Page 1838 - Shakespeare - Vol. 3

LEAR

(rising) Never, Regan. [155]
She hath abated me of half my train;

Look’d black upon me; struck me with her tongue,
Most serpent-like, upon the very heart.
All the stor’d vengeances of Heaven fall
On her ingrateful top! Strike her young bones, [160]
You taking airs, with lameness!

CORNWALL

Fie, Sir, fie!

LEAR

You nimble lightnings, dart your blinding flames
Into her scornful eyes! Infect her beauty,
You fen-suck’d fogs, drawn by the pow’rful sun,

To fall and blister her! [165]

REGAN

O the blest Gods! so will you wish on me,
When the rash mood is on.

LEAR
No, Regan, thou shalt never have my curse:
Thy tender-hefted nature shall not give
Thee o’er to harshness: her eyes are fierce, but thine [170]

Do comfort and not burn. ’Tis not in thee
To grudge my pleasures, to cut off my train,
To bandy hasty words, to scant my sizes,

And, in conclusion to oppose the bolt
Against my coming in; thou better know’st [175]
The offices of nature, bond of childhood,
Effects of courtesy, dues of gratitude;
Thy half o’th’kingdom hast thou not forgot,

Wherein I thee endow’d.

REGAN