Edmund.
Lear.
Mean-time we shall express our darker purpose.
Give me the map there.—Know, that we have divided,
In three, our kingdom; and 'tis our fast intent4 note
To shake all cares and business from our age,
Conferring them on younger strengths5 note, while we
-- 357 --
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 to publish
Our daughters' several dowers, that future strife
May be prevented now. The princes, France and Burgundy6 note,
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,
(Since now we will divest us, both of rule,
Interest of territory, cares of state7 note)
Which of you, shall we say, doth love us most?
That we our largest bounty may extend
Where nature doth with merit challenge8 note.—Goneril,
Our eldest-born, speak first.
Gon.
Sir, I love you more than words can wield the matter; 11Q1046
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 found9 note;
A love that makes breath poor, and speech unable;
Beyond all manner of so much I love you.
Cor.
What shall Cordelia speak1 note? Love, and be silent.
[Aside.
Lear.
Of all these bounds, even from this line to this,
With shadowy forests, and with champains rich'd,
-- 358 --
With plenteous rivers2 note
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? Speak3 note.
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, that I profess
Myself an enemy to all other joys,
Which the most precious square of sense possesses 11Q10474 note,
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
More richer than my tongue5 note.
Lear.
To thee, and thine, hereditary ever,
Remain this ample third of our fair kingdom;
No less in space, validity, and pleasure,
Than that conferr'd on Goneril.—Now, our joy,
Although our last, and least6 note
; to whose young love
The vines of France, and milk of Burgundy,
Strive to be interess'd; what can you say, to draw
A third more opulent than your sisters? Speak.
Cor.
Nothing, my lord.
Lear.
Nothing?
-- 359 --
Cor.
Nothing7 note.
Lear.
Nothing will 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, Cordelia8 note? 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? Haply, 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 11Q10489 note.
Lear.
But goes this with thy heart?
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 night1 note,
By all the operation of the orbs,
From whom we do exist, and cease to be,
Here I disclaim all my paternal care,
Propinquity and property of blood,
-- 360 --
And as a stranger to my heart and me,
Hold thee from this for ever. The barbarous Scythian,
Or he that makes his generation messes
To gorge his appetite, shall to my bosom2 note
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 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 the 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 retain3 note
The name, and all th' additions to a king;
The sway, revenue, execution of the rest,
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,
As my great patron thought on in my prayers, 11Q1049—
Lear.
The bow is bent and drawn, make from the shaft.
-- 361 --
Kent.
Let it fall rather, though the fork invade
The region of my heart: be Kent unmannerly,
When Lear is mad4 note.—What would'st thou do, old man?
Think'st thou, that duty shall have dread to speak,
When power to flattery bows? To plainness honour's bound,
When majesty stoops to folly. Reverse thy doom5 note;
And in thy best consideration check
This hideous rashness: answer my life my judgment,
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 thine enemies; nor fear to lose it6 note,
Thy safety being the motive.
Lear.
Out of my sight!
Kent.
See better, Lear; and let me still remain
The true blank of thine eye7 note.
Lear.
Now, by Apollo,—
Kent.
Now, by Apollo, king,
Thou swear'st thy gods in vain.
Lear.
O, vassal! recreant8 note!
[Laying his hand upon his Sword.
Alb. Corn.
Dear sir, forbear.
Kent.
Do;
Kill thy physician, and the fee bestow
Upon the foul disease. Revoke thy gift;
-- 362 --
Or, 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,
To come betwixt our sentence and our power9 note,
(Which nor our nature nor our place can bear)
Our potency made good, take thy reward.
Five days we do allot thee10 note for provision
To shield thee from diseases of the world,
And on the sixt to turn thy hated back
Upon our kingdom: if on the tenth day following,
Thy banish'd trunk be found in our dominions, 11Q1050
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 hence1 note, and banishment is here.—
The gods to their dear shelter take thee, maid,
[To Cordelia.
That justly think'st, and hast most rightly said2 note!—
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 in a country new.
[Exit.
-- 363 --
Flourish. Re-enter Gloster; with France, Burgundy, and Attendants.
Glo.
Here's France and Burgundy, my noble lord3 note.
Lear.
My lord of Burgundy,
We first address toward you, who with this king
Hath rivall'd for our daughter: what, in the least,
Will you require in present dower with her,
Or cease your quest of love?
