Kent.

I thought, the King had more affected the Duke of Albany than Cornwall.

Glo.

It did always seem so to us: but now, in the Division of the Kingdom, it appears not, which of the Dukes he values most; for qualities are so weigh'd, ^{1 note}that curiosity in neither can make choice of either's moiety.

Kent.

Is not this your son, my lord?

Glo.

His Breeding, Sir, hath been at my charge. I have so often blush'd to acknowledge him, that now I am braz'd to't.

Kent.

I cannot conceive you.

Glo.

Sir, this young fellow's mother could; whereupon she grew round-womb'd; and had, indeed, Sir, a son for her cradle, ere she had a husband for her bed. Do you smell a fault?

Kent.

I cannot wish the fault undone, the issue of it being so proper.

Glo.

But I have a son, Sir, by order of law, ^{2 note}

some year elder than this, who yet is no dearer in my account; though this knave came somewhat sawcily to the world before he was sent for, yet was his mother fair; there was good sport at his making, and the whorson must be acknowledg'd. Do you know this Nobleman, Edmund?

Edm.
No, my lord.

Glo.
My lord of Kent;—
Remember him hereafter as my honourable friend.

Edm.
My services to your lordship.

Kent.
I must love you, and sue to know you better.

Edm.
Sir, I shall study your deserving.

Glo.
He hath been out nine years, and away he shall again. [Trumpets sound, within.
The King is coming. SCENE II. Enter King Lear, Cornwall, Albany, Gonerill, Regan, Cordelia, and Attendants.

Lear.
Attend the lords of France and Burgundy, Glo'ster.

Glo.
I shall, my Liege. [Exit.

Lear.
Meantime we shall ^{3 note}express our darker purpose.

Give me the Map here. Know, we have divided,
In three, our Kingdom; ^{4 note}

Gon.
I love you, Sir,
Dearer than eye-sight, space and liberty;
Beyond what can be valued, rich or rare;
No less than life, with grace, health, beauty, honour:
As much as child e'er lov'd, or father found.
A love that makes breath poor, and speech unable,
^{5 note}Beyond all manner of so much I love you.

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

Lear.
Of all these Bounds, ev'n from this line to this,
With shadowy forests and with champions rich'd,
With plenteous rivers 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 of Cornwall? speak.

Reg.
I'm 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: that I profess
My self an enemy to all other joys,
^{6 note}Which the most precious square of sense possesses;
And find, I am alone felicitate
In your dear Highness' love.

Cor.
Then poor Cordelia! [Aside.
And yet not so, since, I am sure, my love's
^{7 note}More pond'rous than my tongue.

Lear.
To thee, and thine, hereditary ever,
Remain this ample third of our fair Kingdom;
^{8 note}No less in space, validity, and pleasure,
Than that confer'd on Gonerill—Now our joy,
Although our last, not least; to whose young love,
The vines of France, and milk of Burgundy,
Strive to be int'ress'd: what say you, to draw

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, no more nor less.

Lear.
How, how, Cordelia? mend your speech a little,
Lest you may mar your fortunes.

Cor.
Good my lord,
You have begot me, 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? hap'ly, 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,
^{9 note}To love my father all.—

Lear.
But goes thy heart with this?

Cor.
Ay, my good lord.

Lear.
So young, and so untender?

Cor.
So young, my lord, and true.

Lear.
Let it be so, thy truth then be thy dower:
For by the sacred radiance of the sun,
The mysteries of Hecate, and the night,
By all the operations of the orbs,
From whom we do exist, and cease to be;
Here I disclaim all my paternal care,
Propinquity, and property of blood,
And as a stranger to my heart and me

Hold thee, from this, for ever. The barb'rous Scythian,
Or he that makes his generation messes,
To gorge his appetite; shall to my bosom
Be as well neighbour'd, pitied, and reliev'd,
As thou, my sometime daughter.

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 nurs'ry. Hence, avoid my sight!— [To Cor.
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 the third.
Let pride, which she calls plainness, marry her.
I do invest you jointly with my Power,
Preheminence, and all the large effects
That troop with Majesty. Our self by monthly course,
With reservation of an hundred Knights,
By you to be sustain'd, shall our abode
Make with you by due turns: ^{1 note}

This Cor'onet 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,
And as my patron thought on in my pray'rs—

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?
Think'st thou, that duty shall have dread to speak,
When pow'r to flatt'ry bows? to plainness Honour
Is bound, when Majesty to folly falls.
Reserve thy State; with better judgment check
This hideous rashness; with my life I answer,
Thy youngest daughter does not love thee least;
Nor are those empty-hearted, whose low sound
Reverbs no hollowness.

Lear.
Kent, on thy life no more.

Kent.
My life I never held but as a pawn
To wage against thy foes; nor fear to lose it,
Thy safety being the motive.

Lear.
Out of my sight!

Kent.
See better, Lear, and let me still remain
The true blank of thine eye.

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.
Kill thy physician, and thy fee bestow
Upon the foul disease; revoke thy doom,

Or whilst I can vent clamour from my throat,
I'll tell thee, thou dost evil.

