KENT.

I thought the King had more affected the Duke of Albany, than Cornwall.

Glo.

It did always seem so to us: But now in the Division of the Kingdom, it appears not which of the Dukes he values most; for qualities are so weigh'd, that curiosity in neither, can make choice of either's moiety.

Kent.

Is not this your Son, my Lord?

Glo.

His breeding, Sir, hath been at my charge. I have so often blush'd to acknowledge him, that now I am braz'd to't.

Kent.

I cannot conceive you.

Glo.

Sir, this young Fellow's Mother could; whereupon she grew round womb'd, and had indeed, Sir, a Son for her Cradle, e'er she had a Husband for her Bed. Do you smell a Fault?

Kent.

I cannot wish the fault undone, the Issue of it being so proper.

Glo.

But I have a Son, Sir, by order of Law, some Year elder than this; who, yet is no dearer in my Account, though this Knave came somewhat sawcily to the World before he was sent for: Yet was his Mother fair, there was good sport at his making, and the whorson must be acknowledged. Do you know this Nobleman, Edmund?

Bast.
No, my Lord.

Glo.
My Lord of Kent;
Remember him hereafter, as my honourable Friend.

Bast.
My services to your Lordship.

Kent.
I must love you, and sue to know you better.

Bast.
Sir, I shall study deserving.

Glo.

He hath been out nine Years, and away he shall again. The King is coming.

Laer.

Attend the Lords of France and Burgundy, Gloster.

Glo.
I shall, my Lord. [Exit.

Lear.
Mean time we shall express our darker purpose.
Give me the Map here. Know, that we have divided
Into three, our Kingdom; and 'tis our fast intent,
To shake all cares and business from our Age,
Confering them on younger strengths, while we
Unburthen'd crawl toward Death. Our Son of Cornwall,
And you our no less loving Son of Albany,
We have this hour a constant will to publish
Our Daughters several Dowers, that future strife
May be prevented now. The Princes, France and Burgundy,
Great Rivals in our younger Daughter's Love,
Long in our Court, have made their amorous sojourn,
And here are to be answer'd. Tell me, my Daughters,
Since now we will divest us both of Rule,
Interest of Terrority, Cares of State,
Which of you shall we say doth love us most;
That we, our largest bounty may extend
Where Nature doth with merit challenge. Gonerill,
Our eldest born, speak first.

Gon.
Sir, I love you more than word can wield the matter,
Dearer than Eye-sight, space, and liberty,
Beyond what can be valued, rich or rare,
No less than Life, with Grace, Health, Beauty, Honour:

As much as Child e'er lov'd, or Father found.
A love that makes breath poor, and speech unable,
Beyond all manner of so much I love you.

Cor.
What shall Cordelia speak? Love, and be silent.

Lear.
Of all these bounds, even from this Line, to this,
With shadowy Forests, and with Champions rich'd
With plenteous Rivers, and wide-skirted Meads,
We make thee Lady. To thine and Albany's Issues
Be this perpetual. What says our second Daughter,
Our dearest Regan, Wife of Cornwall?

Reg.
I am made of that self-metal as my Sister,
And prize me at her worth. In my true Heart,
I find she names my very deed of love:
Only she comes too short, that I profess
My self an Enemy to all other Joys,
Which the most precious square of sense professes,
And find I am alone felicitate
In your dear Highness love.

Cor.
Then, poor Cordelia!
And yet not so, since I am sure my Love's
More ponderous than my Tongue.

Laer.
To thee, and thine, hereditary ever,
Remain this ample third of our fair Kingdom,
No less in space, validity, and pleasure,
Than that confer'd on Gonerill. Now our Joy,
Although our last and least; to whose young love,
The Vines of France, and Milk of Burgundy,
Strive to be interest: What can you say, to draw
A third, more opulent than your Sisters? speak.

Cor.
Nothing, my Lord.

Lear.
Nothing?

Cor.
Nothing.

Lear.
Nothing will come of nothing, speak again.

