{"collection":"sks","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/browse/sks/lear/lear.htm","path":"sks/lear/lear.htm","source_url":"https://sacred-texts.com/sks/lear/lear.htm","text":"KING LEAR\nDRAMATIS PERSONAE\nLEAR king of Britain (KING LEAR:)\nKING OF FRANCE:\nDUKE OF BURGUNDY (BURGUNDY:)\nDUKE OF CORNWALL (CORNWALL:)\nDUKE OF ALBANY (ALBANY:)\nEARL OF KENT (KENT:)\nEARL OF GLOUCESTER (GLOUCESTER:)\nEDGAR son to Gloucester.\nEDMUND bastard son to Gloucester.\nCURAN a courtier.\nOld Man tenant to Gloucester.\nDoctor:\nFool:\nOSWALD steward to Goneril.\nA Captain employed by Edmund. (Captain:)\nGentleman attendant on Cordelia. (Gentleman:)\nA Herald.\nServants to Cornwall.\n(First Servant:)\n(Second Servant:)\n(Third Servant:)\nGONERIL |\n|\nREGAN | daughters to Lear.\n|\nCORDELIA |\nKnights of Lear's train, Captains, Messengers,\nSoldiers, and Attendants\n(Knight:)\n(Captain:)\n(Messenger:)\nSCENE Britain.\nKING LEAR\nACT I\nSCENE I King Lear's palace.\n[Enter KENT, GLOUCESTER, and EDMUND]\nKENT I thought the king had more affected the Duke of\nAlbany than Cornwall.\nGLOUCESTER It did always seem so to us: but now, in the\ndivision of the kingdom, it appears not which of\nthe dukes he values most; for equalities are so\nweighed, that curiosity in neither can make choice\nof either's moiety.\nKENT Is not this your son, my lord?\nGLOUCESTER His breeding, sir, hath been at my charge: I have\nso often blushed to acknowledge him, that now I am\nbrazed to it.\nKENT I cannot conceive you.\nGLOUCESTER Sir, this young fellow's mother could: whereupon\nshe grew round-wombed, and had, indeed, sir, a son\nfor her cradle ere she had a husband for her bed.\nDo you smell a fault?\nKENT I cannot wish the fault undone, the issue of it\nbeing so proper.\nGLOUCESTER But I have, sir, a son by order of law, some year\nelder than this, who yet is no dearer in my account:\nthough this knave came something saucily into the\nworld before he was sent for, yet was his mother\nfair; there was good sport at his making, and the\nwhoreson must be acknowledged. Do you know this\nnoble gentleman, Edmund?\nEDMUND No, my lord.\nGLOUCESTER My lord of Kent: remember him hereafter as my\nhonourable friend.\nEDMUND My services to your lordship.\nKENT I must love you, and sue to know you better.\nEDMUND Sir, I shall study deserving.\nGLOUCESTER He hath been out nine years, and away he shall\nagain. The king is coming.\n[Sennet. Enter KING LEAR, CORNWALL, ALBANY,\nGONERIL, REGAN, CORDELIA, and Attendants]\nKING LEAR Attend the lords of France and Burgundy, Gloucester.\nGLOUCESTER I shall, my liege.\n[Exeunt GLOUCESTER and EDMUND]\nKING LEAR Meantime we shall express our darker purpose.\nGive me the map there. Know 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\nUnburthen'd crawl toward death. Our son of Cornwall,\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. The 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 answer'd. Tell me, my daughters,--\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.\nGONERIL Sir, I love you more than words can wield the matter;\nDearer than eye-sight, space, and liberty;\nBeyond what can be valued, rich or rare;\nNo less than life, with grace, health, beauty, honour;\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.\nCORDELIA [Aside] What shall Cordelia do?\nLove, and be silent.\nLEAR Of all these bounds, even from this line to this,\nWith shadowy forests and with champains rich'd,\nWith plenteous rivers and wide-skirted meads,\nWe make thee lady: to thine and Albany's issue\nBe this perpetual. What says our second daughter,\nOur dearest Regan, wife to Cornwall? Speak.\nREGAN Sir, I am made\nOf the self-same metal that my sister is,\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 possesses;\nAnd find I am alone felicitate\nIn your dear highness' love.\nCORDELIA [Aside] Then poor Cordelia!\nAnd yet not so; since, I am sure, my love's\nMore richer than my tongue.\nKING LEAR To thee and thine hereditary ever\nRemain this ample third of our fair kingdom;\nNo less in space, validity, and pleasure,\nThan that conferr'd on Goneril. Now, our joy,\nAlthough the last, not least; to whose young love\nThe vines of France and milk of Burgundy\nStrive to be interess'd; what can you say to draw\nA third more opulent than your sisters? Speak.\nCORDELIA Nothing, my lord.\nKING LEAR Nothing!\nCORDELIA Nothing.\nKING LEAR Nothing will come of nothing: speak again.\nCORDELIA Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave\nMy heart into my mouth: I love your majesty\nAccording to my bond; nor more nor less.\nKING LEAR How, how, Cordelia! mend your speech a little,\nLest it may mar your fortunes.\nCORDELIA Good my lord,\nYou have begot me, bred me, loved me: I\nReturn those duties back as are right fit,\nObey you, love you, and most honour 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 carry\nHalf my love with him, half my care and duty:\nSure, I shall never marry like my sisters,\nTo love my father all.\nKING LEAR But goes thy heart with this?\nCORDELIA Ay, good my lord.\nKING LEAR So young, and so untender?\nCORDELIA So young, my lord, and true.\nKING 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, for ever. The barbarous Scythian,\nOr he that makes his generation messes\nTo gorge his appetite, shall to my bosom\nBe as well neighbour'd, pitied, and relieved,\nAs thou my sometime daughter.\nKENT Good my liege,--\nKING 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 my 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 Albany,\nWith my two daughters' dowers digest this third:\nLet pride, which she calls plainness, marry her.\nI do invest you jointly with my power,\nPre-eminence, and all the large effects\nThat troop with majesty. Ourself, by monthly course,\nWith reservation of an hundred knights,\nBy you to be sustain'd, shall our abode\nMake with you by due turns. Only we still retain\nThe name, and all the additions to a king;\nThe sway, revenue, execution of the rest,\nBeloved sons, be yours: which to confirm,\nThis coronet part betwixt you.\n[Giving the crown]\nKENT Royal Lear,\nWhom I have ever honour'd as my king,\nLoved as my father, as my master follow'd,\nAs my great patron thought on in my prayers,--\nKING LEAR The bow is bent and drawn, make from the shaft.\nKENT Let it fall rather, though the fork invade\nThe region of my heart: be Kent unmannerly,\nWhen Lear is mad. What wilt thou do, old man?\nThink'st thou that duty shall have dread to speak,\nWhen power to flattery bows? To plainness honour's bound,\nWhen majesty stoops to folly. Reverse thy doom;\nAnd, in thy best consideration, cheque\nThis hideous rashness: answer my life my judgment,\nThy youngest daughter does not love thee least;\nNor are those empty-hearted whose low sound\nReverbs no hollowness.\nKING LEAR Kent, on thy life, no more.\nKENT My life I never held but as a pawn\nTo wage against thy enemies; nor fear to lose it,\nThy safety being the motive.\nKING LEAR Out of my sight!\nKENT See better, Lear; and let me still remain\nThe true blank of thine eye.\nKING LEAR Now, by Apollo,--\nKENT Now, by Apollo, king,\nThou swear'st thy gods in vain.\nKING LEAR O, vassal! miscreant!\n[Laying his hand on his sword]\nALBANY |\n| Dear sir, forbear.\nCORNWALL |\nKENT Do:\nKill thy physician, and the fee bestow\nUpon thy foul disease. Revoke thy doom;\nOr, whilst I can vent clamour from my throat,\nI'll tell thee thou dost evil.\nKING LEAR Hear me, recreant!\nOn thine allegiance, hear me!\nSince thou hast sought to make us break our vow,\nWhich we durst never yet, and with strain'd pride\nTo come between 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 diseases of the world;\nAnd on the sixth to turn thy hated back\nUpon our kingdom: if, on the tenth day following,\nThy banish'd trunk be found in our dominions,\nThe moment is thy death. Away! by Jupiter,\nThis shall not be revoked.\nKENT Fare thee well, king: sith thus thou wilt appear,\nFreedom lives hence, and banishment is here.\n[To CORDELIA]\nThe gods to their dear shelter take thee, maid,\nThat justly think'st, and hast most rightly said!\n[To REGAN and GONERIL]\nAnd your large speeches may 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[Exit]\n[Flourish. Re-enter GLOUCESTER, with KING OF FRANCE,\nBURGUNDY, and Attendants]\nGLOUCESTER Here's France and Burgundy, my noble lord.\nKING LEAR My lord of Burgundy.\nWe first address towards you, who with this king\nHath rivall'd for our daughter: what, in the least,\nWill you require in present dower with her,\nOr cease your quest of love?\nBURGUNDY Most royal majesty,\nI crave no more than what your highness offer'd,\nNor will you tender less.\nKING LEAR Right noble Burgundy,\nWhen she was dear to us, we did hold her so;\nBut now her price is fall'n. 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.\nBURGUNDY I know no answer.\nKING LEAR Will you, with those infirmities she owes,\nUnfriended, new-adopted to our hate,\nDower'd with our curse, and stranger'd with our oath,\nTake her, or leave her?\nBURGUNDY Pardon me, royal sir;\nElection makes not up on such conditions.\nKING LEAR Then leave her, sir; for, by the power that made me,\nI tell you all her wealth.\n[To KING OF FRANCE]\nFor you, great king,\nI would not from your love make such a stray,\nTo match you where I hate; therefore beseech you\nTo avert your liking a more worthier way\nThan on a wretch whom nature is ashamed\nAlmost to acknowledge hers.\nKING OF FRANCE This is most strange,\nThat she, that even but now was your best object,\nThe argument of your praise, balm of your age,\nMost best, most dearest, should in this trice of time\nCommit a thing so monstrous, to dismantle\nSo many folds of favour. Sure, her offence\nMust be of such unnatural degree,\nThat monsters it, or your fore-vouch'd affection\nFall'n into taint: which to believe of her,\nMust be a faith that reason without miracle\nCould never plant in me.\nCORDELIA I yet beseech your majesty,--\nIf for I want that glib and oily art,\nTo speak and purpose not; since what I well intend,\nI'll do't before I speak,--that you make known\nIt is no vicious blot, murder, or foulness,\nNo unchaste action, or dishonour'd step,\nThat hath deprived me of your grace and favour;\nBut even for want of that for which I am richer,\nA still-soliciting eye, and such a tongue\nAs I am glad I have not, though not to have it\nHath lost me in your liking.\nKING LEAR Better thou\nHadst not been born than not to have pleased me better.\nKING OF 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 stand\nAloof from the entire point. Will you have her?\nShe is herself a dowry.\nBURGUNDY Royal Lear,\nGive but that portion which yourself proposed,\nAnd here I take Cordelia by the hand,\nDuchess of Burgundy.\nKING LEAR Nothing: I have sworn; I am firm.\nBURGUNDY I am sorry, then, you have so lost a father\nThat you must lose a husband.\nCORDELIA Peace be with Burgundy!\nSince that respects of fortune are his love,\nI shall not be his wife.\nKING OF 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 neglect\nMy love should kindle to inflamed respect.\nThy dowerless daughter, king, thrown to my chance,\nIs queen of us, of ours, and our fair France:\nNot all the dukes of waterish Burgundy\nCan buy this unprized precious maid of me.\nBid them farewell, Cordelia, though unkind:\nThou losest here, a better where to find.\nKING 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 be gone\nWithout our grace, our love, our benison.\nCome, noble Burgundy.\n[Flourish. Exeunt all but KING OF FRANCE, GONERIL,\nREGAN, and CORDELIA]\nKING OF FRANCE Bid farewell to your sisters.\nCORDELIA The jewels of our father, with wash'd 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. Use well our father:\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.\nREGAN Prescribe not us our duties.\nGONERIL 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.\nCORDELIA Time shall unfold what plaited cunning hides:\nWho cover faults, at last shame them derides.\nWell may you prosper!\nKING OF FRANCE Come, my fair Cordelia.\n[Exeunt KING OF FRANCE and CORDELIA]\nGONERIL Sister, it is not a little I have to say of what\nmost nearly appertains to us both. I think our\nfather will hence to-night.\nREGAN That's most certain, and with you; next month with us.\nGONERIL 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\nwith what poor judgment he hath now cast her off\nappears too grossly.\nREGAN 'Tis the infirmity of his age: yet he hath ever\nbut slenderly known himself.\nGONERIL The best and soundest of his time hath been but\nrash; then must we look to receive from his age,\nnot alone the imperfections of long-engraffed\ncondition, but therewithal the unruly waywardness\nthat infirm and choleric years bring with them.\nREGAN Such unconstant starts are we like to have from\nhim as this of Kent's banishment.\nGONERIL There is further compliment of leavetaking\nbetween France and him. Pray you, let's hit\ntogether: if our father carry authority with\nsuch dispositions as he bears, this last\nsurrender of his will but offend us.\nREGAN We shall further think on't.\nGONERIL We must do something, and i' the heat.\n[Exeunt]\nKING LEAR\nACT I\nSCENE II The Earl of Gloucester's castle.\n[Enter EDMUND, with a letter]\nEDMUND 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 moon-shines\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, base?\nWho, in the lusty stealth of nature, take\nMore composition and fierce quality\nThan doth, within a dull, stale, tired bed,\nGo to the 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 the legitimate: fine word,--legitimate!\nWell, my legitimate, if this letter speed,\nAnd my invention thrive, Edmund the base\nShall top the legitimate. I grow; I prosper:\nNow, gods, stand up for bastards!\n[Enter GLOUCESTER]\nGLOUCESTER Kent banish'd thus! and France in choler parted!\nAnd the king gone to-night! subscribed his power!\nConfined to exhibition! All this done\nUpon the gad! Edmund, how now! what news?\nEDMUND So please your lordship, none.\n[Putting up the letter]\nGLOUCESTER Why so earnestly seek you to put up that letter?\nEDMUND I know no news, my lord.\nGLOUCESTER What paper were you reading?\nEDMUND Nothing, my lord.\nGLOUCESTER No? What needed, then, that terrible dispatch of\nit into your pocket? the quality of nothing hath\nnot such need to hide itself. Let's see: come,\nif it be nothing, I shall not need spectacles.\nEDMUND I beseech you, sir, pardon me: it is a letter\nfrom my brother, that I have not all o'er-read;\nand for so much as I have perused, I find it not\nfit for your o'er-looking.\nGLOUCESTER Give me the letter, sir.\nEDMUND I shall offend, either to detain or give it. The\ncontents, as in part I understand them, are to blame.\nGLOUCESTER Let's see, let's see.\nEDMUND I hope, for my brother's justification, he wrote\nthis but as an essay or taste of my virtue.\nGLOUCESTER [Reads] 'This policy and reverence of age makes\nthe 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\nin the oppression of aged tyranny; who sways, not\nas it hath power, but as it is suffered. Come to\nme, that of this I may speak more. If our father\nwould sleep till I waked him, you should half his\nrevenue for ever, and live the beloved of your\nbrother, EDGAR.'\nHum--conspiracy!--'Sleep till I waked him,--you\nshould enjoy half his revenue,'--My son Edgar!\nHad he a hand to write this? a heart and brain\nto breed it in?--When came this to you? who\nbrought it?\nEDMUND It was not brought me, my lord; there's the\ncunning of it; I found it thrown in at the\ncasement of my closet.\nGLOUCESTER You know the character to be your brother's?\nEDMUND If the matter were good, my lord, I durst swear\nit were his; but, in respect of that, I would\nfain think it were not.\nGLOUCESTER It is his.\nEDMUND It is his hand, my lord; but I hope his heart is\nnot in the contents.\nGLOUCESTER Hath he never heretofore sounded you in this business?