Page 30
p. 30
102
The
Tragedy
of
King
Lear.
Scena
Septima.
Enter
Cornwall,
Gonerill,
Bastard,
and
Servants.
Corn.
Post
speedily
to
my
Lord
your
Husband,
shew
him
this
Letter,
the
Army
of
France
is
landed:
seek
out
the
Traytor
Gloster.
Reg.
Hang
him
instantly.
Gon.
Pluck
out
his
Eyes.
Corn.
Leave
him
to
my
displeasure.
Edmund,
keep
you
our
Sister
Company:
the
revenges
we
are
bound
to
take
upon
your
traiterous
Father,
are
not
fit
for
your
behold-
ing.
Advise
the
Duke
where
you
are
going,
to
a
most
festinate
preparation:
we
are
bound
to
the
like.
Our
Posts
shall
be
swift,
and
intelligent
betwixt
us.
Farewel
dear
Sister,
farewel
my
Lord
of
Gloster.
Enter
Steward.
How
now?
Where’s
the
King?
Stew.
My
Lord
of
Gloster
had
convey’d
him
hence.
Some
five
or
six
and
thirty
of
his
Knights
Hot
Questrists
after
him,
met
him
at
gate,
Who,
with
some
other
of
the
Lords
dependants,
Are
gone
with
him
toward
Dover
;
where
they
boast
To
have
well
armed
Friends.
Corn.
Get
Horses
for
your
Mistress.
Gon.
Farewel,
sweet
Lord,
and
Sister.
[Exit.
Corn.
Edmund
farewel:
go
seek
the
Traitor
Gloster,
Pinnion
him
like
a
Thief,
bring
him
before
us:
Though
well
we
may
not
pass
upon
his
life
Without
the
form
of
Justice:
yet
our
power
Shall
do
a
curt’sie
to
our
wrath,
which
men
May
blame,
but
not
controul.
Enter
Gloster,
and
Servants.
Who’s
there?
the
Traitor?
Reg.
Ingrateful
Fox,
’tis
he.
Corn.
Bind
fast
his
Corky
Arms.
Glo.
What
mean
your
Graces?
Good
my
Friends
consider
you
are
my
Guests:
Do
me
no
foul
play,
Friends,
Corn.
Bind
him
I
say.
Reg.
Hard,
hard:
O
filthy
Traitor.
Glo.
Unmerciful
Lady,
as
you
are,
I’m
none.
Corn.
To
this
Chair
bind
him,
Villain,
thou
shalt
find.
Glo.
By
the
kind
gods,
‘tis
most
ignobly
done
To
pluck
me
by
the
Beard.
Reg.
So
white,
and
such
a
Traytor?
Glo.
Naughty
Lady,
These
hairs
which
thou
do’st
ravish
from
my
Chin
Will
quicken
and
accuse
thee.
I
am
your
Host,
With
Robbers
hands,
my
hospitable
favours
You
should
not
ruffle
thus.
What
will
you
do?
Corn.
Come,
Sir.
What
Letters
had
you
late
from
France?
Reg.
Be
simple
answer’d,
for
we
know
the
truth.
Corn.
And
what
Confederacy
have
you
with
the
Tray-
tors,
late
footed
in
the
Kingdom?
Reg.
To
whose
hands
You
have
sent
the
Lunatick
King:
speak.
Glo.
I
have
a
Letter
guessingly
set
down
Which
came
from
one
that’s
of
a
neutral
heart,
And
not
from
one
oppos’d.
Corn.
Cunning.
Reg.
And
false.
Cor.
Where
hast
thou
sent
the
King?
Glo.
To
Dover.
Reg.
Wherefore
to
Dover?
Was’t
thou
not
charg’d
at
peril?
Corn.
Wherefore
to
Dover?
Let
him
answer
that.
Corn.
I
am
tyed
to
th’
Stake,
And
I
must
stand
the
Course.
Reg.
Wherefore
to
Dover?
Glo.
Because
I
would
not
see
thy
cruel
Nails
Pluck
out
his
poor
old
Eyes:
nor
thy
fierce
Sister,
In
his
Anointed
flesh,
stick
boarish
phangs.
The
Sea,
with
such
a
storm
as
his
bare
head,
In
Hell
black-night
indur’d,
would
have
buoy’d
up
And
quench’d
the
Steeled
fires:
Yet
poor
old
heart,
he
holp
the
Heavens
to
rain.
If
Wolves
had
at
thy
Gate
howl’d
that
stern
time,
Thou
should’st
have
said,
good
Porter
turn
the
Key:
All
Cruels
else
subscribe:
but
I
shall
see
The
winged
Vengeance
overtake
such
Children.
Corn.
See’t
shalt
thou
never.
Fellows
hold
the
Chair.
Upon
these
Eyes
of
thine,
I’ll
set
my
foot.
Glo.
He
that
will
think
to
live,
till
he
be
old,
Give
me
some
help,
—
O
cruel!
O
you
gods.
Reg.
One
side
will
mock
another:
th’
other
too.
Corn.
If
you
see
vengeance.
Serv.
Hold
your
hand,
my
Lord?
I
have
serv’d
you
ever
since
I
was
a
Child:
But
better
service
have
I
never
done
you,
Than
now
to
bid
you
hold.
Reg.
How
now,
you
Dog?
Ser.
If
you
did
wear
a
Beard
upon
your
Chin,
Il’d
shake
it
on
this
quarrel.
What
do
you
mean?
Corn.
My
Villain?
Ser.
Nay
then
come
on,
and
take
the
chance
of
anger.
Reg.
Give
me
thy
Sword.
A
pezant
stand
up
thus?
[Kills
him.
Ser.
Oh,
I
am
slain:
my
Lord,
you
have
one
Eye
left
To
see
some
mischief
on
him.
Oh.
Corn.
Lest
it
see
more,
prevent
it;
Out
vild
gelly:
Where
is
thy
luster
now?
Glo.
All
dark
and
comfortless?
Where’s
my
Son
Edmund?
Edmund,
enkindle
all
the
sparks
of
Nature
To
quit
this
horrid
act.
Reg.
Out
treacherous
Villain,
Thou
call’st
on
him,
that
hates
thee,
It
was
he
That
made
the
overture
of
thy
Treasons
to
us:
Who
is
too
good
to
pitty
thee.
Glo.
O
my
follies!
then
Edgar
was
abus’d.
Kind
gods,
forgive
me
that,
and
prosper
him.
Reg.
Go
thrust
him
out
at
Gates,
and
let
him
smell
His
way
to
Dover.
[Exit
with
Gloster.
How
is’t,
my
Lord?
How
look
you?
Corn.
I
have
receiv’d
a
hurt:
follow
me
Lady:
Turn
out
that
Eyeless
Villain:
throw
this
Slave
Upon
the
Dunghill:
Regan,
I
bleed
apace,
Untimely
comes
this
hurt.
Give
me
your
arm.
[Exeunt.
Actus
Quartus.
Scena
Prima.
Enter
Edgar.
Edg.
YET
better
thus,
and
known
to
be
contemn’d
Than
still
contemn’d
and
flatter’d,
to
be
worst:
The
lowest,
and
most
deject
thing
of
Fortune,
Stands
still
in
esperance,
lives
not
in
fear.
The
lamentable
change
is
from
the
best,
The
worst
returns
to
laughter.
Welcome
then,
Thou
unsubstantial
air
that
I
embrace:
The
wretch
that
thou
hast
blown
unto
the
worst,
Owes
nothing
to
thy
blasts.
Enter