King Lear, Act 4, Scene 6

When shall I come to the top of that same hill?

When will I reach the top of that hill you spoke of?

You do climb up it now. Look how we labour.

You're climbing it right now. See how hard we're working.

Methinks the ground is even.

It seems to me the ground is level.

Horrible steep. Hark, do you hear the sea?

Terribly steep. Listen, can you hear the sea?

No, truly.

No, honestly.

Why, then, your other senses grow imperfect By your eyes’ anguish.

Well then, your other senses are becoming faulty because of the pain in your eyes.

So may it be indeed. Methinks thy voice is alter’d; and thou speak’st In better phrase and matter than thou didst.

That may well be so. It seems to me your voice has changed, and you speak in better words and with better sense than you did.

Y’are much deceiv’d: in nothing am I chang’d But in my garments.

You're quite mistaken: nothing about me has changed except my clothes.

Methinks you’re better spoken.

I think you speak better.

Come on, sir; here’s the place. Stand still. How fearful And dizzy ’tis to cast one’s eyes so low! The crows and choughs that wing the midway air Show scarce so gross as beetles. Half way down Hangs one that gathers samphire—dreadful trade! Methinks he seems no bigger than his head. The fishermen that walk upon the beach Appear like mice; and yond tall anchoring bark, Diminish’d to her cock; her cock a buoy Almost too small for sight: the murmuring surge That on th’unnumber’d idle pebble chafes Cannot be heard so high. I’ll look no more; Lest my brain turn, and the deficient sight Topple down headlong.

Come along, sir; this is the place. Stand still. How frightening and dizzying it is to look down so far! The crows and jackdaws that fly halfway down the air look scarcely as big as beetles. Halfway down a man is hanging who gathers samphire — a terrible job! He looks no bigger than his own head. The fishermen walking on the beach look like mice; and that tall ship at anchor is shrunk to the size of its own small boat, and its boat to a buoy almost too small to see. The murmuring waves that grind against the countless idle pebbles can't be heard up this high. I'll look no more, in case my head spins and my failing sight sends me tumbling down headfirst.

Set me where you stand.

Put me where you're standing.

Give me your hand. You are now within a foot of th’extreme verge. For all beneath the moon would I not leap upright.

Give me your hand. You're now within a foot of the very edge. I wouldn't jump straight up for everything under the moon.

Let go my hand. Here, friend, ’s another purse; in it a jewel Well worth a poor man’s taking. Fairies and gods Prosper it with thee! Go thou further off; Bid me farewell, and let me hear thee going.

Let go of my hand. Here, friend, is another purse; there's a jewel in it well worth a poor man's taking. May the fairies and gods make it prosper for you! Go further off; say goodbye to me, and let me hear you leaving.

Now fare ye well, good sir.

Now farewell, good sir.

With all my heart.

With all my heart.

[Aside.] Why I do trifle thus with his despair Is done to cure it.

[Aside.] The reason I play with his despair like this is to cure it.

O you mighty gods! This world I do renounce, and in your sights, Shake patiently my great affliction off: If I could bear it longer, and not fall To quarrel with your great opposeless wills, My snuff and loathed part of nature should Burn itself out. If Edgar live, O, bless him! Now, fellow, fare thee well.

Oh you mighty gods! I give up this world, and in your sight I shake off my great suffering patiently. If I could endure it longer without starting to quarrel with your great, unopposable wills, the burnt-out wick of my hated life would burn itself out on its own. If Edgar is alive, oh, bless him! Now, fellow, farewell to you.

Gone, sir, farewell.

I've gone, sir; farewell.

And yet I know not how conceit may rob The treasury of life when life itself Yields to the theft. Had he been where he thought, By this had thought been past. Alive or dead? Ho you, sir! friend! Hear you, sir? speak! Thus might he pass indeed: yet he revives. What are you, sir?

And yet I don't know how far imagination may rob the treasury of life when life itself consents to the theft. If he had been where he thought he was, his thinking would be over by now. Alive or dead? Hello there, sir! Friend! Do you hear me, sir? Speak! He might really die this way — no, he's coming round. Who are you, sir?

Away, and let me die.

Go away, and let me die.

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 each make not the altitude Which thou hast perpendicularly fell. Thy life is a miracle. Speak yet again.

