Billeder på siden

Cordelia. O you kind gods,

Cure this great breach in his abused nature!
The untun'd and jarring senses, O, wind up
Of this child-changed father!


So please your majesty, That we may wake the king? he hath slept long. Cordelia. Be govern'd by your knowledge, and proceed I' the sway of your own will. Is he array'd?

Gentleman. Ay, madam, in the heaviness of his sleep, We put fresh garments on him.

Physician. Be by, good madam, when we do awake him; I doubt not of his temperance.


Physician. Please you, draw

musick there.

Very well.

near.- Louder the

Cordelia. O my dear father! Restoration, hang
Thy medicine on my lips; and let this kiss
Repair those violent harms, that my two sisters
Have in thy reverence made!

Kind and dear princess!
Cordelia. Had you not been their father, these white

Had challeng'd pity of them. Was this a face
To be expos'd against the warring winds?

To stand against the deep dread-bolted thunder?
In the most terrible and nimble stroke

Of quick, cross lightning? to watch (poor perdu !)
With this thin helm ? Mine enemy's dog,
Though he had bit me, should have stood that night
Against my fire; And wast thou fain, poor father,
To hovel thee with swine, and rogues forlorn,
In short and musty straw? Alack, alack!
'Tis wonder, that thy life and wits at once

Had not concluded all.--He wakes; speak to him.

Physician. Madam, do you; 'tis fittest.

Cordelia. 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.


Sir, do you know me? Lear. You are a spirit, I know; When did you die? Cordelia. Still, still, far wide!

Physician. He's scarce awake; let him alone awhile. Lear. Where have I been?-Where am I?-Fair day


I am mightily abus'd.—I should even die with pity,
To see another thus. I know not what to say.—
I will not swear, these are my hands :---let's see;
I feel this pin prick. 'Would, I were assur'd
Of my condition.
And hold your hands in benediction o'er me ;—
No, sir, you must not kneel.

O, look upon me, sir,


Pray, do not mock me:

I am a very foolish fond old man,
Fourscore and upward; and, to deal plainly,
I fear, I am not in my perfect mind.
Methinks, I should know you, and know this man :
Yet I am doubtful: for I am mainly ignorant
What place this is; and all the skill I have
Remembers not these garments; nor I know not
Where I did lodge last night: Do not laugh at me ;
For, as I am a man, I think this lady

To be

my child Cordelia.


And so I am, I am.

Lear. Be your tears wet? Yes, 'faith. I pray, weep not: If you have poison for me, I will drink it. I know, you do not love me; for your sisters Have, as I do remember, done me wrong: You have some cause, they have not.


No cause, no cause.

Lear. Am I in France?


In your own kingdom, sir.

Lear. Do not abuse me. Physician. Be comforted, good madam: the great rage, You see, is cur'd in him: [and yet it is danger To make him even o'er the time he has lost.] Desire him to go in ; trouble him no more, Till further settling.

Cordelia. Will't please your highness walk?

Lear. You must bear with me: Pray now, forget and forgive: I am old, and foolish.


Lear. Howl, howl, howl, howl!—O, you are men of


Had I your tongues and eyes, I'd use them so
That heaven's vault should crack:-O, she is gone for


I know when one is dead, and when one lives;
She's dead as earth :-Lend me a looking glass;
If that her breath will mist or stain the stone
Why, then she lives.

Is this the promis'd end?
Edgar. Or image of that horror?

Fall, and cease!

Lear. This feather stirs ; she lives! if it be so,
It is a chance that does redeem all sorrows

That ever I have felt.


O my good master !

Lear. Pr'ythee, away.
'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.





ATHER, to arms!

Upon thy wedding day ?11
Against the blood that thou hast married?
What, shall our feast be kept with slaughter'd



Shall braying trumpets, and loud churlish drums,—
Clamours of hell,-be measures to our pomp?
O husband, hear me !-ah, alack, how new
Is husband in my mouth? even for that name,

Which till this time my tongue did ne'er pronounce,
Upon my knee I beg, go not to arms

Against mine uncle.



Blanche. The sun's o'ercast with blood: Fair day, adieu !


Which is the side that I must go withal?
I am with both: each army hath a hand;
And, in their rage, I having hold of both,
They whirl asunder, and dismember me.

« ForrigeFortsæt »