Bur.
Most royal majesty,
I crave no more than hath your highness offer'd4 note,
Nor will you tender less.
Lear.
Right noble Burgundy,
When she was dear to us, we did hold 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 curse5 note, and stranger'd with our oath,
Take her, or leave her?
Bur.
Pardon me, royal sir;
Election makes not up on such conditions.
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
-- 364 --
T' avert your liking a more worthier way,
Than on a wretch whom nature is asham'd
Almost t' 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,
Most best, most dearest6 note, 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,
Could 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 intend7 note,
I'll do't before I speak) that you make known
It is no vicious blot, murder, or foulness,
No unchaste action8 note, or dishonour'd step,
That hath depriv'd me of your grace and favour; 11Q1051
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 thou9 note
Hadst not been born, than not to have pleas'd me better.
France.
Is it but this1 note? a tardiness in nature,
-- 365 --
Which often leaves the history unspoke,
That it intends to do?—My lord of Burgundy,
What say you to the lady? Love is not love,
When it is mingled with respects, that stand
Aloof from the entire point. Will you have her?
She is herself a dowry.
Bur.
Royal Lear2 note,
Give but that portion which yourself propos'd,
And here I take Cordelia by the hand,
Duchess of Burgundy.
Lear.
Nothing: I have sworn; I am firm3 note.
Bur.
I am sorry, then, you have so lost a father,
That you must lose a husband.
Cor.
Peace be with Burgundy:
Since that respects of fortune4 note 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 it lawful, I take up what's cast away.
Gods, gods! 'tis strange, that from their cold't neglect
My love should kindle to inflam'd respect.—
Thy dowerless daughter, king, thrown to my chance,
Is queen of us, of ours, and our fair France:
Not all the dukes of waterish Burgundy
Shall buy5 note this unpriz'd precious maid of me.—
Bid them farewell, Cordelia, though unkind:
Thou losest here, a better where to find6 note.
-- 366 --
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 benison.—
Come, noble Burgundy.
[Flourish. Exeunt Lear, Burgundy, Cornwall, Albany, Gloster, and Attendants.
France.
Bid farewell to your sisters.
Cor.
The 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. Love well our father7 note:
To your professed 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 duty.
Reg.
Let your study
Be to content your lord, who hath receiv'd you
At fortune's alms: you have obedience scanted,
And well are worth the want8 note that you have wanted.
Cor.
Time shall unfold what plighted cunning hides;
Who cover faults, at last shame them derides9 note.
Well may you prosper!
France.
Come, my fair Cordelia.
[Exeunt France and Cordelia.
Gon.
Sister, it is not little I have to say of what
most nearly appertains to us both. I think, our father
will hence to-night.
Reg.
That's most certain, and with you; next month
with us.
-- 367 --
Gon.
You see how full of changes his age is; the
observation we have made of it hath not been little10 note:
he always loved 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 to receive from his age,
not alone the imperfections of long-engrafted condition,
but, therewithal, the unruly waywardness that infirm
and choleric years bring with them.
Reg.
Such unconstant starts are we like to have
from him, as this of Kent's banishment.
Gon.
There is farther compliment of leave-taking
between France and him. Pray you, let us hit together1 note:
if our father carry authority with such dispositions
as he bears, this last surrender of his will but
offend us.
Reg.
We shall farther think of it.
Gon.
We must do something and i' the heat.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.
A Hall in the Earl of Gloster's Castle.
Enter Edmund, with a letter.
Edm.
Thou, nature, art my goddess2 note; to thy law
My services are bound. Wherefore should I
-- 368 --
Stand in the plague of custom, and permit
The curiosity of nations3 note to deprive me,
For that I am some twelve or fourteen moon-shines
Lag of a brother? Why bastard? wherefore base,
When my dimensions are as well compact,
My mind as generous, and my shape as true,
As honest madam's issue? Why brand they us
With base? with baseness? bastardy? base, base4 note?
Who in the lusty stealth of nature take
More composition and fierce quality,
Than doth within a dull, stale, tired bed,
Go to the creating a whole tribe of fops,
Got 'tween asleep and wake?—Well then,
Legitimate Edgar, I must have your land:
Our father's love is to the bastard Edmund,
As to the legitimate. Fine word,—legitimate5 note!
