King Lear/Source

DRAMATIS PERSONAE (Persons Represented):


 * Lear, King of Britain.
 * King of France.
 * Duke of Burgundy.
 * Duke of Cornwall.
 * Duke of Albany.
 * Earl of Kent.
 * Earl of Gloucester.
 * Edgar, Son to Gloucester.
 * Edmund, Bastard Son to Gloucester.
 * Curan, a Courtier.
 * Old Man, Tenant to Gloucester.
 * Physician.
 * Fool.
 * Oswald, steward to Goneril.
 * An Officer employed by Edmund.
 * Gentleman, attendant on Cordelia.
 * A Herald.
 * Servants to Cornwall.


 * Goneril, daughter to Lear.
 * Regan, daughter to Lear.
 * Cordelia, daughter to Lear.


 * Knights attending on the King, Officers, Messengers, Soldiers, and Attendants.

Scene: Britain.

Scene I. A Room of State in King Lear's Palace.
[Enter Kent, Gloucester, and Edmund]

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

Glou.
 * 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?

Glou.
 * His breeding, sir, hath been at my charge: I have so often
 * blush'd to acknowledge him that now I am braz'd to't.

Kent.
 * I cannot conceive you.

Glou.
 * 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.

Glou.
 * 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?

Edm.
 * No, my lord.

Glou.
 * My Lord of Kent: remember him hereafter as my honourable friend.

Edm.
 * My services to your lordship.

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

Edm.
 * Sir, I shall study deserving.

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

[Sennet within.]

[Enter Lear, Cornwall, Albany, Goneril, Regan, Cordelia, and
 * Attendants.]

Lear.
 * Attend the lords of France and Burgundy,
 * Gloucester.

Glou.
 * I shall, my liege.

[Exeunt Gloucester and Edmund.]

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
 * Unburden'd crawl toward death.—Our son of Cornwall,
 * And you, our no less loving son of Albany,
 * We have this hour a constant will to publish
 * Our daughters' several dowers, that future strife
 * May be prevented now. The princes, France and 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.

Gon.
 * Sir, I love you more than words can wield the matter;
 * Dearer than eyesight, space, and liberty;
 * Beyond what can be valu'd, rich or rare;
 * No less than life, with grace, health, beauty, honour;
 * As much as child e'er lov'd, or father found;
 * A love that makes breath poor and speech unable;
 * Beyond all manner of so much I love you.

Cor.
 * [Aside.] What shall Cordelia speak? 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.

Reg.
 * Sir, I am made of the selfsame 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.

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

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.

Cor.
 * Nothing, my lord.

Lear.
 * Nothing!

Cor.
 * Nothing.

Lear.
 * Nothing can come of nothing: speak again.

Cor.
 * Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave
 * My heart into my mouth: I love your majesty
 * According to my bond; no more nor less.

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

Cor.
 * Good my lord,
 * You have begot me, bred me, lov'd me: I
 * Return those duties back as are right fit,
 * Obey you, love you, and most honour you.
 * Why have my sisters husbands if they say
 * They love you all? 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.

Lear.
 * But goes thy heart with this?

Cor.
 * Ay, good my lord.

Lear.
 * So young, and so untender?

Cor.
 * So young, my lord, and true.

Lear.
 * Let it be so,—thy truth then be thy dower:
 * For, by the sacred radiance of the sun,
 * The mysteries of Hecate, and the night;
 * By all the 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 reliev'd,
 * As thou my sometime daughter.

Kent.
 * Good my liege,—

Lear.
 * Peace, Kent!
 * Come not between the dragon and his wrath.
 * I lov'd her most, and thought to set my rest
 * On her kind nursery.—Hence, and avoid my sight!—[To Cordelia.]
 * So be my grave my peace, as here I give
 * Her father's heart from her!—Call France;—who stirs?
 * Call Burgundy!—Cornwall and Albany,
 * With my two daughters' dowers digest this third:
 * Let pride, which she calls plainness, marry her.
 * I do invest you jointly in 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,
 * Lov'd as my father, as my master follow'd,
 * As my great patron thought on in my prayers.—

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 wouldst 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 falls to folly. Reverse thy state;
 * And in thy best consideration check
 * This hideous rashness: answer my life my judgment,
 * Thy youngest daughter does not love thee least;
 * Nor are those empty-hearted whose low sound
 * Reverbs no hollowness.

Lear.
 * Kent, on thy life, no more.

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

Lear.
 * Out of my sight!

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

Lear.
 * Now, by Apollo,—

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

Lear.
 * O vassal! miscreant!

[Laying his hand on his sword.]

Alb. and Corn.
 * Dear sir, forbear!

Kent.
 * Do;
 * Kill thy physician, and the fee bestow
 * Upon the foul disease. Revoke thy gift,
 * Or, whilst I can vent clamour from my throat,
 * I'll tell thee thou dost evil.

Lear.
 * Hear me, recreant!
 * On thine allegiance, hear me!—
 * Since thou hast sought to make us break our vow,—
 * Which we durst never yet,—and with strain'd pride
 * To come 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 revok'd.

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 France, Burgundy, and
 * Attendants.]

Glou.
 * Here's France and Burgundy, my noble lord.

Lear.
 * My Lord of Burgundy,
 * We first address toward you, who with this king
 * Hath rivall'd for our daughter: what in the least
 * Will you require in present dower with her,
 * Or cease your quest of love?

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

Lear.
 * Right noble Burgundy,
 * When she was dear to us, we did hold her so;
 * But now her price is fall'n. Sir, there she stands:
 * If aught within that little seeming substance,
 * Or all of it, with our displeasure piec'd,
 * And nothing more, may fitly like your grace,
 * She's there, and she is yours.

Bur.
 * I know no answer.

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

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

Lear.
 * Then leave her, sir; for, by the power that made me,
 * I tell you all her wealth.—[To France] For you, great king,
 * I would not from your love make such a stray
 * To match you where I hate; therefore beseech you
 * To avert your liking a more worthier way
 * Than on a wretch whom nature is asham'd
 * Almost to acknowledge hers.

France.
 * This is most strange,
 * That she, who 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
 * Should never plant in me.

Cor.
 * I yet beseech your majesty,—
 * If for I want that glib and oily art
 * To speak and purpose not; since what I well intend,
 * I'll do't before I speak,—that you make known
 * It is no vicious blot, murder, or foulness,
 * No unchaste action or dishonour'd step,
 * That hath depriv'd 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.

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

France.
 * Is it but this,—a tardiness in nature
 * Which often leaves the history unspoke
 * That it intends to do?—My lord of Burgundy,
 * What say you to the lady? Love's not love
 * When it is mingled with regards that stands
 * Aloof from the entire point. Will you have her?
 * She is herself a dowry.

Bur.
 * Royal king,
 * Give but that portion which yourself propos'd,
 * And here I take Cordelia by the hand,
 * Duchess of Burgundy.

Lear.
 * Nothing: I have sworn; I am firm.

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

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

France.
 * Fairest Cordelia, that art most rich, being poor;
 * Most choice, forsaken; and most lov'd, despis'd!
 * Thee and thy virtues here I seize upon:
 * Be it lawful, I take up what's cast away.
 * Gods, gods! 'tis strange that from their cold'st neglect
 * My love should kindle to inflam'd respect.—
 * Thy dowerless daughter, king, thrown to my chance,
 * Is queen of us, of ours, and our fair France:
 * Not all the dukes of waterish Burgundy
 * Can buy this unpriz'd precious maid of me.—
 * Bid them farewell, Cordelia, though unkind:
 * Thou losest here, a better where to find.

Lear.
 * Thou hast her, France: let her be thine; for we
 * Have no such daughter, nor shall ever see
 * That face of hers again.—Therefore be gone
 * Without our grace, our love, our benison.—
 * Come, noble Burgundy.

[Flourish. Exeunt Lear, Burgundy, Cornwall, Albany, Gloucester,
 * and Attendants.]

France.
 * Bid farewell to your sisters.

Cor.
 * The jewels of our father, with wash'd eyes
 * Cordelia leaves you: I know you what you are;
 * And, like a sister, am most loath to call
 * Your faults as they are nam'd. Love well our 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.

Reg.
 * Prescribe not us our duties.

Gon.
 * Let your study
 * Be to content your lord, who hath receiv'd you
 * At fortune's alms. You have obedience scanted,
 * And well are worth the want that you have wanted.

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

France.
 * Come, my fair Cordelia.

[Exeunt France and Cordelia.]

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

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

Gon.
 * 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.

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

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

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

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

Reg.
 * We shall further think of it.

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

[Exeunt.]

Scene II. A Hall in the Earl of Gloucester's Castle.
[Enter Edmund with a letter.]

Edm.
 * 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 moonshines
 * 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.]

Glou.
 * Kent banish'd thus! and France in choler parted!
 * And the king gone to-night! subscrib'd his pow'r!
 * Confin'd to exhibition! All this done
 * Upon the gad!—Edmund, how now! What news?

Edm.
 * So please your lordship, none.

