Edmund.

Save thee, Curan.

Cur.

And you, Sir. I have been with your father, and given him notice that the Duke of Cornwall, and Regan his Dutchess, will be here with him this night.

Edm.

How comes that?

Cur.

Nay, I know not; you have heard of the news abroad; I mean, the whisper'd ones; for they are yet but ear-kissing arguments.

Edm.

Not I; pray you, what are they?

Cur.

Have you heard of no likely wars toward, 'twixt the Dukes of Cornwall and Albany?

Edm.

Not a word.

Cur.

You may do then in time. Fare you well, Sir.

Edm.
The Duke be here to night! the better! best!
This weaves it self perforce into my business;
My father hath set guard to take my brother,

And I have one thing of a queazy question
Which I must act: briefness, and fortune work!
Brother, a word; descend; Brother, I say;— To him, Enter Edgar.
My father watches; O Sir, fly this place,
Intelligence is giv'n where you are hid;
You've now the good advantage of the night—
Have you not spoken 'gainst the Duke of Cornwall?
He's coming hither, now i'th' night, i'th' haste,
And Regan with him; have you nothing said
Upon his Party 'gainst the Duke of Albany?
Advise your self.

Edg.
I'm sure on't, not a word.

Edm.
I hear my father coming. Pardon me—
In cunning, I must draw my sword upon you—
Draw, seem to defend your self.
Now quit you well—
Yield—come before my father—light hoa, here!—
Fly, brother—Torches!—so farewel— [Ex. Edg.
Some blood, drawn on me, would beget opinion [Wounds his arm.
Of my more fierce endeavour. I've seen drunkards
Do more than this in sport. Father! father!
Stop, stop, no help?— To him, Enter Glo'ster, and servants with torches.

Glo.
Now, Edmund, where's the villain?

Edm.
Here stood he in the dark, his sharp sword out,
Mumbling of wicked Charms, conj'ring the moon
To stand 's auspicious mistress.

Glo.
But where is he?

Edm.
Look, Sir, I bleed.

Glo.
Where is the villain, Edmund?

Edm.
Fled this way, Sir, when by no means he could—

Glo.
Pursue him, ho! go after. By no means, what—

Edm.
Persuade me to the murther of your lordship;
But that, I told him, the revenging Gods
'Gainst Parricides did all the thunder bend,
Spoke with how manifold and strong a bond

The child was bound to th' father.—Sir, in fine,
Seeing how lothly opposite I stood
To his unnat'ral purpose, in fell motion
With his prepared sword he charges home
My unprovided body, lanc'd my arm;
And when he saw my best alarmed spirits,
Bold in the quarrel's right, rous'd to th' encounter,
Or whether gasted by the noise I made,
Full suddenly he fled.

Glo.
Let him fly far;
Not in this land shall he remain uncaught
And found; dispatch—the noble Duke my master,
My worthy and arch-patron, comes to-night;(13) ^note
By his authority I will proclaim it,
That he, which finds him, shall deserve our thanks,
Bringing the murth'rous coward to the stake:
He that conceals him, death.

Edm.
When I disswaded him from his intent,
And found him pight to do it, with curst speech
I threaten'd to discover him; he replied,
Thou unpossessing Bastard! do'st thou think,
If I would stand against thee, would the reposal
Of any trust, virtue, or worth in thee
Make thy words faith'd? no; what I should deny,—
(As this I would, although thou did'st produce
My very character) I'd turn it all
To thy suggestion, plot, and damned practice;
And thou must make a dullard of the world,
If they not thought the profits of my death
Were very pregnant and potential spurs
To make thee seek it. [Trumpets within.

Glo.
O strange, fasten'd, villain!
Would he deny his letter?—I never got him.—
Hark, the Duke's trumpets! I know not why he comes—

All Ports I'll bar; the villain shall not 'scape;
The Duke must grant me that; besides, his picture
I will send far and near, that all the Kingdom
May have due note of him; and of my land,
(Loyal and natural Boy!) I'll work the means
To make thee capable. Enter Cornwall, Regan, and attendants.