If you had been anything but cobweb, feathers, air, falling so many fathoms down, you'd have smashed like an egg. But you're breathing; you have solid substance; you're not bleeding; you're speaking; you're unhurt. Ten masts joined end to end wouldn't make the height you fell straight down. Your life is a miracle. Speak again.

But have I fall’n, or no?

But have I fallen, or not?

From the dread summit of this chalky bourn. Look up a-height, the shrill-gorg’d lark so far Cannot be seen or heard. Do but look up.

From the terrifying top of this chalky cliff. Look up high: the shrill-throated lark is so far up it can't be seen or heard. Just look up.

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.

Sadly, I have no eyes. Is misery denied even the advantage of ending itself by death? It was at least some comfort when suffering could cheat a tyrant's rage and defeat his proud will.

Give me your arm. Up, so. How is’t? Feel you your legs? You stand.

Give me your arm. Up, that's it. How does it feel? Can you feel your legs? You're standing.

Too well, too well.

Too well, too well.

This is above all strangeness. Upon the crown o’ the cliff what thing was that Which parted from you?

This is stranger than anything. On the top of the cliff, what thing was that which left you?

A poor unfortunate beggar.

A poor unlucky beggar.

As I stood here below, methought his eyes Were two full moons; he had a thousand noses, Horns whelk’d and waved like the enraged sea. It was some fiend. Therefore, thou happy father, Think that the clearest gods, who make them honours Of men’s impossibilities, have preserv’d thee.

As I stood down here, it seemed to me his eyes were two full moons; he had a thousand noses, and horns twisted and rippling like the raging sea. It was some devil. So, you lucky old man, think that the purest gods, who make their own glory out of what is impossible for men, have saved you.

I do remember now: henceforth I’ll bear Affliction 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.

I remember now. From now on I'll bear my suffering until it cries out by itself, 'Enough, enough,' and dies. That thing you speak of — I took it for a man; it would often say, 'The fiend, the fiend.' He led me to that place.

Bear free and patient thoughts. But who comes here?

Keep your thoughts free and patient. But who's coming here?

The safer sense will ne’er accommodate His master thus.

A sane mind would never dress its owner like that.

No, they cannot touch me for coining. I am the King himself.

No, they can't prosecute me for making coins. I am the King himself.

O thou side-piercing sight!

Oh, what a sight to pierce your side!

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, i’ the clout. Hewgh! Give the word.

Nature beats training in that respect. There's your enlistment pay. That fellow handles his bow like a scarecrow boy: pull it back a full clothier's yard for me. Look, look, a mouse! Quiet, quiet, this piece of toasted cheese will do the job. There's my gauntlet; I'll maintain my claim against a giant. Bring up the soldiers with the brown halberds. Oh, well shot, bird! In the target's centre, in the centre. Hewgh! Give the password.

Sweet marjoram.

Sweet marjoram.

Pass.

Pass.

I know that voice.

I know that voice.

Ha! Goneril with a white beard! They flattered me like a dog; and told me I had white hairs in my beard ere the black ones were there. To say ‘ay’ and ‘no’ to everything I said ‘ay’ and ‘no’ to 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.

Ha! Goneril with a white beard! They fawned on me like a dog, and told me I had white hairs in my beard before the black ones had even grown. To say 'yes' and 'no' to everything I said 'yes' and 'no' to was bad religion. When the rain came to soak me once, and the wind to make my teeth chatter; when the thunder wouldn't be quiet when I ordered it — that's where I found them out, that's where I sniffed them out. Enough: they're not men who keep their word. They told me I was everything; that's a lie, I'm not immune to fever.

The trick of that voice I do well remember: Is’t not the King?

I remember the way that voice sounds very well. Isn't it the King?

Ay, every inch a king. When I do stare, see how the subject quakes. I pardon that man’s life. What was thy cause? Adultery? Thou shalt not die: die for adultery! No: The wren goes to’t, and the small gilded fly Does lecher in my sight. Let copulation thrive; For Gloucester’s bastard son was kinder to his father Than my daughters got ’tween the lawful sheets. To’t, luxury, pell-mell! for I lack soldiers. Behold yond simp’ring dame, Whose face between her forks presages snow; That minces virtue, and does shake the head To hear of pleasure’s name. The fitchew nor the soiled horse goes to’t with 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 fiend’s; there’s hell, there’s darkness, there is the sulphurous pit; burning, scalding, stench, consumption. Fie, fie, fie! pah, pah! Give me an ounce of civet, good apothecary, to sweeten my imagination. There’s money for thee.