Cord.
Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave
My Heart into my Mouth: I love your Majesty
According to my Bond, no more nor less.

Lear.
How, how, Cordelia? Mend your speech a little,
Lest you 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? Happily 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.

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, the Truth then be thy dowre:
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,
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 Cor.
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 Dowres, digest the 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, Our self by monthly course
With reservation of an hundred Knights,
By you to be sustain'd, shall our abode
Make with you by due turn, only we shall retain
The Name and all th' addition to a King; the Sway,
Revenue, Execution of the rest,
Beloved Sons, be yours, which to confirm,
This Coronet part between you.

Kent.
Royal Lear,
Whom I have ever honour'd as a King,
Lov'd as my Father, as my Master follow'd,
And as my 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 wouldst thou do, old Man?
Think'st thou that Duty shall have dread to speak,
When Power to Flattery bows?
To plainness Honour's bound,
When Majesty falls to Folly; reserve thy State,
And in thy best consideration, check
This hideous rashness; answer my Life, my Judgment,
Thy youngest Daughter do's not love thee least,
Nor are those empty hearted, whose low sounds
Reverb no hollowness.

Lear.
Kent, on thy Life no more.

Kent.
My Life I never held but as a pawn
To wage against thine Enemies, ne'er fear to lose it,
Thy safety being Motive.

Lear.
Out of my sight!

Kent.
See better, Lear, and let me still remain
The true Blank of thine Eye.

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.

Kent.
Kill thy Physician, and thy Fee bestow
Upon the foul Disease, revoke the Gift,
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;
That thou hast sought to make us break our Vows,
Which we durst never yet; and with strain'd Pride,
To come betwixt our Sentence and our Power,
Which, nor our Nature, nor our Place can bear,
Our Potency made good, take thy Reward.
Five days we do allot thee for Provision,
To shield thee from disasters of the World,

And on the sixth to turn thy hated back
Upon our Kingdom; if the tenth Day following,
Thy banisht Trunk be found in our Dominions,
The Moment is thy Death, away. By Jupiter,
This shall not be revok'd.

Kent.
Fare thee well, King, sith thus thou wilt appear,
Freedom lives hence, and Banishment is here;
The Gods to their dear shelter take thee, Maid,
That justly think'st, and hast most rightly said;
And your large Speeches may your Deeds approve,
That good Effects may spring from Words of Love:
Thus Kent, O Princes, bids you all adieu,
He'll shape his old Course in a Country new. [Exit. Enter Gloster, with France and Burgundy, and Attendants.

Cor.
Here's France and Burgundy, my noble Lord.

Lear.
My Lord of Burgundy,
We first address toward you, who, with this King,
Hath rivall'd for our Daughter; what in the least
Will you require in present Dowre with her,
Or cease your Quest of Love?

Bur.
Most Royal Majesty,
I crave no more than what your Highness offer'd,
Nor will you tender less.

Lear.
Right Noble Burgundy,
When she was dear to us we held her so,
But now her price is fall'n: Sir, there she stands,
If ought within that little seeming Substance,
Or all of it with our displeasure piec'd,
And nothing more, may fitly like your Grace,
She's there, and she is yours.

Bur.
I know no Answer.

Lear.
Will you with those infirmities she owes,
Unfriended, new adopted to our hate,
Dowr'd with our Curse, and stranger'd with our Oath,
Take leave, or leave her?

Bur.
Pardon me, Royal Sir,
Election makes not up in such Conditions.

Lear.
Then leave her, Sir, for by the Power that made me,
I tell you all her Wealth. For you, great King,
I would not from your Love make such a stray,
To match you where I hate; therefore beseech you

T'avert your liking a more worthier way,
Than on a wretch whom Nature is asham'd
Almost t' acknowledge hers.