Well, my legitimate, if this letter speed,
And my invention thrive, Edmund the base
Shall top the legitimate6 note. I grow; I prosper:—
Now, gods, stand up for bastards!
Enter Gloster.
Glo.
Kent banish'd thus! And France in choler parted!
And the king gone to-night! subscrib'd his power7 note!
Confin'd to exhibition! All this done
-- 369 --
Upon the gad!—Edmund, How now! what news?
Edm.
So please your lordship, none.
[Putting up the Letter.
Glo.
Why so earnestly seek you to put up that letter?
Edm.
I know no news, my lord.
Glo.
What paper were you reading?
Edm.
Nothing, my lord.
Glo.
No! What needed, then, that terrible despatch
of it into your pocket? the quality of nothing hath not
such need to hide itself. Let's see: come; if it be
nothing, I shall not need spectacles.
Edm.
I beseech you, sir, pardon me: it is a letter
from my brother, that I have not all o'er-read; and for
so much as I have perused, I find it not fit for your
o'erlooking8 note.
Glo.
Give me the letter, sir.
Edm.
I shall offend, either to detain or give it.
The contents, as in part I understand them,
Are to blame.
Glo.
Let's see, let's see.
Edm.
I hope, for my brother's justification, he wrote
this but as an essay or taste of my virtue.
Glo. [Reads.]
“This policy, and reverence9 note 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 in the
oppresion 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,—
-- 370 --
you should enjoy half his revenue.”—My son Edgar!
Had he a hand to write this? a heart and brain to
breed it in?—When came this to you10 note? Who brought
it?
Edm.
It was not brought me, my lord; there's the
cunning of it: I found it thrown in at the casement of
my closet.
Glo.
You know the character to be your brother's?
Edm.
If the matter were good, my lord, I durst
swear it were his; but, in respect of that, I would fain
think it were not.
Glo.
It is his.
Edm.
It is his hand, my lord; but, I hope, his heart
is not in the contents.
Glo.
Hath he never heretofore sounded you in this
business?
Edm.
Never, my lord: but I have often heard him
maintain it to be fit, that sons at perfect age, and
fathers declined, the father1 note should be as ward to the
son, and the son manage his revenue.
Glo.
O villain, villain!—His very opinion in the
letter!—Abhorred villain! Unnatural, detested, brutish
villain! worse than brutish!—Go, sirrah, seek him; I'll
apprehend him. Abominable villain!—Where is he?
Edm.
I do not well know, my lord. If it shall
please you to suspend your indignation against my
brother, till you can derive from him better testimony
of his intent, you shall run a certain course; where, if
you violently proceed against him, mistaking his purpose,
it would make a great gap in your own honour,
and shake in pieces the heart of his obedience. I dare
pawn down my life for him, that he hath writ this to
-- 371 --
feel my affection to your honour, and to no other pretence2 note
of danger.
Glo.
Think you so?
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 farther delay than this very evening.
Glo.
He cannot be such a monster.
Edm.
Nor is not, sure3 note.
Glo.
To his father, that so tenderly and entirely
loves him.—Heaven and earth!—Edmund, seek him
out; wind me into him, I pray you: frame the business
after your own wisdom. I would unstate myself to be
in a due resolution4 note.
Edm.
I will seek him, sir, presently, convey the
business as I shall find means5 note, and acquaint you
withal.
Glo.
These late eclipses in the sun and moon portend
no good to us: though the wisdom of nature can
reason it thus and thus, yet nature finds itself scourged
by the sequent effects. Love cools, friendship falls off,
brothers divide: in cities, mutinies; in countries, discord;
in palaces, treason, and the bond cracked between
son and father. This villain of mine6 note comes under the
prediction; there's son against father: the king falls
from bias of nature; there's father against child. We
have seen the best of our time: machinations, hollowness,
treachery, and all ruinous disorders, follow us disquietly
-- 372 --
to our graves!—Find out this villain, Edmund;
it shall lose thee nothing: do it carefully.—And the
noble and true-hearted Kent banished! his offence,
honesty!—'Tis strange.
[Exit.
