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King Lear's palace.

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

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
equalities are so weighed, that curiosity in neither
can make choice of either's moiety.

Is not this your son, my lord?

His breeding, sir, hath been at my
charge: I have so often blushed to acknowledge (11)
him, that now I am brazed to it.

I cannot conceive you.

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

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

But I have, sir, a son by order of
law, some year elder than this, who yet is no
dearer in my account: though this knave came
something saucily into the world before he was
sent for, yet was his mother fair; there was
good sport at his making, and the whoreson
must be acknowledged. Do you know this
noble gentleman, Edmund?

No, my lord.

My lord of Kent: remember him
hereafter as my honourable friend.

My services to your lordship.

I must love you, and sue to know (31)
you better.

Sir, I shall study deserving.

He hath been out nine years, and
away he shall again. The king is coming.

Attend the lords of France and Burgundy, Gloucester.

I shall, my liege. [Exeunt Gloucester and Edmund.

Meantime we shall express our darker purpose.

Give me the map there. Know that we have divided

In three our kingdom: and 'tis our fast intent

To shake all cares and business from our age; (41)

Conferring them on younger strengths, while we

Unburthen'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 Burgundy,

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,-- (50)

Since now we will divest us, both of rule,

Interest of territory, cares of state,--

Which of you shall we say doth love us most?

That our largest bounty may extend

Where nature doth with merit challenge. Goneril,

Our eldest-born, speak first.

Sir, I love you more than words can wield the matter;

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 loved, or father found;

A love that makes breath poor, and speech unable;

Beyond all manner of so much I love you.

What shall Cordelia do? Love, and be silent.

Of all these bounds, even from this line to this,

With shadowy forest and with champains 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 to Cornwall? Speak. (70)

Sir, I am made

Of the self-same metal that my sister is,

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;

And find I am alone felicitate

In your dear highness' love.

Then poor Cordelia!

And yet not so; since, I am sure, my love's (80)

More richer than my tongue.

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 the last, not least; 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.

Nothing, my lord. (90)



Nothing will come of nothing: speak again.

Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave

My heart into my mouth: I love your majesty

According to my bond; nor more nor less.

How, how, Cordelia! mend your speech a little,

Lest it may mar your fortunes.

Good my lord,

You have begot me, bred me, loved me: I

Return those duties back as are right fit, (100)

Obey you, love you, and most honour you.

Why have my sisters husbands, if they say

They loved 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.

But goes thy heart with this?

Ay, good my lord.

So young, and so untender?

So young, my lord, and true. (110)

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 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,

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 (120)

To gorge his appetite, shall to my bosom

Be as well neighbour'd, pitied, and relieved,

As thou my sometime daughter.

Good my liege,--

Peace, Kent.

Come not between the dragon and his wrath.

I loved her most, and thought to set my rest

On her kind nursery. Hence, and avoid my sight!

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, (130)

With my two daughters' dowers digest this 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 retain

The name, and all the additions to a king;

The sway, revenue, execution of the rest, (140)

Beloved sons, be yours: which to confirm,

This coronet part betwixt you. [Giving the crown.

Royal Lear,

Whom I have ever honour'd as my king,

Loved as my father, as my master follow'd,

As my great patron thought on in my prayers,--

The bow is bent and drawn, make from the shaft.

Let it fall rather, though the fork invade

The region of my heart: be Kent unmannerly,

When Lear is mad. What wilt thou do, old man?

Think'st thou that duty shall have dread to speak, (150)

When power to flattery bows? To plainness honour's bound,

When majesty stoops to folly. Reverse thy doom;

And, in thy best consideration, check

This hideous rashness: answer my life my judgement,

Thy youngest daughter does not love thee least;

Nor are those empty-hearted whose low sound

Reverbs no hollowness.

Kent, on thy life, no more.

My life I never held but as a pawn

To wage against thy enemies; nor fear to lose it,

Thy safety being the motive.

Out of my sight! (160)

See better, Lear; and let me still remain

The true blank of thine eye.

Now, by Apollo,--

Now, by Apollo, king,

Thou swear'st thy gods in vain.

