Читать книгу The Tragedy of King Lear - Уильям Шекспир, William Szekspir, the Simon Studio - Страница 2

  Kent. I thought the King had more affected the Duke of Albany

than

     Cornwall.

  Glou. It did always seem so to us; but now, in the division of

the

     kingdom, it appears not which of the Dukes he values most,

for

     equalities are so weigh'd that curiosity in neither can make

     choice of either's moiety.

  Kent. Is not this your son, my lord?

  Glou. His breeding, sir, hath been at my charge. I have so

often

     blush'd to acknowledge him that now I am braz'd to't.

  Kent. I cannot conceive you.

  Glou. Sir, this young fellow's mother could; whereupon she grew

     round-womb'd, and had indeed, sir, a son for her cradle ere

she

     had a husband for her bed. Do you smell a fault?

  Kent. I cannot wish the fault undone, the issue of it being so

     proper.

  Glou. But I have, sir, a son by order of law, some year elder

than

     this, who yet is no dearer in my account. Though this knave

came

     something saucily into the world before he was sent for, yet

was

     his mother fair, there was good sport at his making, and the

     whoreson must be acknowledged. – Do you know this noble

gentleman,

     Edmund?

  Edm. [comes forward] No, my lord.

  Glou. My Lord of Kent. Remember him hereafter as my honourable

     friend.

  Edm. My services to your lordship.

  Kent. I must love you, and sue to know you better.

  Edm. Sir, I shall study deserving.

  Glou. He hath been out nine years, and away he shall again.

                                                 Sound a sennet.

     The King is coming.

  Lear. Attend the lords of France and Burgundy, Gloucester.

  Glou. I shall, my liege.

  Lear. Meantime we shall express our darker purpose.

     Give me the map there. Know we have divided

     In three our kingdom; and 'tis our fast intent

     To shake all cares and business from our age,

     Conferring them on younger strengths while we

     Unburthen'd crawl toward death. Our son of Cornwall,

     And you, our no less loving son of Albany,

     We have this hour a constant will to publish

     Our daughters' several dowers, that future strife

     May be prevented now. The princes, France and Burgundy,

     Great rivals in our youngest daughter's love,

     Long in our court have made their amorous sojourn,

     And here are to be answer'd. Tell me, my daughters

     (Since now we will divest us both of rule,

     Interest of territory, cares of state),

     Which of you shall we say doth love us most?

     That we our largest bounty may extend

     Where nature doth with merit challenge. Goneril,

     Our eldest-born, speak first.

  Gon. Sir, I love you more than words can wield the matter;

     Dearer than eyesight, space, and liberty;

     Beyond what can be valued, rich or rare;

     No less than life, with grace, health, beauty, honour;

     As much as child e'er lov'd, or father found;

     A love that makes breath poor, and speech unable.

     Beyond all manner of so much I love you.

  Cor. [aside] What shall Cordelia speak? Love, and be silent.

  Lear. Of all these bounds, even from this line to this,

     With shadowy forests and with champains rich'd,

     With plenteous rivers and wide-skirted meads,

     We make thee lady. To thine and Albany's issue

     Be this perpetual. – What says our second daughter,

     Our dearest Regan, wife to Cornwall? Speak.

  Reg. Sir, I am made

     Of the selfsame metal that my sister is,

     And prize me at her worth. In my true heart

     I find she names my very deed of love;

     Only she comes too short, that I profess

     Myself an enemy to all other joys

     Which the most precious square of sense possesses,

     And find I am alone felicitate

     In your dear Highness' love.

  Cor. [aside] Then poor Cordelia!

     And yet not so; since I am sure my love's

     More richer than my tongue.

  Lear. To thee and thine hereditary ever

     Remain this ample third of our fair kingdom,

     No less in space, validity, and pleasure

     Than that conferr'd on Goneril. – Now, our joy,

     Although the last, not least; to whose young love

     The vines of France and milk of Burgundy

     Strive to be interest; what can you say to draw

     A third more opulent than your sisters? Speak.

  Cor. Nothing, my lord.

  Lear. Nothing?

  Cor. Nothing.

  Lear. Nothing can come of nothing. Speak again.

  Cor. Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave

     My heart into my mouth. I love your Majesty

     According to my bond; no more nor less.

  Lear. How, how, Cordelia? Mend your speech a little,

     Lest it may mar your fortunes.

  Cor. Good my lord,

     You have begot me, bred me, lov'd me; I

     Return those duties back as are right fit,

     Obey you, love you, and most honour you.

     Why have my sisters husbands, if they say

     They love you all? Haply, when I shall wed,

     That lord whose hand must take my plight shall carry

     Half my love with him, half my care and duty.

     Sure I shall never marry like my sisters,

     To love my father all.

  Lear. But goes thy heart with this?

