King Lear, page 6
the meat, the two crowns of the egg. When thou clovest136 thy
crowns i’th’middle and gav’st away both parts, thou bor’st
thine ass on thy back o’er the dirt: thou hadst little wit in thy
bald crown when thou gav’st thy golden one away. If I speak
like myself140 in this, let him be whipped that first finds it so:
Sings
Fools had ne’er less grace141 in a year,
For wise men are grown foppish142
And know not how their wits to wear,
Their manners are so apish144.
LEAR When were you wont to be so full of songs, sirrah?
FOOL I have used it146, nuncle, e’er since thou mad’st thy
daughters thy mothers: for when thou gav’st them the rod147
and put’st down thine own breeches,
Sings
Then they for sudden joy did weep,
And I for sorrow sung,
That such a king should play bo-peep151
And go the fool among152.
Prithee, nuncle, keep a schoolmaster that can teach thy fool
to lie: I would fain154 learn to lie.
LEAR An155 you lie, sirrah, we’ll have you whipped.
FOOL I marvel156 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 pared160 thy wit
o’both sides and left nothing i’th’middle. Here comes one
o’the parings.
Enter Goneril
LEAR How now, daughter? What makes that frontlet163 on?
You are too much of late i’th’frown.
FOOL Thou wast a pretty fellow when thou hadst no need
to care for her frowning: now thou art an O without a figure166.
I am better than thou art now: I am a fool, thou art
To Goneril
nothing.— Yes, forsooth168, I will hold my tongue, so
your face bids me, though you say nothing.
Sings
Mum, mum,
He that keeps nor crust nor crumb171,
Weary of all, shall want some172.
Points to Lear
That’s a shelled peascod173.
GONERIL Not only, sir, this your all-licensed174 fool,
But other of your insolent retinue
Do hourly carp176 and quarrel, breaking forth
In rank177 and not-to-be endured riots, sir.
I had thought by making this well known unto you
To have found a safe179 redress, but now grow fearful,
By what yourself too late180 have spoke and done.
That you protect this course and put it on181
By your allowance, which if you should, the fault
Would not scape censure, nor the redresses sleep183
Which in the tender of a wholesome weal184
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 cuckoo189 so long,
That it’s had it head bit off by it young190.
So, out went the candle, and we were left darkling191.
To Goneril
LEAR Are you our daughter?
GONERIL I would you would make use of your good wisdom —
Whereof I know you are fraught194 — and put away
These dispositions195 which of late transport you
From what you rightly are.
FOOL May not an ass know when the cart draws the horse?
Whoop, Jug198! I love thee.
LEAR Does any here know me? This is not Lear.
Does Lear walk thus? Speak thus? Where are his eyes?
Either his notion weakens, his discernings201
Are lethargied — Ha! Waking?202 ’Tis not so?
Who is it that can tell me who I am?
FOOL Lear’s shadow204.
LEAR Your name, fair gentlewoman?
GONERIL This admiration, sir, is much o’th’savour206
Of other your new pranks. I do beseech you
To understand my purposes aright:
As you are old and reverend, should209 be wise.
Here do you keep a hundred knights and squires,
Men so disordered, so debauched and bold211,
That this our court, infected with their manners,
Shows like a riotous inn: epicurism213 and lust
Makes it more like a tavern or a brothel
Than a graced palace. The shame itself doth speak215
For instant remedy. Be then desired216
By her, that else will take the thing she begs,
A little to disquantity your train218,
And the remainders, that shall still depend219
To be such men as may besort220 your age,
Which know themselves and you221.
LEAR Darkness and devils!—
To a Servant
Saddle my horses, call my train together.—
To Goneril
Degenerate224 bastard! I’ll not trouble thee.
Yet have I left a daughter.
GONERIL You strike my people, and your disordered rabble
Make servants of their betters.
Enter Albany
To Albany
LEAR Woe that228 too late repents!— Is it your will?
To a Servant
Speak, sir.— Prepare my horses.
