Where they shall rest for ever.
[Alarums. They fight.
Alb. Save him, save him!
Gon.

Trumpets, speak! Edmund falls. This is practice, Gloucester: 151 By the law of arms thou wast not bound to answer An unknown opposite; thou art not vanquish'd, But cozen'd and beguiled. Alb. Shut your mouth, dame, Or with this paper shall I stop it: Hold, sir: Thou worse than any name, read thine own evil: No tearing, lady; I perceive you know it. [Gives the letter to Edmund. Gon. Say, if I do, the laws are mine, not thine: Who can arraign me for't? Alb.

Most monstrous! oh! 159
Know'st thou this paper?
Gon.
Ask me not what I know. [Exit.
Alb. Goafter her: she's desperate; govern her.
Edm. What you have charged me with, that
have I done;

And more, much more; the time will bring it out:
'Tis past, and so am I. But what art thou
That hast this fortune on me? If thou 'rt noble,
I do forgive thee.
Edg.

Let's exchange charity.

I am no less in blood than thou art, Edmund;
If more, the more thou hast wrong'd me.
My name is Edgar, and thy father's son.
The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices
Make instruments to plague us:
The dark and vicious place where thee he got
Cost him his eyes.

Edm.

170

Thou hast spoken right, 'tis true; The wheel is come full circle: I am here. Alb. Methought thy very gait did prophesy A royal nobleness: I must embrace thee: Let sorrow split my heart, if ever I

Did hate thee or thy father!

Edg.

Worthy prince, I know't. Alb. Where have you hid yourself? 179 How have you known the miseries of your father? Edg. By nursing them, my lord. List a brief tale:

And when 'tis told, O, that my heart would burst!
The bloody proclamation to escape,
That follow'd me so near,-O, our lives'sweetness!
That we the pain of death would hourly die
Rather than die at once!-taught me to shift
Into a madman's rags; to assume a semblance
That very dogs disdain'd: and in this habit
Met I my father with his bleeding rings, 189
Their precious stones new lost; became his guide,
Led him, begg'd for him, saved him from despair;
Never, O fault!-reveal'd myself unto him,
Until some half-hour past, when I was arm'd:
Not sure, though hoping, of this good success,
I ask'd his blessing, and from first to last
Told him my pilgrimage: but his flaw'd heart,
Alack, too weak the conflict to support!
Twixt two extremes of passion, joy and grief,
Burst smilingly.

Edm. This speech of yours hath moved me,
And shall perchance do good: but speak you on;
You look as you had something more to say. 201
Alb. If there be more, more woeful, hold it in;
For I am almost ready to dissolve,
Hearing of this.
Edg. This would have seem'd a period
To such as love not sorrow; but another,

To amplify too much, would make much more, And top extremity.

209

Whilst I was big in clamour came there in a man,
Who, having seen me in my worst estate,
Shunn'd my abhorr'd society; but then, finding
Who 'twas that so endured, with his strong arms
He fasten'd on my neck, and bellow'd out
As he 'ld burst heaven; threw him on my father;
Told the most piteous tale of Lear and him
That ever ear received: which in recounting
His grief grew puissant, and the strings of life
Began to crack twice then the trumpets sounded,
And there I left him tranced.
Alb.
But who was this?
Edg. Kent, sir, the banish'd Kent; who in
disguise

Follow'd his enemy king, and did him service 220
Improper for a slave.

Enter a Gentleman, with a bloody knife.
Gent. Help, help, O, help!
Edg.
Alb.

What kind of help?

Speak, man.

'Tis hot, it smokes;

Edg. What means that bloody knife?
Gent.

It came even from the heart of-O, she's dead!
Alb. Who dead? speak, man.

Gent. Your lady, sir, your lady: and her sister By her is poisoned; she hath confess'd it. Edm. I was contracted to them both: all three Now marry in an instant. Edg.

Here comes Kent. 229 Alb. Produce their bodies, be they alive or dead: This judgement of the heavens, that makes us

tremble, Touches us not with pity.

[Exit Gentleman.

