King Lear

Act 1 Scene 1

running scene 1

Enter Kent, Gloucester and Edmund

KENT I thought the king had more affected¹ the Duke of

Albany than Cornwall.

GLOUCESTER It did always seem so to us: but now in the division

of the kingdom it appears not which of the dukes he values

most, for qualities are so weighed that curiosity in neither⁵

can make choice of either’s moiety.

KENT Is not this your son, my lord?

GLOUCESTER His breeding⁸, sir, hath been at my charge. I have so

often blushed to acknowledge him that now I am brazed⁹ to’t.

KENT I cannot conceive¹⁰ you.

GLOUCESTER Sir, this young fellow’s mother could; whereupon

she grew round-wombed and had indeed, sir, a son for her

cradle ere¹³ she had a husband for her bed. Do you smell a

fault¹⁴?

KENT I cannot wish the fault undone¹⁵, the issue of it being

so proper¹⁶.

GLOUCESTER But I have a son, sir, by order of law, some¹⁷ year elder

than this, who yet is no dearer in my account¹⁸, though this

knave came something saucily to the world before he was

sent for: yet was his mother fair, there was good sport at his

making and the whoreson²¹ must be acknowledged.— Do you

know this noble gentleman, Edmund?

EDMUND No, my lord.

GLOUCESTER My lord of Kent: remember him hereafter as my

honourable friend.

EDMUND My services to your lordship.

KENT I must love you, and sue²⁷ to know you better.

EDMUND Sir, I shall study deserving²⁸.

GLOUCESTER He hath been out²⁹ nine years, and away he shall

again. The king is coming.

Sennet. Enter [one bearing a coronet, then] King Lear, Cornwall, Albany, Goneril, Regan, Cordelia and Attendants

LEAR Attend³¹ the lords of France and Burgundy,

Gloucester.

GLOUCESTER I shall, my lord.

Exit

LEAR Meantime we shall express our darker³⁴ purpose.

Give me the map there.

Kent or an Attendant gives Lear a map

Know that we have divided

In three our kingdom, and ’tis our fast intent³⁶

To shake all cares and business³⁷ from our age,

Conferring them on younger strengths while we

Unburdened crawl toward death. Our son³⁹ of Cornwall,

And you our no less loving son of Albany,

We have this hour a constant will to publish⁴¹

Our daughters’ several dowers, that⁴² future strife

May be prevented now. The princes, France and Burgundy,

Great rivals in our youngest daughter’s love,

Long in our court have made their amorous sojourn⁴⁵

And here are to be answered. Tell me, my daughters —

Since now we will divest us both of rule,

Interest⁴⁸ of territory, cares of state —

Which of you shall we say doth love us most,

That we our largest bounty⁵⁰ may extend

Where nature doth with merit challenge⁵¹? Goneril,

Our eldest born, speak first.

GONERIL Sir, I love you more than word can wield⁵³ the matter,

Dearer than eyesight, space and liberty,

Beyond what can be valued rich or rare,

No less than life, with grace⁵⁶, health, beauty, honour:

As much as child e’er loved or father found:

A love that makes breath poor and speech unable⁵⁸:

Beyond all manner of so much⁵⁹ I love you.

Aside

CORDELIA What shall Cordelia speak? Love and be silent.

Points to the map

LEAR Of all these bounds⁶¹, even from this line to this,

With shadowy forests and with champaigns riched⁶²,

With plenteous rivers and wide-skirted meads⁶³,

We make thee lady. To thine and Albany’s issues

Be this perpetual.— What says our second daughter?

Our dearest Regan, wife of Cornwall?

REGAN I am made of that self-mettle⁶⁷ as my sister,

And prize me at her worth⁶⁸. In my true heart,

I find she names my very deed⁶⁹ of love:

Only she comes too short, that⁷⁰ I profess

Myself an enemy to all other joys

Which the most precious square of sense⁷² professes,

And find I am alone felicitate⁷³

In your dear highness’ love.

Aside

CORDELIA Then poor Cordelia:

And yet not so, since I am sure my love’s

More ponderous⁷⁷ than my tongue.

LEAR To thee and thine hereditary⁷⁸ ever

Remain this ample third of our fair kingdom,

No less in space, validity⁸⁰ and pleasure

To Cordelia

Than that conferred on Goneril.— Now, our joy,

Although our last and least, to whose young love

The vines of France and milk of Burgundy⁸³

Strive to be interessed, what can you say to draw⁸⁴

A third more opulent than your sisters’? Speak.

CORDELIA Nothing, my lord.

LEAR Nothing?

CORDELIA Nothing.

LEAR Nothing will come of nothing: speak again.

CORDELIA Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave

My heart into my mouth: I love your majesty

According to my bond⁹², no more nor less.

LEAR How, how, Cordelia? Mend⁹³ your speech a little,

Lest you may mar⁹⁴ your fortunes.

CORDELIA Good my lord,

You have begot me, bred⁹⁶ me, loved me:

I return those duties back as are right fit,

Obey you, love you and most honour you.

Why have my sisters husbands if they say

They love you all? Happily when I shall wed,

That lord whose hand must take my plight¹⁰¹ shall carry

Half my love with him, half my care and duty:

Sure I shall never marry like my sisters.

LEAR But goes thy heart with this?

CORDELIA Ay, my good lord.

LEAR So young and so untender¹⁰⁶?

CORDELIA So young, my lord, and true.

LEAR Let it be so: thy truth then be thy dower,

For by the sacred radiance of the sun,

The mysteries of Hecate¹¹⁰ and the night,

By all the operation of the orbs¹¹¹

From whom we do exist and cease to be,

Here I disclaim all my paternal care,

Propinquity and property of blood¹¹⁴,

And as a stranger to my heart and me

Hold thee from this for ever. The barbarous Scythian¹¹⁶,

Or he that makes his generation messes¹¹⁷

To gorge his appetite, shall to my bosom

Be as well neighboured¹¹⁹, pitied and relieved

As thou my sometime¹²⁰ daughter.

KENT Good my liege¹²¹—

LEAR Peace, Kent:

Come not between the dragon and his wrath.

I loved her most, and thought to set my rest¹²⁴

To Cordelia

On her kind nursery.— Hence, and avoid¹²⁵ my sight!—

So be my grave my peace, as here I give

Her father’s heart from her. Call France. Who stirs?¹²⁷

Call Burgundy.— Cornwall and Albany,

[Exit Attendant]

With my two daughters’ dowers digest¹²⁹ the third.

Let pride, which she calls plainness, marry her¹³⁰.

I do invest you jointly with my power,

Pre-eminence, and all the large effects¹³²

That troop with¹³³ majesty. Ourself by monthly course,

With reservation of¹³⁴ an hundred knights

By you to be sustained¹³⁵, shall our abode

Make with you by due turn: only we shall retain

The name and all th’addition to a king: the sway¹³⁷,

Revenue, execution of the rest,

Belovèd sons, be yours, which to confirm,

This coronet part between you.

Gives them coronet to break in half

KENT Royal Lear,

Whom I have ever honoured as my king,

Loved as my father, as my master followed,

As my great patron thought on in my prayers—

LEAR The bow is bent and drawn, make from the shaft¹⁴⁵.

KENT Let it fall rather, though the fork¹⁴⁶ invade

The region of my heart: be Kent unmannerly

When Lear is mad. What wouldst thou¹⁴⁸ do, old man?

Think’st thou that duty shall have dread to speak

When power to flattery bows? To plainness honour’s bound

When majesty falls to folly. Reserve thy state¹⁵¹,

And in thy best consideration¹⁵² check

This hideous rashness. Answer my life my judgement¹⁵³:

Thy youngest daughter does not love thee least,

Nor are those empty-hearted whose low sounds

Reverb no hollowness¹⁵⁶.

LEAR Kent, on thy life, no more.

KENT My life I never held but as pawn¹⁵⁸

To wage¹⁵⁹ against thine enemies, ne’er fear to lose it,

Thy safety being motive.

LEAR Out of my sight!

KENT See better, Lear, and let me still remain

The true blank¹⁶³ of thine eye.

LEAR Now, by Apollo¹⁶⁴—

KENT Now, by Apollo, king,

Thou swear’st thy gods in vain.

LEAR O, vassal! Miscreant¹⁶⁷!

Puts his hand on his sword or attacks Kent

ALBANY AND CORDELIA Dear sir, forbear¹⁶⁸.

KENT Kill thy physician, and thy fee bestow¹⁶⁹

Upon the foul disease¹⁷⁰. Revoke thy gift,

Or whilst I can vent clamour from my throat,

I’ll tell thee thou dost evil.

LEAR Hear me, recreant¹⁷³, on thine allegiance hear me!

That¹⁷⁴ thou hast sought to make us break our vows,

Which we durst never yet, and with strained¹⁷⁵ pride

To come betwixt our sentences¹⁷⁶ and our power,

Which nor our nature nor our place¹⁷⁷ can bear,

Our potency made good¹⁷⁸, take thy reward:

Five days we do allot thee for provision

To shield thee from disasters¹⁸⁰ of the world,

And on the sixth to turn thy hated back

Upon our kingdom: if on the next day following

Thy banished trunk¹⁸³ be found in our dominions,

The moment is thy death. Away! By Jupiter¹⁸⁴,

This shall not be revoked.

KENT Fare thee well, king: sith¹⁸⁶ thus thou wilt appear,

Freedom lives hence and banishment is here.—

To Cordelia

The gods to their dear shelter take thee, maid,

That justly think’st, and hast most rightly said.—

To Goneril and Regan

And your large speeches may your deeds approve¹⁹⁰,

That good effects may spring from words of love.

Thus Kent, O princes, bids you all adieu.

He’ll shape his old course¹⁹³ in a country new.

