Edmund.
Lear.
Mean-time we shall express our darker purpose* note 7 note
.
Give me the map there8 note.—Know, that we have divided,
In three, our kingdom: and 'tis our fast intent9 note
To shake all cares and business from our age1 note;
Conferring them on younger strengths2 note, while we3 note
-- 8 --
Unburden'd crawl toward death.—Our son of Cornwall,
And you, our no less loving son of Albany,
We have this hour a constant will4 note
to publish
Our daughters' several dowers, that future strife
May be prevented now. The princes* note, France and Burgundy,
Great rivals in our youngest daughter's love,
Long in our court have made their amorous sojourn,
And here are to be answer'd.—Tell me, my daughters,
(Since now5 note we will divest us, both of rule,
Interest of territory, cares of state,)
Which of you, shall we say, doth love us most?
That we our largest bounty may extend
Where merit doth most challenge it6 note
.—Goneril,
Our eldest-born, speak first.
Gon.
Sir, I do love you more† note than words can wield the matter;
-- 9 --
Dearer than eye-sight, space and liberty;
Beyond what can be valued, rich or rare;
No less than life7 note
, with grace, health, beauty, honour:
As much as child e'er lov'd, or father found* note;
A love that makes breath poor, and speech unable;
Beyond all manner of so much8 note
I love you.
Cor.
What shall Cordelia do9 note? Love, and be silent.
[Aside.
Lear.
Of all these bounds, even from this line to this,
With shadowy forests and with champains rich'd,
With plenteous rivers1 note
and wide-skirted meads,
-- 10 --
We make thee lady: To thine and Albany's issue
Be this perpetual.—What says our second daughter,
Our dearest Regan, wife to Cornwall? Speak2 note.
Reg.
I am made3 note of that self metal as my sister,
And prize me4 note
at her worth. In my true heart
I find, she names my very deed of love;
Only she comes too short,—that I profess5 note
Myself an enemy to all other joys,
Which the most precious square of sense possesses6 note
;
-- 11 --
And find, I am alone felicitate
In your dear highness' love.
Cor.
Then poor Cordelia!
[Aside.
And yet not so; since, I am sure, my love's
More richer than my tongue7 note
.
Lear.
To thee, and thine, hereditary ever,
Remain this ample third of our fair kingdom;
No less in space, validity8 note
, and pleasure,
Than that confirm'd9 note
on Goneril.—Now, our joy1 note
,
-- 12 --
Although the last, not least2 note
; to whose young love
The vines of France, and milk of Burgundy,
Strive to be interess'd3 note
; what can you say, to draw4 note
A third more opulent than your sisters? Speak.
Cor.
Nothing, my lord.
Lear.
Nothing?
Cor.
Nothing5 note
.
Lear.
Nothing will come* note of nothing: speak again.
Cor.
Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave
My heart into my mouth: I love your majesty
According to my bond; nor more† note, nor less.
-- 13 --
Lear.
How, how, Cordelia6 note? mend your speech a little,
Lest it may mar your fortunes.
Cor.
Good my lord,
You have begot me, bred me, lov'd me: I
Return those duties back as are right fit,
Obey you, love you, and most honour you.
Why have my sisters husbands, if they say,
They love you, all? Haply, when I shall wed7 note
,
That lord, whose hand must take my plight, shall carry
Half my love with him, half my care, and duty:
Sure, I shall never marry like my sisters,
To love my father all8 note.
Lear.
But goes this with thy heart9 note
?
-- 14 --
Cor.
Ay, good my lord.
Lear.
So young, and so untender1 note
?
Cor.
So young, my lord, and true.
Lear.
Let it be so,—Thy truth then be thy dower:
For, by the sacred radiance of the sun;
The mysteries of Hecate2 note, and the night;
By all the operations of the orbs,
From whom we do exist, and cease to be;
Here I disclaim all my paternal care,
Propinquity and property of blood,
And as a stranger to my heart and me
Hold thee, from this3 note, for ever. The barbarous Scythian,
Or he that makes his generation4 note messes
To gorge his appetite, shall to my bosom
Be as well neighbour'd, pitied, and reliev'd,
As thou my sometime daughter.
Kent.
Good my liege,—
Lear.
Peace, Kent!
Come not between the dragon and his wrath:
I lov'd her most5 note, and thought to set my rest
On her kind nursery.—Hence, and avoid my sight!—
[To Cordelia6 note
.
-- 15 --
So be my grave my peace, as here I give
Her father's heart from her!—Call France;—Who stirs?
Call Burgundy.—Cornwall, and Albany,
With my two daughters' dowers digest the third:
Let pride, which she calls plainness, marry her.
I do invest you jointly with my power,
Pre-eminence, and all the large effects
That troop with majesty.—Ourself, by monthly course,
With reservation of an hundred knights,
By you to be sustain'd, shall our abode
Make with you by due turns. Only we still retain7 note
The name, and all the additions to a king8 note;
The sway,
Revenue, execution of the rest9 note,
Beloved sons, be yours: which to confirm,
This coronet part between you.
[Giving the Crown.
Kent.
Royal Lear,
Whom I have ever honour'd as my king,
Lov'd as my father, as my master follow'd,
As my great patron thought on in my prayers1 note
,—
-- 16 --
Lear.
The bow is bent and drawn, make from the shaft.
Kent.
