APDL Eductation Resources/APDL Eductation Resources.iso/text/shakespear/kinglear/KINGLEAR

Text File | 1994-08-29 | 176.1 KB | 5,526 lines

        KING LEAR


        DRAMATIS PERSONAE


LEAR    king of Britain  (KING LEAR:)

KING OF FRANCE:

DUKE OF BURGUNDY        (BURGUNDY:)

DUKE OF CORNWALL        (CORNWALL:)

DUKE OF ALBANY  (ALBANY:)

EARL OF KENT    (KENT:)

EARL OF GLOUCESTER      (GLOUCESTER:)

EDGAR   son to Gloucester.

EDMUND  bastard son to Gloucester.

CURAN   a courtier.

Old Man tenant to Gloucester.

Doctor:

Fool:

OSWALD  steward to Goneril.

        A Captain employed by Edmund. (Captain:)

        Gentleman attendant on Cordelia. (Gentleman:)
        A Herald.

        Servants to Cornwall.
        (First Servant:)
        (Second Servant:)
        (Third Servant:)


GONERIL |
        |
REGAN   |  daughters to Lear.
        |
CORDELIA        |


        Knights of Lear's train, Captains, Messengers,
        Soldiers, and Attendants
        (Knight:)
        (Captain:)
        (Messenger:)



SCENE   Britain.




        KING LEAR


ACT I



SCENE I King Lear's palace.


        [Enter KENT, GLOUCESTER, and EDMUND]

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

GLOUCESTER      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.

KENT    Is not this your son, my lord?

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

KENT    I cannot conceive you.

GLOUCESTER      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?

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

GLOUCESTER      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?

EDMUND  No, my lord.

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

EDMUND  My services to your lordship.

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

EDMUND  Sir, I shall study deserving.

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

        [Sennet. Enter KING LEAR, CORNWALL, ALBANY,
        GONERIL, REGAN, CORDELIA, and Attendants]

KING LEAR       Attend the lords of France and Burgundy, Gloucester.

GLOUCESTER      I shall, my liege.

        [Exeunt GLOUCESTER and EDMUND]

KING LEAR       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;
        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,--
        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 we our largest bounty may extend
        Where nature doth with merit challenge. Goneril,
        Our eldest-born, speak first.

GONERIL 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.

CORDELIA        [Aside]  What shall Cordelia do?
        Love, and be silent.

LEAR    Of all these bounds, even from this line to this,
        With shadowy forests 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.

REGAN   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.

CORDELIA        [Aside] Then poor Cordelia!
        And yet not so; since, I am sure, my love's
        More richer than my tongue.

KING 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 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.

CORDELIA        Nothing, my lord.

KING LEAR       Nothing!

CORDELIA        Nothing.

KING LEAR       Nothing will come of nothing: speak again.

CORDELIA        Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave
        My heart into my mouth: I love your majesty
        According to my bond; nor more nor less.

KING LEAR       How, how, Cordelia! mend your speech a little,
        Lest it may mar your fortunes.

CORDELIA        Good my lord,
        You have begot me, bred me, loved 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.

KING LEAR       But goes thy heart with this?

CORDELIA        Ay, good my lord.

KING LEAR       So young, and so untender?

CORDELIA        So young, my lord, and true.

KING 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 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
        To gorge his appetite, shall to my bosom
        Be as well neighbour'd, pitied, and relieved,
        As thou my sometime daughter.

KENT    Good my liege,--

KING LEAR       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,
        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,
        Beloved sons, be yours: which to confirm,
        This coronet part betwixt you.

        [Giving the crown]

KENT    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,--

KING 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 wilt 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 doom;
        And, in thy best consideration, cheque
        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.

KING LEAR       Kent, on thy life, no more.

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

KING LEAR       Out of my sight!

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

KING LEAR       Now, by Apollo,--

KENT                      Now, by Apollo, king,
        Thou swear'st thy gods in vain.

KING LEAR       O, vassal! miscreant!

        [Laying his hand on his sword]


ALBANY  |
        |  Dear sir, forbear.
CORNWALL        |


KENT    Do:
        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.

KING 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 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
        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.

KENT    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]

        [Flourish. Re-enter GLOUCESTER, with KING OF FRANCE,
        BURGUNDY, and Attendants]

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

KING LEAR       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?

BURGUNDY        Most royal majesty,
        I crave no more than what your highness offer'd,
        Nor will you tender less.

KING 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 pieced,
        And nothing more, may fitly like your grace,
        She's there, and she is yours.

BURGUNDY        I know no answer.

KING 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?

BURGUNDY        Pardon me, royal sir;
        Election makes not up on such conditions.

KING LEAR       Then leave her, sir; for, by the power that made me,
        I tell you all her wealth.

        [To KING OF 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.

KING OF 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 dearest, 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.

CORDELIA        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, murder, or foulness,
        No unchaste action, or dishonour'd step,
        That hath deprived me of your grace and favour;
        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.

KING LEAR       Better thou
        Hadst not been born than not to have pleased me better.

KING OF 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 from the entire point. Will you have her?
        She is herself a dowry.

BURGUNDY        Royal Lear,
        Give but that portion which yourself proposed,
        And here I take Cordelia by the hand,
        Duchess of Burgundy.

KING LEAR       Nothing: I have sworn; I am firm.

BURGUNDY        I am sorry, then, you have so lost a father
        That you must lose a husband.

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

KING OF FRANCE  Fairest Cordelia, that art most rich, being poor;
        Most choice, forsaken; and most loved, despised!
        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'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:
        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.

KING 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 all but KING OF FRANCE, GONERIL,
        REGAN, and CORDELIA]

KING OF FRANCE  Bid farewell to your sisters.

CORDELIA        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.

REGAN   Prescribe not us our duties.

GONERIL 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.

CORDELIA        Time shall unfold what plaited cunning hides:
        Who cover faults, at last shame them derides.
        Well may you prosper!

KING OF FRANCE  Come, my fair Cordelia.

        [Exeunt KING OF FRANCE and CORDELIA]

GONERIL 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.

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

GONERIL 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 judgment he hath now cast her off
        appears too grossly.

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

GONERIL 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.

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

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

REGAN   We shall further think on't.

GONERIL We must do something, and i' the heat.

        [Exeunt]




        KING LEAR


ACT I



SCENE II        The Earl of Gloucester's castle.


        [Enter EDMUND, with a letter]

EDMUND  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
        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 land:
        Our father's love is to the bastard Edmund
        As to the legitimate: fine word,--legitimate!
        Well, my legitimate, if this letter speed,
        And my invention thrive, Edmund the base
        Shall top the legitimate. I grow; I prosper:
        Now, gods, stand up for bastards!

        [Enter GLOUCESTER]

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?

EDMUND  So please your lordship, none.

        [Putting up the letter]

GLOUCESTER      Why so earnestly seek you to put up that letter?

EDMUND  I know no news, my lord.

GLOUCESTER      What paper were you reading?

EDMUND  Nothing, my lord.

GLOUCESTER      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.

EDMUND  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'er-looking.

GLOUCESTER      Give me the letter, sir.

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

GLOUCESTER      Let's see, let's see.

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

GLOUCESTER      [Reads]  '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 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?

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

GLOUCESTER      You know the character to be your brother's?

EDMUND  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.

GLOUCESTER      It is his.

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

GLOUCESTER      Hath he never heretofore sounded you in this business?

EDMUND  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.

GLOUCESTER      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?

EDMUND  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 honour, and to no further
        pretence of danger.

GLOUCESTER      Think you so?

EDMUND  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 than this very evening.

GLOUCESTER      He cannot be such a monster--

EDMUND  Nor is not, sure.

GLOUCESTER      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 resolution.

EDMUND  I will seek him, sir, presently: convey the
        business as I shall find means and acquaint you withal.

GLOUCESTER      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, hollowness, 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]

EDMUND  This is the excellent foppery of the world, that,
        when we are sick in fortune,--often the surfeit
        of our own behavior,--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, mi.

EDGAR   How now, brother Edmund! what serious
        contemplation are you in?

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

EDGAR   Do you busy yourself about that?

EDMUND  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.

EDGAR   How long have you been a sectary astronomical?

EDMUND  Come, come; when saw you my father last?

EDGAR   Why, the night gone by.

EDMUND  Spake you with him?

EDGAR   Ay, two hours together.

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

EDGAR   None at all.

EDMUND  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 of your person it
        would scarcely allay.

EDGAR   Some villain hath done me wrong.

EDMUND  That's my fear. I pray you, have a continent
        forbearance till the spied 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.

EDGAR   Armed, brother!

EDMUND  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, away.

EDGAR   Shall I hear from you anon?

EDMUND  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 practises 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]




        KING LEAR


ACT I



SCENE III       The Duke of Albany's palace.


        [Enter GONERIL, and OSWALD, her steward]

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

OSWALD  Yes, madam.

GONERIL 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.

OSWALD  He's coming, madam; I hear him.

        [Horns within]

GONERIL Put on what weary negligence you please,
        You and your fellows; I'll have it come to question:
        If 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
        With cheques as flatteries,--when they are seen abused.
        Remember what I tell you.

OSWALD  Well, madam.

GONERIL 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]




        KING LEAR


ACT I



SCENE IV        A hall in the same.


        [Enter KENT, disguised]

KENT    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 KING LEAR, Knights, and
        Attendants]

KING 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.

KING LEAR       What dost thou profess? what wouldst 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.

KING LEAR       What art thou?

KENT    A very honest-hearted fellow, and as poor as the king.

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

KENT    Service.

KING LEAR       Who wouldst thou serve?

KENT    You.

KING LEAR       Dost thou know me, fellow?

KENT    No, sir; but you have that in your countenance
        which I would fain call master.

KING LEAR       What's that?

KENT    Authority.

KING 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.

KING 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.

KING 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.

        [Exit an Attendant]

        [Enter OSWALD]

        You, you, sirrah, where's my daughter?

OSWALD  So please you,--

        [Exit]

KING LEAR       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?

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

KING 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.

KING 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 kindness appears as well in the
        general dependants as in the duke himself also and
        your daughter.

KING 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.

KING LEAR       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.

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

KING LEAR       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?

OSWALD  My lady's father.

KING LEAR       'My lady's father'! my lord's knave: your
        whoreson dog! you slave! you cur!

OSWALD  I am none of these, my lord; I beseech your pardon.

KING LEAR       Do you bandy looks with me, you rascal?

        [Striking him]

OSWALD  I'll not be struck, my lord.

KENT    Nor tripped neither, you base football player.

        [Tripping up his heels]

KING 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]

KING 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.

        [Offering KENT his cap]

KING LEAR       How now, my pretty knave! how dost thou?

Fool    Sirrah, you were best take my coxcomb.

KENT    Why, fool?

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!

KING LEAR       Why, my boy?

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

KING LEAR       Take heed, sirrah; the whip.

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

KING LEAR       A pestilent gall to me!

Fool    Sirrah, I'll teach thee a speech.

KING 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.

KENT    This is nothing, fool.

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?

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

Fool    [To KENT]  Prithee, tell him, so much the rent of
        his land comes to: he will not believe a fool.

KING LEAR       A bitter fool!

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

KING LEAR       No, lad; teach me.

Fool    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;
        The one in motley here,
        The other found out there.

KING 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 ladies too, 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.

KING 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 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
        finds it so.

        [Singing]

        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.

KING 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 put'st 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.

KING LEAR       An you lie, sirrah, we'll have you whipped.

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]

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

Fool    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 GONERIL]

        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 KING LEAR]

        That's a shealed peascod.

GONERIL 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 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
        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.

Fool    For, you trow, nuncle,
        The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long,
        That it's had it head bit off by it young.
        So, out went the candle, and we were left darkling.

KING LEAR       Are you our daughter?

GONERIL Come, sir,
        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.

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

KING LEAR       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.
        Who is it that can tell me who I am?

Fool    Lear's shadow.

KING LEAR       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.

KING LEAR       Your name, fair gentlewoman?

GONERIL This admiration, sir, is much o' the savour
        Of other your new pranks. I do beseech you
        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,
        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.

KING LEAR       Darkness and devils!
        Saddle my horses; call my train together:
        Degenerate bastard! I'll not trouble thee.
        Yet have I left a daughter.

GONERIL You strike my people; and your disorder'd rabble
        Make servants of their betters.

        [Enter ALBANY]

KING LEAR       Woe, that too late repents,--

        [To ALBANY]

                        O, sir, are you come?
        Is it your will? Speak, sir. Prepare my horses.
        Ingratitude, thou marble-hearted fiend,
        More hideous when thou show'st thee in a child
        Than the sea-monster!

ALBANY  Pray, sir, be patient.

KING LEAR       [To GONERIL]  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!
        That, like an engine, wrench'd my frame of nature
        From the fix'd place; drew from 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.

ALBANY  My lord, I am guiltless, as I am ignorant
        Of what hath moved you.

KING 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 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
        How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is
        To have a thankless child! Away, away!

        [Exit]

ALBANY  Now, gods that we adore, whereof comes this?

GONERIL Never afflict yourself to know the cause;
        But let his disposition have that scope
        That dotage gives it.

        [Re-enter KING LEAR]

KING LEAR       What, fifty of my followers at a clap!
        Within a fortnight!

ALBANY  What's the matter, sir?


KING LEAR       I'll tell thee:

        [To GONERIL]

        Life and death! I am ashamed
        That thou hast power to shake my manhood thus;
        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, it is come to this?
        Let is 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 nails
        She'll flay thy wolvish visage. Thou shalt find
        That I'll resume the shape which thou dost think
        I have cast off for ever: thou shalt,
        I warrant thee.

        [Exeunt KING LEAR, KENT, and Attendants]

GONERIL Do you mark that, my lord?

ALBANY  I cannot be so partial, Goneril,
        To the great love I bear you,--

GONERIL Pray you, content. What, Oswald, ho!

        [To the Fool]

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

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]

GONERIL 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!

ALBANY  Well, you may fear too far.

GONERIL 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?

OSWALD  Yes, madam.

GONERIL 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 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.

ALBANY  How far your eyes may pierce I can not tell:
        Striving to better, oft we mar what's well.

GONERIL Nay, then--

ALBANY  Well, well; the event.

        [Exeunt]




        KING LEAR


ACT I



SCENE V Court before the same.


        [Enter KING LEAR, KENT, and Fool]

KING LEAR       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 be not speedy, I shall be there afore you.

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?

KING LEAR       Ay, boy.

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

KING LEAR       Ha, ha, ha!

Fool    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 tell.

KING LEAR       Why, what canst thou tell, my 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?

KING 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.

KING LEAR       I did her wrong--

Fool    Canst tell how an oyster makes his shell?

KING LEAR       No.

Fool    Nor I neither; but I can tell why a snail has a house.

KING LEAR       Why?

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

KING 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.

KING LEAR       Because they are not eight?

Fool    Yes, indeed: thou wouldst make a good fool.

KING LEAR       To take 't again perforce! Monster ingratitude!

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

KING LEAR       How's that?

Fool    Thou shouldst not have been old till thou hadst
        been wise.

KING 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?

Gentleman       Ready, my lord.

KING 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]




        KING LEAR


ACT II



SCENE I GLOUCESTER's castle.


        [Enter EDMUND, and CURAN meets him]

EDMUND  Save thee, Curan.

CURAN   And you, sir. I have been with your father, and
        given him notice that the Duke of Cornwall and Regan
        his duchess will be here with him this night.

EDMUND  How comes that?

CURAN   Nay, I know not. You have heard of the news abroad;
        I mean the whispered ones, for they are yet but
        ear-kissing arguments?

EDMUND  Not I   pray you, what are they?

CURAN   Have you heard of no likely wars toward, 'twixt the
        Dukes of Cornwall and Albany?

EDMUND  Not a word.

CURAN   You may do, then, in time. Fare you well, sir.

        [Exit]

EDMUND  The duke be here to-night? The better! best!
        This weaves itself perforce into my business.
        My father hath set guard to take my brother;
        And I have one thing, of a queasy question,
        Which I must act: briefness and fortune, work!
        Brother, a word; descend: brother, I say!