Corn.
How now, my noble friend? since I came hither,
Which I can call but now, I have heard strange news.

Reg.
If it be true, all vengeance comes too short,
Which can pursue th' offender; how does my lord?

Glo.
O Madam, my old heart is crack'd, it's crack'd.

Reg.
What, did my father's godson seek your life?
He whom my father nam'd, your Edgar?

Glo.
O lady, lady, Shame would have it hid.

Reg.
Was he not companion with the riotous Knights,
That tend upon my father?

Glo.
I know not, Madam: 'tis too bad, too bad.

Edm.
Yes, Madam, he was of that consort.

Reg.
No marvel then, though he were ill affected;
'Tis they have put him on the old man's death,
To have th' expence and waste of his revenues,
I have this present evening from my sister
Been well inform'd of them; and with such cautions,
That if they come to sojourn at my house,
I'll not be there.

Corn.
Nor I, assure thee, Regan;
Edmund, I hear, that you have shewn your father
A child-like office.

Edm.
'Twas my duty, Sir.

Glo.
He did bewray his practice, and receiv'd
This hurt you see, striving to apprehend him.

Corn.
Is he pursued?

Glo.
Ay, my good lord.

Corn.
If he be taken, he shall never more
Be fear'd of doing harm: make your own purpose,
How in my strength you please. As for you, Edmund,
Whose virtue and obedience doth this instant
So much commend it self, you shall be ours;

Natures of such deep Trust we shall much need:
You we first seize on.

Edm.
I shall serve you, Sir,
Truly, however else.

Glo.
I thank your Grace.

Corn.
You know not why we came to visit you—

Reg.
Thus out of season threading dark-ey'd night;(14) ^note

Glo.
I serve you, Madam:
Your Graces are right welcome. [Exeunt. Enter Kent, and Steward, severally.

Stew.

Good evening to thee, friend; art of this house?

Kent.

Ay.

Stew.

Where may we set our horses?

Kent.

I'th' mire.

Stew.

Pr'ythee, if thou lov'st me, tell me.

Kent.

I love thee not.

Stew.

Why then I care not for thee.

Kent.

If I had thee in Lipsbury pinfold, I would make thee care for me.

Stew.

Why dost thou use me thus? I know thee not.

Kent.

Fellow, I know thee.

Stew.

What dost thou know me for?

Kent.

A knave, a rascal, an eater of broken meats, a base, proud, shallow, beggarly, three-suited, hundred-pound, filthy worsted-stocking knave; a lilly-liver'd, action-taking, knave; a whorson, glass-gazing, super-serviceable finical rogue; one-trunk-inheriting slave; one that would'st be a bawd in way of good service; and art nothing but the composition of a knave, beggar, coward, pander, and the son and heir of a mungril bitch; one whom I will beat into clam'rous whining, if thou deny'st the least syllable of thy addition.

Stew.

Why, what a monstrous fellow art thou, thus to rail on one, that is neither known of thee, nor knows thee?

Kent.

What a brazen-fac'd varlet art thou, to deny thou know'st me? is it two days ago, since I tript up thy heels, and beat thee before the King? draw, you rogue; for tho' it be night, yet the moon shines; I'll make a sop o'th' moonshine of you; you whorson, cullionly, barber-monger, draw.

Stew.

Away, I have nothing to do with thee.

Kent.

Draw, you rascal; you come with letters against the King; and take Vanity, the Puppet's part, against the royalty of her father; draw, you rogue, or I'll so carbonado your shanks—draw, you rascal, come your ways.

Stew.

Help, ho! murther! help!—

Kent.

Strike, you slave; stand, rogue, stand, you neat slave, strike.

Stew.

Help ho! murther! murther!—

Edm.

