11 KENT~I thought the King had more affected the Duke\nof Albany than Cornwall.

11 GLOUCESTER~It did always seem so to us, but now in\nthe division of the kingdom,
it appears not which\nof the dukes he values most, for equalities are so\nweighed
that curiosity in neither can make choice\nof either's moiety.
11 KENT~Is not this your son, my lord?
11 GLOUCESTER~His breeding, sir, hath been at my\ncharge. I have so often blushed
to acknowledge\nhim that now I am brazed to 't.
11 KENT~I cannot conceive you.
11 GLOUCESTER~Sir, this young fellow's mother could,\nwhereupon she grew round-
wombed and had indeed,\nsir, a son for her cradle ere she had a husband\nfor her
bed. Do you smell a fault?
11 KENT~I cannot wish the fault undone, the issue of it\nbeing so proper.
11 GLOUCESTER~But I have a son, sir, by order of law,\nsome year elder than this,
who yet is no dearer in\nmy account. Though this knave came something\nsaucily to
the world before he was sent for, yet was\nhis mother fair, there was good sport at
his making,\nand the whoreson must be acknowledged.--Do you\nknow this noble
gentleman, Edmund?
11 EDMUND~No, my lord.
11 GLOUCESTER~My lord of Kent. Remember him hereafter\nas my honorable friend.
11 EDMUND~My services to your Lordship.
11 KENT~I must love you and sue to know you better.
11 EDMUND~Sir, I shall study deserving.
11 GLOUCESTER~He hath been out nine years, and away he\nshall again. The King is
coming.
11 LEAR~Attend the lords of France and Burgundy,\nGloucester.
11 GLOUCESTER~I shall, my lord.
11 LEAR~Meantime we shall express our darker purpose.--\nGive me the map there.
\nKnow that we have divided\nIn three our kingdom, and 'tis our fast intent\
nTo shake all cares and business from our age,\nConferring them on younger
strengths, while we\nUnburdened crawl toward death. Our son of\nCornwall\nAnd you,
our no less loving son of Albany,\nWe have this hour a constant will to publish\
nOur daughters' several dowers, that future strife\nMay be prevented now.\nThe two
great princes, France and Burgundy,\nGreat rivals in our youngest daughter's love,\
nLong in our court have made their amorous sojourn\nAnd here are to be answered.
Tell me, my\ndaughters--\nSince now we will divest us both of rule,\nInterest of
territory, cares of state--\nWhich of you shall we say doth love us most,\nThat we
our largest bounty may extend\nWhere nature doth with merit challenge. Goneril,\
nOur eldest born, speak first.
11 GONERIL~Sir, I love you more than word can wield the\nmatter,\nDearer than
eyesight, space, and liberty,\nBeyond what can be valued, rich or rare,\nNo less
than life, with grace, health, beauty, honor;\nAs much as child e'er loved, or
father found;\nA love that makes breath poor, and speech unable.\nBeyond all manner
of so much I love you.
11 CORDELIA~\nWhat shall Cordelia speak? Love, and be silent.
11 LEAR~\nOf all these bounds, even from this line to this,\nWith shadowy forests
and with champains riched,\nWith plenteous rivers and wide-skirted meads,\nWe make
thee lady. To thine and Albany's issue\nBe this perpetual.--What says our second\
ndaughter,\nOur dearest Regan, wife of Cornwall? Speak.
11 REGAN~I am made of that self mettle as my sister\nAnd prize me at her worth. In
my true heart\nI find she names my very deed of love;\nOnly she comes too short,
that I profess\nMyself an enemy to all other joys\nWhich the most precious square
of sense\npossesses,\nAnd find I am alone felicitate\nIn your dear Highness' love.
11 CORDELIA~ Then poor Cordelia!\nAnd yet not so, since I am sure my love's\nMore
ponderous than my tongue.
11 LEAR~To thee and thine hereditary ever\nRemain this ample third of our fair
kingdom,\nNo less in space, validity, and pleasure\nThan that conferred on
Goneril.--Now, our joy,\nAlthough our last and least, to whose young love\nThe
vines of France and milk of Burgundy\nStrive to be interessed, what can you say to
draw\nA third more opulent than your sisters'? Speak.
11 CORDELIA~Nothing, my lord.
11 LEAR~Nothing?
11 CORDELIA~Nothing.
11 LEAR~Nothing will come of nothing. Speak again.
11 CORDELIA~Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave\nMy heart into my mouth. I love your
Majesty\nAccording to my bond, no more nor less.
11 LEAR~How, how, Cordelia? Mend your speech a little,\nLest you may mar your
fortunes.
11 CORDELIA~Good my lord,\nYou have begot me, bred me, loved me.\nI return those
duties back as are right fit:\nObey you, love you, and most honor you.\nWhy have my
sisters husbands if they say\nThey love you all? Haply, when I shall wed,\nThat
lord whose hand must take my plight shall\ncarry\nHalf my love with him, half my
care and duty.\nSure I shall never marry like my sisters,\nTo love my father all.
11 LEAR~But goes thy heart with this?
11 CORDELIA~Ay, my good lord.
11 LEAR~So young and so untender?
11 CORDELIA~So young, my lord, and true.
11 LEAR~Let it be so. Thy truth, then, be thy dower,\nFor by the sacred radiance of
the sun,\nThe mysteries of Hecate and the night,\nBy all the operation of the orbs\
nFrom whom we do exist and cease to be,\nHere I disclaim all my paternal care,\
nPropinquity, and property of blood,\nAnd as a stranger to my heart and me\nHold
thee from this forever. The barbarous\nScythian,\nOr he that makes his generation
messes\nTo gorge his appetite, shall to my bosom\nBe as well neighbored, pitied,
and relieved\nAs thou my sometime daughter.
11 KENT~Good my liege--
11 LEAR~Peace, Kent.\nCome not between the dragon and his wrath.\nI loved her most
and thought to set my rest\nOn her kind nursery. Hence and avoid\nmy sight!--\nSo
be my grave my peace as here I give\nHer father's heart from her.--Call France. Who
stirs?\nCall Burgundy. Cornwall and\nAlbany,\nWith my two daughters' dowers digest
the third.\nLet pride, which she calls plainness, marry her.\nI do invest you
jointly with my power,\nPreeminence, and all the large effects\nThat troop with
majesty. Ourself by monthly course,\nWith reservation of an hundred knights\nBy you
to be sustained, shall our abode\nMake with you by due turn. Only we shall retain\
nThe name and all th' addition to a king.\nThe sway, revenue, execution of the
rest,\nBeloved sons, be yours, which to confirm,\nThis coronet part between you.
11 KENT~Royal Lear,\nWhom I have ever honored as my king,\nLoved as my father, as
my master followed,\nAs my great patron thought on in my prayers--
11 LEAR~The bow is bent and drawn. Make from the shaft.
11 KENT~Let it fall rather, though the fork invade\nThe region of my heart. Be Kent
unmannerly\nWhen Lear is mad. What wouldst thou do, old man?\nThink'st thou that
duty shall have dread to speak\nWhen power to flattery bows? To plainness honor's\
nbound\nWhen majesty falls to folly. Reserve thy state,\nAnd in thy best
consideration check\nThis hideous rashness. Answer my life my\njudgment,\nThy
youngest daughter does not love thee least,\nNor are those empty-hearted whose low
sounds\nReverb no hollowness.
11 LEAR~Kent, on thy life, no more.
11 KENT~My life I never held but as a pawn\nTo wage against thine enemies, nor fear
to lose\nit,\nThy safety being motive.
11 LEAR~Out of my sight!
11 KENT~See better, Lear, and let me still remain\nThe true blank of thine eye.
11 LEAR~Now, by Apollo--
11 KENT~Now, by Apollo, king,\nThou swear'st thy gods in vain.
11 LEAR~O vassal! Miscreant!
11 ALBANY~Dear sir, forbear.
11 CORNWALL~Dear sir, forbear.
11 KENT~Kill thy physician, and thy fee bestow\nUpon the foul disease. Revoke thy
gift,\nOr whilst I can vent clamor from my throat,\nI'll tell thee thou dost evil.
11 LEAR~Hear me, recreant; on thine allegiance, hear me!\nThat thou hast sought to
make us break our vows--\nWhich we durst never yet--and with strained pride\nTo
come betwixt our sentence and our power,\nWhich nor our nature nor our place can
bear,\nOur potency made good, take thy reward:\nFive days we do allot thee for
provision\nTo shield thee from disasters of the world,\nAnd on the sixth to turn
thy hated back\nUpon our kingdom. If on the tenth day following\nThy banished trunk
be found in our dominions,\nThe moment is thy death. Away! By Jupiter,\nThis shall
not be revoked.
11 KENT~Fare thee well, king. Sith thus thou wilt appear,\nFreedom lives hence, and
banishment is here.\n The gods to their dear shelter take\nthee, maid,\nThat justly
think'st and hast most rightly said.\n And your large speeches\nmay your deeds
approve,\nThat good effects may spring from words of love.--\nThus Kent, O princes,
bids you all adieu.\nHe'll shape his old course in a country new.\n
11 GLOUCESTER~Here's France and Burgundy, my noble lord.
11 LEAR~My lord of Burgundy,\nWe first address toward you, who with this king\nHath
rivaled for our daughter. What in the least\nWill you require in present dower with
her,\nOr cease your quest of love?
11 BURGUNDY~Most royal Majesty,\nI crave no more than hath your Highness offered,\
nNor will you tender less.
11 LEAR~Right noble Burgundy,\nWhen she was dear to us, we did hold her so,\nBut
now her price is fallen. Sir, there she stands.\nIf aught within that little
seeming substance,\nOr all of it, with our displeasure pieced\nAnd nothing more,
may fitly like your Grace,\nShe's there, and she is yours.
11 BURGUNDY~I know no answer.
11 LEAR~Will you, with those infirmities she owes,\nUnfriended, new-adopted to our
hate,\nDowered with our curse and strangered with our\noath,\nTake her or leave
her?
11 BURGUNDY~Pardon me, royal sir,\nElection makes not up in such conditions.
11 LEAR~Then leave her, sir, for by the power that made me\nI tell you all her
wealth.--For you, great king,\nI would not from your love make such a stray\nTo
match you where I hate. Therefore beseech you\nT' avert your liking a more worthier
way\nThan on a wretch whom Nature is ashamed\nAlmost t' acknowledge hers.
11 FRANCE~This is most strange,\nThat she whom even but now was your best\nobject,\
nThe argument of your praise, balm of your age,\nThe best, the dearest, should in
this trice of time\nCommit a thing so monstrous to dismantle\nSo many folds of
favor. Sure her offense\nMust be of such unnatural degree\nThat monsters it, or
your forevouched affection\nFall into taint; which to believe of her\nMust be a
faith that reason without miracle\nShould never plant in me.
11 CORDELIA~ I yet beseech your Majesty--\nIf for I want that glib and oily art\nTo
speak and purpose not, since what I well\nintend\nI'll do 't before I speak--that
you make known\nIt is no vicious blot, murder, or foulness,\nNo unchaste action or
dishonored step\nThat hath deprived me of your grace and favor,\nBut even for want
of that for which I am richer:\nA still-soliciting eye and such a tongue\nThat I am
glad I have not, though not to have it\nHath lost me in your liking.
11 LEAR~Better thou\nHadst not been born than not t' have pleased me\nbetter.
11 FRANCE~Is it but this--a tardiness in nature\nWhich often leaves the history
unspoke\nThat it intends to do?--My lord of Burgundy,\nWhat say you to the lady?
Love's not love\nWhen it is mingled with regards that stands\nAloof from th' entire
point. Will you have her?\nShe is herself a dowry.
11 BURGUNDY~ Royal king,\nGive but that portion which yourself proposed,\nAnd here
I take Cordelia by the hand,\nDuchess of Burgundy.
11 LEAR~Nothing. I have sworn. I am firm.
11 BURGUNDY~\nI am sorry, then, you have so lost a father\nThat you must lose a
husband.
11 CORDELIA~Peace be with\nBurgundy.\nSince that respect and fortunes are his
love,\nI shall not be his wife.
11 FRANCE~Fairest Cordelia, that art most rich being poor;\nMost choice, forsaken;
and most loved, despised,\nThee and thy virtues here I seize upon,\nBe it lawful I
take up what's cast away.\nGods, gods! 'Tis strange that from their cold'st\
nneglect\nMy love should kindle to enflamed respect.--\nThy dowerless daughter,
king, thrown to my\nchance,\nIs queen of us, of ours, and our fair France.\nNot all
the dukes of wat'rish Burgundy\nCan buy this unprized precious maid of me.--\nBid
them farewell, Cordelia, though unkind.\nThou losest here a better where to find.
11 LEAR~Thou hast her, France. Let her be thine, for we\nHave no such daughter, nor
shall ever see\nThat face of hers again. Therefore\nbegone\nWithout our grace, our
love, our benison.--\nCome, noble Burgundy.
11 FRANCE~Bid farewell to your sisters.
11 CORDELIA~The jewels of our father, with washed eyes\nCordelia leaves you. I know
you what you are,\nAnd like a sister am most loath to call\nYour faults as they are
named. Love well our\nfather.\nTo your professed bosoms I commit him;\nBut yet,
alas, stood I within his grace,\nI would prefer him to a better place.\nSo farewell
to you both.
11 REGAN~Prescribe not us our duty.
11 GONERIL~Let your study\nBe to content your lord, who hath received you\nAt
Fortune's alms. You have obedience scanted\nAnd well are worth the want that you
have wanted.
11 CORDELIA~Time shall unfold what plighted cunning hides,\nWho covers faults at
last with shame derides.\nWell may you prosper.
11 FRANCE~Come, my fair Cordelia.
11 GONERIL~Sister, it is not little I have to say of what\nmost nearly appertains
to us both. I think our\nfather will hence tonight.
11 REGAN~That's most certain, and with you; next month\nwith us.
11 GONERIL~You see how full of changes his age is; the\nobservation we have made of
it hath not been\nlittle. He always loved our sister most, and with\nwhat poor
judgment he hath now cast her off\nappears too grossly.
11 REGAN~'Tis the infirmity of his age. Yet he hath ever\nbut slenderly known
himself.
11 GONERIL~The best and soundest of his time hath been\nbut rash. Then must we look
from his age to\nreceive not alone the imperfections of long-engraffed\ncondition,
but therewithal the unruly waywardness\nthat infirm and choleric years bring with\
nthem.
11 REGAN~Such unconstant starts are we like to have\nfrom him as this of Kent's
banishment.
11 GONERIL~There is further compliment of leave-taking\nbetween France and him.
Pray you, let us sit\ntogether. If our father carry authority with such\
ndisposition as he bears, this last surrender of his will\nbut offend us.
11 REGAN~We shall further think of it.
11 GONERIL~We must do something, and i' th' heat.
12 EDMUND~Thou, Nature, art my goddess. To thy law\nMy services are bound.
Wherefore should I\nStand in the plague of custom, and permit\nThe curiosity of
nations to deprive me\nFor that I am some twelve or fourteen moonshines\nLag of a
brother? why "bastard"? Wherefore "base,"\nWhen my dimensions are as well compact,\
nMy mind as generous and my shape as true\nAs honest madam's issue? Why brand they
us\nWith "base," with "baseness," "bastardy," "base,"\n"base,"\nWho, in the lusty
stealth of nature, take\nMore composition and fierce quality\nThan doth within a
dull, stale, tired bed\nGo to th' creating a whole tribe of fops\nGot 'tween asleep
and wake? Well then,\nLegitimate Edgar, I must have your land.\nOur father's love
is to the bastard Edmund\nAs to th' legitimate. Fine word, "legitimate."\nWell, my
legitimate, if this letter speed\nAnd my invention thrive, Edmund the base\nShall
top th' legitimate. I grow, I prosper.\nNow, gods, stand up for bastards!
12 GLOUCESTER~Kent banished thus? And France in choler parted?\nAnd the King gone
tonight, prescribed his power,\nConfined to exhibition? All this done\nUpon the
gad?--Edmund, how now? What news?
12 EDMUND~So please your Lordship, none.
12 GLOUCESTER~Why so earnestly seek you to put up that\nletter?
12 EDMUND~I know no news, my lord.
12 GLOUCESTER~What paper were you reading?
12 EDMUND~Nothing, my lord.
12 GLOUCESTER~No? What needed then that terrible dispatch\nof it into your pocket?
The quality of nothing\nhath not such need to hide itself. Let's see. Come, if\nit
be nothing, I shall not need spectacles.
12 EDMUND~I beseech you, sir, pardon me. It is a letter\nfrom my brother that I
have not all o'erread; and\nfor so much as I have perused, I find it not fit for\
nyour o'erlooking.
12 GLOUCESTER~Give me the letter, sir.
12 EDMUND~I shall offend either to detain or give it. The\ncontents, as in part I
understand them, are to\nblame.
12 GLOUCESTER~Let's see, let's see.
12 EDMUND~I hope, for my brother's justification, he\nwrote this but as an essay or
taste of my virtue.
12 GLOUCESTER~ This policy and reverence of age\nmakes the world bitter to the best
of our times, keeps\nour fortunes from us till our oldness cannot relish\nthem. I
begin to find an idle and fond bondage in the\noppression of aged tyranny, who
sways not as it hath\npower but as it is suffered. Come to me, that of this I\nmay
speak more. If our father would sleep till I waked\nhim, you should enjoy half his
revenue forever and\nlive the beloved of your brother. Edgar.\nHum? Conspiracy?
"Sleep till I wake him, you\nshould enjoy half his revenue." My son Edgar! Had\nhe
a hand to write this? A heart and brain to breed it\nin?--When came you to this?
Who brought it?
12 EDMUND~It was not brought me, my lord; there's the\ncunning of it. I found it
thrown in at the casement\nof my closet.
12 GLOUCESTER~You know the character to be your\nbrother's?
12 EDMUND~If the matter were good, my lord, I durst\nswear it were his; but in
respect of that, I would\nfain think it were not.
12 GLOUCESTER~It is his.
12 EDMUND~It is his hand, my lord, but I hope his heart is\nnot in the contents.
12 GLOUCESTER~Has he never before sounded you in this\nbusiness?
12 EDMUND~Never, my lord. But I have heard him oft\nmaintain it to be fit that,
sons at perfect age and\nfathers declined, the father should be as ward to the\
nson, and the son manage his revenue.
12 GLOUCESTER~O villain, villain! His very opinion in the\nletter. Abhorred
villain! Unnatural, detested, brutish\nvillain! Worse than brutish!--Go, sirrah,
seek\nhim. I'll apprehend him.--Abominable villain!--\nWhere is he?
12 EDMUND~I do not well know, my lord. If it shall please\nyou to suspend your
indignation against my brother\ntill you can derive from him better testimony of
his\nintent, you should run a certain course; where, if\nyou violently proceed
against him, mistaking his\npurpose, it would make a great gap in your own\nhonor
and shake in pieces the heart of his obedience.\nI dare pawn down my life for him
that he hath\nwrit this to feel my affection to your Honor, and to\nno other
pretense of danger.
12 GLOUCESTER~Think you so?
12 EDMUND~If your Honor judge it meet, I will place you\nwhere you shall hear us
confer of this, and by an\nauricular assurance have your satisfaction, and that\
nwithout any further delay than this very evening.
12 GLOUCESTER~He cannot be such a monster.
12 EDMUND~Nor is not, sure.
12 GLOUCESTER~To his father, that so tenderly and entirely\nloves him! Heaven and
Earth! Edmund, seek him\nout; wind me into him, I pray you. Frame the\nbusiness
after your own wisdom. I would unstate\nmyself to be in a due resolution.
12 EDMUND~I will seek him, sir, presently, convey the\nbusiness as I shall find
means, and acquaint you\nwithal.
