ALBANY.Now, gods that we adore, whereof comes this?
GONERIL.Never afflict yourself to know more of it;But let his disposition have that scopeThat dotage gives it.
Re-enter Lear.
LEAR.What, fifty of my followers at a clap?Within a fortnight?
ALBANY.What’s the matter, sir?
LEAR.I’ll tell thee. [_To Goneril._] Life and death! I amasham’dThat 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 cursePierce every sense about thee! Old fond eyes,Beweep this cause again, I’ll pluck ye out,And cast you with the waters that you loseTo 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 nailsShe’ll flay thy wolvish visage. Thou shalt findThat I’ll resume the shape which thou dost thinkI have cast off for ever.
[_Exeunt Lear, Kent and Attendants._]
GONERIL.Do you mark that?
ALBANY.I cannot be so partial, Goneril,To the great love I bear you,—
GONERIL.Pray you, content. What, Oswald, ho![_To the Fool._] You, sir, more knave than fool, after your master.
FOOL.Nuncle Lear, nuncle Lear, tarry and take the fool with thee.A fox when one has caught her,And such a daughter,Should sure to the slaughter,If my cap would buy a halter;So the fool follows after.
[_Exit._]
GONERIL.This man hath had good counsel.—A hundred knights!’Tis politic and safe to let him keepAt point a hundred knights: yes, that on every dream,Each buzz, each fancy, each complaint, dislike,He may enguard his dotage with their powers,And hold our lives in mercy. Oswald, I say!
ALBANY.Well, you may fear too far.
GONERIL.Safer than trust too far:Let me still take away the harms I fear,Not fear still to be taken: I know his heart.What he hath utter’d I have writ my sister:If she sustain him and his hundred knights,When I have show’d th’unfitness,—
Re-enter Oswald.
How now, Oswald!What, have you writ that letter to my sister?
OSWALD.Ay, madam.
GONERIL.Take you some company, and away to horse:Inform her full of my particular fear;And thereto add such reasons of your ownAs may compact it more. Get you gone;And hasten your return.
[_Exit Oswald._]
No, no, my lord!This milky gentleness and course of yours,Though I condemn not, yet, under pardon,You are much more attask’d for want of wisdomThan prais’d for harmful mildness.
ALBANY.How far your eyes may pierce I cannot tell:Striving to better, oft we mar what’s well.
GONERIL.Nay then,—
ALBANY.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 mydaughter no further with anything you know than comes from herdemand out of the letter. If your diligence be not speedy, Ishall 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 ofkibes?
LEAR.Ay, boy.
FOOL.Then I prythee be merry; thy wit shall not go slipshod.
LEAR.Ha, ha, ha!
FOOL.Shalt see thy other daughter will use thee kindly, for thoughshe’s as like this as a crab’s like an apple, yet I can tellwhat I can tell.
LEAR.What canst tell, boy?
FOOL.She’ll taste as like this as a crab does to a crab. Thoucanst 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 mancannot 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, andleave 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 areno 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’d have thee beaten for beingold 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?
GENTLEMAN.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._]
ACT II
SCENE I. A court within the Castle of the Earl of Gloucester
Enter Edmund and Curan, meeting.
EDMUND.Save thee, Curan.
CURAN.And you, sir. I have been with your father, and given himnotice that the Duke of Cornwall and Regan his Duchess will behere with him this night.
EDMUND.How comes that?
CURAN.Nay, I know not. You have heard of the news abroad; I mean thewhispered ones, for they are yet but ear-kissing arguments?
EDMUND.Not I: pray you, what are they?
CURAN.Have you heard of no likely wars toward, ’twixt the two dukesof Cornwall and Albany?
EDMUND.Not a word.
CURAN.You may do, then, in time. Fare you well, sir.
[_Exit._]
EDMUND.The Duke be here tonight? The better! best!This weaves itself perforce into my business.My father hath set guard to take my brother;And I have one thing, of a queasy question,Which I must act. Briefness and fortune work!Brother, a word, descend, brother, I say!
Enter Edgar.