[Putting up the letter.]

Glou.
 * Why so earnestly seek you to put up that letter?

Edm.
 * I know no news, my lord.

Glou.
 * What paper were you reading?

Edm.
 * Nothing, my lord.

Glou.
 * 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.

Edm.
 * I beseech you, sir, pardon me. It is a letter from my brother
 * that I have not all o'er-read; and for so much as I have perus'd,
 * I find it not fit for your o'erlooking.

Glou.
 * Give me the letter, sir.

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

Glou.
 * Let's see, let's see!

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

Glou.
 * [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 enjoy half his revenue for ever, and live
 * the beloved of your brother,
 * 'EDGAR.'
 * Hum! Conspiracy?—'Sleep till I waked him,—you should enjoy half
 * his revenue.'—My son Edgar! Had he a hand to write this? a heart
 * and brain to breed it in? When came this to you? who brought it?

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

Glou.
 * You know the character to be your brother's?

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

Glou.
 * It is his.

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

Glou.
 * Hath he never before sounded you in this business?

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

Glou.
 * O villain, villain!—His very opinion in the letter! Abhorred
 * villain!—Unnatural, detested, brutish villain! worse than
 * brutish!—Go, sirrah, seek him; I'll apprehend him. Abominable
 * villain!—Where is he?

Edm.
 * I do not well know, my lord. If it shall please you to suspend
 * your indignation against my brother till you can derive from him
 * better testimony of his intent, you should run a certain course;
 * where, if you violently proceed against him, mistaking his
 * purpose, it would make a great gap in your own honour, and shake
 * in pieces the heart of his obedience. I dare pawn down my life
 * for him that he hath writ this to feel my affection to your
 * honour, and to no other pretence of danger.

Glou.
 * Think you so?

Edm.
 * If your honour judge it meet, I will place you where you shall
 * hear us confer of this, and by an auricular assurance have your
 * satisfaction;
 * and that without any further delay than this very evening.

Glou.
 * He cannot be such a monster.

Edm.
 * Nor is not, sure.

Glou.
 * 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.

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

Glou.
 * 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.]

Edm.
 * This is the excellent foppery of the world, that, when we are
 * sick in fortune,—often the surfeit of our own behaviour,—we
 * make guilty of our disasters the sun, the moon, and the stars; as
 * if we were villains on necessity; fools by heavenly compulsion;
 * knaves, thieves, and treachers by spherical pre-dominance;
 * 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.

[Enter Edgar.]

Pat!—he comes, like the catastrophe of the old comedy: my cue
 * is villainous melancholy, with a sigh like Tom o' Bedlam.—O,
 * these eclipses do portend these divisions! fa, sol, la, mi.

Edg.
 * How now, brother Edmund! what serious contemplation are you in?

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

Edg.
 * Do you busy yourself with that?

Edm.
 * 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.

Edg.
 * How long have you been a sectary astronomical?

Edm.
 * Come, come! when saw you my father last?

Edg.
 * The night gone by.

Edm.
 * Spake you with him?

Edg.
 * Ay, two hours together.

Edm.
 * Parted you in good terms? Found you no displeasure in him by word
 * or countenance?

Edg.
 * None at all.

Edm.
 * Bethink yourself wherein you may have offended him: and at my
 * entreaty forbear his presence until 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.

Edg.
 * Some villain hath done me wrong.

Edm.
 * That's my fear. I pray you have a continent forbearance till the
 * speed of his rage goes slower; and, as I say, retire with me to
 * my lodging, from whence I will fitly bring you to hear my lord
 * speak: pray you, go; there's my key.—If you do stir abroad, go
 * armed.

Edg.
 * Armed, brother!

Edm.
 * Brother, I advise you to the best; I am no honest man
 * if there be any good meaning toward you: I have told you what I
 * have seen and heard but faintly; nothing like the image and
 * horror of it: pray you, away!

Edg.
 * Shall I hear from you anon?

Edm.
 * I do serve you in this business.

[Exit Edgar.]

A credulous father! and a brother noble,
 * Whose nature is so far from doing harms
 * That he suspects none; on whose foolish honesty
 * My practices ride easy!—I see the business.
 * Let me, if not by birth, have lands by wit:
 * All with me's meet that I can fashion fit.

[Exit.]

Scene III. A Room in the Duke of Albany's Palace.
[Enter Goneril and Oswald.]

Gon.
 * Did my father strike my gentleman for chiding of his fool?

Osw. Ay, madam.

Gon.
 * By day and night, he wrongs me; every hour
 * He flashes into one gross crime or other,
 * That sets us all at odds; I'll not endure it:
 * His knights grow riotous, and himself upbraids us
 * On every trifle.—When he returns from hunting,
 * I will not speak with him; say I am sick.—
 * If you come slack of former services,
 * You shall do well; the fault of it I'll answer.

Osw.
 * He's coming, madam; I hear him.

[Horns within.]

Gon.
 * Put on what weary negligence you please,
 * You and your fellows; I'd have it come to question:
 * If he distaste it, let him to our sister,
 * Whose mind and mine, I know, in that are one,
 * Not to be overruled. 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 us'd
 * With checks as flatteries,—when they are seen abus'd.
 * Remember what I have said.

Osw.
 * Very well, madam.

Gon.
 * And let his knights have colder looks among you;
 * What grows of it, no matter; advise your fellows so;
 * I would breed from hence occasions, and I shall,
 * That I may speak.—I'll write straight to my sister
 * To hold my very course.—Prepare for dinner.

[Exeunt.]

Scene IV. A Hall in Albany's Palace.
[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 rais'd my likeness.—Now, banish'd Kent,
 * If thou canst serve where thou dost stand condemn'd,
 * So may it come, thy master, whom thou lov'st,
 * Shall find thee full of labours.

[Horns within. Enter King Lear, Knights, and Attendants.]

Lear.
 * Let me not stay a jot for dinner; go get it ready.

[Exit an Attendant.]

How now! what art thou?

Kent.
 * A man, sir.

Lear.
 * What dost thou profess? What 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.

Lear.
 * What art thou?

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

Lear.
 * If thou be'st as poor for a subject as he's for a king, thou art
 * poor enough. What wouldst thou?

Kent.
 * Service.

Lear.
 * Who wouldst thou serve?

Kent.
 * You.

Lear.
 * Dost thou know me, fellow?

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

Lear.
 * What's that?

Kent.
 * Authority.

Lear.
 * What services canst thou do?

Kent.
 * I can keep honest counsel, ride, run, mar a curious tale in
 * telling it and deliver a plain message bluntly. That which
 * ordinary men are fit for, I am qualified in, and the best of
 * me is diligence.

Lear.
 * How old art thou?

Kent.
 * Not so young, sir, to love a woman for singing; nor so old to
 * dote on her for anything: I have years on my back forty-eight.

Lear.
 * Follow me; thou shalt serve me. If I like thee no worse after
 * dinner, I will not part from thee yet.—Dinner, ho, dinner!—
 * Where's my knave? my fool?—Go you and call my fool hither.

[Exit an attendant.]

[Enter Oswald.]

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

Osw.
 * So please you,—

[Exit.]

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.

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

Knight.
 * Sir, he answered me in the roundest manner, he would not.

Lear.
 * He would not!

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

Lear.
 * Ha! say'st thou so?

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

Lear.
 * Thou but rememberest me of mine own conception: I have perceived
 * a most faint neglect of 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.

Lear.
 * No more of that; I have noted it well.—Go you and tell my
 * daughter I would speak with her.—

[Exit Attendant.]

Go you, call hither my fool.

[Exit another Attendant.]

[Re-enter Oswald.]


 * O, you, sir, you, come you hither, sir: who am I, sir?

Osw.
 * My lady's father.

Lear.
 * My lady's father! my lord's knave: you whoreson dog! you slave!
 * you cur!

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

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

Osw.
 * I'll not be struck, my lord.

Kent.
 * Nor tripp'd neither, you base football player.
 * [Tripping up his heels.]

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

Kent.
 * Come, sir, arise, away! I'll teach you differences: away, away!
 * If you will measure your lubber's length again, tarry; but away!
 * go to; have you wisdom? so.
 * [Pushes Oswald out.]

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

[Enter Fool.]

Fool. Let me hire him too; here's my coxcomb.
 * [Giving Kent his cap.]

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 hath banish'd two on's
 * daughters, and did the third a blessing against his will; if
 * thou follow him, thou must needs wear my coxcomb.—How now,
 * nuncle! Would I had two coxcombs and two daughters!

Lear.
 * Why, my boy?

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

Lear.
 * Take heed, sirrah,—the whip.

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

Lear.
 * A pestilent gall to me!

Fool.
 * Sirrah, I'll teach thee a speech.

Lear.
 * Do.

Fool.
 * Mark it, nuncle:—
 * Have more than thou showest,
 * Speak less than thou knowest,
 * Lend less than thou owest,
 * Ride more than thou goest,
 * Learn more than thou trowest,
 * Set less than thou throwest;
 * Leave thy drink and thy whore,
 * And keep in-a-door,
 * And thou shalt have more
 * Than two tens to a score.

