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ACT 2

Scene 1

Enter Edmund, the Bastard and Curan, severally.

EDMUND  Save thee, Curan.

CURAN  And you, sir. I have been with your father and

given him notice that the Duke of Cornwall and

Regan his duchess will be here with him this night.

EDMUND  How comes that?                                                                        5

CURAN  Nay, I know not. You have heard of the news

abroad?—I mean the whispered ones, for they are

yet but ear-kissing arguments.

EDMUND  Not I. Pray you, what are they?

CURAN  Have you heard of no likely wars toward ’twixt                    10

the dukes of Cornwall and Albany?

EDMUND  Not a word.

CURAN  You may do, then, in time. Fare you well, sir.

He exits.

EDMUND

The Duke be here tonight? The better, best.

This weaves itself perforce into my business.                                      15

My father hath set guard to take my brother,

And I have one thing of a queasy question

Which I must act. Briefness and fortune work!—

Brother, a word. Descend. Brother, I say!

Enter Edgar.

My father watches. O sir, fly this place!                                               20

Intelligence is given where you are hid.

You have now the good advantage of the night.

Have you not spoken ’gainst the Duke of Cornwall?

He’s coming hither, now, i’ th’ night, i’ th’ haste,

And Regan with him. Have you nothing said                                      25

Upon his party ’gainst the Duke of Albany?

Advise yourself.

EDGAR  I am sure on ’t, not a word.

EDMUND

I hear my father coming. Pardon me.

In cunning I must draw my sword upon you.                                      30

Draw. Seem to defend yourself. Now, quit you

well. They draw.

Yield! Come before my father! Light, hoa, here!

Aside to Edgar. Fly, brother.—Torches, torches!

—So, farewell.                                                                Edgar exits.  35

Some blood drawn on me would beget opinion

Of my more fierce endeavor. I have seen drunkards

Do more than this in sport.                                       He wounds his arm.

Father, father!

Stop, stop! No help?                                                                                 40

Enter Gloucester, and Servants with torches.

GLOUCESTER  Now, Edmund, where’s the

villain?

EDMUND

Here stood he in the dark, his sharp sword out,

Mumbling of wicked charms, conjuring the moon

To stand auspicious mistress.                                                                 45

GLOUCESTER  But where is he?

EDMUND

Look, sir, I bleed.

GLOUCESTER  Where is the villain,

Edmund?

EDMUND

Fled this way, sir, when by no means he could—                               50

GLOUCESTER

Pursue him, ho! Go after. Servants exit. By no

means what?

EDMUND

Persuade me to the murder of your Lordship,

But that I told him the revenging gods

’Gainst parricides did all the thunder bend,                                          55

Spoke with how manifold and strong a bond

The child was bound to th’ father—sir, in fine,

Seeing how loathly opposite I stood

To his unnatural purpose, in fell motion

With his preparèd sword he charges home                                           60

My unprovided body, lanced mine arm;

And when he saw my best alarumed spirits,

Bold in the quarrel’s right, roused to th’ encounter,

Or whether ghasted by the noise I made,

Full suddenly he fled.                                                                               65

GLOUCESTER  Let him fly far!

Not in this land shall he remain uncaught,

And found—dispatch. The noble duke my master,

My worthy arch and patron, comes tonight.

By his authority I will proclaim it                                                           70

That he which finds him shall deserve our thanks,

Bringing the murderous coward to the stake;

He that conceals him, death.

EDMUND

When I dissuaded him from his intent

And found him pight to do it, with curst speech                                  75

I threatened to discover him. He replied

“Thou unpossessing bastard, dost thou think

If I would stand against thee, would the reposal

Of any trust, virtue, or worth in thee

Make thy words faithed? No. What I should                                      80

deny—

As this I would, though thou didst produce

My very character—I’d turn it all

To thy suggestion, plot, and damnèd practice.

And thou must make a dullard of the world                                        85

If they not thought the profits of my death

Were very pregnant and potential spurs

To make thee seek it.”