12 GLOUCESTER~These late eclipses in the sun and moon\nportend no good to us.
Though the wisdom of\nnature can reason it thus and thus, yet nature finds\nitself
scourged by the sequent effects. Love cools,\nfriendship falls off, brothers
divide; in cities, mutinies;\nin countries, discord; in palaces, treason; and\nthe
bond cracked 'twixt son and father. This villain\nof mine comes under the
prediction: there's son\nagainst father. The King falls from bias of nature:\
nthere's father against child. We have seen the best of\nour time. Machinations,
hollowness, treachery, and\nall ruinous disorders follow us disquietly to our\
ngraves.--Find out this villain, Edmund. It shall\nlose thee nothing. Do it
carefully.--And the noble\nand true-hearted Kent banished! His offense, honesty!\
n'Tis strange.
12 EDMUND~This is the excellent foppery of the world, that\nwhen we are sick in
fortune (often the surfeits of\nour own behavior) we make guilty of our disasters\
nthe sun, the moon, and stars, as if we were villains\non necessity; fools by
heavenly compulsion; knaves,\nthieves, and treachers by spherical predominance;\
ndrunkards, liars, and adulterers by an enforced\nobedience of planetary influence;
and all that we\nare evil in, by a divine thrusting on. An admirable\nevasion of
whoremaster man, to lay his goatish\ndisposition on the charge of a star! My
father\ncompounded with my mother under the Dragon's\ntail, and my nativity was
under Ursa Major, so that it\nfollows I am rough and lecherous. Fut, I should\nhave
been that I am, had the maidenliest star in the\nfirmament twinkled on my
bastardizing. Edgar--\n\nand pat he comes like the catastrophe of the old\ncomedy.
My cue is villainous melancholy, with a\nsigh like Tom o' Bedlam.--O, these
eclipses do\nportend these divisions. Fa, sol, la, mi.
12 EDGAR~How now, brother Edmund, what serious contemplation\nare you in?
12 EDMUND~I am thinking, brother, of a prediction I read\nthis other day, what
should follow these eclipses.
12 EDGAR~Do you busy yourself with that?
12 EDMUND~I promise you, the effects he writes of succeed\nunhappily, as of
unnaturalness between the\nchild and the parent, death, dearth, dissolutions of\
nancient amities, divisions in state, menaces and\nmaledictions against king and
nobles, needless diffidences,\nbanishment of friends, dissipation of cohorts,\
nnuptial breaches, and I know not what.
12 EDGAR~How long have you been a sectary\nastronomical?
12 EDMUND~Come, come, when saw you my father last?
12 EDGAR~The night gone by.
12 EDMUND~Spake you with him?
12 EDGAR~Ay, two hours together.
12 EDMUND~Parted you in good terms? Found you no\ndispleasure in him by word nor
countenance?
12 EDGAR~None at all.
12 EDMUND~Bethink yourself wherein you may have offended\nhim, and at my entreaty
forbear his presence\nuntil some little time hath qualified the heat\nof his
displeasure, which at this instant so rageth in\nhim that with the mischief of your
person it would\nscarcely allay.
12 EDGAR~Some villain hath done me wrong.
12 EDMUND~That's my fear. I pray you have a continent\nforbearance till the speed
of his rage goes slower;\nand, as I say, retire with me to my lodging, from\nwhence
I will fitly bring you to hear my lord speak.\nPray you go. There's my key. If you
do stir abroad,\ngo armed.
12 EDGAR~Armed, brother?
12 EDMUND~Brother, I advise you to the best. I am no\nhonest man if there be any
good meaning toward\nyou. I have told you what I have seen and heard, but\nfaintly,
nothing like the image and horror of it. Pray\nyou, away.
12 EDGAR~Shall I hear from you anon?
12 EDMUND~I do serve you in this business. \nA credulous father and a brother
noble,\nWhose nature is so far from doing harms\nThat he suspects none; on whose
foolish honesty\nMy practices ride easy. I see the business.\nLet me, if not by
birth, have lands by wit.\nAll with me's meet that I can fashion fit.
13 GONERIL~Did my father strike my gentleman for chiding\nof his Fool?
13 OSWALD~Ay, madam.
13 GONERIL~By day and night he wrongs me. Every hour\nHe flashes into one gross
crime or other\nThat sets us all at odds. I'll not endure it.\nHis knights grow
riotous, and himself upbraids us\nOn every trifle. When he returns from hunting,\nI
will not speak with him. Say I am sick.\nIf you come slack of former services,\nYou
shall do well. The fault of it I'll answer.
13 OSWALD~He's coming, madam. I hear him.
13 GONERIL~Put on what weary negligence you please,\nYou and your fellows. I'd have
it come to question.\nIf he distaste it, let him to my sister,\nWhose mind and mine
I know in that are one,\nNot to be overruled. Idle old man\nThat still would manage
those authorities\nThat he hath given away. Now, by my life,\nOld fools are babes
again and must be used\nWith checks as flatteries, when they are seen\nabused.\
nRemember what I have said.
13 OSWALD~Well, madam.
13 GONERIL~And let his knights have colder looks among you.\nWhat grows of it, no
matter. Advise your fellows so.\nI would breed from hence occasions, and I shall,\
nThat I may speak. I'll write straight to my sister\nTo hold my very course.
Prepare for dinner.
14 KENT~If but as well I other accents borrow\nThat can my speech diffuse, my good
intent\nMay carry through itself to that full issue\nFor which I razed my likeness.
Now, banished Kent,\nIf thou canst serve where thou dost stand\ncondemned,\nSo may
it come thy master, whom thou lov'st,\nShall find thee full of labors.
14 LEAR~Let me not stay a jot for dinner. Go get it ready.\n\nHow now, what art
thou?
14 KENT~A man, sir.
14 LEAR~What dost thou profess? What wouldst thou with\nus?
14 KENT~I do profess to be no less than I seem, to serve\nhim truly that will put
me in trust, to love him that\nis honest, to converse with him that is wise and
says\nlittle, to fear judgment, to fight when I cannot\nchoose, and to eat no fish.
14 LEAR~What art thou?
14 KENT~A very honest-hearted fellow, and as poor as the\nKing.
14 LEAR~If thou be'st as poor for a subject as he's for a\nking, thou art poor
enough. What wouldst thou?
14 KENT~Service.
14 LEAR~Who wouldst thou serve?
14 KENT~You.
14 LEAR~Dost thou know me, fellow?
14 KENT~No, sir, but you have that in your countenance\nwhich I would fain call
master.
14 LEAR~What's that?
14 KENT~Authority.
14 LEAR~What services canst do?
14 KENT~I can keep honest counsel, ride, run, mar a\ncurious tale in telling it,
and deliver a plain message\nbluntly. That which ordinary men are fit for I\nam
qualified in, and the best of me is diligence.
14 LEAR~How old art thou?
14 KENT~Not so young, sir, to love a woman for singing,\nnor so old to dote on her
for anything. I have years\non my back forty-eight.
14 LEAR~Follow me. Thou shalt serve me--if I like thee\nno worse after dinner. I
will not part from thee\nyet.--Dinner, ho, dinner!--Where's my knave, my\nFool? Go
you and call my Fool hither.\n\n\nYou, you, sirrah, where's my daughter?
14 OSWALD~So please you--
14 LEAR~What says the fellow there? Call the clotpole\nback. Where's my Fool? Ho! I
think\nthe world's asleep.\n\nHow now? Where's that mongrel?
14 KNIGHT~He says, my lord, your daughter is not well.
14 LEAR~Why came not the slave back to me when I\ncalled him?
14 KNIGHT~Sir, he answered me in the roundest manner,\nhe would not.
14 LEAR~He would not?
14 KNIGHT~My lord, I know not what the matter is, but to\nmy judgment your Highness
is not entertained\nwith that ceremonious affection as you were wont.\nThere's a
great abatement of kindness appears as\nwell in the general dependents as in the
Duke\nhimself also, and your daughter.
14 LEAR~Ha? Sayst thou so?
14 KNIGHT~I beseech you pardon me, my lord, if I be\nmistaken, for my duty cannot
be silent when I think\nyour Highness wronged.
14 LEAR~Thou but remembrest me of mine own conception.\nI have perceived a most
faint neglect of late,\nwhich I have rather blamed as mine own jealous\ncuriosity
than as a very pretense and purpose of\nunkindness. I will look further into 't.
But where's\nmy Fool? I have not seen him this two days.
14 KNIGHT~Since my young lady's going into France, sir,\nthe Fool hath much pined
away.
14 LEAR~No more of that. I have noted it well.--Go you\nand tell my daughter I
would speak with her. Go you call hither my Fool.\n\n\nO you, sir, you, come you
hither, sir. Who am I, sir?
14 OSWALD~My lady's father.
14 LEAR~"My lady's father"? My lord's knave! You whoreson\ndog, you slave, you cur!
14 OSWALD~I am none of these, my lord, I beseech your\npardon.
14 LEAR~Do you bandy looks with me, you rascal?
14 OSWALD~I'll not be strucken, my lord.
14 KENT~ Nor tripped neither, you base\nfootball player?
14 LEAR~I thank thee, fellow. Thou serv'st me, and I'll\nlove thee.
14 KENT~ Come, sir, arise. Away. I'll teach you\ndifferences. Away, away. If you
will measure your\nlubber's length again, tarry. But away. Go to. Have\nyou wisdom?
So.
14 LEAR~Now, my friendly knave, I thank thee. There's\nearnest of thy service.
14 FOOL~Let me hire him too. Here's my\ncoxcomb.
14 LEAR~How now, my pretty knave, how dost thou?
14 FOOL~ Sirrah, you were best take my\ncoxcomb.
14 LEAR~Why, my boy?
14 FOOL~Why? For taking one's part that's out of favor.\n Nay, an thou canst not
smile as the\nwind sits, thou 'lt catch cold shortly. There, take my\ncoxcomb. Why,
this fellow has banished two on 's\ndaughters and did the third a blessing against
his\nwill. If thou follow him, thou must needs wear my\ncoxcomb.--How now, nuncle?
Would I had two\ncoxcombs and two daughters.
14 LEAR~Why, my boy?
14 FOOL~If I gave them all my living, I'd keep my coxcombs\nmyself. There's mine.
Beg another of thy\ndaughters.
14 LEAR~Take heed, sirrah--the whip.
14 FOOL~Truth's a dog must to kennel; he must be\nwhipped out, when the Lady Brach
may stand by th'\nfire and stink.
14 LEAR~A pestilent gall to me!
14 FOOL~Sirrah, I'll teach thee a speech.
14 LEAR~Do.
14 FOOL~Mark it, nuncle:\n Have more than thou showest.\n Speak less than
thou knowest,\n Lend less than thou owest,\n Ride more than thou goest,\n Learn
more than thou trowest,\n Set less than thou throwest;\n Leave thy drink
and thy whore\n And keep in-a-door,\n And thou shalt have more\n Than two
tens to a score.
14 KENT~This is nothing, Fool.
14 FOOL~Then 'tis like the breath of an unfee'd lawyer.\nYou gave me nothing for
't.--Can you make no use\nof nothing, nuncle?
14 LEAR~Why no, boy. Nothing can be made out of\nnothing.
14 FOOL~ Prithee tell him, so much the rent of his\nland comes to. He will not
believe a Fool.
14 LEAR~A bitter Fool!
14 FOOL~Dost know the difference, my boy, between a\nbitter fool and a sweet one?
14 LEAR~No, lad, teach me.
14 FOOL~hat lord that counseled thee\n To give away thy land,\n Come place
him here by me;\n Do thou for him stand.\n The sweet and bitter fool\n Will
presently appear:\n The one in motley here,\n The other found out there.
14 LEAR~Dost thou call me "fool," boy?
14 FOOL~All thy other titles thou hast given away. That\nthou wast born with.
14 KENT~This is not altogether fool, my lord.
14 FOOL~No, faith, lords and great men will not let me. If\nI had a monopoly out,
they would have part on 't.\nAnd ladies too, they will not let me have all the
fool\nto myself; they'll be snatching.--Nuncle, give me\nan egg, and I'll give thee
two crowns.
14 LEAR~What two crowns shall they be?
14 FOOL~Why, after I have cut the egg i' th' middle and eat\nup the meat, the two
crowns of the egg. When thou\nclovest thy crown i' th' middle and gav'st away\nboth
parts, thou bor'st thine ass on thy back o'er\nthe dirt. Thou hadst little wit in
thy bald crown\nwhen thou gav'st thy golden one away. If I speak\nlike myself in
this, let him be whipped that first\nfinds it so. \n Fools had ne'er less grace in
a year,\n For wise men are grown foppish\n And know not how their wits to
wear,\n Their manners are so apish.
14 LEAR~When were you wont to be so full of songs,\nsirrah?
14 FOOL~I have used it, nuncle, e'er since thou mad'st thy\ndaughters thy mothers.
For when thou gav'st them\nthe rod and put'st down thine own breeches,\n\n Then
they for sudden joy did weep,\n And I for sorrow sung,\n That such a king
should play bo-peep\n And go the fools among.\nPrithee, nuncle, keep a
schoolmaster that can teach\nthy Fool to lie. I would fain learn to lie.
14 LEAR~An you lie, sirrah, we'll have you whipped.
14 FOOL~I marvel what kin thou and thy daughters are.\nThey'll have me whipped for
speaking true, thou 'lt\nhave me whipped for lying, and sometimes I am\nwhipped for
holding my peace. I had rather be any\nkind o' thing than a Fool. And yet I would
not be\nthee, nuncle. Thou hast pared thy wit o' both sides\nand left nothing i'
th' middle. Here comes one o' the\nparings.
14 LEAR~How now, daughter? What makes that frontlet on?\nMethinks you are too much
of late i' th' frown.
14 FOOL~Thou wast a pretty fellow when thou hadst no\nneed to care for her
frowning. Now thou art an O\nwithout a figure. I am better than thou art now. I\nam
a Fool. Thou art nothing. Yes,\nforsooth, I will hold my tongue. So your face bids\
nme, though you say nothing.\n Mum, mum,\n He that keeps nor crust nor crumb,\
n Weary of all, shall want some.\n\nThat's a shelled peascod.
14 GONERIL~Not only, sir, this your all-licensed Fool,\nBut other of your insolent
retinue\nDo hourly carp and quarrel, breaking forth\nIn rank and not-to-be-endured
riots. Sir,\nI had thought by making this well known unto you\nTo have found a safe
redress, but now grow fearful,\nBy what yourself too late have spoke and done,\
nThat you protect this course and put it on\nBy your allowance; which if you
should, the fault\nWould not 'scape censure, nor the redresses sleep\nWhich in the
tender of a wholesome weal\nMight in their working do you that offense,\nWhich else
were shame, that then necessity\nWill call discreet proceeding.
14 FOOL~For you know, nuncle,\n The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long,\n
That it's had it head bit off by it young.\nSo out went the candle, and we
were left darkling.
14 LEAR~Are you our daughter?
14 GONERIL~I would you would make use of your good wisdom,\nWhereof I know you are
fraught, and put away\nThese dispositions which of late transport you\nFrom what
you rightly are.
14 FOOL~May not an ass know when the cart draws the\nhorse? Whoop, Jug, I love
thee!
14 LEAR~Does any here know me? This is not Lear.\nDoes Lear walk thus, speak thus?
Where are his\neyes?\nEither his notion weakens, his discernings\nAre lethargied--
Ha! Waking? 'Tis not so.\nWho is it that can tell me who I am?
14 FOOL~Lear's shadow.
14 LEAR~I would learn that, for, by the marks of\nsovereignty,\nKnowledge, and
reason, I should be false persuaded\nI had daughters.
14 FOOL~Which they will make an obedient father.
14 LEAR~Your name, fair gentlewoman?
14 GONERIL~This admiration, sir, is much o' th' savor\nOf other your new pranks. I
do beseech you\nTo understand my purposes aright.\nAs you are old and reverend,
should be wise.\nHere do you keep a hundred knights and squires,\nMen so
disordered, so debauched and bold,\nThat this our court, infected with their
manners,\nShows like a riotous inn. Epicurism and lust\nMakes it more like a tavern
or a brothel\nThan a graced palace. The shame itself doth speak\nFor instant
remedy. Be then desired,\nBy her that else will take the thing she begs,\nA little
to disquantity your train,\nAnd the remainders that shall still depend\nTo be such
men as may besort your age,\nWhich know themselves and you.
14 LEAR~Darkness and\ndevils!--\nSaddle my horses. Call my train together.\n\
nDegenerate bastard, I'll not trouble thee.\nYet have I left a daughter.
14 GONERIL~You strike my people, and your disordered rabble\nMake servants of their
betters.
14 LEAR~Woe that too late repents!--O, sir, are you\ncome?\nIs it your will? Speak,
sir.--Prepare my horses.\n\nIngratitude, thou marble-hearted fiend,\nMore hideous
when thou show'st thee in a child\nThan the sea monster!
14 ALBANY~Pray, sir, be patient.
14 LEAR~ Detested kite, thou liest.\nMy train are men of choice and rarest parts,\
nThat all particulars of duty know\nAnd in the most exact regard support\nThe
worships of their name. O most small fault,\nHow ugly didst thou in Cordelia show,\
nWhich, like an engine, wrenched my frame of\nnature\nFrom the fixed place, drew
from my heart all love\nAnd added to the gall! O Lear, Lear, Lear!\n\nBeat at this
gate that let thy folly in\nAnd thy dear judgment out. Go, go, my people.
14 ALBANY~My lord, I am guiltless as I am ignorant\nOf what hath moved you.
14 LEAR~It may be so, my lord.--\nHear, Nature, hear, dear goddess, hear!\nSuspend
thy purpose if thou didst intend\nTo make this creature fruitful.\nInto her womb
convey sterility.\nDry up in her the organs of increase,\nAnd from her derogate
body never spring\nA babe to honor her. If she must teem,\nCreate her child of
spleen, that it may live\nAnd be a thwart disnatured torment to her.\nLet it stamp
wrinkles in her brow of youth,\nWith cadent tears fret channels in her cheeks,\
nTurn all her mother's pains and benefits\nTo laughter and contempt, that she may
feel\nHow sharper than a serpent's tooth it is\nTo have a thankless child.--Away,
away!
14 ALBANY~Now, gods that we adore, whereof comes this?
14 GONERIL~Never afflict yourself to know more of it,\nBut let his disposition have
that scope\nAs dotage gives it.
14 LEAR~What, fifty of my followers at a clap?\nWithin a fortnight?
14 ALBANY~What's the matter, sir?
14 LEAR~I'll tell thee. Life and death! I am\nashamed\nThat thou hast power to
shake my manhood thus,\nThat these hot tears, which break from me perforce,\nShould
make thee worth them. Blasts and fogs upon\nthee!\nTh' untented woundings of a
father's curse\nPierce every sense about thee! Old fond eyes,\nBeweep this cause
again, I'll pluck you out\nAnd cast you, with the waters that you loose,\nTo temper
clay. Yea, is 't come to this?\nHa! Let it be so. I have another daughter\nWho, I
am sure, is kind and comfortable.\nWhen she shall hear this of thee, with her
nails\nShe'll flay thy wolvish visage. Thou shalt find\nThat I'll resume the shape
which thou dost think\nI have cast off forever.
14 GONERIL~Do you mark that?
14 ALBANY~I cannot be so partial, Goneril,\nTo the great love I bear you--
14 GONERIL~Pray you, content.--What, Oswald, ho!--\nYou, sir, more knave than Fool,
after your master.
14 FOOL~Nuncle Lear, Nuncle Lear, tarry. Take the Fool\nwith thee.\n A fox, when
one has caught her,\n And such a daughter,\n Should sure to the slaughter,\n
If my cap would buy a halter.\n So the Fool follows after.
14 GONERIL~This man hath had good counsel. A hundred\nknights!\n'Tis politic and
safe to let him keep\nAt point a hundred knights! Yes, that on every\ndream,\nEach
buzz, each fancy, each complaint, dislike,\nHe may enguard his dotage with their
powers\nAnd hold our lives in mercy.--Oswald, I say!
14 ALBANY~Well, you may fear too far.
14 GONERIL~Safer than trust too far.\nLet me still take away the harms I fear,\nNot
fear still to be taken. I know his heart.\nWhat he hath uttered I have writ my
sister.\nIf she sustain him and his hundred knights\nWhen I have showed th'
unfitness--\n\nHow now, Oswald?\nWhat, have you writ that letter to my sister?
