ACT 1
Scene 1
...King is coming.
Enter King Lear, Cornwall, Albany, Goneril, Regan, Cordelia, and Attendants.
Attend the lords of France and Burgundy, Gloucester.
...shall, my lord.
Meantime we shall express our darker purpose.—
Give me the map there.He is handed a map.
Know that we have divided
In three our kingdom, and ’tis our fast intent
To shake all cares and business from our age,
Conferring them on younger strengths, while we
Unburdened crawl toward death. Our son of Cornwall
And you, our no less loving son of Albany,
We have this hour a constant will to publish
Our daughters’ several dowers, that future strife
May be prevented now.
The two great princes, France and Burgundy,
Great rivals in our youngest daughter’s love,
Long in our court have made their amorous sojourn
And here are to be answered. Tell me, my daughters—
Since now we will divest us both of rule,
Interest of territory, cares of state—
Which of you shall we say doth love us most,
That we our largest bounty may extend
Where nature doth with merit challenge. Goneril,
Our eldest born, speak first.
...and be silent.
pointing to the map
Of all these bounds, even from this line to this,
With shadowy forests and with champains riched,
With plenteous rivers and wide-skirted meads,
We make thee lady. To thine and Albany’s issue
Be this perpetual.—What says our second daughter,
Our dearest Regan, wife of Cornwall? Speak.
...than my tongue.
To thee and thine hereditary ever
Remain this ample third of our fair kingdom,
No less in space, validity, and pleasure
Than that conferred on Goneril.—Now, our joy,
Although our last and least, to whose young love
The vines of France and milk of Burgundy
Strive to be interessed, what can you say to draw
A third more opulent than your sisters’? Speak.
...Nothing, my lord.
Nothing?
... Nothing.
Nothing will come of nothing. Speak again.
...more nor less.
How, how, Cordelia? Mend your speech a little,
Lest you may mar your fortunes.
...my father all.
But goes thy heart with this?
...my good lord.
So young and so untender?
...lord, and true.
Let it be so. Thy truth, then, be thy dower,
For by the sacred radiance of the sun,
The mysteries of Hecate and the night,
By all the operation of the orbs
From whom we do exist and cease to be,
Here I disclaim all my paternal care,
Propinquity, and property of blood,
And as a stranger to my heart and me
Hold thee from this forever. The barbarous Scythian,
Or he that makes his generation messes
To gorge his appetite, shall to my bosom
Be as well neighbored, pitied, and relieved
As thou my sometime daughter.
...Good my liege—
Peace, Kent.
Come not between the dragon and his wrath.
I loved her most and thought to set my rest
On her kind nursery. To Cordelia.
Hence and avoid my sight!—
So be my grave my peace as here I give
Her father’s heart from her.—Call France. Who stirs?
Call Burgundy. Cornwall and Albany,
With my two daughters’ dowers digest the third.
Let pride, which she calls plainness, marry her.
I do invest you jointly with my power,
Preeminence, and all the large effects
That troop with majesty. Ourself by monthly course,
With reservation of an hundred knights
By you to be sustained, shall our abode
Make with you by due turn. Only we shall retain
The name and all th’ addition to a king.
The sway, revenue, execution of the rest,
Belovèd sons, be yours, which to confirm,
This coronet part between you.
...in my prayers—
The bow is bent and drawn. Make from the shaft.
...Reverb no hollowness.
Kent, on thy life, no more.
...safety being motive.
Out of my sight!
...of thine eye.
Now, by Apollo—
...gods in vain.
O vassal! Miscreant!
...thou dost evil.
Hear me, recreant; on thine allegiance, hear me!
That thou hast sought to make us break our vows—
Which we durst never yet—and with strained pride
To come betwixt our sentence and our power,
Which nor our nature nor our place can bear,
Our potency made good, take thy reward:
Five days we do allot thee for provision
To shield thee from disasters of the world,
And on the sixth to turn thy hated back
Upon our kingdom. If on the tenth day following
Thy banished trunk be found in our dominions,
The moment is thy death. Away! By Jupiter,
This shall not be revoked.