O, vassal! miscreant! [Laying his hand on his sword.

Dear sir, forbear.

Dear sir, forbear.


Kill thy physician, and the fee bestow

Upon thy foul disease. Revoke thy doom;

Or, whilst I can vent clamour from my throat,

I'll tell thee thou dost evil.

Hear me, recreant! (170)

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 between our sentence and our power,

Which nor our nature nor our place can bear,

Our potency made good, take thy reward.

Five days we do allot thee, for provision

To shield thee from diseases of the world;

And on the sixth to turn thy hated back (179)

Upon our kingdom: if, on 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 revoked.

Fare thee well, king: sith thus thou wilt appear,

Freedom lives hence, and banishment is here.
[To Cordelia]

The gods to their dear shelter take thee, maid,

That justly think'st, and hast most rightly said! [To Regan and Goneril]
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.
Re-enter GLOUCESTER, with FRANCE, BURGUNDY, and Attendants.

Here's France and Burgundy, my noble (191)

My lord of Burgundy,

We first address towards 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?

Most royal majesty,

I crave no more than what your highness offer'd,

Nor will you tender less.

Right noble Burgundy,

When she was dear to us, we did hold her so; (200)

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 pieced,

And nothing more, may fitly like your grace,

She's there, and she is yours.

I know no answer.

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?

Pardon me, royal sir;

Election makes not up on such conditions. (210)

Then leave her, sir; for, by the power that made me,

I tell you all her wealth. [To France]
For you, great king,

I would not from your love make such a stray,

To match you where I hate! therefore beseech you

To avert your liking a more worthier way

Than on a wretch whom nature is ashamed

Almost to acknowledge hers.

This is most strange,

That she, that even but now was your best object,

The argument of your praise, balm of your age, (219)

Most best, most dearest, should in this trice of time

Commit a thing so monstrous, to dismantle

So many folds of favor. 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.

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 (230)

It is no vicious blot, murder, or foulness,

No unchaste action, or dishonour'd step,

That hath deprived me of your grace and favor;

But even for want of that for which I am richer,

A still-soliciting eye, and such a tongue

As I am glad I have not, though not to have it

Hath lost me in your liking.

Better thou

Hadst not been born than not to have pleased me better.

Is it but this,--a tardiness in nature (239)

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 from the entire point. Will you have her?

She is herself a dowry.

Royal Lear,

Give but this portion which yourself proposed,

And here I take Cordelia by the hand,

Duchess of Burgundy.

Nothing: I have sworn; I am firm.

I am sorry, then, you have so lost a father

That you must lose a husband.

Peace be with Burgundy! (251)

Since that respects of fortune are his love,

I shall not be his wife.

Fairest Cordelia, that art most rich, being poor;

Most choice, forsaken; and most loved, despised!

Thee and thy virtues I seize upon:

Be it lawful I take up what's cast away.

Gods, gods! 'tis strange that from their cold'st neglect

My love should kindle to inflamed respect.

Thy dowerless daughter, king, thrown to my chance,

Is queen of us, of ours, and our fair France: (261)

Not all the dukes of waterish Burgundy

Can buy this unprized precious maid of me.

Bid them farewell, Cordelia, though unkind:

Thou losest here, a better where to find.

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 all but France, Goneril, Regan, and Cordelia.

Bid farewell to your sisters.

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 named. Use well our father:

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.

Prescribe not us our duties. (279)

Let your study

Be to content your lord, who hath received you

At fortune's alms. You have obedience scanted,

And well are worth the want that you have wanted.

Time shall unfold what plaited cunning hides:

Who cover faults, at last shame them derides.

Well may you prosper!

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

Sister, it is not a little I have to say
of what most nearly appertains to us both.
I think our father will hence to-night.

That's most certain, and with you; (290)
next month with us.

You see how full of changes his age
is; the observation we have made of it hath
not been little: he always loved our sister
most; and with what poor judgement he hath
now cast her off appears too grossly.

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

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-engraffed condition, but therewithal
the unruly waywardness that infirm and choleric
years bring with them.