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 treachers7 note, by spherical predominance;
drunkards, liars, and adulterers, by an enforced obedience
of planetary influence, and all that we are evil
in, by a divine thrusting on. An admirable evasion of
whore-master man, to lay his goatish disposition to the
charge of stars8 note! My father compounded with my
mother under the dragon's tail, and my nativity was
under ursa major; so that, it follows, I am rough and
lecherous.—Tut! I should have been that I am, had
the maidenliest star in the firmament twinkled on my
bastardizing9 note. Edgar—
Enter Edgar.
and1 note pat he comes, like the catastrophe of the old
comedy: my cue is villainous melancholy, with a sigh
like Tom o'Bedlam.—O! these eclipses do portend
these divisions. Fa, sol, la, mi.
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.
-- 373 --
Edg.
Do you busy yourself with that?
Edm.
I promise you, the effects he writes of, succeed
unhappily; as of unnaturalness2 note between the child
and the parent; death, dearth, dissolution of ancient
amities; divisions in state; menaces and maledictions
against king and nobles; needless diffidences, banishment
of friends, dissipation of cohorts3 note, nuptial breaches,
and I know not what.
Edg.
How long have you been a sectary astronomical?
Edm.
Come, come; when saw you my father last?
Edg.
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 displeasure4 note,
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 fear5 note. I pray you, have a continent
forbearance, till the speed of his rage goes slower; and,
as I say, 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 armed.
Edg.
Armed, brother?
-- 374 --
Edm.
Brother, I advise you to the best6 note; I am no
honest man, if there be any good meaning towards
you: I have told you what I have seen and heard, but
faintly; nothing like the image and horror of it. 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 III.
A Room in the Duke of Albany's Palace.
Enter Goneril, and Oswald her Steward.
Gon.
Did my father strike my gentleman for chiding
of his fool?
Osw.
Ay, madam.
Gon.
By day and night he wrongs me: every hour
He flashes into one gross crime or other,
That sets us all at odds: 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:
If you come slack of former services,
You shall do well; the fault of it I'll answer.
Osw.
He's coming, madam; I hear him.
[Horns within.
-- 375 --
Gon.
Put on what weary negligence you please,
You and your fellows; I'd have it come to question:
If he distaste it7 note, let him to my sister,
Whose mind and mine, I know, in that are one,
Not to be over-ruled. Idle old man8 note,
That still would manage those authorities,
That he hath given away!—Now, by my life,
Old fools are babes again; and must be us'd
With checks; as flatteries, when they are seen, abus'd.
Remember what I have said.
Osw.
Well, madam.
Gon.
And let his knights have colder looks among you.
What grows of it, no matter; advise your fellows so:
I would breed from hence occasions, and I shall,
That I may speak9 note
:—I'll write straight to my sister,
To hold my course.—Prepare for dinner.
[Exeunt.
SCENE IV.
A Hall in the Same.
Enter Kent, disguised.
Kent.
If but as well I other accents borrow,
That can my speech diffuse1 note, my good intent
-- 376 --
May carry through itself to that full issue
For which I raz'd my likeness.—Now, banish'd Kent,
If thou canst serve where thou dost stand condemn'd,
(So may it come2 note!) thy master, whom thou lov'st,
Shall find thee full of labours.
Horns within. Enter Lear, Knights, and Attendants.
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 wouldest
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 with him that is wise, and
says little; to fear judgment; to fight when I cannot
choose, and to eat no fish.
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 wouldest thou?
Kent.
Service.
Lear.
Whom wouldest 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
qualified in; and the best of me is diligence.
-- 377 --
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: if I like
thee no worse after dinner, I will not part from thee
yet.—Dinner, ho! dinner!—Where's my knave? my
fool? Go you, and call my fool hither.
Enter Oswald.
You, you, sirrah, where's my daughter?
Osw.
So please you,—
[Exit.
Lear.
What says the fellow there? Call the clodpole
back.—Where's my fool, ho?—I think the world's
asleep.—How now! where's that mongrel?
Knight.
He says, my lord, your daughter is not well3 note.
Lear.
Why came not the slave back to me, when I
called him?
Knight.
Sir, he answered me in the roundest manner,
he would not.
Lear.
He would not!
Knight.
My lord, I know not what the matter is;
but, to my judgment, your highness is not entertained
with that ceremonious affection as you were wont:
there's a great abatement of kindness4 note appears, as well
in the general dependants, as in the duke himself also,
and your daughter.
Lear.
Ha! sayest thou so?
Knight.
I beseech you, pardon me, my lord, if I be
mistaken; for my duty cannot be silent, when I think
your highness wronged.