\nEDMUND Never, my lord: but I have heard him oft\nmaintain it to be fit, that, sons at perfect age,\nand fathers declining, the father should be as\nward to the son, and the son manage his revenue.\nGLOUCESTER O villain, villain! His very opinion in the\nletter! Abhorred villain! Unnatural, detested,\nbrutish villain! worse than brutish! Go, sirrah,\nseek him; I'll apprehend him: abominable villain!\nWhere is he?\nEDMUND I do not well know, my lord. If it shall please\nyou to suspend your indignation against my\nbrother till you can derive from him better\ntestimony of his intent, you shall run a certain\ncourse; where, if you violently proceed against\nhim, mistaking his purpose, it would make a great\ngap in your own honour, and shake in pieces the\nheart of his obedience. I dare pawn down my life\nfor him, that he hath wrote this to feel my\naffection to your honour, and to no further\npretence of danger.\nGLOUCESTER Think you so?\nEDMUND If your honour judge it meet, I will place you\nwhere you shall hear us confer of this, and by an\nauricular assurance have your satisfaction; and\nthat without any further delay than this very evening.\nGLOUCESTER He cannot be such a monster--\nEDMUND Nor is not, sure.\nGLOUCESTER 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.\nEDMUND I will seek him, sir, presently: convey the\nbusiness as I shall find means and acquaint you withal.\nGLOUCESTER These late eclipses in the sun and moon portend\nno good to us: though the wisdom of nature can\nreason it thus and thus, yet nature finds itself\nscourged by the sequent effects: love cools,\nfriendship falls off, brothers divide: in\ncities, mutinies; in countries, discord; in\npalaces, treason; and the bond cracked 'twixt son\nand father. This villain of mine comes under the\nprediction; there's son against father: the king\nfalls from bias of nature; there's father against\nchild. We have seen the best of our time:\nmachinations, hollowness, treachery, and all\nruinous disorders, follow us disquietly to our\ngraves. Find out this villain, Edmund; it shall\nlose thee nothing; do it carefully. And the\nnoble and true-hearted Kent banished! his\noffence, honesty! 'Tis strange.\n[Exit]\nEDMUND This is the excellent foppery of the world, that,\nwhen we are sick in fortune,--often the surfeit\nof our own behavior,--we make guilty of our\ndisasters the sun, the moon, and the stars: as\nif we were villains by necessity; fools by\nheavenly compulsion; knaves, thieves, and\ntreachers, by spherical predominance; drunkards,\nliars, and adulterers, by an enforced obedience of\nplanetary influence; and all that we are evil in,\nby a divine thrusting on: an admirable evasion\nof whoremaster man, to lay his goatish\ndisposition to the charge of a star! My\nfather compounded with my mother under the\ndragon's tail; and my nativity was under Ursa\nmajor; so that it follows, I am rough and\nlecherous. Tut, I should have been that I am,\nhad the maidenliest star in the firmament\ntwinkled on my bastardizing. Edgar--\n[Enter EDGAR]\nAnd pat he comes like the catastrophe of the old\ncomedy: my cue is villanous melancholy, with a\nsigh like Tom o' Bedlam. O, these eclipses do\nportend these divisions! fa, sol, la, mi.\nEDGAR How now, brother Edmund! what serious\ncontemplation are you in?\nEDMUND I am thinking, brother, of a prediction I read\nthis other day, what should follow these eclipses.\nEDGAR Do you busy yourself about that?\nEDMUND I promise you, the effects he writes of succeed\nunhappily; as of unnaturalness between the child\nand the parent; death, dearth, dissolutions of\nancient amities; divisions in state, menaces and\nmaledictions against king and nobles; needless\ndiffidences, banishment of friends, dissipation\nof cohorts, nuptial breaches, and I know not what.\nEDGAR How long have you been a sectary astronomical?\nEDMUND Come, come; when saw you my father last?\nEDGAR Why, the night gone by.\nEDMUND Spake you with him?\nEDGAR Ay, two hours together.\nEDMUND Parted you in good terms? Found you no\ndispleasure in him by word or countenance?\nEDGAR None at all.\nEDMUND Bethink yourself wherein you may have offended\nhim: and at my entreaty forbear his presence\ntill some little time hath qualified the heat of\nhis displeasure; which at this instant so rageth\nin him, that with the mischief of your person it\nwould scarcely allay.\nEDGAR Some villain hath done me wrong.\nEDMUND That's my fear. I pray you, have a continent\nforbearance till the spied of his rage goes\nslower; and, as I say, retire with me to my\nlodging, from whence I will fitly bring you to\nhear my lord speak: pray ye, go; there's my key:\nif you do stir abroad, go armed.\nEDGAR Armed, brother!\nEDMUND Brother, I advise you to the best; go armed: I\nam no honest man if there be any good meaning\ntowards you: I have told you what I have seen\nand heard; but faintly, nothing like the image\nand horror of it: pray you, away.\nEDGAR Shall I hear from you anon?\nEDMUND I do serve you in this business.\n[Exit EDGAR]\nA credulous father! and a brother noble,\nWhose nature is so far from doing harms,\nThat he suspects none: on whose foolish honesty\nMy practises 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.\n[Exit]\nKING LEAR\nACT I\nSCENE III The Duke of Albany's palace.\n[Enter GONERIL, and OSWALD, her steward]\nGONERIL Did my father strike my gentleman for chiding of his fool?\nOSWALD Yes, madam.\nGONERIL 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.\nOSWALD He's coming, madam; I hear him.\n[Horns within]\nGONERIL Put on what weary negligence you please,\nYou and your fellows; I'll have it come to question:\nIf he dislike it, let him to our sister,\nWhose mind and mine, I know, in that are one,\nNot to be over-ruled. 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 cheques as flatteries,--when they are seen abused.\nRemember what I tell you.\nOSWALD Well, madam.\nGONERIL 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.\n[Exeunt]\nKING LEAR\nACT I\nSCENE IV A hall in the same.\n[Enter KENT, disguised]\nKENT If but as well I other accents borrow,\nThat can my speech defuse, my good intent\nMay carry through itself to that full issue\nFor which I razed my likeness. Now, banish'd Kent,\nIf thou canst serve where thou dost stand condemn'd,\nSo may it come, thy master, whom thou lovest,\nShall find thee full of labours.\n[Horns within. Enter KING LEAR, Knights, and\nAttendants]\nKING LEAR Let me not stay a jot for dinner; go get it ready.\n[Exit an Attendant]\nHow now! what art thou?\nKENT A man, sir.\nKING LEAR What dost thou profess? what wouldst thou with us?\nKENT I do profess to be no less than I seem; to serve\nhim truly that will put me in trust: to love him\nthat is honest; to converse with him that is wise,\nand says little; to fear judgment; to fight when I\ncannot choose; and to eat no fish.\nKING LEAR What art thou?\nKENT A very honest-hearted fellow, and as poor as the king.\nKING LEAR If thou be as poor for a subject as he is for a\nking, thou art poor enough. What wouldst thou?\nKENT Service.\nKING LEAR Who wouldst thou serve?\nKENT You.\nKING LEAR Dost thou know me, fellow?\nKENT No, sir; but you have that in your countenance\nwhich I would fain call master.\nKING LEAR What's that?\nKENT Authority.\nKING LEAR What services canst thou do?\nKENT I can keep honest counsel, ride, run, mar a curious\ntale in telling it, and deliver a plain message\nbluntly: that which ordinary men are fit for, I am\nqualified in; and the best of me is diligence.\nKING LEAR How old art thou?\nKENT Not so young, sir, to love a woman for singing, nor\nso old to dote on her for any thing: I have years\non my back forty eight.\nKING LEAR Follow me; thou shalt serve me: if I like thee no\nworse after dinner, I will not part from thee yet.\nDinner, ho, dinner! Where's my knave? my fool?\nGo you, and call my fool hither.\n[Exit an Attendant]\n[Enter OSWALD]\nYou, you, sirrah, where's my daughter?\nOSWALD So please you,--\n[Exit]\nKING LEAR What says the fellow there? Call the clotpoll back.\n[Exit a Knight]\nWhere's my fool, ho? I think the world's asleep.\n[Re-enter Knight]\nHow now! where's that mongrel?\nKnight He says, my lord, your daughter is not well.\nKING LEAR Why came not the slave back to me when I called him.\nKnight Sir, he answered me in the roundest manner, he would\nnot.\nKING LEAR He would not!\nKnight My lord, I know not what the matter is; but, to my\njudgment, your highness is not entertained with that\nceremonious affection as you were wont; there's a\ngreat abatement of kindness appears as well in the\ngeneral dependants as in the duke himself also and\nyour daughter.\nKING LEAR Ha! sayest thou so?\nKnight I beseech you, pardon me, my lord, if I be mistaken;\nfor my duty cannot be silent when I think your\nhighness wronged.\nKING LEAR Thou but rememberest me of mine own conception: I\nhave perceived a most faint neglect of late; which I\nhave rather blamed as mine own jealous curiosity\nthan as a very pretence and purpose of unkindness:\nI will look further into't. But where's my fool? I\nhave not seen him this two days.\nKnight Since my young lady's going into France, sir, the\nfool hath much pined away.\nKING LEAR No more of that; I have noted it well. Go you, and\ntell my daughter I would speak with her.\n[Exit an Attendant]\nGo you, call hither my fool.\n[Exit an Attendant]\n[Re-enter OSWALD]\nO, you sir, you, come you hither, sir: who am I,\nsir?\nOSWALD My lady's father.\nKING LEAR 'My lady's father'! my lord's knave: your\nwhoreson dog! you slave! you cur!\nOSWALD I am none of these, my lord; I beseech your pardon.\nKING LEAR Do you bandy looks with me, you rascal?\n[Striking him]\nOSWALD I'll not be struck, my lord.\nKENT Nor tripped neither, you base football player.\n[Tripping up his heels]\nKING LEAR I thank thee, fellow; thou servest me, and I'll\nlove thee.\nKENT Come, sir, arise, away! I'll teach you differences:\naway, away! if you will measure your lubber's\nlength again, tarry: but away! go to; have you\nwisdom? so.\n[Pushes OSWALD out]\nKING LEAR Now, my friendly knave, I thank thee: there's\nearnest of thy service.\n[Giving KENT money]\n[Enter Fool]\nFool Let me hire him too: here's my coxcomb.\n[Offering KENT his cap]\nKING LEAR How now, my pretty knave! how dost thou?\nFool Sirrah, you were best take my coxcomb.\nKENT Why, fool?\nFool Why, for taking one's part that's out of favour:\nnay, an thou canst not smile as the wind sits,\nthou'lt catch cold shortly: there, take my coxcomb:\nwhy, this fellow has banished two on's daughters,\nand did the third a blessing against his will; if\nthou follow him, thou must needs wear my coxcomb.\nHow now, nuncle! Would I had two coxcombs and two daughters!\nKING LEAR Why, my boy?\nFool If I gave them all my living, I'ld keep my coxcombs\nmyself. There's mine; beg another of thy daughters.\nKING LEAR Take heed, sirrah; the whip.\nFool Truth's a dog must to kennel; he must be whipped\nout, when Lady the brach may stand by the fire and stink.\nKING LEAR A pestilent gall to me!\nFool Sirrah, I'll teach thee a speech.\nKING LEAR Do.\nFool Mark it, nuncle:\nHave more than thou showest,\nSpeak less than thou knowest,\nLend less than thou owest,\nRide more than thou goest,\nLearn more than thou trowest,\nSet less than thou throwest;\nLeave thy drink and thy whore,\nAnd keep in-a-door,\nAnd thou shalt have more\nThan two tens to a score.\nKENT This is nothing, fool.\nFool Then 'tis like the breath of an unfee'd lawyer; you\ngave me nothing for't. Can you make no use of\nnothing, nuncle?\nKING LEAR Why, no, boy; nothing can be made out of nothing.\nFool [To KENT] Prithee, tell him, so much the rent of\nhis land comes to: he will not believe a fool.\nKING LEAR A bitter fool!\nFool Dost thou know the difference, my boy, between a\nbitter fool and a sweet fool?\nKING LEAR No, lad; teach me.\nFool That lord that counsell'd thee\nTo give away thy land,\nCome place him here by me,\nDo thou for him stand:\nThe sweet and bitter fool\nWill presently appear;\nThe one in motley here,\nThe other found out there.\nKING LEAR Dost thou call me fool, boy?\nFool All thy other titles thou hast given away; that\nthou wast born with.\nKENT This is not altogether fool, my lord.\nFool 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 fool\nto myself; they'll be snatching. Give me an egg,\nnuncle, and I'll give thee two crowns.\nKING LEAR What two crowns shall they be?\nFool Why, after I have cut the egg i' the middle, and eat\nup the meat, the two crowns of the egg. When thou\nclovest thy crown i' the middle, and gavest away\nboth parts, thou borest thy ass on thy back o'er\nthe dirt: thou hadst little wit in thy bald crown,\nwhen thou gavest thy golden one away. If I speak\nlike myself in this, let him be whipped that first\nfinds it so.\n[Singing]\nFools had ne'er less wit in a year;\nFor wise men are grown foppish,\nThey know not how their wits to wear,\nTheir manners are so apish.\nKING LEAR When were you wont to be so full of songs, sirrah?\nFool I have used it, nuncle, ever since thou madest thy\ndaughters thy mothers: for when thou gavest them\nthe rod, and put'st down thine own breeches,\n[Singing]\nThen they for sudden joy did weep,\nAnd I for sorrow sung,\nThat such a king should play bo-peep,\nAnd go the fools among.\nPrithee, nuncle, keep a schoolmaster that can teach\nthy fool to lie: I would fain learn to lie.\nKING LEAR An you lie, sirrah, we'll have you whipped.\nFool 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' the middle: here comes one o'\nthe parings.\n[Enter GONERIL]\nKING LEAR How now, daughter! what makes that frontlet on?\nMethinks you are too much of late i' the frown.\nFool Thou wast a pretty fellow when thou hadst no need to\ncare for her frowning; now thou art an O without a\nfigure: I am better than thou art now; I am a fool,\nthou art nothing.\n[To GONERIL]\nYes, forsooth, I will hold my tongue; so your face\nbids me, though you say nothing. Mum, mum,\nHe that keeps nor crust nor crum,\nWeary of all, shall want some.\n[Pointing to KING LEAR]\nThat's a shealed peascod.\nGONERIL 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 offence,\nWhich else were shame, that then necessity\nWill call discreet proceeding.\nFool For, you trow, nuncle,\nThe hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long,\nThat it's had it head bit off by it young.\nSo, out went the candle, and we were left darkling.\nKING LEAR Are you our daughter?\nGONERIL Come, sir,\nI would you would make use of that good wisdom,\nWhereof I know you are fraught; and put away\nThese dispositions, that of late transform you\nFrom what you rightly are.\nFool May not an ass know when the cart\ndraws the horse? Whoop, Jug! I love thee.\nKING LEAR Doth any here know me? This is not Lear:\nDoth Lear walk thus? speak thus? Where are his eyes?\nEither his notion weakens, his discernings\nAre lethargied--Ha! waking? 'tis not so.\nWho is it that can tell me who I am?\nFool Lear's shadow.\nKING LEAR I would learn that; for, by the\nmarks of sovereignty, knowledge, and reason,\nI should be false persuaded I had daughters.\nFool Which they will make an obedient father.\nKING LEAR Your name, fair gentlewoman?\nGONERIL This admiration, sir, is much o' the savour\nOf other your new pranks. I do beseech you\nTo understand my purposes aright:\nAs you are old and reverend, you should be wise.\nHere do you keep a hundred knights and squires;\nMen so disorder'd, so debosh'd and bold,\nThat this our court, infected with their manners,\nShows like a riotous inn: epicurism and lust\nMake 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 remainder, that shall still depend,\nTo be such men as may besort your age,\nAnd know themselves and you.\nKING LEAR Darkness and devils!\nSaddle my horses; call my train together:\nDegenerate bastard! I'll not trouble thee.\nYet have I left a daughter.