Bast.

How now, what's the matter? Part—

Kent.

With you, goodman boy, if you please, come, I'll flesh ye, come on young master.

Glo.

Weapons? arms? what's the matter here?

Corn.

Keep peace upon your lives, he dies that strikes again, what's the matter?

Reg.

The messengers from our sister and the King?

Corn.

What is your difference? speak.

Stew.

I am scarce in breath, my lord.

Kent.

No marvel, you have so bestir'd your valour, you cowardly rascal, nature disclaims all share in thee: a tailor made thee.

Corn.

Thou art a strange fellow, a tailor make a man?

Kent.

A tailor, Sir? a stone-cutter, or a painter could

not have made him so ill, tho' they had been but two ^{c note}hours o'th' trade.

Corn.

Speak you, how grew your quarrel?

Stew.

This ancient ruffian, Sir, whose life I have spar'd at sute of his grey beard—

Kent.

Thou whorson zed! thou unnecessary letter! my lord, if you will give me leave, I will tread this unbolted villain into mortar, and daub the wall of a jakes with him. Spare my grey beard? you wag-tail!—

Corn.
Peace, Sirrah!
You beastly knave, know you no reverence?

Kent.
Yes, Sir, but anger hath a privilege.

Corn.
Why art thou angry?

Kent.
That such a slave as this shou'd wear a sword,
Who wears no honesty: such smiling rogues
^{d note}

As these, like rats oft bite those cords in twain
Too intricate t' unloose: sooth ev'ry passion
That in the nature of their lords rebels;
^{e note}Bring oil to fire, snow to their colder moods;
Renege, affirm, and turn their halcyon beaks
With ev'ry gale and Vary of their masters,
As knowing nought, like dogs, but following.
A plague upon your epileptick visage!
Smile you my speeches, as I were a fool?
Goose, if I had you upon Sarum plain,
I'd drive ye cackling home to Camelot.

Corn.
What art thou mad, old fellow?

Glo.
How fell you out? say that.

Kent.
No contraries hold more antipathy,
Than I and such a knave.

Corn.
Why dost thou call him knave? what is his fault?

Kent.
His countenance likes me not.

Corn.
No more perchance does mine, nor his, nor hers.

Kent.
Sir, 'tis my occupation to be plain;
I have seen better faces in my time,
Than stand on any shoulder that I see
Before me at this instant.

Corn.
This is some fellow,
Who having been prais'd for bluntness, doth affect
A sawcy roughness, and constrains the garb
Quite from his nature. He can't flatter, he,
An honest mind and plain, he must speak truth,
An they will take it, so; if not, he's plain.
These kind of knaves I know, which in this plainness
Harbour more craft, and far corrupter ends,
Than twenty silly ducking observants,
That stretch their duties nicely.

Kent.
Sir, in good faith, in sincere verity,
Under th' allowance of your grand aspect,
Whose influence, like the wreath of radiant fire,
Or flickering Phœbus' front—

Corn.
What mean'st by this?

Kent.

To go out of my dialect, which you discommend so much; I know, Sir, I am no flatterer; he that beguil'd you in a plain accent, was a plain knave; which for my part I will not be, though I should win your displeasure to intreat me to't.

Corn.
What was th' offence you gave him?

Stew.
I never gave him any:
It pleas'd the King his master very lately
To strike at me upon his misconstruction;
When he ^{f note}conjunct, and flatt'ring his displeasure,
Tript me behind; being down, insulted, rail'd,
And put upon him such a deal of man,
That worthied him, got praises of the King,

For him attempting who was self-subdu'd,
And in the fleshment of this dread exploit
Drew on me here again.

Kent.
None of these rogues and cowards,
But Ajax is their fool.

Corn.
Fetch forth the stocks.
You stubborn ancient knave, you rev'rend braggart,
We'll teach you.

Kent.
Sir, I am too old to learn;
Call not your stocks for me, I serve the King;
On whose imployment I was sent to you.
You shall do small respect, shew too bold malice
Against the grace and person of my master,
Stocking his messenger.

Corn.
Fetch forth the stocks;
As I have life and honour, there shall he sit 'till noon.

Reg.
'Till noon! 'till night my lord, and all night too.

Kent.
Why madam, if I were your father's dog
You could not use me so.

Reg.
Sir, being his knave, I will. [Stocks brought out.

Corn.
This is a fellow of the self-same ^{g note}nature
Our sister speaks of. Bring away the stocks.

