Scene 4
SCENE changes to an open Place before the Palace.
Enter Kent disguis'd.
Kent.
If but as well I other accents borrow,
And can my speech diffuse, my good intent(9) note
May carry thro' it self 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, 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:
How now, what art thou?
[To Kent.
-- 122 --
Kent.
A man, Sir.
Lear.
What dost thou profess? what would'st 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 little;
to fear judgment; to fight when I cannot chuse, and to
eat no fish.
Lear.
What art thou?
Kent.
A very honest-hearted fellow, and as poor as the
King.
Lear.
If thou beest as poor for a subject, as he is for
a King, thou art poor enough. What would'st thou?
Kent.
Service.
Lear.
Whom would'st 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 counsels, ride, run, marr a
curious tale in telling it, and deliver a plain message bluntly:
that which ordinary men are fit for, I am qualify'd
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 doat on her for any thing. I have
years on my back forty eight.
Lear.
Follow me, thou shalt serve me; if I like thee
no worse after dinner, I will not part from thee yet.
Dinner, ho, dinner—where's my knave? my fool?
go you, and call my fool hither. You, you, sirrah,
where's my daughter?
Enter Steward.
Stew.
So please you—
[Exit.
Lear.
What says the fellow there? call the clotpole
-- 123 --
back: where's my fool, ho?—I think, the world's
asleep: how now? where's that mungrel?
Knight.
He says, my lord, your daughter is not well.
Lear.
Why came not the slave back to me when I
call'd him?
Knight.
Sir, he answer'd 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 entertain'd with that
ceremonious affection as you were wont; there's a great
abatement of kindness appears as well in the general dependants,
as in the Duke himself also, and your daughter.
Lear.
Ha! say'st thou so?
Knight.
I beseech you, pardon me, my lord, if I be
mistaken; for my duty cannot be silent, when I think
your Highness is wrong'd.
Lear.
Thou but remember'st me of my own conception.
I have perceiv'd a most faint neglect of late, which
I have rather blamed as my own jealous curiosity, than as
a very pretence and purpose of unkindness; I will look
further into't; but where's my fool? I have not seen him
these two days.
Knight.
Since my young lady's going into France, Sir,
the fool hath much pined away.
Lear.
No more of that, I have noted it well; go you
and tell my daughter, I would speak with her. Go you,
call hither my fool. O, you, Sir, come you hither, Sir;
who am I, Sir?
Enter Steward.
Stew.
My lady's father.
Lear.
My lady's father? my lord's knave!—you whorson
dog, you slave, you cur.
Stew.
I am none of these, my lord; I beseech your
pardon.
Lear.
Do you bandy looks with me, you rascal?
[Striking him.
Stew.
I'll not be struck, my lord.
-- 124 --
Kent.
Nor tript neither, you base foot-ball player.
[Tripping up his heels.
Lear.
I thank thee, fellow. Thou serv'st 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 wisdom?
so.—
[Pushes the Steward out.
Lear.
Now, my friendly knave, I thank thee; there's
earnest of thy service.
To them, Enter Fool.
Fool.
Let me hire him too, here's my coxcomb.
[Giving his cap.
Lear.
How now, my pretty knave? how do'st thou?
Fool.
Sirrah, you were best take my coxcomb.
Kent.
Why, my boy?
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 shortly. There, take my coxcomb;
why, this fellow has banish'd two of his daughters, and
did the third a blessing against his will; if thou follow
him, thou must needs wear my coxcomb. How now,
nuncle? would, I had two coxcombs, and two daughters.
Lear.
Why, my boy?
Fool.
If I give them all my living, I'll keep my coxcomb
my self; there's mine, beg another of thy daughters.
Lear.
Take heed, Sirrah, the whip.—
Fool.
Truth's a dog must to kennel, he must be whip'd
out, when the lady brach may stand by th' fire and stink.
Lear.
A pestilent gall to me.
Fool.
Sirrah, I'll teach thee a speech.
[To Kent.
Lear.
Do.
Fool.
Mark it, nuncle;
Have more than thou showest,
Speak less than thou knowest,
Lend less than thou owest,
Ride more than thou goest,
Learn more than thou trowest,
-- 125 --
Set less than thou throwest,
Leave thy drink and thy whore,
And keep within door,
And thou shalt have more
Than two tens to a score.
Kent.
This is nothing, fool.
Fool.
Then it is like the breath of an unfee'd 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 one?
Lear.
No lad, teach me.
Fool.
That Lord, that counsel'd thee to give away thy Land,(10) note
Come, place him here by me! do Thou 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 on't, they would have part
on't: nay, the Ladies too, they'll not let me have all
fool to my self, 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'th' middle and eat
up the meat, the two crowns of the egg: when thou
clovest thy Crown i'th' middle and gav'st away both parts,
thou bor'st thine ass on thy back o'er the dirt; thou had'st
little wit in thy bald crown, when thou gav'st thy golden
-- 126 --
one away: if I speak like my self in this, let him be
whip'd that first finds it so.
Fools ne'er had less grace in a year,
[Singing.
For wisemen 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?
Fool.
I have used it, nuncle, e'er since thou mad'st thy
daughters thy mothers; for when thou gav'st them the
rod, and put'st down thine own breeches,
Then they for sudden joy did weep,
[Singing.
And I for sorrow sung;
That such a King should play bo-peep,
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 whipt.
Fool.
I marvel, what kin thou and thy daughters are:
they'll have me whipt for speaking true, thou'lt have me
whipt for lying; and, sometimes, I am whipt for holding
my peace. I had rather be any kind o'thing than a fool,
and yet I would not be thee, nuncle; thou hast pared thy
wit o'both sides, and left nothing i'th' middle: here comes
one o'th' parings.
