April 23· The Harvard Classics, fifteen minutes a day
“If You Have Poison for Me, I Will Drink It”
William Shakespeare, King Lear · about 15 minutes
Shaken and disillusioned by the treachery of his elder daughter, King Lear suspected even the faithful Cordelia of evil designs. Her most tender efforts to comfort him failed to drive away the insistent specter of his madness.
Shakespeare died April 23, 1616.
From the 1930 Reading Guide
King Lear
William Shakespeare
Part of this reading is also the reading for December 26. Page 293 opens with the last line of a sentence of Edgar’s; the reading starts with that speech (“Hadst thou been aught but gossamer”), five lines from the foot of page 292.
292Edg. Hadst thou been aught but gossamer, feathers, air,So many fathom down precipitating,Thou ’dst shiver’d like an egg: but thou dost breathe;Hast heavy substance; bleed’st not; speak’st; art sound.Ten masts at each1 make not the altitudeWhich thou hast perpendicularly fell.Thy life’s a miracle. Speak yet again.Glou. But have I fallen, or no?Edg. From the dread summit of this chalky bourn.2Look up a-height;3 the shrill-gorg’d4 lark so farCannot be seen or heard. Do but look up.Glou. 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.Edg. Give me your arm.Up: so. How is ’t? Feel you your legs? You stand.Glou. Too well, too well.Edg. This is above all strangeness.Upon the crown o’ the cliff, what thing was thatWhich parted from you?Glou. A poor unfortunate beggar.Edg. As I stood here below, methought his eyesWere two full moons; he had a thousand noses,Horns whelk’d5 and waved like the enridged sea.It was some fiend; therefore, thou happy father,Think that the clearest6 gods, who make them honoursOf men’s impossibilities, have preserv’d thee.Glou. I do remember now. Henceforth I’ll bearAffliction 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.Edg. Bear free and patient thoughts.
293Enter LEAR [fantastically dressed with wild flowers]
But who comes here?The safer7 sense will ne’er accommodate8His master thus.Lear. No, they cannot touch me for coining;I am the King himself.Edg. O thou side-piercing sight!
294Lear. Nature’s above art in that respect. There’s your press-money. That fellow handles his bow like a crow-keeper; draw me a clothier’s yard. Look, look, a mouse! Peace, peace; this piece of toasted cheese will do ’t. There’s my gauntlet; I’ll prove it on a giant. Bring up the brown bills. O, well flown, bird! I’ the clout,9 i’ the clout! Hewgh! Give the word.10
Edg. Sweet marjoram.Lear. Pass.Glou. I know that voice.
Lear. Ha! Goneril, with a white beard! They flatter’d me like a dog, and told me I had the white hairs in my beard ere the black ones were there. To say “ay” and “no” to everything that I said! “Ay” and “no” too 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, they are not men o’ their words: they told me I was everything; ’tis a lie, I am not ague-proof.
Glou. The trick of that voice I do well remember.Is ’t not the King?Lear. Ay, every inch a king!When I do stare, see how the subject quakes.I pardon that man’s life. What was thy cause?11Adultery?Thou shalt not die. Die for adultery! No:The wren goes to ’t, and the small gilded flyDoes lecher in my sight.Let copulation thrive; for Gloucester’s bastard sonWas kinder to his father than my daughtersGot ’tween the lawful sheets.To ’t, luxury,12 pell-mell! for I lack soldiers.Behold yond simp’ring dame,Whose face between her forks13 presages snow,That minces virtue, and does shake the headTo hear of pleasure’s name,—The fitchew,14 nor the soiled15 horse, goes to ’tWith 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’;There’s hell, there’s darkness, there’s the sulphurous pit,Burning, scalding, stench, consumption; fie, fie, fie! pah, pah!Give me an ounce of civet; good apothecary, sweeten my imagination.There’s money for thee.Glou. O, let me kiss that hand!Lear. Let me wipe it first; it smells of mortality.Glou. O ruin’d piece of nature! This great worldShall so wear out to nought. Dost thou know me?
