Act I. Scene I.


A Room of State in KING LEAR’S Palace.
   
 
Enter KENT, GLOUCESTER, and EDMUND.
   
  Kent.  I thought the king had more affected the Duke of Albany than Cornwall.   
  Glo.  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 weighed that curiosity in neither can make choice of either’s moiety.      4
  Kent.  Is not this your son, my lord?   
  Glo.  His breeding, sir, hath been at my charge: I have so often blushed to acknowledge him, that now I am brazed to it.   
  Kent.  I cannot conceive you.   
  Glo.  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 for her bed. Do you smell a fault?      8
  Kent.  I cannot wish the fault undone, the issue of it being so proper.   
  Glo.  But I have a son, sir, by order of law, some year elder than this, who yet is no dearer in my account: though this knave came somewhat saucily into the world before he was sent for, yet was his mother fair; there was good sport at his making, and the whoreson must be acknowledged. Do you know this noble gentleman, Edmund?   
  Edm.  No, my lord.   
  Glo.  My Lord of Kent: remember him hereafter as my honourable friend.     12
  Edm.  My services to your lordship.   
  Kent.  I must love you, and sue to know you better.   
  Edm.  Sir, I shall study deserving.   
  Glo.  He hath been out nine years, and away he shall again. The king is coming.     16
 
Sennet. Enter LEAR, CORNWALL, ALBANY, GONERIL, REGAN, CORDELIA, and Attendants.
   
  Lear.  Attend the Lords of France and Burgundy, Gloucester.   
  Glo.  I shall, my liege.  [Exeunt GLOUCESTER and EDMUND.   
  Lear.  Meantime we shall express our darker purpose.     20
Give me the map there. Know that we have divided   
In three our kingdom; and ’tis our fast intent   
To shake all cares and business from our age,   
Conferring them on younger strengths, while we     24
Unburden’d crawl toward death. Our son of Cornwall,   
And you, our no less loving son of Albay,   
We have this hour a constant will to publish   
Our daughtes’ several dowers, that future strife     28
May be prevented now. The princes, France and Burgundy,   
Great rivals in our youngest daughter’s love,   
Long in our court have made their amorous sojourn,   
And here are to be answer’d. Tell me, my daughters,—     32
Since now we will divest us both of rule,   
Interest of territory, cares of state,—   
Which of you shall we say doth love us most?   
That we our largest bounty may extend     36
Where nature doth with merit challenge. Goneril,   
Our eldest-born, speak first.   
  Gon.  Sir, I love you more than words can wield the matter;   
Dearer than eye-sight, space, and liberty;     40
Beyond what can be valu’d, rich or rare;   
No less than life, with grace, health, beauty, honour;   
As much as child e’er lov’d, or father found;   
A love that makes breath poor and speech unable;     44
Beyond all manner of so much I love you.   
  Cor.  [Aside.] What shall Cordelia do? Love, and be silent.   
  Lear.  Of all these bounds, even from this line to this,   
With shadowy forests and with champains rich’d,     48
With plenteous rivers and wide-skirted meads,   
We make thee lady: to thine and Albany’s issue   
Be this perpetual. What says our second daughter,   
Our dearest Regan, wife to Cornwall? Speak.     52
  Reg.  I am made of that self metal 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     56
Myself an enemy to all other joys   
Which the most precious square of sense possesses   
And find I am alone felicitate   
In your dear highness’ love.     60
  Cor.        [Aside.] Then, poor Cordelia!   
And yet not so; since, I am sure, my love’s   
More richer than my tongue.   
  Lear.  To thee and thine, hereditary ever,     64
Remain this ample third of our fair kingdom,   
No less in space, validity, and pleasure,   
Than that conferr’d on Goneril. Now, our joy,   
Although our last, not least; to whose young love     68
The vines of France and milk of Burgundy   
Strive to be interess’d; what can you say to draw   
A third more opulent than your sisters? Speak.   
  Cor.  Nothing, my lord.     72
  Lear.  Nothing?   
  Cor.  Nothing.   
  Lear.  Nothing will come of nothing: speak again.   
  Cor.  Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave     76
My heart into my mouth: I love your majesty   
According to my bond; nor more nor less.   
  Lear.  How, how, Cordelia! mend your speech a little,   
Lest you may mar your fortunes.     80
  Cor.        Good my lord,   
You have begot me, bred me, lov’d me: I   
Return those duties back as are right fit,   
Obey you, love you, and most honour you.     84
Why have my sisters husbands, if they say   
They love you all? Haply, when I shall wed,   
That lord whose hand must take my plight shall carry   
Half my love with him, half my care and duty:     88
Sure I shall never marry like my sisters,   
To love my father all.   
  Lear.  But goes thy heart with this?   
  Cor.        Ay, good my lord.     92
  Lear.  So young, and so untender?   
  Cor.  So young, my lord, and true.   
  Lear.  Let it be so; thy truth then be thy dower:   
For, by the sacred radiance of the sun,     96
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,    100
Propinquity and property of blood,   
And as a stranger to my heart and me   
Hold thee from this for ever. The barbarous Scythian,   
Or he that makes his generation messes    104
To gorge his appetite, shall to my bosom   
Be as well neighbour’d, pitied, and reliev’d,   
As thou my sometime daughter.   
  Kent.        Good my liege,—    108
  Lear.  Peace, Kent!   
Come not between the dragon and his wrath.   
I lov’d her most, and thought to set my rest   
On her kind nursery. Hence, and avoid my sight!    112
So be my grave my peace, as here I give   
Her father’s heart from her! Call France.   
Who stirs?   
Call Burgundy. Cornwall and Albany,    116
With my two daughters’ dowers digest the third;   
Let pride, which she calls plainness, marry her.   
I do invest you jointly with my power,   
Pre-eminence, and all the large effects    120
That troop with majesty. Ourself by monthly course,   
With reservation of a hundred knights,   
By you to be sustain’d, shall our abode   
Make with you by due turn. Only we shall retain    124
The name and all th’ addition to a king;   
The sway, revenue, execution of the rest,   
Beloved sons, be yours: which to confirm,   
This coronet part between you.    128
  Kent.        Royal Lear,   
Whom I have ever honour’d as my king,   
Lov’d as my father, as my master follow’d,   
As my great patron thought on in my prayers,—    132
  Lear.  The bow is bent and drawn; make from the shaft.   
  Kent.  Let it fall rather, though the fork invade   
The region of my heart: be Kent unmannerly   
When Lear is mad. What wouldst thou do, old man?    136
Think’st thou that duty shall have dread to speak   
When power to flattery bows? To plainness honour’s bound   
When majesty falls to folly. Reserve thy state;   
And, in thy best consideration, check    140
This hideous rashness: answer my life my judgment,   
Thy youngest daughter does not love thee least;   
Nor are those empty-hearted whose low sound   
Reverbs no hollowness.    144
  Lear.        Kent, on thy life, no more.   
  Kent.  My life I never held but as a pawn   
To wage against thine enemies; nor fear to lose it,   
Thy safety being the motive.    148
  Lear.        Out of my sight!   
  Kent.  See better, Lear; and let me still remain   
The true blank of thine eye.   
  Lear.  Now, by Apollo,—    152
  Kent.        Now, by Apollo, king,   
Thou swear’st thy gods in vain.   
  Lear.        O vassal! miscreant!  [Laying his hand on his sword.   
  Alb. & Corn.  Dear sir, forbear.    156
  Kent.  Do;   
Kill thy physician, and the fee bestow   
Upon the foul disease. Revoke thy gift;   
Or, whilst I can vent clamour from my throat,    160
I’ll tell thee thou dost evil.   
  Lear.        Hear me, recreant!   
On thine allegiance, hear me!   
Since thou hast sought to make us break our vow,—    164
Which we durst never yet,—and, with strain’d pride   
To come betwixt our sentence and our power,—   
Which nor our nature nor our place can bear,—   
Our potency made good, take thy reward.    168
Five days we do allot thee for provision   
To shield thee from diseases of the world;   
And, on the sixth, to turn thy hated back   
Upon our kingdom: if, on the tenth day following    172
Thy banish’d trunk be found in our dominions,   
The moment is thy death. Away! By Jupiter,   
This shall not be revok’d.   
  Kent.  Fare thee well, king; sith thus thou wilt appear,    176
Freedom lives hence, and banishment is here.   
[To CORDELIA.] The gods to their dear shelter take thee, maid,   
That justly think’st, and hast most rightly said!   
[To REGAN and GONERIL.] And your large speeches may your deeds approve,    180
That good effects may spring from words of love.   
Thus Kent, O princes! bids you all adieu;   
He’ll shape his old course in a country new.  [Exit.   
 