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

There is further compliment of leave-taking
between France and him. Pray you,
let's hit together: if our father carry authority with
such dispositions as he bears, this last surrender (310)
of his will but offend us.

We shall further think on't.

We must do something, and i' the heat. [Exeunt.


The Earl of Gloucester's castle.
Enter EDMUND, with a letter.

Thou, nature, art my goddess; to thy law

My services are bound. Wherefore should I

Stand in the plague of custom, and permit

The curiosity of nations 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 (10)

With base? with baseness? bastardy? base, base?

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 hand:

Our father's love is to the bastard Edmund

As to the legitimate: fine word,--legitimate!

Well, my legitimate, if this letter speed, (20)

And my invention thrive, Edmund the base

Shall top the legitimate. I grow; I prosper:

Now, gods, stand up for bastards! Enter GLOUCESTER.

Kent banish'd thus! and France in choler parted!

And the king gone to-night! subscribed his power!

Confined to exhibition! All this done

Upon the gad! Edmund, how now! what news?

So please your lordship, none. [Putting up the letter.

Why so earnestly seek you to put up that letter?

I know no news, my lord. (30)

What paper were you reading?

Nothing, my lord.

No? What needed, then, that terrible
dispatch 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.

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. (40)
I find it not fit for your o'er-looking.

Give me the letter, sir.

I shall offend, either to detain or
give it. The contents, as in part I understand
them, are to blame.

Let's see, let's see.

I hope, for my brother's justification,
he wrote this but as an essay or taste of my

'This policy and reverence 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 oppression 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.'
Hum--conspiracy!--'Sleep till I waked him,
--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
you? who brought it?

It was not brought me, my lord;
there's the cunning of it: I found it thrown in
at the casement of my closet.

You know the character to be your

If the matter were good, my lord, I
durst swear it were his; but, in respect of that, (70)
I would fain think it were not.

It is his.

It is his hand, my lord; but I hope
his heart is not in the contents.

Hath he never heretofore sounded
you in this business?

Never, my lord: but I have heard
him oft maintain it to be fit, that, sons at
perfect age, and fathers declining, the father
should be as ward to the son, and the son
manage his revenue.

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?

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 wrote this to feel my affection to your
honor, and to no further pretence of danger.

Think you so?

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 further delay (101)
than this very evening.

He cannot be such a monster--

Nor is not, sure.

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

I will seek him, sir, presently; convey
the business as I shall find means, and (111)
acquaint you withal.

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 'twixt son and father. This villain of
mine 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, hollownwss,
treachery, and all ruinous disorders,
follow us disquietly 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.

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 treachers, 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 whoremaster
man, to lay his goatish disposition to the
charge of a star! 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 bastardizing.
Edgar-- Enter EDGAR.
and pat he comes like the catastrophe of the
old comedy: my cue is villanous melancholy,
with a sigh like Tom o' Bedlam. O, these
eclipses do portend these divisions! fa, sol, la,

How now, brother Edmund! what serious (151)
contemplation are you in?

I am thinking, brother, of a prediction
I read this other day, what should follow
these eclipses.

Do you busy yourself about that?

I promise you, the effects he writes
of succeed unhappily; as of unnaturalness between
the child and the parent; death, dearth,
dissolutions of ancient amities; divisions in
state, menaces and maledictions against king
and nobles; needless diffidences, banishment
of friends, dissipation of cohorts, nuptial
breaches, and I know not what.

How long have you been a sectary astronomical?

Come, come; when saw you my father

Why, the night gone by.

Spake you with him? (170)

Ay, two hours together.

Parted you in good terms? Found
you no displeasure in him by word or

None at all.

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 displeasure; which at
this instant so rageth in him, that with the mischief (179)
of your person it would scarcely allay.

Some villain hath done me wrong.

That's my fear. 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 ye, go; there's
my key: if you do stir abroad, go armed.

Armed, brother!

Brother, I advise you to the best; go
armed: 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

Shall I hear from you anon?

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. (199)

Let me, if not by birth, have lands by wit:

All with me's meet that I can fashion fit. [Exit.


The Duke of Albany's palace.
Enter GONERIL, and OSWALD, her steward.