Let it fall rather, though the fork invade
The region of my heart: be Kent unmannerly,
When Lear is mad. What would'st thou do, old man?
Think'st thou, that duty shall have dread to speak2 note
,
When power to flattery bows? To plainness honour's bound,
When majesty stoops to folly. Reverse thy doom;
And, in thy best consideration, check
This hideous rashness: answer my life my judgment,
Thy youngest daughter does not love thee least;
-- 17 --
Nor are those empty-hearted, whose low sound
Reverbs3 note no hollowness.
Lear.
Kent, on thy life, no more.
Kent.
My life I never held but as a pawn
To wage against thine enemies4 note
; nor fear to lose it,
Thy safety being the motive.
Lear.
Out of my sight!
Kent.
See better, Lear; and let me still remain
The true blank of thine eye5 note
.
Lear.
Now, by Apollo6 note
,—
-- 18 --
Kent.
Now, by Apollo, king,
Thou swear'st thy gods in vain.
Lear.
O, vassal! miscreant* note!
[Laying his hand on his Sword.
Alb. Corn.
Dear sir, forbear7 note.
Kent.
Do;
Kill thy physician, and the fee bestow
Upon the foul disease. Revoke thy gift ; note;
Or, whilst I can vent clamour from my throat,
I'll tell thee, thou dost evil.
Lear.
Hear me, recreant!
On thine allegiance hear me!—
Since thou hast sought to make us break our vow,
(Which we durst never yet,) and, with strain'd pride9 note,
To come betwixt our sentence and our power1 note
;
(Which nor our nature nor our place can bear,)
Our potency make good2 note
, take thy reward.
-- 19 --
Five* note days we do allot thee, for provision
To shield thee from diseases of the world3 note
;
-- 20 --
And, on the sixth* note, to turn thy hated back
Upon our kingdom: if, on the tenth day following,
Thy banish'd trunk be found in our dominions,
The moment is thy death: Away! By Jupiter4 note,
This shall not be revok'd.
Kent.
Fare thee well, king: since thus thou wilt appear,
Freedom lives hence5 note, and banishment is here.—
The gods to their dear shelter6 note take thee, maid,
[To Cordelia.
That justly think'st, and hast more rightly said7 note
!—
-- 21 --
And your large speeches may your deeds approve,
[To Regan and Goneril.
That good effects may spring from words of love.—
Thus Kent, O princes, bids you all adieu;
He'll shape his old course8 note
in a country new.
[Exit.
Re-enter Gloster; with France, Burgundy, and Attendants.
Glo.
Here's France and Burgundy, my noble lord9 note.
Lear.
My lord of Burgundy,
We first address towards you, who with this king
Hath rivall'd for our daughter; What, in the least,
Will you require in present dower with her,
Or cease your quest of love1 note?
Bur.
Most royal majesty,
I crave no more than hath your highness offer'd,
Nor will you tender less.
Lear.
Right noble Burgundy,
When she was dear to us, we did hold her so2 note;
But now her price is fall'n: Sir, there she stands;
-- 22 --
If aught within that little, seeming2 note
substance,
Or all of it, with our displeasure piec'd,
And nothing more, may fitly like your grace,
She's there, and she is yours.
Bur.
I know no answer.
Lear.
Sir,
Will you, with those infirmities she owes3 note
,
Unfriended, new-adopted to our hate,
Dower'd* note with our curse, and stranger'd with our oath,
Take her, or leave her?
Bur.
Pardon me, royal sir;
Election makes not up on such conditions4 note
.
-- 23 --
Lear.
Then leave her, sir; for, by the power that made me,
I tell you all her wealth.—For you, great king,
[To France.
I would not from your love make such a stray,
To match you where I hate; therefore beseech you
To avert your liking a more worthier way,
Than on a wretch whom nature is asham'd
Almost to acknowledge hers.
France.
This is most strange!
That she, thát even but now was your best object,
The argument of your praise, balm of your age,
Most best, most dearest5 note
, should in this trice of time
Commit a thing so monstrous, to dismantle
So many folds of favour! Sure, her offence
Must be of such unnatural degree,
That monsters it6 note
, or your fore-vouch'd affection
Fall'n into taint7 note
: which to believe of her,
-- 24 --
Must be a faith, that reason without miracle
Could never plant in me.
-- 25 --
Cor.
I yet beseech your majesty,
(If for I want8 note
that glib and oily art,
To speak and purpose not; since what I well* note intend,
I'll do't before I speak,) that you make known† note
It is no vicious blot, murder, or foulness,
No unchaste9 note action, or dishonour'd step,
That hath depriv'd me of your grace and favour:
But even for want of that, for which I am richer;
A still-soliciting eye, and such a tongue
That I am glad I have not, though not to have it,
Hath lost me in your liking.
Lear.
Better thou
Hadst not been born, than not to have pleas'd me better.
France.
Is it no more but this1 note
? a tardiness in nature,
Which often leaves the history unspoke,
That it intends to do?—My lord of Burgundy,
-- 26 --
What say you to the lady? Love is not love,
When it is mingled with respects1 note
, that stand
Aloof from the entire point2 note
. Will you have her?
She is herself a dowry3 note
.
Bur.
Royal Lear4 note,
Give but that portion which you yourself propos'd,
And here I take Cordelia by the hand,
Duchess of Burgundy.
Lear.
Nothing: I have sworn; I am firm.
Bur.
I am sorry then, you have so lost a father,
That you must lose a husband.