...my noble lord.
My lord of Burgundy,
We first address toward you, who with this king
Hath rivaled for our daughter. What in the least
Will you require in present dower with her,
Or cease your quest of love?
...you tender less.
Right noble Burgundy,
When she was dear to us, we did hold her so,
But now her price is fallen. Sir, there she stands.
If aught within that little seeming substance,
Or all of it, with our displeasure pieced
And nothing more, may fitly like your Grace,
She’s there, and she is yours.
...know no answer.
Will you, with those infirmities she owes,
Unfriended, new-adopted to our hate,
Dowered with our curse and strangered with our oath,
Take her or leave her?
...in such conditions.
Then leave her, sir, for by the power that made me
I tell you all her wealth.—For you, great king,
I would not from your love make such a stray
To match you where I hate. Therefore beseech you
T’ avert your liking a more worthier way
Than on a wretch whom Nature is ashamed
Almost t’ acknowledge hers.
...in your liking.
Better thou
Hadst not been born than not t’ have pleased me better.
...Duchess of Burgundy.
Nothing. I have sworn. I am firm.
...where to find.
Thou hast her, France. Let her be thine, for we
Have no such daughter, nor shall ever see
That face of hers again. To Cordelia.
Therefore begone
Without our grace, our love, our benison.—
Come, noble Burgundy.
Flourish. All but France, Cordelia, Goneril, and Regan exit.
Scene 4
...full of labors.
Horns within. Enter Lear, Knights, and Attendants.
Let me not stay a jot for dinner. Go get it ready.
How now, what art thou?
...A man, sir.
What dost thou profess? What wouldst thou with
us?
...eat no fish.
What art thou?
...as the King.
If thou be’st as poor for a subject as he’s for a
king, thou art poor enough. What wouldst thou?
... Service.
Who wouldst thou serve?
... You.
Dost thou know me, fellow?
...fain call master.
What’s that?
... Authority.
What services canst do?
...me is diligence.
How old art thou?
...my back forty-eight.
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.
Enter Oswald, the Steward.
You, you, sirrah, where’s my daughter?
...So please you—
What says the fellow there? Call the clotpole
back. Where’s my Fool? Ho! I think
the world’s asleep.
Enter Knight again.
How now? Where’s that mongrel?
...is not well.
Why came not the slave back to me when I
called him?
...he would not.
He would not?
...and your daughter.
Ha? Sayst thou so?
...your Highness wronged.
Thou but remembrest me of mine own conception.
I have perceived a most faint neglect of late,
which I have rather blamed as mine own jealous
curiosity than as a very pretense and purpose of
unkindness. I will look further into ’t. But where’s
my Fool? I have not seen him this two days.
...much pined away.
No more of that. I have noted it well.—Go you
and tell my daughter I would speak with her.
Go you call hither my Fool.
Enter Oswald, the Steward.
O you, sir, you, come you hither, sir. Who am I, sir?
...My lady’s father.
“My lady’s father”? My lord’s knave! You whoreson
dog, you slave, you cur!
...beseech your pardon.
Do you bandy looks with me, you rascal?
Lear strikes him.
...base football player?
I thank thee, fellow. Thou serv’st me, and I’ll
love thee.
...you wisdom? So.
Now, my friendly knave, I thank thee. There’s
earnest of thy service.
He gives Kent a purse.
...Kent his cap.
How now, my pretty knave, how dost thou?
...take my coxcomb.
Why, my boy?
...and two daughters.
Why, my boy?
...of thy daughters.
Take heed, sirrah—the whip.
...fire and stink.
A pestilent gall to me!
...thee a speech.
Do.
...of nothing, nuncle?
Why no, boy. Nothing can be made out of
nothing.
...believe a Fool.
A bitter Fool!
...a sweet one?
No, lad, teach me.
...found out there.
