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I assume students will use No Fear Shakespeare for help following the Early Modern English. That is fine, but be sure to read the Early Modern English as well.

No Fear Shakespeare King Lear

King Lear

By William Shakespeare

Edited by Barbara A. Mowat and Paul Werstine

with Michael Poston and Rebecca Niles

Folger Shakespeare Library

http://www.folgerdigitaltexts.org/?chapter=5&play=Lr

Created on Apr 23, 2016, from FDT version 0.9.2.1.

This work is licensed under

Link to License: Folger Shakespeare Library Terms of Use

Characters in the Play

LEAR, king of Britain

GONERIL, Lear’s eldest daughter

DUKE OF ALBANY, her husband

OSWALD, her steward

REGAN, Lear’s second daughter

DUKE OF CORNWALL, her husband

CORDELIA, Lear’s youngest daughter

KING OF FRANCE, her suitor and then husband

DUKE OF BURGUNDY, her suitor

EARL OF KENT

FOOL

EARL OF GLOUCESTER

EDGAR, his elder son

EDMUND, his younger and illegitimate son

CURAN, gentleman of Gloucester’s household

OLD MAN, a tenant of Gloucester’s

KNIGHT, serving Lear

GENTLEMEN

Three SERVANTS

MESSENGERS

DOCTOR

CAPTAINS

HERALD

Knights in Lear’s train, Servants, Officers, Soldiers, Attendants, Gentlemen

ACT 1

Scene 1

Enter Kent, Gloucester, and Edmund.

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                             5 (line number)

weighed 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 blushed to acknowledge                             10

him that now I am brazed to ’t.

KENT  I cannot conceive you.

GLOUCESTER  Sir, this young fellow’s mother could,

whereupon she grew round-wombed and had indeed,

sir, a son for her cradle ere she had a husband                                15

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 a son, sir, by order of law,

some year elder than this, who yet is no dearer in                           20

my account. Though this knave came something

saucily to 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?                                              25

EDMUND  No, my lord.

GLOUCESTER  My lord of Kent. Remember him hereafter

as my honorable friend.

EDMUND  My services to your Lordship.

KENT  I must love you and sue to know you better.                             30

EDMUND  Sir, I shall study deserving.

GLOUCESTER  He hath been out nine years, and away he

shall again. (Sennet.) The King is coming.

Enter King Lear, Cornwall, Albany, Goneril, Regan,
Cordelia, and Attendants.

LEAR

Attend the lords of France and Burgundy,

Gloucester.                                                                                              35

GLOUCESTER  I shall, my lord.                                                     He exits.

LEAR

Meantime we shall express our darker purpose.—

Give me the map there.                                            He is handed a map.

Know that we have divided

In three our kingdom, and ’tis our fast intent                                      40

To shake all cares and business from our age,

Conferring them on younger strengths, while we

Unburdened crawl toward death. Our son of

Cornwall

And you, our no less loving son of Albany,                                         45

We have this hour a constant will to publish

Our daughters’ several dowers, that future strife

May be prevented now.

The two great princes, France and Burgundy,

Great rivals in our youngest daughter’s love,                                       50

Long in our court have made their amorous sojourn

And here are to be answered. Tell me, my

daughters—

Since now we will divest us both of rule,

Interest of territory, cares of state—                                                     55

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 word can wield the                                      60

matter,

Dearer than eyesight, space, and liberty,

Beyond what can be valued, rich or rare,

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

As much as child e’er loved, or father found;                                     65

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, pointing to the map

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

With shadowy forests and with champains riched,                            70

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 of Cornwall? Speak.                                     75

REGAN

I am made of that self mettle as my sister

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                                                         80

Which the most precious square of sense

possesses,

And find I am alone felicitate

In your dear Highness’ love.

CORDELIA, aside  Then poor Cordelia!                                                  85

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

More ponderous 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                                                 90

Than that conferred on Goneril.—Now, our joy,

Although our last and least, to whose young love

The vines of France and milk of Burgundy

Strive to be interessed, what can you say to draw

A third more opulent than your sisters’? Speak.                                 95

CORDELIA  Nothing, my lord.

