id stringlengths 16 16 | text stringlengths 151 2.3k | word_count int64 30 60 | source stringclasses 1 value |
|---|---|---|---|
twg_000000021200 | good mans son, from the foul fiend! Five fiends have been in poor Tom at once; of lust, as Obidicut; Hobbididence, prince of darkness; Mahu, of stealing; Modo, of murder; Flibbertigibbet, of mopping and mowing, who since possesses chambermaids and waiting women. So, bless thee, master! GLOUCESTER. Here, take this purse, thou whom the heavens plagues Have humbled to all | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021201 | strokes: that I am wretched Makes thee the happier. Heavens deal so still! Let the superfluous and lust-dieted man, That slaves your ordinance, that will not see Because he does not feel, feel your power quickly; So distribution should undo excess, And each man have enough. Dost thou know Dover? EDGAR. Ay, master. GLOUCESTER. There is a cliff, whose high | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021202 | and bending head Looks fearfully in the confined deep: Bring me but to the very brim of it, And Ill repair the misery thou dost bear With something rich about me: from that place I shall no leading need. EDGAR. Give me thy arm: Poor Tom shall lead thee. [_Exeunt._] SCENE II. Before the Duke of Albanys Palace Enter Goneril, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021203 | Edmund; Oswald meeting them. GONERIL. Welcome, my lord. I marvel our mild husband Not met us on the way. Now, wheres your master? OSWALD. Madam, within; but never man so changd. I told him of the army that was landed; He smild at it: I told him you were coming; His answer was, The worse. Of Gloucesters treachery And of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021204 | the loyal service of his son When I informd him, then he calld me sot, And told me I had turnd the wrong side out. What most he should dislike seems pleasant to him; What like, offensive. GONERIL. [_To Edmund._] Then shall you go no further. It is the cowish terror of his spirit, That dares not undertake. Hell not | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021205 | 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 powers. I must change names at home, and give the distaff Into my husbands hands. This trusty servant Shall pass between us. Ere long you are like to hear, If you dare venture | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021206 | in your own behalf, A mistresss command. [_Giving a favour._] 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. EDMUND. Yours in the ranks of death. [_Exit Edmund._] GONERIL. My most dear Gloucester. O, the difference of man and man! To thee a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021207 | womans services are due; My fool usurps my body. OSWALD. Madam, here comes my lord. [_Exit._] Enter Albany. GONERIL. I have been worth the whistle. ALBANY. O Goneril! 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 bordered certain in itself. She that | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021208 | herself will sliver and disbranch From her material sap, perforce must wither And come to deadly use. GONERIL. No more; the text is foolish. ALBANY. Wisdom and goodness to the vile seem vile; Filths savour but themselves. What have you done? Tigers, not daughters, what have you performd? A father, and a gracious aged man, Whose reverence even the head-luggd | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021209 | 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 benefitted! If that the heavens do not their visible spirits Send quickly down to tame these vile offences, It will come, Humanity must perforce prey on itself, Like monsters of the deep. GONERIL. Milk-liverd | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021210 | man! That bearst a cheek for blows, a head for wrongs; Who hast not in thy brows an eye discerning Thine honour from thy suffering; that not knowst Fools do those villains pity who are punishd Ere they have done their mischief. Wheres thy drum? France spreads his banners in our noiseless land; With plumed helm thy state begins to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021211 | threat, Whilst thou, a moral fool, sittst still, and criest Alack, why does he so? ALBANY. See thyself, devil! Proper deformity seems not in the fiend So horrid as in woman. GONERIL. O vain fool! ALBANY. Thou changed and self-coverd thing, for shame! Be-monster not thy feature! Weret my fitness To let these hands obey my blood, They are apt | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021212 | enough to dislocate and tear Thy flesh and bones. Howeer thou art a fiend, A womans shape doth shield thee. GONERIL. Marry, your manhood, mew! Enter a Messenger. ALBANY. What news? MESSENGER. O, my