ACT III
SCENE VI. A Chamber in a Farmhouse adjoining the Castle
Here is better than the open air; take it thankfully. I will piece out the comfort with what addition I can: I will not be long from you.
All the power of his wits have given way to his impatience:— the gods reward your kindness!
Frateretto calls me; and tells me Nero is an angler in the lake of darkness. Pray, innocent, and beware the foul fiend.
Prythee, nuncle, tell me whether a madman be a gentleman or a yeoman.
A king, a king!
No, he’s a yeoman that has a gentleman to his son; for he’s a mad yeoman that sees his son a gentleman before him.
The foul fiend bites my back.
He’s mad that trusts in the tameness of a wolf, a horse’s health, a boy’s love, or a whore’s oath.
The foul fiend haunts poor Tom in the voice of a nightingale. Hoppedance cries in Tom’s belly for two white herring. Croak not, black angel; I have no food for thee.
Arraign her first; ’tis Goneril. I here take my oath before this honourable assembly, she kicked the poor King her father.
Come hither, mistress. Is your name Goneril?
She cannot deny it.
Cry you mercy, I took you for a joint-stool.
Bless thy five wits!
Then let them anatomize Regan; see what breeds about her heart. Is there any cause in nature that makes these hard hearts? [To Edgar.] You, sir, I entertain you for one of my hundred; only I do not like the fashion of your garments. You’ll say they are Persian; but let them be changed.
Now, good my lord, lie here and rest awhile.
And I’ll go to bed at noon.
Here, sir; but trouble him not, his wits are gone.
Come, come, away!