295Lear. I remember thine eyes well enough. Dost thou squiny16 at me? No, do thy worst, blind Cupid; I’ll not love. Read thou this challenge; mark but the penning of it.
Glou. Were all thy letters suns, I could not see.
Edg. [Aside.] I would not take this from report. It is; and my heart breaks at it.
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.
Glou. I see it feelingly.
Lear. What, art mad? A man may see how this world goes with no eyes. Look with thine ears; see how yond justice rails upon yond simple thief. Hark, in thine ear: change places, and, handy-dandy, which is the justice, which is the thief? Thou has seen a farmer’s dog bark at a beggar?
Glou. Ay, sir.
Lear. And the creature run from the cur? There thou mightst behold the great image of authority: a dog’s obey’d in office.
Thou rascal beadle, hold thy bloody hand!Why dost thou lash that whore? Strip thy own back;Thou hotly lusts to use her in that kindFor which thou whip’st her. The usurer hangs the cozener.18Through tatter’d clothes great vices do appear;Robes and furr’d gowns hide all. Plate sins with gold,And the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks;Arm it in rags, a pigmy’s straw does pierce it.None does offend, none, I say, none; I’ll able19 ’em.Take that of me, my friend, who have the powerTo seal the accuser’s lips. Get thee glass eyes,And, like a scurvy politician, seemTo see the things thou dost not. Now, now, now, now.Pull off my boots; harder, harder: so.Edg. O, matter and impertinency20 mix’d!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 know’st, the first time that we smell the air,We wawl and cry. I will preach to thee; mark.Glou. Alack, alack the day!Lear. When we are born, we cry that we are comeTo this great stage of fools.—This a good block.21It were a delicate stratagem, to shoeA troop of horse with felt. I’ll put ’t in proof;22And when I have stol’n upon these son-in-laws,Then, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill!
296Enter a Gentleman [with Attendants]
Gent. O, here he is! Lay hand upon him. Sir,Your most dear daughter—Lear. No rescue? What, a prisoner? I am evenThe natural fool of fortune. Use me well;You shall have ransom. Let me have surgeons;I am cut to the brains.Gent. You shall have anything.Lear. No seconds? All myself?Why, this would make a man a man of salt,23To use his eyes for garden water-pots,[Ay, and laying autumn’s dust.Gent. Good sir,—]Lear. I will die bravely, like a smug24 bridegroom. What! I will be jovial. Come, come; I am a king,My masters, know you that?Gent. You are a royal one, and we obey you.
297Lear. Then there’s life in ’t. Come, an you get it, you shall get it by running. Sa, sa, sa, sa. Exit [running; Attendants follow].
Gent. A sight most pitiful in the meanest wretch,Past speaking of in a king! Thou hast one daughterWho redeems Nature from the general curseWhich twain have brought her to.Edg. Hail, gentle sir.Gent. Sir, speed you: what’s your will?Edg. Do you hear aught, sir, of a battle toward?Gent. Most sure and vulgar;25 every one hears that,Which can distinguish sound.Edg. But, by your favour,How near’s the other army?Gent. Near and on speedy foot; the main descry26Stands on the hourly thought.Edg. I thank you, sir; that’s all.Gent. Though that the Queen on special cause is here,Her army is mov’d on. Exit.Edg. I thank you, sir.Glou. You ever-gentle gods, take my breath from me;Let not my worser spirit tempt me againTo die before you please!Edg. Well pray you, father.Glou. Now, good sir, what are you?Edg. A most poor man, made tame to fortune’s blows;Who, by the art of known and feeling sorrows,Am pregnant27 to good pity. Give me your hand,I’ll lead you to some biding.Glou. Hearty thanks;The bounty and the benison of HeavenTo boot, and boot!