        [Enter EDGAR]

        My father watches: O sir, fly this place;
        Intelligence is given where you are hid;
        You have now the good advantage of the night:
        Have you not spoken 'gainst the Duke of Cornwall?
        He's coming hither: now, i' the night, i' the haste,
        And Regan with him: have you nothing said
        Upon his party 'gainst the Duke of Albany?
        Advise yourself.

EDGAR                     I am sure on't, not a word.

EDMUND  I hear my father coming: pardon me:
        In cunning I must draw my sword upon you
        Draw; seem to defend yourself; now quit you well.
        Yield: come before my father. Light, ho, here!
        Fly, brother. Torches, torches! So, farewell.

        [Exit EDGAR]

        Some blood drawn on me would beget opinion.

        [Wounds his arm]

        Of my more fierce endeavour: I have seen drunkards
        Do more than this in sport. Father, father!
        Stop, stop! No help?

        [Enter GLOUCESTER, and Servants with torches]

GLOUCESTER      Now, Edmund, where's the villain?

EDMUND  Here stood he in the dark, his sharp sword out,
        Mumbling of wicked charms, conjuring the moon
        To stand auspicious mistress,--

GLOUCESTER      But where is he?

EDMUND  Look, sir, I bleed.

GLOUCESTER      Where is the villain, Edmund?

EDMUND  Fled this way, sir. When by no means he could--

GLOUCESTER      Pursue him, ho! Go after.

        [Exeunt some Servants]

                     By no means what?

EDMUND  Persuade me to the murder of your lordship;
        But that I told him, the revenging gods
        'Gainst parricides did all their thunders bend;
        Spoke, with how manifold and strong a bond
        The child was bound to the father; sir, in fine,
        Seeing how loathly opposite I stood
        To his unnatural purpose, in fell motion,
        With his prepared sword, he charges home
        My unprovided body, lanced mine arm:
        But when he saw my best alarum'd spirits,
        Bold in the quarrel's right, roused to the encounter,
        Or whether gasted by the noise I made,
        Full suddenly he fled.

GLOUCESTER      Let him fly far:
        Not in this land shall he remain uncaught;
        And found--dispatch. The noble duke my master,
        My worthy arch and patron, comes to-night:
        By his authority I will proclaim it,
        That he which finds him shall deserve our thanks,
        Bringing the murderous coward to the stake;
        He that conceals him, death.

EDMUND  When I dissuaded him from his intent,
        And found him pight to do it, with curst speech
        I threaten'd to discover him: he replied,
        'Thou unpossessing bastard! dost thou think,
        If I would stand against thee, would the reposal
        Of any trust, virtue, or worth in thee
        Make thy words faith'd? No: what I should deny,--
        As this I would: ay, though thou didst produce
        My very character,--I'ld turn it all
        To thy suggestion, plot, and damned practise:
        And thou must make a dullard of the world,
        If they not thought the profits of my death
        Were very pregnant and potential spurs
        To make thee seek it.'

GLOUCESTER      Strong and fasten'd villain
        Would he deny his letter? I never got him.

        [Tucket within]

        Hark, the duke's trumpets! I know not why he comes.
        All ports I'll bar; the villain shall not 'scape;
        The duke must grant me that: besides, his picture
        I will send far and near, that all the kingdom
        May have the due note of him; and of my land,
        Loyal and natural boy, I'll work the means
        To make thee capable.

        [Enter CORNWALL, REGAN, and Attendants]

CORNWALL        How now, my noble friend! since I came hither,
        Which I can call but now, I have heard strange news.

REGAN   If it be true, all vengeance comes too short
        Which can pursue the offender. How dost, my lord?

GLOUCESTER      O, madam, my old heart is crack'd, it's crack'd!

REGAN   What, did my father's godson seek your life?
        He whom my father named? your Edgar?

GLOUCESTER      O, lady, lady, shame would have it hid!

REGAN   Was he not companion with the riotous knights
        That tend upon my father?

GLOUCESTER      I know not, madam: 'tis too bad, too bad.

EDMUND  Yes, madam, he was of that consort.

REGAN   No marvel, then, though he were ill affected:
        'Tis they have put him on the old man's death,
        To have the expense and waste of his revenues.
        I have this present evening from my sister
        Been well inform'd of them; and with such cautions,
        That if they come to sojourn at my house,
        I'll not be there.

CORNWALL        Nor I, assure thee, Regan.
        Edmund, I hear that you have shown your father
        A child-like office.

EDMUND  'Twas my duty, sir.

GLOUCESTER      He did bewray his practise; and received
        This hurt you see, striving to apprehend him.

CORNWALL        Is he pursued?

GLOUCESTER                        Ay, my good lord.

CORNWALL        If he be taken, he shall never more
        Be fear'd of doing harm: make your own purpose,
        How in my strength you please. For you, Edmund,
        Whose virtue and obedience doth this instant
        So much commend itself, you shall be ours:
        Natures of such deep trust we shall much need;
        You we first seize on.

EDMUND  I shall serve you, sir,
        Truly, however else.

GLOUCESTER      For him I thank your grace.

CORNWALL        You know not why we came to visit you,--

REGAN   Thus out of season, threading dark-eyed night:
        Occasions, noble Gloucester, of some poise,
        Wherein we must have use of your advice:
        Our father he hath writ, so hath our sister,
        Of differences, which I least thought it fit
        To answer from our home; the several messengers
        From hence attend dispatch. Our good old friend,
        Lay comforts to your bosom; and bestow
        Your needful counsel to our business,
        Which craves the instant use.

GLOUCESTER      I serve you, madam:
        Your graces are right welcome.

        [Exeunt]




        KING LEAR


ACT II



SCENE II        Before Gloucester's castle.


        [Enter KENT and OSWALD, severally]

OSWALD  Good dawning to thee, friend: art of this house?

KENT    Ay.

OSWALD  Where may we set our horses?

KENT    I' the mire.

OSWALD  Prithee, if thou lovest me, tell me.

KENT    I love thee not.

OSWALD  Why, then, I care not for thee.

KENT    If I had thee in Lipsbury pinfold, I would make thee
        care for me.

OSWALD  Why dost thou use me thus? I know thee not.

KENT    Fellow, I know thee.

OSWALD  What dost thou know me for?

KENT    A knave; a rascal; an eater of broken meats; a
        base, proud, shallow, beggarly, three-suited,
        hundred-pound, filthy, worsted-stocking knave; a
        lily-livered, action-taking knave, a whoreson,
        glass-gazing, super-serviceable finical rogue;
        one-trunk-inheriting slave; one that wouldst be a
        bawd, in way of good service, and art nothing but
        the composition of a knave, beggar, coward, pandar,
        and the son and heir of a mongrel bitch: one whom I
        will beat into clamorous whining, if thou deniest
        the least syllable of thy addition.

OSWALD  Why, what a monstrous fellow art thou, thus to rail
        on one that is neither known of thee nor knows thee!

KENT    What a brazen-faced varlet art thou, to deny thou
        knowest me! Is it two days ago since I tripped up
        thy heels, and beat thee before the king? Draw, you
        rogue: for, though it be night, yet the moon
        shines; I'll make a sop o' the moonshine of you:
        draw, you whoreson cullionly barber-monger, draw.

        [Drawing his sword]

OSWALD  Away! I have nothing to do with thee.

KENT    Draw, you rascal: you come with letters against the
        king; and take vanity the puppet's part against the
        royalty of her father: draw, you rogue, or I'll so
        carbonado your shanks: draw, you rascal; come your ways.

OSWALD  Help, ho! murder! help!

KENT    Strike, you slave; stand, rogue, stand; you neat
        slave, strike.

        [Beating him]

OSWALD  Help, ho! murder! murder!

        [Enter EDMUND, with his rapier drawn, CORNWALL,
        REGAN, GLOUCESTER, and Servants]

EDMUND  How now! What's the matter?

KENT    With you, goodman boy, an you please: come, I'll
        flesh ye; come on, young master.

GLOUCESTER      Weapons! arms! What 's the matter here?

CORNWALL        Keep peace, upon your lives:
        He dies that strikes again. What is the matter?

REGAN   The messengers from our sister and the king.

CORNWALL        What is your difference? speak.

OSWALD  I am scarce in breath, my lord.

KENT    No marvel, you have so bestirred your valour. You
        cowardly rascal, nature disclaims in thee: a
        tailor made thee.

CORNWALL        Thou art a strange fellow: a tailor make a man?

KENT    Ay, a tailor, sir: a stone-cutter or painter could
        not have made him so ill, though he had been but two
        hours at the trade.

CORNWALL        Speak yet, how grew your quarrel?

OSWALD  This ancient ruffian, sir, whose life I have spared
        at suit of his gray beard,--

KENT    Thou whoreson zed! thou unnecessary letter! My
        lord, if you will give me leave, I will tread this
        unbolted villain into mortar, and daub the wall of
        a jakes with him. Spare my gray beard, you wagtail?

CORNWALL        Peace, sirrah!
        You beastly knave, know you no reverence?

KENT    Yes, sir; but anger hath a privilege.

CORNWALL        Why art thou angry?

KENT    That such a slave as this should wear a sword,
        Who wears no honesty. Such smiling rogues as these,
        Like rats, oft bite the holy cords a-twain
        Which are too intrinse t' unloose; smooth every passion
        That in the natures of their lords rebel;
        Bring oil to fire, snow to their colder moods;
        Renege, affirm, and turn their halcyon beaks
        With every gale and vary of their masters,
        Knowing nought, like dogs, but following.
        A plague upon your epileptic visage!
        Smile you my speeches, as I were a fool?
        Goose, if I had you upon Sarum plain,
        I'ld drive ye cackling home to Camelot.

CORNWALL        Why, art thou mad, old fellow?

GLOUCESTER      How fell you out? say that.

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

CORNWALL        Why dost thou call him a knave?  What's his offence?

KENT    His countenance likes me not.

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

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

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

KENT    Sir, in good sooth, in sincere verity,
        Under the allowance of your great aspect,
        Whose influence, like the wreath of radiant fire
        On flickering Phoebus' front,--

CORNWALL        What mean'st by this?

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

CORNWALL        What was the offence you gave him?

OSWALD  I never gave him any:
        It pleased the king his master very late
        To strike at me, upon his misconstruction;
        When he, conjunct and flattering his displeasure,
        Tripp'd me behind; being down, insulted, rail'd,
        And put upon him such a deal of man,
        That worthied him, got praises of the king
        For him attempting who was self-subdued;
        And, in the fleshment of this dread exploit,
        Drew on me here again.

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

CORNWALL        Fetch forth the stocks!
        You stubborn ancient knave, you reverend braggart,
        We'll teach you--

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

CORNWALL        Fetch forth the stocks! As I have life and honour,
        There shall he sit till noon.

REGAN   Till noon! till night, my lord; and all night too.

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

REGAN   Sir, being his knave, I will.

CORNWALL        This is a fellow of the self-same colour
        Our sister speaks of. Come, bring away the stocks!

        [Stocks brought out]

GLOUCESTER      Let me beseech your grace not to do so:
        His fault is much, and the good king his master
        Will cheque him for 't: your purposed low correction
        Is such as basest and contemned'st wretches
        For pilferings and most common trespasses
        Are punish'd with: the king must take it ill,
        That he's so slightly valued in his messenger,
        Should have him thus restrain'd.

CORNWALL        I'll answer that.

REGAN   My sister may receive it much more worse,
        To have her gentleman abused, assaulted,
        For following her affairs. Put in his legs.

        [KENT is put in the stocks]

        Come, my good lord, away.

        [Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER and KENT]

GLOUCESTER      I am sorry for thee, friend; 'tis the duke's pleasure,
        Whose disposition, all the world well knows,
        Will not be rubb'd nor stopp'd: I'll entreat for thee.

KENT    Pray, do not, sir: I have watched and travell'd hard;
        Some time I shall sleep out, the rest I'll whistle.
        A good man's fortune may grow out at heels:
        Give you good morrow!

GLOUCESTER      The duke's to blame in this; 'twill be ill taken.

        [Exit]

KENT    Good king, that must approve the common saw,
        Thou out of heaven's benediction comest
        To the warm sun!
        Approach, thou beacon to this under globe,
        That by thy comfortable beams I may
        Peruse this letter! Nothing almost sees miracles
        But misery: I know 'tis from Cordelia,
        Who hath most fortunately been inform'd
        Of my obscured course; and shall find time
        From this enormous state, seeking to give
        Losses their remedies. All weary and o'erwatch'd,
        Take vantage, heavy eyes, not to behold
        This shameful lodging.
        Fortune, good night: smile once more: turn thy wheel!

        [Sleeps]




        KING LEAR


ACT II



SCENE III       A wood.


        [Enter EDGAR]

EDGAR   I heard myself proclaim'd;
        And by the happy hollow of a tree
        Escaped the hunt. No port is free; no place,
        That guard, and most unusual vigilance,
        Does not attend my taking. Whiles I may 'scape,
        I will preserve myself: and am bethought
        To take the basest and most poorest shape
        That ever penury, in contempt of man,
        Brought near to beast: my face I'll grime with filth;
        Blanket my loins: elf all my hair in knots;
        And with presented nakedness out-face
        The winds and persecutions of the sky.
        The country gives me proof and precedent
        Of Bedlam beggars, who, with roaring voices,
        Strike in their numb'd and mortified bare arms
        Pins, wooden pricks, nails, sprigs of rosemary;
        And with this horrible object, from low farms,
        Poor pelting villages, sheep-cotes, and mills,
        Sometime with lunatic bans, sometime with prayers,
        Enforce their charity. Poor Turlygod! poor Tom!
        That's something yet: Edgar I nothing am.

        [Exit]




        KING LEAR


ACT II



SCENE IV        Before GLOUCESTER's castle. KENT in the stocks.


        [Enter KING LEAR, Fool, and Gentleman]

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

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

KENT                      Hail to thee, noble master!

KING LEAR       Ha!
        Makest thou this shame thy pastime?

KENT    No, my lord.

Fool    Ha, ha! he wears cruel garters. Horses are tied
        by the heads, dogs and bears by the neck, monkeys by
        the loins, and men by the legs: when a man's
        over-lusty at legs, then he wears wooden
        nether-stocks.

KING LEAR       What's he that hath so much thy place mistook
        To set thee here?

KENT                      It is both he and she;
        Your son and daughter.

KING LEAR       No.

KENT    Yes.

KING LEAR       No, I say.

KENT    I say, yea.

KING LEAR       No, no, they would not.

KENT    Yes, they have.

KING LEAR       By Jupiter, I swear, no.

KENT    By Juno, I swear, ay.

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

KENT                      My lord, when at their home
        I did commend your highness' letters to them,
        Ere I was risen from the place that show'd
        My duty kneeling, came there a reeking post,
        Stew'd in his haste, half breathless, panting forth
        From Goneril his mistress salutations;
        Deliver'd letters, spite of intermission,
        Which presently they read: on whose contents,
        They summon'd up their meiny, straight took horse;
        Commanded me to follow, and attend
        The leisure of their answer; gave me cold looks:
        And meeting here the other messenger,
        Whose welcome, I perceived, had poison'd mine,--
        Being the very fellow that of late
        Display'd so saucily against your highness,--
        Having more man than wit about me, drew:
        He raised the house with loud and coward cries.
        Your son and daughter found this trespass worth
        The shame which here it suffers.

Fool    Winter's not gone yet, if the wild-geese fly that way.
        Fathers that wear rags
        Do make their children blind;
        But fathers that bear bags
        Shall see their children kind.
        Fortune, that arrant whore,
        Ne'er turns the key to the poor.
        But, for all this, thou shalt have as many dolours
        for thy daughters as thou canst tell in a year.

KING LEAR       O, how this mother swells up toward my heart!
        Hysterica passio, down, thou climbing sorrow,
        Thy element's below! Where is this daughter?

KENT    With the earl, sir, here within.

KING LEAR       Follow me not;
        Stay here.

        [Exit]

Gentleman       Made you no more offence but what you speak of?

KENT    None.
        How chance the king comes with so small a train?

Fool    And thou hadst been set i' the stocks for that
        question, thou hadst well deserved it.

KENT    Why, fool?

