Бесплатный фрагмент - King Lear

Dramatis Personae

Lear, King of Britain.

King of France.

Duke of Burgundy.

Duke of Cornwall.

Duke of Albany.

Earl of Kent.

Earl of Gloucester.

Edgar, son of Gloucester.

Edmund, bastard son to Gloucester.

Curan, a courtier.

Old Man, tenant to Gloucester.

Doctor.

Lear’s Fool.

Oswald, steward to Goneril.

A Captain under Edmund’s command.

Gentlemen.

A Herald.

Servants to Cornwall.

Goneril, daughter to Lear.

Regan, daughter to Lear.

Cordelia, daughter to Lear.

Knights attending on Lear, Officers, Messengers, Soldiers,

Attendants.

.

Scene: Britain.

ACT I

Scene I

(King Lear’s Palace)

Enter Kent, Gloucester, and Edmund. [Kent and Glouceste converse.

(Edmund stands back)

Kent.

I thought the King had more affected the Duke of Albany

than Cornwall.

Gloucester

It did always seem so to us; but now, in the division of

the kingdom, it appears not which of the Dukes he values most,

for equalities are so weigh’d that curiosity in neither can make

choice of either’s moiety.

Kent.

Is not this your son, my lord?

Gloucester

His breeding, sir, hath been at my charge. I have so

often blush’d to acknowledge him that now I am braz’d to’t.

Kent.

I cannot conceive you.

Gloucester

Sir, this young fellow’s mother could; whereupon she grew

round-womb’d, and had indeed, sir, a son for her cradle ere

she had a husband for her bed. Do you smell a fault?

Kent.

I cannot wish the fault undone, the issue of it being so

proper.

Gloucester

But I have, sir, a son by order of law, some year elder

than this, who yet is no dearer in my account. Though this knave

came something saucily into the world before he was sent for, yet

was his mother fair, there was good sport at his making, and the

whoreson must be acknowledged.- Do you know this noble

gentleman, Edmund?

Edmund .

(comes forwar)

No, my lord.

Gloucester

My Lord of Kent. Remember him hereafter as my honourable

friend.

Edmund.

My services to your lordship.

Kent.

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

Edmund.

Sir, I shall study deserving.

Gloucester

He hath been out nine years, and away he shall again.

Sound a sennet.

The King is coming.

(Enter one bearing a coronet; then Lear; then the Dukes of

Albany and Cornwall; next, Goneril, Regan, Cordelia, with

Followers.)

Lear.

Attend the lords of France and Burgundy, Gloucester.

Gloucester

I shall, my liege.

Exeunt [Gloucester and Edmund].

Lear.

Meantime we shall express our darker purpose.

Give me the map there. Know we have divided

In three our kingdom; and ’tis our fast intent

To shake all cares and business from our age,

Conferring them on younger strengths while we

Unburthen’d crawl toward death. Our son of Cornwall,

And you, our no less loving son of Albany,

We have this hour a constant will to publish

Our daughters’ several dowers, that future strife

May be prevented now. The princes, France and Burgundy,

Great rivals in our youngest daughter’s love,

Long in our court have made their amorous sojourn,

And here are to be answer’d. Tell me, my daughters

(Since now we will divest us both of rule,

Interest of territory, cares of state),

Which of you shall we say doth love us most?

That we our largest bounty may extend

Where nature doth with merit challenge. Goneril,

Our eldest-born, speak first.

Goneril

Sir, I love you more than words can wield the matter;

Dearer than eyesight, space, and liberty;

Beyond what can be valued, rich or rare;

No less than life, with grace, health, beauty, honour;

As much as child e’er lov’d, or father found;

A love that makes breath poor, and speech unable.

Beyond all manner of so much I love you.

Cordelia

(aside)

What shall Cordelia speak? Love, and be silent.

Lear

Of all these bounds, even from this line to this,

With shadowy forests and with champains rich’d,

With plenteous rivers and wide-skirted meads,

We make thee lady. To thine and Albany’s issue

Be this perpetual.- What says our second daughter,

Our dearest Regan, wife to Cornwall? Speak.

Regan

Sir, I am made

Of the selfsame metal that my sister is,

And prize me at her worth. In my true heart

I find she names my very deed of love;

Only she comes too short, that I profess

Myself an enemy to all other joys

Which the most precious square of sense possesses,

And find I am alone felicitate

In your dear Highness’ love.

Cordelia

[aside]

Then poor Cordelia!

And yet not so; since I am sure my love’s

More richer than my tongue.