Yes, every inch a king. When I stare, see how the subject trembles. I spare that man's life. What was your offence? Adultery? You shall not die: die for adultery! No. The wren does it, and the little gilded fly is lecherous right in front of me. Let mating flourish; for Gloucester's illegitimate son treated his father better than my daughters, conceived between lawful sheets, treated me. Get to it, lust, all in a rush! I'm short of soldiers. Look at that simpering lady over there, whose face promises snow between her legs, who puts on a prim show of virtue and shakes her head at the very mention of pleasure. The polecat and the well-fed horse don't go at it with a wilder appetite. From the waist down they're centaurs, though women all above the waist. Down to the belt the gods own them; below that it all belongs to the devil. That's hell, that's darkness, that's the pit full of sulphur — burning, scalding, stink, decay. Ugh, ugh, ugh! Pah, pah! Give me an ounce of civet perfume, good apothecary, to sweeten my imagination. Here's money for you.

O, let me kiss that hand!

Oh, let me kiss that hand!

Let me wipe it first; it smells of mortality.

Let me wipe it first; it smells of mortality.

O ruin’d piece of nature, this great world Shall so wear out to naught. Dost thou know me?

Oh, you ruined piece of nature, this whole great world will wear away to nothing like that. Do you know me?

I remember thine eyes well enough. Dost thou squiny at me? No, do thy worst, blind Cupid; I’ll not love. Read thou this challenge; mark but the penning of it.

I remember your eyes well enough. Are you squinting at me? No, do your worst, blind Cupid; I won't fall in love. Read this challenge; just look at the way it's written.

Were all the letters suns, I could not see one.

Even if every letter were a sun, I couldn't see a single one.

I would not take this from report, It is, and my heart breaks at it.

I wouldn't believe this if I were only told about it. It's real, and my heart breaks over it.

Read.

Read.

What, with the case of eyes?

What, with these empty sockets?

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.

Oh, ho, is that how it is with you? No eyes in your head, and no money in your purse? Your eyes are in a heavy case, your purse in a light one — yet you can see how this world goes.

I see it feelingly.

I see it by feeling it.

What, art mad? A man may see how the world goes with no eyes. Look with thine ears. See how yon justice rails upon yon simple thief. Hark, in thine ear: change places; and, handy-dandy, which is the justice, which is the thief? Thou hast seen a farmer’s dog bark at a beggar?

What, are you mad? A man can see how the world goes without any eyes. Look with your ears. See how that judge over there shouts at that simple thief. Listen, in your ear: swap their places; and now, take your pick — which is the judge, which is the thief? You've seen a farmer's dog bark at a beggar?

Ay, sir.

Yes, sir.

And the creature run from the cur? There thou mightst behold the great image of authority: a dog’s obeyed in office. Thou rascal beadle, hold thy bloody hand! Why dost thou lash that whore? Strip thine own back; Thou hotly lusts to use her in that kind For which thou whipp’st her. The usurer hangs the cozener. Through tatter’d clothes great vices do appear; Robes and furr’d gowns hide all. Plate sin with gold, And the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks; Arm it in rags, a pygmy’s straw does pierce it. None does offend, none, I say none; I’ll able ’em; Take that of me, my friend, who have the power To seal the accuser’s lips. Get thee glass eyes, And like a scurvy politician, seem To see the things thou dost not. Now, now, now, now: Pull off my boots: harder, harder, so.

And the man run away from the mongrel? There you could see the great image of authority: a dog is obeyed when it holds office. You villain of a parish officer, stop your bloody hand! Why are you whipping that whore? Bare your own back instead; you burn with lust to use her in the very way you're whipping her for. The moneylender has the small-time cheat hanged. Great vices show through ragged clothes; robes and fur-trimmed gowns hide everything. Plate sin with gold and justice's strong lance snaps without doing harm; dress it in rags and a pygmy's straw will pierce it. No one is guilty, no one, I tell you, no one; I'll guarantee them. Take that from me, my friend, who has the power to seal the accuser's lips. Get yourself glass eyes, and like a contemptible politician pretend to see things you don't. Now, now, now, now: pull off my boots. Harder, harder — that's it.