Fool    We'll set thee to school to an ant, to teach thee
        there's no labouring i' the winter. All that follow
        their noses are led by their eyes but blind men; and
        there's not a nose among twenty but can smell him
        that's stinking. Let go thy hold when a great wheel
        runs down a hill, lest it break thy neck with
        following it: but the great one that goes up the
        hill, let him draw thee after. When a wise man
        gives thee better counsel, give me mine again: I
        would have none but knaves follow it, since a fool gives it.
        That sir which serves and seeks for gain,
        And follows but for form,
        Will pack when it begins to rain,
        And leave thee in the storm,
        But I will tarry; the fool will stay,
        And let the wise man fly:
        The knave turns fool that runs away;
        The fool no knave, perdy.

KENT    Where learned you this, fool?

Fool    Not i' the stocks, fool.

        [Re-enter KING LEAR with GLOUCESTER]

KING LEAR       Deny to speak with me? They are sick? they are weary?
        They have travell'd all the night? Mere fetches;
        The images of revolt and flying off.
        Fetch me a better answer.

GLOUCESTER      My dear lord,
        You know the fiery quality of the duke;
        How unremoveable and fix'd he is
        In his own course.

KING LEAR       Vengeance! plague! death! confusion!
        Fiery? what quality? Why, Gloucester, Gloucester,
        I'ld speak with the Duke of Cornwall and his wife.

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

KING LEAR       Inform'd them! Dost thou understand me, man?

GLOUCESTER      Ay, my good lord.

KING LEAR       The king would speak with Cornwall; the dear father
        Would with his daughter speak, commands her service:
        Are they inform'd of this? My breath and blood!
        Fiery? the fiery duke? Tell the hot duke that--
        No, but not yet: may be he is not well:
        Infirmity doth still neglect all office
        Whereto our health is bound; we are not ourselves
        When nature, being oppress'd, commands the mind
        To suffer with the body: I'll forbear;
        And am fall'n out with my more headier will,
        To take the indisposed and sickly fit
        For the sound man. Death on my state! wherefore

        [Looking on KENT]

        Should he sit here? This act persuades me
        That this remotion of the duke and her
        Is practise only. Give me my servant forth.
        Go tell the duke and 's wife I'ld speak with them,
        Now, presently: bid them come forth and hear me,
        Or at their chamber-door I'll beat the drum
        Till it cry sleep to death.

GLOUCESTER      I would have all well betwixt you.

        [Exit]

KING LEAR       O me, my heart, my rising heart! but, down!

Fool    Cry to it, nuncle, as the cockney did to the eels
        when she put 'em i' the paste alive; she knapped 'em
        o' the coxcombs with a stick, and cried 'Down,
        wantons, down!' 'Twas her brother that, in pure
        kindness to his horse, buttered his hay.

        [Enter CORNWALL, REGAN, GLOUCESTER, and Servants]

KING LEAR       Good morrow to you both.

CORNWALL        Hail to your grace!

        [KENT is set at liberty]

REGAN   I am glad to see your highness.

KING LEAR       Regan, I think you are; I know what reason
        I have to think so: if thou shouldst not be glad,
        I would divorce me from thy mother's tomb,
        Sepulchring an adultress.

        [To KENT]

                    O, are you free?
        Some other time for that. Beloved Regan,
        Thy sister's naught: O Regan, she hath tied
        Sharp-tooth'd unkindness, like a vulture, here:

        [Points to his heart]

        I can scarce speak to thee; thou'lt not believe
        With how depraved a quality--O Regan!

REGAN   I pray you, sir, take patience: I have hope.
        You less know how to value her desert
        Than she to scant her duty.

KING LEAR       Say, how is that?

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

KING LEAR       My curses on her!

REGAN                     O, sir, you are old.
        Nature in you stands on the very verge
        Of her confine: you should be ruled and led
        By some discretion, that discerns your state
        Better than you yourself. Therefore, I pray you,
        That to our sister you do make return;
        Say you have wrong'd her, sir.

KING LEAR       Ask her forgiveness?
        Do you but mark how this becomes the house:
        'Dear daughter, I confess that I am old;

        [Kneeling]

        Age is unnecessary: on my knees I beg
        That you'll vouchsafe me raiment, bed, and food.'

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

KING LEAR       [Rising]  Never, Regan:
        She hath abated me of half my train;
        Look'd black upon me; struck me with her tongue,
        Most serpent-like, upon the very heart:
        All the stored vengeances of heaven fall
        On her ingrateful top! Strike her young bones,
        You taking airs, with lameness!

CORNWALL        Fie, sir, fie!

KING LEAR       You nimble lightnings, dart your blinding flames
        Into her scornful eyes! Infect her beauty,
        You fen-suck'd fogs, drawn by the powerful sun,
        To fall and blast her pride!

REGAN   O the blest gods! so will you wish on me,
        When the rash mood is on.

KING LEAR       No, Regan, thou shalt never have my curse:
        Thy tender-hefted nature shall not give
        Thee o'er to harshness: her eyes are fierce; but thine
        Do comfort and not burn. 'Tis not in thee
        To grudge my pleasures, to cut off my train,
        To bandy hasty words, to scant my sizes,
        And in conclusion to oppose the bolt
        Against my coming in: thou better know'st
        The offices of nature, bond of childhood,
        Effects of courtesy, dues of gratitude;
        Thy half o' the kingdom hast thou not forgot,
        Wherein I thee endow'd.

REGAN   Good sir, to the purpose.

KING LEAR       Who put my man i' the stocks?

        [Tucket within]

CORNWALL        What trumpet's that?

REGAN   I know't, my sister's: this approves her letter,
        That she would soon be here.

        [Enter OSWALD]

                       Is your lady come?

KING LEAR       This is a slave, whose easy-borrow'd pride
        Dwells in the fickle grace of her he follows.
        Out, varlet, from my sight!

CORNWALL        What means your grace?

KING LEAR       Who stock'd my servant? Regan, I have good hope
        Thou didst not know on't. Who comes here? O heavens,

        [Enter GONERIL]

        If you do love old men, if your sweet sway
        Allow obedience, if yourselves are old,
        Make it your cause; send down, and take my part!

        [To GONERIL]

        Art not ashamed to look upon this beard?
        O Regan, wilt thou take her by the hand?

GONERIL Why not by the hand, sir? How have I offended?
        All's not offence that indiscretion finds
        And dotage terms so.

KING LEAR       O sides, you are too tough;
        Will you yet hold? How came my man i' the stocks?

CORNWALL        I set him there, sir: but his own disorders
        Deserved much less advancement.

KING LEAR       You! did you?

REGAN   I pray you, father, being weak, seem so.
        If, till the expiration of your month,
        You will return and sojourn with my sister,
        Dismissing half your train, come then to me:
        I am now from home, and out of that provision
        Which shall be needful for your entertainment.

KING LEAR       Return to her, and fifty men dismiss'd?
        No, rather I abjure all roofs, and choose
        To wage against the enmity o' the air;
        To be a comrade with the wolf and owl,--
        Necessity's sharp pinch! Return with her?
        Why, the hot-blooded France, that dowerless took
        Our youngest born, I could as well be brought
        To knee his throne, and, squire-like; pension beg
        To keep base life afoot. Return with her?
        Persuade me rather to be slave and sumpter
        To this detested groom.

        [Pointing at OSWALD]

GONERIL At your choice, sir.

KING LEAR       I prithee, daughter, do not make me mad:
        I will not trouble thee, my child; farewell:
        We'll no more meet, no more see one another:
        But yet thou art my flesh, my blood, my daughter;
        Or rather a disease that's in my flesh,
        Which I must needs call mine: thou art a boil,
        A plague-sore, an embossed carbuncle,
        In my corrupted blood. But I'll not chide thee;
        Let shame come when it will, I do not call it:
        I do not bid the thunder-bearer shoot,
        Nor tell tales of thee to high-judging Jove:
        Mend when thou canst; be better at thy leisure:
        I can be patient; I can stay with Regan,
        I and my hundred knights.

REGAN   Not altogether so:
        I look'd not for you yet, nor am provided
        For your fit welcome. Give ear, sir, to my sister;
        For those that mingle reason with your passion
        Must be content to think you old, and so--
        But she knows what she does.

KING LEAR       Is this well spoken?

REGAN   I dare avouch it, sir: what, fifty followers?
        Is it not well? What should you need of more?
        Yea, or so many, sith that both charge and danger
        Speak 'gainst so great a number? How, in one house,
        Should many people, under two commands,
        Hold amity? 'Tis hard; almost impossible.

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

REGAN   Why not, my lord? If then they chanced to slack you,
        We could control them. If you will come to me,--
        For now I spy a danger,--I entreat you
        To bring but five and twenty: to no more
        Will I give place or notice.

KING LEAR       I gave you all--

REGAN                     And in good time you gave it.

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

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

KING LEAR       Those wicked creatures yet do look well-favour'd,
        When others are more wicked: not being the worst
        Stands in some rank of praise.

        [To GONERIL]

                         I'll go with thee:
        Thy fifty yet doth double five and twenty,
        And thou art twice her love.

GONERIL Hear me, my lord;
        What need you five and twenty, ten, or five,
        To follow in a house where twice so many
        Have a command to tend you?

REGAN   What need one?

KING LEAR       O, reason not the need: our basest beggars
        Are in the poorest thing superfluous:
        Allow not nature more than nature needs,
        Man's life's as cheap as beast's: thou art a lady;
        If only to go warm were gorgeous,
        Why, nature needs not what thou gorgeous wear'st,
        Which scarcely keeps thee warm. But, for true need,--
        You heavens, give me that patience, patience I need!
        You see me here, you gods, a poor old man,
        As full of grief as age; wretched in both!
        If it be you that stir these daughters' hearts
        Against their father, fool me not so much
        To bear it tamely; touch me with noble anger,
        And let not women's weapons, water-drops,
        Stain my man's cheeks! No, you unnatural hags,
        I will have such revenges on you both,
        That all the world shall--I will do such things,--
        What they are, yet I know not: but they shall be
        The terrors of the earth. You think I'll weep
        No, I'll not weep:
        I have full cause of weeping; but this heart
        Shall break into a hundred thousand flaws,
        Or ere I'll weep. O fool, I shall go mad!

        [Exeunt KING LEAR, GLOUCESTER, KENT, and Fool]

        [Storm and tempest]

CORNWALL        Let us withdraw; 'twill be a storm.

REGAN   This house is little: the old man and his people
        Cannot be well bestow'd.

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

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

GONERIL So am I purposed.
        Where is my lord of Gloucester?

CORNWALL        Follow'd the old man forth: he is return'd.

        [Re-enter GLOUCESTER]

GLOUCESTER      The king is in high rage.

CORNWALL        Whither is he going?

GLOUCESTER      He calls to horse; but will I know not whither.

CORNWALL        'Tis best to give him way; he leads himself.

GONERIL My lord, entreat him by no means to stay.

GLOUCESTER      Alack, the night comes on, and the bleak winds
        Do sorely ruffle; for many miles about
        There's scarce a bush.

REGAN   O, sir, to wilful men,
        The injuries that they themselves procure
        Must be their schoolmasters. Shut up your doors:
        He is attended with a desperate train;
        And what they may incense him to, being apt
        To have his ear abused, wisdom bids fear.

CORNWALL        Shut up your doors, my lord; 'tis a wild night:
        My Regan counsels well; come out o' the storm.

        [Exeunt]



        KING LEAR


ACT III



SCENE I A heath.


        [Storm still. Enter KENT and a Gentleman, meeting]

KENT    Who's there, besides foul weather?

Gentleman       One minded like the weather, most unquietly.

KENT    I know you. Where's the king?

Gentleman       Contending with the fretful element:
        Bids the winds blow the earth into the sea,
        Or swell the curled water 'bove the main,
        That things might change or cease; tears his white hair,
        Which the impetuous blasts, with eyeless rage,
        Catch in their fury, and make nothing of;
        Strives in his little world of man to out-scorn
        The to-and-fro-conflicting wind and rain.
        This night, wherein the cub-drawn bear would couch,
        The lion and the belly-pinched wolf
        Keep their fur dry, unbonneted he runs,
        And bids what will take all.

KENT    But who is with him?

Gentleman       None but the fool; who labours to out-jest
        His heart-struck injuries.

KENT    Sir, I do know you;
        And dare, upon the warrant of my note,
        Commend a dear thing to you. There is division,
        Although as yet the face of it be cover'd
        With mutual cunning, 'twixt Albany and Cornwall;
        Who have--as who have not, that their great stars
        Throned and set high?--servants, who seem no less,
        Which are to France the spies and speculations
        Intelligent of our state; what hath been seen,
        Either in snuffs and packings of the dukes,
        Or the hard rein which both of them have borne
        Against the old kind king; or something deeper,
        Whereof perchance these are but furnishings;
        But, true it is, from France there comes a power
        Into this scatter'd kingdom; who already,
        Wise in our negligence, have secret feet
        In some of our best ports, and are at point
        To show their open banner. Now to you:
        If on my credit you dare build so far
        To make your speed to Dover, you shall find
        Some that will thank you, making just report
        Of how unnatural and bemadding sorrow
        The king hath cause to plain.
        I am a gentleman of blood and breeding;
        And, from some knowledge and assurance, offer
        This office to you.

Gentleman       I will talk further with you.

KENT    No, do not.
        For confirmation that I am much more
        Than my out-wall, open this purse, and take
        What it contains. If you shall see Cordelia,--
        As fear not but you shall,--show her this ring;
        And she will tell you who your fellow is
        That yet you do not know. Fie on this storm!
        I will go seek the king.

Gentleman       Give me your hand: have you no more to say?

KENT    Few words, but, to effect, more than all yet;
        That, when we have found the king,--in which your pain
        That way, I'll this,--he that first lights on him
        Holla the other.

        [Exeunt severally]




        KING LEAR


ACT III



SCENE II        Another part of the heath. Storm still.


        [Enter KING LEAR and Fool]

KING LEAR       Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! rage! blow!
        You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout
        Till you have drench'd our steeples, drown'd the cocks!
        You sulphurous and thought-executing fires,
        Vaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thunderbolts,
        Singe my white head! And thou, all-shaking thunder,
        Smite flat the thick rotundity o' the world!
        Crack nature's moulds, an germens spill at once,
        That make ingrateful man!

Fool    O nuncle, court holy-water in a dry
        house is better than this rain-water out o' door.
        Good nuncle, in, and ask thy daughters' blessing:
        here's a night pities neither wise man nor fool.

KING LEAR       Rumble thy bellyful! Spit, fire! spout, rain!
        Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire, are my daughters:
        I tax not you, you elements, with unkindness;
        I never gave you kingdom, call'd you children,
        You owe me no subscription: then let fall
        Your horrible pleasure: here I stand, your slave,
        A poor, infirm, weak, and despised old man:
        But yet I call you servile ministers,
        That have with two pernicious daughters join'd
        Your high engender'd battles 'gainst a head
        So old and white as this. O! O! 'tis foul!

Fool    He that has a house to put's head in has a good
        head-piece.
        The cod-piece that will house
        Before the head has any,
        The head and he shall louse;
        So beggars marry many.
        The man that makes his toe
        What he his heart should make
        Shall of a corn cry woe,
        And turn his sleep to wake.
        For there was never yet fair woman but she made
        mouths in a glass.

KING LEAR       No, I will be the pattern of all patience;
        I will say nothing.

        [Enter KENT]

KENT    Who's there?

Fool    Marry, here's grace and a cod-piece; that's a wise
        man and a fool.

KENT    Alas, sir, are you here? things that love night
        Love not such nights as these; the wrathful skies
        Gallow the very wanderers of the dark,
        And make them keep their caves: since I was man,
        Such sheets of fire, such bursts of horrid thunder,
        Such groans of roaring wind and rain, I never
        Remember to have heard: man's nature cannot carry
        The affliction nor the fear.

KING LEAR       Let the great gods,
        That keep this dreadful pother o'er our heads,
        Find out their enemies now. Tremble, thou wretch,
        That hast within thee undivulged crimes,
        Unwhipp'd of justice: hide thee, thou bloody hand;
        Thou perjured, and thou simular man of virtue
        That art incestuous: caitiff, to pieces shake,
        That under covert and convenient seeming
        Hast practised on man's life: close pent-up guilts,
        Rive your concealing continents, and cry
        These dreadful summoners grace. I am a man
        More sinn'd against than sinning.