Flourish. Re-enter GLOUCESTER, with FRANCE, BURGUNDY, and Attendants.
    184
  Glo.  Here’s France and Burgundy, my noble lord.   
  Lear.  My Lord of Burgundy,   
We first address toward you, who with this king   
Hath rivall’d for our daughter. What, in the least,    188
Will you require in present dower with her,   
Or cease your quest of love?   
  Bur.        Most royal majesty,   
I crave no more than hath your highness offer’d,    192
Nor will you tender less.   
  Lear.        Right noble Burgundy,   
When she was dear to us we did hold her so,   
But now her price is fall’n. Sir, there she stands:    196
If aught within that little-seeming substance,   
Or all of it, with our displeasure piec’d,   
And nothing more, may fitly like your Grace,   
She’s there, and she is yours.    200
  Bur.        I know no answer.   
  Lear.  Will you, with those infirmities she owes,   
Unfriended, new-adopted to our hate,   
Dower’d with our curse, and stranger’d with our oath,    204
Take her, or leave her?   
  Bur.        Pardon me, royal sir;   
Election makes not up on such conditions.   
  Lear.  Then leave her, sir; for, by the power that made me,    208
I tell you all her wealth.—[To FRANCE.] For you, great king,   
I would not from your love make such a stray   
To match you where I hate; therefore, beseech you   
To avert your liking a more worthier way    212
Than on a wretch whom nature is asham’d   
Almost to acknowledge hers.   
  France.        This is most strange,   
That she, who even but now was your best object,    216
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   
So many folds of favour. Sure, her offence    220
Must be of such unnatural degree   
That monsters it, or your fore-vouch’d affection   
Fall into taint; which to believe of her,   
Must be a faith that reason without miracle    224
Could never plant in me.   
  Cor.        I yet beseech your majesty—   
If for I want that glib and oily art   
To speak and purpose not; since what I well intend,    228
I’ll do ’t before I speak—that you make known   
It is no vicious blot nor other foulness,   
No unchaste action, or dishonour’d step,   
That hath depriv’d me of your grace and favour,    232
But even for want of that for which I am richer,   
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.    236
  Lear.        Better thou   
Hadst not been born than not to have pleas’d me better.   
  France.  Is it but this? a tardiness in nature   
Which often leaves the history unspoke    240
That it intends to do? My Lord of Burgundy,   
What say you to the lady? Love is not love   
When it is mingled with regards that stand   
Aloof from the entire point. Will you have her?    244
She is herself a dowry.   
  Bur.        Royal Lear,   
Give but that portion which yourself propos’d,   
And here I take Cordelia by the hand,    248
Duchess of Burgundy.   
  Lear.  Nothing: I have sworn; I am firm.   
  Bur.  I am sorry, then, you have so lost a father   
That you must lose a husband.    252
  Cor.        Peace be with Burgundy!   
Since that respects of fortune are his love,   
I shall not be his wife.   
  France.  Fairest Cordelia, that art most rich, being poor;    256
Most choice, forsaken; and most lov’d, despis’d!   
Thee and thy virtues here I seize upon:   
Be it lawful I take up what’s cast away.   
Gods, gods! ’tis strange that from their cold’st neglect    260
My love should kindle to inflam’d respect.   
Thy dowerless daughter, king, thrown to my chance,   
Is queen of us, of ours, and our fair France:   
Not all the dukes of waterish Burgundy    264
Shall buy this unpriz’d precious maid of me.   
Bid them farewell, Cordelia, though unkind:   
Thou losest here, a better where to find.   
  Lear.  Thou hast her, France; let her be thine, for we    268
Have no such daughter, nor shall ever see   
That face of hers again, therefore be gone   
Without our grace, our love, our benison.   
Come, noble Burgundy.  [Flourish. Exeunt LEAR, BURGUNDY, CORNWALL, ALBANY, GLOUCESTER, and Attendants.    272
  France.  Bid farewell to your sisters.   
  Cor.  The jewels of our father, with wash’d eyes   
Cordelia leaves you: I know you what you are;   
And like a sister am most loath to call    276
Your faults as they are nam’d. Use well our father:   
To your professed bosoms I commit him:   
But yet, alas! stood I within his grace,   
I would prefer him to a better place.    280
So farewell to you both.   
  Reg.  Prescribe not us our duties.   
  Gon.        Let your study   
Be to content your lord, who hath receiv’d you    284
At fortune’s alms; you have obedience scanted,   
And well are worth the want that you have wanted.   
  Cor.  Time shall unfold what plighted cunning hides;   
Who covers faults, at last shame them derides.    288
Well may you prosper!   
  France.        Come, my fair Cordelia.  [Exit FRANCE and CORDELIA.   
  Gon.  Sister, it is not little I have to say of what most nearly appertains to us both. I think our father will hence to-night.   
  Reg.  That’s most certain, and with you; next month with us.    292
  Gon.  You see how full of changes his age is; the observation we have made of it hath not been little: he always loved our sister most; and with what poor judgment he hath now cast her off appears too grossly.   
  Reg.  ’Tis the infirmity of his age; yet he hath ever but slenderly known himself.   
  Gon.  The best and soundest of his time hath been but rash; then, must we look to receive from his age, not alone the imperfections of long-engraffed condition, but, therewithal the unruly waywardness that infirm and choleric years bring with them.   
  Reg.  Such unconstant starts are we like to have from him as this of Kent’s banishment.    296
  Gon.  There is further compliment of leave-taking between France and him. Pray you, let us hit together: if our father carry authority with such dispositions as he bears, this last surrender of his will but offend us.   
  Reg.  We shall further think on’t.   
  Gon.  We must do something, and i’ the heat.  [Exeunt.

Act I. Scene II.


A Hall in the EARL OF GLOUCESTER’S Castle.
   
 
Enter EDMUND, with a letter.
   
  Edm.  Thou, Nature, art my goddess; to thy law   
My services are bound. Wherefore should I      4
Stand in the plague of custom, and permit   
The curiosity of nations to deprive me,   
For that I am some twelve or fourteen moonshines   
Lag of a brother? Why bastard? wherefore base?      8
When my dimensions are as well compact,   
My mind as generous, and my shape as true,   
As honest madam’s issue? Why brand they us   
With base? with baseness? bastardy? base, base?     12
Who in the lusty stealth of nature take   
More composition and fierce quality   
Than doth, within a dull, stale, tired bed,   
Go to the creating a whole tribe of fops,     16
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 the legitimate. Fine word, ‘legitimate!’     20
Well, my legitimate, if this letter speed,   
And my invention thrive, Edmund the base   
Shall top the legitimate:—I grow, I prosper;   
Now, gods, stand up for bastards!     24
 
Enter GLOUCESTER.
   