Exit

Flourish. Enter Gloucester with France and Burgundy, Attendants

CORDELIA Here’s France and Burgundy, my noble lord.

LEAR My lord of Burgundy,

We first address toward you, who with this king

Hath rivalled for our daughter: what in the least¹⁹⁷

Will you require in present dower¹⁹⁸ with her,

Or cease your quest of love?

BURGUNDY Most royal majesty,

I crave no more than hath your highness offered,

Nor will you tender²⁰² less.

LEAR Right noble Burgundy,

When she was dear to us, we did hold her so²⁰⁴,

But now her price is fallen. Sir, there she stands:

If aught within that little seeming substance²⁰⁶,

Or all of it, with our displeasure pieced²⁰⁷,

And nothing more, may fitly like²⁰⁸ your grace,

She’s there, and she is yours.

BURGUNDY I know no answer.

LEAR Will you, with those infirmities she owes²¹¹,

Unfriended, new-adopted to our hate,

Dowered with our curse and strangered²¹³ with our oath,

Take her or leave her?

BURGUNDY Pardon me, royal sir:

Election makes not up²¹⁶ in such conditions.

LEAR Then leave her, sir, for by the power that made me,

To France

I tell you²¹⁸ all her wealth.— For you, great king,

I would not from your love make such a stray²¹⁹

To match you where I hate, therefore beseech you

T’avert your liking a more worthier way

Than on a wretch whom nature is ashamed

Almost t’acknowledge hers.

FRANCE This is most strange,

That she whom even but now was your object²²⁵,

The argument of your praise, balm²²⁶ of your age,

The best, the dearest, should in this trice²²⁷ of time

Commit a thing so monstrous to dismantle²²⁸

So many folds of favour. Sure her offence

Must be of such unnatural degree

That monsters it, or your fore-vouched²³¹ affection

Fall into taint, which to believe of her²³²

Must be a faith that reason without miracle

Should never plant in me.

CORDELIA I yet beseech your majesty —

If for I want²³⁶ that glib and oily art

To speak and purpose not²³⁷, since what I will intend

I’ll do’t before I speak — that you make known

It is no vicious blot, murder, or foulness²³⁹,

No unchaste action or dishonoured step

That hath deprived me of your grace and favour,

But even for want of that for which²⁴² I am richer:

A still-soliciting²⁴³ eye and such a tongue

That I am glad I have not, though not to have it

Hath lost me in your liking.

LEAR Better thou hadst

Not been born than not t’have pleased me better.

FRANCE Is it but this? A tardiness in nature²⁴⁸,

Which often leaves the history²⁴⁹ unspoke

That it intends to do? My lord of Burgundy,

What say you to the lady? Love’s not love

When it is mingled with regards that stands²⁵²

Aloof from th’entire point. Will you have her?

She is herself a dowry.

To Lear

BURGUNDY Royal king,

Give but that portion which yourself proposed,

And here I take Cordelia by the hand,

Duchess of Burgundy.

LEAR Nothing: I have sworn: I am firm.

To Cordelia

BURGUNDY I am sorry, then, you have so lost a father

That you must lose a husband.

CORDELIA Peace be with Burgundy.

Since that respect and fortunes²⁶³ are his love,

I shall not be his wife.

FRANCE Fairest Cordelia, that art most rich being poor,

Most choice forsaken²⁶⁶, and most loved despised,

Thee and thy virtues here I seize upon²⁶⁷:

Takes her hand

Be it lawful²⁶⁸, I take up what’s cast away.

Gods, gods! ’Tis strange that from their²⁶⁹ cold’st neglect

My love should kindle to inflamed²⁷⁰ respect.—

Thy dowerless daughter, king, thrown to my chance²⁷¹,

Is queen of us, of ours and our fair France:

Not all the dukes of wat’rish²⁷³ Burgundy

Can buy this unprized²⁷⁴ precious maid of me.—

Bid them farewell, Cordelia, though unkind²⁷⁵.

Thou losest here, a better where²⁷⁶ to find.

LEAR Thou hast her, France: let her be thine, for we

Have no such daughter, nor shall ever see

That face of hers again. Therefore be gone

Without our grace, our love, our benison²⁸⁰.

Come, noble Burgundy.

Flourish. Exeunt. [France and the sisters remain]

FRANCE Bid farewell to your sisters.

CORDELIA The jewels of our father, with washèd²⁸³ eyes

Cordelia leaves you. I know you what you are,

And like a sister am most loath to call

Your faults as they are named²⁸⁶. Love well our father:

To your professèd bosoms I commit²⁸⁷ him,

But yet, alas, stood I within his grace,

I would prefer²⁸⁹ him to a better place.

So farewell to you both.

REGAN Prescribe not us our duty.

GONERIL Let your study²⁹²

Be to content your lord who hath received you

At fortune’s alms. You have obedience scanted²⁹⁴,

And well are worth the want that you have wanted²⁹⁵.

CORDELIA Time shall unfold what plighted cunning²⁹⁶ hides:

Who covers faults, at last with shame derides²⁹⁷.

Well may you prosper.

FRANCE Come, my fair Cordelia.

Exit France and Cordelia

GONERIL Sister, it is not little I have to say of what most nearly³⁰⁰

appertains to us both. I think our father will hence tonight.

REGAN That’s most certain, and with you: next month with

us.

GONERIL You see how full of changes his age is: the

observation we have made of it hath not been little. He

always loved our sister most, and with what poor judgement

he hath now cast her off appears too grossly³⁰⁷.

REGAN ’Tis the infirmity of his age: yet he hath ever³⁰⁸ but

slenderly³⁰⁹ known himself.

GONERIL The best and soundest of his time hath been but³¹⁰

rash. Then must we look³¹¹ from his age to receive not alone the

imperfections of long-engrafted condition, but therewithal³¹²

the unruly waywardness that infirm and choleric³¹³ years

bring with them.

REGAN Such unconstant starts³¹⁵ are we like to have from him

as this of Kent’s banishment.

GONERIL There is further compliment³¹⁷ of leave-taking

between France and him. Pray you let us sit together³¹⁸: if our

father carry authority with such disposition³¹⁹ as he bears, this

last surrender of his will but offend³²⁰ us.

REGAN We shall further think of it.

GONERIL We must do something, and i’th’heat³²².

Exeunt

Act 1 Scene 2

running scene 2

Enter Bastard [Edmund]

With a letter

EDMUND Thou, nature, art my goddess: to thy law

My services are bound. Wherefore² should I

Stand in³ the plague of custom and permit

The curiosity of nations⁴ to deprive me

For that I am some twelve or fourteen moonshines⁵

Lag of a brother? Why bastard? Wherefore base⁶?

When my dimensions are as well compact⁷,

My mind as generous, and my shape as true⁸,

As honest madam’s issue⁹? Why brand they us

With base? With baseness? Bastardy? Base, base?

Who in the lusty stealth of nature take¹¹

More composition and fierce quality¹²

Than doth within a dull, stale, tirèd bed,

Go to th’creating a whole tribe of fops¹⁴

Got¹⁵ ’tween a sleep and wake? Well then,

Legitimate Edgar, I must have your land:

Our father’s love is to the bastard Edmund

As¹⁸ to th’legitimate — fine word, ‘legitimate’ —

Well, my legitimate, if this letter speed¹⁹

And my invention²⁰ thrive, Edmund the base

Shall to th’legitimate²¹. I grow, I prosper:

Now, gods, stand up for bastards!

Enter Gloucester

GLOUCESTER Kent banished thus? And France in choler parted²³?

And the king gone tonight? Prescribed²⁴ his power,

Confined to exhibition²⁵? All this done

Upon the gad²⁶? Edmund, how now? What news?

Hides the letter

EDMUND So please your lordship, none.

GLOUCESTER Why so earnestly seek you to put up²⁸ that letter?

EDMUND I know no news, my lord.

GLOUCESTER What paper were you reading?

EDMUND Nothing, my lord.

GLOUCESTER No? What needed, then, that terrible dispatch³² of it

into your pocket? The quality of nothing hath not such need

to hide itself. Let’s see: come, if it be nothing I shall not need

spectacles.

EDMUND I beseech you, sir, pardon me: it is a letter from my

brother that I have not all o’er-read; and for³⁷ so much as I

have perused, I find it not fit for your o’erlooking³⁸.

GLOUCESTER Give me the letter, sir.

EDMUND I shall offend either to detain or give it: the contents,

as in part I understand them, are to blame.

Edmund gives the letter

GLOUCESTER Let’s see, let’s see.

EDMUND I hope for my brother’s justification he wrote this

but as an essay or taste⁴⁴ of my virtue.

GLOUCESTER Reads ‘This policy and reverence of age⁴⁵ makes the

world bitter to the best of our times, keeps our fortunes⁴⁶ from

us till our oldness cannot relish them. I begin to find an idle⁴⁷

and fond⁴⁸ bondage in the oppression of aged tyranny, who

sways, not as it hath power, but as it is suffered⁴⁹. Come to me,

that of this I may speak more. If our father would sleep till I

waked him, you should enjoy half his revenue for ever and

live the beloved of your brother, Edgar.’

Hum! Conspiracy! ‘Sleep till I wake him, you should enjoy

half his revenue.’ My son Edgar? Had he a hand to write this?

A heart and brain to breed it in? When came you to this?

Who brought it?

EDMUND It was not brought me, my lord; there’s the cunning

of it: I found it thrown in at the casement of my closet⁵⁸.

GLOUCESTER You know the character⁵⁹ to be your brother’s?

EDMUND If the matter⁶⁰ were good, my lord, I durst swear it

were his, but in respect of that I would fain⁶¹ think it were not.

GLOUCESTER It is his.