Fra.
This is most strange!
That she, who even but now, was your best Object,
The Argument of your Praise, balm of your Age,
The best, the dearest, should in this trice of time
Commit a thing so monstrous, to dismantle
So many folds of Favour; sure her Offence
Must be of such unnatural Degree,
As Monstrous is; or your fore-voucht affection
Could not 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 will intend,
I'll do't before I speak, that you make known
It is no vicious blot, murther, 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 solliciting 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 t'have pleas'd me better.

Fra.
Is it 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's not Love
When it is mingled with regards, that stands
Aloof from th'intire Point, will you have her?
She is her self a Dowry.

Bur.
Royal King,
Give but that Portion which your self 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 respect and fortunes are his Love,
I shall not be his Wife.

Fra.
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 enflam'd respect.
Thy dowreless Daughter, King, thrown to my chance,
Is Queen of us, of ours, and our fair France:
Not all the Dukes of watrish Burgundy,
Can buy this unpriz'd precious Maid of me.
Bid them farewel, Cordelia, though unkind,
Thou losest here, a better where to find.

Laer.
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.

Fra.
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 loath to call
Your faults as they are named. Love well our Father:
To your professed Bosoms 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 Duty.

Gon.
Let your Study
Be to content your Lord, who hath receiv'd you
At Fortunes Alms; you have Obedience scanted,
And well are worth the want that you have wanted.

Cor.
Time shall unfold what plighted cunning hides,
Who covers Faults, at last with shame derides.
Well may you prosper.

Fra.
Come, my fair Cordelia. [Exeunt France and Cor.

Gon.
Sister, it is not little I have to say,
Of what most nearly appertains to us both,
I think our Father will go 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 been little; he always lov'd our Sister most, and with what poor Judgment he hath now cast her off, appears too too grosly.

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 from his Age, to receive not alone the Imperfections of long engraffed 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 Complement of leave taking, between France and him; pray you let us sit together, if our Father carry Authority with such Disposition as he bears, this last surrender of his Will but offend us.

Reg.
We shall further think of it.

Gon.
We must do something, and i'th' Heat. [Exeunt Enter Bastard with a Letter.

Bast.
Thou Nature art my Goddess, to thy Law
My Services are bound; wherefore should I
Stand in the Plague of Custom, and permit
The curiosity of Nations to deprive me,
For that I am some twelve, or fourteen Moonshines,
Lag of a Brother? Why Bastard? wherefore base?
When my Dimensions are as well compact,
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?
Who in the lusty stealth of Nature, take
More Composition, and fierce quality,
Than doth, within a dull stale tired Bed,
Go to th' creating a whole Tribe of Fops
Got 'tween a sleep, and wake? Well then,
Legitimate Edgar, I must have your Land,
Our Father's Love is to the Bastard Edmund,

As to th'legitimate; fine Word—legitimate—
Well, my Legitimate, if this Letter speed,
And my invention thrive, Edmund the base
Shall to th'legitimate—I grow, I prosper;
Now Gods, stand up for Bastards, Enter Gloster.

Glo.
Kent banish'd thus! and France in Choler parted!
And the King gone to Night! Prescrib'd his Power,
Confin'd to Exhibition! All this gone
Upon the Gad!—Edmund, how now? what News?

Bast.
So please your Lordship, none. [Putting up the Letter.

Glo.

Why so earnestly seek you to put up that Letter?

Bast.
I know no News, my Lord.

Glo.
What Paper were you reading?

Bast.
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 it self. Let's see; come, if it be nothing, I shall not need Spectacles.

Bast.

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 o'er-looking.

Glo.
Give me the Letter, Sir.

Bast.
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.

Bast.

I hope for my Brother's Justification, he wrote this but as an Essay, or taste of my Virtue.

Glo. reads.]

This Policy, and Reverence of Age, makes the World bitter to the best of our times; keeps our Fortunes from us, 'till our oldness cannot relish them. I begin to find an idle and fond Bondage, in the oppression of aged Tyranny, which sways, not as it hath Power, but as it is suffered. Come to me, that of this I may speak more. If our Father would sleep 'till I wak'd him, you should enjoy half his Revenue for ever, and live the beloved of your Brother. Edgar. Hum!—Conspiracy! —Sleep 'till I wake him—you should enjoy half his Revenue—my Son Edgar! had he a Hand to write this! A Heart and a Brain to breed it in! When came this to you? who brought it?

