Lear.
Attend the lords of France and Burgundy, Gloster.

Glo.
I shall, my liege. [Exeunt Gloster and Attendants.

Lear.
Meantime, we shall express our darker purpose.^{4 note}
Give me the map there.—Know, that we have divided,
In three our kingdom: and 'tis our fast intent^{5 note}
To shake all cares and business from our age;
Conferring them on younger strengths, while we
Unburden'd crawl toward death.—Our son of Cornwall,
And you, our no less loving son of Albany,
We have this hour a constant will^{6 note} to publish
Our daughters' several dowers, that future strife
May be prevented now. The princes, France and Burgundy,
Great rivals in our youngest daughter's love,
Long in our court have made their amorous sojourn,
And here are to be answer'd.—Tell me, my daughters,
Which of you, shall we say, doth love us most?
That we our largest bounty may extend
Where merit doth most challenge it.—Goneril,
Our eldest-born, speak first.

Gon.
Sir, I
Do love you more than words can wield the matter,
Dearer than eye-sight, space, and liberty;

Beyond what can be valued, rich or rare;
A love that makes breath poor, and speech unable;
Beyond all manner of so much^{7 note} I love you.

Cor.
What shall Cordelia do?—Love and be silent. [Aside.

Lear.
Of all these bounds, even from this line to this,
With shadowy forests and wide-skirted meads,
We make thee lady: To thine and Albany's issue
Be this perpetual.—What says our second daughter,
Our dearest Regan, wife to Cornwall? Speak.

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,—I am alone felicitate^{8 note}
In your dear highness' love.

Cor.
Then poor Cordelia! [Aside.
And yet not so; since, I am sure, my love's
More richer than my tongue.

Lear.
To thee, and thine, hereditary ever,
Remain this ample third of our fair kingdom;
No less in space, validity,^{9 note} and pleasure,
Than that conferr'd on Goneril.—Now, our joy,
Although the last, not least; to whose young love
The vines of France, and milk of Burgundy,
Strive to be interess'd;^{10 note} what can you say, to win
A third more opulent than your sisters? Speak.

Cor.
Nothing, my lord.

Lear.
Nothing?

Cor.
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? mend your speech a little,
Lest it may mar your fortunes.

Cor.
Good, my lord,
You gave me being, 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? Haply,^{11 note} 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,
To love my father all.

Lear.
But goes this with thy heart?

Cor.
Ay, my good lord.

Lear.
So young, and so untender?^{12 note}

Cor.
So young, my lord, and true.

Lear.
Thy truth then be thy dower:
For by the sacred radiance of the sun;
The mysteries of Hecate, and the night;
Here I disclaim all my paternal care,
And, as a stranger to my heart and me,
Hold thee, from this,^{13 note} for ever.

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.
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,
Pre-eminence, 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. Only, we still retain
The name, and all the additions^{14 note} to a king;
The sway, revenue, execution of the rest,^{15 note}
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—

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?

Lear.
Kent, on thy life no more.

Kent.
My life I never held but as a pawn
To wage against thine enemies;^{16 note} nor fear to lose it,
Thy safety being the motive.

Lear.
Out of my sight!

Kent.
See better, Lear.

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.
Do;
Kill thy physician;
For, 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 strain'd pride, ^note

To come betwixt our sentence and our power;^{18 note}
(Which nor our nature nor our place can bear,)
Our potency made good,^{19 note} take thy reward.
Five days we do allot thee for provision,
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! By Jupiter,
This shall not be revok'd.

Kent.
Fare thee well, king: since thus thou wilt appear,
Freedom lives hence, and banishment is here.—
The gods to their dear shelter 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;
He'll shape his old course^{20 note} 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 king
Hath rivall'd for our daughter.
Sir, there she stands;
If aught within that little, seeming^{21 note} 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,
Take her, or leave her.

Bur.
Pardon me, royal Sir;
Election makes not up on such conditions.^{22 note}

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^{23 note} 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, that 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!

Cor.
Yet beseech your majesty, that you make known
It is no vicious blot, nor other 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 but this?^{24 note} a tardiness in nature,
Which often leaves the history unspoke,
That it intends to do?
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.
Thy dowerless daughter, king, thrown to my chance,
Is queen of us, of ours, and our fair France:

Bid them farewell, Cordelia, though unkind:
Thou losest here, a better where to find.^{25 note}

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 begone,
Without our grace, our love, our benizon.^{26 note}—
Come, noble Burgundy. [Flourish. Exeunt Lear, Burgundy, Gloster, and Attendants.

France.
Bid farewell to your sisters.