My father watches: O sir, fly this place;Intelligence is given where you are hid;You have now the good advantage of the night.Have you not spoken ’gainst the Duke of Cornwall?He’s coming hither; now, i’ the night, i’ the haste,And Regan with him: have you nothing saidUpon his party ’gainst the Duke of Albany?Advise yourself.
EDGAR.I am sure on’t, not a word.
EDMUND.I hear my father coming:—pardon me;In cunning I must draw my sword upon you:Draw: seem to defend yourself: now quit you well.Yield: come before my father. Light, ho, here!Fly, brother. Torches, torches!—So farewell.
[_Exit Edgar._]
Some blood drawn on me would beget opinionOf my more fierce endeavour: [_Wounds his arm._]I have seen drunkardsDo more than this in sport. Father, father!Stop, stop! No help?
Enter Gloucester andServants with torches.
GLOUCESTER.Now, Edmund, where’s the villain?
EDMUND.Here stood he in the dark, his sharp sword out,Mumbling of wicked charms, conjuring the moonTo stand auspicious mistress.
GLOUCESTER.But where is he?
EDMUND.Look, sir, I bleed.
GLOUCESTER.Where is the villain, Edmund?
EDMUND.Fled this way, sir. When by no means he could,—
GLOUCESTER.Pursue him, ho! Go after.
[_Exeunt Servants._]
—By no means what?
EDMUND.Persuade me to the murder of your lordship;But that I told him the revenging gods’Gainst parricides did all their thunders bend;Spoke with how manifold and strong a bondThe child was bound to the father; sir, in fine,Seeing how loathly opposite I stoodTo his unnatural purpose, in fell motionWith his prepared sword, he charges homeMy unprovided body, latch’d mine arm;But when he saw my best alarum’d spirits,Bold in the quarrel’s right, rous’d to th’encounter,Or whether gasted by the noise I made,Full suddenly he fled.
GLOUCESTER.Let him fly far;Not in this land shall he remain uncaught;And found—dispatch’d. The noble Duke my master,My worthy arch and patron, comes tonight:By his authority I will proclaim it,That he which finds him shall deserve our thanks,Bringing the murderous coward to the stake;He that conceals him, death.
EDMUND.When I dissuaded him from his intent,And found him pight to do it, with curst speechI threaten’d to discover him: he replied,‘Thou unpossessing bastard! dost thou think,If I would stand against thee, would the reposalOf any trust, virtue, or worth in theeMake thy words faith’d? No: what I should denyAs this I would; ay, though thou didst produceMy very character, I’d turn it allTo thy suggestion, plot, and damned practice:And thou must make a dullard of the world,If they not thought the profits of my deathWere very pregnant and potential spursTo make thee seek it.
GLOUCESTER.O strange and fast’ned villain!Would he deny his letter, said he? I never got him.
[_Tucket within._]
Hark, the Duke’s trumpets! I know not why he comes.All ports I’ll bar; the villain shall not scape;The Duke must grant me that: besides, his pictureI will send far and near, that all the kingdomMay have due note of him; and of my land,Loyal and natural boy, I’ll work the meansTo make thee capable.
Enter Cornwall, Regan andAttendants.
CORNWALL.How now, my noble friend! since I came hither,Which I can call but now, I have heard strange news.
REGAN.If it be true, all vengeance comes too shortWhich can pursue th’offender. How dost, my lord?
GLOUCESTER.O madam, my old heart is crack’d, it’s crack’d!
REGAN.What, did my father’s godson seek your life?He whom my father nam’d? your Edgar?
GLOUCESTER.O lady, lady, shame would have it hid!
REGAN.Was he not companion with the riotous knightsThat tend upon my father?
GLOUCESTER.I know not, madam; ’tis too bad, too bad.
EDMUND.Yes, madam, he was of that consort.
REGAN.No marvel then though he were ill affected:’Tis they have put him on the old man’s death,To have the expense and waste of his revenues.I have this present evening from my sisterBeen well inform’d of them; and with such cautionsThat if they come to sojourn at my house,I’ll not be there.
CORNWALL.Nor I, assure thee, Regan.Edmund, I hear that you have shown your fatherA childlike office.
EDMUND.It was my duty, sir.
GLOUCESTER.He did bewray his practice; and receiv’dThis hurt you see, striving to apprehend him.
CORNWALL.Is he pursued?