14 OSWALD~Ay, madam.
14 GONERIL~Take you some company and away to horse.\nInform her full of my
particular fear,\nAnd thereto add such reasons of your own\nAs may compact it more.
Get you gone,\nAnd hasten your return. No, no, my\nlord,\nThis milky gentleness and
course of yours,\nThough I condemn not, yet, under pardon,\nYou are much more at
task for want of wisdom\nThan praised for harmful mildness.
14 ALBANY~How far your eyes may pierce I cannot tell.\nStriving to better, oft we
mar what's well.
14 GONERIL~Nay, then--
14 ALBANY~Well, well, th' event.
15 LEAR~ Go you before to Gloucester with these\nletters. Acquaint my daughter no
further with anything\nyou know than comes from her demand out of\nthe letter. If
your diligence be not speedy, I shall be\nthere afore you.
15 KENT~I will not sleep, my lord, till I have delivered\nyour letter.
15 FOOL~If a man's brains were in 's heels, were 't not in\ndanger of kibes?
15 LEAR~Ay, boy.
15 FOOL~Then, I prithee, be merry; thy wit shall not go\nslipshod.
15 LEAR~Ha, ha, ha!
15 FOOL~Shalt see thy other daughter will use thee kindly,\nfor, though she's as
like this as a crab's like an\napple, yet I can tell what I can tell.
15 LEAR~What canst tell, boy?
15 FOOL~She will taste as like this as a crab does to a crab.\nThou canst tell why
one's nose stands i' th' middle\non 's face?
15 LEAR~No.
15 FOOL~Why, to keep one's eyes of either side 's nose,\nthat what a man cannot
smell out he may spy into.
15 LEAR~I did her wrong.
15 FOOL~Canst tell how an oyster makes his shell?
15 LEAR~No.
15 FOOL~Nor I neither. But I can tell why a snail has a\nhouse.
15 LEAR~Why?
15 FOOL~Why, to put 's head in, not to give it away to his\ndaughters and leave his
horns without a case.
15 LEAR~I will forget my nature. So kind a father!--Be\nmy horses ready?
15 FOOL~Thy asses are gone about 'em. The reason why\nthe seven stars are no more
than seven is a pretty\nreason.
15 LEAR~Because they are not eight.
15 FOOL~Yes, indeed. Thou wouldst make a good Fool.
15 LEAR~To take 't again perforce! Monster ingratitude!
15 FOOL~If thou wert my Fool, nuncle, I'd have thee\nbeaten for being old before
thy time.
15 LEAR~How's that?
15 FOOL~Thou shouldst not have been old till thou hadst\nbeen wise.
15 LEAR~O, let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven!\nKeep me in temper. I would
not be mad!\n\nHow now, are the horses ready?
15 GENTLEMAN~Ready, my lord.
15 LEAR~Come, boy.
15 FOOL~She that's a maid now and laughs at my departure,\nShall not be a maid
long, unless things be cut\nshorter.
21 EDMUND~Save thee, Curan.
21 CURAN~And you, sir. I have been with your father and\ngiven him notice that the
Duke of Cornwall and\nRegan his duchess will be here with him this night.
21 EDMUND~How comes that?
21 CURAN~Nay, I know not. You have heard of the news\nabroad?--I mean the whispered
ones, for they are\nyet but ear-kissing arguments.
21 EDMUND~Not I. Pray you, what are they?
21 CURAN~Have you heard of no likely wars toward 'twixt\nthe dukes of Cornwall and
Albany?
21 EDMUND~Not a word.
21 CURAN~You may do, then, in time. Fare you well, sir.
21 EDMUND~The Duke be here tonight? The better, best.\nThis weaves itself perforce
into my business.\nMy father hath set guard to take my brother,\nAnd I have one
thing of a queasy question\nWhich I must act. Briefness and fortune work!--\
nBrother, a word. Descend. Brother, I say!\n\nMy father watches. O sir, fly this
place!\nIntelligence is given where you are hid.\nYou have now the good advantage
of the night.\nHave you not spoken 'gainst the Duke of Cornwall?\nHe's coming
hither, now, i' th' night, i' th' haste,\nAnd Regan with him. Have you nothing
said\nUpon his party 'gainst the Duke of Albany?\nAdvise yourself.
21 EDGAR~I am sure on 't, not a word.
21 EDMUND~I hear my father coming. Pardon me.\nIn cunning I must draw my sword upon
you.\nDraw. Seem to defend yourself. Now, quit you\nwell. \nYield! Come before my
father! Light, hoa, here!\n Fly, brother.--Torches, torches!\n--So, farewell.
\nSome blood drawn on me would beget opinion\nOf my more fierce endeavor. I
have seen drunkards\nDo more than this in sport. \nFather, father!\nStop,
stop! No help?
21 GLOUCESTER~Now, Edmund, where's the\nvillain?
21 EDMUND~Here stood he in the dark, his sharp sword out,\nMumbling of wicked
charms, conjuring the moon\nTo stand auspicious mistress.
21 GLOUCESTER~But where is he?
21 EDMUND~Look, sir, I bleed.
21 GLOUCESTER~Where is the villain,\nEdmund?
21 EDMUND~Fled this way, sir, when by no means he could--
21 GLOUCESTER~Pursue him, ho! Go after. By no\nmeans what?
21 EDMUND~Persuade me to the murder of your Lordship,\nBut that I told him the
revenging gods\n'Gainst parricides did all the thunder bend,\nSpoke with how
manifold and strong a bond\nThe child was bound to th' father--sir, in fine,\
nSeeing how loathly opposite I stood\nTo his unnatural purpose, in fell motion\
nWith his prepared sword he charges home\nMy unprovided body, lanced mine arm;\nAnd
when he saw my best alarumed spirits,\nBold in the quarrel's right, roused to th'
encounter,\nOr whether ghasted by the noise I made,\nFull suddenly he fled.
21 GLOUCESTER~Let him fly far!\nNot in this land shall he remain uncaught,\nAnd
found--dispatch. The noble duke my master,\nMy worthy arch and patron, comes
tonight.\nBy his authority I will proclaim it\nThat he which finds him shall
deserve our thanks,\nBringing the murderous coward to the stake;\nHe that conceals
him, death.
21 EDMUND~When I dissuaded him from his intent\nAnd found him pight to do it, with
curst speech\nI threatened to discover him. He replied\n"Thou unpossessing bastard,
dost thou think\nIf I would stand against thee, would the reposal\nOf any trust,
virtue, or worth in thee\nMake thy words faithed? No. What I should\ndeny--\nAs
this I would, though thou didst produce\nMy very character--I'd turn it all\nTo thy
suggestion, plot, and damned practice.\nAnd thou must make a dullard of the world\
nIf they not thought the profits of my death\nWere very pregnant and potential
spurs\nTo make thee seek it."
21 GLOUCESTER~O strange and fastened villain!\nWould he deny his letter, said he?\
nI never got him. \nHark, the Duke's trumpets. I know not why he\ncomes.\nAll ports
I'll bar. The villain shall not 'scape.\nThe Duke must grant me that. Besides, his
picture\nI will send far and near, that all the kingdom\nMay have due note of him.
And of my land,\nLoyal and natural boy, I'll work the means\nTo make thee capable.
21 CORNWALL~How now, my noble friend? Since I came hither,\nWhich I can call but
now, I have heard strange\nnews.
21 REGAN~If it be true, all vengeance comes too short\nWhich can pursue th'
offender. How dost, my\nlord?
21 GLOUCESTER~O madam, my old heart is cracked; it's cracked.
21 REGAN~What, did my father's godson seek your life?\nHe whom my father named,
your Edgar?
21 GLOUCESTER~O lady, lady, shame would have it hid!
21 REGAN~Was he not companion with the riotous knights\nThat tended upon my father?
21 GLOUCESTER~I know not, madam. 'Tis too bad, too bad.
21 EDMUND~Yes, madam, he was of that consort.
21 REGAN~No marvel, then, though he were ill affected.\n'Tis they have put him on
the old man's death,\nTo have th' expense and waste of his revenues.\nI have this
present evening from my sister\nBeen well informed of them, and with such cautions\
nThat if they come to sojourn at my house\nI'll not be there.
21 CORNWALL~Nor I, assure thee, Regan.--\nEdmund, I hear that you have shown your
father\nA childlike office.
21 EDMUND~It was my duty, sir.
21 GLOUCESTER~He did bewray his practice, and received\nThis hurt you see striving
to apprehend him.
21 CORNWALL~Is he pursued?
21 GLOUCESTER~Ay, my good lord.
21 CORNWALL~If he be taken, he shall never more\nBe feared of doing harm. Make your
own purpose,\nHow in my strength you please.--For you, Edmund,\nWhose virtue and
obedience doth this instant\nSo much commend itself, you shall be ours.\nNatures of
such deep trust we shall much need.\nYou we first seize on.
21 EDMUND~I shall serve you, sir,\nTruly, however else.
21 GLOUCESTER~For him I thank your Grace.
21 CORNWALL~You know not why we came to visit you--
21 REGAN~Thus out of season, threading dark-eyed night.\nOccasions, noble
Gloucester, of some poise,\nWherein we must have use of your advice.\nOur father he
hath writ, so hath our sister,\nOf differences, which I best thought it fit\nTo
answer from our home. The several messengers\nFrom hence attend dispatch. Our good
old friend,\nLay comforts to your bosom and bestow\nYour needful counsel to our
businesses,\nWhich craves the instant use.
21 GLOUCESTER~I serve you, madam.\nYour Graces are right welcome.
22 OSWALD~Good dawning to thee, friend. Art of this\nhouse?
22 KENT~Ay.
22 OSWALD~Where may we set our horses?
22 KENT~I' th' mire.
22 OSWALD~Prithee, if thou lov'st me, tell me.
22 KENT~I love thee not.
22 OSWALD~Why then, I care not for thee.
22 KENT~If I had thee in Lipsbury pinfold, I would make\nthee care for me.
22 OSWALD~Why dost thou use me thus? I know thee not.
22 KENT~Fellow, I know thee.
22 OSWALD~What dost thou know me for?
22 KENT~A knave, a rascal, an eater of broken meats; a\nbase, proud, shallow,
beggarly, three-suited, hundred-pound,\nfilthy worsted-stocking knave; a lily-
livered,\naction-taking, whoreson, glass-gazing, superserviceable,\nfinical rogue;
one-trunk-inheriting\nslave; one that wouldst be a bawd in way of good\nservice,
and art nothing but the composition of a\nknave, beggar, coward, pander, and the
son and heir\nof a mongrel bitch; one whom I will beat into\nclamorous whining if
thou deny'st the least syllable\nof thy addition.
22 OSWALD~Why, what a monstrous fellow art thou thus\nto rail on one that is
neither known of thee nor\nknows thee!
22 KENT~What a brazen-faced varlet art thou to deny thou\nknowest me! Is it two
days ago since I tripped up\nthy heels and beat thee before the King? Draw, you
rogue, for though it be night,\nyet the moon shines. I'll make a sop o' th'
moonshine\nof you, you whoreson, cullionly barbermonger.\nDraw!
22 OSWALD~Away! I have nothing to do with thee.
22 KENT~Draw, you rascal! You come with letters against\nthe King and take Vanity
the puppet's part against\nthe royalty of her father. Draw, you rogue, or I'll so\
ncarbonado your shanks! Draw, you rascal! Come\nyour ways.
22 OSWALD~Help, ho! Murder! Help!
22 KENT~Strike, you slave! Stand, rogue! Stand, you neat\nslave! Strike!
22 OSWALD~Help, ho! Murder, murder!
22 EDMUND~How now, what's the matter? Part!
22 KENT~With you, goodman boy, if you please. Come, I'll\nflesh you. Come on, young
master.
22 GLOUCESTER~Weapons? Arms? What's the matter here?
22 CORNWALL~Keep peace, upon your lives! He dies that\nstrikes again. What is the
matter?
22 REGAN~The messengers from our sister and the King.
22 CORNWALL~What is your difference? Speak.
22 OSWALD~I am scarce in breath, my lord.
22 KENT~No marvel, you have so bestirred your valor.\nYou cowardly rascal, nature
disclaims in thee; a\ntailor made thee.
22 CORNWALL~Thou art a strange fellow. A tailor make a\nman?
22 KENT~A tailor, sir. A stonecutter or a painter could not\nhave made him so ill,
though they had been but two\nyears o' th' trade.
22 CORNWALL~Speak yet, how grew your quarrel?
22 OSWALD~This ancient ruffian, sir, whose life I have\nspared at suit of his gray
beard--
22 KENT~Thou whoreson zed, thou unnecessary letter!\n--My lord, if you will give me
leave, I will tread\nthis unbolted villain into mortar and daub the wall\nof a
jakes with him.--Spare my gray beard, you\nwagtail?
22 CORNWALL~Peace, sirrah!\nYou beastly knave, know you no reverence?
22 KENT~Yes, sir, but anger hath a privilege.
22 CORNWALL~Why art thou angry?
22 KENT~That such a slave as this should wear a sword,\nWho wears no honesty. Such
smiling rogues as\nthese,\nLike rats, oft bite the holy cords atwain\nWhich are too
intrinse t' unloose; smooth every\npassion\nThat in the natures of their lords
rebel--\nBeing oil to fire, snow to the colder moods--\nRenege, affirm, and turn
their halcyon beaks\nWith every gale and vary of their masters,\nKnowing naught,
like dogs, but following.--\nA plague upon your epileptic visage!\nSmile you my
speeches, as I were a fool?\nGoose, if I had you upon Sarum plain,\nI'd drive you
cackling home to Camelot.
22 CORNWALL~What, art thou mad, old fellow?
22 GLOUCESTER~How fell you out? Say that.
22 KENT~No contraries hold more antipathy\nThan I and such a knave.
22 CORNWALL~Why dost thou call him "knave"? What is his fault?
22 KENT~His countenance likes me not.
22 CORNWALL~No more, perchance, does mine, nor his, nor hers.
22 KENT~Sir, 'tis my occupation to be plain:\nI have seen better faces in my time\
nThan stands on any shoulder that I see\nBefore me at this instant.
22 CORNWALL~This is some fellow\nWho, having been praised for bluntness, doth
affect\nA saucy roughness and constrains the garb\nQuite from his nature. He cannot
flatter, he.\nAn honest mind and plain, he must speak truth!\nAn they will take it,
so; if not, he's plain.\nThese kind of knaves I know, which in this\nplainness\
nHarbor more craft and more corrupter ends\nThan twenty silly-ducking observants\
nThat stretch their duties nicely.
22 KENT~Sir, in good faith, in sincere verity,\nUnder th' allowance of your great
aspect,\nWhose influence, like the wreath of radiant fire\nOn flick'ring Phoebus'
front--
22 CORNWALL~What mean'st by this?
22 KENT~To go out of my dialect, which you discommend\nso much. I know, sir, I am
no flatterer. He that\nbeguiled you in a plain accent was a plain knave,\nwhich for
my part I will not be, though I should\nwin your displeasure to entreat me to 't.
22 CORNWALL~ What was th' offense you gave\nhim?
22 OSWALD~I never gave him any.\nIt pleased the King his master very late\nTo
strike at me, upon his misconstruction;\nWhen he, compact, and flattering his
displeasure,\nTripped me behind; being down, insulted, railed,\nAnd put upon him
such a deal of man\nThat worthied him, got praises of the King\nFor him attempting
who was self-subdued;\nAnd in the fleshment of this dread exploit,\nDrew on me here
again.
22 KENT~None of these rogues and cowards\nBut Ajax is their fool.
22 CORNWALL~Fetch forth the stocks.--\nYou stubborn ancient knave, you reverent
braggart,\nWe'll teach you.
22 KENT~Sir, I am too old to learn.\nCall not your stocks for me. I serve the
King,\nOn whose employment I was sent to you.\nYou shall do small respect, show too
bold\nmalice\nAgainst the grace and person of my master,\nStocking his messenger.
22 CORNWALL~Fetch forth the stocks.--As I have life and honor,\nThere shall he sit
till noon.
22 REGAN~Till noon? Till night, my lord, and all night, too.
22 KENT~Why, madam, if I were your father's dog,\nYou should not use me so.
22 REGAN~Sir, being his knave, I will.
22 CORNWALL~This is a fellow of the selfsame color\nOur sister speaks of.--Come,
bring away the stocks.
22 GLOUCESTER~Let me beseech your Grace not to do so.\nHis fault is much, and the
good king his master\nWill check him for 't. Your purposed low correction\nIs such
as basest and contemned'st wretches\nFor pilf'rings and most common trespasses\nAre
punished with. The King must take it ill\nThat he, so slightly valued in his
messenger,\nShould have him thus restrained.
22 CORNWALL~I'll answer that.
22 REGAN~My sister may receive it much more worse\nTo have her gentleman abused,
assaulted\nFor following her affairs.--Put in his legs.
22 CORNWALL~Come, my good lord, away.
22 GLOUCESTER~I am sorry for thee, friend. 'Tis the Duke's\npleasure,\nWhose
disposition all the world well knows\nWill not be rubbed nor stopped. I'll entreat
for thee.
22 KENT~Pray, do not, sir. I have watched and traveled hard.\nSome time I shall
sleep out; the rest I'll whistle.\nA good man's fortune may grow out at heels.\
nGive you good morrow.
22 GLOUCESTER~The Duke's to blame in this. 'Twill be ill taken.
22 KENT~Good king, that must approve the common saw,\nThou out of heaven's
benediction com'st\nTo the warm sun. \nApproach, thou beacon to this under
globe,\nThat by thy comfortable beams I may\nPeruse this letter. Nothing almost
sees miracles\nBut misery. I know 'tis from Cordelia,\nWho hath most fortunately
been informed\nOf my obscured course, and shall find time\nFrom this enormous
state, seeking to give\nLosses their remedies. All weary and o'erwatched,\nTake
vantage, heavy eyes, not to behold\nThis shameful lodging.\nFortune, good night.
Smile once more; turn thy\nwheel.
23 EDGAR~I heard myself proclaimed,\nAnd by the happy hollow of a tree\nEscaped the
hunt. No port is free; no place\nThat guard and most unusual vigilance\nDoes not
attend my taking. Whiles I may 'scape,\nI will preserve myself, and am bethought\
nTo take the basest and most poorest shape\nThat ever penury in contempt of man\
nBrought near to beast. My face I'll grime with filth,\nBlanket my loins, elf all
my hairs in knots,\nAnd with presented nakedness outface\nThe winds and
persecutions of the sky.\nThe country gives me proof and precedent\nOf Bedlam
beggars who with roaring voices\nStrike in their numbed and mortified arms\nPins,
wooden pricks, nails, sprigs of rosemary,\nAnd, with this horrible object, from low
farms,\nPoor pelting villages, sheepcotes, and mills,\nSometime with lunatic bans,
sometime with prayers,\nEnforce their charity. "Poor Turlygod! Poor Tom!"\nThat's
something yet. "Edgar" I nothing am.
24 LEAR~'Tis strange that they should so depart from home\nAnd not send back my
messenger.
24 GENTLEMAN~As I learned,\nThe night before there was no purpose in them\nOf this
remove.
24 KENT~ Hail to thee, noble master.
24 LEAR~Ha?\nMak'st thou this shame thy pastime?
24 KENT~No, my lord.
24 FOOL~Ha, ha, he wears cruel garters. Horses are tied\nby the heads, dogs and
bears by th' neck, monkeys\nby th' loins, and men by th' legs. When a man's\
noverlusty at legs, then he wears wooden\nnetherstocks.
24 LEAR~What's he that hath so much thy place mistook\nTo set thee here?
24 KENT~It is both he and she,\nYour son and daughter.
24 LEAR~No.
24 KENT~Yes.
24 LEAR~No, I say.
24 KENT~I say yea.
24 LEAR~By Jupiter, I swear no.
24 KENT~ Juno, I swear ay.
24 LEAR~They durst not do 't.\nThey could not, would not do 't. 'Tis worse than\
nmurder\nTo do upon respect such violent outrage.\nResolve me with all modest haste
which way\nThou might'st deserve or they impose this usage,\nComing from us.
