The Complete Works of William Shakespeare In Plain and Simple English (Translated) (926 page)

these injuries the king now bears will be revenged

home; there's part of a power already footed: we

must incline to the king. I will seek him, and

privily relieve him: go you and maintain talk with

the duke, that my charity be not of him perceived:

if he ask for me. I am ill, and gone to bed.

Though I die for it, as no less is threatened me,

the king my old master must be relieved. There is

some strange thing toward, Edmund; pray you, be careful.

Exit

And that's not the half of it. There is a split between

the Dukes, and there's something worse going on. I have

received a letter tonight; it is dangerous

to speak of; I have locked the letter in my room. These

injuries done to the King will come home to roost;

part of an army has already landed; we must

support the King. I will find him and secretly

help him; you go and talk to the Duke,

so that he does not discover my charity. If he asks for me

say that I am ill and have gone to bed. Even if I die for it, as they

threaten I will, I must still help the King, my old master.

There are strange things going on, Edmund;

please, be careful.

EDMUND

This courtesy, forbid thee, shall the duke

Instantly know; and of that letter too:

This seems a fair deserving, and must draw me

That which my father loses; no less than all:

The younger rises when the old doth fall.

Exit

The Duke shall instantly know of this charity,

which you were forbidden to do; he'll know about that letter too:

that would seem to deserve a reward, and must give me a chance

of getting the things taken from my father; I want it all:

the young one rises as the old one falls.

Enter KING LEAR, KENT, and Fool

KENT

Here is the place, my lord; good my lord, enter:

The tyranny of the open night's too rough

For nature to endure.

Storm still

This is the place, my lord; come in my good lord:

the night is too rough

to stay in the open.

KING LEAR

Let me alone.

Leave me alone.

KENT

Good my lord, enter here.

My good lord, come in.

KING LEAR

Wilt break my heart?

Do you want to break my heart?

KENT

I had rather break mine own. Good my lord, enter.

I would rather break my own. My good lord, come in.

KING LEAR

Thou think'st 'tis much that this contentious storm

Invades us to the skin: so 'tis to thee;

But where the greater malady is fix'd,

The lesser is scarce felt. Thou'ldst shun a bear;

But if thy flight lay toward the raging sea,

Thou'ldst meet the bear i' the mouth. When the

mind's free,

The body's delicate: the tempest in my mind

Doth from my senses take all feeling else

Save what beats there. Filial ingratitude!

Is it not as this mouth should tear this hand

For lifting food to't? But I will punish home:

No, I will weep no more. In such a night

To shut me out! Pour on; I will endure.

In such a night as this! O Regan, Goneril!

Your old kind father, whose frank heart gave all,--

O, that way madness lies; let me shun that;

No more of that.

It bothers you that this terrible storm

soaks us to the skin: it bothers you;

but when there is a greater illness,

one hardly feels the lesser one. You would run from a bear;

but if your escape route took you into the raging sea,

you would fight that bear face-to-face. When your mind is at ease

the body is sensitive; the storm in my mind

takes away all other feelings

except what is in there–the ingratitude of my daughters!

Should the mouth bite the hand that feeds it?

But I will have my revenge:

no, I will not cry any more. To lock me out

on such a night? Carry on raining, I will endure it.

On a night like this? O Regan, Goneril!

Your kind old father, whose open heart gave you everything–

oh! Thinking like that leads to madness; I reject that;

no more of that.

KENT

Good my lord, enter here.

My good lord, please come in.

KING LEAR

Prithee, go in thyself: seek thine own ease:

This tempest will not give me leave to ponder

On things would hurt me more. But I'll go in.

To the Fool

In, boy; go first. You houseless poverty,--

Nay, get thee in. I'll pray, and then I'll sleep.

Fool goes in

Poor naked wretches, whereso'er you are,

That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm,

How shall your houseless heads and unfed sides,

Your loop'd and window'd raggedness, defend you

From seasons such as these? O, I have ta'en

Too little care of this! Take physic, pomp;

Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel,

That thou mayst shake the superflux to them,

And show the heavens more just.