LEAR  Nothing?

CORDELIA  Nothing.

LEAR

Nothing will come of nothing. Speak again.

CORDELIA

Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave                                                   100

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 you may mar your fortunes.

CORDELIA  Good my lord,                                                                      105

You have begot me, bred me, loved me.

I return those duties back as are right fit:

Obey you, love you, and most honor you.

Why have my sisters husbands if they say

They love you all? Haply, when I shall wed,                                     110

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.                                                                            115

LEAR  But goes thy heart with this?

CORDELIA  Ay, my good 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,                                        120

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,                                                  125

Propinquity, and property of blood,

And as a stranger to my heart and me

Hold thee from this forever. The barbarous

Scythian,

Or he that makes his generation messes                                             130

To gorge his appetite, shall to my bosom

Be as well neighbored, pitied, and relieved

As thou my sometime daughter.

KENT  Good my liege—

LEAR  Peace, Kent.                                                                                    135

Come not between the dragon and his wrath.

I loved her most and thought to set my rest

On her kind nursery. To Cordelia. Hence and avoid

my sight!—

So be my grave my peace as here I give                                            140

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

Call Burgundy. An Attendant exits. Cornwall and

Albany,

With my two daughters’ dowers digest the third.

Let pride, which she calls plainness, marry her.                                145

I do invest you jointly with 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 sustained, shall our abode                                            150

Make with you by due turn. Only we shall retain

The name and all th’ addition to a king.

The sway, revenue, execution of the rest,

Belovèd sons, be yours, which to confirm,

This coronet part between you.                                                            155

KENT  Royal Lear,

Whom I have ever honored as my king,

Loved as my father, as my master followed,

As my great patron thought on in my prayers—

LEAR

The bow is bent and drawn. Make from the shaft.                          160

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 honor’s                       165

bound

When majesty falls to folly. Reserve thy state,

And in thy best consideration check

This hideous rashness. Answer my life my

judgment,                                                                                              170

Thy youngest daughter does not love thee least,

Nor are those empty-hearted whose low sounds

Reverb no hollowness.

LEAR  Kent, on thy life, no more.

KENT

My life I never held but as a pawn                                                      175

To wage against thine enemies, nor fear to lose

it,

Thy safety being motive.

LEAR  Out of my sight!

KENT

See better, Lear, and let me still remain                                              180

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!                                                                     185

ALBANY/CORNWALL  Dear sir, forbear.

KENT

Kill thy physician, and thy fee bestow

Upon the foul disease. Revoke thy gift,

Or whilst I can vent clamor from my throat,

I’ll tell thee thou dost evil.                                                                     190

LEAR

Hear me, recreant; on thine allegiance, hear me!

That thou hast sought to make us break our vows—

Which we durst never yet—and with strained pride

To come betwixt our sentence and our power,

Which nor our nature nor our place can bear,                                   195

Our potency made good, take thy reward:

Five days we do allot thee for provision

To shield thee from disasters of the world,

And on the sixth to turn thy hated back

Upon our kingdom. If on the tenth day following                            200

Thy banished trunk be found in our dominions,

The moment is thy death. Away! By Jupiter,

This shall not be revoked.

KENT

Fare thee well, king. Sith thus thou wilt appear,

Freedom lives hence, and banishment is here.                                  205

To Cordelia. The gods to their dear shelter take

thee, maid,

That justly think’st and hast most rightly said.

To Goneril and Regan. And your large speeches

may your deeds approve,                                                                  210

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.

He exits.

Flourish. Enter Gloucester with France, and Burgundy,
and Attendants.

GLOUCESTER

Here’s France and Burgundy, my noble lord.

LEAR  My lord of Burgundy,                                                                   215

We first address toward you, who with this king

Hath rivaled for our daughter. What in the least

Will you require in present dower with her,

Or cease your quest of love?