Dost thou call me “fool,” boy?
...thee two crowns.
What two crowns shall they be?
...are so apish.
When were you wont to be so full of songs,
sirrah?
...learn to lie.
An you lie, sirrah, we’ll have you whipped.
... Enter Goneril.
How now, daughter? What makes that frontlet on?
Methinks you are too much of late i’ th’ frown.
...were left darkling.
Are you our daughter?
...I love thee!
Does any here know me? This is not Lear.
Does Lear walk thus, speak thus? Where are his eyes?
Either his notion weakens, his discernings
Are lethargied—Ha! Waking? ’Tis not so.
Who is it that can tell me who I am?
... Lear’s shadow.
I would learn that, for, by the marks of sovereignty,
Knowledge, and reason, I should be false persuaded
I had daughters.
...an obedient father.
Your name, fair gentlewoman?
...themselves and you.
Darkness and devils!—
Saddle my horses. Call my train together.
Degenerate bastard, I’ll not trouble thee.
Yet have I left a daughter.
... Enter Albany.
Woe that too late repents!—O, sir, are you come?
Is it your will? Speak, sir.—Prepare my horses.
Ingratitude, thou marble-hearted fiend,
More hideous when thou show’st thee in a child
Than the sea monster!
...sir, be patient.
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
The worships of their name. O most small fault,
How ugly didst thou in Cordelia show,
Which, like an engine, wrenched my frame of nature
From the fixed place, drew from my heart all love
And added to the gall! O Lear, Lear, Lear! He strikes his head.
Beat at this gate that let thy folly in
And thy dear judgment out. Go, go, my people.
...hath moved you.
It may be so, my lord.—
Hear, Nature, hear, dear goddess, hear!
Suspend thy purpose if thou didst intend
To make this creature fruitful.
Into her womb convey sterility.
Dry up in her the organs of increase,
And from her derogate body never spring
A babe to honor her. If she must teem,
Create her child of spleen, that it may live
And be a thwart disnatured torment to her.
Let it stamp wrinkles in her brow of youth,
With cadent tears fret channels in her cheeks,
Turn all her mother’s pains and benefits
To laughter and contempt, that she may feel
How sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is
To have a thankless child.—Away, away!
Lear and the rest of his train exit.
...dotage gives it.
Enter Lear and the Fool.
What, fifty of my followers at a clap?
Within a fortnight?
...the matter, sir?
I’ll tell thee. To Goneril.
Life and death! I am ashamed
That thou hast power to shake my manhood thus,
That these hot tears, which break from me perforce,
Should make thee worth them. Blasts and fogs upon thee!
Th’ untented woundings of a father’s curse
Pierce every sense about thee! Old fond eyes,
Beweep this cause again, I’ll pluck you out
And cast you, with the waters that you loose,
To temper clay. Yea, is ’t come to this?
Ha! Let it be so. I have another daughter
Who, I am sure, is kind and comfortable.
When she shall hear this of thee, with her nails
She’ll flay thy wolvish visage. Thou shalt find
That I’ll resume the shape which thou dost think
I have cast off forever.
He exits.
Scene 5
...well, th’ event.
Enter Lear, Kent in disguise, Gentleman, and Fool.
to Kent
Go you before to Gloucester with these
letters. Acquaint my daughter no further with anything
you know than comes from her demand out of
the letter. If your diligence be not speedy, I shall be
there afore you.
...danger of kibes?
Ay, boy.
...not go slipshod.
Ha, ha, ha!
...I can tell.
What canst tell, boy?
...on ’s face?
No.
...may spy into.
I did her wrong.
...makes his shell?
No.
...has a house.
Why?
...without a case.
I will forget my nature. So kind a father!—Be
my horses ready?
...a pretty reason.
Because they are not eight.
...a good Fool.
To take ’t again perforce! Monster ingratitude!
...before thy time.
How’s that?
...hadst been wise.
O, let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven!
Keep me in temper. I would not be mad!
Enter Gentleman.
How now, are the horses ready?
...Ready, my lord.
Come, boy.
...cut shorter.
They exit.
ACT 2
Scene 4
...I nothing am.
Enter Lear, Fool, and Gentleman.
’Tis strange that they should so depart from home
And not send back my messenger.
...thee, noble master.
Ha?
Mak’st thou this shame thy pastime?
...wears wooden netherstocks.
What’s he that hath so much thy place mistook
To set thee here?
...son and daughter.
No.
... Yes.
No, I say.
...I say yea.
By Jupiter, I swear no.
...I swear ay.
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
Thou might’st deserve or they impose this usage,
Coming from us.
...in a year.
O, how this mother swells up toward my heart!
Hysterica passio, down, thou climbing sorrow!
Thy element’s below.—Where is this daughter?
...sir, here within.
to Fool and Gentleman
Follow me not. Stay here.
He exits.
...th’ stocks, fool.
Enter Lear and Gloucester.
Deny to speak with me? They are sick? They are weary?
They have traveled all the night? Mere fetches,
The images of revolt and flying off.
Fetch me a better answer.
...his own course.
Vengeance, plague, death, confusion!
“Fiery”? What “quality”? Why Gloucester, Gloucester,
I’d speak with the Duke of Cornwall and his wife.
...informed them so.
“Informed them”? Dost thou understand me, man?
...my good lord.
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 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
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 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.
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.
...well betwixt you.
O me, my heart, my rising heart! But down!
...Regan, Gloucester, Servants.
Good morrow to you both.
...see your Highness.
Regan, I think you are. I know what reason
I have to think so: if thou shouldst not be glad,
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
Sharp-toothed unkindness, like a vulture, here.
I can scarce speak to thee. Thou ’lt not believe
With how depraved a quality—O Regan!
...scant her duty.
Say? How is that?
...from all blame.
My curses on her.
...have wronged her.
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.”
...to my sister.
rising
Never, Regan.
She hath abated me of half my train,
Looked black upon me, struck me with her tongue
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!
...Fie, sir, fie!
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!
...mood is on.
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
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
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.
...purpose. Tucket within.
Who put my man i’ th’ stocks?
...your lady come?
This is a slave whose easy-borrowed pride
Dwells in the fickle grace of her he follows.—
Out, varlet, from my sight!
...means your Grace?
Who stocked my servant? Regan, I have good hope
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.
To Goneril.
Art not ashamed to look upon this beard?
Regan takes Goneril’s hand.
O Regan, will you take her by the hand?
...dotage terms so.
O sides, you are too tough!
Will you yet hold?—How came my man i’ th’ stocks?
...much less advancement.
You? Did you?
...for your entertainment.
Return to her? And fifty men dismissed?
No! Rather I abjure all roofs, and choose
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
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.
...your choice, sir.
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,
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,
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.
...what she does.
Is this well spoken?
...place or notice.
I gave you all—
...you gave it.
Made you my guardians, my depositaries,
But kept a reservation to be followed
With such a number. What, must I come to you
With five-and-twenty? Regan, said you so?
...more with me.
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 with thee.
Thy fifty yet doth double five-and-twenty,
And thou art twice her love.
...What need one?
O, reason not the need! Our basest beggars
Are in the poorest thing superfluous.
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 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
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
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
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.
ACT 3
Scene 2
...Holla the other.
Storm still. Enter Lear and Fool.
Blow winds, and crack your cheeks! Rage, blow!
You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout
Till you have drenched our steeples, drowned the cocks.
You sulph’rous and thought-executing fires,
Vaunt-couriers of oak-cleaving thunderbolts,
Singe my white head. And thou, all-shaking thunder,
Strike flat the thick rotundity o’ th’ world.
Crack nature’s molds, all germens spill at once
That makes ingrateful man.
...men nor fools.
Rumble thy bellyful! Spit, fire! Spout, rain!
Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire are my daughters.
I tax not you, you elements, with unkindness.
I never gave you kingdom, called you children;
You owe me no subscription. Then let fall
Your horrible pleasure. Here I stand your slave,
A poor, infirm, weak, and despised old man.
But yet I call you servile ministers,
That will with two pernicious daughters join
Your high-engendered battles ’gainst a head
So old and white as this. O, ho, ’tis foul!
...in a glass.
No, I will be the pattern of all patience.
I will say nothing.
...nor the fear.
Let the great gods
That keep this dreadful pudder o’er our heads
Find out their enemies now. Tremble, thou wretch,
That hast within thee undivulgèd crimes
Unwhipped of justice. Hide thee, thou bloody hand,
Thou perjured, and thou simular of virtue
That art incestuous. Caitiff, to pieces shake,
That under covert and convenient seeming
Has practiced on man’s life. Close pent-up guilts,
Rive your concealing continents and cry
These dreadful summoners grace. I am a man
More sinned against than sinning.
...Their scanted courtesy.
My wits begin to turn.—
Come on, my boy. How dost, my boy? Art cold?
I am cold myself.—Where is this straw, my fellow?
The art of our necessities is strange
And can make vile things precious. Come, your hovel.—
Poor Fool and knave, I have one part in my heart
That’s sorry yet for thee.
...raineth every day.
True, my good boy.—Come, bring us to this hovel.
Lear and Kent exit.
Scene 4
...old doth fall.
Enter Lear, Kent in disguise, and Fool.
...to endure.Storm still.
Let me alone.
...lord, enter here.
Wilt break my heart?
...my lord, enter.
Thou think’st ’tis much that this contentious storm
Invades us to the skin. So ’tis to thee.
But where the greater malady is fixed,
The lesser is scarce felt. Thou ’dst shun a bear,
But if thy flight lay toward the roaring sea,
Thou ’dst meet the bear i’ th’ mouth. When the mind’s free,
The body’s delicate. This tempest in my mind
Doth from my senses take all feeling else
Save what beats there. Filial ingratitude!
Is it not as this mouth should tear this hand
For lifting food to ’t? But I will punish home.
No, I will weep no more. In such a night
To shut me out? Pour on. I will endure.
In such a night as this? O Regan, Goneril,
Your old kind father whose frank heart gave all!
O, that way madness lies. Let me shun that;
No more of that.
...lord, enter here.
Prithee, go in thyself. Seek thine own ease.
This tempest will not give me leave to ponder
On things would hurt me more. But I’ll go in.—
In, boy; go first.—You houseless poverty—
Nay, get thee in. I’ll pray, and then I’ll sleep.
Poor naked wretches, wheresoe’er you are,
That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm,
How shall your houseless heads and unfed sides,
Your looped and windowed raggedness defend you
From seasons such as these? O, I have ta’en
Too little care of this. Take physic, pomp.
Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel,
That thou may’st shake the superflux to them
And show the heavens more just.
...and warm thee.
Didst thou give all to thy daughters? And art thou
come to this?
...—and there.Storm still.
Has his daughters brought him to this pass?—
Couldst thou save nothing? Wouldst thou give ’em all?
...been all shamed.
Now all the plagues that in the pendulous air
Hang fated o’er men’s faults light on thy daughters!
...no daughters, sir.
Death, traitor! Nothing could have subdued nature
To such a lowness but his unkind daughters.
Is it the fashion that discarded fathers
Should have thus little mercy on their flesh?
Judicious punishment! ’Twas this flesh begot
Those pelican daughters.
...array. Tom’s a-cold.
What hast thou been?
...trot by.Storm still.
Thou wert better in a grave than to answer with
thy uncovered body this extremity of the skies.—Is
man no more than this? Consider him well.—Thou
ow’st the worm no silk, the beast no hide, the sheep
no wool, the cat no perfume. Ha, here’s three on ’s
are sophisticated. Thou art the thing itself; unaccommodated
man is no more but such a poor, bare,
forked animal as thou art. Off, off, you lendings!