EDMUND It is his hand, my lord, but I hope his heart is not in

the contents.

GLOUCESTER Has he never before sounded you in this business?

EDMUND Never, my lord: but I have heard him oft maintain it

to be fit that, sons at perfect age and fathers declined⁶⁷, the

father should be as ward to the son, and the son manage his

revenue.

GLOUCESTER O villain, villain! His very opinion in the letter!

Abhorred villain! Unnatural, detested, brutish villain! Worse

than brutish! Go, sirrah, seek him: I’ll apprehend⁷² him.

Abominable⁷³ villain, where is he?

EDMUND I do not well know, my lord. If it shall please you to

suspend your indignation against my brother till you can

derive from him better testimony of his intent, you should

run a certain course, where, if you violently proceed⁷⁷ against

him, mistaking his purpose, it would make a great gap in

your own honour and shake in pieces the heart of his

obedience. I dare pawn down⁸⁰ my life for him, that he hath

writ this to feel⁸¹ my affection to your honour, and to no other

pretence⁸² of danger.

GLOUCESTER Think you so?

EDMUND If your honour judge it meet⁸⁴, I will place you where

you shall hear us confer of this, and by an auricular⁸⁵

assurance have your satisfaction⁸⁶, and that without any

further delay than this very evening.

GLOUCESTER He cannot be such a monster. Edmund, seek him

out: wind me into him, I pray you: frame⁸⁹ the business after

your own wisdom. I would unstate myself to be in a due⁹⁰

resolution.

EDMUND I will seek him, sir, presently: convey⁹² the business as

I shall find means and acquaint you withal⁹³.

GLOUCESTER These late⁹⁴ eclipses in the sun and moon portend no

good to us: though the wisdom of nature⁹⁵ can reason it thus

and thus, yet nature finds itself scourged by the sequent⁹⁶

effects: love cools, friendship falls off, brothers divide: in

cities, mutinies; in countries, discord; in palaces, treason;

and the bond cracked ’twixt son and father. This villain of

mine comes under the prediction: there’s son against father.

The king falls from bias of nature¹⁰¹: there’s father against

child. We have seen the best of our time: machinations,

hollowness, treachery, and all ruinous disorders follow us

disquietly to our graves. Find out this villain, Edmund: it¹⁰⁴

shall lose thee nothing. Do it carefully.— And the noble and

true-hearted Kent banished! His offence, honesty! ’Tis

strange.

Exit

EDMUND This is the excellent foppery¹⁰⁸ of the world, that when

we are sick in fortune — often the surfeits¹⁰⁹ of our own

behaviour — we make guilty of our disasters¹¹⁰ the sun, the

moon¹¹¹ and stars, as if we were villains on necessity, fools by

heavenly compulsion, knaves, thieves and treachers¹¹² by

spherical predominance¹¹³, drunkards, liars and adulterers

by an enforced obedience of planetary influence, and all that

we are evil in, by a divine thrusting on: an admirable evasion¹¹⁵

of whoremaster man, to lay his goatish¹¹⁶ disposition on the

charge of a star! My father compounded¹¹⁷ with my mother

under the dragon’s tail and my nativity was under Ursa¹¹⁸

Major, so that it follows I am rough¹¹⁹ and lecherous. I should

have been that I am had the maidenliest¹²⁰ star in the

firmament twinkled on my bastardizing¹²¹.

Enter Edgar

Pat he comes like the catastrophe of the old comedy: my cue¹²²

is villainous melancholy, with a sigh like Tom o’Bedlam¹²³.—

O, these eclipses do portend these divisions! Fa, sol, la, mi¹²⁴.

EDGAR How now, brother Edmund, what serious

contemplation are you in?

EDMUND I am thinking, brother, of a prediction I read this¹²⁷

other day, what should follow these eclipses.

EDGAR Do you busy yourself with that?

EDMUND I promise you, the effects he writes of succeed¹³⁰

unhappily¹³¹. When saw you my father last?

EDGAR The night gone by.

EDMUND Spake you with him?

EDGAR Ay, two hours together.

EDMUND Parted you in good terms? Found you no displeasure

in him by word nor countenance¹³⁶?

EDGAR None at all.

EDMUND Bethink yourself wherein you may have offended

him, and at my entreaty forbear¹³⁹ his presence until some little

time hath qualified¹⁴⁰ the heat of his displeasure, which at this

instant so rageth in him that with the mischief of your¹⁴¹

person it would scarcely allay¹⁴².

EDGAR Some villain hath done me wrong.

EDMUND That’s my fear. I pray you have a continent¹⁴⁴

forbearance till the speed of his rage goes slower: and, as I

say, retire with me to my lodging, from whence I will fitly¹⁴⁶

bring you to hear my lord speak. Pray ye go.

Gives a key

There’s my key: if you do stir abroad¹⁴⁸, go armed.

EDGAR Armed, brother?

EDMUND Brother, I advise you to the best: I am no honest

man if there be any good meaning¹⁵¹ toward you: I have told

you what I have seen and heard, but faintly, nothing like the

image and horror¹⁵³ of it. Pray you away.

EDGAR Shall I hear from you anon¹⁵⁴?

Exit

EDMUND I do serve¹⁵⁵ you in this business.—

A credulous father and a brother noble,

Whose nature is so far from doing harms

That he suspects none: on whose foolish honesty

My practices¹⁵⁹ ride easy. I see the business.

Let me, if not by birth, have lands by wit¹⁶⁰:

All with me’s meet that I can fashion fit¹⁶¹.

Exit

Act 1 Scene 3

running scene 3

Enter Goneril and Steward [Oswald]

GONERIL Did my father strike my gentleman for chiding¹ of his

fool?

OSWALD Ay, madam.

GONERIL By day and night he wrongs me: every hour

He flashes⁵ into one gross crime or other

That sets us all at odds. I’ll not endure it.

His knights grow riotous, and himself upbraids us

On every trifle. When he returns from hunting

I will not speak with him: say I am sick.

If you come slack¹⁰ of former services

You shall do well: the fault of it I’ll answer¹¹.

Horns within

OSWALD He’s coming, madam: I hear him.

GONERIL Put on what weary negligence you please,

You and your fellows: I’d have it come to question¹⁴:

If he distaste¹⁵ it, let him to my sister,

Whose mind and mine, I know, in that are one.

Remember what I have said.

OSWALD Well, madam.

GONERIL And let his knights have colder looks among you:

what grows of it, no matter: advise your fellows so. I’ll write

straight to²¹ my sister, to hold my course. Prepare for dinner.

Exeunt

Act 1 Scene 4

running scene 3 continues

Enter Kent

Disguised

KENT If but as will I¹ other accents borrow,

That can my speech defuse², my good intent

May carry through itself to that full issue³

For which I razed my likeness⁴. Now, banished Kent,

If thou canst serve where thou dost stand condemned,

So may it come thy master whom thou lov’st,

Shall find thee full of labours.

Horns within. Enter Lear and Attendants [his Knights]

LEAR Let me not stay⁸ a jot for dinner: go get it ready.—

[Exit a Knight]

To Kent

How now, what art thou?

KENT A man, sir.

LEAR What dost thou profess? What wouldst thou¹¹ with

us¹²?

KENT I do profess to be no less than I seem; to serve him

truly that will put me in trust, to love him that is honest, to

converse with him that is wise and says little, to fear

judgement, to fight when I cannot choose and to eat no fish¹⁶.

LEAR What art thou?

KENT A very honest-hearted fellow, and as poor as the

king.

LEAR If thou be’st as poor for a subject as he’s for a king,

thou art poor enough. What wouldst thou?

KENT Service.

LEAR Who wouldst thou serve?

KENT You.

LEAR Dost thou know me, fellow?

KENT No, sir, but you have that in your countenance

which I would fain call master.

LEAR What’s that?

KENT Authority.

LEAR What services canst thou do?

KENT I can keep honest counsel, ride, run, mar a curious³¹

tale in telling it, and deliver a plain message bluntly: that

which ordinary men are fit for, I am qualified in, and the best

of me is diligence.

LEAR How old art thou?

KENT Not so young, sir, to love a woman for singing, nor

so old to dote on her for anything³⁷: I have years on my back

forty-eight.

LEAR Follow me, thou shalt serve me: if I like thee no

worse after dinner, I will not part from thee yet.— Dinner,

ho, dinner! Where’s my knave⁴¹? My fool? Go you and call my

fool hither.

[Exit another Knight]

Enter Steward [Oswald]

You, you, sirrah, where’s my daughter?

OSWALD So⁴⁴ please you—

Exit

LEAR What says the fellow there? Call the clotpoll⁴⁵ back.—

[Exit another Knight]

Where’s my fool? Ho, I think the world’s asleep.—

[Enter a Knight]

How now? Where’s that mongrel?

KNIGHT He says, my lord, your daughter is not well.

LEAR Why came not the slave⁴⁹ back to me when I called

him?

KNIGHT Sir, he answered me in the roundest⁵¹ manner, he

would not.

LEAR He would not?

KNIGHT My lord, I know not what the matter is, but to my

judgement your highness is not entertained⁵⁵ with that

ceremonious affection as you were wont⁵⁶: there’s a great

abatement of kindness appears as well in the general⁵⁷

dependants as in the duke himself also and your daughter.

LEAR Ha? Say’st thou so?

KNIGHT I beseech you pardon me, my lord, if I be mistaken,

for my duty cannot be silent when I think your highness

wronged.

LEAR Thou but rememb’rest me of mine own conception⁶³:

I have perceived a most faint⁶⁴ neglect of late, which I have

rather blamed as mine own jealous curiosity than as a very⁶⁵

pretence and purpose of unkindness. I will look further

into’t. But where’s my fool? I have not seen him this two

days.