I know when one is dead, and when one lives;
She's dead as earth. Lend me a looking-glass;
If that her breath will mist or stain the stone,
Why, then she lives.
Kent.

Is this the promised end?
Edg. Or image of that horror?
Alb.

Fall, and cease! Lear. This feather stirs : she lives! if it be so, It is a chance which does redeem all sorrows That ever I have felt.

Kent. [Kneeling] O my good master! Lear. Prithee, away. Edg. 'Tis noble Kent, your friend. Lear. A plague upon you, murderers, traitors all!

271

I might have saved her; now she's gone for ever!
Cordelia, Cordelia! stay a little. Ha!
What is't thou say'st? Her voice was ever soft,
Gentle, and low, an excellent thing in woman.
I kill'd the slave that was a hanging thee.
Capt. 'Tis true, my lords, he did
Lear.

Did I not, fellow? I have seen the day, with my good biting falchion I would have made them skip: I am old now, And these same crosses spoil me. Who are you? Mine eyes are not o' the best: I'll tell you straight.

Kent. If fortune brag of two she loved and hated,

One of them we behold.

280 Lear. This is a dull sight. Are you not Kent? Kent. The same, Your servant Kent. Where is your servant Caius? Lear. He's a good fellow, I can tell you that; He'll strike, and quickly too: he's dead and

rotten.

Kent. No, my good lord; I am the very man,Lear. I'll see that straight.

Kent. That, from your first of difference and decay,

Have follow'd your sad steps.

With boot, and such addition as your honours Have more than merited. All friends shall taste The wages of their virtue, and all foes

The cup of their deservings. O, see, see!

Lear. And my poor fool is hang'd! No, no. no life!

Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life,
And thou no breath at all? Thou 'lt come no more,
Never, never, never, never, never!

Pray you, undo this button: thank you, sir.
Do you see this? Look on her, look, her lips, 300
Look there, look there!
[Dies
Edg.
He faints! My lord, my lord!
Kent. Break, heart; I prithee, break!
Edg.
Look up, my lord.
Kent. Vex not his ghost: O, let him pass! he
hates him much

That would upon the rack of this tough world
Stretch him out longer.
Edg
He is gone, indeed.
Kent. The wonder is, he hath endured so long:
He but usurp'd his life.

Alb. Bear them from hence. Our present business

Is general woe. [To Kent and Edgar] Friends of my soul, you twain

Rule in this realm, and the gored state sustain. Kent. I have a journey, sir, shortly to go; 321 My master calls me, I must not say no.

Alb. The weight of this sad time we must obey; Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say. The oldest hath borne most: we that are young Shall never see so much, nor live so long.

[Exeunt, with a dead march.

That thou, Iago, who hast had my purse

As if the strings were thine, shouldst know of this. lago. 'Sblood, but you will not hear me: If ever I did dream of such a matter,

Abhor me.

Rod. Thou told'st me thou didst hold him in thy hate.

Iago. Despise me, if I do not. Three great ones of the city,

In personal suit to make me his lieutenant,
Off-capp'd to him: and, by the faith of man,
I know my price, I am worth no worse a place:
But he, as loving his own pride and purposes,
Evades them, with a bombast circumstance
Horribly stuff'd with epithets of war;
And, in conclusion,

Nonsuits my mediators; for, 'Certes,' says he,
'I have already chose my officer.'
And what was he?

Forsooth, a great arithmetician,
One Michael Cassio, a Florentine,

10.

20

A fellow almost damn'd in a fair wife;
That never set a squadron in the field,
Nor the division of a battle knows
More than a spinster; unless the bookish theoric,
Wherein the toged consuls can propose
As masterly as he mere prattle, without practice,
Is all his soldiership. But he, sir, had the election:
And I, of whom his eyes had seen the proof
At Rhodes, at Cyprus and on other grounds
Christian and heathen, must be be-lee'd and
calm'd

By debitor and creditor: this counter-caster,
He, in good time, must his lieutenant be,

30

And I-God bless the mark!-his Moorship's

ancient.

Stood heir to the first. Now, sir, be judge your

self, Whether I in any just term am affined To love the Moor.