  Glo.  Kent banished thus! And France in choler parted!   
And the king gone to-night! subscrib’d his power!   
Confin’d to exhibition! All this done     28
Upon the gad! Edmund, how now! what news?   
  Edm.  So please your lordship, none.  [Putting up the letter.   
  Glo.  Why so earnestly seek you to put up that letter?   
  Edm.  I know no news, my lord.     32
  Glo.  What paper were you reading?   
  Edm.  Nothing, my lord.   
  Glo.  No? What needed then that terrible dispatch of it into your pocket? the quality of nothing hath not such need to hide itself. Let’s see; come; if it be nothing, I shall not need spectacles.   
  Edm.  I beseech you, sir, pardon me; it is a letter from my brother that I have not all o’er-read, and for so much as I have perused, I find it not fit for your o’er-looking.     36
  Glo.  Give me the letter, sir.   
  Edm.  I shall offend, either to detain or give it. The contents, as in part I understand them, are to blame.   
  Glo.  Let’s see, let’s see.   
  Edm.  I hope, for my brother’s justification, he wrote this but as an essay or taste of my virtue.     40
  Glo.  This policy and reverence of age makes the world bitter to the best of our times; keeps our fortunes from us till our oldness cannot relish them. I begin to find an idle and fond bondage in the oppression of aged tyranny, who sways, not as it hath power, but as it is suffered. Come to me, that of this I may speak more. If our father would sleep till I waked him, you should enjoy half his revenue for ever, and live the beloved of your brother, EDGAR.—Hum! Conspiracy! ‘Sleep till I waked him, you should enjoy half his revenue.’—My son Edgar! Had he a hand to write this? a heart and brain to breed it in? When came this to you? Who brought it?   
  Edm.  It was not brought me, my lord; there’s the cunning of it; I found it thrown in at the casement of my closet.   
  Glo.  You know the character to be your brother’s?   
  Edm.  If the matter were good, my lord, I durst swear it were his; but, in respect of that, I would fain think it were not.     44
  Glo.  It is his.   
  Edm.  It is his hand, my lord; but I hope his heart is not in the contents.   
  Glo.  Hath he never heretofore sounded you in this business?   
  Edm.  Never, my lord: but I have often heard him 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.     48
  Glo.  O villain, villain! His very opinion in the letter! Abhorred villain! Unnatural, detested, brutish villain! worse than brutish! Go, sirrah, seek him; I’ll apprehend him. Abominable villain! Where is he?   
  Edm.  I do not well know, my lord. If it shall please you to suspend your indignation against my brother till you can derive from him better testimony of his intent, you shall run a certain course; where, if you violently proceed against him, mistaking his purpose, it would make a great gap in your own honour, and shake in pieces the heart of his obedience. I dare pawn down my life for him, that he hath writ this to feel my affection to your honour, and to no other pretence of danger.   
  Glo.  Think you so?   
  Edm.  If your honour judge it meet, I will place you where you shall hear us confer of this, and by an auricular assurance have your satisfaction; and that without any further delay than this very evening.     52
  Glo.  He cannot be such a monster—   
  Edm.  Nor is not, sure.   
  Glo.  —to his father, that so tenderly and entirely loves him. Heaven and earth! Edmund, seek him out; wind me into him, I pray you: frame the business after your own wisdom. I would unstate myself to be in a due resolution.   
  Edm.  I will seek him, sir, presently; convey the business as I shall find means, and acquaint you withal.     56
  Glo.  These late eclipses in the sun and moon portend no good to us: though the wisdom of nature can reason it thus and thus, yet nature finds itself 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 between son and father. This villain of mine comes under the prediction; there’s son against father: the king falls from bias of nature; there’s father against child. We have seen the best of our time: machinations, hollowness, treachery, and all ruinous disorders, follow us disquietly to our graves. Find out this villain, Edmund; it shall lose thee nothing: do it carefully. And the noble and true-hearted Kent banished! his offence, honesty! ’Tis strange!  [Exit.   
  Edm.  This is the excellent foppery of the world, that, when we are sick in fortune,—often the surfeit of our own behaviour,—we make guilty of our disasters the sun, the moon, and the stars; as if we were villains by necessity, fools by heavenly compulsion, knaves, thieves, and treachers by spherical predominance, 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 to the charge of a star! My father compounded with my mother under the dragon’s tail, and my nativity was under ursa major; so that it follows I am rough and lecherous. ’Sfoot! I should have been that I am had the maidenliest star in the firmament twinkled on my bastardizing. Edgar—   
 
Enter EDGAR.
   
and pat he comes, like the catastrophe of the old comedy: my cue is villanous melancholy, with a sigh like Tom o’ Bedlam. O, these eclipses do portend these divisions! Fa, sol, la, mi.     60
  Edg.  How now, brother Edmund! What serious contemplation are you in?   
  Edm.  I am thinking, brother, of a prediction I read this other day, what should follow these eclipses.   
  Edg.  Do you busy yourself with that?   
  Edm.  I promise you the effects he writes of succeed unhappily; as of unnaturalness between the child and the parent; death, dearth, dissolutions of ancient amities; divisions in state; menaces and maledictions against king and nobles; needless diffidences, banishment of friends, dissipation of cohorts, nuptial breaches, and I know not what.     64
  Edg.  How long have you been a sectary astronomical?   
  Edm.  Come, come; when saw you my father last?   
  Edg.  The night gone by.   
  Edm.  Spake you with him?     68
  Edg.  Ay, two hours together.   
  Edm.  Parted you in good terms? Found you no displeasure in him by word or countenance?   
  Edg.  None at all.   
  Edm.  Bethink yourself wherein you may have offended him; and at my entreaty forbear his presence till some little time hath qualified the heat of his displeasure, which at this instant so rageth in him that with the mischief of your person it would scarcely allay.     72
  Edg.  Some villain hath done me wrong.   
  Edm.  That’s my fear. I pray you have a continent forbearance till the speed of his rage goes slower, and, as I say, retire with me to my lodging, from whence I will fitly bring you to hear my lord speak. Pray you, go; there’s my key. If you do stir abroad, go armed.   
  Edg.  Armed, brother!   
  Edm.  Brother, I advise you to the best; go armed; I am no honest man if there be any good meaning toward you; I have told you what I have seen and heard; but faintly, nothing like the image and horror of it; pray you, away.     76
  Edg.  Shall I hear from you anon?   
  Edm.  I do serve you in this business.  [Exit EDGAR.   
A credulous father, and a brother noble,   
Whose nature is so far from doing harms     80
That he suspects none; on whose foolish honesty   
My practices ride easy! I see the business.   
Let me, if not by birth, have lands by wit:   
All with me ’s meet that I can fashion fit.  [Exit.     84

Act I. Scene III.


A Room in the DUKE OF ALBANY’S Palace.
   
 
Enter GONERIL and OSWALD her Steward.
   
  Gon.  Did my father strike my gentleman for chiding of his fool?   
  Osw.  Ay, madam.      4
  Gon.  By day and night he wrongs me; every hour   
He flashes into one gross crime or other,   
That sets us all at odds: I’ll not endure it:   
His knights grow riotous, and himself upbraids us      8
On every trifle. When he returns from hunting   
I will not speak with him; say I am sick:   
If you come slack of former services,   
You shall do well; the fault of it I’ll answer.     12
  Osw.  He’s coming, madam; I hear him.  [Horns within.   
  Gon.  Put on what weary negligence you please,   
You and your fellows; I’d have it come to question:   
If he distaste it, let him to my sister,     16
Whose mind and mine, I know, in that are one,   
Not to be over-rul’d. Idle old man,   
That still would manage those authorities   
That he hath given away! Now, by my life,     20
Old fools are babes again, and must be us’d   
With checks as flatteries, when they are seen abus’d.   
Remember what I have said.   
  Osw.        Well, madam.     24
  Gon.  And let his knights have colder looks among you;   
What grows of it, no matter; advise your fellows so:   
I would breed from hence occasions, and I shall,   
That I may speak: I’ll write straight to my sister     28
To hold my very course. Prepare for dinner.  [Exeunt.

Act I. Scene IV.


A Hall in the Same.
   
 
Enter KENT, disguised.
   
  Kent.  If but as well I other accents borrow,   
That can my speech diffuse, my good intent      4
May carry through itself to that full issue   
For which I raz’d my likeness. Now, banish’d Kent,   
If thou canst serve where thou dost stand condemn’d,   
So may it come, thy master, whom thou lov’st,      8
Shall find thee full of labours.   
 
Horns within. Enter LEAR, Knights, and Attendants.
   
  Lear.  Let me not stay a jot for dinner. go, get it ready. [Exit an Attendant.] How now! what art thou?   
  Kent.  A man, sir.     12
  Lear.  What dost thou profess? What wouldst thou with us?   
  Kent.  I do profess to be no less than I seem; to serve him truly that will put me in trust; to love him that is honest; to converse with him that is wise, and says little; to fear judgment; to fight when I cannot choose; and to eat no fish.   
  Lear.  What art thou?   
  Kent.  A very honest-hearted fellow, and as poor as the king.     16
  Lear.  If thou be as poor for a subject as he is for a king, thou art poor enough. What wouldst thou?   
  Kent.  Service.   
  Lear.  Whom wouldst thou serve?   
  Kent.  You.     20
  Lear.  Dost thou know me, fellow?   
  Kent.  No, sir; but you have that in your countenance which I would fain call master.   
  Lear.  What’s that?   
  Kent.  Authority.     24
  Lear.  What services canst thou do?   
  Kent.  I can keep honest counsel, ride, run, mar a curious tale in telling it, and deliver a plain message bluntly; that which ordinary men are fit for, I am qualified in, and the best of me is diligence.   
  Lear.  How old art thou?   
  Kent.  Not so young, sir, to love a woman for singing, nor so old to dote on her for any thing; I have years on my back forty-eight.     28
  Lear.  Follow me; thou shalt serve me: if I like thee no worse after dinner I will not part from thee yet. Dinner, ho! dinner! Where’s my knave? my fool? Go you and call my fool hither.  [Exit an Attendant.   
 
Enter OSWALD.
   
You, you, sirrah, where’s my daughter?   
  Osw.  So please you,—  [Exit.     32
  Lear.  What says the fellow there? Call the clotpoll back. [Exit a Knight.] Where’s my fool, ho? I think the world’s asleep. How now! where’s that mongrel?   
 
Re-enter Knight.
   
