Enter ALBANY.

Gon. I have been worth the whistle.1

O Goneril!

Alb.
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; 2

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 savor 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, "Twill 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;

1 Worth calling for.

2 Cannot be restrained within any certain bounds.

Who hast not in thy brows an eye discerning
Thine honor 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, sit'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.

Alb. Thou changed and self-cover'd thing, for

shame,

Bemonster not thy feature. Were it 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 now!

Enter MESSENGER.

Alb. What news?

Mes. O, my good lord, the duke of Cornwall's

dead;

Slain by his servant, going to put out

The other eye of Gloster.

Alb.

Gloster's eyes!

Mes. A servant that he bred, thrill'd with re

morse,

SHAK.

XIII.

H

Opposed against the act, bending his sword
To his great master; who, thereat enraged,
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 Gloster! Lost he his other eye?

Mes.

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 Gloster with her, May all the building in my fancy pluck

Upon my hateful life: another way,

The news is not so tart.-I'll read, and answer.

[Exit.

Alb. Where was his son, when they did take his

eyes?

Mes. Come with my lady hither.

Alb.

He is not here.

Mes. No, my good lord; I met him back again. Alb. Knows he the wickedness ?

Mes. Ay, my good lord; 'twas he inform'd

against him;

And quit the house of purpose, that their punish

ment

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 knowest.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

The French camp, near Dover.

Enter KENT and GENTLEMAN.

Kent. Why the king of France is so suddenly gone back know you the reason?

Gen. 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? Gen. The mareschal of France, Monsieur le Fer. Kent. Did your letters pierce the queen to any demonstration of grief?

Gen. 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.

O, then it moved her?

Kent.
Gen. 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 May. Those happy smiles
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 beloved, if all

Could so become it.

Kent.

Made she no verbal question? 1

Gen. Faith, once or twice she heaved 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 believed!' 2-There she shook
The holy water from her heavenly eyes,

And clamor moisten'd: then away she started
To deal with grief alone.

It is the stars,

Kent.
The stars above us, govern our conditions;

3

Else one self mate and mate could not beget
Such different issues.-You spoke not with her

since ?

Gen. No.

Kent. Was this before the king return'd?

Gen.

No, since.

Kent. Well, sir, the poor distress'd Lear is i' the

town ;

Who sometime, in his better tune, remembers
What we are come about, and by no means

1 i. e. did she enter into no conversation with you? Let not pity be supposed to exist.

3 Dispositions.