THE TRAGEDIE OF KING LEAR. Shakespeare, William, 1564-1616 University of Oxford Text Archive
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ota@oucs.ox.ac.uk http://ota.ox.ac.uk/id/5710 1106027094 9781106027092 Distributed by the University of Oxford under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License Revised version of The texts were originally prepared by Trevor Howard-Hill for use in his single volume concordances to Shakespeare (OUP, 1969f). They have since been reformatted to modern standards and carefully proofread by staff of Oxford University Press' Shakespeare Department for use in the new "Old Spelling" Oxford Shakespeare, under the general editorship of Dr Stanley Wells: The complete works / William Shakespeare; general editors, Stanley Wells and Gary Taylor ; editors Stanley Wells ... [et al.] ; with introductions by Stanley Wells. -- Oxford : Clarendon Press, 1986. -- (Oxford Shakespeare). -- ISBN 0-19-812926-2 THE TRAGEDIE OF KING LEAR. Shakespeare, William, 1564-1616 Lee, Sidney, Sir, 1859-1926 xxxv, 908 p. : facsims. ; 39 cm. Clarendon Press Oxford 1902 "One thousand copies of this facsimile have been printed"--verso of half t.p. Facsim. reprint of ed. published, London : printed by Issac Iaggard and Ed.[ward] Blount, 1623 with original t.p.: Mr. William Shakespeares comedies, histories, & tragedies Original colophon reads: Printed at the charges of W.[illiam] Iaggard, Ed.[ward] Blount, I.[ohn] Smithweeke [i.e. Smethwick], and W.[illiam] Aspley, 1623 Contents: The tempest. The two gentlemen of Verona. The merry wives of Windsor. Measvre, for measure. The comedie of errors. Much adoe about nothing. Loues labour's lost. A midsommer nights dreame. The merchant of Venice. As you like it. The taming of the shrew. All's well, that ends well. Twelfe night, or what you will. The winters tale. The life and death of King Iohn. The life and death of King Richard the second. The first part of Henry the fourth. The second part of Henry the fourth. The life of Henry the fift. The first part of Henry the sixt. The second part of Henry the sixt. The third part of Henry the sixt. The tragedy of Richard the third. The famous history of the life of King Henry the eight. The tragedie of Troylus and Cressida. The tragedy of Coriolanvs. The lamentable tragedy of Titus Andronicus. The tragedie of Romeo and Ivliet. The life of Tymon of Athens. The tragedie of Ivlivs Caesar. The tragedie of Macbeth. The tragedie of Hamlet, Prince of Denmarke. The tragedie of King Lear. The tragedie of Othello, the moore of Venice. The tragedie of Anthonie, and Cleopatra. The tragedie of Cymbeline Lower case y with smaller lower case u above Abbreviation for thou in Elizabethan typesetting entity ythou Lower case y with smaller lower case e above Abbreviation for the in Elizabethan typesetting entity ythe Lower case y with smaller lower case t above Abbreviation for that in Elizabethan typesetting entity ythat Lower case w with smaller lower case c above Abbreviation for which in Elizabethan typesetting entity wwhich University of Oxford Text Archive Subject Headings Library of Congress Subject Headings English Plays -- England -- 16th century Plays -- England -- 17th century Comedies -- England -- 16th century Comedies -- England -- 17th century Tragedies -- England -- 16th century Tragedies -- England -- 17th century Header normalised THE TRAGEDIE OF KING LEAR.
Actus Primus. Scoena Prima. Enter Kent, Gloucester, and Edmond. Kent. I thought the King had more affected theDuke of Albany, then Cornwall. Glou. It did alwayes seeme so to vs: Butnow in the diuision of the Kingdome, it ap-peares not which of the Dukes hee valewesmost, for qualities are so weigh'd, that curiosity in nei-ther, can make choise of eithers moity. Kent. Is not this your Son, my Lord? Glou. His breeding Sir, hath bin at my charge. I haueso often blush'd to acknowledge him, that now I ambraz'd too't. Kent. I cannot conceiue you. Glou. Sir, this yong Fellowes mother could; where-vpon she grew round womb'd, and had indeede (Sir) aSonne for her Cradle, ere she had a husband for her bed.Do you smell a fault? Kent. I cannot wish the fault vndone, the issue of it,being so proper. Glou. But I haue a Sonne, Sir, by order of Law, someyeere elder then this; who, yet is no deerer in my ac-count, though this Knaue came somthing sawcily to theworld before he was sent for: yet was his Mother fayre,there was good sport at his making, and the horson mustbe acknowledged. Doe you know this Noble Gentle-man, Edmond? Edm. No, my Lord. Glou. My Lord of Kent:Remember him heereafter, as my Honourable Friend. Edm. My seruices to your Lordship. Kent. I must loue you, and sue to know you better. Edm. Sir, I shall study deseruing. Glou. He hath bin out nine yeares, and away he shallagaine. The King is comming. Sennet. Enter King Lear, Cornwall, Albany, Gonerill, Re-gan, Cordelia, and attendants. Lear. Attend the Lords of France & Burgundy, Gloster. Glou. I shall, my Lord. Exit. Lear. Meane time we shal expresse our darker purpose.Giue me the Map there. Know, that we haue diuidedIn three our Kingdome: and 'tis our fast intent,To shake all Cares and Businesse from our Age,Conferring them on yonger strengths, while weVnburthen'd crawle toward death. Our son of Cornwal, And you our no lesse louing Sonne of Albany, We haue this houre a constant will to publishOur daughters seuerall Dowers, that future strifeMay be preuented now. The Princes, France & Burgundy, Great Riuals in our yongest daughters loue,Long in our Court, haue made their amorous soiourne,And heere are to be answer'd. Tell me my daughters(Since now we will diuest vs both of Rule,Interest of Territory, Cares of State)Which of you shall we say doth loue vs most,That we, our largest bountie may extendWhere Nature doth with merit challenge. Gonerill, Our eldest borne, speake first. Gon. Sir, I loue you more then word can weild the matter,Deerer then eye-sight, space, and libertie,Beyond what can be valewed, rich or rare,No lesse then life, with grace, health, beauty, honor:As much as Childe ere lou'd, or Father found.A loue that makes breath poore, and speech vnable,Beyond all manner of so much I loue you. Cor. What shall Cordelia speake? Loue, and be silent. Lear. Of all these bounds euen from this Line, to this,With shadowie Forrests, and with Champains rich'dWith plenteous Riuers, and wide-skirted MeadesWe make thee Lady. To thine and Albanies issuesBe this perpetuall. What sayes our second Daughter?Our deerest Regan, wife of Cornwall? Reg. I am made of that selfe-mettle as my Sister,And prize me at her worth. In my true heart,I finde she names my very deede of loue:Onely she comes too short, that I professeMy selfe an enemy to all other ioyes,Which the most precious square of sense professes,And finde I am alone felicitateIn your deere Highnesse loue. Cor. Then poore Cordelia, And yet not so, since I am sure my loue'sMore ponderous then my tongue. Lear. To thee, and thine hereditarie euer,Remaine this ample third of our faire Kingdome,No lesse in space, validitie, and pleasureThen that conferr'd on Gonerill. Now our Ioy,Although our last and least; to whose yong loue,The Vines of France, and Milke of Burgundie,Striue to be interest. What can you say, to drawA third, more opilent then your Sisters? speake. Cor. Nothing my Lord. Lear. Nothing? Cor. Nothing. Lear. Nothing will come of nothing, speake againe. Cor. Vnhappie that I am, I cannot heaueMy heart into my mouth: I loue your MaiestyAccording to my bond, no more nor lesse. Lear. How, how Cordelia? Mend your speech a little,Least you may marre your Fortunes. Cor. Good my Lord,You haue begot me, bred me, lou'd me.I returne those duties backe as are right fit,Obey you, Loue you, and most Honour you.Why haue my Sisters Husbands, if they sayThey loue you all? Happily when I shall wed,That Lord, whose hand must take my plight, shall carryHalfe my loue with him, halfe my Care, and Dutie,Sure I shall neuer marry like my Sisters. Lear. But goes thy heart with this? Cor. I my good Lord. Lear. So young, and so vntender? Cor. So young my Lord, and true. Lear. Let it be so, thy truth then be thy dowre:For by the sacred radience of the Sunne,The misteries of Heccat and the night:By all the operation of the Orbes,From whom we do exist, and cease to be,Heere I disclaime all my Paternall care,Propinquity and property of blood,And as a stranger to my heart and me,Hold thee from this for euer. The barbarous Scythian, Or he that makes his generation messesTo gorge his appetite, shall to my bosomeBe as well neighbour'd, pittied, and releeu'd,As thou my sometime Daughter. Kent. Good my Liege. Lear. Peace Kent, Come not betweene the Dragon and his wrath,I lou'd her most, and thought to set my restOn her kind nursery. Hence and avoid my sight:So be my graue my peace, as here I giueHer Fathers heart from her; call France, who stirres?Call Burgundy, Cornwall, and Albanie, With my two Daughters Dowres, digest the third,Let pride, which she cals plainnesse, marry her:I doe inuest you ioyntly with my power,Preheminence, and all the large effectsThat troope with Maiesty. Our selfe by Monthly course,With reseruation of an hundred Knights,By you to be sustain'd, shall our abodeMake with you by due turne, onely we shall retaineThe name, and all th' addition to a King: the Sway,Reuennew, Execution of the rest,Beloued Sonnes be yours, which to confirme,This Coronet part betweene you. Kent. Royall Lear, Whom I haue euer honor'd as my King,Lou'd as my Father, as my Master follow'd,As my great Patron thought on in my praiers. Le. The bow is bent & drawne, make from the shaft. Kent. Let it fall rather, though the forke inuadeThe region of my heart, be Kent vnmannerly,When Lear is mad, what wouldest thou do old man?Think'st thou that dutie shall haue dread to speake,When power to flattery bowes?To plainnesse honour's bound,When Maiesty falls to folly, reserue thy state,And in thy best consideration checkeThis hideous rashnesse, answere my life, my iudgement:Thy yongest Daughter do's not loue thee least,Nor are those empty hearted, whose low soundsReuerbe no hollownesse. Lear. Kent, on thy life no more. Kent. My life I neuer held but as pawneTo wage against thine enemies, nere feare to loose it,Thy safety being motiue. Lear. Out of my sight. Kent. See better Lear, and let me still remaineThe true blanke of thine eie. Lear. Now by Apollo, Kent. Now by Apollo, KingThou swear'st thy Gods in vaine. Lear. O Vassall! Miscreant. Alb. Cor. Deare Sir forbeare. Kent. Kill thy Physition, and thy fee bestowVpon the foule disease, reuoke thy guift,Or whil'st I can vent clamour from my throate,Ile tell thee thou dost euill. Lea. Heare me recreant, on thine allegeance heare me;That thou hast sought to make vs breake our vowes,Which we durst neuer yet; and with strain'd pride,To come betwixt our sentences, and our power,Which, nor our nature, nor our place can beare;Our potencie made good, take thy reward.Fiue dayes we do allot thee for prouision,To shield thee from disasters of the world,And on the sixt to turne thy hated backeVpon our kingdome: if on the tenth day following,Thy banisht trunke be found in our Dominions,The moment is thy death, away. By Iupiter, This shall not be reuok'd, Kent. Fare thee well King, sith thus thou wilt appeare,Freedome liues hence, and banishment is here;The Gods to their deere shelter take thee Maid,That iustly think'st, and hast most rightly said:And your large speeches, may your deeds approue,That good effects may spring from words of loue:Thus Kent, O Princes, bids you all adew,Hee'l shape his old course, in a Country new. Exit. Flourish. Enter Gloster with France, and Bur-gundy, 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 eies Cordelia 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 ob-seruation we haue made of it hath beene little; he alwaieslou'd our Sister most, and with what poore iudgement hehath now cast her off, appeares too grossely. Reg. 'Tis the infirmity of his age, yet he hath euer butslenderly knowne himselfe. Gon. The best and soundest of his time hath bin butrash, then must we looke from his age, to receiue not a-lone the imperfections of long ingraffed condition, buttherewithall the vnruly way-wardnesse, that infirme andcholericke 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 be-tweene France 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 that 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 ofit into your Pocket? The quality of nothing, hath notsuch neede to hide it selfe. Let's see: come, if it bee no-thing, I shall not neede Spectacles. Bast. I beseech you Sir, pardon mee; it is a Letterfrom my Brother, that I haue not all ore-read; and for somuch as I haue perus'd, I finde it not fit for your ore-loo-king. 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 wrotethis 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 thebeloued of your Brother. Edgar.Hum? Conspiracy? Sleepe till I wake him, you shouldenioy halfe his Reuennew: my Sonne Edgar, had hee ahand 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 thecunning of it. I found it throwne in at the Casement ofmy 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 isnot in the Contents. Glo. Has he neuer before sounded you in this busines? Bast. Neuer my Lord. But I haue heard him oft main-taine it to be fit, that Sonnes at perfect age, and Fathersdeclin'd, the Father should bee as Ward to the Son, andthe Sonne manage his Reuennew. Glou. O Villain, villain: his very opinion in the Let-ter. Abhorred Villaine, vnnaturall, detested, brutishVillaine; worse then brutish: Go sirrah, seeke him: Ileapprehend him. Abhominable Villaine, where is he? Bast. I do not well know my L[ord]. If it shall please you tosuspend your indignation against my Brother, til you canderiue from him better testimony of his intent, you sholdrun a certaine course: where, if you violently proceed a-gainst him, mistaking his purpose, it would make a greatgap in your owne Honor, and shake in peeces, the heart ofhis obedience. I dare pawne downe my life for him, thathe 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 youwhere you shall heare vs conferre of this, and by an Auri-cular assurance haue your satisfaction, and that withoutany further delay, then this very Euening. Glou. He cannot bee such a Monster. Edmond seekehim out: winde me into him, I pray you: frame the Bu-sinesse after your owne wisedome. I would vnstate myselfe, to be in a due resolution. Bast. I will seeke him Sir, presently: conuey the bu-sinesse as I shall find meanes, and acquaint you withall. Glou. These late Eclipses in the Sun and Moone por-tend no good to vs: though the wisedome of Nature canreason it thus, and thus, yet Nature finds it selfe scourg'dby the sequent effects. Loue cooles, friendship falls off,Brothers diuide. In Cities, mutinies; in Countries, dis-cord; in Pallaces, Treason; and the Bond crack'd, 'twixtSonne and Father. This villaine of mine comes vnder theprediction; there's Son against Father, the King fals frombyas of Nature, there's Father against Childe. We haueseene the best of our time. Machinations, hollownesse,treacherie, and all ruinous disorders follow vs disquietlyto our Graues. Find out this Villain, Edmond, it shall losethee nothing, do it carefully: and the Noble & true-har-ted Kent banish'd; his offence, honesty. 'Tis strange. Exit Bast. This is the excellent foppery of the world, thatwhen we are sicke in fortune, often the surfets of our ownbehauiour, we make guilty of our disasters, the Sun, theMoone, and Starres, as if we were villaines on necessitie,Fooles by heauenly compulsion, Knaues, Theeues, andTreachers by Sphericall predominance. Drunkards, Ly-ars, and Adulterers by an inforc'd obedience of Planataryinfluence; and all that we are euill in, by a diuine thru-sting 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 Dra-gons taile, and my Natiuity was vnder Vrsa Maior, sothat it followes, I am rough and Leacherous. I shouldhaue bin that I am, had the maidenlest Starre in the Fir-mament 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. โ€”โ€” O these Eclipses do portend these diui-sions. Fa, Sol, La, Me. Edg. How now Brother Edmond, what serious con-templation are 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 dis-pleasure in him, by word, nor countenance? Edg. None at all, Bast. Bethink your selfe wherein you may haue offen-ded him: and at my entreaty forbeare his presence, vntillsome little time hath qualified the heat of his displeasure,which at this instant so rageth in him, that with the mis-chiefe of your person, it would scarsely alay. Edg. Some Villaine hath done me wrong. Edm. That's my feare, I pray you haue a continentforbearance till the speed of his rage goes slower: and asI say, retire with me to my lodging, from whence I willfitly 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 honestman, if ther be any good meaning toward you: I haue toldyou what I haue seene, and heard: But faintly. Nothinglike the image, and horror of it, pray you away. Edg. Shall I heare from you anon? Exit. 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. Exit.
Scena Tertia. Enter Gonerill, and Steward. Gon. Did my Father strike my Gentleman for chi-ding of 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 amongyou: what growes of it no matter, aduise your fellowesso, Ile write straight to my Sister to hold my course; pre-pare 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 rea-dy: how now, what art thou? Kent. A man Sir. Lear. What dost thou professe? What would'st thouwith vs? Kent. I do professe to be no lesse then I seeme; to seruehim truely that will put me in trust, to loue him that ishonest, to conuerse with him that is wise and saies little, tofeare iudgement, to fight when I cannot choose, and toeate 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 acurious tale in telling it, and deliuer a plaine messagebluntly: that which ordinary men are fit for, I am qual-lified 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 noworse after dinner, I will not part from thee yet. Dinnerho, dinner, where's my knaue? my Foole? Go you and callmy Foole hither. You you Sirrah, where's my Daughter? Enter Steward. Ste. So please youโ€”โ€” Exit. Lear. What saies the Fellow there? Call the Clot-pole backe: 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'dwith that Ceremonious affection as you were wont,theres a great abatement of kindnesse appeares as well inthe generall dependants, as in the Duke himselfe also, andyour 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 Con-ception, I haue perceiued a most faint neglect of late,which I haue rather blamed as mine owne iealous curio-sitie, then as a very pretence and purpose of vnkindnesse;I will looke further intoo't: but where's my Foole? Ihaue not seene him this two daies. Knight. Since my young Ladies going into France Sir, the Foole hath much pined away. Lear. No more of that, I haue noted it well, goe youand tell my Daughter, I would speake with her. Goe youcall hither my Foole; Oh you Sir, you, come you hitherSir, who am I Sir? Enter Steward. Ste. My Ladies Father. Lear. My Ladies Father? my Lords knaue, you whor-son dog, 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 a-gaine, tarry, but away, goe too, haue you wisedome, so. Lear. Now my friendly knaue I thanke thee, there'searnest 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 catchcolde shortly, there take my Coxcombe; why this fellowha's banish'd two on's Daughters, and did the third ablessing against his will, if thou follow him, thou mustneeds weare my Coxcombe. How now Nunckle? wouldI had two Coxcombes and two Daughters. Lear. Why my Boy? Fool. If I gaue them all my liuing, I'ld keepe my Cox-combes my selfe, there's mine, beg another of thyDaughters. Lear. Take heed Sirrah, the whip. Foole. Truth's a dog must to kennell, hee must beewhipt out, when the Lady Brach may stand by'th' fireand 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 no-thing Nuncle? 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, be-tweene a bitter Foole, and a sweet one. Lear. No Lad, teach me. Foole. Nunckle, giue me an egge, and Ile giue theetwo Crownes. Lear. What two Crownes shall they be? Foole. Why after I haue cut the egge i'th' middle andeate vp the meate, the two Crownes of the egge: whenthou clouest thy Crownes i'th' middle, and gau'st awayboth parts, thou boar'st thine Asse on thy backe o're thedurt, thou hadst little wit in thy bald crowne, when thougau'st thy golden one away; if I speake like my selfe inthis, 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'stthy Daughters thy Mothers, for when thou gau'st themthe rod, and put'st downe thine owne breeches, then theyFor 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 teachthy 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 mewhipt for lying, and sometimes I am whipt for holdingmy peace. I had rather be any kind o' thing then a foole,and yet I would not be thee Nunckle, thou hast pared thywit o' both sides, and left nothing i'th' middle; heerecomes one o'the parings. Enter Gonerill. Lear. How now Daughter? what makes that Frontleton? You are too much of late i'th' frowne. Foole. Thou wast a pretty fellow when thou hadst noneed to care for her frowning, now thou art an O with-out a figure, I am better then thou art now, I am a Foole,thou art nothing. Yes forsooth I will hold my tongue, soyour 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-Sparrowfed the Cuckoo so long, that it's had it head bit off by it young, so out went the Candle, and we were left dark-ling. 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. Exit. 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 thenโ€”โ€” 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 youknow, then comes from her demand out of the Letter,if your Dilligence be not speedy, I shall be there aforeyou. Kent. I will not sleepe my Lord, till I haue deliueredyour Letter. Exit. 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 kind-ly, for though she's as like this, as a Crabbe's like anApple, 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 a-broad, 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. Exit. 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 makethee 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, abase, proud, shallow, beggerly, three-suited-hundredpound, filthy woosted-stocking knaue, a Lilly-liuered,action-taking, whoreson glasse-gazing super-seruiceablefinicall Rogue, one Trunke-inheriting slaue, one thatwould'st be a Baud in way of good seruice, and art no-thing 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 thoudeny'st the least sillable of thy addition. Stew. Why, what a monstrous Fellow art thou, thusto raile on one, that is neither knowne of thee, norknowes thee? Kent. What a brazen-fac'd Varlet art thou, to denythou knowest me? Is it two dayes since I tript vp thyheeles, and beate thee before the King? Draw you rogue, for though it be night, yet the Moone shines, Ile make asop oth' Moonshine of you, you whoreson CullyenlyBarber-monger, draw. Stew. Away, I haue nothing to do with thee. Kent. Draw you Rascall, you come with Letters a-gainst the King, and take Vanitie the puppets part, a-gainst the Royaltie of her Father: draw you Rogue, orIle so carbonado your shanks, draw you Rascall, comeyour 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 Taylormade 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 vn-boulted villaine into morter, and daube the wall of aIakes 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 discom-mend so much; I know Sir, I am no flatterer, he that be-guild you in a plaine accent, was a plaine Knaue, whichfor my part I will not be, though I should win yourdispleasure 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 ill That 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. Exit. 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. Exit. 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. Exit. 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 aretide by the heads, Dogges and Beares by'th' necke,Monkies by'th' loynes, and Men by'th' legs: when a manouerlustie 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. Exit. 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 teachthee ther's no labouring i'th' winter. All that follow theirnoses, are led by their eyes, but blinde men, and there'snot a nose among twenty, but can smell him that's stink-ing; let go thy hold when a great wheele runs downe ahill, least it breake thy necke with following. But thegreat one that goes vpward, let him draw thee after:when a wiseman giues thee better counsell giue me mineagaine, I would haue none but knaues follow it, since aFoole 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 thatโ€”โ€”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. Exit. Lear. Oh me my heart! My rising heart! But downe. Foole. Cry to it Nunckle, as the Cockney did to theEeles, when she put 'em i'th' Paste aliue, she knapt 'emo'th' coxcombs with a sticke, and cryed downe wantons,downe; 'twas her Brother, that in pure kindnesse to hisHorse 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 Disorders Deseru'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. Gon. Why might not you my Lord, receiue attendanceFrom those that she cals Seruants, or from mine? Reg. Why not my Lord?If then they chanc'd to slacke ye,We could comptroll them; if you will come to me,(For now I spie a danger) I entreate youTo bring but fiue and twentie, to no moreWill I giue place or notice. Lear. I gaue you all. Reg. And in good time you gaue it. Lear. Made you my Guardians, my Depositaries,But kept a reseruation to be followedWith such a number? What, must I come to youWith fiue and twenty? Regan, said you so? Reg. And speak't againe my Lord, no more with me. Lea. Those wicked Creatures yet do look wel fauor'dWhen others are more wicked, not being the worstStands in some ranke of praise, Ile go with thee,Thy fifty yet doth double fiue and twenty,And thou art twice her Loue. Gon. Heare me my Lord;What need you fiue and twenty? Ten? Or fiue?To follow in a house, where twice so manyHaue a command to tend you? Reg. What need one? Lear. O reason not the need: our basest BeggersAre in the poorest thing superfluous.Allow not Nature, more then Nature needs:Mans life is cheape as Beastes. Thou art a Lady;If onely to go warme were gorgeous,Why Nature needs not what thou gorgeous wear'st,Which scarcely keepes thee warme, but for true need:You Heauens, giue me that patience, patience I need,You see me heere (you Gods) a poore old man,As full of griefe as age, wretched in both,If it be you that stirres these Daughters heartsAgainst their Father, foole me not so much,To beare it tamely: touch me with Noble anger,And let not womens weapons, water drops,Staine my mans cheekes. No you vnnaturall Hags,I will haue such reuenges on you both,That all the world shallโ€”โ€” I will do such things,What they are yet, I know not, but they shalbeThe terrors of the earth? you thinke Ile weepe,No, Ile not weepe, I haue full cause of weeping. Storme and Tempest. But this heart shal break into a hundred thousand flawesOr ere Ile weepe; O Foole, I shall go mad. Exeunt. Corn. Let vs withdraw, 'twill be a Storme. Reg. This house is little, the old man and's people,Cannot be well bestow'd. Gon. 'Tis his owne blame hath put himselfe from rest,And must needs taste his folly. Reg. For his particular, Ile receiue him gladly,But not one follower. Gon. So am I purpos'd,Where is my Lord of Gloster? Enter Gloster. Corn. Followed the old man forth, he is return'd. Glo. The King is in high rage. Corn. Whether is he going? Glo. He cals to Horse, but will I know not whether. Corn. 'Tis best to giue him way, he leads himselfe. Gon. My Lord, entreate him by no meanes to stay. Glo. Alacke the night comes on, and the high windesDo sorely ruffle, for many Miles aboutThere's scarce a Bush. Reg. O Sir, to wilfull men,The iniuries that they themselues procure,Must be their Schoole-Masters: shut vp your doores,He is attended with a desperate traine,And what they may incense him too, being apt,To haue his eare abus'd, wisedome bids feare. Cor. Shut vp your doores my Lord, 'tis a wil'd night,My Regan counsels well: come out oth' storme. Exeunt.
Actus Tertius. Scena Prima. Storme still. Enter Kent, and a Gentleman, seuerally. Kent. Who's there besides foule weather? Gen. One minded like the weather, most vnquietly. Kent. I know you: Where's the King? Gent. Contending with the fretfull Elements;Bids the winde blow the Earth into the Sea,Or swell the curled Waters 'boue the Maine,That things might change, or cease. Kent. But who is with him? Gent. None but the Foole, who labours to out-iestHis heart-strooke iniuries. Kent. Sir, I do know you,And dare vpon the warrant of my noteCommend a deere thing to you. There is diuision(Although as yet the face of it is couer'dWith mutuall cunning) 'twixt Albany, and Cornwall:Who haue, as who haue not, that their great StarresThron'd and set high; Seruants, who seeme no lesse,Which are to France the Spies and SpeculationsIntelligent of our State. What hath bin seene,Either in snuffes, and packings of the Dukes,Or the hard Reine which both of them hath borneAgainst the old kinde King; or something deeper,Whereof (perchance) these are but furnishings. Gent. I will talke further with you. Kent. No, do not:For confirmation that I am much moreThen my out-wall; open this Purse, and takeWhat it containes. If you shall see Cordelia, (As feare not but you shall) shew her this Ring,And she will tell you who that Fellow isThat yet you do not know. Fye on this Storme,I will go seeke the King. Gent. Giue me your hand,Haue you no more to say? Kent. Few words, but to effect more then all yet;That when we haue found the King, in which your painThat way, Ile this: He that first lights on him,Holla the other. Exeunt.
Scena Secunda. Storme still. Enter Lear, and Foole. Lear. Blow windes, & crack your cheeks; Rage, blowYou Cataracts, and Hyrricano's spout,Till you haue drench'd our Steeples, drown the Cockes.You Sulph'rous and Thought-executing Fires,Vaunt-curriors of Oake-cleauing Thunder-bolts,Sindge my white head. And thou all-shaking Thunder,Strike flat the thicke Rotundity o'th' world,Cracke Natures moulds, all germaines spill at onceThat makes ingratefull Man. Foole. O Nunkle, Court holy-water in a dry house, isbetter then this Rain-water out o' doore. Good Nunkle,in, aske thy Daughters blessing, heere's a night pittiesneither Wisemen, nor Fooles. Lear. Rumble thy belly full: spit Fire, spowt Raine:Nor Raine, Winde, Thunder, Fire are my Daughters;I taxe not you, you Elements with vnkindnesse.I neuer gaue you Kingdome, call'd you Children;You owe me no subscription. Then let fallYour horrible pleasure. Heere I stand your Slaue,A poore, infirme, weake, and dispis'd old man:But yet I call you Seruile Ministers,That will with two pernicious Daughters ioyneYour high-engender'd Battailes, 'gainst a headSo old, and white as this. O, ho! 'tis foule. Foole. He that has a house to put's head in, has a goodHead-peece:The Codpiece that will house, before the head has any;The Head, and he shall Lowse: so Beggers marry many.The man that makes his Toe, what he his Hart shold make,Shall of a Corne cry woe, and turne his sleepe to wake.For there was neuer yet faire woman, but shee mademouthes in a glasse. Enter Kent. Lear. No, I will be the patterne of all patience,I will say nothing. Kent. Who's there? Foole. Marry here's Grace, and a Codpiece, that's aWiseman, and a Foole. Kent. Alas Sir are you here? Things that loue night,Loue not such nights as these: The wrathfull SkiesGallow the very wanderers of the darkeAnd make them keepe their Caues: Since I was man,Such sheets of Fire, such bursts of horrid Thunder,Such groanes of roaring Winde, and Raine, I neuerRemember to haue heard. Mans Nature cannot carryTh' affliction, nor the feare. Lear. Let the great GoddesThat keepe this dreadfull pudder o're our heads,Finde out their enemies now. Tremble thou Wretch,That hast within thee vndivulged CrimesVnwhipt of Iustice. Hide thee, thou Bloudy hand;Thou Periur'd, and thou Simular of VertueThat art Incestuous. Caytiffe, to peeces shakeThat vnder couert, and conuenient seemingHa's practis'd on mans life. Close pent-vp guilts,Riue your concealing Continents, and cryThese dreadfull Summoners grace. I am a man,More sinn'd against, then sinning. Kent. Alacke, bare-headed?Gracious my Lord, hard by heere is a Houell,Some friendship will it lend you 'gainst the Tempest:Repose you there, while I to this hard house,(More harder then the stones whereof 'tis rais'd,Which euen but now, demanding after you,Deny'd me to come in) returne, and forceTheir scanted curtesie. Lear. My wits begin to turne.Come on my boy. How dost my boy? Art cold?I am cold my selfe. Where is this straw, my Fellow?The Art of our Necessities is strange,And can make vilde things precious. Come, your Houel;Poore Foole, and Knaue, I haue one part in my heartThat's sorry yet for thee. Foole. He that has and a little-tyne wit,With heigh-ho, the Winde and the Raine,Must make content with his Fortunes fit,Though the Raine it raineth euery day. Le. True Boy: Come bring vs to this Houell. Exit. Foole. This is a braue night to coole a Curtizan:Ile speake a Prophesie ere I go:When Priests are more in word, then matter;When Brewers marre their Malt with water;When Nobles are their Taylors Tutors,No Heretiques burn'd, but wenches Sutors;When euery Case in Law, is right;No Squire in debt, nor no poore Knight;When Slanders do not liue in Tongues;Nor Cut-purses come not to throngs;When Vsurers tell their Gold i'th' Field, And Baudes, and whores, do Churches build,Then shal the Realme of Albion, come to great confusion:Then comes the time, who liues to see't,That going shalbe vs'd with feet.This prophecie Merlin shall make, for I liue before his time. Exit.
Scaena Tertia. Enter Gloster, and Edmund. Glo. Alacke, alacke Edmund, I like not this vnnaturalldealing; when I desired their leaue that I might pity him,they tooke from me the vse of mine owne house, charg'dme on paine of perpetuall displeasure, neither to speakeof him, entreat for him, or any way sustaine him. Bast. Most sauage and vnnaturall. Glo. Go too; say you nothing. There is diuision be-tweene the Dukes, and a worsse matter then that: I hauereceiued a Letter this night, 'tis dangerous to be spoken,I haue lock'd the Letter in my Closset, these iniuries theKing now beares, will be reuenged home; ther is part ofa Power already footed, we must incline to the King, Iwill looke him, and priuily relieue him; goe you andmaintaine talke with the Duke, that my charity be not ofhim perceiued; If he aske for me, I am ill, and gone tobed, if I die for it, (as no lesse is threatned me) the Kingmy old Master must be relieued. There is strange thingstoward Edmund, pray you be carefull. Exit. Bast. This Curtesie forbid thee, shall the DukeInstantly know, and of that Letter too;This seemes a faire deseruing, and must draw meThat which my Father looses: no lesse then all,The yonger rises, when the old doth fall. Exit.
Scena Quarta. Enter Lear, Kent, and Foole. Kent. Here is the place my Lord, good my Lord enter,The tirrany of the open night's too roughFor Nature to endure. Storme still Lear. Let me alone. Kent. Good my Lord enter heere. Lear. Wilt breake my heart? Kent. I had rather breake mine owne,Good my Lord enter. Lear. Thou think'st 'tis much that this contentious storme Inuades vs to the skin so: 'tis to thee,But where the greater malady is fixt,The lesser is scarce felt. Thou'dst shun a Beare,But if thy flight lay toward the roaring sea,Thou'dst meete the Beare i'th' mouth, when the mind's free,The bodies delicate: the tempest in my mind,Doth from my sences take all feeling else,Saue what beates there, Filliall ingratitude,Is it not as this mouth should teare this handFor lifting food too't? But I will punish home;No, I will weepe no more; in such a night,To shut me out? Poure on, I will endure:In such a night as this? O Regan, Gonerill, Your old kind Father, whose franke heart gaue all,O that way madnesse lies, let me shun that:No more of that. Kent. Good my Lord enter here. Lear. Prythee go in thy selfe, seeke thine owne ease,This tempest will not giue me leaue to ponderOn things would hurt me more, but Ile goe in,In Boy, go first. You houselesse pouertie, Exit. Nay get thee in; Ile pray, and then Ile sleepe.Poore naked wretches, where so ere you areThat bide the pelting of this pittilesse storme,How shall your House-lesse heads, and vnfed sides,Your lop'd, and window'd raggednesse defend youFrom seasons such as these? O I haue taneToo little care of this: Take Physicke, Pompe,Expose thy selfe to feele what wretches feele,That thou maist shake the superflux to them,And shew the Heauens more iust. Enter Edgar, and Foole. Edg. Fathom, and halfe, Fathom and halfe; poore Tom. Foole. Come not in heere Nuncle, here's a spirit, helpeme, helpe me. Kent. Giue my thy hand, who's there? Foole. A spirite, a spirite, he sayes his name's poore Tom. Kent. What art thou that dost grumble there i'th'straw? Come forth. Edg. Away, the foule Fiend followes me, through thesharpe Hauthorne blow the windes. Humh, goe to thybed and warme thee. Lear. Did'st thou giue all to thy Daughters? And artthou come to this? Edgar. Who giues any thing to poore Tom? Whomthe foule fiend hath led through Fire, and through Flame,through Sword, and Whirle-Poole, o're Bog, and Quag-mire, that hath laid Kniues vnder his Pillow, and Haltersin his Pue, set Rats-bane by his Porredge, made himProud of heart, to ride on a Bay trotting Horse, ouer foureincht Bridges, to course his owne shadow for a Traitor.Blisse thy fiue Wits, Toms a cold. O do, de, do, de, do, de,blisse thee from Whirle-Windes, Starre-blasting, and ta-king, do poore Tom some charitie, whom the foule Fiendvexes. There could I haue him now, and there, and thereagaine, and there. Storme still. Lear. Ha's his Daughters brought him to this passe?Could'st thou saue nothing? Would'st thou giue 'em all? Foole. Nay, he reseru'd a Blanket, else we had bin allsham'd. Lea. Now all the plagues that in the pendulous ayreHang fated o're mens faults, light on thy Daughters. Kent. He hath no Daughters Sir. Lear. Death Traitor, nothing could haue subdu'd Nature To such a lownesse, but his vnkind Daughters.Is it the fashion, that discarded Fathers,Should haue thus little mercy on their flesh:Iudicious punishment, 'twas this flesh begotThose Pelicane Daughters. Edg. Pillicock sat on Pillicock hill, alow: alow, loo, loo. Foole. This cold night will turne vs all to Fooles, andMadmen. Edgar. Take heed o'th' foule Fiend, obey thy Pa-rents, keepe thy words Iustice, sweare not, commit not, with mans sworne Spouse: set not thy Sweet-heart onproud array. Tom's a cold. Lear. What hast thou bin? Edg. A Seruingman? Proud in heart, and minde; thatcurl'd my haire, wore Gloues in my cap; seru'd the Lustof my Mistris heart, and did the acte of darkenesse withher. Swore as many Oathes, as I spake words, & brokethem in the sweet face of Heauen. One, that slept in thecontriuing of Lust, and wak'd to doe it. Wine lou'd Ideerely, Dice deerely; and in Woman, out-Paramour'dthe Turke. False of heart, light of eare, bloody of hand;Hog in sloth, Foxe in stealth, Wolfe in greedinesse, Dogin madnes, Lyon in prey. Let not the creaking of shooes,Nor the rustling of Silkes, betray thy poore heart to wo-man. Keepe thy foote out of Brothels, thy hand out ofPlackets, thy pen from Lenders Bookes, and defye thefoule Fiend. Still through the Hauthorne blowes thecold winde: Sayes suum, mun, nonny, Dolphin my Boy,Boy Sesey: let him trot by. Storme still. Lear. Thou wert better in a Graue, then to answerewith thy vncouer'd body, this extremitie of the Skies. Isman no more then this? Consider him well. Thou ow'stthe Worme no Silke; the Beast, no Hide; the Sheepe, noWooll; the Cat, no perfume. Ha? Here's three on's aresophisticated. Thou art the thing it selfe; vnaccommo-dated man, is no more but such a poore, bare, forked A-nimall as thou art. Off, off you Lendings: Come, vn-button heere. Enter Gloucester, with a Torch. Foole. Prythee Nunckle be contented, 'tis a naughtienight to swimme in. Now a little fire in a wilde Field,were like an old Letchers heart, a small spark, all the reston's body, cold: Looke, heere comes a walking fire. Edg. This is the foule Flibbertigibbet; hee begins atCurfew, and walkes at first Cocke: Hee giues the Weband the Pin, squints the eye, and makes the Hare-lippe;Mildewes the white Wheate, and hurts the poore Crea-ture of earth. Swithold footed thrice the old,He met the Night-Mare, and her nine-fold;Bid her a-light, and her troth-plight,And aroynt thee Witch, aroynt thee. Kent. How fares your Grace? Lear. What's he? Kent. Who's there? What is't you seeke? Glou. What are you there? Your Names? Edg. Poore Tom, that eates the swimming Frog, theToad, the Tod-pole, the wall-Neut, and the water: thatin the furie of his heart, when the foule Fiend rages, eatsCow-dung for Sallets; swallowes the old Rat, and theditch-Dogge; drinkes the green Mantle of the standingPoole: who is whipt from Tything to Tything, andstockt, punish'd, and imprison'd: who hath three Suitesto his backe, sixe shirts to his body:Horse to ride, and weapon to weare:But Mice, and Rats, and such small Deare,Haue bin Toms food, for seuen long yeare:Beware my Follower. Peace Smulkin, peace thou Fiend. Glou. What, hath your Grace no better company? Edg. The Prince of Darkenesse is a Gentleman. Modo he's call'd, and Mahu. Glou. Our flesh and blood, my Lord, is growne sovilde, that it doth hate what gets it. Edg. Poore Tom's a cold. Glou. Go in with me; my duty cannot sufferT' obey in all your daughters hard commands:Though their Iniunction be to barre my doores,And let this Tyrannous night take hold vpon you,Yet haue I ventured to come seeke you out,And bring you where both fire, and food is ready. Lear. First let me talke with this Philosopher,What is the cause of Thunder? Kent. Good my Lord take his offer,Go into th' house. Lear. Ile talke a word with this same lerned Theban:What is your study? Edg. How to preuent the Fiend, and to kill Vermine. Lear. Let me aske you one word in priuate. Kent. Importune him once more to go my Lord,His wits begin t' vnsettle. Glou. Canst thou blame him? Storm still His Daughters seeke his death: Ah, that good Kent,He said it would be thus: poore banish'd man:Thou sayest the King growes mad, Ile tell thee FriendI am almost mad my selfe. I had a Sonne,Now out-law'd from my blood: he sought my lifeBut lately: very late: I lou'd him (Friend)No Father his Sonne deerer: true to tell thee,The greefe hath craz'd my wits. What a night's this?I do beseech your grace. Lear. O cry you mercy, Sir:Noble Philosopher, your company. Edg. Tom's a cold. Glou. In fellow there, into th' Houel; keep thee warm. Lear. Come, let's in all. Kent. This way, my Lord. Lear. With him;I will keepe still with my Philosopher. Kent. Good my Lord, sooth him:Let him take the Fellow. Glou. Take him you on. Kent. Sirra, come on: go along with vs. Lear. Come, good Athenian. Glou. No words, no words, hush. Edg. Childe Rowland to the darke Tower came,His word was still, fie, foh, and fumme,I smell the blood of a Brittish man. Exeunt
Scena Quinta. Enter Cornwall, and Edmund. Corn. I will haue my reuenge, ere I depart his house. Bast. How my Lord, I may be censured, that Naturethus giues way to Loyaltie, something feares mee tothinke of. Cornw. I now perceiue, it was not altogether yourBrothers euill disposition made him seeke his death: buta prouoking merit set a-worke by a reprouable badnessein himselfe. Bast. How malicious is my fortune, that I must re-pent to be iust? This is the Letter which hee spoake of;which approues him an intelligent partie to the aduanta-ges of France. O Heauens! that this Treason were not;or not I the detector. Corn. Go with me to the Dutchesse. Bast. If the matter of this Paper be certain, you hauemighty businesse in hand. Corn. True or false, it hath made thee Earle of Glou-cester: seeke out where thy Father is, that hee may beeready for our apprehension. Bast. If I finde him comforting the King, it will stuffehis suspition more fully. I will perseuer in my course ofLoyalty, though the conflict be sore betweene that, andmy blood. Corn. I will lay trust vpon thee: and thou shalt findea deere Father in my loue. Exeunt.
Scena Sexta. Enter Kent, and Gloucester. Glou. Heere is better then the open ayre, take it thank-fully: I will peece out the comfort with what addition Ican: I will not be long from you. Exit Kent. All the powre of his wits, haue giuen way to hisimpatience: the Gods reward your kindnesse. Enter Lear, Edgar, and Foole. Edg. Fraterretto cals me, and tells me Nero is an Ang-ler in the Lake of Darknesse: pray Innocent, and bewarethe foule Fiend. Foole. Prythee Nunkle tell me, whether a madman bea Gentleman, or a Yeoman. Lear. A King, a King. Foole. No, he's a Yeoman, that ha's a Gentleman tohis Sonne: for hee's a mad Yeoman that sees his Sonne aGentleman before him. Lear. To haue a thousand with red burning spitsCome hizzing in vpon 'em. Edg. Blesse thy fiue wits. Kent. O pitty: Sir, where is the patience nowThat you so oft haue boasted to retaine? Edg. My teares begin to take his part so much,They marre my counterfetting. Lear. The little dogges, and all;Trey, Blanch, and Sweet-heart: see, they barke at me. Edg. Tom, will throw his head at them: Auaunt youCurres, be thy mouth or blacke or white:Tooth that poysons if it bite:Mastiffe, Grey-hound, Mongrill, Grim,Hound or Spaniell, Brache, or Hym:Or Bobtaile tight, or Troudle taile,Tom will make him weepe and waile,For with throwing thus my head;Dogs leapt the hatch, and all are fled. Do, de, de, de: sese: Come, march to Wakes and Fayres,And Market Townes: poore Tom thy horne is dry, Lear. Then let them Anatomize Regan: See whatbreeds about her heart. Is there any cause in Nature thatmake these hard-hearts. You sir, I entertaine for one ofmy hundred; only, I do not like the fashion of your gar-ments. You will say they are Persian; but let them beechang'd. Enter Gloster. Kent. Now good my Lord, lye heere, and rest awhile. Lear. Make no noise, make no noise, draw the Cur-taines: so, so, wee'l go to Supper i'th' morning. Foole. And Ile go to bed at noone. Glou. Come hither Friend:Where is the King my Master? Kent. Here Sir, but trouble him not, his wits are gon. Glou. Good friend, I prythee take him in thy armes;I haue ore-heard a plot of death vpon him:There is a Litter ready, lay him in't,And driue toward Douer friend, where thou shalt meeteBoth welcome, and protection. Take vp thy Master,If thou should'st dally halfe an houre, his lifeWith thine, and all that offer to defend him,Stand in assured losse. Take vp, take vp,And follow me, that will to some prouisionGiue thee quicke conduct. Come, come, away. Exeunt
Scena Septima. Enter Cornwall, Regan, Gonerill, Bastard,and Seruants. Corn. Poste speedily to my Lord your husband, shewhim this Letter, the Army of France is landed: seeke outthe Traitor Glouster. Reg. Hang him instantly. Gon. Plucke out his eyes. Corn. Leaue him to my displeasure. Edmond, keepeyou our Sister company: the reuenges wee are bound totake vppon your Traitorous Father, are not fit for yourbeholding. Aduice the Duke where you are going, to amost festinate preparation: we are bound to the like. OurPostes shall be swift, and intelligent betwixt vs. Fare-well deere Sister, farewell my Lord of Glouster. Enter Steward. How now? Where's the King? Stew. My Lord of Glouster hath conuey'd him henceSome fiue or six and thirty of his KnightsHot Questrists after him, met him at gate,Who, with some other of the Lords, dependants,Are gone with him toward Douer; where they boastTo haue well armed Friends. Corn. Get horses for your Mistris. Gon. Farewell sweet Lord, and Sister. Exit Corn. Edmund farewell: go seek the Traitor Gloster,Pinnion him like a Theefe, bring him before vs:Though well we may not passe vpon his lifeWithout the forme of Iustice: yet our powerShall do a curt'sie to our wrath, which menMay blame, but not comptroll. Enter Gloucester, and Seruants. Who's there? the Traitor? Reg. Ingratefull Fox, 'tis he. Corn. Binde fast his corky armes. Glou. What meanes your Graces?Good my Friends consider you are my Ghests:Do me no foule play, Friends. Corn. Binde him I say. Reg. Hard, hard: O filthy Traitor. Glou. Vnmercifull Lady, as you are, I'me none. Corn. To this Chaire binde him,Villaine, thou shalt finde. Glou. By the kinde Gods, 'tis most ignobly doneTo plucke me by the Beard. Reg. So white, and such a Traitor? Glou. Naughty Ladie,These haires which thou dost rauish from my chinWill quicken and accuse thee. I am your Host,With Robbers hands, my hospitable fauours You should not ruffle thus. What will you do? Corn. Come Sir.What Letters had you late from France? Reg. Be simple answer'd, for we know the truth. Corn. And what confederacie haue you with the Trai-tors, late footed in the Kingdome? Reg. To whose handsYou haue sent the Lunaticke King: Speake. Glou. I haue a Letter guessingly set downeWhich came from one that's of a newtrall heart,And not from one oppos'd. Corn. Cunning. Reg. And false. Corn. Where hast thou sent the King? Glou. To Douer. Reg. Wherefore to Douer?Was't thou not charg'd at perill. Corn. Wherefore to Douer? Let him answer that. Glou. I am tyed to'th' Stake,And I must stand the Course. Reg. Wherefore to Douer? Glou. Because I would not see thy cruell NailesPlucke out his poore old eyes: nor thy fierce Sister,In his Annointed flesh, sticke boarish phangs.The Sea, with such a storme as his bare head,In Hell-blacke-night indur'd, would haue buoy'd vpAnd quench'd the Stelled fires:Yet poore old heart, he holpe the Heauens to raine.If Wolues had at thy Gate howl'd that sterne time,Thou should'st haue said, good Porter turne the Key:All Cruels else subscribe: but I shall seeThe winged Vengeance ouertake such Children. Corn. See't shalt thou neuer. Fellowes hold the Chaire,Vpon these eyes of thine, Ile set my foote. Glou. He that will thinke to liue, till he be old,Giue me some helpe. โ€”โ€” O cruell! O you Gods. Reg. One side will mocke another: Th' other too. Corn. If you see vengeance. Seru. Hold your hand, my Lord:I haue seru'd you euer since I was a Childe:But better seruice haue I neuer done you,Then now to bid you hold. Reg. How now, you dogge? Ser. If you did weare a beard vpon your chin,I'ld shake it on this quarrell. What do you meane? Corn. My Villaine? Seru. Nay then come on, and take the chance of anger. Reg. Giue me thy Sword. A pezant stand vp thus? Killes him. Ser. Oh I am slaine: my Lord, you haue one eye leftTo see some mischefe on him. Oh. Corn. Lest it see more, preuent it; Out vilde gelly:Where is thy luster now? Glou. All darke and comfortlesse?Where's my Sonne Edmund? Edmund, enkindle all the sparkes of NatureTo quit this horrid acte. Reg. Out treacherous Villaine,Thou call'st on him, that hates thee. It was heThat made the ouerture of thy Treasons to vs:Who is too good to pitty thee. Glou. O my Follies! then Edgar was abus'd,Kinde Gods, forgiue me that, and prosper him. Reg. Go thrust him out at gates, and let him smellHis way to Douer. Exit with Glouster. How is't my Lord? How looke you? Corn. I haue receiu'd a hurt: Follow me Lady;Turne out that eyelesse Villaine: throw this SlaueVpon the Dunghill: Regan, I bleed apace,Vntimely comes this hurt. Giue me your arme. Exeunt.
Actus Quartus. Scena Prima. Enter Edgar. Edg. Yet better thus, and knowne to be contemn'd,Then still contemn'd and flatter'd, to be worst:The lowest, and most deiected thing of Fortune,Stands still in esperance, liues not in feare:The lamentable change is from the best,The worst returnes to laughter. Welcome then,Thou vnsubstantiall ayre that I embrace:The Wretch that thou hast blowne vnto the worst,Owes nothing to thy blasts. Enter Glouster, and an Oldman. But who comes heere? My Father poorely led?World, World, O world!But that thy strange mutations make vs hate thee,Life would not yeelde to age. Oldm. O my good Lord, I haue bene your Tenant,And your Fathers Tenant, these fourescore yeares. Glou. Away, get thee away: good Friend be gone,Thy comforts can do me no good at all,Thee, they may hurt. Oldm. You cannot see your way. Glou. I haue no way, and therefore want no eyes:I stumbled when I saw. Full oft 'tis seene,Our meanes secure vs, and our meere defectsProue our Commodities. Oh deere Sonne Edgar, The food of thy abused Fathers wrath:Might I but liue to see thee in my touch,I'ld say I had eyes againe. Oldm. How now? who's there? Edg. O Gods! Who is't can say I am at the worst?I am worse then ere I was. Old. 'Tis poore mad Tom. Edg. And worse I may be yet: the worst is not,So long as we can say this is the worst. Oldm. Fellow, where goest? Glou. Is it a Beggar-man? Oldm. Madman, and beggar too. Glou. He has some reason, else he could not beg.I'th' last nights storme, I such a fellow saw;Which made me thinke a Man, a Worme. My SonneCame then into my minde, and yet my mindeWas then scarse Friends with him.I haue heard more since:As Flies to wanton Boyes, are we to th' Gods,They kill vs for their sport. Edg. How should this be?Bad is the Trade that must play Foole to sorrow,Ang'ring it selfe, and others. Blesse thee Master. Glou. Is that the naked Fellow? Oldm. I, my Lord. Glou. Get thee away: If for my sakeThou wilt ore-take vs hence a mile or twaineI'th' way toward Douer, do it for ancient loue,And bring some couering for this naked Soule,Which Ile intreate to leade me. Old. Alacke sir, he is mad. Glou. 'Tis the times plague,When Madmen leade the blinde:Do as I bid thee, or rather do thy pleasure:Aboue the rest, be gone. Oldm. Ile bring him the best Parrell that I haueCome on't what will. Exit Glou. Sirrah, naked fellow. Edg. Poore Tom's a cold. I cannot daub it further. Glou. Come hither fellow. Edg. And yet I must:Blesse thy sweete eyes, they bleede. Glou. Know'st thou the way to Douer? Edg. Both style, and gate; Horseway, and foot-path:poore Tom hath bin scarr'd out of his good wits. Blessethee good mans sonne, from the foule Fiend. Glou. Here take this purse, thou whom the heau'ns plaguesHaue humbled to all strokes: that I am wretchedMakes thee the happier: Heauens deale so still:Let the superfluous, and Lust-dieted man,That slaues your ordinance, that will not seeBecause he do's not feele, feele your powre quickly:So distribution should vndoo excesse,And each man haue enough. Dost thou know Douer? Edg. I Master. Glou. There is a Cliffe, whose high and bending headLookes fearfully in the confined Deepe:Bring me but to the very brimme of it,And Ile repayre the misery thou do'st beareWith something rich about me: from that place,I shall no leading neede. Edg. Giue me thy arme;Poore Tom shall leade thee. Exeunt.
Scena Secunda. Enter Gonerill, Bastard, and Steward. Gon. Welcome my Lord. I meruell our mild husbandNot met vs on the way. Now, where's your Master? Stew. Madam within, but neuer man so chang'd:I told him of the Army that was Landed:He smil'd at it. I told him you were comming,His answer was, the worse. Of Glosters Treachery,And of the loyall Seruice of his SonneWhen I inform'd him, then he call'd me Sot,And told me I had turn'd the wrong side out:What most he should dislike, seemes pleasant to him;What like, offensiue. Gon. Then shall you go no further.It is the Cowish terror of his spiritThat dares not vndertake: Hee'l not feele wrongsWhich tye him to an answer: our wishes on the wayMay proue effects. Backe Edmond to my Brother,Hasten his Musters, and conduct his powres.I must change names at home, and giue the DistaffeInto my Husbands hands. This trustie SeruantShall passe betweene vs: ere long you are like to heare(If you dare venture in your owne behalfe)A Mistresses command. Weare this; spare speech,Decline your head. This kisse, if it durst speakeWould stretch thy Spirits vp into the ayre:Conceiue, and fare thee well. Bast. Yours in the rankes of death. Exit. Gon. My most deere Gloster.Oh, the difference of man, and man,To thee a Womans seruices are due,My Foole vsurpes my body. Stew. Madam, here come's my Lord. Enter Albany. Gon. I haue beene worth the whistle. Alb. Oh Gonerill, You are not worth the dust which the rude windeBlowes in your face. Gon. Milke-Liuer'd man,That bear'st a cheeke for blowes, a head for wrongs,Who hast not in thy browes an eye-discerningThine Honor, from thy suffering. Alb. See thy selfe diuell:Proper deformitie seemes not in the FiendSo horrid as in woman. Gon. Oh vaine Foole. Enter a Messenger. Mes. Oh my good Lord, the Duke of Cornwals dead,Slaine by his Seruant, going to put outThe other eye of Glouster. Alb. Glousters eyes. Mes. A Seruant that he bred, thrill'd with remorse,Oppos'd against the act: bending his SwordTo his great Master, who, threat-enrag'dFlew on him, and among'st them fell'd him dead,But not without that harmefull stroke, which sinceHath pluckt him after. Alb. This shewes you are aboueYou Iustices, that these our neather crimesSo speedily can venge. But (O poore Glouster)Lost he his other eye? Mes. Both, both, my Lord.This Leter Madam, craues a speedy answer:'Tis from your Sister. Gon. One way I like this well.But being widdow, and my Glouster with her,May all the building in my fancie pluckeVpon my hatefull life. Another wayThe Newes is not so tart. Ile read, and answer. Alb. Where was his Sonne,When they did take his eyes? Mes. Come with my Lady hither. Alb. He is not heere. Mes. No my good Lord, I met him backe againe. Alb. Knowes he the wickednesse? Mes. I my good Lord: 'twas he inform'd against himAnd quit the house on purpose, that their punishmentMight haue the freer course. Alb. Glouster, I liueTo thanke thee for the loue thou shew'dst the King,And to reuenge thine eyes. Come hither Friend,Tell me what more thou know'st. Exeunt.
Scena Tertia. Enter with Drum and Colours, Cordelia, Gentlemen,and Souldiours. Cor. Alacke, 'tis he: why he was met euen nowAs mad as the vext Sea, singing alowd.Crown'd with ranke Fenitar, and furrow weeds,With Hardokes, Hemlocke, Nettles, Cuckoo flowres, Darnell, and all the idle weedes that growIn our sustaining Corne. A Centery send forth;Search euery Acre in the high-growne field,And bring him to our eye. What can mans wisedomeIn the restoring his bereaued Sense; he that helpes him,Take all my outward worth. Gent. There is meanes Madam:Our foster Nurse of Nature, is repose,The which he lackes: that to prouoke in himAre many Simples operatiue, whose powerWill close the eye of Anguish. Cord. All blest Secrets,All you vnpublish'd Vertues of the earthSpring with my teares; be aydant, and remediateIn the Goodmans desires: seeke, seeke for him,Least his vngouern'd rage, dissolue the lifeThat wants the meanes to leade it. Enter Messenger. Mes. Newes Madam,The Brittish Powres are marching hitherward. Cor. 'Tis knowne before. Our preparation standsIn expectation of them. O deere Father,It is thy businesse that I go about: Therfore great FranceMy mourning, and importun'd teares hath pittied:No blowne Ambition doth our Armes incite,But loue, deere loue, and our ag'd Fathers Rite:Soone may I heare, and see him. Exeunt.
