Page 1881 - Shakespeare - Vol. 3

Proper deformity shows not in the fiend [60]
So horrid as in woman.

GONERIL
O vain fool!

ALBANY
Thou changed and self-cover’d thing, for shame,
Be-monster not thy feature. Were’t my fitness

To let these hands obey my blood,
They are apt enough to dislocate and tear [65]
Thy flesh and bones; howe’er thou art a fiend,
A woman’s shape doth shield thee.

GONERIL

Marry, your manhood − mew!

Enter a Messenger.

ALBANY
What news?

MESSENGER
O! my good Lord, the Duke of Cornwall’s dead; [70]
Slain by his servant, going to put out
The other eye of Gloucester.

ALBANY

Gloucester’s eyes!

MESSENGER

A servant that he bred, thrill’d with remorse,
Oppos’d against the act, bending his sword
To his great master; who, thereat enrag’d, [75]
Flew on him, and amongst them fell’d him dead;

But not without that harmful stroke, which since
Hath pluck’d him after.