The Tragedy of King Lear

and pat! he comes, like the catastrophe of the old comedy.
My
cue is villainous melancholy, with a sigh like Tom o'
Bedlam.
O, these eclipses do portend these divisions! Fa, sol, la,
mi.
Edg. How now, brother Edmund? What serious contemplation are
you
in?
Edm. I am thinking, brother, of a prediction I read this other
day,
what should follow these eclipses.
Edg. Do you busy yourself with that?
Edm. I promise you, the effects he writes of succeed unhappily:
as
of unnaturalness between the child and the parent; death,
dearth, dissolutions of ancient amities; divisions in state,
menaces and maledictions against king and nobles; needless
diffidences, banishment of friends, dissipation of cohorts,
nuptial breaches, and I know not what.
Edg. How long have you been a sectary astronomical?
Edm. Come, come! When saw you my father last?
Edg. The night gone by.
Edm. Spake you with him?
Edg. Ay, two hours together.
Edm. Parted you in good terms? Found you no displeasure in him
by
word or countenance
Edg. None at all.
Edm. Bethink yourself wherein you may have offended him; and at
my
entreaty forbear his presence until some little time hath
qualified the heat of his displeasure, which at this instant
so
rageth in him that with the mischief of your person it would
scarcely allay.
Edg. Some villain hath done me wrong.
Edm. That's my fear. I pray you have a continent forbearance
till
the speed of his rage goes slower; and, as I say, retire
with me
to my lodging, from whence I will fitly bring you to hear my
lord speak. Pray ye, go! There's my key. If you do stir
abroad,
go arm'd.
Edg. Arm'd, brother?
Edm. Brother, I advise you to the best. Go arm'd. I am no
honest man
if there be any good meaning toward you. I have told you
what I
have seen and heard; but faintly, nothing like the image and
horror of it. Pray you, away!
Edg. Shall I hear from you anon?
Edm. I do serve you in this business.

Exit Edgar

A credulous father! and a brother noble,
Whose nature is so far from doing harms
That he suspects none; on whose foolish honesty
My practices ride easy! I see the business.
Let me, if not by birth, have lands by wit;
All with me's meet that I can fashion fit.

Exit.

Scene III. The Duke of Albany's Palace

Enter Goneril and [her] Steward [Oswald].

Gon. Did my father strike my gentleman for chiding of his fool?
Osw. Ay, madam.
Gon. By day and night, he wrongs me! Every hour
He flashes into one gross crime or other
That sets us all at odds. I'll not endure it.
His knights grow riotous, and himself upbraids us
On every trifle. When he returns from hunting,
I will not speak with him. Say I am sick.
If you come slack of former services,
You shall do well; the fault of it I'll answer.
[Horns within.]
Osw. He's coming, madam; I hear him.
Gon. Put on what weary negligence you please,
You and your fellows. I'd have it come to question.
If he distaste it, let him to our sister,
Whose mind and mine I know in that are one,
Not to be overrul'd. Idle old man,
That still would manage those authorities
That he hath given away! Now, by my life,
Old fools are babes again, and must be us'd
With checks as flatteries, when they are seen abus'd.
Remember what I have said.
Osw. Very well, madam.
Gon. And let his knights have colder looks among you.
What grows of it, no matter. Advise your fellows so.
I would breed from hence occasions, and I shall,
That I may speak. I'll write straight to my sister
To hold my very course. Prepare for dinner.

Exeunt