GLOUCESTER  O strange and fastened villain!

Would he deny his letter, said he?                                                          90

I never got him.                                                                    Tucket within.

Hark, the Duke’s trumpets. I know not why he

comes.

All ports I’ll bar. The villain shall not ’scape.

The Duke must grant me that. Besides, his picture                             95

I will send far and near, that all the kingdom

May have due note of him. And of my land,

Loyal and natural boy, I’ll work the means

To make thee capable.

Enter Cornwall, Regan, and Attendants.

CORNWALL

How now, my noble friend? Since I came hither,                             100

Which I can call but now, I have heard strange

news.

REGAN

If it be true, all vengeance comes too short

Which can pursue th’ offender. How dost, my

lord?                                                                                                       105

GLOUCESTER

O madam, my old heart is cracked; it’s cracked.

REGAN

What, did my father’s godson seek your life?

He whom my father named, your Edgar?

GLOUCESTER

O lady, lady, shame would have it hid!

REGAN

Was he not companion with the riotous knights                               110

That tended upon my father?

GLOUCESTER

I know not, madam. ’Tis too bad, too bad.

EDMUND

Yes, madam, he was of that consort.

REGAN

No marvel, then, though he were ill affected.

’Tis they have put him on the old man’s death,                               115

To have th’ expense and waste of his revenues.

I have this present evening from my sister

Been well informed of them, and with such cautions

That if they come to sojourn at my house

I’ll not be there.                                                                                       120

CORNWALL  Nor I, assure thee, Regan.—

Edmund, I hear that you have shown your father

A childlike office.

EDMUND  It was my duty, sir.

GLOUCESTER

He did bewray his practice, and received                                           125

This hurt you see striving to apprehend him.

CORNWALL  Is he pursued?

GLOUCESTER  Ay, my good lord.

CORNWALL

If he be taken, he shall never more

Be feared of doing harm. Make your own purpose,                        130

How in my strength you please.—For you, Edmund,

Whose virtue and obedience doth this instant

So much commend itself, you shall be ours.

Natures of such deep trust we shall much need.

You we first seize on.                                                                             135

EDMUND  I shall serve you, sir,

Truly, however else.

GLOUCESTER  For him I thank your Grace.

CORNWALL

You know not why we came to visit you—

REGAN

Thus out of season, threading dark-eyed night.                                140

Occasions, noble Gloucester, of some poise,

Wherein we must have use of your advice.

Our father he hath writ, so hath our sister,

Of differences, which I best thought it fit

To answer from our home. The several messengers                        145

From hence attend dispatch. Our good old friend,

Lay comforts to your bosom and bestow

Your needful counsel to our businesses,

Which craves the instant use.

GLOUCESTER  I serve you, madam.                                                    150

Your Graces are right welcome.

Flourish. They exit.

Scene 2

Enter Kent in disguise and Oswald, the Steward,
severally.

OSWALD  Good dawning to thee, friend. Art of this

house?

KENT  Ay.

OSWALD  Where may we set our horses?

KENT  I’ th’ mire.                                                                                            5

OSWALD  Prithee, if thou lov’st me, tell me.

KENT  I love thee not.

OSWALD  Why then, I care not for thee.

KENT  If I had thee in Lipsbury pinfold, I would make

thee care for me.                                                                                    10

OSWALD  Why dost thou use me thus? I know thee not.

KENT  Fellow, I know thee.

OSWALD  What dost thou know me for?

KENT  A knave, a rascal, an eater of broken meats; a

base, proud, shallow, beggarly, three-suited, hundred-pound,      15

filthy worsted-stocking knave; a lily-livered,

action-taking, whoreson, glass-gazing, superserviceable,

finical rogue; one-trunk-inheriting

slave; one that wouldst be a bawd in way of good

service, and art nothing but the composition of a                           20

knave, beggar, coward, pander, and the son and heir

of a mongrel bitch; one whom I will beat into

clamorous whining if thou deny’st the least syllable

of thy addition.