How now, what's the matter? Part—

Kent.

With you, goodman boy, if you please; come, I'll flesh ye; come on, young master.

Glo.

Weapons? arms? what's the matter here?

Corn.

Keep peace, upon your lives; he dies, that strikes again; what's the matter?

Reg.

The messengers from our sister and the King?

Corn.

What is your difference? speak.

Stew.

I am scarce in breath, my lord.

Kent.

No marvel, you have so bestir'd your valour; you cowardly rascal! nature disclaims all share in thee: a tailor made thee.

Corn.

Thou art a strange fellow; a tailor make a man?

Kent.

I, a tailor, Sir; a stone-cutter, or a painter could not have made him so ill, tho' they had been but two hours o'th' trade.

Corn.

Speak yet, how grew your quarrel?

Stew.

This antient rusfian, Sir, whose life I have spar'd at suit of his grey beard—

Kent.

Thou whorson zed! thou unnecessary letter! my lord, if you will give me leave, I will tread this unbolted villain into mortar, and daub 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 hath a privilege.

Corn.
Why art thou angry?

Kent.
That such a slave as this shou'd wear a sword,
Who wears no honesty: such smiling rogues as these,
Like rats, oft bite the holy cords in twain(15) ^note

Too 'intrinsicate t'unloose: sooth every passion,
That in the nature of their lords rebels:
Bring oil to fire, snow to their colder moods;
Renege, affirm, and turn their halcyon beaks
With ev'ry Gale and Vary of their masters;
As knowing nought, like dogs, but following.
A plague upon your epileptick visage!
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.(16) ^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.

Corn.
Why dost thou call him knave? what is his fault?

Kent.
His countenance likes me not.

Corn.
No more, perchance, does mine, nor his, nor hers.

Kent.
Sir, 'tis my occupation to be plain;
I have seen better faces in my time,
Than stand 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 sawcy roughness; and constrains the garb,
Quite from his nature. He can't 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,
That stretch their duties nicely.

Kent.
Sir, in good faith, in sincere verity,
Under th' allowance of your grand aspect,
Whose influence, like the wreath of radiant fire
On flickering Phœbus' front—

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 beguil'd you in a plain accent, was a plain knave; which for my part I will not be, though I should win your displeasure to intreat me to't.

Corn.

What was th' offence you gave him?

Stew.
I never gave him any:
It pleas'd the King his master very lately
To strike at me upon his misconstruction;
When he conjunct, and flatt'ring his displeasure,
Tript me behind; being down, insulted, rail'd,
And put upon him such a deal of man, that
That worthied him; got praises of the King,
For him attempting who was self-subdu'd;
And, in the fleshment of this dread exploit,
Drew on me here again.

Kent.
None of these rogues and cowards,
But Ajax is their fool.

Corn.
Fetch forth the Stocks.
You stubborn ancient knave, you rev'rend braggart,
We'll teach you—

Kent.
Sir, I am too old to learn:
Call not your Stocks for me, I serve the King;
On whose imployment I was sent to you.
You shall do small respect, shew too bold malice
Against the grace and person of my master,
Stocking his messenger.

Corn.
Fetch forth the Stocks;
As I have 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 could not use me so.

Reg.
Sir, being his knave, I will. [Stocks brought out.

Corn.
This is a fellow of the self-same nature
Our sister speaks of. Come, bring away the Stocks.

Glo.
Let me beseech your Grace not to do so;
His fault is much, and the good King his master
Will check him for't; your purpos'd low correction
Is such, as basest and the meanest wretches
For pilf'rings, and most common trespasses,
Are punish'd with. The King must take it ill,
That he, so slightly valued in his messenger,
Should have him thus restrain'd.

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. Put in his legs— [Kent is put in the Stocks:
Come, my lord, away. [Exeunt Regan and Cornwall.

