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 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.

The ground seems level to me.

Horrible steep. Hark, do you hear the sea?

It's terribly steep. Listen, do 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 failing 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. Your voice seems changed to me, and you speak with better words and better sense than you did.

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

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

Methinks you’re better spoken.

It seems to me 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 on, sir; here's the place. Stand still. How frightening and dizzying it is to look down so far! The crows and jackdaws flying halfway down look hardly as big as beetles. Halfway down hangs a man gathering samphire — a terrifying 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 small boat to a buoy almost too small to see. The murmuring waves that fret against the countless idle pebbles can't be heard from this height. I'll look no more, in case my head spins and my failing sight makes me tumble 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 in the air 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 the gods make it bring you good fortune! Go further off; say goodbye to me, and let me hear you walking away.

Now fare ye well, good sir.

Now goodbye, 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 calmly shake off my great suffering. If I could endure it longer without coming to quarrel with your great, irresistible wills, the burnt-out wick and hated remnant of my life would burn itself out on its own. If Edgar is alive, oh, bless him! Now, fellow, goodbye.

Gone, sir, farewell.

I'm going, sir. Goodbye.

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 imagination may steal the treasure of life when life itself is willing to give in to the theft. If he'd been where he thought he was, by now thinking would be over for him. Alive or dead? You there, sir! Friend! Do you hear me, sir? Speak! He might really die like this — but he's coming round. What 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'd been anything but cobweb, feathers, air, falling headlong so many fathoms down, you'd have smashed like an egg. But you're breathing; you have solid weight; you're not bleeding; you're speaking; you're unhurt. Ten masts joined end to end wouldn't make the height you've fallen 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 chalk cliff. Look up high: the shrill-throated lark can't be seen or heard at that distance. 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 benefit of ending itself by death? It was still some comfort when suffering could cheat the tyrant's rage and defeat his arrogant 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 is it? 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. At the top of the cliff, what creature 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 curling like a raging sea. It was some devil. So, you lucky old man, believe that the purest gods, who win honour for themselves by doing 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.

Now I remember: from now on I'll bear 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 devil, the devil'; 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 arrest me for making coins. I am the King himself.

O thou side-piercing sight!

Oh, what a heartbreaking sight!

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 skill in that matter. There's your enlistment pay. That fellow handles his bow like a boy scaring crows: pull it back a full tailor's yard for me. Look, look, a mouse! Quiet, quiet, this piece of toasted cheese will do the job. There's my glove; I'll make my case against a giant. Bring up the soldiers with the brown-painted halberds. Oh, well shot, bird! Right in the bullseye, the bullseye. 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 were even there. To say 'yes' and 'no' to everything I said 'yes' and 'no' to was bad religion. When the rain came to soak me, and the wind to make my teeth chatter; when the thunder wouldn't fall silent at my command; that's where I found them out, that's where I sniffed them out. Come on, they don't 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 sound of that voice 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 pardon 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 goes at it lustfully before my eyes. Let mating flourish; for Gloucester's illegitimate son was kinder to his father than my daughters conceived in a lawful marriage bed. At it, lust, all in a rush! I need soldiers. Look at that smirking lady there, whose face promises frigid chastity between her legs, who makes a prim show of virtue and shakes her head at the mere mention of pleasure. Neither the polecat nor the well-fed horse goes to it with a wilder appetite. From the waist down they're centaurs, though they're women all the way above. Only down to the waist do the gods have possession; below that is all the devil's: there's hell, there's darkness, there's the pit stinking of sulphur; burning, scalding, stench, decay. Disgusting, disgusting, disgusting! Ugh, ugh! Give me an ounce of perfume, good chemist, to sweeten my imagination. There'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 death.

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

Oh, ruined masterpiece of nature, this whole great world will wear away to nothing in just this way. 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 one of them.

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

I wouldn't believe this if I only heard it reported; but it is real, and my heart breaks at it.

Read.

Read.

What, with the case of eyes?

