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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