Puslapio vaizdai


Enter ARVIRAGUS, bearing IMOGEN, as dead, in his arms.

Bel. Look, here he comes!

And brings the dire occasion in his arms,
Of what we blame him for.

Arv. The bird is dead

That we have made so much on. I had rather
Have skipp'd from sixteen years of age to sixty ;
To have turned my leaping time into a crutch,
Than have seen this.

Guid. Oh sweetest, fairest lily!

My brother wears thee not the one half so well,
As when thou grew'st thyself.

Bel. O, melancholy!

Who ever yet could sound thy bottom? find

The ooze, to shew what coast thy sluggish crare

Might easiliest harbor in?-Thou blessed thing!

Jove knows, what man thou might'st have made; but I,
Thou dy'st, a most rare boy, of melancholy !-

How found you him?

Arv. Stark, as you see;

Thus smiling, as some fly had tickled slumber,

Not as death's dart, being laughed at: his right cheek
Reposing on a cushion.

Guid. Where?

Arv. O' the floor,

His arms thus leagu'd. I thought he slept; and put
My clouted brogues from off my feet, whose rudeness
Answered my steps too loud.

Guid. Why, he but sleeps:

If he be gone, he 'll make his grave a bed;
With female fairies will his tomb be haunted,
And worms will not come to thee.

Arv. With fairest flowers,

Whilst summer lasts, and I live here, Fidele,

I'll sweeten thy sad grave. Thou shalt not lack
The flower, that 's like thy face, pale primrose; nor
The azur'd hair-bell, like thy veins; no, nor

The leaf of eglantine, whom, not to slander,
Out-sweeten'd not thy breath. The ruddock would,
With charitable bill (Ö bill, sore-shaming

Those rich-left heirs, that let their fathers lie
Without a monument!) bring thee all this;

Yea, and furr'd moss besides, when flowers are none,
To winter-ground thy corse.-

Guid. Pr'ythee have done;

And do not play in wench-like words with that

Which is so serious. Let us bury him,
And not protract with admiration what
Is now due debt. To the grave.

Arv. Say, where shall we lay him?

Guid. By good Euriphile, our mother.
Arv. Be 't so:

And let us Polydore, though now our voices

Have got the mannish crack, sing him to the ground,
As once our mother; use like note, and words,
Save that Euriphile must be Fidele.

Guid. Cadwal,

I cannot sing; I'll weep and word it with thee :
For notes of sorrow out of tune, are worse

Than priests and fanes that lie.

Arv. We'll speak it then.

Bel. Great griefs, I see, medicine the less: for Cloter Is quite forgot. He was a queen's son, boys;

And, though he came our enemy, remember,

He was paid for that: though mean and mighty, rotting Together, have one dust; yet reverence,

(That angel of the world) doth make distinction

Of place 'tween high and low. Our foe was princely;
And though you took his life, as being our foe,

Yet bury him as a prince.

Guid. Pray you, fetch him hither.

Thersites' body is as good as Ajax,
When neither are alive.

Arv. If you 'll go fetch him,

We'll say our song the whilst.-Brother begin.

[Exit BELARIus.

Guid. Nay, Cadwal, we must lay his head to the East;

My father hath a reason for 't.

Arv. "T is true.

Guid. Come on then, and remove him.

Arv. So, begin.


Guid. Fear no more the heat o' the sun,

Nor the furious winter's rages;

Thou thy worldly task hast done,

Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages:

Golden lads and girls all must,

As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.

Arv. Fear no more the frown o' the great,
Thou art past the tyrant's stroke;
Care no more to clothe, and eat;
To thee the reed is as the oak:
The sceptre, learning, physic, must
All follow this, and come to dust.

Guid. Fear no more the lightning-flash,
Arv. Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone;
Guid. Fear not slander, censure rash;
Arv. Thou hast finish'd joy and moan.
Both. All lovers young, all lovers must

Consign to thee, and come to dust.

Guid. No exorciser harm thee!
Arv. Nor no witchcraft charm thee!
Guid. Ghost, unlaid, forbear thee!
Arv. Nothing ill come near thee!
Both. Quiet consummation have!
And renowned be thy grave!

Re-enter BELARIUS, with the body of CLOTEN.

Guid. We have done our obsequies: Come lay him down.
Bel. Here's a few flowers, but about midnight, more:
The herbs, that have on them cold dew o' the night,
Are strewings fitt'st for graves.-Upon their faces:-
You were as flowers, now wither'd: even so
These herb'lets shall, which we upon you strew.—
Come on, away. Apart upon our knees.

-The ground, that gave them first, has them again:
Their pleasures here are past, so is their pain.


A part of the heath, with a hovel.


Enter LEAR, KENT, and

Kent. Here is the place, my lord; good my lord, enter. The tyranny of the open night's too rough

For nature to endure.