KNIGHT Since my young lady’s going into France, sir, the

fool hath much pined away.

LEAR No more of that, I have noted it well.— Go you and

tell my daughter I would speak with her.—

[Exit a Knight]

Go you, call hither my fool.—

[Exit another Knight]

Enter Steward [Oswald]

O, you sir, you, come you hither, sir. Who am I, sir?

OSWALD My lady’s father.

LEAR ‘My lady’s father’? My lord’s knave: you whoreson

dog, you slave, you cur⁷⁷!

OSWALD I am none of these, my lord, I beseech your pardon.

LEAR Do you bandy⁷⁹ looks with me, you rascal?

Strikes him

OSWALD I’ll not be strucken⁸⁰, my lord.

KENT Nor tripped neither, you base football⁸¹ player.

Trips him

LEAR I thank thee, fellow: thou serv’st me and I’ll love

thee.

KENT Come, sir, arise, away! I’ll teach you differences⁸⁴:

away, away! If you will measure your lubber’s⁸⁵ length again,

tarry: but away, go to⁸⁶. Have you wisdom? So.

Pushes Oswald out

LEAR Now, my friendly knave, I thank thee.

Gives money

There’s earnest⁸⁸ of thy service.

Enter Fool

FOOL Let me hire him too: here’s my

coxcomb⁹⁰.

Offers Kent his cap

LEAR How now, my pretty⁹¹ knave, how dost thou?

To Kent

FOOL Sirrah, you were best take my coxcomb.

LEAR Why, my boy?

FOOL Why? For taking one’s part that’s out of favour: nay,

an thou canst not smile as the wind sits⁹⁵, thou’lt catch cold

shortly. There, take my coxcomb. Why, this fellow has

banished two on’s⁹⁷ daughters and did the third a blessing

against his will: if thou follow him, thou must needs⁹⁸ wear

my coxcomb.— How now, nuncle? Would⁹⁹ I had two

coxcombs and two daughters.

LEAR Why, my boy?

FOOL If I gave them all my living¹⁰², I’d keep my coxcombs

myself. There’s mine: beg another of thy daughters.

LEAR Take heed, sirrah: the whip.

FOOL Truth’s a dog must to kennel: he must be whipped

out when the Lady Brach¹⁰⁶ may stand by th’fire and stink.

LEAR A pestilent gall¹⁰⁷ to me!

FOOL Sirrah, I’ll teach thee a speech.

LEAR Do.

FOOL Mark¹¹⁰ it, nuncle:

Have more than thou showest,

Speak less than thou knowest,

Lend less than thou owest¹¹³,

Ride more than thou goest¹¹⁴,

Learn more than thou trowest¹¹⁵,

Set less than thou throwest¹¹⁶;

Leave thy drink and thy whore,

And keep in-a-door,

And thou shalt have more¹¹⁹

Than two tens to a score¹²⁰.

KENT This is nothing, fool.

To Lear

FOOL Then ’tis like the breath of an unfee’d¹²²

lawyer: you gave me nothing for’t.— Can you make no use¹²³

of nothing, nuncle?

LEAR Why, no, boy: nothing can be made out of nothing.

To Kent

FOOL Prithee tell him, so much the rent of his land

comes to: he will not believe a fool.

LEAR A bitter fool!

FOOL Dost thou know the difference, my boy, between a

bitter fool and a sweet one?

LEAR No, lad, teach me.

FOOL Nuncle, give me an egg and I’ll give thee two

crowns.

LEAR What two crowns¹³⁴ shall they be?

FOOL Why, after I have cut the egg i’th’middle and eat up

the meat, the two crowns of the egg. When thou clovest¹³⁶ thy

crowns i’th’middle and gav’st away both parts, thou bor’st

thine ass on thy back o’er the dirt: thou hadst little wit in thy

bald crown when thou gav’st thy golden one away. If I speak

like myself¹⁴⁰ in this, let him be whipped that first finds it so:

Sings

Fools had ne’er less grace¹⁴¹ in a year,

For wise men are grown foppish¹⁴²

And know not how their wits to wear,

Their manners are so apish¹⁴⁴.

LEAR When were you wont to be so full of songs, sirrah?

FOOL I have used it¹⁴⁶, nuncle, e’er since thou mad’st thy

daughters thy mothers: for when thou gav’st them the rod¹⁴⁷

and put’st down thine own breeches,

Sings

Then they for sudden joy did weep,

And I for sorrow sung,

That such a king should play bo-peep¹⁵¹

And go the fool among¹⁵².

Prithee, nuncle, keep a schoolmaster that can teach thy fool

to lie: I would fain¹⁵⁴ learn to lie.

LEAR An¹⁵⁵ you lie, sirrah, we’ll have you whipped.

FOOL I marvel¹⁵⁶ what kin thou and thy daughters are:

they’ll have me whipped for speaking true, thou’lt have me

whipped for lying, and sometimes I am whipped for holding

my peace. I had rather be any kind o’thing than a fool. And

yet I would not be thee, nuncle: thou hast pared¹⁶⁰ thy wit

o’both sides and left nothing i’th’middle. Here comes one

o’the parings.

Enter Goneril

LEAR How now, daughter? What makes that frontlet¹⁶³ on?

You are too much of late i’th’frown.

FOOL Thou wast a pretty fellow when thou hadst no need

to care for her frowning: now thou art an O without a figure¹⁶⁶.

I am better than thou art now: I am a fool, thou art

To Goneril

nothing.— Yes, forsooth¹⁶⁸, I will hold my tongue, so

your face bids me, though you say nothing.

Sings

Mum, mum,

He that keeps nor crust nor crumb¹⁷¹,

Weary of all, shall want some¹⁷².

Points to Lear

That’s a shelled peascod¹⁷³.

GONERIL Not only, sir, this your all-licensed¹⁷⁴ fool,

But other of your insolent retinue

Do hourly carp¹⁷⁶ and quarrel, breaking forth

In rank¹⁷⁷ and not-to-be endured riots, sir.

I had thought by making this well known unto you

To have found a safe¹⁷⁹ redress, but now grow fearful,

By what yourself too late¹⁸⁰ have spoke and done.

That you protect this course and put it on¹⁸¹

By your allowance, which if you should, the fault

Would not scape censure, nor the redresses sleep¹⁸³

Which in the tender of a wholesome weal¹⁸⁴

Might in their working do you that offence,

Which else were shame, that then necessity

Will call discreet proceeding.

FOOL For you know, nuncle,

The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo¹⁸⁹ so long,

That it’s had it head bit off by it young¹⁹⁰.

So, out went the candle, and we were left darkling¹⁹¹.

To Goneril

LEAR Are you our daughter?

GONERIL I would you would make use of your good wisdom —

Whereof I know you are fraught¹⁹⁴ — and put away

These dispositions¹⁹⁵ which of late transport you

From what you rightly are.

FOOL May not an ass know when the cart draws the horse?

Whoop, Jug¹⁹⁸! I love thee.

LEAR Does any here know me? This is not Lear.

Does Lear walk thus? Speak thus? Where are his eyes?

Either his notion weakens, his discernings²⁰¹

Are lethargied — Ha! Waking?²⁰² ’Tis not so?

Who is it that can tell me who I am?

FOOL Lear’s shadow²⁰⁴.

LEAR Your name, fair gentlewoman?

GONERIL This admiration, sir, is much o’th’savour²⁰⁶

Of other your new pranks. I do beseech you

To understand my purposes aright:

As you are old and reverend, should²⁰⁹ be wise.

Here do you keep a hundred knights and squires,

Men so disordered, so debauched and bold²¹¹,

That this our court, infected with their manners,

Shows like a riotous inn: epicurism²¹³ and lust

Makes it more like a tavern or a brothel

Than a graced palace. The shame itself doth speak²¹⁵

For instant remedy. Be then desired²¹⁶

By her, that else will take the thing she begs,

A little to disquantity your train²¹⁸,

And the remainders, that shall still depend²¹⁹

To be such men as may besort²²⁰ your age,

Which know themselves and you²²¹.

LEAR Darkness and devils!—

To a Servant

Saddle my horses, call my train together.—

To Goneril

Degenerate²²⁴ bastard! I’ll not trouble thee.

Yet have I left a daughter.

GONERIL You strike my people, and your disordered rabble

Make servants of their betters.

Enter Albany

To Albany

LEAR Woe that²²⁸ too late repents!— Is it your will?

To a Servant

Speak, sir.— Prepare my horses.

Ingratitude, thou marble-hearted fiend,

More hideous when thou show’st thee in a child

Than the sea-monster!

ALBANY Pray, sir, be patient.

To Goneril

LEAR Detested kite²³⁴, thou liest.

My train are men of choice and rarest parts²³⁵,

That all particulars of duty know

And in the most exact regard support²³⁷

The worships of their name. O, most small fault,

How ugly didst thou in Cordelia show!

Which, like an engine²⁴⁰, wrenched my frame of nature

From the fixed place, drew from my heart all love,

And added to the gall²⁴². O Lear, Lear, Lear!

Hits his head

Beat at this gate, that let thy folly in,

And thy dear judgement out!— Go, go, my people.

ALBANY My lord, I am guiltless as I am ignorant

Of what hath moved²⁴⁶ you.

LEAR It may be so, my lord.—

Hear, nature, hear, dear goddess, hear!

Suspend thy purpose if thou didst intend

To make this creature fruitful:

Into her womb convey sterility,

Dry up in her the organs of increase²⁵²,

And from her derogate²⁵³ body never spring

A babe to honour her: if she must teem²⁵⁴,

Create her child of spleen²⁵⁵, that it may live

And be a thwart disnatured²⁵⁶ torment to her:

Let it stamp wrinkles in her brow of youth,

With cadent tears fret²⁵⁸ channels in her cheeks,

Turn all her mother’s pains and benefits²⁵⁹

To laughter and contempt, that she may feel

How sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is

To have a thankless child!— Away, away!