BURGUNDY  Most royal Majesty,                                                         220

I crave no more than hath your Highness offered,

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 fallen. Sir, there she stands.                              225

If aught within that little seeming substance,

Or all of it, with our displeasure pieced

And nothing more, may fitly like your Grace,

She’s there, and she is yours.

BURGUNDY  I know no answer.                                                             230

LEAR

Will you, with those infirmities she owes,

Unfriended, new-adopted to our hate,

Dowered with our curse and strangered with our

oath,

Take her or leave her?                                                                           235

BURGUNDY  Pardon me, royal sir,

Election makes not up in such conditions.

LEAR

Then leave her, sir, for by the power that made me

I tell you all her wealth.—For you, great king,

I would not from your love make such a stray                                 240

To match you where I hate. Therefore beseech you

T’ avert your liking a more worthier way

Than on a wretch whom Nature is ashamed

Almost t’ acknowledge hers.

FRANCE  This is most strange,                                                                245

That she whom even but now was your best

object,

The argument of your praise, balm of your age,

The best, the dearest, should in this trice of time

Commit a thing so monstrous to dismantle                                       250

So many folds of favor. Sure her offense

Must be of such unnatural degree

That monsters it, or your forevouched affection

Fall into taint; which to believe of her

Must be a faith that reason without miracle                                     255

Should never plant in me.

CORDELIA, to Lear  I yet beseech your Majesty—

If for I want that glib and oily art

To speak and purpose not, since what I well

intend                                                                                                     260

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

It is no vicious blot, murder, or foulness,

No unchaste action or dishonored step

That hath deprived me of your grace and favor,

But even for want of that for which I am richer:                             265

A still-soliciting eye and such a tongue

That 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 pleased me                           270

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                                       275

When it is mingled with regards that stands

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

She is herself a dowry.

BURGUNDY, to Lear  Royal king,

Give but that portion which yourself proposed,                                280

And here I take Cordelia by the hand,

Duchess of Burgundy.

LEAR

Nothing. I have sworn. I am firm.

BURGUNDY, to Cordelia

I am sorry, then, you have so lost a father

That you must lose a husband.                                                            285

CORDELIA  Peace be with

Burgundy.

Since that respect and fortunes are his love,

I shall not be his wife.

FRANCE

Fairest Cordelia, that art most rich being poor;                                 290

Most choice, forsaken; and most loved, despised,

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                                                                                                   295

My love should kindle to enflamed respect.—

Thy dowerless daughter, king, thrown to my

chance,

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

Not all the dukes of wat’rish Burgundy                                              300

Can buy this unprized 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                                         305

That face of hers again. To Cordelia. Therefore

begone

Without our grace, our love, our benison.—

Come, noble Burgundy.

Flourish. All but France, Cordelia,

Goneril, and Regan exit.

FRANCE  Bid farewell to your sisters.                                                    310

CORDELIA

The jewels of our father, with washed eyes

Cordelia leaves you. I know you what you are,

And like a sister am most loath to call

Your faults as they are named. Love well our

father.                                                                                                    315

To your professèd 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.

REGAN

Prescribe not us our duty.                                                                      320

GONERIL  Let your study

Be to content your lord, who hath received you

At Fortune’s alms. You have obedience scanted

And well are worth the want that you have wanted.

CORDELIA

Time shall unfold what plighted cunning hides,                                325

Who covers faults at last with shame derides.

Well may you prosper.

FRANCE  Come, my fair Cordelia.

France and Cordelia exit.

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

most nearly appertains to us both. I think our                               330

father will hence tonight.

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

with us.

GONERIL  You see how full of changes his age is; the

observation we have made of it hath not been                             335

little. He always loved our sister most, and with

what poor judgment he hath now cast her off

appears too grossly.

REGAN  ’Tis the infirmity of his age. Yet he hath ever

but slenderly known himself.                                                            340

GONERIL  The best and soundest of his time hath been

but rash. Then must we look from his age to

receive not alone the imperfections of long-engraffed

condition, but therewithal the unruly waywardness

that infirm and choleric years bring with                                        345

them.

REGAN  Such unconstant starts are we like to have

from him as this of Kent’s banishment.

GONERIL  There is further compliment of leave-taking

between France and him. Pray you, let us sit                                 350

together. If our father carry authority with such

disposition as he bears, this last surrender of his will

but offend us.

REGAN  We shall further think of it.

GONERIL  We must do something, and i’ th’ heat.                             355

They exit.

Scene 2

Enter Edmund, the Bastard.

EDMUND

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                             5

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,”                            10

“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                                                15

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                                                  20

And my invention thrive, Edmund the base

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

Now, gods, stand up for bastards!

Enter Gloucester.

GLOUCESTER

Kent banished thus? And France in choler parted?

And the King gone tonight, prescribed his power,                               25

Confined to exhibition? All this done

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

EDMUND  So please your Lordship, none. He puts a

paper in his pocket.

GLOUCESTER  Why so earnestly seek you to put up that

letter?                                                                                                       30

EDMUND  I know no news, my lord.

GLOUCESTER  What paper were you reading?

EDMUND  Nothing, my lord.

GLOUCESTER  No? What needed then that terrible dispatch

of it into your pocket? The quality of nothing                                 35

hath not such need to hide itself. Let’s see. Come, if

it be nothing, I shall not need spectacles.

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

from my brother that I have not all o’erread; and

for so much as I have perused, I find it not fit for                          40

your o’erlooking.

GLOUCESTER  Give me the letter, sir.

EDMUND  I shall offend either to detain or give it. The

contents, as in part I understand them, are to

blame.                                                                                                      45

GLOUCESTER  Let’s see, let’s see.

Edmund gives him the paper.

EDMUND  I hope, for my brother’s justification, he

wrote this but as an essay or taste of my virtue.

GLOUCESTER (reads)  This policy and reverence of age

makes the world bitter to the best of our times, keeps                    50

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 suffered. Come to me, that of this I

may speak more. If our father would sleep till I waked                  55

him, you should enjoy half his revenue forever and

live the beloved of your brother.                                                Edgar.

Hum? Conspiracy? “Sleep till I wake him, you

should enjoy half his revenue.” My son Edgar! Had

he a hand to write this? A heart and brain to breed it                     60

in?—When came you to this? Who brought it?

EDMUND  It was not brought me, my lord; there’s the

cunning of it. I found it thrown in at the casement

of my closet.

GLOUCESTER  You know the character to be your                             65

brother’s?

EDMUND  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.

GLOUCESTER  It is his.                                                                              70

EDMUND  It is his hand, my lord, but I hope his heart is

not in the contents.

GLOUCESTER  Has he never before sounded you in this

business?

EDMUND  Never, my lord. But I have heard him oft                            75

maintain it to be fit that, sons at perfect age and

fathers declined, the father should be as ward to the

son, and the son manage his revenue.

GLOUCESTER  O villain, villain! His very opinion in the

letter. Abhorred villain! Unnatural, detested, brutish                      80

villain! Worse than brutish!—Go, sirrah, seek

him. I’ll apprehend him.—Abominable villain!—

Where is he?

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

you to suspend your indignation against my brother                     85

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

honor and shake in pieces the heart of his obedience.                   90

I dare pawn down my life for him that he hath

writ this to feel my affection to your Honor, and to

no other pretense of danger.

GLOUCESTER  Think you so?

EDMUND  If your Honor judge it meet, I will place you                      95

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.

GLOUCESTER  He cannot be such a monster.

EDMUND  Nor is not, sure.                                                                       100

GLOUCESTER  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.                                                       105

EDMUND  I will seek him, sir, presently, convey the

business as I shall find means, and acquaint you

withal.

GLOUCESTER  These late eclipses in the sun and moon

portend no good to us. Though the wisdom of                              110

nature can reason it thus and thus, yet nature finds

itself scourged by the sequent effects. Love cools,

friendship falls off, brothers divide; in cities, mutinies;

in countries, discord; in palaces, treason; and

the bond cracked ’twixt son and father. This villain                    115

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                             120

graves.—Find out this villain, Edmund. It shall

lose thee nothing. Do it carefully.—And the noble

and true-hearted Kent banished! His offense, honesty!

’Tis strange.                                                                                  He exits.

EDMUND  This is the excellent foppery of the world, that                 125

when we are sick in fortune (often the surfeits of

our own behavior) we make guilty of our disasters

the sun, the moon, and stars, as if we were villains

on necessity; fools by heavenly compulsion; knaves,

thieves, and treachers by spherical predominance;                      130

drunkards, liars, and adulterers by an enforced

obedience of planetary influence; and all that we

are evil in, by a divine thrusting on. An admirable

evasion of whoremaster man, to lay his goatish

disposition on the charge of a star! My father                               135

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—                        140

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.

EDGAR  How now, brother Edmund, what serious contemplation  145

are you in?

EDMUND  I am thinking, brother, of a prediction I read

this other day, what should follow these eclipses.

EDGAR  Do you busy yourself with that?

EDMUND  I promise you, the effects he writes of succeed                150

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,                               155

nuptial breaches, and I know not what.

EDGAR  How long have you been a sectary

astronomical?

EDMUND  Come, come, when saw you my father last?

EDGAR  The night gone by.                                                                      160

EDMUND  Spake you with him?

EDGAR  Ay, two hours together.

EDMUND  Parted you in good terms? Found you no

displeasure in him by word nor countenance?

EDGAR  None at all.                                                                                  165

EDMUND  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                      170

scarcely allay.

EDGAR  Some villain hath done me wrong.

EDMUND  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                          175

whence I will fitly bring you to hear my lord speak.

Pray you go. There’s my key. If you do stir abroad,

go armed.

EDGAR  Armed, brother?

EDMUND  Brother, I advise you to the best. I am no                         180

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.

EDGAR  Shall I hear from you anon?                                                    185

EDMUND  I do serve you in this business.                              Edgar exits.

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.                                         190

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

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

He exits.

Scene 3

Enter Goneril and Oswald, her Steward.

GONERIL  Did my father strike my gentleman for chiding

of his Fool?

OSWALD  Ay, madam.

GONERIL

By day and night he wrongs me. Every hour

He flashes into one gross crime or other                                                 5

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,                                                   10

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

OSWALD  He’s coming, madam. I hear him.

GONERIL

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 my sister,                                                      15

Whose mind and mine I know in that are one,

Not to be overruled. 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 used                                       20

With checks as flatteries, when they are seen

abused.

Remember what I have said.

OSWALD  Well, madam.

GONERIL

And let his knights have colder looks among you.                             25

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.

They exit in different directions.

Scene 4

Enter Kent in disguise.

KENT

If but as well I other accents borrow

That can my speech diffuse, my good intent

May carry through itself to that full issue

For which I razed my likeness. Now, banished Kent,

If thou canst serve where thou dost stand                                              5

condemned,

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

Shall find thee full of labors.

Horns within. Enter Lear, Knights, and Attendants.

LEAR  Let me not stay a jot for dinner. Go get it ready.

An Attendant exits.

How now, what art thou?                                                                     10

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                         15

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                      20

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?                                                               25

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?                                                                                     30

KENT  Authority.

LEAR  What services canst 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                                 35

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.                                                                        40

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.

An Attendant exits.

Enter Oswald, the Steward.

You, you, sirrah, where’s my daughter?                                            45

OSWALD  So please you—                                                              He exits.

LEAR  What says the fellow there? Call the clotpole

back. A Knight exits. Where’s my Fool? Ho! I think

the world’s asleep.

Enter Knight again.

How now? Where’s that mongrel?                                                     50

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

LEAR  Why came not the slave back to me when I

called him?

KNIGHT  Sir, he answered me in the roundest manner,

he would not.                                                                                          55

LEAR  He would not?

KNIGHT  My lord, I know not what the matter is, but to

my judgment your Highness is not entertained

with that ceremonious affection as you were wont.

