the wall of a jakes with him.—Spare my grey beard, you wagtail?

Corn.
Peace, sirrah!
You beastly knave, know you no reverence?

Kent.
Yes, sir; but anger has a privilege^{4 note}
.

Corn.
Why art thou angry?

Kent.
That such a slave as this should wear a sword,
Who wears no honesty. Such smiling rogues as these^{5 note},
Like rats, oft bite the holy cords atwain
Which are too intrinse t'unloose^{6 note}

That in the natures of their lords rebels;
Bring oil to fire, snow to their colder moods;
Renege^{8 note}, affirm, and turn their halcyon beaks
With every gale and vary of their masters^{9 note}

As knowing nought^{9 note}, like dogs, but following.—
A plague upon your epileptick visage^{1 note}!
Smile you my speeches, as I were a fool?
Goose, if I had you upon Sarum plain,
I'd drive ye cackling home to Camelot^{2 note}

Corn.
What, art thou mad, old fellow?

Glo.
How fell you out?
Say that.

Kent.
No contraries hold more antipathy,
Than I and such a knave^{3 note}

.

Corn.
Why dost thou call him knave? What's his offence?

Kent.
His countenance likes me not^{4 note}

Corn.
No more, perchance, does mine, or his, or hers.

Kent.
Sir, 'tis my occupation to be plain;
I have seen better faces in my time,
Than stands on any shoulder that I see
Before me at this instant.

Corn.
This is some fellow,
Who, having been prais'd for bluntness, doth affect
A saucy roughness; and constrains the garb,
Quite from his nature^{5 note}
: He cannot flatter, he!—
An honest mind and plain,—he must speak truth:
An they will take it, so; if not, he's plain.
These kind of knaves I know, which in this plainness
Harbour more craft, and more corrupter ends,
Than twenty silly ducking observants^{6 note}

Kent.
Sir, in good sooth, in sincere verity,
Under the allowance of your grand aspéct,
Whose influence, like the wreath of radiant fire
On flickering Phœbus' front^{7 note}

Corn.
What mean'st by this?

Kent.

To go out of my dialect, which you discommend so much. I know, sir, I am no flatterer: he that beguiled you, in a plain accent, was a plain knave; which, for my part, I will not be, though I should win your displeasure to entreat me to it^{8 note}.

Corn.
What was the offence you gave him?

Stew.
I never gave him any^{9 note}

And, in the fleshment^{2 note} of this dread exploit,
Drew on me here again^{3 note}

Kent.
None of these rogues, and cowards,
But Ajax is their fool^{4 note}

Corn.
Fetch forth the stocks, ho!
You stubborn ancient knave^{5 note}

Kent.
Sir, I am too old to learn:

Call not your stocks for me: I serve the king;
On whose employment I was sent to you:
You shall do small respect, show too bold malice
Against the grace and person of my master,
Stocking* ^note his messenger.

Corn.
Fetch forth the stocks:
As I've life and honour, there shall he sit till noon.

Reg.
Till noon! till night, my lord; and all night too.

Kent.
Why, madam, if I were your father's dog,
You should not use me so.

Reg.
Sir, being his knave, I will. [Stocks brought out^{6 note}.

Corn.
This is a fellow of the self-same colour^{7 note}
Our sister speaks of:—Come, bring away the stocks.

Glo.
Let me beseech your grace not to do so:
[His fault^{8 note} is much, and the good king his master
Will check him for't: your purpos'd low correction
Is such, as basest and contemned'st wretches^{9 note}

Corn.
I'll answer that.

Reg.
My sister may receive it much more worse,
To have her gentleman abus'd, assaulted,
For following her affairs^{1 note}.—Put in his legs.— [Kent is put in the Stocks^{2 note}

break thy neck with following it; but the great one that goes up the hill, let him draw thee after. When a wise man gives thee^{6 note} better counsel, give me mine again: I would have none but knaves follow it, since a fool gives it.

That, sir, which serves and seeks for gain,
  And follows but for form,
Will pack, when it begins to rain,
  And leave thee in the storm.
But I will tarry; the fool will stay,
  And let^{7 note}

Kent.
Where learn'd you this, fool?

Fool.
Not i' the stocks, fool. Re-enter Lear, with Gloster.

Lear.
Deny to speak with me? They are sick? they are weary?

They have travell'd hard to-night? Mere fetches^{8 note}
;
The images of revolt and flying off!
Fetch me a better answer.

Glo.
My dear lord,
You know the fiery quality of the duke;
How unremoveable and fix'd he is
In his own course.

Lear.
Vengeance! plague! death! confusion!—
Fiery? what quality* ^note? Why, Gloster, Gloster,
I'd speak with the duke of Cornwall, and his wife.

Glo.
Well, my good lord^{9 note}, I have inform'd them so.