\nGONERIL You strike my people; and your disorder'd rabble\nMake servants of their betters.\n[Enter ALBANY]\nKING LEAR Woe, that too late repents,--\n[To ALBANY]\nO, sir, are you come?\nIs it your will? Speak, sir. Prepare my horses.\nIngratitude, thou marble-hearted fiend,\nMore hideous when thou show'st thee in a child\nThan the sea-monster!\nALBANY Pray, sir, be patient.\nKING LEAR [To GONERIL] 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!\nThat, like an engine, wrench'd my frame of nature\nFrom the fix'd place; drew from heart all love,\nAnd added to the gall. O Lear, Lear, Lear!\nBeat at this gate, that let thy folly in,\n[Striking his head]\nAnd thy dear judgment out! Go, go, my people.\nALBANY My lord, I am guiltless, as I am ignorant\nOf what hath moved you.\nKING 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 honour 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!\n[Exit]\nALBANY Now, gods that we adore, whereof comes this?\nGONERIL Never afflict yourself to know the cause;\nBut let his disposition have that scope\nThat dotage gives it.\n[Re-enter KING LEAR]\nKING LEAR What, fifty of my followers at a clap!\nWithin a fortnight!\nALBANY What's the matter, sir?\nKING LEAR I'll tell thee:\n[To GONERIL]\nLife and death! I am ashamed\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 thee!\nThe untented woundings of a father's curse\nPierce every sense about thee! Old fond eyes,\nBeweep this cause again, I'll pluck ye out,\nAnd cast you, with the waters that you lose,\nTo temper clay. Yea, it is come to this?\nLet is be so: yet have I left a 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 for ever: thou shalt,\nI warrant thee.\n[Exeunt KING LEAR, KENT, and Attendants]\nGONERIL Do you mark that, my lord?\nALBANY I cannot be so partial, Goneril,\nTo the great love I bear you,--\nGONERIL Pray you, content. What, Oswald, ho!\n[To the Fool]\nYou, sir, more knave than fool, after your master.\nFool Nuncle Lear, nuncle Lear, tarry and take the fool\nwith thee.\nA fox, when one has caught her,\nAnd such a daughter,\nShould sure to the slaughter,\nIf my cap would buy a halter:\nSo the fool follows after.\n[Exit]\nGONERIL This man hath had good counsel:--a hundred knights!\n'Tis politic and safe to let him keep\nAt point a hundred knights: yes, that, on every dream,\nEach buzz, each fancy, each complaint, dislike,\nHe may enguard his dotage with their powers,\nAnd hold our lives in mercy. Oswald, I say!\nALBANY Well, you may fear too far.\nGONERIL 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 utter'd I have writ my sister\nIf she sustain him and his hundred knights\nWhen I have show'd the unfitness,--\n[Re-enter OSWALD]\nHow now, Oswald!\nWhat, have you writ that letter to my sister?\nOSWALD Yes, madam.\nGONERIL 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.\n[Exit OSWALD]\nNo, no, my lord,\nThis milky gentleness and course of yours\nThough I condemn not, yet, under pardon,\nYou are much more attask'd for want of wisdom\nThan praised for harmful mildness.\nALBANY How far your eyes may pierce I can not tell:\nStriving to better, oft we mar what's well.\nGONERIL Nay, then--\nALBANY Well, well; the event.\n[Exeunt]\nKING LEAR\nACT I\nSCENE V Court before the same.\n[Enter KING LEAR, KENT, and Fool]\nKING LEAR Go you before to Gloucester with these letters.\nAcquaint my daughter no further with any thing you\nknow than comes from her demand out of the letter.\nIf your diligence be not speedy, I shall be there afore you.\nKENT I will not sleep, my lord, till I have delivered\nyour letter.\n[Exit]\nFool If a man's brains were in's heels, were't not in\ndanger of kibes?\nKING LEAR Ay, boy.\nFool Then, I prithee, be merry; thy wit shall ne'er go\nslip-shod.\nKING LEAR Ha, ha, ha!\nFool 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.\nKING LEAR Why, what canst thou tell, my boy?\nFool She will taste as like this as a crab does to a\ncrab. Thou canst tell why one's nose stands i'\nthe middle on's face?\nKING LEAR No.\nFool Why, to keep one's eyes of either side's nose; that\nwhat a man cannot smell out, he may spy into.\nKING LEAR I did her wrong--\nFool Canst tell how an oyster makes his shell?\nKING LEAR No.\nFool Nor I neither; but I can tell why a snail has a house.\nKING LEAR Why?\nFool Why, to put his head in; not to give it away to his\ndaughters, and leave his horns without a case.\nKING LEAR I will forget my nature. So kind a father! Be my\nhorses ready?\nFool Thy asses are gone about 'em. The reason why the\nseven stars are no more than seven is a pretty reason.\nKING LEAR Because they are not eight?\nFool Yes, indeed: thou wouldst make a good fool.\nKING LEAR To take 't again perforce! Monster ingratitude!\nFool If thou wert my fool, nuncle, I'ld have thee beaten\nfor being old before thy time.\nKING LEAR How's that?\nFool Thou shouldst not have been old till thou hadst\nbeen wise.\nKING LEAR O, let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven\nKeep me in temper: I would not be mad!\n[Enter Gentleman]\nHow now! are the horses ready?\nGentleman Ready, my lord.\nKING LEAR Come, boy.\nFool She that's a maid now, and laughs at my departure,\nShall not be a maid long, unless things be cut shorter.\n[Exeunt]\nKING LEAR\nACT II\nSCENE I GLOUCESTER's castle.\n[Enter EDMUND, and CURAN meets him]\nEDMUND Save thee, Curan.\nCURAN And you, sir. I have been with your father, and\ngiven him notice that the Duke of Cornwall and Regan\nhis duchess will be here with him this night.\nEDMUND How comes that?\nCURAN Nay, I know not. You have heard of the news abroad;\nI mean the whispered ones, for they are yet but\near-kissing arguments?\nEDMUND Not I pray you, what are they?\nCURAN Have you heard of no likely wars toward, 'twixt the\nDukes of Cornwall and Albany?\nEDMUND Not a word.\nCURAN You may do, then, in time. Fare you well, sir.\n[Exit]\nEDMUND The duke be here to-night? 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[Enter EDGAR]\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' the night, i' the haste,\nAnd Regan with him: have you nothing said\nUpon his party 'gainst the Duke of Albany?\nAdvise yourself.\nEDGAR I am sure on't, not a word.\nEDMUND I hear my father coming: pardon me:\nIn cunning I must draw my sword upon you\nDraw; seem to defend yourself; now quit you well.\nYield: come before my father. Light, ho, here!\nFly, brother. Torches, torches! So, farewell.\n[Exit EDGAR]\nSome blood drawn on me would beget opinion.\n[Wounds his arm]\nOf my more fierce endeavour: I have seen drunkards\nDo more than this in sport. Father, father!\nStop, stop! No help?\n[Enter GLOUCESTER, and Servants with torches]\nGLOUCESTER Now, Edmund, where's the villain?\nEDMUND Here stood he in the dark, his sharp sword out,\nMumbling of wicked charms, conjuring the moon\nTo stand auspicious mistress,--\nGLOUCESTER But where is he?\nEDMUND Look, sir, I bleed.\nGLOUCESTER Where is the villain, Edmund?\nEDMUND Fled this way, sir. When by no means he could--\nGLOUCESTER Pursue him, ho! Go after.\n[Exeunt some Servants]\nBy no means what?\nEDMUND Persuade me to the murder of your lordship;\nBut that I told him, the revenging gods\n'Gainst parricides did all their thunders bend;\nSpoke, with how manifold and strong a bond\nThe child was bound to the 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:\nBut when he saw my best alarum'd spirits,\nBold in the quarrel's right, roused to the encounter,\nOr whether gasted by the noise I made,\nFull suddenly he fled.\nGLOUCESTER 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 to-night:\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.\nEDMUND When I dissuaded him from his intent,\nAnd found him pight to do it, with curst speech\nI threaten'd 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 faith'd? No: what I should deny,--\nAs this I would: ay, though thou didst produce\nMy very character,--I'ld turn it all\nTo thy suggestion, plot, and damned practise:\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.'\nGLOUCESTER Strong and fasten'd villain\nWould he deny his letter? I never got him.\n[Tucket within]\nHark, the duke's trumpets! I know not why he comes.\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 the due note of him; and of my land,\nLoyal and natural boy, I'll work the means\nTo make thee capable.\n[Enter CORNWALL, REGAN, and Attendants]\nCORNWALL How now, my noble friend! since I came hither,\nWhich I can call but now, I have heard strange news.\nREGAN If it be true, all vengeance comes too short\nWhich can pursue the offender. How dost, my lord?\nGLOUCESTER O, madam, my old heart is crack'd, it's crack'd!\nREGAN What, did my father's godson seek your life?\nHe whom my father named? your Edgar?\nGLOUCESTER O, lady, lady, shame would have it hid!\nREGAN Was he not companion with the riotous knights\nThat tend upon my father?\nGLOUCESTER I know not, madam: 'tis too bad, too bad.\nEDMUND Yes, madam, he was of that consort.\nREGAN No marvel, then, though he were ill affected:\n'Tis they have put him on the old man's death,\nTo have the expense and waste of his revenues.\nI have this present evening from my sister\nBeen well inform'd of them; and with such cautions,\nThat if they come to sojourn at my house,\nI'll not be there.\nCORNWALL Nor I, assure thee, Regan.\nEdmund, I hear that you have shown your father\nA child-like office.\nEDMUND 'Twas my duty, sir.\nGLOUCESTER He did bewray his practise; and received\nThis hurt you see, striving to apprehend him.\nCORNWALL Is he pursued?\nGLOUCESTER Ay, my good lord.\nCORNWALL If he be taken, he shall never more\nBe fear'd 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.\nEDMUND I shall serve you, sir,\nTruly, however else.\nGLOUCESTER For him I thank your grace.\nCORNWALL You know not why we came to visit you,--\nREGAN 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 least 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 business,\nWhich craves the instant use.\nGLOUCESTER I serve you, madam:\nYour graces are right welcome.\n[Exeunt]\nKING LEAR\nACT II\nSCENE II Before Gloucester's castle.\n[Enter KENT and OSWALD, severally]\nOSWALD Good dawning to thee, friend: art of this house?\nKENT Ay.\nOSWALD Where may we set our horses?\nKENT I' the mire.\nOSWALD Prithee, if thou lovest me, tell me.\nKENT I love thee not.\nOSWALD Why, then, I care not for thee.\nKENT If I had thee in Lipsbury pinfold, I would make thee\ncare for me.\nOSWALD Why dost thou use me thus? I know thee not.\nKENT Fellow, I know thee.\nOSWALD What dost thou know me for?\nKENT A knave; a rascal; an eater of broken meats; a\nbase, proud, shallow, beggarly, three-suited,\nhundred-pound, filthy, worsted-stocking knave; a\nlily-livered, action-taking knave, a whoreson,\nglass-gazing, super-serviceable finical rogue;\none-trunk-inheriting slave; one that wouldst be a\nbawd, in way of good service, and art nothing but\nthe composition of a knave, beggar, coward, pandar,\nand the son and heir of a mongrel bitch: one whom I\nwill beat into clamorous whining, if thou deniest\nthe least syllable of thy addition.\nOSWALD Why, what a monstrous fellow art thou, thus to rail\non one that is neither known of thee nor knows thee!\nKENT 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\nrogue: for, though it be night, yet the moon\nshines; I'll make a sop o' the moonshine of you:\ndraw, you whoreson cullionly barber-monger, draw.\n[Drawing his sword]\nOSWALD Away! I have nothing to do with thee.\nKENT Draw, you rascal: you come with letters against the\nking; and take vanity the puppet's part against the\nroyalty of her father: draw, you rogue, or I'll so\ncarbonado your shanks: draw, you rascal; come your ways.\nOSWALD Help, ho! murder! help!\nKENT Strike, you slave; stand, rogue, stand; you neat\nslave, strike.\n[Beating him]\nOSWALD Help, ho! murder! murder!\n[Enter EDMUND, with his rapier drawn, CORNWALL,\nREGAN, GLOUCESTER, and Servants]\nEDMUND How now! What's the matter?\nKENT With you, goodman boy, an you please: come, I'll\nflesh ye; come on, young master.\nGLOUCESTER Weapons! arms! What 's the matter here?\nCORNWALL Keep peace, upon your lives:\nHe dies that strikes again. What is the matter?\nREGAN The messengers from our sister and the king.\nCORNWALL What is your difference? speak.\nOSWALD I am scarce in breath, my lord.\nKENT No marvel, you have so bestirred your valour. You\ncowardly rascal, nature disclaims in thee: a\ntailor made thee.\nCORNWALL Thou art a strange fellow: a tailor make a man?\nKENT Ay, a tailor, sir: a stone-cutter or painter could\nnot have made him so ill, though he had been but two\nhours at the trade.\nCORNWALL Speak yet, how grew your quarrel?\nOSWALD This ancient ruffian, sir, whose life I have spared\nat suit of his gray beard,--\nKENT Thou whoreson zed! thou unnecessary letter! My\nlord, if you will give me leave, I will tread this\nunbolted villain into mortar, and daub the wall of\na jakes with him. Spare my gray beard, you wagtail?\nCORNWALL Peace, sirrah!\nYou beastly knave, know you no reverence?\nKENT Yes, sir; but anger hath a privilege.\nCORNWALL Why art thou angry?\nKENT That such a slave as this should wear a sword,\nWho wears no honesty. Such smiling rogues as these,\nLike rats, oft bite the holy cords a-twain\nWhich are too intrinse t' unloose; smooth every passion\nThat in the natures of their lords rebel;\nBring oil to fire, snow to their colder moods;\nRenege, affirm, and turn their halcyon beaks\nWith every gale and vary of their masters,\nKnowing nought, 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'ld drive ye cackling home to Camelot.\nCORNWALL Why, art thou mad, old fellow?\nGLOUCESTER How fell you out? say that.\nKENT No contraries hold more antipathy\nThan I and such a knave.\nCORNWALL Why dost thou call him a knave? What's his offence?\nKENT His countenance likes me not.\nCORNWALL No more, perchance, does mine, nor his, nor hers.\nKENT 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.\nCORNWALL 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 plainness\nHarbour more craft and more corrupter ends\nThan twenty silly ducking observants\nThat stretch their duties nicely.\nKENT Sir, in good sooth, in sincere verity,\nUnder the allowance of your great aspect,\nWhose influence, like the wreath of radiant fire\nOn flickering Phoebus' front,--\nCORNWALL What mean'st by this?\nKENT To go out of my dialect, which you\ndiscommend so much. I know, sir, I am no\nflatterer: he that beguiled you in a plain\naccent was a plain knave; which for my part\nI will not be, though I should win your displeasure\nto entreat me to 't.\nCORNWALL What was the offence you gave him?\nOSWALD I never gave him any:\nIt pleased the king his master very late\nTo strike at me, upon his misconstruction;\nWhen he, conjunct and flattering his displeasure,\nTripp'd me behind; being down, insulted, rail'd,\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.\nKENT None of these rogues and cowards\nBut Ajax is their fool.\nCORNWALL Fetch forth the stocks!\nYou stubborn ancient knave, you reverend braggart,\nWe'll teach you--\nKENT 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 malice\nAgainst the grace and person of my master,\nStocking his messenger.\nCORNWALL Fetch forth the stocks! As I have life and honour,\nThere shall he sit till noon.\nREGAN Till noon! till night, my lord; and all night too.\nKENT Why, madam, if I were your father's dog,\nYou should not use me so.\nREGAN Sir, being his knave, I will.\nCORNWALL This is a fellow of the self-same colour\nOur sister speaks of. Come, bring away the stocks!\n[Stocks brought out]\nGLOUCESTER Let me beseech your grace not to do so:\nHis fault is much, and the good king his master\nWill cheque him for 't: your purposed low correction\nIs such as basest and contemned'st wretches\nFor pilferings and most common trespasses\nAre punish'd with: the king must take it ill,\nThat he's so slightly valued in his messenger,\nShould have him thus restrain'd.