6. Scene VI. The country near Dover.
Now fare ye well, good sir.
[Seems to go.]
With all my heart.
[Aside.] Why I do trifle thus with his despair
Is done to cure it.
O you mighty gods!
This world I do renounce, and, in your sights,
Shake patiently my great affliction off:
If I could bear it longer, and not fall
To quarrel with your great opposeless wills,
My snuff and loathed part of nature should
Burn itself out. If Edgar live, O, bless him!--
Now, fellow, fare thee well.
[Gloster leaps, and falls along.]
And yet I know not how conceit may rob
The treasury of life when life itself
Yields to the theft: had he been where he thought,
By this had thought been past.--Alive or dead?
Ho you, sir! friend! Hear you, sir?--speak!--
Thus might he pass indeed:--yet he revives.--
What are you, sir?
Away, and let me die.
Hadst thou been aught but gossamer, feathers, air,
So many fathom down precipitating,
Thou'dst shiver'd like an egg: but thou dost breathe;
Hast heavy substance; bleed'st not; speak'st; art sound.
Ten masts at each make not the altitude
Which thou hast perpendicularly fell:
Thy life is a miracle.--Speak yet again.
But have I fall'n, or no?
From the dread summit of this chalky bourn.
Look up a-height;--the shrill-gorg'd lark so far
Cannot be seen or heard: do but look up.
Alack, I have no eyes.--
Is wretchedness depriv'd that benefit
To end itself by death? 'Twas yet some comfort
When misery could beguile the tyrant's rage
And frustrate his proud will.
Give me your arm:
Up:--so.--How is't? Feel you your legs? You stand.