Lear.
Inform'd them! Dost thou understand me, man?

Glo.
Ay, my good lord.

Lear.
The king would speak with Cornwall; the dear father
Would with his daughter speak, commands her service:
Are they inform'd of this^{1 note}?—My breath and blood!—
Fiery? the fiery duke?—Tell the hot duke, that^{2 note}—
No, but not yet:—may be, he is not well:
Infirmity doth still neglect all office,
Whereto our health is bound; we are not ourselves,
When nature, being oppress'd, commands the mind
To suffer with the body: I'll forbear;
And am fallen out with my more headier will,

To take the indispos'd and sickly fit
For the sound man.—Death on my state! wherefore [Looking on Kent.
Should he sit here? This act persuades me^{3 note}
,
That this remotion^{4 note} of the duke and her
Is practice only^{5 note}. Give me my servant forth:
Go, tell the duke and his wife, I'd speak with them,
Now, presently: bid them come forth and hear me,
Or at their chamber door I'll beat the drum,
Till it cry—Sleep to death^{6 note}

Glo.

I'd have all well betwixt you.

Lear.

O me, my heart, my rising heart!—but, down.

Fool.

Cry to it, nuncle, as the cockney^{7 note}

the eels, when she put them i' the paste^{8 note}

cry'd, Down, wantons, down: 'Twas her brother, that, in pure kindness to his horse, buttered his hay.

Lear.
Good morrow to you both.

Corn.
Hail to your grace! [Kent is set at Liberty.

Reg.
I am glad to see your highness.

Lear.
Regan, I think you are; I know what reason
I have to think so: if thou should'st not be glad,
I would divorce me from thy mother's tomb,
Sepúlch'ring^{1 note}

an adultress.—O, are you free? [To Kent.
Some other time for that.—Beloved Regan,
Thy sister's naught: O Regan, she hath tied
Sharp-tooth'd unkindness, like a vulture, here^{2 note}
,— [Points to his Heart.
I can scarce speak to thee; thou'lt not believe,
Of how deprav'd a quality^{3 note}
—O Regan!

Reg.
I pray you, sir, take patience; I have hope,
You less know how to value her desert,
Than she to scant her duty^{4 note}

Lear.
Say^{5 note}, how is that?

Reg.
I cannot think, my sister in the least

Would fail her obligation: If, sir, perchance,
She have restrain'd the riots of your followers,
'Tis on such ground, and to such wholesome end,
As clears her from all blame.

Lear.
My curses on her!

Reg.
O, sir, you are old;
Nature in you stands on the very verge
Of her confíne: you should be rul'd, and led
By some discretion, that discerns your state
Better than you yourself: Therefore, I pray you,
That to our sister you do make return;
Say, you have wrong'd her, sir^{5 note}.

Lear.
Ask her forgiveness?
Do you but mark how this becomes the house^{6 note}

Dear daughter, I confess that I am old;
Age is unnecessary^{7 note}

Reg.
Good sir, no more; these are unsightly tricks:
Return you to my sister.

Lear.
Never, Regan:
She hath abated me of half my train;
Look'd black upon me^{8 note}

Most serpent-like, upon the very heart:—
All the stor'd vengeances of heaven fall
On her ingrateful top! Strike her young bones,
You taking airs, with lameness!

Corn.
Fye, fye, fye!

Lear.
You nimble lightnings, dart your blinding flames
Into her scornful eyes! Infect her beauty,
You fen-suck'd fogs, drawn by the powerful sun,
To fall and blast her pride^{9 note}

Reg.
O the blest gods!
So will you wish on me, when the rash mood is on^{1 note}

Lear.
No, Regan, thou shalt never have my curse;
Thy tender-hefted nature^{2 note}

Against my coming in: thou better know'st
The offices of nature, bond of childhood,
Effects of courtesy, dues of gratitude;
Thy half o' the kingdom hast thou not forgot,
Wherein I thee endow'd.

Reg.
Good sir, to the purpose. [Trumpets within.

Lear.
Who put my man i' the stocks?

Corn.
What trumpet's that? Enter Steward.

Reg.
I know't, my sister's^{5 note}

Lear.
This is a slave, whose easy-borrow'd pride
Dwells in the fickle grace of her he follows:—
Out, varlet, from my sight!

Corn.
What means your grace?

Lear.
Who stock'd my servant? Regan, I have good hope
Thou didst not know of't.—Who comes here? O heavens,

Enter Goneril.
If you do love old men, if your sweet sway
Allow obedience^{6 note}
, if yourselves are old^{7 note}


,
Make it your cause; send down, and take my part!—
Art not asham'd to look upon this beard?— [To Goneril.
O, Regan, wilt thou take her by the hand?