  Knight.  He says, my lord, your daughter is not well.   
  Lear.  Why came not the slave back to me when I called him?     36
  Knight.  Sir, he answered me in the roundest manner, he would not.   
  Lear.  He would not!   
  Knight.  My lord, I know not what the matter is; but, to my judgment, your highness is not entertained with that ceremonious affection as you were wont; there’s a great abatement of kindness appears as well in the general dependants as in the duke himself also and your daughter.   
  Lear.  Ha! sayest thou so?     40
  Knight.  I beseech you, pardon me, my lord, if I be mistaken; for my duty cannot be silent when I think your highness wronged.   
  Lear.  Thou but rememberest me of mine own conception: I have perceived a most faint neglect of late; which I have rather blamed as mine own jealous curiosity than as a very pretence and purpose of unkindness: I will look further into ’t. But where’s my fool? I have not seen him this two days.   
  Knight.  Since my young lady’s going into France, sir, the fool hath much pined him away.   
  Lear.  No more of that; I have noted it well. Go you and tell my daughter I would speak with her.  [Exit an Attendant.     44
Go you, call hither my fool.  [Exit an Attendant.   
 
Re-enter OSWALD.
   
O! you sir, you, come you hither, sir. Who am I, sir?   
  Osw.  My lady’s father.     48
  Lear.  ‘My lady’s father!’ my lord’s knave: you whoreson dog! you slave! you cur!   
  Osw.  I am none of these, my lord; I beseech your pardon.   
  Lear.  Do you bandy looks with me, you rascal?  [Striking him.   
  Osw.  I’ll not be struck, my lord.     52
  Kent.  Nor tripped neither, you base football player.  [Tripping up his heels.   
  Lear.  I thank thee, fellow; thou servest me, and I’ll love thee.   
  Kent.  Come, sir, arise, away! I’ll teach you differences: away, away! If you will measure your lubber’s length again, tarry; but away! Go to; have you wisdom? so.  [Pushes OSWALD out.   
  Lear.  Now, my friendly knave, I thank thee: there’s earnest of thy service.  [Gives KENT money.     56
 
Enter Fool.
   
  Fool.  Let me hire him too: here’s my coxcomb.  [Offers KENT his cap.   
  Lear.  How now, my pretty knave! how dost thou?   
  Fool.  Sirrah, you were best take my coxcomb.     60
  Kent.  Why, fool?   
  Fool.  Why? for taking one’s part that’s out of favour. Nay, an thou canst not smile as the wind sits, thou’lt catch cold shortly: there, take my coxcomb. Why, this fellow has banished two on’s daughters, and did the third a blessing against his will: if thou follow him thou must needs wear my coxcomb. How now, nuncle! Would I had two coxcombs and two daughters!   
  Lear.  Why, my boy?   
  Fool.  If I gave them all my living, I’d keep my coxcombs myself. There’s mine; beg another of thy daughters.     64
  Lear.  Take heed, sirrah; the whip.   
  Fool.  Truth’s a dog must to kennel; he must be whipped out when Lady the brach may stand by the fire and stink.   
  Lear.  A pestilent gall to me!   
  Fool.  [To KENT.] Sirrah, I’ll teach thee a speech.     68
  Lear.  Do.   
  Fool.  Mark it, nuncle:—   
Have more than thou showest,   
Speak less than thou knowest,     72
Lend less than thou owest,   
Ride more than thou goest,   
Learn more than thou trowest,   
Set less than thou throwest;     76
Leave thy drink and thy whore,   
And keep in-a-door,   
And thou shalt have more   
Than two tens to a score.     80
  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?   
  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.     84
  Lear.  A bitter fool!   
  Fool.  Dost thou know the difference, my boy, between a bitter fool and a sweet fool?   
  Lear.  No, lad; teach me.   
  Fool.  That lord that counsell’d thee     88
    To give away thy land,   
  Come place him here by me,   
    Do thou for him stand:   
  The sweet and bitter fool     92
    Will presently appear;   
  The one in motley here,   
    The other found out there.   
  Lear.  Dost thou call me fool, boy?     96
  Fool.  All thy other titles thou hast given away; that thou wast born with.   
  Kent.  This is not altogether fool, my lord.   
  Fool.  No, faith, lords and great men will not let me; if I had a monopoly out, they would have part on ’t, and ladies too: they will not let me have all fool to myself; they’ll be snatching. Nuncle, give me an egg, and I’ll give thee two crowns.   
  Lear.  What two crowns shall they be?    100
  Fool.  Why, after I have cut the egg i’ the middle and eat up the meat, the two crowns of the egg. When thou clovest thy crown i’ the middle, and gavest away both parts, thou borest thine ass on thy back o’er the dirt: thou hadst little wit in thy bald crown when thou gavest thy golden one away. If I speak like myself in this, let him be whipped that first finds it so.
           Fools had ne’er less grace in a year;
     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?   
  Fool.  I have used it, nuncle, ever since thou madest thy daughters thy mothers; for when thou gavest them the rod and puttest down thine own breeches,
           Then they for sudden joy did weep,
     And I for sorrow sung,
   That such a king should play bo-peep,
     And go the fools among.
   
Prithee, nuncle, keep a schoolmaster that can teach thy fool to lie: I would fain learn to lie.    104
  Lear.  An you lie, sirrah, we’ll have you whipped.   
  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 thee, nuncle; thou hast pared thy wit o’ both sides, and left nothing i’ the 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’ the frown.    108
  Fool.  Thou wast a pretty fellow when thou hadst no need to care for her frowning; now thou art an O without a figure. I am better than thou art now; I am a fool, thou art nothing. [To GONERIL.] Yes, forsooth, I will hold my tongue; so your face bids me, though you say nothing.   
Mum, mum;   
He that keeps nor crust nor crumb,   
Weary of all, shall want some.    112
That’s a shealed peascod.  [Pointing to LEAR.   
  Gon.  Not only, sir, this your all-licens’d fool,   
But other of your insolent retinue   
Do hourly carp and quarrel, breaking forth    116
In rank and not-to-be-endured riots. Sir,   
I had thought, by making this well known unto you,   
To have found a safe redress; but now grow fearful,   
By what yourself too late have spoke and done,    120
That you protect this course, and put it on   
By your allowance; which if you should, the fault   
Would not ’scape censure, nor the redresses sleep,   
Which, in the tender of a wholesome weal,    124
Might in their working do you that offence,   
Which else were shame, that then necessity   
Will call discreet proceeding.   
  Fool.  For you trow, nuncle,    128
The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long,   
That it had it head bit off by it young.   
So out went the candle, and we were left darkling.   
  Lear.  Are you our daughter?    132
  Gon.  I would you would make use of your good wisdom,   
Where of I know you are fraught; and put away   
These dispositions which of late transform you   
From what you rightly are.    136
  Fool.  May not an ass know when the cart draws the horse? Whoop, Jug! I love thee.   
  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    140
Are lethargied. Ha! waking? ’tis not so.   
Who is it that can tell me who I am?   
  Fool.  Lear’s shadow.   
  Lear.  I would learn that; for, by the marks of sovereignty, knowledge and reason, I should be false persuaded I had daughters.    144
  Fool.  Which they will make an obedient father.   
  Lear.  Your name, fair gentlewoman?   
  Gon.  This admiration, sir, is much o’ the favour   
Of other your new pranks. I do beseech you    148
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 disorder’d, so debosh’d, and bold,    152
That this our court, infected with their manners,   
Shows like a riotous inn: epicurism and lust   
Make it more like a tavern or a brothel   
Than a grac’d palace. The shame itself doth speak    156
For instant remedy; be then desir’d   
By her that else will take the thing she begs,   
A little to disquantity your train;   
And the remainder, that shall still depend,    160
To be such men as may besort your age,   
Which know themselves and you.   
  Lear.        Darkness and devils!   
Saddle my horses; call my train together.    164
Degenerate bastard! I’ll not trouble thee:   
Yet have I left a daughter.   
  Gon.  You strike my people, and your disorder’d rabble   
Make servants of their betters.    168
 
Enter ALBANY.
   
  Lear.  Woe, that too late repents;   
[To ALBANY.] O! sir, are you come?   
Is it your will? Speak, sir. Prepare my horses.    172
Ingratitude, thou marble-hearted fiend,   
More hideous, when thou show’st thee in a child,   
Than the sea-monster.   
  Alb.        Pray, sir, be patient.    176
  Lear.  [To GONERIL.] Detested kite! thou liest:   
My train are men of choice and rarest parts,   
That all particulars of duty know,   
And in the most exact regard support    180
The worships of their name. O most small fault,   
How ugly didst thou in Cordelia show!   
Which, like an engine, wrench’d my frame of nature   
From the fix’d place, drew from my heart all love,    184
And added to the gall. O Lear, Lear, Lear!   
Beat at this gate, that let thy folly in,  [Striking his head.   
And thy dear judgment out! Go, go, my people.   
  Alb.  My lord, I am guiltless, as I am ignorant    188
Of what hath mov’d you.   
  Lear.        It may be so, my lord.   
Hear, Nature, hear! dear goddess, hear!   
Suspend thy purpose, if thou didst intend    192
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    196
A babe to honour her! If she must teem,   
Create her child of spleen, that it may live   
And be a thwart disnatur’d torment to her!   
Let it stamp wrinkles in her brow of youth,    200
With cadent tears fret channels in her cheeks,   
Turn all her mother’s pains and benefits   
To laughter and contempt, that she may feel   
How sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is    204
To have a thankless child! Away, away!  [Exit.   
  Alb.  Now, gods that we adore, whereof comes this?   
  Gon.  Never afflict yourself to know the cause;   
But let his disposition have that scope    208
That dotage gives it.   
 