Did my father strike my gentleman for chiding of his fool?

Yes, madam.

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: (9)

If you come slack of former services,

You shall do well; the fault of it I'll answer.

He's coming, madam; I hear him. [Horns within.

Put on what weary negligence you please,

You and your fellows; I'ld have it come to question:

It he dislike it, let him to our sister,

Whose mind and mine, I know, in that are one,

Not to be over-ruled. Idle old man,

That still would manage those authorities

That he hath given away! Now, by my life,

Old fools are babes again; and must be used (20)

With checks as flatteries,--when they are seen abused.

Remember what I tell you.

Well, madam.

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 speak: I'll write straight to my sister,

To hold my very course. Prepare for dinner. [Exeunt.


A hall in the same.
Enter KENT, disguised.

If but as well I other accents borrow,

That can my speech defuse, my good intent

May carry through itself to that full issue

For which I razed my likeness. Now, banish'd Kent,

If thou canst serve where thou dost stand condemn'd,

So may it come, thy master, whom thou lovest,

Shall find thee full of labours. Horns within.
Enter LEAR, Knights, and Attendants.

Let me not stay a jot for dinner; go
get it ready. [Exit an Attendant.] How now! (10)
what art thou?

A man, sir.

What dost thou profess? what
wouldst thou with us?

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
judgement; to fight when I cannot choose; and
to eat no fish.

What art thou?

A very honest-hearted fellow, and as (21)
poor as the king.

If thou be as poor for a subject as he
is for a king, thou art poor enough. What
wouldst thou?


Who wouldst thou serve?


Dost thou know me, fellow?

No, sir; but you have that in your (30)
countenance which I would fain call master. (31)

What's that?


What services canst thou do?

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. (39)

How old art thou?

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.

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. [Exit an Attendant. Enter OSWALD.
You, you, sirrah, where's my daughter?

So please you,-- [Exit.

What says the fellow there? Call the
clotpoll back. [Exit a Knight.] Where's my
fool, ho? I think the world's asleep. Re-enter Knight.
How now! where's that mongrel?

He says, my lord, your daughter
is not well.

Why came not the slave back to me
when I called him?

Sir, he answered me in the roundest
manner, he would not. (60)

He would not!

My lord, I know not what the matter
is; but, to my judgement, your highness is
not entertained with that ceremonious affection
as you were wont; there's a great abatement
of kindness appears as well in the general
dependants as in the duke himself also and
your daughter.

Ha! sayest thou so?

I beseech you, pardon me, my
lord, if I be mistaken; for my duty cannot be (71)
silent when I think your highness wronged.

Thou but rememberest me of mine
own conception: I have perceived a most faint
neglect of late; which I have rather blamed
as mine own jealous curiosity than as a very
pretence and purpose of unkindness: I will
look further into't. But where's my fool? I
have not seen him this two days.

Since my young lady's going into (80)
France, sir, the fool hath much pined away.

No more of that; I have noted it
well. Go you, and tell my daughter I would
speak with her. [Exit an Attendant.] Go you,
call hither my fool. [Exit an Attendant. Re-enter OSWALD.
O, you sir, you, come you hither, sir: who am
I, sir?

My lady's father.

'My lady's father'! my lord's knave:
you whoreson dog! you slave! you

I am none of these, my lord; I beseech (91)
your pardon.

Do you bandy looks with me, you
rascal? [Striking him.

I'll not be struck, my lord.

Nor tripped neither, you base football
player. [Tripping up his heels.

I thank thee, fellow; thou servest
me, and I'll love thee.

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.

Now, my friendly knave, I thank
thee: there's earnest of thy service. [Giving Kent money. Enter Fool.

Let me hire him too: here's my coxcomb. [Offering Kent his cap.

How now, my pretty knave! how
dost thou?

Sirrah, you were best take my coxcomb.

Why, 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! (119)

Why, my boy?

If I gave them all my living, I'ld
keep my coxcombs myself. There's mine;
beg another of thy daughters.

Take heed, sirrah; the whip.

Truth's a dog must to kennel; he
must be whipped out, when Lady the brach
may stand by the fire and stink.