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?

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

Fool.
 * [to Kent] Pr'ythee tell him, so much the rent of his land
 * comes to: he will not believe a fool.

Lear.
 * A bitter fool!

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

Lear.
 * No, lad; teach me.

Fool.
 * That lord that counsell'd 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.

Lear.
 * Dost thou call me fool, boy?

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

Kent.
 * This is not altogether fool, my lord.

Fool.
 * No, faith; lords and great men will not let me: if I had a
 * monopoly out, they would have part on't and loads too: they
 * will not let me have all the fool to myself; they'll be
 * snatching.—Nuncle, give me an egg, and I'll give thee two
 * crowns.

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 gav'st away both parts, thou borest thine ass on
 * thy back o'er the dirt: thou hadst little wit in thy bald crown
 * when thou gavest thy golden one away. If I speak like myself in
 * this, let him be whipped that first finds it so.
 * [Singing.]
 * Fools had ne'er less wit in a year;
 * For wise men are grown foppish,
 * And know not how their wits to wear,
 * Their manners are so apish.

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

Fool.
 * I have used it, nuncle, e'er since thou mad'st thy daughters thy
 * mothers; for when thou gav'st them the rod, and puttest 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.

Pr'ythee, nuncle, keep a schoolmaster that can teach thy fool to
 * lie; I would fain learn to lie.

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.]

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; I am a fool, thou art nothing.—Yes, forsooth, I
 * will hold my tongue. So your face [To Goneril.] bids me, though
 * you say nothing. Mum, mum,
 * He that keeps nor crust nor crum,
 * Weary of all, shall want some.—
 * [Pointing to Lear.] That's a shealed peascod.

Gon.
 * Not only, sir, this your all-licens'd fool,
 * But other of your insolent retinue
 * Do hourly carp and quarrel; breaking forth
 * In rank and not-to-be-endured riots. Sir,
 * I had thought, by making this well known unto you,
 * To have found a safe redress; but now grow fearful,
 * By what yourself too late have spoke and done,
 * That you protect this course, and put it on
 * By your allowance; which if you should, the fault
 * 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 know, nuncle,
 * The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long
 * That it had it head bit off by it young.
 * So out went the candle, and we were left darkling.

Lear.
 * Are you our daughter?

Gon.
 * 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!

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.

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.

Lear.
 * Your name, fair gentlewoman?

Gon.
 * This admiration, sir, is much o' the favour
 * 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 grac'd palace. The shame itself doth speak
 * For instant remedy: be, then, desir'd
 * By her that else will take the thing she begs
 * A little to disquantity your train;
 * And the remainder, that shall still depend,
 * To be such men as may besort your age,
 * Which know themselves, and you.

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

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

[Enter Albany.]

Lear.
 * Woe that too late 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!

Alb.
 * Pray, sir, be patient.

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!
 * Which, like an engine, wrench'd my frame of nature
 * From the fix'd place; drew from my heart all love,
 * And added to the gall. O Lear, Lear, Lear!
 * Beat at this gate that let thy folly in [Striking his head.]
 * And thy dear judgment out!—Go, go, my people.

Alb.
 * My lord, I am guiltless, as I am ignorant
 * Of what hath mov'd you.

Lear.
 * It may be so, my lord.
 * Hear, nature, hear; dear goddess, hear
 * Suspend thy purpose, if thou didst intend
 * To make this creature fruitful!
 * Into her womb convey sterility!
 * Dry up in her the organs of increase;
 * And from her derogate body never spring
 * A babe to honour her! If she must teem,
 * Create her child of spleen, that it may live
 * And be a thwart disnatur'd torment to her!
 * Let it stamp wrinkles in her brow of youth;
 * With cadent tears fret channels in her cheeks;
 * Turn all her mother's pains and benefits
 * 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.]

Alb.
 * Now, gods that we adore, whereof comes this?

Gon.
 * Never afflict yourself to know more of it;
 * But let his disposition have that scope
 * That dotage gives it.

[Re-enter Lear.]

Lear.
 * What, fifty of my followers at a clap!
 * Within a fortnight!

Alb.
 * What's the matter, sir?

Lear.
 * I'll tell thee.—Life and death!—[To Goneril] I am asham'd
 * 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!
 * Th' untented woundings of a father's curse
 * Pierce every sense about thee!—Old fond eyes,
 * Beweep this cause again, I'll pluck you out,
 * And cast you, with the waters that you lose,
 * To temper clay. Ha!
 * Let it be so: I have another 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.

[Exeunt Lear, Kent, and Attendants.]

Gon.
 * Do you mark that?

Alb.
 * I cannot be so partial, Goneril,
 * To the great love I bear you,—

Gon.
 * Pray you, content.—What, Oswald, ho!
 * [To the Fool] You, sir, more knave than fool, after your master.

Fool.
 * Nuncle Lear, nuncle Lear, tarry,—take the fool with thee.—
 * A fox when one has caught her,
 * And such a daughter,
 * Should sure to the slaughter,
 * If my cap would buy a halter;
 * So the fool follows after.

[Exit.]

Gon.
 * This man hath had good 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!—

Alb.
 * Well, you may fear too far.

Gon.
 * Safer than trust too far:
 * Let me still take away the harms I fear,
 * Not fear still to be taken: I know his heart.
 * What he hath utter'd I have writ my sister:
 * If she sustain him and his hundred knights,
 * When I have show'd th' unfitness,—

[Re-enter Oswald.]


 * How now, Oswald!
 * What, have you writ that letter to my sister?

Osw.
 * Ay, madam.

Gon.
 * Take you some company, and away to horse:
 * Inform her full of my particular fear;
 * And thereto add such reasons of your own
 * As may compact it more. Get you gone;
 * And hasten your return.

[Exit Oswald.]

No, no, my lord!
 * This milky gentleness and course of yours,
 * Though I condemn it not, yet, under pardon,
 * You are much more attask'd for want of wisdom
 * Than prais'd for harmful mildness.

Alb.
 * How far your eyes may pierce I cannot tell:
 * Striving to better, oft we mar what's well.

Gon.
 * Nay then,—

Alb.
 * Well, well; the event.

[Exeunt.]

Scene V. Court before the Duke of Albany's Palace.
[Enter Lear, Kent, and Fool.]

Lear.
 * Go you before to Gloucester with these letters: acquaint my
 * daughter no further with anything 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?

Lear.
 * Ay, boy.

Fool.
 * Then I pr'ythee be merry; thy wit shall not go slipshod.

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.

Lear.
 * What canst tell, boy?

Fool.
 * She'll taste as like this as a crab does to a crab. Thou
 * canst tell why one's nose stands i' the middle on's face?

Lear.
 * No.

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

Lear.
 * I did her wrong,—

Fool.
 * Canst tell how an oyster makes his shell?

Lear.
 * No.

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

Lear.
 * Why?

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

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

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

Lear.
 * Because they are not eight?

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

Lear.
 * To tak't again perforce!—Monster ingratitude!

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

Lear.
 * How's that?

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

Lear.
 * O, let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven!
 * Keep me in temper; I would not be mad!—

[Enter Gentleman.]

How now? are the horses ready?

Gent.
 * Ready, my lord.

Lear.
 * Come, boy.

Fool.
 * She that's a maid now, and laughs at my departure,
 * Shall not be a maid long, unless things be cut shorter.

[Exeunt.]

Scene I. A court within the Castle of the Earl of Gloucester.
[Enter Edmund and Curan, meeting.]

Edm.
 * Save thee, Curan.

Cur.
 * 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.

Edm.
 * How comes that?

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

Edm.
 * Not I: pray you, what are they?

Cur.
 * Have you heard of no likely wars toward, 'twixt the two dukes
 * of Cornwall and Albany?

Edm.
 * Not a word.

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

[Exit.]

Edm.
 * 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:—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.

Edg.
 * I am sure on't, not a word.

Edm.
 * 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
 * Of my more fierce endeavour: [Wounds his arm.]
 * I have seen drunkards
 * Do more than this in sport.—Father, father!
 * Stop, stop! No help?

[Enter Gloucester, and Servants with torches.]

Glou.
 * Now, Edmund, where's the villain?

Edm.
 * Here stood he in the dark, his sharp sword out,
 * Mumbling of wicked charms, conjuring the moon
 * To stand auspicious mistress,—

Glou.
 * But where is he?

Edm.
 * Look, sir, I bleed.

Glou.
 * Where is the villain, Edmund?

Edm.
 * Fled this way, sir. When by no means he could,—

Glou.
 * Pursue him, ho!—Go after.

[Exeunt Servants.]

—By no means what?

Edm.
 * 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, lanc'd mine arm;
 * But when he saw my best alarum'd spirits,
 * Bold in the quarrel's right, rous'd to the encounter,
 * Or whether gasted by the noise I made,
 * Full suddenly he fled.

