Let's see these pockets. The letters that he speaks of
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May be my friends. He's dead. I am only sorry
He had no other death's-man. Let us see.
(takes letters out of OSWALD's pocket and opens them)
Leave, gentle wax, and, manners, blame us not.
To know our enemies' minds, we rip their hearts.
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Their papers is more lawful.
(reads)
“Let our reciprocal vows be remembered. You have
many opportunities to cut him off. If your will want not, time and place will be fruitfully offered. There is nothing done if he return the conqueror. Then am I the prisoner and his bed my gaol, from the loathed warmth whereof deliver me, and supply the place for
your labor. Your—wife, so I would say—affectionate
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servant, and for you her own for venture,
Goneril.”
O indistinguished space of woman's will!
A plot upon her virtuous husband's life,
And the exchange my brother!—Here in the sands
Thee I'll rake up, the post unsanctified
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Of murderous lechers. And in the mature time
With this ungracious paper strike the sight
Of the death-practiced duke. For him 'tis well
That of thy death and business I can tell.
EDGAR
Sit down and rest, father. Let's look in his pockets. The letters he spoke of may help me. He's dead. I'm just sorry I had to be the one to kill him. Let's see here. (takes letters out of OSWALD's pocket and opens them) Come on, envelope, open up for me. I know it's bad manners, but we kill our enemies to know their secrets. Reading their mail isn't as bad.
(reads)
“Don't forget the vows we made to each other. You have many chances to kill Albany. If you have the strength of will to do it, you'll have many opportunities. If he returns in triumph, then all is lost. I'll be his prisoner, and his bed will be my prison. Help me escape him, and you can take his place. Your—I wish I could say “wife”—loving servant, who is ready to love you,
Goneril.”
Is there no limit to women's lust? She's plotting against the life of her virtuous husband, and wants my brother to replace him! (to the dead OSWALD) I'll bury you here in a shallow grave, you messenger for lustful criminals. In due time I'll show this ugly letter to the duke whose life's at risk. It's a good thing for him that I can tell him about your death and the letter you were carrying.
GLOUCESTER
The king is mad. How stiff is my vile sense,
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That I stand up and have ingenious feeling
Of my huge sorrows. Better I were distract—
So should my thoughts be severed from my griefs,
And woes by wrong imaginations lose
The knowledge of themselves.
GLOUCESTER
The king is insane. I hate the fact that I'm sane enough to be aware of my own great suffering. It'd be better to be delirious and unaware of anything. Then my mind would be free of sorrow, and sadness would be forgotten in my hallucinations.
