Billeder på siden

Lear. Never, Regan;

She has abated me of half my Train,

Look'd black upon me, ftab'd me with her Tongue:
All the ftore'd Vengeances of Heav'n fall
On her ingrateful Head; ftrike her young Bones,
Ye taking Airs with Lameness.

Reg. Ŏ the bleft Gods! Thus will you wish on me,

When the rash Mood

Lear. No, Regan, Thou shalt never have my Curfe;
Thy tender Nature cannot give thee o'er
To fuch Impiety: Thou better know'st

The Offices of Nature, Bond of Childhood,
And Dues of Gratitude; thou bear'st in Mind
The Half o'th' Kingdom, which our Love confer'd
On thee and thine.

Reg. Good Sir, to the Purpose.

Lear. Who put my Man i'th' Stocks?

Duke. What Trumpet's that?

Reg. I know't, my Sifter's; this confirms her Letters. Sir, is your Lady come?

Enter Goneril's Gentleman.

Lear. More Torture ftill:

This is a Slave, whose easy borrow'd Pride
Dwells in the fickle Grace of her he follows;
A Fashion-Fop, that fpends the Day in Dreffing,
And all to bear his Lady's flatt'ring Meffage ;
That can deliver with a Grace her Lye,
And with as bold a Face bring back a greater.
Out, Varlet, from my Sight.

Duke. What means your Grace?

Lear. Who stock'd my Servant? Regan, I have Hope Thou didst not know it.

Enter Goneril.
Who comes here? Oh Heav'ns!
you do love old Men; if you, fweet Sir,
Allow Obedience; if yourselves are old,
Make it your Cafe, fend down and take my Part!
Why, Gorgon, doft thou come to hunt me here?
Art not afham'd to look upon this Beard?
Darkness upon my Eyes, they play me false;
O Regan, wilt thou take her by the Hand?


Gon. Why not by th' Hand, Sir? How have I offended? All's not Offence that Indiscretion finds, And Dotage terms fo.

Lear. Heart, thou art too tough.

Reg. I pray you, Sir, being old, confefs you are fo. If till the Expiration of your Month, You will return and fojourn with our Sifter, Difmiffing half your Train, come then to me; I am now from Home, and out of that Provifion That fhall be needful for your Entertainment.

Lear. Return with her, and fifty Knights difmifs'd!
No, rather I'll forfwear all Roofs, and chufe
To be Companion to the Midnight Wolf,
My naked Head expos'd to th' merc'lefs Air,
Than have my smallest Wants supply'd by her.
Gon. At your Choice, Sir.

Lear. Now, I prithee, Daughter, do not make me mad;
I will not trouble thee, my Child, farewell.
We'll meet no more, no more fee one another;
Let Shame come when it will, I do not call it,
I do not bid the Thunder-bearer ftrike,

Nor tell tales of thee to avenging Heav'n ;

Mend when thou canft, be better at thy Leisure;

I can be patient, I can ftay with Regan,

I, and my hundred Knights.

Reg. Your Pardon, Sir;

I look'd not for you yet, nor am provided
For your fit Welcome.

Lear. Is this well spoken now?

Reg. My Sifter treats you fair; what! fifty Followers ? Is it not well? what fhould you need of more?

Gon. Why might not you, my Lord, receive Attendance From those whom the calls Servants, or from mine?


Reg. Why not, my Lord? If then they chance to flack We cou'd controul 'em.-If you come to me, For now I fee the Danger, I intreat you To bring but Five and twenty; to no more. Will I give Place.

Lear. Hold now, my Temper; stand this Bolt unmov'd, And I am Thunder-Proof;

[ocr errors]

The wicked, when compar'd with the more wicked,

C 2


Seem beautiful; and not to be the worst,
Stands in fome Rank of Praife. Now, Goneril,
Thou art innocent agen, I'll go with thee;
Thy fifty yet does double Five and Twenty,
And thou art twice her Love.

Gon. Hear me, my Lord.

What need you Five and Twenty, Ten, or Five,
To follow in a Houfe, where twice fo many
Have a Command t'attend you?