Lear

To thee and thine hereditary ever

Remain this ample third of our fair kingdom,

No less in space, validity, and pleasure

Than that conferr’d on Goneril.- Now, our joy,

Although the last, not least; to whose young love

The vines of France and milk of Burgundy

Strive to be interest; what can you say to draw

A third more opulent than your sisters? Speak.

Cor.

Nothing, my lord.

Lear.

Nothing?

Cordelia

Nothing.

Lear

Nothing can come of nothing. Speak again.

Cordelia

Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave

My heart into my mouth. I love your Majesty

According to my bond; no more nor less.

Lear

How, how, Cordelia? Mend your speech a little,

Lest it may mar your fortunes.

Cordelia

Good my lord,

You have begot me, bred me, lov’d me; I

Return those duties back as are right fit,

Obey you, love you, and most honour you.

Why have my sisters husbands, if they say

They love you all? Haply, when I shall wed,

That lord whose hand must take my plight shall carry

Half my love with him, half my care and duty.

Sure I shall never marry like my sisters,

To love my father all.

Lear

But goes thy heart with this?

Cordelia

Ay, good my lord.

Lear

So young, and so untender?

Cordelia

So young, my lord, and true.

Lear

Let it be so! thy truth then be thy dower!

For, by the sacred radiance of the sun,

The mysteries of Hecate and the night;

By all the operation of the orbs

From whom we do exist and cease to be;

Here I disclaim all my paternal care,

Propinquity and property of blood,

And as a stranger to my heart and me

Hold thee from this for ever. The barbarous Scythian,

Or he that makes his generation messes

To gorge his appetite, shall to my bosom

Be as well neighbour’d, pitied, and reliev’d,

As thou my sometime daughter.

Kent

Good my liege-

Lear

Peace, Kent!

Come not between the dragon and his wrath.

I lov’d her most, and thought to set my rest

On her kind nursery.- Hence and avoid my sight! —

So be my grave my peace as here I give

Her father’s heart from her! Call France! Who stirs?

Call Burgundy! Cornwall and Albany,

With my two daughters’ dowers digest this third;

Let pride, which she calls plainness, marry her.

I do invest you jointly in my power,

Preeminence, and all the large effects

That troop with majesty. Ourself, by monthly course,

With reservation of an hundred knights,

By you to be sustain’d, shall our abode

Make with you by due turns. Only we still retain

The name, and all th’ additions to a king. The sway,

Revenue, execution of the rest,

Beloved sons, be yours; which to confirm,

This coronet part betwixt you.

Kent

Royal Lear,

Whom I have ever honour’d as my king,

Lov’d as my father, as my master follow’d,

As my great patron thought on in my prayers-

Lear

The bow is bent and drawn; make from the shaft.

Kent

Let it fall rather, though the fork invade

The region of my heart! Be Kent unmannerly

When Lear is mad. What wouldst thou do, old man?

Think’st thou that duty shall have dread to speak

When power to flattery bows? To plainness honour’s bound

When majesty falls to folly. Reverse thy doom;

And in thy best consideration check

This hideous rashness. Answer my life my judgment,

Thy youngest daughter does not love thee least,

Nor are those empty-hearted whose low sound

Reverbs no hollowness.

Lear

Kent, on thy life, no more!

Kent

My life I never held but as a pawn

To wage against thine enemies; nor fear to lose it,

Thy safety being the motive.

Lear

Out of my sight!

Kent

See better, Lear, and let me still remain

The true blank of thine eye.

Lear

Now by Apollo-

Kent. Now by Apollo, King,

Thou swear’st thy gods in vain.

Lear

O vassal! miscreant!

(Lays his hand on his sword.)

Alb., Corn. Dear sir, forbear!

Kent

Do!

Kill thy physician, and the fee bestow

Upon the foul disease. Revoke thy gift,

Or, whilst I can vent clamour from my throat,

I’ll tell thee thou dost evil.

Lear

Hear me, recreant!

On thine allegiance, hear me!

Since thou hast sought to make us break our vow-

Which we durst never yet- and with strain’d pride

To come between our sentence and our power, —

Which nor our nature nor our place can bear, —

Our potency made good, take thy reward.

Five days we do allot thee for provision

To shield thee from diseases of the world,

And on the sixth to turn thy hated back

Upon our kingdom. If, on the tenth day following,

Thy banish’d trunk be found in our dominions,

The moment is thy death. Away! By Jupiter,

This shall not be revok’d.

Kent

Fare thee well, King. Since thus thou wilt appear,

Freedom lives hence, and banishment is here.

(To Cordelia)

The gods to their dear shelter take thee,

maid,

That justly think’st and hast most rightly said!

(To Regan and Goneril)

And your large speeches may your

deeds approve,

That good effects may spring from words of love.

