King Lear, Act 2, Scene 1

Save thee, Curan.

God save you, Curan.

And you, sir. I have been with your father, and given him notice that the Duke of Cornwall and Regan his Duchess will be here with him this night.

And you, sir. I've been with your father, and told him that the Duke of Cornwall and Regan his Duchess will be here with him tonight.

How comes that?

How does that happen?

Nay, I know not. You have heard of the news abroad; I mean the whispered ones, for they are yet but ear-kissing arguments?

No, I don't know. You've heard the news going around — I mean the whispered news, since so far it's only matter for murmuring in people's ears?

Not I: pray you, what are they?

Not I. Please, what is it?

Have you heard of no likely wars toward, ’twixt the two dukes of Cornwall and Albany?

Have you heard nothing about likely war coming between the two dukes, Cornwall and Albany?

Not a word.

Not a word.

You may do, then, in time. Fare you well, sir.

You may hear of it soon enough, then. Goodbye, sir.

The Duke be here tonight? The better! best! This weaves itself perforce into my business. My father hath set guard to take my brother; And I have one thing, of a queasy question, Which I must act. Briefness and fortune work! Brother, a word, descend, brother, I say!

The Duke here tonight? Better than that — best! This works itself necessarily into my plans. My father has set a watch to arrest my brother, and I have one thing to do, a delicate and sickening business. Speed and luck, get to work! Brother, a word — come down, brother, I say!

My father watches: O sir, fly this place; Intelligence is given where you are hid; You have now the good advantage of the night. Have you not spoken ’gainst the Duke of Cornwall? He’s coming hither; now, i’ the night, i’ the haste, And Regan with him: have you nothing said Upon his party ’gainst the Duke of Albany? Advise yourself.

My father is on the lookout. Oh sir, get away from this place. Someone has told him where you're hiding. You have the good advantage of the night now. Haven't you spoken against the Duke of Cornwall? He's coming here, now, in the night, in a hurry, and Regan with him. Have you said nothing on his side against the Duke of Albany? Think hard.

I am sure on’t, not a word.

I'm certain of it — not a word.

I hear my father coming:—pardon me; In cunning I must draw my sword upon you: Draw: seem to defend yourself: now quit you well. Yield: come before my father. Light, ho, here! Fly, brother. Torches, torches!—So farewell.

I hear my father coming. Forgive me: as a trick I must draw my sword on you. Draw. Pretend to defend yourself. Now acquit yourself well. Surrender — come and face my father. A light, here, hello! Run, brother. Torches, torches! — So, goodbye.

Some blood drawn on me would beget opinion Of my more fierce endeavour: [Wounds his arm.] I have seen drunkards Do more than this in sport. Father, father! Stop, stop! No help?

Some blood drawn from me would create the impression that I fought harder. [He wounds his arm.] I have seen drunks do more than this for fun. Father, father! Stop him, stop him! Is there no help?

Now, Edmund, where’s the villain?

Now, Edmund, where's the villain?

Here stood he in the dark, his sharp sword out, Mumbling of wicked charms, conjuring the moon To stand auspicious mistress.

He stood here in the dark with his sharp sword drawn, muttering wicked spells, calling on the moon to be his favouring patroness.

But where is he?

But where is he?

Look, sir, I bleed.

Look, sir, I'm bleeding.

Where is the villain, Edmund?

Where is the villain, Edmund?

Fled this way, sir. When by no means he could,—

He ran off this way, sir. When there was no way he could —

Pursue him, ho! Go after.

Chase him, hey! Go after him.

—By no means what?

— No way he could what?

Persuade me to the murder of your lordship; But that I told him the revenging gods ’Gainst parricides did all their thunders bend; Spoke with how manifold and strong a bond The child was bound to the father; sir, in fine, Seeing how loathly opposite I stood To his unnatural purpose, in fell motion With his prepared sword, he charges home My unprovided body, latch’d mine arm; But when he saw my best alarum’d spirits, Bold in the quarrel’s right, rous’d to th’encounter, Or whether gasted by the noise I made, Full suddenly he fled.

Persuade me to murder your lordship. But I told him that the avenging gods aim all their thunderbolts at those who kill their parents; I spoke of how many and how strong the ties were that bind a child to his father. In short, sir, when he saw how utterly opposed I stood to his unnatural plan, with a savage lunge of his ready sword he drove straight at my unguarded body and cut my arm. But when he saw my spirits fully roused for the fight, bold in the justice of the quarrel, and ready to meet him — or maybe frightened by the noise I was making — he suddenly ran off.

Let him fly far; Not in this land shall he remain uncaught; And found—dispatch’d. The noble Duke my master, My worthy arch and patron, comes tonight: By his authority I will proclaim it, That he which finds him shall deserve our thanks, Bringing the murderous coward to the stake; He that conceals him, death.

Let him run as far as he likes. He won't stay uncaught anywhere in this land — and once found, killed. The noble Duke, my master, my worthy protector and patron, is coming tonight. On his authority I'll proclaim that whoever finds him will earn our thanks, for bringing the murdering coward to execution; and whoever hides him, death.