GLOUCESTER.Ay, my good lord.
CORNWALL.If he be taken, he shall never moreBe fear’d of doing harm: make your own purpose,How in my strength you please. For you, Edmund,Whose virtue and obedience doth this instantSo much commend itself, you shall be ours:Natures of such deep trust we shall much need;You we first seize on.
EDMUND.I shall serve you, sir, truly, however else.
GLOUCESTER.For him I thank your grace.
CORNWALL.You know not why we came to visit you?
REGAN.Thus out of season, threading dark-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 fitTo answer from our home; the several messengersFrom hence attend dispatch. Our good old friend,Lay comforts to your bosom; and bestowYour needful counsel to our business,Which craves the instant use.
GLOUCESTER.I serve you, madam:Your graces are right welcome.
[_Exeunt. Flourish._]
SCENE II. Before Gloucester’s Castle
Enter Kent and Oswald,severally.
OSWALD.Good dawning to thee, friend: art of this house?
KENT.Ay.
OSWALD.Where may we set our horses?
KENT.I’ the mire.
OSWALD.Prythee, if thou lov’st me, tell me.
KENT.I love thee not.
OSWALD.Why then, I care not for thee.
KENT.If I had thee in Lipsbury pinfold, I would make thee care for me.
OSWALD.Why dost thou use me thus? I know thee not.
KENT.Fellow, I know thee.
OSWALD.What dost thou know me for?
KENT.A knave; a rascal; an eater of broken meats; a base, proud,shallow, beggarly, three-suited, hundred-pound, filthy,worsted-stocking knave; a lily-livered, action-taking, whoreson,glass-gazing, super-serviceable, finical rogue;one trunk-inheriting slave; one that wouldst be a bawd in way ofgood service, and art nothing but the composition of aknave, beggar, coward, pander, and the son and heir of a mongrelbitch: one whom I will beat into clamorous whining, if thoudeniest the least syllable of thy addition.
OSWALD.Why, what a monstrous fellow art thou, thus to rail on one that’sneither known of thee nor knows thee?
KENT.What a brazen-faced varlet art thou, to deny thou knowest me! Isit two days ago since I tripped up thy heels and beat thee beforethe King? Draw, you rogue: for, though it be night, yet the moonshines; I’ll make a sop o’ the moonshine of you: draw, youwhoreson cullionly barber-monger, draw!
[_Drawing his sword._]
OSWALD.Away! I have nothing to do with thee.
KENT.Draw, you rascal: you come with letters against the King; andtake vanity the puppet’s part against the royalty of her father:draw, you rogue, or I’ll so carbonado your shanks:—draw, you rascal;come your ways!
OSWALD.Help, ho! murder! help!
KENT.Strike, you slave; stand, rogue, stand; you neat slave, strike!
[_Beating him._]
OSWALD.Help, ho! murder! murder!
Enter Edmund, Cornwall, Regan,Gloucester and Servants.
EDMUND.How now! What’s the matter? Part!
KENT.With you, goodman boy, if you please: come, I’ll flesh ye; comeon, young master.
GLOUCESTER.Weapons! arms! What’s the matter here?
CORNWALL.Keep peace, upon your lives, he dies that strikes again. What is thematter?
REGAN.The messengers from our sister and the King.
CORNWALL.What is your difference? Speak.
OSWALD.I am scarce in breath, my lord.
KENT.No marvel, you have so bestirr’d your valour. You cowardlyrascal, nature disclaims in thee; a tailor made thee.
CORNWALL.Thou art a strange fellow: a tailor make a man?
KENT.Ay, a tailor, sir: a stonecutter or a painter could not havemade him so ill, though he had been but two years at the trade.
CORNWALL.Speak yet, how grew your quarrel?
OSWALD.This ancient ruffian, sir, whose life I have spared at suit of his greybeard,—
KENT.Thou whoreson zed! thou unnecessary letter! My lord, if you’llgive me leave, I will tread this unbolted villain into mortar anddaub the walls of a jakes with him. Spare my grey beard, you wagtail?
CORNWALL.Peace, sirrah!You beastly knave, know you no reverence?
KENT.Yes, sir; but anger hath a privilege.