Exit

Perhaps with Kent and Knights

ALBANY Now, gods that we adore, whereof comes this?

GONERIL Never afflict yourself to know more of it,

But let his disposition have that scope

As dotage²⁶⁶ gives it.

Enter Lear

LEAR What, fifty of my followers at a clap²⁶⁷?

Within a fortnight?

ALBANY What’s the matter, sir?

To Goneril

LEAR I’ll tell thee:— Life and death! I am ashamed

That thou hast power to shake my manhood thus,

That these hot tears, which break from me perforce²⁷²,

Should make thee worth them. Blasts²⁷³ and fogs upon thee!

Th’untented²⁷⁴ woundings of a father’s curse

Pierce every sense about thee! Old fond²⁷⁵ eyes,

Beweep this cause again, I’ll pluck ye out

And cast you, with the waters that you loose²⁷⁷,

To temper clay²⁷⁸. Ha? Let it be so.

I have another daughter,

Who, I am sure, is kind and comfortable²⁸⁰:

When she shall hear this of thee, with her nails

She’ll flay thy wolvish visage²⁸². Thou shalt find

That I’ll resume the shape which thou dost think

I have cast off for ever.

Exeunt [Lear, perhaps with Kent and Knights]

GONERIL Do you mark that?

ALBANY I cannot be so partial²⁸⁶, Goneril,

To the great love I bear you—

GONERIL Pray you, content²⁸⁸.— What, Oswald, ho!—

To Fool

You, sir, more knave than fool, after your master.

FOOL Nuncle Lear, nuncle Lear, tarry, take the fool with

thee.

Sings

A fox, when one has caught her,

And such a daughter

Should sure to the slaughter,

If my cap would buy a halter²⁹⁵:

So the fool follows after.

Exit

GONERIL This man hath had good counsel. A hundred knights?

’Tis politic²⁹⁸ and safe to let him keep

At point a hundred knights: yes, that²⁹⁹ on every dream,

Each buzz, each fancy³⁰⁰, each complaint, dislike,

He may enguard³⁰¹ his dotage with their powers

And hold our lives in³⁰² mercy.— Oswald, I say!

ALBANY Well, you may fear too far.

GONERIL Safer than trust too far:

Let me still³⁰⁵ take away the harms I fear,

Not fear still to be taken³⁰⁶. I know his heart.

What he hath uttered I have writ my sister:

If she sustain him and his hundred knights

When I have showed th’unfitness—

Enter Steward [Oswald]

How now, Oswald?

What, have you writ that letter to my sister?

OSWALD Ay, madam.

GONERIL Take you some company and away to horse:

Inform her full of my particular fear,

And thereto add such reasons of your own

As may compact³¹⁵ it more. Get you gone,

And hasten your return.—

[Exit Oswald]

No, no, my lord,

This milky gentleness and course of yours

Though I condemn not, yet, under pardon³¹⁸,

You are much more at task³¹⁹ for want of wisdom

Than praised for harmful mildness.

ALBANY How far your eyes may pierce I cannot tell:

Striving to better, oft we mar what’s well.

GONERIL Nay, then—

ALBANY Well, well, th’event³²⁴.

Exeunt

Act 1 Scene 5

running scene 3 continues

Kent disguised as Caius

Enter Lear, Kent, Gentleman and Fool

To Kent

LEAR Go you before¹ to Gloucester with these letters.

Acquaint my daughter no further with anything you know

than comes from her demand out of³ the letter. If your

diligence be not speedy, I shall be there afore you.

KENT I will not sleep, my lord, till I have delivered your

letter.

Exit

FOOL If a man’s brains were in’s heels, were’t not in

danger of kibes⁸?

LEAR Ay, boy.

FOOL Then, I prithee be merry: thy wit shall not go slip-¹⁰

shod.

LEAR Ha, ha, ha!

FOOL Shalt¹³ see thy other daughter will use thee kindly, for

though she’s as like this as a crab’s¹⁴ like an apple, yet I can tell

what I can tell.

LEAR What canst tell, boy?

FOOL She will taste as like this as a crab does to a crab.

Thou canst tell why one’s nose stands i’th’middle on’s¹⁸ face?

LEAR No.

FOOL Why, to keep one’s eyes of either side’s²⁰ nose, that

what a man cannot smell out he may spy into.

LEAR I did her²² wrong—

FOOL Canst tell how an oyster makes his shell?

LEAR No.

FOOL Nor I neither; but I can tell why a snail has a house.

LEAR Why?

FOOL Why, to put’s head in, not to give it away to his

daughters and leave his horns without a case.

LEAR I will forget my nature. So kind a father!— Be my

horses ready?

FOOL Thy asses are gone about ’em. The reason why the³¹

seven stars are no more than seven is a pretty³² reason.

LEAR Because they are not eight.

FOOL Yes, indeed: thou wouldst make a good fool.

LEAR To take’t again³⁵ perforce. Monster ingratitude!

FOOL If thou wert my fool, nuncle, I’d have thee beaten

for being old before thy time.

LEAR How’s that?

FOOL Thou shouldst not have been old till thou hadst

been wise.

LEAR O, let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven!

Keep me in temper⁴²: I would not be mad!—

To Gentleman

How now, are the horses ready?

GENTLEMAN Ready, my lord.

LEAR Come, boy.

FOOL She that’s a maid⁴⁶ now, and laughs at my departure,

Shall not be a maid long, unless things⁴⁷ be cut shorter.

Exeunt

Act 2 Scene 1

running scene 4

Enter Bastard [Edmund] and Curan, severally

EDMUND Save thee¹, Curan.

CURAN And you, sir. I have been with your father, and given

him notice that the Duke of Cornwall and Regan his duchess

will be here with him this night.

EDMUND How comes that?

CURAN Nay, I know not. You have heard of the news

abroad: I mean the whispered ones, for they are yet but ear-⁷

kissing arguments?

EDMUND Not I: pray you, what are they?

CURAN Have you heard of no likely wars toward¹⁰ ’twixt the

dukes of Cornwall and Albany?

EDMUND Not a word.

CURAN You may do then in time. Fare you well, sir.

Exit

EDMUND The duke be here tonight? The better — best!

This weaves itself perforce¹⁵ into my business.

My father hath set guard to take¹⁶ my brother,

And I have one thing, of a queasy question¹⁷,

Which I must act. Briefness and fortune, work!—

Enter Edgar

Appears above and then enters below

Brother, a word: descend, brother, I say!

My father watches²⁰: O sir, fly this place.

Intelligence²¹ is given where you are hid;

You have now the good advantage of the night.

Have you not spoken gainst the Duke of Cornwall?

He’s coming hither, now, i’th’night, i’th’haste²⁴,

And Regan with him: have you nothing said²⁵

Upon his party gainst the Duke of Albany?

Advise yourself²⁷.

EDGAR I am sure on’t, not a word.

EDMUND I hear my father coming, pardon me:

Draws

In cunning³⁰ I must draw my sword upon you:

Edgar draws

Draw, seem to defend yourself. Now quit you³¹ well.

Yield: come before my father.— Light, ho, here!—

Fly, brother.— Torches, torches!— So, farewell.

Exit Edgar

Wounds his arm

Some blood drawn on me would beget opinion³⁴

Of my more fierce³⁵ endeavour: I have seen drunkards

Do more than this in sport.— Father, father!

Stop, stop! No help?

Enter Gloucester and Servants with torches

GLOUCESTER Now, Edmund, where’s the villain?

EDMUND Here stood he in the dark, his sharp sword out,

Mumbling of wicked charms, conjuring the moon⁴⁰

To stand auspicious mistress⁴¹—

GLOUCESTER But where is he?

EDMUND Look, sir, I bleed.

GLOUCESTER Where is the villain, Edmund?

EDMUND Fled this way, sir. When by no means he could—

GLOUCESTER Pursue him, ho! Go after.

[Exeunt Servants]

By no means what?

EDMUND Persuade me to the murder of your lordship,

But that I told him the revenging gods

Gainst parricides did all the thunder bend⁵⁰,

Spoke with how manifold and strong a bond

The child was bound to th’father; sir, in fine⁵²,

Seeing how loathly opposite⁵³ I stood

To his unnatural purpose, in fell⁵⁴ motion

With his preparèd sword, he charges home⁵⁵

My unprovided body, latched⁵⁶ mine arm;

And when he saw my best alarumed⁵⁷ spirits,

Bold in the quarrel’s right, roused to th’encounter⁵⁸,

Or whether ghasted⁵⁹ by the noise I made,

Full⁶⁰ suddenly he fled.

GLOUCESTER Let him fly far:

Not in this land shall he remain uncaught,

And found — dispatch⁶³. The noble duke my master,

My worthy arch and patron⁶⁴, comes tonight:

By his authority I will proclaim it,

That he which finds him shall deserve our thanks,

Bringing the murderous coward to the stake⁶⁷:

He that conceals him, death.

EDMUND When I dissuaded him from his intent

And found him pight to do it, with curst⁷⁰ speech

I threatened to discover⁷¹ him: he replied,

’Thou unpossessing⁷² bastard, dost thou think,

If I would stand against thee, would the reposal⁷³

Of any trust, virtue, or worth in thee

Make thy words faithed⁷⁵? No: what should I deny —

As this I would, though thou didst produce

My very character⁷⁷ — I’d turn it all

To thy suggestion, plot, and damnèd practice⁷⁸,

And thou must make a dullard of the world⁷⁹,

If they not thought the profits⁸⁰ of my death

Were very pregnant and potential spirits⁸¹

Tucket within

To make thee seek it.’