Ingratitude, thou marble-hearted fiend,
More hideous when thou show’st thee in a child
Than the sea-monster!
ALBANY Pray, sir, be patient.
To Goneril
LEAR Detested kite234, thou liest.
My train are men of choice and rarest parts235,
That all particulars of duty know
And in the most exact regard support237
The worships of their name. O, most small fault,
How ugly didst thou in Cordelia show!
Which, like an engine240, wrenched my frame of nature
From the fixed place, drew from my heart all love,
And added to the gall242. O Lear, Lear, Lear!
Hits his head
Beat at this gate, that let thy folly in,
And thy dear judgement out!— Go, go, my people.
ALBANY My lord, I am guiltless as I am ignorant
Of what hath moved246 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 increase252,
And from her derogate253 body never spring
A babe to honour her: if she must teem254,
Create her child of spleen255, that it may live
And be a thwart disnatured256 torment to her:
Let it stamp wrinkles in her brow of youth,
With cadent tears fret258 channels in her cheeks,
Turn all her mother’s pains and benefits259
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
Perhaps with Kent and Knights
ALBANY Now, gods that we adore, whereof comes this?
GONERIL Never afflict yourself to know more of it,
But let his disposition have that scope
As dotage266 gives it.
Enter Lear
LEAR What, fifty of my followers at a clap267?
Within a fortnight?
ALBANY What’s the matter, sir?
To Goneril
LEAR I’ll tell thee:— Life and death! I am ashamed
That thou hast power to shake my manhood thus,
That these hot tears, which break from me perforce272,
Should make thee worth them. Blasts273 and fogs upon thee!
Th’untented274 woundings of a father’s curse
Pierce every sense about thee! Old fond275 eyes,
Beweep this cause again, I’ll pluck ye out
And cast you, with the waters that you loose277,
To temper clay278. Ha? Let it be so.
I have another daughter,
Who, I am sure, is kind and comfortable280:
When she shall hear this of thee, with her nails
She’ll flay thy wolvish visage282. Thou shalt find
That I’ll resume the shape which thou dost think
I have cast off for ever.
Exeunt [Lear, perhaps with Kent and Knights]
GONERIL Do you mark that?
ALBANY I cannot be so partial286, Goneril,
To the great love I bear you—
GONERIL Pray you, content288.— What, Oswald, ho!—
To Fool
You, sir, more knave than fool, after your master.
FOOL Nuncle Lear, nuncle Lear, tarry, take the fool with
thee.
Sings
A fox, when one has caught her,
And such a daughter
Should sure to the slaughter,
If my cap would buy a halter295:
So the fool follows after.
Exit
GONERIL This man hath had good counsel. A hundred knights?
’Tis politic298 and safe to let him keep
At point a hundred knights: yes, that299 on every dream,
Each buzz, each fancy300, each complaint, dislike,
He may enguard301 his dotage with their powers
And hold our lives in302 mercy.— Oswald, I say!
ALBANY Well, you may fear too far.
GONERIL Safer than trust too far:
Let me still305 take away the harms I fear,
Not fear still to be taken306. I know his heart.
What he hath uttered I have writ my sister:
If she sustain him and his hundred knights
When I have showed th’unfitness—
Enter Steward [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 own
As may compact315 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 pardon318,
You are much more at task319 for want of wisdom
Than praised 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, th’event324.
Exeunt
Act 1 Scene 5
running scene 3 continues
Kent disguised as Caius
Enter Lear, Kent, Gentleman and Fool
To Kent
LEAR Go you before1 to Gloucester with these letters.
Acquaint my daughter no further with anything you know
than comes from her demand out of3 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 kibes8?
LEAR Ay, boy.
FOOL Then, I prithee be merry: thy wit shall not go slip-10
shod.
LEAR Ha, ha, ha!
FOOL Shalt13 see thy other daughter will use thee kindly, for
though she’s as like this as a crab’s14 like an apple, yet I can tell
what I can tell.
LEAR What canst tell, boy?
