Edmund. (R. C.)

How now? What's the matter? Part!

Corn. (C.)
Keep peace, upon your lives;
He dies, that strikes again. What is the matter?

Regan. (R. of him)

The messengers from our sister and the king.

Corn.

What is your difference? Speak.

Oswald. (L.)

I am scarce in breath, my lord.

Kent. (R.)

No marvel, you have so bestirr'd your valor. You cowardly rascal, nature disclaims in thee; a tailor made thee.

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?

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

Kent.

Thou whoreson zed! thou unnecessary letter!— My lord, if you will give me leave, I will tread this unbolted villain into mortar, and daub the wall with him.— Spare my grey beard, you wagtail?

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

Kent.
Yes, sir; but anger has 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,
Renege, affirm, and turn their halcyon beaks
With every gale and vary of their masters,
As knowing nought, like dogs, but following.—
A plague upon your epileptic 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.

Corn.
What! art thou mad, old fellow?

Gloster.
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's his offence?

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 stands on any shoulder that I see
Before me at this instant.

Regan.
This is some fellow,
Who, having been praised for bluntness, doth affect
A saucy roughness. *He cannot flatter, he!—
*An honest mind and plain,—he must
*An' they will take it, so; if not, he's plain. Speak truth:
*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.

Corn.
What was the offence you gave him?

Oswald.
I never gave him any.
It pleas'd the king, his master, very late,
To strike at me, upon his misconstruction;
When he, conjunct, and flattering his displeasure,
Tripp'd me behind: being down, insulted, rail'd,
And put upon him such a deal of man,
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.

Corn.
Fetch forth the stocks, ho!
You stubborn ancient knave, you reverend braggart;
We'll teach you,— Two Servants exeunt, R. and fetch stocks.

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

Corn.
Fetch forth the stocks: (two Servants secure Kent and put him in the stocks, R.)
As I've 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.

Regan.
Sir, being this knave, I will.

Gloster.
Let me beseech your grace not to do so:
His fault is much, and the good king his master
Will check him for 't: 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.

Regan.
My sister may receive it much more worse
To have her gentleman abus'd, assaulted,
For following her affairs. Come, my good lord; away. Exeunt Cornwall, Regan, Edmund, and Servants, C.

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

Gloster.
The duke's to blame in this; 'twill be ill taken. Exit, C.

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,
That by thy comfortable beams I may
Peruse this letter! I know, 'tis from Cordelia;
Who hath most fortunately been inform'd
Of my obscured course; 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 and is closed in by)

Scene III. —A Part of the Heath.—Night. Enter Edgar, L.

Edgar.
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; 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, who, with roaring voices,
Strike in their numb'd and mortified bare arms
Pins, wooden pricks, nails, sprigs of rosemary;
And with this horrible object, from low farms,
Poor pedling villages, sheep-cotes and mills,
Sometimes with lunatic bans, sometimes with prayers,
Enforce their charity.—Poor Turlygood! poor Tom!
That's something yet;—Edgar I nothing am. Exit, R. Scene IV. —Before Gloster's Castle.—As before. Kent discovered in the Stocks. Enter Lear, Fool, and Gentleman, L.

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

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

Fool.

If a man's brains were in's 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.

What can'st 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' th' middle on's face.

Lear.

No.

Fool.

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

Lear.

I did her wrong.

Fool.

Canst 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 made a good fool.

Lear.

To take it again perforce! Monster ingratitude!

Fool.

If thou wert my fool, nuncle, I'd have thee beaten for being old before thy time.

Lear.

How's that?

Fool.

Thou shouldst not have been old before thou hadst been wise.

Lear.

Oh! let me not be mad—not mad, sweet heaven! Keep me in temper—I would not be mad.

Kent.

Hail to thee, noble master.

Lear.
Ha!
Mak'st thou this shame thy pastime?

Kent.
No, my lord!

Fool.

Ha, ha; look! he wears cruel garters! Horses are tied by the head; dogs and bears by the neck; monkeys by the loins, and men by the 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.
No, no; they would not.

Kent.
Yes, they have!

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 murder
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 highnes' letters to them,
Ere I was risen from the place that show'd
My duty kneeling, came and there a reeking post,
Stew'd in his haste, half breathless, panting forth
From Goneril his mistress, salutations;
Deliver'd letters, spite of intermission,
Which presently they read: on whose contents
They summon'd up their meiny, straight 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 that of late
Display'd so saucily against your highness,)
Having more man than wit about me, 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.

(sings)
Fathers, that wear rags,
  Do make their children blind;
But fathers, that bear bags,
  Shall see their children kind.

Lear.
O, how this mother swells up toward 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 into castle, C.

Kent.
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 deserved it.

Kent.

Why, fool?

Fool.

We'll set thee to school to an ant, to teach thee there's no labouring i' the 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 up the hill, 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.

That, sir, which serves and seeks for gain,
  And follows but for form,
Will pack, when it begins to rain,
  And leave thee in the storm.
But I will tarry, the fool will stay,
  And let the wise man fly:
The knave turns fool, that runs away;
  The fool no knave, perdy.

Kent.

Were learn'd you this, fool?

Fool.

Not i' the stocks, fool.