GLOUCESTER O, strange and fastened⁸³ villain!

Would he deny his letter, said he?

Hark, the duke’s trumpets! I know not where⁸⁵ he comes.

All ports⁸⁶ I’ll bar: the villain shall not scape:

The duke must grant me that. Besides, his picture⁸⁷

I will send far and near, that all the kingdom

May have due note of him, and of my land,

Loyal and natural boy, I’ll work the means⁹⁰

To make thee capable⁹¹.

Enter Cornwall, Regan and Attendants

CORNWALL How now, my noble friend? Since I came hither —

Which I can call but now — I have heard strangeness.

REGAN If it be true, all vengeance comes too short

Which can pursue th’offender. How dost, my lord?

GLOUCESTER O, madam, my old heart is cracked, it’s cracked!

REGAN What, did my father’s godson seek your life?

He whom my father named? Your Edgar?

GLOUCESTER O, lady, lady, shame would have it hid!

REGAN Was he not companion with the riotous knights

That tended upon¹⁰¹ my father?

GLOUCESTER I know not, madam: ’tis too bad, too bad.

EDMUND Yes, madam, he was of that consort¹⁰³.

REGAN No marvel, then, though he were ill affected¹⁰⁴:

’Tis they have put him on¹⁰⁵ the old man’s death,

To have th’expense¹⁰⁶ and waste of his revenues.

I have this present evening from my sister

Been well informed of them, and with such cautions

That if they come to sojourn at my house,

I’ll not be there.

CORNWALL Nor I, assure thee, Regan.—

Edmund, I hear that you have shown your father

A child-like office¹¹³.

EDMUND It was my duty, sir.

To Cornwall

GLOUCESTER He did bewray his practice¹¹⁵ and received

This hurt you see striving to apprehend him.

CORNWALL Is he pursued?

GLOUCESTER Ay, my good lord.

CORNWALL If he be taken, he shall never more

Be feared of doing harm: make your own purpose,¹²⁰

How in my strength you please. For¹²¹ you, Edmund,

Whose virtue and obedience doth this instant

So much commend itself, you shall be ours¹²³:

Natures of such deep trust we shall much need:

You we first seize on¹²⁵.

EDMUND I shall serve you, sir, truly, however else.

GLOUCESTER For him I thank your grace.

CORNWALL You know not why we came to visit you?

REGAN Thus out of season, threading dark-eyed¹²⁹ night:

Occasions, noble Gloucester, of some prize¹³⁰,

Wherein we must have use of your advice:

Our father he hath writ, so hath our sister,

Of differences¹³³, which I best thought it fit

To answer from¹³⁴ our home: the several messengers

From hence attend dispatch¹³⁵. Our good old friend,

Lay comforts to your bosom, and bestow

Your needful counsel to our businesses,

Which craves the instant use¹³⁸

GLOUCESTER I serve you, madam:

Your graces are right welcome.

Exeunt. Flourish

Act 2 Scene 2

running scene 5

Enter Kent and Steward [Oswald], severally

Kent disguised as Caius

OSWALD Good dawning¹ to thee, friend: art of this house?

KENT Ay².

OSWALD Where may we set³ our horses?

KENT I’th’mire⁴.

OSWALD Prithee, if thou lov’st me, tell me⁵.

KENT I love thee not.

OSWALD Why then, I care not for thee.

KENT If I had thee in Lipsbury pinfold⁸, I would make thee

care for me.

OSWALD Why dost thou use¹⁰ me thus? I know thee not.

KENT Fellow, I know thee.

OSWALD What dost thou know me for¹²?

KENT A knave, a rascal, an eater of broken meats¹³, a base,

proud, shallow, beggarly, three-suited, hundred-pound¹⁴,

filthy, worsted-stocking knave, a lily-livered, action-taking¹⁵,

whoreson, glass-gazing, super-serviceable finical¹⁶ rogue:

one-trunk-inheriting slave: one that wouldst be a bawd¹⁷ in

way of good service, and art nothing but the composition¹⁸ of

a knave, beggar, coward, pander¹⁹, and the son and heir of a

mongrel bitch: one whom I will beat into clamorous

whining if thou deny’st the least syllable of thy addition²¹.

OSWALD Why, what a monstrous fellow art thou thus to rail²²

on one that is neither known of thee nor knows thee!

KENT What a brazen-faced varlet²⁴ art thou to deny thou

knowest me! Is it two days since I tripped up thy heels and beat

thee before the king? Draw²⁶, you rogue, for though it be night,

yet the moon shines: I’ll make a sop o’th’moonshine²⁷ of you,

you whoreson cullionly barber-monger²⁸. Draw.

Draws his sword

OSWALD Away! I have nothing to do with thee.

KENT Draw, you rascal: you come with letters against the

king, and take vanity the puppet³¹’s part against the royalty of

her father: draw, you rogue, or I’ll so carbonado³² your

shanks: draw, you rascal, come your ways³³.

OSWALD Help, ho! Murder! Help!

KENT Strike, you slave! Stand, rogue, stand, you neat³⁵

slave, strike!

Beats him

OSWALD Help, ho! Murder! Murder!

Enter Bastard [Edmund], Cornwall, Regan, Gloucester, Servants

EDMUND How now, what’s the matter? Part!

KENT With you, Goodman boy³⁹, if you please: come, I’ll

flesh ye⁴⁰: come on, young master.

GLOUCESTER Weapons? Arms? What’s the matter here?

CORNWALL Keep peace, upon your lives: he dies that strikes

again. What is the matter?

REGAN The messengers from our sister and the king.

CORNWALL What is your difference⁴⁵? Speak.

OSWALD I am scarce in breath, my lord.

KENT No marvel, you have so bestirred your valour⁴⁷. You

cowardly rascal, nature disclaims in thee: a tailor made thee⁴⁸.

CORNWALL Thou art a strange fellow — a tailor make a man?

KENT A tailor, sir: a stone-cutter or a painter could not

have made him so ill⁵¹, though they had been but two years

o’th’trade.

CORNWALL Speak yet, how grew your quarrel?

OSWALD This ancient ruffian, sir, whose life I have spared at

suit of his grey beard⁵⁵—

KENT Thou whoreson zed, thou unnecessary letter⁵⁶!— My

lord, if you will give me leave, I will tread this unbolted⁵⁷

villain into mortar and daub the wall of a jakes⁵⁸ with him.—

Spare my grey beard, you wagtail⁵⁹?

CORNWALL Peace, sirrah!

You beastly⁶¹ knave, know you no reverence?

KENT Yes, sir, but anger hath a privilege⁶².

CORNWALL Why art thou angry?

KENT That such a slave as this should wear a sword,

Who wears no honesty⁶⁵. Such smiling rogues as these,

Like rats, oft bite the holy cords a-twain⁶⁶

Which are too intrinse t’unloose, smooth⁶⁷ every passion

That in the natures of their lords rebel⁶⁸,

Being oil to fire⁶⁹, snow to the colder moods,

Revenge, affirm, and turn their halcyon beaks⁷⁰

With every gall and vary⁷¹ of their masters,

Knowing naught, like dogs, but following.—

To Oswald

A plague upon your epileptic visage⁷³!

Smile you my speeches, as⁷⁴ I were a fool?

Goose, if I had you upon Sarum⁷⁵ plain,

I’d drive ye cackling home to Camelot⁷⁶.

CORNWALL What, art thou mad, old fellow?

GLOUCESTER How fell you out? Say that.

KENT No contraries hold more antipathy

Than I and such a knave.

CORNWALL Why dost thou call him knave? What is his fault?

KENT His countenance likes⁸² me not.

CORNWALL No more, perchance, does mine, nor his, nor hers—

KENT Sir, ’tis my occupation⁸⁴ to be plain:

I have seen better faces in my time

Than stands on any shoulder that I see

Before me at this instant.

CORNWALL This is some fellow

Who, having been praised for bluntness, doth affect

A saucy roughness, and constrains the garb⁹⁰

Quite from his nature. He cannot flatter, he:

An honest mind and plain, he must speak truth!

An they will take it, so: if not, he’s plain⁹³.

These kind of knaves I know, which in this plainness

Harbour more craft and more corrupter⁹⁵ ends

Than twenty silly ducking observants⁹⁶

That stretch their duties nicely⁹⁷.

KENT Sir, in good faith, in sincere verity⁹⁸,

Under th’allowance of your great aspect⁹⁹,

Whose influence¹⁰⁰, like the wreath of radiant fire

On flickering Phoebus’ front¹⁰¹—

CORNWALL What mean’st by this?

KENT To go out of my dialect¹⁰³, which you discommend so

much. I know, sir, I am no flatterer: he that beguiled¹⁰⁴ you in a

plain accent was a plain knave, which for my part I will not

be, though I should win your displeasure to entreat me to’t¹⁰⁶.

To Oswald

CORNWALL What was th’offence you gave him?

OSWALD I never gave him any.

It pleased the king his master very late

To strike at me, upon his misconstruction¹¹⁰:

When he, compact¹¹¹ and flattering his displeasure,

Tripped me behind, being¹¹² down, insulted, railed,

And put upon him such a deal of man¹¹³

That worthied him¹¹⁴, got praises of the king

For him attempting who was self-subdued¹¹⁵:

And, in the fleshment of this dread exploit¹¹⁶,

Drew on me here again.

KENT None of these rogues and cowards¹¹⁸

But Ajax is their fool.

CORNWALL Fetch forth the stocks¹²⁰!—

You stubborn ancient knave, you reverent braggart¹²¹,

We’ll teach you.

KENT Sir, I am too old to learn.