Reg. What need one?

Lear. Blood! Fire! here Leprofies and blueft Room, room for Hell to belch her Horrors up, [Plagues! And drench the Circes in a Stream of Fire; Hark, how th' Infernals eccho to my Rage Their Whips and Snakes.


Reg. How lead a thing is Paffion!
Gon. So old and ftomachful.

[ocr errors]

[Light'ning and Thunder, Lear. Heav'ns drop your Patience down; You fee me here, ye Gods, a poor old Man, As full of Grief as Age, wretched in bothI'll bear no more. No, you unnatural Hags, I will have fuch Revenges on you both, That all the World fhall- I will do fuch things, What they are yet I know not, but they fhall be The Terrors of the Earth; you think I'll weep, [Thunder


This Heart fhall break into a thousand Pieces
Before I'll weep.
O Gods! I fhall go mad. Exit.
Duke. 'Tis a wild Night, come out o'th' Storm.


The End of the Second Act.




SCENE A defert Heath.

Enter Lear and Kent in the Storm.

[ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small]

Of proud ingrateful Man.

Kent. Not all my belt Intreaties can perfuade him
Into fome needful Shelter, or to bide
This poor flight Cov'ring on his aged Head,
Expos'd to this wild War of Earth and Heav'n.

Lear. Rumble thy fill, fight Whirlwind, Rain and Fire;
Not Fire, Wind, Rain, or Thunder are my Daughters:
I tax not you, ye Elements, with Unkindness;
I never gave you Kingdoms, call'd you Children ;
You owe me no Obedience, then let fall
Your horrible Pleasure; here I ftand your Slave,
A poor, infirm, weak, and defpis'd old Man ;
Yet will I call you fervile Ministers,
That have with two pernicious Daughters join'd
Their high engender'd Battle against a Head
So old and white as mine; Oh oh! 'tis foul.

Kent. Hard by, Sir, is a Hovel, that will lend Some shelter from this Tempeft.

Lear. I will forget my Nature, what! fo kind a Fa-Ay, there's the Point.

[ther ??

Kent. Confider, good my Liege. Things that love


C 32


Love not fuch Nights as this; thefe wrathful Skies
Frighten the very Wanderers o' th' Dark,

And make 'em keep their Caves; fuch drenching Rain,
Such Sheets of Fire, fuch Claps of horrid Thunder,
Such Groans of roaring Winds, have ne'er been known,
Lear. Let the great Gods,

That keep the dreadful Pudder o'er our Heads,
Find out their Enemies now. Tremble, thou Wretch,
That haft within thee undifcover'd Crimes !

Hide that bloody Hand,

Thou perjur'd Villain, holy Hypocrite,
That drink'it the Widow's Tears; figh now, and cry
Thefe dreadful Summoners Grace, I am a Man
More fin'd againft, than finning.

Kent. Good Sir, to th' Hovel.
Lear. My Wit begins to burn,.

Come on my Boy, how doft my Boy Art cold?
I'm cold myself; fhew this Straw, my Fellow;
The Art of our Neccffity is ftrange,

And can make vile things precious; my poor Knave,
Cold as I am at Heart, I've one Place there [Louder Storm.
That's forry yet for thee.

Glofter's Palace.

Enter Baftard.

Baft. The Storm is in our louder Rev'lings drown'd. Thus wou'd I reign, cou'd I but mount a Throne. The Riots of thefe proud imperial Sifters Already have impos'd the galling Yoke Of Taxes, and hard Impofitions, on The drudging Peasants Necks, who bellow out Their loud Complaints in vain Triumphant Queens With what Affurance do they treat the Crowd ?Oh! for a Taste of such Majestick Beauty, Which none but my hot Veins are fit t'engage; Nor are my Wishes defp'rate, for even now, During the Banquet, I obferv'd their Glances Shot thick at me; and, as they left the Room, Each caft, by Stealth, a kind inviting Smile, The happy Earnestha! Two Servants, from feveral Entrances, deliver, bim each a Letter, and Ex. Where Merit is fo tranfparent, not to behold it [Reads


« ForrigeFortsæt »