Glou.
 * Let him fly far;
 * Not in this land shall he remain uncaught;
 * And found—dispatch'd.—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.

Edm.
 * 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'd turn it all
 * To thy suggestion, plot, and damned practice:
 * 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.

Glou.
 * Strong and fast'ned villain!
 * Would he deny his letter?—I never got him.

[Trumpets 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 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.]

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

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

Glou.
 * O madam, my old heart is crack'd,—it's crack'd!

Reg.
 * What, did my father's godson seek your life?
 * He whom my father nam'd? your Edgar?

Glou.
 * O lady, lady, shame would have it hid!

Reg.
 * Was he not companion with the riotous knights
 * That tend upon my father?

Glou.
 * I know not, madam:—
 * It is too bad, too bad.

Edm.
 * Yes, madam, he was of that consort.

Reg.
 * 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.

Corn.
 * Nor I, assure thee, Regan.—
 * Edmund, I hear that you have shown your father
 * A childlike office.

Edm.
 * 'Twas my duty, sir.

Glou.
 * He did bewray his practice; and receiv'd
 * This hurt you see, striving to apprehend him.

Corn.
 * Is he pursu'd?

Glou.
 * Ay, my good lord.

Corn.
 * 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.

Edm.
 * I shall serve you, sir,
 * Truly, however else.

Glou.
 * For him I thank your grace.

Corn.
 * You know not why we came to visit you,—

Reg.
 * Thus out of season, threading dark-ey'd 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 best thought it fit
 * To answer from our home; the several messengers
 * From hence attend despatch. Our good old friend,
 * Lay comforts to your bosom; and bestow
 * Your needful counsel to our business,
 * Which craves the instant use.

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

[Exeunt.]

Scene II. Before Gloucester's Castle.
[Enter Kent and Oswald, severally.]

Osw.
 * Good dawning to thee, friend: art of this house?

Kent.
 * Ay.

Osw.
 * Where may we set our horses?

Kent.
 * I' the mire.

Osw.
 * Pr'ythee, if thou lov'st me, tell me.

Kent.
 * I love thee not.

Osw.
 * Why then, I care not for thee.

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

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

Kent.
 * Fellow, I know thee.

Osw.
 * 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, whoreson,
 * glass-gazing, superserviceable, 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, pander, and the son and heir of a mongrel
 * bitch: one whom I will beat into clamorous whining, if thou
 * denyest the least syllable of thy addition.

Osw.
 * Why, what a monstrous fellow art thou, thus to rail on one that's
 * 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 beat thee and tripped up thy heels 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 barbermonger, draw!

[Drawing his sword.]

Osw.
 * 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!

Osw.
 * Help, ho! murder! help!

Kent.
 * Strike, you slave; stand, rogue, stand; you neat slave, strike!

[Beating him.]

Osw.
 * Help, ho! murder! murder!

[Enter Edmund, Cornwall, Regan, Gloucester, and Servants.]

Edm.
 * How now! What's the matter?

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

Glou.
 * Weapons! arms! What's the matter here?

Corn.
 * Keep peace, upon your lives;
 * He dies that strikes again. What is the matter?

Reg.
 * The messengers from our sister and the king.

Corn.
 * What is your difference? speak.

Osw.
 * I am scarce in breath, my lord.

Kent.
 * No marvel, you have so bestirr'd your valour. You cowardly
 * rascal, nature disclaims in thee; a tailor made thee.

Corn.
 * Thou art a strange fellow: a tailor make a man?

Kent.
 * Ay, a tailor, sir: a stonecutter or a painter could not have
 * made him so ill, though he had been but two hours at the trade.

Corn.
 * Speak yet, how grew your quarrel?

Osw.
 * This ancient ruffian, sir, whose life I have spared at suit of
 * his grey
 * beard,—

Kent.
 * Thou whoreson zed! thou unnecessary letter!—My lord, if you'll
 * give me leave, I will tread this unbolted villain into mortar and
 * daub the walls of a jakes with him.—Spare my grey beard, you
 * wagtail?

Corn.
 * Peace, sirrah!
 * You beastly knave, know you no reverence?

Kent.
 * Yes, sir; but anger hath a privilege.

Corn.
 * 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 naught, like dogs, but following.—
 * A plague upon your epileptic visage!
 * Smile you my speeches, as I were a fool?
 * Goose, an I had you upon Sarum plain,
 * I'd drive ye cackling home to Camelot.

Corn.
 * What, art thou mad, old fellow?

Glou.
 * How fell you out?
 * Say that.

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

Corn.
 * Why dost thou call him knave? What is his fault?

Kent.
 * His countenance likes me not.

Corn.
 * No more perchance does mine, or his, or 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.

Corn.
 * This is some fellow
 * Who, having been prais'd 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 faith, in sincere verity,
 * Under the allowance of your great aspect,
 * Whose influence, like the wreath of radiant fire
 * On flickering Phoebus' front,—

Corn.
 * 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.

Corn.
 * What was the offence you gave him?

Osw.
 * I never gave him any:
 * It pleas'd the king his master very late
 * To strike at me, upon his misconstruction;
 * When he, compact, 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-subdu'd;
 * 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.

Corn.
 * Fetch forth the stocks!—
 * You stubborn ancient knave, you reverent 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.

Corn.
 * Fetch forth the stocks!—As I have life and honour,
 * there shall he sit till noon.

Reg.
 * 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.

Reg.
 * Sir, being his knave, I will.

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

[Stocks brought out.]

Glou.
 * Let me beseech your grace not to do so:
 * His fault is much, and the good king his master
 * Will check him for't: your purpos'd 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, so slightly valu'd in his messenger,
 * Should have him thus restrain'd.

Corn.
 * I'll answer that.

Reg.
 * My sister may receive it much more worse,
 * To have her gentleman abus'd, 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.]

Glou.
 * 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 watch'd, 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!

Glou.
 * 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 com'st
 * 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!

[He sleeps.]

Scene III. The open Country.
[Enter Edgar.]

Edg.
 * I heard myself proclaim'd;
 * And by the happy hollow of a tree
 * Escap'd the hunt. No port is free; no place
 * That guard and most unusual vigilance
 * Does not attend my taking. While 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 outface
 * 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.]

Scene IV. Before Gloucester's Castle; Kent in the stocks.
[Enter Lear, Fool, and Gentleman.]

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

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

Kent.
 * Hail to thee, noble master!

Lear.
 * Ha!
 * Mak'st thou this shame thy pastime?

Kent.
 * No, my lord.

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

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.

Lear.
 * No.

Kent.
 * Yes.

Lear.
 * No, I say.

Kent.
 * I say, yea.

Lear.
 * By Jupiter, I swear no.

Kent.
 * By Juno, I swear ay.

Lear.
 * They durst not do't.
 * They would not, could 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 perceiv'd had poison'd mine,—
 * Being the very fellow which of late
 * Display'd so saucily against your highness,—
 * Having more man than wit about me, drew:
 * He rais'd 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 th' poor.
 * But for all this, thou shalt have as many dolours for thy
 * daughters as thou canst tell in a year.

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.

Lear.
 * Follow me not;
 * Stay here.

[Exit.]

Gent.
 * Made you no more offence but what you speak of?

Kent.
 * None.
 * How chance the king comes with so small a number?

Fool.
 * An 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 in 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 learn'd you this, fool?

Fool.
 * Not i' the stocks, fool.

[Re-enter Lear, with Gloucester.]

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.

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

Lear.
 * Vengeance! plague! death! confusion!—
 * Fiery? What quality? why, Gloucester, Gloucester,
 * I'd speak with the Duke of Cornwall and his wife.

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

Lear.
 * Inform'd them! Dost thou understand me, man?

Glou.
 * Ay, my good lord.

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 fallen out with my more headier will,
 * To take the indispos'd 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 practice only. Give me my servant forth.
 * Go tell the duke and's wife I'd 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.'

Glou.
 * I would have all well betwixt you.

[Exit.]

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.]

Lear.
 * Good-morrow to you both.

Corn.
 * Hail to your grace!

[Kent is set at liberty.]

Reg.
 * I am glad to see your highness.

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 deprav'd a quality—O Regan!

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

Lear.
 * Say, how is that?

Reg.
 * 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.

Lear.
 * My curses on her!

Reg.
 * O, sir, you are old;
 * Nature in you stands on the very verge
 * Of her confine: you should be rul'd 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.

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.'

Reg.
 * Good sir, no more! These are unsightly tricks:
 * Return you to my sister.

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 stor'd vengeances of heaven fall
 * On her ingrateful top! Strike her young bones,
 * You taking airs, with lameness!

Corn.
 * Fie, sir, fie!

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!

Reg.
 * O the blest gods!
 * So will you wish on me when the rash mood is on.

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.

Reg.
 * Good sir, to the purpose.

Lear.
 * Who put my man i' the stocks?

[Tucket within.]

Corn.
 * What trumpet's that?

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

[Enter Oswald.]


 * Is your lady come?