Thus Kent, O princes, bids you all adieu;

He’ll shape his old course in a country new.

(Exit)

Flourish.

Enter Gloucester, with France and Burgundy;

Attendants.

Glouceste

Here’s France and Burgundy, my noble lord.

Lear

My Lord of Burgundy,

We first address toward you, who with this king

Hath rivall’d for our daughter. What in the least

Will you require in present dower with her,

Or cease your quest of love?

Bur.

Most royal Majesty,

I crave no more than hath your Highness offer’d,

Nor will you tender less.

Lear.

Right noble Burgundy,

When she was dear to us, we did hold her so;

But now her price is fall’n. Sir, there she stands.

If aught within that little seeming substance,

Or all of it, with our displeasure piec’d,

And nothing more, may fitly like your Grace,

She’s there, and she is yours.

Bur

I know no answer.

Lear

Will you, with those infirmities she owes,

Unfriended, new adopted to our hate,

Dow’r’d with our curse, and stranger’d with our oath,

Take her, or leave her?

Bur

Pardon me, royal sir.

Election makes not up on such conditions.

Lear

Then leave her, sir; for, by the pow’r that made me,

I tell you all her wealth. [To France] For you, great King,

I would not from your love make such a stray

To match you where I hate; therefore beseech you

T« avert your liking a more worthier way

Than on a wretch whom nature is asham’d

Almost t’ acknowledge hers.

France

This is most strange,

That she that even but now was your best object,

The argument of your praise, balm of your age,

Most best, most dearest, should in this trice of time

Commit a thing so monstrous to dismantle

So many folds of favour. Sure her offence

Must be of such unnatural degree

That monsters it, or your fore-vouch’d affection

Fall’n into taint; which to believe of her

Must be a faith that reason without miracle

Should never plant in me.

Cor

I yet beseech your Majesty,

If for I want that glib and oily art

To speak and purpose not, since what I well intend,

I’ll do’t before I speak- that you make known

It is no vicious blot, murther, or foulness,

No unchaste action or dishonoured step,

That hath depriv’d me of your grace and favour;

But even for want of that for which I am richer-

A still-soliciting eye, and such a tongue

As I am glad I have not, though not to have it

Hath lost me in your liking.

Lear

Better thou

Hadst not been born than not t’ have pleas’d me better.

France. Is it but this- a tardiness in nature

Which often leaves the history unspoke

That it intends to do? My Lord of Burgundy,

What say you to the lady? Love’s not love

When it is mingled with regards that stands

Aloof from th’ entire point. Will you have her?

She is herself a dowry.

Bur

Royal Lear,

Give but that portion which yourself propos’d,

And here I take Cordelia by the hand,

Duchess of Burgundy.

Lear

Nothing! I have sworn; I am firm.

Bur. I am sorry then you have so lost a father

That you must lose a husband.

Cor

Peace be with Burgundy!

Since that respects of fortune are his love,

I shall not be his wife.

France. Fairest Cordelia, that art most rich, being poor;

Most choice, forsaken; and most lov’d, despis’d!

Thee and thy virtues here I seize upon.

Be it lawful I take up what’s cast away.

Gods, gods! ’tis strange that from their cold’st neglect

My love should kindle to inflam’d respect.

Thy dow’rless daughter, King, thrown to my chance,

Is queen of us, of ours, and our fair France.

Not all the dukes in wat’rish Burgundy

Can buy this unpriz’d precious maid of me.

Bid them farewell, Cordelia, though unkind.

Thou losest here, a better where to find.

Lear. Thou hast her, France; let her be thine; for we

Have no such daughter, nor shall ever see

That face of hers again. Therefore be gone

Without our grace, our love, our benison.

Come, noble Burgundy.

Flourish

Exeunt Lear, Burgundy,

(Cornwall, Albany,

Gloucester, and Attendants).

France

Bid farewell to your sisters.

Cor

The jewels of our father, with wash’d eyes

Cordelia leaves you. I know you what you are;

And, like a sister, am most loath to call

Your faults as they are nam’d. Use well our father.

To your professed bosoms I commit him;

But yet, alas, stood I within his grace,

I would prefer him to a better place!

So farewell to you both.

Gon

Prescribe not us our duties.

Reg

Let your study

Be to content your lord, who hath receiv’d you

At fortune’s alms. You have obedience scanted,

And well are worth the want that you have wanted.

Cor

Time shall unfold what plighted cunning hides.

Who cover faults, at last shame them derides.

Well may you prosper!

France

Come, my fair Cordelia.

(Exeunt France and Cordelia)

Gon

Sister, it is not little I have to say of what most nearly

appertains to us both. I think our father will hence

to-night.

Reg

That’s most certain, and with you; next month with us.

Gon. You see how full of changes his age is. The observation we

have made of it hath not been little. He always lov’d our

sister most, and with what poor judgment he hath now cast

her off appears too grossly.

Reg

«Tis the infirmity of his age; yet he hath ever but

slenderly known himself.

Gon

The best and soundest of his time hath been but rash; then

must we look to receive from his age, not alone the

imperfections of long-ingraffed condition, but therewithal

the unruly waywardness that infirm and choleric years bring

with them.

Reg

Such unconstant starts are we like to have from him as

this of Kent’s banishment.

Gon

There is further compliment of leave-taking between France

and him. Pray you let’s hit together. If our father carry

authority with such dispositions as he bears, this last surrender of

his will but offend us.

Reg

We shall further think on’t.

Gon. We must do something, and i’ th’ heat.

Exeunt.

Scene II.

The Earl of Gloucester’s Castle.

Enter Edmund the Bastard solus,

(with a letter).

Edm.

Thou, Nature, art my goddess; to thy law

My services are bound. Wherefore should I

Stand in the plague of custom, and permit

The curiosity of nations to deprive me,

For that I am some twelve or fourteen moonshines

Lag of a brother? Why bastard? wherefore base?

When my dimensions are as well compact,

My mind as generous, and my shape as true,

As honest madam’s issue? Why brand they us

With base? with baseness? bastardy? base, base?

Who, in the lusty stealth of nature, take

More composition and fierce quality

Than doth, within a dull, stale, tired bed,

Go to th’ creating a whole tribe of fops

Got ’tween asleep and wake? Well then,

Legitimate Edgar, I must have your land.

Our father’s love is to the bastard Edmund

As to th’ legitimate. Fine word- ’legitimate’!

Well, my legitimate, if this letter speed,

And my invention thrive, Edmund the base

Shall top th’ legitimate. I grow; I prosper.

Now, gods, stand up for bastards!

Enter Gloucester.

Glou. Kent banish’d thus? and France in choler parted?

And the King gone to-night? subscrib’d his pow’r?

Confin’d to exhibition? All this done

Upon the gad? Edmund, how now? What news?

Edm.

So please your lordship, none.

(Puts up the letter.)

Glou.

Why so earnestly seek you to put up that letter?

Edm.

I know no news, my lord.

Glou.

What paper were you reading?

Edm.

Nothing, my lord.

Glou.

No? What needed then that terrible dispatch of it into

your pocket? The quality of nothing hath not such need to hide

itself. Let’s see. Come, if it be nothing, I shall not need

spectacles.

Edm.

I beseech you, sir, pardon me. It is a letter from my

brother that I have not all o’er-read; and for so much as I have

perus’d, I find it not fit for your o’erlooking.

Glou.

Give me the letter, sir.

Edm.

I shall offend, either to detain or give it. The contents,

as in part I understand them, are to blame.

Glou.

Let’s see, let’s see!

Edm.

I hope, for my brother’s justification, he wrote this but

as an essay or taste of my virtue.

Glou.

(reads)

«This policy and reverence of age makes the world

bitter to the best of our times; keeps our fortunes from us

till our oldness cannot relish them. I begin to find an idle

and fond bondage in the oppression of aged tyranny, who

sways, not as it hath power, but as it is suffer’d. Come to me,

that of this I may speak more. If our father would sleep till I

wak’d him, you should enjoy half his revenue for ever, and

live the beloved of your brother,

«EDGAR.»

Hum! Conspiracy? «Sleep till I wak’d him, you should enjoy

half his revenue.» My son Edgar! Had he a hand to write this? a

heart and brain to breed it in? When came this to you?

Who brought it?

Edm.

It was not brought me, my lord: there’s the cunning of it.

I found it thrown in at the casement of my closet.

Glou.

You know the character to be your brother’s?

Edm.

If the matter were good, my lord, I durst swear it were

his; but in respect of that, I would fain think it were not.

Glou.

It is his.

Edm.

It is his hand, my lord; but I hope his heart is not in

the contents.

Glou.

Hath he never before sounded you in this business?

Edm.

Never, my lord. But I have heard him oft maintain it to be

fit that, sons at perfect age, and fathers declining, the father

should be as ward to the son, and the son manage his

revenue.

Glou.

O villain, villain! His very opinion in the letter!

Abhorred villain! Unnatural, detested, brutish villain! worse than

brutish! Go, sirrah, seek him. I’ll apprehend him.

Abominable villain! Where is he?

Edm.

