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.

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