KENT    Alack, bare-headed!
        Gracious my lord, hard by here is a hovel;
        Some friendship will it lend you 'gainst the tempest:
        Repose you there; while I to this hard house--
        More harder than the stones whereof 'tis raised;
        Which even but now, demanding after you,
        Denied me to come in--return, and force
        Their scanted courtesy.

KING LEAR       My wits begin to turn.
        Come on, my boy: how dost, my boy? art cold?
        I am cold myself. Where is this straw, my fellow?
        The art of our necessities is strange,
        That can make vile things precious. Come,
        your hovel.
        Poor fool and knave, I have one part in my heart
        That's sorry yet for thee.

Fool    [Singing]

        He that has and a little tiny wit--
        With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,--
        Must make content with his fortunes fit,
        For the rain it raineth every day.

KING LEAR       True, my good boy. Come, bring us to this hovel.

        [Exeunt KING LEAR and KENT]

Fool    This is a brave night to cool a courtezan.
        I'll speak a prophecy ere I go:
        When priests are more in word than matter;
        When brewers mar their malt with water;
        When nobles are their tailors' tutors;
        No heretics burn'd, but wenches' suitors;
        When every case in law is right;
        No squire in debt, nor no poor knight;
        When slanders do not live in tongues;
        Nor cutpurses come not to throngs;
        When usurers tell their gold i' the field;
        And bawds and whores do churches build;
        Then shall the realm of Albion
        Come to great confusion:
        Then comes the time, who lives to see't,
        That going shall be used with feet.
        This prophecy Merlin shall make; for I live before his time.

        [Exit]




        KING LEAR


ACT III



SCENE III       Gloucester's castle.


        [Enter GLOUCESTER and EDMUND]

GLOUCESTER      Alack, alack, Edmund, I like not this unnatural
        dealing. When I desire their leave that I might
        pity him, they took from me the use of mine own
        house; charged me, on pain of their perpetual
        displeasure, neither to speak of him, entreat for
        him, nor any way sustain him.

EDMUND  Most savage and unnatural!

GLOUCESTER      Go to; say you nothing. There's a division betwixt
        the dukes; and a worse matter than that: I have
        received a letter this night; 'tis dangerous to be
        spoken; I have locked the letter in my closet:
        these injuries the king now bears will be revenged
        home; there's part of a power already footed: we
        must incline to the king. I will seek him, and
        privily relieve him: go you and maintain talk with
        the duke, that my charity be not of him perceived:
        if he ask for me. I am ill, and gone to bed.
        Though I die for it, as no less is threatened me,
        the king my old master must be relieved. There is
        some strange thing toward, Edmund; pray you, be careful.

        [Exit]

EDMUND  This courtesy, forbid thee, shall the duke
        Instantly know; and of that letter too:
        This seems a fair deserving, and must draw me
        That which my father loses; no less than all:
        The younger rises when the old doth fall.

        [Exit]




        KING LEAR


ACT III



SCENE IV        The heath. Before a hovel.


        [Enter KING LEAR, KENT, and Fool]

KENT    Here is the place, my lord; good my lord, enter:
        The tyranny of the open night's too rough
        For nature to endure.

        [Storm still]

KING LEAR       Let me alone.

KENT    Good my lord, enter here.

KING LEAR       Wilt break my heart?

KENT    I had rather break mine own. Good my lord, enter.

KING LEAR       Thou think'st 'tis much that this contentious storm
        Invades us to the skin: so 'tis to thee;
        But where the greater malady is fix'd,
        The lesser is scarce felt. Thou'ldst shun a bear;
        But if thy flight lay toward the raging sea,
        Thou'ldst meet the bear i' the mouth. When the
        mind's free,
        The body's delicate: the tempest in my mind
        Doth from my senses take all feeling else
        Save what beats there. Filial ingratitude!
        Is it not as this mouth should tear this hand
        For lifting food to't? But I will punish home:
        No, I will weep no more. In such a night
        To shut me out! Pour on; I will endure.
        In such a night as this! O Regan, Goneril!
        Your old kind father, whose frank heart gave all,--
        O, that way madness lies; let me shun that;
        No more of that.

KENT                      Good my lord, enter here.

KING LEAR       Prithee, go in thyself: seek thine own ease:
        This tempest will not give me leave to ponder
        On things would hurt me more. But I'll go in.

        [To the Fool]

        In, boy; go first. You houseless poverty,--
        Nay, get thee in. I'll pray, and then I'll sleep.

        [Fool goes in]

        Poor naked wretches, whereso'er you are,
        That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm,
        How shall your houseless heads and unfed sides,
        Your loop'd and window'd raggedness, defend you
        From seasons such as these? O, I have ta'en
        Too little care of this! Take physic, pomp;
        Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel,
        That thou mayst shake the superflux to them,
        And show the heavens more just.

EDGAR   [Within]  Fathom and half, fathom and half! Poor Tom!

        [The Fool runs out from the hovel]

Fool    Come not in here, nuncle, here's a spirit
        Help me, help me!

KENT    Give me thy hand. Who's there?

Fool    A spirit, a spirit: he says his name's poor Tom.

KENT    What art thou that dost grumble there i' the straw?
        Come forth.

        [Enter EDGAR disguised as a mad man]

EDGAR   Away! the foul fiend follows me!
        Through the sharp hawthorn blows the cold wind.
        Hum! go to thy cold bed, and warm thee.

KING LEAR       Hast thou given all to thy two daughters?
        And art thou come to this?

EDGAR   Who gives any thing to poor Tom? whom the foul
        fiend hath led through fire and through flame, and
        through ford and whirlipool e'er bog and quagmire;
        that hath laid knives under his pillow, and halters
        in his pew; set ratsbane by his porridge; made film
        proud of heart, to ride on a bay trotting-horse over
        four-inched bridges, to course his own shadow for a
        traitor. Bless thy five wits! Tom's a-cold,--O, do
        de, do de, do de. Bless thee from whirlwinds,
        star-blasting, and taking! Do poor Tom some
        charity, whom the foul fiend vexes: there could I
        have him now,--and there,--and there again, and there.

        [Storm still]

KING LEAR       What, have his daughters brought him to this pass?
        Couldst thou save nothing? Didst thou give them all?

Fool    Nay, he reserved a blanket, else we had been all shamed.

KING LEAR       Now, all the plagues that in the pendulous air
        Hang fated o'er men's faults light on thy daughters!

KENT    He hath no daughters, sir.

KING LEAR       Death, traitor! nothing could have subdued nature
        To such a lowness but his unkind daughters.
        Is it the fashion, that discarded fathers
        Should have thus little mercy on their flesh?
        Judicious punishment! 'twas this flesh begot
        Those pelican daughters.

EDGAR   Pillicock sat on Pillicock-hill:
        Halloo, halloo, loo, loo!

Fool    This cold night will turn us all to fools and madmen.

EDGAR   Take heed o' the foul fiend: obey thy parents;
        keep thy word justly; swear not; commit not with
        man's sworn spouse; set not thy sweet heart on proud
        array. Tom's a-cold.

KING LEAR       What hast thou been?

EDGAR   A serving-man, proud in heart and mind; that curled
        my hair; wore gloves in my cap; served the lust of
        my mistress' heart, and did the act of darkness with
        her; swore as many oaths as I spake words, and
        broke them in the sweet face of heaven: one that
        slept in the contriving of lust, and waked to do it:
        wine loved I deeply, dice dearly: and in woman
        out-paramoured the Turk: false of heart, light of
        ear, bloody of hand; hog in sloth, fox in stealth,
        wolf in greediness, dog in madness, lion in prey.
        Let not the creaking of shoes nor the rustling of
        silks betray thy poor heart to woman: keep thy foot
        out of brothels, thy hand out of plackets, thy pen
        from lenders' books, and defy the foul fiend.
        Still through the hawthorn blows the cold wind:
        Says suum, mun, ha, no, nonny.
        Dolphin my boy, my boy, sessa! let him trot by.

        [Storm still]

KING LEAR       Why, thou wert better in thy grave than to answer
        with thy uncovered body this extremity of the skies.
        Is man no more than this? Consider him well. Thou
        owest the worm no silk, the beast no hide, the sheep
        no wool, the cat no perfume. Ha! here's three on
        's are sophisticated! Thou art the thing itself:
        unaccommodated man is no more but such a poor bare,
        forked animal as thou art. Off, off, you lendings!
        come unbutton here.

        [Tearing off his clothes]

Fool    Prithee, nuncle, be contented; 'tis a naughty night
        to swim in. Now a little fire in a wild field were
        like an old lecher's heart; a small spark, all the
        rest on's body cold. Look, here comes a walking fire.

        [Enter GLOUCESTER, with a torch]

EDGAR   This is the foul fiend Flibbertigibbet: he begins
        at curfew, and walks till the first cock; he gives
        the web and the pin, squints the eye, and makes the
        hare-lip; mildews the white wheat, and hurts the
        poor creature of earth.
        S. Withold footed thrice the old;
        He met the night-mare, and her nine-fold;
        Bid her alight,
        And her troth plight,
        And, aroint thee, witch, aroint thee!

KENT    How fares your grace?

KING LEAR       What's he?

KENT    Who's there? What is't you seek?

GLOUCESTER      What are you there? Your names?

EDGAR   Poor Tom; that eats the swimming frog, the toad,
        the tadpole, the wall-newt and the water; that in
        the fury of his heart, when the foul fiend rages,
        eats cow-dung for sallets; swallows the old rat and
        the ditch-dog; drinks the green mantle of the
        standing pool; who is whipped from tithing to
        tithing, and stock- punished, and imprisoned; who
        hath had three suits to his back, six shirts to his
        body, horse to ride, and weapon to wear;
        But mice and rats, and such small deer,
        Have been Tom's food for seven long year.
        Beware my follower. Peace, Smulkin; peace, thou fiend!

GLOUCESTER      What, hath your grace no better company?

EDGAR   The prince of darkness is a gentleman:
        Modo he's call'd, and Mahu.

GLOUCESTER      Our flesh and blood is grown so vile, my lord,
        That it doth hate what gets it.

EDGAR   Poor Tom's a-cold.

GLOUCESTER      Go in with me: my duty cannot suffer
        To obey in all your daughters' hard commands:
        Though their injunction be to bar my doors,
        And let this tyrannous night take hold upon you,
        Yet have I ventured to come seek you out,
        And bring you where both fire and food is ready.

KING LEAR       First let me talk with this philosopher.
        What is the cause of thunder?

KENT    Good my lord, take his offer; go into the house.

KING LEAR       I'll talk a word with this same learned Theban.
        What is your study?

EDGAR   How to prevent the fiend, and to kill vermin.

KING LEAR       Let me ask you one word in private.

KENT    Importune him once more to go, my lord;
        His wits begin to unsettle.

GLOUCESTER      Canst thou blame him?

        [Storm still]

        His daughters seek his death: ah, that good Kent!
        He said it would be thus, poor banish'd man!
        Thou say'st the king grows mad; I'll tell thee, friend,
        I am almost mad myself: I had a son,
        Now outlaw'd from my blood; he sought my life,
        But lately, very late: I loved him, friend;
        No father his son dearer: truth to tell thee,
        The grief hath crazed my wits. What a night's this!
        I do beseech your grace,--

KING LEAR       O, cry your mercy, sir.
        Noble philosopher, your company.

EDGAR   Tom's a-cold.

GLOUCESTER      In, fellow, there, into the hovel: keep thee warm.

KING LEAR       Come let's in all.

KENT                      This way, my lord.

KING LEAR       With him;
        I will keep still with my philosopher.

KENT    Good my lord, soothe him; let him take the fellow.

GLOUCESTER      Take him you on.

KENT    Sirrah, come on; go along with us.

KING LEAR       Come, good Athenian.

GLOUCESTER      No words, no words: hush.

EDGAR         Child Rowland to the dark tower came,
        His word was still,--Fie, foh, and fum,
        I smell the blood of a British man.

        [Exeunt]




        KING LEAR


ACT III



SCENE V Gloucester's castle.


        [Enter CORNWALL and EDMUND]

CORNWALL        I will have my revenge ere I depart his house.

EDMUND  How, my lord, I may be censured, that nature thus
        gives way to loyalty, something fears me to think
        of.

CORNWALL        I now perceive, it was not altogether your
        brother's evil disposition made him seek his death;
        but a provoking merit, set a-work by a reprovable
        badness in himself.

EDMUND  How malicious is my fortune, that I must repent to
        be just! This is the letter he spoke of, which
        approves him an intelligent party to the advantages
        of France: O heavens! that this treason were not,
        or not I the detector!

CORNWALL        o with me to the duchess.

EDMUND  If the matter of this paper be certain, you have
        mighty business in hand.

CORNWALL        True or false, it hath made thee earl of
        Gloucester. Seek out where thy father is, that he
        may be ready for our apprehension.

EDMUND  [Aside]  If I find him comforting the king, it will
        stuff his suspicion more fully.--I will persevere in
        my course of loyalty, though the conflict be sore
        between that and my blood.

CORNWALL        I will lay trust upon thee; and thou shalt find a
        dearer father in my love.

        [Exeunt]




        KING LEAR


ACT III



SCENE VI        A chamber in a farmhouse adjoining the castle.


        [Enter GLOUCESTER, KING LEAR, KENT, Fool, and EDGAR]

GLOUCESTER      Here is better than the open air; take it
        thankfully. I will piece out the comfort with what
        addition I can: I will not be long from you.

KENT    All the power of his wits have given way to his
        impatience: the gods reward your kindness!

        [Exit GLOUCESTER]

EDGAR   Frateretto calls me; and tells me
        Nero is an angler in the lake of darkness.
        Pray, innocent, and beware the foul fiend.

Fool    Prithee, nuncle, tell me whether a madman be a
        gentleman or a yeoman?

KING LEAR       A king, a king!

Fool    No, he's a yeoman that has a gentleman to his son;
        for he's a mad yeoman that sees his son a gentleman
        before him.

KING LEAR       To have a thousand with red burning spits
        Come hissing in upon 'em,--

EDGAR   The foul fiend bites my back.

Fool    He's mad that trusts in the tameness of a wolf, a
        horse's health, a boy's love, or a whore's oath.

KING LEAR       It shall be done; I will arraign them straight.

        [To EDGAR]

        Come, sit thou here, most learned justicer;

        [To the Fool]

        Thou, sapient sir, sit here. Now, you she foxes!

EDGAR      Look, where he stands and glares!
        Wantest thou eyes at trial, madam?
        Come o'er the bourn, Bessy, to me,--

Fool       Her boat hath a leak,
        And she must not speak
        Why she dares not come over to thee.

EDGAR   The foul fiend haunts poor Tom in the voice of a
        nightingale. Hopdance cries in Tom's belly for two
        white herring. Croak not, black angel; I have no
        food for thee.

KENT    How do you, sir? Stand you not so amazed:
        Will you lie down and rest upon the cushions?

KING LEAR       I'll see their trial first. Bring in the evidence.

        [To EDGAR]

        Thou robed man of justice, take thy place;

        [To the Fool]

        And thou, his yoke-fellow of equity,
        Bench by his side:

        [To KENT]

        you are o' the commission,
        Sit you too.

EDGAR   Let us deal justly.
        Sleepest or wakest thou, jolly shepherd?
        Thy sheep be in the corn;
        And for one blast of thy minikin mouth,
        Thy sheep shall take no harm.
        Pur! the cat is gray.

KING LEAR       Arraign her first; 'tis Goneril. I here take my
        oath before this honourable assembly, she kicked the
        poor king her father.

Fool    Come hither, mistress. Is your name Goneril?

KING LEAR       She cannot deny it.

Fool    Cry you mercy, I took you for a joint-stool.

KING LEAR       And here's another, whose warp'd looks proclaim
        What store her heart is made on. Stop her there!
        Arms, arms, sword, fire! Corruption in the place!
        False justicer, why hast thou let her 'scape?

EDGAR   Bless thy five wits!

KENT    O pity! Sir, where is the patience now,
        That thou so oft have boasted to retain?

EDGAR   [Aside]  My tears begin to take his part so much,
        They'll mar my counterfeiting.

KING LEAR       The little dogs and all, Tray, Blanch, and
        Sweet-heart, see, they bark at me.