I do not well know, my lord. If it shall please you to

suspend your indignation against my brother till you

can derive from him better testimony of his intent, you should run a certain course; where, if you violently proceed against him, mistaking his purpose, it would make a great gap in your own honour and shake in pieces the heart of his obedience. I dare pawn down my life for him that he hath writ this to feel my affection to your

honour, and to no other pretence of danger.

Glou.

Think you so?

Edm.

If your honour judge it meet, I will place you where you

shall hear us confer of this and by an auricular assurance have

your satisfaction, and that without any further delay than this

very evening.

Glou.

He cannot be such a monster.

Edm.

Nor is not, sure.

Glou.

To his father, that so tenderly and entirely loves him.

Heaven and earth! Edmund, seek him out; wind me into him, I

pray you; frame the business after your own wisdom. I would

unstate myself to be in a due resolution.

Edm.

I will seek him, sir, presently; convey the business as I

shall find means, and acquaint you withal.

Glou.

These late eclipses in the sun and moon portend no good

to us. Though the wisdom of nature can reason it thus and thus,

yet nature finds itself scourg’d by the sequent effects. Love

cools, friendship falls off, brothers divide. In cities, mutinies;

in countries, discord; in palaces, treason; and the bond

crack’d ’twixt son and father. This villain of mine comes under the

prediction; there’s son against father: the King falls from

bias of nature; there’s father against child. We have seen the

best of our time. Machinations, hollowness, treachery, and all

ruinous disorders follow us disquietly to our graves. Find

out this villain, Edmund; it shall lose thee nothing; do it

carefully. And the noble and true-hearted Kent banish’d! his

offence, honesty! «Tis strange. Exit.

Edm.

This is the excellent foppery of the world, that, when we

are sick in fortune, often the surfeit of our own behaviour, we

make guilty of our disasters the sun, the moon, and the stars; as

if we were villains on necessity; fools by heavenly compulsion;

knaves, thieves, and treachers by spherical pre-dominance;

drunkards, liars, and adulterers by an enforc’d obedience of

planetary influence; and all that we are evil in, by a

divine thrusting on. An admirable evasion of whore-master man, to lay his goatish disposition to the charge of a star! My father

compounded with my mother under the Dragon’s Tail, and my

nativity was under Ursa Major, so that it follows I am rough

and lecherous. Fut! I should have been that I am, had the

maidenliest star in the firmament twinkled on my

bastardizing.

Edgar-

(Enter Edgar)

and pat! he comes, like the catastrophe of the old comedy.

My cue is villainous melancholy, with a sigh like Tom o’

Bedlam. O, these eclipses do portend these divisions! Fa, sol, la,

mi.

Edg.

How now, brother Edmund? What serious contemplation are

you in?

Edm.

I am thinking, brother, of a prediction I read this other

day, what should follow these eclipses.

Edg.

Do you busy yourself with that?

Edm.

I promise you, the effects he writes of succeed unhappily:

as of unnaturalness between the child and the parent; death,

dearth, dissolutions of ancient amities; divisions in state,

menaces and maledictions against king and nobles; needless

diffidences, banishment of friends, dissipation of cohorts,

nuptial breaches, and I know not what.

Edg.

How long have you been a sectary astronomical?

Edm.

Come, come! When saw you my father last?

Edg.

The night gone by.

Edm.

Spake you with him?

Edg.

Ay, two hours together.

Edm.

Parted you in good terms? Found you no displeasure in him

by word or countenance

Edg.

None at all.

Edm.

Bethink yourself wherein you may have offended him; and at

my entreaty forbear his presence until some little time hath

qualified the heat of his displeasure, which at this instant

so rageth in him that with the mischief of your person it would

scarcely allay.

Edg.

Some villain hath done me wrong.

Edm.

That’s my fear. I pray you have a continent forbearance till the speed of his rage goes slower; and, as I say, retire with me to my lodging, from whence I will fitly bring you to hear my lord speak. Pray ye, go! There’s my key. If you do stir

abroad, go arm’d.

Edg.

Arm’d, brother?

Edm.

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

Edg.

Shall I hear from you anon?

Edm.

I do serve you in this business.

(Exit Edgar)

A credulous father! and a brother noble,

Whose nature is so far from doing harms

That he suspects none; on whose foolish honesty

My practices ride easy! I see the business.

Let me, if not by birth, have lands by wit;

All with me’s meet that I can fashion fit.

(Exit)

Scene III

The Duke of Albany’s Palace.

Enter Goneril and (her) Steward (Oswald).

Gon.

Did my father strike my gentleman for chiding of his fool?

Osw.

Ay, madam.

Gon.