\nCORNWALL I'll answer that.\nREGAN My sister may receive it much more worse,\nTo have her gentleman abused, assaulted,\nFor following her affairs. Put in his legs.\n[KENT is put in the stocks]\nCome, my good lord, away.\n[Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER and KENT]\nGLOUCESTER I am sorry for thee, friend; 'tis the duke's pleasure,\nWhose disposition, all the world well knows,\nWill not be rubb'd nor stopp'd: I'll entreat for thee.\nKENT Pray, do not, sir: I have watched and travell'd 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!\nGLOUCESTER The duke's to blame in this; 'twill be ill taken.\n[Exit]\nKENT Good king, that must approve the common saw,\nThou out of heaven's benediction comest\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 inform'd\nOf my obscured course; and shall find time\nFrom this enormous state, seeking to give\nLosses their remedies. All weary and o'erwatch'd,\nTake vantage, heavy eyes, not to behold\nThis shameful lodging.\nFortune, good night: smile once more: turn thy wheel!\n[Sleeps]\nKING LEAR\nACT II\nSCENE III A wood.\n[Enter EDGAR]\nEDGAR I heard myself proclaim'd;\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 hair in knots;\nAnd with presented nakedness out-face\nThe winds and persecutions of the sky.\nThe country gives me proof and precedent\nOf Bedlam beggars, who, with roaring voices,\nStrike in their numb'd and mortified bare arms\nPins, wooden pricks, nails, sprigs of rosemary;\nAnd with this horrible object, from low farms,\nPoor pelting villages, sheep-cotes, and mills,\nSometime with lunatic bans, sometime with prayers,\nEnforce their charity. Poor Turlygod! poor Tom!\nThat's something yet: Edgar I nothing am.\n[Exit]\nKING LEAR\nACT II\nSCENE IV Before GLOUCESTER's castle. KENT in the stocks.\n[Enter KING LEAR, Fool, and Gentleman]\nKING LEAR 'Tis strange that they should so depart from home,\nAnd not send back my messenger.\nGentleman As I learn'd,\nThe night before there was no purpose in them\nOf this remove.\nKENT Hail to thee, noble master!\nKING LEAR Ha!\nMakest thou this shame thy pastime?\nKENT No, my lord.\nFool Ha, ha! he wears cruel garters. Horses are tied\nby the heads, dogs and bears by the neck, monkeys by\nthe loins, and men by the legs: when a man's\nover-lusty at legs, then he wears wooden\nnether-stocks.\nKING LEAR What's he that hath so much thy place mistook\nTo set thee here?\nKENT It is both he and she;\nYour son and daughter.\nKING LEAR No.\nKENT Yes.\nKING LEAR No, I say.\nKENT I say, yea.\nKING LEAR No, no, they would not.\nKENT Yes, they have.\nKING LEAR By Jupiter, I swear, no.\nKENT By Juno, I swear, ay.\nKING LEAR They durst not do 't;\nThey could not, would not do 't; 'tis worse than murder,\nTo do upon respect such violent outrage:\nResolve me, with all modest haste, which way\nThou mightst deserve, or they impose, this usage,\nComing from us.\nKENT My lord, when at their home\nI did commend your highness' letters to them,\nEre I was risen from the place that show'd\nMy duty kneeling, came there a reeking post,\nStew'd in his haste, half breathless, panting forth\nFrom Goneril his mistress salutations;\nDeliver'd letters, spite of intermission,\nWhich presently they read: on whose contents,\nThey summon'd up their meiny, straight took horse;\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 poison'd mine,--\nBeing the very fellow that of late\nDisplay'd 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.\nFool Winter's not gone yet, if the wild-geese fly that way.\nFathers that wear rags\nDo make their children blind;\nBut fathers that bear bags\nShall see their children kind.\nFortune, that arrant whore,\nNe'er turns the key to the poor.\nBut, for all this, thou shalt have as many dolours\nfor thy daughters as thou canst tell in a year.\nKING LEAR O, how this mother swells up toward my heart!\nHysterica passio, down, thou climbing sorrow,\nThy element's below! Where is this daughter?\nKENT With the earl, sir, here within.\nKING LEAR Follow me not;\nStay here.\n[Exit]\nGentleman Made you no more offence but what you speak of?\nKENT None.\nHow chance the king comes with so small a train?\nFool And thou hadst been set i' the stocks for that\nquestion, thou hadst well deserved it.\nKENT Why, fool?\nFool We'll set thee to school to an ant, to teach thee\nthere's no labouring i' the 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\nfollowing it: but the great one that goes up the\nhill, let him draw thee after. When a wise man\ngives thee better counsel, give me mine again: I\nwould have none but knaves follow it, since a fool gives it.\nThat sir which serves and seeks for gain,\nAnd follows but for form,\nWill pack when it begins to rain,\nAnd leave thee in the storm,\nBut I will tarry; the fool will stay,\nAnd let the wise man fly:\nThe knave turns fool that runs away;\nThe fool no knave, perdy.\nKENT Where learned you this, fool?\nFool Not i' the stocks, fool.\n[Re-enter KING LEAR with GLOUCESTER]\nKING LEAR Deny to speak with me? They are sick? they are weary?\nThey have travell'd all the night? Mere fetches;\nThe images of revolt and flying off.\nFetch me a better answer.\nGLOUCESTER My dear lord,\nYou know the fiery quality of the duke;\nHow unremoveable and fix'd he is\nIn his own course.\nKING LEAR Vengeance! plague! death! confusion!\nFiery? what quality? Why, Gloucester, Gloucester,\nI'ld speak with the Duke of Cornwall and his wife.\nGLOUCESTER Well, my good lord, I have inform'd them so.\nKING LEAR Inform'd them! Dost thou understand me, man?\nGLOUCESTER Ay, my good lord.\nKING LEAR The king would speak with Cornwall; the dear father\nWould with his daughter speak, commands her service:\nAre they inform'd of this? My breath and blood!\nFiery? the fiery duke? Tell the hot duke that--\nNo, but not yet: may be he is not well:\nInfirmity doth still neglect all office\nWhereto our health is bound; we are not ourselves\nWhen nature, being oppress'd, commands the mind\nTo suffer with the body: I'll forbear;\nAnd am fall'n out with my more headier will,\nTo take the indisposed and sickly fit\nFor the sound man. Death on my state! wherefore\n[Looking on KENT]\nShould he sit here? This act persuades me\nThat this remotion of the duke and her\nIs practise only. Give me my servant forth.\nGo tell the duke and 's wife I'ld 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.\nGLOUCESTER I would have all well betwixt you.\n[Exit]\nKING LEAR O me, my heart, my rising heart! but, down!\nFool Cry to it, nuncle, as the cockney did to the eels\nwhen she put 'em i' the paste alive; she knapped 'em\no' the coxcombs with a stick, and cried 'Down,\nwantons, down!' 'Twas her brother that, in pure\nkindness to his horse, buttered his hay.\n[Enter CORNWALL, REGAN, GLOUCESTER, and Servants]\nKING LEAR Good morrow to you both.\nCORNWALL Hail to your grace!\n[KENT is set at liberty]\nREGAN I am glad to see your highness.\nKING 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,\nSepulchring an adultress.\n[To KENT]\nO, are you free?\nSome other time for that. Beloved Regan,\nThy sister's naught: O Regan, she hath tied\nSharp-tooth'd unkindness, like a vulture, here:\n[Points to his heart]\nI can scarce speak to thee; thou'lt not believe\nWith how depraved a quality--O Regan!\nREGAN I pray you, sir, take patience: I have hope.\nYou less know how to value her desert\nThan she to scant her duty.\nKING LEAR Say, how is that?\nREGAN I cannot think my sister in the least\nWould fail her obligation: if, sir, perchance\nShe have restrain'd the riots of your followers,\n'Tis on such ground, and to such wholesome end,\nAs clears her from all blame.\nKING LEAR My curses on her!\nREGAN O, sir, you are old.\nNature in you stands on the very verge\nOf her 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 wrong'd her, sir.\nKING LEAR Ask her forgiveness?\nDo you but mark how this becomes the house:\n'Dear daughter, I confess that I am old;\n[Kneeling]\nAge is unnecessary: on my knees I beg\nThat you'll vouchsafe me raiment, bed, and food.'\nREGAN Good sir, no more; these are unsightly tricks:\nReturn you to my sister.\nKING LEAR [Rising] Never, Regan:\nShe hath abated me of half my train;\nLook'd black upon me; struck me with her tongue,\nMost serpent-like, upon the very heart:\nAll the stored vengeances of heaven fall\nOn her ingrateful top! Strike her young bones,\nYou taking airs, with lameness!\nCORNWALL Fie, sir, fie!\nKING LEAR You nimble lightnings, dart your blinding flames\nInto her scornful eyes! Infect her beauty,\nYou fen-suck'd fogs, drawn by the powerful sun,\nTo fall and blast her pride!\nREGAN O the blest gods! so will you wish on me,\nWhen the rash mood is on.\nKING 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 thine\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' the kingdom hast thou not forgot,\nWherein I thee endow'd.\nREGAN Good sir, to the purpose.\nKING LEAR Who put my man i' the stocks?\n[Tucket within]\nCORNWALL What trumpet's that?\nREGAN I know't, my sister's: this approves her letter,\nThat she would soon be here.\n[Enter OSWALD]\nIs your lady come?\nKING LEAR This is a slave, whose easy-borrow'd pride\nDwells in the fickle grace of her he follows.\nOut, varlet, from my sight!\nCORNWALL What means your grace?\nKING LEAR Who stock'd my servant? Regan, I have good hope\nThou didst not know on't. Who comes here? O heavens,\n[Enter GONERIL]\nIf you do love old men, if your sweet sway\nAllow obedience, if yourselves are old,\nMake it your cause; send down, and take my part!\n[To GONERIL]\nArt not ashamed to look upon this beard?\nO Regan, wilt thou take her by the hand?\nGONERIL Why not by the hand, sir? How have I offended?\nAll's not offence that indiscretion finds\nAnd dotage terms so.\nKING LEAR O sides, you are too tough;\nWill you yet hold? How came my man i' the stocks?\nCORNWALL I set him there, sir: but his own disorders\nDeserved much less advancement.\nKING LEAR You! did you?\nREGAN 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.\nKING LEAR Return to her, and fifty men dismiss'd?\nNo, rather I abjure all roofs, and choose\nTo wage against the enmity o' the 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.\n[Pointing at OSWALD]\nGONERIL At your choice, sir.\nKING 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, an 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.\nREGAN Not altogether so:\nI look'd 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.\nKING LEAR Is this well spoken?\nREGAN 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.\nGONERIL Why might not you, my lord, receive attendance\nFrom those that she calls servants or from mine?\nREGAN Why not, my lord? If then they chanced to slack you,\nWe could control them. If you will come to me,--\nFor now I spy a danger,--I entreat you\nTo bring but five and twenty: to no more\nWill I give place or notice.\nKING LEAR I gave you all--\nREGAN And in good time you gave it.\nKING LEAR Made you my guardians, my depositaries;\nBut kept a reservation to be follow'd\nWith such a number. What, must I come to you\nWith five and twenty, Regan? said you so?\nREGAN And speak't again, my lord; no more with me.\nKING LEAR Those wicked creatures yet do look well-favour'd,\nWhen others are more wicked: not being the worst\nStands in some rank of praise.\n[To GONERIL]\nI'll go with thee:\nThy fifty yet doth double five and twenty,\nAnd thou art twice her love.\nGONERIL 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?\nREGAN What need one?\nKING 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's as 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 need,--\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 stir 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\nShall break into a hundred thousand flaws,\nOr ere I'll weep. O fool, I shall go mad!\n[Exeunt KING LEAR, GLOUCESTER, KENT, and Fool]\n[Storm and tempest]\nCORNWALL Let us withdraw; 'twill be a storm.\nREGAN This house is little: the old man and his people\nCannot be well bestow'd.\nGONERIL 'Tis his own blame; hath put himself from rest,\nAnd must needs taste his folly.\nREGAN For his particular, I'll receive him gladly,\nBut not one follower.\nGONERIL So am I purposed.\nWhere is my lord of Gloucester?\nCORNWALL Follow'd the old man forth: he is return'd.\n[Re-enter GLOUCESTER]\nGLOUCESTER The king is in high rage.\nCORNWALL Whither is he going?\nGLOUCESTER He calls to horse; but will I know not whither.\nCORNWALL 'Tis best to give him way; he leads himself.\nGONERIL My lord, entreat him by no means to stay.\nGLOUCESTER Alack, the night comes on, and the bleak winds\nDo sorely ruffle; for many miles about\nThere's scarce a bush.\nREGAN O, sir, to wilful 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.\nCORNWALL Shut up your doors, my lord; 'tis a wild night:\nMy Regan counsels well; come out o' the storm.\n[Exeunt]\nKING LEAR\nACT III\nSCENE I A heath.\n[Storm still. Enter KENT and a Gentleman, meeting]\nKENT Who's there, besides foul weather?\nGentleman One minded like the weather, most unquietly.\nKENT I know you. Where's the king?\nGentleman Contending with the fretful element:\nBids the winds blow the earth into the sea,\nOr swell the curled water 'bove the main,\nThat things might change or cease; tears his white hair,\nWhich the impetuous blasts, with eyeless rage,\nCatch in their fury, and make nothing of;\nStrives in his little world of man to out-scorn\nThe to-and-fro-conflicting wind and rain.\nThis night, wherein the cub-drawn bear would couch,\nThe lion and the belly-pinched wolf\nKeep their fur dry, unbonneted he runs,\nAnd bids what will take all.\nKENT But who is with him?\nGentleman None but the fool; who labours to out-jest\nHis heart-struck injuries.\nKENT 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 be cover'd\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; what hath been seen,\nEither in snuffs and packings of the dukes,\nOr the hard rein which both of them have borne\nAgainst the old kind king; or something deeper,\nWhereof perchance these are but furnishings;\nBut, true it is, from France there comes a power\nInto this scatter'd 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.\nI am a gentleman of blood and breeding;\nAnd, from some knowledge and assurance, offer\nThis office to you.\nGentleman I will talk further with you.\nKENT No, do not.\nFor confirmation that I am much more\nThan my out-wall, open this purse, and take\nWhat it contains. If you shall see Cordelia,--\nAs fear not but you shall,--show her this ring;\nAnd she will tell you who your fellow is\nThat yet you do not know. Fie on this storm!\nI will go seek the king.\nGentleman Give me your hand: have you no more to say?\nKENT Few words, but, to effect, more than all yet;\nThat, when we have found the king,--in which your pain\nThat way, I'll this,--he that first lights on him\nHolla the other.\n[Exeunt severally]\nKING LEAR\nACT III\nSCENE II Another part of the heath. Storm still.\n[Enter KING LEAR and Fool]\nKING LEAR Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! rage! blow!\nYou cataracts and hurricanoes, spout\nTill you have drench'd our steeples, drown'd the cocks!\nYou sulphurous and thought-executing fires,\nVaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thunderbolts,\nSinge my white head! And thou, all-shaking thunder,\nSmite flat the thick rotundity o' the world!\nCrack nature's moulds, an germens spill at once,\nThat make ingrateful man!\nFool O nuncle, court holy-water in a dry\nhouse is better than this rain-water out o' door.\nGood nuncle, in, and ask thy daughters' blessing:\nhere's a night pities neither wise man nor fool.\nKING 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, call'd 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 have with two pernicious daughters join'd\nYour high engender'd battles 'gainst a head\nSo old and white as this. O! O! 'tis foul!