Glo.
I'm sorry for thee, friend; 'tis the Duke's pleasure,
Whose disposition, all the world well knows,
Will not be rubb'd nor stop'd. I'll intreat for thee.

Kent.
Pray, do not, Sir. I've watch'd and travell'd hard;
Some time I shall sleep out, the rest I'll whistle:
A good man's fortune may grow out at heels;
Give you good morrow.

Glo.
The Duke's to blame in this, 'twill be ill taken. [Exit.

Kent.
Good King, that must approve the common Saw,
Thou out of heaven's benediction com'st
To the warm sun!
Approach, thou beacon to this under-globe, [Looking up to the moon.
That by thy comfortable beams I may
Peruse this letter. Nothing almost sees miracles,
But misery. I know, 'tis from Cordelia;
Who hath most fortunately been inform'd
Of my obscured course. I shall find time
From this enormous state, and seek to give
Losses their remedies. All weary and o'er-watch'd,
Take vantage, heavy eyes, not to behold
This shameful lodging.

Fortune, good night; smile once more, turn thy wheel. [He sleeps. Scene 2 SCENE changes to a part of a Heath. Enter Edgar.

Edg.
I've heard my self proclaim'd;
And, by the happy hollow of a tree,
Escap'd the hunt. No port is free, no place,
That Guard and most unusual vigilance
Does not attend my taking. Whiles I may 'scape,
I will preserve my self: and am bethought
To take the basest and the poorest shape,
That ever Penury in contempt of man
Brought near to beast: my face I'll grime with filth;
Blanket my loins; elfe all my hair in knots;(17) ^note

Inforce their charity; poor Turlygood! poor Tom!—
That's something yet: Edgar I nothing am. [Exit. Scene 3 SCENE changes, again, to the Earl of Glo'ster's Castle. Enter Lear, Fool, and Gentleman.

Lear.
'Tis strange, that they should so depart from home,
And not send back my messenger.

Gent.
As I learn'd,
The night before, there was no purpose in them
Of this remove.

Kent.

Hail to thee, noble master!

Lear.

Ha! mak'st thou thy shame thy pastime?

Kent.

No my lord.

Fool.

Ha, ha, he wears cruel garters; horses are ty'd by the heads, dogs and bears by th' neck, monkeys by th' loins, and men by th' legs; when a man is over-lusty at legs, then he wears wooden nether stocks.

Lear.
What's he, that hath so much thy Place mistook,
To set thee here?

Kent.
It is both he and she,
Your son and daughter.

Lear.
No.

Kent.
Yes.

Lear.
No, I say.

Kent.
I say, yea.

Lear.
By Jupiter, I swear, no.

Kent.
By Juno, I swear, ay.

Lear.
They durst not do't.
They could not, would not do't; 'tis worse than murther,
To do upon respect such violent outrage:
Resolve me with all modest haste, which way
Thou might'st deserve, or they impose, this usage,
Coming from us?

Kent.
My lord, when at their home
I did commend your Highness' letters to them,
Ere I was risen from the place, that shew'd
My duty kneeling, came a reeking Post,

Stew'd in his haste, half breathless, panting forth
From Gonerill his mistress, salutation;
Deliver'd letters spight of intermission,
Which presently they read: on whose contents
They summon'd up their meiny, strait took horse;
Commanded me to follow, and attend
The leisure of their answer; gave me cold looks;
And meeting here the other messenger,
Whose welcome, I perceiv'd, had poison'd mine;
(Being the very fellow, which of late
Display'd so sawcily against your Highness,)
Having more man than wit about me, I drew;
He rais'd the house with loud and coward cries:
Your son and daughter found this trespass worth
The shame which here it suffers.

Fool.
Winter's not gone yet, if the wild geese fly that way.
Fathers, that wear rags,
Do make their children blind;
But fathers, that bear bags,
Shall see their children kind.
Fortune, that arrant whore,
Ne'er turns the key to th' poor.
But, for all this, thou shalt have as many dolours from
Thy dear daughters, as thou canst tell in a year.