When I dissuaded him from his intent, And found him pight to do it, with curst speech I threaten’d to discover him: he replied, ‘Thou unpossessing bastard! dost thou think, If I would stand against thee, would the reposal Of any trust, virtue, or worth in thee Make thy words faith’d? No: what I should deny As this I would; ay, though thou didst produce My very character, I’d turn it all To thy suggestion, plot, and damned practice: And thou must make a dullard of the world, If they not thought the profits of my death Were very pregnant and potential spurs To make thee seek it.

When I tried to talk him out of his intention, and found him fixed on doing it, I angrily threatened to expose him. He answered: 'You bastard, with nothing of your own! Do you think that if I set myself against you, any reliance on your trustworthiness, virtue or worth would make people believe your words? No. Whatever I chose to deny — and I would deny this — yes, even if you produced something in my own handwriting, I'd make it all out to be your prompting, your plot, your damned scheming. You'd have to take the whole world for idiots if they didn't see that the profits of my death were obvious and powerful motives to make you seek it.'

O strange and fast’ned villain! Would he deny his letter, said he? I never got him.

Oh, what an extraordinary, hardened villain! Would he deny his own letter, did he say? I never fathered him.

Hark, the Duke’s trumpets! I know not why he comes. All ports I’ll bar; the villain shall not scape; The Duke must grant me that: besides, his picture I will send far and near, that all the kingdom May have due note of him; and of my land, Loyal and natural boy, I’ll work the means To make thee capable.

Listen, the Duke's trumpets! I don't know why he's coming. I'll block all the harbours; the villain won't escape. The Duke must grant me that. Besides, I'll send his picture far and wide, so that the whole kingdom can be properly on the lookout for him. And as for my land, my loyal and true-born boy, I'll arrange the means to make you able to inherit it.

How now, my noble friend! since I came hither, Which I can call but now, I have heard strange news.

How are things, my noble friend! Since I arrived here — which was only this moment — I have heard strange news.

If it be true, all vengeance comes too short Which can pursue th’offender. How dost, my lord?

If it's true, no vengeance is great enough to punish the offender. How are you, my lord?

O madam, my old heart is crack’d, it’s crack’d!

Oh madam, my old heart is broken — it's broken!

What, did my father’s godson seek your life? He whom my father nam’d? your Edgar?

What, did my father's godson try to kill you? The one my father gave his name to? Your Edgar?

O lady, lady, shame would have it hid!

Oh lady, lady, shame would like it kept hidden!

Was he not companion with the riotous knights That tend upon my father?

Wasn't he one of the company of those wild knights who wait on my father?

I know not, madam; ’tis too bad, too bad.

I don't know, madam. It's too terrible, too terrible.

Yes, madam, he was of that consort.

Yes, madam, he was one of that crowd.

No marvel then though he were ill affected: ’Tis they have put him on the old man’s death, To have the expense and waste of his revenues. I have this present evening from my sister Been well inform’d of them; and with such cautions That if they come to sojourn at my house, I’ll not be there.

No wonder, then, that he was badly disposed. It's they who have urged him on to the old man's death, so as to get the spending and squandering of his income. This very evening I've had a full report about them from my sister, with such warnings that if they come to stay at my house, I won't be there.

Nor I, assure thee, Regan. Edmund, I hear that you have shown your father A childlike office.

Nor will I, I promise you, Regan. Edmund, I hear you've shown your father the service of a true son.

It was my duty, sir.

It was my duty, sir.

He did bewray his practice; and receiv’d This hurt you see, striving to apprehend him.

He exposed his scheme, and got this wound you see, trying to seize him.

Is he pursued?

Is he being chased?

Ay, my good lord.

Yes, my good lord.

If he be taken, he shall never more Be fear’d of doing harm: make your own purpose, How in my strength you please. For you, Edmund, Whose virtue and obedience doth this instant So much commend itself, you shall be ours: Natures of such deep trust we shall much need; You we first seize on.

If he's caught, he'll never be a danger again. Make whatever plan you like, and use my power however you please. As for you, Edmund, whose goodness and obedience recommend themselves so strongly at this moment, you shall be mine. Characters of such deep trustworthiness we shall badly need; you are the first we take into our service.

I shall serve you, sir, truly, however else.

I shall serve you faithfully, sir, whatever else.

For him I thank your grace.

On his behalf I thank your grace.

You know not why we came to visit you?

You don't know why we've come to visit you?

Thus out of season, threading dark-ey’d night: Occasions, noble Gloucester, of some poise, Wherein we must have use of your advice. Our father he hath writ, so hath our sister, Of differences, which I best thought it fit To answer from our home; the several messengers From hence attend dispatch. Our good old friend, Lay comforts to your bosom; and bestow Your needful counsel to our business, Which craves the instant use.

At such an odd hour, making our way through the dark-eyed night. There are matters, noble Gloucester, of some weight, in which we need your advice. Our father has written, and so has our sister, about quarrels, which I thought it best to answer away from home. The various messengers are waiting here to be sent off. Our good old friend, take comfort to your heart, and give us the advice we need for our business, which demands immediate action.

I serve you, madam: Your graces are right welcome.

I am at your service, madam. Your graces are very welcome.