Lear.
 * This is a slave, whose easy-borrowed pride
 * Dwells in the fickle grace of her he follows.—
 * Out, varlet, from my sight!

Corn.
 * What means your grace?

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 asham'd to look upon this beard?—
 * O Regan, wilt thou take her by the hand?

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

Lear.
 * O sides, you are too tough!
 * Will you yet hold?—How came my man i' the stocks?

Corn.
 * I set him there, sir: but his own disorders
 * Deserv'd much less advancement.

Lear.
 * You? did you?

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

Lear.
 * Return to her, and fifty men dismiss'd?
 * No, rather I abjure all roofs, and 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 to Oswald.]

Gon.
 * At your choice, sir.

Lear.
 * I pr'ythee, daughter, do not make me mad:
 * I will not trouble thee, my child; farewell:
 * We'll no more meet, no more see one another:—
 * But yet thou art my flesh, my blood, my daughter;
 * Or rather a disease that's in my flesh,
 * Which I must needs call mine: thou art a 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.

Reg.
 * 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.

Lear.
 * Is this well spoken?

Reg.
 * I dare avouch it, sir: what, fifty followers?
 * Is it not well? What should you need of more?
 * Yea, or so many, 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.

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

Reg.
 * Why not, my lord? If then they chanc'd to slack 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.

Lear.
 * I gave you all,—

Reg.
 * And in good time you gave it.

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

Reg.
 * And speak't again my lord; no more with me.

Lear.
 * Those wicked creatures yet do look well-favour'd
 * When others are more wicked; not being 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.

Gon.
 * Hear, me, my lord:
 * What need you five-and-twenty, ten, or five,
 * To follow in a house where twice so many
 * Have a command to tend you?

Reg.
 * What need one?

Lear.
 * O, reason not the need: our basest beggars
 * Are in the poorest thing superfluous:
 * Allow not nature more than nature needs,
 * Man's life is cheap as 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 stirs 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 Lear, Gloucester, Kent, and Fool. Storm heard at a distance.]

Corn.
 * Let us withdraw; 'twill be a storm.

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

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

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

Gon.
 * So am I purpos'd.
 * Where is my lord of Gloucester?

Corn.
 * Followed the old man forth:—he is return'd.

[Re-enter Gloucester.]

Glou.
 * The king is in high rage.

Corn.
 * Whither is he going?

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

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

Gon.
 * My lord, entreat him by no means to stay.

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

Reg.
 * 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 abus'd, wisdom bids fear.

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

[Exeunt.]

Scene I. A Heath.
[A storm with thunder and lightning. Enter Kent and a Gentleman,
 * meeting.]

Kent.
 * Who's there, besides foul weather?

Gent.
 * One minded like the weather, most unquietly.

Kent.
 * I know you. Where's the king?

Gent.
 * Contending with the fretful elements;
 * Bids the wind blow the earth into the sea,
 * Or swell the curled waters '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 outscorn
 * 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?

Gent.
 * 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
 * Throne 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.

Gent.
 * 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.

Gent.
 * 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.]

Scene II. Another part of the heath. Storm continues.
[Enter Lear and Fool.]

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,
 * Strike flat the thick rotundity o' the world!
 * Crack nature's moulds, all 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 nether wise men nor fools.

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 despis'd old man:—
 * But yet I call you servile ministers,
 * That will with two pernicious daughters join
 * 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 codpiece 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.

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 codpiece; 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
 * Th' affliction nor the fear.

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 perjur'd, and thou simular man of virtue
 * That art incestuous: caitiff, to pieces shake
 * That under covert and convenient seeming
 * Hast practis'd 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, bareheaded!
 * Gracious my lord, hard by here is a hovel;
 * Some friendship will it lend you 'gainst the tempest:
 * Repose you there, whilst I to this hard house,—
 * More harder than the stones whereof 'tis rais'd;
 * Which even but now, demanding after you,
 * Denied me to come in,—return, and force
 * Their scanted courtesy.

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.

Lear.
 * True, boy.—Come, bring us to this hovel.

[Exeunt 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 us'd with feet.
 * This prophecy Merlin shall make; for I live before his time.

[Exit.]

Scene III. A Room in Gloucester's Castle.
[Enter Gloucester and Edmund.]

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

Edm.
 * Most savage and unnatural!

Glou.
 * Go to; say you nothing. There is 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. If 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.]

Edm.
 * 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.]

Scene IV. A part of the Heath with a Hovel. Storm continues.
[Enter 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.

Lear.
 * Let me alone.

Kent.
 * Good my lord, enter here.

Lear.
 * Wilt break my heart?

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

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'dst shun a bear;
 * But if thy flight lay toward the raging sea,
 * Thou'dst 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.

Lear.
 * Pr'ythee 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, wheresoe'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.

Edg.
 * [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 madman.]

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

Lear.
 * Didst thou give all to thy two daughters?
 * And art thou come to this?

Edg.
 * Who gives anything to poor Tom? whom the foul fiend hath led
 * through fire and through flame, through ford and whirlpool, o'er
 * bog and quagmire; that hath laid knives under his pillow and
 * halters in his pew, set ratsbane by his porridge; made him 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 continues.]

Lear.
 * What, have his daughters brought him to this pass?—
 * Couldst thou save nothing? Didst thou give 'em all?

Fool.
 * Nay, he reserv'd a blanket, else we had been all shamed.

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.

Lear.
 * Death, traitor! nothing could have subdu'd 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.

Edg.
 * Pillicock sat on Pillicock-hill:—
 * Halloo, halloo, loo loo!

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

Edg.
 * Take heed o' th' 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.

Lear.
 * What hast thou been?

Edg.
 * 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-paramour'd 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 brothel, thy hand
 * out of placket, thy pen from lender's book, and defy the foul
 * fiend.—Still through the hawthorn blows the cold wind: says
 * suum, mun, nonny. Dolphin my boy, boy, sessa! let him trot by.

[Storm still continues.]

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.
 * [Tears off his clothes.]

Fool.
 * Pr'ythee, 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.

Edg.
 * 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 harelip; mildews the white wheat,
 * and hurts the poor creature of earth.
 * Swithold footed thrice the old;
 * He met the nightmare, and her nine-fold;
 * Bid her alight
 * And her troth plight,
 * And aroint thee, witch, aroint thee!

Kent.
 * How fares your grace?

[Enter Gloucester with a torch.]

Lear.
 * What's he?

Kent.
 * Who's there? What is't you seek?

Glou.
 * What are you there? Your names?

Edg.
 * Poor Tom; that eats the swimming frog, the toad, the todpole, 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 stocked, punished,
 * and imprisoned; who hath had three suits to his back, six shirts
 * to his body, horse to ride, and weapons 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!

Glou.
 * What, hath your grace no better company?

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

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

Edg.
 * Poor Tom's a-cold.

Glou.
 * 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 ventur'd to come seek you out
 * And bring you where both fire and food is ready.

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.

Lear.
 * I'll talk a word with this same learned Theban.—
 * What is your study?

Edg.
 * How to prevent the fiend and to kill vermin.

Lear.
 * Let me ask you one word in private.

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

Glou.
 * Canst thou blame him?
 * 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 lov'd him, friend,—
 * No father his son dearer: true to tell thee,
 * [Storm continues.]
 * The grief hath craz'd my wits.—What a night's this!—
 * I do beseech your grace,—

Lear.
 * O, cry you mercy, sir.—
 * Noble philosopher, your company.

Edg.
 * Tom's a-cold.

Glou.
 * In, fellow, there, into the hovel; keep thee warm.

Lear.
 * Come, let's in all.

Kent.
 * This way, my lord.

Lear.
 * With him;
 * I will keep still with my philosopher.

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

Glou.
 * Take him you on.

Kent.
 * Sirrah, come on; go along with us.

Lear.
 * Come, good Athenian.

Glou.
 * No words, no words: hush.

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

[Exeunt.]

Scene V. A Room in Gloucester's Castle.
[Enter Cornwall and Edmund.]

Corn.
 * I will have my revenge ere I depart his house.

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

Corn.
 * 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 reproveable badness in himself.

Edm.
 * 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!

Corn.
 * Go with me to the duchess.

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

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

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

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

[Exeunt.]

Scene VI. A Chamber in a Farmhouse adjoining the Castle.
[Enter Gloucester, Lear, Kent, Fool, and Edgar.]

Glou.
 * 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.]

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

Fool.
 * Pr'ythee, nuncle, tell me whether a madman be a gentleman or a
 * yeoman.

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.

Lear.
 * To have a thousand with red burning spits
 * Come hissing in upon 'em,—

Edg.
 * 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.

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!—

Edg.
 * Look, where he stands and glares!—Want'st 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.

Edg.
 * The foul fiend haunts poor Tom in the voice of a nightingale.
 * Hoppedance 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 amaz'd;
 * Will you lie down and rest upon the cushions?

Lear.
 * I'll see their trial first.—Bring in their evidence.
 * [To Edgar.] Thou, robed man of justice, take thy place;—
 * [To the Fool.] And thou, his yokefellow of equity,
 * Bench by his side:—[To Kent.] you are o' the commission,
 * Sit you too.