Cor.
Peace be with Burgundy!
Since that respects of fortune are his love,
I shall not be his wife.
France.
Fairest Cordelia, that art most rich, being poor;
Most choice, forsaken; and most lov'd, despis'd!
Thee and thy virtues here I seize upon:
Be it lawful, I take up what's cast away.
Gods, gods! 'tis strange, that from their cold'st neglect
My love should kindle to inflam'd respect.—
Thy dowerless daughter, king, thrown to my chance,
Is queen of us, of ours, and our fair France:
Not all the dukes of* note wat'rish Burgundy
-- 27 --
Shall buy this unpriz'd precious maid of me.—
Bid them farewell, Cordelia, though unkind:
Thou losest here5 note
, a better where to find.
Lear.
Thou hast her, France: let her be thine; for we
Have no such daughter, nor shall ever see
That face of hers again:—Therefore be gone,
Without our grace, our love, our benizon.—
Come, noble Burgundy.
[Flourish. Exeunt Lear, Burgundy, Cornwall, Albany, Gloster, and Attendants.
France.
Bid farewell to your sisters.
Cor.
The jewels6 note of our father, with wash'd eyes
Cordelia leaves you: I know you what you are;
And, like a sister, am most loath to call
Your faults, as they are nam'd. Use well our father7 note:
To your professed bosoms8 note I commit him:
But yet, alas! stood I within his grace,
I would prefer him to a better place.
So farewell to you both.
-- 28 --
Gon.
Prescribe not us our duties9 note
.
Reg.
Let your study
Be, to content your lord; who hath receiv'd you
At fortune's alms1 note
. You have obedience scanted,
And well are worth the want that you have wanted2 note
.
Cor.
Time shall unfold what plaited cunning3 note
hides;
-- 29 --
Who cover faults4 note
, at last shame them derides.
Well may you prosper!
France.
Come, my fair Cordelia.
[Exeunt France and Cordelia.
Gon.
Sister, it is not a little I have to say, of
what most nearly appertains to us both. I think,
our father will hence to-night.
Reg.
That's most certain, and with you; next
month with us.
Gon.
You see how full of changes his age is; the
observation we have made of it hath not been little:
he always loved our sister most; and with what
poor judgment he hath now cast her off, appears too
grossly.
Reg.
'Tis the infirmity of his age: yet he hath
ever but slenderly known himself.
Gon.
The best and soundest of his time hath been
but rash; then must we look to receive from his
age, not alone the imperfections of long-engrafted
condition5 note, but, therewithal, the unruly waywardness
-- 30 --
that infirm and cholerick years bring with
them.
Reg.
Such unconstant starts are we like to have
from him, as this of Kent's banishment.
Gon.
There is further compliment of leave-taking
between France and him. Pray you, let us
hit6 note
together: If our father carry authority with
such dispositions as he bears, this last surrender of
his will but offend us.
Reg.
We shall further think of it.
Gon.
We must do something, and i' the heat7 note
.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.
A Hall in the Earl of Gloster's Castle.
Enter Edmund, with a letter.
Edm.
Thou, nature, art my goddess8 note
; to thy law
My services are bound: Wherefore should I
-- 31 --
Stand in the plague of custom9 note
; and permit
The curiosity of nations1 note
to deprive me2 note
,
-- 32 --
For that I am some twelve or fourteen moon-shines
Lag of a brother3 note
? Why bastard? wherefore base?
When my dimensions are as well compact,
My mind as generous, and my shape as true,
As honest madam's issue? Why brand they us
With base? with baseness? bastardy? base, base?
Who, in the lusty stealth of nature4 note, take
More composition and fierce quality,
-- 33 --
Than doth, within a dull, stale, tired bed,
Go to the creating a whole tribe of fops,
Got 'tween asleep and wake?—Well then,
Legitimate Edgar, I must have your land:
Our father's love is to the bastard Edmund,
As to the legitimate: Fine word,—legitimate* note!
Well, my legitimate, if this letter speed,
And my invention thrive, Edmund the base
Shall top the legitimate5 note
. I grow; I prosper:—
Now, gods, stand up for bastards!
-- 34 --
Enter Gloster.
Glo.
Kent banish'd thus! And France in choler parted!
And the king gone to-night! subscrib'd his power6 note
!
Confin'd to exhibition7 note
! All this done
Upon the gad8 note
!—Edmund! How now? what news?
Edm.
So please your lordship, none.
[Putting up the Letter.
Glo.
Why so earnestly seek you to put up that letter?
Edm.
I know no news, my lord.
Glo.
What paper were you reading?
Edm.
Nothing, my lord.
Glo.
No? What needed then that terrible despatch
of it into your pocket? the quality of
nothing hath not such need to hide itself. Let's
-- 35 --
see: Come, if it be nothing, I shall not need
spectacles.
Edm.
I beseech you, sir, pardon me: it is a letter
from my brother, that I have not all o'er-read; for
so much as I have perused, I find it not fit for your
over-looking.
Glo.
Give me the letter, sir.
Edm.
I shall offend, either to detain or give it.
The contents, as in part I understand them, are to
blame.
Glo.
Let's see, let's see.
Edm.
I hope, for my brother's justification, he
wrote this but as an essay or taste of my virtue9 note
.
Glo. [Reads.]
