Before the Duke of Albany’s palace.
(Goneril; Edmund; Oswald; Albany; First Messenger)
Oswald informs Goneril that her husband’s reaction to the news of recent events is not at all what might have been expected. Goneril blames it on his weakness, and sends Edmund back to Cornwall, to lead his armies. Goneril is quite taken with Edmund, considering him much more of a man than her actual husband. Albany, entering, reveals the extent to which he despises his wife for her treatment of Lear. Goneril reviles him as a wimp. Albany swears he’d kill her were she not a woman. At this point, news comes that Cornwall has died of his wounds. Goneril worries that Regan may gain Edmund’s love, being widowed and thus able to marry him. Albany swears he will revenge Gloucester’s eyes. (111 lines)
Enter Goneril, Bastard Edmund.
Welcome, my lord. I marvel our mild husband
Not met us on the way.
Enter Oswald, the Steward.
Now, where’s your master?
Madam, within, but never man so chang’d.
I told him of the army that was landed;
He smil’d at it. I told him you were coming;
His answer was, “The worse.” Of Gloucester’s treachery,
And of the loyal service of his son,
When I inform’d him, then he call’d me sot,
And told me I had turn’d the wrong side out.
What most he should dislike seems pleasant to him;
What like, offensive.
Then shall you go no further.
It is the cowish terror of his spirit
That dares not undertake; he’ll not feel wrongs
Which tie him to an answer. Our wishes on the way
May prove effects. Back, Edmund, to my brother,
Hasten his musters and conduct his pow’rs.
I must change names at home, and give the distaff
Into my husband’s hands. This trusty servant
Shall pass between us. Ere long you are like to hear
(If you dare venture in your own behalf)
A mistress’s command. Wear this; spare speech.
Decline your head: this kiss, if it durst speak,
Would stretch thy spirits up into the air.
Conceive, and fare thee well.
Yours in the ranks of death.
My most dear Gloucester!
O, the difference of man and man!
To thee a woman’s services are due,
A fool usurps my bed.
Madam, here comes my lord.
I have been worth the whistling.
You are not worth the dust which the rude wind
Blows in your face. I fear your disposition;
That nature which contemns it origin
Cannot be bordered certain in itself.
She that herself will sliver and disbranch
From her material sap, perforce must wither,
And come to deadly use.
No more, the text is foolish.
Wisdom and goodness to the vild seem vild,
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 even 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 vild offenses,
It will come,
Humanity must perforce prey on itself,
Like monsters of the deep.
That bear’st a cheek for blows, a head for wrongs,
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 state begins to threat,
Whilst thou, a moral fool, sits still and cries,
“Alack, why does he so?”
See thyself, devil!
Proper deformity shows not in the fiend
So horrid as in woman.
O vain fool!
Thou changed and self-cover’d thing, for shame
Bemonster not thy feature. Were’t 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.
Marry, your manhood mew!
Enter First Messenger.
O my good lord, the Duke of Cornwall’s dead,
Slain by his servant, going to put out
The other eye of Gloucester.
A servant that he bred, thrill’d with remorse,
Oppos’d 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.
This shows you are above,
You justicers, that these our nether crimes
So speedily can venge! But, O poor Gloucester,
Lost he his other eye?
Both, both, my lord.
This letter, madam, craves a speedy answer;
’Tis from your sister.
One way I like this well,
But being widow, and my Gloucester 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.
Where was his son when they did take his eyes?
Come with my lady hither.
He is not here.
No, my good lord, I met him back again.
Knows he the wickedness?
Ay, my good lord; ’twas he inform’d against him,
And quit the house on purpose that their punishment
Might have the freer course.
Gloucester, 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.