Lear.

When were you wont to be so full of songs, sirrah?

Fool.

I have used it, nuncle, ever since thou mad'st thy daughters thy mothers: for when thou gavest them the rod, and put'st down thine own breeches,

Then they for sudden joy did weep^{2 note}

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 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.

Lear.
How now, daughter? what makes ^{3 note}

Fool.

Thou wast a pretty fellow, when thou had'st 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 Goneril] so your face bids me, though you say nothing. Mum, mum,

  He that keeps nor crust nor crum,
  Weary of all, shall want some.—

^{4 note}

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 ^{5 note}

put it on
By your allowance; 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,

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 ^{6 note}

were left darkling.

Lear.
Are you our daughter?

Gon.
Come, sir,
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 you^{7 note}
From what you rightly are.

Fool.

May not an ass know when the cart draws the horse?—^{8 note}

Lear.
Does any here know me?—Why this is not Lear^{9 note}




:
Does Lear walk thus? speak thus?—Where are his eyes?
Either his notion weakens, or his discernings
Are lethargy'd—Ha! waking?—'Tis not so^{1 note}
.—
Who is it that can tell me who I am?—Lear's shadow^{2 note}?

I would learn that; ^{3 note}

I should be false persuaded I had daughters^{4 note}

Gon.
Come, sir;
This admiration is much o' the favour
Of other your new pranks. I do beseech you
To understand my purposes aright:
As you are old and reverend, you 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 ^{5 note}a grac'd palace. The shame itself doth speak
For instant remedy: Be then desir'd
By her, that else will take the thing she begs,
^{6 note}

^note; but it appears, from what Lear says in the next scene, that this number fifty was required to be cut off, which (as the editions stood) is no where specified by Goneril. Pope.

If Mr. Pope had examined the old copies as accurately as he pretended to have done, he would have found, in the first folio, that Lear had an exit marked for him after these words—

and goes out while Albany and Goneril have a short conference of two speeches; and then returns in a still greater passion, having been informed (as it should seem) of the express number, without.

This renders all change needless; and away, away, being restored, prevents the repetition of go, go, my people; which, as the text stood before this regulation, concluded both that and the foregoing speech. Goneril, with great art, is made to avoid mentioning the limited number; and leaves her father to be informed of it by accident, which she knew would be the case as soon as he left her presence. Steevens.

And the remainder, ^{7 note}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.—
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 repents,—O, sir, are you come?
Is it your will? speak, sir.—Prepare my horses.— [To Albany.
Ingratitude! thou marble-hearted fiend,
More hideous, when thou shew'st thee in a child,
^{8 note}Than the sea-monster!

Alb.
Pray, sir, be patient^{9 note}.

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 shew!
Which, ^{2 note}

Alb.
My lord, I am guiltless, as I am ignorant
Of what hath mov'd you^{3 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 ^{4 note}

Let it stamp wrinkles in her brow of youth;
With ^{6 note}cadent tears fret channels in her cheeks;
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!—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.
^{7 note}That these hot tears, which break from me perforce,
Should make thee worth them.—Blasts and fogs upon thee!
^{8 note}The untented woundings 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 lose^{9 note},
To temper clay.—Ha! is it come to this?
^{1 note}

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.

*^{2 note}Gon.
This man hath had good counsel:—A hundred knights!
'Tis politic, and safe, to let him keep
^{3 note}At point, 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 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 taken. I know his heart:
What he hath utter'd, I have writ my sister;
If she sustain him and his hundred knights,
When I have shew'd the unfitness*,—How now, Oswald^{4 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 ^{5 note}compact it more. Get you gone;
And hasten your return. No, no, my lord, [Exit Steward.
This milky gentleness, and course of yours,
Though I condemn it not, yet, under pardon,
You are much ^{6 note}

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; the event. [Exeunt. SCENE V. A court-yard before the duke of Albany's palace. 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 ^{7 note}there before you.

Kent.

I will not sleep, my lord, 'till I have delivered your letter.

Fool.

If a man's brains were in his heels, wer'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 kindly: for though she's as like this as a crab is like an apple, yet I can tell what I can tell.

Lear.

Why what can'st thou tell, boy?

Fool.