good lord, the Duke of Cornwalls dead; Slain by his servant, going to put out The other eye of Gloucester. ALBANY. Gloucesters eyes! MESSENGER. A servant | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021213 | that he bred, thrilld with remorse, Opposd against the act, bending his sword To his great master; who, thereat enragd, Flew on him, and amongst them felld him dead; But not without that harmful stroke which since Hath pluckd him after. ALBANY. This shows you are above, You justicers, that these our nether crimes So speedily can venge! But, O | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021214 | poor Gloucester! Lost he his other eye? MESSENGER. Both, both, my lord. This letter, madam, craves a speedy answer; Tis from your sister. GONERIL. [_Aside._] 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. Ill | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021215 | read, and answer. [_Exit._] ALBANY. Where was his son when they did take his eyes? MESSENGER. Come with my lady hither. ALBANY. He is not here. MESSENGER. No, my good lord; I met him back again. ALBANY. Knows he the wickedness? MESSENGER. Ay, my good lord. Twas he informd against him; And quit the house on purpose, that their punishment | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021216 | Might have the freer course. ALBANY. Gloucester, I live To thank thee for the love thou showdst the King, And to revenge thine eyes. Come hither, friend, Tell me what more thou knowst. [_Exeunt._] SCENE III. The French camp near Dover Enter Kent and a Gentleman. KENT. Why the King of France is so suddenly gone back, know you no | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021217 | reason? GENTLEMAN. 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? GENTLEMAN. The Mareschal of France, Monsieur La Far. KENT. Did your letters pierce the queen to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021218 | any demonstration of grief? GENTLEMAN. Ay, sir; she took them, read them in my presence; And now and then an ample tear trilld down Her delicate cheek. It seemd she was a queen Over her passion; who, most rebel-like, Sought to be king oer her. KENT. O, then it movd her. GENTLEMAN. Not to a rage: patience and sorrow strove | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021219 | Who should express her goodliest. You have seen Sunshine and rain at once: her smiles and tears Were like a better day. Those happy smilets That playd on her ripe lip seemd not to know What guests were in her eyes; which parted thence As pearls from diamonds droppd. In brief, Sorrow would be a rarity most belovd, If all | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021220 | could so become it. KENT. Made she no verbal question? GENTLEMAN. Faith, once or twice she heavd the name of father Pantingly forth, as if it pressd her heart; Cried Sisters, sisters! Shame of ladies! sisters! Kent! father! sisters! What, i the storm? i the night? Let pity not be believd! There she shook The holy water from her heavenly | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021221 | eyes, And clamour masterd her: then away she started To deal with grief alone. KENT. It is the stars, The stars above us govern our conditions; Else one self mate and make could not beget Such different issues. You spoke not with her since? GENTLEMAN. No. KENT. Was this before the King returnd? GENTLEMAN. No, since. KENT. Well, sir, the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021222 | poor distressed Lears i the town; Who sometime, in his better tune, remembers What we are come about, and by no means Will yield to see his daughter. GENTLEMAN. Why, good sir? KENT. A sovereign shame so elbows him. His own unkindness, That strippd her from his benediction, turnd her To foreign casualties, gave her dear rights To his dog-hearted | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021223 | daughters, these things sting His mind so venomously that burning shame Detains him from Cordelia. GENTLEMAN. Alack, poor gentleman! KENT. Of Albanys and Cornwalls powers you heard not? GENTLEMAN. Tis so; they are afoot. KENT. Well, sir, Ill bring you to our master Lear And leave you to attend him. Some dear cause Will in concealment wrap me up awhile; | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021224 | When I am known aright, you shall not grieve Lending me this acquaintance. I pray you, go along with me. [_Exeunt._] SCENE IV. The French camp. A Tent Enter with drum and colours, Cordelia, Physician and Soldiers. CORDELIA. Alack, tis he: why, he was met even now As mad as the vexd sea; singing aloud; Crownd with rank fumiter and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021225 | furrow weeds, With harlocks, hemlock, nettles, cuckoo-flowers, Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow In our sustaining corn. A century send forth; Search every acre in the high-grown field, And bring him to our eye. [_Exit an Officer._] What can mans wisdom In the restoring his bereaved sense, He that helps him take all my outward worth. PHYSICIAN. There | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021226 | is means, madam: Our foster nurse of nature is repose, The which he lacks; that to provoke in him Are many simples operative, whose power Will close the eye of anguish. CORDELIA. All blessd secrets, All you unpublishd virtues of the earth, Spring with my tears! Be aidant and remediate In the good mans distress! Seek, seek for him; Lest | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021227 | his ungovernd rage dissolve the life That wants the means to lead it. Enter a Messenger. MESSENGER. News, madam; The British powers are marching hitherward. CORDELIA. Tis known before. Our preparation stands In expectation of them. O dear father, It is thy business that I go about; Therefore great France My mourning and important tears hath pitied. No blown ambition | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021228 | doth our arms incite, But love, dear love, and our agd fathers right: Soon may I hear and see him! [_Exeunt._] SCENE V. A Room in Gloucesters Castle Enter Regan and Oswald. REGAN. But are my brothers powers set forth? OSWALD. Ay, madam. REGAN. Himself in person there? OSWALD. Madam, with much ado. Your sister is the better soldier. REGAN. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021229 | Lord Edmund spake not with your lord at home? OSWALD. No, madam. REGAN. What might import my sisters letter to him? OSWALD. I know not, lady. REGAN. Faith, he is posted hence on serious matter. It was great ignorance, Gloucesters eyes being out, To let him live. Where he arrives he moves All hearts against us. Edmund, I think, is | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021230 | gone In pity of his misery, to dispatch His nighted life; moreover to descry The strength o thenemy. OSWALD. I must needs after him, madam, with my letter. REGAN. Our troops set forth tomorrow; stay with us; The ways are dangerous. OSWALD. I may not, madam: My lady chargd my duty in this business. REGAN. Why should she write to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021231 | Edmund? Might not you Transport her purposes by word? Belike, Somethings, I know not what, Ill love thee much. Let me unseal the letter. OSWALD. Madam, I had rather REGAN. I know your lady does not love her husband; I am sure of that; and at her late being here She gave strange oeillades and most speaking looks To noble | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021232 | Edmund. I know you are of her bosom. OSWALD. I, madam? REGAN. I speak in understanding; yare, I knowt: Therefore I do advise you take this note: My lord is dead; Edmund and I have talkd, And more convenient is he for my hand Than for your ladys. You may gather more. If you do find him, pray you give | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021233 | him this; And when your mistress hears thus much from you, I pray desire her call her wisdom to her. So, fare you well. If you do chance to hear of that blind traitor, Preferment falls on him that cuts him off. OSWALD. Would I could meet him, madam! I should show What party I do follow. REGAN. Fare thee | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021234 | well. [_Exeunt._] SCENE VI. The country near Dover Enter Gloucester, and Edgar dressed like a peasant. GLOUCESTER. When shall I come to the top of that same hill? EDGAR. You do climb up it now. Look how we labour. GLOUCESTER. Methinks the ground is even. EDGAR. Horrible steep. Hark, do you hear the sea? GLOUCESTER. No, truly. EDGAR. Why, then, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021235 | your other senses grow imperfect By your eyes anguish. GLOUCESTER. So may it be indeed. Methinks thy voice is alterd; and thou speakst In better phrase and matter than thou didst. EDGAR. Yare much deceivd: in nothing am I changd But in my garments. GLOUCESTER. Methinks youre better spoken. EDGAR. Come on, sir; heres the place. Stand still. How fearful | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021236 | And dizzy tis to cast ones 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 samphiredreadful trade! Methinks he seems no bigger than his head. The fishermen that walk upon the beach Appear like mice; and yond tall anchoring bark, Diminishd to her cock; | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021237 | her cock a buoy Almost too small for sight: the murmuring surge That on thunnumberd idle pebble chafes Cannot be heard so high. Ill look no more; Lest my brain turn, and the deficient sight Topple down headlong. GLOUCESTER. Set me where you stand. EDGAR. Give me your hand. You are now within a foot of thextreme verge. For all | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021238 | beneath the moon would I not leap upright. GLOUCESTER. Let go my hand. Here, friend, s another purse; in it a jewel Well worth a poor mans taking. Fairies and gods Prosper it with thee! Go thou further off; Bid me farewell, and let me hear thee going. EDGAR. Now fare ye well, good sir. [_Seems to go._] GLOUCESTER. With | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021239 | all my heart. EDGAR. [_Aside._] Why I do trifle thus with his despair Is done to cure it. GLOUCESTER. 