CORNWALL.Why art thou angry?
KENT.That such a slave as this should wear a sword,Who wears no honesty. Such smiling rogues as these,Like rats, oft bite the holy cords a-twainWhich are too intrince t’unloose; smooth every passionThat in the natures of their lords rebel;Bring oil to fire, snow to their colder moods;Renege, affirm, and turn their halcyon beaksWith 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, if I had you upon Sarum plain,I’d drive ye cackling home to Camelot.
CORNWALL.What, art thou mad, old fellow?
GLOUCESTER.How fell you out? Say that.
KENT.No contraries hold more antipathyThan I and such a knave.
CORNWALL.Why dost thou call him knave? What is his fault?
KENT.His countenance likes me not.
CORNWALL.No more perchance does mine, or his, or hers.
KENT.Sir, ’tis my occupation to be plain:I have seen better faces in my timeThan stands on any shoulder that I seeBefore me at this instant.
CORNWALL.This is some fellowWho, having been prais’d for bluntness, doth affectA saucy roughness, and constrains the garbQuite 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 plainnessHarbour more craft and more corrupter endsThan twenty silly-ducking observantsThat stretch their duties nicely.
KENT.Sir, in good faith, in sincere verity,Under th’allowance of your great aspect,Whose influence, like the wreath of radiant fireOn flickering Phoebus’ front,—
CORNWALL.What mean’st by this?
KENT.To go out of my dialect, which you discommend so much. I know,sir, I am no flatterer: he that beguiled you in a plain accentwas a plain knave; which, for my part, I will not be, though Ishould win your displeasure to entreat me to’t.
CORNWALL.What was the offence you gave him?
OSWALD.I never gave him any:It pleas’d the King his master very lateTo strike at me, upon his misconstruction;When he, compact, and flattering his displeasure,Tripp’d me behind; being down, insulted, rail’dAnd put upon him such a deal of man,That worthied him, got praises of the KingFor 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 cowardsBut Ajax is their fool.
CORNWALL.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 maliceAgainst the grace and person of my master,Stocking his messenger.
CORNWALL.Fetch forth the stocks!As I have life and honour, there shall he sit till noon.
REGAN.Till noon! Till night, my lord; and all night too!
KENT.Why, madam, if I were your father’s dog,You should not use me so.
REGAN.Sir, being his knave, I will.
[_Stocks brought out._]
CORNWALL.This is a fellow of the selfsame colourOur sister speaks of. Come, bring away the stocks!
GLOUCESTER.Let me beseech your grace not to do so:His fault is much, and the good King his masterWill check him for’t: your purpos’d low correctionIs such as basest and contemned’st wretchesFor pilferings and most common trespasses,Are punish’d with. The King must take it illThat he, so slightly valued in his messenger,Should have him thus restrained.
CORNWALL.I’ll answer that.
REGAN.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 thestocks._]
CORNWALL.Come, my good lord, away.
[_Exeunt all but Gloucester and Kent._]
GLOUCESTER.I am sorry for thee, friend; ’tis the Duke’s pleasure,Whose disposition, all the world well knows,Will not be rubb’d nor stopp’d; I’ll entreat for thee.
KENT.Pray do not, sir: I have 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!
GLOUCESTER.The Duke’s to blame in this: ’twill be ill taken.
[_Exit._]
KENT.Good King, that must approve the common saw,Thou out of heaven’s benediction com’stTo the warm sun.Approach, thou beacon to this under globe,That by thy comfortable beams I mayPeruse this letter. Nothing almost sees miraclesBut misery. I know ’tis from Cordelia,Who hath most fortunately been inform’dOf my obscured course. And shall find timeFrom this enormous state, seeking to giveLosses their remedies. All weary and o’erwatch’d,Take vantage, heavy eyes, not to beholdThis shameful lodging.Fortune, good night: smile once more, turn thy wheel!
[_He sleeps._]
SCENE III. The open Country
Enter Edgar.
EDGAR.I heard myself proclaim’d,And by the happy hollow of a treeEscap’d the hunt. No port is free, no placeThat guard and most unusual vigilanceDoes not attend my taking. While I may scapeI will preserve myself: and am bethoughtTo take the basest and most poorest shapeThat 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 outfaceThe winds and persecutions of the sky.The country gives me proof and precedentOf Bedlam beggars, who, with roaring voices,Strike in their numb’d and mortified bare armsPins, 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.