She will taste as like this, as a crab does to a crab. Thou can'st tell, why one's nose stands i' the middle of one's face?

Lear.

No.

Fool.

Why, to keep one's eyes on either side one's nose; that what a man cannot smell out, he may spy into.

Lear.

^{8 note}I did her wrong:—

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 would'st make a good fool.

Lear.

^{9 note}

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's a maid now, and laughs at my departure,
Shall not be a maid long, unless things be cut shorter. [Exeunt.

ACT II. SCENE I. A castle belonging to the earl of Gloster. Enter Edmund, and Curan, meeting.

Edm.

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 to-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 ^{1 note}

Edm.

Not I; Pray you, what are they?

^{2 note}Cur.

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

Edm.

Not a word.

Cur.

You may then, in time. Fare you well, sir.

Edm.
The duke be here to-night? The better! Best!
This weaves itself perforce into my business!
My father hath set guard to take my brother;
And I have one thing, of a ^{3 note}

Which I must act:—Briefness, and fortune, work!—
Brother, a word;—descend:—Brother, I say; Enter Edgar.
My father watches:—O sir, fly this place;
Intelligence is given where you are hid;
You have now the good advantage of the night:—
Have you not spoken 'gainst the duke of Cornwall?
He's coming hither; now, i' the night, ^{4 note}i' the haste,
And Regan with him; ^{5 note}

Edg.
I am 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 yourself: Now quit you well.
Yield:—come before my father;—Light, ho, here!—
Fly, brother;—Torches! torches!—So, farewel.— [Exit Edgar.
Some blood drawn on me would beget opinion [Wounds his arm.
Of my more fierce endeavour: I have seen drunkards
Do more than this in sport.—Father! father!
Stop, stop! No help?

Enter Gloster, and Servants with torches.

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

Edm.
Here stood he in the dark, his sharp sword out,
^{6 note}

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 murder of your lordship;
But that I told him, the revenging gods
'Gainst parricides did all ^{7 note}their thunders bend;
Spoke, with how manifold and strong a bond
The child was bound to the father;—Sir, in fine,
Seeing how lothly opposite I stood
To his unnatural purpose, in fell motion,
With his prepared sword, he charges home
My unprovided body, lanc'd mine arm:
But when he saw my best alarum'd spirits,
Bold in the quarrel's right, rous'd to the encounter,
Or whether ^{8 note}

Glo.
Let him fly far:
^{1 note}

Edm.
When I disswaded him from his intent,
^{4 note}

(As this I would; ay, though thou didst 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 ^{6 note}strange, fasten'd villain!
Would he deny his letter, said he?—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^{7 note}. 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 the offender. How does my lord?

Glo.
O, madam, my old heart is crack'd, is 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:
It is 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 the 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.
^{8 note}

Corn.
Is he pursu'd?

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.—For you, Edmund,
Whose virtue and obedience doth this instant
So much commend itself, 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.
For him I thank your grace.

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

Reg.
Thus out of season; ^{9 note}

Glo.
I serve you, madam:
Your graces are right welcome. [Exeunt. SCENE II. Enter Kent and Steward, severally.

Stew.

Good even^{3 note} 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 love me, tell me.

Kent.

I love thee not.

Stew.

Why, then I care not for thee.

Kent.

If I had thee in ^{4 note}

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, ^{5 note}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, pandar, and the son and heir of a mungrel bitch: one whom I will beat into clamorous whining, if thou deny'st the least syllable of thy addition^{6 note}.

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, though it be night, yet the moon shines; ^{7 note}

Stew.

Away; I have nothing to do with thee.

Kent.

Draw, you rascal: you come with letters against the king; and take ^{9 note}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! murder! help!

Kent.

Strike, you slave; stand, rogue, stand; you ^{1 note}

Stew.

Help ho! murder! murder!

Edm.
How now? What's the matter? Part.

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

Glo.
Weapons! arms! What's the matter here?

Corn.
Keep peace, upon your lives;
He dies, that strikes again: What is 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 bestirr'd your valour.
You cowardly rascal, ^{2 note}

Corn.
Thou art a strange fellow:
A tailor make a man?

Kent.