There’s a great abatement of kindness appears as                         60

well in the general dependents as in the Duke

himself also, and your daughter.

LEAR  Ha? Sayst thou so?

KNIGHT  I beseech you pardon me, my lord, if I be

mistaken, for my duty cannot be silent when I think                     65

your Highness wronged.

LEAR  Thou but remembrest 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 pretense and purpose of                            70

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                         75

and tell my daughter I would speak with her. An

Attendant exits. Go you call hither my Fool.

Another exits.

Enter Oswald, the Steward.

O you, sir, you, come you hither, sir. Who am I, sir?

OSWALD  My lady’s father.

LEAR  “My lady’s father”? My lord’s knave! You whoreson             80

dog, you slave, you cur!

OSWALD  I am none of these, my lord, I beseech your

pardon.

LEAR  Do you bandy looks with me, you rascal?

Lear strikes him.

OSWALD  I’ll not be strucken, my lord.                                                   85

KENT, tripping him  Nor tripped neither, you base

football player?

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

love thee.

KENT, to Oswald  Come, sir, arise. Away. I’ll teach you                      90

differences. Away, away. If you will measure your

lubber’s length again, tarry. But away. Go to. Have

you wisdom? So.                                                                Oswald exits.

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

earnest of thy service.                                 He gives Kent a purse.  95

Enter Fool.

FOOL  Let me hire him too. To Kent. Here’s my

coxcomb.                                                            He offers Kent his cap.

LEAR  How now, my pretty knave, how dost thou?

FOOL, to Kent  Sirrah, you were best take my

coxcomb.                                                                                              100

LEAR  Why, my boy?

FOOL  Why? For taking one’s part that’s out of favor.

To Kent. Nay, an thou canst not smile as the

wind sits, thou ’lt catch cold shortly. There, take my

coxcomb. Why, this fellow has banished two on ’s                      105

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?                                                                                110

FOOL  If I gave them all my living, I’d 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                                 115

whipped out, when the Lady Brach may stand by th’

fire and stink.

LEAR  A pestilent gall to me!

FOOL  Sirrah, I’ll teach thee a speech.

LEAR  Do.                                                                                                    120

FOOL  Mark it, nuncle:

Have more than thou showest.

Speak less than thou knowest,

Lend less than thou owest,

Ride more than thou goest,                                                       125

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                                                         130

Than two tens to a score.

KENT  This is nothing, Fool.

FOOL  Then ’tis like the breath of an unfee’d lawyer.

You gave me nothing for ’t.—Can you make no use

of nothing, nuncle?                                                                             135

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!                                                                                   140

FOOL  Dost know the difference, my boy, between a

bitter fool and a sweet one?

LEAR  No, lad, teach me.

FOOL     That lord that counseled thee

To give away thy land,                                                           145

Come place him here by me;

Do thou for him stand.

The sweet and bitter fool

Will presently appear:

The one in motley here,                                                             150

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.                                            155

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.—Nuncle, give me

an egg, and I’ll give thee two crowns.                                              160

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                         165

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 whipped that first

finds it so. Sings.

Fools had ne’er less grace in a year,                                        170

For wise men are grown foppish

And know not how their wits to wear,

Their manners are so apish.

LEAR  When were you wont to be so full of songs,

sirrah?                                                                                                    175

FOOL  I have used it, nuncle, e’er since thou mad’st thy

daughters thy mothers. 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,                                                             180

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 whipped.                              185

FOOL  I marvel what kin thou and thy daughters are.

They’ll have me whipped for speaking true, thou ’lt

have me whipped for lying, and sometimes I am

whipped for holding my peace. I had rather be any

kind o’ thing than a Fool. And yet I would not be                        190

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 of late i’ th’ frown.                               195

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                       200

me, though you say nothing.

Mum, mum,

He that keeps nor crust nor crumb,

Weary of all, shall want some.

He points at Lear.