To them, Enter Gonerill.
Lear.
How now, daughter, what makes that frontlet
on? you are too much of late i'th' frown.
Fool.
Thou wast a pretty fellow, when thou hadst no
need to care for her frowning; now thou art an O without
a figure; I am better than thou art now; I am a fool,
thou art nothing.—Yes, forsooth, I will hold my
tongue; [To Gonerill.] so your face bids me, tho' you say
nothing.
-- 127 --
Mum, mum, he that keeps nor crust nor crum,
[Singing.
Weary of all, shall want some.
That's a sheal'd peascod.
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.
I thought by making this well known unto you,
T'have found a safe redress; but now grow fearful,
By what your self too late have spoke and done,
That you protect this course, and put it on
By your allowance; 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 know, nuncle,
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 darkling.
Lear.
Are you our daughter?
Gon.
I would, you would make use of your good wisdom,
Whereof I know you are fraught, and put away
These dispositions, which of late transport you
From what you rightly are.
Fool.
May not an Ass know when the cart draws the
horse? whoop, Jug, I love thee.
Lear.
Does any here know me? this is not Lear:
Does Lear walk thus? speak thus? where are his eyes?
Either his notion weakens, his discernings
Are lethargied—Ha! waking—'tis not so;
Who is it that can tell me who I am?
Lear's shadow? I would learn; for by the marks
Of sovereignty, of knowledge, and of reason,
I should be false persuaded I had daughters.
Your name, fair gentlewoman?—
Gon.
This admiration, Sir, is much o'th' savour
Of other your new pranks. I do beseech you,
To understand my purposes aright.
-- 128 --
You, as you're old and reverend, should be wise.
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,
Shews like a riotous Inn; Epicurism and lust
Make it more like a tavern or a brothel,
Than a grac'd Palace. Shame itself doth speak
For instant remedy. Be then desir'd
By her, that else will take the thing she begs,
‡ noteOf fifty to disquantity your train;
And the remainders, that shall still depend,
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.—
Degen'rate 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.
To them, Enter Albany.
Lear.
Woe! that too late repents—O, Sir, are you come?
Is it your will, speak, Sir? prepare my horses.—
[To Alb.
Ingratitude! thou marble-hearted fiend,
More hideous when thou shew'st thee in a child,
Than the sea-monster.
Alb.
Pray, Sir, be patient.
Lear.
Detested kite! thou liest.
[To Gonerill.
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 names. O most small fault!
How ugly didst thou in Cordelia shew?
Which, like an engine, wrencht my frame of nature
From the fixt place; drew from my heart all love,
-- 129 --
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 people.
Alb.
My lord, I'm guiltless, as I'm ignorant,
Of what hath moved you.
Lear.
It may be so, my lord—
Hear, Nature, hear; dear Goddess, hear a Father!
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 body never spring
A Babe to honour her! If she must teem,
Create her child of spleen, that it may live,
And be a thwart disnatur'd torment to her;
Let it stamp wrinkles in her brow of youth,
With candent tears fret chanels in her cheeks:(11) note
Turn all her mother's pains and benefits
To laughter and contempt; that she may feel,
How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is,
To have a thankless child.—Go, go, my people.
Alb.
Now, Gods, that we adore, whereof comes this?
Gon.
Never afflict your self to know of it:
But let his disposition have that scope,
That dotage gives it.
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 Gon.
That these hot tears, which break from me perforce,
-- 130 --
Should make thee worth them.—blasts and fogs upon thee!
Th' untented woundings of a father's curse(12) note
Pierce every sense about thee! Old fond eyes,
Beweep this Cause again, I'll pluck ye out,
And cast you, with the waters that you lose,
To temper clay. Ha! is it come to this?
Let it be so: I have another daughter,
Who, I am sure, is kind and comfortable;
When she shall hear this of thee, with her nails
She'll flea thy wolfish visage. Thou shalt find,
That I'll resume the shape, which thou dost think
I have cast off for ever.
[Ex. Lear and attendants.
Gon.
Do you mark that?
Alb.
I cannot be so partial, Gonerill,
To the great love I bear you,—
Gon.
Pray you, be content. What, Oswald, ho!
You, Sir, more knave than fool, after your master.
Fool.
Nuncle Lear, nuncle Lear, tarry, 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.
This man hath had good counsel,—a hundred Knights!
'Tis politick, and safe, to let him keep
A hundred Knights; yes, that on ev'ry dream,
Each buz, each fancy, each complaint, dislike,
-- 131 --
He may enguard his dotage with their pow'rs,
And hold our lives at mercy. Oswald, I say.
Alb.
Well, you may fear too far;—
Gon.
Safer than trust too far.
Let me still take away the harms I fear,
Not fear still to be harm'd. I know his heart;
What he hath utter'd, I have writ my sister;
If she'll sustain him and his hundred Knights,
When I have shew'd th' unfitness—
Enter Steward.
How now, Oswald?
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 fears,
And thereto add such reasons of your own,
As may compact it more. So get you gone,
And hasten your return.
[Exit Steward.
—No, no, my lord,
This milky gentleness and course of yours,
Though I condemn it not, yet, under pardon,
You are much more at task for want of wisdom,
Than prais'd for harmful mildness.
Alb.
How far your eyes may pierce, I cannot tell;
Striving to better, oft we mar what's well.
Gon.
Nay, then—
Alb.
Well, well, th' event.
[Exeunt.
Lewis Theobald [1733], The works of Shakespeare: in seven volumes. Collated with the Oldest Copies, and Corrected; With notes, Explanatory and Critical; By Mr. Theobald (Printed for A. Bettesworth and C. Hitch [and] J. Tonson [etc.], London) [word count] [S11201].
