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Король Лир

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fortune,
stands still in esperance,
lives not in fear.
The lamentable change is from
the best.
The worst returns to laughter.
Welcome, then, thou unsubstantial
air that I embrace!
The wretch that thou hast blown unto
the worst owes nothing to thy blasts.
Away, good friend, be gone.
Thy comforts can do me no good
at all, thee they may hurt.
Alack, sir, you cannot see your way.
I have no way,
and therefore want no eyes.
I stumbled when I saw.
O dear son Edgar!
Might I but live
to see thee in my touch,
I'ld say I had eyes again!
Tis poor mad Tom.
Fellow, where goest?
Is it the naked beggar-man?
Madman and beggar too.
He has some reason, else he could
not beg.
In the last night's storm I such
a fellow saw.
Which made me think
a man a worm.
My son came then into my mind.
I have heard more since.
As flies to wanton boys,
are we to the gods.
They kill us for their sport.
I will entreat him to lead me.
Alack, sir, he is mad.
Tis the times' plague,
when madmen lead the blind.
- Sirrah, naked fellow!
- Poor Tom's a-cold.
Come hither, fellow.
I cannot daub it further.
And yet I must.
Bless thy sweet eyes,
they bleed.
Know'st thou the way to Dover?
Both stile and gate,
horse-way and foot-path.
Poor Tom hath been scared. Bless
thee, good man, from the foul fiend.
Here, take this purse.
- Dost thou know Dover?
- Ay, master.
There's a cliff, whose high and
bending head looks in the deep.
Bring me but to the very brim of it,
and I'll repair thou the misery.
From that place
I shall no leading need.
Give me thy arm.
Poor Tom shall lead thee.
Welcome, my lord.
I marvel our mild husband
not met us on the way.
- Now, where's your master?
- Within, but never man so changed.
I told him of the army that was
landed, he smiled at it.
I told him you were coming,
his answer was, <>
Of Gloster's treachery and of the
loyal service of his son when I
informed him, then he called me sot,
and that I'd turned the wrong side out.
Then shall you go no further.
It is the cowish terror of his spirit.
Our wishes on the way
may prove effects.
Back to my brother.
Hasten his musters
and conduct his powers.
Decline your head.
I have been worth the whistle:
Become your head
You are not worth the dust which
the rude wind blows in your face.
She that herself will sliver and
disbranch from her material sap,
perforce must wither,
and come to deadly use.
No more! The text is foolish!
Wisdom and goodness
to the vile seem vile,
filths savour but themselves.
What have you done?
Tigers, not daughters,
what have you performed?
Milk-liver'd man!
That bear'st a cheek for blows,
a head for wrongs!
Who hast not an eye discerning
thine honour from thy suffering.
Where's thy drum? France spreads
his banners in our noiseless land.
Whiles thou, a moral fool,
sitt'st still, and criest:
<>
See thyself, devil!
Proper deformity seems not in
the fiend so horrid as in woman.
- What news?
- My lord, the Duke of Cornwall's dead.
That shows you're above, that our
nether crimes so speedily can venge!
This letter, madam, craves a speedy
answer. 'Tis from your sister.
I'll read, and answer.
Why the King of France
so suddenly gone back?
Something he left imperfect
in the state required his return.
O thou good Kent, how shall I live
and work to match thy goodness?
My life will be too short,
and every measure fail me.
To be acknowledged, madam,
is overpaid.
A century send forth!
Search every acre
in the high-grown fields.
What can man's wisdom
in the restoring his bereaved sense?
There is means, madam.
Our foster-nurse of nature is repose.
Seek, seek for him,
lest his ungoverned rage
dissolves his life!
No, they cannot touch me
for coining.
I have this right.
I am the king himself.
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.
There
Король Лир Король Лир

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