Before the DUKE OF ALBANY'S Palace. |
|
Enter GONERIL and EDMUND. |
Gon. Welcome, my lord; I marvel our mild husband |
Not met us on the way. [Enter OSWALD.] Now, where's your master? |
Osw. Madam, within; but never man so chang'd. |
I told him of the army that was landed; |
He smil'd 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. |
Gon. [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. |
Edm. Yours in the ranks of death. |
Gon. 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 bed. |
Osw. Madam, here comes my lord. [Exit. |
|
Enter ALBANY. |
Gon. I have been worth the whistle. |
Alb. O Gonerill |
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. |
Gon. No more; the text is foolish. |
Alb. 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 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. |
Gon. 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, |
Whilst thou, a moral fool, sitt'st still, and criest |
'Alack! why does he so?' |
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 '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. |
Gon. Marry, your manhood.—Mew! |
|
Enter a Messenger. |
Alb. What news? |
Mess. O! my good lord, the Duke of Cornwall's dead; |
Slain by his servant, going to put out |
The other eye of Gloucester. |
Alb. Gloucester'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; |
But not without that harmful stroke, which since |
Hath pluck'd him after. |
Alb. 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? |
Mess. 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 Gloucester with her, |
May all the building in my fancy pluck |
Upon my hateful life: another way, |
This news is not so tart. [To Messenger.] I'll read and answer. [Exit. |
Alb. Where was his son when they did take his eyes? |
Mess. Come with my lady hither. |
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; 'twas he inform'd against him, |
And quit the house on purpose that their punishment |
Might have the freer course. |
Alb. 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 knowest. [Exeunt. |
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