That’s a shelled peascod.                                                                   205

GONERIL

Not only, sir, this your all-licensed Fool,

But other of your insolent retinue

Do hourly carp and quarrel, breaking forth

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

I had thought by making this well known unto you                        210

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                           215

Which in the tender of a wholesome weal

Might in their working do you that offense,

Which else were shame, that then necessity

Will call discreet proceeding.

FOOL  For you know, nuncle,                                                                   220

The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long,

That it’s had it head bit off by it young.

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

LEAR  Are you our daughter?

GONERIL

I would you would make use of your good wisdom,                       225

Whereof I know you are fraught, and put away

These dispositions which of late transport you

From what you rightly are.

FOOL  May not an ass know when the cart draws the

horse? Whoop, Jug, I love thee!                                                        230

LEAR

Does any here know me? This is not Lear.

Does Lear walk thus, speak thus? Where are his

eyes?

Either his notion weakens, his discernings

Are lethargied—Ha! Waking? ’Tis not so.                                         235

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                      240

I had daughters.

FOOL  Which they will make an obedient father.

LEAR  Your name, fair gentlewoman?

GONERIL

This admiration, sir, is much o’ th’ savor

Of other your new pranks. I do beseech you                                     245

To understand my purposes aright.

As you are old and reverend, should be wise.

Here do you keep a hundred knights and squires,

Men so disordered, so debauched and bold,

That this our court, infected with their manners,                              250

Shows like a riotous inn. Epicurism and lust

Makes it more like a tavern or a brothel

Than a graced palace. The shame itself doth speak

For instant remedy. Be then desired,

By her that else will take the thing she begs,                                      255

A little to disquantity your train,

And the remainders that shall still depend

To be such men as may besort your age,

Which know themselves and you.

LEAR  Darkness and                                                                                  260

devils!—

Saddle my horses. Call my train together.

Some exit.

Degenerate bastard, I’ll not trouble thee.

Yet have I left a daughter.

GONERIL

You strike my people, and your disordered rabble                           265

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.

Some exit.

Ingratitude, thou marble-hearted fiend,                                             270

More hideous when thou show’st thee in a child

Than the sea monster!

ALBANY  Pray, sir, be patient.

LEAR, to Goneril  Detested kite, thou liest.

My train are men of choice and rarest parts,                                    275

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, wrenched my frame of                                  280

nature

From the fixed place, drew from my heart all love

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

He strikes his head.

Beat at this gate that let thy folly in

And thy dear judgment out. Go, go, my people.                               285

Some exit.

ALBANY

My lord, I am guiltless as I am ignorant

Of what hath moved you.

LEAR  It may be so, my lord.—

Hear, Nature, hear, dear goddess, hear!

Suspend thy purpose if thou didst intend                                           290

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 honor her. If she must teem,                                              295

Create her child of spleen, that it may live

And be a thwart disnatured 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                                            300

To laughter and contempt, that she may feel

How sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is

To have a thankless child.—Away, away!

Lear and the rest of his train exit.

ALBANY

Now, gods that we adore, whereof comes this?

GONERIL

Never afflict yourself to know more of it,                                          305

But let his disposition have that scope

As dotage gives it.

Enter Lear and the Fool.

LEAR

What, fifty of my followers at a clap?

Within a fortnight?

ALBANY  What’s the matter, sir?                                                           310

LEAR

I’ll tell thee. To Goneril. Life and death! I am

ashamed

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                     315

thee!

Th’ untented woundings of a father’s curse

Pierce every sense about thee! Old fond eyes,

Beweep this cause again, I’ll pluck you out

And cast you, with the waters that you loose,                                   320

To temper clay. Yea, is ’t come to this?

Ha! Let it be so. I have another daughter

Who, I am sure, is kind and comfortable.

When she shall hear this of thee, with her nails

She’ll flay thy wolvish visage. Thou shalt find                                 325

That I’ll resume the shape which thou dost think

I have cast off forever.                                                                 He exits.

GONERIL  Do you mark that?

ALBANY

I cannot be so partial, Goneril,

To the great love I bear you—                                                             330

GONERIL  Pray you, content.—What, Oswald, ho!—

You, sir, more knave than Fool, after your master.