FOOL She will taste as like this as a crab does to a crab.
Thou canst tell why one’s nose stands i’th’middle on’s18 face?
LEAR No.
FOOL Why, to keep one’s eyes of either side’s20 nose, that
what a man cannot smell out he may spy into.
LEAR I did her22 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 the31
seven stars are no more than seven is a pretty32 reason.
LEAR Because they are not eight.
FOOL Yes, indeed: thou wouldst make a good fool.
LEAR To take’t again35 perforce. Monster ingratitude!
FOOL If thou wert my fool, nuncle, I’d have thee beaten
for being old before thy time.
LEAR How’s that?
FOOL Thou shouldst not have been old till thou hadst
been wise.
LEAR O, let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven!
Keep me in temper42: I would not be mad!—
To Gentleman
How now, are the horses ready?
GENTLEMAN Ready, my lord.
LEAR Come, boy.
FOOL She that’s a maid46 now, and laughs at my departure,
Shall not be a maid long, unless things47 be cut shorter.
Exeunt
Act 2
Scene 1
running scene 4
Enter Bastard [Edmund] and Curan, severally
EDMUND Save thee1, Curan.
CURAN And you, sir. I have been with your father, and given
him notice that the Duke of Cornwall and Regan his duchess
will be here with him this night.
EDMUND How comes that?
CURAN Nay, I know not. You have heard of the news
abroad: I mean the whispered ones, for they are yet but ear-7
kissing arguments?
EDMUND Not I: pray you, what are they?
CURAN Have you heard of no likely wars toward10 ’twixt the
dukes of Cornwall and Albany?
EDMUND Not a word.
CURAN You may do then in time. Fare you well, sir.
Exit
EDMUND The duke be here tonight? The better — best!
This weaves itself perforce15 into my business.
My father hath set guard to take16 my brother,
And I have one thing, of a queasy question17,
Which I must act. Briefness and fortune, work!—
Enter Edgar
Appears above and then enters below
Brother, a word: descend, brother, I say!
My father watches20: O sir, fly this place.
Intelligence21 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’th’night, i’th’haste24,
And Regan with him: have you nothing said25
Upon his party gainst the Duke of Albany?
Advise yourself27.
EDGAR I am sure on’t, not a word.
EDMUND I hear my father coming, pardon me:
Draws
In cunning30 I must draw my sword upon you:
Edgar draws
Draw, seem to defend yourself. Now quit you31 well.
Yield: come before my father.— Light, ho, here!—
Fly, brother.— Torches, torches!— So, farewell.
Exit Edgar
Wounds his arm
Some blood drawn on me would beget opinion34
Of my more fierce35 endeavour: I have seen drunkards
Do more than this in sport.— Father, father!
Stop, stop! No help?
Enter Gloucester and Servants with torches
GLOUCESTER Now, Edmund, where’s the villain?
EDMUND Here stood he in the dark, his sharp sword out,
Mumbling of wicked charms, conjuring the moon40
To stand auspicious mistress41—
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 the thunder bend50,
Spoke with how manifold and strong a bond
The child was bound to th’father; sir, in fine52,
Seeing how loathly opposite53 I stood
To his unnatural purpose, in fell54 motion
With his preparèd sword, he charges home55
My unprovided body, latched56 mine arm;
And when he saw my best alarumed57 spirits,
Bold in the quarrel’s right, roused to th’encounter58,
Or whether ghasted59 by the noise I made,
Full60 suddenly he fled.
GLOUCESTER Let him fly far:
Not in this land shall he remain uncaught,
And found — dispatch63. The noble duke my master,
My worthy arch and patron64, comes tonight:
By his authority I will proclaim it,
That he which finds him shall deserve our thanks,
Bringing the murderous coward to the stake67:
He that conceals him, death.
EDMUND When I dissuaded him from his intent
And found him pight to do it, with curst70 speech
I threatened to discover71 him: he replied,
’Thou unpossessing72 bastard, dost thou think,
If I would stand against thee, would the reposal73