24 KENT~My lord, when at their home\nI did commend your Highness' letters to them,\
nEre I was risen from the place that showed\nMy duty kneeling, came there a reeking
post,\nStewed in his haste, half breathless, panting forth\nFrom Goneril his
mistress salutations;\nDelivered letters, spite of intermission,\nWhich presently
they read; on whose contents\nThey summoned up their meiny, straight took\nhorse,\
nCommanded me to follow and attend\nThe leisure of their answer, gave me cold
looks;\nAnd meeting here the other messenger,\nWhose welcome, I perceived, had
poisoned mine,\nBeing the very fellow which of late\nDisplayed so saucily against
your Highness,\nHaving more man than wit about me, drew.\nHe raised the house with
loud and coward cries.\nYour son and daughter found this trespass worth\nThe shame
which here it suffers.
24 FOOL~Winter's not gone yet if the wild geese fly that\nway.\n Fathers that wear
rags\n Do make their children blind,\n But fathers that bear bags\n
Shall see their children kind.\n Fortune, that arrant whore,\n Ne'er turns the
key to th' poor.\nBut, for all this, thou shalt have as many dolors for\nthy
daughters as thou canst tell in a year.
24 LEAR~O, how this mother swells up toward my heart!\nHysterica passio, down, thou
climbing sorrow!\nThy element's below.--Where is this daughter?
24 KENT~With the Earl, sir, here within.
24 LEAR~ Follow me not. Stay\nhere.
24 GENTLEMAN~Made you no more offense but what you speak of?
24 KENT~None.\nHow chance the King comes with so small a number?
24 FOOL~An thou hadst been set i' th' stocks for that\nquestion, thou 'dst well
deserved it.
24 KENT~Why, Fool?
24 FOOL~We'll set thee to school to an ant to teach thee\nthere's no laboring i'
th' winter. All that follow\ntheir noses are led by their eyes but blind men, and\
nthere's not a nose among twenty but can smell him\nthat's stinking. Let go thy
hold when a great wheel\nruns down a hill lest it break thy neck with following;\
nbut the great one that goes upward, let him\ndraw thee after. When a wise man
gives thee better\ncounsel, give me mine again. I would have none but\nknaves
follow it, since a Fool gives it.\n That sir which serves and seeks for gain,\n
And follows but for form,\n Will pack when it begins to rain\n And leave thee
in the storm.\n But I will tarry; the Fool will stay,\n And let the wise man
fly.\n The knave turns fool that runs away;\n The Fool no knave, perdie.
24 KENT~Where learned you this, Fool?
24 FOOL~Not i' th' stocks, fool.
24 LEAR~Deny to speak with me? They are sick? They are\nweary?\nThey have traveled
all the night? Mere fetches,\nThe images of revolt and flying off.\nFetch me a
better answer.
24 GLOUCESTER~My dear lord,\nYou know the fiery quality of the Duke,\nHow
unremovable and fixed he is\nIn his own course.
24 LEAR~Vengeance, plague, death, confusion!\n"Fiery"? What "quality"? Why
Gloucester,\nGloucester,\nI'd speak with the Duke of Cornwall and his wife.
24 GLOUCESTER~Well, my good lord, I have informed them so.
24 LEAR~"Informed them"? Dost thou understand me,\nman?
24 GLOUCESTER~Ay, my good lord.
24 LEAR~The King would speak with Cornwall. The dear\nfather\nWould with his
daughter speak, commands, tends\nservice.\nAre they "informed" of this? My breath
and\nblood!\n"Fiery"? The "fiery" duke? Tell the hot duke that--\nNo, but not yet.
Maybe he is not well.\nInfirmity doth still neglect all office\nWhereto our health
is bound. We are not ourselves\nWhen nature, being oppressed, commands the mind\nTo
suffer with the body. I'll forbear,\nAnd am fallen out with my more headier will,\
nTo take the indisposed and sickly fit\nFor the sound man. Death on\nmy state!
Wherefore\nShould he sit here? This act persuades me\nThat this remotion of the
Duke and her\nIs practice only. Give me my servant forth.\nGo tell the Duke and 's
wife I'd speak with them.\nNow, presently, bid them come forth and hear me,\nOr at
their chamber door I'll beat the drum\nTill it cry sleep to death.
24 GLOUCESTER~I would have all well betwixt you.
24 LEAR~O me, my heart, my rising heart! But down!
24 FOOL~Cry to it, nuncle, as the cockney did to the eels\nwhen she put 'em i' th'
paste alive. She knapped\n'em o' th' coxcombs with a stick and cried "Down,\
nwantons, down!" 'Twas her brother that in pure\nkindness to his horse buttered his
hay.
24 LEAR~Good morrow to you both.
24 CORNWALL~Hail to your Grace.
24 REGAN~I am glad to see your Highness.
24 LEAR~Regan, I think you are. I know what reason\nI have to think so: if thou
shouldst not be glad,\nI would divorce me from thy mother's tomb,\nSepulch'ring an
adult'ress. O, are you\nfree?\nSome other time for that.--Beloved Regan,\nThy
sister's naught. O Regan, she hath tied\nSharp-toothed unkindness, like a vulture,
here.\nI can scarce speak to thee. Thou 'lt not believe\nWith how depraved a
quality--O Regan!
24 REGAN~I pray you, sir, take patience. I have hope\nYou less know how to value
her desert\nThan she to scant her duty.
24 LEAR~Say? How is that?
24 REGAN~I cannot think my sister in the least\nWould fail her obligation. If, sir,
perchance\nShe have restrained the riots of your followers,\n'Tis on such ground
and to such wholesome end\nAs clears her from all blame.
24 LEAR~My curses on her.
24 REGAN~O sir, you are old.\nNature in you stands on the very verge\nOf his
confine. You should be ruled and led\nBy some discretion that discerns your state\
nBetter than you yourself. Therefore, I pray you\nThat to our sister you do make
return.\nSay you have wronged her.
24 LEAR~Ask her forgiveness?\nDo you but mark how this becomes the house:\n\n"Dear
daughter, I confess that I am old.\nAge is unnecessary. On my knees I beg\nThat
you'll vouchsafe me raiment, bed, and food."
24 REGAN~Good sir, no more. These are unsightly tricks.\nReturn you to my sister.
24 LEAR~ Never, Regan.\nShe hath abated me of half my train,\nLooked black upon me,
struck me with her tongue\nMost serpentlike upon the very heart.\nAll the stored
vengeances of heaven fall\nOn her ingrateful top! Strike her young bones,\nYou
taking airs, with lameness!
24 CORNWALL~Fie, sir, fie!
24 LEAR~You nimble lightnings, dart your blinding flames\nInto her scornful eyes!
Infect her beauty,\nYou fen-sucked fogs drawn by the powerful sun\nTo fall and
blister!
24 REGAN~O, the blest gods! So will you wish on me\nWhen the rash mood is on.
24 LEAR~No, Regan, thou shalt never have my curse.\nThy tender-hefted nature shall
not give\nThee o'er to harshness. Her eyes are fierce, but\nthine\nDo comfort and
not burn. 'Tis not in thee\nTo grudge my pleasures, to cut off my train,\nTo bandy
hasty words, to scant my sizes,\nAnd, in conclusion, to oppose the bolt\nAgainst my
coming in. Thou better know'st\nThe offices of nature, bond of childhood,\nEffects
of courtesy, dues of gratitude.\nThy half o' th' kingdom hast thou not forgot,\
nWherein I thee endowed.
24 REGAN~Good sir, to th' purpose.
24 LEAR~Who put my man i' th' stocks?
24 CORNWALL~What trumpet's that?
24 REGAN~I know 't--my sister's. This approves her letter,\nThat she would soon be
here.\n\nIs your lady come?
24 LEAR~This is a slave whose easy-borrowed pride\nDwells in the fickle grace of
her he follows.--\nOut, varlet, from my sight!
24 CORNWALL~What means your Grace?
24 LEAR~Who stocked my servant? Regan, I have good hope\nThou didst not know on
't.\n\nWho comes here? O heavens,\nIf you do love old men, if your sweet sway\
nAllow obedience, if you yourselves are old,\nMake it your cause. Send down and
take my part.\n Art not ashamed to look upon this\nbeard? \nO Regan, will you take
her by the hand?
24 GONERIL~Why not by th' hand, sir? How have I offended?\nAll's not offense that
indiscretion finds\nAnd dotage terms so.
24 LEAR~O sides, you are too tough!\nWill you yet hold?--How came my man i' th'\
nstocks?
24 CORNWALL~I set him there, sir, but his own disorders\nDeserved much less
advancement.
24 LEAR~You? Did you?
24 REGAN~I pray you, father, being weak, seem so.\nIf till the expiration of your
month\nYou will return and sojourn with my sister,\nDismissing half your train,
come then to me.\nI am now from home and out of that provision\nWhich shall be
needful for your entertainment.
24 LEAR~Return to her? And fifty men dismissed?\nNo! Rather I abjure all roofs, and
choose\nTo wage against the enmity o' th' air,\nTo be a comrade with the wolf and
owl,\nNecessity's sharp pinch. Return with her?\nWhy the hot-blooded France, that
dowerless took\nOur youngest born--I could as well be brought\nTo knee his throne
and, squire-like, pension beg\nTo keep base life afoot. Return with her?\nPersuade
me rather to be slave and sumpter\nTo this detested groom.
24 GONERIL~At your choice, sir.
24 LEAR~I prithee, daughter, do not make me mad.\nI will not trouble thee, my
child. Farewell.\nWe'll no more meet, no more see one another.\nBut yet thou art my
flesh, my blood, my daughter,\nOr, rather, a disease that's in my flesh,\nWhich I
must needs call mine. Thou art a boil,\nA plague-sore or embossed carbuncle\nIn my
corrupted blood. But I'll not chide thee.\nLet shame come when it will; I do not
call it.\nI do not bid the thunder-bearer shoot,\nNor tell tales of thee to high-
judging Jove.\nMend when thou canst. Be better at thy leisure.\nI can be patient. I
can stay with Regan,\nI and my hundred knights.
24 REGAN~Not altogether so.\nI looked not for you yet, nor am provided\nFor your
fit welcome. Give ear, sir, to my sister,\nFor those that mingle reason with your
passion\nMust be content to think you old, and so--\nBut she knows what she does.
24 LEAR~Is this well spoken?
24 REGAN~I dare avouch it, sir. What, fifty followers?\nIs it not well? What should
you need of more?\nYea, or so many, sith that both charge and danger\nSpeak 'gainst
so great a number? How in one house\nShould many people under two commands\nHold
amity? 'Tis hard, almost impossible.
24 GONERIL~Why might not you, my lord, receive attendance\nFrom those that she
calls servants, or from mine?
24 REGAN~Why not, my lord? If then they chanced to slack\nyou,\nWe could control
them. If you will come to me\n(For now I spy a danger), I entreat you\nTo bring but
five-and-twenty. To no more\nWill I give place or notice.
24 LEAR~I gave you all--
24 REGAN~And in good time you gave it.
24 LEAR~Made you my guardians, my depositaries,\nBut kept a reservation to be
followed\nWith such a number. What, must I come to you\nWith five-and-twenty?
Regan, said you so?
24 REGAN~And speak 't again, my lord. No more with me.
24 LEAR~Those wicked creatures yet do look well-favored\nWhen others are more
wicked. Not being the worst\nStands in some rank of praise. I'll go\nwith thee.\
nThy fifty yet doth double five-and-twenty,\nAnd thou art twice her love.
24 GONERIL~Hear me, my lord.\nWhat need you five-and-twenty, ten, or five,\nTo
follow in a house where twice so many\nHave a command to tend you?
24 REGAN~What need one?
24 LEAR~O, reason not the need! Our basest beggars\nAre in the poorest thing
superfluous.\nAllow not nature more than nature needs,\nMan's life is cheap as
beast's. Thou art a lady;\nIf only to go warm were gorgeous,\nWhy, nature needs not
what thou gorgeous wear'st,\nWhich scarcely keeps thee warm. But, for true\nneed--\
nYou heavens, give me that patience, patience I need!\nYou see me here, you gods, a
poor old man\nAs full of grief as age, wretched in both.\nIf it be you that stirs
these daughters' hearts\nAgainst their father, fool me not so much\nTo bear it
tamely. Touch me with noble anger,\nAnd let not women's weapons, water drops,\
nStain my man's cheeks.--No, you unnatural hags,\nI will have such revenges on you
both\nThat all the world shall--I will do such things--\nWhat they are yet I know
not, but they shall be\nThe terrors of the Earth! You think I'll weep.\nNo, I'll
not weep.\nI have full cause of weeping, but this heart\n\nShall break into a
hundred thousand flaws\nOr ere I'll weep.--O Fool, I shall go mad!
24 CORNWALL~Let us withdraw. 'Twill be a storm.
24 REGAN~This house is little. The old man and 's people\nCannot be well bestowed.
24 GONERIL~'Tis his own blame hath put himself from rest,\nAnd must needs taste his
folly.
24 REGAN~For his particular, I'll receive him gladly,\nBut not one follower.
24 GONERIL~So am I purposed. Where is my lord of Gloucester?
24 CORNWALL~Followed the old man forth.\n\nHe is returned.
24 GLOUCESTER~The King is in high rage.
24 CORNWALL~Whither is he going?
24 GLOUCESTER~He calls to horse, but will I know not whither.
24 CORNWALL~'Tis best to give him way. He leads himself.
24 GONERIL~\nMy lord, entreat him by no means to stay.
24 GLOUCESTER~Alack, the night comes on, and the high winds\nDo sorely ruffle. For
many miles about\nThere's scarce a bush.
24 REGAN~O sir, to willful men\nThe injuries that they themselves procure\nMust be
their schoolmasters. Shut up your doors.\nHe is attended with a desperate train,\
nAnd what they may incense him to, being apt\nTo have his ear abused, wisdom bids
fear.
24 CORNWALL~Shut up your doors, my lord. 'Tis a wild night.\nMy Regan counsels
well. Come out o' th' storm.
31 KENT~Who's there, besides foul weather?
31 GENTLEMAN~One minded like the weather, most unquietly.
31 KENT~I know you. Where's the King?
31 GENTLEMAN~Contending with the fretful elements;\nBids the wind blow the earth
into the sea\nOr swell the curled waters 'bove the main,\nThat things might change
or cease; tears his white\nhair,\nWhich the impetuous blasts with eyeless rage\
nCatch in their fury and make nothing of;\nStrives in his little world of man to
outscorn\nThe to-and-fro conflicting wind and rain.\nThis night, wherein the cub-
drawn bear would\ncouch,\nThe lion and the belly-pinched wolf\nKeep their fur dry,
unbonneted he runs\nAnd bids what will take all.
31 KENT~But who is with him?
31 GENTLEMAN~None but the Fool, who labors to outjest\nHis heart-struck injuries.
31 KENT~Sir, I do know you\nAnd dare upon the warrant of my note\nCommend a dear
thing to you. There is division,\nAlthough as yet the face of it is covered\nWith
mutual cunning, 'twixt Albany and Cornwall,\nWho have--as who have not, that their
great stars\nThroned and set high?--servants, who seem no less,\nWhich are to
France the spies and speculations\nIntelligent of our state. From France there
comes\na power\nInto this scattered kingdom, who already,\nWise in our negligence,
have secret feet\nIn some of our best ports and are at point\nTo show their open
banner. Now to you:\nIf on my credit you dare build so far\nTo make your speed to
Dover, you shall find\nSome that will thank you, making just report\nOf how
unnatural and bemadding sorrow\nThe King hath cause to plain: what hath been seen,\
nEither in snuffs and packings of the dukes,\nOr the hard rein which both of them
hath borne\nAgainst the old kind king, or something deeper,\nWhereof perchance
these are but furnishings.\nI am a gentleman of blood and breeding,\nAnd from some
knowledge and assurance offer\nThis office to you.
31 GENTLEMAN~I will talk further with you.
31 KENT~No, do not.\nFor confirmation that I am much more\nThan my outwall, open
this purse and take\nWhat it contains.\n\nIf you shall see Cordelia\n(As fear not
but you shall), show her this ring,\nAnd she will tell you who that fellow is\nThat
yet you do not know. Fie on this storm!\nI will go seek the King.
31 GENTLEMAN~Give me your hand. Have you no more to say?
31 KENT~Few words, but, to effect, more than all yet:\nThat when we have found the
King--in which your\npain\nThat way, I'll this--he that first lights on him\nHolla
the other.
32 LEAR~Blow winds, and crack your cheeks! Rage, blow!\nYou cataracts and
hurricanoes, spout\nTill you have drenched our steeples, drowned the\ncocks.\nYou
sulph'rous and thought-executing fires,\nVaunt-couriers of oak-cleaving
thunderbolts,\nSinge my white head. And thou, all-shaking\nthunder,\nStrike flat
the thick rotundity o' th' world.\nCrack nature's molds, all germens spill at once\
nThat makes ingrateful man.
32 FOOL~O nuncle, court holy water in a dry house is\nbetter than this rainwater
out o' door. Good nuncle,\nin. Ask thy daughters' blessing. Here's a night\npities
neither wise men nor fools.
32 LEAR~Rumble thy bellyful! Spit, fire! Spout, rain!\nNor rain, wind, thunder,
fire are my daughters.\nI tax not you, you elements, with unkindness.\nI never gave
you kingdom, called you children;\nYou owe me no subscription. Then let fall\nYour
horrible pleasure. Here I stand your slave,\nA poor, infirm, weak, and despised old
man.\nBut yet I call you servile ministers,\nThat will with two pernicious
daughters join\nYour high-engendered battles 'gainst a head\nSo old and white as
this. O, ho, 'tis foul!
32 FOOL~He that has a house to put 's head in has a good\nheadpiece.\n The codpiece
that will house\n Before the head has any,\n The head and he shall louse;\n
So beggars marry many.\n The man that makes his toe\n What he his heart
should make,\n Shall of a corn cry woe,\n And turn his sleep to wake.\nFor
there was never yet fair woman but she made\nmouths in a glass.
32 LEAR~No, I will be the pattern of all patience.\nI will say nothing.
32 KENT~Who's there?
32 FOOL~Marry, here's grace and a codpiece; that's a\nwise man and a fool.
32 KENT~Alas, sir, are you here? Things that love night\nLove not such nights as
these. The wrathful skies\nGallow the very wanderers of the dark\nAnd make them
keep their caves. Since I was man,\nSuch sheets of fire, such bursts of horrid
thunder,\nSuch groans of roaring wind and rain I never\nRemember to have heard.
Man's nature cannot carry\nTh' affliction nor the fear.
32 LEAR~Let the great gods\nThat keep this dreadful pudder o'er our heads\nFind out
their enemies now. Tremble, thou wretch,\nThat hast within thee undivulged crimes\
nUnwhipped of justice. Hide thee, thou bloody hand,\nThou perjured, and thou
simular of virtue\nThat art incestuous. Caitiff, to pieces shake,\nThat under
covert and convenient seeming\nHas practiced on man's life. Close pent-up guilts,\
nRive your concealing continents and cry\nThese dreadful summoners grace. I am a
man\nMore sinned against than sinning.
32 KENT~Alack,\nbareheaded?\nGracious my lord, hard by here is a hovel.\nSome
friendship will it lend you 'gainst the tempest.\nRepose you there while I to this
hard house--\nMore harder than the stones whereof 'tis raised,\nWhich even but now,
demanding after you,\nDenied me to come in--return and force\nTheir scanted
courtesy.
32 LEAR~My wits begin to turn.--\nCome on, my boy. How dost, my boy? Art cold?\nI
am cold myself.--Where is this straw, my fellow?\nThe art of our necessities is
strange\nAnd can make vile things precious. Come, your\nhovel.--\nPoor Fool and
knave, I have one part in my heart\nThat's sorry yet for thee.
