Half my love with him, half my care and duty:


Sure, I shall never marry like my sisters,


Let it be so; thy truth, then, be thy dower:


Hold thee, from this, for ever. The barbarous Scythian,


To gorge his appetite, shall to my bosom


Be as well neighbourd, pitied, and relieved,


Come not between the dragon and his wrath.


I loved her most, and thought to set my rest


On her kind nursery. Hence, and avoid my sight!


Her fathers heart from her! Call France; who stirs?


With my two daughters dowers digest this third:


Let pride, which she calls plainness, marry her.


That troop with majesty. Ourself, by monthly course,


Make with you by due turns. Only we still retain


The name, and all the additions to a king;


The sway, revenue, execution of the rest,


Beloved sons, be yours: which to confirm,


Loved as my father, as my master followd,


As my great patron thought on in my prayers,--


The bow is bent and drawn, make from the shaft.


Let it fall rather, though the fork invade


The region of my heart: be Kent unmannerly,


When Lear is mad. What wilt thou do, old man?


Thinkst thou that duty shall have dread to speak,


When power to flattery bows? To plainness honours bound,


When majesty stoops to folly. Reverse thy doom;


This hideous rashness: answer my life my judgment,


Thy youngest daughter does not love thee least;


Nor are those empty-hearted whose low sound


To wage against thy enemies; nor fear to lose it,


See better, Lear; and let me still remain


Or, whilst I can vent clamour from my throat,


Since thou hast sought to make us break our vow,


Which we durst never yet, and with straind pride


To come between our sentence and our power,


Which nor our nature nor our place can bear,


Five days we do allot thee, for provision


To shield thee from diseases of the world;


Upon our kingdom: if, on the tenth day following,


Thy banishd trunk be found in our dominions,


The moment is thy death. Away! by Jupiter,


Fare thee well, king: sith thus thou wilt appear,


Freedom lives hence, and banishment is here.


The gods to their dear shelter take thee, maid,


That justly thinkst, and hast most rightly said!


And your large speeches may your deeds approve,


That good effects may spring from words of love.


Thus Kent, O princes, bids you all adieu;


Hell shape his old course in a country new.


Flourish. Re-enter GLOUCESTER, with KING OF FRANCE, BURGUNDY, and Attendants


Heres France and Burgundy, my noble lord.


We first address towards you, who with this king


Hath rivalld for our daughter: what, in the least,


Will you require in present dower with her,


I crave no more than what your highness offerd,


When she was dear to us, we did hold her so;


But now her price is falln. 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,


Will you, with those infirmities she owes,


Dowerd with our curse, and strangerd with our oath,


Election makes not up on such conditions.


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


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


That she, that even but now was your best object,


The argument of your praise, balm of your age,


Most best, most dearest, should in this trice of time


Commit a thing so monstrous, to dismantle


So many folds of favour. Sure, her offence


That monsters it, or your fore-vouchd affection


Falln into taint: which to believe of her,


Must be a faith that reason without miracle


To speak and purpose not; since what I well intend,


Ill dot before I speak,--that you make known


It is no vicious blot, murder, or foulness,


That hath deprived me of your grace and favour;


But even for want of that for which I am richer,


A still-soliciting eye, and such a tongue


As I am glad I have not, though not to have it


Hadst not been born than not to have pleased me better.


That it intends to do? My lord of Burgundy,


What say you to the lady? Loves not love


When it is mingled with regards that stand


Aloof from the entire point. Will you have her?


Give but that portion which yourself proposed,


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


Since that respects of fortune are his love,


Fairest Cordelia, that art most rich, being poor;


Most choice, forsaken; and most loved, despised!


Gods, gods! tis strange that from their coldst neglect


My love should kindle to inflamed respect.


Thy dowerless daughter, king, thrown to my chance,


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


Can buy this unprized precious maid of me.


Bid them farewell, Cordelia, though unkind:


Thou losest here, a better 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. Therefore be gone


Without our grace, our love, our benison.


Flourish. Exeunt all but KING OF FRANCE, GONERIL, REGAN, and CORDELIA


The jewels of our father, with washd eyes


Cordelia leaves you: I know you what you are;


Your faults as they are named. Use well our father:


But yet, alas, stood I within his grace,


Be to content your lord, who hath received you


At fortunes alms. You have obedience scanted,


And well are worth the want that you have wanted.


Time shall unfold what plaited cunning hides:


Who cover faults, at last shame them derides.


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


most nearly appertains to us both. I think our


Thats most certain, and with you; next month with us.


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


Tis the infirmity of his age: yet he hath ever


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.


Such unconstant starts are we like to have from


There is further compliment of leavetaking


between France and him. Pray you, lets hit


together: if our father carry authority with


such dispositions as he bears, this last


SCENE II. The Earl of Gloucesters castle.


Thou, nature, art my goddess; to thy law


My services are bound. Wherefore should I


Stand in the plague of custom, and permit


For that I am some twelve or fourteen moon-shines


Lag of a brother? Why bastard? wherefore base?


My mind as generous, and my shape as true,


As honest madams issue? Why brand they us


With base? with baseness? bastardy? base, base?