Bast.

It was not brought me, my Lord; there's the cunning of it. I found it thrown in at the Casement of my Closet.

Glo.

You know the Character to be your Brother's?

Bast.

If the matter were good, my Lord, I durst swear it were his; but in respect of that, I would fain think it were not.

Glo.

It is his.

Bast.

It is his Hand, my Lord; I hope this Heart is not in the Contents.

Glo.

Has he never before sounded you in this Business?

Bast.

Never, my Lord. But I have heard him oft maintain it to be fit, that Sons at perfect Age, and Father's declin'd, the Father should be as Ward to the Son, and the Son manage his Revenue.

Glo.

O Villain, Villain! his very Opinion in the Letter. Abhorred Villain! unnatural, detested, bruitish Villain! worse than bruitish! Go, sirrah, seek him; I'll apprehend him. Abominable Villain! where is he?

Bast.

I do not well know, my Lord; if it shall please you to suspend your Indignation against my Brother, 'till you can derive from him better Testimony of his Intent, you should run a certain Course; where, if you violently proceed against him, mistaking his Purpose, it would make a great gap in your Honour, and shake in pieces the Heart of his Obedience. I dare pawn down my Life for him, that he hath writ this to feel my Affection to your Honour, and to no other pretence of Danger.

Glo.

Think you so?

Bast.

If your Honour judge it meet, I will place you where you shall hear us confer this, and by an Auricular Assurance have your Satisfaction, and that without any further delay, than this very Evening.

Glo.

He cannot be such a Monster. Edmund, seek him out; wind me into him, I pray you; frame the Business after your own Wisdom. I would unstate my self, to be in a due resolution.

Bast.

I will seek him, Sir, presently; convey the Business as I shall find means, and acquaint you withal.

Glo.

These late Eclipses in the Sun and Moon portend no good to us; though the Wisdom of Nature can reason, it

thus, and thus, yet Nature finds it self 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. This Villain of mine comes under the Prediction; there's Son against Father, the King falls from biass 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. 'Tis strange.

Bast.

This is the excellent foppery of the World, that when we are sick in Fortune, often the Surfeits of our own Behaviour, we make guilty of our Disasters, the Sun, the Moon, and Stars; as if we were Villains on necessity, Fools by Heav'nly Compulsion, Knaves, Thieves, and Treachers by Spherical Predominance, Drunkards, Lyars, and Adulterers by an inforc'd Obedience of Planetary influence; and all that we are evil in, by a divine thrusting on. An admirable Evasion of Whore-master-Man, to lay his Goatish disposition on the charge of a Star; 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. I should have been that I am, had the Maidenliest Star in the Firmament twinkled on my Bastardizing.

Pat!—he comes like the Catastrophe of the old Comedy; my Cue is villanous 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?

Bast.

I am thinking, Brother, of a Prediction I read this other Day, what should follow these Eclipses.

Edg.

Do you busie your self with that?

Bast.

I promise you the Effects he writes of, succeed unhappily.

Edg.

The Night gone by.

Bast.

Spake you with him?

Edg.

Ay, two hours together.

Bast.

Parted you in good Terms, found you no displeasure in him, by Word, nor Countenance?

Edg.

None at all.

Bast.

Bethink your self wherein you 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, that with the Mischief of your Person, it would scarcely allay.

Edg.

Some Villain hath done me wrong.

Bast.

That's my fear; 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!

Bast.

Brother, I advise you to the best, I am no honest Man, if there be any good meaning toward 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? [Exit.

Bast.
I do serve you in this Business:
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 easie: 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 II. 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.

Gon.
Put on what weary Negligence you please,
You and your Fellows: I'd have it come to question:
If he distaste it, let him to my Sister,
Whose Mind and mine I know in that are one.
Remember what I have said.