Lear.
Oh, how this mother swells up tow'rd my heart!
Hysterica passio,—down, thou climbing sorrow,
Thy element's below; where is this daughter?

Kent.
With the Earl, Sir, here within.

Lear.
Follow me not; stay here. [Exit.

Gen.
Made you no more offence,
But what you speak of?

Kent.
None;
How chance the King comes with so small a number?

Fool.

An thou hadst been set i'th' stocks for that question, thou'dst well deserved it.

Kent.

Why, fool?

Fool.

We'll set thee to school to an Ant, to teach thee there's no lab'ring i'th' winter. All, that follow their noses, are led by their eyes, but blind men; and there's not a nose among twenty, but can smell him that's stinking

—let go thy hold, when a great wheel runs down a hill, lest it break thy neck with following it; but the great one that goes upward, let him draw thee after. When a wise man gives thee better counsel, give me mine again; I would have none but knaves follow it, since a fool gives it.

Kent.
Where learn'd you this, fool?

Fool.
Not i'th' Stocks, fool. Enter Lear and Glo'ster.

Lear.
Deny to speak with me? they're sick, they're weary,
They have travell'd all the night? mere fetches,
The images of revolt and flying off.
Bring me a better answer—

Glo.
My dear lord,
You know the fiery quality of the Duke:
How unremoveable, and fixt he is
In his own course.

Lear.
Vengeance! plague! death! confusion!—
Fiery? what fiery quality? why, Glo'ster,
I'd speak with th' Duke of Cornwall, and his wife.

Glo.
Well, my good lord, 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
Wou'd with his daughter speak; commands her service:
Are they inform'd of this?—my breath and blood!—
Fiery? the fiery Duke? tell the hot Duke, that—
No, but not yet; may be, he is not well;
Infirmity doth still neglect all office,
Whereto our health is bound; we're not our selves,

When Nature, being opprest, commands the mind
To suffer with the body. I'll forbear;
And am fall'n out with my more headier will,
To take the indispos'd and sickly fit,
For the sound man.—Death on my state! but wherefore
Should he sit here? this Act perswades me,
That this remotion of the Duke and her
Is practice only. Give me my servant forth;
Go, tell the Duke and's 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.

Glo.

I would have all well betwixt you.

Lear.
Oh me, my heart! my rising heart! but down.

Fool.

Cry to it, nuncle, as the cockney did to the Eels, when she put them i'th' Pasty alive; she rapt 'em o'th' coxcombs with a stick, and cry'd, down wantons, down; 'Twas her brother, that in pure kindness to his horse butter'd his hay.

Lear.

Good morrow to you both.

Corn.

Hail to your Grace!

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 wert not glad,
I would divorce me from thy mother's tomb,
Sepulchring an adult'ress. O, are you free? [To Kent.
Some other time for that. Beloved Regan,
Thy sister's naught: oh Regan, she hath tied
Sharp-tooth'd unkindness, like a vulture, here; [Points to his heart.
I can scarce speak to thee; thou'lt not believe,
With how deprav'd a quality—oh 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.

Lear.
Say? How is that?—

Reg.
I cannot think, my sister in the least
Would fail her obligation. If, perchance,

She have restrain'd the riots of your followers;
'Tis on such ground, and to such wholesom 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 confine; you should be rul'd and led
By some discretion, that discerns your state
Better than you your Self: therefore, I pray you,
That to our sister you do make return;
Say, you have wrong'd her, Sir.

Lear.
Ask her forgiveness?
Do you but mark, how this becomes the Use?(18) ^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 blank upon me; struck me with her tongue,(19) ^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.
Fie, Sir! fie!

Lear.
You nimble lightnings, dart your blinding flames
Into her scornful eyes! infect her beauty,
You fen-suck'd fogs, drawn by the pow'rful sun
To fall, and blast her pride.