This policy, and reverence of age1 note
,
makes the world bitter to the best of our times; keeps
our fortunes from us, till our oldness cannot relish
-- 36 --
them. I begin to find an idle and fond2 note bondage
in the oppression of aged tyranny; who sways, not
as it hath power, but as it is suffered. Come to me,
that of this I may speak more. If our father would
sleep till I waked him, you should enjoy half his revenue
for ever, and live the beloved of your brother,
Edgar.—Humph—Conspiracy—Sleep till I waked
him,—you should enjoy half his revenue,—My son
Edgar! Had he a hand to write this? a heart and
brain to breed it in?—When came this to you?
Who brought it?
Edm.
It was not brought me, my lord, there's
the cunning of it; I found it thrown in at the casement
of my closet.
Glo.
You know the character to be your brother's?
Edm.
If the matter were good, my lord, I durst
swear it were his; but, in respect of that, I would
fain think it were not.
Glo.
It is his.
Edm.
It is his hand, my lord; but, I hope, his
heart is not in the contents.
Glo.
Hath he never heretofore sounded you in
this business?
Edm.
Never, my lord: But I have often heard
him maintain it to be fit, that, sons at perfect age,
and fathers declining, the father should be as ward
to the son, and the son manage his revenue.
Glo.
O villain, villain!—His very opinion in the
letter!—Abhorred villain! Unnatural, detested,
brutish villain! worse than brutish!—Go, sirrah,
seek him; I'll apprehend him:—Abominable villain!
—Where is he?
Edm.
I do not well know, my lord. If it shall
please you to suspend your indignation against my
-- 37 --
brother, till you can derive from him better testimony
of his intent, you shall run a certain course;
where, if you3 note
violently proceed against him, mistaking
his purpose, it would make a great gap in
your own honour, and shake in pieces the heart of
his obedience. I dare pawn down my life for
him, that he hath writ this to feel my affection
to your honour4 note
, and to no other pretence5 note
of
danger.
Glo.
Think you so?
Edm.
If your honour judge it meet, I will place
you where you shall hear us confer of this, and by
an auricular assurance have your satisfaction; and
that without any further delay than this very evening.
Glo.
He cannot be such a monster.
[Edm.6 note
Nor is not, sure.
Glo.
To his father, that so tenderly and entirely
loves him.—Heaven and earth!]—Edmund, seek
-- 38 --
him out; wind me into him7 note
, I pray you: frame
the business after your own wisdom: I would unstate
myself, to be in a due resolution8 note
.
-- 39 --
Edm.
I will seek him, sir, presently; convey the
business9 note
as I shall find means, and acquaint you
withal.
Glo.
These late eclipses in the sun and moon
portend no good to us: Though the wisdom of
nature1 note can reason it thus and thus, yet nature
finds itself scourged by the sequent effects: love
-- 40 --
cools, friendship falls off, brothers divide: in cities,
mutinies; in countries, discord; in palaces, treason;
and the bond cracked between son and father.
[This villain2 note of mine comes under the prediction;
there's son against father: the king falls from bias
of nature; there's father against child. We have
seen the best of our time: Machinations, hollowness,
treachery, and all ruinous disorders, follow us
disquietly to our graves!]—Find out this villain,
Edmund; it shall lose thee nothing; do it carefully:
—And the noble and true-hearted Kent banished!
his offence, honesty!—Strange! strange!
[Exit.
Edm.
This is the excellent foppery of the world3 note
!
-- 41 --
that, when we are sick in fortune, (often the surfeit
of our own behaviour,) we make guilty of our
-- 42 --
disasters, the sun, the moon, and the stars: as if
we were villains by necessity; fools, by heavenly
compulsion; knaves, thieves, and treachers4 note
, by
spherical predominance; drunkards, liars, and adulterers,
by an enforced obedience of planetary influence;
and all that we are evil in, by a divine
thrusting on: An admirable evasion of whore-master
man, to lay his goatish disposition to the charge of
a star5 note
! My father compounded with my mother
under the dragon's tail; and my nativity was under
ursa major; so that it follows, I am rough and lecherous.
—Tut, I should have been that I am, had
the maidenliest star in the firmament twinkled on
my bastardizing. Edgar—
Enter Edgar.
and pat he comes6 note
, like the catastrophe of the old
-- 43 --
comedy7 note: My cue is villainous melancholy, with
a sigh like Tom o'Bedlam.—O, these eclipses do
portend these divisions! fa, sol, la, mi8 note
.
Edg.
How now, brother Edmund? What serious
contemplation are you in?
Edm.
I am thinking, brother, of a prediction I
read this other day, what should follow these eclipses.
Edg.
Do you busy yourself with that?
Edm.
I promise you9 note, the effects he writes of,
-- 44 --
succeed unhappily; [as of1 note unnaturalness between
the child and the parent; death, dearth, dissolution
of ancient amities; divisions in state, menaces
and maledictions against king and nobles; needless
diffidences, banishment of friends, dissipation of
cohorts2 note, nuptial breaches, and I know not what.
Edg.
How long have you3 note been a sectary astronomical?
Edm.
Come, come;] when saw you my father
last?
Edg.
Why, the night gone by.
Edm.
Spake you with him?
Edg.
Ay, two hours together.
Edm.
Parted you in good terms? Found you no
displeasure in him, by word, or countenance?
Edg.
None at all.
Edm.
Bethink yourself, wherein you may have
offended him: and at my entreaty, forbear his presence,
till some little time hath qualified the heart
of his displeasure; which at this instant so rageth
in him, that with the mischief of your person4 note
it
would scarcely allay.