A pestilent gall to me!

Sirrah, I'll teach thee a speech.

Do. (130)

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 (140)

Than two tens to a score.

This is nothing, 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?

Why, no, boy; nothing can be made
out of nothing.

[To Kent]

Prithee, tell him, so much
the rent of his land comes to: he will not believe
a fool. (150)

A bitter fool!

Dost thou know the difference, my
boy, between a bitter fool and a sweet fool?

No, lad; teach me.

That lord that counsell'd thee

To give away thy land,

Come place him here by me,

Do thou for him stand:

The sweet and bitter fool

Will presently appear; (160)

The one in motley here,

The other found out there.

Dost thou call me fool, boy?

All thy other titles thou hast given
away; that thou wast born with.

This is not altogether fool, my lord.

No, faith, lords and great men will
not let me; if I had a monopoly out, they
would have part on't: and ladies too, they
will not let me have all fool to myself; they'll
be snatching. Give me an egg, nuncle, and I'll (171)
give thee two crowns.

What two crowns shall they be?

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 thy 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 (180)
finds it so.

Fools had ne'er less wit in a year;

For wise men are grown foppish,

They know not how their wits to wear,

Their manners are so apish.

When were you wont to be so full
of songs, sirrah?

I have used it, nuncle, ever since
thou madest thy daughters thy mother: for
when thou gavest them the rod, and put'st (190)
down thine own breeches, [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.

Prithee, nuncle, keep a schoolmaster that can
teach thy fool to lie: I would fain learn to lie.

An you lie, sirrah, we'll have you

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.

How now, daughter! what makes
that frontlet on? Methinks you are too much (209)
of late i' the frown.

Thou wast a pretty fellow when thou
hadst no need to care for her frowning; now
thou art an O without a figure: I am better
than thou art now; I am a fool, thou art
nothing. [To Gon.] Yes, forsooth, I will
hold my tongue; so your face bids me, though
you say nothing. Mum, mum,
He that keeps nor crust nor crum,
Weary of all, shall want some. [Pointing to Lear] That's a shealed peascod. (220)

Not only, sir, this your all-licensed 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 youself too late have spoke and done,

That you protect this course, and put it on

By your allowance; which if you should, the fault

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 proceeding.

For, you know, nuncle,

The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long,

That it had it head bit off by it young.

So, out went the candle, and we were left darkling.

Are you our daughter?

Come, sir. (240)

I would you would make use of that good wisdom,

Whereof I know you are fraught; and put away

These dispositions, that of late transform you

From what you rightly are.

May not an ass know when the cart
draws the horse? Whoop, Jug! I love thee.

Doth any here know me? This is not Lear:

Doth Lear walk thus? speak thus? Where are his eyes?

Either his notion weakens, his discernings

Are lethargied--Ha! waking? 'tis not so. (250)

Who is it that can tell me who I am?

Lear's shadow.

I would learn that; for, by the
marks of sovereignty, knowledge, and reason,
I should be false persuaded I had daughters.

Which they will make an obedient

Your name, fair gentlewoman?

This admiration, sir, is much o' the savor

Of other your new pranks. I do beseech you (260)

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 debosh'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 graced palace. The shame itself doth speak

For instant remedy: be then desired

By her, that else will take the thing she begs, (270)

A little to disquantity your train;

And the remainder, that shall still depend,

To be such men as may besort your age,

And know themselves and you.

Darkness and devils!

Saddle my horses; call my train together.

Degenerate bastard! I'll not trouble thee:

Yet have I left a daughter.

You strike my people; and your disorder'd rabble

Make servants of their betters. Enter ALBANY.

Woe, that too late repents,--[To
O, sir, are you come?

Is it your will? Speak, sir. Prepare my horses. (281)

Ingratitude, thou marble-hearted fiend,

More hideous when thou show'st thee in a child

Than the sea-monster!

Pray, sir, be patient.

[To Gon.]

Detested kite! thou liest.

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! (290)

That, 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 judgement out! Go, go, my people.

My lord, I am guiltless, as I am ignorant

Of what hath moved you.