\nFool He that has a house to put's head in has a good\nhead-piece.\nThe cod-piece that will house\nBefore the head has any,\nThe head and he shall louse;\nSo beggars marry many.\nThe man that makes his toe\nWhat he his heart should make\nShall of a corn cry woe,\nAnd turn his sleep to wake.\nFor there was never yet fair woman but she made\nmouths in a glass.\nKING LEAR No, I will be the pattern of all patience;\nI will say nothing.\n[Enter KENT]\nKENT Who's there?\nFool Marry, here's grace and a cod-piece; that's a wise\nman and a fool.\nKENT 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\nThe affliction nor the fear.\nKING LEAR Let the great gods,\nThat keep this dreadful pother o'er our heads,\nFind out their enemies now. Tremble, thou wretch,\nThat hast within thee undivulged crimes,\nUnwhipp'd of justice: hide thee, thou bloody hand;\nThou perjured, and thou simular man of virtue\nThat art incestuous: caitiff, to pieces shake,\nThat under covert and convenient seeming\nHast practised on man's life: close pent-up guilts,\nRive your concealing continents, and cry\nThese dreadful summoners grace. I am a man\nMore sinn'd against than sinning.\nKENT Alack, bare-headed!\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.\nKING 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,\nThat can make vile things precious. Come,\nyour hovel.\nPoor fool and knave, I have one part in my heart\nThat's sorry yet for thee.\nFool [Singing]\nHe that has and a little tiny wit--\nWith hey, ho, the wind and the rain,--\nMust make content with his fortunes fit,\nFor the rain it raineth every day.\nKING LEAR True, my good boy. Come, bring us to this hovel.\n[Exeunt KING LEAR and KENT]\nFool This is a brave night to cool a courtezan.\nI'll speak a prophecy ere I go:\nWhen priests are more in word than matter;\nWhen brewers mar their malt with water;\nWhen nobles are their tailors' tutors;\nNo heretics burn'd, but wenches' suitors;\nWhen every case in law is right;\nNo squire in debt, nor no poor knight;\nWhen slanders do not live in tongues;\nNor cutpurses come not to throngs;\nWhen usurers tell their gold i' the field;\nAnd bawds and whores do churches build;\nThen shall the realm of Albion\nCome to great confusion:\nThen comes the time, who lives to see't,\nThat going shall be used with feet.\nThis prophecy Merlin shall make; for I live before his time.\n[Exit]\nKING LEAR\nACT III\nSCENE III Gloucester's castle.\n[Enter GLOUCESTER and EDMUND]\nGLOUCESTER Alack, alack, Edmund, I like not this unnatural\ndealing. When I desire their leave that I might\npity him, they took from me the use of mine own\nhouse; charged me, on pain of their perpetual\ndispleasure, neither to speak of him, entreat for\nhim, nor any way sustain him.\nEDMUND Most savage and unnatural!\nGLOUCESTER Go to; say you nothing. There's a division betwixt\nthe dukes; and a worse matter than that: I have\nreceived a letter this night; 'tis dangerous to be\nspoken; I have locked the letter in my closet:\nthese injuries the king now bears will be revenged\nhome; there's part of a power already footed: we\nmust incline to the king. I will seek him, and\nprivily relieve him: go you and maintain talk with\nthe duke, that my charity be not of him perceived:\nif he ask for me. I am ill, and gone to bed.\nThough I die for it, as no less is threatened me,\nthe king my old master must be relieved. There is\nsome strange thing toward, Edmund; pray you, be careful.\n[Exit]\nEDMUND 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.\n[Exit]\nKING LEAR\nACT III\nSCENE IV The heath. Before a hovel.\n[Enter KING LEAR, KENT, and Fool]\nKENT Here is the place, my lord; good my lord, enter:\nThe tyranny of the open night's too rough\nFor nature to endure.\n[Storm still]\nKING LEAR Let me alone.\nKENT Good my lord, enter here.\nKING LEAR Wilt break my heart?\nKENT I had rather break mine own. Good my lord, enter.\nKING 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 fix'd,\nThe lesser is scarce felt. Thou'ldst shun a bear;\nBut if thy flight lay toward the raging sea,\nThou'ldst meet the bear i' the mouth. When the\nmind's free,\nThe body's delicate: the 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.\nKENT Good my lord, enter here.\nKING 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.\n[To the Fool]\nIn, boy; go first. You houseless poverty,--\nNay, get thee in. I'll pray, and then I'll sleep.\n[Fool goes in]\nPoor naked wretches, whereso'er you are,\nThat bide the pelting of this pitiless storm,\nHow shall your houseless heads and unfed sides,\nYour loop'd and window'd raggedness, defend you\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 mayst shake the superflux to them,\nAnd show the heavens more just.\nEDGAR [Within] Fathom and half, fathom and half! Poor Tom!\n[The Fool runs out from the hovel]\nFool Come not in here, nuncle, here's a spirit\nHelp me, help me!\nKENT Give me thy hand. Who's there?\nFool A spirit, a spirit: he says his name's poor Tom.\nKENT What art thou that dost grumble there i' the straw?\nCome forth.\n[Enter EDGAR disguised as a mad man]\nEDGAR Away! the foul fiend follows me!\nThrough the sharp hawthorn blows the cold wind.\nHum! go to thy cold bed, and warm thee.\nKING LEAR Hast thou given all to thy two daughters?\nAnd art thou come to this?\nEDGAR Who gives any thing to poor Tom? whom the foul\nfiend hath led through fire and through flame, and\nthrough ford and whirlipool e'er bog and quagmire;\nthat hath laid knives under his pillow, and halters\nin his pew; set ratsbane by his porridge; made film\nproud of heart, to ride on a bay trotting-horse over\nfour-inched bridges, to course his own shadow for a\ntraitor. Bless thy five wits! Tom's a-cold,--O, do\nde, do de, do de. Bless thee from whirlwinds,\nstar-blasting, and taking! Do poor Tom some\ncharity, whom the foul fiend vexes: there could I\nhave him now,--and there,--and there again, and there.\n[Storm still]\nKING LEAR What, have his daughters brought him to this pass?\nCouldst thou save nothing? Didst thou give them all?\nFool Nay, he reserved a blanket, else we had been all shamed.\nKING LEAR Now, all the plagues that in the pendulous air\nHang fated o'er men's faults light on thy daughters!\nKENT He hath no daughters, sir.\nKING 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.\nEDGAR Pillicock sat on Pillicock-hill:\nHalloo, halloo, loo, loo!\nFool This cold night will turn us all to fools and madmen.\nEDGAR Take heed o' the foul fiend: obey thy parents;\nkeep thy word justly; swear not; commit not with\nman's sworn spouse; set not thy sweet heart on proud\narray. Tom's a-cold.\nKING LEAR What hast thou been?\nEDGAR A serving-man, proud in heart and mind; that curled\nmy hair; wore gloves in my cap; served the lust of\nmy mistress' heart, and did the act of darkness with\nher; swore as many oaths as I spake words, and\nbroke them in the sweet face of heaven: one that\nslept in the contriving of lust, and waked to do it:\nwine loved I deeply, dice dearly: and in woman\nout-paramoured the Turk: false of heart, light of\near, bloody of hand; hog in sloth, fox in stealth,\nwolf in greediness, dog in madness, lion in prey.\nLet not the creaking of shoes nor the rustling of\nsilks betray thy poor heart to woman: keep thy foot\nout of brothels, thy hand out of plackets, thy pen\nfrom lenders' books, and defy the foul fiend.\nStill through the hawthorn blows the cold wind:\nSays suum, mun, ha, no, nonny.\nDolphin my boy, my boy, sessa! let him trot by.\n[Storm still]\nKING LEAR Why, thou wert better in thy grave than to answer\nwith thy uncovered body this extremity of the skies.\nIs man no more than this? Consider him well. Thou\nowest the worm no silk, the beast no hide, the sheep\nno wool, the cat no perfume. Ha! here's three on\n's are sophisticated! Thou art the thing itself:\nunaccommodated man is no more but such a poor bare,\nforked animal as thou art. Off, off, you lendings!\ncome unbutton here.\n[Tearing off his clothes]\nFool Prithee, nuncle, be contented; 'tis a naughty night\nto swim in. Now a little fire in a wild field were\nlike an old lecher's heart; a small spark, all the\nrest on's body cold. Look, here comes a walking fire.\n[Enter GLOUCESTER, with a torch]\nEDGAR This is the foul fiend Flibbertigibbet: he begins\nat curfew, and walks till the first cock; he gives\nthe web and the pin, squints the eye, and makes the\nhare-lip; mildews the white wheat, and hurts the\npoor creature of earth.\nS. Withold footed thrice the old;\nHe met the night-mare, and her nine-fold;\nBid her alight,\nAnd her troth plight,\nAnd, aroint thee, witch, aroint thee!\nKENT How fares your grace?\nKING LEAR What's he?\nKENT Who's there? What is't you seek?\nGLOUCESTER What are you there? Your names?\nEDGAR Poor Tom; that eats the swimming frog, the toad,\nthe tadpole, the wall-newt and the water; that in\nthe fury of his heart, when the foul fiend rages,\neats cow-dung for sallets; swallows the old rat and\nthe ditch-dog; drinks the green mantle of the\nstanding pool; who is whipped from tithing to\ntithing, and stock- punished, and imprisoned; who\nhath had three suits to his back, six shirts to his\nbody, horse to ride, and weapon to wear;\nBut mice and rats, and such small deer,\nHave been Tom's food for seven long year.\nBeware my follower. Peace, Smulkin; peace, thou fiend!\nGLOUCESTER What, hath your grace no better company?\nEDGAR The prince of darkness is a gentleman:\nModo he's call'd, and Mahu.\nGLOUCESTER Our flesh and blood is grown so vile, my lord,\nThat it doth hate what gets it.\nEDGAR Poor Tom's a-cold.\nGLOUCESTER Go in with me: my duty cannot suffer\nTo 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.\nKING LEAR First let me talk with this philosopher.\nWhat is the cause of thunder?\nKENT Good my lord, take his offer; go into the house.\nKING LEAR I'll talk a word with this same learned Theban.\nWhat is your study?\nEDGAR How to prevent the fiend, and to kill vermin.\nKING LEAR Let me ask you one word in private.\nKENT Importune him once more to go, my lord;\nHis wits begin to unsettle.\nGLOUCESTER Canst thou blame him?\n[Storm still]\nHis daughters seek his death: ah, that good Kent!\nHe said it would be thus, poor banish'd man!\nThou say'st the king grows mad; I'll tell thee, friend,\nI am almost mad myself: I had a son,\nNow outlaw'd from my blood; he sought my life,\nBut lately, very late: I loved him, friend;\nNo father his son dearer: truth to tell thee,\nThe grief hath crazed my wits. What a night's this!\nI do beseech your grace,--\nKING LEAR O, cry your mercy, sir.\nNoble philosopher, your company.\nEDGAR Tom's a-cold.\nGLOUCESTER In, fellow, there, into the hovel: keep thee warm.\nKING LEAR Come let's in all.\nKENT This way, my lord.\nKING LEAR With him;\nI will keep still with my philosopher.\nKENT Good my lord, soothe him; let him take the fellow.\nGLOUCESTER Take him you on.\nKENT Sirrah, come on; go along with us.\nKING LEAR Come, good Athenian.\nGLOUCESTER No words, no words: hush.\nEDGAR Child Rowland to the dark tower came,\nHis word was still,--Fie, foh, and fum,\nI smell the blood of a British man.\n[Exeunt]\nKING LEAR\nACT III\nSCENE V Gloucester's castle.\n[Enter CORNWALL and EDMUND]\nCORNWALL I will have my revenge ere I depart his house.\nEDMUND How, my lord, I may be censured, that nature thus\ngives way to loyalty, something fears me to think\nof.\nCORNWALL I now perceive, it was not altogether your\nbrother's evil disposition made him seek his death;\nbut a provoking merit, set a-work by a reprovable\nbadness in himself.\nEDMUND How malicious is my fortune, that I must repent to\nbe just! This is the letter he spoke of, which\napproves him an intelligent party to the advantages\nof France: O heavens! that this treason were not,\nor not I the detector!\nCORNWALL o with me to the duchess.\nEDMUND If the matter of this paper be certain, you have\nmighty business in hand.\nCORNWALL True or false, it hath made thee earl of\nGloucester. Seek out where thy father is, that he\nmay be ready for our apprehension.\nEDMUND [Aside] If I find him comforting the king, it will\nstuff his suspicion more fully.--I will persevere in\nmy course of loyalty, though the conflict be sore\nbetween that and my blood.\nCORNWALL I will lay trust upon thee; and thou shalt find a\ndearer father in my love.\n[Exeunt]\nKING LEAR\nACT III\nSCENE VI A chamber in a farmhouse adjoining the castle.\n[Enter GLOUCESTER, KING LEAR, KENT, Fool, and EDGAR]\nGLOUCESTER 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.\nKENT All the power of his wits have given way to his\nimpatience: the gods reward your kindness!\n[Exit GLOUCESTER]\nEDGAR Frateretto calls me; and tells me\nNero is an angler in the lake of darkness.\nPray, innocent, and beware the foul fiend.\nFool Prithee, nuncle, tell me whether a madman be a\ngentleman or a yeoman?\nKING LEAR A king, a king!\nFool No, he's a yeoman that has a gentleman to his son;\nfor he's a mad yeoman that sees his son a gentleman\nbefore him.\nKING LEAR To have a thousand with red burning spits\nCome hissing in upon 'em,--\nEDGAR The foul fiend bites my back.\nFool He's mad that trusts in the tameness of a wolf, a\nhorse's health, a boy's love, or a whore's oath.\nKING LEAR It shall be done; I will arraign them straight.\n[To EDGAR]\nCome, sit thou here, most learned justicer;\n[To the Fool]\nThou, sapient sir, sit here. Now, you she foxes!\nEDGAR Look, where he stands and glares!\nWantest thou eyes at trial, madam?\nCome o'er the bourn, Bessy, to me,--\nFool Her boat hath a leak,\nAnd she must not speak\nWhy she dares not come over to thee.\nEDGAR The foul fiend haunts poor Tom in the voice of a\nnightingale. Hopdance cries in Tom's belly for two\nwhite herring. Croak not, black angel; I have no\nfood for thee.\nKENT How do you, sir? Stand you not so amazed:\nWill you lie down and rest upon the cushions?\nKING LEAR I'll see their trial first. Bring in the evidence.\n[To EDGAR]\nThou robed man of justice, take thy place;\n[To the Fool]\nAnd thou, his yoke-fellow of equity,\nBench by his side:\n[To KENT]\nyou are o' the commission,\nSit you too.\nEDGAR Let us deal justly.\nSleepest or wakest thou, jolly shepherd?\nThy sheep be in the corn;\nAnd for one blast of thy minikin mouth,\nThy sheep shall take no harm.\nPur! the cat is gray.\nKING LEAR Arraign her first; 'tis Goneril. I here take my\noath before this honourable assembly, she kicked the\npoor king her father.\nFool Come hither, mistress. Is your name Goneril?\nKING LEAR She cannot deny it.\nFool Cry you mercy, I took you for a joint-stool.\nKING LEAR And here's another, whose warp'd 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?\nEDGAR Bless thy five wits!\nKENT O pity! Sir, where is the patience now,\nThat thou so oft have boasted to retain?\nEDGAR [Aside] My tears begin to take his part so much,\nThey'll mar my counterfeiting.\nKING LEAR The little dogs and all, Tray, Blanch, and\nSweet-heart, see, they bark at me.\nEDGAR Tom will throw his head at them. Avaunt, you curs!\nBe thy mouth or black or white,\nTooth that poisons if it bite;\nMastiff, grey-hound, mongrel grim,\nHound or spaniel, brach or lym,\nOr bobtail tike or trundle-tail,\nTom will make them weep and wail:\nFor, with throwing thus my head,\nDogs leap the hatch, and all are fled.\nDo de, de, de. Sessa! Come, march to wakes and\nfairs and market-towns. Poor Tom, thy horn is dry.\nKING LEAR Then let them anatomize Regan; see what breeds\nabout her heart. Is there any cause in nature that\nmakes these hard hearts?\n[To EDGAR]\nYou, sir, I entertain for one of my hundred; only I\ndo not like the fashion of your garments: you will\nsay they are Persian attire: but let them be changed.\nKENT Now, good my lord, lie here and rest awhile.\nKING LEAR Make no noise, make no noise; draw the curtains:\nso, so, so. We'll go to supper i' he morning. So, so, so.\nFool And I'll go to bed at noon.\n[Re-enter GLOUCESTER]\nGLOUCESTER Come hither, friend: where is the king my master?