Who, in the lusty stealth of nature, take


Than doth, within a dull, stale, tired bed,


Go to the creating a whole tribe of fops,


Legitimate Edgar, I must have your land:


Our fathers love is to the bastard Edmund


As to the legitimate: fine word,--legitimate!


Well, my legitimate, if this letter speed,


And my invention thrive, Edmund the base


Shall top the legitimate. I grow; I prosper:


Kent banishd thus! and France in choler parted!


And the king gone to-night! subscribed his power!


Upon the gad! Edmund, how now! what news?


Why so earnestly seek you to put up that letter?


No? What needed, then, that terrible dispatch of


it into your pocket? the quality of nothing hath


not such need to hide itself. Lets see: come,


if it be nothing, I shall not need spectacles.


I beseech you, sir, pardon me: it is a letter


from my brother, that I have not all oer-read;


and for so much as I have perused, I find it not


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


contents, as in part I understand them, are to blame.


I hope, for my brothers justification, he wrote


this but as an essay or taste of my virtue.


[Reads]  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 half his


revenue for ever, and live the beloved of your


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


It was not brought me, my lord; theres the


cunning of it; I found it thrown in at the


You know the character to be your brothers?


If the matter were good, my lord, I durst swear


it were his; but, in respect of that, I would


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


Hath he never heretofore sounded you in this business?


Never, my lord: but I have heard him oft


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


and fathers declining, the father should be as


ward to the son, and the son manage his revenue.


O villain, villain! His very opinion in the


letter! Abhorred villain! Unnatural, detested,


brutish villain! worse than brutish! Go, sirrah,


seek him; Ill apprehend him: abominable villain!


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 wrote this to feel my


affection to your honour, and to no further


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.


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


I will seek him, sir, presently: convey the


business as I shall find means and acquaint you withal.


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 twixt son


and father. This villain of mine comes under the


prediction; theres son against father: the king


falls from bias of nature; theres 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


This is the excellent foppery of the world, that,


when we are sick in fortune,--often the surfeit


of our own behavior,--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


father compounded with my mother under the


dragons tail; and my nativity was under Ursa


major; so that it follows, I am rough and


lecherous. Tut, I should have been that I am,


had the maidenliest star in the firmament


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.


I am thinking, brother, of a prediction I read


this other day, what should follow these eclipses.


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.


How long have you been a sectary astronomical?


Come, come; when saw you my father last?


displeasure in him by word or countenance?


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


Thats my fear. I pray you, have a continent


forbearance till the spied 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 ye, go; theres my key:


Brother, I advise you to the best; go armed: I


am no honest man if there be any good meaning


towards you: I have told you what I have seen


and heard; but faintly, nothing like the image


A credulous father! and a brother noble,


Whose nature is so far from doing harms,


That he suspects none: on whose foolish honesty


My practises ride easy! I see the business.


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


All with mes meet that I can fashion fit.


Did my father strike my gentleman for chiding of his fool?


By day and night he wrongs me; every hour


He flashes into one gross crime or other,


That sets us all at odds: Ill not endure it:


His knights grow riotous, and himself upbraids us


On every trifle. When he returns from hunting,


I will not speak with him; say I am sick:


You shall do well; the fault of it Ill answer.


Put on what weary negligence you please,


You and your fellows; Ill have it come to question:


If he dislike it, let him to our sister,


Whose mind and mine, I know, in that are one,


That still would manage those authorities


That he hath given away! Now, by my life,


Old fools are babes again; and must be used


With cheques as flatteries,--when they are seen abused.


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: Ill write straight to my sister,


To hold my very course. Prepare for dinner.


That can my speech defuse, my good intent


May carry through itself to that full issue


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


If thou canst serve where thou dost stand condemnd,


So may it come, thy master, whom thou lovest,


Horns within. Enter KING LEAR, Knights, and Attendants


Let me not stay a jot for dinner; go get it ready.


What dost thou profess? what wouldst thou with us?


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


A very honest-hearted fellow, and as poor as the king.


If thou be as poor for a subject as he is for a


king, thou art poor enough. What wouldst thou?


No, sir; but you have that in your countenance


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.


Not so young, sir, to love a woman for singing, nor


so old to dote on her for any thing: I have years


Follow me; thou shalt serve me: if I like thee no


worse after dinner, I will not part from thee yet.


Dinner, ho, dinner! Wheres my knave? my fool?


What says the fellow there? Call the clotpoll back.


Wheres my fool, ho? I think the worlds asleep.


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


Why came not the slave back to me when I called him.


Sir, he answered me in the roundest manner, he would


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; theres a


great abatement of kindness appears as well in the


general dependants as in the duke himself also and


I beseech you, pardon me, my lord, if I be mistaken;


for my duty cannot be silent when I think your


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 intot. But wheres my fool? I


Since my young ladys going into France, sir, the


No more of that; I have noted it well. Go you, and


tell my daughter I would speak with her.


O, you sir, you, come you hither, sir: who am I,


I am none of these, my lord; I beseech your pardon.


Nor tripped neither, you base football player.


I thank thee, fellow; thou servest me, and Ill


Come, sir, arise, away! Ill teach you differences:


away, away! if you will measure your lubbers


length again, tarry: but away! go to; have you


Now, my friendly knave, I thank thee: theres


How now, my pretty knave! how dost thou?


Why, for taking ones part thats out of favour:


nay, an thou canst not smile as the wind sits,


thoult catch cold shortly: there, take my coxcomb:


why, this fellow has banished two ons 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!


If I gave them all my living, Ild keep my coxcombs


myself. Theres mine; beg another of thy daughters.


Truths a dog must to kennel; he must be whipped


out, when Lady the brach may stand by the fire and stink.


Then tis like the breath of an unfeed lawyer; you


gave me nothing fort. Can you make no use of


Why, no, boy; nothing can be made out of nothing.


[To KENT]  Prithee, tell him, so much the rent of


his land comes to: he will not believe a fool.


Dost thou know the difference, my boy, between a


All thy other titles thou hast given away; that


No, faith, lords and great men will not let me; if


I had a monopoly out, they would have part ont:


and ladies too, they will not let me have all fool


to myself; theyll be snatching. Give me an egg,


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 thy ass on thy back oer


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


When were you wont to be so full of songs, sirrah?


I have used it, nuncle, ever since thou madest thy


daughters thy mothers: for when thou gavest them


the rod, and putst down thine own breeches,


Prithee, nuncle, keep a schoolmaster that can teach


thy fool to lie: I would fain learn to lie.


An you lie, sirrah, well have you whipped.


I marvel what kin thou and thy daughters are:


theyll have me whipped for speaking true, thoult


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


How now, daughter! what makes that frontlet on?


Methinks you are too much of late i the frown.


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,


Yes, forsooth, I will hold my tongue; so your face


bids me, though you say nothing. Mum, mum,


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


Do hourly carp and quarrel; breaking forth


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.


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,


Might in their working do you that offence,


Which else were shame, that then necessity


The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long,


That its had it head bit off by it young.


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


I would you would make use of that good wisdom,


Whereof I know you are fraught; and put away


These dispositions, that of late transform you


draws the horse? Whoop, Jug! I love thee.


Doth any here know me? This is not Lear:


Doth Lear walk thus? speak thus? Where are his eyes?


Either his notion weakens, his discernings


marks of sovereignty, knowledge, and reason,


I should be false persuaded I had daughters.


Which they will make an obedient father.


This admiration, sir, is much o the savour


Of other your new pranks. I do beseech you


As you are old and reverend, you should be wise.


Here do you keep a hundred knights and squires;


That this our court, infected with their manners,


Shows like a riotous inn: epicurism and lust


Than a graced palace. The shame itself doth speak


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


And the remainder, that shall still depend,


Saddle my horses; call my train together:


Degenerate bastard! Ill not trouble thee.


You strike my people; and your disorderd rabble


Is it your will? Speak, sir. Prepare my horses.


More hideous when thou showst thee in a child


[To GONERIL]  Detested kite! thou liest.


My train are men of choice and rarest parts,


The worships of their name. O most small fault,


That, like an engine, wrenchd my frame of nature


From the fixd place; drew from heart all love,


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


Beat at this gate, that let thy folly in,


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


My lord, I am guiltless, as I am ignorant


Suspend thy purpose, if thou didst intend


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;


To laughter and contempt; that she may feel


Now, gods that we adore, whereof comes this?


Never afflict yourself to know the cause;


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!


The untented woundings of a fathers curse


Pierce every sense about thee! Old fond eyes,


Beweep this cause again, Ill pluck ye out,


And cast you, with the waters that you lose,


To temper clay. Yea, it is come to this?


Let is be so: yet have I left a daughter,


Who, I am sure, is kind and comfortable:


When she shall hear this of thee, with her nails


Shell flay thy wolvish visage. Thou shalt find


That Ill resume the shape which thou dost think


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


Nuncle Lear, nuncle Lear, tarry and take the fool


This man hath had good counsel:--a hundred knights!


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,


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


Let me still take away the harms I fear,


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


What he hath utterd I have writ my sister


If she sustain him and his hundred knights


What, have you writ that letter to my sister?


Take you some company, and away to horse:


And thereto add such reasons of your own


This milky gentleness and course of yours


Though I condemn not, yet, under pardon,


You are much more attaskd for want of wisdom


How far your eyes may pierce I can not tell:


Striving to better, oft we mar whats well.


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 afore you.


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


If a mans brains were ins heels, weret not in


Then, I prithee, be merry; thy wit shall neer go


Shalt see thy other daughter will use thee kindly;


for though shes as like this as a crabs like an


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


crab. Thou canst tell why ones nose stands i


Why, to keep ones eyes of either sides nose; that


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


Canst tell how an oyster makes his shell?


Nor I neither; but I can tell why a snail has a house.


Why, to put his head in; not to give it away to his


daughters, and leave his horns without a case.


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


Thy asses are gone about em. The reason why the


seven stars are no more than seven is a pretty reason.


Yes, indeed: thou wouldst make a good fool.


To take t again perforce! Monster ingratitude!


If thou wert my fool, nuncle, Ild have thee beaten


Thou shouldst not have been old till thou hadst


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


She thats a maid now, and laughs at my departure,


Shall not be a maid long, unless things be cut shorter.


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


given him notice that the Duke of Cornwall and Regan


his duchess will be here with him this night.


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


I mean the whispered ones, for they are yet but


Have you heard of no likely wars toward, twixt the


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


The duke be here to-night? The better! best!


This weaves itself perforce into my business.


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!


My father watches: O sir, fly this place;


Intelligence is given where you are hid;


You have now the good advantage of the night:


Have you not spoken gainst the Duke of Cornwall?


Hes 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?


In cunning I must draw my sword upon you


Draw; seem to defend yourself; now quit you well.


Yield: come before my father. Light, ho, here!


Fly, brother. Torches, torches! So, farewell.


Some blood drawn on me would beget opinion.


Of my more fierce endeavour: I have seen drunkards


Do more than this in sport. Father, father!


Enter GLOUCESTER, and Servants with torches


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


Mumbling of wicked charms, conjuring the moon


Fled this way, sir. When by no means he could--


Persuade me to the murder of your lordship;


Gainst parricides did all their thunders bend;


Spoke, with how manifold and strong a bond


The child was bound to the father; sir, in fine,


To his unnatural purpose, in fell motion,


With his prepared sword, he charges home


But when he saw my best alarumd spirits,


Bold in the quarrels right, roused to the encounter,


Not in this land shall he remain uncaught;


And found--dispatch. The noble duke my master,


My worthy arch and patron, comes to-night:


That he which finds him shall deserve our thanks,


Bringing the murderous coward to the stake;


And found him pight to do it, with curst speech


I threatend to discover him: he replied,


Thou unpossessing bastard! dost thou think,


If I would stand against thee, would the reposal


Make thy words faithd? No: what I should deny,--


As this I would: ay, though thou didst produce


To thy suggestion, plot, and damned practise:


And thou must make a dullard of the world,


If they not thought the profits of my death


Would he deny his letter? I never got him.


Hark, the dukes trumpets! I know not why he comes.


All ports Ill bar; the villain shall not scape;


The duke must grant me that: besides, his picture


I will send far and near, that all the kingdom


May have the due note of him; and of my land,


Loyal and natural boy, Ill work the means


How now, my noble friend! since I came hither,


Which I can call but now, I have heard strange news.


If it be true, all vengeance comes too short


Which can pursue the offender. How dost, my lord?


O, madam, my old heart is crackd, its crackd!


What, did my fathers godson seek your life?


Was he not companion with the riotous knights


I know not, madam: tis too bad, too bad.


No marvel, then, though he were ill affected:


Tis they have put him on the old mans death,


To have the expense and waste of his revenues.


I have this present evening from my sister


Been well informd of them; and with such cautions,


That if they come to sojourn at my house,


Edmund, I hear that you have shown your father


He did bewray his practise; and received


This hurt you see, striving to apprehend him.


Be feard of doing harm: make your own purpose,


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


Whose virtue and obedience doth this instant


So much commend itself, you shall be ours:


Natures of such deep trust we shall much need;


You know not why we came to visit you,--


Thus out of season, threading dark-eyed night:


Occasions, noble Gloucester, of some poise,


Wherein we must have use of your advice:


Our father he hath writ, so hath our sister,


Of differences, which I least thought it fit


To answer from our home; the several messengers


From hence attend dispatch. Our good old friend,


Good dawning to thee, friend: art of this house?


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


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


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


base, proud, shallow, beggarly, three-suited,


hundred-pound, filthy, worsted-stocking knave; a


lily-livered, action-taking knave, a whoreson,


glass-gazing, super-serviceable 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


Why, what a monstrous fellow art thou, thus to rail


on one that is neither known of thee nor knows thee!


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


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


thy heels, and beat thee before the king? Draw, you


rogue: for, though it be night, yet the moon


shines; Ill make a sop o the moonshine of you:


draw, you whoreson cullionly barber-monger, draw.


Draw, you rascal: you come with letters against the


king; and take vanity the puppets part against the


royalty of her father: draw, you rogue, or Ill so


carbonado your shanks: draw, you rascal; come your ways.


Strike, you slave; stand, rogue, stand; you neat


Enter EDMUND, with his rapier drawn, CORNWALL, REGAN, GLOUCESTER, and Servants


With you, goodman boy, an you please: come, Ill


He dies that strikes again. What is the matter?


The messengers from our sister and the king.


No marvel, you have so bestirred your valour. You


cowardly rascal, nature disclaims in thee: a


Thou art a strange fellow: a tailor make a man?


Ay, a tailor, sir: a stone-cutter or painter could


not have made him so ill, though he had been but two


This ancient ruffian, sir, whose life I have spared


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 gray beard, you wagtail?


You beastly knave, know you no reverence?


That such a slave as this should wear a sword,


Who wears no honesty. Such smiling rogues as these,


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;


Renege, affirm, and turn their halcyon beaks


With every gale and vary of their masters,


Knowing nought, like dogs, but following.