32 FOOL~\n He that has and a little tiny wit,\n With hey, ho, the wind and
the rain,\n Must make content with his fortunes fit,\n Though the rain it
raineth every day.
32 LEAR~True, my good boy.--Come, bring us to this hovel.
32 FOOL~This is a brave night to cool a courtesan. I'll\nspeak a prophecy ere I
go:\n When priests are more in word than matter,\n When brewers mar their malt
with water,\n When nobles are their tailors' tutors,\n No heretics burned but
wenches' suitors,\n When every case in law is right,\n No squire in debt, nor
no poor knight;\n When slanders do not live in tongues,\n Nor cutpurses come not
to throngs,\n When usurers tell their gold i' th' field,\n And bawds and
whores do churches build,\n Then shall the realm of Albion\n Come to great
confusion;\n Then comes the time, who lives to see 't,\n That going shall
be used with feet.\nThis prophecy Merlin shall make, for I live before\nhis time.
33 GLOUCESTER~Alack, alack, Edmund, I like not this\nunnatural dealing. When I
desired their leave that I\nmight pity him, they took from me the use of mine\nown
house, charged me on pain of perpetual\ndispleasure neither to speak of him,
entreat for\nhim, or any way sustain him.
33 EDMUND~Most savage and unnatural.
33 GLOUCESTER~Go to; say you nothing. There is division\nbetween the dukes, and a
worse matter than that. I\nhave received a letter this night; 'tis dangerous to\nbe
spoken; I have locked the letter in my closet.\nThese injuries the King now bears
will be revenged\nhome; there is part of a power already footed. We\nmust incline
to the King. I will look him and privily\nrelieve him. Go you and maintain talk
with the\nDuke, that my charity be not of him perceived. If he\nask for me, I am
ill and gone to bed. If I die for it, as\nno less is threatened me, the King my old
master\nmust be relieved. There is strange things toward,\nEdmund. Pray you, be
careful.
33 EDMUND~This courtesy forbid thee shall the Duke\nInstantly know, and of that
letter too.\nThis seems a fair deserving, and must draw me\nThat which my father
loses--no less than all.\nThe younger rises when the old doth fall.
34 KENT~Here is the place, my lord. Good my lord, enter.\nThe tyranny of the open
night 's too rough\nFor nature to endure.
34 LEAR~Let me alone.
34 KENT~Good my lord, enter here.
34 LEAR~Wilt break my heart?
34 KENT~I had rather break mine own. Good my lord, enter.
34 LEAR~Thou think'st 'tis much that this contentious storm\nInvades us to the
skin. So 'tis to thee.\nBut where the greater malady is fixed,\nThe lesser is
scarce felt. Thou 'dst shun a bear,\nBut if thy flight lay toward the roaring sea,\
nThou 'dst meet the bear i' th' mouth. When the\nmind's free,\nThe body's delicate.
This tempest in my mind\nDoth from my senses take all feeling else\nSave what beats
there. Filial ingratitude!\nIs it not as this mouth should tear this hand\nFor
lifting food to 't? But I will punish home.\nNo, I will weep no more. In such a
night\nTo shut me out? Pour on. I will endure.\nIn such a night as this? O Regan,
Goneril,\nYour old kind father whose frank heart gave all!\nO, that way madness
lies. Let me shun that;\nNo more of that.
34 KENT~Good my lord, enter here.
34 LEAR~Prithee, go in thyself. Seek thine own ease.\nThis tempest will not give me
leave to ponder\nOn things would hurt me more. But I'll go in.--\nIn, boy; go
first.--You houseless poverty--\nNay, get thee in. I'll pray, and then I'll sleep.\
n\nPoor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are,\nThat bide the pelting of this
pitiless storm,\nHow shall your houseless heads and unfed sides,\nYour looped and
windowed raggedness defend\nyou\nFrom seasons such as these? O, I have ta'en\nToo
little care of this. Take physic, pomp.\nExpose thyself to feel what wretches
feel,\nThat thou may'st shake the superflux to them\nAnd show the heavens more
just.
34 EDGAR~ Fathom and half, fathom and half!\nPoor Tom!
34 FOOL~Come not in here, nuncle; here's a spirit. Help\nme, help me!
34 KENT~Give me thy hand. Who's there?
34 FOOL~A spirit, a spirit! He says his name's Poor Tom.
34 KENT~What art thou that dost grumble there i' th'\nstraw? Come forth.
34 EDGAR~Away. The foul fiend follows me. Through the\nsharp hawthorn blows the
cold wind. Hum! Go to\nthy cold bed and warm thee.
34 LEAR~Didst thou give all to thy daughters? And art thou\ncome to this?
34 EDGAR~Who gives anything to Poor Tom, whom the\nfoul fiend hath led through fire
and through flame,\nthrough ford and whirlpool, o'er bog and quagmire;\nthat hath
laid knives under his pillow and\nhalters in his pew, set ratsbane by his
porridge,\nmade him proud of heart to ride on a bay trotting\nhorse over four-
inched bridges to course his own\nshadow for a traitor? Bless thy five wits! Tom's\
na-cold. O, do de, do de, do de. Bless thee from\nwhirlwinds, star-blasting, and
taking! Do Poor Tom\nsome charity, whom the foul fiend vexes. There\ncould I have
him now, and there--and there again\n--and there.
34 LEAR~Has his daughters brought him to this pass?--\nCouldst thou save nothing?
Wouldst thou give 'em\nall?
34 FOOL~Nay, he reserved a blanket, else we had been all\nshamed.
34 LEAR~Now all the plagues that in the pendulous air\nHang fated o'er men's faults
light on thy daughters!
34 KENT~He hath no daughters, sir.
34 LEAR~Death, traitor! Nothing could have subdued nature\nTo such a lowness but
his unkind daughters.\nIs it the fashion that discarded fathers\nShould have thus
little mercy on their flesh?\nJudicious punishment! 'Twas this flesh begot\nThose
pelican daughters.
34 EDGAR~Pillicock sat on Pillicock Hill. Alow, alow, loo,\nloo.
34 FOOL~This cold night will turn us all to fools and\nmadmen.
34 EDGAR~Take heed o' th' foul fiend. Obey thy parents,\nkeep thy word's justice,
swear not, commit not with\nman's sworn spouse, set not thy sweet heart on\nproud
array. Tom's a-cold.
34 LEAR~What hast thou been?
34 EDGAR~A servingman, proud in heart and mind, that\ncurled my hair, wore gloves
in my cap, served the\nlust of my mistress' heart and did the act of\ndarkness with
her, swore as many oaths as I spake\nwords and broke them in the sweet face of
heaven;\none that slept in the contriving of lust and waked to\ndo it. Wine loved I
deeply, dice dearly, and in\nwoman out-paramoured the Turk. False of heart,\nlight
of ear, bloody of hand; hog in sloth, fox in\nstealth, wolf in greediness, dog in
madness, lion in\nprey. Let not the creaking of shoes nor the rustling\nof silks
betray thy poor heart to woman. Keep thy\nfoot out of brothels, thy hand out of
plackets, thy\npen from lenders' books, and defy the foul fiend.\nStill through the
hawthorn blows the cold wind;\nsays suum, mun, nonny. Dolphin my boy, boy, sessa!\
nLet him trot by.
34 LEAR~Thou wert better in a grave than to answer with\nthy uncovered body this
extremity of the skies.--Is\nman no more than this? Consider him well.--Thou\now'st
the worm no silk, the beast no hide, the sheep\nno wool, the cat no perfume. Ha,
here's three on 's\nare sophisticated. Thou art the thing itself; unaccommodated\
nman is no more but such a poor, bare,\nforked animal as thou art. Off, off, you
lendings!\nCome, unbutton here.
34 FOOL~Prithee, nuncle, be contented. 'Tis a naughty\nnight to swim in. Now, a
little fire in a wild field\nwere like an old lecher's heart--a small spark, all\
nthe rest on 's body cold.\n\nLook, here comes a walking fire.
34 EDGAR~This is the foul fiend Flibbertigibbet. He begins\nat curfew and walks
till the first cock. He\ngives the web and the pin, squints the eye, and\nmakes the
harelip, mildews the white wheat, and\nhurts the poor creature of earth.\n
Swithold footed thrice the 'old,\n He met the nightmare and her ninefold,\n
Bid her alight,\n And her troth plight,\n And aroint thee, witch, aroint
thee.
34 KENT~How fares your Grace?
34 LEAR~What's he?
34 KENT~Who's there? What is 't you seek?
34 GLOUCESTER~What are you there? Your names?
34 EDGAR~Poor Tom, that eats the swimming frog, the\ntoad, the tadpole, the wall
newt, and the water;\nthat, in the fury of his heart, when the foul fiend\nrages,
eats cow dung for sallets, swallows the old\nrat and the ditch-dog, drinks the
green mantle of\nthe standing pool; who is whipped from tithing to\ntithing, and
stocked, punished, and imprisoned;\nwho hath had three suits to his back, six
shirts to\nhis body,\n Horse to ride, and weapon to wear;\n But mice and rats
and such small deer\n Have been Tom's food for seven long year.\nBeware my
follower. Peace, Smulkin! Peace, thou\nfiend!
34 GLOUCESTER~\nWhat, hath your Grace no better company?
34 EDGAR~The Prince of Darkness is a gentleman. Modo\nhe's called, and Mahu.
34 GLOUCESTER~\nOur flesh and blood, my lord, is grown so vile\nThat it doth hate
what gets it.
34 EDGAR~Poor Tom's a-cold.
34 GLOUCESTER~\nGo in with me. My duty cannot suffer\nT' obey in all your
daughters' hard commands.\nThough their injunction be to bar my doors\nAnd let this
tyrannous night take hold upon you,\nYet have I ventured to come seek you out\nAnd
bring you where both fire and food is ready.
34 LEAR~First let me talk with this philosopher.\n What is the cause of thunder?
34 KENT~Good my lord, take his offer; go into th' house.
34 LEAR~I'll talk a word with this same learned Theban.--\nWhat is your study?
34 EDGAR~How to prevent the fiend and to kill vermin.
34 LEAR~Let me ask you one word in private.
34 KENT~\nImportune him once more to go, my lord.\nHis wits begin t' unsettle.
34 GLOUCESTER~Canst thou blame him?\n\nHis daughters seek his death. Ah, that good
Kent!\nHe said it would be thus, poor banished man.\nThou sayest the King grows
mad; I'll tell thee,\nfriend,\nI am almost mad myself. I had a son,\nNow outlawed
from my blood. He sought my life\nBut lately, very late. I loved him, friend,\nNo
father his son dearer. True to tell thee,\nThe grief hath crazed my wits. What a
night's this!\n--I do beseech your Grace--
34 LEAR~O, cry you mercy, sir.\n Noble philosopher, your company.
34 EDGAR~Tom's a-cold.
34 GLOUCESTER~\nIn fellow, there, into th' hovel. Keep thee warm.
34 LEAR~me, let's in all.
34 KENT~This way, my lord.
34 LEAR~ With him.\nI will keep still with my philosopher.
34 KENT~\nGood my lord, soothe him. Let him take the fellow.
34 GLOUCESTER~ Take him you on.
34 KENT~\nSirrah, come on: go along with us.
34 LEAR~Come, good Athenian.
34 GLOUCESTER~No words, no words. Hush.
34 EDGAR~ Child Rowland to the dark tower came.\n His word was still "Fie, foh,
and fum,\n I smell the blood of a British man."
35 CORNWALL~I will have my revenge ere I depart his\nhouse.
35 EDMUND~How, my lord, I may be censured, that nature\nthus gives way to loyalty,
something fears me to\nthink of.
35 CORNWALL~I now perceive it was not altogether your\nbrother's evil disposition
made him seek his death,\nbut a provoking merit set awork by a reprovable\nbadness
in himself.
35 EDMUND~How malicious is my fortune that I must\nrepent to be just! This is the
letter he spoke of,\nwhich approves him an intelligent party to the\nadvantages of
France. O heavens, that this treason\nwere not, or not I the detector.
35 CORNWALL~Go with me to the Duchess.
35 EDMUND~If the matter of this paper be certain, you\nhave mighty business in
hand.
35 CORNWALL~True or false, it hath made thee Earl of\nGloucester. Seek out where
thy father is, that he\nmay be ready for our apprehension.
35 EDMUND~ If I find him comforting the King, it\nwill stuff his suspicion more
fully.--I will persevere\nin my course of loyalty, though the conflict be sore\
nbetween that and my blood.
35 CORNWALL~I will lay trust upon thee, and thou shalt\nfind a dearer father in my
love.
36 GLOUCESTER~Here is better than the open air. Take it\nthankfully. I will piece
out the comfort with what\naddition I can. I will not be long from you.
36 KENT~All the power of his wits have given way to his\nimpatience. The gods
reward your kindness!\n
36 EDGAR~Frateretto calls me and tells me Nero is an\nangler in the lake of
darkness. Pray, innocent, and\nbeware the foul fiend.
36 FOOL~Prithee, nuncle, tell me whether a madman be a\ngentleman or a yeoman.
36 LEAR~A king, a king!
36 FOOL~No, he's a yeoman that has a gentleman to his\nson, for he's a mad yeoman
that sees his son a\ngentleman before him.
36 LEAR~To have a thousand with red burning spits\nCome hissing in upon 'em!
36 EDGAR~The foul fiend bites my back.
36 FOOL~He's mad that trusts in the tameness of a wolf, a\nhorse's health, a boy's
love, or a whore's oath.
36 LEAR~It shall be done. I will arraign them straight.\n Come, sit thou here, most
learned\njustice.\n Thou sapient sir, sit here. Now, you\nshe-foxes--
36 EDGAR~Look where he stands and glares!--Want'st\nthou eyes at trial, madam?\n
Come o'er the burn, Bessy, to me--
36 FOOL~\n Her boat hath a leak,\n And she must not speak\n Why she dares not
come over to thee.
36 EDGAR~The foul fiend haunts Poor Tom in the voice of\na nightingale. Hoppedance
cries in Tom's belly for\ntwo white herring.--Croak not, black angel. I have\nno
food for thee.
36 KENT~\nHow do you, sir? Stand you not so amazed.\nWill you lie down and rest
upon the cushions?
36 LEAR~I'll see their trial first. Bring in their evidence.\n Thou robed man of
justice, take thy\nplace,\n And thou, his yokefellow of equity,\nBench by his side.
You are o' th'\ncommission;\nSit you, too.
36 EDGAR~Let us deal justly.\n Sleepest or wakest, thou jolly shepherd?\n
Thy sheep be in the corn.\n And for one blast of thy minikin mouth,\n Thy sheep
shall take no harm.\nPurr the cat is gray.
36 LEAR~Arraign her first; 'tis Goneril. I here take my oath\nbefore this honorable
assembly, kicked the poor\nking her father.
36 FOOL~Come hither, mistress. Is your name Goneril?
36 LEAR~She cannot deny it.
36 FOOL~Cry you mercy, I took you for a joint stool.
36 LEAR~And here's another whose warped looks proclaim\nWhat store her heart is
made on. Stop her there!\nArms, arms, sword, fire! Corruption in the place!\nFalse
justicer, why hast thou let her 'scape?
36 EDGAR~Bless thy five wits!
36 KENT~\nO pity! Sir, where is the patience now\nThat you so oft have boasted to
retain?
36 EDGAR~\nMy tears begin to take his part so much\nThey mar my counterfeiting.
36 LEAR~The little dogs and all,\nTray, Blanch, and Sweetheart, see, they bark at
me.
36 EDGAR~Tom will throw his head at them.--Avaunt, you\ncurs!\n Be thy mouth or
black or white,\n Tooth that poisons if it bite,\n Mastiff, greyhound, mongrel
grim,\n Hound or spaniel, brach, or lym,\n Bobtail tike, or trundle-tail,\n
Tom will make him weep and wail;\n For, with throwing thus my head,\n Dogs
leapt the hatch, and all are fled.\nDo de, de, de. Sessa! Come, march to wakes\nand
fairs and market towns. Poor Tom, thy horn\nis dry.
36 LEAR~Then let them anatomize Regan; see what breeds\nabout her heart. Is there
any cause in nature that\nmake these hard hearts? You, sir, I\nentertain for one of
my hundred; only I do not like\nthe fashion of your garments. You will say they
are\nPersian, but let them be changed.
36 KENT~Now, good my lord, lie here and rest awhile.
36 LEAR~ Make no noise, make no noise.\nDraw the curtains. So, so, we'll go to
supper i' th'\nmorning.
36 FOOL~And I'll go to bed at noon.
36 GLOUCESTER~\nCome hither, friend. Where is the King my master?
36 KENT~Here, sir, but trouble him not; his wits are gone.
36 GLOUCESTER~Good friend, I prithee, take him in thy arms.\nI have o'erheard a
plot of death upon him.\nThere is a litter ready; lay him in 't,\nAnd drive toward
Dover, friend, where thou shalt\nmeet\nBoth welcome and protection. Take up thy
master.\nIf thou shouldst dally half an hour, his life,\nWith thine and all that
offer to defend him,\nStand in assured loss. Take up, take up,\nAnd follow me, that
will to some provision\nGive thee quick conduct.
36 KENT~Oppressed nature sleeps.\nThis rest might yet have balmed thy broken
sinews,\nWhich, if convenience will not allow,\nStand in hard cure. Come, help to\
nbear thy master.\nThou must not stay behind.
36 GLOUCESTER~Come, come away.
36 EDGAR~When we our betters see bearing our woes,\nWe scarcely think our miseries
our foes.\nWho alone suffers suffers most i' th' mind,\nLeaving free things and
happy shows behind.\nBut then the mind much sufferance doth o'erskip\nWhen grief
hath mates and bearing fellowship.\nHow light and portable my pain seems now\nWhen
that which makes me bend makes the King\nbow!\nHe childed as I fathered. Tom,
away.\nMark the high noises, and thyself bewray\nWhen false opinion, whose wrong
thoughts defile\nthee,\nIn thy just proof repeals and reconciles thee.\nWhat will
hap more tonight, safe 'scape the King!\nLurk, lurk.
37 CORNWALL~ Post speedily to my lord your\nhusband. Show him this letter. The army
of France is landed.--Seek out\nthe traitor Gloucester.
37 REGAN~Hang him instantly.
37 GONERIL~Pluck out his eyes.
37 CORNWALL~Leave him to my displeasure.--Edmund,\nkeep you our sister company. The
revenges we are\nbound to take upon your traitorous father are not\nfit for your
beholding. Advise the Duke, where you\nare going, to a most festinate preparation;
we are\nbound to the like. Our posts shall be swift and\nintelligent betwixt us.--
Farewell, dear sister.--\nFarewell, my lord of Gloucester.\n\nHow now? Where's the
King?
37 OSWALD~My lord of Gloucester hath conveyed him hence.\nSome five- or six-and-
thirty of his knights,\nHot questrists after him, met him at gate,\nWho, with some
other of the lord's dependents,\nAre gone with him toward Dover, where they boast\
nTo have well-armed friends.
37 CORNWALL~Get horses for your mistress.
37 GONERIL~Farewell, sweet lord, and sister.
37 CORNWALL~Edmund, farewell. \nGo seek the traitor Gloucester.\nPinion him like a
thief; bring him before us.\n\nThough well we may not pass upon his life\nWithout
the form of justice, yet our power\nShall do a court'sy to our wrath, which men\
nMay blame but not control.\n\nWho's there? The\ntraitor?
37 REGAN~Ingrateful fox! 'Tis he.
37 CORNWALL~Bind fast his corky arms.
37 GLOUCESTER~What means your Graces? Good my friends,\nconsider\nYou are my
guests; do me no foul play, friends.
37 CORNWALL~Bind him, I say.
37 REGAN~Hard, hard. O filthy traitor!
37 GLOUCESTER~Unmerciful lady as you are, I'm none.
37 CORNWALL~To this chair bind him. \nVillain, thou shalt find--
37 GLOUCESTER~By the kind gods, 'tis most ignobly done\nTo pluck me by the beard.
37 REGAN~So white, and such a traitor?
37 GLOUCESTER~Naughty lady,\nThese hairs which thou dost ravish from my chin\nWill
quicken and accuse thee. I am your host;\nWith robber's hands my hospitable favors\
nYou should not ruffle thus. What will you do?