Edg.
 * 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.
 * Purr! the cat is gray.

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?

Lear.
 * She cannot deny it.

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

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?

Edg.
 * Bless thy five wits!

Kent.
 * O pity!—Sir, where is the patience now
 * That you so oft have boasted to retain?

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

Lear.
 * The little dogs and all,
 * Tray, Blanch, and Sweetheart, see, they bark at me.

Edg.
 * Tom will throw his head at them.—Avaunt, you curs!
 * Be thy mouth or black or white,
 * Tooth that poisons if it bite;
 * Mastiff, greyhound, 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.

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 you for one of my
 * hundred; only I do not like the fashion of your garments: you'll
 * say they are Persian; but let them be changed.

Kent.
 * Now, good my lord, lie here and rest awhile.

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

Fool.
 * And I'll go to bed at noon.

[Re-enter Gloucester.]

Glou.
 * Come hither, friend: where is the king my master?

Kent.
 * Here, sir; but trouble him not,—his wits are gone.

Glou.
 * Good friend, I pr'ythee, 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 sinews,
 * Which, if convenience will not allow,
 * Stand in hard cure.—Come, help to bear thy master;
 * [To the Fool.] Thou must not stay behind.

Glou.
 * Come, come, away!

[Exeunt Kent, Gloucester, and the Fool, bearing off Lear.]

Edg.
 * 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'erskip
 * 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 fathered!—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.]

Scene VII. A Room in Gloucester's Castle.
[Enter Cornwall, Regan, Goneril, Edmund, and Servants.]

Corn.
 * Post speedily to my lord your husband, show him this letter:—
 * the army of France is landed.—Seek out the traitor Gloucester.

[Exeunt some of the Servants.]

Reg.
 * Hang him instantly.

Gon.
 * Pluck out his eyes.

Corn.
 * 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?

Osw.
 * 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 lord's dependants,
 * Are gone with him towards Dover: where they boast
 * To have well-armed friends.

Corn.
 * Get horses for your mistress.

Gon.
 * Farewell, sweet lord, and sister.

Corn.
 * 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?

[Re-enter servants, with Gloucester.]

Reg.
 * Ingrateful fox! 'tis he.

Corn.
 * Bind fast his corky arms.

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

Corn.
 * Bind him, I say.

[Servants bind him.]

Reg.
 * Hard, hard.—O filthy traitor!

Glou.
 * Unmerciful lady as you are, I'm none.

Corn.
 * To this chair bind him.—Villain, thou shalt find,—

[Regan plucks his beard.]

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

Reg.
 * So white, and such a traitor!

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

Corn.
 * Come, sir, what letters had you late from France?

Reg.
 * Be simple-answer'd, for we know the truth.

Corn.
 * And what confederacy have you with the traitors
 * Late footed in the kingdom?

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

Glou.
 * I have a letter guessingly set down,
 * Which came from one that's of a neutral heart,
 * And not from one oppos'd.

Corn.
 * Cunning.

Reg.
 * And false.

Corn.
 * Where hast thou sent the king?

Glou.
 * To Dover.

Reg.
 * Wherefore to Dover? Wast thou not charg'd at peril,—

Corn.
 * Wherefore to Dover? Let him first answer that.

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

Reg.
 * Wherefore to Dover, sir?

Glou.
 * 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 endur'd, 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 subscrib'd:—but I shall see
 * The winged vengeance overtake such children.

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

[Gloucester is held down in his chair, while Cornwall plucks out one
 * of his eyes and sets his foot on it.]

Glou.
 * He that will think to live till he be old,
 * Give me some help!—O cruel!—O ye gods!

Reg.
 * One side will mock another; the other too!

Corn.
 * If you see vengeance,—

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

Reg.
 * How now, you dog!

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

Corn.
 * My villain!

[Draws, and runs at him.]

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

[Draws. They fight. Cornwall is wounded.]

Reg.
 * Give me thy sword [to another servant.]—A peasant stand up thus?

[Snatches a sword, comes behind, and stabs him.]

First Serv.
 * O, I am slain!—My lord, you have one eye left
 * To see some mischief on thim. O!

[Dies.]

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

[Tears out Gloucester's other eye and throws it on the ground.]

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

Reg.
 * 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.

Glou.
 * O my follies! Then Edgar was abus'd.—
 * Kind gods, forgive me that, and prosper him!

Reg.
 * Go thrust him out at gates, and let him smell
 * His way to Dover.—How is't, my lord? How look you?

Corn.
 * I have receiv'd 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; Servants unbind Gloucester and lead
 * him out.]

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

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

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

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

[Exeunt severally.]

Scene I. The heath.
[Enter Edgar.]

Edg.
 * 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,
 * Life would not yield to age.

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

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

Old Man.
 * You cannot see your way.

Glou.
 * 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'd say I had eyes again!

Old Man.
 * How now! Who's there?

Edg.
 * [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.

Edg.
 * [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?

Glou.
 * Is it a beggar-man?

Old Man.
 * Madman and beggar too.

Glou.
 * 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.

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

Glou.
 * Is that the naked fellow?

Old Man.
 * Ay, my lord.

Glou.
 * Then pr'ythee 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,
 * Which I'll entreat to lead me.

Old Man.
 * Alack, sir, he is mad.

Glou.
 * 'Tis the time's 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.]

Glou.
 * Sirrah naked fellow,—

Edg.
 * Poor Tom's a-cold.
 * [Aside.] I cannot daub it further.

Glou.
 * Come hither, fellow.

Edg.
 * [Aside.] And yet I must.—Bless thy sweet eyes, they bleed.

Glou.
 * Know'st thou the way to Dover?

Edg.
 * Both stile and gate, horseway and footpath. 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!

Glou.
 * 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 does not feel, feel your power quickly;
 * So distribution should undo excess,
 * And each man have enough.—Dost thou know Dover?

Edg.
 * Ay, master.

Glou.
 * 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.

Edg.
 * Give me thy arm:
 * Poor Tom shall lead thee.

[Exeunt.]

Scene II. Before the Duke of Albany's Palace.
[Enter Goneril and Edmund; Oswald meeting them.]

Gon.
 * Welcome, my lord: I marvel our mild husband
 * Not met us on the way.—Now, where's your master?

Osw.
 * Madam, within; but never man so chang'd.
 * I told him of the army that was landed;
 * He smil'd 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.

Gon.
 * [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. [Giving a favour.]
 * Wear this; spare speech;
 * Decline your head: this kiss, if it durst speak,
 * Would stretch thy spirits up into the air:—
 * Conceive, and fare thee well.

Edm.
 * Yours in the ranks of death!

[Exit Edmund.]

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

Osw.
 * Madam, here comes my lord.

[Exit.]

[Enter Albany.]

Gon.
 * I have been worth the whistle.

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

Gon.
 * No more; the text is foolish.

Alb.
 * 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.

Gon.
 * 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, sitt'st still, and criest
 * 'Alack, why does he so?'

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

Gon.
 * O vain fool!

Alb.
 * 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.

Gon.
 * Marry, your manhood now!

[Enter a Messenger.]

Alb.
 * What news?

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

Alb.
 * Gloucester's eyes!

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

Alb.
 * 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?

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

Gon.
 * [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.]

Alb.
 * Where was his son when they did take his eyes?

Mess.
 * Come with my lady hither.

Alb.
 * He is not here.

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

Alb.
 * Knows he the wickedness?

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

Alb.
 * 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.]

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?

Gent.
 * 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?

Gent.
 * The Mareschal of France, Monsieur La Far.

Kent.
 * Did your letters pierce the queen to any demonstration of grief?

Gent.
 * 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 mov'd her.

Gent.
 * 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 day: 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 belov'd, if all
 * Could so become it.

Kent.
 * Made she no verbal question?

Gent.
 * Faith, once or twice she heav'd 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 believ'd!'—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?

Gent.
 * No.

Kent.
 * Was this before the king return'd?

Gent.
 * 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.

Gent.
 * 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.

Gent.
 * Alack, poor gentleman!

Kent.
 * Of Albany's and Cornwall's powers you heard not?

Gent.
 * 'Tis so; they are a-foot.

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.]

Scene IV. The French camp. A Tent.
[Enter Cordelia, Physician, and Soldiers.]

Cor.
 * 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 harlocks, 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.

Phys.
 * 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.

Cor.
 * All bless'd 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.]

Mess.
 * News, madam;
 * The British powers are marching hitherward.

Cor.
 * '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 ag'd father's right:
 * Soon may I hear and see him!

[Exeunt.]

Scene V. A Room in Gloucester's Castle.
[Enter Regan and Oswald.]

Reg.
 * But are my brother's powers set forth?

Osw.
 * Ay, madam.

Reg.
 * Himself in person there?

Osw.
 * Madam, with much ado.
 * Your sister is the better soldier.

Reg.
 * Lord Edmund spake not with your lord at home?

Osw.
 * No, madam.