Lear. Let me alone.

Kent. Good my lord, enter here.

Lear. Wilt break my heart?


Kent. I'd rather break mine own; good my lord, enter.
Lear. Thou think'st 'tis much, that this contentious storm

Invades us to the skin: so 'tis to thee;

But where the greater malady is fix'd,

The lesser is scarce felt. Thou'dst shun a bear r;

But if thy flight lay toward the raging sea,

Thou'dst meet the bear i'the mouth. When the mind's free

The body's delicate: the tempest in my mind
Doth from my senses take all feeling else,
Save what beats there.-Filial ingratitude!
Is it not, as this mouth should tear this hand,
For lifting food to't ?—But I will punish home;
No, I will weep no more.-In such a night,
To shut me out:-Pour on; I will endure!—



In such a night as this! O Regan, Goneril!—

Your old kind father, whose frank heart gave all,-
O, that way, madness lies; let me shun that;

No more of that.

Kent. Good my lord, enter here.

Lear. Pr'ythee, go in thyself; seek thine own ease; This tempest will not give me leave to ponder On things would hurt me more.-But I'll go in:

In, boy; go first.-[To the FooL.] You houseless poverty Nay, get thee in. I'll pray, and then I'll sleep.

[FOOL goes

Poor naked wretches, whereso'er you are,
That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm,
How shall your houseless heads, and unfed sides,
Your loop'd and window'd raggedness, defend you
From seasons such as these? O, I have ta'en
Too little care of this! Take physic, pomp;
Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel;
That thou may'st shake the superflux to them,
And show the heaven's more just.


The country near Dover. Enter GLOSTER, and EDGAR, dress like a Peasant.

Glo. When shall we come to the top of that same hill ?
Edg. You do climb up it now: look, how we labor.

Glo. Methinks, the ground is even.

Edg. Horrible steep:

Hark, do you hear the sea?

Glo. No, truly.

Edg. Why, then your other senses grow imperfect By your eyes' anguish.

Glo. So may it be, indeed:

Methinks, thy voice is alter'd; and thou

In better phrase, and matter, than thou didst.

Edg. You are much deceiv'd; in nothing am I chang'd,

But in my garments.

Glo. Methinks, you are better spoken.

Edg. Come on, sir; here's the place :-stand still-how fearful

And dizzy 'tis, to cast one's eyes so low!

The crows, and choughs, that wing the midway air,
Show scarce so gross as beetles: Half way down
Hangs one that gathers samphire; dreadful trade!
Methinks, he seems no bigger than his head:
The fishermen, that walk upon the beach,
Appear like mice; and yon' tall anchoring bark,

Almost too small for sight: the murmuring surge,
That on the unnumber'd idle pebbles chafes,
Cannot be heard so high:-I'll look no more;
Iest my rain turn, and the deficient sight
Topple down headlong.

Glo. Set me where you stand.

Edg. Give me your hand: You are now within a foot
Of the extreme verge: for all beneath the moon
Would I not leap upright.

Glo. Let go my hand.

Here, friend, is another purse: in it a jewel

Well worth a poor man's taking: Fairies, and gods,
Prosper it with thee! Go thou further off;

Bid me farewell, and let me hear thee going.
Edg. Now fare you well, good sir.

Glo. With all my heart.

Edg. Why I do trifle thus with his despair, Is done to cure it.

Glo. O, you mighty gods!

This world I do renounce; and in your sights,
Shake patiently my great affliction off:

If I could bear it longer, and not fall

To quarrel with your great opposeless wills,
My snuff, and loathed part of nature, should
Burn itself out. If Edgar live, O bless him!—
Now, fellow, fare thee well.

Edg. Gone, sir? farewell.

[Seems to go.

[He leaps, and falls along.

And yet I know not how conceit may rob
The treasury of life, when life itself

Yields to the theft: Had he been where he thought,
By this, had thought been past.-Alive, or dead?
Ho, you sir! friend!-Hear you, Sir?-speak!
Thus might he pass indeed;-Yet he revives :

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Glo. Away, and let me die.

Edg. Hadst thou been aught but gossomer, feathers, air, So many fathom down precipitating,

Thou hadst shivered like an egg: but thou dost breathe; Hast heavy substance; bleed'st not; speak'st; art sound. Ten masts at each make not the altitude,

Which thou hast perpendicularly fell;

Thy life's a miracle: Speak yet again.

Glo. But have I fallen, or no?

Edg. From the dread summit of this chalky bourn :

Look up a-height; the shrill-gorg'd lark so far
Cannot be seen or heard: do but look up.

Glo. Alack, I have no eyes.

Is wretchedness depriv'd that benefit,

To end itself by death? Twas yet some comfort,
When misery could beguile the tyrant's rage,

And frustrate his proud will

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