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GLOUCESTER . There is a cliff , whose high and bending head Looks fearfully in the confined deep : Bring me but to the very brim of it , And I’ll repair the misery thou dost bear With something rich about me : from that place I shall no leading need . EDGAR . Give me thy arm : Poor Tom shall lead thee . [ Exeunt . ] SCENE II . Before the Duke of Albany’s Palace Enter Goneril , Edmund ; Oswald meeting them . GONERIL . Welcome , my lord . I marvel our mild husband Not met us on the way . Now , where’s your master ? OSWALD . Madam , within ; but never man so chang’d . I told him of the army that was landed ; He smil’d at it : I told him you were coming ; His answer was , ‘ The worse . ’ Of Gloucester’s treachery And of the loyal service of his son When I inform’d him , then he call’d me sot , And told me I had turn’d the wrong side out . What most he should dislike seems pleasant to him ; What like , offensive . GONERIL . [ To Edmund . ] Then shall you go no further . It is the cowish terror of his spirit , That dares not undertake . He’ll not feel wrongs Which tie him to an answer . Our wishes on the way May prove effects . Back , Edmund , to my brother ; Hasten his musters and conduct his powers . I must change names at home , and give the distaff Into my husband’s hands . This trusty servant Shall pass between us . Ere long you are like to hear , If you dare venture in your own behalf , A mistress’s command . [ Giving a favour . ] Wear this ; spare speech ; Decline your head . This kiss , if it durst speak , Would stretch thy spirits up into the air . Conceive , and fare thee well . EDMUND . Yours in the ranks of death . [ Exit Edmund . ] GONERIL . My most dear Gloucester . O , the difference of man and man ! To thee a woman’s services are due ; My fool usurps my body . OSWALD . Madam , here comes my lord . [ Exit . ] Enter Albany . GONERIL . I have been worth the whistle . ALBANY . O Goneril ! You are not worth the dust which the rude wind Blows in your face ! I fear your disposition ; That nature which contemns its origin Cannot be bordered certain in itself . She that herself will sliver and disbranch From her material sap , perforce must wither And come to deadly use . GONERIL . No more ; the text is foolish . ALBANY . Wisdom and goodness to the vile seem vile ; Filths savour but themselves . What have you done ? Tigers , not daughters , what have you perform’d ? A father , and a gracious aged man , Whose reverence even the head - lugg’d bear would lick , Most barbarous , most degenerate , have you madded . Could my good brother suffer you to do it ? A man , a prince , by him so benefitted ! If that the heavens do not their visible spirits Send quickly down to tame these vile offences , It will come , Humanity must perforce prey on itself , Like monsters of the deep .
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