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021240 | nature should Burn itself out. If Edgar live, O, bless him! Now, fellow, fare thee well. EDGAR. Gone, sir, farewell. [_Gloucester 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? | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021241 | Ho you, sir! friend! Hear you, sir? speak! Thus might he pass indeed: yet he revives. What are you, sir? GLOUCESTER. Away, and let me die. EDGAR. Hadst thou been aught but gossamer, feathers, air, So many fathom down precipitating, Thoudst shiverd like an egg: but thou dost breathe; Hast heavy substance; bleedst not; speakst; art sound. Ten masts at | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021242 | each make not the altitude Which thou hast perpendicularly fell. Thy life is a miracle. Speak yet again. GLOUCESTER. But have I falln, or no? EDGAR. From the dread summit of this chalky bourn. Look up a-height, the shrill-gorgd lark so far Cannot be seen or heard. Do but look up. GLOUCESTER. Alack, I have no eyes. Is wretchedness deprivd | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021243 | that benefit To end itself by death? Twas yet some comfort When misery could beguile the tyrants rage And frustrate his proud will. EDGAR. Give me your arm. Up, so. How ist? Feel you your legs? You stand. GLOUCESTER. Too well, too well. EDGAR. This is above all strangeness. Upon the crown o the cliff what thing was that Which | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021244 | parted from you? GLOUCESTER. A poor unfortunate beggar. EDGAR. As I stood here below, methought his eyes Were two full moons; he had a thousand noses, Horns whelkd and waved like the enraged sea. It was some fiend. Therefore, thou happy father, Think that the clearest gods, who make them honours Of mens impossibilities, have preservd thee. GLOUCESTER. I do | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021245 | remember now: henceforth Ill bear Affliction till it do cry out itself Enough, enough, and die. That thing you speak of, I took it for a man; often twould say, The fiend, the fiend; he led me to that place. EDGAR. Bear free and patient thoughts. But who comes here? Enter Lear, fantastically dressed up with flowers. The safer sense | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021246 | will neer accommodate His master thus. LEAR. No, they cannot touch me for coining. I am the King himself. EDGAR. O thou side-piercing sight! LEAR. Natures above art in that respect. Theres your press money. That fellow handles his bow like a crow-keeper: draw me a clothiers yard. Look, look, a mouse! Peace, peace, this piece of toasted cheese will | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021247 | dot. Theres my gauntlet; Ill prove it on a giant. Bring up the brown bills. O, well flown, bird! i the clout, i the clout. Hewgh! Give the word. EDGAR. Sweet marjoram. LEAR. Pass. GLOUCESTER. I know that voice. LEAR. Ha! Goneril with a white beard! They flattered me like a dog; and told me I had white hairs in | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021248 | my beard ere the black ones were there. To say ay and no to everything I said ay and no to was no good divinity. When the rain came to wet me once, and the wind to make me chatter; when the thunder would not peace at my bidding; there I found em, there I smelt em out. Go to, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021249 | they are not men o their words: they told me I was everything; tis a lie, I am not ague-proof. GLOUCESTER. The trick of that voice I do well remember: Ist not the King? LEAR. Ay, every inch a king. When I do stare, see how the subject quakes. I pardon that mans life. What was thy cause? Adultery? Thou | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021250 | shalt not die: die for adultery! No: The wren goes tot, and the small gilded fly Does lecher in my sight. Let copulation thrive; For Gloucesters bastard son was kinder to his father Than my daughters got tween the lawful sheets. Tot, luxury, pell-mell! for I lack soldiers. Behold yond simpring