Smile you my speeches, as I were a fool?


Why dost thou call him a knave?  Whats his offence?


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


Who, having been praised for bluntness, doth affect


A saucy roughness, and constrains the garb


Quite from his nature: he cannot flatter, he,


An honest mind and plain, he must speak truth!


An they will take it, so; if not, hes plain.


These kind of knaves I know, which in this plainness


Harbour more craft and more corrupter ends


Under the allowance of your great aspect,


Whose influence, like the wreath of radiant fire


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


It pleased the king his master very late


To strike at me, upon his misconstruction;


When he, conjunct and flattering his displeasure,


Trippd me behind; being down, insulted, raild,


That worthied him, got praises of the king


For him attempting who was self-subdued;


And, in the fleshment of this dread exploit,


You stubborn ancient knave, you reverend braggart,


Call not your stocks for me: I serve the king;


You shall do small respect, show too bold malice


Against the grace and person of my master,


Fetch forth the stocks! As I have life and honour,


Till noon! till night, my lord; and all night too.


This is a fellow of the self-same colour


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


His fault is much, and the good king his master


Will cheque him for t: your purposed low correction


Is such as basest and contemnedst wretches


For pilferings and most common trespasses


Are punishd with: the king must take it ill,


That hes so slightly valued in his messenger,


My sister may receive it much more worse,


To have her gentleman abused, assaulted,


For following her affairs. Put in his legs.


I am sorry for thee, friend; tis the dukes pleasure,


Whose disposition, all the world well knows,


Will not be rubbd nor stoppd: Ill entreat for thee.


Pray, do not, sir: I have watched and travelld hard;


Some time I shall sleep out, the rest Ill whistle.


A good mans fortune may grow out at heels:


The dukes to blame in this; twill be ill taken.


Good king, that must approve the common saw,


Approach, thou beacon to this under globe,


Peruse this letter! Nothing almost sees miracles


Of my obscured course; and shall find time


From this enormous state, seeking to give


Losses their remedies. All weary and oerwatchd,


Fortune, good night: smile once more: turn thy wheel!


Escaped the hunt. No port is free; no place,


Does not attend my taking. Whiles I may scape,


I will preserve myself: and am bethought


To take the basest and most poorest shape


Brought near to beast: my face Ill grime with filth;


Blanket my loins: elf all my hair in knots;


The country gives me proof and precedent


Of Bedlam beggars, who, with roaring voices,


Strike in their numbd 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,


Sometime with lunatic bans, sometime with prayers,


Enforce their charity. Poor Turlygod! poor Tom!


Thats something yet: Edgar I nothing am.


SCENE IV. Before GLOUCESTERs castle. KENT in the stocks.


Tis strange that they should so depart from home,


The night before there was no purpose in them


Ha, ha! he wears cruel garters. Horses are tied


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


the loins, and men by the legs: when a mans


over-lusty at legs, then he wears wooden


Whats he that hath so much thy place mistook


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 mightst deserve, or they impose, this usage,


I did commend your highness letters to them,


Ere I was risen from the place that showd


My duty kneeling, came there a reeking post,


Stewd in his haste, half breathless, panting forth


Deliverd letters, spite of intermission,


Which presently they read: on whose contents,


They summond up their meiny, straight took horse;


The leisure of their answer; gave me cold looks:


Whose welcome, I perceived, had poisond mine,--


Displayd so saucily against your highness,--


Having more man than wit about me, drew:


He raised the house with loud and coward cries.


Your son and daughter found this trespass worth


Winters not gone yet, if the wild-geese fly that way.


But, for all this, thou shalt have as many dolours


for thy daughters as thou canst tell in a year.


O, how this mother swells up toward my heart!


Hysterica passio, down, thou climbing sorrow,


Thy elements below! Where is this daughter?


Made you no more offence but what you speak of?


How chance the king comes with so small a train?


And thou hadst been set i the stocks for that


Well set thee to school to an ant, to teach thee


theres no labouring i the winter. All that follow


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


theres not a nose among twenty but can smell him


thats 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.


That sir which serves and seeks for gain,


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


They have travelld all the night? Mere fetches;


Fiery? what quality? Why, Gloucester, Gloucester,


Ild speak with the Duke of Cornwall and his wife.


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


Informd them! Dost thou understand me, man?


The king would speak with Cornwall; the dear father


Would with his daughter speak, commands her service:


Are they informd of this? My breath and blood!


Fiery? the fiery duke? Tell the hot duke that--


Whereto our health is bound; we are not ourselves


When nature, being oppressd, commands the mind


And am falln out with my more headier will,


For the sound man. Death on my state! wherefore


Should he sit here? This act persuades me


Is practise only. Give me my servant forth.


Go tell the duke and s wife Ild speak with them,


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


Or at their chamber-door Ill beat the drum


O me, my heart, my rising heart! but, down!