OSWALD  Why, what a monstrous fellow art thou thus                       25

to rail on one that is neither known of thee nor

knows thee!

KENT  What a brazen-faced varlet art thou to deny thou

knowest me! Is it two days ago since I tripped up

thy heels and beat thee before the King? He draws                        30

his sword. Draw, you rogue, for though it be night,

yet the moon shines. I’ll make a sop o’ th’ moonshine

of you, you whoreson, cullionly barbermonger.

Draw!

OSWALD  Away! I have nothing to do with thee.                                  35

KENT  Draw, you rascal! You come with letters against

the King and take Vanity the puppet’s part against

the royalty of her father. Draw, you rogue, or I’ll so

carbonado your shanks! Draw, you rascal! Come

your ways.                                                                                               40

OSWALD  Help, ho! Murder! Help!

KENT  Strike, you slave! Stand, rogue! Stand, you neat

slave! Strike!                                                                He beats Oswald.

OSWALD  Help, ho! Murder, murder!

Enter Bastard Edmund, with his rapier drawn,
Cornwall, Regan, Gloucester, Servants.

EDMUND  How now, what’s the matter? Part!                                       45

KENT  With you, goodman boy, if you please. Come, I’ll

flesh you. Come on, young master.

GLOUCESTER

Weapons? Arms? What’s the matter here?

CORNWALL  Keep peace, upon your lives! He dies that

strikes again. What is the matter?                                                       50

REGAN

The messengers from our sister and the King.

CORNWALL  What is your difference? Speak.

OSWALD  I am scarce in breath, my lord.

KENT  No marvel, you have so bestirred your valor.

You cowardly rascal, nature disclaims in thee; a                            55

tailor made thee.

CORNWALL  Thou art a strange fellow. A tailor make a

man?

KENT  A tailor, sir. A stonecutter or a painter could not

have made him so ill, though they had been but two                     60

years o’ th’ trade.

CORNWALL  Speak yet, how grew your quarrel?

OSWALD  This ancient ruffian, sir, whose life I have

spared at suit of his gray beard—

KENT  Thou whoreson zed, thou unnecessary letter!                            65

—My lord, if you will give me leave, I will tread

this unbolted villain into mortar and daub the wall

of a jakes with him.—Spare my gray beard, you

wagtail?

CORNWALL  Peace, sirrah!                                                                        70

You beastly knave, know you no reverence?

KENT

Yes, sir, but anger hath a privilege.

CORNWALL  Why art thou angry?

KENT

That such a slave as this should wear a sword,

Who wears no honesty. Such smiling rogues as                                  75

these,

Like rats, oft bite the holy cords atwain

Which are too intrinse t’ unloose; smooth every

passion

That in the natures of their lords rebel—                                              80

Being oil to fire, snow to the colder moods—

Renege, affirm, and turn their halcyon beaks

With every gale and vary of their masters,

Knowing naught, like dogs, but following.—

A plague upon your epileptic visage!                                                    85

Smile you my speeches, as I were a fool?

Goose, if I had you upon Sarum plain,

I’d drive you cackling home to Camelot.

CORNWALL  What, art thou mad, old fellow?

GLOUCESTER  How fell you out? Say that.                                          90

KENT

No contraries hold more antipathy

Than I and such a knave.

CORNWALL

Why dost thou call him “knave”? What is his fault?

KENT  His countenance likes me not.

CORNWALL

No more, perchance, does mine, nor his, nor hers.                              95

KENT

Sir, ’tis my occupation to be plain:

I have seen better faces in my time

Than stands on any shoulder that I see

Before me at this instant.

CORNWALL  This is some fellow                                                           100

Who, having been praised for bluntness, doth affect

A saucy roughness and constrains the garb

Quite from his nature. He cannot flatter, he.

An honest mind and plain, he must speak truth!