Ay, a tailor, sir: a stone-cutter, or a painter,

could not have made him so ill, though they had been but two hours at the trade.

Corn.
Speak yet, how grew your quarrel?

Stew.
This ancient ruffian, sir, whose life I have spar'd,
At suit of his grey beard,—

Kent.

^{3 note}

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 should wear a sword,
Who wears no honesty. Such smiling rogues as these,
^{6 note}

Too 'intrinsicate t'unloose: sooth every passion9Q1085
That in the nature of their lords rebels;
Bring oil to fire, snow to their colder moods;
Renege, affirm, ^{7 note}

Corn.
What art thou mad, old fellow?

Glo.
How fell you out? say that.

Kent.
No contraries hold more antipathy^{1 note}

,
Than I and such a knave.

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

Kent.
His countenance likes me not^{2 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 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 saucy roughness; and ^{3 note}
constrains the garb,
Quite from his nature: 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,
^{4 note}

Kent.
Sir, in good sooth, or in sincere verity,
Under the allowance of your grand aspect,
Whose influence, like the wreath of radiant fire
^{5 note}

Cor.

What mean'st thou 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, ^{6 note}though

I should win your displeasure to entreat me to it.

Cor.
What was the offence you gave him?

Stew.
I never gave him any:
It pleas'd the king his master, very late,
To strike at me, upon his misconstruction;
When he, ^{7 note}conjunct, and flattering his displeasure,
Tript me behind; being down, insulted, rail'd,
And put upon him such a deal of man, that
That worthy'd 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,
^{8 note}But Ajax is their fool.

Corn.
Fetch forth the stocks, ho!
You stubborn ancient knave^{9 note}, you reverend 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 employment 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.

Regan.
'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^{1 note}.

Corn.
This is a fellow of the self-same colour^{2 note}
Our sister speaks of:—Come, bring away the stocks.

Glo.
Let me beseech your grace not to do so:
^{3 note}*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^{4 note} wretches,
For pilferings and most common trespasses,
Are punish'd with*: the king must take it ill,
That he, so slightly valu'd 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^{5 note}

Glo.
I am sorry for thee, friend; 'tis the duke's pleasure,
Whose disposition, all the world well knows,

^{6 note}Will not be rubb'd, nor stopp'd: I'll entreat for thee.

Kent.
Pray, do not, sir: I have 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.
^{7 note}

Who hath most fortunately been inform'd
Of my obscured course;—^{1 note}

and shall find time
From this enormous state,—seeking 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 III. A part of the heath. Enter Edgar.

Edg.
I heard myself 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. While I may scape,
I will preserve myself: and am bethought
To take the basest and most poorest shape,
That ever penury, in contempt of man,
Brought near to beast: my face I'll grime with filth;
Blanket my loins; ^{2 note}


elf all my hair in knots;
And with presented nakedness out-face
The winds, and persecutions of the sky.
The country gives me proof and precedent
Of Bedlam beggars^{3 note}, who, with roaring voices,
Strike in their numb'd and mortify'd bare arms
Pins, wooden pricks^{4 note}, nails, sprigs of rosemary;
And with this horrible object, from low farms^{5 note},

^{6 note}

SCENE IV. ^{1 note}

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.
How! mak'st thou this shame thy pastime?

Kent.
No, my lord^{2 note}.

Fool.

Ha, ha; look! ^{3 note}

Horses are ty'd by the heads; dogs, and bears, by the neck; monkies by the loins, and men by the legs: when a man is over-lusty^{4 note}

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.^{6 note}
No, no; they would not.

Kent.
Yes, they have.

Lear.
By Jupiter, I swear, no.

Kent.
By Juno, I swear, ay ^note.

Lear.
They durst not do't;
They could not, would not do't; 'tis worse than murder,
^{8 note}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 there a reeking post,
Stew'd in his haste, half breathless, panting forth
From Goneril his mistress, salutations;
^{9 note}

Which presently they read: on whose contenst ^note,
^{1 note}

Fool.

^{2 note}

But, for all this, thou shalt have as many ^{3 note}

Lear.
O, how this mother^{4 note}

Kent.
With the earl, sir, here within.

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

Gent.
Made you no more offence than what you speak of?