dame, Whose face between her forks presages snow; That | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021251 | minces virtue, and does shake the head To hear of pleasures name. The fitchew nor the soiled horse goes tot with a more riotous appetite. Down from the waist they are centaurs, though women all above. But to the girdle do the gods inherit, beneath is all the fiends; theres hell, theres darkness, there is the sulphurous pit; burning, scalding, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021252 | stench, consumption. Fie, fie, fie! pah, pah! Give me an ounce of civet, good apothecary, to sweeten my imagination. Theres money for thee. GLOUCESTER. O, let me kiss that hand! LEAR. Let me wipe it first; it smells of mortality. GLOUCESTER. O ruind piece of nature, this great world Shall so wear out to naught. Dost thou know me? LEAR. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021253 | I remember thine eyes well enough. Dost thou squiny at me? No, do thy worst, blind Cupid; Ill not love. Read thou this challenge; mark but the penning of it. GLOUCESTER. Were all the letters suns, I could not see one. EDGAR. I would not take this from report, It is, and my heart breaks at it. LEAR. Read. GLOUCESTER. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021254 | What, with the case of eyes? LEAR. O, ho, are you there with me? No eyes in your head, nor no money in your purse? Your eyes are in a heavy case, your purse in a light, yet you see how this world goes. GLOUCESTER. I see it feelingly. LEAR. What, art mad? A man may see how the world | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021255 | goes with no eyes. Look with thine ears. See how yon justice rails upon yon simple thief. Hark, in thine ear: change places; and, handy-dandy, which is the justice, which is the thief? Thou hast seen a farmers dog bark at a beggar? GLOUCESTER. Ay, sir. LEAR. And the creature run from the cur? There thou mightst behold the great | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021256 | image of authority: a dogs obeyed in office. Thou rascal beadle, hold thy bloody hand! Why dost thou lash that whore? Strip thine own back; Thou hotly lusts to use her in that kind For which thou whippst her. The usurer hangs the cozener. Through tatterd clothes great vices do appear; Robes and furrd gowns hide all. Plate sin with | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021257 | gold, And the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks; Arm it in rags, a pygmys straw does pierce it. None does offend, none, I say none; Ill able em; Take that of me, my friend, who have the power To seal the accusers lips. Get thee glass eyes, And like a scurvy politician, seem To see the things thou dost | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021258 | not. Now, now, now, now: Pull off my boots: harder, harder, so. EDGAR. O, matter and impertinency mixd! Reason in madness! LEAR. If thou wilt weep my fortunes, take my eyes. I know thee well enough, thy name is Gloucester. Thou must be patient; we came crying hither: Thou knowst the first time that we smell the air We wawl | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021259 | and cry. I will preach to thee: mark. GLOUCESTER. Alack, alack the day! LEAR. When we are born, we cry that we are come To this great stage of fools. This a good block: It were a delicate stratagem to shoe A troop of horse with felt. Ill putt in proof And when I have stoln upon these son-in-laws, Then | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021260 | kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill! Enter a Gentleman with Attendants. GENTLEMAN. O, here he is: lay hand upon him. Sir, Your most dear daughter LEAR. No rescue? What, a prisoner? I am even The natural fool of fortune. Use me well; You shall have ransom. Let me have surgeons; I am cut to the brains. GENTLEMAN. You shall have | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021261 | anything. LEAR. No seconds? All myself? Why, this would make a man a man of salt, To use his eyes for garden water-pots, Ay, and for laying autumns dust. GENTLEMAN. Good sir. LEAR. I will die bravely, like a smug bridegroom. What! I will be jovial. Come, come, I am a king, my masters, know you that. GENTLEMAN. You are | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021262 | a royal one, and we obey you. LEAR. Then theres life int. Come, and you get it, You shall get it by running. Sa, sa, sa, sa! [_Exit running. Attendants follow._] GENTLEMAN. A sight most pitiful in the meanest wretch, Past speaking of in a king! Thou hast one daughter Who redeems nature from the general curse Which twain have | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021263 | brought her to. EDGAR. Hail, gentle sir. GENTLEMAN. Sir, speed you. Whats your will? EDGAR. Do you hear aught, sir, of a battle toward? GENTLEMAN. Most sure and vulgar. Everyone hears that, which can distinguish sound. EDGAR. But, by your favour, How nears the other army? GENTLEMAN. Near and on speedy foot; the main descry Stands on the hourly thought. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021264 | EDGAR. I thank you sir, thats all. GENTLEMAN. Though that the queen on special cause is here, Her army is movd on. EDGAR. I thank you, sir. [_Exit Gentleman._] GLOUCESTER. You ever-gentle gods, take my breath from me; Let not my worser spirit tempt me again To die before you please. EDGAR. Well pray you, father. GLOUCESTER. Now, good sir, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021265 | what are you? EDGAR. A most poor man, made tame to fortunes blows; Who, by the art of known and feeling sorrows, Am pregnant to good pity. Give me your hand, Ill lead you to some biding. GLOUCESTER. Hearty thanks: The bounty and the benison of heaven To boot, and boot. Enter Oswald. OSWALD. A proclaimd prize! Most happy! That | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021266 | eyeless head of thine was first framd flesh To raise my fortunes. Thou old unhappy traitor, Briefly thyself remember. The sword is out That must destroy thee. GLOUCESTER. Now let thy friendly hand Put strength enough tot. [_Edgar interposes._] OSWALD. Wherefore, bold peasant, Darst thou support a publishd traitor? Hence; Lest that thinfection of his fortune take Like hold on | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021267 | thee. Let go his arm. EDGAR. Chill not let go, zir, without vurther casion. OSWALD. Let go, slave, or thou diest! EDGAR. Good gentleman, go your gait, and let poor volke pass. An chud ha bin zwaggered out of my life, twould not ha bin zo long as tis by a vortnight. Nay, come not near thold man; keep out, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021268 | che vor ye, or ise try whether your costard or my ballow be the harder: chill be plain with you. OSWALD. Out, dunghill! EDGAR. Chill pick your teeth, zir. Come! No matter vor your foins. [_They fight, and Edgar knocks him down._] OSWALD. Slave, thou hast slain me. Villain, take my purse. If ever thou wilt thrive, bury my body; | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021269 | And give the letters which thou findst about me To Edmund, Earl of Gloucester. Seek him out Upon the British party. O, untimely death! [_Dies._] EDGAR. I know thee well. A serviceable villain, As duteous to the vices of thy mistress As badness would desire. GLOUCESTER. What, is he dead? EDGAR. Sit you down, father; rest you. Lets see these | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021270 | pockets; the letters that he speaks of May be my friends. Hes dead; I am only sorry He had no other deathsman. Let us see: Leave, gentle wax; and, manners, blame us not. To know our enemies minds, we rip their hearts, Their papers is more lawful. [_Reads._] Let our reciprocal vows be remembered. You have many opportunities to cut | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021271 | him off: if your will want not, time and place will be fruitfully offered. There is nothing done if he return the conqueror: then am I the prisoner, and his bed my gaol; from the loathed warmth whereof deliver me, and supply the place for your labour. Your (wife, so I would say) affectionate servant, Goneril. O indistinguishd space of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021272 | womans will! A plot upon her virtuous husbands life, And the exchange my brother! Here in the sands Thee Ill rake up, the post unsanctified Of murderous lechers: and in the mature time, With this ungracious paper strike the sight Of the death-practisd Duke: for him tis well That of thy death and business I can tell. [_Exit Edgar, dragging | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021273 | out the body._] GLOUCESTER. The King is mad: how stiff is my vile sense, That I stand up, and have ingenious feeling Of my huge sorrows! Better I were distract: So should my thoughts be severd from my griefs, And woes by wrong imaginations lose The knowledge of themselves. [_A drum afar off._] EDGAR. Give me your hand. Far off | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021274 | methinks I hear the beaten drum. Come, father, Ill bestow you with a friend. [_Exeunt._] SCENE VII. A Tent in the French Camp Lear on a bed, asleep, soft music playing; Physician, Gentleman and others attending. Enter Cordelia and Kent. CORDELIA. O thou good Kent, how shall I live and work To match thy goodness? My life will be too | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021275 | short, And every measure fail me. KENT. To be acknowledgd, madam, is