Scena Quarta. Enter Regan, and Steward. Reg. But are my Brothers Powres set forth? Stew. I Madam. Reg. Himselfe in person there? Stew. Madam with much ado:Your Sister is the better Souldier. Reg. Lord Edmund spake not with your Lord at home? Stew. No Madam. Reg. What might import my Sisters Letter to him? Stew. I know not, Lady. Reg. Faith he is poasted hence on serious matter:It was great ignorance, Glousters eyes being outTo let him liue. Where he arriues, he mouesAll hearts against vs: Edmund, I thinke is goneIn pitty of his misery, to dispatchHis nighted life: Moreouer to descryThe strength o'th' Enemy. Stew. I must needs after him, Madam, with my Letter. Reg. Our troopes set forth to morrow, stay with vs:The wayes are dangerous. Stew. I may not Madam:My Lady charg'd my dutie in this busines. Reg. Why should she write to Edmund?Might not you transport her purposes by word? Belike,Some things, I know not what. Ile loue thee muchLet me vnseale the Letter. Stew. Madam, I had ratherโ€”โ€” Reg. I know your Lady do's not loue her Husband,I am sure of that: and at her late being heere,She gaue strange Eliads, and most speaking lookesTo Noble Edmund. I know you are of her bosome. Stew. I, Madam? Reg. I speake in vnderstanding: Y'are: I know't,Therefore I do aduise you take this note:My Lord is dead: Edmond, and I haue talk'd,And more conuenient is he for my handThen for your Ladies: You may gather more:If you do finde him, pray you giue him this;And when your Mistris heares thus much from you,I pray desire her call her wisedome to her.So fare you well:If you do chance to heare of that blinde Traitor,Preferment fals on him, that cuts him off. Stew. Would I could meet Madam, I should shewWhat party I do follow. Reg. Fare thee well. Exeunt
Scena Quinta. Enter Gloucester, and Edgar. Glou. When shall I come to th' top of that same hill? Edg. You do climbe vp it now. Look how we labor. Glou. Me thinkes the ground is eeuen. Edg. Horrible steepe.Hearke, do you heare the Sea? Glou. No truly. Edg. Why then your other Senses grow imperfectBy your eyes anguish. Glou. So may it be indeed.Me thinkes thy voyce is alter'd, and thou speak'stIn better phrase, and matter then thou did'st. Edg. Y'are much deceiu'd: In nothing am I chang'dBut in my Garments. Glou. Me thinkes y'are better spoken. Edg. Come on Sir,Heere's the place: stand still: how fearefullAnd dizie 'tis, to cast ones eyes so low,The Crowes and Choughes, that wing the midway ayreShew scarse so grosse as Beetles. Halfe way downeHangs one that gathers Sampire: dreadfull Trade:Me thinkes he seemes no bigger then his head.The Fishermen, that walk'd vpon the beachAppeare like Mice: and yond tall Anchoring Barke,Diminish'd to her Cocke: her Cocke, a BuoyAlmost too small for sight. The murmuring Surge,That on th' vnnumbred idle Pebble chafesCannot be heard so high. Ile looke no more,Least my braine turne, and the deficient sightTopple downe headlong. Glou. Set me where you stand. Edg. Giue me your hand:You are now within a foote of th' extreme Verge:For all beneath the Moone would I not leape vpright. Glou. Let go my hand:Heere Friend's another purse: in it, a IewellWell worth a poore mans taking. Fayries, and GodsProsper it with thee. Go thou further off,Bid me farewell, and let me heare thee going. Edg. Now fare ye well, good Sir. Glou. With all my heart. Edg. Why I do trifle thus with his dispaire,Is done to cure it. Glou. O you mighty Gods!This world I do renounce, and in your sights Shake patiently my great affliction off:If I could beare it longer, and not fallTo quarrell with your great opposelesse willes,My snuffe, and loathed part of Nature shouldBurne it selfe out. If Edgar liue, O blesse him:Now Fellow, fare thee well. Edg. Gone Sir, farewell:And yet I know not how conceit may robThe Treasury of life, when life it selfeYeelds to the Theft. Had he bin where he thought,By this had thought bin past. Aliue, or dead?Hoa, you Sir: Friend, heare you Sir, speake:Thus might he passe indeed: yet he reuiues.What are you Sir? Glou. Away, and let me dye. Edg. Had'st thou beene oughtBut Gozemore, Feathers, Ayre,(So many fathome downe precipitating)Thou'dst shiuer'd like an Egge: but thou do'st breath:Hast heauy substance, bleed'st not, speak'st, art sound,Ten Masts at each, make not the altitudeWhich thou hast perpendicularly fell,Thy life's a Myracle. Speake yet againe. Glou. But haue I falne, or no? Edg. From the dread Somnet of this Chalkie BourneLooke vp a height, the shrill-gorg'd Larke so farreCannot be seene, or heard: Do but looke vp. Glou. Alacke, I haue no eyes:Is wretchednesse depriu'd that benefitTo end it selfe by death? 'Twas yet some comfort,When misery could beguile the Tyrants rage,And frustrate his proud will. Edg. Giue me your arme.Vp, so: How is't? Feele you your Legges? You stand. Glou. Too well, too well. Edg. This is aboue all strangenesse,Vpon the crowne o'th' Cliffe. What thing was thatWhich parted from you? Glou. A poore vnfortunate Beggar. Edg. As I stood heere below, me thought his eyesWere two full Moones: he had a thousand Noses,Hornes wealk'd, and waued like the enraged Sea:It was some Fiend: Therefore thou happy Father,Thinke that the cleerest Gods, who make them HonorsOf mens Impossibilities, haue preserued thee. Glou. I do remember now: henceforth Ile beareAffliction, till it do cry out it selfeEnough, enough, and dye. That thing you speake of,I tooke it for a man: often 'twould sayThe Fiend, the Fiend, he led me to that place. Edgar. Beare free and patient thoughts. Enter Lear. But who comes heere?The safer sense will ne're accommodateHis Master thus. Lear. No, they cannot touch me for crying. I am theKing himselfe. Edg. O thou side-piercing sight! Lear. Nature's aboue Art, in that respect. Ther's yourPresse-money. That fellow handles his bow, like a Crow-keeper: draw mee a Cloathiers yard. Looke, looke, aMouse: peace, peace, this peece of toasted Cheese willdoo't. There's my Gauntlet, Ile proue it on a Gyant.Bring vp the browne Billes. O well flowne Bird: i'th'clout, i'th' clout: Hewgh. Giue the word. Edg. Sweet Mariorum. Lear. Passe. Glou. I know that voice. Lear. Ha! Gonerill with a white beard? They flatter'dme like a Dogge, and told mee I had the white hayres inmy Beard, ere the blacke ones were there. To say I, andno, to euery thing that I said: I, and no too, was no goodDiuinity. When the raine came to wet me once, and thewinde to make me chatter: when the Thunder would notpeace at my bidding, there I found 'em, there I smelt 'emout. Go too, they are not men o'their words; they toldme, I was euery thing: 'Tis a Lye, I am not Agu-proofe. Glou. The tricke of that voyce, I do well remember:Is't not the King? Lear. I, euery inch a King.When I do stare, see how the Subiect quakes.I pardon that mans life. What was thy cause?Adultery? thou shalt not dye: dye for Adultery?No, the Wren goes too't, and the small gilded FlyDo's letcher in my sight. Let Copulation thriue:For Glousters bastard Son was kinder to his Father,Then my Daughters got 'tweene the lawfull sheets.Too't Luxury pell-mell, for I lacke Souldiers.Behold yond simpring Dame, whose face betweene herForkes presages Snow; that minces Vertue, & do's shakethe head to heare of pleasures name. The Fitchew, northe soyled Horse goes too't with a more riotous appe-tite: Downe from the waste they are Centaures, thoughWomen all aboue: but to the Girdle do the Gods inhe-rit, beneath is all the Fiends. There's hell, there's darke-nes, there is the sulphurous pit; burning, scalding, stench,consumption: Fye, fie, fie; pah, pah: Giue me an Ounceof Ciuet; good Apothecary sweeten my immagination:There's money for thee. Glou. O let me kisse that hand. Lear. Let me wipe it first,It smelles of Mortality. Glou. O ruin'd peece of Nature, this great worldShall so weare out to naught.Do'st thou know me? Lear. I remember thine eyes well enough: dost thousquiny at me? No, doe thy worst blinde Cupid, Ile notloue. Reade thou this challenge, marke but the penningof it. Glou. Were all thy Letters Sunnes, I could not see. Edg. I would not take this from report,It is, and my heart breakes at it. Lear. Read. Glou. What with the Case of eyes? Lear. Oh ho, are you there with me? No eies in yourhead, nor no mony in your purse? Your eyes are in a hea-uy case, your purse in a light, yet you see how this worldgoes. Glou. I see it feelingly. Lear. What, art mad? A man may see how this worldgoes, with no eyes. Looke with thine eares: See howyond Iustice railes vpon yond simple theefe. Hearke inthine eare: Change places, and handy-dandy, which isthe Iustice, which is the theefe: Thou hast seene a Far-mers dogge barke at a Beggar? Glou. I Sir. Lear. And the Creature run from the Cur: there thoumight'st behold the great image of Authoritie, a Dogg'sobey'd in Office. Thou, Rascall Beadle, hold thy bloodyhand: why dost thou lash that Whore? Strip thy ownebacke, thou hotly lusts to vse her in that kind, for whichthou whip'st her. The Vsurer hangs the Cozener. Tho-rough tatter'd cloathes great Vices do appeare: Robes,and Furr'd gownes hide all. Place sinnes with Gold, andthe strong Lance of Iustice, hurtlesse breakes: Arme it inragges, a Pigmies straw do's pierce it. None do's offend,none, I say none, Ile able 'em; take that of me my Friend,who haue the power to seale th' accusers lips. Get theeglasse-eyes, and like a scuruy Politician, seeme to see thethings thou dost not. Now, now, now, now. Pull off myBootes: harder, harder, so. Edg. O matter, and impertinency mixt,Reason in Madnesse. Lear. If thou wilt weepe my Fortunes, take my eyes.I know thee well enough, thy name is Glouster:Thou must be patient; we came crying hither:Thou know'st, the first time that we smell the AyreWe wawle, and cry. I will preach to thee: Marke. Glou. Alacke, alacke the day. Lear. When we are borne, we cry that we are comeTo this great stage of Fooles. This a good blocke:It were a delicate stratagem to shooA Troope of Horse with Felt: Ile put't in proofe,And when I haue stolne vpon these Son in Lawes,Then kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill. Enter a Gentleman. Gent. Oh heere he is: lay hand vpon him, Sir.Your most deere Daughterโ€”โ€” Lear. No rescue? What, a Prisoner? I am euenThe Naturall Foole of Fortune. Vse me well,You shall haue ransome. Let me haue Surgeons,I am cut to'th' Braines. Gent. You shall haue any thing. Lear. No Seconds? All my selfe?Why, this would make a man, a man of SaltTo vse his eyes for Garden water-pots. I wil die brauely,Like a smugge Bridegroome. What? I will be Iouiall:Come, come, I am a King, Masters, know you that? Gent. You are a Royall one, and we obey you. Lear. Then there's life in't. Come, and you get it,You shall get it by running: Sa, sa, sa, sa. Exit. Gent. A sight most pittifull in the meanest wretch,Past speaking of in a King. Thou hast a DaughterWho redeemes Nature from the generall curseWhich twaine haue brought her to. Edg. Haile gentle Sir. Gent. Sir, speed you: what's your will? Edg. Do you heare ought (Sir) of a Battell toward. Gent. Most sure, and vulgar:Euery one heares that, which can distinguish sound. Edg. But by your fauour:How neere's the other Army? Gent. Neere, and on speedy foot: the maine descryStands on the hourely thought. Edg. I thanke you Sir, that's all. Gent. Though that the Queen on special cause is hereHer Army is mou'd on. Exit. Edg. I thanke you Sir. Glou. You euer gentle Gods, take my breath from me,Let not my worser Spirit tempt me againeTo dye before you please. Edg. Well pray you Father. Glou. Now good sir, what are you? Edg. A most poore man, made tame to Fortunes blowsWho, by the Art of knowne, and feeling sorrowes,Am pregnant to good pitty. Giue me your hand,Ile leade you to some biding. Glou. Heartie thankes:The bountie, and the benizon of HeauenTo boot, and boot. Enter Steward. Stew. A proclaim'd prize: most happieThat eyelesse head of thine, was first fram'd fleshTo raise my fortunes. Thou old, vnhappy Traitor,Breefely thy selfe remember: the Sword is outThat must destroy thee. Glou. Now let thy friendly handPut strength enough too't. Stew. Wherefore, bold Pezant,Dar'st thou support a publish'd Traitor? Hence,Least that th' infection of his fortune takeLike hold on thee. Let go his arme. Edg. Chill not let go Zir,Without vurther 'casion. Stew. Let go Slaue, or thou dy'st. Edg. Good Gentleman goe your gate, and let poorevolke passe: and 'chud ha' bin zwaggerd out of my life,'twould not ha' bin zo long as 'tis, by a vortnight. Nay,come not neere th' old man: keepe out che vor' ye, or Iletry whither your Costard, or my Ballow be the harder;chill be plaine with you. Stew. Out Dunghill. Edg. Chill picke your teeth Zir: come, no matter voryour foynes. Stew. Slaue thou hast slaine me: Villain, take my purse;If euer thou wilt thriue, bury my bodie,And giue the Letters which thou find'st about me,To Edmund Earle of Glouster: seeke him outVpon the English party. Oh vntimely death, death. Edg. I know thee well. A seruiceable Villaine,As duteous to the vices of thy Mistris,As badnesse would desire. Glou. What, is he dead? Edg. Sit you downe Father: rest you.Let's see these Pockets; the Letters that he speakes ofMay be my Friends: hee's dead; I am onely sorryHe had no other Deathsman. Let vs see:Leaue gentle waxe, and manners: blame vs notTo know our enemies mindes, we rip their hearts,Their Papers is more lawfull. Reads the Letter. Let our reciprocall vowes be remembred. You haue manie opportunities to cut him off: if your will want not, time and place will be fruitfully offer'd. There is nothing done. If hee returne the Conqueror, then am I the Prisoner, and his bed, my Gaole, from the loathed warmth whereof, deliuer me, and sup-ply the place for your Labour.Your (Wife, so I would say) affectio-nate Seruant. Gonerill.Oh indistinguish'd space of Womans will,A plot vpon her vertuous Husbands life,And the exchange my Brother: heere, in the sandsThee Ile rake vp, the poste vnsanctifiedOf murtherous Letchers: and in the mature time,With this vngracious paper strike the sightOf the death-practis'd Duke: for him 'tis well,That of thy death, and businesse, I can tell. Glou. The King is mad:How stiffe is my vilde senseThat I stand vp, and haue ingenious feelingOf my huge Sorrowes? Better I were distract,So should my thoughts be seuer'd from my greefes, Drum afarre off. And woes, by wrong imaginations loose The knowledge of themselues. Edg. Giue me your hand:Farre off methinkes I heare the beaten Drumme.Come Father, Ile bestow you with a Friend. Exeunt.