Reg.
O the blest gods!
So will you wish on me, when the rash mood is on.

Lear.
No, Regan, thou shalt never have my curse:
Thy tender-hefted nature shall not give(20) ^note

Do comfort, and not burn. 'Tis not in thee
To grudge my pleasures, to cut off my train,
To bandy hasty words, to scant my sizes,
And, in conclusion, to oppose the bolt
Against my coming in. Thou better know'st
The offices of nature, bond of child-hood,
Effects of courtesie, dues of gratitude:
Thy half o'th' Kingdom thou hast not forgot,
Wherein I thee endow'd.

Reg.
Good Sir, to th' purpose. [Trumpet within.

Lear.
Who put my man i'th' Stocks? Enter Steward.

Corn.
What trumpet's that?

Reg.
I know't, my sister's: this approves her letter,
That she would soon be here. Is your lady come?

Lear.
This is a slave, whose easie-borrowed pride
Dwells in the fickle grace of her he follows.
Out, varlet, from my sight.

Corn.
What means your Grace? Enter Gonerill.

Lear.
Who stockt my servant? Regan, I've good hope,
Thou didst not know on't.—Who comes here?
O Heav'ns,
If you do love old men, if your sweet sway(21) ^note

Hallow obedience, if your selves are old,

Make it your cause; send down and take my part.
Art not asham'd to look upon this beard?
O Regan, will you take her by the hand?

Gon.
Why not by th' hand, Sir? how have I offended?
All's not offence, that indiscretion finds,
And dotage terms so.

Lear.
O sides, you are too tough!
Will you yet hold?—how came my man i'th Stocks?

Corn.
I set him there, Sir: but his own disorders
Deserv'd much less advancement.

Lear.
You? did you?

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

Lear.
Return to her? and fifty men dismiss'd?
No, rather I abjure all roofs, and chuse(22) ^note



To be a comrade with the wolf and owl;
To wage, against the enmity o'th' air,
Necessity's sharp pinch—Return with her?
Why, the hot-blooded France, that dow'rless took
Our youngest born, I could as well be brought
To knee his throne, and 'Squire-like pension beg,
To keep base life a-foot;—Return with her?
Perswade me rather to be slave, and sumpter,
To this detested groom.

Gon.
At your choice, Sir.

Lear.
I pr'ythee, daughter, do not make me mad,

I will not trouble thee, my child. Farewel;
We'll no more meet, no more see one another;
But yet thou art my flesh, my blood, my daughter,
Or rather a disease that's in my flesh,
Which I must needs call mine; thou art a bile,
A plague-sore, or imbossed carbuncle,
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 can'st; be better, at thy leisure.
I can be patient, I can stay with Regan;
I, and my hundred Knights.

Reg.
Not altogether so;
I look'd not for you yet, nor am provided
For your fit welcome; give ear 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.

Loar.
Is this well spoken?

Reg.
I dare avouch it, Sir; what, fifty followers?
Is it not well? what should you need of more?
Yea, or so many? since 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 ye,
We could controul them; if you'll come to me,
(For now I spy a danger) I intreat 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; must I come to you
With five and twenty? Regan, said you so?

Reg.
And speak't again, my lord, no more with me.

Lear.
Those wicked creatures yet do look well-favour'd,
When others are more wicked: Not being worst,
Stands in some rank of praise; I'll go with thee;
Thy fifty yet doth double five and twenty;
And thou art twice her love.

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 needs 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 beasts. 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 heav'ns, give me that patience which I need!
You see me here, you Gods, a poor old man,
As full of grief as age; wretched in both!
If it be you, that stir these daughters hearts
Against their father, fool me not so much
To bear it tamely; touch me with noble anger;(23) ^note

O let not womens weapons, water-drops,
Stain my man's cheeks. No, you unnat'ral hags,
I will have such revenges on you both,(24) ^note