GENTLEMAN.As I learn’d,The night before there was no purpose in themOf 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 theheads; dogs and bears by the neck, monkeys by the loins, andmen by the legs: when a man is overlusty at legs, then hewears wooden nether-stocks.
LEAR.What’s he that hath so much thy place mistookTo 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.No, no; they would not.
KENT.Yes, they have.
LEAR.By Jupiter, I swear no.
KENT.By Juno, I swear ay.
LEAR.They durst not do’t.They could not, would not do’t; ’tis worse than murder,To do upon respect such violent outrage:Resolve me, with all modest haste, which wayThou mightst deserve or they impose this usage,Coming from us.
KENT.My lord, when at their homeI did commend your highness’ letters to them,Ere I was risen from the place that show’dMy duty kneeling, came there a reeking post,Stew’d in his haste, half breathless, panting forthFrom Goneril his mistress salutations;Deliver’d letters, spite of intermission,Which presently they read; on those contents,They summon’d up their meiny, straight took horse;Commanded me to follow and attendThe 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 lateDisplay’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 worthThe shame which here it suffers.
FOOL.Winter’s not gone yet, if the wild geese fly that way.Fathers that wear ragsDo make their children blind,But fathers that bear bagsShall 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 thydaughters 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._]
GENTLEMAN.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 nolabouring i’the winter. All that follow their noses are led bytheir eyes but blind men; and there’s not a nose among twentybut can smell him that’s stinking. Let go thy hold when a greatwheel runs down a hill, lest it break thy neck with followingit; but the great one that goes upward, let him draw thee after.When a wise man gives thee better counsel, give me mine again: Iwould 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.
Enter Lear and 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.
GLOUCESTER.My dear lord,You know the fiery quality of the Duke;How unremovable and fix’d he isIn 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.
GLOUCESTER.Well, my good lord, I have inform’d them so.
LEAR.Inform’d them! Dost thou understand me, man?
GLOUCESTER.Ay, my good lord.
LEAR.The King would speak with Cornwall; the dear fatherWould with his daughter speak, commands, tends, service,Are they inform’d of this? My breath and blood!Fiery? The fiery Duke, tell the hot Duke that—No, but not yet: maybe he is not well:Infirmity doth still neglect all officeWhereto our health is bound: we are not ourselvesWhen nature, being oppress’d, commands the mindTo suffer with the body: I’ll forbear;And am fallen out with my more headier will,To take the indispos’d and sickly fitFor the sound man. [_Looking on Kent._]Death on my state! WhereforeShould he sit here? This act persuades meThat this remotion of the Duke and herIs 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 drumTill it cry sleep to death.
GLOUCESTER.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 ’emi’ the paste alive; she knapped ’em o’ the coxcombswith a stick and cried ‘Down, wantons, down!’ ’Twasher brother that, in pure kindness to his horse buttered his hay.
Enter Cornwall, Regan,Gloucester and Servants.
LEAR.Good morrow to you both.
CORNWALL.Hail to your grace!
[_Kent here set at liberty._]
REGAN.I am glad to see your highness.
LEAR.Regan, I think you are; I know what reasonI 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 tiedSharp-tooth’d unkindness, like a vulture, here.
[_Points to his heart._]
I can scarce speak to thee; thou’lt not believeWith how deprav’d a quality—O Regan!
REGAN.I pray you, sir, take patience. I have hopeYou less know how to value her desertThan she to scant her duty.
LEAR.Say, how is that?
REGAN.I cannot think my sister in the leastWould fail her obligation. If, sir, perchanceShe 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.
REGAN.O, sir, you are old;Nature in you stands on the very vergeOf her confine: you should be rul’d and ledBy some discretion, that discerns your stateBetter 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 begThat you’ll vouchsafe me raiment, bed, and food.’
REGAN.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 fallOn her ingrateful top! Strike her young bones,You taking airs, with lameness!
CORNWALL.Fie, sir, fie!