O, matter and impertinency mix’d! Reason in madness!

Oh, sense and nonsense mixed together! Reason inside madness!

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.

If you'll weep for my misfortunes, take my eyes. I know you well enough; your name is Gloucester. You must be patient; we came into the world crying. You know that the first time we smell the air we howl and cry. I'll preach to you: listen.

Alack, alack the day!

Oh, what a sad, sad day!

When we are born, we cry that we are come To this great stage of fools. This a good block: It were a delicate stratagem to shoe A troop of horse with felt. I’ll put’t in proof And when I have stol’n upon these son-in-laws, Then kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill!

When we're born, we cry because we've arrived on this great stage of fools. This is a good hat-block. It would be a neat trick to shoe a troop of cavalry with felt. I'll try it out, and when I've crept up on these sons-in-law, then kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill!

O, here he is: lay hand upon him. Sir, Your most dear daughter—

Oh, here he is: take hold of him. Sir, your dearest daughter—

No rescue? What, a prisoner? I am even The natural fool of fortune. Use me well; You shall have ransom. Let me have surgeons; I am cut to the brains.

No rescue? What, a prisoner? I really am fortune's born fool. Treat me well; you'll get a ransom for me. Let me have surgeons; I'm cut right through to the brain.

You shall have anything.

You shall have anything.

No seconds? All myself? Why, this would make a man a man of salt, To use his eyes for garden water-pots, Ay, and for laying autumn’s dust.

No supporters? All alone? Why, this would turn a man into a man of salt, to use his eyes as watering pots for the garden — yes, and to lay autumn's dust.

Good sir.

Good sir.

I will die bravely, like a smug bridegroom. What! I will be jovial. Come, come, I am a king, my masters, know you that.

I will die bravely, like a well-dressed bridegroom. What! I will be merry. Come, come, I am a king, my masters — do you know that?

You are a royal one, and we obey you.

You are a royal one, and we obey you.

Then there’s life in’t. Come, and you get it, You shall get it by running. Sa, sa, sa, sa!

Then there's still hope in it. Come, if you want it, you'll have to run to get it. Sa, sa, sa, sa!

A sight most pitiful in the meanest wretch, Past speaking of in a king! Thou hast one daughter Who redeems nature from the general curse Which twain have brought her to.

A sight most pitiful in the lowest wretch, and beyond words in a king! You have one daughter who rescues nature from the general curse that the other two have brought upon it.

Hail, gentle sir.

Greetings, kind sir.

Sir, speed you. What’s your will?

Good speed to you, sir. What do you want?

Do you hear aught, sir, of a battle toward?

Do you hear anything, sir, about a battle coming?

Most sure and vulgar. Everyone hears that, which can distinguish sound.

It's quite certain and common knowledge. Everyone who can tell one sound from another hears about it.

But, by your favour, How near’s the other army?

But, if you please, how close is the other army?

Near and on speedy foot; the main descry Stands on the hourly thought.

Close, and moving fast; we expect to sight the main force any hour.

I thank you sir, that’s all.

Thank you, sir. That's all.

Though that the queen on special cause is here, Her army is mov’d on.

Although the queen is here for a particular reason, her army has moved on.

I thank you, sir.

Thank you, sir.

You ever-gentle gods, take my breath from me; Let not my worser spirit tempt me again To die before you please.

You always merciful gods, take my breath from me; don't let my worse self tempt me again to die before you wish it.

Well pray you, father.

That's a good prayer, father.

Now, good sir, what are you?

Now, good sir, who are you?

A most poor man, made tame to fortune’s blows; Who, by the art of known and feeling sorrows, Am pregnant to good pity. Give me your hand, I’ll lead you to some biding.

A very poor man, made submissive by fortune's blows; who, through the schooling of sorrows known and felt, am full of ready pity. Give me your hand, I'll lead you to some shelter.

Hearty thanks: The bounty and the benison of heaven To boot, and boot.

My heartfelt thanks. May heaven's generosity and blessing reward you over and over.

A proclaim’d prize! Most happy! That eyeless head of thine was first fram’d flesh To raise my fortunes. Thou old unhappy traitor, Briefly thyself remember. The sword is out That must destroy thee.