EDGAR   Tom will throw his head at them. Avaunt, you curs!
        Be thy mouth or black or white,
        Tooth that poisons if it bite;
        Mastiff, grey-hound, mongrel grim,
        Hound or spaniel, brach or lym,
        Or bobtail tike or trundle-tail,
        Tom will make them weep and wail:
        For, with throwing thus my head,
        Dogs leap the hatch, and all are fled.
        Do de, de, de. Sessa! Come, march to wakes and
        fairs and market-towns. Poor Tom, thy horn is dry.

KING LEAR       Then let them anatomize Regan; see what breeds
        about her heart. Is there any cause in nature that
        makes these hard hearts?

        [To EDGAR]

        You, sir, I entertain for one of my hundred; only I
        do not like the fashion of your garments: you will
        say they are Persian attire: but let them be changed.

KENT    Now, good my lord, lie here and rest awhile.

KING LEAR       Make no noise, make no noise; draw the curtains:
        so, so, so. We'll go to supper i' he morning. So, so, so.

Fool    And I'll go to bed at noon.

        [Re-enter GLOUCESTER]

GLOUCESTER      Come hither, friend: where is the king my master?

KENT    Here, sir; but trouble him not, his wits are gone.

GLOUCESTER      Good friend, I prithee, take him in thy arms;
        I have o'erheard a plot of death upon him:
        There is a litter ready; lay him in 't,
        And drive towards Dover, friend, where thou shalt meet
        Both welcome and protection. Take up thy master:
        If thou shouldst dally half an hour, his life,
        With thine, and all that offer to defend him,
        Stand in assured loss: take up, take up;
        And follow me, that will to some provision
        Give thee quick conduct.

KENT    Oppressed nature sleeps:
        This rest might yet have balm'd thy broken senses,
        Which, if convenience will not allow,
        Stand in hard cure.

        [To the Fool]

        Come, help to bear thy master;
        Thou must not stay behind.

GLOUCESTER      Come, come, away.

        [Exeunt all but EDGAR]

EDGAR   When we our betters see bearing our woes,
        We scarcely think our miseries our foes.
        Who alone suffers suffers most i' the mind,
        Leaving free things and happy shows behind:
        But then the mind much sufferance doth o'er skip,
        When grief hath mates, and bearing fellowship.
        How light and portable my pain seems now,
        When that which makes me bend makes the king bow,
        He childed as I father'd! Tom, away!
        Mark the high noises; and thyself bewray,
        When false opinion, whose wrong thought defiles thee,
        In thy just proof, repeals and reconciles thee.
        What will hap more to-night, safe 'scape the king!
        Lurk, lurk.

        [Exit]




        KING LEAR


ACT III



SCENE VII       Gloucester's castle.


        [Enter CORNWALL, REGAN, GONERIL, EDMUND, and Servants]

CORNWALL        Post speedily to my lord your husband; show him
        this letter: the army of France is landed. Seek
        out the villain Gloucester.

        [Exeunt some of the Servants]

REGAN   Hang him instantly.

GONERIL Pluck out his eyes.

CORNWALL        Leave him to my displeasure. Edmund, keep you our
        sister company: the revenges we are bound to take
        upon your traitorous father are not fit for your
        beholding. Advise the duke, where you are going, to
        a most festinate preparation: we are bound to the
        like. Our posts shall be swift and intelligent
        betwixt us. Farewell, dear sister: farewell, my
        lord of Gloucester.

        [Enter OSWALD]

        How now! where's the king?

OSWALD  My lord of Gloucester hath convey'd him hence:
        Some five or six and thirty of his knights,
        Hot questrists after him, met him at gate;
        Who, with some other of the lords dependants,
        Are gone with him towards Dover; where they boast
        To have well-armed friends.

CORNWALL        Get horses for your mistress.

GONERIL Farewell, sweet lord, and sister.

CORNWALL        Edmund, farewell.

        [Exeunt GONERIL, EDMUND, and OSWALD]

        Go seek the traitor Gloucester,
        Pinion him like a thief, bring him before us.

        [Exeunt other Servants]

        Though well we may not pass upon his life
        Without the form of justice, yet our power
        Shall do a courtesy to our wrath, which men
        May blame, but not control. Who's there? the traitor?

        [Enter GLOUCESTER, brought in by two or three]

REGAN   Ingrateful fox! 'tis he.

CORNWALL        Bind fast his corky arms.

GLOUCESTER      What mean your graces? Good my friends, consider
        You are my guests: do me no foul play, friends.

CORNWALL        Bind him, I say.

        [Servants bind him]

REGAN                     Hard, hard. O filthy traitor!

GLOUCESTER      Unmerciful lady as you are, I'm none.

CORNWALL        To this chair bind him. Villain, thou shalt find--

        [REGAN plucks his beard]

GLOUCESTER      By the kind gods, 'tis most ignobly done
        To pluck me by the beard.

REGAN   So white, and such a traitor!

GLOUCESTER      Naughty lady,
        These hairs, which thou dost ravish from my chin,
        Will quicken, and accuse thee: I am your host:
        With robbers' hands my hospitable favours
        You should not ruffle thus. What will you do?

CORNWALL        Come, sir, what letters had you late from France?

REGAN   Be simple answerer, for we know the truth.

CORNWALL        And what confederacy have you with the traitors
        Late footed in the kingdom?

REGAN   To whose hands have you sent the lunatic king? Speak.

GLOUCESTER      I have a letter guessingly set down,
        Which came from one that's of a neutral heart,
        And not from one opposed.

CORNWALL        Cunning.

REGAN   And false.

CORNWALL        Where hast thou sent the king?

GLOUCESTER      To Dover.

REGAN   Wherefore to Dover? Wast thou not charged at peril--

CORNWALL        Wherefore to Dover? Let him first answer that.

GLOUCESTER      I am tied to the stake, and I must stand the course.

REGAN   Wherefore to Dover, sir?

GLOUCESTER      Because I would not see thy cruel nails
        Pluck out his poor old eyes; nor thy fierce sister
        In his anointed flesh stick boarish fangs.
        The sea, with such a storm as his bare head
        In hell-black night endured, would have buoy'd up,
        And quench'd the stelled fires:
        Yet, poor old heart, he holp the heavens to rain.
        If wolves had at thy gate howl'd that stern time,
        Thou shouldst have said 'Good porter, turn the key,'
        All cruels else subscribed: but I shall see
        The winged vengeance overtake such children.

CORNWALL        See't shalt thou never. Fellows, hold the chair.
        Upon these eyes of thine I'll set my foot.

GLOUCESTER      He that will think to live till he be old,
        Give me some help! O cruel! O you gods!

REGAN   One side will mock another; the other too.

CORNWALL        If you see vengeance,--

First Servant   Hold your hand, my lord:
        I have served you ever since I was a child;
        But better service have I never done you
        Than now to bid you hold.

REGAN   How now, you dog!

First Servant   If you did wear a beard upon your chin,
        I'd shake it on this quarrel. What do you mean?

CORNWALL        My villain!

        [They draw and fight]

First Servant   Nay, then, come on, and take the chance of anger.

REGAN   Give me thy sword. A peasant stand up thus!

        [Takes a sword, and runs at him behind]

First Servant   O, I am slain! My lord, you have one eye left
        To see some mischief on him. O!

        [Dies]

CORNWALL        Lest it see more, prevent it. Out, vile jelly!
        Where is thy lustre now?

GLOUCESTER      All dark and comfortless. Where's my son Edmund?
        Edmund, enkindle all the sparks of nature,
        To quit this horrid act.

REGAN   Out, treacherous villain!
        Thou call'st on him that hates thee: it was he
        That made the overture of thy treasons to us;
        Who is too good to pity thee.

GLOUCESTER      O my follies! then Edgar was abused.
        Kind gods, forgive me that, and prosper him!

REGAN   Go thrust him out at gates, and let him smell
        His way to Dover.

        [Exit one with GLOUCESTER]

        How is't, my lord? how look you?

CORNWALL        I have received a hurt: follow me, lady.
        Turn out that eyeless villain; throw this slave
        Upon the dunghill. Regan, I bleed apace:
        Untimely comes this hurt: give me your arm.

        [Exit CORNWALL, led by REGAN]

Second Servant  I'll never care what wickedness I do,
        If this man come to good.

Third Servant   If she live long,
        And in the end meet the old course of death,
        Women will all turn monsters.

Second Servant  Let's follow the old earl, and get the Bedlam
        To lead him where he would: his roguish madness
        Allows itself to any thing.

Third Servant   Go thou: I'll fetch some flax and whites of eggs
        To apply to his bleeding face. Now, heaven help him!

        [Exeunt severally]




        KING LEAR


ACT IV



SCENE I The heath.


        [Enter EDGAR]

EDGAR   Yet better thus, and known to be contemn'd,
        Than still contemn'd and flatter'd. To be worst,
        The lowest and most dejected thing of fortune,
        Stands still in esperance, lives not in fear:
        The lamentable change is from the best;
        The worst returns to laughter. Welcome, then,
        Thou unsubstantial air that I embrace!
        The wretch that thou hast blown unto the worst
        Owes nothing to thy blasts. But who comes here?

        [Enter GLOUCESTER, led by an Old Man]

        My father, poorly led? World, world, O world!
        But that thy strange mutations make us hate thee,
        Lie would not yield to age.

Old Man O, my good lord, I have been your tenant, and
        your father's tenant, these fourscore years.

GLOUCESTER      Away, get thee away; good friend, be gone:
        Thy comforts can do me no good at all;
        Thee they may hurt.

Old Man Alack, sir, you cannot see your way.

GLOUCESTER      I have no way, and therefore want no eyes;
        I stumbled when I saw: full oft 'tis seen,
        Our means secure us, and our mere defects
        Prove our commodities. O dear son Edgar,
        The food of thy abused father's wrath!
        Might I but live to see thee in my touch,
        I'ld say I had eyes again!

Old Man How now! Who's there?

EDGAR   [Aside]  O gods! Who is't can say 'I am at
        the worst'?
        I am worse than e'er I was.

Old Man 'Tis poor mad Tom.

EDGAR   [Aside]  And worse I may be yet: the worst is not
        So long as we can say  'This is the worst.'

Old Man Fellow, where goest?

GLOUCESTER      Is it a beggar-man?

Old Man Madman and beggar too.

GLOUCESTER      He has some reason, else he could not beg.
        I' the last night's storm I such a fellow saw;
        Which made me think a man a worm: my son
        Came then into my mind; and yet my mind
        Was then scarce friends with him: I have heard
        more since.
        As flies to wanton boys, are we to the gods.
        They kill us for their sport.

EDGAR   [Aside] How should this be?
        Bad is the trade that must play fool to sorrow,
        Angering itself and others.--Bless thee, master!

GLOUCESTER      Is that the naked fellow?

Old Man Ay, my lord.

GLOUCESTER      Then, prithee, get thee gone: if, for my sake,
        Thou wilt o'ertake us, hence a mile or twain,
        I' the way toward Dover, do it for ancient love;
        And bring some covering for this naked soul,
        Who I'll entreat to lead me.

Old Man Alack, sir, he is mad.

GLOUCESTER      'Tis the times' plague, when madmen lead the blind.
        Do as I bid thee, or rather do thy pleasure;
        Above the rest, be gone.

Old Man I'll bring him the best 'parel that I have,
        Come on't what will.

        [Exit]

GLOUCESTER      Sirrah, naked fellow,--

EDGAR   Poor Tom's a-cold.

        [Aside]

        I cannot daub it further.

GLOUCESTER      Come hither, fellow.

EDGAR   [Aside]  And yet I must.--Bless thy sweet eyes, they bleed.

GLOUCESTER      Know'st thou the way to Dover?

EDGAR   Both stile and gate, horse-way and foot-path. Poor
        Tom hath been scared out of his good wits: bless
        thee, good man's son, from the foul fiend! five
        fiends have been in poor Tom at once; of lust, as
        Obidicut; Hobbididence, prince of dumbness; Mahu, of
        stealing; Modo, of murder; Flibbertigibbet, of
        mopping and mowing, who since possesses chambermaids
        and waiting-women. So, bless thee, master!

GLOUCESTER      Here, take this purse, thou whom the heavens' plagues
        Have humbled to all strokes: that I am wretched
        Makes thee the happier: heavens, deal so still!
        Let the superfluous and lust-dieted man,
        That slaves your ordinance, that will not see
        Because he doth not feel, feel your power quickly;
        So distribution should undo excess,
        And each man have enough. Dost thou know Dover?

EDGAR   Ay, master.

GLOUCESTER      There is a cliff, whose high and bending head
        Looks fearfully in the confined deep:
        Bring me but to the very brim of it,
        And I'll repair the misery thou dost bear
        With something rich about me: from that place
        I shall no leading need.

EDGAR   Give me thy arm:
        Poor Tom shall lead thee.

        [Exeunt]




        KING LEAR


ACT IV



SCENE II        Before ALBANY's palace.


        [Enter GONERIL and EDMUND]

GONERIL Welcome, my lord: I marvel our mild husband
        Not met us on the way.

        [Enter OSWALD]

                 Now, where's your master'?

OSWALD  Madam, within; but never man so changed.
        I told him of the army that was landed;
        He smiled at it: I told him you were coming:
        His answer was 'The worse:' of Gloucester's treachery,
        And of the loyal service of his son,
        When I inform'd him, then he call'd me sot,
        And told me I had turn'd the wrong side out:
        What most he should dislike seems pleasant to him;
        What like, offensive.

GONERIL [To EDMUND]  Then shall you go no further.
        It is the cowish terror of his spirit,
        That dares not undertake: he'll not feel wrongs
        Which tie him to an answer. Our wishes on the way
        May prove effects. Back, Edmund, to my brother;
        Hasten his musters and conduct his powers:
        I must change arms at home, and give the distaff
        Into my husband's hands. This trusty servant
        Shall pass between us: ere long you are like to hear,
        If you dare venture in your own behalf,
        A mistress's command. Wear this; spare speech;

        [Giving a favour]

        Decline your head: this kiss, if it durst speak,
        Would stretch thy spirits up into the air:
        Conceive, and fare thee well.

EDMUND  Yours in the ranks of death.

GONERIL My most dear Gloucester!

        [Exit EDMUND]

        O, the difference of man and man!
        To thee a woman's services are due:
        My fool usurps my body.

OSWALD  Madam, here comes my lord.

        [Exit]

        [Enter ALBANY]

GONERIL I have been worth the whistle.

ALBANY  O Goneril!
        You are not worth the dust which the rude wind
        Blows in your face. I fear your disposition:
        That nature, which contemns its origin,
        Cannot be border'd certain in itself;
        She that herself will sliver and disbranch
        From her material sap, perforce must wither
        And come to deadly use.

GONERIL No more; the text is foolish.

ALBANY  Wisdom and goodness to the vile seem vile:
        Filths savour but themselves. What have you done?
        Tigers, not daughters, what have you perform'd?
        A father, and a gracious aged man,
        Whose reverence even the head-lugg'd bear would lick,
        Most barbarous, most degenerate! have you madded.
        Could my good brother suffer you to do it?
        A man, a prince, by him so benefited!
        If that the heavens do not their visible spirits
        Send quickly down to tame these vile offences,
        It will come,
        Humanity must perforce prey on itself,
        Like monsters of the deep.

GONERIL Milk-liver'd man!
        That bear'st a cheek for blows, a head for wrongs;
        Who hast not in thy brows an eye discerning
        Thine honour from thy suffering; that not know'st
        Fools do those villains pity who are punish'd
        Ere they have done their mischief. Where's thy drum?
        France spreads his banners in our noiseless land;
        With plumed helm thy slayer begins threats;
        Whiles thou, a moral fool, sit'st still, and criest
        'Alack, why does he so?'

ALBANY  See thyself, devil!
        Proper deformity seems not in the fiend
        So horrid as in woman.

GONERIL O vain fool!

ALBANY  Thou changed and self-cover'd thing, for shame,
        Be-monster not thy feature. Were't my fitness
        To let these hands obey my blood,
        They are apt enough to dislocate and tear
        Thy flesh and bones: howe'er thou art a fiend,
        A woman's shape doth shield thee.

GONERIL Marry, your manhood now--

        [Enter a Messenger]

ALBANY  What news?