Call not your stocks for me: I serve the king,

On whose employment I was sent to you:

You shall do small respects, show too bold malice¹²⁶

Against the grace¹²⁷ and person of my master,

Stocking his messenger.

CORNWALL Fetch forth the stocks! As I have life and honour,

There shall he sit till noon.

REGAN Till noon? Till night, my lord, and all night too.

KENT Why, madam, if I were your father’s dog

You should not use¹³³ me so.

REGAN Sir, being his knave, I will.

Stocks brought out

CORNWALL This is a fellow of the self-same colour¹³⁵

Our sister speaks of. Come, bring away¹³⁶ the stocks!

GLOUCESTER Let me beseech your grace not to do so:

The king his master needs must take it ill

That he so slightly valued in his messenger,

Should have him thus restrained.

CORNWALL I’ll answer¹⁴¹ that.

REGAN My sister may receive it much more worse

To have her gentleman abused, assaulted.

Kent put in the stocks

CORNWALL Come, my lord, away.

Exeunt. [Gloucester and Kent remain]

GLOUCESTER I am sorry for thee, friend: ’tis the duke’s pleasure¹⁴⁵,

Whose disposition all the world well knows

Will not be rubbed¹⁴⁷ nor stopped. I’ll entreat for thee.

KENT Pray do not, sir. I have watched¹⁴⁸ and travelled hard:

Some time I shall sleep out, the rest I’ll whistle.

A good man’s fortune may grow out at heels¹⁵⁰.

Give you good morrow¹⁵¹.

GLOUCESTER The duke’s to blame in this: ’twill be ill taken.

Exit

KENT Good king, that must approve the common saw¹⁵³,

Thou out of heaven’s benediction com’st¹⁵⁴

To the warm sun.

Pulls out a letter

Approach, thou beacon to this under globe¹⁵⁶,

That by thy comfortable¹⁵⁷ beams I may

Peruse this letter. Nothing almost sees miracles¹⁵⁸

But misery. I know ’tis from Cordelia,

Who hath most fortunately been informed

Of my obscurèd course¹⁶¹, and shall find time

From this enormous state¹⁶², seeking to give

Losses their remedies. All weary and o’erwatched¹⁶³,

Take vantage¹⁶⁴, heavy eyes, not to behold

This shameful lodging.

Fortune, goodnight: smile once more, turn thy wheel¹⁶⁶!

Sleeps

Enter Edgar

EDGAR I heard myself proclaimed¹⁶⁷,

And by the happy¹⁶⁸ hollow of a tree

Escaped the hunt. No port is free, no place

That guard and most unusual vigilance

Does not attend my taking¹⁷¹. Whiles I may scape,

I will preserve myself, and am bethought¹⁷²

To take the basest and most poorest shape

That ever penury in contempt of man¹⁷⁴

Brought near to beast: my face I’ll grime with filth,

Blanket my loins, elf¹⁷⁶ all my hairs in knots,

And with presented¹⁷⁷ nakedness outface

The winds and persecutions of the sky.

The country gives me proof and precedent

Of Bedlam¹⁸⁰ beggars, who with roaring voices

Strike in their numbed and mortifièd¹⁸¹ arms

Pins, wooden pricks¹⁸², nails, sprigs of rosemary,

And with this horrible object, from low¹⁸³ farms,

Poor pelting¹⁸⁴ villages, sheepcotes, and mills,

Sometimes with lunatic bans¹⁸⁵, sometime with prayers,

Enforce their charity. Poor Turlygod, poor Tom¹⁸⁶!

That’s something yet: Edgar I nothing am¹⁸⁷.

Exit

Enter Lear, Fool and Gentleman

LEAR ’Tis strange that they¹⁸⁸ should so depart from home

And not send back my messengers.

GENTLEMAN As I learned,

The night before there was no purpose in them

Of this remove.

Wakes

KENT Hail to thee, noble master!

LEAR Ha? Mak’st thou this shame thy pastime?

KENT No, my lord.

FOOL Ha, ha, he wears cruel¹⁹⁶ garters. Horses are tied by

the heads, dogs and bears by th’neck, monkeys by th’loins,

and men by th’legs: when a man’s over-lusty at legs¹⁹⁸, then he

wears wooden nether-stocks¹⁹⁹.

LEAR What’s he that hath so much thy place²⁰⁰ mistook

To²⁰¹ set thee here?

KENT It is both he and she:

Your son²⁰³ and daughter.

LEAR No.

KENT Yes.

LEAR No, I say.

KENT I say, yea.

LEAR By Jupiter, I swear, no.

KENT By Juno²⁰⁹, I swear, ay.

LEAR They durst not do’t:

They could not, would not do’t: ’tis worse than murder

To do upon respect²¹² such violent outrage.

Resolve me with all modest haste which way²¹³

Thou might’st deserve or they impose this usage²¹⁴,

Coming from us²¹⁵.

KENT My lord, when at their home

I did commend²¹⁷ your highness’ letters to them,

Ere I was risen from the place that showed

My duty kneeling, came there a reeking post²¹⁹,

Stewed²²⁰ in his haste, half breathless, panting forth

From Goneril his mistress salutations,

Delivered letters, spite of intermission²²²,

Which presently²²³ they read: on those contents

They summoned up their meiny, straight²²⁴ took horse,

Commanded me to follow and attend²²⁵

The leisure of their answer, gave me cold looks:

And meeting here the other messenger,

Whose welcome I perceived had poisoned mine —

Being the very fellow which of late

Displayed so saucily against²³⁰ your highness —

Having more man than wit about me, drew²³¹.

He raised the house with loud and coward cries:

Your son and daughter found this trespass worth

The shame which here it suffers.

FOOL Winter’s not gone yet if the wild geese fly that way²³⁵.

Sings

Fathers that wear rags

Do make their children blind²³⁷,

But fathers that bear bags²³⁸

Shall see their children kind.

Fortune, that arrant²⁴⁰ whore,

Ne’er turns the key²⁴¹ to th’poor.

But, for all this, thou shalt have as many dolours²⁴² for thy

daughters as thou canst tell²⁴³ in a year.

LEAR O, how this mother²⁴⁴ swells up toward my heart!

Hysterica passio²⁴⁵, down, thou climbing sorrow:

Thy element’s below²⁴⁶!— Where is this daughter?

KENT With the earl, sir, here within.

LEAR Follow me not: stay here.

Exit

GENTLEMAN Made you no more offence but what you speak of?

KENT None. How chance the king comes with so small a

number?

FOOL An thou had’st been set i’th’stocks for that

question, thou’dst well deserved it.

KENT Why, fool?

FOOL We’ll set thee to school to an ant to teach thee²⁵⁵

there’s no labouring i’th’winter. All that follow their noses

are led by their eyes but blind men, and there’s not a nose

among twenty but can smell him that’s stinking²⁵⁸. Let go thy

hold when a great wheel runs down a hill lest it break thy

neck with following: but the great one that goes upward, let

him draw thee after. When a wise man gives thee better

counsel, give me mine again²⁶²: I would have none but knaves

follow it, since a fool gives it.

Sings

That sir²⁶⁴ which serves and seeks for gain,

And follows but for form²⁶⁵,

Will pack²⁶⁶ when it begins to rain,

And leave thee in the storm.

But I will tarry, the fool will stay,

And let the wise man fly:

The knave turns fool that runs away,

The fool no knave, perdy²⁷¹.

Enter Lear and Gloucester

KENT Where learned you this, fool?

FOOL Not i’th’stocks, fool.

LEAR Deny²⁷⁴ to speak with me? They are sick, they are weary,

They have travelled all the night? Mere fetches²⁷⁵,

The images of revolt and flying off²⁷⁶.

Fetch me a better answer.

GLOUCESTER My dear lord,

You know the fiery quality of the duke,

How unremovable and fixed he is

In his own course.

LEAR Vengeance, plague, death, confusion²⁸²!

Fiery? What quality? Why, Gloucester, Gloucester,

I’d speak with the Duke of Cornwall and his wife.

GLOUCESTER Well, my good lord, I have informed them so.

LEAR Informed them? Dost thou understand me, man?

GLOUCESTER Ay, my good lord.

LEAR The king would speak with Cornwall: the dear father

Would with his daughter speak, commands, tends²⁸⁹, service.

Are they informed of this? My breath and blood!

Fiery? The fiery duke? Tell the hot duke that —

No, but not yet: maybe he is not well.

Infirmity doth still neglect all office²⁹³

Whereto our health is bound: we are not ourselves

When nature, being oppressed²⁹⁵, commands the mind

To suffer with the body. I’ll forbear,

And am fallen out with my more headier will²⁹⁷,

To take the indisposed and sickly fit

Sees Kent

For the sound man. Death on my state²⁹⁹! Wherefore

Should he sit here? This act persuades me

That this remotion³⁰¹ of the duke and her

Is practice only. Give me my servant forth³⁰².

Go tell the duke and’s³⁰³ wife I’d speak with them,

Now, presently: bid them come forth and hear me,

Or at their chamber-door I’ll beat the drum

Till it cry sleep to death.

GLOUCESTER I would have all well betwixt you.

Exit

LEAR O me, my heart, my rising heart! But, down!

FOOL Cry to it, nuncle, as the cockney³⁰⁹ did to the eels when

she put ’em i’th’paste alive: she knapped ’em o’th’coxcombs³¹⁰

with a stick and cried ‘Down, wantons³¹¹, down!’ ’Twas her

brother that, in pure kindness to his horse, buttered his hay³¹².

Enter Cornwall, Regan, Gloucester, Servants

LEAR Good morrow to you both.

CORNWALL Hail to your grace!

Kent here set at liberty

REGAN I am glad to see your highness.