oerpaid. All my reports go with the modest truth; Nor more, nor clippd, but so. CORDELIA. Be better suited, These weeds are memories of those worser hours: I prythee put them off. KENT. Pardon, dear madam; Yet to be known shortens my made intent. My boon I make | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021276 | it that you know me not Till time and I think meet. CORDELIA. Then bet so, my good lord. [_To the Physician._] How does the King? PHYSICIAN. Madam, sleeps still. CORDELIA. O you kind gods, Cure this great breach in his abused nature! The untund and jarring senses, O, wind up Of this child-changed father. PHYSICIAN. So please your majesty | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021277 | That we may wake the King: he hath slept long. CORDELIA. Be governd by your knowledge, and proceed I the sway of your own will. Is he arrayd? PHYSICIAN. Ay, madam. In the heaviness of sleep We put fresh garments on him. Be by, good madam, when we do awake him; I doubt not of his temperance. CORDELIA. Very well. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021278 | PHYSICIAN. Please you draw near. Louder the music there! CORDELIA. O my dear father! Restoration hang Thy medicine on my lips; and let this kiss Repair those violent harms that my two sisters Have in thy reverence made! KENT. Kind and dear princess! CORDELIA. Had you not been their father, these white flakes Did challenge pity of them. Was this | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021279 | a face To be opposd against the warring winds? To stand against the deep dread-bolted thunder? In the most terrible and nimble stroke Of quick cross lightning? to watch, poor perdu! With this thin helm? Mine enemys dog, Though he had bit me, should have stood that night Against my fire; and wast thou fain, poor father, To hovel thee | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021280 | with swine and rogues forlorn In short and musty straw? Alack, alack! Tis wonder that thy life and wits at once Had not concluded all. He wakes; speak to him. PHYSICIAN. Madam, do you; tis fittest. CORDELIA. How does my royal lord? How fares your majesty? LEAR. You do me wrong to take me out o the grave. Thou art | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021281 | a soul in bliss; but I am bound Upon a wheel of fire, that mine own tears Do scald like molten lead. CORDELIA. Sir, do you know me? LEAR. You are a spirit, I know: when did you die? CORDELIA. Still, still, far wide! PHYSICIAN. Hes scarce awake: let him alone awhile. LEAR. Where have I been? Where am I? | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021282 | Fair daylight? I am mightily abusd. I should een die with pity, To see another thus. I know not what to say. I will not swear these are my hands: lets see; I feel this pin prick. Would I were assurd Of my condition! CORDELIA. O, look upon me, sir, And hold your hands in benediction oer me. No, sir, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021283 | you must not kneel. LEAR. Pray, do not mock me: I am a very foolish fond old man, Fourscore and upward, not an hour more nor less; And to deal plainly, I fear I am not in my perfect mind. Methinks I should know you, and know this man; Yet I am doubtful: for I am mainly ignorant What place | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021284 | this is; and all the skill I have Remembers not these garments; nor I know not Where I did lodge last night. Do not laugh at me; For, as I am a man, I think this lady To be my child Cordelia. CORDELIA. And so I am. I am. LEAR. Be your tears wet? Yes, faith. I pray weep not: | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021285 | If you have poison for me, I will drink it. I know you do not love me; for your sisters Have, as I do remember, done me wrong. You have some cause, they have not. CORDELIA. No cause, no cause. LEAR. Am I in France? KENT. In your own kingdom, sir. LEAR. Do not abuse me. PHYSICIAN. Be comforted, good | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021286 | madam, the great rage, You see, is killd in him: and yet it is danger To make him even oer the time he has lost. Desire him to go in; trouble him no more Till further settling. CORDELIA. Willt please your highness walk? LEAR. You must bear with me: Pray you now, forget and forgive: I am old and foolish. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021287 | [_Exeunt Lear, Cordelia, Physician and Attendants._] GENTLEMAN. Holds it true, sir, that the Duke of Cornwall was so slain? KENT. Most certain, sir. GENTLEMAN. Who is conductor of his people? KENT. As tis said, the bastard son of Gloucester. GENTLEMAN. They say Edgar, his banished son, is with the Earl of Kent in Germany. KENT. Report is changeable. Tis time | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021288 | to look about; the powers of the kingdom approach apace. GENTLEMAN. The arbitrement is like to be bloody. Fare you well, sir. [_Exit._] KENT. My point and period will be throughly wrought, Or well or ill, as this days battles fought. [_Exit._] ACT V SCENE I. The Camp of the British Forces near Dover Enter, with drum and colours Edmund, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021289 | Regan, Officers, Soldiers and others. EDMUND. Know of the Duke if his last purpose hold, Or whether since he is advisd by aught To change the course, hes full of alteration And self-reproving, bring his constant pleasure. [_To an Officer, who goes out._] REGAN. Our sisters man is certainly miscarried. EDMUND. Tis to be doubted, madam. REGAN. Now, sweet lord, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021290 | You know the goodness I intend upon you: Tell me but truly, but then speak the truth, Do you not love my sister? EDMUND. In honourd love. REGAN. But have you never found my brothers way To the forfended place? EDMUND. That thought abuses you. REGAN. I am doubtful that you have been conjunct And bosomd with her, as far | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021291 | as we call hers. EDMUND. No, by mine honour, madam. REGAN. I never shall endure her, dear my lord, Be not familiar with her. EDMUND. Fear not, She and the Duke her husband! Enter with drum and colours Albany, Goneril and Soldiers. GONERIL. [_Aside._] I had rather lose the battle than that sister Should loosen him and me. ALBANY. Our | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021292 | very loving sister, well be-met. Sir, this I heard: the King is come to his daughter, With others whom the rigour of our state Forcd to cry out. Where I could not be honest, I never yet was valiant. For this business, It toucheth us as France invades our land, Not bolds the King, with others whom I fear Most | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021293 | just and heavy causes make oppose. EDMUND. Sir, you speak nobly. REGAN. Why is this reasond? GONERIL. Combine together gainst the enemy; For these domestic and particular broils Are not the question here. ALBANY. Lets, then, determine with the ancient of war On our proceeding. EDMUND. I shall attend you presently at your tent. REGAN. Sister, youll go with us? | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021294 | GONERIL. No. REGAN. Tis most convenient; pray you, go with us. GONERIL. [_Aside_.] O, ho, I know the riddle. I will go. [_Exeunt Edmund, Regan, Goneril, Officers, Soldiers and Attendants._] As they are going out, enter Edgar disguised. EDGAR. If eer your grace had speech with man so poor, Hear me one word. ALBANY. Ill overtake you. Speak. EDGAR. Before | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021295 | you fight the battle, ope this letter. If you have victory, let the trumpet sound For him that brought it: wretched though I seem, I can produce a champion that will prove What is avouched there. If you miscarry, Your business of the world hath so an end, And machination ceases. Fortune love you! ALBANY. Stay till I have read | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021296 | the letter. EDGAR. I was forbid it. When time shall serve, let but the herald cry, And Ill appear again. ALBANY. Why, fare thee well. I will oerlook thy paper. [_Exit Edgar._] Enter Edmund. EDMUND. The enemys in view; draw up your powers. Here is the guess of their true strength and forces By diligent discovery; but your haste Is | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021297 | now urgd on you. ALBANY. We will greet the time. [_Exit._] EDMUND. To both these sisters have I sworn my love; Each jealous of the other, as the stung Are of the adder. Which of them shall I take? Both? One? Or neither? Neither can be enjoyd, If both remain alive. To take the widow Exasperates, makes mad her sister | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021298 | Goneril; And hardly shall I carry out my side, Her husband being alive. Now, then, well use His countenance for the battle; which being done, Let her who would be rid of him devise His speedy taking off. As for the mercy Which he intends to Lear and to Cordelia, The battle done, and they within our power, Shall never | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021299 | see his pardon: for my state Stands on me to defend, not to debate. [_Exit._] SCENE II. A field between the two Camps Alarum within. Enter with drum and colours, Lear, Cordelia and their Forces, and exeunt. Enter Edgar and Gloucester. EDGAR. Here, father, take the shadow of this tree For your good host; pray that the right may thrive: | 60 | gutenberg |
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.