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
-- 2482 --
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.
[Exeunt.
Enter Kent disguis'd.
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?
-- 2483 --
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?
Enter Steward.
Stew.
So please you—
[Exit.
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
-- 2484 --
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?
Enter Steward.
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.
Enter Fool.
Fool.
Let me hire him too, here's my Coxcomb.
[Giving his Cap.
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
-- 2485 --
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.
[To Kent.
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
-- 2486 --
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.
Fools had ne'er less Grace in a Year,
[Singing.
For Wisemen are grown foppish,
And know not how their Wits to wear,
Their Manners are so apish.
Lear.
When were you wont to be so full of Songs, Sirrah?
Fool.
I have used it Nuncle, e'er since thou mad'st thy
Daughters thy Mothers; for when thou gav'st them the Rod,
and put'st down thine own Breeches, then they
For sudden Joy did weep,
[Singing.
And I for Sorrow sung,
That such a King should play bo peep.
And go the Fools among.
Prithee Nuncle keep a School-Master that can teach thy Fool
to lie; I would fain learn to lie.
Lear.
And 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 o' thing than a Fool,
and yet I would not be thee, Nuncle; thou hast pared thy
Wit o'both sides, and left nothing i'th' middle; here comes
one o' the parings.
Enter Goneril.
Lear.
How now, Daughter? what makes that Frontlet on?
You are too much of late i'th' frown.
Fool.
Thou wast a pretty Fellow when thou hadst 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, so your Face
bids me, tho' you say nothing.
Mum, Mum, he that keeps nor Crust, nor Crum,
[Singing.
Weary of all, shall want some.
That's a sheal'd Pescod.
Gon.
Not only, Sir, this, your all-licenc'd Fool,
-- 2487 --
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 your self too late have spoke and done,
That you protect this course, and 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 wholsome weal,
Might in their working do you that Offence,
Which else were Shame, that then necessity
Will call discreet proceeding.
Fool.
For you know, 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 were left darkling.
Lear.
Are you our Daughter?
Gon.
I would you would make use of your good Wisdom,
Whereof I know you are fraught, and put away
These Dispositions, which of late transport you
From what you rightly are.
Fool.
May not an Ass know when the Cart draws the
Horse? Whoop Jug I love thee.
Lear.
Does any here know me? This is not Lear:
Does Lear walk thus? Speak thus? Where are his Eyes?
Either his Notion weakens, his Discernings
Are Lethargied—Ha! waking!—'Tis not so;
Who is it that can tell me who I am?
Fool.
Lear's Shadow.
Lear.
Your Name, fair Gentlewoman!—
Gon.
This Admiration, Sir, is much o'th' savour
Of other your new Pranks. I do beseech you
To understand my purposes aright:
You, as you are Old and Reverend, should be Wise.
Here do you keep a hundred Knights and Squires,
Men so disorder'd, so debosh'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 a grac'd Palace. The Shame it self doth speak
For instant remedy. Be then desir'd,
-- 2488 --
By her, that else will take the thing she begs,
A little to disquantity your Train;
And the remainders that shall still depend,
To be such Men as may besort your Age,
Which 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—
Is it your will, speak, Sir? Prepare my Horses—
[To Alb.
Ingratitude! thou Marble-hearted Fiend,
More hideous when thou shew'st thee in a Child,
Than the Sea-monster.
Alb.
Pray, Sir, be patient,
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 Names. O most small Fault!
How ugly didst thou in Cordelia shew?
Which like an Engine, wrencht my frame of Nature
From the fixt place; drew from my Heart all love,
And added to the gall. O Lear, Lear, Lear!
Beat at this Gate that let thy Folly in,
And thy dear Judgment out. Go, go, my People.
Alb.
My Lord, I am guiltless, as I am ignorant
Of what hath moved you.
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 from her derogate Body, never spring
A Babe to honour her. If she must teem,
Create her Child of Spleen, that it may live,
-- 2489 --
And be a thwart, disnatur'd torment to her;
Let it stamp wrinkles in her Brow of Youth,
With cadent Tears fret Chanels 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 your self to know of it:
But let his Disposition have that Scope
As dotage gives it.
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,
That these hot Tears, which break from me perforce,
Should make thee worth them—Blasts and Fogs upon thee;
Th' untented Woundings of a Father's Curse
Pierce every Sense about thee. Old fond Eyes,
Beweep her once again, I'll pluck ye out,
And cast you with the Waters that you lose
To temper Clay. Ha! Let it be so—
I have another Daughter,
Who I am sure is kind and comfortable;
When she shall hear this of thee, with her nails
She'll flea thy Wolvish Visage. Thou shalt find,
That I'll resume the shape which thou dost think
I have cast off for ever.
[Exit Lear and Attendants.
Gon.
Do you mark that?
Alb.
I cannot be so partial, Gonerill,
To the great Love I bear you.
Gon.
Pray you be content. What, Oswald, ho!
You, Sir, more Knave than Fool, after your Master.
Fool.
Nuncle Lear, Nuncle Lear,
Tarry, take the Fool with thee:
A Fox, when one has caught her,
And such a Daughter,
Should sure to the Slaughter,
-- 2490 --
If my Cap would buy a Halter,
So the Fool follows after.
[Exit.
Gon.
This Man hath had good Counsel,—a hundred Knights!
'Tis politick, and safe to let him keep
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 in Mercy. Oswald, I say.
Alb.
Well, you may fear too fear;—
Gon.
Safer than trust too far;
Let me still take away the harms I far,
Not fear still to be taken. I know his Heart;
What he hath utter'd, I have writ my Sister;
If she'll sustain him, and his hundred Knights
When I have shew'd th' unfitness—
Enter Steward.
How now, Oswald?
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 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 not, yet under Pardon
You are much more at Task for want of Wisdom,
Than prais'd for harmful Mildness.
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 'vent.
[Exeunt.
Enter Lear, Kent, Gentleman, 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 there afore you.
-- 2491 --
Kent.
I will not sleep, my Lord, 'till I have delivered
your Letter.
[Exit.
Fool.
If a Man's Brains were in his Heels, wer't not in
danger of Kibes?
Lear.
Ay Boy.
Fool.
Then I prethee 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's like an Apple, yet
I can tell what I can tell.
Lear.
What canst tell, Boy?
Fool.
She will taste as like this, as a Crab do's to a
Crab; canst thou tell why ones Nose stands i'th' middle
on's Face?
Lear.
No.
Fool.
Why, to keep ones Eyes of either side one'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's 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 wouldst make a good Fool.
Lear.
To take't again perforce—Monster ingratitude!
Fool.
If you were 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, 'till thou hadst
been Wise.
Lear.
O let me not be mad, not mad, sweet Heaven!
keep me in temper, I would not be mad. How now, are
the Horses ready?
-- 2492 --
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.
Charles Gildon [1709–1710], The works of Mr. William Shakespear; in six [seven] volumes. Adorn'd with Cuts. Revis'd and Corrected, with an Account of the Life and Writings of the Author. By N. Rowe ([Vol. 7] Printed for E. Curll... and E. Sanger [etc.], London) [word count] [S11401].