Come, unbutton here.
Tearing off his clothes.
...fares your Grace?
What’s he?
...food is ready.
First let me talk with this philosopher.
To Edgar.
What is the cause of thunder?
...into th’ house.
I’ll talk a word with this same learnèd Theban.—
What is your study?
...to kill vermin.
Let me ask you one word in private.
They talk aside.
...beseech your Grace—
O, cry you mercy, sir.
To Edgar.
Noble philosopher, your company.
...Keep thee warm.
Come, let’s in all.
...way, my lord.
indicating Edgar
With him.
I will keep still with my philosopher.
...along with us.
Come, good Athenian.
...a British man.”
They exit.
Scene 6
...reward your kindness!
Enter Lear, Edgar in disguise, and Fool.
...or a yeoman.
A king, a king!
...gentleman before him.
To have a thousand with red burning spits
Come hissing in upon ’em!
...a whore’s oath.
It shall be done. I will arraign them straight.
To Edgar.
Come, sit thou here, most learnèd justice.
To Fool.
Thou sapient sir, sit here. Now, you she-foxes—
...upon the cushions?
I’ll see their trial first. Bring in their evidence.
To Edgar.
Thou robèd man of justice, take thy place,
To Fool.
And thou, his yokefellow of equity,
Bench by his side. To Kent.
You are o’ th’ commission;
Sit you, too.
...cat is gray.
Arraign her first; ’tis Goneril. I here take my oath
before this honorable assembly, kicked the poor
king her father.
...your name Goneril?
She cannot deny it.
...a joint stool.
And here’s another whose warped looks proclaim
What store her heart is made on. Stop her there!
Arms, arms, sword, fire! Corruption in the place!
False justicer, why hast thou let her ’scape?
...mar my counterfeiting.
The little dogs and all,
Tray, Blanch, and Sweetheart, see, they bark at me.
...horn is dry.
Then let them anatomize Regan; see what breeds
about her heart. Is there any cause in nature that
make these hard hearts? To Edgar.
You, sir, I
entertain for one of my hundred; only I do not like
the fashion of your garments. You will say they are
Persian, but let them be changed.
...and rest awhile.
lying down
Make no noise, make no noise.
Draw the curtains. So, so, we’ll go to supper i’ th’
morning.
...Come, come away.
All but Edgar exit, carrying Lear.
ACT 4
Scene 6
...and patient thoughts.
Enter Lear.
...His master thus.
No, they cannot touch me for coining. I am the
King himself.
...thou side-piercing sight!
Nature’s above art in that respect. There’s your
press-money. That fellow handles his bow like a
crowkeeper. Draw me a clothier’s yard. Look, look,
a mouse! Peace, peace! This piece of toasted cheese
will do ’t. There’s my gauntlet; I’ll prove it on a
giant. Bring up the brown bills. O, well flown, bird!
I’ th’ clout, i’ th’ clout! Hewgh! Give the word.
... Sweet marjoram.
Pass.
...know that voice.
Ha! Goneril with a white beard? They flattered
me like a dog and told me I had the white hairs in
my beard ere the black ones were there. To say “ay”
and “no” to everything that I said “ay” and “no” to
was no good divinity. When the rain came to wet me
once and the wind to make me chatter, when the
thunder would not peace at my bidding, there I
found ’em, there I smelt ’em out. Go to. They are
not men o’ their words; they told me I was everything.
’Tis a lie. I am not ague-proof.
...not the King?
Ay, every inch a king.
When I do stare, see how the subject quakes.
I pardon that man’s life. What was thy cause?
Adultery? Thou shalt not die. Die for adultery? No.
