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.

Gloster. (R.)
My dear lord,
You know the fiery quality of the duke;
How unremoveable and fix'd he is
In his own course.

Lear. (C.)
Vengeance! plague! death! confusion!—

Fiery? what quality? why, Gloster, Gloster,
I'd speak with the duke of Cornwall and his wife.

Gloster.
Well, my good lord, I have inform'd them so.

Lear.
Inform'd them! Dost thou understand me, man?

Gloster.
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—
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 for 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 pursuades me
That this remotion of the duke and her
Is practice only. Give me my servant forth. Enter two Servants with torches, Cornwall, and Regan, Pages, Ladies, Officers, and Guards, C.
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.” Oh, you are come.
Good morrow.

Corn. (R.)
Hail to your grace! (Cornwall has whispered to the Servants und Kent is set at liberty)

Regan. (R. C.)
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 womb,
Sepúlchring an adul'tress.—O, are you free? (to Kent)
Some other time for that.—Beloved Regan,

Thy sister's naught: O, 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—O, Regan! (leans on her bosom)

Regan.
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?

Regan.
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!

Regan.
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?
Do you mark how this becomes the house:
“Dear daughter, I confess that I am old;
Age is unnecessary: on my knees I beg (kneels)
That you'll vouchsafe me raiment, bed, and food.”

Regan.
Good, sir, no more—these are unsightly tricks,
Return you to my sister. (Kent and Physician raise Lear)

Lear.
Never, Regan:
She hath abated me of half my train;
Look'd black upon me; struck me with her tongue,
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!

Cornwall.
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,
To fall and blast her pride!

Regan.
O the blest gods!
So will you wish on me when the rash mood's on?

Lear.
No, Regan, thou shalt never have my curse;
Thy tender-hefted nature shall not give
Thee o'er to harshness; her eyes are fierce, but thine
Do comfort, and not burn. 'Tis not in thee
To grudge my pleasures, to cut off my train,
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 hast thou not forgot,
Wherein I thee endow'd.

Regan.
Good sir, to the purpose.

Lear.
Who put my man i' the stocks? (trumpets within)

Corn.
What trumpet's that?

Regan.
I know 't, my sister's: this approves her letter,
That she would soon be here. Enter Oswald, L.
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! (Oswald crosses behind to R.)

Corn.
What means your grace?

Lear.
Who stock'd my servant? Regan, I have good hope
Thou didst not know on't. (trumpet) Who comes here? O, heavens! Enter Goneril, L., attended.
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 Goneril.—Regan advances to Goneril, L. C., and takes her hand)
O, Regan, wilt thou take her by the hand?

Gon.
Why not by the hand, sir? How have I offended?

All's not offence, that indiscretion finds,
And dotage terms so.

Lear. (C.)
O, sides, you are too tough!
Will you yet hold?

Regan.
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 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?
No, rather I abjure all roofs, and choose
To wage against the enmity o' the air;
To be a comrade with the wolf and owl,—
Necessity's sharp pinch!—Return with her!
Persuade me rather to be slave and sumpter
To this detested groom. (looking on the Steward, R.)

Gon. (crossing with Regan, R.)
At your choice, sir.

Lear.
I pr'ythee, daughter, do not make me mad;
I will not trouble thee, my child; farewell:
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.
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.

Regan. (R. C.)
Not altogether so, sir;
I look'd not for you yet, nor am provided
For your fit welcome.

Lear. (C.)
Is this well spoken now?

Regan.
I dare avouch it, sir: What, fifty followers?
Is it not well? What should you need of more?
Yea, or so many? (Lear takes off his hat, and throws it on the ground)

Gon. (L.)
Why might not you, my lord, receive attendance
From those that she calls servants, or from mine?

Regan.
Why not, my lord? If then they chanc'd to slack you,
We could control them: If you will come to me,
(For now I spy a danger,) I entreat you
To bring but five and twenty; to no more
Will I give place or notice.

Lear.
I gave you all.

Regan.
And in good time you gave it.

Lear.
What, must I come to you
With five and twenty, Regan? said you so?

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

Lear.
Those wicked creatures yet do look well-favor'd,
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?

Regan.
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.
You heavens, give me that patience, patience 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!
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,—
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:— (distant thunder heard)
I have full cause of weeping; but this heart

Shall break into a hundred thousand flaws,
Or ere I'll weep: (leans on the Fool) O, fool, I shall go mad! Lear rushes off, L., followed by Kent and Fool, Gloster standing, R., Corwall, Regan, Goneril, and Train, C.

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