Edg.
Some villain hath done me wrong.
Edm.
That's my fear5 note. [I pray you, have a continent
-- 45 --
forbearance, till the speed of his rage goes
slower; and, as I say, retire with me to my lodging,
from whence I will fitly bring you to hear my lord
speak: Pray you, go; there's my key:—If you do
stir abroad, go armed.
Edg.
Armed, brother?]
Edm.
Brother, I advise you to the best; go
armed;* note I am no honest man, if there be any good
meaning towards you: I have told you what I have
seen and heard, but faintly; nothing like the image
and horror of it: Pray you, away.
Edg.
Shall I hear from you anon?
Edm.
I do serve you in this business.—
[Exit Edgar.
A credulous father, and a brother noble,
Whose nature is so far from doing harms,
That he suspects none; on whose foolish honesty
My practices ride easy!—I see the business.—
Let me, if not by birth, have lands by wit:
All with me's meet, that I can fashion fit.
[Exit.
SCENE III.
A Room in the Duke of Albany's Palace.
Enter Goneril and Steward.
Gon.
Did my father strike my gentleman for
chiding of his fool?
Stew.
Ay, madam.
Gon.
By day and night! he wrongs me6 note
; every hour
-- 46 --
He flashes into one gross crime or other,
That sets us all at odds: I'll not endure it:
His knights grow riotous, and himself upbraids us
On every trifle:—When he returns from hunting,
I will not speak with him; say, I am sick:—
If you come slack of former services,
You shall do well; the fault of it I'll answer.
Stew.
He's coming, madam; I hear him.
[Horns within.
Gon.
Put on what weary negligence you please,
You and your fellows* note; I'd have it come to question:
If he dislike it† note let him to my sister,
Whose mind and mine, I know, in that are one,
[Not to be over-ruled7 note. Idle old man8 note
,
-- 47 --
That still would manage those authorities,
That he hath given away!—Now, by my life,
Old fools are babes again; and must be us'd
With checks, as flatteries,—when they are seen abus'd9 note
.]
Remember what I have said.
Stew.
Very well, madam.
Gon.
And let his knights have colder looks among you;
What grows of it, no matter; advise your fellows so:
[I would breed from hence occasions, and I shall,
-- 48 --
That I may speak1 note:]—I'll write straight to my sister,
To hold my very course:—Prepare for dinner.
[Exeunt.
SCENE IV.
A Hall in the Same.
Enter Kent, disguised.
Kent.
If but as well I other accents borrow,
That can my speech diffuse2 note
, my good intent
-- 49 --
May carry through itself to that full issue
For which I raz'd my likeness.—Now, banish'd Kent,
If thou can'st serve where thou dost stand condemn'd,
(So may it come* note!) thy master, whom thou lov'st,
Shall find thee full of labours.
Horns within. Enter Lear, Knights, and Attendants.
Lear.
Let me not stay a jot for dinner; go, get
it ready. [Exit an Attendant.] How now, what
art thou?
Kent.
A man, sir.
Lear.
What dost thou profess? What wouldest
thou with us?
Kent.
I do profess to be no less than I seem; to
serve him truly, that will put me in trust; to love
him that is honest; to converse with him that is
wise, and says little3 note
; to fear judgment; to fight,
when I cannot choose; and to eat no fish4 note
.
-- 50 --
Lear.
What art thou?
Kent.
A very honest-hearted fellow, and as poor
as the king.
Lear.
If thou be as poor for a subject, as he is
for a king, thou art poor enough. What wouldest
thou?
Kent.
Service.
Lear.
Who wouldest thou serve?
Kent.
You.
Lear.
Dost thou know me, fellow?
Kent.
No, sir; but you have that in your countenance,
which I would fain call master.
Lear.
What's that?
Kent.
Authority.
Lear.
What services canst thou do?
Kent.
I can keep honest counsel, ride, run, mar
a curious tale in telling it, and deliver a plain message
bluntly: that which ordinary men are fit for,
I am qualified in; and the best of me is diligence.
Lear.
How old art thou?
Kent.
Not so young, sir, to love a woman for
singing; nor so old, to dote on her for any thing:
I have years on my back forty-eight.
-- 51 --
Lear.
Follow me; thou shalt serve me; if I like
thee no worse after dinner, I will not part from thee
yet.—Dinner, ho, dinner!—Where's my knave?
my fool? Go you, and call my fool hither:
Enter Steward.
You, you, sirrah, where's my daughter?
Stew.
So please you,—
[Exit.
Lear.
What says the fellow there? Call the
clotpoll back.—Where's my fool, ho?—I think the
world's asleep.—How now? where's that mongrel?
Knight.
* note He says, my lord, your daughter is
not well.
Lear.
Why came not the slave back to me,
when I called him?
Knight.
Sir, he answered me in the roundest
manner, he would not.
Lear.
He would not!
Knight.
My lord, I know not what the matter
is; but, to my judgment, your highness is not entertained
with that ceremonious affection as you
were wont; there's a great abatement of kindness5 note
appears, as well in the general dependants, as in
the duke himself also, and your daughter.
Lear.
Ha! sayest thou so?
Knight.
I beseech you, pardon me, my lord, if
I be mistaken; for my duty cannot be silent, when
I think your highness is wronged.
Lear.