Glo.
Let me beseech your grace not to do so;
† ^noteHis fault is much, and the good King his master
Will check him for't; your purpos'd low correction
Is such, as basest and the meanest wretches
For pilf'rings, and most common trespasses,
Are punish'd with. The King must take it ill
That he's so slightly valued in his messenger,
To have him thus restrain'd.

Corn.
I'll answer that.

Reg.
My sister may receive it much more worse,
To have her gentleman abus'd, assaulted

For following her affairs. Put in his legs— [Kent is put in the stocks.
Come my lord, away. [Exeunt Regan and Cornwall. SCENE VI.

Glo.
I'm sorry for thee, friend; 'tis the Duke's pleasure,
Whose disposition all the world well knows
Will not be rubb'd nor stop'd. I'll intreat for thee.

Kent.
Pray do not, Sir. I've watch'd and travell'd hard,
Some time I shall sleep out, the rest I'll whistle:
A good man's fortune may grow out at heels;
Give you good morrow.

Glo.
The Duke's to blame in this, 'twill be ill taken. [Exit.

Kent.
Good King, that must approve the common saw,
Thou out of heaven's benediction com'st
To the warm sun.
Approach thou beacon to this under globe, [Looking up to the moon.
That by thy comfortable beams I may
Peruse this letter. Nothing almost sees miracles
But misery. I know 'tis from Cordelia,
Who hath most fortunately been inform'd
Of my obscured course. I shall find time
From this enormous state, and seek to give
Losses their remedies. All weary and o'er-watch'd,
Take vantage heavy eyes, not to behold
This shameful lodging.
Fortune, good night, smile once more, turn thy wheel. [He sleeps.

SCENE VII. SCENE changes. Enter Edgar.

Edg.
I've heard my self proclaim'd,
And by the happy hollow of a tree
Escap'd the hunt. No port is free, no place
That guard and most unusual vigilance
Does not attend my taking. Whiles I may scape
I will preserve my self: and am bethought
To take the basest and the poorest shape
That ever penury in contempt of man
Brought near to beast: my face I'll grime with filth,
Blanket my loins, put all my hair in knots,
And with presented nakedness out-face
The winds, and persecutions of the sky.
The country gives me proof and president
Of bedlam beggars, who with roaring voices
Strike in their numb'd and mortify'd bare arms
Pins, wooden pricks, nails, sprigs of rosemary;
And with this horrible object, from low farms
Poor pelting villages, sheep-coats and mills,
Sometimes with lunatick bans, sometimes with pray'rs,
Inforce their charity; poor Turlygod, poor Tom,
That's something yet: Edgar I nothing am. [Exit. SCENE VIII. Changes again to the Earl of Glo'ster's Castle. Enter Lear, Fool, and Gentleman.

Lear.
'Tis strange that they should so depart from home,
And not send back my messenger.

Gent.
As I learn'd,
The night before there was no purpose in them
Of this remove.

Kent.
Hail to thee, noble master.

Lear.
Ha, mak'st thou shame thy pastime?

Kent.
No, my lord.

Fool.

Ha, ha, he wears cruel garters; horses are ty'd by the heads, dogs and bears by th' neck, monkeys by th' loins, and men by th' legs; when a man is over-lusty at legs, then he wears wooden nether stocks.

Lear.
What's he, that hath so much thy place mistook,
To set thee here?

Kent.
It is both he and she,
Your son and daughter.

Lear.
No.

Kent.
Yes.

Lear.
No, I say.

Kent.
I say, yea.

Lear.
By Jupiter, I swear no.

Kent.
By Juno, I swear ay.

Lear.
They durst not do't.
They could not, would not do't; 'tis worse than murther;
To do upon respect such violent outrage:
Resolve me with all modest haste, which way
Thou might'st deserve or they impose this usage,
Coming from us?

Kent.
My lord, when at their home
I did commend your highness' letters to them,
Ere I was risen from the place, that shew'd
My duty kneeling, came a reeking post,
Stew'd in his haste, half breathless, panting forth
From Gonerill his mistress, salutation;
Deliver'd letters spight of intermission,

Which presently they read: on those contents
They summon'd up their † ^notemeiny, strait took horse,
Commanded me to follow and attend
The leisure of their answer; gave me cold looks;
And meeting here the other messenger,
Whose welcome I perceiv'd had poison'd mine,
Being the very fellow which of late
Display'd so sawcily against your highness,
Having more man than wit about me, I drew;
He rais'd the house with loud and coward cries:
Your son and daughter found this trespass worth
The shame which here it suffers.

