[GONERIL enters by the door near the bed: her knife and the hand that holds it are bloody. She pauses a moment irresolutely.] The Elder Woman: Still work for old Hrogneda, little Princess? [GONERIL goes straight to the cauldron, passing the women as if they were not there: she kneels and washes her knife and her hand in it. The women retire to the back of the chamber.] Goneril (speaking to herself): The way is easy: and it is to be used. How could this need have been conceived slowly? In a keen mind it should have leapt and burnt: What I have done would have been better done When my sad mother lived and could feel joy. This striking without thought is better than hunting; She showed more terror than an animal, She was more shiftless ... A little blood is lightly washed away, A common stain that need not be remembered; And a hot spasm of rightness quickly born Can guide me to kill justly and shall guide. [LEAR enters by the door near the bed.] Lear: Goneril, Gormflaith, Gormflaith ... Have you seen Gormflaith? Goneril: I led her to her chamber lately, Sir. Lear: Ay, she is in her chamber. She is there. Goneril: Have you been there already? Could you not wait? Lear: Daughter, she is bleeding: she is slain. Goneril (rising from the cauldron with dripping hands): Yes, she is slain: I did it with a knife: And in this water is dissolved her blood, (Raising her arms and sprinkling the Queen's body) That now I scatter on the Queen of death For signal to her spirit that I can slake Her long corrosion of misery with such balm-- Blood for weeping, terror for woe, death for death, A broken body for a broken heart. What will you say against me and my deed? Lear: That now you cannot save yourself from me. While your blind virgin power still stood apart In an unused, unviolated life, You judged me in my weakness, and because I felt you unflawed I could not answer you; But you have mingled in mortality And violently begun the common life By fault against your fellows; and the state, The state of Britain that inheres in me Not touched by my humanity or sin, Passions or privy acts, shall be as hard And savage to you as to a murderess. Goneril (taking a letter from her girdle): I found a warrant in her favoured bosom, King: She wore this on her heart when you were crowning her. Lear: But this is not my hand: (Looking about him on the floor) Where is the other letter? Goneril: Is there another letter? What should it say? Lear: There is no other letter if you have none. (Reading) "Open your window when the moon is dead, And I will come again. The men say everywhere that you are faithless ... And your eyes shifty eyes. Ah, but I love you, Gormflaith." ... This is not hers: she'd not receive such words. Goneril: