Flourish. Enter Gloster with France, and Burgundy, Attendants.
Cor. Heere's France and Burgundy, my Noble Lord
Lear. My Lord of Burgundie,We first addresse toward you, who with this KingHath riuald for our Daughter; what in the leastWill you require in present Dower with her,Or cease your quest of Loue?Bur. Most Royall Maiesty,I craue no more then hath your Highnesse offer'd,Nor will you tender lesse?Lear. Right Noble Burgundy,When she was deare to vs, we did hold her so,But now her price is fallen: Sir, there she stands,If ought within that little seeming substance,Or all of it with our displeasure piec'd,And nothing more may fitly like your Grace,Shee's there, and she is yours
Bur. I know no answer
Lear. Will you with those infirmities she owes,Vnfriended, new adopted to our hate,Dow'rd with our curse, and stranger'd with our oath,Take her or, leaue her
Bur. Pardon me Royall Sir,Election makes not vp in such conditions
Le. Then leaue her sir, for by the powre that made me,I tell you all her wealth. For you great King,I would not from your loue make such a stray,To match you where I hate, therefore beseech youT' auert your liking a more worthier way,Then on a wretch whom Nature is asham'dAlmost t' acknowledge hers
Fra. This is most strange,That she whom euen but now, was your obiect,The argument of your praise, balme of your age,The best, the deerest, should in this trice of timeCommit a thing so monstrous, to dismantleSo many folds of fauour: sure her offenceMust be of such vnnaturall degree,That monsters it: Or your fore-voucht affectionFall into taint, which to beleeue of herMust be a faith that reason without miracleShould neuer plant in me
Cor. I yet beseech your Maiesty.If for I want that glib and oylie Art,To speake and purpose not, since what I will intend,Ile do't before I speake, that you make knowneIt is no vicious blot, murther, or foulenesse,No vnchaste action or dishonoured stepThat hath depriu'd me of your Grace and fauour,But euen for want of that, for which I am richer,A still soliciting eye, and such a tongue,That I am glad I haue not, though not to haue it,Hath lost me in your liking
Lear. Better thou had'stNot beene borne, then not t'haue pleas'd me better
Fra. Is it but this? A tardinesse in nature,Which often leaues the history vnspokeThat it intends to do: my Lord of Burgundy,What say you to the Lady? Loue's not loueWhen it is mingled with regards, that standsAloofe from th' intire point, will you haue her?She is herselfe a Dowrie
Bur. Royall King,Giue but that portion which your selfe propos'd,And here I take Cordelia by the hand,Dutchesse of Burgundie
Lear. Nothing, I haue sworne, I am firme
Bur. I am sorry then you haue so lost a Father,That you must loose a husband
Cor. Peace be with Burgundie,Since that respect and Fortunes are his loue,I shall not be his wife
Fra. Fairest Cordelia, that art most rich being poore,Most choise forsaken, and most lou'd despis'd,Thee and thy vertues here I seize vpon,Be it lawfull I take vp what's cast away.Gods, Gods! 'Tis strange, that from their cold'st neglectMy Loue should kindle to enflam'd respect.Thy dowrelesse Daughter King, throwne to my chance,Is Queene of vs, of ours, and our faire France:Not all the Dukes of watrish Burgundy,Can buy this vnpriz'd precious Maid of me.Bid them farewell Cordelia, though vnkinde,Thou loosest here a better where to finde
Lear. Thou hast her France, let her be thine, for weHaue no such Daughter, nor shall euer seeThat face of hers againe, therfore be gone,Without our Grace, our Loue, our Benizon:Come Noble Burgundie.
Flourish. Exeunt.
Fra. Bid farwell to your Sisters
Cor. The Iewels of our Father, with wash'd eiesCordelia leaues you, I know you what you are,And like a Sister am most loth to callYour faults as they are named. Loue well our Father:To your professed bosomes I commit him,But yet alas, stood I within his Grace,I would prefer him to a better place,So farewell to you both
Regn. Prescribe not vs our dutie
Gon. Let your studyBe to content your Lord, who hath receiu'd youAt Fortunes almes, you haue obedience scanted,And well are worth the want that you haue wanted
Cor. Time shall vnfold what plighted cunning hides,Who couers faults, at last with shame derides:Well may you prosper
Fra. Come my faire Cordelia.
Exit France and Cor.
Gon. Sister, it is not little I haue to say,Of what most neerely appertaines to vs both,I thinke our Father will hence to night
Reg. That's most certaine, and with you: next moneth with vs
Gon. You see how full of changes his age is, the obseruation we haue made of it hath beene little; he alwaies lou'd our Sister most, and with what poore iudgement he hath now cast her off, appeares too grossely
Reg. 'Tis the infirmity of his age, yet he hath euer but slenderly knowne himselfe
Gon. The best and soundest of his time hath bin but rash, then must we looke from his age, to receiue not alone the imperfections of long ingraffed condition, but therewithall the vnruly way-wardnesse, that infirme and cholericke yeares bring with them
Reg. Such vnconstant starts are we like to haue fromhim, as this of Kents banishment
Gon. There is further complement of leaue-taking betweeneFrance and him, pray you let vs sit together, if ourFather carry authority with such disposition as he beares,this last surrender of his will but offend vs
Reg. We shall further thinke of it
Gon. We must do something, and i'th' heate.
Exeunt.
Scena Secunda.
Enter Bastard.
Bast. Thou Nature art my Goddesse, to thy LawMy seruices are bound, wherefore should IStand in the plague of custome, and permitThe curiosity of Nations, to depriue me?For that I am some twelue, or fourteene MoonshinesLag of a Brother? Why Bastard? Wherefore base?When my Dimensions are as well compact,My minde as generous, and my shape as trueAs honest Madams issue? Why brand they vsWith Base? With basenes Bastardie? Base, Base?Who in the lustie stealth of Nature, takeMore composition, and fierce qualitie,Then doth within a dull stale tyred bedGoe to th' creating a whole tribe of FopsGot 'tweene a sleepe, and wake? Well then,Legitimate Edgar, I must haue your land,Our Fathers loue, is to the Bastard Edmond,As to th' legitimate: fine word: Legitimate.Well, my Legittimate, if this Letter speed,And my inuention thriue, Edmond the baseShall to'th' Legitimate: I grow, I prosper:Now Gods, stand vp for Bastards.Enter Gloucester.
Glo. Kent banish'd thus? and France in choller parted?And the King gone to night? Prescrib'd his powre,Confin'd to exhibition? All this doneVpon the gad? Edmond, how now? What newes?Bast. So please your Lordship, none
Glou. Why so earnestly seeke you to put vp y Letter?Bast. I know no newes, my Lord
Glou. What Paper were you reading?Bast. Nothing my Lord
Glou. No? what needed then that terrible dispatch of it into your Pocket? The quality of nothing, hath not such neede to hide it selfe. Let's see: come, if it bee nothing, I shall not neede Spectacles
Bast. I beseech you Sir, pardon mee; it is a Letter from my Brother, that I haue not all ore-read; and for so much as I haue perus'd, I finde it not fit for your ore-looking
Glou. Giue me the Letter, Sir
Bast. I shall offend, either to detaine, or giue it:The Contents, as in part I vnderstand them,Are too blame
Glou. Let's see, let's see
Bast. I hope for my Brothers iustification, hee wrote this but as an essay, or taste of my Vertue
Glou. reads. This policie, and reuerence of Age, makes the world bitter to the best of our times: keepes our Fortunes from vs, till our oldnesse cannot rellish them. I begin to finde an idle and fond bondage, in the oppression of aged tyranny, who swayes not as it hath power, but as it is suffer'd. Come to me, that of this I may speake more. If our Father would sleepe till I wak'd him, you should enioy halfe his Reuennew for euer, and liue the beloued of your Brother. Edgar. Hum? Conspiracy? Sleepe till I wake him, you should enioy halfe his Reuennew: my Sonne Edgar, had hee a hand to write this? A heart and braine to breede it in? When came you to this? Who brought it? Bast. It was not brought mee, my Lord; there's the cunning of it. I found it throwne in at the Casement of my Closset
Glou. You know the character to be your Brothers?Bast. If the matter were good my Lord, I durst swearit were his: but in respect of that, I would faine thinke itwere not
Glou. It is his
Bast. It is his hand, my Lord: but I hope his heart is not in the Contents
Glo. Has he neuer before sounded you in this busines? Bast. Neuer my Lord. But I haue heard him oft maintaine it to be fit, that Sonnes at perfect age, and Fathers declin'd, the Father should bee as Ward to the Son, and the Sonne manage his Reuennew
Glou. O Villain, villain: his very opinion in the Letter. Abhorred Villaine, vnnaturall, detested, brutish Villaine; worse then brutish: Go sirrah, seeke him: Ile apprehend him. Abhominable Villaine, where is he? Bast. I do not well know my L[ord]. If it shall please you to suspend your indignation against my Brother, til you can deriue from him better testimony of his intent, you shold run a certaine course: where, if you violently proceed against him, mistaking his purpose, it would make a great gap in your owne Honor, and shake in peeces, the heart of his obedience. I dare pawne downe my life for him, that he hath writ this to feele my affection to your Honor, & to no other pretence of danger
Glou. Thinke you so? Bast. If your Honor iudge it meete, I will place you where you shall heare vs conferre of this, and by an Auricular assurance haue your satisfaction, and that without any further delay, then this very Euening
Glou. He cannot bee such a Monster. Edmond seeke him out: winde me into him, I pray you: frame the Businesse after your owne wisedome. I would vnstate my selfe, to be in a due resolution
Bast. I will seeke him Sir, presently: conuey the businesse as I shall find meanes, and acquaint you withall
Glou. These late Eclipses in the Sun and Moone portend no good to vs: though the wisedome of Nature can reason it thus, and thus, yet Nature finds it selfe scourg'd by the sequent effects. Loue cooles, friendship falls off, Brothers diuide. In Cities, mutinies; in Countries, discord; in Pallaces, Treason; and the Bond crack'd, 'twixt Sonne and Father. This villaine of mine comes vnder the prediction; there's Son against Father, the King fals from byas of Nature, there's Father against Childe. We haue seene the best of our time. Machinations, hollownesse, treacherie, and all ruinous disorders follow vs disquietly to our Graues. Find out this Villain, Edmond, it shall lose thee nothing, do it carefully: and the Noble & true-harted Kent banish'd; his offence, honesty. 'Tis strange.
Exit
Bast. This is the excellent foppery of the world, that when we are sicke in fortune, often the surfets of our own behauiour, we make guilty of our disasters, the Sun, the Moone, and Starres, as if we were villaines on necessitie, Fooles by heauenly compulsion, Knaues, Theeues, and Treachers by Sphericall predominance. Drunkards, Lyars, and Adulterers by an inforc'd obedience of Planatary influence; and all that we are euill in, by a diuine thrusting on. An admirable euasion of Whore-master-man, to lay his Goatish disposition on the charge of a Starre, My father compounded with my mother vnder the Dragons taile, and my Natiuity was vnder Vrsa Maior, so that it followes, I am rough and Leacherous. I should haue bin that I am, had the maidenlest Starre in the Firmament twinkled on my bastardizing. Enter Edgar.
Pat: he comes like the Catastrophe of the old Comedie: my Cue is villanous Melancholly, with a sighe like Tom o' Bedlam. - O these Eclipses do portend these diuisions. Fa, Sol, La, Me
Edg. How now Brother Edmond, what serious contemplationare you in?Bast. I am thinking Brother of a prediction I read thisother day, what should follow these Eclipses
Edg. Do you busie your selfe with that?Bast. I promise you, the effects he writes of, succeedevnhappily.When saw you my Father last?Edg. The night gone by
Bast. Spake you with him?Edg. I, two houres together
Bast. Parted you in good termes? Found you no displeasure in him, by word, nor countenance? Edg. None at all, Bast. Bethink your selfe wherein you may haue offended him: and at my entreaty forbeare his presence, vntill some little time hath qualified the heat of his displeasure, which at this instant so rageth in him, that with the mischiefe of your person, it would scarsely alay
Edg. Some Villaine hath done me wrong
Edm. That's my feare, I pray you haue 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 heare my Lord speake: pray ye goe, there's my key: if you do stirre abroad, goe arm'd
Edg. Arm'd, Brother? Edm. Brother, I aduise you to the best, I am no honest man, if ther be any good meaning toward you: I haue told you what I haue seene, and heard: But faintly. Nothing like the image, and horror of it, pray you away
Edg. Shall I heare from you anon?Enter.
Edm. I do serue you in this businesse:A Credulous Father, and a Brother Noble,Whose nature is so farre from doing harmes,That he suspects none: on whose foolish honestieMy practises ride easie: I see the businesse.Let me, if not by birth, haue lands by wit,All with me's meete, that I can fashion fit.Enter.
Scena Tertia.
Enter Gonerill, and Steward.
Gon. Did my Father strike my Gentleman for chidingof his Foole?Ste. I Madam
Gon. By day and night, he wrongs me, euery howreHe flashes into one grosse crime, or other,That sets vs all at ods: Ile not endure it;His Knights grow riotous, and himselfe vpbraides vsOn euery trifle. When he returnes from hunting,I will not speake with him, say I am sicke,If you come slacke of former seruices,You shall do well, the fault of it Ile answer
Ste. He's comming Madam, I heare him
Gon. Put on what weary negligence you please,You and your Fellowes: I'de haue it come to question;If he distaste it, let him to my Sister,Whose mind and mine I know in that are one,Remember what I haue said
Ste. Well Madam
Gon. And let his Knights haue colder lookes among you: what growes of it no matter, aduise your fellowes so, Ile write straight to my Sister to hold my course; prepare for dinner.
Exeunt.
Scena Quarta.
Enter Kent.
Kent. If but as will I other accents borrow,That can my speech defuse, my good intentMay carry through it selfe to that full issueFor which I raiz'd my likenesse. Now banisht Kent,If thou canst serue where thou dost stand condemn'd,So may it come, thy Master whom thou lou'st,Shall find thee full of labours.
Hornes within. Enter Lear and Attendants.
Lear. Let me not stay a iot for dinner, go get it ready:how now, what art thou?Kent. A man Sir
Lear. What dost thou professe? What would'st thou with vs? Kent. I do professe to be no lesse then I seeme; to serue him truely that will put me in trust, to loue him that is honest, to conuerse with him that is wise and saies little, to feare iudgement, to fight when I cannot choose, and to eate no fish
Lear. What art thou?Kent. A very honest hearted Fellow, and as poore asthe King
Lear. If thou be'st as poore for a subiect, as hee's for aKing, thou art poore enough. What wouldst thou?Kent. Seruice
Lear. Who wouldst thou serue?Kent. You
Lear. Do'st thou know me fellow?Kent. No Sir, but you haue that in your countenance,which I would faine call Master
Lear. What's that?Kent. Authority
Lear. What seruices canst thou do? Kent. I can keepe honest counsaile, ride, run, marre a curious tale in telling it, and deliuer a plaine message bluntly: that which ordinary men are fit for, I am quallified in, and the best of me, is Dilligence
Lear. How old art thou?Kent. Not so young Sir to loue a woman for singing,nor so old to dote on her for any thing. I haue yeares onmy backe forty eight
Lear. Follow me, thou shalt serue me, if I like thee no worse after dinner, I will not part from thee yet. Dinner ho, dinner, where's my knaue? my Foole? Go you and call my Foole hither. You you Sirrah, where's my Daughter? Enter Steward.
Ste. So please you-Enter.
Lear. What saies the Fellow there? Call the Clotpolebacke: wher's my Foole? Ho, I thinke the world'sasleepe, how now? Where's that Mungrell?Knigh. He saies my Lord, your Daughters is not well
Lear. Why came not the slaue backe to me when Icall'd him?Knigh. Sir, he answered me in the roundest manner, hewould not
Lear. He would not? Knight. My Lord, I know not what the matter is, but to my iudgement your Highnesse is not entertain'd with that Ceremonious affection as you were wont, theres a great abatement of kindnesse appeares as well in the generall dependants, as in the Duke himselfe also, and your Daughter
Lear. Ha? Saist thou so?Knigh. I beseech you pardon me my Lord, if I beemistaken, for my duty cannot be silent, when I thinkeyour Highnesse wrong'd
Lear. Thou but remembrest me of mine owne Conception, I haue perceiued a most faint neglect of late, which I haue rather blamed as mine owne iealous curiositie, then as a very pretence and purpose of vnkindnesse; I will looke further intoo't: but where's my Foole? I haue not seene him this two daies
Knight. Since my young Ladies going into FranceSir, the Foole hath much pined away
Lear. No more of that, I haue noted it well, goe you and tell my Daughter, I would speake with her. Goe you call hither my Foole; Oh you Sir, you, come you hither Sir, who am I Sir? Enter Steward.
Ste. My Ladies Father
Lear. My Ladies Father? my Lords knaue, you whorsondog, you slaue, you curre
Ste. I am none of these my Lord,I beseech your pardon
Lear. Do you bandy lookes with me, you Rascall?Ste. Ile not be strucken my Lord
Kent. Nor tript neither, you base Foot-ball plaier
Lear. I thanke thee fellow.Thou seru'st me, and Ile loue thee
Kent. Come sir, arise, away, Ile teach you differences: away, away, if you will measure your lubbers length againe, tarry, but away, goe too, haue you wisedome, so
Lear. Now my friendly knaue I thanke thee, there's earnest of thy seruice. Enter Foole.
Foole. Let me hire him too, here's my Coxcombe
Lear. How now my pretty knaue, how dost thou?Foole. Sirrah, you were best take my Coxcombe
Lear. Why my Boy? Foole. Why? for taking ones part that's out of fauour, nay, & thou canst not smile as the wind sits, thou'lt catch colde shortly, there take my Coxcombe; why this fellow ha's banish'd two on's Daughters, and did the third a blessing against his will, if thou follow him, thou must needs weare my Coxcombe. How now Nunckle? would I had two Coxcombes and two Daughters
Lear. Why my Boy?Fool. If I gaue them all my liuing, I'ld keepe my Coxcombesmy selfe, there's mine, beg another of thyDaughters
Lear. Take heed Sirrah, the whip
Foole. Truth's a dog must to kennell, hee must bee whipt out, when the Lady Brach may stand by'th' fire and stinke
Lear. A pestilent gall to me
Foole. Sirha, Ile teach thee a speech
Lear. Do
Foole. Marke it Nuncle;Haue more then thou showest,Speake lesse then thou knowest,Lend lesse then thou owest,Ride more then thou goest,Learne more then thou trowest,Set lesse then thou throwest;Leaue thy drinke and thy whore,And keepe in a dore,And thou shalt haue more,Then two tens to a score
Kent. This is nothing Foole
Foole. Then 'tis like the breath of an vnfeed Lawyer,you gaue me nothing for't, can you make no vse of nothingNuncle?Lear. Why no Boy,Nothing can be made out of nothing
Foole. Prythee tell him, so much the rent of his landcomes to, he will not beleeue a Foole
Lear. A bitter Foole
Foole. Do'st thou know the difference my Boy, betweene a bitter Foole, and a sweet one
Lear. No Lad, teach me
Foole. Nunckle, giue me an egge, and Ile giue thee two Crownes
Lear. What two Crownes shall they be? Foole. Why after I haue cut the egge i'th' middle and eate vp the meate, the two Crownes of the egge: when thou clouest thy Crownes i'th' middle, and gau'st away both parts, thou boar'st thine Asse on thy backe o're the durt, thou hadst little wit in thy bald crowne, when thou gau'st thy golden one away; if I speake like my selfe in this, let him be whipt that first findes it so. Fooles had nere lesse grace in a yeere, For wisemen are growne foppish, And know not how their wits to weare, Their manners are so apish
Le. When were you wont to be so full of Songs sirrah? Foole. I haue vsed it Nunckle, ere since thou mad'st thy Daughters thy Mothers, for when thou gau'st them the rod, and put'st downe thine owne breeches, then they For sodaine ioy did weepe, And I for sorrow sung, That such a King should play bo-peepe, And goe the Foole among. Pry'thy Nunckle keepe a Schoolemaster that can teach thy Foole to lie, I would faine learne to lie
Lear. And you lie sirrah, wee'l haue you whipt
Foole. I maruell what kin thou and thy daughters are, they'l haue me whipt for speaking true: thou'lt haue me whipt for lying, and sometimes I am whipt for holding my peace. I had rather be any kind o' thing then a foole, and yet I would not be thee Nunckle, thou hast pared thy wit o' both sides, and left nothing i'th' middle; heere comes one o'the parings. Enter Gonerill.
Lear. How now Daughter? what makes that Frontlet on? You are too much of late i'th' frowne
Foole. 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 then thou art now, I am a Foole, thou art nothing. Yes forsooth I will hold my tongue, so your face bids me, though you say nothing. Mum, mum, he that keepes nor crust, nor crum, Weary of all, shall want some. That's a sheal'd Pescod
Gon. Not only Sir this, your all-lycenc'd Foole,But other of your insolent retinueDo hourely Carpe and Quarrell, breaking forthIn ranke, and (not to be endur'd) riots Sir.I had thought by making this well knowne vnto you,To haue found a safe redresse, but now grow fearefullBy what your selfe too late haue spoke and done,That you protect this course, and put it onBy your allowance, which if you should, the faultWould not scape censure, nor the redresses sleepe,Which in the tender of a wholesome weale,Mighty in their working do you that offence,Which else were shame, that then necessitieWill call discreet proceeding
Foole. For you know Nunckle, the Hedge-Sparrow fed the Cuckoo so long, that it's had it head bit off by it young, so out went the Candle, and we were left darkling
Lear. Are you our Daughter?Gon. I would you would make vse of your good wisedome(Whereof I know you are fraught), and put awayThese dispositions, which of late transport youFrom what you rightly are
Foole. May not an Asse know, when the Cart drawesthe Horse?Whoop Iugge I loue thee
Lear. Do's any heere know me?This is not Lear:Do's Lear walke thus? Speake thus? Where are his eies?Either his Notion weakens, his DiscerningsAre Lethargied. Ha! Waking? 'Tis not so?Who is it that can tell me who I am?Foole. Lears shadow
Lear. Your name, faire Gentlewoman?Gon. This admiration Sir, is much o'th' sauourOf other your new prankes. I do beseech youTo vnderstand my purposes aright:As you are Old, and Reuerend, should be Wise.Heere do you keepe a hundred Knights and Squires,Men so disorder'd, so debosh'd and bold,That this our Court infected with their manners,Shewes like a riotous Inne; Epicurisme and LustMakes it more like a Tauerne, or a Brothell,Then a grac'd Pallace. The shame it selfe doth speakeFor instant remedy. Be then desir'dBy her, that else will take the thing she begges,A little to disquantity your Traine,And the remainders that shall still depend,To be such men as may besort your Age,Which know themselues, and you
Lear. Darknesse, and Diuels.Saddle my horses: call my Traine together.Degenerate Bastard, Ile not trouble thee;Yet haue I left a daughter
Gon. You strike my people, and your disorder'd rable, make Seruants of their Betters. Enter Albany.
Lear. Woe, that too late repents:Is it your will, speake Sir? Prepare my Horses.Ingratitude! thou Marble-hearted Fiend,More hideous when thou shew'st thee in a Child,Then the Sea-monster
Alb. Pray Sir be patient
Lear. Detested Kite, thou lyest.My Traine are men of choice, and rarest parts,That all particulars of dutie know,And in the most exact regard, supportThe worships of their name. O most small fault,How vgly did'st thou in Cordelia shew?Which like an Engine, wrencht my frame of NatureFrom the fixt place: drew from my heart all loue,And added to the gall. O Lear, Lear, Lear!Beate at this gate that let thy Folly in,And thy deere Iudgement out. Go, go, my people
Alb. My Lord, I am guiltlesse, as I am ignorantOf what hath moued you
Lear. It may be so, my Lord.Heare Nature, heare deere Goddesse, heare:Suspend thy purpose, if thou did'st intendTo make this Creature fruitfull:Into her Wombe conuey stirrility,Drie vp in her the Organs of increase,And from her derogate body, neuer springA Babe to honor her. If she must teeme,Create her childe of Spleene, that it may liueAnd be a thwart disnatur'd torment to her.Let it stampe wrinkles in her brow of youth,With cadent Teares fret Channels in her cheekes,Turne all her Mothers paines, and benefitsTo laughter, and contempt: That she may feele,How sharper then a Serpents tooth it is,To haue a thanklesse Childe. Away, away.Enter.
Alb. Now Gods that we adore,Whereof comes this?Gon. Neuer afflict your selfe to know more of it:But let his disposition haue that scopeAs dotage giues it.Enter Lear.
Lear. What fiftie of my Followers at a clap?Within a fortnight?Alb. What's the matter, Sir?Lear. Ile tell thee:Life and death, I am asham'dThat thou hast power to shake my manhood thus,That these hot teares, which breake from me perforceShould make thee worth them.Blastes and Fogges vpon thee:Th' vntented woundings of a Fathers cursePierce euerie sense about thee. Old fond eyes,Beweepe this cause againe, Ile plucke ye out,And cast you with the waters that you looseTo temper Clay. Ha? Let it be so.I haue another daughter,Who I am sure is kinde and comfortable:When she shall heare this of thee, with her nailesShee'l flea thy Woluish visage. Thou shalt finde,That Ile resume the shape which thou dost thinkeI haue cast off for euer.
Exit
Gon. Do you marke that?Alb. I cannot be so partiall Gonerill,To the great loue I beare you
Gon. Pray you content. What Oswald, hoa?You Sir, more Knaue then Foole, after your Master
Foole. Nunkle Lear, Nunkle Lear,Tarry, take the Foole 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 Foole followes after.
Exit
Gon. This man hath had good Counsell,A hundred Knights?'Tis politike, and safe to let him keepeAt point a hundred Knights: yes, that on euerie dreame,Each buz, each fancie, each complaint, dislike,He may enguard his dotage with their powres,And hold our liues in mercy. Oswald, I say
Alb. Well, you may feare too farre
Gon. Safer then trust too farre;Let me still take away the harmes I feare,Not feare still to be taken. I know his heart,What he hath vtter'd I haue writ my Sister:If she sustaine him, and his hundred KnightsWhen I haue shew'd th' vnfitnesse.Enter Steward.
How now Oswald?What haue you writ that Letter to my Sister?Stew. I Madam
Gon. Take you some company, and away to horse,Informe her full of my particular feare,And thereto adde such reasons of your owne,As may compact it more. Get you gone,And hasten your returne; no, no, my Lord,This milky gentlenesse, and course of yoursThough I condemne not, yet vnder pardonYou are much more at task for want of wisedome,Then prais'd for harmefull mildnesse
Alb. How farre your eies may pierce I cannot tell;Striuing to better, oft we marre what's well
Gon. Nay then-Alb. Well, well, th' euent.
Exeunt.
Scena Quinta.
Enter Lear, Kent, Gentleman, and Foole.
Lear. Go you before to Gloster with these Letters; acquaint my Daughter no further with any thing you know, then comes from her demand out of the Letter, if your Dilligence be not speedy, I shall be there afore you
Kent. I will not sleepe my Lord, till I haue deliueredyour Letter.Enter.
Foole. If a mans braines were in's heeles, wert not indanger of kybes?Lear. I Boy
Foole. Then I prythee be merry, thy wit shall not goslip-shod
Lear. Ha, ha, ha
Fool. Shalt see thy other Daughter will vse thee kindly, for though she's as like this, as a Crabbe's like an Apple, yet I can tell what I can tell
Lear. What can'st tell Boy?Foole. She will taste as like this as, a Crabbe do's to aCrab: thou canst, tell why ones nose stands i'th' middleon's face?Lear. No
Foole. Why to keepe ones eyes of either side 's nose,that what a man cannot smell out, he may spy into
Lear. I did her wrong
Foole. Can'st tell how an Oyster makes his shell?Lear. No
Foole. Nor I neither; but I can tell why a Snaile ha'sa house
Lear. Why?Foole. Why to put's head in, not to giue it away to hisdaughters, and leaue his hornes without a case
Lear. I will forget my Nature, so kind a Father? Bemy Horsses ready?Foole. Thy Asses are gone about 'em; the reason whythe seuen Starres are no mo then seuen, is a pretty reason
Lear. Because they are not eight
Foole. Yes indeed, thou would'st make a good Foole
Lear. To tak't againe perforce; Monster Ingratitude!Foole. If thou wert my Foole Nunckle, Il'd haue theebeaten for being old before thy time
Lear. How's that?Foole. Thou shouldst not haue bin old, till thou hadstbin wise
Lear. O let me not be mad, not mad sweet Heauen:keepe me in temper, I would not be mad. How now arethe Horses ready?Gent. Ready my Lord
Lear. Come Boy
Fool. She that's a Maid now, & laughs at my departure,Shall not be a Maid long, vnlesse things be cut shorter.
Exeunt.
Actus Secundus. Scena Prima.
Enter Bastard, and Curan, seuerally.
Bast. Saue thee Curan
Cur. And you Sir, I haue binWith your Father, and giuen him noticeThat the Duke of Cornwall, and Regan his DuchesseWill be here with him this night
Bast. How comes that?Cur. Nay I know not, you haue heard of the newes abroad,I meane the whisper'd ones, for they are yet butear-kissing arguments
Bast. Not I: pray you what are they?Cur. Haue you heard of no likely Warres toward,'Twixt the Dukes of Cornwall, and Albany?Bast. Not a word
Cur. You may do then in time,Fare you well Sir.Enter.
Bast. The Duke be here to night? The better best,This weaues it selfe perforce into my businesse,My Father hath set guard to take my Brother,And I haue one thing of a queazie questionWhich I must act, Briefenesse, and Fortune worke.Enter Edgar.
Brother, a word, discend; Brother I say,My Father watches: O Sir, fly this place,Intelligence is giuen where you are hid;You haue now the good aduantage of the night,Haue you not spoken 'gainst the Duke of Cornewall?Hee's comming hither, now i'th' night, i'th' haste,And Regan with him, haue you nothing saidVpon his partie 'gainst the Duke of Albany?Aduise your selfe
Edg. I am sure on't, not a word
Bast. I heare my Father comming, pardon me:In cunning, I must draw my Sword vpon you:Draw, seeme to defend your selfe,Now quit you well.Yeeld, come before my Father, light hoa, here,Fly Brother, Torches, Torches, so farewell.
Exit Edgar.
Some blood drawne on me, would beget opinionOf my more fierce endeauour. I haue seene drunkardsDo more then this in sport; Father, Father,Stop, stop, no helpe?Enter Gloster, and Seruants with Torches.
Glo. Now Edmund, where's the villaine?Bast. Here stood he in the dark, his sharpe Sword out,Mumbling of wicked charmes, coniuring the MooneTo stand auspicious Mistris
Glo. But where is he?Bast. Looke Sir, I bleed
Glo. Where is the villaine, Edmund?Bast. Fled this way Sir, when by no meanes he could
Glo. Pursue him, ho: go after. By no meanes, what?Bast. Perswade me to the murther of your Lordship,But that I told him the reuenging Gods,'Gainst Paricides did all the thunder bend,Spoke with how manifold, and strong a BondThe Child was bound to'th' Father; Sir in fine,Seeing how lothly opposite I stoodTo his vnnaturall purpose, in fell motionWith his prepared Sword, he charges homeMy vnprouided body, latch'd mine arme;And when he saw my best alarum'd spiritsBold in the quarrels right, rouz'd to th' encounter,Or whether gasted by the noyse I made,Full sodainely he fled
Glost. Let him fly farre:Not in this Land shall he remaine vncaughtAnd found; dispatch, the Noble Duke my Master,My worthy Arch and Patron comes to night,By his authoritie I will proclaime it,That he which finds him shall deserue our thankes,Bringing the murderous Coward to the stake:He that conceales him death
Bast. When I disswaded him from his intent,And found him pight to doe it, with curst speechI threaten'd to discouer him; he replied,Thou vnpossessing Bastard, dost thou thinke,If I would stand against thee, would the reposallOf any trust, vertue, or worth in theeMake thy words faith'd? No, what should I denie,(As this I would, though thou didst produceMy very Character) I'ld turne it allTo thy suggestion, plot, and damned practise:And thou must make a dullard of the world,If they not thought the profits of my deathWere very pregnant and potentiall spiritsTo make thee seeke it.
Tucket within.
Glo. O strange and fastned Villaine,Would he deny his Letter, said he?Harke, the Dukes Trumpets, I know not wher he comes;All Ports Ile barre, the villaine shall not scape,The Duke must grant me that: besides, his pictureI will send farre and neere, that all the kingdomeMay haue due note of him, and of my land,(Loyall and naturall Boy) Ile worke the meanesTo make thee capable.Enter Cornewall, Regan, and Attendants.
Corn. How now my Noble friend, since I came hither(Which I can call but now,) I haue heard strangenesse
Reg. If it be true, all vengeance comes too shortWhich can pursue th' offender; how dost my Lord?Glo. O Madam, my old heart is crack'd, it's crack'd
Reg. What, did my Fathers Godsonne seeke your life?He whom my Father nam'd, your Edgar?Glo. O Lady, Lady, shame would haue it hid
Reg. Was he not companion with the riotous KnightsThat tended vpon my Father?Glo. I know not Madam, 'tis too bad, too bad
Bast. Yes Madam, he was of that consort
Reg. No maruaile then, though he were ill affected,'Tis they haue put him on the old mans death,To haue th' expence and wast of his Reuenues:I haue this present euening from my SisterBeene well inform'd of them, and with such cautions,That if they come to soiourne at my house,Ile not be there
Cor. Nor I, assure thee Regan;Edmund, I heare that you haue shewne your FatherA Child-like Office
Bast. It was my duty Sir
Glo. He did bewray his practise, and receiu'dThis hurt you see, striuing to apprehend him
Cor. Is he pursued?Glo. I my good Lord
Cor. If he be taken, he shall neuer moreBe fear'd of doing harme, make your owne purpose,How in my strength you please: for you Edmund,Whose vertue and obedience doth this instantSo much commend it selfe, you shall be ours,Nature's of such deepe trust, we shall much need:You we first seize on
Bast. I shall serue you Sir truely, how euer else
Glo. For him I thanke your Grace
Cor. You know not why we came to visit you?Reg. Thus out of season, thredding darke ey'd night,Occasions Noble Gloster of some prize,Wherein we must haue vse of your aduise.Our Father he hath writ, so hath our Sister,Of differences, which I best thought it fitTo answere from our home: the seuerall MessengersFrom hence attend dispatch, our good old Friend,Lay comforts to your bosome, and bestowYour needfull counsaile to our businesses,Which craues the instant vse
Glo. I serue you Madam,Your Graces are right welcome.
Exeunt. Flourish.
Scena Secunda.
Enter Kent, and Steward seuerally.
Stew. Good dawning to thee Friend, art of this house?Kent. I
Stew. Where may we set our horses?Kent. I'th' myre
Stew. Prythee, if thou lou'st me, tell me
Kent. I loue thee not
Ste. Why then I care not for thee
Kent. If I had thee in Lipsbury Pinfold, I would make thee care for me
Ste. Why do'st thou vse me thus? I know thee not
Kent. Fellow I know thee
Ste. What do'st thou know me for? Kent. A Knaue, a Rascall, an eater of broken meates, a base, proud, shallow, beggerly, three-suited-hundred pound, filthy woosted-stocking knaue, a Lilly-liuered, action-taking, whoreson glasse-gazing super-seruiceable finicall Rogue, one Trunke-inheriting slaue, one that would'st be a Baud in way of good seruice, and art nothing but the composition of a Knaue, Begger, Coward, Pandar, and the Sonne and Heire of a Mungrill Bitch, one whom I will beate into clamours whining, if thou deny'st the least sillable of thy addition
Stew. Why, what a monstrous Fellow art thou, thus to raile on one, that is neither knowne of thee, nor knowes thee? Kent. What a brazen-fac'd Varlet art thou, to deny thou knowest me? Is it two dayes since I tript vp thy heeles, and beate thee before the King? Draw you rogue, for though it be night, yet the Moone shines, Ile make a sop oth' Moonshine of you, you whoreson Cullyenly Barber-monger, draw
Stew. Away, I haue nothing to do with thee
Kent. Draw you Rascall, you come with Letters against the King, and take Vanitie the puppets part, against the Royaltie of her Father: draw you Rogue, or Ile so carbonado your shanks, draw you Rascall, come your waies
Ste. Helpe, ho, murther, helpe
Kent. Strike you slaue: stand rogue, stand you neatslaue, strike
Stew. Helpe hoa, murther, murther.Enter Bastard, Cornewall, Regan, Gloster, Seruants.
Bast. How now, what's the matter? Part
Kent. With you goodman Boy, if you please, come,Ile flesh ye, come on yong Master
Glo. Weapons? Armes? what's the matter here?Cor. Keepe peace vpon your liues, he dies that strikesagaine, what is the matter?Reg. The Messengers from our Sister, and the King?Cor. What is your difference, speake?Stew. I am scarce in breath my Lord
Kent. No Maruell, you haue so bestir'd your valour, you cowardly Rascall, nature disclaimes in thee: a Taylor made thee
Cor. Thou art a strange fellow, a Taylor make a man?Kent. A Taylor Sir, a Stone-cutter, or a Painter, couldnot haue made him so ill, though they had bin but twoyeares oth' trade
Cor. Speake yet, how grew your quarrell?Ste. This ancient Ruffian Sir, whose life I haue spar'dat sute of his gray-beard
Kent. Thou whoreson Zed, thou vnnecessary letter: my Lord, if you will giue me leaue, I will tread this vnboulted villaine into morter, and daube the wall of a Iakes with him. Spare my gray-beard, you wagtaile? Cor. Peace sirrah, You beastly knaue, know you no reuerence? Kent. Yes Sir, but anger hath a priuiledge
Cor. Why art thou angrie?Kent. That such a slaue as this should weare a Sword,Who weares no honesty: such smiling rogues as these,Like Rats oft bite the holy cords a twaine,Which are t' intrince, t' vnloose: smooth euery passionThat in the natures of their Lords rebell,Being oile to fire, snow to the colder moodes,Reuenge, affirme, and turne their Halcion beakesWith euery gall, and varry of their Masters,Knowing naught (like dogges) but following:A plague vpon your Epilepticke visage,Smoile you my speeches, as I were a Foole?Goose, if I had you vpon Sarum Plaine,I'ld driue ye cackling home to Camelot
Corn. What art thou mad old Fellow?Glost. How fell you out, say that?Kent. No contraries hold more antipathy,Then I, and such a knaue
Corn. Why do'st thou call him Knaue?What is his fault?Kent. His countenance likes me not
Cor. No more perchance do's mine, nor his, nor hers
Kent. Sir, 'tis my occupation to be plaine,I haue seene better faces in my Time,Then stands on any shoulder that I seeBefore me, at this instant
Corn. This is some Fellow,Who hauing beene prais'd for bluntnesse, doth affectA saucy roughnes, and constraines the garbQuite from his Nature. He cannot flatter he,An honest mind and plaine, he must speake truth,And they will take it so, if not, hee's plaine.These kind of Knaues I know, which in this plainnesseHarbour more craft, and more corrupter ends,Then twenty silly-ducking obseruants,That stretch their duties nicely
Kent. Sir, in good faith, in sincere verity,Vnder th' allowance of your great aspect,Whose influence like the wreath of radient fireOn flickring 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 beguild you in a plaine accent, was a plaine Knaue, which for my part I will not be, though I should win your displeasure to entreat me too't
Corn. What was th' offence you gaue him?Ste. I neuer gaue him any:It pleas'd the King his Master very lateTo strike at me vpon his misconstruction,When he compact, and flattering his displeasureTript me behind: being downe, insulted, rail'd,And put vpon him such a deale of Man,That worthied him, got praises of the King,For him attempting, who was selfe-subdued,And in the fleshment of this dead exploit,Drew on me here againe
Kent. None of these Rogues, and CowardsBut Aiax is there Foole
Corn. Fetch forth the Stocks?You stubborne ancient Knaue, you reuerent Bragart,Wee'l teach you
Kent. Sir, I am too old to learne:Call not your Stocks for me, I serue the King.On whose imployment I was sent to you,You shall doe small respects, show too bold maliceAgainst the Grace, and Person of my Master,Stocking his Messenger
Corn. Fetch forth the Stocks;As I haue life and Honour, there shall he sit till Noone
Reg. Till noone? till night my Lord, and all night too
Kent. Why Madam, if I were your Fathers dog,You should not vse me so
Reg. Sir, being his Knaue, I will.
Stocks brought out.
Cor. This is a Fellow of the selfe same colour,Our Sister speakes of. Come, bring away the Stocks
Glo. Let me beseech your Grace, not to do so,The King his Master, needs must take it illThat he so slightly valued in his Messenger,Should haue him thus restrained
Cor. Ile answere that
Reg. My Sister may recieue it much more worsse,To haue her Gentleman abus'd, assaulted
Corn. Come my Lord, away.Enter.
Glo. I am sorry for thee friend, 'tis the Dukes pleasure,Whose disposition all the world well knowesWill not be rub'd nor stopt, Ile entreat for thee
Kent. Pray do not Sir, I haue watch'd and trauail'd hard,Some time I shall sleepe out, the rest Ile whistle:A good mans fortune may grow out at heeles:Giue you good morrow
Glo. The Duke's too blame in this,'Twill be ill taken.Enter.
Kent. Good King, that must approue the common saw,Thou out of Heauens benediction com'stTo the warme Sun.Approach thou Beacon to this vnder Globe,That by thy comfortable Beames I mayPeruse this Letter. Nothing almost sees miraclesBut miserie. I know 'tis from Cordelia,Who hath most fortunately beene inform'dOf my obscured course. And shall finde timeFrom this enormous State, seeking to giueLosses their remedies. All weary and o're-watch'd,Take vantage heauie eyes, not to beholdThis shamefull lodging. Fortune goodnight,Smile once more, turne thy wheele.Enter Edgar.
Edg. I heard my selfe proclaim'd,And by the happy hollow of a Tree,Escap'd the hunt. No Port is free, no placeThat guard, and most vnusall vigilanceDo's not attend my taking. Whiles I may scapeI will preserue myselfe: and am bethoughtTo take the basest, and most poorest shapeThat euer penury in contempt of man,Brought neere to beast; my face Ile grime with filth,Blanket my loines, else all my haires in knots,And with presented nakednesse out-faceThe Windes, and persecutions of the skie;The Country giues me proofe, and presidentOf Bedlam beggers, who with roaring voices,Strike in their num'd and mortified Armes.Pins, Wodden-prickes, Nayles, Sprigs of Rosemarie:And with this horrible obiect, from low Farmes,Poore pelting Villages, Sheeps-Coates, and Milles,Sometimes with Lunaticke bans, sometime with PraiersInforce their charitie: poore Turlygod poore Tom,That's something yet: Edgar I nothing am.Enter.
Enter Lear, Foole, and Gentleman.
Lea. 'Tis strange that they should so depart from home,And not send backe my Messengers
Gent. As I learn'd,The night before, there was no purpose in themOf this remoue
Kent. Haile to thee Noble Master
Lear. Ha? Mak'st thou this shame thy pastime?Kent. No my Lord
Foole. Hah, ha, he weares Cruell Garters Horses are tide by the heads, Dogges and Beares by'th' necke, Monkies by'th' loynes, and Men by'th' legs: when a man ouerlustie at legs, then he weares wodden nether-stocks
Lear. What's he,That hath so much thy place mistookeTo set thee heere?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 Iupiter I sweare no
Kent. By Iuno, I sweare I
Lear. They durst not do't:They could not, would not do't: 'tis worse then murther,To do vpon respect such violent outrage:Resolue me with all modest haste, which wayThou might'st deserue, or they impose this vsage,Comming from vs
Kent. My Lord, when at their homeI did commend your Highnesse Letters to them,Ere I was risen from the place, that shewedMy dutie kneeling, came there a reeking Poste,Stew'd in his haste, halfe breathlesse, painting forthFrom Gonerill his Mistris, salutations;Deliuer'd Letters spight of intermission,Which presently they read; on those contentsThey summon'd vp their meiney, straight tooke Horse,Commanded me to follow, and attendThe leisure of their answer, gaue me cold lookes,And meeting heere the other Messenger,Whose welcome I perceiu'd had poison'd mine,Being the very fellow which of lateDisplaid so sawcily against your Highnesse,Hauing more man then wit about me, drew;He rais'd the house, with loud and coward cries,Your Sonne and Daughter found this trespasse worthThe shame which heere it suffers
Foole. Winters not gon yet, if the wil'd Geese fly that way,Fathers that weare rags, do make their Children blind,But Fathers that beare bags, shall see their children kind.Fortune that arrant whore, nere turns the key toth' poore.But for all this thou shalt haue as many Dolors for thyDaughters, as thou canst tell in a yeare
Lear. Oh how this Mother swels vp toward my heart!Historica passio, downe thou climing sorrow,Thy Elements below where is this Daughter?Kent. With the Earle Sir, here within
Lear. Follow me not, stay here.Enter.