It may be so, my lord.

Hear, nature, hear; dear goddess, hear!

Suspend thy purpose, if thou didst intend

To make this creature fruitful! (300)

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 disnatured 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

To laughter and contempt; that she may feel (310)

How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is

To have a thankless child! Away, away! [Exit.

Now, gods that we adore, whereof comes this?

Never afflict yourself to know the cause;

But let this disposition have that scope

That dotage gives it. Re-enter LEAR.

What, fifty of my followers at a clap!

Within a fortnight!

What's the matter, sir?

I'll tell thee: [To Gon.]
Life and death! I am ashamed

That thou hast power to shake my manhood thus; (320)

That these hot tears, which break from me perforce,

Should make thee worth them. Blasts and fogs upon thee!

The untented woundings of a father's curse

Pierce every sense about thee! Old fond eyes,

Beweep this cause again, I'll pluck ye out,

And cast you, with the waters that you lose,

To temper clay. Yea, is it come to this?

Let it be so: yet have I left a daughter,

Who, I am sure, is kind and comfortable:

When she shall hear this of thee, with her (329)

She'll flay thy wolvish visage. Thou shalt find (331)

That I'll resume the shape which thou dost think

I have cast off for ever: thou shalt, I warrant thee. [Exeunt Lear, Kent, and Attendants.

Do you mark that, my lord?

I cannot be so partial, Goneril.

To the great love I bear you,--

Pray you, content. What, Oswald, ho! [To the Fool]

You, sir, more knave than fool, after your master.

Nuncle Lear, nuncle Lear, tarry and (340)
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.

This man hath had good counsel:-- a hundred knights!

'Tis politic and safe to let him keep

At point a hundred knights: yes, that, on every dream,

Each buzz, each fancy, each complaint, dislike,

He may enguard his dotage with their powers,

And hold our lives in mercy. Oswald, I say!

Well, you may fear too far.

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,

When I have show'd the unfitness,-- Re-enter OSWALD.

How now, Oswald!

What, have you writ that letter to my sister?

Yes, madam.

Take you some company, and away to horse: (360)

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 Oswald.]
No, no, my lord,

This milky gentleness and course of yours

Though I condemn not yet under pardon,

You are much more attask'd for want of wisdom

Than praised for harmful mildness.

How far your eyes may pierce I cannot tell:

Striving to better, oft we mar what's well. (370)

Nay, then--

Well, well; the event. [Exeunt.


Court before the same.
Enter LEAR, KENT, and Fool.

Go you before to Gloucester with
these letters. Acquaint my daughter no further
with any thing you know than comes
from her demand out of the letter. If your
diligence benot speedy, I shall be there afore

I will not sleep, my lord, till I have
delivered your letter. [Exit.

If a man's brains were in's heels,
were't not in danger of kibes? (10)

Ay, boy.

Then, I prithee, be merry; thy wit
shall ne'er go slip-shod.

Ha, ha, ha!

Shalt see thy other daughter will use
thee kindly; for though she's as like this as a
crab's like an apple, yet I can tell what I can

Why, what canst thou tell, my boy?

She will taste as like this as a crab
does to a crab. Thou canst tell why one's nose (20)
stands i' the middle on's face?


Why, to keep one's eyes of either
side's nose; that what a man cannot smell out,
he may spy into.

I did her wrong--

Canst tell how an oyster makes his


Nor I neither; but I can tell why a (30)
snail has a house.


Why, to put his head in; not to give
it away to his daughters, and leave his horns
without a case.

I will forget my nature. So kind a
father! Be my horses ready?

Thy asses are gone about 'em. The
reason why the seven stars are no more than
seven is a pretty reason. (40)

Because they are not eight?

Yes, indeed: thou wouldst make a
good fool.

To take't again perforce. Monster

If thou wert my fool, nuncle, I'ld
have thee beaten for being old before thy time.

How's that?

Thou shouldst not have been old till
thou hadst been wise. (50)

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?

Ready, my lord.

Come, boy.

She that's a maid now, and laughs at my departure,

Shall not be a maid long, unless things be cut shorter. [Exeunt.

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