Fool.
Winter's not gone yet, if the wild geese fly that way.
Fathers that wear rags
Do make their children blind,
But fathers that bear bags
Shall see their children kind.
Fortune, that arrant whore,
Ne'er turns the key to th' poor.

But for all this thou shalt have as many dolours for thy dear daughters, as thou canst tell in a year.

Lear.
Oh how this mother swells up tow'rd my heart!
Hysterica passio, down thou climbing sorrow,
Thy element's below; where is this daughter?

Kent.
With the Earl, Sir, here within.

Lear.
Follow me not, stay here. [Exit.

Gen.
Made you no more offence
But what you speak of?

Kent.
None;
How chance the King comes with so small a number?

Fool.

An thou hadst been set i'th' stocks for that question, thou'dst well deserve it.

Kent.

Why, fool?

Fool.

We'll set thee to school to an Ant, to teach thee there's no lab'ring i'th' winter. All that follow their noses are led by their eyes, but blind men; and there's not a nose among twenty but can smell him that's stinking—let go thy hold when a great wheel runs down a hill, lest it break thy neck with following; but the great one that goes upward, let him draw thee after. When a wise man gives thee better counsel, give me mine again; I would have none but knaves follow it, since a fool gives it.

Kent.
Where learn'd you this, fool?

Fool.
Not i'th' stocks, fool. SCENE IX. Enter Lear and Glo'ster.

Lear.
Deny to speak with me? they're sick, they're weary,
They have travell'd all the night? meer fetches,
The images of revolt and flying off.
Bring me a better answer—

Glo.
My dear lord,
You know the fiery quality of the Duke,
How unremoveable and fixt he is
In his own course.

Lear.
Vengeance! plague! death! confusion!—
Fiery? what fiery quality? why Glo'ster,

I'd speak with th' Duke of Cornwall, and his wife.

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

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

Glo.
Ay, my good lord.

Lear.
The King would speak with Cornwall, the dear father
Would with his daughter speak, ^{h note}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're not our selves,
When nature being opprest commands the mind
To suffer with the body. I'll forbear,
And am fall'n out with my more heady will,
To take the indispos'd and sickly fit,
For the sound man.—Death on my state! but wherefore
Should he sit here? this act perswades me,
That this remotion of the Duke and her
Is practice only. Give me my servant forth;
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.

Glo.
I would have all well betwixt you. [Exit.

Lear.
Oh me, my heart! my rising heart! but down.

Fool.

Cry to it, nuncle, as the cockney did to the Eels, when he put them i'th' Pasty alive; he rapt 'em o'th' coxcombs with a stick, and cry'd down wantons, down; 'Twas his brother, that in pure kindness to his horse buttered his hay.

SCENE X. Enter Cornwall, Regan, Glo'ster, and Servants.

Lear.
Good morrow to you both.

Corn.
Hail to your grace. [Kent is set at liberty.

Reg.
I am glad to see your highness.

Lear.
Regan, I think you are, I know what reason
I have to think so; if thou wert not glad,
I would divorce me from thy mother's tomb,
Sepulchring an adult'ress. O, are you free? [To Kent.
Some other time for that. Beloved Regan,
Thy sister's naught: oh 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—oh Regan!—

Reg.
I pray you, Sir, take patience; I have hope
You less know how to value her desert,
Than she to scant her duty.

Lear.
How is that?—

Reg.
I cannot think my sister in the least
Would fail her obligation. If perchance
She have restrain'd the riots of your followers,
'Tis on such ground, and to such wholesom end,
As clears her from all blame.

Lear.
My curses on her.

Reg.
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 your self: 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 but mark how this becomes the house?
Dear daughter, I confess that I am old;
Age is unnecessary: on my knees I beg,
That you'll vouchsafe me raiment, bed, and food.

Reg.
Good Sir, no more; these are unsightly tricks:
Return you to my sister.

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 ^{i note}head: strike her young bones,
^{k note}Infecting airs, with lameness.

Corn.
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 pow'rful sun
To fall, and ^{l note} blast her pride.

Reg.
O the blest gods!
So will you wish on me, when the rash mood is on.

Lear.
No, Regan, thou shalt never have my curse:
Thy tender-hearted 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,
To bandy hasty words, to scant my sizes,
And in conclusion to oppose the bolt
Against my coming in. Thou better know'st
The offices of nature, bond of child-hood,
Effects of courtesie, and dues of gratitude:
Thy half o'th' kingdom thou hast not forgot,
Wherein I thee endow'd.

