Act IV · Scene II
Before ALBANY's palace.
Hover a speech to translate it — or press play to hear it performed.
Enter GONERIL and EDMUND
GONERIL
Welcome, my lord: I marvel our mild husbandNot met us on the way.
Enter OSWALD
GONERIL
Now, where's your master'?
OSWALD
Madam, within; but never man so changed.I told him of the army that was landed;He smiled 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.
GONERIL
[To EDMUND] Then shall you go no further.It is the cowish terror of his spirit,That dares not undertake: he'll not feel wrongsWhich tie him to an answer. Our wishes on the wayMay prove effects. Back, Edmund, to my brother;Hasten his musters and conduct his powers:I must change arms at home, and give the distaffInto my husband's hands. This trusty servantShall 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;
Giving a favour
GONERIL
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.
GONERIL
My most dear Gloucester!
Exit EDMUND
GONERIL
O, the difference of man and man!To thee a woman's 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 windBlows in your face. I fear your disposition:That nature, which contemns its origin,Cannot be border'd certain in itself;She that herself will sliver and disbranchFrom her material sap, perforce must witherAnd 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 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 spiritsSend quickly down to tame these vile offences,It will come,Humanity must perforce prey on itself,Like monsters of the deep.
GONERIL
Milk-liver'd man!That bear'st a cheek for blows, a head for wrongs;Who hast not in thy brows an eye discerningThine honour from thy suffering; that not know'stFools do those villains pity who are punish'dEre 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, sit'st still, and criest'Alack, why does he so?'
ALBANY
See thyself, devil!Proper deformity seems not in the fiendSo horrid as in woman.
GONERIL
O vain fool!
ALBANY
Thou changed and self-cover'd thing, for shame,Be-monster not thy feature. Were't my fitnessTo let these hands obey my blood,They are apt enough to dislocate and tearThy flesh and bones: howe'er thou art a fiend,A woman's shape doth shield thee.
GONERIL
Marry, your manhood now--
Enter a Messenger
ALBANY
What news?
Messenger
O, my good lord, the Duke of Cornwall's dead:Slain by his servant, going to put outThe other eye of Gloucester.
ALBANY
Gloucester's eye!
Messenger
A servant that he bred, thrill'd with remorse,Opposed against the act, bending his swordTo his great master; who, thereat enraged,Flew on him, and amongst them fell'd him dead;But not without that harmful stroke, which sinceHath pluck'd him after.
ALBANY
This shows you are above,You justicers, that these our nether crimesSo speedily can venge! But, O 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 pluckUpon my hateful life: another way,The news is not so tart.--I'll 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 inform'd against him;And quit the house on purpose, that their punishmentMight have the freer course.
ALBANY
Gloucester, I liveTo 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.
Exeunt