Re-enter LEAR.
   
  Lear.  What! fifty of my followers at a clap,   
Within a fortnight?    212
  Alb.        What’s the matter, sir?   
  Lear.  I’ll tell thee. [To GONERIL.] Life and death! I am asham’d   
That thou hast power to shake my manhood thus,   
That these hot tears, which break from me perforce,    216
Should make thee worth them. Blasts and fogs upon thee!   
Th’ untented woundings of a father’s curse   
Pierce every sense about thee! Old fond eyes,   
Beweep this cause again, I’ll pluck ye out,    220
And cast you, with the waters that you lose,   
To temper clay. Yea, is it come to this?   
Let it be so: I have another daughter,   
Who, I am sure, is kind and comfortable:    224
When she shall hear this of thee, with her nails   
She’ll flay thy wolvish visage. Thou shalt find   
That I’ll resume the shape which thou dost think   
I have cast off for ever; thou shalt, I warrant thee.  [Exeunt LEAR, KENT, and Attendants.    228
  Gon.  Do you mark that?   
  Alb.  I cannot be so partial, Goneril,   
To the great love I bear you.—   
  Gon.  Pray you, content. What, Oswald, ho!    232
[To the Fool.] You, sir, more knave than fool, after your master.   
  Fool.  Nuncle Lear, nuncle Lear! tarry, and take the fool with thee.   
    A fox, when one has caught her,   
    And such a daughter,    236
    Should sure to the slaughter,   
    If my cap would buy a halter;   
    So the fool follows after.  [Exit.   
  Gon.  This man hath had good counsel. A hundred knights!    240
’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,   
He may enguard his dotage with their powers,    244
And hold our lives in mercy. Oswald, I say!   
  Alb.  Well, you may fear too far.   
  Gon.        Safer than trust too far.   
Let me still take away the harms I fear,    248
Not fear still to be taken: I know his heart.   
What he hath utter’d I have writ my sister;   
If she sustain him and his hundred knights,   
When I have show’d the unfitness,—    252
 
Re-enter OSWALD.
   
How now, Oswald!   
What! have you writ that letter to my sister?   
  Osw.  Ay, madam.    256
  Gon.  Take you some company, and away to horse:   
Inform her full of my particular fear;   
And thereto add such reasons of your own   
As may compact it more. Get you gone,    260
And hasten your return. [Exit OSWALD.] No, no, my lord,   
This milky gentleness and course of yours   
Though I condemn not, yet, under pardon,   
You are much more attask’d for want of wisdom    264
Than prais’d for harmful mildness.   
  Alb.  How far your eyes may pierce I cannot tell:   
Striving to better, oft we mar what’s well.   
  Gon.  Nay, then—    268
  Alb.  Well, well; the event.  [Exeunt.   

Act I. Scene V.


Court before the Same.
   
 
Enter LEAR, KENT, and Fool.
   
  Lear.  Go you before to Gloucester with these letters. Acquaint my daughter no further with any thing you know than comes from her demand out of the letter. If your diligence be not speedy I shall be there before you.   
  Kent.  I will not sleep, my lord, till I have delivered your letter.  [Exit.      4
  Fool.  If a man’s brains were in’s heels, were’t not in danger of kibes?   
  Lear.  Ay, boy.   
  Fool.  Then, I prithee, be merry; thy wit shall not go slip-shod.   
  Lear.  Ha, ha, ha!      8
  Fool.  Shalt see thy other daughter will use thee kindly; for though she’s as like this as a crab is like an 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’ the middle on’s face?   
  Lear.  No.     12
  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?   
  Lear.  No.     16
  Fool.  Nor I neither; but I can tell why a snail has a house.   
  Lear.  Why?   
  Fool.  Why, to put his head in; not to give it away to his daughters, and leave his horns without a case.   
  Lear.  I will forget my nature. So kind a father! Be my horses ready?     20
  Fool.  Thy asses are gone about ’em. The reason why the seven stars are no more than seven is a pretty reason.   
  Lear.  Because they are not eight?   
  Fool.  Yes, indeed: thou wouldst make a good fool.   
  Lear.  To take it again perforce! Monster ingratitude!     24
  Fool.  If thou wert my fool, nuncle, I’d have thee beaten for being old before thy time.   
  Lear.  How’s that?   
  Fool.  Thou shouldst not have been old before thou hadst been wise.   
  Lear.  O! let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven;     28
Keep me in temper; I would not be mad!   
 
Enter Gentleman.
   
How now! Are the horses ready?   
  Gent.  Ready, my lord.     32
  Lear.  Come, boy.   
  Fool.  She that’s a maid now, and laughs at my departure,   
Shall not be a maid long, unless things be cut shorter.  [Exeunt.   

Act II. Scene I.


A Court within the Castle of the EARL OF GLOUCESTER.
   
 
Enter EDMUND and CURAN, meeting.
   
  Edm.  Save thee, Curan.   
  Cur.  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 to-night.      4
  Edm.  How comes that?   
  Cur.  Nay, I know not. You have heard of the news abroad? I mean the whispered ones, for they are yet but ear-kissing arguments?   
  Edm.  Not I: pray you, what are they?   
  Cur.  Have you heard of no likely wars toward, ’twixt the Dukes of Cornwall and Albany?      8
  Edm.  Not a word.   
  Cur.  You may do then, in time. Fare you well, sir.  [Exit.   
  Edm.  The duke be here to-night! The better! best!   
This weaves itself perforce into my business.     12
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!     16
 
Enter EDGAR.
   
My father watches: O sir! fly this place;   
Intelligence is given where you are hid;   
You have now the good advantage of the night.     20
Have you not spoken ’gainst the Duke of Cornwall?   
He’s coming hither, now, i’ the night, i’ the haste,   
And Regan with him; have you nothing said   
Upon his party ’gainst the Duke of Albany?     24
Advise yourself.   
  Edg.        I am sure on ’t, not a word.   
  Edm.  I hear my father coming; pardon me;   
In cunning I must draw my sword upon you;     28
Draw; seem to defend yourself; now ’quit you well.   
Yield;—come before my father. Light, ho! here!   
Fly, brother. Torches! torches! So, farewell.  [Exit EDGAR.   
Some blood drawn on me would beget opinion  [Wounds his arm.     32
Of my more fierce endeavour: I have seen drunkards   
Do more than this in sport. Father! father!   
Stop, stop! No help?   
 
Enter GLOUCESTER, and Servants with torches.
     36
  Glo.  Now, Edmund, where’s the villain?   
  Edm.  Here stood he in the dark, his sharp sword out,   
Mumbling of wicked charms, conjuring the moon   
To stand auspicious mistress.     40
  Glo.        But where is he?   
  Edm.  Look, sir, I bleed.   
  Glo.        Where is the villain, Edmund?   
  Edm.  Fled this way, sir. When by no means he could—     44
  Glo.  Pursue him, ho! Go after. [Exeunt some Servants.] ‘By no means’ what?   
  Edm.  Persuade me to the murder of your lordship;   
But that I told him, the revenging gods   
’Gainst parricides did all their thunders bend;     48
Spoke with how manifold and strong a bond   
The child was bound to the father; sir, in fine,   
Seeing how loathly opposite I stood   
To his unnatural purpose, in fell motion,     52
With his prepared sword he charges home   
My unprovided body, lanc’d mine arm:   
But when he saw my best alarum’d spirits   
Bold in the quarrel’s right, rous’d to the encounter,     56
Or whether gasted by the noise I made,   
Full suddenly he fled.   
  Glo.        Let him fly far:   
Not in this land shall he remain uncaught;     60
And found—dispatch. The noble duke my master,   
My worthy arch and patron, comes to-night:   
By his authority I will proclaim it,   
That he which finds him shall deserve our thanks,     64
Bringing the murderous coward to the stake;   
He that conceals him, death.   
  Edm.  When I dissuaded him from his intent,   
And found him pight to do it, with curst speech     68
I threaten’d 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     72
Make thy words faith’d? No: what I should deny,—   
As this I would; ay, though thou didst produce   
My very character,—I’d turn it all   
To thy suggestion, plot, and damned practice:     76
And thou must make a dullard of the world,   
If they not thought the profits of my death   
Were very pregnant and potential spurs   
To make thee seek it.’     80
  Glo.        Strong and fasten’d villain!   
Would he deny his letter? 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;     84
The duke must grant me that: besides, his picture   
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     88
To make thee capable.   
 