An they will take it, so; if not, he’s plain.                                           105

These kind of knaves I know, which in this

plainness

Harbor more craft and more corrupter ends

Than twenty silly-ducking observants

That stretch their duties nicely.                                                            110

KENT

Sir, in good faith, in sincere verity,

Under th’ allowance of your great aspect,

Whose influence, like the wreath of radiant fire

On flick’ring Phoebus’ front—

CORNWALL  What mean’st by this?                                                     115

KENT  To go out of my dialect, which you discommend

so much. I know, sir, I am no flatterer. He that

beguiled you in a plain accent was a plain knave,

which for my part I will not be, though I should

win your displeasure to entreat me to ’t.                                         120

CORNWALL, to Oswald  What was th’ offense you gave

him?

OSWALD  I never gave him any.

It pleased the King his master very late

To strike at me, upon his misconstruction;                                        125

When he, compact, and flattering his displeasure,

Tripped me behind; being down, insulted, railed,

And put upon him such a deal of man

That worthied him, got praises of the King

For him attempting who was self-subdued;                                       130

And in the fleshment of this dread exploit,

Drew on me here again.

KENT  None of these rogues and cowards

But Ajax is their fool.

CORNWALL  Fetch forth the stocks.—                                                 135

You stubborn ancient knave, you reverent braggart,

We’ll teach you.

KENT  Sir, I am too old to learn.

Call not your stocks for me. I serve the King,

On whose employment I was sent to you.                                         140

You shall do small respect, show too bold

malice

Against the grace and person of my master,

Stocking his messenger.

CORNWALL

Fetch forth the stocks.—As I have life and honor,                          145

There shall he sit till noon.

REGAN

Till noon? Till night, my lord, and all night, too.

KENT

Why, madam, if I were your father’s dog,

You should not use me so.

REGAN  Sir, being his knave, I will.                                                         150

CORNWALL

This is a fellow of the selfsame color

Our sister speaks of.—Come, bring away the stocks.

Stocks brought out.

GLOUCESTER

Let me beseech your Grace not to do so.

His fault is much, and the good king his master

Will check him for ’t. Your purposed low correction                        155

Is such as basest and contemned’st wretches

For pilf’rings and most common trespasses

Are punished with. The King must take it ill

That he, so slightly valued in his messenger,

Should have him thus restrained.                                                        160

CORNWALL  I’ll answer that.

REGAN

My sister may receive it much more worse

To have her gentleman abused, assaulted

For following her affairs.—Put in his legs.

Kent is put in the stocks.

CORNWALL  Come, my good lord, away.                                           165

All but Gloucester and Kent exit.

GLOUCESTER

I am sorry for thee, friend. ’Tis the Duke’s

pleasure,

Whose disposition all the world well knows

Will not be rubbed nor stopped. I’ll entreat for thee.

KENT

Pray, do not, sir. I have watched and traveled hard.                       170

Some time I shall sleep out; the rest I’ll whistle.

A good man’s fortune may grow out at heels.

Give you good morrow.

GLOUCESTER

The Duke’s to blame in this. ’Twill be ill taken.

He exits.

KENT

Good king, that must approve the common saw,                            175

Thou out of heaven’s benediction com’st

To the warm sun.                                                     He takes out a paper.

Approach, thou beacon to this under globe,

That by thy comfortable beams I may

Peruse this letter. Nothing almost sees miracles                                180

But misery. I know ’tis from Cordelia,

Who hath most fortunately been informed

Of my obscurèd course, and shall find time

From this enormous state, seeking to give

Losses their remedies. All weary and o’erwatched,                          185

Take vantage, heavy eyes, not to behold

This shameful lodging.

Fortune, good night. Smile once more; turn thy

wheel.

Sleeps.

Scene 3

Enter Edgar.

EDGAR  I heard myself proclaimed,

And by the happy hollow of a tree

Escaped the hunt. No port is free; no place

That guard and most unusual vigilance

Does not attend my taking. Whiles I may ’scape,                                5

I will preserve myself, and am bethought

To take the basest and most poorest shape

That ever penury in contempt of man

Brought near to beast. My face I’ll grime with filth,

Blanket my loins, elf all my hairs in knots,                                          10

And with presented nakedness outface

The winds and persecutions of the sky.