Stew.

Well, Madam.

Gon.

And let his Knights have colder Looks among you: What grows of it no matter, advise your Fellows so, I'll write straight to my Sister to hold my course: Prepare for Dinner.

Kent.
If but as well I other Accents borrow,
And can my Speech disuse, my good intent
May carry thro' it self to that full Issue
For which I raz'd my likeness. Now, banisht Kent,
If thou canst 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 wouldst 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 him that is wise, and says little, to fear Judgment, to fight when I cannot chuse, and to eat no Fish.

Lear.

What art thou?

Kent.

A very honest-hearted Fellow, and as poor as the King.

Lear.

If thou beest as poor for a Subject, as he's for a King, thou art poor enough. What wouldst thou?

Kent.

Service.

Lear.

Whom wouldst 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 canst thou do?

Kent.

I can keep honest Counsels, ride, run, marr a curious Tale in telling it, and deliver a plain Message bluntly: That which ordinary Men are fit for, I am qualified 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 doat 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 Clotpole 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 answered 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 Dependents, as in the Duke himself also, and your Daughter.

Lear.

Ha! saist 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 remembrest me of my own Conception, I have perceiv'd a most faint neglect of late, which I have rather blamed as my own jealous Curiosity, than as a very pretence and purpose of unkindness; I will look further into't; but where's my Fool? I have not seen him this two Days.

Knight.

Since my young Lady's going into France, Sir, the Fool hath much pined 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, come you hither, Sir, who am I Sir?

Stew.

My Lady's Father.

Lear.

My Lady's Father? my Lord's Knave, you whorson Dog, you Slave, you Cur.

Stew.
I am none of these, my Lord;
I beseech your pardon.

Lear.
Do you bandy Looks with me, you Rascal? [Striking him.

Stew.
I'll not be strucken, my Lord.

Kent.
Nor tript neither, you base Foot-ball player. [Tripping up his Heels.

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 Lubbers 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.

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, my Boy?

Fool.

Why? for taking one's part that is out of Favour; nay, and thou canst not smile as the Wind sits, thou'lt catch cold shortly, there take my Coxcomb; why, this Fellow has

banish'd two on's Daughter, and did the third a Blessing against his Will; if thou follow him, thou must needs wear my Coxcomb. How now Nuncle? would I had two Coxcombs, and two Daughters.

Lear.

Why, my Boy?

Fool.

If I give them all my living, I'll keep my Coxcomb my self; there's mine, beg another of thy Daughters.

Lear.

Take heed, Sirrah, the whip.

Fool.

Truth's a Dog must to kennel, he must be whip'd out, when the Lady Brach may stand by th' Fire and stink.

Lear.
A pestilent gall to me.

Fool.
Sirrah, I'll teach thee a Speech. [To Kent.

Lear.
Do.

Fool.
Mark it, Nuncle;
Have more than thou showest,
Speak less than thou knowest,
Lend less than thou owest,
Ride more than thou goest,
Learn more than thou trowest,
Set less than thou throwest:
Leave thy Drink and thy Whore,
And keep in Door,
And thou shalt have more,
Than two tens to a score.

Kent.
This is nothing, Fool.

Fool.

Then it is like the Breath of an unfee'd Lawyer, you give me nothing for't, can you make no use of nothing, Nuncle?

Lear.
Why no, Boy,
Nothing can be made out of nothing.

Fool.

Prithee 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 one?

Lear.

No Lad; teach me.

Fool.

Nuncle, give me an Egg, and I'll give thee two Crowns.

Lear.

What two Crowns shall they be?

Fool.

Why, after I have cut the Egg i'th' middle, and eat up the Meat, the two Crowns of the Egg: When thou

clovest thy Crown i'th' middle, and gav'st away both parts, thou bor'st thine Ass on thy Back o'er the Dirt; thou hadst little Wit in thy bald Crown, when thou gav'st thy golden one away: If I speak like my self in this, let him be whipt that first finds it so.