Enter CORNWALL, REGAN, and Attendants.
   
  Corn.  How now, my noble friend! since I came hither,—   
Which I can call but now,—I have heard strange news.     92
  Reg.  If it be true, all vengeance comes too short   
Which can pursue the offender. How dost, my lord?   
  Glo.  O! madam, my old heart is crack’d, it’s crack’d.   
  Reg.  What! did my father’s godson seek your life?     96
He whom my father nam’d? your Edgar?   
  Glo.  O! lady, lady, shame would have it hid.   
  Reg.  Was he not companion with the riotous knights   
That tend upon my father?    100
  Glo.  I know not, madam; ’tis too bad, too bad.   
  Edm.  Yes, madam, he was of that consort.   
  Reg.  No marvel then though he were ill affected;   
’Tis they have put him on the old man’s death,    104
To have the expense and waste of his revenues.   
I have this present evening from my sister   
Been well-inform’d of them, and with such cautions   
That if they come to sojourn at my house,    108
I’ll not be there.   
  Corn.        Nor I, assure thee, Regan.   
Edmund, I hear that you have shown your father   
A child-like office.    112
  Edm.        ’Twas my duty, sir.   
  Glo.  He did bewray his practice; and receiv’d   
This hurt you see, striving to apprehend him.   
  Corn.  Is he pursu’d?    116
  Glo.        Ay, my good lord.   
  Corn.  If he be taken he shall never more   
Be fear’d of doing harm; make your own purpose,   
How in my strength you please. For you, Edmund,    120
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.    124
  Edm.        I shall serve you, sir,   
Truly, however else.   
  Glo.        For him I thank your Grace.   
  Corn.  You know not why we came to visit you,—    128
  Reg.  Thus out of season, threading dark-ey’d night:   
Occasions, noble Gloucester, of some prize,   
Wherein we must have use of your advice.   
Our father he hath writ, so hath our sister,    132
Of differences, which I best thought it fit   
To answer from our home; the several messengers   
From hence attend dispatch. Our good old friend,   
Lay comforts to your bosom, and bestow    136
Your needful counsel to our businesses,   
Which craves the instant use.   
  Glo.        I serve you, madam.   
Your Graces are right welcome.  [Exeunt.    140

Act II. Scene II.


Before GLOUCESTER’S Castle.
   
 
Enter KENT and OSWALD, severally.
   
  Osw.  Good dawning to thee, friend: art of this house?   
  Kent.  Ay.      4
  Osw.  Where may we set our horses?   
  Kent.  I’ the mire.   
  Osw.  Prithee, if thou lovest me, tell me.   
  Kent.  I love thee not.      8
  Osw.  Why, then I care not for thee.   
  Kent.  If I had thee in Lipsbury pinfold, I would make thee care for me.   
  Osw.  Why dost thou use me thus? I know thee not.   
  Kent.  Fellow, I know thee.     12
  Osw.  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, filthy, worsted-stocking knave; a lily-liver’d, action-taking knave; a 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 knave, beggar, coward, pandar, and the son and heir of a mongrel bitch: one whom I will beat into clamorous whining if thou deniest the least syllable of thy addition.   
  Osw.  Why, what a monstrous fellow art thou, thus 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 since I tripped up thy heels and beat thee before the king? Draw, you rogue; for, though it be night, yet the moon shines: I’ll make a sop o’ the moonshine of you. [Drawing his sword.] Draw, you whoreson, cullionly, barber-monger, draw.     16
  Osw.  Away! I have nothing to do with thee.   
  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.   
  Osw.  Help, ho! murder! help!   
  Kent.  Strike, you slave; stand, rogue, stand; you neat slave, strike.  [Beating him.     20
  Osw.  Help, oh! murder! murder!   
 
Enter EDMUND with his rapier drawn.
   
  Edm.  How now! What’s the matter?  [Parting them.   
  Kent.  With you, goodman boy, if you please: come,     24
I’ll flesh ye; come on, young master.   
 
Enter CORNWALL, REGAN, GLOUCESTER, and Servants.
   
  Glo.  Weapons! arms! What’s the matter here?   
  Corn.  Keep peace, upon your lives:     28
He dies that strikes again. What is the matter?   
  Reg.  The messengers from our sister and the king.   
  Corn.  What is your difference? speak.   
  Osw.  I am scarce in breath, my lord.     32
  Kent.  No marvel, you have so bestirred your valour. You cowardly rascal, nature disclaims in thee: a tailor made thee.   
  Corn.  Thou art a strange fellow; a tailor make a man?   
  Kent.  Ay, a tailor, sir: a stone-cutter or a painter could not have made him so ill, though they had been but two hours o’ the trade.   
  Corn.  Speak yet, how grew your quarrel?     36
  Osw.  This ancient ruffian, sir, whose life I have spar’d at suit of his grey beard,—   
  Kent.  Thou whoreson zed! thou unnecessary letter! 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 grey beard, you wagtail?   
  Corn.  Peace, sirrah!   
You beastly knave, know you no reverence?     40
  Kent.  Yes, sir; but anger hath a privilege.   
  Corn.  Why art thou angry?   
  Kent.  That such a slave as this should wear a sword,   
Who wears no honesty. Such smiling rogues as these,     44
Like rats, oft bite the holy cords a-twain   
Which are too intrinse t’ unloose; smooth every passion   
That in the natures of their lords rebel;   
Bring oil to fire, snow to their colder moods;     48
Renege, affirm, and turn their halcyon beaks   
With every gale and vary of their masters,   
Knowing nought, like dogs, but following.   
A plague upon your epileptic visage!     52
Smile you my speeches, as I were a fool?   
Goose, if I had you upon Sarum plain,   
I’d drive ye cackling home to Camelot.   
  Corn.  What! art thou mad, old fellow?     56
  Glo.  How fell you out? say that.   
  Kent.  No contraries hold more antipathy   
Than I and such a knave.   
  Corn.  Why dost thou call him knave? What is his fault?     60
  Kent.  His countenance likes me not.   
  Corn.  No more, perchance, does mine, nor his, nor hers.   
  Kent.  Sir, ’tis my occupation to be plain:   
I have seen better faces in my time     64
Than stands on any shoulder that I see   
Before me at this instant.   
  Corn.        This is some fellow,   
Who, having been prais’d for bluntness, doth affect     68
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.     72
These kind of knaves I know, which in this plainness   
Harbour more craft and more corrupter ends   
Than twenty silly-ducking observants,   
That stretch their duties nicely.     76
  Kent.  Sir, in good sooth, in sincere verity,   
Under the allowance of your grand aspect,   
Whose influence, like the wreath of radiant fire   
On flickering Phœbus’ front,—     80
  Corn.        What mean’st by this?   
  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.   
  Corn.  What was the offence you gave him?   
  Osw.  I never gave him any:     84
It pleas’d the king his master very late   
To strike at me, upon his misconstruction;   
When he, conjunct, and flattering his displeasure,   
Tripp’d me behind; being down, insulted, rail’d,     88
And put upon him such a deal of man,   
That worthied him, got praises of the king   
For him attempting who was self-subdu’d;   
And, in the fleshment of this dread exploit,     92
Drew on me here again.   
  Kent.        None of these rogues and cowards   
But Ajax is their fool.   
  Corn.        Fetch forth the stocks!     96
You stubborn ancient knave, you reverend braggart,   
We’ll teach you.   
  Kent.        Sir, I am too old to learn,   
Call not your stocks for me; I serve the king,    100
On whose employment I was sent to you;   
You shall do small respect, show too bold malice   
Against the grace and person of my master,   
Stocking his messenger.    104
  Corn.  Fetch forth the stocks! As I have life and honour,   
There shall he sit till noon.   
  Reg.  Till noon! Till night, my lord; and all night too.   
  Kent.  Why, madam, if I were your father’s dog,    108
You should not use me so.   
  Reg.        Sir, being his knave, I will.   
  Corn.  This is a fellow of the self-same colour   
Our sister speaks of. Come, bring away the stocks.  [Stocks brought out.    112
  Glo.  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 purpos’d low correction   
Is such as basest and contemned’st wretches    116
For pilferings and most common trespasses   
Are punish’d with: the king must take it ill,   
That he, so slightly valu’d in his messenger,   
Should have him thus restrain’d.    120
  Corn.        I’ll answer that.   
  Reg.  My sister may receive it much more worse   
To have her gentleman abus’d, assaulted,   
For following her affairs. Put in his legs.  [KENT is put in the stocks.    124
Come, my good lord, away.  [Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER and KENT.   
  Glo.  I am sorry for thee, friend; ’tis the duke’s pleasure,   
Whose disposition, all the world well knows,   
Will not be rubb’d nor stopp’d: I’ll entreat for thee.    128
  Kent.  Pray, do not, sir. I have watch’d and travell’d hard;   
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!    132
  Glo.  The duke’s to blame in this; ’twill be ill taken.  [Exit.   
  Kent.  Good king, that must approve the common saw,   
Thou out of heaven’s benediction com’st   
To the warm sun.    136
Approach, thou beacon to this under globe,   
That by thy comfortable beams I may   
Peruse this letter. Nothing almost sees miracles   
But misery: I know ’tis from Cordelia,    140
Who hath most fortunately been inform’d   
Of my obscured course; and shall find time   
From this enormous state, seeking to give   
Losses their remedies. All weary and o’er-watch’d,    144
Take vantage, heavy eyes, not to behold   
This shameful lodging.   
Fortune, good night, smile once more; turn thy wheel!  [He sleeps.