A head with a price on it! How lucky! That eyeless head of yours was made into flesh in the first place to build up my fortunes. You old unlucky traitor, make your confession quickly. The sword is drawn that must destroy you.

Now let thy friendly hand Put strength enough to’t.

Now let your friendly hand put enough force behind it.

Wherefore, bold peasant, Dar’st thou support a publish’d traitor? Hence; Lest that th’infection of his fortune take Like hold on thee. Let go his arm.

Why, you bold peasant, do you dare to protect a proclaimed traitor? Get away, in case the infection of his bad luck takes the same hold on you. Let go of his arm.

Chill not let go, zir, without vurther ’casion.

I won't let go, sir, without better reason.

Let go, slave, or thou diest!

Let go, slave, or you die!

Good gentleman, go your gait, and let poor volke pass. An chud ha’ bin zwaggered out of my life, ’twould not ha’ bin zo long as ’tis by a vortnight. Nay, come not near th’old man; keep out, che vor ye, or ise try whether your costard or my ballow be the harder: chill be plain with you.

Good gentleman, go on your way, and let poor folk pass. If I could have been bullied out of my life with swaggering, it would have been over a fortnight ago. No, don't come near the old man; keep off, I warn you, or I'll test whether your head or my cudgel is the harder. I'll be blunt with you.

Out, dunghill!

Get out of here, you dunghill!

Chill pick your teeth, zir. Come! No matter vor your foins.

I'll pick your teeth, sir. Come on! Your thrusts don't worry me.

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 me To Edmund, Earl of Gloucester. Seek him out Upon the British party. O, untimely death!

Slave, you have killed me. Villain, take my purse. If you ever want to prosper, bury my body; and give the letters you find on me to Edmund, Earl of Gloucester. Look for him with the British forces. Oh, death before my time!

I know thee well. A serviceable villain, As duteous to the vices of thy mistress As badness would desire.

I know you well. A useful villain, as dutiful to your mistress's vices as wickedness could wish.

What, is he dead?

What, is he dead?

Sit you down, father; rest you. Let’s see these pockets; the letters that he speaks of May be my friends. He’s dead; I am only sorry He had no other deathsman. 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. [Reads.] ‘Let our reciprocal vows be remembered. You have many opportunities to cut him off: if your will want not, time and place will be fruitfully offered. 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 space of woman’s will! A plot upon her virtuous husband’s life, And the exchange my brother! Here in the sands Thee I’ll rake up, the post unsanctified Of murderous lechers: and in the mature time, With this ungracious paper strike the sight Of the death-practis’d Duke: for him ’tis well That of thy death and business I can tell.

Sit down, father; take a rest. Let's look through these pockets; the letters he speaks of may be useful to me. He's dead; I'm only sorry he had no other executioner. Let's see: give way, gentle wax; and good manners, don't blame us. To learn our enemies' minds we cut open their hearts, so opening their papers is more allowable. [He reads.] 'Remember the vows we made to each other. You have many chances to kill him: if you have the will for it, time and place will offer themselves plentifully. Nothing is achieved if he comes back the winner: then I am the prisoner, and his bed my prison; free me from its hated warmth, and take his place as your reward. Your — wife, I would like to say — devoted servant, Goneril.' Oh, the boundless range of a woman's desire! A plot against her virtuous husband's life, and my brother to take his place! Here in the sand I'll cover you over, the unholy messenger of murderous lechers, and at the right moment I'll shock the eyes of the Duke, who is marked for death, with this vile letter. It's lucky for him that I can tell him of your death and your errand.

The King is mad: how stiff is my vile sense, That I stand up, and have ingenious feeling Of my huge sorrows! Better I were distract: So should my thoughts be sever’d from my griefs, And woes by wrong imaginations lose The knowledge of themselves.

The King is mad: how unyielding my wretched mind is, that I stay standing and feel my enormous sorrows so keenly! It would be better if I were out of my wits: then my thoughts would be cut off from my griefs, and my sorrows, through false imaginings, would lose all awareness of themselves.

Give me your hand. Far off methinks I hear the beaten drum. Come, father, I’ll bestow you with a friend.

Give me your hand. Far away I think I hear the drum beating. Come, father, I'll place you in the care of a friend.