37 CORNWALL~Come, sir, what letters had you late from France?
37 REGAN~Be simple-answered, for we know the truth.
37 CORNWALL~And what confederacy have you with the traitors\nLate footed in the
kingdom?
37 REGAN~To whose hands\nYou have sent the lunatic king. Speak.
37 GLOUCESTER~I have a letter guessingly set down\nWhich came from one that's of a
neutral heart,\nAnd not from one opposed.
37 CORNWALL~Cunning.
37 REGAN~And false.
37 CORNWALL~Where hast thou sent the King?
37 GLOUCESTER~To Dover.
37 REGAN~Wherefore to Dover? Wast thou not charged at\nperil--
37 CORNWALL~Wherefore to Dover? Let him answer that.
37 GLOUCESTER~I am tied to th' stake, and I must stand the course.
37 REGAN~Wherefore to Dover?
37 GLOUCESTER~Because I would not see thy cruel nails\nPluck out his poor old eyes,
nor thy fierce sister\nIn his anointed flesh stick boarish fangs.\nThe sea, with
such a storm as his bare head\nIn hell-black night endured, would have buoyed up\
nAnd quenched the stelled fires;\nYet, poor old heart, he holp the heavens to
rain.\nIf wolves had at thy gate howled that stern time,\nThou shouldst have said
"Good porter, turn the\nkey."\nAll cruels else subscribe. But I shall see\nThe
winged vengeance overtake such children.
37 CORNWALL~See 't shalt thou never.--Fellows, hold the chair.--\nUpon these eyes
of thine I'll set my foot.
37 GLOUCESTER~He that will think to live till he be old,\nGive me some help!\n\nO
cruel! O you gods!
37 REGAN~One side will mock another. Th' other too.
37 CORNWALL~If you see vengeance--
37 FIRST SERVANT~Hold your hand,\nmy lord.\nI have served you ever since I was a
child,\nBut better service have I never done you\nThan now to bid you hold.
37 REGAN~How now, you dog?
37 FIRST SERVANT~If you did wear a beard upon your chin,\nI'd shake it on this
quarrel. What do you mean?
37 CORNWALL~My villain?
37 FIRST SERVANT~Nay, then, come on, and take the chance of anger.
37 REGAN~\nGive me thy sword. A peasant stand up thus?
37 FIRST SERVANT~O, I am slain! My lord, you have one eye left\nTo see some
mischief on him. O!
37 CORNWALL~Lest it see more, prevent it. Out, vile jelly!\n\nWhere is thy luster
now?
37 GLOUCESTER~All dark and comfortless! Where's my son\nEdmund?--\nEdmund, enkindle
all the sparks of nature\nTo quit this horrid act.
37 REGAN~Out, treacherous villain!\nThou call'st on him that hates thee. It was he\
nThat made the overture of thy treasons to us,\nWho is too good to pity thee.
37 GLOUCESTER~O my follies! Then Edgar was abused.\nKind gods, forgive me that, and
prosper him.
37 REGAN~Go thrust him out at gates, and let him smell\nHis way to Dover.\n\nHow is
't, my lord? How look you?
37 CORNWALL~I have received a hurt. Follow me, lady.--\nTurn out that eyeless
villain. Throw this slave\nUpon the dunghill.--Regan, I bleed apace.\nUntimely
comes this hurt. Give me your arm.
37 SECOND SERVANT~I'll never care what wickedness I do\nIf this man come to good.
37 THIRD SERVANT~If she live long\nAnd in the end meet the old course of death,\
nWomen will all turn monsters.
37 SECOND SERVANT~Let's follow the old earl and get the Bedlam\nTo lead him where
he would. His roguish madness\nAllows itself to anything.
37 THIRD SERVANT~Go thou. I'll fetch some flax and whites of eggs\nTo apply to his
bleeding face. Now heaven help him!
41 EDGAR~Yet better thus, and known to be contemned,\nThan still contemned and
flattered. To be worst,\nThe lowest and most dejected thing of Fortune,\nStands
still in esperance, lives not in fear.\nThe lamentable change is from the best;\
nThe worst returns to laughter. Welcome, then,\nThou unsubstantial air that I
embrace.\nThe wretch that thou hast blown unto the worst\nOwes nothing to thy
blasts. But who comes here?\n\nMy father, poorly led? World, world, O world,\nBut
that thy strange mutations make us hate thee,\nLife would not yield to age.
41 OLD MAN~O my good lord, I have been your tenant\nAnd your father's tenant these
fourscore years.
41 GLOUCESTER~Away, get thee away. Good friend, begone.\nThy comforts can do me no
good at all;\nThee they may hurt.
41 OLD MAN~You cannot see your way.
41 GLOUCESTER~I have no way and therefore want no eyes.\nI stumbled when I saw.
Full oft 'tis seen\nOur means secure us, and our mere defects\nProve our
commodities. O dear son Edgar,\nThe food of thy abused father's wrath,\nMight I but
live to see thee in my touch,\nI'd say I had eyes again.
41 OLD MAN~How now? Who's there?
41 EDGAR~\nO gods, who is 't can say "I am at the worst"?\nI am worse than e'er I
was.
41 OLD MAN~'Tis poor mad Tom.
41 EDGAR~\nAnd worse I may be yet. The worst is not\nSo long as we can say "This is
the worst."
41 OLD MAN~Fellow, where goest?
41 GLOUCESTER~Is it a beggar-man?
41 OLD MAN~Madman and beggar too.
41 GLOUCESTER~He has some reason, else he could not beg.\nI' th' last night's
storm, I such a fellow saw,\nWhich made me think a man a worm. My son\nCame then
into my mind, and yet my mind\nWas then scarce friends with him. I have heard\nmore
since.\nAs flies to wanton boys are we to th' gods;\nThey kill us for their sport.
41 EDGAR~ How should this be?\nBad is the trade that must play fool to sorrow,\
nAng'ring itself and others.--Bless thee, master.
41 GLOUCESTER~Is that the naked fellow?
41 OLD MAN~Ay, my lord.
41 GLOUCESTER~Then, prithee, get thee away. If for my sake\nThou wilt o'ertake us
hence a mile or twain\nI' th' way toward Dover, do it for ancient love,\nAnd bring
some covering for this naked soul,\nWhich I'll entreat to lead me.
41 OLD MAN~Alack, sir, he is mad.
41 GLOUCESTER~'Tis the time's plague when madmen lead the blind.\nDo as I bid thee,
or rather do thy pleasure.\nAbove the rest, begone.
41 OLD MAN~I'll bring him the best 'parel that I have,\nCome on 't what will.
41 GLOUCESTER~Sirrah, naked fellow--
41 EDGAR~Poor Tom's a-cold. I cannot daub it further.
41 GLOUCESTER~Come hither, fellow.
41 EDGAR~\nAnd yet I must.--Bless thy sweet eyes, they bleed.
41 GLOUCESTER~Know'st thou the way to Dover?
41 EDGAR~Both stile and gate, horseway and footpath.\nPoor Tom hath been scared out
of his good wits.\nBless thee, good man's son, from the foul fiend.\nFive fiends
have been in Poor Tom at once: of lust,\nas Obidicut; Hobbididance, prince of
dumbness;\nMahu, of stealing; Modo, of murder; Flibbertigibbet,\nof mopping and
mowing, who since possesses\nchambermaids and waiting women. So, bless\nthee,
master.
41 GLOUCESTER~\nHere, take this purse, thou whom the heavens'\nplagues\nHave
humbled to all strokes. That I am wretched\nMakes thee the happier. Heavens, deal
so still:\nLet the superfluous and lust-dieted man,\nThat slaves your ordinance,
that will not see\nBecause he does not feel, feel your power quickly.\nSo
distribution should undo excess\nAnd each man have enough. Dost thou know Dover?
41 EDGAR~Ay, master.
41 GLOUCESTER~There is a cliff, whose high and bending head\nLooks fearfully in the
confined deep.\nBring me but to the very brim of it,\nAnd I'll repair the misery
thou dost bear\nWith something rich about me. From that place\nI shall no leading
need.
41 EDGAR~Give me thy arm.\nPoor Tom shall lead thee.
42 GONERIL~Welcome, my lord. I marvel our mild husband\nNot met us on the way.\n\
nNow, where's your master?
42 OSWALD~Madam, within, but never man so changed.\nI told him of the army that was
landed;\nHe smiled at it. I told him you were coming;\nHis answer was "The worse."
Of Gloucester's\ntreachery\nAnd of the loyal service of his son\nWhen I informed
him, then he called me "sot"\nAnd told me I had turned the wrong side out.\nWhat
most he should dislike seems pleasant to him;\nWhat like, offensive.
42 GONERIL~ Then shall you go no further.\nIt is the cowish terror of his spirit,\
nThat dares not undertake. He'll not feel wrongs\nWhich tie him to an answer. Our
wishes on the way\nMay prove effects. Back, Edmund, to my brother.\nHasten his
musters and conduct his powers.\nI must change names at home and give the distaff\
nInto my husband's hands. This trusty servant\nShall pass between us. Ere long you
are like to\nhear--\nIf you dare venture in your own behalf--\nA mistress's
command. Wear this; spare speech.\n\nDecline your head. This kiss, if it\ndurst
speak,\nWould stretch thy spirits up into the air.\nConceive, and fare thee well.
42 EDMUND~Yours in the ranks of death.
42 GONERIL~My most dear\nGloucester!\nO, the difference of man and man!\nTo thee a
woman's services are due;\nMy fool usurps my body.
42 OSWALD~Madam, here comes my lord.
42 GONERIL~I have been worth the whistle.
42 ALBANY~O Goneril,\nYou are not worth the dust which the rude wind\nBlows in your
face. I fear your disposition.\nThat nature which contemns its origin\nCannot be
bordered certain in itself.\nShe that herself will sliver and disbranch\nFrom her
material sap perforce must wither\nAnd come to deadly use.
42 GONERIL~No more. The text is foolish.
42 ALBANY~Wisdom and goodness to the vile seem vile.\nFilths savor but themselves.
What have you done?\nTigers, not daughters, what have you performed?\nA father, and
a gracious aged man,\nWhose reverence even the head-lugged bear would\nlick,\nMost
barbarous, most degenerate, have you\nmadded.\nCould my good brother suffer you to
do it?\nA man, a prince, by him so benefited!\nIf that the heavens do not their
visible spirits\nSend quickly down to tame these vile offenses,\nIt will come:\
nHumanity must perforce prey on itself,\nLike monsters of the deep.
42 GONERIL~Milk-livered man,\nThat bear'st a cheek for blows, a head for wrongs;\
nWho hast not in thy brows an eye discerning\nThine honor from thy suffering; that
not know'st\nFools do those villains pity who are punished\nEre they have done
their mischief. Where's thy\ndrum?\nFrance spreads his banners in our noiseless
land,\nWith plumed helm thy state begins to threat,\nWhilst thou, a moral fool,
sits still and cries\n"Alack, why does he so?"
42 ALBANY~See thyself, devil!\nProper deformity shows not in the fiend\nSo horrid
as in woman.
42 GONERIL~O vain fool!
42 ALBANY~Thou changed and self-covered thing, for shame\nBemonster not thy
feature. Were 't my fitness\nTo let these hands obey my blood,\nThey are apt enough
to dislocate and tear\nThy flesh and bones. Howe'er thou art a fiend,\nA woman's
shape doth shield thee.
42 GONERIL~Marry, your manhood, mew--
42 ALBANY~What news?
42 MESSENGER~O, my good lord, the Duke of Cornwall's dead,\nSlain by his servant,
going to put out\nThe other eye of Gloucester.
42 ALBANY~Gloucester's eyes?
42 MESSENGER~A servant that he bred, thrilled with remorse,\nOpposed against the
act, bending his sword\nTo his great master, who, thereat enraged,\nFlew on him and
amongst them felled him dead,\nBut not without that harmful stroke which since\
nHath plucked him after.
42 ALBANY~This shows you are above,\nYou justicers, that these our nether crimes\
nSo speedily can venge. But, O poor Gloucester,\nLost he his other eye?
42 MESSENGER~Both, both, my lord.--\nThis letter, madam, craves a speedy answer.\n\
n'Tis from your sister.
42 GONERIL~ One way I like this well.\nBut being widow and my Gloucester with her\
nMay all the building in my fancy pluck\nUpon my hateful life. Another way\nThe
news is not so tart.--I'll read, and answer.
42 ALBANY~Where was his son when they did take his eyes?
42 MESSENGER~Come with my lady hither.
42 ALBANY~He is not here.
42 MESSENGER~No, my good lord. I met him back again.
42 ALBANY~Knows he the wickedness?
42 MESSENGER~Ay, my good lord. 'Twas he informed against him\nAnd quit the house on
purpose, that their punishment\nMight have the freer course.
42 ALBANY~Gloucester, I live\nTo thank thee for the love thou show'd'st the King,\
nAnd to revenge thine eyes.--Come hither, friend.\nTell me what more thou know'st.
43 KENT~Why the King of France is so suddenly gone\nback know you no reason?
43 GENTLEMAN~Something he left imperfect in the state,\nwhich since his coming
forth is thought of, which\nimports to the kingdom so much fear and danger\nthat
his personal return was most required and\nnecessary.
43 KENT~Who hath he left behind him general?
43 GENTLEMAN~The Marshal of France, Monsieur La Far.
43 KENT~Did your letters pierce the Queen to any demonstration\nof grief?
43 GENTLEMAN~Ay, sir, she took them, read them in my\npresence,\nAnd now and then
an ample tear trilled down\nHer delicate cheek. It seemed she was a queen\nOver her
passion, who, most rebel-like,\nFought to be king o'er her.
43 KENT~O, then it moved her.
43 GENTLEMAN~Not to a rage. Patience and sorrow strove\nWho should express her
goodliest. You have seen\nSunshine and rain at once; her smiles and tears\nWere
like a better way. Those happy smilets\nThat played on her ripe lip seemed not to
know\nWhat guests were in her eyes, which parted thence\nAs pearls from diamonds
dropped. In brief,\nSorrow would be a rarity most beloved\nIf all could so become
it.
43 KENT~Made she no verbal question?
43 GENTLEMAN~Faith, once or twice she heaved the name of\n"father"\nPantingly
forth, as if it pressed her heart;\nCried "Sisters, sisters, shame of ladies,
sisters!\nKent, father, sisters! What, i' th' storm, i' th' night?\nLet pity not be
believed!" There she shook\nThe holy water from her heavenly eyes,\nAnd clamor
moistened. Then away she started,\nTo deal with grief alone.
43 KENT~It is the stars.\nThe stars above us govern our conditions,\nElse one self
mate and make could not beget\nSuch different issues. You spoke not with her\
nsince?
43 GENTLEMAN~No.
43 KENT~Was this before the King returned?
43 GENTLEMAN~No, since.
43 KENT~Well, sir, the poor distressed Lear's i' th' town,\nWho sometime in his
better tune remembers\nWhat we are come about, and by no means\nWill yield to see
his daughter.
43 GENTLEMAN~Why, good sir?
43 KENT~A sovereign shame so elbows him--his own\nunkindness,\nThat stripped her
from his benediction, turned her\nTo foreign casualties, gave her dear rights\nTo
his dog-hearted daughters--these things sting\nHis mind so venomously that burning
shame\nDetains him from Cordelia.
43 GENTLEMAN~Alack, poor gentleman!
43 KENT~Of Albany's and Cornwall's powers you heard not?
43 GENTLEMAN~'Tis so. They are afoot.
43 KENT~Well, sir, I'll bring you to our master Lear\nAnd leave you to attend him.
Some dear cause\nWill in concealment wrap me up awhile.\nWhen I am known aright,
you shall not grieve\nLending me this acquaintance. I pray you, go\nAlong with me.
44 CORDELIA~Alack, 'tis he! Why, he was met even now\nAs mad as the vexed sea,
singing aloud,\nCrowned with rank fumiter and furrow-weeds,\nWith hardocks,
hemlock, nettles, cuckooflowers,\nDarnel, and all the idle weeds that grow\nIn our
sustaining corn. A century send forth.\nSearch every acre in the high-grown field\
nAnd bring him to our eye. \nWhat can man's wisdom\nIn the restoring his
bereaved sense?\nHe that helps him take all my outward worth.
44 DOCTOR~There is means, madam.\nOur foster nurse of nature is repose,\nThe which
he lacks. That to provoke in him\nAre many simples operative, whose power\nWill
close the eye of anguish.
44 CORDELIA~All blest secrets,\nAll you unpublished virtues of the earth,\nSpring
with my tears. Be aidant and remediate\nIn the good man's distress. Seek, seek for
him,\nLest his ungoverned rage dissolve the life\nThat wants the means to lead it.
44 MESSENGER~News, madam.\nThe British powers are marching hitherward.
44 CORDELIA~'Tis known before. Our preparation stands\nIn expectation of them.--O
dear father,\nIt is thy business that I go about.\nTherefore great France\nMy
mourning and importuned tears hath pitied.\nNo blown ambition doth our arms
incite,\nBut love, dear love, and our aged father's right.\nSoon may I hear and see
him.
45 REGAN~But are my brother's powers set forth?
45 OSWALD~Ay, madam.
45 REGAN~Himself in person there?
45 OSWALD~Madam, with much ado.\nYour sister is the better soldier.
45 REGAN~Lord Edmund spake not with your lord at home?
45 OSWALD~No, madam.
45 REGAN~What might import my sister's letter to him?
45 OSWALD~I know not, lady.
45 REGAN~Faith, he is posted hence on serious matter.\nIt was great ignorance,
Gloucester's eyes being out,\nTo let him live. Where he arrives he moves\nAll
hearts against us. Edmund, I think, is gone,\nIn pity of his misery, to dispatch\
nHis nighted life; moreover to descry\nThe strength o' th' enemy.
45 OSWALD~I must needs after him, madam, with my letter.
45 REGAN~Our troops set forth tomorrow. Stay with us.\nThe ways are dangerous.
45 OSWALD~I may not, madam.\nMy lady charged my duty in this business.
45 REGAN~Why should she write to Edmund? Might not you\nTransport her purposes by
word? Belike,\nSome things--I know not what. I'll love thee much--\nLet me unseal
the letter.
45 OSWALD~Madam, I had rather--
45 REGAN~I know your lady does not love her husband;\nI am sure of that; and at her
late being here,\nShe gave strange eliads and most speaking looks\nTo noble Edmund.
I know you are of her bosom.
45 OSWALD~I, madam?
45 REGAN~I speak in understanding. Y' are; I know 't.\nTherefore I do advise you
take this note:\nMy lord is dead; Edmund and I have talked,\nAnd more convenient is
he for my hand\nThan for your lady's. You may gather more.\nIf you do find him,
pray you, give him this,\nAnd when your mistress hears thus much from you,\nI pray,
desire her call her wisdom to her.\nSo, fare you well.\nIf you do chance to hear of
that blind traitor,\nPreferment falls on him that cuts him off.
45 OSWALD~Would I could meet him, madam. I should show\nWhat party I do follow.
45 REGAN~Fare thee well.
46 GLOUCESTER~When shall I come to th' top of that same hill?
46 EDGAR~You do climb up it now. Look how we labor.
46 GLOUCESTER~Methinks the ground is even.
46 EDGAR~Horrible steep.\nHark, do you hear the sea?
46 GLOUCESTER~No, truly.
46 EDGAR~Why then, your other senses grow imperfect\nBy your eyes' anguish.
46 GLOUCESTER~So may it be indeed.\nMethinks thy voice is altered and thou
speak'st\nIn better phrase and matter than thou didst.