\nKENT Here, sir; but trouble him not, his wits are gone.\nGLOUCESTER 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 towards Dover, friend, where thou shalt meet\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.\nKENT Oppressed nature sleeps:\nThis rest might yet have balm'd thy broken senses,\nWhich, if convenience will not allow,\nStand in hard cure.\n[To the Fool]\nCome, help to bear thy master;\nThou must not stay behind.\nGLOUCESTER Come, come, away.\n[Exeunt all but EDGAR]\nEDGAR When we our betters see bearing our woes,\nWe scarcely think our miseries our foes.\nWho alone suffers suffers most i' the mind,\nLeaving free things and happy shows behind:\nBut then the mind much sufferance doth o'er skip,\nWhen grief hath mates, and bearing fellowship.\nHow light and portable my pain seems now,\nWhen that which makes me bend makes the king bow,\nHe childed as I father'd! Tom, away!\nMark the high noises; and thyself bewray,\nWhen false opinion, whose wrong thought defiles thee,\nIn thy just proof, repeals and reconciles thee.\nWhat will hap more to-night, safe 'scape the king!\nLurk, lurk.\n[Exit]\nKING LEAR\nACT III\nSCENE VII Gloucester's castle.\n[Enter CORNWALL, REGAN, GONERIL, EDMUND, and Servants]\nCORNWALL Post speedily to my lord your husband; show him\nthis letter: the army of France is landed. Seek\nout the villain Gloucester.\n[Exeunt some of the Servants]\nREGAN Hang him instantly.\nGONERIL Pluck out his eyes.\nCORNWALL Leave him to my displeasure. Edmund, keep you our\nsister company: the revenges we are bound to take\nupon your traitorous father are not fit for your\nbeholding. Advise the duke, where you are going, to\na most festinate preparation: we are bound to the\nlike. Our posts shall be swift and intelligent\nbetwixt us. Farewell, dear sister: farewell, my\nlord of Gloucester.\n[Enter OSWALD]\nHow now! where's the king?\nOSWALD My lord of Gloucester hath convey'd 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 lords dependants,\nAre gone with him towards Dover; where they boast\nTo have well-armed friends.\nCORNWALL Get horses for your mistress.\nGONERIL Farewell, sweet lord, and sister.\nCORNWALL Edmund, farewell.\n[Exeunt GONERIL, EDMUND, and OSWALD]\nGo seek the traitor Gloucester,\nPinion him like a thief, bring him before us.\n[Exeunt other Servants]\nThough well we may not pass upon his life\nWithout the form of justice, yet our power\nShall do a courtesy to our wrath, which men\nMay blame, but not control. Who's there? the traitor?\n[Enter GLOUCESTER, brought in by two or three]\nREGAN Ingrateful fox! 'tis he.\nCORNWALL Bind fast his corky arms.\nGLOUCESTER What mean your graces? Good my friends, consider\nYou are my guests: do me no foul play, friends.\nCORNWALL Bind him, I say.\n[Servants bind him]\nREGAN Hard, hard. O filthy traitor!\nGLOUCESTER Unmerciful lady as you are, I'm none.\nCORNWALL To this chair bind him. Villain, thou shalt find--\n[REGAN plucks his beard]\nGLOUCESTER By the kind gods, 'tis most ignobly done\nTo pluck me by the beard.\nREGAN So white, and such a traitor!\nGLOUCESTER Naughty lady,\nThese hairs, which thou dost ravish from my chin,\nWill quicken, and accuse thee: I am your host:\nWith robbers' hands my hospitable favours\nYou should not ruffle thus. What will you do?\nCORNWALL Come, sir, what letters had you late from France?\nREGAN Be simple answerer, for we know the truth.\nCORNWALL And what confederacy have you with the traitors\nLate footed in the kingdom?\nREGAN To whose hands have you sent the lunatic king? Speak.\nGLOUCESTER I have a letter guessingly set down,\nWhich came from one that's of a neutral heart,\nAnd not from one opposed.\nCORNWALL Cunning.\nREGAN And false.\nCORNWALL Where hast thou sent the king?\nGLOUCESTER To Dover.\nREGAN Wherefore to Dover? Wast thou not charged at peril--\nCORNWALL Wherefore to Dover? Let him first answer that.\nGLOUCESTER I am tied to the stake, and I must stand the course.\nREGAN Wherefore to Dover, sir?\nGLOUCESTER 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 buoy'd up,\nAnd quench'd the stelled fires:\nYet, poor old heart, he holp the heavens to rain.\nIf wolves had at thy gate howl'd that stern time,\nThou shouldst have said 'Good porter, turn the key,'\nAll cruels else subscribed: but I shall see\nThe winged vengeance overtake such children.\nCORNWALL See't shalt thou never. Fellows, hold the chair.\nUpon these eyes of thine I'll set my foot.\nGLOUCESTER He that will think to live till he be old,\nGive me some help! O cruel! O you gods!\nREGAN One side will mock another; the other too.\nCORNWALL If you see vengeance,--\nFirst Servant Hold your hand, my 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.\nREGAN How now, you dog!\nFirst Servant If you did wear a beard upon your chin,\nI'd shake it on this quarrel. What do you mean?\nCORNWALL My villain!\n[They draw and fight]\nFirst Servant Nay, then, come on, and take the chance of anger.\nREGAN Give me thy sword. A peasant stand up thus!\n[Takes a sword, and runs at him behind]\nFirst Servant O, I am slain! My lord, you have one eye left\nTo see some mischief on him. O!\n[Dies]\nCORNWALL Lest it see more, prevent it. Out, vile jelly!\nWhere is thy lustre now?\nGLOUCESTER All dark and comfortless. Where's my son Edmund?\nEdmund, enkindle all the sparks of nature,\nTo quit this horrid act.\nREGAN 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.\nGLOUCESTER O my follies! then Edgar was abused.\nKind gods, forgive me that, and prosper him!\nREGAN Go thrust him out at gates, and let him smell\nHis way to Dover.\n[Exit one with GLOUCESTER]\nHow is't, my lord? how look you?\nCORNWALL 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.\n[Exit CORNWALL, led by REGAN]\nSecond Servant I'll never care what wickedness I do,\nIf this man come to good.\nThird Servant If she live long,\nAnd in the end meet the old course of death,\nWomen will all turn monsters.\nSecond Servant Let's follow the old earl, and get the Bedlam\nTo lead him where he would: his roguish madness\nAllows itself to any thing.\nThird Servant Go thou: I'll fetch some flax and whites of eggs\nTo apply to his bleeding face. Now, heaven help him!\n[Exeunt severally]\nKING LEAR\nACT IV\nSCENE I The heath.\n[Enter EDGAR]\nEDGAR Yet better thus, and known to be contemn'd,\nThan still contemn'd and flatter'd. 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[Enter GLOUCESTER, led by an Old Man]\nMy father, poorly led? World, world, O world!\nBut that thy strange mutations make us hate thee,\nLie would not yield to age.\nOld Man O, my good lord, I have been your tenant, and\nyour father's tenant, these fourscore years.\nGLOUCESTER Away, get thee away; good friend, be gone:\nThy comforts can do me no good at all;\nThee they may hurt.\nOld Man Alack, sir, you cannot see your way.\nGLOUCESTER 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'ld say I had eyes again!\nOld Man How now! Who's there?\nEDGAR [Aside] O gods! Who is't can say 'I am at\nthe worst'?\nI am worse than e'er I was.\nOld Man 'Tis poor mad Tom.\nEDGAR [Aside] And worse I may be yet: the worst is not\nSo long as we can say 'This is the worst.'\nOld Man Fellow, where goest?\nGLOUCESTER Is it a beggar-man?\nOld Man Madman and beggar too.\nGLOUCESTER He has some reason, else he could not beg.\nI' the 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 the gods.\nThey kill us for their sport.\nEDGAR [Aside] How should this be?\nBad is the trade that must play fool to sorrow,\nAngering itself and others.--Bless thee, master!\nGLOUCESTER Is that the naked fellow?\nOld Man Ay, my lord.\nGLOUCESTER Then, prithee, get thee gone: if, for my sake,\nThou wilt o'ertake us, hence a mile or twain,\nI' the way toward Dover, do it for ancient love;\nAnd bring some covering for this naked soul,\nWho I'll entreat to lead me.\nOld Man Alack, sir, he is mad.\nGLOUCESTER 'Tis the times' plague, when madmen lead the blind.\nDo as I bid thee, or rather do thy pleasure;\nAbove the rest, be gone.\nOld Man I'll bring him the best 'parel that I have,\nCome on't what will.\n[Exit]\nGLOUCESTER Sirrah, naked fellow,--\nEDGAR Poor Tom's a-cold.\n[Aside]\nI cannot daub it further.\nGLOUCESTER Come hither, fellow.\nEDGAR [Aside] And yet I must.--Bless thy sweet eyes, they bleed.\nGLOUCESTER Know'st thou the way to Dover?\nEDGAR Both stile and gate, horse-way and foot-path. Poor\nTom hath been scared out of his good wits: bless\nthee, good man's son, from the foul fiend! five\nfiends have been in poor Tom at once; of lust, as\nObidicut; Hobbididence, prince of dumbness; Mahu, of\nstealing; Modo, of murder; Flibbertigibbet, of\nmopping and mowing, who since possesses chambermaids\nand waiting-women. So, bless thee, master!\nGLOUCESTER Here, take this purse, thou whom the heavens' plagues\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 doth not feel, feel your power quickly;\nSo distribution should undo excess,\nAnd each man have enough. Dost thou know Dover?\nEDGAR Ay, master.\nGLOUCESTER 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.\nEDGAR Give me thy arm:\nPoor Tom shall lead thee.\n[Exeunt]\nKING LEAR\nACT IV\nSCENE II Before ALBANY's palace.\n[Enter GONERIL and EDMUND]\nGONERIL Welcome, my lord: I marvel our mild husband\nNot met us on the way.\n[Enter OSWALD]\nNow, where's your master'?\nOSWALD 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 treachery,\nAnd of the loyal service of his son,\nWhen I inform'd him, then he call'd me sot,\nAnd told me I had turn'd the wrong side out:\nWhat most he should dislike seems pleasant to him;\nWhat like, offensive.\nGONERIL [To EDMUND] 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 arms at home, and give the distaff\nInto my husband's hands. This trusty servant\nShall pass between us: ere long you are like to hear,\nIf you dare venture in your own behalf,\nA mistress's command. Wear this; spare speech;\n[Giving a favour]\nDecline your head: this kiss, if it durst speak,\nWould stretch thy spirits up into the air:\nConceive, and fare thee well.\nEDMUND Yours in the ranks of death.\nGONERIL My most dear Gloucester!\n[Exit EDMUND]\nO, the difference of man and man!\nTo thee a woman's services are due:\nMy fool usurps my body.\nOSWALD Madam, here comes my lord.\n[Exit]\n[Enter ALBANY]\nGONERIL I have been worth the whistle.\nALBANY 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 border'd certain in itself;\nShe that herself will sliver and disbranch\nFrom her material sap, perforce must wither\nAnd come to deadly use.\nGONERIL No more; the text is foolish.\nALBANY Wisdom and goodness to the vile seem vile:\nFilths savour but themselves. What have you done?\nTigers, not daughters, what have you perform'd?\nA father, and a gracious aged man,\nWhose reverence even the head-lugg'd bear would lick,\nMost barbarous, most degenerate! have you madded.\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 offences,\nIt will come,\nHumanity must perforce prey on itself,\nLike monsters of the deep.\nGONERIL Milk-liver'd man!\nThat bear'st a cheek for blows, a head for wrongs;\nWho hast not in thy brows an eye discerning\nThine honour from thy suffering; that not know'st\nFools do those villains pity who are punish'd\nEre they have done their mischief. Where's thy drum?\nFrance spreads his banners in our noiseless land;\nWith plumed helm thy slayer begins threats;\nWhiles thou, a moral fool, sit'st still, and criest\n'Alack, why does he so?'\nALBANY See thyself, devil!\nProper deformity seems not in the fiend\nSo horrid as in woman.\nGONERIL O vain fool!\nALBANY Thou changed and self-cover'd thing, for shame,\nBe-monster 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.\nGONERIL Marry, your manhood now--\n[Enter a Messenger]\nALBANY What news?\nMessenger O, my good lord, the Duke of Cornwall's dead:\nSlain by his servant, going to put out\nThe other eye of Gloucester.\nALBANY Gloucester's eye!\nMessenger A servant that he bred, thrill'd with remorse,\nOpposed against the act, bending his sword\nTo his great master; who, thereat enraged,\nFlew on him, and amongst them fell'd him dead;\nBut not without that harmful stroke, which since\nHath pluck'd him after.\nALBANY 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?\nMessenger Both, both, my lord.\nThis letter, madam, craves a speedy answer;\n'Tis from your sister.\nGONERIL [Aside] 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.\n[Exit]\nALBANY Where was his son when they did take his eyes?\nMessenger Come with my lady hither.\nALBANY He is not here.\nMessenger No, my good lord; I met him back again.\nALBANY Knows he the wickedness?\nMessenger Ay, my good lord; 'twas he inform'd against him;\nAnd quit the house on purpose, that their punishment\nMight have the freer course.\nALBANY Gloucester, I live\nTo thank thee for the love thou show'dst the king,\nAnd to revenge thine eyes. Come hither, friend:\nTell me what more thou know'st.\n[Exeunt]\nKING LEAR\nACT IV\nSCENE III The French camp near Dover.\n[Enter KENT and a Gentleman]\nKENT Why the King of France is so suddenly gone back\nknow you the reason?\nGentleman Something he left imperfect in the\nstate, which since his coming forth is thought\nof; which imports to the kingdom so much\nfear and danger, that his personal return was\nmost required and necessary.\nKENT Who hath he left behind him general?\nGentleman The Marshal of France, Monsieur La Far.\nKENT Did your letters pierce the queen to any\ndemonstration of grief?\nGentleman Ay, sir; she took them, read them in my presence;\nAnd now and then an ample tear trill'd down\nHer delicate cheek: it seem'd she was a queen\nOver her passion; who, most rebel-like,\nSought to be king o'er her.\nKENT O, then it moved her.\nGentleman 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 play'd on her ripe lip, seem'd not to know\nWhat guests were in her eyes; which parted thence,\nAs pearls from diamonds dropp'd. In brief,\nSorrow would be a rarity most beloved,\nIf all could so become it.\nKENT Made she no verbal question?\nGentleman 'Faith, once or twice she heaved the name of 'father'\nPantingly forth, as if it press'd her heart:\nCried 'Sisters! sisters! Shame of ladies! sisters!\nKent! father! sisters! What, i' the storm? i' the night?\nLet pity not be believed!' There she shook\nThe holy water from her heavenly eyes,\nAnd clamour moisten'd: then away she started\nTo deal with grief alone.\nKENT It is the stars,\nThe stars above us, govern our conditions;\nElse one self mate and mate could not beget\nSuch different issues. You spoke not with her since?\nGentleman No.\nKENT Was this before the king return'd?\nGentleman No, since.\nKENT Well, sir, the poor distressed Lear's i' the town;\nWho sometime, in his better tune, remembers\nWhat we are come about, and by no means\nWill yield to see his daughter.\nGentleman Why, good sir?\nKENT A sovereign shame so elbows him: his own unkindness,\nThat stripp'd her from his benediction, turn'd 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.\nGentleman Alack, poor gentleman!\nKENT Of Albany's and Cornwall's powers you heard not?\nGentleman 'Tis so, they are afoot.\nKENT 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.\n[Exeunt]\nKING LEAR\nACT IV\nSCENE IV The same. A tent.\n[Enter, with drum and colours, CORDELIA, Doctor, and Soldiers]\nCORDELIA Alack, 'tis he: why, he was met even now\nAs mad as the vex'd sea; singing aloud;\nCrown'd with rank fumiter and furrow-weeds,\nWith bur-docks, hemlock, nettles, cuckoo-flowers,\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.\n[Exit an Officer]\nWhat can man's wisdom\nIn the restoring his bereaved sense?\nHe that helps him take all my outward worth.\nDoctor 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.\nCORDELIA All blest secrets,\nAll you unpublish'd virtues of the earth,\nSpring with my tears! be aidant and remediate\nIn the good man's distress! Seek, seek for him;\nLest his ungovern'd rage dissolve the life\nThat wants the means to lead it.