Gen. Made you no more offence,But what you speake of?Kent. None:How chance the King comes with so small a number?Foole. And thou hadst beene set i'th' Stockes for thatquestion, thoud'st well deseru'd it
Kent. Why Foole? Foole. Wee'l set thee to schoole to an Ant, to teach thee ther's no labouring i'th' winter. All that follow their noses, are led by their eyes, but blinde men, and there's not a nose among twenty, but can smell him that's stinking; let go thy hold when a great wheele runs downe a hill, least it breake thy necke with following. But the great one that goes vpward, let him draw thee after: when a wiseman giues thee better counsell giue me mine againe, I would haue none but knaues follow it, since a Foole giues it. That Sir, which serues and seekes for gaine, And followes but for forme; Will packe, when it begins to raine, And leaue thee in the storme, But I will tarry, the Foole will stay, And let the wiseman flie: The knaue turnes Foole that runnes away, The Foole no knaue perdie. Enter Lear, and Gloster] : Kent. Where learn'd you this Foole? Foole. Not i'th' Stocks Foole
Lear. Deny to speake with me?They are sicke, they are weary,They haue trauail'd all the night? meere fetches,The images of reuolt and flying off.Fetch me a better answer
Glo. My deere Lord,You know the fiery quality of the Duke,How vnremoueable and fixt he isIn his owne course
Lear. Vengeance, Plague, Death, Confusion:Fiery? What quality? Why Gloster, Gloster,I'ld speake with the Duke of Cornewall, and his wife
Glo. Well my good Lord, I haue inform'd them so
Lear. Inform'd them? Do'st thou vnderstand me man
Glo. I my good Lord
Lear. The King would speake with Cornwall,The deere FatherWould with his Daughter speake, commands, tends, seruice,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 our selues,When Nature being opprest, commands the mindTo suffer with the body; Ile forbeare,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: whereforeShould he sit heere? This act perswades me,That this remotion of the Duke and herIs practise only. Giue me my Seruant forth;Goe tell the Duke, and's wife, Il'd speake with them:Now, presently: bid them come forth and heare me,Or at their Chamber doore Ile beate the Drum,Till it crie sleepe to death
Glo. I would haue all well betwixt you.Enter.
Lear. Oh me my heart! My rising heart! But downe
Foole. Cry to it Nunckle, as the Cockney did to the Eeles, when she put 'em i'th' Paste aliue, she knapt 'em o'th' coxcombs with a sticke, and cryed downe wantons, downe; 'twas her Brother, that in pure kindnesse to his Horse buttered his Hay. Enter Cornewall, Regan, Gloster, Seruants.
Lear. Good morrow to you both
Corn. Haile to your Grace.
Kent here set at liberty.
Reg. I am glad to see your Highnesse
Lear. Regan, I thinke you are. I know what reasonI haue to thinke so, if thou should'st not be glad,I would diuorce me from thy Mother Tombe,Sepulchring an Adultresse. O are you free?Some other time for that. Beloued Regan,Thy Sisters naught: oh Regan, she hath tiedSharpe-tooth'd vnkindnesse, like a vulture heere,I can scarce speake to thee, thou'lt not beleeueWith how deprau'd a quality. Oh Regan
Reg. I pray you Sir, take patience, I haue hopeYou lesse know how to value her desert,Then she to scant her dutie
Lear. Say? How is that?Reg. I cannot thinke my Sister in the leastWould faile her Obligation. If Sir perchanceShe haue restrained the Riots of your Followres,'Tis on such ground, and to such wholesome end,As cleeres her from all blame
Lear. My curses on her
Reg. O Sir, you are old,Nature in you stands on the very VergeOf his confine: you should be rul'd, and ledBy some discretion, that discernes your stateBetter then you your selfe: therefore I pray you,That to our Sister, you do make returne,Say you haue wrong'd her
Lear. Aske her forgiuenesse?Do you but marke how this becomes the house?Deere daughter, I confesse that I am old;Age is vnnecessary: on my knees I begge,That you'l vouchsafe me Rayment, Bed, and Food
Reg. Good Sir, no more: these are vnsightly trickes:Returne you to my Sister
Lear. Neuer Regan:She hath abated me of halfe my Traine;Look'd blacke vpon me, strooke me with her TongueMost Serpent-like, vpon the very Heart.All the stor'd Vengeances of Heauen, fallOn her ingratefull top: strike her yong bonesYou taking Ayres, with Lamenesse
Corn. Fye sir, fie
Le. You nimble Lightnings, dart your blinding flamesInto her scornfull eyes: Infect her Beauty,You Fen-suck'd Fogges, drawne by the powrfull Sunne,To fall, and blister
Reg. O the blest Gods!So will you wish on me, when the rash moode is on
Lear. No Regan, thou shalt neuer haue my curse:Thy tender-hefted Nature shall not giueThee o're to harshnesse: Her eyes are fierce, but thineDo comfort, and not burne. 'Tis not in theeTo grudge my pleasures, to cut off my Traine,To bandy hasty words, to scant my sizes,And in conclusion, to oppose the boltAgainst my comming in. Thou better know'stThe Offices of Nature, bond of Childhood,Effects of Curtesie, dues of Gratitude:Thy halfe o'th' Kingdome hast thou not forgot,Wherein I thee endow'd
Reg. Good Sir, to'th' purpose.
Tucket within.
Lear. Who put my man i'th' Stockes?Enter Steward.
Corn. What Trumpet's that?Reg. I know't, my Sisters: this approues her Letter,That she would soone be heere. Is your Lady come?Lear. This is a Slaue, whose easie borrowed prideDwels in the sickly grace of her he followes.Out Varlet, from my sight
Corn. What meanes your Grace?Enter Gonerill.
Lear. Who stockt my Seruant? Regan, I haue good hopeThou did'st not know on't.Who comes here? O Heauens!If you do loue old men; if your sweet swayAllow Obedience; if you your selues are old,Make it your cause: Send downe, and take my part.Art not asham'd to looke vpon this Beard?O Regan, will you take her by the hand?Gon. Why not by'th' hand Sir? How haue I offended?All's not offence that indiscretion findes,And dotage termes so
Lear. O sides, you are too tough!Will you yet hold?How came my man i'th' Stockes?Corn. I set him there, Sir: but his owne DisordersDeseru'd much lesse aduancement
Lear. You? Did you?Reg. I pray you Father being weake, seeme so.If till the expiration of your MonethYou will returne and soiourne with my Sister,Dismissing halfe your traine, come then to me,I am now from home, and out of that prouisionWhich shall be needfull for your entertainement
Lear. Returne to her? and fifty men dismiss'd?No, rather I abiure all roofes, and chuseTo wage against the enmity oth' ayre,To be a Comrade with the Wolfe, and Owle,Necessities sharpe pinch. Returne with her?Why the hot-bloodied France, that dowerlesse tookeOur yongest borne, I could as well be broughtTo knee his Throne, and Squire-like pension beg,To keepe base life a foote; returne with her?Perswade me rather to be slaue and sumpterTo this detested groome
Gon. At your choice Sir
Lear. I prythee Daughter do not make me mad,I will not trouble thee my Child; farewell:Wee'l no more meete, 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 Byle,A plague sore, or imbossed CarbuncleIn my corrupted blood. But Ile not chide thee,Let shame come when it will, I do not call it,I do not bid the Thunder-bearer shoote,Nor tell tales of thee to high-iudging Ioue,Mend when thou can'st, 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 prouidedFor your fit welcome, giue eare Sir to my Sister,For those that mingle reason with your passion,Must be content to thinke you old, and so,But she knowes what she doe's
Lear. Is this well spoken?Reg. I dare auouch 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,Speake 'gainst so great a number? How in one houseShould many people, vnder two commandsHold amity? 'Tis hard, almost impossible