The country gives me proof and precedent

Of Bedlam beggars who with roaring voices

Strike in their numbed and mortifièd arms                                          15

Pins, wooden pricks, nails, sprigs of rosemary,

And, with this horrible object, from low farms,

Poor pelting villages, sheepcotes, and mills,

Sometime with lunatic bans, sometime with prayers,

Enforce their charity. “Poor Turlygod! Poor Tom!”                           20

That’s something yet. “Edgar” I nothing am.

He exits.

Scene 4

Enter Lear, Fool, and Gentleman.

LEAR

’Tis strange that they should so depart from home

And not send back my messenger.

GENTLEMAN  As I learned,

The night before there was no purpose in them

Of this remove.                                                                                            5

KENT, waking  Hail to thee, noble master.

LEAR  Ha?

Mak’st thou this shame thy pastime?

KENT  No, my lord.

FOOL  Ha, ha, he wears cruel garters. Horses are tied                            10

by the heads, dogs and bears by th’ neck, monkeys

by th’ loins, and men by th’ legs. When a man’s

overlusty at legs, then he wears wooden

netherstocks.

LEAR

What’s he that hath so much thy place mistook                                15

To set thee here?

KENT  It is both he and she,

Your son and daughter.

LEAR  No.

KENT  Yes.                                                                                                     20

LEAR  No, I say.

KENT  I say yea.

LEAR  By Jupiter, I swear no.

KENTBy Juno, I swear ay.

LEAR  They durst not do ’t.                                                                        25

They could not, would not do ’t. ’Tis worse than

murder

To do upon respect such violent outrage.

Resolve me with all modest haste which way

Thou might’st deserve or they impose this usage,                              30

Coming from us.

KENT  My lord, when at their home

I did commend your Highness’ letters to them,

Ere I was risen from the place that showed

My duty kneeling, came there a reeking post,                                     35

Stewed in his haste, half breathless, panting forth

From Goneril his mistress salutations;

Delivered letters, spite of intermission,

Which presently they read; on whose contents

They summoned up their meiny, straight took                                   40

horse,

Commanded me to follow and attend

The leisure of their answer, gave me cold looks;

And meeting here the other messenger,

Whose welcome, I perceived, had poisoned mine,                             45

Being the very fellow which of late

Displayed so saucily against your Highness,

Having more man than wit about me, drew.

He raised the house with loud and coward cries.

Your son and daughter found this trespass worth                              50

The shame which here it suffers.

FOOL  Winter’s not gone yet if the wild geese fly that

way.

Fathers that wear rags

Do make their children blind,                                                   55

But fathers that bear bags

Shall see their children kind.

Fortune, that arrant whore,

Ne’er turns the key to th’ poor.

But, for all this, thou shalt have as many dolors for                       60

thy daughters as thou canst tell in a year.

LEAR

O, how this mother swells up toward my heart!

Hysterica passio, down, thou climbing sorrow!

Thy element’s below.—Where is this daughter?

KENT  With the Earl, sir, here within.                                                        65

LEAR, to Fool and Gentleman  Follow me not. Stay

here.                                                                                               He exits.

GENTLEMAN

Made you no more offense but what you speak of?

KENT  None.

How chance the King comes with so small a number?                      70

FOOL  An thou hadst been set i’ th’ stocks for that

question, thou ’dst well deserved it.

KENT  Why, Fool?

FOOL  We’ll set thee to school to an ant to teach thee

there’s no laboring i’ th’ winter. All that follow                                75

their noses are led by their eyes but blind men, and

there’s not a nose among twenty but can smell him

that’s stinking. Let go thy hold when a great wheel

runs down a hill lest it break thy neck with following;

but the great one that goes upward, let him                                      80

draw thee after. When a wise man gives thee better

counsel, give me mine again. I would have none but

knaves follow it, since a Fool gives it.

That sir which serves and seeks for gain,

And follows but for form,                                                         85

Will pack when it begins to rain

And leave thee in the storm.