Messenger       O, my good lord, the Duke of Cornwall's dead:
        Slain by his servant, going to put out
        The other eye of Gloucester.

ALBANY  Gloucester's eye!

Messenger       A servant that he bred, thrill'd with remorse,
        Opposed against the act, bending his sword
        To his great master; who, thereat enraged,
        Flew on him, and amongst them fell'd him dead;
        But not without that harmful stroke, which since
        Hath pluck'd him after.

ALBANY  This shows you are above,
        You justicers, that these our nether crimes
        So speedily can venge! But, O poor Gloucester!
        Lost he his other eye?

Messenger       Both, both, my lord.
        This letter, madam, craves a speedy answer;
        'Tis from your sister.

GONERIL [Aside]              One way I like this well;
        But being widow, and my Gloucester with her,
        May all the building in my fancy pluck
        Upon my hateful life: another way,
        The news is not so tart.--I'll read, and answer.

        [Exit]

ALBANY  Where was his son when they did take his eyes?

Messenger       Come with my lady hither.

ALBANY  He is not here.

Messenger       No, my good lord; I met him back again.

ALBANY  Knows he the wickedness?

Messenger       Ay, my good lord; 'twas he inform'd against him;
        And quit the house on purpose, that their punishment
        Might have the freer course.

ALBANY  Gloucester, I live
        To thank thee for the love thou show'dst the king,
        And to revenge thine eyes. Come hither, friend:
        Tell me what more thou know'st.

        [Exeunt]




        KING LEAR


ACT IV



SCENE III       The French camp near Dover.


        [Enter KENT and a Gentleman]

KENT    Why the King of France is so suddenly gone back
        know you the reason?

Gentleman       Something he left imperfect in the
        state, which since his coming forth is thought
        of; which imports to the kingdom so much
        fear and danger, that his personal return was
        most required and necessary.

KENT    Who hath he left behind him general?

Gentleman       The Marshal of France, Monsieur La Far.

KENT    Did your letters pierce the queen to any
        demonstration of grief?

Gentleman       Ay, sir; she took them, read them in my presence;
        And now and then an ample tear trill'd down
        Her delicate cheek: it seem'd she was a queen
        Over her passion; who, most rebel-like,
        Sought to be king o'er her.

KENT    O, then it moved her.

Gentleman       Not to a rage: patience and sorrow strove
        Who should express her goodliest. You have seen
        Sunshine and rain at once: her smiles and tears
        Were like a better way: those happy smilets,
        That play'd on her ripe lip, seem'd not to know
        What guests were in her eyes; which parted thence,
        As pearls from diamonds dropp'd. In brief,
        Sorrow would be a rarity most beloved,
        If all could so become it.

KENT    Made she no verbal question?

Gentleman       'Faith, once or twice she heaved the name of 'father'
        Pantingly forth, as if it press'd her heart:
        Cried 'Sisters! sisters! Shame of ladies! sisters!
        Kent! father! sisters! What, i' the storm? i' the night?
        Let pity not be believed!' There she shook
        The holy water from her heavenly eyes,
        And clamour moisten'd: then away she started
        To deal with grief alone.

KENT    It is the stars,
        The stars above us, govern our conditions;
        Else one self mate and mate could not beget
        Such different issues. You spoke not with her since?

Gentleman       No.

KENT    Was this before the king return'd?

Gentleman       No, since.

KENT    Well, sir, the poor distressed Lear's i' the town;
        Who sometime, in his better tune, remembers
        What we are come about, and by no means
        Will yield to see his daughter.

Gentleman       Why, good sir?

KENT    A sovereign shame so elbows him: his own unkindness,
        That stripp'd her from his benediction, turn'd her
        To foreign casualties, gave her dear rights
        To his dog-hearted daughters, these things sting
        His mind so venomously, that burning shame
        Detains him from Cordelia.

Gentleman       Alack, poor gentleman!

KENT    Of Albany's and Cornwall's powers you heard not?

Gentleman       'Tis so, they are afoot.

KENT    Well, sir, I'll bring you to our master Lear,
        And leave you to attend him: some dear cause
        Will in concealment wrap me up awhile;
        When I am known aright, you shall not grieve
        Lending me this acquaintance. I pray you, go
        Along with me.

        [Exeunt]



        KING LEAR


ACT IV



SCENE IV        The same. A tent.


        [Enter, with drum and colours, CORDELIA, Doctor, and Soldiers]

CORDELIA        Alack, 'tis he: why, he was met even now
        As mad as the vex'd sea; singing aloud;
        Crown'd with rank fumiter and furrow-weeds,
        With bur-docks, hemlock, nettles, cuckoo-flowers,
        Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow
        In our sustaining corn. A century send forth;
        Search every acre in the high-grown field,
        And bring him to our eye.

        [Exit an Officer]

                    What can man's wisdom
        In the restoring his bereaved sense?
        He that helps him take all my outward worth.

Doctor  There is means, madam:
        Our foster-nurse of nature is repose,
        The which he lacks; that to provoke in him,
        Are many simples operative, whose power
        Will close the eye of anguish.

CORDELIA        All blest secrets,
        All you unpublish'd virtues of the earth,
        Spring with my tears! be aidant and remediate
        In the good man's distress! Seek, seek for him;
        Lest his ungovern'd rage dissolve the life
        That wants the means to lead it.

        [Enter a Messenger]

Messenger       News, madam;
        The British powers are marching hitherward.

CORDELIA        'Tis known before; our preparation stands
        In expectation of them. O dear father,
        It is thy business that I go about;
        Therefore great France
        My mourning and important tears hath pitied.
        No blown ambition doth our arms incite,
        But love, dear love, and our aged father's right:
        Soon may I hear and see him!

        [Exeunt]




        KING LEAR


ACT IV



SCENE V Gloucester's castle.


        [Enter REGAN and OSWALD]

REGAN   But are my brother's powers set forth?

OSWALD  Ay, madam.

REGAN   Himself in person there?

OSWALD  Madam, with much ado:
        Your sister is the better soldier.

REGAN   Lord Edmund spake not with your lord at home?

OSWALD  No, madam.

REGAN   What might import my sister's letter to him?

OSWALD  I know not, lady.

REGAN   'Faith, he is posted hence on serious matter.
        It was great ignorance, Gloucester's eyes being out,
        To let him live: where he arrives he moves
        All hearts against us: Edmund, I think, is gone,
        In pity of his misery, to dispatch
        His nighted life: moreover, to descry
        The strength o' the enemy.

OSWALD  I must needs after him, madam, with my letter.

REGAN   Our troops set forth to-morrow: stay with us;
        The ways are dangerous.

OSWALD  I may not, madam:
        My lady charged my duty in this business.

REGAN   Why should she write to Edmund? Might not you
        Transport her purposes by word? Belike,
        Something--I know not what: I'll love thee much,
        Let me unseal the letter.

OSWALD  Madam, I had rather--

REGAN   I know your lady does not love her husband;
        I am sure of that: and at her late being here
        She gave strange oeillades and most speaking looks
        To noble Edmund. I know you are of her bosom.

OSWALD  I, madam?

REGAN   I speak in understanding; you are; I know't:
        Therefore I do advise you, take this note:
        My lord is dead; Edmund and I have talk'd;
        And more convenient is he for my hand
        Than for your lady's: you may gather more.
        If you do find him, pray you, give him this;
        And when your mistress hears thus much from you,
        I pray, desire her call her wisdom to her.
        So, fare you well.
        If you do chance to hear of that blind traitor,
        Preferment falls on him that cuts him off.

OSWALD  Would I could meet him, madam! I should show
        What party I do follow.

REGAN   Fare thee well.

        [Exeunt]




        KING LEAR


ACT IV



SCENE VI        Fields near Dover.


        [Enter GLOUCESTER, and EDGAR dressed like a peasant]

GLOUCESTER      When shall we come to the top of that same hill?

EDGAR   You do climb up it now: look, how we labour.

GLOUCESTER      Methinks the ground is even.

EDGAR   Horrible steep.
        Hark, do you hear the sea?

GLOUCESTER      No, truly.

EDGAR   Why, then, your other senses grow imperfect
        By your eyes' anguish.

GLOUCESTER      So may it be, indeed:
        Methinks thy voice is alter'd; and thou speak'st
        In better phrase and matter than thou didst.

EDGAR   You're much deceived: in nothing am I changed
        But in my garments.

GLOUCESTER      Methinks you're better spoken.

EDGAR   Come on, sir; here's the place: stand still. How fearful
        And dizzy 'tis, to cast one's eyes so low!
        The crows and choughs that wing the midway air
        Show scarce so gross as beetles: half way down
        Hangs one that gathers samphire, dreadful trade!
        Methinks he seems no bigger than his head:
        The fishermen, that walk upon the beach,
        Appear like mice; and yond tall anchoring bark,
        Diminish'd to her cock; her cock, a buoy
        Almost too small for sight: the murmuring surge,
        That on the unnumber'd idle pebbles chafes,
        Cannot be heard so high. I'll look no more;
        Lest my brain turn, and the deficient sight
        Topple down headlong.

GLOUCESTER      Set me where you stand.

EDGAR   Give me your hand: you are now within a foot
        Of the extreme verge: for all beneath the moon
        Would I not leap upright.

GLOUCESTER      Let go my hand.
        Here, friend, 's another purse; in it a jewel
        Well worth a poor man's taking: fairies and gods
        Prosper it with thee! Go thou farther off;
        Bid me farewell, and let me hear thee going.

EDGAR   Now fare you well, good sir.

GLOUCESTER      With all my heart.

EDGAR   Why I do trifle thus with his despair
        Is done to cure it.

GLOUCESTER      [Kneeling]  O you mighty gods!
        This world I do renounce, and, in your sights,
        Shake patiently my great affliction off:
        If I could bear it longer, and not fall
        To quarrel with your great opposeless wills,
        My snuff and loathed part of nature should
        Burn itself out. If Edgar live, O, bless him!
        Now, fellow, fare thee well.

        [He falls forward]

EDGAR   Gone, sir: farewell.
        And yet I know not how conceit may rob
        The treasury of life, when life itself
        Yields to the theft: had he been where he thought,
        By this, had thought been past. Alive or dead?
        Ho, you sir! friend! Hear you, sir! speak!
        Thus might he pass indeed: yet he revives.
        What are you, sir?

GLOUCESTER                        Away, and let me die.

EDGAR   Hadst thou been aught but gossamer, feathers, air,
        So many fathom down precipitating,
        Thou'dst shiver'd like an egg: but thou dost breathe;
        Hast heavy substance; bleed'st not; speak'st; art sound.
        Ten masts at each make not the altitude
        Which thou hast perpendicularly fell:
        Thy life's a miracle. Speak yet again.

GLOUCESTER      But have I fall'n, or no?

EDGAR   From the dread summit of this chalky bourn.
        Look up a-height; the shrill-gorged lark so far
        Cannot be seen or heard: do but look up.

GLOUCESTER      Alack, I have no eyes.
        Is wretchedness deprived that benefit,
        To end itself by death? 'Twas yet some comfort,
        When misery could beguile the tyrant's rage,
        And frustrate his proud will.

EDGAR   Give me your arm:
        Up: so. How is 't? Feel you your legs? You stand.

GLOUCESTER      Too well, too well.

EDGAR   This is above all strangeness.
        Upon the crown o' the cliff, what thing was that
        Which parted from you?

GLOUCESTER      A poor unfortunate beggar.

EDGAR   As I stood here below, methought his eyes
        Were two full moons; he had a thousand noses,
        Horns whelk'd and waved like the enridged sea:
        It was some fiend; therefore, thou happy father,
        Think that the clearest gods, who make them honours
        Of men's impossibilities, have preserved thee.

GLOUCESTER      I do remember now: henceforth I'll bear
        Affliction till it do cry out itself
        'Enough, enough,' and die. That thing you speak of,
        I took it for a man; often 'twould say
        'The fiend, the fiend:' he led me to that place.

EDGAR   Bear free and patient thoughts. But who comes here?

        [Enter KING LEAR, fantastically dressed with wild flowers]

        The safer sense will ne'er accommodate
        His master thus.

KING LEAR       No, they cannot touch me for coining; I am the
        king himself.

EDGAR   O thou side-piercing sight!

KING LEAR       Nature's above art in that respect. There's your
        press-money. That fellow handles his bow like a
        crow-keeper: draw me a clothier's yard. Look,
        look, a mouse! Peace, peace; this piece of toasted
        cheese will do 't. There's my gauntlet; I'll prove
        it on a giant. Bring up the brown bills. O, well
        flown, bird! i' the clout, i' the clout: hewgh!
        Give the word.

EDGAR   Sweet marjoram.

KING LEAR       Pass.

GLOUCESTER      I know that voice.

KING LEAR       Ha! Goneril, with a white beard! They flattered
        me like a dog; and told me I had white hairs in my
        beard ere the black ones were there. To say 'ay'
        and 'no' to every thing that I said!--'Ay' and 'no'
        too was no good divinity. When the rain came to
        wet me once, and the wind to make me chatter; when
        the thunder would not peace at my bidding; there I
        found 'em, there I smelt 'em out. Go to, they are
        not men o' their words: they told me I was every
        thing; 'tis a lie, I am not ague-proof.

GLOUCESTER      The trick of that voice I do well remember:
        Is 't not the king?

KING LEAR       Ay, every inch a king:
        When I do stare, see how the subject quakes.
        I pardon that man's life. What was thy cause? Adultery?
        Thou shalt not die: die for adultery! No:
        The wren goes to 't, and the small gilded fly
        Does lecher in my sight.
        Let copulation thrive; for Gloucester's bastard son
        Was kinder to his father than my daughters
        Got 'tween the lawful sheets.
        To 't, luxury, pell-mell! for I lack soldiers.
        Behold yond simpering dame,
        Whose face between her forks presages snow;
        That minces virtue, and does shake the head
        To hear of pleasure's name;
        The fitchew, nor the soiled horse, goes to 't
        With a more riotous appetite.
        Down from the waist they are Centaurs,
        Though women all above:
        But to the girdle do the gods inherit,
        Beneath is all the fiends';
        There's hell, there's darkness, there's the
        sulphurous pit,
        Burning, scalding, stench, consumption; fie,
        fie, fie! pah, pah! Give me an ounce of civet,
        good apothecary, to sweeten my imagination:
        there's money for thee.

GLOUCESTER      O, let me kiss that hand!

KING LEAR       Let me wipe it first; it smells of mortality.

GLOUCESTER      O ruin'd piece of nature! This great world
        Shall so wear out to nought. Dost thou know me?

KING LEAR       I remember thine eyes well enough. Dost thou squiny
        at me? No, do thy worst, blind Cupid! I'll not
        love. Read thou this challenge; mark but the
        penning of it.

GLOUCESTER      Were all the letters suns, I could not see one.

EDGAR   I would not take this from report; it is,
        And my heart breaks at it.

KING LEAR       Read.

GLOUCESTER      What, with the case of eyes?

KING LEAR       O, ho, are you there with me? No eyes in your
        head, nor no money in your purse? Your eyes are in
        a heavy case, your purse in a light; yet you see how
        this world goes.

GLOUCESTER      I see it feelingly.

KING LEAR       What, art mad? A man may see how this world goes
        with no eyes. Look with thine ears: see how yond
        justice rails upon yond simple thief. Hark, in
        thine ear: change places; and, handy-dandy, which
        is the justice, which is the thief? Thou hast seen
        a farmer's dog bark at a beggar?

GLOUCESTER      Ay, sir.

KING LEAR       And the creature run from the cur? There thou
        mightst behold the great image of authority: a
        dog's obeyed in office.
        Thou rascal beadle, hold thy bloody hand!
        Why dost thou lash that whore? Strip thine own back;
        Thou hotly lust'st to use her in that kind
        For which thou whipp'st her. The usurer hangs the cozener.
        Through tatter'd clothes small vices do appear;
        Robes and furr'd gowns hide all. Plate sin with gold,
        And the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks:
        Arm it in rags, a pigmy's straw does pierce it.
        None does offend, none, I say, none; I'll able 'em:
        Take that of me, my friend, who have the power
        To seal the accuser's lips. Get thee glass eyes;
        And like a scurvy politician, seem
        To see the things thou dost not. Now, now, now, now:
        Pull off my boots: harder, harder: so.