The wren goes to ’t, and the small gilded fly does
lecher in my sight. Let copulation thrive, for
Gloucester’s bastard son was kinder to his father
than my daughters got ’tween the lawful sheets. To
’t, luxury, pell-mell, for I lack soldiers. Behold yond
simp’ring dame, whose face between her forks
presages snow, that minces virtue and does shake
the head to hear of pleasure’s name. The fitchew
nor the soiled horse goes to ’t with a more riotous
appetite. Down from the waist they are centaurs,
though women all above. But to the girdle do the
gods inherit; beneath is all the fiend’s. There’s hell,
there’s darkness, there is the sulphurous pit; burning,
scalding, stench, consumption! Fie, fie, fie, pah,
pah! Give me an ounce of civet, good apothecary;
sweeten my imagination. There’s money for thee.
...kiss that hand!
Let me wipe it first; it smells of mortality.
...thou know me?
I remember thine eyes well enough. Dost thou
squinny at me? No, do thy worst, blind Cupid, I’ll
not love. Read thou this challenge. Mark but the
penning of it.
...breaks at it.
Read.
...case of eyes?
O ho, are you there with me? No eyes in your
head, nor no money in your purse? Your eyes are in
a heavy case, your purse in a light, yet you see how
this world goes.
...see it feelingly.
What, art mad? A man may see how this world
goes with no eyes. Look with thine ears. See how
yond justice rails upon yond simple thief. Hark in
thine ear. Change places and, handy-dandy, which
is the justice, which is the thief? Thou hast seen a
farmer’s dog bark at a beggar?
... Ay, sir.
And the creature run from the cur? There thou
might’st behold the great image of authority: a
dog’s obeyed in office.
Thou rascal beadle, hold thy bloody hand!
Why dost thou lash that whore? Strip thy own back.
Thou hotly lusts to use her in that kind
For which thou whipp’st her. The usurer hangs the cozener.
Through tattered clothes small vices do appear.
Robes and furred gowns hide all. Plate sin with gold,
And the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks.
Arm it in rags, a pygmy’s straw does pierce it.
None does offend, none, I say, none; I’ll able ’em.
Take that of me, my friend, who have the power
To seal th’ accuser’s lips. Get thee glass eyes,
And like a scurvy politician
Seem to see the things thou dost not. Now, now, now, now.
Pull off my boots. Harder, harder. So.
...Reason in madness!
If thou wilt weep my fortunes, take my eyes.
I know thee well enough; thy name is Gloucester.
Thou must be patient. We came crying hither;
Thou know’st the first time that we smell the air
We wawl and cry. I will preach to thee. Mark.
...alack the day!
When we are born, we cry that we are come
To this great stage of fools.—This’ a good block.
It were a delicate stratagem to shoe
A troop of horse with felt. I’ll put ’t in proof,
And when I have stol’n upon these son-in-laws,
Then kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill!
...most dear daughter—
No rescue? What, a prisoner? I am even
The natural fool of Fortune. Use me well.
You shall have ransom. Let me have surgeons;
I am cut to th’ brains.
...shall have anything.
No seconds? All myself?
Why, this would make a man a man of salt,
To use his eyes for garden waterpots,
Ay, and laying autumn’s dust.
I will die bravely like a smug bridegroom. What?
I will be jovial. Come, come, I am a king,
Masters, know you that?
...we obey you.
Then there’s life in ’t. Come, an you get it, you
shall get it by running. Sa, sa, sa, sa.
The King exits running pursued by Attendants.
Scene 7
...Is he arrayed?
Enter Lear in a chair carried by Servants.
...the music there.
CORDELIA, kissing Lear
...fares your Majesty?
You do me wrong to take me out o’ th’ grave.
Thou art a soul in bliss, but I am bound
Upon a wheel of fire, that mine own tears
Do scald like molten lead.
...you know me?
You are a spirit, I know. Where did you die?
...him alone awhile.
Where have I been? Where am I? Fair daylight?
I am mightily abused; I should e’en die with pity
To see another thus. I know not what to say.
I will not swear these are my hands. Let’s see.
I feel this pinprick. Would I were assured
Of my condition!
...must not kneel.