46 EDGAR~You're much deceived; in nothing am I changed\nBut in my garments.
46 GLOUCESTER~Methinks you're better spoken.
46 EDGAR~Come on, sir. Here's the place. Stand still. How\nfearful\nAnd dizzy 'tis
to cast one's eyes so low!\nThe crows and choughs that wing the midway air\nShow
scarce so gross as beetles. Halfway down\nHangs one that gathers samphire--dreadful
trade;\nMethinks he seems no bigger than his head.\nThe fishermen that walk upon
the beach\nAppear like mice, and yond tall anchoring bark\nDiminished to her cock,
her cock a buoy\nAlmost too small for sight. The murmuring surge\nThat on th'
unnumbered idle pebble chafes\nCannot be heard so high. I'll look no more\nLest my
brain turn and the deficient sight\nTopple down headlong.
46 GLOUCESTER~Set me where you stand.
46 EDGAR~Give me your hand. You are now within a foot\nOf th' extreme verge. For
all beneath the moon\nWould I not leap upright.
46 GLOUCESTER~Let go my hand.\nHere, friend, 's another purse; in it a jewel\nWell
worth a poor man's taking. Fairies and gods\nProsper it with thee. \nGo thou
further off.\nBid me farewell, and let me hear thee going.
46 EDGAR~\nNow fare you well, good sir.
46 GLOUCESTER~With all my heart.
46 EDGAR~\nWhy I do trifle thus with his despair\nIs done to cure it.
46 GLOUCESTER~O you mighty gods! \nThis world I do renounce, and in your sights\
nShake patiently my great affliction off.\nIf I could bear it longer, and not fall\
nTo quarrel with your great opposeless wills,\nMy snuff and loathed part of nature
should\nBurn itself out. If Edgar live, O, bless him!--\nNow, fellow, fare thee
well.
46 EDGAR~Gone, sir. Farewell.--\nAnd yet I know not how conceit may rob\nThe
treasury of life, when life itself\nYields to the theft. Had he been where he
thought,\nBy this had thought been past. Alive or dead?--\nHo you, sir! Friend,
hear you. Sir, speak.--\nThus might he pass indeed. Yet he revives.--\nWhat are
you, sir?
46 GLOUCESTER~Away, and let me die.
46 EDGAR~Hadst thou been aught but gossamer, feathers, air,\nSo many fathom down
precipitating,\nThou 'dst shivered like an egg; but thou dost\nbreathe,\nHast heavy
substance, bleed'st not, speak'st, art\nsound.\nTen masts at each make not the
altitude\nWhich thou hast perpendicularly fell.\nThy life's a miracle. Speak yet
again.
46 GLOUCESTER~But have I fall'n or no?
46 EDGAR~From the dread summit of this chalky bourn.\nLook up a-height. The shrill-
gorged lark so far\nCannot be seen or heard. Do but look up.
46 GLOUCESTER~Alack, I have no eyes.\nIs wretchedness deprived that benefit\nTo end
itself by death? 'Twas yet some comfort\nWhen misery could beguile the tyrant's
rage\nAnd frustrate his proud will.
46 EDGAR~Give me your arm.\n\nUp. So, how is 't? Feel you your legs? You stand.
46 GLOUCESTER~Too well, too well.
46 EDGAR~This is above all strangeness.\nUpon the crown o' th' cliff, what thing
was that\nWhich parted from you?
46 GLOUCESTER~A poor unfortunate beggar.
46 EDGAR~As I stood here below, methought his eyes\nWere two full moons; he had a
thousand noses,\nHorns whelked and waved like the enraged sea.\nIt was some fiend.
Therefore, thou happy father,\nThink that the clearest gods, who make them\nhonors\
nOf men's impossibilities, have preserved thee.
46 GLOUCESTER~I do remember now. Henceforth I'll bear\nAffliction till it do cry
out itself\n"Enough, enough!" and die. That thing you speak of,\nI took it for a
man. Often 'twould say\n"The fiend, the fiend!" He led me to that place.
46 EDGAR~Bear free and patient thoughts.\n\nBut who comes here?\nThe safer sense
will ne'er accommodate\nHis master thus.
46 LEAR~No, they cannot touch me for coining. I am the\nKing himself.
46 EDGAR~O, thou side-piercing sight!
46 LEAR~Nature's above art in that respect. There's your\npress-money. That fellow
handles his bow like a\ncrowkeeper. Draw me a clothier's yard. Look, look,\na
mouse! Peace, peace! This piece of toasted cheese\nwill do 't. There's my gauntlet;
I'll prove it on a\ngiant. Bring up the brown bills. O, well flown, bird!\nI' th'
clout, i' th' clout! Hewgh! Give the word.
46 EDGAR~Sweet marjoram.
46 LEAR~Pass.
46 GLOUCESTER~I know that voice.
46 LEAR~Ha! Goneril with a white beard? They flattered\nme like a dog and told me I
had the white hairs in\nmy beard ere the black ones were there. To say "ay"\nand
"no" to everything that I said "ay" and "no" to\nwas no good divinity. When the
rain came to wet me\nonce and the wind to make me chatter, when the\nthunder would
not peace at my bidding, there I\nfound 'em, there I smelt 'em out. Go to. They
are\nnot men o' their words; they told me I was everything.\n'Tis a lie. I am not
ague-proof.
46 GLOUCESTER~The trick of that voice I do well remember.\nIs 't not the King?
46 LEAR~Ay, every inch a king.\nWhen I do stare, see how the subject quakes.\nI
pardon that man's life. What was thy cause?\nAdultery? Thou shalt not die. Die for
adultery? No.\nThe wren goes to 't, and the small gilded fly does\nlecher in my
sight. Let copulation thrive, for\nGloucester's bastard son was kinder to his
father\nthan my daughters got 'tween the lawful sheets. To\n't, luxury, pell-mell,
for I lack soldiers. Behold yond\nsimp'ring dame, whose face between her forks\
npresages snow, that minces virtue and does shake\nthe head to hear of pleasure's
name. The fitchew\nnor the soiled horse goes to 't with a more riotous\nappetite.
Down from the waist they are centaurs,\nthough women all above. But to the girdle
do the\ngods inherit; beneath is all the fiend's. There's hell,\nthere's darkness,
there is the sulphurous pit; burning,\nscalding, stench, consumption! Fie, fie,
fie, pah,\npah! Give me an ounce of civet, good apothecary;\nsweeten my
imagination. There's money for thee.
46 GLOUCESTER~O, let me kiss that hand!
46 LEAR~Let me wipe it first; it smells of mortality.
46 GLOUCESTER~O ruined piece of nature! This great world\nShall so wear out to
naught. Dost thou know me?
46 LEAR~I remember thine eyes well enough. Dost thou\nsquinny at me? No, do thy
worst, blind Cupid, I'll\nnot love. Read thou this challenge. Mark but the\npenning
of it.
46 GLOUCESTER~Were all thy letters suns, I could not see.
46 EDGAR~\nI would not take this from report. It is,\nAnd my heart breaks at it.
46 LEAR~Read.
46 GLOUCESTER~What, with the case of eyes?
46 LEAR~O ho, are you there with me? No eyes in your\nhead, nor no money in your
purse? Your eyes are in\na heavy case, your purse in a light, yet you see how\nthis
world goes.
46 GLOUCESTER~I see it feelingly.
46 LEAR~What, art mad? A man may see how this world\ngoes with no eyes. Look with
thine ears. See how\nyond justice rails upon yond simple thief. Hark in\nthine ear.
Change places and, handy-dandy, which\nis the justice, which is the thief? Thou
hast seen a\nfarmer's dog bark at a beggar?
46 GLOUCESTER~Ay, sir.
46 LEAR~And the creature run from the cur? There thou\nmight'st behold the great
image of authority: a\ndog's obeyed in office.\nThou rascal beadle, hold thy bloody
hand!\nWhy dost thou lash that whore? Strip thy own back.\nThou hotly lusts to use
her in that kind\nFor which thou whipp'st her. The usurer hangs the\ncozener.\
nThrough tattered clothes small vices do appear.\nRobes and furred gowns hide all.
Plate sin with\ngold,\nAnd the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks.\nArm it in
rags, a pygmy's straw does pierce it.\nNone does offend, none, I say, none; I'll
able 'em.\nTake that of me, my friend, who have the power\nTo seal th' accuser's
lips. Get thee glass eyes,\nAnd like a scurvy politician\nSeem to see the things
thou dost not. Now, now,\nnow, now.\nPull off my boots. Harder, harder. So.
46 EDGAR~\nO, matter and impertinency mixed,\nReason in madness!
46 LEAR~If thou wilt weep my fortunes, take my eyes.\nI know thee well enough; thy
name is Gloucester.\nThou must be patient. We came crying hither;\nThou know'st the
first time that we smell the air\nWe wawl and cry. I will preach to thee. Mark.
46 GLOUCESTER~Alack, alack the day!
46 LEAR~When we are born, we cry that we are come\nTo this great stage of fools.--
This' a good block.\nIt were a delicate stratagem to shoe\nA troop of horse with
felt. I'll put 't in proof,\nAnd when I have stol'n upon these son-in-laws,\nThen
kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill!
46 GENTLEMAN~\nO, here he is. Lay hand upon\nhim.--Sir,\nYour most dear daughter--
46 LEAR~No rescue? What, a prisoner? I am even\nThe natural fool of Fortune. Use me
well.\nYou shall have ransom. Let me have surgeons;\nI am cut to th' brains.
46 GENTLEMAN~You shall have anything.
46 LEAR~No seconds? All myself?\nWhy, this would make a man a man of salt,\nTo use
his eyes for garden waterpots,\nAy, and laying autumn's dust.\nI will die bravely
like a smug bridegroom. What?\nI will be jovial. Come, come, I am a king,\nMasters,
know you that?
46 GENTLEMAN~You are a royal one, and we obey you.
46 LEAR~Then there's life in 't. Come, an you get it, you\nshall get it by running.
Sa, sa, sa, sa.
46 GENTLEMAN~A sight most pitiful in the meanest wretch,\nPast speaking of in a
king. Thou hast a daughter\nWho redeems nature from the general curse\nWhich twain
have brought her to.
46 EDGAR~Hail, gentle sir.
46 GENTLEMAN~Sir, speed you. What's your will?
46 EDGAR~Do you hear aught, sir, of a battle toward?
46 GENTLEMAN~Most sure and vulgar. Everyone hears that,\nWhich can distinguish
sound.
46 EDGAR~But, by your favor,\nHow near's the other army?
46 GENTLEMAN~Near and on speedy foot. The main descry\nStands on the hourly
thought.
46 EDGAR~I thank you, sir. That's all.
46 GENTLEMAN~Though that the Queen on special cause is here,\nHer army is moved on.
46 EDGAR~I thank you, sir.
46 GLOUCESTER~You ever-gentle gods, take my breath from me;\nLet not my worser
spirit tempt me again\nTo die before you please.
46 EDGAR~Well pray you, father.
46 GLOUCESTER~Now, good sir, what are you?
46 EDGAR~A most poor man, made tame to Fortune's blows,\nWho, by the art of known
and feeling sorrows,\nAm pregnant to good pity. Give me your hand;\nI'll lead you
to some biding.
46 GLOUCESTER~Hearty thanks.\nThe bounty and the benison of heaven\nTo boot, and
boot.
46 OSWALD~\nA proclaimed prize! Most happy!\nThat eyeless head of thine was first
framed flesh\nTo raise my fortunes. Thou old unhappy traitor,\nBriefly thyself
remember; the sword is out\nThat must destroy thee.
46 GLOUCESTER~Now let thy friendly hand\nPut strength enough to 't.
46 OSWALD~Wherefore, bold peasant,\nDar'st thou support a published traitor?
Hence,\nLest that th' infection of his fortune take\nLike hold on thee. Let go his
arm.
46 EDGAR~Chill not let go, zir, without vurther 'casion.
46 OSWALD~Let go, slave, or thou diest!
46 EDGAR~Good gentleman, go your gait, and let poor\nvolk pass. An 'chud ha' bin
zwaggered out of my\nlife, 'twould not ha' bin zo long as 'tis by a vortnight.\
nNay, come not near th' old man. Keep out,\nche vor' ye, or Ise try whether your
costard or my\nballow be the harder. Chill be plain with you.
46 OSWALD~Out, dunghill.
46 EDGAR~Chill pick your teeth, zir. Come, no matter vor\nyour foins.
46 OSWALD~\nSlave, thou hast slain me. Villain, take my purse.\nIf ever thou wilt
thrive, bury my body,\nAnd give the letters which thou find'st about me\nTo Edmund,
Earl of Gloucester. Seek him out\nUpon the English party. O, untimely death! Death!
46 EDGAR~I know thee well, a serviceable villain,\nAs duteous to the vices of thy
mistress\nAs badness would desire.
46 GLOUCESTER~What, is he dead?
46 EDGAR~Sit you down, father; rest you.\nLet's see these pockets. The letters that
he speaks of\nMay be my friends. He's dead; I am only sorry\nHe had no other
deathsman. Let us see.\n\nLeave, gentle wax, and, manners, blame us not.\nTo know
our enemies' minds, we rip their hearts.\nTheir papers is more lawful. \nLet our
reciprocal vows be remembered. You have\nmany opportunities to cut him off. If your
will want\nnot, time and place will be fruitfully offered. There is\nnothing done
if he return the conqueror. Then am I\nthe prisoner, and his bed my jail, from the
loathed\nwarmth whereof deliver me and supply the place for\nyour labor.\n Your
(wife, so I would say) affectionate servant,\nand, for you, her own for venture,
Goneril.\nO indistinguished space of woman's will!\nA plot upon her virtuous
husband's life,\nAnd the exchange my brother.--Here, in the sands\nThee I'll rake
up, the post unsanctified\nOf murderous lechers; and in the mature time\nWith this
ungracious paper strike the sight\nOf the death-practiced duke. For him 'tis well\
nThat of thy death and business I can tell.
46 GLOUCESTER~The King is mad. How stiff is my vile sense\nThat I stand up and have
ingenious feeling\nOf my huge sorrows! Better I were distract.\nSo should my
thoughts be severed from my griefs,\nAnd woes, by wrong imaginations, lose\nThe
knowledge of themselves.
46 EDGAR~Give me your hand.\nFar off methinks I hear the beaten drum.\nCome,
father, I'll bestow you with a friend.
47 CORDELIA~O, thou good Kent, how shall I live and work\nTo match thy goodness? My
life will be too short,\nAnd every measure fail me.
47 KENT~To be acknowledged, madam, is o'erpaid.\nAll my reports go with the modest
truth,\nNor more, nor clipped, but so.
47 CORDELIA~Be better suited.\nThese weeds are memories of those worser hours.\nI
prithee put them off.
47 KENT~Pardon, dear madam.\nYet to be known shortens my made intent.\nMy boon I
make it that you know me not\nTill time and I think meet.
47 CORDELIA~Then be 't so, my good lord.--How does the King?
47 DOCTOR~Madam, sleeps still.
47 CORDELIA~O, you kind gods,\nCure this great breach in his abused nature!\nTh'
untuned and jarring senses, O, wind up,\nOf this child-changed father!
47 DOCTOR~So please your Majesty\nThat we may wake the King? He hath slept\nlong.
47 CORDELIA~Be governed by your knowledge, and proceed\nI' th' sway of your own
will. Is he arrayed?
47 GENTLEMAN~Ay, madam. In the heaviness of sleep,\nWe put fresh garments on him.
47 DOCTOR~Be by, good madam, when we do awake him.\nI doubt not of his temperance.
47 CORDELIA~Very well.
47 DOCTOR~Please you, draw near.--Louder the music there.
47 CORDELIA~\nO, my dear father, restoration hang\nThy medicine on my lips, and let
this kiss\nRepair those violent harms that my two sisters\nHave in thy reverence
made.
47 KENT~Kind and dear princess.
47 CORDELIA~Had you not been their father, these white flakes\nDid challenge pity
of them. Was this a face\nTo be opposed against the jarring winds?\nTo stand
against the deep dread-bolted thunder,\nIn the most terrible and nimble stroke\nOf
quick cross-lightning? To watch, poor perdu,\nWith this thin helm? Mine enemy's
dog,\nThough he had bit me, should have stood that night\nAgainst my fire. And wast
thou fain, poor father,\nTo hovel thee with swine and rogues forlorn\nIn short and
musty straw? Alack, alack,\n'Tis wonder that thy life and wits at once\nHad not
concluded all.--He wakes. Speak to him.
47 DOCTOR~Madam, do you; 'tis fittest.
47 CORDELIA~How does my royal lord? How fares your Majesty?
47 LEAR~You do me wrong to take me out o' th' grave.\nThou art a soul in bliss, but
I am bound\nUpon a wheel of fire, that mine own tears\nDo scald like molten lead.
47 CORDELIA~Sir, do you know me?
47 LEAR~You are a spirit, I know. Where did you die?
47 CORDELIA~Still, still, far wide.
47 DOCTOR~He's scarce awake. Let him alone awhile.
47 LEAR~Where have I been? Where am I? Fair daylight?\nI am mightily abused; I
should e'en die with pity\nTo see another thus. I know not what to say.\nI will not
swear these are my hands. Let's see.\nI feel this pinprick. Would I were assured\
nOf my condition!
47 CORDELIA~O, look upon me, sir,\nAnd hold your hand in benediction o'er me.\nNo,
sir, you must not kneel.
47 LEAR~Pray do not mock:\nI am a very foolish fond old man,\nFourscore and upward,
not an hour more nor less,\nAnd to deal plainly,\nI fear I am not in my perfect
mind.\nMethinks I should know you and know this man,\nYet I am doubtful, for I am
mainly ignorant\nWhat place this is, and all the skill I have\nRemembers not these
garments; nor I know not\nWhere I did lodge last night. Do not laugh at me,\nFor,
as I am a man, I think this lady\nTo be my child Cordelia.
47 CORDELIA~ And so I am; I am.
47 LEAR~Be your tears wet? Yes, faith. I pray, weep not.\nIf you have poison for
me, I will drink it.\nI know you do not love me, for your sisters\nHave, as I do
remember, done me wrong.\nYou have some cause; they have not.
47 CORDELIA~No cause, no\ncause.
47 LEAR~Am I in France?
47 KENT~In your own kingdom, sir.
47 LEAR~Do not abuse me.
47 DOCTOR~Be comforted, good madam. The great rage,\nYou see, is killed in him, and
yet it is danger\nTo make him even o'er the time he has lost.\nDesire him to go in.
Trouble him no more\nTill further settling.
47 CORDELIA~Will 't please your Highness walk?
47 LEAR~You must bear with me.\nPray you now, forget, and forgive. I am old and\
nfoolish.
47 GENTLEMAN~Holds it true, sir, that the Duke of Cornwall\nwas so slain?
47 KENT~Most certain, sir.
47 GENTLEMAN~Who is conductor of his people?
47 KENT~As 'tis said, the bastard son of Gloucester.
47 GENTLEMAN~They say Edgar, his banished son, is with\nthe Earl of Kent in
Germany.
47 KENT~Report is changeable. 'Tis time to look about.\nThe powers of the kingdom
approach apace.
47 GENTLEMAN~The arbitrament is like to be bloody. Fare\nyou well, sir.
47 KENT~My point and period will be throughly wrought,\nOr well, or ill, as this
day's battle's fought.
51 EDMUND~\nKnow of the Duke if his last purpose hold,\nOr whether since he is
advised by aught\nTo change the course. He's full of alteration\nAnd self-
reproving. Bring his constant pleasure.
51 REGAN~Our sister's man is certainly miscarried.
51 EDMUND~'Tis to be doubted, madam.
51 REGAN~Now, sweet lord,\nYou know the goodness I intend upon you;\nTell me but
truly, but then speak the truth,\nDo you not love my sister?
51 EDMUND~In honored love.
51 REGAN~But have you never found my brother's way\nTo the forfended place?
51 EDMUND~That thought abuses you.
51 REGAN~I am doubtful that you have been conjunct\nAnd bosomed with her as far as
we call hers.
51 EDMUND~No, by mine honor, madam.
51 REGAN~I never shall endure her. Dear my lord,\nBe not familiar with her.
51 EDMUND~Fear me not. She and the Duke, her husband.
51 GONERIL~\nI had rather lose the battle than that sister\nShould loosen him and
me.