But I will tarry; the Fool will stay,

And let the wise man fly.

The knave turns fool that runs away;                                       90

The Fool no knave, perdie.

KENT  Where learned you this, Fool?

FOOL  Not i’ th’ stocks, fool.

Enter Lear and Gloucester.

LEAR

Deny to speak with me? They are sick? They are

weary?                                                                                                     95

They have traveled all the night? Mere fetches,

The images of revolt and flying off.

Fetch me a better answer.

GLOUCESTER  My dear lord,

You know the fiery quality of the Duke,                                            100

How unremovable and fixed he is

In his own course.

LEAR

Vengeance, plague, death, confusion!

“Fiery”? What “quality”? Why Gloucester,

Gloucester,                                                                                            105

I’d speak with the Duke of Cornwall and his wife.

GLOUCESTER

Well, my good lord, I have informed them so.

LEAR

“Informed them”? Dost thou understand me,

man?

GLOUCESTER  Ay, my good lord.                                                         110

LEAR

The King would speak with Cornwall. The dear

father

Would with his daughter speak, commands, tends

service.

Are they “informed” of this? My breath and                                    115

blood!

“Fiery”? The “fiery” duke? Tell the hot duke that—

No, but not yet. Maybe he is not well.

Infirmity doth still neglect all office

Whereto our health is bound. We are not ourselves                         120

When nature, being oppressed, commands the mind

To suffer with the body. I’ll forbear,

And am fallen out with my more headier will,

To take the indisposed and sickly fit

For the sound man. Noticing Kent again. Death on                       125

my state! Wherefore

Should he sit here? This act persuades me

That this remotion of the Duke and her

Is practice only. Give me my servant forth.

Go tell the Duke and ’s wife I’d speak with them.                            130

Now, presently, bid them come forth and hear me,

Or at their chamber door I’ll beat the drum

Till it cry sleep to death.

GLOUCESTER  I would have all well betwixt you.

He exits.

LEAR

O me, my heart, my rising heart! But down!                                     135

FOOL  Cry to it, nuncle, as the cockney did to the eels

when she put ’em i’ th’ paste alive. She knapped

’em o’ th’ coxcombs with a stick and cried “Down,

wantons, down!” ’Twas her brother that in pure

kindness to his horse buttered his hay.                                            140

Enter Cornwall, Regan, Gloucester, Servants.

LEAR  Good morrow to you both.

CORNWALL  Hail to your Grace.

Kent here set at liberty.

REGAN  I am glad to see your Highness.

LEAR

Regan, I think you are. I know what reason

I have to think so: if thou shouldst not be glad,                               145

I would divorce me from thy mother’s tomb,

Sepulch’ring an adult’ress. To Kent. O, are you

free?

Some other time for that.—Belovèd Regan,

Thy sister’s naught. O Regan, she hath tied                                       150

Sharp-toothed unkindness, like a vulture, here.

I can scarce speak to thee. Thou ’lt not believe

With how depraved a quality—O Regan!

REGAN

I pray you, sir, take patience. I have hope

You less know how to value her desert                                               155

Than she to scant her duty.

LEAR  Say? How is that?

REGAN

I cannot think my sister in the least

Would fail her obligation. If, sir, perchance

She have restrained the riots of your followers,                                160

’Tis on such ground and to such wholesome end

As clears her from all blame.

LEAR  My curses on her.

REGAN  O sir, you are old.

Nature in you stands on the very verge                                              165

Of his confine. You should be ruled and led

By some discretion that discerns your state

Better than you yourself. Therefore, I pray you

That to our sister you do make return.

Say you have wronged her.                                                                  170

LEAR  Ask her forgiveness?

Do you but mark how this becomes the house:

He kneels.

“Dear daughter, I confess that I am old.

Age is unnecessary. On my knees I beg

That you’ll vouchsafe me raiment, bed, and food.”                       175

REGAN

Good sir, no more. These are unsightly tricks.