By day and night, he wrongs me! Every hour

He flashes into one gross crime or other

That sets us all at odds. I’ll not endure it.

His knights grow riotous, and himself upbraids us

On every trifle. When he returns from hunting,

I will not speak with him. Say I am sick.

If you come slack of former services,

You shall do well; the fault of it I’ll answer.

(Horns within.)

Osw.

He’s coming, madam; I hear him.

Gon.

Put on what weary negligence you please,

You and your fellows. I’d have it come to question.

If he distaste it, let him to our sister,

Whose mind and mine I know in that are one,

Not to be overrul’d. Idle old man,

That still would manage those authorities

That he hath given away! Now, by my life,

Old fools are babes again, and must be us’d

With checks as flatteries, when they are seen abus’d.

Remember what I have said.

Osw.

Very well, madam.

Gon.

And let his knights have colder looks among you.

What grows of it, no matter. Advise your fellows so.

I would breed from hence occasions, and I shall,

That I may speak. I’ll write straight to my sister

To hold my very course. Prepare for dinner.

(Exeunt)

Scene IV

The Duke of Albany’s Palace.

Enter Kent, (disguised)

Kent. If but as well I other accents borrow,

That can my speech defuse, my good intent

May carry through itself to that full issue

For which I raz’d my likeness. Now, banish’d Kent,

If thou canst serve where thou dost stand condemn’d,

So may it come, thy master, whom thou lov’st,

Shall find thee full of labours.

Horns within. Enter Lear, (Knights,) and Attendants.

Lear

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

(Exit an Attendan)

How now? What art thou?

Kent

A man, sir.

Lear

What dost thou profess? What wouldst thou with us?

Kent. I do profess to be no less than I seem, to serve him

truly that will put me in trust, to love him that is honest, to

converse with him that is wise and says little, to fear

judgment, to fight when I cannot choose, and to eat no fish.

Lear

What art thou?

Kent

A very honest-hearted fellow, and as poor as the King.

Lear. If thou be’st as poor for a subject as he’s for a king,

thou art poor enough. What wouldst thou?

Kent

Service.

Lear

Who wouldst thou serve?

Kent

You.

Lear. Dost thou know me, fellow?

Kent

No, sir; but you have that in your countenance which I

would fain call master.

Lear

What’s that?

Kent

Authority.

Lear

What services canst thou do?

Kent.

I can keep honest counsel, ride, run, mar a curious tale

in telling it and deliver a plain message bluntly. That which

ordinary men are fit for, I am qualified in, and the best of

me is diligence.

Lear

How old art thou?

Kent

Not so young, sir, to love a woman for singing, nor so

old to dote on her for anything. I have years on my back

forty-eight.

Lear

Follow me; thou shalt serve me. If I like thee no worse

after dinner, I will not part from thee yet. Dinner, ho, dinner!

Where’s my knave? my fool? Go you and call my fool hither.

(Exit an attendant.)

Enter (Oswald the) Steward.

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

Osw.

So please you- Exit.

Lear

What says the fellow there? Call the clotpoll back.

(Exit a Knight.) Where’s my fool, ho? I think the world’s

asleep.

(Enter Knigh)

How now? Where’s that mongrel?

Knight

He says, my lord, your daughter is not well.

Lear

Why came not the slave back to me when I call’d him?

Knight. Sir, he answered me in the roundest manner, he would

not.

Lear

He would not?

Knight. My lord, I know not what the matter is; but to my

judgment your Highness is not entertain’d with that ceremonious

affection as you were wont. There’s a great abatement of kindness

appears as well in the general dependants as in the Duke himself

also and your daughter.

Lear

Ha! say’st thou so?

Knight

I beseech you pardon me, my lord, if I be mistaken; for

my duty cannot be silent when I think your Highness wrong’d.

Lear

Thou but rememb’rest me of mine own conception. I have

perceived a most faint neglect of late, which I have rather

blamed as mine own jealous curiosity than as a very pretence

and purpose of unkindness. I will look further into’t. But

where’s my fool? I have not seen him this two days.

Knight

Since my young lady’s going into France, sir, the fool

hath much pined away.

Lear

No more of that; I have noted it well. Go you and tell my

daughter I would speak with her.

(Exit Knight.)

Go you, call

hither my fool.

(Exit an Attendant)

Enter (Oswald the) Steward.

O, you, sir, you! Come you hither, sir. Who am I, sir?

Osw.

My lady’s father.

Lear

«My lady’s father’? My lord’s knave! You whoreson dog!

you slave! you cur!

Osw.

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

Lear

Do you bandy looks with me, you rascal?

(Strikes him.)

Osw.

I’ll not be strucken, my lord.