Cor.
Ye 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 nam'd. Use well our father:
To your professing bosoms I commit him:
But yet, alas! stood I within his grace,
I would prefer him to a better place.
So farewell to you both.

Gon.
Prescribe not us our duties.

Reg.
Let your study
Be, to content your lord, who hath receiv'd you
At fortune's alms.

Cor.
Time shall unfold what plaited cunning^{27 note} hides;
Who cover faults, at last shame them derides.—
Well may you prosper.

France.
Come, my fair Cordelia. [Exeunt France and Cordelia. Scene III. —A HALL IN THE EARL OF GLOSTER'S CASTLE. Enter Edmund, with a letter.

Edm.
Thou, nature, art my goddess;^{28 note} to thy law
My services are bound: Wherefore should I

Stand in the plague of custom,^{29 note} and permit
The curiosity of nations^{30 note} to deprive me,^{31 note}
For that I am some twelve or fourteen moonshines
Lag of a brother? Why branded? Wherefore base?
When my dimensions are as well compact,
My mind as generous, and my shape as true,
As honest madam's issue? 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
Shall top the legitimate. I grow—I prosper. Enter Gloster.

Glo.
Kent banish'd thus! and France in choler parted!
And the king gone to-night! subscrib'd^{32 note} his power!
Confin'd to exhibition!^{33 note} All this done
Upon the gad!^{34 note}

Edm.
So please your lordship, none. [Putting up the letter.

Glo.

What paper were you reading?

Edm.

Nothing, my lord.

Glo.

No? What needed, then, that terrible despatch of it into your pocket? Let's see.

Edm.

I beseech you, Sir, pardon me: it is a letter from my brother, that I have not all o'er-read; for so much as I have perused, I find it not fit for your over-looking.

Glo.

Give me the letter, Sir.

Edm.

I hope, for my brother's justification, he wrote this but as an essay or taste of my virtue.^{35 note}

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^{36 note} in the oppression of aged tyranny; who 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 waked him, you should enjoy half his revenue for ever, and live the beloved of your brother, Edgar,”—Humph —Conspiracy! “Sleep till I waked him,—you should enjoy,” My son Edgar! Had he a hand to write this?—a heart and brain to breed it in? When came this to you? Who brought it?

Edm.

I found it thrown in at the casement of my closet.

Glo.

You know the character to be your brother's?

Edm.

It is his hand, my lord; but I hope his heart is not in the contents.

Glo.

O villain! villain!—Unnatural villain! Go, sirrah, seek him; I'll apprehend him. Abominable villain!

Edm.

If your honour judge it meet, I will place you where you shall hear us confer of this, and by an auricular assurance have your satisfaction; and that without any further delay than this very evening.

Glo.

To his father, that so tenderly and entirely loves him —Heaven and earth!—Edmund, seek him out, I pray you; frame the business after your own wisdom.

Edm.

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: love cools, friendship falls off, brothers divide; in cities, mutinies; in countries, discord: in palaces, treason; and the bond crack'd between son and father.—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.

This is the excellent foppery of the world! 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, and traitors, by spherical predominance; drunkards and liars, by an enforced obedience of planetary influence; and all that we are evil in, by a divine thrusting on: an admirable evasion of licentious man, to lay his goatish disposition to the charge of a star!

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. 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, till 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.

Edm.

That's my fear. I pray you, 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: 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 IV. —A COURT-YARD IN THE DUKE OF ALBANY'S PALACE. Enter Goneril, Steward, and Attendants.

Gon.

Did my father strike my gentleman for chiding of his fool?

Stew.

Ay, Madam.

Gon.
By day and night he wrongs me: 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. [Horns without.

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 dislike it, let him to my sister.
Remember what I have said.

Stew.
Very well, Madam. [Exeunt. Enter Kent, disguised.

Kent.
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 without. Enter Lear, returning from the Boar Chase, attended by his Knights and Huntsmen.

Lear.
Let me not stay a jot for dinner; go, get it ready. (Exit an Attendant)
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^{37 note} with him that is wise, and says little; to fight when I cannot choose; and to eat no fish.(D)8Q0093

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.

Who 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 canst 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.—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 clodpole back. (Exit a Knight.) Where's my fool, ho.—I think the world's asleep.—How now? (Re-enter Knight,) Where's that mongrel?

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!

Gent.

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.

Lear.

Ha! say'st thou so? Thou but remember'st me of mine own conception: 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.^{38 note}

Lear.

No more of that; I have noted it well.—Go you, and tell my daughter I would speak with her. (Exit a Knight.) 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 dog! you slave! you cur!

Stew.

I am none of this, my lord; I beseech you pardon me.

Lear.

Do you bandy looks with me, you rascal?

Stew.

I'll not be struck, my lord.

Kent.