бо

And such a one do I profess myself. For, sir,
It is as sure as you are Roderigo,
Were I the Moor, I would not be Iago:
In following him, I follow but myself;
Heaven is my judge, not I for love and duty,
But seeming so, for my peculiar end:
For when my outward action doth demonstrate
The native act and figure of my heart
In compliment extern, 'tis not long after
But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve
For daws to peck at: I am not what I am.
Rod. What a full fortune does the thick-lips

70

Rouse him: make after him, poison his delight,
Proclaim him in the streets; incense her kinsmen,
And, though he in a fertile climate dwell,
Plague him with flies: though that his joy be joy,
Yet throw such changes of vexation on't,
As it may lose some colour.

Rod. Here is her father's house; I'll call aloud.

Iago. Do, with like timorous accent and dire yell

As when, by night and negligence, the fire
Is spied in populous cities.

Rod. What, ho, Brabantio! Signior Brabantio, ho!

Iago. Awake! what, ho, Brabantio! thieves! thieves! thieves!

Look to your house, your daughter and your bags! Thieves! thieves!

81

BRABANTIO appears above, at a window. Bra. What is the reason of this terrible summons?

What is the matter there?

Rod. Signior, is all your family within?
lago. Are your doors lock'd?
Bra.

Why, wherefore ask you this? lago. 'Zounds, sir, you're robb'd; for shame, put on your gown;

Your heart is burst, you have lost half your soul;
Even now, now, very now, an old black ram
Is tupping your white ewe. Arise, arise;

Awake the snorting citizens with the bell, go
Or else the devil will make a grandsire of you:
Arise, I say.

You are a senator.

Iago.
Bra. This thou shalt answer; I know thee,
Roderigo.

120

Rod. Sir, I will answer any thing. But, I beseech you,

If 't be your pleasure and most wise consent,
As partly I find it is, that your fair daughter,
At this odd-even and dull watch o' the night,
Transported, with no worse nor better guard
But with a knave of common hire, a gondolier,
To the gross clasps of a lascivious Moor,-
If this be known to you and your allowance,
We then have done you bold and saucy wrongs;
But if you know not this, my manners tell me 130
We have your wrong rebuke. Do not believe
That, from the sense of all civility,

I thus would play and trifle with your reverence:
Your daughter, if you have not given her leave,
I say again, hath made a gross revolt;
Tying her duty, beauty, wit and fortunes
In an extravagant and wheeling stranger

Of here and every where. Straight satisfy your

self:

If she be in her chamber or your house, Let loose on me the justice of the state For thus deluding you.

Bra.

140

Bra. What, have you lost your wits?
Rod. Most reverend signior, do you know my

voice?

Bra. Not I: what are you?
Rod. My name is Roderigo.
Bra.

The worser welcome:
I have charged thee not to haunt about my doors:
honest plainness thou hast heard me say
My daughter is not for thee; and now, in

Rod. Sir, sir, sir,Bra.

But thou must needs be sure My spirit and my place have in them power

To make this bitter to thee.
Rod.

Patience, good sir. Bra. What tell'st thou me of robbing? this is Venice;

My house is not a grange. Rod. Most grave Brabantio, In simple and pure soul I come to you, Iago. 'Zounds, sir, you are one of those that will not serve God, if the devil bid you. Because we come to do you service and you think we are ruffians, you'll have your daughter covered with a Barbary horse; you'll have your nephews neigh to you; you'll have coursers for cousins and gennets for gernians.

Bra. What profane wretch art thou?

Iago. I am one, sir, that comes to tell you your daughter and the Moor are now making the beast with two backs.

Bra.

Thou art a villain.

151

I must show out a flag and sign of love, Which is indeed but sign. That you shall surely find him,

Lead to the Sagittary the raised search: And there will I be with him. So, farewell. 160 [Exit.

Enter, below, BRABANTIO, and Servants with torches.

Bra. It is too true an evil: gone she is; And what's to come of my despised time Is nought but bitterness. Now, Roderigo, Where didst thou see her? O unhappy girl! With the Moor, say'st thou? Who would be a father!

How didst thou know 'twas she? O, she deceives