Scaena Septima. Enter Cordelia, Kent, and Gentleman. Cor. O thou good Kent, How shall I liue and workeTo match thy goodnesse?My life will be too short,And euery measure faile me. Kent. To be acknowledg'd Madam is ore-pai'd,All my reports go with the modest truth,Nor more, nor clipt, but so. Cor. Be better suited,These weedes are memories of those worser houres:I prythee put them off. Kent. Pardon deere Madam,Yet to be knowne shortens my made intent,My boone I make it, that you know me not,Till time, and I, thinke meet. Cor. Then be't so my good Lord:How do's the King? Gent. Madam sleepes still. Cor. O you kind Gods!Cure this great breach in his abused Nature,Th' vntun'd and iarring senses, O winde vp,Of this childe-changed Father. Gent. So please your Maiesty,That we may wake the King, he hath slept long? Cor. Be gouern'd by your knowledge, and proceedeI'th' sway of your owne will: is he array'd? Enter Lear in a chaire carried by Seruants Gent. I Madam: in the heauinesse of sleepe,We put fresh garments on him.Be by good Madam when we do awake him,I doubt of his Temperance. Cor. O my deere Father, restauratian hangThy medicine on my lippes, and let this kisseRepaire those violent harmes, that my two SistersHaue in thy Reuerence made. Kent. Kind and deere Princesse. Cor. Had you not bin their Father, these white flakesDid challenge pitty of them. Was this a faceTo be oppos'd against the iarring windes?Mine Enemies dogge, though he had bit me,Should haue stood that night against my fire,And was't thou faine (poore Father)To houell thee with Swine and Rogues forlorne,In short, and musty straw? Alacke, alacke,'Tis wonder that thy life and wits, at onceHad not concluded all. He wakes, speake to him. Gen. Madam do you, 'tis fittest. Cor. How does my Royall Lord?How fares your Maiesty? Lear. You do me wrong to take me out o'th' graue,Thou art a Soule in blisse, but I am boundVpon a wheele of fire, that mine owne tearesDo scal'd, like molten Lead. Cor. Sir, do you know me? Lear. You are a spirit I know, where did you dye? Cor. Still, still, farre wide. Gen. He's scarse awake,Let him alone a while. Lear. Where haue I bin?Where am I? Faire day light?I am mightily abus'd; I should eu'n dye with pittyTo see another thus. I know not what to say:I will not sweare these are my hands: let's see,I feele this pin pricke, would I were assur'dOf my condition. Cor. O looke vpon me Sir,And hold your hand in benediction o're me,You must not kneele. Lear. Pray do not mocke me:I am a very foolish fond old man,Fourescore and vpward,Not an houre more, nor lesse:And to deale plainely,I feare I am not in my perfect mind.Me thinkes I should know you, and know this man,Yet I am doubtfull: For I am mainely ignorantWhat place this is: and all the skill I haueRemembers not these garments: nor I know notWhere I did lodge last night. Do not laugh at me,For (as I am a man) I thinke this LadyTo be my childe Cordelia. Cor. And so I am: I am. Lear. Be your teares wet?Yes faith: I pray weepe not,If you haue poyson for me, I will drinke it:I know you do not loue me, for your SistersHaue (as I do remember) done me wrong.You haue some cause, they haue not. Cor. No cause, no cause. Lear. Am I in France? Kent. In your owne kingdome Sir. Lear. Do not abuse me. Gent. Be comforted good Madam, the great rageYou see is kill'd in him: desire him to go in,Trouble him no more till further setling. Cor. Wilt please your Highnesse walke? Lear. You must beare with me:Pray you now forget, and forgiue,I am old and foolish. Exeunt
Actus Quintus. Scena Prima. Enter with Drumme and Colours, Edmund, Regan.Gentlemen, and Souldiers. Bast. Know of the Duke if his last purpose hold,Or whether since he is aduis'd by oughtTo change the course, he's full of alteration,And selfereprouing, bring his constant pleasure. Reg. Our Sisters man is certainely miscarried. Bast. 'Tis to be doubted Madam. Reg. Now sweet Lord, You know the goodnesse I intend vpon you:Tell me but truly, but then speake the truth,Do you not loue my Sister? Bast. In honour'd Loue. Reg. But haue you neuer found my Brothers way,To the fore-fended place? Bast. No by mine honour, Madam. Reg. I neuer shall endure her, deere my LordBe not familiar with her. Bast. Feare not, she and the Duke her husband. Enter with Drum and Colours, Albany, Gonerill, Soldiers. Alb. Our very louing Sister, well be-met:Sir, this I heard, the King is come to his DaughterWith others, whom the rigour of our StateForc'd to cry out. Regan. Why is this reasond? Gone. Combine together 'gainst the Enemie:For these domesticke and particular broiles,Are not the question heere. Alb. Let's then determine with th' ancient of warreOn our proceeding. Reg. Sister you'le go with vs? Gon. No. Reg. 'Tis most conuenient, pray go with vs. Gon. Oh ho, I know the Riddle, I will goe. Exeunt both the Armies. Enter Edgar. Edg. If ere your Grace had speech with man so poore,Heare me one word. Alb. Ile ouertake you, speake. Edg. Before you fight the Battaile, ope this Letter:If you haue victory, let the Trumpet soundFor him that brought it: wretched though I seeme,I can produce a Champion, that will proueWhat is auouched there. If you miscarry,Your businesse of the world hath so an end,And machination ceases. Fortune loues you. Alb. Stay till I haue read the Letter. Edg. I was forbid it:When time shall serue, let but the Herald cry,And Ile appeare againe. Exit. Alb. Why farethee well, I will o're-looke thy paper. Enter Edmund. Bast. The Enemy's in view, draw vp your powers,Heere is the guesse of their true strength and Forces,By dilligent discouerie, but your hast Is now vrg'd on you. Alb. We will greet the time. Exit. Bast. To both these Sisters haue I sworne my loue:Each iealous of the other, as the stungAre of the Adder. Which of them shall I take?Both? One? Or neither? Neither can be enioy'dIf both remaine aliue: To take the Widdow,Exasperates, makes mad her Sister Gonerill, And hardly shall I carry out my side,Her husband being aliue. Now then, wee'l vseHis countenance for the Battaile, which being done,Let her who would be rid of him, deuiseHis speedy taking off. As for the mercieWhich he intends to Lear and to Cordelia, The Battaile done, and they within our power,Shall neuer see his pardon: for my state,Stands on me to defend, not to debate. Exit.
Scena Secunda. Alarum within. Enter with Drumme and Colours, Lear,Cordelia, and Souldiers, ouer the Stage, and Exeunt.Enter Edgar, and Gloster. Edg. Heere Father, take the shadow of this TreeFor your good hoast: pray that the right may thriue:If euer I returne to you againe,Ile bring you comfort. Glo. Grace go with you Sir. Exit. Alarum and Retreat within.Enter Edgar. Edgar. Away old man, giue me thy hand, away:King Lear hath lost, he and his Daughter tane,Giue me thy hand: Come on. Glo. No further Sir, a man may rot euen heere. Edg. What in ill thoughts againe?Men must endureTheir going hence, euen as their comming hither,Ripenesse is all come on. Glo. And that's true too. Exeunt.