Thou but rememberest me of mine own
conception; I have perceived a most faint neglect
of late; which I have rather blamed as mine own
jealous curiosity6 note
, than as a very pretence7 note and
-- 52 --
purpose of unkindness: I will look further into't.
—But where's my fool? I have not seen him this
two days.
Knight.
Since my young lady's going into
France, sir, the fool hath much pined away8 note.
Lear.
No more of that; I have noted it well.—
Go you, and tell my daughter I would speak with
her.—Go you, call hither my fool.—
Re-enter Steward.
O, you sir, you sir, come you hither: Who am I,
sir?
Stew.
My lady's father.
Lear.
My lady's father! my lord's knave: you
whoreson dog! you slave! you cur!
Stew.
I am none of this, my lord9 note; I beseech
you, pardon me.
Lear.
Do you bandy looks1 note
with me, you rascal?
[Striking him.
-- 53 --
Stew.
I'll not be struck, my lord.
Kent.
Nor tripped neither; you base foot-ball
player.
[Tripping up his Heels.
Lear.
I thank thee, fellow; thou servest me,
and I ll love thee.
Kent.
Come, sir, arise, away; I'll teach you
differences; away, away: If you will measure your
lubber's length again, tarry: but away: go to;
Have you wisdom2 note? so.
[Pushes the Steward out.
Lear.
Now, my friendly knave, I thank thee:
there's earnest of thy service.
[Giving Kent Money.
Enter Fool.
Fool.
Let me hire him too;—Here's my coxcomb.
[Giving Kent his Cap.
Lear.
How now, my pretty knave? how dost
thou?
Fool.
Sirrah, you were best take my coxcomb.
Kent.
Why, fool3 note?
Fool.
Why? For taking one's part that is out
of favour: Nay, an thou canst not smile as the
wind sits, thou'lt catch cold shortly4 note: There, take
my coxcomb5 note
: Why, this fellow has banished two
-- 54 --
on's daughters, and did the third a blessing against
his will; if thou follow him, thou must needs wear
my coxcomb.—How now, nuncle6 note? 'Would I had
two coxcombs7 note, and two daughters8 note!
Lear.
Why, my boy?
Fool.
If I gave them all my living9 note
, I'd keep
my coxcombs myself: There's mine; beg another
of thy daughters1 note.
Lear.
Take heed, sirrah; the whip.
Fool.
Truth's a dog that must to kennel; he
must be whipped out, when Lady, the brach2 note
, may
stand by the fire and stink.
-- 55 --
Lear.
A pestilent gall to me!
Fool.
Sirrah, I'll teach thee a speech.
Lear.
Do.
Fool.
Mark it, nuncle:—
Have more than thou showest,
Speak less than thou knowest,
Lend less than thou owest3 note
,
Ride more than thou goest,
Learn more than thou trowest4 note,
Set less than thou throwest;
Leave thy drink and thy whore,
And keep in-a-door,
And thou shalt have more
Than two tens to a score.
Lear.* note
This is nothing, fool5 note
.
Fool.
Then 'tis like the breath of an unfee'd
-- 56 --
lawyer; you gave me nothing for't; Can you make
no use of nothing, nuncle?
Lear.
Why, no, boy; nothing can be made out
of nothing.
Fool.
Pr'ythee, tell him, so much the rent of
his land comes to; he will not believe a fool.
[To Kent.
Lear.
A bitter fool!
Fool.
Dost thou know the difference, my boy,
between a bitter fool and a sweet fool?
Lear.
No, lad6 note; teach me.
Fool.
That lord, that counsel'd thee
To give away thy land,
Come place him here by me,—
Or do thou7 note for him stand:
The sweet and bitter fool
Will presently appear;
The one in motley here,
The other found out there.
Lear.
Dost thou call me fool, boy?
Fool.
All thy other titles thou hast given away;
that thou wast born with.
Kent.
This is not altogether fool, my lord.
Fool.
No, 'faith, lords and great men will not
let me; if I had a monopoly out, they would have
part on't8 note
: and ladies too, they will not let me
-- 57 --
have all fool to myself; they'll be snatching.—Give
me an egg, nuncle, and I'll give thee two crowns.
Lear.
What two crowns shall they be?
Fool.
Why, after I have cut the egg i' the middle,
and eat up the meat, the two crowns of the
egg. When thou clovest thy crown i' the middle,
and gavest away both parts, thou borest thine ass
on thy back over the dirt: Thou had'st little wit in
thy bald crown, when thou gavest thy golden one
away. If I speak like myself in this, let him be
whipped that first finds it so.
Fools had ne'er less grace in a year9 note
;
[Singing.
For wise men are grown foppish;
And know not how their wits to wear,
Their manners are so apish.
Lear.
When were you wont to be so full of songs, sirrah?
-- 58 --
Fool.
I have used it, nuncle, ever since thou
madest thy daughters thy mother1 note: for when thou
gavest them the rod, and put'st down thine own
breeches,
Then they for sudden joy did weep2 note
,
[Singing.
And I for sorrow sung,
That such a king should play bo-peep3 note
,
And go the fools among.
Pr'ythee, nuncle, keep a school-master that can
teach thy fool to lie; I would fain learn to lie.
Lear.
If you lie, sirrah, we'll have you whipped.
Fool.