Reg.
 * What might import my sister's letter to him?

Osw.
 * I know not, lady.

Reg.
 * 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 despatch
 * His nighted life; moreover, to descry
 * The strength o' the enemy.

Osw.
 * I must needs after him, madam, with my letter.

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

Osw.
 * I may not, madam:
 * My lady charg'd my duty in this business.

Reg.
 * 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.

Osw.
 * Madam, I had rather,—

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

Osw.
 * I, madam?

Reg.
 * 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.

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

Reg.
 * Fare thee well.

[Exeunt.]

Scene VI. The country near Dover.
[Enter Gloucester, and Edgar dressed like a peasant.]

Glou.
 * When shall I come to the top of that same hill?

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

Glou.
 * Methinks the ground is even.

Edg.
 * Horrible steep.
 * Hark, do you hear the sea?

Glou.
 * No, truly.

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

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

Edg.
 * You are much deceiv'd: in nothing am I chang'd
 * But in my garments.

Glou.
 * Methinks you're better spoken.

Edg.
 * 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 pebble chafes
 * Cannot be heard so high.—I'll look no more;
 * Lest my brain turn, and the deficient sight
 * Topple down headlong.

Glou.
 * Set me where you stand.

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

Glou.
 * 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 further off;
 * Bid me farewell, and let me hear thee going.

Edg.
 * Now fare ye well, good sir.

[Seems to go.]

Glou.
 * With all my heart.

Edg.
 * [Aside.] Why I do trifle thus with his despair
 * Is done to cure it.

Glou.
 * 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.

Edg.
 * Gone, sir:—farewell.—

[Gloucester leaps, and falls along.]

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?

Glou.
 * Away, and let me die.

Edg.
 * 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 is a miracle.—Speak yet again.

Glou.
 * But have I fall'n, or no?

Edg.
 * From the dread summit of this chalky bourn.
 * Look up a-height;—the shrill-gorg'd lark so far
 * Cannot be seen or heard: do but look up.

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

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

Glou.
 * Too well, too well.

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

Glou.
 * A poor unfortunate beggar.

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

Glou.
 * 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.

Edg.
 * Bear free and patient thoughts.—But who comes here?

[Enter Lear, fantastically dressed up with flowers.]

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

Lear.
 * No, they cannot touch me for coining;
 * I am the king himself.

Edg.
 * O thou side-piercing sight!

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.

Edg.
 * Sweet marjoram.

Lear.
 * Pass.

Glou.
 * I know that voice.

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 everything 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 everything; 'tis a
 * lie—I am not ague-proof.

Glou.
 * The trick of that voice I do well remember:
 * Is't not the 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 fiend's; there's hell, there's darkness,
 * There is 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.

Glou.
 * O, let me kiss that hand!

Lear.
 * Let me wipe it first; it smells of mortality.

Glou.
 * O ruin'd piece of nature! This great world
 * Shall so wear out to naught.—Dost thou know me?

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.

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

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

Lear.
 * Read.

Glou.
 * What, with the case of eyes?

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.

Glou.
 * I see it feelingly.

Lear.
 * What, art mad? A man may see how the 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?

Glou.
 * Ay, sir.

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 pygmy'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.

Edg.
 * O, matter and impertinency mix'd!
 * Reason, in madness!

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.

Glou.
 * Alack, alack the day!

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].

Gent.
 * O, here he is: lay hand upon him.—Sir,
 * Your most dear daughter,—

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.

Gent.
 * You shall have anything.

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 for laying Autumn's dust.

Gent.
 * Good sir,—

Lear.
 * I will die bravely, like a smug bridegroom. What!
 * I will be jovial: come, come, I am a king,
 * My masters, know you that.

Gent.
 * You are a royal one, and we obey you.

Lear.
 * Then there's life in't. Nay, an you get it, you shall get it
 * by running. Sa, sa, sa, sa!

[Exit running. Attendants follow.]

Gent.
 * 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.

Edg.
 * Hail, gentle sir.

Gent.
 * Sir, speed you. What's your will?

Edg.
 * Do you hear aught, sir, of a battle toward?

Gent.
 * Most sure and vulgar: every one hears that
 * Which can distinguish sound.

Edg.
 * But, by your favour,
 * How near's the other army?

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

Edg.
 * I thank you sir: that's all.

Gent.
 * Though that the queen on special cause is here,
 * Her army is mov'd on.

Edg.
 * I thank you, sir.

[Exit Gentleman.]

Glou.
 * You ever-gentle gods, take my breath from me;
 * Let not my worser spirit tempt me again
 * To die before you please!

Edg.
 * Well pray you, father.

Glou.
 * Now, good sir, what are you?

Edg.
 * 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.

Glou.
 * Hearty thanks:
 * The bounty and the benison of heaven
 * To boot, and boot!

[Enter Oswald.]

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

Glou.
 * Now let thy friendly hand
 * Put strength enough to it.

[Edgar interposes.]

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

Edg.
 * Chill not let go, zir, without vurther 'casion.

Osw.
 * Let go, slave, or thou diest!

Edg.
 * Good gentleman, go your gait, and let poor voke 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 the old man; keep out,
 * che vore ye, or ise try whether your costard or my bat be the
 * harder: chill be plain with you.

Osw.
 * Out, dunghill!

Edg.
 * Chill pick your teeth, zir. Come! No matter vor your foins.

[They fight, and Edgar knocks him down.]

Osw.
 * 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.]

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

Glou.
 * What, is he dead?

Edg.
 * 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'd 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
 * gaol; from the loathed warmth whereof deliver me, and supply the
 * place for your labour.
 * 'Your (wife, so I would say) affectionate servant,
 * 'Goneril.'
 * O indistinguish'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-practis'd duke: for him 'tis well
 * That of thy death and business I can tell.

[Exit Edgar, dragging out the body.]

Glou.
 * 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.

Edg.
 * Give me your hand:
 * [A drum afar off.]
 * Far off methinks I hear the beaten drum:
 * Come, father, I'll bestow you with a friend.

[Exeunt.]

Scene VII. A Tent in the French Camp.
[Lear on a bed, asleep, soft music playing; Physician, Gentleman, and others attending.]

[Enter Cordelia, and Kent.]

Cor.
 * 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 acknowledg'd, madam, is o'erpaid.
 * All my reports go with the modest truth;
 * Nor more nor clipp'd, but so.

Cor.
 * Be better suited:
 * These weeds are memories of those worser hours:
 * I pr'ythee, put them off.

Kent.
 * Pardon, 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.

Cor.
 * Then be't so, my good lord. [To the Physician.] How, does the
 * king?

Phys.
 * Madam, sleeps still.

Cor.
 * O you kind gods,
 * Cure this great breach in his abused nature!
 * The untun'd and jarring senses, O, wind up
 * Of this child-changed father!

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

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

Gent.
 * Ay, madam. In the heaviness of sleep
 * We put fresh garments on him.

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

Cor.
 * Very well.

Phys.
 * Please you draw near.—Louder the music there!

Cor.
 * 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!

Cor.
 * Had you not been their father, these white flakes
 * Had challeng'd pity of them. Was this a face
 * To be oppos'd 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.

Doct.
 * Madam, do you; 'tis fittest.

Cor.
 * How does my royal lord? How fares your majesty?

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 molten lead.

Cor.
 * Sir, do you know me?

Lear.
 * You are a spirit, I know: when did you die?

Cor.
 * Still, still, far wide!

Phys.
 * He's scarce awake: let him alone awhile.

Lear.
 * Where have I been? Where am I?—Fair daylight,—
 * I am mightily abus'd.—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 assur'd
 * Of my condition!

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

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.

Cor.
 * And so I am. I am.

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.

Cor.
 * No cause, no cause.

Lear.
 * Am I in France?

Kent.
 * In your own kingdom, sir.

Lear.
 * Do not abuse me.

Phys.
 * 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.

Cor.
 * Will't please your highness walk?

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

[Exeunt Lear, Cordelia, Physician, and Attendants.]

Gent.
 * Holds it true, sir, that the Duke of Cornwall was so slain?

Kent.
 * Most certain, sir.

Gent.
 * Who is conductor of his people?

Kent.
 * As 'tis said, the bastard son of Gloucester.

Gent.
 * 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.

Gent.
 * 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.]

Scene I. The Camp of the British Forces near Dover.
[Enter, with drum and colours, Edmund, Regan, Officers, Soldiers,
 * and others.]

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

[To an Officer, who goes out.]

Reg.
 * Our sister's man is certainly miscarried.

Edm.
 * Tis to be doubted, madam.

Reg.
 * 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?

Edm.
 * In honour'd love.

Reg.
 * But have you never found my brother's way
 * To the forfended place?

Edm.
 * That thought abuses you.

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

Edm.
 * No, by mine honour, madam.

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

Edm.
 * Fear me not:—
 * She and the duke her husband!

[Enter, with drum and colours, Albany, Goneril, and Soldiers.]