LEAR.You nimble lightnings, dart your blinding flamesInto her scornful eyes! Infect her beauty,You fen-suck’d fogs, drawn by the powerful sun,To fall and blast her pride!
REGAN.O the blest gods!So will you wish on me when the rash mood is on.
LEAR.No, Regan, thou shalt never have my curse.Thy tender-hefted nature shall not giveThee o’er to harshness. Her eyes are fierce; but thineDo comfort, and not burn. ’Tis not in theeTo grudge my pleasures, to cut off my train,To bandy hasty words, to scant my sizes,And, in conclusion, to oppose the boltAgainst my coming in. Thou better know’stThe offices of nature, bond of childhood,Effects of courtesy, dues of gratitude;Thy half o’ the kingdom hast thou not forgot,Wherein I thee endow’d.
REGAN.Good sir, to the purpose.
LEAR.Who put my man i’ the stocks?
[_Tucket within._]
CORNWALL.What trumpet’s that?
REGAN.I know’t, my sister’s: this approves her letter,That she would soon be here.
Enter Oswald.
Is your lady come?
LEAR.This is a slave, whose easy borrowed prideDwells in the fickle grace of her he follows.Out, varlet, from my sight!
CORNWALL.What means your grace?
LEAR.Who stock’d my servant? Regan, I have good hopeThou didst not know on’t. Who comes here? O heavens!
Enter Goneril.
If you do love old men, if your sweet swayAllow 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?
GONERIL.Why not by the hand, sir? How have I offended?All’s not offence that indiscretion findsAnd dotage terms so.
LEAR.O sides, you are too tough!Will you yet hold? How came my man i’ the stocks?
CORNWALL.I set him there, sir: but his own disordersDeserv’d much less advancement.
LEAR.You? Did you?
REGAN.I pray you, father, being weak, seem so.If, till the expiration of your month,You will return and sojourn with my sister,Dismissing half your train, come then to me:I am now from home, and out of that provisionWhich shall be needful for your entertainment.
LEAR.Return to her, and fifty men dismiss’d?No, rather I abjure all roofs, and chooseTo 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 tookOur youngest born, I could as well be broughtTo knee his throne, and, squire-like, pension begTo keep base life afoot. Return with her?Persuade me rather to be slave and sumpterTo this detested groom.
[_Pointing to Oswald._]
GONERIL.At your choice, sir.
LEAR.I prythee, 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, or embossed carbuncleIn my corrupted blood. But I’ll not chide thee;Let shame come when it will, I do not call it:I do not bid the thunder-bearer shoot,Nor tell tales of thee to high-judging Jove:Mend when thou canst; be better at thy leisure:I can be patient; I can stay with Regan,I and my hundred knights.
REGAN.Not altogether so,I look’d not for you yet, nor am providedFor your fit welcome. Give ear, sir, to my sister;For those that mingle reason with your passionMust be content to think you old, and so—But she knows what she does.
LEAR.Is this well spoken?
REGAN.I dare avouch it, sir: what, fifty followers?Is it not well? What should you need of more?Yea, or so many, sith that both charge and dangerSpeak ’gainst so great a number? How in one houseShould many people, under two commands,Hold amity? ’Tis hard; almost impossible.
GONERIL.Why might not you, my lord, receive attendanceFrom those that she calls servants, or from mine?
REGAN.Why not, my lord? If then they chanc’d to slack ye,We could control them. If you will come to me,—For now I spy a danger,—I entreat youTo bring but five-and-twenty: to no moreWill I give place or notice.
LEAR.I gave you all,—
REGAN.And in good time you gave it.
LEAR.Made you my guardians, my depositaries;But kept a reservation to be followedWith such a number. What, must I come to youWith five-and-twenty, Regan, said you so?
REGAN.And speak’t again my lord; no more with me.
LEAR.Those wicked creatures yet do look well-favour’dWhen others are more wicked; not being the worstStands in some rank of praise.[_To Goneril._] I’ll go with thee:Thy fifty yet doth double five-and-twenty,And thou art twice her love.
GONERIL.Hear me, my lord:What need you five-and-twenty? Ten? Or five?To follow in a house where twice so manyHave a command to tend you?
REGAN.What need one?