Scena Tertia. Enter in conquest with Drum and Colours, Edmund, Lear,and Cordelia, as prisoners, Souldiers, Captaine. Bast. Some Officers take them away: good guard,Vntill their greater pleasures first be knowneThat are to censure them. Cor. We are not the first,Who with best meaning haue incurr'd the worst:For thee oppressed King I am cast downe,My selfe could else out-frowne false Fortunes frowne.Shall we not see these Daughters, and these Sisters? Lear. No, no, no, no: come let's away to prison,We two alone will sing like Birds i'th' Cage:When thou dost aske me blessing, Ile kneele downeAnd aske of thee forgiuenesse: So wee'l liue,And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laughAt gilded Butterflies: and heere (poore Rogues)Talke of Court newes, and wee'l talke with them too,Who looses, and who wins; who's in, who's out;And take vpon's the mystery of things,As if we were Gods spies: And wee'l weare outIn a wall'd prison, packs and sects of great ones,That ebbe and flow by th' Moone. Bast. Take them away. Lear. Vpon such sacrifices my Cordelia, The Gods themselues throw Incense.Haue I caught thee?He that parts vs, shall bring a Brand from Heauen,And fire vs hence, like Foxes: wipe thine eyes,The good yeares shall deuoure them, flesh and fell, Ere they shall make vs weepe?Weele see 'em staru'd first: come. Exit. Bast. Come hither Captaine, hearke.Take thou this note, go follow them to prison,One step I haue aduanc'd thee, if thou do'stAs this instructs thee, thou dost make thy wayTo Noble Fortunes: know thou this, that menAre as the time is; to be tender mindedDo's not become a Sword, thy great imploymentWill not beare question: either say thou'lt do't,Or thriue by other meanes. Capt. Ile do't my Lord. Bast. About it, and write happy, when th'hast done,Marke I say instantly, and carry it soAs I haue set it downe. Exit Captaine. Flourish. Enter Albany, Gonerill, Regan, Soldiers. Alb. Sir, you haue shew'd to day your valiant straineAnd Fortune led you well: you haue the CaptiuesWho were the opposites of this dayes strife:I do require them of you so to vse them,As we shall find their merites, and our safetyMay equally determine. Bast. Sir, I thought it fit,To send the old and miserable King to some retention,Whose age had Charmes in it, whose Title more,To plucke the common bosome on his side,And turne our imprest Launces in our eiesWhich do command them. With him I sent the Queen:My reason all the same, and they are readyTo morrow, or at further space, t' appeareWhere you shall hold your Session. Alb. Sir, by your patience,I hold you but a subiect of this Warre,Not as a Brother. Reg. That's as we list to grace him.Methinkes our pleasure might haue bin demandedEre you had spoke so farre. He led our Powers,Bore the Commission of my place and person,The which immediacie may well stand vp,And call it selfe your Brother. Gon. Not so hot:In his owne grace he doth exalt himselfe,More then in your addition. Reg. In my rights,By me inuested, he compeeres the best. Alb. That were the most, if he should husband you. Reg. Iesters do oft proue Prophets. Gon. Hola, hola,That eye that told you so, look'd but a squint. Rega. Lady I am not well, else I should answereFrom a full flowing stomack. Generall,Take thou my Souldiers, prisoners, patrimony,Dispose of them, of me, the walls is thine:Witnesse the world, that I create thee heereMy Lord, and Master. Gon. Meane you to enioy him? Alb. The let alone lies not in your good will. Bast. Nor in thine Lord. Alb. Halfe-blooded fellow, yes. Reg. Let the Drum strike, and proue my title thine. Alb. Stay yet, heare reason: Edmund, I arrest theeOn capitall Treason; and in thy arrest,This guilded Serpent: for your claime faire Sisters,I bare it in the interest of my wife,'Tis she is sub-contracted to this Lord,And I her husband contradict your Banes.If you will marry, make your loues to me,My Lady is bespoke. Gon. An enterlude. Alb. Thou art armed Gloster, Let the Trumpet sound:If none appeare to proue vpon thy person,Thy heynous, manifest, and many Treasons,There is my pledge: Ile make it on thy heartEre I taste bread, thou art in nothing lesseThen I haue heere proclaim'd thee. Reg. Sicke, O sicke. Gon. If not, Ile nere trust medicine. Bast. There's my exchange, what in the world hesThat names me Traitor, villain-like he lies,Call by the Trumpet: he that dares approach;On him, on you, who not, I will maintaineMy truth and honor firmely. Enter a Herald. Alb. A Herald, ho.Trust to thy single vertue, for thy SouldiersAll leuied in my name, haue in my nameTooke their discharge. Regan. My sicknesse growes vpon me. Alb. She is not well, conuey her to my Tent.Come hither Herald, let the Trumpet sound,And read out this. A Trumpet sounds. Herald reads. If any man of qualitie or degree, within the lists of the Ar-my, will maintaine vpon Edmund, supposed Earle of Gloster, that he is a manifold Traitor, let him appeare by the third sound of the Trumpet: he is bold in his defence. 1 Trumpet. Her. Againe. 2 Trumpet. Her. Againe. 3 Trumpet. Trumpet answers within. Enter Edgar armed. Alb. Aske him his purposes, why he appearesVpon this Call o'th' Trumpet. Her. What are you?Your name, your quality, and why you answerThis present Summons? Edg. Know my name is lostBy Treasons tooth: bare-gnawne, and Canker-bit,Yet am I Noble as the AduersaryI come to cope. Alb. Which is that Aduersary? Edg. What's he that speakes for Edmund Earle of Glo-ster? Bast. Himselfe, what saist thou to him? Edg. Draw thy Sword,That if my speech offend a Noble heart,Thy arme may do thee Iustice, heere is mine:Behold it is my priuiledge,The priuiledge of mine Honours,My oath, and my profession. I protest,Maugre thy strength, place, youth, and eminence,Despise thy victor-Sword, and fire new Fortune,Thy valor, and thy heart, thou art a Traitor:False to thy Gods, thy Brother, and thy Father,Conspirant 'gainst this high illustrious Prince,And from th' extremest vpward of thy head,To the discent and dust below thy foote, A most Toad-spotted Traitor. Say thou no,This Sword, this arme, and my best spirits are bentTo proue vpon thy heart, where to I speake,Thou lyest. Bast. In wisedome I should aske thy name,But since thy out-side lookes so faire and Warlike,And that thy tongue (some say) of breeding breathes,What safe, and nicely I might well delay,By rule of Knight-hood, I disdaine and spurne:Backe do I tosse these Treasons to thy head,With the hell-hated Lye, ore-whelme thy heart,Which for they yet glance by, and scarcely bruise,This Sword of mine shall giue them instant way,Where they shall rest for euer. Trumpets speake. Alb. Saue him, saue him. Alarums. Fights. Gon. This is practise Gloster, By th' law of Warre, thou wast not bound to answerAn vnknowne opposite: thou art not vanquish'd,But cozend, and beguild. Alb. Shut your mouth Dame,Or with this paper shall I stop it: hold Sir,Thou worse then any name, reade thine owne euill:No tearing Lady, I perceiue you know it. Gon. Say if I do, the Lawes are mine not thine,Who can araigne me for't? Exit. Alb. Most monstrous! O, know'st thou this paper? Bast. Aske me not what I know. Alb. Go after her, she's desperate, gouerne her. Bast. What you haue charg'd me with,That haue I done,And more, much more, the time will bring it out.'Tis past, and so am I: But what art thouThat hast this Fortune on me? If thou'rt Noble,I do forgiue thee. Edg. Let's exchange charity:I am no lesse in blood then thou art Edmond, If more, the more th'hast wrong'd me.My name is Edgar and thy Fathers Sonne,The Gods are iust, and of our pleasant vicesMake instruments to plague vs:The darke and vitious place where thee he got,Cost him his eyes. Bast. Th'hast spoken right, 'tis true,The Wheele is come full circle, I am heere. Alb. Me thought thy very gate did prophesieA Royall Noblenesse: I must embrace thee,Let sorrow split my heart, if euer IDid hate thee, or thy Father. Edg. Worthy Prince I know't. Alb. Where haue you hid your selfe?How haue you knowne the miseries of your Father? Edg. By nursing them my Lord. List a breefe tale,And when 'tis told, O that my heart would burst.The bloody proclamation to escapeThat follow'd me so neere, (O our liues sweetnesse,That we the paine of death would hourely dye,Rather then die at once) taught me to shiftInto a mad-mans rags, t' assume a semblanceThat very Dogges disdain'd: and in this habitMet I my Father with his bleeding Rings,Their precious Stones new lost: became his guide,Led him, begg'd for him, sau'd him from dispaire.Neuer (O fault) reueal'd my selfe vnto him,Vntill some halfe houre past when I was arm'd,Not sure, though hoping of this good successe,I ask'd his blessing, and from first to lastTold him our pilgrimage. But his flaw'd heart(Alacke too weake the conflict to support)Twixt two extremes of passion, ioy and greefe,Burst smilingly. Bast. This speech of yours hath mou'd me,And shall perchance do good, but speake you on,You looke as you had something more to say. Alb. If there be more, more wofull, hold it in,For I am almost ready to dissolue,Hearing of this. Enter a Gentleman. Gen. Helpe, helpe: O helpe. Edg. What kinde of helpe? Alb. Speake man. Edg. What meanes this bloody Knife? Gen. 'Tis hot, it smoakes, it came euen from the heartofโ€”โ€” O she's dead. Alb. Who dead? Speake man. Gen. Your Lady Sir, your Lady; and her SisterBy her is poyson'd: she confesses it. Bast. I was contracted to them both, all threeNow marry in an instant. Edg. Here comes Kent. Enter Kent. Alb. Produce the bodies, be they aliue or dead; Gonerill and Regans bodies brought out. This iudgement of the Heauens that makes vs tremble.Touches vs not with pitty: O, is this he?The time will not allow the complementWhich very manners vrges. Kent. I am comeTo bid my King and Master aye good night.Is he not here? Alb. Great thing of vs forgot,Speake Edmund, where's the King? and where's Cordelia?Seest thou this obiect Kent? Kent. Alacke, why thus? Bast. Yet Edmund was belou'd:The one the other poison'd for my sake,And after slew herselfe. Alb. Euen so: couer their faces. Bast. I pant for life: some good I meane to doDespight of mine owne Nature. Quickly send,(Be briefe in it) to'th' Castle, for my WritIs on the life of Lear, and on Cordelia: Nay, send in time. Alb. Run, run, O run. Edg. To who my Lord? Who ha's the Office?Send thy token of repreeue. Bast. Well thought on, take my Sword,Giue it the Captaine. Edg. Hast thee for thy life. Bast. He hath Commission from thy Wife and me,To hang Cordelia in the prison, andTo lay the blame vpon her owne dispaire,That she for-did her selfe. Alb. The Gods defend her, beare him hence awhile. Enter Lear with Cordelia in his armes. Lear. Howle, howle, howle: O you are men of stones,Had I your tongues and eyes, Il'd vse them so,That Heauens vault should crack: she's gone for euer.I know when one is dead, and when one liues,She's dead as earth: Lend me a Looking-glasse, If that her breath will mist or staine the stone,Why then she liues. Kent. Is this the promis'd end? Edg. Or image of that horror. Alb. Fall and cease. Lear. This feather stirs, she liues: if it be so,It is a chance which do's redeeme all sorrowesThat euer I haue felt. Kent. O my good Master. Lear. Prythee away. Edg. 'Tis Noble Kent your Friend. Lear. A plague vpon you Murderors, Traitors all,I might haue sau'd her, now she's gone for euer: Cordelia, Cordelia, stay a little. Ha:What is't thou saist? Her voice was euer soft,Gentle, and low, an excellent thing in woman.I kill'd the Slaue that was a hanging thee. Gent. 'Tis true (my Lords) he did. Lear. Did I not fellow?I haue seene the day, with my good biting FaulchionI would haue made him skip: I am old now,And these same crosses spoile me. Who are you?Mine eyes are not o'th' best, Ile tell you straight. Kent. If Fortune brag of two, she lou'd and hated,One of them we behold. Lear. This is a dull sight, are you not Kent? Kent. The same: your Seruant Kent, Where is your Seruant Caius? Lear. He's a good fellow, I can tell you that,He'le strike and quickly too, he's dead and rotten. Kent. No my good Lord, I am the very man. Lear. Ile see that straight. Kent. That from your first of difference and decay,Haue follow'd your sad steps. Lear. You are welcome hither. Kent. Nor no man else:All's cheerlesse, darke, and deadly,Your eldest Daughters haue fore-done themselues,And desperately are dead Lear. I so I thinke. Alb. He knowes not what he saies, and vaine is itThat we present vs to him. Enter a Messenger. Edg. Very bootlesse. Mess. Edmund is dead my Lord. Alb. That's but a trifle heere:You Lords and Noble Friends, know our intent,What comfort to this great decay may come,Shall be appli'd. For vs we will resigne,During the life of this old MaiestyTo him our absolute power, you to your rights,With boote, and such addition as your HonoursHaue more then merited. All Friends shallTaste the wages of their vertue, and all FoesThe cup of their deseruings: O see, see. Lear. And my poore Foole is hang'd: no, no, no life?Why should a Dog, a Horse, a Rat haue life,And thou no breath at all? Thou'lt come no more,Neuer, neuer, neuer, neuer, neuer.Pray you vndo this Button. Thanke you Sir,Do you see this? Looke on her? Looke her lips,Looke there, looke there. He dies. Edg. He faints, my Lord, my Lord. Kent. Breake heart, I prythee breake. Edg. Looke vp my Lord. Kent. Vex not his ghost, O let him passe, he hates him,That would vpon the wracke of this tough worldStretch him out longer. Edg. He is gon indeed. Kent. The wonder is, he hath endur'd so long,He but vsurpt his life. Alb. Beare them from hence, our present businesseIs generall woe: Friends of my soule, you twaine,Rule in this Realme, and the gor'd state sustaine. Kent. I haue a iourney Sir, shortly to go,My Master calls me, I must not say no. Edg. The waight of this sad time we must obey,Speake what we feele, not what we ought to say:The oldest hath borne most, we that are yong,Shall neuer see so much, nor liue so long. Exeunt with a dead March.