EDGAR   O, matter and impertinency mix'd! Reason in madness!

KING LEAR       If thou wilt weep my fortunes, take my eyes.
        I know thee well enough; thy name is Gloucester:
        Thou must be patient; we came crying hither:
        Thou know'st, the first time that we smell the air,
        We wawl and cry. I will preach to thee: mark.

GLOUCESTER      Alack, alack the day!

KING LEAR       When we are born, we cry that we are come
        To this great stage of fools: this a good block;
        It were a delicate stratagem, to shoe
        A troop of horse with felt: I'll put 't in proof;
        And when I have stol'n upon these sons-in-law,
        Then, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill!

        [Enter a Gentleman, with Attendants]

Gentleman       O, here he is: lay hand upon him. Sir,
        Your most dear daughter--

KING LEAR       No rescue? What, a prisoner? I am even
        The natural fool of fortune. Use me well;
        You shall have ransom. Let me have surgeons;
        I am cut to the brains.

Gentleman       You shall have any thing.

KING LEAR       No seconds? all myself?
        Why, this would make a man a man of salt,
        To use his eyes for garden water-pots,
        Ay, and laying autumn's dust.

Gentleman       Good sir,--

KING LEAR       I will die bravely, like a bridegroom. What!
        I will be jovial: come, come; I am a king,
        My masters, know you that.

Gentleman       You are a royal one, and we obey you.

KING LEAR       Then there's life in't. Nay, if you get it, you
        shall get it with running. Sa, sa, sa, sa.

        [Exit running; Attendants follow]

Gentleman       A sight most pitiful in the meanest wretch,
        Past speaking of in a king! Thou hast one daughter,
        Who redeems nature from the general curse
        Which twain have brought her to.

EDGAR   Hail, gentle sir.

Gentleman                         Sir, speed you: what's your will?

EDGAR   Do you hear aught, sir, of a battle toward?

Gentleman       Most sure and vulgar: every one hears that,
        Which can distinguish sound.

EDGAR   But, by your favour,
        How near's the other army?

Gentleman       Near and on speedy foot; the main descry
        Stands on the hourly thought.

EDGAR   I thank you, sir: that's all.

Gentleman       Though that the queen on special cause is here,
        Her army is moved on.

EDGAR   I thank you, sir.

        [Exit Gentleman]

GLOUCESTER      You ever-gentle gods, take my breath from me:
        Let not my worser spirit tempt me again
        To die before you please!

EDGAR   Well pray you, father.

GLOUCESTER      Now, good sir, what are you?

EDGAR   A most poor man, made tame to fortune's blows;
        Who, by the art of known and feeling sorrows,
        Am pregnant to good pity. Give me your hand,
        I'll lead you to some biding.

GLOUCESTER      Hearty thanks:
        The bounty and the benison of heaven
        To boot, and boot!

        [Enter OSWALD]

OSWALD  A proclaim'd prize! Most happy!
        That eyeless head of thine was first framed flesh
        To raise my fortunes. Thou old unhappy traitor,
        Briefly thyself remember: the sword is out
        That must destroy thee.

GLOUCESTER      Now let thy friendly hand
        Put strength enough to't.

        [EDGAR interposes]

OSWALD  Wherefore, bold peasant,
        Darest thou support a publish'd traitor? Hence;
        Lest that the infection of his fortune take
        Like hold on thee. Let go his arm.

EDGAR   Ch'ill not let go, zir, without vurther 'casion.

OSWALD  Let go, slave, or thou diest!

EDGAR   Good gentleman, go your gait, and let poor volk
        pass. An chud ha' bin zwaggered out of my life,
        'twould not ha' bin zo long as 'tis by a vortnight.
        Nay, come not near th' old man; keep out, che vor
        ye, or ise try whether your costard or my ballow be
        the harder: ch'ill be plain with you.

OSWALD  Out, dunghill!

EDGAR   Ch'ill pick your teeth, zir: come; no matter vor
        your foins.

        [They fight, and EDGAR knocks him down]

OSWALD  Slave, thou hast slain me: villain, take my purse:
        If ever thou wilt thrive, bury my body;
        And give the letters which thou find'st about me
        To Edmund earl of Gloucester; seek him out
        Upon the British party: O, untimely death!

        [Dies]

EDGAR   I know thee well: a serviceable villain;
        As duteous to the vices of thy mistress
        As badness would desire.

GLOUCESTER      What, is he dead?

EDGAR   Sit you down, father; rest you
        Let's see these pockets: the letters that he speaks of
        May be my friends. He's dead; I am only sorry
        He had no other death's-man. Let us see:
        Leave, gentle wax; and, manners, blame us not:
        To know our enemies' minds, we'ld rip their hearts;
        Their papers, is more lawful.

        [Reads]

        'Let our reciprocal vows be remembered. You have
        many opportunities to cut him off: if your will
        want not, time and place will be fruitfully offered.
        There is nothing done, if he return the conqueror:
        then am I the prisoner, and his bed my goal; from
        the loathed warmth whereof deliver me, and supply
        the place for your labour.
                'Your--wife, so I would say--
                'Affectionate servant,
                'GONERIL.'
        O undistinguish'd space of woman's will!
        A plot upon her virtuous husband's life;
        And the exchange my brother! Here, in the sands,
        Thee I'll rake up, the post unsanctified
        Of murderous lechers: and in the mature time
        With this ungracious paper strike the sight
        Of the death practised duke: for him 'tis well
        That of thy death and business I can tell.

GLOUCESTER      The king is mad: how stiff is my vile sense,
        That I stand up, and have ingenious feeling
        Of my huge sorrows! Better I were distract:
        So should my thoughts be sever'd from my griefs,
        And woes by wrong imaginations lose
        The knowledge of themselves.

EDGAR   Give me your hand:

        [Drum afar off]

        Far off, methinks, I hear the beaten drum:
        Come, father, I'll bestow you with a friend.

        [Exeunt]




        KING LEAR


ACT IV



SCENE VII       A tent in the French camp. LEAR on a bed asleep,
        soft music playing; Gentleman, and others attending.


        [Enter CORDELIA, KENT, and Doctor]

CORDELIA        O thou good Kent, how shall I live and work,
        To match thy goodness? My life will be too short,
        And every measure fail me.

KENT    To be acknowledged, madam, is o'erpaid.
        All my reports go with the modest truth;
        Nor more nor clipp'd, but so.

CORDELIA        Be better suited:
        These weeds are memories of those worser hours:
        I prithee, put them off.

KENT    Pardon me, dear madam;
        Yet to be known shortens my made intent:
        My boon I make it, that you know me not
        Till time and I think meet.

CORDELIA        Then be't so, my good lord.

        [To the Doctor]

                      How does the king?

Doctor  Madam, sleeps still.

CORDELIA        O you kind gods,
        Cure this great breach in his abused nature!
        The untuned and jarring senses, O, wind up
        Of this child-changed father!

Doctor  So please your majesty
        That we may wake the king: he hath slept long.

CORDELIA        Be govern'd by your knowledge, and proceed
        I' the sway of your own will. Is he array'd?

Gentleman       Ay, madam; in the heaviness of his sleep
        We put fresh garments on him.

Doctor  Be by, good madam, when we do awake him;
        I doubt not of his temperance.

CORDELIA        Very well.

Doctor  Please you, draw near. Louder the music there!

CORDELIA        O my dear father! Restoration hang
        Thy medicine on my lips; and let this kiss
        Repair those violent harms that my two sisters
        Have in thy reverence made!

KENT    Kind and dear princess!

CORDELIA        Had you not been their father, these white flakes
        Had challenged pity of them. Was this a face
        To be opposed against the warring winds?
        To stand against the deep dread-bolted thunder?
        In the most terrible and nimble stroke
        Of quick, cross lightning? to watch--poor perdu!--
        With this thin helm? Mine enemy's dog,
        Though he had bit me, should have stood that night
        Against my fire; and wast thou fain, poor father,
        To hovel thee with swine, and rogues forlorn,
        In short and musty straw? Alack, alack!
        'Tis wonder that thy life and wits at once
        Had not concluded all. He wakes; speak to him.

Doctor  Madam, do you; 'tis fittest.

CORDELIA        How does my royal lord? How fares your majesty?

KING LEAR       You do me wrong to take me out o' the grave:
        Thou art a soul in bliss; but I am bound
        Upon a wheel of fire, that mine own tears
        Do scald like moulten lead.

CORDELIA        Sir, do you know me?

KING LEAR       You are a spirit, I know: when did you die?

CORDELIA        Still, still, far wide!

Doctor  He's scarce awake: let him alone awhile.

KING LEAR       Where have I been? Where am I? Fair daylight?
        I am mightily abused. I should e'en die with pity,
        To see another thus. I know not what to say.
        I will not swear these are my hands: let's see;
        I feel this pin prick. Would I were assured
        Of my condition!

CORDELIA                          O, look upon me, sir,
        And hold your hands in benediction o'er me:
        No, sir, you must not kneel.

KING LEAR       Pray, do not mock me:
        I am a very foolish fond old man,
        Fourscore and upward, not an hour more nor less;
        And, to deal plainly,
        I fear I am not in my perfect mind.
        Methinks I should know you, and know this man;
        Yet I am doubtful for I am mainly ignorant
        What place this is; and all the skill I have
        Remembers not these garments; nor I know not
        Where I did lodge last night. Do not laugh at me;
        For, as I am a man, I think this lady
        To be my child Cordelia.

CORDELIA        And so I am, I am.

KING LEAR       Be your tears wet? yes, 'faith. I pray, weep not:
        If you have poison for me, I will drink it.
        I know you do not love me; for your sisters
        Have, as I do remember, done me wrong:
        You have some cause, they have not.

CORDELIA        No cause, no cause.

KING LEAR       Am I in France?

KENT                      In your own kingdom, sir.

KING LEAR       Do not abuse me.

Doctor  Be comforted, good madam: the great rage,
        You see, is kill'd in him: and yet it is danger
        To make him even o'er the time he has lost.
        Desire him to go in; trouble him no more
        Till further settling.

CORDELIA        Will't please your highness walk?

KING LEAR       You must bear with me:
        Pray you now, forget and forgive: I am old and foolish.

        [Exeunt all but KENT and Gentleman]

Gentleman       Holds it true, sir, that the Duke of Cornwall was so slain?

KENT    Most certain, sir.

Gentleman       Who is conductor of his people?

KENT    As 'tis said, the bastard son of Gloucester.

Gentleman       They say Edgar, his banished son, is with the Earl
        of Kent in Germany.

KENT    Report is changeable. 'Tis time to look about; the
        powers of the kingdom approach apace.

Gentleman       The arbitrement is like to be bloody. Fare you
        well, sir.

        [Exit]

KENT    My point and period will be throughly wrought,
        Or well or ill, as this day's battle's fought.

        [Exit]




        KING LEAR


ACT V



SCENE I The British camp, near Dover.


        [Enter, with drum and colours, EDMUND, REGAN,
        Gentlemen, and Soldiers.

EDMUND  Know of the duke if his last purpose hold,
        Or whether since he is advised by aught
        To change the course: he's full of alteration
        And self-reproving: bring his constant pleasure.

        [To a Gentleman, who goes out]

REGAN   Our sister's man is certainly miscarried.

EDMUND  'Tis to be doubted, madam.

REGAN   Now, sweet lord,
        You know the goodness I intend upon you:
        Tell me--but truly--but then speak the truth,
        Do you not love my sister?

EDMUND  In honour'd love.

REGAN   But have you never found my brother's way
        To the forfended place?

EDMUND  That thought abuses you.

REGAN   I am doubtful that you have been conjunct
        And bosom'd with her, as far as we call hers.

EDMUND  No, by mine honour, madam.

REGAN   I never shall endure her: dear my lord,
        Be not familiar with her.

EDMUND  Fear me not:
        She and the duke her husband!

        [Enter, with drum and colours, ALBANY, GONERIL, and Soldiers]

GONERIL [Aside]  I had rather lose the battle than that sister
        Should loosen him and me.

ALBANY  Our very loving sister, well be-met.
        Sir, this I hear; the king is come to his daughter,
        With others whom the rigor of our state
        Forced to cry out. Where I could not be honest,
        I never yet was valiant: for this business,
        It toucheth us, as France invades our land,
        Not bolds the king, with others, whom, I fear,
        Most just and heavy causes make oppose.

EDMUND  Sir, you speak nobly.

REGAN   Why is this reason'd?

GONERIL Combine together 'gainst the enemy;
        For these domestic and particular broils
        Are not the question here.

ALBANY  Let's then determine
        With the ancient of war on our proceedings.

EDMUND  I shall attend you presently at your tent.

REGAN   Sister, you'll go with us?

GONERIL No.

REGAN   'Tis most convenient; pray you, go with us.

GONERIL [Aside]  O, ho, I know the riddle.--I will go.

        [As they are going out, enter EDGAR disguised]

EDGAR   If e'er your grace had speech with man so poor,
        Hear me one word.

ALBANY                    I'll overtake you. Speak.

        [Exeunt all but ALBANY and EDGAR]

EDGAR   Before you fight the battle, ope this letter.
        If you have victory, let the trumpet sound
        For him that brought it: wretched though I seem,
        I can produce a champion that will prove
        What is avouched there. If you miscarry,
        Your business of the world hath so an end,
        And machination ceases. Fortune love you.

ALBANY  Stay till I have read the letter.

EDGAR   I was forbid it.
        When time shall serve, let but the herald cry,
        And I'll appear again.

ALBANY  Why, fare thee well: I will o'erlook thy paper.

        [Exit EDGAR]

        [Re-enter EDMUND]

EDMUND  The enemy's in view; draw up your powers.
        Here is the guess of their true strength and forces
        By diligent discovery; but your haste
        Is now urged on you.

ALBANY  We will greet the time.

        [Exit]

EDMUND  To both these sisters have I sworn my love;
        Each jealous of the other, as the stung
        Are of the adder. Which of them shall I take?
        Both? one? or neither? Neither can be enjoy'd,
        If both remain alive: to take the widow
        Exasperates, makes mad her sister Goneril;
        And hardly shall I carry out my side,
        Her husband being alive. Now then we'll use
        His countenance for the battle; which being done,
        Let her who would be rid of him devise
        His speedy taking off. As for the mercy
        Which he intends to Lear and to Cordelia,
        The battle done, and they within our power,
        Shall never see his pardon; for my state
        Stands on me to defend, not to debate.

        [Exit]




        KING LEAR


ACT V



SCENE II        A field between the two camps.


        [Alarum within. Enter, with drum and colours,
        KING LEAR, CORDELIA, and Soldiers, over the stage;
        and exeunt]

        [Enter EDGAR and GLOUCESTER]

EDGAR   Here, father, take the shadow of this tree
        For your good host; pray that the right may thrive:
        If ever I return to you again,
        I'll bring you comfort.

GLOUCESTER      Grace go with you, sir!

        [Exit EDGAR]

        [Alarum and retreat within. Re-enter EDGAR]

EDGAR   Away, old man; give me thy hand; away!
        King Lear hath lost, he and his daughter ta'en:
        Give me thy hand; come on.

GLOUCESTER      No farther, sir; a man may rot even here.

EDGAR   What, in ill thoughts again? Men must endure
        Their going hence, even as their coming hither;
        Ripeness is all: come on.

GLOUCESTER      And that's true too.

        [Exeunt]




        KING LEAR


ACT V



SCENE III       The British camp near Dover.


        [Enter, in conquest, with drum and colours, EDMUND,
        KING LEAR and CORDELIA, prisoners; Captain,
        Soldiers, &c]

EDMUND  Some officers take them away: good guard,
        Until their greater pleasures first be known
        That are to censure them.

CORDELIA        We are not the first
        Who, with best meaning, have incurr'd the worst.
        For thee, oppressed king, am I cast down;
        Myself could else out-frown false fortune's frown.
        Shall we not see these daughters and these sisters?

KING LEAR       No, no, no, no! Come, let's away to prison:
        We two alone will sing like birds i' the cage:
        When thou dost ask me blessing, I'll kneel down,
        And ask of thee forgiveness: so we'll live,
        And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh
        At gilded butterflies, and hear poor rogues
        Talk of court news; and we'll talk with them too,
        Who loses and who wins; who's in, who's out;
        And take upon's the mystery of things,
        As if we were God's spies: and we'll wear out,
        In a wall'd prison, packs and sects of great ones,
        That ebb and flow by the moon.