Pray do not mock:
I am a very foolish fond old man,
Fourscore and upward, not an hour more nor less,
And to deal plainly,
I fear I am not in my perfect mind.
Methinks I should know you and know this man,
Yet I am doubtful, for I am mainly ignorant
What place this is, and all the skill I have
Remembers not these garments; nor I know not
Where I did lodge last night. Do not laugh at me,
For, as I am a man, I think this lady
To be my child Cordelia.
...am; I am.
Be your tears wet? Yes, faith. I pray, weep not.
If you have poison for me, I will drink it.
I know you do not love me, for your sisters
Have, as I do remember, done me wrong.
You have some cause; they have not.
...no cause.
Am I in France?
...own kingdom, sir.
Do not abuse me.
...your Highness walk?
You must bear with me.
Pray you now, forget, and forgive. I am old and foolish.
They exit. Kent and Gentleman remain.
ACT 5
Scene 2
...not to debate.
Alarum within. Enter, with Drum and Colors, Lear, Cordelia, and Soldiers, over the stage, and exit. Enter Edgar and Gloucester.
Scene 3
...that’s true too.
Enter in conquest, with Drum and Colors, Edmund; Lear and Cordelia as prisoners; Soldiers, Captain.
...and these sisters?
No, no, no, no. Come, let’s away to prison.
We two alone will sing like birds i’ th’ cage.
When thou dost ask me blessing, I’ll kneel down
And ask of thee forgiveness. So we’ll live,
And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh
At gilded butterflies, and hear poor rogues
Talk of court news, and we’ll talk with them too—
Who loses and who wins; who’s in, who’s out—
And take upon ’s the mystery of things,
As if we were God’s spies. And we’ll wear out,
In a walled prison, packs and sects of great ones
That ebb and flow by th’ moon.
...Take them away.
Upon such sacrifices, my Cordelia,
The gods themselves throw incense. Have I caught thee?
He that parts us shall bring a brand from heaven
And fire us hence like foxes. Wipe thine eyes.
The good years shall devour them, flesh and fell,
Ere they shall make us weep. We’ll see ’em starved first.
Come.
Lear and Cordelia exit, with Soldiers.
...him hence awhile.
Enter Lear with Cordelia in his arms, followed by a Gentleman.
Howl, howl, howl! O, you are men of stones!
Had I your tongues and eyes, I’d use them so
That heaven’s vault should crack. She’s gone forever.
I know when one is dead and when one lives.
She’s dead as earth.—Lend me a looking glass.
If that her breath will mist or stain the stone,
Why, then she lives.
...Fall and cease.
This feather stirs. She lives. If it be so,
It is a chance which does redeem all sorrows
That ever I have felt.
...my good master—
Prithee, away.
...Kent, your friend.
A plague upon you, murderers, traitors all!
I might have saved her. Now she’s gone forever.—
Cordelia, Cordelia, stay a little. Ha!
What is ’t thou sayst?—Her voice was ever soft,
Gentle, and low, an excellent thing in woman.
I killed the slave that was a-hanging thee.
...lords, he did.
Did I not, fellow?
I have seen the day, with my good biting falchion
I would have made him skip. I am old now,
And these same crosses spoil me. To Kent.
Who are you?
Mine eyes are not o’ th’ best. I’ll tell you straight.
...them we behold.
This is a dull sight. Are you not Kent?
...your servant Caius?
He’s a good fellow, I can tell you that.
He’ll strike and quickly too. He’s dead and rotten.
...the very man—
I’ll see that straight.
...your sad steps.
You are welcome hither.
...desperately are dead.
Ay, so I think.
...O, see, see!
And my poor fool is hanged. No, no, no life?
Why should a dog, a horse, a rat have life,
And thou no breath at all? Thou ’lt come no more,
Never, never, never, never, never.—
Pray you undo this button. Thank you, sir.
Do you see this? Look on her, look, her lips,
Look there, look there!
He dies.
...live so long.
They exit with a dead march.