William Shakespeare

KING LEAR


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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.

       Gloster, 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.]

       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?

       Gent. 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?

       Gent.

       The Mareschal of France, Monsieur La Far.

       Kent.

       Did your letters pierce the queen to any demonstration of grief?

       Gent.

       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 mov’d her.

       Gent.

       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 day: 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 belov’d, if all

       Could so become it.

       Kent.

       Made she no verbal question?

       Gent.

       Faith, once or twice she heav’d 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 believ’d!’—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?

       Gent.

       No.

       Kent.

       Was this before the king return’d?

       Gent.

       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.

       Gent.

       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.

       Gent.

       Alack, poor gentleman!

       Kent.

       Of Albany’s and Cornwall’s powers you heard not?

       Gent.

       ‘Tis so; they are a-foot.

       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.]

       SCENE IV. The French camp. A Tent.

       [Enter Cordelia, Physician, and Soldiers.]

       Cor.

       Alack, ‘tis he: why, he was met even now

       As mad as the vex’d sea; singing aloud;

       Crown’d with rank fumiter and furrow weeds,

       With harlocks, hemlock, nettles, cuckoo-flowers,

       Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow

       In our sustaining corn.—A century send forth;

       Search every acre in the high-grown field,

       And bring him to our eye. [Exit an Officer.]

       What can man’s wisdom

       In the restoring his bereaved sense?

       He that helps him take all my outward worth.

       Phys.

       There is means, madam:

       Our foster nurse of nature is repose,

       The which he lacks; that to provoke in him

       Are many simples operative, whose power

       Will close the eye of anguish.

       Cor.

       All bless’d secrets,

       All you unpublish’d virtues of the earth,

       Spring with my tears! be aidant and remediate

       In the good man’s distress!—Seek, seek for him;

       Lest his ungovern’d rage dissolve the life

       That wants the means to lead it.

       [Enter a Messenger.]

       Mess.

       News, madam;

       The British powers are marching hitherward.