Please, go in yourself: make yourself comfortable:

this storm stops me from thinking

about other things which are more painful. But I'll go in.

You go in first, boy. You poor homeless–

no, go inside. I'll pray, and then I'll sleep.

Poor naked wretches, wherever you are,

that suffer the pelting of this pitiless storm,

how will your roofless heads and hungry sides,

with your clothes full of holes, defend you

against this sort of weather? Oh! I have paid

too little attention to this.  It would do you good, rich ones;

exposing yourself to what poor men feel,

you might then give them some of your surplus

to show that heaven is more fair.

EDGAR

[Within] Fathom and half, fathom and half! Poor Tom!

The Fool runs out from the hovel

Fathom and half, fathom and half! Poor Tom!

Fool

Come not in here, nuncle, here's a spirit.

Help me, help me!

Don't come in here, nuncle, there's a ghost.

Help me, help me!

KENT

Give me thy hand. Who's there?

Give me your hand. Who's there?

Fool

A spirit, a spirit: he says his name's poor Tom.

A ghost, a ghost: he says his name is poor Tom.

KENT

What art thou that dost grumble there i' the straw?

Come forth.

Enter EDGAR disguised as a mad man

Who are you, muttering there in the straw?

Come out.

EDGAR

Away! the foul fiend follows me!

Through the sharp hawthorn blows the cold wind.

Hum! go to thy cold bed, and warm thee.

Go away! The devil is chasing me!

The cold wind blows through the sharp hawthorn bushes.

Hum! Go to your cold bed and warm up.

KING LEAR

Hast thou given all to thy two daughters?

And art thou come to this?

Have you given everything to your two daughters?

And has it brought you to this?

EDGAR

Who gives any thing to poor Tom? whom the foul

fiend hath led through fire and through flame, and

through ford and whirlipool e'er bog and quagmire;

that hath laid knives under his pillow, and halters

in his pew; set ratsbane by his porridge; made him

proud of heart, to ride on a bay trotting-horse over

four-inched bridges, to course his own shadow for a

traitor. Bless thy five wits! Tom's a-cold,--O, do

de, do de, do de. Bless thee from whirlwinds,

star-blasting, and taking! Do poor Tom some

charity, whom the foul fiend vexes: there could I

have him now,--and there,--and there again, and there.

Storm still

Who gives anything to poor Tom? The one the

Devil has led through the fire and the flame,

through the ford and the whirlpool, bog and swamp;

he has put knives under his pillow, nooses

outside his bedroom window; put rat poison by his porridge,

made him so cocky that he would ride his trotting horse

over four inch bridges, hunting his own shadow as a traitor.

Bless your five wits! Tom's cold. Oh! La di

da di da. Save you from whirlwinds, lightning

and illness! Be nice to poor Tom,

whom the devil tortures. I could get him

now, there, there again, there.

KING LEAR

What, have his daughters brought him to this pass?

Couldst thou save nothing? Didst thou give them all?

What, have his daughters reduced him to this state?

Couldn't you save anything? Did you give them the lot?

Fool

Nay, he reserved a blanket, else we had been all shamed.

No, he's saved a blanket, otherwise we'd all be embarrassed.

KING LEAR

Now, all the plagues that in the pendulous air

Hang fated o'er men's faults light on thy daughters!

Now, may all the plagues that hang in the air

waiting to punish men's faults crash down on your daughters!

KENT

He hath no daughters, sir.

He has no daughters, sir.

KING LEAR

Death, traitor! nothing could have subdued nature

To such a lowness but his unkind daughters.

Is it the fashion, that discarded fathers

Should have thus little mercy on their flesh?

Judicious punishment! 'twas this flesh begot

Those pelican daughters.

Death to you, traitor! Nothing could have brought someone

so low except for unkind daughters.

Is this the fashion, for rejected fathers