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

Alb.
 * Our very loving sister, well be-met.—
 * Sir, this I heard,—the king is come to his daughter,
 * With others whom the rigour of our state
 * Forc'd 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.

Edm.
 * Sir, you speak nobly.

Reg.
 * Why is this reason'd?

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

Alb.
 * Let's, then, determine
 * With the ancient of war on our proceeding.

Edm.
 * I shall attend you presently at your tent.

Reg.
 * Sister, you'll go with us?

Gon.
 * No.

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

Gon.
 * [Aside.] O, ho, I know the riddle.—I will go.

[As they are going out, enter Edgar disguised.]

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

Alb.
 * I'll overtake you.—Speak.

[Exeunt Edmund, Regan, Goneril, Officers, Soldiers, and
 * Attendants.]

Edg.
 * 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!

Alb.
 * Stay till I have read the letter.

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

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

[Exit Edgar.]

[Re-enter Edmund.]

Edm.
 * 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 urg'd on you.

Alb.
 * We will greet the time.

[Exit.]

Edm.
 * 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.]

Scene II. A field between the two Camps.
[Alarum within. Enter, with drum and colours, Lear, Cordelia, and
 * their Forces, and exeunt.]

[Enter Edgar and Gloucester.]

Edg.
 * 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.

Glou.
 * Grace go with you, sir!

[Exit Edgar].

[Alarum and retreat within. R-enter Edgar.]

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

Glou.
 * No further, sir; a man may rot even here.

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

Glou.
 * And that's true too.

[Exeunt.]

Scene III. The British Camp near Dover.
[Enter, in conquest, with drum and colours, Edmund; Lear and
 * Cordelia prisoners; Officers, Soldiers, &c.]

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

Cor.
 * 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?

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.

Edm.
 * Take them away.

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 goodyears shall devour them, flesh and fell,
 * Ere they shall make us weep: we'll see 'em starve first.
 * Come.

[Exeunt Lear and Cordelia, guarded.]

Edm.
 * Come hither, captain; hark.
 * Take thou this note [giving a paper]; go follow them to prison:
 * One step I have advanc'd 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.

Capt.
 * I'll do't, my lord.

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

Capt.
 * 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, Officers, and
 * Attendants.]

Alb.
 * Sir, you have show'd to-day your valiant strain,
 * And fortune led you well: you have the captives
 * Who 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.

Edm.
 * 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,
 * And 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 curs'd
 * By those that feel their sharpness:—
 * The question of Cordelia and her father
 * Requires a fitter place.

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

Reg.
 * 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.

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

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

Gon.
 * That were the most if he should husband you.

Reg.
 * Jesters do oft prove prophets.

Gon.
 * Holla, holla!
 * That eye that told you so look'd but asquint.

Reg.
 * 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.

Gon.
 * Mean you to enjoy him?

Alb.
 * The let-alone lies not in your good will.

Edm.
 * Nor in thine, lord.

Alb.
 * Half-blooded fellow, yes.

Reg.
 * [To Edmund.] Let the drum strike, and prove my title thine.

Alb.
 * Stay yet; hear reason.—Edmund, I arrest thee
 * On capital treason; and, in thine arrest,
 * This gilded serpent [pointing to Goneril.],—For your claim, fair
 * sister,
 * I bar it in the interest of my wife;
 * 'Tis she is subcontracted to this lord,
 * And I, her husband, contradict your bans.
 * If you will marry, make your loves to me,—
 * My lady is bespoke.

Gon.
 * An interlude!

Alb.
 * Thou art arm'd, Gloucester:—let the trumpet sound:
 * If none appear to prove upon thy person
 * 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.

Reg.
 * Sick, O, sick!

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

Edm.
 * 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.

Alb.
 * A herald, ho!

Edm.
 * A herald, ho, a herald!

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

Reg.
 * My sickness grows upon me.

Alb.
 * 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.

Officer.
 * Sound, trumpet!

[A trumpet sounds.]

Her.
 * [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.'

Edm.
 * Sound!

[First trumpet.]

Her.
 * Again!

[Second trumpet.]

Her.
 * Again!

[Third trumpet. Trumpet answers within. Enter Edgar, armed,
 * preceded by a trumpet.]

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

Her.
 * What are you?
 * Your name, your quality? and why you answer
 * This present summons?

Edg.
 * 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.

Alb.
 * Which is that adversary?

Edg.
 * What's he that speaks for Edmund Earl of Gloucester?

Edm.
 * Himself:—what say'st thou to him?

Edg.
 * 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 beneath 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.

Edm.
 * 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 those 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.]

Alb.
 * Save him, save him!

Gon.
 * This is mere practice, Gloucester:
 * By the law of arms thou wast not bound to answer
 * An unknown opposite; thou art not vanquish'd,
 * But cozen'd and beguil'd.

Alb.
 * 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.]

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

Alb.
 * Most monstrous!
 * Know'st thou this paper?

Gon.
 * Ask me not what I know.

[Exit.]

Alb.
 * Go after her: she's desperate; govern her.

[To an Officer, who goes out.]

Edm.
 * What, you have charg'd 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.

Edg.
 * 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.

Edm.
 * Thou hast spoken right; 'tis true;
 * The wheel is come full circle; I am here.

Alb.
 * 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!

Edg.
 * Worthy prince, I know't.

Alb.
 * Where have you hid yourself?
 * How have you known the miseries of your father?

Edg.
 * 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 with the pain of death we'd 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, sav'd 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.

Edm.
 * This speech of yours hath mov'd me,
 * And shall perchance do good: but speak you on;
 * You look as you had something more to say.

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

Edg.
 * 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 a man
 * Who, having seen me in my worst estate,
 * Shunn'd my abhorr'd society; but then, finding
 * Who 'twas that so endur'd, with his strong arms
 * He fastened on my neck, and bellow'd out
 * As he'd burst heaven; threw him on my father;
 * Told the most piteous tale of Lear and him
 * That ever ear receiv'd: 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 tranc'd.

Alb.
 * But who was this?

Edg.
 * 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 hastily, with a bloody knife.]

Gent.
 * Help, help! O, help!

Edg.
 * What kind of help?

Alb.
 * Speak, man.

Edg.
 * What means that bloody knife?

Gent.
 * 'Tis hot, it smokes;
 * It came even from the heart of—O! she's dead!

Alb.
 * Who dead? speak, man.

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

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

Edg.
 * Here comes Kent.

Alb.
 * Produce their bodies, be they alive or dead:—
 * This judgement 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
 * That very manners urges.

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

Alb.
 * Great thing of us forgot!
 * Speak, Edmund, where's the king? and where's Cordelia?

[The bodies of Goneril and Regan are brought in.]

Seest thou this object, Kent?

Kent.
 * Alack, why thus?

Edm.
 * Yet Edmund was belov'd.
 * The one the other poisoned for my sake,
 * And after slew herself.

Alb.
 * Even so.—Cover their faces.

Edm.
 * 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.

Alb.
 * Run, run, O, run!

Edg.
 * To who, my lord?—Who has the office? send
 * Thy token of reprieve.

Edm.
 * Well thought on: take my sword,
 * Give it the Captain.

Alb.
 * Haste thee for thy life.

[Exit Edgar.]

Edm.
 * 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.

Alb.
 * The gods defend her!—Bear him hence awhile.

[Edmund is borne off.]

[Re-enter Lear, with Cordelia dead in his arms; Edgar, Officer, and others following.]

Lear.
 * Howl, howl, howl, howl!—O, you are men of stone.
 * 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 promis'd end?

Edg.
 * Or image of that horror?

Alb.
 * Fall, and cease!

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.
 * O my good master! [Kneeling.]

Lear.
 * Pr'ythee, away!

Edg.
 * 'Tis noble Kent, your friend.

Lear.
 * A plague upon you, murderers, traitors all!
 * I might have sav'd 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.

Off.
 * 'Tis true, my lords, he did.

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 lov'd and hated,
 * One of them we behold.

Lear.
 * This is a dull sight. Are you not Kent?

Kent.
 * The same,
 * Your servant Kent.—Where is your servant Caius?

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,—

Lear.
 * I'll see that straight.

Kent.
 * That from your first of difference and decay
 * Have follow'd your sad steps.

Lear.
 * You are welcome hither.

Kent.
 * Nor no man else:—All's cheerless, dark, and deadly.—
 * Your eldest daughters have fordone themselves,
 * And desperately are dead.

Lear.
 * Ay, so I think.

Alb.
 * He knows not what he says; and vain is it
 * That we present us to him.

Edg.
 * Very bootless.

[Enter a Officer.]

Off.
 * Edmund is dead, my lord.

Alb.
 * 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!

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!—

[He dies.]

Edg.
 * He faints!—My lord, my lord!—

Kent.
 * Break, heart; I pr'ythee break!

Edg.
 * Look up, my lord.

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

Edg.
 * He is gone indeed.

Kent.
 * The wonder is, he hath endur'd so long:
 * He but usurp'd his life.

Alb.
 * 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 gor'd state sustain.

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

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

[Exeunt, with a dead march.]