Lear.
Hear me, recreant!
Since thou hast sought to make us break our vow,
Which we durst never yet; and with strain'd pride,
^{2 note}To come betwixt our sentence and our power;
^{3 note}
Which nor our nature, nor our place, can bear,
Our potency make good; take thy reward.
Five days we do allot thee for provision,
To shield thee from disasters of the world;
And, on the sixth, to turn thy hated back
Upon our Kingdom; if, 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; sith thus thou wilt appear,
Freedom lives hence, and banishment is here;
The gods to their dear shelter take thee, maid,
That justly think'st, and hast most righitly said;
And your large speeches may your deeds approve,
That good effects may spring from words of love:
Thus Kent, O Princes, bids you all adieu,
He'll shape his old course in a country new. [Exit.

Enter Glo'ster, with France and Burgundy, and Attendants.

Glo.
Here's France and Burgundy, my noble lord.

Lear.
My lord of Burgundy,
We first address towr'd you, who with this King
Have rivall'd for our daughter; what at least
Will you require in present dower with her,
Or cease your quest of love?

Bur.
Most royal Majesty,
I crave no more than what your Highness offer'd,
Nor will you tender less.

Lear.
Right noble Burgundy,
When she was dear to us, we held her so;
But now her price is fall'n: Sir, there she stands,
If aught within that little seeming 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.

Bur.
I know no answer.

Lear.
Will you with those infirmities she owes,
Unfriended, new-adopted to our hate,
Dower'd with our curse, and stranger'd with our oath,
Take her, or leave her?

Bur.
Pardon, royal Sir;
Election makes not up on such conditions.

Lear.
Then leave her, Sir; for by the pow'r 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,
^{5 note}T' avert your liking a more worthy way
Than on a wretch, whom nature is asham'd
Almost t' acknowledge hers.

France.
This is most strange!

That she, who ev'n but now was your best object,
Your Praise's argument, balm of your age,
Dearest and best; should in this trice of time
Commit a thing so monstrous, to dismantle
So many folds of favour! sure, her offence
Must be of such unnatural degree,
That monsters it; or your fore-vouch'd affection
Fall'n into taint: which to believe of her,
Must be a faith, that reason without miracle
Should never plant in me.

Cor.
I yet beseech your Majesty,
(If, for I want that glib and oily art,
To speak and purpose not; since what I well intend,
I'll do't before I speak) that you make known
It is no vicious blot, murther, or foulness,
No unchaste action, or dishonour'd step,
That hath depriv'd me of your grace and favour:
But ev'n for want of that, for which I'm richer,
A still-solliciting eye, and such a tongue,
That I am glad I've not; though, not to have it,
Hath lost me in your liking.

Lear.
Better thou
Hadst not been born, than not have pleas'd me better.

France.
Is it but this? a tardiness in nature,
Which often leaves the history unspoke,
That it intends to do? my lord of Burgundy,
What say you to the lady? love's not love,
When it is mingled with regards, that stand
Aloof ^{5 note}from th' intire point. Say, will you have her?
She is herself a dowry.

Bur.
Royal King,
Give but that portion which your self propos'd,
And here I take Cordelia by the hand,
Dutchess of Burgundy.

Lear.
Nothing:—I've sworn.

Bur.
I'm sorry then, you have so lost a father,
That you must lose a husband.

Cor.
Peace be with Burgundy,
Since that respects of fortune are his love,
I shall not be his wife.

France.
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't lawful, I take up what's cast away.
Gods, Gods! 'tis strange, that from their cold'st neglect
My love should kindle to enflam'd respect.
Thy dow'rless daughter, King, thrown to my chance,
Is Queen of us, of ours, and our fair France:
Not all the Dukes of wat'rish Burgundy
Can buy this unpriz'd, precious, maid of me.
Bid them farewel, Cordelia, tho' unkind;
Thou losest here, a better where to find.

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 be gone
Without our grace, our love, our benizon:
Come, noble Burgundy. [Flourish. Exeunt Lear and Burgundy. SCENE IV.

France.
Bid farewel to your sisters.

Cor.
Ye jewels of our father, with wash'd eyes
Cordelia leaves you: I know what you are,
And, like a sister, am most loth to call
Your faults, as they are nam'd. Love 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 farewel to you both.

Reg.
Prescribe not us our duty.

Gon.
Let your study
Be to content your lord, who hath receiv'd you
At fortune's alms; you have obedience scanted,
^{6 note}

Cor.
Time shall unfold what plaited cunning hides,
Who covers faults, at last with shame derides.
Well may you prosper!

France.
Come, my fair Cordelia. [Exeunt France and Cordelia. SCENE V.

Gon.
Sister, it is not little I've to say,
Of what most nearly appertains to us both;
I think our father will go hence to night.

Reg.

That's certain, and with you; next month with us.

Gon.

You see how full of change his age is, the observation we have made of it hath not been little; he always lov'd our sister most, and with what poor judgment he hath now cast her off, appears too grossly.

Reg.

'Tis the infirmity of his age; yet he hath ever but slenderly known himself.

Gon.

The best and soundest of his time hath been but rash; then must we look, from his age, to receive not alone the imperfections of long-engrafted condition, but therewithal the unruly waywardness, that infirm and cholerick years bring with them.

Reg.

Such unconstant starts are we like to have from him, as this of Kent's banishment.

Gon.

There is further complement of leave-taking between France and him; pray you, let us hit together:

if our father carry Authority with such disposition as he bears, this last surrender of his will but offend us.

Reg.

We shall further think of it.

Gon.

We must do something, and i'th' heat.