Lear.
Thou but rememberest me of mine own conception.
I have perceived a most faint neglect of
-- 378 --
late; which I have rather blamed as mine own jealous
curiosty, than as a very pretence and purpose of unkindness:
I will look farther 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.
Lear.
No more of that; I have noted it well.—Go
you, and tell my daughter I would speak with her.—
Go you, call hither my fool.—
Re-enter Oswald.
O! you sir, you sir, come you hither. Who am I, sir?
Osw.
My lady's father.
Lear.
My lady's father! my lord's knave: you whore-son
dog! you slave! you cur!
Osw.
I am none of these, my lord5 note; I beseech your
pardon.
Lear.
Do you bandy looks with me, you rascal?
[Striking him.
Osw.
I'll not be struck, my lord.
Kent.
Nor tripped neither, you base foot-ball player.
[Tripping up his Heels.
Lear.
I thank thee, fellow; thou servest me, and I'll
love thee.
Kent.
Come, sir, arise, away! I'll teach you differences:
away, away! If you will measure your lubber's
length again, tarry; but away! Go to: have you
wisdom? so.
[Pushes Oswald out.
Lear.
Now, my friendly knave, I thank thee: there's
earnest of thy service.
[Giving Kent Money.
Enter Fool.
Fool.
Let me hire him too:—here's my coxcomb.
[Giving Kent his Cap.
-- 379 --
Lear.
How now, my pretty knave! how dost thou?
Fool.
Sirrah, you were best take my coxcomb.
Lear.
Why, my boy6 note?
Fool.
Why? For taking one's part that's out of
favour.—Nay, an thou canst not smile as the wind sits,
thou'lt catch cold shortly: there, take my coxcomb.
Why, this fellow has banished two on's daughters, and
did the third a blessing against his will: if thou follow
him, thou must needs wear my coxcomb.—How now,
nuncle! Would I had two coxcombs, and two daughters!
Lear.
Why, my boy?
Fool.
If I gave them all my living, I'd keep my
coxcombs myself. There's mine; beg another of thy
daughters.
Lear.
Take heed, sirrah; the whip.
Fool.
Truth's a dog must to kennel: he must be
whipped out, when the lady brach7 note may stand by the
fire and stink.
Lear.
A pestilent gall to me.
Fool.
Sirrah, I'll teach thee a speech.
Lear.
Do.
Fool.
Mark it, nuncle.—
Have more than thou showest,
Speak less than thou knowest,
Lend less than thou owest,
Ride more than thou goest,
Learn more than thou trowest,
Set less than thou throwest;
Leave thy drink and thy whore,
And keep in-a-door,
And thou shalt have more
Than two tens to a score.
-- 380 --
Lear.
This is nothing, fool8 note.
Fool.
Then, 'tis like the breath of an unfee'd lawyer;
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, my boy, between
a bitter fool and a sweet one?
Lear.
No, lad; teach me.
Fool.
That lord, that counsell'd thee9 note
To give away thy land,
Come place him here by me;
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 will not let
me: if I had a monopoly out, they would have part
on't, and loads too1 note: they will not let me have all fool
to myself; they'll be snatching.—Give me an egg,
nuncle, and I'll give thee two crowns.
-- 381 --
Lear.
What two crowns shall they be?
Fool.
Why, after I have cut the egg i' the middle,
and eat up the meat, the two crowns of the egg.
When thou clovest thy crown i' the middle, and gavest
away both parts, thou borest thine ass on thy back o'er
the dirt: thou hadst little wit in thy bald crown,
when thou gavest thy golden one away. If I speak
like myself in this, let him be whipped that first finds
it so.
Fools had ne'er less grace in a year 11Q10522 note;
[Singing.
For wise men are grown foppish;
And know not how their wits to wear,
Their manners are so apish.
Lear.
When were you wont to be so full of songs,
sirrah?
Fool.
I have used it, nuncle, ever since thou madest
thy daughters thy mothers: for, when thou gavest them
the rod and putt'st down thine own breeches,
Then they for sudden joy did weep3 note
,
[Singing.
And I for sorrow sung,
That such a king should play bo-peep,
And go the fools among.
Pr'ythee, nuncle, keep a school-master that can teach
thy fool to lie: I would fain learn to lie.
Lear.
An you lie, sirrah, we'll have you whipped.