What, with these empty eye 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 bad state and your purse is light, 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 abuse at that simple thief. Listen, in your ear: swap them round; and now, pick a hand — which is the judge, which is the thief? Have you 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 picture of authority: a dog is obeyed when it holds office. You villain of a parish officer, hold back your bloody hand! Why are you whipping that prostitute? Strip your own back; you lust hotly to use her in the very way you're whipping her for. The moneylender has the small-time cheat hanged. Through ragged clothes great vices show; robes and fur-trimmed gowns hide everything. Coat sin in gold, and the strong lance of justice breaks against it without doing harm; dress it in rags, and a dwarf's straw will pierce it. Nobody offends, nobody, I tell you, nobody; I'll guarantee it. Take my word for it, my friend, since I have the power to shut the accuser's lips. Get yourself glass eyes, and like a contemptible schemer, pretend to see things you don't see. 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 want to weep for my misfortunes, take my eyes. I know you well enough: your name is Gloucester. You must be patient; we came into this world crying. You know that the first time we smell the air we howl and cry. I'll preach you a sermon: listen.

Alack, alack the day!

Oh, what a terrible 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 are born, we cry because we have come onto this great stage of fools. This is a good hat: it would be a clever trick to shoe a troop of cavalry horses with felt. I'll try it out, and when I have 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 plaything. Treat me well; you'll get a ransom. Let me have surgeons; I'm wounded 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 made of salt, using his eyes as watering cans for the garden — yes, and to lay the autumn 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 splendidly, like a well-groomed bridegroom. What! I will be merry. Come, come, I am a king, my good men — 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 that would be most pitiful in the lowest wretch, and is beyond words in a king! You have one daughter who saves human nature from the general curse that the other two have brought it to.

Hail, gentle sir.

Greetings, kind sir.

Sir, speed you. What’s your will?

Sir, good luck to you. 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.

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

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

But, if you'll pardon me, 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 catch sight of the main force at 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 special reason, her army has marched 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 gentle gods, take my life from me; don't let the worse part of me tempt me again to die before you choose.

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 the blows of fortune; who, through the schooling of sorrows I have 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.

Hearty 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 man with a price on his head! Wonderful luck! That eyeless head of yours was made flesh in the first place to build up my fortune. You old wretched traitor, make your confession quickly. The sword is drawn that has to destroy you.

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

Now let your kind 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 insolent peasant, do you dare to protect a proclaimed traitor? Get away, or the infection of his fate may take 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 more reason than that.

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 by swaggering, it would have been over a fortnight ago. No, don't come near the old man; keep off, I'm warning you, or I'll find out whether your head or my cudgel is the harder. I'll be straight with you.

Out, dunghill!

Get away, you heap of dung!

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

I'll pick your teeth for you, sir. Come on! I don't care about your thrusts.

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've killed me. Scoundrel, take my purse. If you ever want to do well, 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 scoundrel, as obedient 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; rest. Let's look through these pockets; the letters he talks about may be a help to me. He's dead; I'm only sorry he had no other executioner. Let's see. Give way, gentle seal; and good manners, don't blame us. To learn our enemies' minds we tear open their hearts; tearing open their papers is more permissible. [Reads.] 'Remember the vows we made to each other. You have many chances to kill him: if your resolve doesn't fail, time and place will offer themselves profitably. Nothing is accomplished if he comes back the winner: then I am the prisoner, and his bed my prison; rescue me from its hated warmth, and take that place as your reward. Your — wife, I would like to say — devoted servant, Goneril.' Oh, the limitless range of a woman's desire! A plot against her virtuous husband's life, and my brother as the replacement! Here in the sand I'll cover you over, the unholy messenger of murderous lechers; and when the time is ripe, I'll shock the eyes of the Duke marked for death with this wicked 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 stubborn my wretched mind is, that I stay standing and feel my enormous sorrows so keenly! I would be better off out of my wits: then my thoughts would be cut off from my griefs, and my sorrows, through delusions, 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. I think I hear a drum beating far off. Come, father, I'll settle you with a friend.