\n[Enter a Messenger]\nMessenger News, madam;\nThe British powers are marching hitherward.\nCORDELIA '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 important 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!\n[Exeunt]\nKING LEAR\nACT IV\nSCENE V Gloucester's castle.\n[Enter REGAN and OSWALD]\nREGAN But are my brother's powers set forth?\nOSWALD Ay, madam.\nREGAN Himself in person there?\nOSWALD Madam, with much ado:\nYour sister is the better soldier.\nREGAN Lord Edmund spake not with your lord at home?\nOSWALD No, madam.\nREGAN What might import my sister's letter to him?\nOSWALD I know not, lady.\nREGAN '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' the enemy.\nOSWALD I must needs after him, madam, with my letter.\nREGAN Our troops set forth to-morrow: stay with us;\nThe ways are dangerous.\nOSWALD I may not, madam:\nMy lady charged my duty in this business.\nREGAN Why should she write to Edmund? Might not you\nTransport her purposes by word? Belike,\nSomething--I know not what: I'll love thee much,\nLet me unseal the letter.\nOSWALD Madam, I had rather--\nREGAN I know your lady does not love her husband;\nI am sure of that: and at her late being here\nShe gave strange oeillades and most speaking looks\nTo noble Edmund. I know you are of her bosom.\nOSWALD I, madam?\nREGAN I speak in understanding; you are; I know't:\nTherefore I do advise you, take this note:\nMy lord is dead; Edmund and I have talk'd;\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.\nOSWALD Would I could meet him, madam! I should show\nWhat party I do follow.\nREGAN Fare thee well.\n[Exeunt]\nKING LEAR\nACT IV\nSCENE VI Fields near Dover.\n[Enter GLOUCESTER, and EDGAR dressed like a peasant]\nGLOUCESTER When shall we come to the top of that same hill?\nEDGAR You do climb up it now: look, how we labour.\nGLOUCESTER Methinks the ground is even.\nEDGAR Horrible steep.\nHark, do you hear the sea?\nGLOUCESTER No, truly.\nEDGAR Why, then, your other senses grow imperfect\nBy your eyes' anguish.\nGLOUCESTER So may it be, indeed:\nMethinks thy voice is alter'd; and thou speak'st\nIn better phrase and matter than thou didst.\nEDGAR You're much deceived: in nothing am I changed\nBut in my garments.\nGLOUCESTER Methinks you're better spoken.\nEDGAR Come on, sir; here's the place: stand still. How fearful\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: half way 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,\nDiminish'd to her cock; her cock, a buoy\nAlmost too small for sight: the murmuring surge,\nThat on the unnumber'd idle pebbles chafes,\nCannot be heard so high. I'll look no more;\nLest my brain turn, and the deficient sight\nTopple down headlong.\nGLOUCESTER Set me where you stand.\nEDGAR Give me your hand: you are now within a foot\nOf the extreme verge: for all beneath the moon\nWould I not leap upright.\nGLOUCESTER 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! Go thou farther off;\nBid me farewell, and let me hear thee going.\nEDGAR Now fare you well, good sir.\nGLOUCESTER With all my heart.\nEDGAR Why I do trifle thus with his despair\nIs done to cure it.\nGLOUCESTER [Kneeling] 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.\n[He falls forward]\nEDGAR 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?\nGLOUCESTER Away, and let me die.\nEDGAR Hadst thou been aught but gossamer, feathers, air,\nSo many fathom down precipitating,\nThou'dst shiver'd like an egg: but thou dost breathe;\nHast heavy substance; bleed'st not; speak'st; art sound.\nTen masts at each make not the altitude\nWhich thou hast perpendicularly fell:\nThy life's a miracle. Speak yet again.\nGLOUCESTER But have I fall'n, or no?\nEDGAR 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.\nGLOUCESTER 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.\nEDGAR Give me your arm:\nUp: so. How is 't? Feel you your legs? You stand.\nGLOUCESTER Too well, too well.\nEDGAR This is above all strangeness.\nUpon the crown o' the cliff, what thing was that\nWhich parted from you?\nGLOUCESTER A poor unfortunate beggar.\nEDGAR As I stood here below, methought his eyes\nWere two full moons; he had a thousand noses,\nHorns whelk'd and waved like the enridged sea:\nIt was some fiend; therefore, thou happy father,\nThink that the clearest gods, who make them honours\nOf men's impossibilities, have preserved thee.\nGLOUCESTER 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.\nEDGAR Bear free and patient thoughts. But who comes here?\n[Enter KING LEAR, fantastically dressed with wild flowers]\nThe safer sense will ne'er accommodate\nHis master thus.\nKING LEAR No, they cannot touch me for coining; I am the\nking himself.\nEDGAR O thou side-piercing sight!\nKING LEAR Nature's above art in that respect. There's your\npress-money. That fellow handles his bow like a\ncrow-keeper: draw me a clothier's yard. Look,\nlook, a mouse! Peace, peace; this piece of toasted\ncheese will do 't. There's my gauntlet; I'll prove\nit on a giant. Bring up the brown bills. O, well\nflown, bird! i' the clout, i' the clout: hewgh!\nGive the word.\nEDGAR Sweet marjoram.\nKING LEAR Pass.\nGLOUCESTER I know that voice.\nKING LEAR Ha! Goneril, with a white beard! They flattered\nme like a dog; and told me I had white hairs in my\nbeard ere the black ones were there. To say 'ay'\nand 'no' to every thing that I said!--'Ay' and 'no'\ntoo was no good divinity. When the rain came to\nwet me once, and the wind to make me chatter; when\nthe thunder 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 every\nthing; 'tis a lie, I am not ague-proof.\nGLOUCESTER The trick of that voice I do well remember:\nIs 't not the king?\nKING 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? Adultery?\nThou shalt not die: die for adultery! No:\nThe wren goes to 't, and the small gilded fly\nDoes lecher in my sight.\nLet copulation thrive; for Gloucester's bastard son\nWas kinder to his father than my daughters\nGot 'tween the lawful sheets.\nTo 't, luxury, pell-mell! for I lack soldiers.\nBehold yond simpering dame,\nWhose face between her forks presages snow;\nThat minces virtue, and does shake the head\nTo hear of pleasure's name;\nThe fitchew, nor the soiled horse, goes to 't\nWith a more riotous appetite.\nDown from the waist they are Centaurs,\nThough women all above:\nBut to the girdle do the gods inherit,\nBeneath is all the fiends';\nThere's hell, there's darkness, there's the\nsulphurous pit,\nBurning, scalding, stench, consumption; fie,\nfie, fie! pah, pah! Give me an ounce of civet,\ngood apothecary, to sweeten my imagination:\nthere's money for thee.\nGLOUCESTER O, let me kiss that hand!\nKING LEAR Let me wipe it first; it smells of mortality.\nGLOUCESTER O ruin'd piece of nature! This great world\nShall so wear out to nought. Dost thou know me?\nKING LEAR I remember thine eyes well enough. Dost thou squiny\nat me? No, do thy worst, blind Cupid! I'll not\nlove. Read thou this challenge; mark but the\npenning of it.\nGLOUCESTER Were all the letters suns, I could not see one.\nEDGAR I would not take this from report; it is,\nAnd my heart breaks at it.\nKING LEAR Read.\nGLOUCESTER What, with the case of eyes?\nKING 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.\nGLOUCESTER I see it feelingly.\nKING LEAR What, art mad? A man may see how this world goes\nwith no eyes. Look with thine ears: see how yond\njustice 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\na farmer's dog bark at a beggar?\nGLOUCESTER Ay, sir.\nKING LEAR And the creature run from the cur? There thou\nmightst 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 thine own back;\nThou hotly lust'st to use her in that kind\nFor which thou whipp'st her. The usurer hangs the cozener.\nThrough tatter'd clothes small vices do appear;\nRobes and furr'd gowns hide all. Plate sin with gold,\nAnd the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks:\nArm it in rags, a pigmy'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 the accuser's lips. Get thee glass eyes;\nAnd like a scurvy politician, seem\nTo see the things thou dost not. Now, now, now, now:\nPull off my boots: harder, harder: so.\nEDGAR O, matter and impertinency mix'd! Reason in madness!\nKING 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.\nGLOUCESTER Alack, alack the day!\nKING 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 sons-in-law,\nThen, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill!\n[Enter a Gentleman, with Attendants]\nGentleman O, here he is: lay hand upon him. Sir,\nYour most dear daughter--\nKING 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 the brains.\nGentleman You shall have any thing.\nKING LEAR No seconds? all myself?\nWhy, this would make a man a man of salt,\nTo use his eyes for garden water-pots,\nAy, and laying autumn's dust.\nGentleman Good sir,--\nKING LEAR I will die bravely, like a bridegroom. What!\nI will be jovial: come, come; I am a king,\nMy masters, know you that.\nGentleman You are a royal one, and we obey you.\nKING LEAR Then there's life in't. Nay, if you get it, you\nshall get it with running. Sa, sa, sa, sa.\n[Exit running; Attendants follow]\nGentleman A sight most pitiful in the meanest wretch,\nPast speaking of in a king! Thou hast one daughter,\nWho redeems nature from the general curse\nWhich twain have brought her to.\nEDGAR Hail, gentle sir.\nGentleman Sir, speed you: what's your will?\nEDGAR Do you hear aught, sir, of a battle toward?\nGentleman Most sure and vulgar: every one hears that,\nWhich can distinguish sound.\nEDGAR But, by your favour,\nHow near's the other army?\nGentleman Near and on speedy foot; the main descry\nStands on the hourly thought.\nEDGAR I thank you, sir: that's all.\nGentleman Though that the queen on special cause is here,\nHer army is moved on.\nEDGAR I thank you, sir.\n[Exit Gentleman]\nGLOUCESTER You ever-gentle gods, take my breath from me:\nLet not my worser spirit tempt me again\nTo die before you please!\nEDGAR Well pray you, father.\nGLOUCESTER Now, good sir, what are you?\nEDGAR 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.\nGLOUCESTER Hearty thanks:\nThe bounty and the benison of heaven\nTo boot, and boot!\n[Enter OSWALD]\nOSWALD A proclaim'd 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.\nGLOUCESTER Now let thy friendly hand\nPut strength enough to't.\n[EDGAR interposes]\nOSWALD Wherefore, bold peasant,\nDarest thou support a publish'd traitor? Hence;\nLest that the infection of his fortune take\nLike hold on thee. Let go his arm.\nEDGAR Ch'ill not let go, zir, without vurther 'casion.\nOSWALD Let go, slave, or thou diest!\nEDGAR Good gentleman, go your gait, and let poor volk\npass. An chud ha' bin zwaggered out of my life,\n'twould not ha' bin zo long as 'tis by a vortnight.\nNay, come not near th' old man; keep out, che vor\nye, or ise try whether your costard or my ballow be\nthe harder: ch'ill be plain with you.\nOSWALD Out, dunghill!\nEDGAR Ch'ill pick your teeth, zir: come; no matter vor\nyour foins.\n[They fight, and EDGAR knocks him down]\nOSWALD Slave, 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 British party: O, untimely death!\n[Dies]\nEDGAR I know thee well: a serviceable villain;\nAs duteous to the vices of thy mistress\nAs badness would desire.\nGLOUCESTER What, is he dead?\nEDGAR 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 death's-man. Let us see:\nLeave, gentle wax; and, manners, blame us not:\nTo know our enemies' minds, we'ld rip their hearts;\nTheir papers, is more lawful.\n[Reads]\n'Let our reciprocal vows be remembered. You have\nmany opportunities to cut him off: if your will\nwant not, time and place will be fruitfully offered.\nThere is nothing done, if he return the conqueror:\nthen am I the prisoner, and his bed my goal; from\nthe loathed warmth whereof deliver me, and supply\nthe place for your labour.\n'Your--wife, so I would say--\n'Affectionate servant,\n'GONERIL.'\nO undistinguish'd 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 practised duke: for him 'tis well\nThat of thy death and business I can tell.\nGLOUCESTER 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 sever'd from my griefs,\nAnd woes by wrong imaginations lose\nThe knowledge of themselves.\nEDGAR Give me your hand:\n[Drum afar off]\nFar off, methinks, I hear the beaten drum:\nCome, father, I'll bestow you with a friend.\n[Exeunt]\nKING LEAR\nACT IV\nSCENE VII A tent in the French camp. LEAR on a bed asleep,\nsoft music playing; Gentleman, and others attending.\n[Enter CORDELIA, KENT, and Doctor]\nCORDELIA 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.\nKENT To be acknowledged, madam, is o'erpaid.\nAll my reports go with the modest truth;\nNor more nor clipp'd, but so.\nCORDELIA Be better suited:\nThese weeds are memories of those worser hours:\nI prithee, put them off.\nKENT Pardon me, 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.\nCORDELIA Then be't so, my good lord.\n[To the Doctor]\nHow does the king?\nDoctor Madam, sleeps still.\nCORDELIA O you kind gods,\nCure this great breach in his abused nature!\nThe untuned and jarring senses, O, wind up\nOf this child-changed father!\nDoctor So please your majesty\nThat we may wake the king: he hath slept long.\nCORDELIA Be govern'd by your knowledge, and proceed\nI' the sway of your own will. Is he array'd?\nGentleman Ay, madam; in the heaviness of his sleep\nWe put fresh garments on him.\nDoctor Be by, good madam, when we do awake him;\nI doubt not of his temperance.\nCORDELIA Very well.\nDoctor Please you, draw near. Louder the music there!\nCORDELIA O 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!\nKENT Kind and dear princess!\nCORDELIA Had you not been their father, these white flakes\nHad challenged pity of them. Was this a face\nTo be opposed against the warring 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.\nDoctor Madam, do you; 'tis fittest.\nCORDELIA How does my royal lord? How fares your majesty?\nKING LEAR You do me wrong to take me out o' the grave:\nThou art a soul in bliss; but I am bound\nUpon a wheel of fire, that mine own tears\nDo scald like moulten lead.\nCORDELIA Sir, do you know me?\nKING LEAR You are a spirit, I know: when did you die?\nCORDELIA Still, still, far wide!\nDoctor He's scarce awake: let him alone awhile.\nKING 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 pin prick. Would I were assured\nOf my condition!\nCORDELIA O, look upon me, sir,\nAnd hold your hands in benediction o'er me:\nNo, sir, you must not kneel.\nKING LEAR Pray, do not mock me:\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.\nCORDELIA And so I am, I am.\nKING 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.\nCORDELIA No cause, no cause.\nKING LEAR Am I in France?\nKENT In your own kingdom, sir.\nKING LEAR Do not abuse me.\nDoctor Be comforted, good madam: the great rage,\nYou see, is kill'd 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.\nCORDELIA Will't please your highness walk?\nKING LEAR You must bear with me:\nPray you now, forget and forgive: I am old and foolish.\n[Exeunt all but KENT and Gentleman]\nGentleman Holds it true, sir, that the Duke of Cornwall was so slain?\nKENT Most certain, sir.\nGentleman Who is conductor of his people?\nKENT As 'tis said, the bastard son of Gloucester.\nGentleman They say Edgar, his banished son, is with the Earl\nof Kent in Germany.\nKENT Report is changeable. 'Tis time to look about; the\npowers of the kingdom approach apace.\nGentleman The arbitrement is like to be bloody. Fare you\nwell, sir.\n[Exit]\nKENT My point and period will be throughly wrought,\nOr well or ill, as this day's battle's fought.\n[Exit]\nKING LEAR\nACT V\nSCENE I The British camp, near Dover.\n[Enter, with drum and colours, EDMUND, REGAN,\nGentlemen, and Soldiers.\nEDMUND Know 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.\n[To a Gentleman, who goes out]\nREGAN Our sister's man is certainly miscarried.