Act II. Scene III.


A Part of the Heath.
   
 
Enter EDGAR.
   
  Edg.  I heard myself proclaim’d;   
And by the happy hollow of a tree      4
Escap’d the hunt. No port is free; no place,   
That guard, and most unusual vigilance,   
Does not attend my taking. While I may ’scape   
I will preserve myself; and am bethought      8
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 hair in knots,     12
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,     16
Strike in their numb’d and mortified bare arms   
Pins, wooden pricks, nails, sprigs of rosemary;   
And with this horrible object, from low farms,   
Poor pelting villages, sheep-cotes, and mills,     20
Sometime with lunatic bans, sometime with prayers,   
Enforce their charity. Poor Turlygood! poor Tom!   
That’s something yet: Edgar I nothing am.  [Exit.   

Act II. Scene IV.


Before GLOUCESTER’S Castle. KENT in the stocks.
   
 
Enter LEAR, Fool, and Gentleman.
   
  Lear.  ’Tis strange that they should so depart from home,   
And not send back my messenger.      4
  Gent.        As I learn’d,   
The night before there was no purpose in them   
Of this remove.   
  Kent.        Hail to thee, noble master!      8
  Lear.  Ha!   
Mak’st thou this shame thy pastime?   
  Kent.        No, my lord.   
  Fool.  Ha, ha! he wears cruel garters. Horses are tied by the head, dogs and bears by the neck, monkeys by the loins, and men by the legs: when a man is over-lusty at legs, then he wears wooden nether-stocks.     12
  Lear.  What’s he that hath so much thy place mistook   
To set thee here?   
  Kent.        It is both he and she,   
Your son and daughter.     16
  Lear.  No.   
  Kent.  Yes.   
  Lear.  No, I say.   
  Kent.  I say, yea.     20
  Lear.  No, no; they would not.   
  Kent.  Yes, they have.   
  Lear.  By Jupiter, I swear, no.   
  Kent.  By Juno, I swear, ay.     24
  Lear.        They durst not do’t;   
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     28
Thou mightst deserve, or they impose, this usage,   
Coming from us.   
  Kent.        My lord, when at their home   
I did commend your highness’ letters to them,     32
Ere I was risen from the place that show’d   
My duty kneeling, there came a reeking post,   
Stew’d in his haste, half breathless, panting forth   
From Goneril his mistress salutations;     36
Deliver’d letters, spite of intermission,   
Which presently they read: on whose contents   
They summon’d up their meiny, straight took horse;   
Commanded me to follow, and attend     40
The leisure of their answer; gave me cold looks:   
And meeting here the other messenger,   
Whose welcome, I perceiv’d, had poison’d mine,—   
Being the very fellow which of late     44
Display’d so saucily against your highness,—   
Having more man than wit about me,—drew:   
He rais’d the house with loud and coward cries.   
Your son and daughter found this trespass worth     48
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,     52
    But fathers that bear bags   
      Shall see their children kind.   
    Fortune, that arrant whore,   
    Ne’er turns the key to the poor.     56
But for all this thou shalt have as many dolours for 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?     60
  Kent.  With the earl, sir: here within.   
  Lear.  Follow me not; stay here.  [Exit.   
  Gent.  Made you no more offence than what you speak of?   
  Kent.  None.     64
How chance the king comes with so small a number?   
  Fool.  An thou hadst been set i’ the stocks for that question, thou hadst well deserved it.   
  Kent.  Why, fool?   
  Fool.  We’ll set thee to school to an ant, to teach thee there’s no labouring i’ the winter. All that follow 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 it; but the great one that goes up the hill, let him 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.     68
    That sir which serves and seeks for gain,   
      And follows but for form,   
    Will pack when it begins to rain,   
      And leave thee in the storm.     72
    But I will tarry; the fool will stay,   
      And let the wise man fly:   
    The knave turns fool that runs away;   
      The fool no knave, perdy.     76
  Kent.  Where learn’d you this, fool?   
  Fool.  Not i’ the stocks, fool.   
 
Re-enter LEAR, with GLOUCESTER.
   
  Lear.  Deny to speak with me! They are sick! they are weary,     80
They have travell’d hard to-night! Mere fetches,   
The images of revolt and flying off.   
Fetch me a better answer.   
  Glo.        My dear lord,     84
You know the fiery quality of the duke;   
How unremovable and fix’d he is   
In his own course.   
  Lear.  Vengeance! plague! death! confusion!     88
Fiery! what quality? Why, Gloucester, Gloucester,   
I’d speak with the Duke of Cornwall and his wife.   
  Glo.  Well, my good lord, I have inform’d them so.   
  Lear.  Inform’d them! Dost thou understand me, man?     92
  Glo.  Ay, my good lord.   
  Lear.  The king would speak with Cornwall; the dear father   
Would with his daughter speak, commands her service:   
Are they inform’d of this? My breath and blood!     96
Fiery! the fiery duke! Tell the hot duke that—   
No, but not yet; may be he is not well:   
Infirmity doth still neglect all office   
Whereto our health is bound; we are not ourselves    100
When nature, being oppress’d, commands the mind   
To suffer with the body. I’ll forbear;   
And am fall’n out with my more headier will,   
To take the indispos’d and sickly fit    104
For the sound man. Death on my state! [Looking on KENT.] 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.    108
Go, tell the duke and’s wife I’d speak with them,   
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.    112
  Glo.  I would have all well betwixt you.  [Exit.   
  Lear.  O, me! my heart, my rising heart! but, down!   
  Fool.  Cry to it, nuncle, as the cockney did to the eels when she put ’em i’ the paste alive; she knapped ’em o’ the coxcombs with a stick, and cried, ‘Down, wantons, down!’ ’Twas her brother that, in pure kindness to his horse, buttered his hay.   
 
Enter CORNWALL, REGAN, GLOUCESTER, and Servants.
    116
  Lear.  Good morrow to you both.   
  Corn.        Hail to your Grace!  [KENT is set at liberty.   
  Reg.  I am glad to see your highness.   
  Lear.  Regan, I think you are; I know what reason    120
I have to think so: if thou shouldst not be glad,   
I would divorce me from thy mother’s tomb,   
Sepulchring an adult’ress.—[To KENT.] O! are you free?   
Some other time for that. Beloved Regan,    124
Thy sister’s naught: O Regan! she hath tied   
Sharp-tooth’d unkindness, like a vulture, here:  [Points to his heart.   
I can scarce speak to thee; thou’lt not believe   
With how deprav’d a quality—O Regan!    128
  Reg.  I pray you, sir, take patience. I have hope   
You less know how to value her desert   
Than she to scant her duty.   
  Lear.        Say, how is that?    132
  Reg.  I cannot think my sister in the least   
Would fail her obligation: if, sir, perchance   
She have restrain’d the riots of your followers,   
’Tis on such ground, and to such wholesome end,    136
As clears her from all blame.   
  Lear.  My curses on her!   
  Reg.        O, sir! you are old;   
Nature in you stands on the very verge    140
Of her confine: you should be rul’d 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;    144
Say, you have wrong’d her, sir.   
  Lear.        Ask her forgiveness?   
Do you but mark how this becomes the house:   
’Dear daughter, I confess that I am old;    148
Age is unnecessary: on my knees I beg  [Kneeling.   
That you’ll vouchsafe me raiment, bed, and food.’   
  Reg.  Good sir, no more; these are unsightly tricks:   
Return you to my sister.    152
  Lear.        [Rising.] Never, Regan.   
She hath abated me of half my train;   
Look’d black upon me; struck me with her tongue,   
Most serpent-like, upon the very heart.    156
All the stor’d vengeances of heaven fall   
On her ingrateful top! Strike her young bones,   
You taking airs, with lameness!   
  Corn.        Fie, sir, fie!    160
  Lear.  You nimble lightnings, dart your blinding flames   
Into her scornful eyes! Infect her beauty,   
You fen-suck’d fogs, drawn by the powerful sun,   
To fall and blast her pride!    164
  Reg.  O the blest gods! So will you wish on me,   
When the rash mood is on.   
  Lear.  No, Regan, thou shalt never have my curse:   
Thy tender-hefted nature shall not give    168
Thee o’er to harshness: her eyes are fierce, but thine   
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,    172
And, in conclusion, to oppose the bolt   
Against my coming in: thou better know’st   
The offices of nature, bond of childhood,   
Effects of courtesy, dues of gratitude;    176
Thy half o’ the kingdom hast thou not forgot,   
Wherein I thee endow’d.   
  Reg.        Good sir, to the purpose.   
  Lear.  Who put my man i’ the stocks?  [Tucket within.    180
  Corn.        What trumpet’s that?   
  Reg.  I know’t, my sister’s; this approves her letter,   
That she would soon be here. Is your lady come?   
 
