Part IV, The Early Modern Literary Period, also known as the English Renaissance
37
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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.