\nEDMUND 'Tis to be doubted, madam.\nREGAN 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?\nEDMUND In honour'd love.\nREGAN But have you never found my brother's way\nTo the forfended place?\nEDMUND That thought abuses you.\nREGAN I am doubtful that you have been conjunct\nAnd bosom'd with her, as far as we call hers.\nEDMUND No, by mine honour, madam.\nREGAN I never shall endure her: dear my lord,\nBe not familiar with her.\nEDMUND Fear me not:\nShe and the duke her husband!\n[Enter, with drum and colours, ALBANY, GONERIL, and Soldiers]\nGONERIL [Aside] I had rather lose the battle than that sister\nShould loosen him and me.\nALBANY Our very loving sister, well be-met.\nSir, this I hear; 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 toucheth us, as France invades our land,\nNot bolds the king, with others, whom, I fear,\nMost just and heavy causes make oppose.\nEDMUND Sir, you speak nobly.\nREGAN Why is this reason'd?\nGONERIL Combine together 'gainst the enemy;\nFor these domestic and particular broils\nAre not the question here.\nALBANY Let's then determine\nWith the ancient of war on our proceedings.\nEDMUND I shall attend you presently at your tent.\nREGAN Sister, you'll go with us?\nGONERIL No.\nREGAN 'Tis most convenient; pray you, go with us.\nGONERIL [Aside] O, ho, I know the riddle.--I will go.\n[As they are going out, enter EDGAR disguised]\nEDGAR If e'er your grace had speech with man so poor,\nHear me one word.\nALBANY I'll overtake you. Speak.\n[Exeunt all but ALBANY and EDGAR]\nEDGAR Before 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.\nALBANY Stay till I have read the letter.\nEDGAR I was forbid it.\nWhen time shall serve, let but the herald cry,\nAnd I'll appear again.\nALBANY Why, fare thee well: I will o'erlook thy paper.\n[Exit EDGAR]\n[Re-enter EDMUND]\nEDMUND The enemy's in view; draw up your powers.\nHere is the guess of their true strength and forces\nBy diligent discovery; but your haste\nIs now urged on you.\nALBANY We will greet the time.\n[Exit]\nEDMUND 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 enjoy'd,\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.\n[Exit]\nKING LEAR\nACT V\nSCENE II A field between the two camps.\n[Alarum within. Enter, with drum and colours,\nKING LEAR, CORDELIA, and Soldiers, over the stage;\nand exeunt]\n[Enter EDGAR and GLOUCESTER]\nEDGAR 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.\nGLOUCESTER Grace go with you, sir!\n[Exit EDGAR]\n[Alarum and retreat within. Re-enter EDGAR]\nEDGAR Away, old man; give me thy hand; away!\nKing Lear hath lost, he and his daughter ta'en:\nGive me thy hand; come on.\nGLOUCESTER No farther, sir; a man may rot even here.\nEDGAR What, in ill thoughts again? Men must endure\nTheir going hence, even as their coming hither;\nRipeness is all: come on.\nGLOUCESTER And that's true too.\n[Exeunt]\nKING LEAR\nACT V\nSCENE III The British camp near Dover.\n[Enter, in conquest, with drum and colours, EDMUND,\nKING LEAR and CORDELIA, prisoners; Captain,\nSoldiers, &c]\nEDMUND Some officers take them away: good guard,\nUntil their greater pleasures first be known\nThat are to censure them.\nCORDELIA We are not the first\nWho, with best meaning, have incurr'd the worst.\nFor thee, oppressed king, am I cast down;\nMyself could else out-frown false fortune's frown.\nShall we not see these daughters and these sisters?\nKING LEAR No, no, no, no! Come, let's away to prison:\nWe two alone will sing like birds i' the 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 wall'd prison, packs and sects of great ones,\nThat ebb and flow by the moon.\nEDMUND Take them away.\nKING LEAR Upon such sacrifices, my Cordelia,\nThe gods themselves throw incense. Have I caught thee?\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 starve\nfirst. Come.\n[Exeunt KING LEAR and CORDELIA, guarded]\nEDMUND Come hither, captain; hark.\nTake thou this note;\n[Giving a paper]\ngo 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.\nEDMUND About it; and write happy when thou hast done.\nMark, I say, instantly; and carry it so\nAs I have set it down.\nCaptain I cannot draw a cart, nor eat dried oats;\nIf it be man's work, I'll do 't.\n[Exit]\n[Flourish. Enter ALBANY, GONERIL, REGAN, another\nCaptain, and Soldiers]\nALBANY Sir, you have shown to-day your valiant strain,\nAnd fortune led you well: you have the captives\nThat were the opposites of this day's strife:\nWe do require them of you, so to use them\nAs we shall find their merits and our safety\nMay equally determine.\nEDMUND Sir, I thought it fit\nTo send the old and miserable king\nTo some retention and appointed guard;\nWhose age has charms in it, whose title more,\nTo pluck the common bosom on his side,\nAn turn our impress'd lances in our eyes\nWhich do command them. With him I sent the queen;\nMy reason all the same; and they are ready\nTo-morrow, or at further space, to 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.\nALBANY Sir, by your patience,\nI hold you but a subject of this war,\nNot as a brother.\nREGAN 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.\nGONERIL Not so hot:\nIn his own grace he doth exalt himself,\nMore than in your addition.\nREGAN In my rights,\nBy me invested, he compeers the best.\nGONERIL That were the most, if he should husband you.\nREGAN Jesters do oft prove prophets.\nGONERIL Holla, holla!\nThat eye that told you so look'd but a-squint.\nREGAN Lady, I am not well; else I should answer\nFrom a full-flowing stomach. General,\nTake thou my soldiers, prisoners, patrimony;\nDispose of them, of me; the walls are thine:\nWitness the world, that I create thee here\nMy lord and master.\nGONERIL Mean you to enjoy him?\nALBANY The let-alone lies not in your good will.\nEDMUND Nor in thine, lord.\nALBANY Half-blooded fellow, yes.\nREGAN [To EDMUND] Let the drum strike, and prove my title thine.\nALBANY Stay yet; hear reason. Edmund, I arrest thee\nOn capital treason; and, in thine attaint,\nThis gilded serpent\n[Pointing to Goneril]\nFor your claim, fair sister,\nI bar it in the interest of my wife:\n'Tis she is sub-contracted to this lord,\nAnd I, her husband, contradict your bans.\nIf you will marry, make your loves to me,\nMy lady is bespoke.\nGONERIL An interlude!\nALBANY Thou art arm'd, Gloucester: let the trumpet sound:\nIf none appear to prove upon thy head\nThy heinous, manifest, and many treasons,\nThere is my pledge;\n[Throwing down a glove]\nI'll prove it on thy heart,\nEre I taste bread, thou art in nothing less\nThan I have here proclaim'd thee.\nREGAN Sick, O, sick!\nGONERIL [Aside] If not, I'll ne'er trust medicine.\nEDMUND There's my exchange:\n[Throwing down a glove]\nwhat in the world he is\nThat names me traitor, villain-like he lies:\nCall by thy trumpet: he that dares approach,\nOn him, on you, who not? I will maintain\nMy truth and honour firmly.\nALBANY A herald, ho!\nEDMUND A herald, ho, a herald!\nALBANY Trust to thy single virtue; for thy soldiers,\nAll levied in my name, have in my name\nTook their discharge.\nREGAN My sickness grows upon me.\nALBANY She is not well; convey her to my tent.\n[Exit Regan, led]\n[Enter a Herald]\nCome hither, herald,--Let the trumpet sound,\nAnd read out this.\nCaptain Sound, trumpet!\n[A trumpet sounds]\nHerald [Reads] 'If any man of quality or degree within\nthe lists of the army will maintain upon Edmund,\nsupposed Earl of Gloucester, that he is a manifold\ntraitor, let him appear by the third sound of the\ntrumpet: he is bold in his defence.'\nEDMUND Sound!\n[First trumpet]\nHerald Again!\n[Second trumpet]\nHerald Again!\n[Third trumpet]\n[Trumpet answers within]\n[Enter EDGAR, at the third sound, armed, with a\ntrumpet before him]\nALBANY Ask him his purposes, why he appears\nUpon this call o' the trumpet.\nHerald What are you?\nYour name, your quality? and why you answer\nThis present summons?\nEDGAR 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.\nALBANY Which is that adversary?\nEDGAR What's he that speaks for Edmund Earl of Gloucester?\nEDMUND Himself: what say'st thou to him?\nEDGAR Draw thy sword,\nThat, if my speech offend a noble heart,\nThy arm may do thee justice: here is mine.\nBehold, it is the privilege of mine honours,\nMy oath, and my profession: I protest,\nMaugre thy strength, youth, place, and eminence,\nDespite thy victor sword and fire-new fortune,\nThy valour and thy heart, thou art a traitor;\nFalse to thy gods, thy brother, and thy father;\nConspirant 'gainst this high-illustrious prince;\nAnd, from the 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.\nEDMUND 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 for ever. Trumpets, speak!\n[Alarums. They fight. EDMUND falls]\nALBANY Save him, save him!\nGONERIL This is practise, Gloucester:\nBy the law of arms thou wast not bound to answer\nAn unknown opposite; thou art not vanquish'd,\nBut cozen'd and beguiled.\nALBANY Shut your mouth, dame,\nOr with this paper shall I stop it: Hold, sir:\nThou worse than any name, read thine own evil:\nNo tearing, lady: I perceive you know it.\n[Gives the letter to EDMUND]\nGONERIL Say, if I do, the laws are mine, not thine:\nWho can arraign me for't.\nALBANY Most monstrous! oh!\nKnow'st thou this paper?\nGONERIL Ask me not what I know.\n[Exit]\nALBANY Go after her: she's desperate; govern her.\nEDMUND What 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.\nEDGAR Let's exchange charity.\nI am no less in blood than thou art, Edmund;\nIf more, the more thou hast wrong'd 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.\nEDMUND Thou hast spoken right, 'tis true;\nThe wheel is come full circle: I am here.\nALBANY Methought 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!\nEDGAR Worthy prince, I know't.\nALBANY Where have you hid yourself?\nHow have you known the miseries of your father?\nEDGAR 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 follow'd 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; to assume a semblance\nThat very dogs disdain'd: and in this habit\nMet I my father with his bleeding rings,\nTheir precious stones new lost: became his guide,\nLed him, begg'd for him, saved him from despair;\nNever,--O fault!--reveal'd myself unto him,\nUntil some half-hour past, when I was arm'd:\nNot sure, though hoping, of this good success,\nI ask'd his blessing, and from first to last\nTold him my pilgrimage: but his flaw'd heart,\nAlack, too weak the conflict to support!\n'Twixt two extremes of passion, joy and grief,\nBurst smilingly.\nEDMUND 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.\nALBANY If there be more, more woeful, hold it in;\nFor I am almost ready to dissolve,\nHearing of this.\nEDGAR This would have seem'd a period\nTo such as love not sorrow; but another,\nTo amplify too much, would make much more,\nAnd top extremity.\nWhilst I was big in clamour came there in a man,\nWho, having seen me in my worst estate,\nShunn'd my abhorr'd society; but then, finding\nWho 'twas that so endured, with his strong arms\nHe fastened on my neck, and bellow'd out\nAs he'ld 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.\nALBANY But who was this?\nEDGAR Kent, sir, the banish'd Kent; who in disguise\nFollow'd his enemy king, and did him service\nImproper for a slave.\n[Enter a Gentleman, with a bloody knife]\nGentleman Help, help, O, help!\nEDGAR What kind of help?\nALBANY Speak, man.\nEDGAR What means that bloody knife?\nGentleman 'Tis hot, it smokes;\nIt came even from the heart of--O, she's dead!\nALBANY Who dead? speak, man.\nGentleman Your lady, sir, your lady: and her sister\nBy her is poisoned; she hath confess'd it.\nEDMUND I was contracted to them both: all three\nNow marry in an instant.\nEDGAR Here comes Kent.\nALBANY Produce their bodies, be they alive or dead:\nThis judgment of the heavens, that makes us tremble,\nTouches us not with pity.\n[Exit Gentleman]\n[Enter KENT]\nO, is this he?\nThe time will not allow the compliment\nWhich very manners urges.\nKENT I am come\nTo bid my king and master aye good night:\nIs he not here?\nALBANY Great thing of us forgot!\nSpeak, Edmund, where's the king? and where's Cordelia?\nSee'st thou this object, Kent?\n[The bodies of GONERIL and REGAN are brought in]\nKENT Alack, why thus?\nEDMUND Yet Edmund was beloved:\nThe one the other poison'd for my sake,\nAnd after slew herself.\nALBANY Even so. Cover their faces.\nEDMUND I pant for life: some good I mean to do,\nDespite of mine own nature. Quickly send,\nBe brief in it, to the castle; for my writ\nIs on the life of Lear and on Cordelia:\nNay, send in time.\nALBANY Run, run, O, run!\nEDGAR To who, my lord? Who hath the office? send\nThy token of reprieve.\nEDMUND Well thought on: take my sword,\nGive it the captain.\nALBANY Haste thee, for thy life.\n[Exit EDGAR]\nEDMUND He 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.\nALBANY The gods defend her! Bear him hence awhile.\n[EDMUND is borne off]\n[Re-enter KING LEAR, with CORDELIA dead in his arms;\nEDGAR, Captain, and others following]\nKING LEAR Howl, howl, howl, howl! O, you are men of stones:\nHad I your tongues and eyes, I'ld use them so\nThat heaven's vault should crack. She's gone for ever!\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.\nKENT Is this the promised end\nEDGAR Or image of that horror?\nALBANY Fall, and cease!\nKING LEAR This feather stirs; she lives! if it be so,\nIt is a chance which does redeem all sorrows\nThat ever I have felt.\nKENT [Kneeling] O my good master!\nKING LEAR Prithee, away.\nEDGAR 'Tis noble Kent, your friend.\nKING LEAR A plague upon you, murderers, traitors all!\nI might have saved her; now she's gone for ever!\nCordelia, Cordelia! stay a little. Ha!\nWhat is't thou say'st? Her voice was ever soft,\nGentle, and low, an excellent thing in woman.\nI kill'd the slave that was a-hanging thee.\nCaptain 'Tis true, my lords, he did.\nKING LEAR Did I not, fellow?\nI have seen the day, with my good biting falchion\nI would have made them skip: I am old now,\nAnd these same crosses spoil me. Who are you?\nMine eyes are not o' the best: I'll tell you straight.\nKENT If fortune brag of two she loved and hated,\nOne of them we behold.\nKING LEAR This is a dull sight. Are you not Kent?\nKENT The same,\nYour servant Kent: Where is your servant Caius?\nKING LEAR He's a good fellow, I can tell you that;\nHe'll strike, and quickly too: he's dead and rotten.\nKENT No, my good lord; I am the very man,--\nKING LEAR I'll see that straight.\nKENT That, from your first of difference and decay,\nHave follow'd your sad steps.\nKING LEAR You are welcome hither.\nKENT Nor no man else: all's cheerless, dark, and deadly.\nYour eldest daughters have fordone them selves,\nAnd desperately are dead.\nKING LEAR Ay, so I think.\nALBANY He knows not what he says: and vain it is\nThat we present us to him.\nEDGAR Very bootless.\n[Enter a Captain]\nCaptain Edmund is dead, my lord.\nALBANY 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:\n[To EDGAR and KENT]\nyou, to your rights:\nWith boot, and such addition as your honours\nHave more than merited. All friends shall taste\nThe wages of their virtue, and all foes\nThe cup of their deservings. O, see, see!\nKING LEAR And my poor fool is hang'd! 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!\n[Dies]\nEDGAR He faints! My lord, my lord!\nKENT Break, heart; I prithee, break!\nEDGAR Look up, my lord.\nKENT Vex not his ghost: O, let him pass! he hates him much\nThat would upon the rack of this tough world\nStretch him out longer.\nEDGAR He is gone, indeed.\nKENT The wonder is, he hath endured so long:\nHe but usurp'd his life.\nALBANY Bear them from hence. Our present business\nIs general woe.\n[To KENT and EDGAR]\nFriends of my soul, you twain\nRule in this realm, and the gored state sustain.\nKENT I have a journey, sir, shortly to go;\nMy master calls me, I must not say no.\nALBANY 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.\n[Exeunt, with a dead march]","title":"King Lear","type":"page"}