LEAR.O, reason not the need: our basest beggarsAre 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’stWhich 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’ heartsAgainst their father, fool me not so muchTo 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 bothThat all the world shall,—I will do such things,—What they are yet, I know not; but they shall beThe terrors of the earth. You think I’ll weep;No, I’ll not weep:— [_Storm and tempest._]I have full cause of weeping; but this heartShall break into a hundred thousand flawsOr ere I’ll weep.—O fool, I shall go mad!
[_Exeunt Lear, Gloucester, Kent and Fool._]
CORNWALL.Let us withdraw; ’twill be a storm.
REGAN.This house is little: the old man and his peopleCannot be well bestow’d.
GONERIL.’Tis his own blame; hath put himself from restAnd must needs taste his folly.
REGAN.For his particular, I’ll receive him gladly,But not one follower.
GONERIL.So am I purpos’d.Where is my lord of Gloucester?
Enter Gloucester.
CORNWALL.Followed the old man forth, he is return’d.
GLOUCESTER.The King is in high rage.
CORNWALL.Whither is he going?
GLOUCESTER.He calls to horse; but will I know not whither.
CORNWALL.’Tis best to give him way; he leads himself.
GONERIL.My lord, entreat him by no means to stay.
GLOUCESTER.Alack, the night comes on, and the high windsDo sorely ruffle; for many miles aboutThere’s scarce a bush.
REGAN.O, sir, to wilful menThe injuries that they themselves procureMust be their schoolmasters. Shut up your doors.He is attended with a desperate train,And what they may incense him to, being aptTo have his ear abus’d, wisdom bids fear.
CORNWALL.Shut up your doors, my lord; ’tis a wild night.My Regan counsels well: come out o’ the storm.
[_Exeunt._]
ACT III
SCENE I. A Heath
A storm with thunder and lightning. Enter Kent and a Gentleman,severally.
KENT.Who’s there, besides foul weather?
GENTLEMAN.One minded like the weather, most unquietly.
KENT.I know you. Where’s the King?
GENTLEMAN.Contending with the fretful 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 outscornThe to-and-fro-conflicting wind and rain.This night, wherein the cub-drawn bear would couch,The lion and the belly-pinched wolfKeep their fur dry, unbonneted he runs,And bids what will take all.
KENT.But who is with him?
GENTLEMAN.None but the fool, who labours to out-jestHis heart-struck injuries.
KENT.Sir, I do know you;And dare, upon the warrant of my noteCommend a dear thing to you. There is division,Although as yet the face of it be cover’dWith mutual cunning, ’twixt Albany and Cornwall;Who have, as who have not, that their great starsThrone’d and set high; servants, who seem no less,Which are to France the spies and speculationsIntelligent of our state. What hath been seen,Either in snuffs and packings of the Dukes;Or the hard rein which both of them have borneAgainst the old kind King; or something deeper,Whereof, perchance, these are but furnishings;—But, true it is, from France there comes a powerInto this scatter’d kingdom; who already,Wise in our negligence, have secret feetIn some of our best ports, and are at pointTo show their open banner.—Now to you:If on my credit you dare build so farTo make your speed to Dover, you shall findSome that will thank you making just reportOf how unnatural and bemadding sorrowThe King hath cause to plain.I am a gentleman of blood and breeding;And from some knowledge and assuranceOffer this office to you.
GENTLEMAN.I will talk further with you.
KENT.No, do not.For confirmation that I am much moreThan my out-wall, open this purse, and takeWhat 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 isThat yet you do not know. Fie on this storm!I will go seek the King.
GENTLEMAN.Give me your hand: have you no more to say?
KENT.Few words, but, to effect, more than all yet:That, when we have found the King, in which your painThat way, I’ll this; he that first lights on himHolla the other.
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE II. Another part of the heath
Storm continues. Enter Learand Fool.
LEAR.Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! Rage! blow!You cataracts and hurricanoes, spoutTill 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 thisrain-water out o’ door. Good nuncle, in; and ask thy daughtersblessing: here’s a night pities neither 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 fallYour 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 joinYour high-engender’d battles ’gainst a headSo 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 houseBefore the head has any,The head and he shall louse:So beggars marry many.The man that makes his toeWhat he his heart should makeShall 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 afool.