Kent.
None.
How chance the king comes with so small a train?

Fool.

An thou hadst been set i' the stocks for that question, thou hadst well deserv'd it.

Kent.

Why, fool?

Fool.

We'll set thee to school to an ant, to teach thee there's no labouring in the winter. ^{5 note}

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.
^{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;
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 fixt he is
In his own course.

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

Glo.^{8 note}
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
Would 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—^{9 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,
That this remotion of the duke and her
^{1 note}Is practice only. 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.

Glo.
I would have all well betwixt you. [Exit.

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

Fool.

Cry to it, nuncle, as the cockney^{2 note}

^{3 note}the eels, when she put them i' the paste alive; she rapt 'em o' the 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! [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,
Sepulch'ring an adultress^{4 note}

.—O, are you free? [To Kent.
Some other time for that.—Beloved Regan,
Thy sister's naught: O Regan, ^{5 note}
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,
^{6 note}
Of how deprav'd a quality—O Regan!

Reg.
I pray you, sir, take patience; I have hope,
You less know how to value her desert,
^{7 note}

Lear.
Say?^{8 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 confine: 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.

Lear.
Ask her forgiveness?

^{9 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;
^{2 note}

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 powerful sun,
^{3 note}

Reg.
O the blest gods!
So will you wish on me, ^{4 note}when the rash mood is on.

Lear.
No, Regan, thou shalt never have my curse;
Thy ^{5 note}

And, in conclusion, to oppose the bolt
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 thou hast 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: this approves her letter,
That she would soon be here.—Is your lady come?

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 did'st not know on't.—Who comes here? O heavens, Enter Goneril.
^{7 note}
If you do love old men, if your sweet sway
Allow obedience, if yourselves are old,

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

Gon.
Why not by the hand, sir? How have I offended?
All's not offence, ^{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 ^{9 note}

Lear.
You! did you?

Reg.
^{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 entertainment.

Lear.
Return to her, and fifty men dismiss'd?
^{2 note}

To wage against the enmity o' the air;
To be a comrade with the wolf and owl,—
Necessity's sharp pinch!—Return with her?
Why, the hot-blooded France, that dowerless took
Our youngest born, I could as well be brought
To knee his throne, and, squire-like, pension beg
To keep ^{3 note}base life afoot;—Return with her?
Persuade me rather to be slave ^{4 note}

Gon.
At your choice, sir.

Lear.
Now 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, an ^{5 note}embossed 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 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 controul them: If you will 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: 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.
^{6 note}

When others are more wicked; not being the worst,
Stands in some rank of praise:—I'll go with thee; [To Goneril.
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 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!
You see me here, you gods, a ^{7 note}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; ^{8 note}touch me with noble anger!
O, let not women's weapons, water-drops,
Stain my man's cheeks!—No, you unnatural hags,
I will have such revenges on you both,
That all the world shall,—I will do such things^{9 note}




,—
What they are, yet I know not; but they shall be
The terrors of the earth. You think, I'll weep:
No, I'll not weep:—
I have full cause of weeping; but this heart
Shall break into a hundred thousand flaws,
Or ere I'll weep:—O, fool, I shall go mad! [Exeunt Lear, Gloster, Kent, and Fool.

Corn.
Let us withdraw, 'twill be a storm. [Storm and tempest heard.

Reg.
This house is little; the old man and his people
Cannot be well bestow'd.

Gon.
'Tis his own blame; he hath put himself from rest,

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^{1 note}
?

Glo.
He calls to horse; 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
^{2 note}Do sorely ruffle; for many miles about
There's scarce a bush.

Reg.
O, sir, to wilful men,
The injuries, that they themselves procure,
Must be their school-masters: Shut up your doors;
He is attended with a desperate train;
And what they may incense him to, 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.

ACT III. SCENE I. A Heath. A storm is heard, with thunder and lightning. Enter Kent, and a Gentleman, meeting.

Kent.
Who's there, beside foul weather?

Gent.
One minded like the weather, most unquietly.

Kent.
I know you; Where's the king?

Gent.
Contending with the fretful element:
Bids the wind blow the earth into the sea,
Or swell the curled waters 'bove the main^{3 note}