51 ALBANY~Our very loving sister, well bemet.--\nSir, this I heard: the King is
come to his daughter,\nWith others whom the rigor of our state\nForced to cry out.
Where I could not be honest,\nI never yet was valiant. For this business,\nIt
touches us as France invades our land,\nNot bolds the King, with others whom, I
fear,\nMost just and heavy causes make oppose.
51 EDMUND~Sir, you speak nobly.
51 REGAN~Why is this reasoned?
51 GONERIL~Combine together 'gainst the enemy,\nFor these domestic and particular
broils\nAre not the question here.
51 ALBANY~Let's then determine\nWith th' ancient of war on our proceeding.
51 EDMUND~I shall attend you presently at your tent.
51 REGAN~Sister, you'll go with us?
51 GONERIL~No.
51 REGAN~'Tis most convenient. Pray, go with us.
51 GONERIL~\nOho, I know the riddle.--I will go.\n
51 EDGAR~\nIf e'er your Grace had speech with man so poor,\nHear me one word.
51 ALBANY~\nI'll overtake you.--Speak.
51 EDGAR~\nBefore you fight the battle, ope this letter.\nIf you have victory, let
the trumpet sound\nFor him that brought it. Wretched though I seem,\nI can produce
a champion that will prove\nWhat is avouched there. If you miscarry,\nYour business
of the world hath so an end,\nAnd machination ceases. Fortune love you.
51 ALBANY~Stay till I have read the letter.
51 EDGAR~I was forbid it.\nWhen time shall serve, let but the herald cry\nAnd I'll
appear again.
51 ALBANY~Why, fare thee well. I will o'erlook thy paper.
51 EDMUND~The enemy's in view. Draw up your powers.\n\nHere is the guess of their
true strength and forces\nBy diligent discovery. But your haste\nIs now urged on
you.
51 ALBANY~We will greet the time.
51 EDMUND~To both these sisters have I sworn my love,\nEach jealous of the other as
the stung\nAre of the adder. Which of them shall I take?\nBoth? One? Or neither?
Neither can be enjoyed\nIf both remain alive. To take the widow\nExasperates, makes
mad her sister Goneril,\nAnd hardly shall I carry out my side,\nHer husband being
alive. Now, then, we'll use\nHis countenance for the battle, which, being done,\
nLet her who would be rid of him devise\nHis speedy taking off. As for the mercy\
nWhich he intends to Lear and to Cordelia,\nThe battle done and they within our
power,\nShall never see his pardon, for my state\nStands on me to defend, not to
debate.
52 EDGAR~Here, father, take the shadow of this tree\nFor your good host. Pray that
the right may thrive.\nIf ever I return to you again,\nI'll bring you comfort.
52 GLOUCESTER~Grace go with you, sir.\n\n
52 EDGAR~Away, old man. Give me thy hand. Away.\nKing Lear hath lost, he and his
daughter ta'en.\nGive me thy hand. Come on.
52 GLOUCESTER~No further, sir. A man may rot even here.
52 EDGAR~What, in ill thoughts again? Men must endure\nTheir going hence even as
their coming hither.\nRipeness is all. Come on.
52 GLOUCESTER~And that's true too.
53 EDMUND~Some officers take them away. Good guard\nUntil their greater pleasures
first be known\nThat are to censure them.
53 CORDELIA~ We are not the first\nWho with best meaning have incurred the worst.\
nFor thee, oppressed king, I am cast down.\nMyself could else outfrown false
Fortune's frown.\nShall we not see these daughters and these sisters?
53 LEAR~No, no, no, no. Come, let's away to prison.\nWe two alone will sing like
birds i' th' cage.\nWhen thou dost ask me blessing, I'll kneel down\nAnd ask of
thee forgiveness. So we'll live,\nAnd pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and
laugh\nAt gilded butterflies, and hear poor rogues\nTalk of court news, and we'll
talk with them too--\nWho loses and who wins; who's in, who's out--\nAnd take upon
's the mystery of things,\nAs if we were God's spies. And we'll wear out,\nIn a
walled prison, packs and sects of great ones\nThat ebb and flow by th' moon.
53 EDMUND~Take them away.
53 LEAR~Upon such sacrifices, my Cordelia,\nThe gods themselves throw incense. Have
I caught\nthee?\nHe that parts us shall bring a brand from heaven\nAnd fire us
hence like foxes. Wipe thine eyes.\nThe good years shall devour them, flesh and
fell,\nEre they shall make us weep. We'll see 'em starved\nfirst.\nCome.
53 EDMUND~Come hither, captain. Hark.\n\nTake thou this note. Go follow them to
prison.\nOne step I have advanced thee. If thou dost\nAs this instructs thee, thou
dost make thy way\nTo noble fortunes. Know thou this: that men\nAre as the time is;
to be tender-minded\nDoes not become a sword. Thy great employment\nWill not bear
question. Either say thou 'lt do 't,\nOr thrive by other means.\nCAPTAIN I'll do
't, my lord.
53 EDMUND~About it, and write "happy" when th' hast done.\nMark, I say, instantly,
and carry it so\nAs I have set it down.\nCAPTAIN\nI cannot draw a cart, nor eat
dried oats.\nIf it be man's work, I'll do 't.
53 ALBANY~\nSir, you have showed today your valiant strain,\nAnd Fortune led you
well. You have the captives\nWho were the opposites of this day's strife.\nI do
require them of you, so to use them\nAs we shall find their merits and our safety\
nMay equally determine.
53 EDMUND~Sir, I thought it fit\nTo send the old and miserable king\nTo some
retention and appointed guard,\nWhose age had charms in it, whose title more,\nTo
pluck the common bosom on his side\nAnd turn our impressed lances in our eyes,\
nWhich do command them. With him I sent the\nQueen,\nMy reason all the same, and
they are ready\nTomorrow, or at further space, t' appear\nWhere you shall hold your
session. At this time\nWe sweat and bleed. The friend hath lost his friend,\nAnd
the best quarrels in the heat are cursed\nBy those that feel their sharpness.\nThe
question of Cordelia and her father\nRequires a fitter place.
53 ALBANY~Sir, by your patience,\nI hold you but a subject of this war,\nNot as a
brother.
53 REGAN~That's as we list to grace him.\nMethinks our pleasure might have been
demanded\nEre you had spoke so far. He led our powers,\nBore the commission of my
place and person,\nThe which immediacy may well stand up\nAnd call itself your
brother.
53 GONERIL~Not so hot.\nIn his own grace he doth exalt himself\nMore than in your
addition.
53 REGAN~In my rights,\nBy me invested, he compeers the best.
53 GONERIL~That were the most if he should husband you.
53 REGAN~Jesters do oft prove prophets.
53 GONERIL~Holla, holla!\nThat eye that told you so looked but asquint.
53 REGAN~Lady, I am not well, else I should answer\nFrom a full-flowing stomach. \
nGeneral,\nTake thou my soldiers, prisoners, patrimony.\nDispose of them, of me;
the walls is thine.\nWitness the world that I create thee here\nMy lord and master.
53 GONERIL~Mean you to enjoy him?
53 ALBANY~The let-alone lies not in your goodwill.
53 EDMUND~Nor in thine, lord.
53 ALBANY~Half-blooded fellow, yes.
53 REGAN~\nLet the drum strike, and prove my title thine.
53 ALBANY~Stay yet, hear reason.--Edmund, I arrest thee\nOn capital treason; and,
in thine attaint,\nThis gilded serpent.--For your claim, fair\nsister,\nI bar it in
the interest of my wife.\n'Tis she is subcontracted to this lord,\nAnd I, her
husband, contradict your banns.\nIf you will marry, make your loves to me.\nMy lady
is bespoke.
53 GONERIL~An interlude!
53 ALBANY~Thou art armed, Gloucester. Let the trumpet sound.\nIf none appear to
prove upon thy person\nThy heinous, manifest, and many treasons,\nThere is my
pledge. \nI'll make it on thy heart,\nEre I taste bread, thou art in nothing
less\nThan I have here proclaimed thee.
53 REGAN~Sick, O, sick!
53 GONERIL~ If not, I'll ne'er trust medicine.
53 EDMUND~There's my exchange. \nWhat in the world he is\nThat names me
traitor, villain-like he lies.\nCall by the trumpet. He that dares approach,\nOn
him, on you, who not, I will maintain\nMy truth and honor firmly.
53 ALBANY~A herald, ho!
53 EDMUND~A herald, ho, a herald!
53 ALBANY~Trust to thy single virtue, for thy soldiers,\nAll levied in my name,
have in my name\nTook their discharge.
53 REGAN~My sickness grows upon me.
53 ALBANY~She is not well. Convey her to my tent.\n\n\nCome hither, herald. Let the
trumpet sound,\nAnd read out this. \nCAPTAIN Sound, trumpet!
53 HERALD~\nIf any man of quality or degree, within the lists of the\narmy, will
maintain upon Edmund, supposed Earl of\nGloucester, that he is a manifold traitor,
let him\nappear by the third sound of the trumpet. He is bold in\nhis defense.
53 HERALD~Again!
53 HERALD~Again! \n
53 ALBANY~\nAsk him his purposes, why he appears\nUpon this call o' th' trumpet.
53 HERALD~What are you?\nYour name, your quality, and why you answer\nThis present
summons?
53 EDGAR~Know my name is lost,\nBy treason's tooth bare-gnawn and canker-bit.\nYet
am I noble as the adversary\nI come to cope.
53 ALBANY~Which is that adversary?
53 EDGAR~What's he that speaks for Edmund, Earl of\nGloucester?
53 EDMUND~Himself. What sayest thou to him?
53 EDGAR~Draw thy sword,\nThat if my speech offend a noble heart,\nThy arm may do
thee justice. Here is mine.\n\nBehold, it is my privilege, the privilege of mine\
nhonors,\nMy oath, and my profession. I protest,\nMaugre thy strength, place,
youth, and eminence,\nDespite thy victor-sword and fire-new fortune,\nThy valor,
and thy heart, thou art a traitor,\nFalse to thy gods, thy brother, and thy
father,\nConspirant 'gainst this high illustrious prince,\nAnd from th' extremest
upward of thy head\nTo the descent and dust below thy foot,\nA most toad-spotted
traitor. Say thou "no,"\nThis sword, this arm, and my best spirits are bent\nTo
prove upon thy heart, whereto I speak,\nThou liest.
53 EDMUND~In wisdom I should ask thy name,\nBut since thy outside looks so fair and
warlike,\nAnd that thy tongue some say of breeding breathes,\nWhat safe and nicely
I might well delay\nBy rule of knighthood, I disdain and spurn.\nBack do I toss
these treasons to thy head,\nWith the hell-hated lie o'erwhelm thy heart,\nWhich,
for they yet glance by and scarcely bruise,\nThis sword of mine shall give them
instant way,\nWhere they shall rest forever. Trumpets, speak!\n
53 ALBANY~\nSave him, save him!
53 GONERIL~This is practice, Gloucester.\nBy th' law of war, thou wast not bound to
answer\nAn unknown opposite. Thou art not vanquished,\nBut cozened and beguiled.
53 ALBANY~Shut your mouth, dame,\nOr with this paper shall I stopple it.--Hold,
sir.--\nThou worse than any name, read thine own evil.\nNo tearing, lady. I
perceive you know it.
53 GONERIL~Say if I do; the laws are mine, not thine.\nWho can arraign me for 't?
53 ALBANY~Most monstrous! O!\nKnow'st thou this paper?
53 GONERIL~Ask me not what I know.
53 ALBANY~Go after her, she's desperate. Govern her.
53 EDMUND~\nWhat you have charged me with, that have I done,\nAnd more, much more.
The time will bring it out.\n'Tis past, and so am I. But what art thou\nThat hast
this fortune on me? If thou 'rt noble,\nI do forgive thee.
53 EDGAR~Let's exchange charity.\nI am no less in blood than thou art, Edmund;\nIf
more, the more th' hast wronged me.\nMy name is Edgar and thy father's son.\nThe
gods are just, and of our pleasant vices\nMake instruments to plague us.\nThe dark
and vicious place where thee he got\nCost him his eyes.
53 EDMUND~Th' hast spoken right. 'Tis true.\nThe wheel is come full circle; I am
here.
53 ALBANY~\nMethought thy very gait did prophesy\nA royal nobleness. I must embrace
thee.\nLet sorrow split my heart if ever I\nDid hate thee or thy father!
53 EDGAR~Worthy prince, I know 't.
53 ALBANY~Where have you hid yourself?\nHow have you known the miseries of your
father?
53 EDGAR~By nursing them, my lord. List a brief tale,\nAnd when 'tis told, O, that
my heart would burst!\nThe bloody proclamation to escape\nThat followed me so
near--O, our lives' sweetness,\nThat we the pain of death would hourly die\nRather
than die at once!--taught me to shift\nInto a madman's rags, t' assume a semblance\
nThat very dogs disdained, and in this habit\nMet I my father with his bleeding
rings,\nTheir precious stones new lost; became his guide,\nLed him, begged for him,
saved him from despair.\nNever--O fault!--revealed myself unto him\nUntil some half
hour past, when I was armed.\nNot sure, though hoping of this good success,\nI
asked his blessing, and from first to last\nTold him our pilgrimage. But his flawed
heart\n(Alack, too weak the conflict to support)\n'Twixt two extremes of passion,
joy and grief,\nBurst smilingly.
53 EDMUND~This speech of yours hath moved me,\nAnd shall perchance do good. But
speak you on.\nYou look as you had something more to say.
53 ALBANY~If there be more, more woeful, hold it in,\nFor I am almost ready to
dissolve,\nHearing of this.
53 EDGAR~This would have seemed a period\nTo such as love not sorrow; but another,\
nTo amplify too much, would make much more\nAnd top extremity. Whilst I\nWas big in
clamor, came there in a man\nWho, having seen me in my worst estate,\nShunned my
abhorred society; but then, finding\nWho 'twas that so endured, with his strong
arms\nHe fastened on my neck and bellowed out\nAs he'd burst heaven, threw him on
my father,\nTold the most piteous tale of Lear and him\nThat ever ear received,
which, in recounting,\nHis grief grew puissant, and the strings of life\nBegan to
crack. Twice then the trumpets sounded,\nAnd there I left him tranced.
53 ALBANY~But who was this?
53 EDGAR~Kent, sir, the banished Kent, who in disguise\nFollowed his enemy king and
did him service\nImproper for a slave.
53 GENTLEMAN~Help, help, O, help!
53 EDGAR~What kind of help?
53 ALBANY~ Speak, man!
53 EDGAR~What means this bloody knife?
53 GENTLEMAN~'Tis hot, it smokes! It came even from the heart\nOf--O, she's dead!
53 ALBANY~Who dead? Speak, man.
53 GENTLEMAN~Your lady, sir, your lady. And her sister\nBy her is poisoned. She
confesses it.
53 EDMUND~I was contracted to them both. All three\nNow marry in an instant.
53 EDGAR~Here comes Kent.
53 ALBANY~\nProduce the bodies, be they alive or dead.\n\nThis judgment of the
heavens, that makes us\ntremble,\nTouches us not with pity. O, is this he?\n The
time will not allow the compliment\nWhich very manners urges.
53 KENT~I am come\nTo bid my king and master aye goodnight.\nIs he not here?
53 ALBANY~Great thing of us forgot!\nSpeak, Edmund, where's the King? And where's\
nCordelia?\n\nSeest thou this object, Kent?
53 KENT~Alack, why thus?
53 EDMUND~Yet Edmund was beloved.\nThe one the other poisoned for my sake,\nAnd
after slew herself.
53 ALBANY~Even so.--Cover their faces.
53 EDMUND~I pant for life. Some good I mean to do\nDespite of mine own nature.
Quickly send--\nBe brief in it--to th' castle, for my writ\nIs on the life of Lear,
and on Cordelia.\nNay, send in time.
53 ALBANY~Run, run, O, run!
53 EDGAR~To who, my lord? Who has the office?\nSend\nThy token of reprieve.
53 EDMUND~Well thought on. Take my sword. Give it the\nCaptain.
53 EDGAR~ Haste thee for thy life.
53 EDMUND~\nHe hath commission from thy wife and me\nTo hang Cordelia in the
prison, and\nTo lay the blame upon her own despair,\nThat she fordid herself.
53 ALBANY~The gods defend her!--Bear him hence awhile.\n
53 LEAR~Howl, howl, howl! O, you are men of stones!\nHad I your tongues and eyes,
I'd use them so\nThat heaven's vault should crack. She's gone\nforever.\nI know
when one is dead and when one lives.\nShe's dead as earth.--Lend me a looking
glass.\nIf that her breath will mist or stain the stone,\nWhy, then she lives.
53 KENT~Is this the promised end?
53 EDGAR~Or image of that horror?
53 ALBANY~Fall and cease.
53 LEAR~This feather stirs. She lives. If it be so,\nIt is a chance which does
redeem all sorrows\nThat ever I have felt.
53 KENT~O, my good master--
53 LEAR~Prithee, away.
53 EDGAR~'Tis noble Kent, your friend.
53 LEAR~A plague upon you, murderers, traitors all!\nI might have saved her. Now
she's gone forever.--\nCordelia, Cordelia, stay a little. Ha!\nWhat is 't thou
sayst?--Her voice was ever soft,\nGentle, and low, an excellent thing in woman.\nI
killed the slave that was a-hanging thee.
53 GENTLEMAN~'Tis true, my lords, he did.
53 LEAR~Did I not, fellow?\nI have seen the day, with my good biting falchion\nI
would have made him skip. I am old now,\nAnd these same crosses spoil me. Who\nare
you?\nMine eyes are not o' th' best. I'll tell you straight.
53 KENT~If Fortune brag of two she loved and hated,\nOne of them we behold.
53 LEAR~This is a dull sight. Are you not Kent?
53 KENT~The same,\nYour servant Kent. Where is your servant Caius?
53 LEAR~He's a good fellow, I can tell you that.\nHe'll strike and quickly too.
He's dead and rotten.
53 KENT~No, my good lord, I am the very man--
53 LEAR~I'll see that straight.
53 KENT~That from your first of difference and decay\nHave followed your sad steps.
53 LEAR~You are welcome\nhither.
53 KENT~Nor no man else. All's cheerless, dark, and deadly.\nYour eldest daughters
have fordone themselves,\nAnd desperately are dead.
53 LEAR~Ay, so I think.
53 ALBANY~He knows not what he says, and vain is it\nThat we present us to him.
53 EDGAR~Very bootless.
53 MESSENGER~Edmund is dead, my lord.
53 ALBANY~That's but a trifle here.--\nYou lords and noble friends, know our
intent:\nWhat comfort to this great decay may come\nShall be applied. For us, we
will resign,\nDuring the life of this old Majesty,\nTo him our absolute power; you
to your rights,\nWith boot and such addition as your Honors\nHave more than
merited. All friends shall taste\nThe wages of their virtue, and all foes\nThe cup
of their deservings. O, see, see!
53 LEAR~And my poor fool is hanged. No, no, no life?\nWhy should a dog, a horse, a
rat have life,\nAnd thou no breath at all? Thou 'lt come no more,\nNever, never,
never, never, never.--\nPray you undo this button. Thank you, sir.\nDo you see
this? Look on her, look, her lips,\nLook there, look there!
53 EDGAR~He faints. My lord,\nmy lord!
53 KENT~Break, heart, I prithee, break!
53 EDGAR~Look up, my lord.
53 KENT~Vex not his ghost. O, let him pass! He hates him\nThat would upon the rack
of this tough world\nStretch him out longer.
53 EDGAR~He is gone indeed.
53 KENT~The wonder is he hath endured so long.\nHe but usurped his life.
53 ALBANY~Bear them from hence. Our present business\nIs general woe. Friends of
my\nsoul, you twain\nRule in this realm, and the gored state sustain.
53 KENT~I have a journey, sir, shortly to go;\nMy master calls me. I must not say
no.
53 EDGAR~The weight of this sad time we must obey,\nSpeak what we feel, not what we
ought to say.\nThe oldest hath borne most; we that are young\nShall never see so
much nor live so long.