FOOL  Nuncle Lear, Nuncle Lear, tarry. Take the Fool

with thee.

A fox, when one has caught her,                                              335

And such a daughter,

Should sure to the slaughter,

If my cap would buy a halter.

So the Fool follows after. He exits.

GONERIL

This man hath had good counsel. A hundred                                   340

knights!

’Tis politic and safe to let him keep

At point a hundred knights! Yes, that on every

dream,

Each buzz, each fancy, each complaint, dislike,                              345

He may enguard his dotage with their powers

And hold our lives in mercy.—Oswald, I say!

ALBANY  Well, you may fear too far.

GONERIL  Safer than trust too far.

Let me still take away the harms I fear,                                             350

Not fear still to be taken. I know his heart.

What he hath uttered I have writ my sister.

If she sustain him and his hundred knights

When I have showed th’ unfitness—

Enter Oswald, the Steward.

How now, Oswald?                                                                             355

What, have you writ that letter to my sister?

OSWALD  Ay, madam.

GONERIL

Take you some company and away to horse.

Inform her full of my particular fear,

And thereto add such reasons of your own                                       360

As may compact it more. Get you gone,

And hasten your return. Oswald exits. No, no, my

lord,

This milky gentleness and course of yours,

Though I condemn not, yet, under pardon,                                       365

You are much more at task for want of wisdom

Than praised for harmful mildness.

ALBANY

How far your eyes may pierce I cannot tell.

Striving to better, oft we mar what’s well.

GONERIL  Nay, then—

370

ALBANY  Well, well, th’ event.

They exit.

Scene 5

Enter Lear, Kent in disguise, Gentleman, and Fool.

LEAR, to Kent  Go you before to Gloucester with these

letters. Acquaint my daughter no further with anything

you know than comes from her demand out of

the letter. If your diligence be not speedy, I shall be

there afore you.                                                                                        5

KENT  I will not sleep, my lord, till I have delivered

your letter.                                                                                    He exits.

FOOL  If a man’s brains were in ’s heels, were ’t not in

danger of kibes?

LEAR  Ay, boy.                                                                                             10

FOOL  Then, I prithee, be merry; thy wit shall not go

slipshod.

LEAR  Ha, ha, ha!

FOOL  Shalt see thy other daughter will use thee kindly,

for, though she’s as like this as a crab’s like an                               15

apple, yet I can tell what I can tell.

LEAR  What canst tell, boy?

FOOL  She will taste as like this as a crab does to a crab.

Thou canst tell why one’s nose stands i’ th’ middle

on ’s face?                                                                                               20

LEAR  No.

FOOL  Why, to keep one’s eyes of either side ’s nose,

that what a man cannot smell out he may spy into.

LEAR  I did her wrong.

FOOL  Canst tell how an oyster makes his shell?                                    25

LEAR  No.

FOOL  Nor I neither. But I can tell why a snail has a

house.

LEAR  Why?

FOOL  Why, to put ’s head in, not to give it away to his                       30

daughters and leave his horns without a case.

LEAR  I will forget my nature. So kind a father!—Be

my horses ready?                                                         Gentleman exits.

FOOL  Thy asses are gone about ’em. The reason why

the seven stars are no more than seven is a pretty                          35

reason.

LEAR  Because they are not eight.

FOOL  Yes, indeed. Thou wouldst make a good Fool.

LEAR  To take ’t again perforce! Monster ingratitude!

FOOL  If thou wert my Fool, nuncle, I’d have thee                                40

beaten for being old before thy time.

LEAR  How’s that?

FOOL  Thou shouldst not have been old till thou hadst

been wise.

LEAR

O, let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven!                                   45

Keep me in temper. I would not be mad!

Enter Gentleman.

How now, are the horses ready?

GENTLEMAN  Ready, my lord.

LEAR  Come, boy.

FOOL

She that’s a maid now and laughs at my departure,                          50

Shall not be a maid long, unless things be cut

shorter.

They exit.