Return you to my sister.

LEAR, rising  Never, Regan.

She hath abated me of half my train,

Looked black upon me, struck me with her tongue                         180

Most serpentlike upon the very heart.

All the stored vengeances of heaven fall

On her ingrateful top! Strike her young bones,

You taking airs, with lameness!

CORNWALL  Fie, sir, fie!                                                                          185

LEAR

You nimble lightnings, dart your blinding flames

Into her scornful eyes! Infect her beauty,

You fen-sucked fogs drawn by the powerful sun

To fall and blister!

REGAN

O, the blest gods! So will you wish on me                                           190

When the rash mood is on.

LEAR

No, Regan, thou shalt never have my curse.

Thy tender-hefted nature shall not give

Thee o’er to harshness. Her eyes are fierce, but

thine                                                                                                       195

Do comfort and not burn. ’Tis not in thee

To grudge my pleasures, to cut off my train,

To bandy hasty words, to scant my sizes,

And, in conclusion, to oppose the bolt

Against my coming in. Thou better know’st                                      200

The offices of nature, bond of childhood,

Effects of courtesy, dues of gratitude.

Thy half o’ th’ kingdom hast thou not forgot,

Wherein I thee endowed.

REGAN  Good sir, to th’ purpose.                                                            205

Tucket within.

LEAR

Who put my man i’ th’ stocks?

CORNWALL  What trumpet’s that?

REGAN

I know ’t—my sister’s. This approves her letter,

That she would soon be here.

Enter Oswald, the Steward.

Is your lady come?                                                                             210

LEAR

This is a slave whose easy-borrowed pride

Dwells in the fickle grace of her he follows.—

Out, varlet, from my sight!

CORNWALL  What means your Grace?

LEAR

Who stocked my servant? Regan, I have good hope                      215

Thou didst not know on ’t.

Enter Goneril.

Who comes here? O heavens,

If you do love old men, if your sweet sway

Allow obedience, if you yourselves are old,

Make it your cause. Send down and take my part.                         220

To Goneril. Art not ashamed to look upon this

beard?                                                       Regan takes Goneril’s hand.

O Regan, will you take her by the hand?

GONERIL

Why not by th’ hand, sir? How have I offended?

All’s not offense that indiscretion finds                                              225

And dotage terms so.

LEAR  O sides, you are too tough!

Will you yet hold?—How came my man i’ th’

stocks?

CORNWALL

I set him there, sir, but his own disorders                                            230

Deserved much less advancement.

LEAR  You? Did you?

REGAN

I pray you, father, being weak, seem so.

If till the expiration of your month

You will return and sojourn with my sister,                                        235

Dismissing half your train, come then to me.

I am now from home and out of that provision

Which shall be needful for your entertainment.

LEAR

Return to her? And fifty men dismissed?

No! Rather I abjure all roofs, and choose                                          240

To wage against the enmity o’ th’ air,

To be a comrade with the wolf and owl,

Necessity’s sharp pinch. Return with her?

Why the hot-blooded France, that dowerless took

Our youngest born—I could as well be brought                                245

To knee his throne and, squire-like, pension beg

To keep base life afoot. Return with her?

Persuade me rather to be slave and sumpter

To this detested groom.                                          He indicates Oswald.

GONERIL  At your choice, sir.                                                                 250

LEAR

I prithee, daughter, do not make me mad.

I will not trouble thee, my child. Farewell.

We’ll no more meet, no more see one another.

But yet thou art my flesh, my blood, my daughter,

Or, rather, a disease that’s in my flesh,                                               255

Which I must needs call mine. Thou art a boil,

A plague-sore or embossèd carbuncle

In my corrupted blood. But I’ll not chide thee.

Let shame come when it will; I do not call it.

I do not bid the thunder-bearer shoot,                                                260

Nor tell tales of thee to high-judging Jove.

Mend when thou canst. Be better at thy leisure.

I can be patient. I can stay with Regan,

I and my hundred knights.