Gon.
Why not by the hand, sir? How have I offended?
All's not offence, that indiscretion finds^{8 note}

Lear.
O, sides, you are too tough!

Will you yet hold?—How came my man i' the stocks?

Corn.
I set him there, sir: but his own disorders
Deserv'd much less advancement^{9 note}

Lear.
You! did you?

Reg.
I pray you, father, being weak, seem so^{1 note}.
If, till the expiration of your month,
You will return and sojourn with my sister,
Dismissing half your train, come then to me;
I am now from home, and out of that provision
Which shall be needful for your entainment.

Lear.
Return to her, and fifty men dismiss'd?
No, rather I abjure all roofs, and choose
To wage against the enmity o' the air;
To be a comrade with the wolf and owl,—
Necessity's sharp pinch^{2 note}

To knee his throne, and, squire-like, pension beg
To keep base life^{3 note} afoot:—Return with her?
Persuade me rather to be slave and sumpter^{4 note}

Gon.
At your choice, sir.

Lear.
I pr'ythee, daughter, do not make me mad;
I will not trouble thee, my child; farewell:
We'll no more meet, no more see one another:—
But yet thou art my flesh^{5 note}
, my blood, my daughter;
Or, rather, a disease that's in my flesh* ^note,
Which I must needs call mine: thou art a boil^{6 note}

,
A plague-sore^{7 note}, an embossed carbuncle^{8 note}

In my corrupted blood. But I'll not chide thee;
Let shame come when it will, I do not call it:
I do not bid the thunder-bearer shoot,
Nor tell tales of thee to high-judging Jove:
Mend, when thou canst; be better, at thy leisure:
I can be patient; I can stay with Regan,
I, and my hundred knights.

Reg.
Not altogether so, sir;
I look'd not for you yet, nor am provided
For your fit welcome: Give ear, sir, to my sister;
For those that mingle reason with your passion,
Must be content to think you old, and so—
But she knows what she does.

Lear.
Is this well spoken now?

Reg.
I dare avouch it, sir: What, fifty followers?
Is it not well? What should you need of more?
Yea, or so many? sith that both charge and danger
Speak 'gainst so great a number? How, in one house,
Should many people, under two commands,
Hold amity? 'Tis hard; almost impossible.

Gon.
Why might not you, my lord, receive attendance
From those that she calls servants, or from mine?

Reg.
Why not, my lord? If then they chanc'd to slack you,
We could control them: If you will come to me,
(For now I spy a danger,) I entreat you
To bring but five and twenty: to no more
Will I give place, or notice.

Lear.
I gave you all—

Reg.
And in good time you gave it.

Lear.
Made you my guardians, my depositaries;
But kept a reservation to be follow'd

With such a number: What, must I come to you
With five and twenty, Regan? said you so?

Reg.
And speak it again, my lord; no more with me.

Lear.
Those wicked creatures yet do look well-favour'd,
When others are more wicked^{9 note}

Gon.
Hear me, my lord;
What need you five and twenty, ten, or five,
To follow in a house, where twice so many
Have a command to tend you?

Reg.
What need one?

Lear.
O, reason not the need: our basest beggars
Are in the poorest thing superfluous:
Allow not nature more than nature needs,
Man's life is cheap as beast's: thou art a lady;
If only to go warm were gorgeous,
Why, nature needs not what thou gorgeous wear'st,

Which scarcely keeps thee warm.—But, for true need,—
You heavens, give me that patience, patience I need^{1 note}

I have full cause of weeping; but this heart
Shall break into a hundred thousand flaws* ^{note 4 note}

Corn.
Let us withdraw, 'twill be a storm. [Storm heard at a Distance.

Reg.
This house
Is little; the old man and his people cannot
Be well bestow'd.

Gon.
'Tis his own blame; hath put himself from rest^{5 note},
And must needs taste his folly.

Reg.
For his particular, I'll receive him gladly,
But not one follower.

Gon.
So am I purpos'd.
Where is my lord of Gloster? Re-enter Gloster.

Corn.
Follow'd the old man forth:—he is return'd.

Glo.
The king is in high rage.

Corn.
Whither is he going?

Glo.
He calls to horse^{6 note}
; but will I know not whither.

Corn.
'Tis best to give him way; he leads himself.

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

Glo.
Alack, the night comes on, and the bleak winds* ^note
Do sorely ruffle^{7 note}

Reg.
O, sir, to wilful men,
The injuries, that they themselves procure,
Must be their schoolmasters: Shut up your doors;
He is attended with a desperate train;
And what they may incense him to^{8 note}, being apt
To have his ear abus'd, wisdom bids fear.

Corn.
Shut up your doors, my lord; 'tis a wild night;
My Regan counsels well: come out o' the storm. [Exeunt.

Previous section

Next section