Nor tripped neither, you base foot-ball player.

Lear.

I thank thee, fellow; thou servest me, and I'll love thee.

Kent.

Come, Sir, arise, away; I'll teach you differences.

Lear.

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

Enter Fool.(E)8Q0094

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?

Fool.

Why? For taking one's part that is out of favour. There, take my coxcomb.^{39 note} Why, this fellow has banish'd two of his daughters, and did the third a blessing against his will; if thou follow him, thou must needs wear my coxcomb.

Lear.

This is nothing, fool.

Fool.

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, nuncle, between a bitter fool and a sweet fool?

Lear.

No, lad; teach me.

Fool. (Singing)
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, and ladies too,

they will not let me have all fool to myself. Why, thou had'st little wit in thy bald crown when thou gavest thy golden one away.

(Singing.)
Then they for sudden joy did weep,
  And I for sorrow sung,
That such a king should play bo-peep,
  And go the fools among.

Lear.

When were you wont to be so full of song, sirrah?

Fool.

Ever since thou madest thy daughters thy mother, nuncle: thou hast pared thy wit o' both sides, and left nothing in the middle. Here comes one o' the parings.

Lear.
How now, daughter, what makes that frontlet on?^{40 note}
Methinks you are too much of late i' the frown.

Fool.

Once thou had'st no need to care for her frowning. Yes, forsooth, I will hold my tongue; so your face (to Goneril) bids me, though you say nothing. Mum, mum.

(Singing.)
He that keeps nor crust nor crum,
Weary of all, shall want some.

Gon.
Not only, Sir, this your all-licens'd fool,
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 yourself too late have spoke and done,
That you protect this course, and put it on^{41 note}
By your allowance,^{42 note} which, if you should, the fault
Would not 'scape censure, nor the redresses sleep.

Fool.
For you trow, nuncle,

(Singing.)
The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long,
That it had its head bit off by its young.

Lear.
Are you our daughter?

Gon.

Come, Sir, I would, you would make use of that

good wisdom whereof I know you are fraught;^{43 note} and put away these dispositions, which of late transform you from what you rightly are.

Lear.

Does any here know me? Why this is not Lear: does Lear walk thus? speak thus? Where are his eyes? Who is it that can tell me who I am? Your name, fair gentlewoman?

Gon.
Come, Sir;
This admiration is much o' the favour^{44 note}
Of other your new pranks. I do beseech you
To understand my purposes aright:
As you are old and reverend, you should be wise:
Here do you keep a hundred knights and squires;
Men so disorder'd, so debauch'd, and bold,
That this our court, infected with their manners,
Shows like a riotous inn,
More than a grac'd palace. Be then desir'd
By her, that else will take the thing she begs,
A little to disquantity your train;
Take half away, and see the remainder
To be such men at may besort your age,
And know themselves and you.

Lear.
Darkness and devils!—
Saddle my horses! call my train together!
Degenerate viper! I'll not trouble thee;
Yet have I left a daughter. Enter Albany.

Lear.
Woe, that too late repents,—O, Sir, are you come?
Is it your will? (to Albany.) Speak, Sir.—Prepare my horses.
Ingratitude! thou marble-hearted fiend,
More hideous, when thou show'st thee in a child,
Than the sea-monster.^{45 note}

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 name.—O most small fault,
How ugly didst thou in Cordelia show!
Which, like an engine,^{46 note} wrench'd my frame of nature
From the fix'd 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, [Striking his head.
And thy dear judgment out. Go, go, my people.

Alb.
Now, gods that we adore, whereof comes this?

Gon.
Never afflict yourself to know the cause.

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: [To Goneril.
That these hot tears, which break from me perforce,
Should make thee worth them.—Blasts and fogs upon thee!
The untented^{47 note} woundings of a father's curse
Pierce every sense about thee! Old fond eyes,
Beweep this cause again, I'll pluck you out;
And cast you, with the waters that you lose,
To temper clay.—Yet have I left a daughter!
When she shall hear this of thee, with her nails
She'll flay thy wolfish visage. Thou shalt find
That I'll resume the shape which thou dost think
I have cast off for ever.

Alb.
My lord, I am guiltless, as I am ignorant
Of what hath mov'd 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^{48 note} never spring
A babe to honour her! If she must teem,
Create her child of spleen; that it may live,
And be a thwart disnatur'd^{49 note} torment to her.
Let it stamp wrinkles in her brow of youth;
With cadent tears^{50 note} fret channels in her cheeks;
Turn all her mother's pains, and benefits,^{51 note}
To laughter and contempt; that she may feel
How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is
To have a thankless child. Away! away! [Exeunt. END OF ACT FIRST.

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