298Enter Steward [OSWALD]
Osw. A proclaim’d prize! Most happy!That eyeless head of thine was first fram’d fleshTo raise my fortunes. Thou old unhappy traitor,Briefly thyself remember; the sword is outThat must destroy thee.Glou. Now let thy friendly handPut strength enough to ’t. [EDGAR interposes.]Osw. Wherefore, bold peasant,Dar’st thou support a publish’d28 traitor? Hence;Lest that the infection of his fortune takeLike hold on thee. Let go his arm.Edg. ’Chill29 not let go, zir, without vurther ’casion.Osw. Let go, slave, or thou diest!
Edg. Good gentleman, go your gait, and let poor volk pass. An ’chud30 ha’ bin zwagger’d out of my life, ’t would not ha’ bin zo long as ’tis by a vortnight. Nay, come not near th’ old man; keep out, ’che vor ye,31 or Ise try whether your costard32 or my ballow33 be the harder. ’Chill be plain with you.
Osw. Out, dunghill!Edg. ’Chill pick your teeth, zir. Come, no matter vor your foins.34
[They fight, and EDGAR knocks him down.]
Osw. Slave, thou hast slain me. Villain, take my purse.If ever thou wilt thrive, bury my body;And give the letters which thou find’st about meTo Edmund, Earl of Gloucester; seek him outUpon35 the English party. O, untimely death!Death! Dies.Edg. I know thee well; a serviceable villain,As duteous to the vices of thy mistressAs badness would desire.Glou. What, is he dead?Edg. Sit you down, father; rest you.Let’s see these pockets; the letters that he speaks ofMay be my friends. He’s dead; I am only sorryHe had no other death’s-man. 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.
299(Reads the letter.) “Let our reciprocal vows be rememb’red. You have many opportunities to cut him off; if your will want not, time and place will be fruitfully offer’d. 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 indistinguish’d space36 of woman’s will!37A plot upon her virtuous husband’s life;And the exchange my brother! Here, in the sands,Thee I’ll rake up, the post unsanctifiedOf murderous lechers; and in the mature timeWith this ungracious paper strike the sightOf the death-practis’d38 duke. For him ’tis wellThat of thy death and business I can tell.Glou. The King is mad; how stiff is my vile senseThat I stand up and have ingenious39 feelingOf my huge sorrows! Better I were distract;So should my thoughts be sever’d from my griefs,
Drum afar off.
And woes by wrong imaginations loseThe knowledge of themselves.Edg. Give me your hand.Far off, methinks, I hear the beaten drum.Come, father, I’ll bestow40 you with a friend. Exeunt.
300SCENE VII. [A tent in the French camp]
Enter CORDELIA, KENT, and Doctor
Cor. O thou good Kent, how shall I live and workTo match thy goodness? My life will be too short,And every measure fail me.Kent. To be acknowledg’d, madam, is o’er-paid.All my reports go with the modest truth;Nor more nor clipp’d,41 but so.Cor. Be better suited;These weeds are memories of those worser hours.I prithee, put them off.Kent. Pardon, dear madam;Yet to be known shortens my made intent.42My boon I make it, that you know me notTill time and I think meet.Cor. Then be ’t so, my good lord. [To the Doctor.]How does the King?Doct. Madam, sleeps still.Cor. O you kind gods,Cure this great breach in his abused nature!The untun’d and jarring senses, O, wind upOf this child-changed43 father!Doct. So please your MajestyThat we may wake the King? He hath slept long.Cor. Be govern’d by your knowledge, and proceedI’ the sway of your own will.