-- 382 --
Fool.
I marvel, what kin thou and thy daughters
are: they'll have me whipped for speaking true, thou'lt
have me whipped for lying; and sometimes I am
whipped for holding my peace. I had rather be any
kind o' thing than a fool; and yet I would not be
thee, nuncle: thou hast pared thy wit o' both sides, and
left nothing i' the middle. Here comes one o' the
parings.
Enter Goneril.
Lear.
How now, daughter! what makes that frontlet on?
Methinks, you are too much of late i' the frown4 note.
Fool.
Thou wast a pretty fellow, when thou hadst
no need to care for her frowning; now thou art an O
without a figure5 note. I am better than thou art now: I
am a fool; thou art nothing.—Yes, forsooth, I will hold
my tongue! so your face [To Gon.] bids me, though
you say nothing. Mum, mum:
He that keeps nor crust nor crum,
Weary of all, shall want some.—
That's a shealed peascod.
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,
By your allowance; which if you should, the fault
-- 383 --
Would not 'scape censure, nor the redresses sleep,
Which, in the tender of a wholesome weal,
Might in their working do you that offence,
Which else were shame, that then necessity
Will call discreet proceeding6 note.
Fool.
For you trow, nuncle,
The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long,
That it had its head bit off by its young.
So, out went the candle, and we were left darkling.
Lear.
Are you our daughter?
Gon.
I would, you would make use of your good wisdom7 note,
Whereof I know you are fraught, and put away
These dispositions, which of late transform you
From what you rightly are.
Fool.
May not an ass know when the cart draws the
horse?—Whoop, Jug! I love thee.
Lear.
Does any here know me?—Why this is not
Lear: does Lear walk thus? speak thus? Where are
his eyes? Either his notion weakens, or his discernings
are lethargied.—Sleeping or waking?—Ha! sure 'tis
not so.—Who is it that can tell me who I am?—Lear's
shadow8 note? I would learn that; for by the marks of
sovereignty, knowledge, and reason, I should be false
persuaded I had daughters.
Fool.
Which they will make an obedient father.
Lear.
Your name, fair gentlewoman?
Gon.
This admiration, sir, is much o' the favour9 note
-- 384 --
Of other your new pranks. I do beseech you
To understand my purposes aright,
As you are old and reverend, should be wise1 note.
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: epicurism and lust
Make it more like a tavern, or a brothel,
Than a grac'd palace2 note. The shame itself doth speak
For instant remedy: be, then, desir'd
By her, that else will take the thing she begs,
A little to disquantity your train;
And the remainder, that shall still depend,
To be such men as may besort your age3 note,
Which know themselves and you.
Lear.
Darkness and devils!—
Saddle my horses; call my train together.—
Degenerate bastard! I'll not trouble thee:
Yet have I left a daughter.
Gon.
You strike my people; and your disorder'd rabble
Make servants of their betters.
Enter Albany.
Lear.
Woe, that too late repents4 note,—O sir! [To Alb.] are you come?
Is it your will? Speak, sir.—Prepare my horses.
-- 385 --
Ingratitude, thou marble-hearted fiend,
More hideous, when thou show'st thee in a child,
Than the sea-monster!
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, 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.
My lord, I am guiltless, as I am ignorant
Of what hath mov'd you5 note.
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 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 torment to her!
Let it stamp wrinkles in her brow of youth;
With cadent tears fret channels in her cheeks;
Turn all her mother's pains, and benefits,
-- 386 --
To laughter and contempt; that she may feel
How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is
To have a thankless child!—Away! away6 note!
[Exit.
Alb.
Now, gods that we adore, whereof comes this?
Gon.
Never afflict yourself to know the cause7 note;
But let his disposition have that scope
That dotage gives it.
Re-enter Lear.
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! [To Goneril.] I am ashamed,
That thou hast power to shake my manhood thus:
That these hot tears8 note, which break from me perforce,
Should make thee worth them. Blasts and fogs upon thee!
Th' untended 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.—Ha!
Let it be so:—I have another daughter9 note
,
Who, I am sure, is kind and comfortable:
When she shall hear this of thee, with her nails
-- 387 --
She'll flay thy wolfish visage. Thou shalt find,
That I'll resume the shape, which thou dost think
I have cast off for ever1 note.
[Exeunt Lear, Kent, and Attendants.
Gon.