LEAR Regan, I think you are. I know what reason

I have to think so: if thou shouldst not be glad,

I would divorce me from thy mother’s tomb,

To Kent

Sepulch’ring an adult’ress³¹⁹.— O, are you free?

Some other time for that.— Belovèd Regan,

Thy sister’s naught³²¹: O Regan, she hath tied

Sharp-toothed unkindness, like a vulture³²², here.

Points to his heart

I can scarce speak to thee. Thou’lt not believe

With how depraved a quality — O Regan!

REGAN I pray you, sir, take patience: I have hope

You less know how to value her desert³²⁶

Than she to scant her duty.

LEAR Say? How is that?

REGAN I cannot think my sister in the least

Would fail her obligation: if, sir, perchance

She have restrained the riots of your followers,

’Tis on such ground and to such wholesome end

As clears her from all blame.

LEAR My curses on her!

REGAN O, sir, you are old:

Nature in you stands on the very verge³³⁶

Of her confine: you should be ruled and led

By some discretion that discerns your state³³⁸

Better than you yourself. Therefore, I pray you,

That to our sister you do make return:

Say you have wronged her.

LEAR Ask her forgiveness?

Do you but mark how this becomes the house³⁴³:

Dear daughter, I confess that I am old;

Kneels

Age is unnecessary³⁴⁵. On my knees I beg

That you’ll vouchsafe me raiment³⁴⁶, bed and food.

REGAN Good sir, no more: these are unsightly tricks:

Return you to my sister.

Rises

LEAR Never, Regan:

She hath abated³⁵⁰ me of half my train,

Looked black upon me, struck me with her tongue

Most serpent-like upon the very heart.

All the stored vengeances of heaven fall

On her ingrateful top³⁵⁴! Strike her young bones,

You taking³⁵⁵ airs, with lameness—

CORNWALL Fie, sir, fie!

LEAR You nimble lightnings, dart your blinding flames

Into her scornful eyes! Infect her beauty,

You fen-sucked fogs drawn by the powerful sun³⁵⁹

To fall and blister!

REGAN O the blest gods! So will you wish on me

When the rash mood is on.

LEAR No, Regan, thou shalt never have my curse:

Thy tender-hafted³⁶⁴ nature shall not give

Thee o’er to harshness. Her eyes are fierce, but thine

Do comfort and not burn. ’Tis not in thee

To grudge my pleasures, to cut off my train,

To bandy hasty words, to scant my sizes³⁶⁸,

And, in conclusion, to oppose the bolt³⁶⁹

Against my coming in: thou better know’st

The offices of nature³⁷¹, bond of childhood,

Effects³⁷² of courtesy, dues of gratitude:

Thy half o’th’kingdom hast thou not forgot,

Wherein I thee endowed.

Tucket within

REGAN Good sir, to th’purpose³⁷⁵.

LEAR Who put my man i’th’stocks?

Enter Steward [Oswald]

CORNWALL What trumpet’s that?

REGAN I know’t my sister’s: this approves³⁷⁸ her letter,

To Oswald

That she would soon be here.— Is your lady come?

LEAR This is a slave, whose easy-borrowed³⁸⁰ pride

Dwells in the sickly grace³⁸¹ of her he follows.—

Out, varlet, from my sight!

CORNWALL What means your grace?

Enter Goneril

LEAR Who stocked my servant? Regan, I have good hope

Thou didst not know on’t³⁸⁵. Who comes here? O heavens,

If you do love old men, if your sweet sway³⁸⁶

Allow³⁸⁷ obedience, if you yourselves are old,

Make it your cause, send down, and take my part!—

To Goneril

Art not ashamed to look upon this beard³⁸⁹?—

O Regan, will you take her by the hand?

Regan and Goneril join hands

GONERIL Why not by th’hand, sir? How have I offended?

All’s not offence that indiscretion³⁹² finds

And dotage terms so.

LEAR O sides³⁹⁴, you are too tough!

Will you yet hold?— How came my man i’th’stocks?

CORNWALL I set him there, sir: but his own disorders³⁹⁶

Deserved much less advancement³⁹⁷.

LEAR You? Did you?

REGAN I pray you, father, being weak, seem so.

If till the expiration of your month,

You will return and sojourn with my sister,

Dismissing half your train, come then to me:

I am now from home, and out of that provision

Which shall be needful for your entertainment⁴⁰⁴.

LEAR Return to her? And fifty men dismissed?

No, rather I abjure⁴⁰⁶ all roofs, and choose

To wage against the enmity o’th’air⁴⁰⁷,

To be a comrade with the wolf and owl,

Necessity’s⁴⁰⁹ sharp pinch! Return with her?

Why, the hot-blooded France, that dowerless took

Our youngest born, I could as well be brought

To knee his throne and, squire-like, pension⁴¹² beg

To keep base life afoot⁴¹³. Return with her?

Persuade me rather to be slave and sumpter⁴¹⁴

To this detested groom⁴¹⁵.

Points at Oswald

GONERIL At your choice, sir.

LEAR I prithee, daughter, do not make me mad.

I will not trouble thee, my child, farewell:

We’ll no more meet, no more see one another.

But yet thou art my flesh, my blood, my daughter —

Or rather a disease that’s in my flesh,

Which I must needs call mine: thou art a boil,

A plague-sore, or embossèd carbuncle⁴²³,

In my corrupted blood⁴²⁴. But I’ll not chide thee:

Let shame come when it will, I do not call it:

I do not bid the thunder-bearer shoot,

Nor tell tales of thee to high-judging Jove.

Mend⁴²⁸ when thou canst, be better at thy leisure:

I can be patient, I can stay with Regan,

I and my hundred knights.

REGAN Not altogether so:

I looked not for⁴³² you yet, nor am provided

For your fit welcome. Give ear, sir, to my sister,

For those that mingle reason with your passion⁴³⁴

Must be content to think you old, and so —

But she knows what she does.

LEAR Is this well spoken?

REGAN I dare avouch⁴³⁸ it, sir: what, fifty followers?

Is it not well? What should you need of more?

Yea, or so many, sith that both charge and danger⁴⁴⁰

Speak gainst so great a number? How in one house

Should many people under two commands

Hold amity? ’Tis hard, almost impossible.

GONERIL Why might not you, my lord, receive attendance

From those that she calls servants, or from mine?

REGAN Why not, my lord? If then they chanced to slack ye⁴⁴⁶,

We could control⁴⁴⁷ them. If you will come to me —

For now I spy a danger — I entreat you

To bring but five-and-twenty: to no more

Will I give place or notice⁴⁵⁰.

LEAR I gave you all—

REGAN And in good time you gave it⁴⁵².

LEAR Made you my guardians, my depositaries⁴⁵³,

But kept a reservation⁴⁵⁴ to be followed

With such a number. What, must I come to you

With five-and-twenty? Regan, said you so?

REGAN And speak’t again, my lord: no more with me.

LEAR Those wicked creatures yet do look well-favoured⁴⁵⁸

When others are more wicked: not being the worst

To Goneril

Stands in some rank of praise⁴⁶⁰.— I’ll go with thee:

Thy fifty yet doth double five-and-twenty,

And thou art twice her love.

GONERIL Hear me, my lord:

What need you five-and-twenty, ten, or five,

To follow in a house where twice so many

Have a command to tend you?

REGAN What need one?

LEAR O, reason not the need! Our basest beggars⁴⁶⁸

Are in the poorest thing superfluous:

Allow not⁴⁷⁰ nature more than nature needs,

Man’s life is cheap as beast’s. Thou art a lady;

If only to go warm were gorgeous⁴⁷²,

Why, nature needs not what thou gorgeous wear’st⁴⁷³,

Which scarcely keeps thee warm. But for true need —

You heavens, give me that patience, patience I need!

You see me here, you gods, a poor old man,

As full of grief as age, wretched in both.

If it be you that stirs these daughters’ hearts

Against their father, fool me not so much⁴⁷⁹

To bear it tamely: touch me with noble anger,

And let not women’s weapons, water drops,

Stain my man’s cheeks! No, you unnatural hags,

I will have such revenges on you both,

That all the world shall — I will do such things —

What they are yet I know not, but they shall be

The terrors of the earth! You think I’ll weep:

No, I’ll not weep: I have full cause of weeping,

Storm and tempest

But this heart shall break into a hundred thousand flaws⁴⁸⁸,

Or ere⁴⁸⁹ I’ll weep. O fool, I shall go mad!

Exeunt [Lear, Gloucester, Kent and Fool]

CORNWALL Let us withdraw: ’twill be a storm.

REGAN This house is little: the old man and’s⁴⁹¹ people

Cannot be well bestowed⁴⁹².

GONERIL ’Tis his own blame hath put himself from rest⁴⁹³

And must needs taste his folly.

REGAN For his particular⁴⁹⁵, I’ll receive him gladly,

But not one follower.

GONERIL So am I purposed.

Where is my lord of Gloucester?

Enter Gloucester

CORNWALL Followed the old man forth: he is returned.

GLOUCESTER The king is in high rage.

CORNWALL Whither is he going?

GLOUCESTER He calls to horse, but will⁵⁰² I know not whither.

CORNWALL ’Tis best to give him way⁵⁰³: he leads himself.

GONERIL My lord, entreat him by no means to stay.

GLOUCESTER Alack, the night comes on, and the high winds

Do sorely ruffle⁵⁰⁶, for many miles about

There’s scarce a bush.

REGAN O, sir, to wilful men

The injuries that they themselves procure⁵⁰⁹

Must be their schoolmasters. Shut up your doors:

He is attended with a desperate train⁵¹¹,

And what they may incense him to, being apt

To have his ear abused⁵¹³, wisdom bids fear.

CORNWALL Shut up your doors, my lord, ’tis a wild night.

My Regan counsels well: come out o’th’storm.

Exeunt