I marvel, what kin thou and thy daughters
are: they'll have me whipped for speaking true,
thou'lt have me whipped for lying; and, sometimes,
I am whipped for holding my peace. I had rather
be any kind of thing, than a fool: and yet I would
not be thee, nuncle; thou hast pared thy wit o'both
sides, and left nothing in the middle: Here comes
one o'the parings.
-- 59 --
Enter Goneril.
Lear.
How now, daughter? what makes that
frontlet4 note
on? Methinks, you are too much of late
i' the frown.
Fool.
Thou wast a pretty fellow, when thou
had'st no need to care for her frowning; now thou
art an O without a figure5 note
: I am better than thou6 note
-- 60 --
art now; I am a fool, thou art nothing.—Yes, forsooth,
I will hold my tongue; so your face [To Gon.]
bids me, though you say nothing. Mum, mum,
He that keeps nor crust nor crum,
Weary of all, shall want some.—
That's a shealed peascod7 note
.
[Pointing to Lear.
Gon.
Not only, sir, this your all-licens d fool,
But other of your insolent retinue
Do hourly carp and quarrel; breaking forth
In rank and not-to-be-endured riots. Sir,
I had thought, by making this well known unto you,
To have found a safe redress; but now grow fearful,
By what yourself too late have spoke and done,
That you protect this course, and put it on8 note
By your allowance9 note; which if you should, the fault
Would not 'scape censure, nor the redresses sleep;
Which, in the tender of a wholesome weal,
Might in their working do you that offence,
Which else were shame, that then necessity
Will call discreet proceeding.
Fool.
For you trow, nuncle,
-- 61 --
The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long,
That it had its head bit off by its young.
So, out went the candle, and we were left darkling1 note
.
Lear.
Are you our daughter?
Gon.
Come, sir2 note, I would, you would make use of
that good wisdom whereof I know you are fraught;
and put away these dispositions, which of late transform
you3 note from what you rightly are.
Fool.
May not an ass know when the cart draws
the horse?—Whoop, Jug4 note
! I love thee.
-- 62 --
Lear.
Does any here know me?—Why this is
not Lear4 note
: does Lear walk thus? speak thus?
Where are his eyes? Either his notion weakens, or
his discernings are lethargied.—Sleeping or waking?
—Ha! sure 'tis not so.—Who is it that can
tell me who I am?—Lear's shadow5 note
? I would learn
that; for by the marks of sovereignty, knowledge,
and reason, I should be false persuaded I had
daughters6 note
.—
-- 63 --
Fool.
Which they will make an obedient father7 note.
Lear.
Your name, fair gentlewoman8 note
?
-- 64 --
Gon.
Come, sir;
This admiration is much o' the favour9 note
Of other your new pranks. I do beseech you
To understand my purposes aright:
As you are old and reverend, you should be wise1 note
:
-- 65 --
Here do you keep a hundred knights and squires;
Men so disorder'd, so debauch'd, and bold,
That this our court, infected with their manners,
Shows like a riotous inn: epicurism and lust
Make it more like a tavern, or a brothel,
Than a grac'd palace2 note. The shame itself doth speak
For instant remedy: Be then desir'd
By her, that else will take the thing she begs,
A little to disquantity your train3 note
;
And the remainder, that shall still depend4 note
,
-- 66 --
To be such men as may besort your age,
And know themselves and you.
Lear.
Darkness and devils!—
Saddle my horses; call my train together.—
Degenerate bastard! I'll not trouble thee;
Yet have I left a daughter.
Gon.
You strike my people; and your disorder'd rabble
Make servants of their betters.
Enter Albany.
Lear.
Woe, that too late repents5 note
,—O, sir, are you come6 note?
Is it your will? [To Alb.] Speak, sir.—Prepare my horses.
Ingratitude? thou marble-hearted fiend,
More hideous, when thou show'st thee in a child,
Than the sea-monster7 note!
Alb.
Pray, sir, be patient8 note.
-- 67 --
Lear.
Detested kite! thou liest:
[To Goneril.
My train are men of choice and rarest parts,
That all particulars of duty know;
And in the most exact regard support
The worships of their name.—O most small fault,
How ugly didst thou in Cordelia show!
Which, like an engine9 note
, wrench'd my frame of nature
From the fix'd place; drew from my heart all love,
And added to the gall. O Lear, Lear, Lear!
Beat at this gate, that let thy folly in,
[Striking his head.
And thy dear judgment out!—Go, go, my people1 note
.
-- 68 --
Alb.
My lord, I am guiltless, as I am ignorant
Of what hath mov'd you2 note.
Lear.
It may be so, my lord.—Hear, nature, hear;
Dear goddess, hear! Suspend thy purpose, if
Thou didst intend to make this creature fruitful!
Into her womb convey sterility!
Dry up in her the organs of increase;
And from her derogate body3 note
never spring
A babe to honour her! If she must teem,
Create her child of spleen; that it may live,
And be a thwart4 note disnatur'd5 note
torment to her!
Let it stamp wrinkles in her brow of youth;
With cadent tears* note 6 note
fret channels in her cheeks;
-- 69 --
Turn all her mother's pains, and benefits,
To laughter and contempt7 note
; that she may feel
How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is8 note
To have a thankless child!—Away, away!
[Exit.
Alb.
Now, gods, that we adore, whereof comes this?
Gon.
Never afflict yourself to know the cause;
But let his disposition have that scope
That dotage gives it.
Re-enter Lear.
Lear.
What, fifty of my followers, at a clap!
