Page 1880 - Shakespeare - Vol. 3

That nature, which contemns it origin,
Cannot be border’d certain in itself;
She that herself will sliver and disbranch
From her material sap, perforce must wither [35]

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? [40]

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 benefited! [45]
If that the heavens do not their visible spirits
Send quickly down to tame these vilde offences,
It will come,

Humanity must perforce prey on itself,
Like monsters of the deep.

GONERIL
Milk-liver’d man! [50]
That bear’st a cheek for blows, a head for wrongs;
Who hast not in thy brows an eye discerning

Thine honour from thy suffering; that not know’st
Fools do those villains pity who are punish’d
Ere they have done their mischief. Where’s thy drum; [55]

France spreads his banners in our noiseless land,
With plumed helm thy state begins to threat,
Whil’st thou, a moral fool, sits still, and cries
‘Alack! why does he so?’

ALBANY
See thyself, devil!