Reg.
Good Sir, to th' purpose. [Trumpet within.

Lear.
Who put my man i'th' stocks? Enter Steward.

Corn.
What trumpet's that?

Reg.
I know't, my sister's: this approves her letter,
That she would soon be here. Is your lady come?

Lear.
This is a slave, whose easie borrowed pride
Dwells in the ^{k note}fickle grace of her he follows.
Out varlet, from my sight.

Corn.
What means your grace? SCENE XI. Enter Gonerill.

Lear.
Who stockt my servant? Regan, I've good hope
Thou didst not know on't.—Who comes here? O heav'ns!
If you do love old men, if your sweet sway
Allow obedience, if your selves are old,
Make it your cause; send down and take my part.
Art not asham'd to look upon this beard?
O Regan, will you take her by the hand?

Gon.
Why not by th' hand, Sir? how have I offended?
All's not offence that indiscretion finds,
And dotage terms so.

Lear.
O sides, you are too tough!
Will you yet hold? how came my man i'th' stocks?

Corn.
I set him there, Sir: but his own disorders
Deserv'd much less advancement.

Lear.
You? did you?

Reg.
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'm 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 chuse
To wage against the enmity o'th' air,
To be a comrade with the wolf and owl,
Necessity's sharp pinch—Return with her?
Why? the hot-blooded France, that dow'rless took
Our youngest born, I could as well be brought
To knee his throne, and Squire-like pension beg,
To keep base life a-foot;—Return with her?
Persuade me rather to be slave and sumpter
To this detested groom.

Gon.
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; thou art a bile,
A plague-sore, or imbossed carbuncle
In my corrupted blood; 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.

Reg.
Not all together,
I look'd not for you yet, nor am provided
For your fit welcome; give ear to my sister;
For those that mingle reason with your passion,

Must be content to think you old, and so—
But she knows what she does.

Lear.
Is this well spoken?

Reg.
I dare avouch it, Sir; what, fifty followers?
Is it not well? what should you need of more?
Yea, or so many? since both charge and danger
Speak 'gainst so great a number: how in one house
Should many people under two commands
Hold amity? 'tis hard, almost impossible.

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

Reg.
Why not, my lord? if then they chanc'd to slack ye
We could controll them; if you'll come to me,
(For now I spy a danger) I intreat you
To bring but five and twenty; to no more
Will I give place or notice.

Lear.
I gave you all—

Reg.
And in good time you gave it.

Lear.
Made you my guardians, my depositaries,
But kept a reservation to be follow'd
With such a number; must I come to you
With five and twenty? Regan, said you so?

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

Lear.
Those wicked creatures yet do look well favour'd
When others are more wicked. Not being worst
Stands in some rank of praise; I'll go with thee,
Thy fifty yet doth double five and twenty;
And thou hast 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?

Reg.
What needs 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 beasts. Thou art a lady;
If only to go warm were gorgeous,
Why nature needs not what thou gorgeous wear'st,
Which scarcely keeps thee warm; but for true need,
You heav'ns give me that patience which 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 womens weapons, water-drops,
Stain my man's cheeks. No, you unnat'ral 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. I have full cause of weeping:
This heart shall break into a thousand flaws
Or e'er I weep. O fool, I shall go mad. [Exeunt. SCENE XII.

Corn.
Let us withdraw, 'twill be a storm. [Storm and Tempest.

Reg.
This house is small, the old man and his people
Cannot be well bestow'd.

Gon.
'Tis his own blame hath put himself from rest,
And must needs taste his folly.

Reg.
For his particular, I'll receive him gladly,
But not one follower.

Gon.
So am I purpos'd.
Where is my lord of Glo'ster? Enter Glo'ster.

Corn.
Follow'd the old man forth;—he is return'd.

Glo.
The King is in high rage, and will I know not whither.

Corn.
'Tis best to give him way, he leads himself.

Gon.
My lord, intreat him by no means to stay.

Glo.
Alack, the night comes on: and the high winds
Do sorely russle, for many miles about
There's scarce a bush.

Reg.
O Sir, to wilful men,
The injuries that they themselves procure
Must be their school-masters: shut up your doors;
He is attended with a desp'rate train,
And what they may incense him to, being apt
To have his ear abus'd, wisdom bids fear.

Corn.
Shut up your doors, my lord, 'tis a wild night.
My Regan counsels well: come out o'th' storm. [Exeunt.

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