is all his soldiership. But he, sir, had th' election;
And I,—of whom his eyes had seen the proof,
At Rhodes, at Cyprus, and on other grounds,
Christian and heathen,-must be be-lee'd and calm'd
By debitor and creditor, this counter-caster:
He, in good time, must his lieutenant be,
And I, God bless the mark! his Moor-ship's ancient.
And, throwing but shows of service on their lords,
Do well thrive by them; and when they have lin'd
Do themselves homage: these fellows have some soul;
And such a one do I profess myself. For, sir,
It is as sure as you are Roderigo,
Were I the Moor, I would not be Iago:
In following him, I follow but myself;
Heaven is my judge, not I for love and duty,
But seeming so, for my peculiar end:
For when my outward action doth demonstrate
The native act and figure of my heart
In compliment extern, 'tis not long after
But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve
For daws to peck at: I am not what I am.
Rod. What a full fortune does the thick-lips owe, If he can carry't thus!
Iago.
Call up her father;
Rouse him make after him, poison his delight,
Proclaim him in the streets: incense her kinsmen;
And though he in a fertile climate dwell,
Plague him with flies: though that his joy be joy,
Yet throw such changes of vexation on't,
As it may lose some colour.
Rod. Here is her father's house: I'll call aloud.
Iago. Do; with like clamorous accent, and dire yell,
As when, by night and negligence, the fire
Is spied in populous cities.
Rod. What ho! Brabantio! signior Brabantio, ho! Iago. Awake! what, ho! Brabantio! thieves! thieves! thieves!
Look to your house, your daughter, and your bags! Thieves! thieves!
Enter BRABANTIO, above, at a Window.
Bra. What is the reason of this terrible summons? What is the matter there?
Rod. Signior, is all your family within?
Iago. Are your doors lock'd?
Why? wherefore ask you this? Iago. 'Zounds! sir, you are robb'd; for shame, put
(As partly, I find, it is) that your fair daughter,
At this odd-even and dull watch o' the night,
Transported with no worse nor better guard,
But with a knave of common hire, a gondolier,
To the gross clasps of a lascivious Moor,
If this be known to you, and your allowance,
We then have done you bold and saucy wrongs;
But if you know not this, my manners tell me,
We have your wrong rebuke. Do not believe
That from the sense of all civility,
I thus would play and trifle with your reverence:
Your daughter, if you have not given her leave,
I say again, hath made a gross revolt,
Laying her duty, beauty, wit, and fortunes,
On an extravagant and wheedling stranger,
Of here and every where. Straight satisfy yourself:
If she be in her chamber, or your house,
Let loose on me the justice of the state
For thus deluding you.
Strike on the tinder, ho!
Give me a taper!-call up all my people!-
This accident is not unlike my dream;
Belief of it oppresses me already.—
Light, I say! light!
Iago.
[Exit from above.
Farewell, for I must leave you:
It seems not meet, nor wholesome to my place,
To be produc'd (as if I stay I shall)
Against the Moor: for, I do know, the state,—
However this may gall him with some check,-
Cannot with safety cast him; for he's embark'd
With such loud reason to the Cyprus wars
(Which even now stand in act) that, for their souls,
Another of his fathom they have none,
To lead their business: in which regard,
Though I do hate him as I do hell pains,
Yet for necessity of present life,
I must show out a flag and sign of love,
Which is indeed but sign. That you shall surely find him,
Lead to the Sagittary the raised search;
And there will I be with him. So, farewell.
Enter BRABANTIO, and Servants with Torches. Bra. It is too true an evil: gone she is; And what's to come of my despised time
But thou must needs be sure, Is nought but bitterness. Now, Roderigo,
My spirit and my place have in them power
To make this bitter to thee.
Where didst thou see her?-O, unhappy girl!-
With the Moor, say'st thou ?-Who would be a
father?-
Bra. What tell'st thou me of robbing? this is How didst thou know 'twas she?-O! thou deceiv'st
My house is not a grange.
Most grave Brabantio, In simple and pure soul I come to you. Iago. 'Zounds! sir, you are one of those, that will not serve God, if the devil bid you. Because we come to do you service, and you think we are ruffians, you'll have your daughter covered with a Barbary horse: you'll have your nephews neigh to you; you'll have coursers for cousins, and gennets for germans.
Bra. What profane wretch art thou?
Iago. I am one, sir, that comes to tell you, your daughter and the Moor are now making the beast with two backs.
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Past thought. What said she to you?-Get more tapers!
Raise all my kindred!-Are they married, think you? Rod. Truly, I think, they are.
Bra. O heaven!-How got she out?-O, treason of my blood!
Fathers, from hence trust not your daughters' minds
By what you see them act.-Are there not charms,
By which the property of youth and maidhood
May be abus'd? Have you not read, Roderigo,
Of some such thing?
Rod.
Yes, sir; I have, indeed.
Bra. Call up my brother.-O, that you had had
her!-
Some one way, some another.-Do you know
Where we may apprehend her and the Moor?
Rod. I think, I can discover him, if you please
To get good guard, and go along with me.
Bra. Pray you, lead on. At every house I'll call; I may command at most.-Get weapons, ho!
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