EDMUND  Take them away.

KING LEAR       Upon such sacrifices, my Cordelia,
        The gods themselves throw incense. Have I caught thee?
        He that parts us shall bring a brand from heaven,
        And fire us hence like foxes. Wipe thine eyes;
        The good-years shall devour them, flesh and fell,
        Ere they shall make us weep: we'll see 'em starve
        first. Come.

        [Exeunt KING LEAR and CORDELIA, guarded]

EDMUND  Come hither, captain; hark.
        Take thou this note;

        [Giving a paper]

                go follow them to prison:
        One step I have advanced thee; if thou dost
        As this instructs thee, thou dost make thy way
        To noble fortunes: know thou this, that men
        Are as the time is: to be tender-minded
        Does not become a sword: thy great employment
        Will not bear question; either say thou'lt do 't,
        Or thrive by other means.

Captain I'll do 't, my lord.

EDMUND  About it; and write happy when thou hast done.
        Mark, I say, instantly; and carry it so
        As I have set it down.

Captain I cannot draw a cart, nor eat dried oats;
        If it be man's work, I'll do 't.

        [Exit]

        [Flourish. Enter ALBANY, GONERIL, REGAN, another
        Captain, and Soldiers]

ALBANY  Sir, you have shown to-day your valiant strain,
        And fortune led you well: you have the captives
        That were the opposites of this day's strife:
        We do require them of you, so to use them
        As we shall find their merits and our safety
        May equally determine.

EDMUND  Sir, I thought it fit
        To send the old and miserable king
        To some retention and appointed guard;
        Whose age has charms in it, whose title more,
        To pluck the common bosom on his side,
        An turn our impress'd lances in our eyes
        Which do command them. With him I sent the queen;
        My reason all the same; and they are ready
        To-morrow, or at further space, to appear
        Where you shall hold your session. At this time
        We sweat and bleed: the friend hath lost his friend;
        And the best quarrels, in the heat, are cursed
        By those that feel their sharpness:
        The question of Cordelia and her father
        Requires a fitter place.

ALBANY  Sir, by your patience,
        I hold you but a subject of this war,
        Not as a brother.

REGAN                     That's as we list to grace him.
        Methinks our pleasure might have been demanded,
        Ere you had spoke so far. He led our powers;
        Bore the commission of my place and person;
        The which immediacy may well stand up,
        And call itself your brother.

GONERIL Not so hot:
        In his own grace he doth exalt himself,
        More than in your addition.

REGAN   In my rights,
        By me invested, he compeers the best.

GONERIL That were the most, if he should husband you.

REGAN   Jesters do oft prove prophets.

GONERIL Holla, holla!
        That eye that told you so look'd but a-squint.

REGAN   Lady, I am not well; else I should answer
        From a full-flowing stomach. General,
        Take thou my soldiers, prisoners, patrimony;
        Dispose of them, of me; the walls are thine:
        Witness the world, that I create thee here
        My lord and master.

GONERIL Mean you to enjoy him?

ALBANY  The let-alone lies not in your good will.

EDMUND  Nor in thine, lord.

ALBANY  Half-blooded fellow, yes.

REGAN   [To EDMUND]  Let the drum strike, and prove my title thine.

ALBANY  Stay yet; hear reason. Edmund, I arrest thee
        On capital treason; and, in thine attaint,
        This gilded serpent

        [Pointing to Goneril]

        For your claim, fair sister,
        I bar it in the interest of my wife:
        'Tis she is sub-contracted to this lord,
        And I, her husband, contradict your bans.
        If you will marry, make your loves to me,
        My lady is bespoke.

GONERIL An interlude!

ALBANY  Thou art arm'd, Gloucester: let the trumpet sound:
        If none appear to prove upon thy head
        Thy heinous, manifest, and many treasons,
        There is my pledge;

        [Throwing down a glove]

        I'll prove it on thy heart,
        Ere I taste bread, thou art in nothing less
        Than I have here proclaim'd thee.

REGAN   Sick, O, sick!

GONERIL [Aside]  If not, I'll ne'er trust medicine.

EDMUND  There's my exchange:

        [Throwing down a glove]

                what in the world he is
        That names me traitor, villain-like he lies:
        Call by thy trumpet: he that dares approach,
        On him, on you, who not? I will maintain
        My truth and honour firmly.

ALBANY  A herald, ho!

EDMUND                    A herald, ho, a herald!

ALBANY  Trust to thy single virtue; for thy soldiers,
        All levied in my name, have in my name
        Took their discharge.

REGAN   My sickness grows upon me.

ALBANY  She is not well; convey her to my tent.

        [Exit Regan, led]

        [Enter a Herald]

        Come hither, herald,--Let the trumpet sound,
        And read out this.

Captain Sound, trumpet!

        [A trumpet sounds]

Herald  [Reads]  'If any man of quality or degree within
        the lists of the army will maintain upon Edmund,
        supposed Earl of Gloucester, that he is a manifold
        traitor, let him appear by the third sound of the
        trumpet: he is bold in his defence.'

EDMUND  Sound!

        [First trumpet]

Herald  Again!

        [Second trumpet]

Herald  Again!

        [Third trumpet]

        [Trumpet answers within]

        [Enter EDGAR, at the third sound, armed, with a
        trumpet before him]

ALBANY  Ask him his purposes, why he appears
        Upon this call o' the trumpet.

Herald  What are you?
        Your name, your quality? and why you answer
        This present summons?

EDGAR   Know, my name is lost;
        By treason's tooth bare-gnawn and canker-bit:
        Yet am I noble as the adversary
        I come to cope.

ALBANY                    Which is that adversary?

EDGAR   What's he that speaks for Edmund Earl of Gloucester?

EDMUND  Himself: what say'st thou to him?

EDGAR   Draw thy sword,
        That, if my speech offend a noble heart,
        Thy arm may do thee justice: here is mine.
        Behold, it is the privilege of mine honours,
        My oath, and my profession: I protest,
        Maugre thy strength, youth, place, and eminence,
        Despite thy victor sword and fire-new fortune,
        Thy valour and thy heart, thou art a traitor;
        False to thy gods, thy brother, and thy father;
        Conspirant 'gainst this high-illustrious prince;
        And, from the extremest upward of thy head
        To the descent and dust below thy foot,
        A most toad-spotted traitor. Say thou 'No,'
        This sword, this arm, and my best spirits, are bent
        To prove upon thy heart, whereto I speak,
        Thou liest.

EDMUND  In wisdom I should ask thy name;
        But, since thy outside looks so fair and warlike,
        And that thy tongue some say of breeding breathes,
        What safe and nicely I might well delay
        By rule of knighthood, I disdain and spurn:
        Back do I toss these treasons to thy head;
        With the hell-hated lie o'erwhelm thy heart;
        Which, for they yet glance by and scarcely bruise,
        This sword of mine shall give them instant way,
        Where they shall rest for ever. Trumpets, speak!

        [Alarums. They fight. EDMUND falls]

ALBANY  Save him, save him!

GONERIL This is practise, Gloucester:
        By the law of arms thou wast not bound to answer
        An unknown opposite; thou art not vanquish'd,
        But cozen'd and beguiled.

ALBANY  Shut your mouth, dame,
        Or with this paper shall I stop it: Hold, sir:
        Thou worse than any name, read thine own evil:
        No tearing, lady: I perceive you know it.

        [Gives the letter to EDMUND]

GONERIL Say, if I do, the laws are mine, not thine:
        Who can arraign me for't.

ALBANY  Most monstrous! oh!
        Know'st thou this paper?

GONERIL Ask me not what I know.

        [Exit]

ALBANY  Go after her: she's desperate; govern her.

EDMUND  What you have charged me with, that have I done;
        And more, much more; the time will bring it out:
        'Tis past, and so am I. But what art thou
        That hast this fortune on me? If thou'rt noble,
        I do forgive thee.

EDGAR                     Let's exchange charity.
        I am no less in blood than thou art, Edmund;
        If more, the more thou hast wrong'd me.
        My name is Edgar, and thy father's son.
        The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices
        Make instruments to plague us:
        The dark and vicious place where thee he got
        Cost him his eyes.

EDMUND                    Thou hast spoken right, 'tis true;
        The wheel is come full circle: I am here.

ALBANY  Methought thy very gait did prophesy
        A royal nobleness: I must embrace thee:
        Let sorrow split my heart, if ever I
        Did hate thee or thy father!

EDGAR   Worthy prince, I know't.

ALBANY  Where have you hid yourself?
        How have you known the miseries of your father?

EDGAR   By nursing them, my lord. List a brief tale;
        And when 'tis told, O, that my heart would burst!
        The bloody proclamation to escape,
        That follow'd me so near,--O, our lives' sweetness!
        That we the pain of death would hourly die
        Rather than die at once!--taught me to shift
        Into a madman's rags; to assume a semblance
        That very dogs disdain'd: and in this habit
        Met I my father with his bleeding rings,
        Their precious stones new lost: became his guide,
        Led him, begg'd for him, saved him from despair;
        Never,--O fault!--reveal'd myself unto him,
        Until some half-hour past, when I was arm'd:
        Not sure, though hoping, of this good success,
        I ask'd his blessing, and from first to last
        Told him my pilgrimage: but his flaw'd heart,
        Alack, too weak the conflict to support!
        'Twixt two extremes of passion, joy and grief,
        Burst smilingly.

EDMUND  This speech of yours hath moved me,
        And shall perchance do good: but speak you on;
        You look as you had something more to say.

ALBANY  If there be more, more woeful, hold it in;
        For I am almost ready to dissolve,
        Hearing of this.

EDGAR                     This would have seem'd a period
        To such as love not sorrow; but another,
        To amplify too much, would make much more,
        And top extremity.
        Whilst I was big in clamour came there in a man,
        Who, having seen me in my worst estate,
        Shunn'd my abhorr'd society; but then, finding
        Who 'twas that so endured, with his strong arms
        He fastened on my neck, and bellow'd out
        As he'ld burst heaven; threw him on my father;
        Told the most piteous tale of Lear and him
        That ever ear received: which in recounting
        His grief grew puissant and the strings of life
        Began to crack: twice then the trumpets sounded,
        And there I left him tranced.

ALBANY  But who was this?

EDGAR   Kent, sir, the banish'd Kent; who in disguise
        Follow'd his enemy king, and did him service
        Improper for a slave.

        [Enter a Gentleman, with a bloody knife]

Gentleman       Help, help, O, help!

EDGAR   What kind of help?

ALBANY  Speak, man.

EDGAR   What means that bloody knife?

Gentleman       'Tis hot, it smokes;
        It came even from the heart of--O, she's dead!

ALBANY  Who dead? speak, man.

Gentleman       Your lady, sir, your lady: and her sister
        By her is poisoned; she hath confess'd it.

EDMUND  I was contracted to them both: all three
        Now marry in an instant.

EDGAR   Here comes Kent.

ALBANY  Produce their bodies, be they alive or dead:
        This judgment of the heavens, that makes us tremble,
        Touches us not with pity.

        [Exit Gentleman]

        [Enter KENT]

                    O, is this he?
        The time will not allow the compliment
        Which very manners urges.

KENT    I am come
        To bid my king and master aye good night:
        Is he not here?

ALBANY                    Great thing of us forgot!
        Speak, Edmund, where's the king? and where's Cordelia?
        See'st thou this object, Kent?

        [The bodies of GONERIL and REGAN are brought in]

KENT    Alack, why thus?

EDMUND                    Yet Edmund was beloved:
        The one the other poison'd for my sake,
        And after slew herself.

ALBANY  Even so. Cover their faces.

EDMUND  I pant for life: some good I mean to do,
        Despite of mine own nature. Quickly send,
        Be brief in it, to the castle; for my writ
        Is on the life of Lear and on Cordelia:
        Nay, send in time.

ALBANY                    Run, run, O, run!

EDGAR   To who, my lord? Who hath the office? send
        Thy token of reprieve.

EDMUND  Well thought on: take my sword,
        Give it the captain.

ALBANY  Haste thee, for thy life.

        [Exit EDGAR]

EDMUND  He hath commission from thy wife and me
        To hang Cordelia in the prison, and
        To lay the blame upon her own despair,
        That she fordid herself.

ALBANY  The gods defend her! Bear him hence awhile.

        [EDMUND is borne off]

        [Re-enter KING LEAR, with CORDELIA dead in his arms;
        EDGAR, Captain, and others following]

KING LEAR       Howl, howl, howl, howl! O, you are men of stones:
        Had I your tongues and eyes, I'ld use them so
        That heaven's vault should crack. She's gone for ever!
        I know when one is dead, and when one lives;
        She's dead as earth. Lend me a looking-glass;
        If that her breath will mist or stain the stone,
        Why, then she lives.

KENT    Is this the promised end

EDGAR   Or image of that horror?

ALBANY  Fall, and cease!

KING LEAR       This feather stirs; she lives! if it be so,
        It is a chance which does redeem all sorrows
        That ever I have felt.

KENT    [Kneeling]  O my good master!

KING LEAR       Prithee, away.

EDGAR   'Tis noble Kent, your friend.

KING LEAR       A plague upon you, murderers, traitors all!
        I might have saved her; now she's gone for ever!
        Cordelia, Cordelia! stay a little. Ha!
        What is't thou say'st? Her voice was ever soft,
        Gentle, and low, an excellent thing in woman.
        I kill'd the slave that was a-hanging thee.

Captain 'Tis true, my lords, he did.

KING LEAR       Did I not, fellow?
        I have seen the day, with my good biting falchion
        I would have made them skip: I am old now,
        And these same crosses spoil me. Who are you?
        Mine eyes are not o' the best: I'll tell you straight.

KENT    If fortune brag of two she loved and hated,
        One of them we behold.

KING LEAR       This is a dull sight. Are you not Kent?

KENT    The same,
        Your servant Kent: Where is your servant Caius?

KING LEAR       He's a good fellow, I can tell you that;
        He'll strike, and quickly too: he's dead and rotten.

KENT    No, my good lord; I am the very man,--

KING LEAR       I'll see that straight.

KENT    That, from your first of difference and decay,
        Have follow'd your sad steps.

KING LEAR       You are welcome hither.

KENT    Nor no man else: all's cheerless, dark, and deadly.
        Your eldest daughters have fordone them selves,
        And desperately are dead.

KING LEAR       Ay, so I think.

ALBANY  He knows not what he says: and vain it is
        That we present us to him.

EDGAR   Very bootless.

        [Enter a Captain]

Captain Edmund is dead, my lord.

ALBANY  That's but a trifle here.
        You lords and noble friends, know our intent.
        What comfort to this great decay may come
        Shall be applied: for us we will resign,
        During the life of this old majesty,
        To him our absolute power:

        [To EDGAR and KENT]

                     you, to your rights:
        With boot, and such addition as your honours
        Have more than merited. All friends shall taste
        The wages of their virtue, and all foes
        The cup of their deservings. O, see, see!

KING LEAR       And my poor fool is hang'd! No, no, no life!
        Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life,
        And thou no breath at all? Thou'lt come no more,
        Never, never, never, never, never!
        Pray you, undo this button: thank you, sir.
        Do you see this? Look on her, look, her lips,
        Look there, look there!

        [Dies]

EDGAR   He faints! My lord, my lord!

KENT    Break, heart; I prithee, break!

EDGAR   Look up, my lord.

KENT    Vex not his ghost: O, let him pass! he hates him much
        That would upon the rack of this tough world
        Stretch him out longer.

EDGAR   He is gone, indeed.

KENT    The wonder is, he hath endured so long:
        He but usurp'd his life.

ALBANY  Bear them from hence. Our present business
        Is general woe.

        [To KENT and EDGAR]

        Friends of my soul, you twain
        Rule in this realm, and the gored state sustain.

KENT    I have a journey, sir, shortly to go;
        My master calls me, I must not say no.

ALBANY  The weight of this sad time we must obey;
        Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say.
        The oldest hath borne most: we that are young
        Shall never see so much, nor live so long.

        [Exeunt, with a dead march]