Cor.
Nothing, my lord.

Lear.
^{2 note}Nothing?

Cor.
^{2 note}Nothing.

Lear.
Nothing can come 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, nor less.

Lear.
How, how, Cordelia?^{3 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? ^{4 note}



Haply, when I shall wed,
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,
^{5 note}To love my father all.

Lear.
But goes thy heart with this?

Cor.
Ay, my good lord.

Lear.
So young, and so untender?

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 Hecate, 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
^{6 note}Hold thee, from this, for ever. The barbarous Scythian,
Or he that makes his generation 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 most, and thought to set my rest
On her kind nursery.—Hence, and avoid my sight!— [To Cordelia^{7 note}
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 this third:
Let pride, which she calls plainness, marry her.
I do invest you jointly with my power,
Preheminence, 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. ^{8 note}

The name, and all the addition to a king;
The sway, revenue, execution of the rest,
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 prayers,—

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?
^{9 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;
Nor are those empty-hearted, whose low sound
^{1 note}Reverbs no hollowness.

Lear.
Kent, on thy life, no more.

Kent.
My life I never held but as ^{2 note}

Lear.
Out of my sight!

Kent.
See better, Lear; and let me still remain
^{3 note}

Lear.
Now, by Apollo,—

Kent.
Now, by Apollo, king,
Thou swear'st thy gods in vain.

Lear.
O, vassal! miscreant! [Laying his hand on his sword.

Alb. Corn.
Dear sir, forbear^{4 note}.

Kent.
Do; kill thy physician, and the fee bestow
Upon the foul disease. Revoke thy gift^{5 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 ^{6 note}strain'd pride,
^{7 note}

Our potency made good, take thy reward.
Five days we do allot thee, for provision
To shield thee from disasters^{9 note} of the world;
And, on the sixth, 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! ^{1 note}By Jupiter,
This shall not be revok'd.

Kent.
Why, fare thee well, king: since thus thou wilt appear,
^{2 note}Freedom lives hence, and banishment is here.—
The gods to their dear shelter^{3 note} take thee, maid, [To Cordelia.
That justly think'st, and hast most rightly said!—

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;
^{4 note}He'll shape his old course in a country new. [Exit. Re-enter Gloster, with France, Burgundy, and attendants.

Glo.
Here's France and Burgundy, my noble lord.

Lear.
My lord of Burgundy,
We first address towards you, who with this kin
Have rivall'd for our daughter; What, in the least,
Will you require in present dower with her,
Or cease your quest of love^{5 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 so;
But now her price is fall'n: Sir, there she stands;
If aught within that little, ^{6 note}

Bur.
I know no answer.

Lear.
Sir, will you, with those infirmities she ^{7 note}owes,
Unfriended, new-adopted to our hate,
Dower'd with our curse, and stranger'd with our oath,
Take her, or leave her?

Bur.
Pardon me, royal sir;
^{8 note}Election makes not up on such conditions.

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, who even but now was your best object,
The argument of your praise, balm of your age,
^{9 note}

Fall into taint: which to believe of her,
Must be a faith, that reason without miracle
Should never plant in me.

Cor.
I yet beseech your majesty,
(If for I want that glib and oily art,
To speak and purpose not; since what I well intend,

I'll do't before I speak) that you make known
It is no vicious blot, murder, or foulness,
No unchaste 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 this? a tardiness in nature,
Which often leaves the history unspoke,
That it intends to do?—My lord of Burgundy,
What say you to the lady? Love is not love,
When it is mingled with regards, that stand^{3 note}

Aloof ^{4 note}

Bur.
^{6 note}Royal Lear,
Give but that portion which yourself propos'd,
And here I take Cordelia by the hand,
Dutchess 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 wat'rish Burgundy
Shall buy this unpriz'd precious maid of me.—
Bid them farewel, Cordelia, though unkind:
^{7 note}Thou losest here, 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, &c.

France.
Bid farewel to your sisters.

Cor.
The jewels of our father, with wash'd eyes
Cordelia leaves you: I know you what you are;
And, like a sister, am most loth to call
Your faults, as they are nam'd. Use well our father:
To your professing bosoms^{8 note} I commit him:
But yet, alas! stood I within his grace,

I would prefer him to a better place.
So farewel to you both.

Reg.
Prescribe not us our duties.

Gon.
Let your study
Be, to content your lord; who hath receiv'd you
At fortune's alms: You have obedience scanted,
^{9 note}

Cor.
Time shall unfold what ^{1 note}

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 lov'd 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 condition, but, therewithal, the unruly waywardness 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, ^{3 note}

Reg.

We shall further think of it.

Gon.

We must do something, and ^{4 note}i' the heat.

SCENE II. A castle belonging to the earl of Gloster. Enter Edmund, with a letter.

Edm.
^{5 note}

^{7 note}

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?
^{1 note}Who, in the lusty stealth of nature, take
More composition and fierce quality,
Than doth, within a dull, stale, tired bed,
Go to the creating of 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!
Well, my legitimate, if this letter speed,
And my invention thrive, Edmund the base
^{2 note}

^{3 note}Now, gods, stand up for bastards! Enter Gloster.