Within a fortnight?
Alb.
What's the matter, sir?
Lear.
I'll tell thee;—Life and death! I am asham'd
That thou hast power to shake my manhood thus:
[To Goneril.
-- 70 --
That these hot tears8 note, which break from me perforce,
Should make thee worth them.—Blasts and fogs upon thee!
The untented woundings9 note
of a father's curse
Pierce every sense about thee!—Old fond eyes,
Beweep this cause again, I'll pluck you out;
And cast you, with the waters that you lose1 note,
To temper clay.—Ha! is it come to this?
Let it be so2 note
:—Yet have I left a daughter,
Who, I am sure, is kind and comfortable;
When she shall hear this of thee, with her nails
She'll flay thy wolfish visage. Thou shalt find,
That I'll resume the shape which thou dost think
I have cast off for ever; thou shalt, I warrant thee3 note.
[Exeunt Lear, Kent, and Attendants.
-- 71 --
Gon.
Do you mark that, my lord?
Alb.
I cannot be so partial, Goneril,
To the great love I bear you,—
Gon.
Pray you, content.—What, Oswald, ho!
You, sir, more knave than fool, after your master.
[To the Fool.
Fool.
Nuncle Lear, nuncle Lear, tarry, and take
the fool with thee.
A fox, when one has caught her,
And such a daughter,
Should sure to the slaughter,
If my cap would buy a halter;
So the fool follows after.
[Exit.
Gon.4 note
[This man hath had good counsel:—A hundred knights!
'Tis politick, and safe, to let him keep
At point5 note, a hundred knights. Yes, that on every dream,
Each buz, each fancy, each complaint, dislike,
He may enguard his dotage with their powers,
And hold our lives in mercy6 note.—Oswald, I say!—
Alb.
Well, you may fear too far.
Gon.
Safer than trust too far7 note:
Let me still take away the harms I fear,
Not fear still to be taken. I know his heart:
-- 72 --
What he hath utter'd, I have writ my sister;
If she sustain him and his hundred knights,
When I have show'd the unfitness,]—How now, Oswald8 note
?
Enter Steward.
What, have you writ that letter to my sister?
Stew.
Ay, madam.
Gon.
Take you some company, and away to horse:
Inform her full of my particular fear;
And thereto add such reasons of your own,
As may compact it more9 note
. Get you gone;
And hasten your return. [Exit Stew.] No, no, my lord,
This milky gentleness, and course of yours,
Though I condemn it not, yet, under pardon,
You are much more attask'd1 note
for want of wisdom,
Than prais'd for harmful mildness.
-- 73 --
Alb.
How far your eyes may pierce, I cannot tell;
Striving to better, oft we mar what's well2 note
.
Gon.
Nay, then—
Alb.
Well, well; the event.
[Exeunt.
-- 74 --
SCENE V.
Court before the Same.
Enter Lear, Kent, and Fool.
Lear.
Go you before to Gloster with these letters:
acquaint my daughter no further with any
thing you know, than comes from her demand out
of the letter: If your diligence be not speedy, I
shall be there before you3 note
.
Kent.
I will not sleep, my lord, till I have delivered
your letter.
[Exit.
Fool.
If a man's brains were in his heels, were't
not in danger of kibes?
Lear.
Ay, boy.
Fool.
Then, I pr'ythee, be merry; thy wit shall
not go slip-shod.
Lear.
Ha, ha, ha!
Fool.
Shalt see, thy other daughter will use thee
kindly4 note: for though she's as like this as a crab is
like an apple, yet I can tell what I can tell.
note.
-- 75 --
Lear.
Why, what canst thou tell, my boy5 note?
Fool.
She will taste as like this, as a crab does
to a crab. Thou canst tell, why one's nose stands
i' the middle of his face?
Lear.
No.
Fool.
Why, to keep his eyes on either side his
nose; that what a man cannot smell out, he may
spy into.
Lear.
I did her wrong6 note:—
Fool.
Can'st tell how an oyster makes his shell?
Lear.
No.
Fool.
Nor I neither; but I can tell why a snail
has a house.
Lear.
Why?
Fool.
Why, to put his head in; not to give it
away to his daughters, and leave his horns without
a case.
Lear.
I will forget my nature.—So kind a father!
—Be my horses ready?
Fool.
Thy asses are gone about 'em. The reason
why the seven stars are no more than seven, is a
pretty reason.
Lear.
Because they are not eight?
Fool.
Yes, indeed: Thou wouldest make a good
fool.
Lear.
To take it again perforce7 note
!—Monster ingratitude!
-- 76 --
Fool.
If thou wert my fool, nuncle, I'd have thee
beaten for being old before thy time.
Lear.
How's that?
Fool.
Thou should'st not have been old, before
thou hadst been wise.
Lear.
O let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven!
Keep me in temper; I would not be mad!—
Enter Gentleman.
How now! Are the horses ready?
Gent.
Ready, my lord.
Lear.
Come, boy.
Fool.
She that is maid now, and laughs at my departure,
Shall not be a maid long, unless things be cut shorter8 note
.
[Exeunt.
-- 77 --
James Boswell [1821], The plays and poems of William Shakspeare, with the corrections and illustrations of various commentators: comprehending A Life of the Poet, and an enlarged history of the stage, by the late Edmond Malone. With a new glossarial index (J. Deighton and Sons, Cambridge) [word count] [S10201].