Kent

Nor tripp’d neither, you base football player?

(Trips up his heels.)

Lear

I thank thee, fellow. Thou serv’st me, and I’ll love

thee.

Kent

Come, sir, arise, away! I’ll teach you differences. Away,

away! If you will measure your lubber’s length again, tarry;

but away! Go to! Have you wisdom? So.

(Pushes him out.)

Lear

Now, my friendly knave, I thank thee. There’s earnest of

thy service. [Gives money.]

(Enter Fool)

Fool

Let me hire him too. Here’s my coxcomb.

(Offers Kent his cap.)

Lear

How now, my pretty knave? How dost thou?

Fool

Sirrah, you were best take my coxcomb.

Kent. Why, fool?

Fool

Why? For taking one’s part that’s out of favour. Nay, an

thou canst not smile as the wind sits, thou’lt catch cold

shortly.

There, take my coxcomb! Why, this fellow hath banish’d two

on’s daughters, and did the third a blessing against his will. If

thou follow him, thou must needs wear my coxcomb.- How now,

nuncle? Would I had two coxcombs and two daughters!

Lear

Why, my boy?

Fool

If I gave them all my living, I’ld keep my coxcombs

myself.

There’s mine! beg another of thy daughters.

Lear

Take heed, sirrah- the whip.

Fool

Truth’s a dog must to kennel; he must be whipp’d out,

whenLady the brach may stand by th’ fire and stink.

Lear

A pestilent gall to me!

Fool

Sirrah, I’ll teach thee a speech.

Lear

Do.

Fool

Mark it, nuncle.

Have more than thou showest,

Speak less than thou knowest,

Lend less than thou owest,

Ride more than thou goest,

Learn more than thou trowest,

Set less than thou throwest;

Leave thy drink and thy whore,

And keep in-a-door,

And thou shalt have more

Than two tens to a score.

Kent

This is nothing, fool.

Fool

Then ’tis like the breath of an unfeed lawyer- you gave

me nothing for’t. Can you make no use of nothing, nuncle?

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

Fool

(to Kent)

Prithee tell him, so much the rent of his land

comes to. He will not believe a fool.

Lear

A bitter fool!

Fool

Dost thou know the difference, my boy, between a bitter

fool and a sweet fool?

Lear

No, lad; teach me.

Fool

That lord that counsell’d thee

To give away thy land,

Come place him here by me-

Do thou for him stand.

The sweet and bitter fool

Will presently appear;

The one in motley here,

The other found out there.

Lear. Dost thou call me fool, boy?

Fool

All thy other titles thou hast given away; that thou wast

born with.

Kent

This is not altogether fool, my lord.

Fool

No, faith; lords and great men will not let me. If I had

a monopoly out, they would have part on’t. And ladies too,

they will not let me have all the fool to myself; they’ll be

snatching. Give me an egg, nuncle, and I’ll give thee two

crowns.

Lear

What two crowns shall they be?

Fool

Why, after I have cut the egg i’ th’ middle and eat up

the meat, the two crowns of the egg. When thou clovest thy crown

i’ th’ middle and gav’st away both parts, thou bor’st thine ass

on thy back o’er the dirt. Thou hadst little wit in thy bald

crown when thou gav’st thy golden one away. If I speak like myself

in this, let him be whipp’d that first finds it so.

(Sings)

Fools had ne’er less grace in a year,

For wise men are grown foppish;

They know not how their wits to wear,

Their manners are so apish.

Lear

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

Fool

I have us’d it, nuncle, ever since thou mad’st thy

daughters thy mother; for when thou gav’st them the rod, and put’st down thine own breeches,

(Sings)

Then they for sudden joy did weep,

And I for sorrow sung,

That such a king should play bo-peep

And go the fools among.

Prithee, nuncle, keep a schoolmaster that can teach thy fool

to lie. I would fain learn to lie.

Lear

An you lie, sirrah, we’ll have you whipp’d.

Fool

I marvel what kin thou and thy daughters are. They’ll

have me whipp’d for speaking true; thou’lt have me whipp’d for

lying; and sometimes I am whipp’d for holding my peace. I had

rather be any kind o’ thing than a fool! And yet I would not be thee, nuncle. Thou hast pared thy wit o’ both sides and left nothing

i’ th’ middle. Here comes one o’ the parings.

(Enter Goneril)

Lear

How now, daughter? What makes that frontlet on? Methinks

you are too much o’ late i’ th’ frown.

Fool

Thou wast a pretty fellow when thou hadst no need to care

for her frowning. Now thou art an O without a figure. I am

better than thou art now: I am a fool, thou art nothing.