  Cor. Ay, good my lord.

  Lear. So young, and so untender?

  Cor. So young, my lord, and true.

  Lear. Let it be so! thy truth then be thy dower!

     For, by the sacred radiance of the sun,

     The mysteries of Hecate and the night;

     By all the operation of the orbs

     From whom we do exist and cease to be;

     Here I disclaim all my paternal care,

     Propinquity and property of blood,

     And as a stranger to my heart and me

     Hold thee from this for ever. The barbarous Scythian,

     Or he that makes his generation messes

     To gorge his appetite, shall to my bosom

     Be as well neighbour'd, pitied, and reliev'd,

     As thou my sometime daughter.

  Kent. Good my liege-

  Lear. Peace, Kent!

     Come not between the dragon and his wrath.

     I lov'd her most, and thought to set my rest

     On her kind nursery. – Hence and avoid my sight! -

     So be my grave my peace as here I give

     Her father's heart from her! Call France! Who stirs?

     Call Burgundy! Cornwall and Albany,

     With my two daughters' dowers digest this third;

     Let pride, which she calls plainness, marry her.

     I do invest you jointly in my power,

     Preeminence, and all the large effects

     That troop with majesty. Ourself, by monthly course,

     With reservation of an hundred knights,

     By you to be sustain'd, shall our abode

     Make with you by due turns. Only we still retain

     The name, and all th' additions to a king. The sway,

     Revenue, execution of the rest,

     Beloved sons, be yours; which to confirm,

     This coronet part betwixt you.

  Kent. Royal Lear,

     Whom I have ever honour'd as my king,

     Lov'd as my father, as my master follow'd,

     As my great patron thought on in my prayers-

  Lear. The bow is bent and drawn; make from the shaft.

  Kent. Let it fall rather, though the fork invade

     The region of my heart! Be Kent unmannerly

     When Lear is mad. What wouldst thou do, old man?

     Think'st thou that duty shall have dread to speak

     When power to flattery bows? To plainness honour's bound

     When majesty falls to folly. Reverse thy doom;

     And in thy best consideration check

     This hideous rashness. Answer my life my judgment,

     Thy youngest daughter does not love thee least,

     Nor are those empty-hearted whose low sound

     Reverbs no hollowness.

  Lear. Kent, on thy life, no more!

  Kent. My life I never held but as a pawn

     To wage against thine enemies; nor fear to lose it,

     Thy safety being the motive.

  Lear. Out of my sight!

  Kent. See better, Lear, and let me still remain

     The true blank of thine eye.

  Lear. Now by Apollo-

  Kent. Now by Apollo, King,

     Thou swear'st thy gods in vain.

  Lear. O vassal! miscreant!

                                   [Lays his hand on his sword.]

  Alb., Corn. Dear sir, forbear!

  Kent. Do!

     Kill thy physician, and the fee bestow

     Upon the foul disease. Revoke thy gift,

     Or, whilst I can vent clamour from my throat,

     I'll tell thee thou dost evil.

  Lear. Hear me, recreant!

     On thine allegiance, hear me!

     Since thou hast sought to make us break our vow-

     Which we durst never yet- and with strain'd pride

     To come between our sentence and our power, -

     Which nor our nature nor our place can bear, -

     Our potency made good, take thy reward.

     Five days we do allot thee for provision

     To shield thee from diseases of the world,

     And on the sixth to turn thy hated back

     Upon our kingdom. If, on the tenth day following,

     Thy banish'd trunk be found in our dominions,

     The moment is thy death. Away! By Jupiter,

     This shall not be revok'd.

  Kent. Fare thee well, King. Since thus thou wilt appear,

     Freedom lives hence, and banishment is here.

     [To Cordelia] The gods to their dear shelter take thee,

maid,

     That justly think'st and hast most rightly said!

     [To Regan and Goneril] And your large speeches may your

deeds

        approve,

     That good effects may spring from words of love.

     Thus Kent, O princes, bids you all adieu;

     He'll shape his old course in a country new.

  Flourish. Enter Gloucester, with France and Burgundy;

Attendants.

  Glou. Here's France and Burgundy, my noble lord.

  Lear. My Lord of Burgundy,

     We first address toward you, who with this king

     Hath rivall'd for our daughter. What in the least

     Will you require in present dower with her,

     Or cease your quest of love?

  Bur. Most royal Majesty,

     I crave no more than hath your Highness offer'd,

     Nor will you tender less.

  Lear. Right noble Burgundy,

     When she was dear to us, we did hold her so;

     But now her price is fall'n. Sir, there she stands.

     If aught within that little seeming substance,

     Or all of it, with our displeasure piec'd,

     And nothing more, may fitly like your Grace,

     She's there, and she is yours.

  Bur. I know no answer.