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


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 mothers tomb,


Some other time for that. Beloved Regan,


Thy sisters naught: O Regan, she hath tied


Sharp-toothd unkindness, like a vulture, here:


I can scarce speak to thee; thoult not believe


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


Would fail her obligation: if, sir, perchance


She have restraind the riots of your followers,


Tis on such ground, and to such wholesome end,


Of her confine: you should be ruled and led


By some discretion, that discerns your state


Better than you yourself. Therefore, I pray you,


Do you but mark how this becomes the house:


That youll vouchsafe me raiment, bed, and food.


Good sir, no more; these are unsightly tricks:


Lookd black upon me; struck me with her tongue,


All the stored vengeances of heaven fall


On her ingrateful top! Strike her young bones,


You nimble lightnings, dart your blinding flames


Into her scornful eyes! Infect her beauty,


You fen-suckd fogs, drawn by the powerful sun,


O the blest gods! so will you wish on me,


No, Regan, thou shalt never have my curse:


Thee oer 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,


Against my coming in: thou better knowst


The offices of nature, bond of childhood,


Thy half o the kingdom hast thou not forgot,


I knowt, my sisters: this approves her letter,


This is a slave, whose easy-borrowd pride


Dwells in the fickle grace of her he follows.


Who stockd my servant? Regan, I have good hope


Thou didst not know ont. Who comes here? O heavens,


If you do love old men, if your sweet sway


Make it your cause; send down, and take my part!


Art not ashamed to look upon this beard?


O Regan, wilt thou take her by the hand?


Why not by the hand, sir? How have I offended?


Alls not offence that indiscretion finds


Will you yet hold? How came my man i the stocks?


I set him there, sir: but his own disorders


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


You will return and sojourn with my sister,


Dismissing half your train, come then to me:


I am now from home, and out of that provision


Which shall be needful for your entertainment.


No, rather I abjure all roofs, and choose


To be a comrade with the wolf and owl,--


Necessitys 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


I prithee, daughter, do not make me mad:


I will not trouble thee, my child; farewell:


Well no more meet, no more see one another:


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


Which I must needs call mine: thou art a boil,


In my corrupted blood. But Ill not chide thee;


Let shame come when it will, I do not call it:


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 lookd not for you yet, nor am provided


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


For those that mingle reason with your passion


Must be content to think you old, and so--


I dare avouch it, sir: what, fifty followers?


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


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


Speak gainst so great a number? How, in one house,


Hold amity? Tis hard; almost impossible.


Why might not you, my lord, receive attendance


From those that she calls servants or from mine?


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


We could control them. If you will come to me,--


To bring but five and twenty: to no more


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


With five and twenty, Regan? said you so?


And speakt again, my lord; no more with me.


Those wicked creatures yet do look well-favourd,


When others are more wicked: not being the worst


Thy fifty yet doth double five and twenty,


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


To follow in a house where twice so many


O, reason not the need: our basest beggars


Allow not nature more than nature needs,


Mans lifes as cheap as beasts: thou art a lady;


Why, nature needs not what thou gorgeous wearst,


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 stir these daughters hearts


Against their father, fool me not so much


To bear it tamely; touch me with noble anger,


And let not womens weapons, water-drops,


Stain my mans cheeks! No, you unnatural hags,


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 Ill weep


I have full cause of weeping; but this heart


Shall break into a hundred thousand flaws,


Or ere Ill weep. O fool, I shall go mad!


Exeunt KING LEAR, GLOUCESTER, KENT, and Fool


This house is little: the old man and his people


Tis his own blame; hath put himself from rest,


For his particular, Ill receive him gladly,


Followd the old man forth: he is returnd.


He calls to horse; but will I know not whither.


Tis best to give him way; he leads himself.


My lord, entreat him by no means to stay.


Alack, the night comes on, and the bleak winds


The injuries that they themselves procure


Must be their schoolmasters. Shut up your doors:


And what they may incense him to, being apt


To have his ear abused, wisdom bids fear.


Shut up your doors, my lord; tis a wild night:


My Regan counsels well; come out o the storm.


Storm still. Enter KENT and a Gentleman, meeting


One minded like the weather, most unquietly.


Bids the winds blow the earth into the sea,


Or swell the curled water bove the main,


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


The to-and-fro-conflicting wind and rain.


This night, wherein the cub-drawn bear would couch,


None but the fool; who labours to out-jest


Commend a dear thing to you. There is division,


Although as yet the face of it be coverd


With mutual cunning, twixt Albany and Cornwall;


Who have--as who have not, that their great stars


Throned and set high?--servants, who seem no less,


Which are to France the spies and speculations


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,


Whereof perchance these are but furnishings;


But, true it is, from France there comes a power


Into this scatterd kingdom; who already,


Wise in our negligence, have secret feet


In some of our best ports, and are at point


To make your speed to Dover, you shall find


Some that will thank you, making just report


And, from some knowledge and assurance, offer


Than my out-wall, open this purse, and take


What it contains. If you shall see Cordelia,--


As fear not but you shall,--show her this ring;


And she will tell you who your fellow is


That yet you do not know. Fie on this storm!


Give me your hand: have you no more to say?


Few words, but, to effect, more than all yet;


That, when we have found the king,--in which your pain


That way, Ill this,--he that first lights on him


SCENE II. Another part of the heath. Storm still.


Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! rage! blow!


Till you have drenchd our steeples, drownd the cocks!


You sulphurous and thought-executing fires,


Vaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thunderbolts,


Singe my white head! And thou, all-shaking thunder,


Smite flat the thick rotundity o the world!


Crack natures moulds, an germens spill at once,


house is better than this rain-water out o door.


Good nuncle, in, and ask thy daughters blessing:


heres a night pities neither wise man nor fool.


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, calld 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:


That have with two pernicious daughters joind


Your high engenderd battles gainst a head


So old and white as this. O! O! tis foul!


He that has a house to puts head in has a good


For there was never yet fair woman but she made


No, I will be the pattern of all patience;


Marry, heres grace and a cod-piece; thats a wise


Alas, sir, are you here? things that love night


Love not such nights as these; the wrathful skies


And make them keep their caves: since I was man,


Such sheets of fire, such bursts of horrid thunder,


Such groans of roaring wind and rain, I never


Remember to have heard: mans nature cannot carry


That keep this dreadful pother oer our heads,


Find out their enemies now. Tremble, thou wretch,


That hast within thee undivulged crimes,


Unwhippd of justice: hide thee, thou bloody hand;


Thou perjured, and thou simular man of virtue


That art incestuous: caitiff, to pieces shake,


That under covert and convenient seeming


Hast practised on mans life: close pent-up guilts,


Rive your concealing continents, and cry


These dreadful summoners grace. I am a man


Gracious my lord, hard by here is a hovel;


Some friendship will it lend you gainst the tempest:


Repose you there; while I to this hard house--


More harder than the stones whereof tis raised;


Which even but now, demanding after you,


Come on, my boy: how dost, my boy? art cold?


I am cold myself. Where is this straw, my fellow?


That can make vile things precious. Come,


Poor fool and knave, I have one part in my heart


Must make content with his fortunes fit,


True, my good boy. Come, bring us to this hovel.


This is a brave night to cool a courtezan.


When priests are more in word than matter;


When usurers tell their gold i the field;


This prophecy Merlin shall make; for I live before his time.


Alack, alack, Edmund, I like not this unnatural


dealing. When I desire their leave that I might


pity him, they took from me the use of mine own


house; charged me, on pain of their perpetual


displeasure, neither to speak of him, entreat for


Go to; say you nothing. Theres a division betwixt


the dukes; and a worse matter than that: I have


received a letter this night; tis dangerous to be


spoken; I have locked the letter in my closet:


these injuries the king now bears will be revenged


home; theres part of a power already footed: we


must incline to the king. I will seek him, and


privily relieve him: go you and maintain talk with


the duke, that my charity be not of him perceived:


if he ask for me. I am ill, and gone to bed.


Though I die for it, as no less is threatened me,


the king my old master must be relieved. There is


some strange thing toward, Edmund; pray you, be careful.


This courtesy, forbid thee, shall the duke


This seems a fair deserving, and must draw me


That which my father loses; no less than all:


The younger rises when the old doth fall.


Here is the place, my lord; good my lord, enter:


The tyranny of the open nights too rough


I had rather break mine own. Good my lord, enter.


Thou thinkst tis much that this contentious storm


The lesser is scarce felt. Thouldst shun a bear;


But if thy flight lay toward the raging sea,


Thouldst meet the bear i the mouth. When the


The bodys delicate: the 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 tot? But I will punish home:


No, I will weep no more. In such a night


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;


Prithee, go in thyself: seek thine own ease:


This tempest will not give me leave to ponder


On things would hurt me more. But Ill go in.


In, boy; go first. You houseless poverty,--


Nay, get thee in. Ill pray, and then Ill sleep.


That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm,


How shall your houseless heads and unfed sides,


Your loopd and windowd raggedness, defend you


From seasons such as these? O, I have taen


Too little care of this! Take physic, pomp;


Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel,


That thou mayst shake the superflux to them,


[Within]  Fathom and half, fathom and half! Poor Tom!


Come not in here, nuncle, heres a spirit


A spirit, a spirit: he says his names poor Tom.


What art thou that dost grumble there i the straw?


Through the sharp hawthorn blows the cold wind.


Hast thou given all to thy two daughters?


Who gives any thing to poor Tom? whom the foul


fiend hath led through fire and through flame, and


through ford and whirlipool eer bog and quagmire;


that hath laid knives under his pillow, and halters


in his pew; set ratsbane by his porridge; made film


proud of heart, to ride on a bay trotting-horse over


four-inched bridges, to course his own shadow for a


traitor. Bless thy five wits! Toms a-cold,--O, do


de, do de, do de. Bless thee from whirlwinds,


star-blasting, and taking! Do poor Tom some


charity, whom the foul fiend vexes: there could I


have him now,--and there,--and there again, and there.


What, have his daughters brought him to this pass?


Couldst thou save nothing? Didst thou give them all?


Nay, he reserved a blanket, else we had been all shamed.


Now, all the plagues that in the pendulous air


Hang fated oer mens faults light on thy daughters!


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


This cold night will turn us all to fools and madmen.