Do you mark that, my lord?
Alb.
I cannot be so partial, Goneril,
To the great love I bear you,—
Gon.
Pray you, content2 note.—What, Oswald, ho!
You, sir, more knave than fool, after your master.
[To the Fool.
Fool.
Nuncle Lear, nuncle Lear! tarry, and take the fool with thee.
A fox, when one has caught her,
And such a daughter,
Should sure to the slaughter,
If my cap would buy a halter;
So the fool follows after.
[Exit.
Gon.
This man hath had good counsel3 note.—A hundred knights!
'Tis politic, and safe, to let him keep
At point a hundred knights: yes, that on every dream,
Each buz, each fancy, each complaint, dislike,
He may enguard his dotage with their powers,
And hold our lives in mercy.—Oswald, I say!—
Alb.
Well, you may fear too far.
Gon.
Safer than trust too far.
Let me still take away the harms I fear,
Not fear still to be taken: I know his heart.
What he hath utter'd I have writ my sister:
If she sustain him and his hundred knights,
-- 388 --
When I have show'd th' unfitness,—how now, Oswald4 note
Re-enter Oswald.
What, have you writ that letter to my sister?
Osw.
Ay, madam.
Gon.
Take you some company, and away to horse:
Inform her full of my particular fear;
And thereto add such reasons of your own,
As may compact it more. Get you gone,
And hasten your return. [Exit Osw.] No, no, my lord,
This milky gentleness, and course of yours,
Though I condemn not, yet, under pardon,
You are much more attask'd5 note for want of wisdom,
Than prais'd for harmful mildness.
Alb.
How far your eyes may pierce, I cannot tell:
Striving to better, oft we mar what's well.
Gon.
Nay, then—
Alb.
Well, well; the event.
[Exeunt.
SCENE V.
Court before the Same.
Enter Lear, Kent, and Fool.
Lear.
Go you before to Gloster with these letters.
Acquaint my daughter no farther with any thing you
know, than comes from her demand out of the letter.
If your diligence be not speedy, I shall be there before
you.
-- 389 --
Kent.
I will not sleep, my lord, till I have delivered
your letter.
[Exit.
Fool.
If a man's brains were in's heels, were't not in
danger of kibes?
Lear.
Ay, boy.
Fool.
Then, I pr'ythee, be merry; thy wit shall not
go slip-shod.
Lear.
Ha, ha, ha!
Fool.
Shalt see, thy other daughter will use thee
kindly; for though she's as like this, as a crab is like an
apple, yet I can tell what I can tell6 note.
Lear.
What canst tell, boy?
Fool.
She will taste as like this, as a crab does to a
crab. Thou canst tell why one's nose stands i' the
middle on's face.
Lear.
No.
Fool.
Why, to keep one's eyes of either side's nose;
that what a man cannot smell out, he may spy into.
Lear.
I did her wrong.—
Fool.
Canst tell how an oyster makes his shell?
Lear.
No.
Fool.
Nor I neither; but I can tell why a snail has
a house.
Lear.
Why?
Fool.
Why, to put his head in; not to give it away
to his daughters, and leave his horns without a case.
Lear.
I will forget my nature.—So kind a father!—
Be my horses ready?
Fool.
Thy asses are gone about 'em. The reason
why the seven stars are no more than seven is a pretty
reason.
Lear.
Because they are not eight?
Fool.
Yes, indeed. Thou wouldest make a good fool.
-- 390 --
Lear.
To take it again perforce!—Monster ingratitude!
Fool.
If thou wert my fool, nuncle, I'd have thee
beaten for being old before thy time.
Lear.
How's that?
Fool.
Thou shouldst not have been old before thou
hadst been wise.
Lear.
O, let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven!
Keep me in temper: I would not be mad!—
Enter Gentleman.
How now! Are the horses ready?
Gent.
Ready, my lord.
Lear.
Come, boy.
Fool.
She that's a maid now, and laughs at my departure,
Shall not be a maid long, unless things be cut shorter.
[Exeunt.
J. Payne Collier [1842–1844], The works of William Shakespeare. The text formed from an entirely new collation of the old editions: with the various readings, notes, a life of the poet, and a history of the Early English stage. By J. Payne Collier, Esq. F.S.A. In eight volumes (Whittaker & Co. [etc.], London) [word count] [S10101].
