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KING LEAR. William ShakespeareЧитать онлайн книгу.

KING LEAR - William Shakespeare


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Edg.

       Give me thy arm:

       Poor Tom shall lead thee.

       [Exeunt.]

       SCENE II. Before the Duke of Albany’s Palace.

       [Enter Goneril and Edmund; Oswald meeting them.]

       Gon.

       Welcome, my lord: I marvel our mild husband

       Not met us on the way.—Now, where’s your master?

       Osw.

       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 Gloster’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.

       Gon.

       [To Edmund.] 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 powers:

       I must change arms 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. [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.

       Edm.

       Yours in the ranks of death!

       [Exit Edmund.]

       Gon.

       My most dear Gloster.

       O, the difference of man and man!

       To thee a woman’s services are due:

       My fool usurps my body.

       Osw.

       Madam, here comes my lord.

       [Exit.]

       [Enter Albany.]

       Gon.

       I have been worth the whistle.

       Alb.

       O Goneril!

       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.

       Gon.

       No more; the text is foolish.

       Alb.

       Wisdom and goodness to the vile seem vile:

       Filths savour 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 vile offences,

       It will 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;

       Who hast not in thy brows an eye discerning

       Thine honour 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;

       Whiles thou, a moral fool, sitt’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.

       Gon.

       O vain fool!

       Alb.

       Thou changed and self-cover’d thing, for shame!

       Be-monster 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.

       Gon.

       Marry, your manhood now!

       [Enter a Messenger.]

       Alb.

       What news?

       Mess.

       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!

       Mess.

       A servant that he bred, thrill’d with remorse,

       Oppos’d against the act, bending his sword

       To his great master; who, thereat enrag’d,

       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?

       Mess.

       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.

      


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