Glo.
Kent banish'd thus! And France in choler parted!
And the king gone to-night! ^{4 note}

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 dispatch of it into your pocket? the quality of nothing hath not such need to hide itself. Let's 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; and for so much as I have perus'd, 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 ^{7 note}
taste of my virtue.

Glo. reads.]

^{8 note}

Edm.

I will seek him, sir, presently; ^{5 note}

Glo.

These late eclipses in the sun and moon portend no good to us: Though ^{6 note}the wisdom of nature can reason it thus and thus, yet nature finds itself scourg'd by the sequent effects: love cools, friendship falls off, brothers divide: in cities, mutinies; in countries, discord; in palaces, treason; and the bond crack'd 'twixt son and father. ^{7 note}*This villain 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 banish'd! his offence, honesty!—Strange! strange!

Edm.

^{8 note}

that, when we are sick in fortune, (often the surfeit of our own behaviour) we make guilty of our disasters, the sun, the moon, and the stars: as if we were villains by necessity; fools, by heavenly compulsion; knaves, thieves, ^{9 note}

drunkards, lyars, and adulterers, by an inforc'd obedience of planetary influence; and all that we are evil in, by a divine thrusting on: ^{1 note}An admirable evasion of whore-master man, to lay his goatish disposition to the charge of a star!^{2 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 ^{3 note}
pat ^{4 note}

old comedy: My cue is villainous melancholy, with a sigh like Tom o' Bedlam.—O, these eclipses do portend these divisions! fa, sol, la, me—

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.

^{5 note}I promise you, the effects he writes of, succeed unhappily; ^{6 note}*as of unnaturalness between the child and the parent; death, dearth, dissolutions of ancient amities; divisions in state, menaces and maledictions against king and nobles; needless diffidences, banishment of friends, dissipation of cohorts^{7 note}, nuptial breaches, and I know not what.

Edg.

^{8 note}How long have you 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, until some little time hath qualified the heat of his displeasure; which at this instant so rageth in

him, ^{1 note}

Edg.

Some villain hath done me wrong.

Edm.

That's my fear.^{2 note}* I pray you, have a continent 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 arm'd.

Edg.

Arm'd, brother?*

Edm.

Brother, I advise you to the best; go arm'd; 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. 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 me; every hour
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; I'd have it come to question:
If he dislike it, let him to my sister,
Whose mind and mine, I know, in that are one,
*Not to be over-rul'd. ^{3 note}
Idle old man,
That still would manage those authorities,
That he hath given away!—Now, by my life,
^{4 note}

With checks, as flatteries when they are seen abus'd*.
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,
That I may speak:—I'll write straight to my sister,
To hold my very course:—Prepare for dinner. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. An open place before the palace. Enter Kent, disguised.

Kent.
^{5 note}

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!) 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?

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 ^{6 note}

wise, and says little; to fear judgment; to fight, when I cannot choose; ^{7 note}and to eat no fish.

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 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 can'st 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 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 dote 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?

Stew.

So please you,—

Lear.

What says the fellow there? Call the clot-pole 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 mine own conception: I have perceived a most faint neglect of late; which I have rather blamed as mine own jealous curiosity, than as a very pretence^{8 note} 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 pin'd 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, 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 these, my lord; I beseech you, pardon me.

Lear.

Do you bandy looks^{9 note}

Stew.

I'll not be struck, my lord.

Kent.

Nor tript neither; you base foot-ball player.

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.

Lear.

Now, my friendly knave, I thank thee: there's earnest of thy service.

Enter Fool.

Fool.

Let me hire him too;—Here's my coxcomb.

Lear.

How now, my pretty knave? how dost thou?

Fool.

Sirrah, you were best take my coxcomb.

Kent.

Why, fool^{1 note}?

Fool.

Why? For taking one's part that is out of favour: Nay, an thou can'st not smile as the wind sits, thou'lt catch cold shortly: There, ^{2 note}

Lear.

Why, my boy?

Fool.

If I gave them all my living, I'd keep my coxcombs myself: There's mine; beg another of thy daughters.

Lear.

Take heed, sirrah; the whip.

Fool.

Truth's a dog that must to kennel; he must

be whipp'd out, when the ^{4 note}

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,
  ^{5 note}
Lend less than thou owest,
  Ride more than thou goest,
  ^{6 note}Learn more than thou trowest,
  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.

Kent.

This is nothing, fool^{7 note}.

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.

Lear.

A bitter fool!

Fool.

Dost thou know the difference, my boy, between a bitter fool and a sweet fool?

Lear.

^{8 note}No, lad, teach me.

Fool.
That lord, that counsel'd thee
  To give away thy land,
Come place him here by me,—
  Or 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; ^{9 note}

part on't: and ladies too, they will not let me 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 whipp'd that first finds it so.