Enter LEAR in a chair carried by Servants. [Gentleman in attendance]
Is he array’d?Gent. Ay, madam; in the heaviness of sleepWe put fresh garments on him.Doct. Be by, good madam, when we do awake him;I doubt not of his temperance.44[Cor. Very well.Doct. Please you, draw near.—Louder the music there!]Cor. O my dear father! Restoration hangThy medicine on my lips; and let this kissRepair those violent harms that my two sistersHave in thy reverence made!Kent. Kind and dear princess!Cor. Had you not been their father, these white flakesDid challenge pity of them. Was this a faceTo be oppos’d against the warring winds?[To stand against the deep dread-bolted thunder?In the most terrible and nimble strokeOf quick, cross lightning? to watch—poor perdu!45—With this thin helm?] Mine enemy’s dog,Though he had bit me, should have stood that nightAgainst my fire; and wast thou fain, poor father,To hovel thee with swine and rogues forlornIn short and musty straw? Alack, alack!’Tis wonder that thy life and wits at onceHad not concluded all. He wakes; speak to him.Doct. Madam, do you; ’tis fittest.Cor. How does my royal lord? How fares your Majesty?Lear. You do me wrong to take me out o’ the grave.Thou art a soul in bliss; but I am boundUpon a wheel of fire, that mine own tearsDo scald like molten lead.Cor. Sir, do you know me?Lear. You are a spirit, I know; when did you die?Cor. Still, still, far wide!46Doct. He’s scarce awake; let him alone a while.Lear. Where have I been? Where am I? Fair daylight?I am mightily abus’d. I should even die with pity,To see another thus. I know not what to say.I will not swear these are my hands. Let’s see;I feel this pin prick. Would I were assur’dOf my condition!Cor. O, look upon me, sir,And hold your hand in benediction o’er me.[No, sir,] you must not kneel.Lear. Pray, do not mock me.I am a very foolish fond47 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 mainly48 ignorantWhat place this is, and all the skill I haveRemembers not these garments; nor I know notWhere I did lodge last night. Do not laugh at me;For, as I am a man, I think this ladyTo be my child Cordelia.Cor. And so I am, I am.Lear. Be your tears wet? Yes, faith. I pray, weep not.If you have poison for me, I will drink it.I know you do not love me; for your sistersHave, as I do remember, done me wrong;You have some cause, they have not.Cor. No cause, no cause.Lear. Am I in France?Kent. In your own kingdom, sir.Lear. Do not abuse me.Doct. Be comforted, good madam; the great rage,49You see, is kill’d in him: [and yet it is dangerTo make him even o’er the time he has lost.]Desire him to go in; trouble him no moreTill further settling.Cor. Will ’t please your Highness walk?Lear. You must bear with me.Pray you now, forget and forgive; I am old and foolish.
302Exeunt [all but KENT and Gentleman].
303[Gent. Holds it true, sir, that the Duke of Cornwall was so slain?Kent. Most certain, sir.Gent. Who is conductor of his people?Kent. As ’tis said, the bastard son of Gloucester.Gent. They say Edgar, his banish’d son, is with the Earl of Kent in Germany.Kent. Report is changeable. ’Tis time to look about; the powers of the kingdom approach apace.Gent. The arbitrement50 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 day’s battle’s fought.] Exit.
ACT V
SCENE I. [The British camp, near Dover]
Enter, with drum and colours, EDMUND, REGAN, Gentlemen, and Soldiers
Edm. Know of the Duke if his last purpose hold,Or whether since he is advis’d51 by aughtTo change the course. He’s full of alterationAnd self-reproving; bring his constant pleasure.52
[To a Gentleman, who goes out.]
Reg. Our sister’s man is certainly miscarried.Edm. ’Tis to be doubted, madam.Reg. Now, sweet lord,You know the goodness I intend upon you.Tell me—but truly—but then speak the truth,Do you not love my sister?Edm. In honour’d love.Reg. But have you never found my brother’s wayTo the forfended53 place?[Edm. That thought abuses you.Reg. I am doubtful that you have been conjunctAnd bosom’d with her,—as far as we call hers.]54Edm. No, by mine honour, madam.Reg. I never shall endure her. Dear my lord,Be not familiar with her.Edm. Fear me not.She and the Duke her husband!
Page 303 ends in the middle of an exchange between Regan and Edmund; the reading runs on five lines into page 304, to the entrance of Albany and Goneril.
This is the reading for April 23 in Fifteen Minutes a Day: The Reading Guide (1930 edition), page 46. There the assignment reads “Vol. 46, pp. 293–303.” Read it in the guide.