Enter OSWALD.
    184
  Lear.  This is a slave, whose easy-borrow’d pride   
Dwells in the fickle grace of her he follows.   
Out, varlet, from my sight!   
  Corn.        What means your Grace?    188
  Lear.  Who stock’d my servant? Regan, I have good hope   
Thou didst not know on ’t. Who comes here? O heavens,   
 
Enter GONERIL.
   
If you do love old men, if your sweet sway    192
Allow obedience, if yourselves are old,   
Make it your cause; send down and take my part!   
[To GONERIL.] Art not asham’d to look upon this beard?   
O Regan, wilt thou take her by the hand?    196
  Gon.  Why not by the hand, sir? How have I offended?   
All’s not offence that indiscretion finds   
And dotage terms so.   
  Lear.        O sides! you are too tough;    200
Will you yet hold? How came my man i’ the stocks?   
  Corn.  I set him there, sir: but his own disorders   
Deserv’d much less advancement.   
  Lear.        You! did you?    204
  Reg.  I pray you, father, being weak, seem SQ.   
If, till the expiration of your month,   
You will return and sojourn with my sister,   
Dismissing half your train, come then to me:    208
I am now from home, and out of that provision   
Which shall be needful for your entertainment.   
  Lear.  Return to her? and fifty men dismiss’d!   
No, rather I abjure all roofs, and choose    212
To wage against the enmity o’ the 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    216
Our youngest born, I could as well be brought   
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    220
To this detested groom.  [Pointing at OSWALD.   
  Gon.        At your choice, sir.   
  Lear.  I prithee, daughter, do not make me mad:   
I will not trouble thee, my child; farewell.    224
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,   
Which I must needs call mine: thou art a boil,    228
A plague-sore, an embossed 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,    232
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.    236
  Reg.        Not altogether so:   
I look’d 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    240
Must be content to think you old, and so—   
But she knows what she does.   
  Lear.        Is this well spoken!   
  Reg.  I dare avouch it, sir: what! fifty followers?    244
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,   
Should many people, under two commands,    248
Hold amity? ’Tis hard; almost impossible.   
  Gon.  Why might not you, my lord, receive attendance   
From those that she calls servants, or from mine?   
  Reg.  Why not, my lord? If then they chanc’d to slack you    252
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.    256
  Lear.  I gave you all—   
  Reg.        And in good time you gave it   
  Lear.  Made you my guardians, my depositaries,   
But kept a reservation to be follow’d    260
With such a number. What! must I come to you   
With five-and-twenty? Regan, said you so?   
  Reg.  And speak’t again, my lord; no more with me.   
  Lear.  Those wicked creatures yet do look well-favour’d,    264
When others are more wicked; not being the worst   
Stands in some rank of praise. [To GONERIL.] I’ll go with thee:   
Thy fifty yet doth double five-and-twenty,   
And thou art twice her love.    268
  Gon.        Hear me, my lord.   
What need you five-and-twenty, ten, or five,   
To follow in a house, where twice so many   
Have a command to tend you?    272
  Reg.        What need one?   
  Lear.  O! reason not the need; our basest beggars   
Are in the poorest thing superfluous:   
Allow not nature more than nature needs,    276
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 need,—    280
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 stir these daughters’ hearts    284
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,    288
I will have such revenges on you both   
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;    292
No, I’ll not weep:   
I have full cause of weeping, but this heart   
Shall break into a hundred thousand flaws   
Or ere I’ll weep. O fool! I shall go mad.  [Exeunt LEAR, GLOUCESTER, KENT, and Fool.    296
  Corn.  Let us withdraw; ’twill be a storm.  [Storm heard at a distance.   
  Reg.  This house is little: the old man and his people   
Cannot be well bestow’d.   
  Gon.  ’Tis his own blame; hath put himself from rest,    300
And must needs taste his folly.   
  Reg.  For his particular, I’ll receive him gladly,   
But not one follower.   
  Gon.        So am I purpos’d.    304
Where is my Lord of Gloucester?   
  Corn.  Follow’d the old man forth. He is return’d.   
 
Re-enter GLOUCESTER.
   
  Glo.  The king is in high rage.    308
  Corn.        Whither is he going?   
  Glo.  He calls to horse; but will I know not whither.   
  Corn.  ’Tis best to give him way; he leads himself.   
  Gon.  My lord, entreat him by no means to stay.    312
  Glo.  Alack! the night comes on, and the bleak winds   
Do sorely ruffle; for many miles about   
There’s scarce a bush.   
  Reg.        O! sir, to wilful men,    316
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    320
To have his ear abus’d, wisdom bids fear.   
  Corn.  Shut up your doors, my lord; ’tis a wild night:   
My Regan counsels well: come out o’ the storm  [Exeunt.   

Act III. Scene I.


A Heath.
   
 
A storm, with thunder and lightning. Enter KENT and a Gentleman, meeting.
   
  Kent.  Who’s here, beside foul weather?   
  Gent.  One minded like the weather, most unquietly.      4
  Kent.  I know you. Where’s the king?   
  Gent.  Contending with the fretful elements;   
Bids the wind blow the earth into the sea,   
Or swell the curled waters ’bove the main,      8
That things might change or cease; tears his white hair,   
Which the impetuous blasts, with eyeless rage,   
Catch in their fury, and make nothing of;   
Strives in his little world of man to out-scorn     12
The to-and-fro-conflicting wind and rain.   
This night, wherein the cub-drawn bear would couch,   
The lion and the belly-pinched wolf   
Keep their fur dry, unbonneted he runs,     16
And bids what will take all.   
  Kent.        But who is with him?   
  Gent.  None but the fool, who labours to out-jest   
His heart-struck injuries.     20
  Kent.        Sir, I do know you;   
And dare, upon the warrant of my note,   
Commend a dear thing to you. There is division,   
Although as yet the face of it be cover’d     24
With mutual cunning, ’twixt Albany and Corn-wall;   
Who have—as who have not, that their great stars   
Thron’d and set high—servants, who seem no less,   
Which are to France the spies and speculations     28
Intelligent of our state; what hath been seen,   
Either in snuffs and packings of the dukes,   
Or the hard rein which both of them have borne   
Against the old kind king; or something deeper,     32
Whereof perchance these are but furnishings;   
But, true it is, from France there comes a power   
Into this scatter’d kingdom; who already,   
Wise in our negligence, have secret feet,     36
In Some of our best ports, and are at point   
To show their open banner. Now to you:   
If on my credit you dare build so far   
To make your speed to Dover, you shall find     40
Some that will thank you, making just report   
Of how unnatural and bemadding sorrow   
The king hath cause to plain.   
I am a gentleman of blood and breeding,     44
And from some knowledge and assurance offer   
This office to you.   
  Gent.  I will talk further with you.   
  Kent.        No, do not.     48
For confirmation that I am much more   
Than my out-wall, open this purse, and take   
What it contains. If you shall see Cordelia,—   
As doubt not but you shall,—show her this ring,     52
And she will tell you who your fellow is   
That yet you do not know. Fie on this storm!   
I will go seek the king.   
  Gent.  Give me your hand. Have you no more to say?     56
  Kent.  Few words, but, to effect, more than all yet;   
That, when we have found the king,—in which your pain   
That way, I’ll this,—he that first lights on him   
Holla the other.  [Exeunt severally.     60