REGAN  Not altogether so.                                                                       265

I looked not for you yet, nor am provided

For your fit welcome. Give ear, sir, to my sister,

For those that mingle reason with your passion

Must be content to think you old, and so—

But she knows what she does.                                                              270

LEAR  Is this well spoken?

REGAN

I dare avouch it, sir. What, fifty followers?

Is it not well? What should you need of more?

Yea, or so many, sith that both charge and danger

Speak ’gainst so great a number? How in one house                      275

Should many people under two commands

Hold amity? ’Tis hard, almost impossible.

GONERIL

Why might not you, my lord, receive attendance

From those that she calls servants, or from mine?

REGAN

Why not, my lord? If then they chanced to slack                            280

you,

We could control them. If you will come to me

(For now I spy a danger), I entreat you

To bring but five-and-twenty. To no more

Will I give place or notice.                                                                     285

LEAR  I gave you all—

REGAN  And in good time you gave it.

LEAR

Made you my guardians, my depositaries,

But kept a reservation to be followed

With such a number. What, must I come to you                              290

With five-and-twenty? Regan, said you so?

REGAN

And speak ’t again, my lord. No more with me.

LEAR

Those wicked creatures yet do look well-favored

When others are more wicked. Not being the worst

Stands in some rank of praise. To Goneril. I’ll go                            295

with thee.

Thy fifty yet doth double five-and-twenty,

And thou art twice her love.

GONERIL  Hear me, my lord.

What need you five-and-twenty, ten, or five,                                   300

To follow in a house where twice so many

Have a command to tend you?

REGAN  What need one?

LEAR

O, reason not the need! Our basest beggars

Are in the poorest thing superfluous.                                                   305

Allow not nature more than nature needs,

Man’s life is cheap as beast’s. Thou art a lady;

If only to go warm were gorgeous,

Why, nature needs not what thou gorgeous wear’st,

Which scarcely keeps thee warm. But, for true                                 310

need—

You heavens, give me that patience, patience I need!

You see me here, you gods, a poor old man

As full of grief as age, wretched in both.

If it be you that stirs these daughters’ hearts                                     315

Against their father, fool me not so much

To bear it tamely. Touch me with noble anger,

And let not women’s weapons, water drops,

Stain my man’s cheeks.—No, you unnatural hags,

I will have such revenges on you both                                                320

That all the world shall—I will do such things—

What they are yet I know not, but they shall be

The terrors of the Earth! You think I’ll weep.

No, I’ll not weep.

I have full cause of weeping, but this heart                                       325

Storm and tempest.

Shall break into a hundred thousand flaws

Or ere I’ll weep.—O Fool, I shall go mad!

Lear, Kent, and Fool exit

with Gloucester and the Gentleman.

CORNWALL  Let us withdraw. ’Twill be a storm.

REGAN

This house is little. The old man and ’s people

Cannot be well bestowed.                                                                     330

GONERIL

’Tis his own blame hath put himself from rest,

And must needs taste his folly.

REGAN

For his particular, I’ll receive him gladly,

But not one follower.

GONERIL

So am I purposed. Where is my lord of Gloucester?                        335

CORNWALL

Followed the old man forth.

Enter Gloucester.

He is returned.

GLOUCESTER  The King is in high rage.

CORNWALL  Whither is he going?

GLOUCESTER

He calls to horse, but will I know not whither.                                   340

CORNWALL

’Tis best to give him way. He leads himself.

GONERIL, to Gloucester

My lord, entreat him by no means to stay.

GLOUCESTER

Alack, the night comes on, and the high winds

Do sorely ruffle. For many miles about

There’s scarce a bush.                                                                            345

REGAN  O sir, to willful men

The injuries that they themselves procure

Must be their schoolmasters. Shut up your doors.

He is attended with a desperate train,

And what they may incense him to, being apt                                  350

To have his ear abused, wisdom bids fear.

CORNWALL

Shut up your doors, my lord. ’Tis a wild night.

My Regan counsels well. Come out o’ th’ storm.

They exit.