  Lear. Will you, with those infirmities she owes,

     Unfriended, new adopted to our hate,

     Dow'r'd with our curse, and stranger'd with our oath,

     Take her, or leave her?

  Bur. Pardon me, royal sir.

     Election makes not up on such conditions.

  Lear. Then leave her, sir; for, by the pow'r that made me,

     I tell you all her wealth. [To France] For you, great King,

     I would not from your love make such a stray

     To match you where I hate; therefore beseech you

     T' avert your liking a more worthier way

     Than on a wretch whom nature is asham'd

     Almost t' acknowledge hers.

  France. This is most strange,

     That she that even but now was your best object,

     The argument of your praise, balm of your age,

     Most best, most dearest, should in this trice of time

     Commit a thing so monstrous to dismantle

     So many folds of favour. Sure her offence

     Must be of such unnatural degree

     That monsters it, or your fore-vouch'd affection

     Fall'n into taint; which to believe of her

     Must be a faith that reason without miracle

     Should never plant in me.

  Cor. I yet beseech your Majesty,

     If for I want that glib and oily art

     To speak and purpose not, since what I well intend,

     I'll do't before I speak- that you make known

     It is no vicious blot, murther, or foulness,

     No unchaste action or dishonoured step,

     That hath depriv'd me of your grace and favour;

     But even for want of that for which I am richer-

     A still-soliciting eye, and such a tongue

     As I am glad I have not, though not to have it

     Hath lost me in your liking.

  Lear. Better thou

     Hadst not been born than not t' have pleas'd me better.

  France. Is it but this- a tardiness in nature

     Which often leaves the history unspoke

     That it intends to do? My Lord of Burgundy,

     What say you to the lady? Love's not love

     When it is mingled with regards that stands

     Aloof from th' entire point. Will you have her?

     She is herself a dowry.

  Bur. Royal Lear,

     Give but that portion which yourself propos'd,

     And here I take Cordelia by the hand,

     Duchess of Burgundy.

  Lear. Nothing! I have sworn; I am firm.

  Bur. I am sorry then you have so lost a father

     That you must lose a husband.

  Cor. Peace be with Burgundy!

     Since that respects of fortune are his love,

     I shall not be his wife.

  France. Fairest Cordelia, that art most rich, being poor;

     Most choice, forsaken; and most lov'd, despis'd!

     Thee and thy virtues here I seize upon.

     Be it lawful I take up what's cast away.

     Gods, gods! 'tis strange that from their cold'st neglect

     My love should kindle to inflam'd respect.

     Thy dow'rless daughter, King, thrown to my chance,

     Is queen of us, of ours, and our fair France.

     Not all the dukes in wat'rish Burgundy

     Can buy this unpriz'd precious maid of me.

     Bid them farewell, Cordelia, though unkind.

     Thou losest here, a better where to find.

  Lear. Thou hast her, France; let her be thine; for we

     Have no such daughter, nor shall ever see

     That face of hers again. Therefore be gone

     Without our grace, our love, our benison.

     Come, noble Burgundy.

  France. Bid farewell to your sisters.

  Cor. The jewels of our father, with wash'd eyes

     Cordelia leaves you. I know you what you are;

     And, like a sister, am most loath to call

     Your faults as they are nam'd. Use well our father.

     To your professed bosoms I commit him;

     But yet, alas, stood I within his grace,

     I would prefer him to a better place!

     So farewell to you both.

  Gon. Prescribe not us our duties.

  Reg. Let your study

     Be to content your lord, who hath receiv'd you

     At fortune's alms. You have obedience scanted,

     And well are worth the want that you have wanted.

  Cor. Time shall unfold what plighted cunning hides.

     Who cover faults, at last shame them derides.

     Well may you prosper!

  France. Come, my fair Cordelia.

  Gon. Sister, it is not little I have to say of what most nearly

     appertains to us both. I think our father will hence

to-night.

  Reg. That's most certain, and with you; next month with us.

  Gon. You see how full of changes his age is. The observation we

     have made of it hath not been little. He always lov'd our

     sister most, and with what poor judgment he hath now cast

her

     off appears too grossly.

  Reg. 'Tis the infirmity of his age; yet he hath ever but

slenderly

     known himself.

  Gon. The best and soundest of his time hath been but rash; then

     must we look to receive from his age, not alone the

     imperfections of long-ingraffed condition, but therewithal

     the unruly waywardness that infirm and choleric years bring

with

     them.

  Reg. Such unconstant starts are we like to have from him as

this

     of Kent's banishment.

  Gon. There is further compliment of leave-taking between France

and

     him. Pray you let's hit together. If our father carry

authority

     with such dispositions as he bears, this last surrender of

his

     will but offend us.

  Reg. We shall further think on't.

  Gon. We must do something, and i' th' heat.