(To Goneril)

Yes, forsooth, I will hold my tongue. So your

face bids me, though you say nothing. Mum, mum!

He that keeps nor crust nor crum,

Weary of all, shall want some.-

(Points at Lear)

That’s a sheal’d peascod.

Gon.

Not only, sir, this your all-licens’d fool,

But other of your insolent retinue

Do hourly carp and quarrel, breaking forth

In rank and not-to-be-endured riots. Sir,

I had thought, by making this well known unto you,

To have found a safe redress, but now grow fearful,

By what yourself, too, late have spoke and done,

That you protect this course, and put it on

By your allowance; which if you should, the fault

Would not scape censure, nor the redresses sleep,

Which, in the tender of a wholesome weal,

Might in their working do you that offence

Which else were shame, that then necessity

Must call discreet proceeding.

Fool

For you know, nuncle,

The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long

That it had it head bit off by it young.

So out went the candle, and we were left darkling.

Lear

Are you our daughter?

Gon

Come, sir,

I would you would make use of that good wisdom

Whereof I know you are fraught, and put away

These dispositions that of late transform you

From what you rightly are.

Fool

May not an ass know when the cart draws the horse?

Whoop, Jug, I love thee!

Lear

Doth any here know me? This is not Lear.

Doth Lear walk thus? speak thus? Where are his eyes?

Either his notion weakens, his discernings

Are lethargied- Ha! waking? «Tis not so!

Who is it that can tell me who I am?

Fool

Lear’s shadow.

Lear

I would learn that; for, by the marks of sovereignty,

Knowledge, and reason, I should be false persuaded

I had daughters.

Fool

Which they will make an obedient father.

Lear

Your name, fair gentlewoman?

Gon. This admiration, sir, is much o’ th’ savour

Of other your new pranks. I do beseech you

To understand my purposes aright.

As you are old and reverend, you should be wise.

Here do you keep a hundred knights and squires;

Men so disorder’d, so debosh’d, and bold

That this our court, infected with their manners,

Shows like a riotous inn. Epicurism and lust

Make it more like a tavern or a brothel

Than a grac’d palace. The shame itself doth speak

For instant remedy. Be then desir’d

By her that else will take the thing she begs

A little to disquantity your train,

And the remainder that shall still depend

To be such men as may besort your age,

Which know themselves, and you.

Lear. Darkness and devils!

Saddle my horses! Call my train together!

Degenerate bastard, I’ll not trouble thee;

Yet have I left a daughter.

Gon. You strike my people, and your disorder’d rabble

Make servants of their betters.

(Enter Albany)

Lear

Woe that too late repents! — O, sir, are you come?

Is it your will? Speak, sir! — Prepare my horses.

Ingratitude, thou marble-hearted fiend,

More hideous when thou show’st thee in a child

Than the sea-monster!

Alb.

Pray, sir, be patient.

Lear

(Oto Goneril) Detested kite, thou liest!

My train are men of choice and rarest parts,

That all particulars of duty know

And in the most exact regard support

The worships of their name.- O most small fault,

How ugly didst thou in Cordelia show!

Which, like an engine, wrench’d my frame of nature

From the fix’d place; drew from my heart all love

And added to the gall. O Lear, Lear, Lear!

Beat at this gate that let thy folly in [Strikes his head.]

And thy dear judgment out! Go, go, my people.

Alb. My lord, I am guiltless, as I am ignorant

Of what hath mov’d you.

Lear

It may be so, my lord.

Hear, Nature, hear! dear goddess, hear!

Suspend thy purpose, if thou didst intend

To make this creature fruitful.

Into her womb convey sterility;

Dry up in her the organs of increase;

And from her derogate body never spring

A babe to honour her! If she must teem,

Create her child of spleen, that it may live

And be a thwart disnatur’d torment to her.

Let it stamp wrinkles in her brow of youth,

With cadent tears fret channels in her cheeks,

Turn all her mother’s pains and benefits

To laughter and contempt, that she may feel

How sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is

To have a thankless child! Away, away!

Exit.

Alb.

Now, gods that we adore, whereof comes this?

Gon.

Never afflict yourself to know the cause;

But let his disposition have that scope

That dotage gives it.

(Enter Lear)

Lear

What, fifty of my followers at a clap?

Within a fortnight?

Alb

What’s the matter, sir?

Lear. I’ll tell thee. [To Goneril] Life and death! I am asham’d

That thou hast power to shake my manhood thus;

That these hot tears, which break from me perforce,

Should make thee worth them. Blasts and fogs upon thee!

Th’ untented woundings of a father’s curse

Pierce every sense about thee! — Old fond eyes,