Take heed o the foul fiend: obey thy parents;


keep thy word justly; swear not; commit not with


mans sworn spouse; set not thy sweet heart on proud


A serving-man, proud in heart and mind; that curled


my hair; wore gloves in my cap; served the lust of


my mistress heart, and did the act of darkness with


her; swore as many oaths as I spake words, and


broke them in the sweet face of heaven: one that


slept in the contriving of lust, and waked to do it:


wine loved I deeply, dice dearly: and in woman


out-paramoured the Turk: false of heart, light of


ear, bloody of hand; hog in sloth, fox in stealth,


wolf in greediness, dog in madness, lion in prey.


Let not the creaking of shoes nor the rustling of


silks betray thy poor heart to woman: keep thy foot


out of brothels, thy hand out of plackets, thy pen


from lenders books, and defy the foul fiend.


Still through the hawthorn blows the cold wind:


Dolphin my boy, my boy, sessa! let him trot by.


Why, thou wert better in thy grave than to answer


with thy uncovered body this extremity of the skies.


Is man no more than this? Consider him well. Thou


owest the worm no silk, the beast no hide, the sheep


no wool, the cat no perfume. Ha! heres 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!


Prithee, nuncle, be contented; tis a naughty night


to swim in. Now a little fire in a wild field were


like an old lechers heart; a small spark, all the


rest ons body cold. Look, here comes a walking fire.


This is the foul fiend Flibbertigibbet: he begins


at curfew, and walks till the first cock; he gives


the web and the pin, squints the eye, and makes the


hare-lip; mildews the white wheat, and hurts the


He met the night-mare, and her nine-fold;


Poor Tom; that eats the swimming frog, the toad,


the tadpole, the wall-newt and the water; that in


the fury of his heart, when the foul fiend rages,


eats cow-dung for sallets; swallows the old rat and


the ditch-dog; drinks the green mantle of the


standing pool; who is whipped from tithing to


tithing, and stock- punished, and imprisoned; who


hath had three suits to his back, six shirts to his


body, horse to ride, and weapon to wear;


Have been Toms food for seven long year.


Beware my follower. Peace, Smulkin; peace, thou fiend!


What, hath your grace no better company?


Our flesh and blood is grown so vile, my lord,


To obey in all your daughters hard commands:


Though their injunction be to bar my doors,


And let this tyrannous night take hold upon you,


Yet have I ventured to come seek you out,


And bring you where both fire and food is ready.


First let me talk with this philosopher.


Good my lord, take his offer; go into the house.


Ill talk a word with this same learned Theban.


How to prevent the fiend, and to kill vermin.


His daughters seek his death: ah, that good Kent!


He said it would be thus, poor banishd man!


Thou sayst the king grows mad; Ill tell thee, friend,


Now outlawd from my blood; he sought my life,


But lately, very late: I loved him, friend;


No father his son dearer: truth to tell thee,


The grief hath crazed my wits. What a nights this!


In, fellow, there, into the hovel: keep thee warm.


Good my lord, soothe him; let him take the fellow.


I will have my revenge ere I depart his house.


How, my lord, I may be censured, that nature thus


gives way to loyalty, something fears me to think


I now perceive, it was not altogether your


brothers evil disposition made him seek his death;


but a provoking merit, set a-work by a reprovable


How malicious is my fortune, that I must repent to


be just! This is the letter he spoke of, which


approves him an intelligent party to the advantages


of France: O heavens! that this treason were not,


If the matter of this paper be certain, you have


True or false, it hath made thee earl of


Gloucester. Seek out where thy father is, that he


[Aside]  If I find him comforting the king, it will


stuff his suspicion more fully.--I will persevere in


my course of loyalty, though the conflict be sore


I will lay trust upon thee; and thou shalt find a


SCENE VI. A chamber in a farmhouse adjoining the castle.


Enter GLOUCESTER, KING LEAR, KENT, Fool, and EDGAR


Here is better than the open air; take it


thankfully. I will piece out the comfort with what


addition I can: I will not be long from you.


All the power of his wits have given way to his


impatience: the gods reward your kindness!


Nero is an angler in the lake of darkness.


Pray, innocent, and beware the foul fiend.


Prithee, nuncle, tell me whether a madman be a


No, hes a yeoman that has a gentleman to his son;


for hes a mad yeoman that sees his son a gentleman


To have a thousand with red burning spits


Hes mad that trusts in the tameness of a wolf, a


horses health, a boys love, or a whores oath.


It shall be done; I will arraign them straight.


Come, sit thou here, most learned justicer;


Thou, sapient sir, sit here. Now, you she foxes!


The foul fiend haunts poor Tom in the voice of a


nightingale. Hopdance cries in Toms belly for two


white herring. Croak not, black angel; I have no


How do you, sir? Stand you not so amazed:


Will you lie down and rest upon the cushions?


Ill see their trial first. Bring in the evidence.


Thou robed man of justice, take thy place;


Sleepest or wakest thou, jolly shepherd?


Arraign her first; tis Goneril. I here take my


oath before this honourable assembly, she kicked the


Come hither, mistress. Is your name Goneril?


Cry you mercy, I took you for a joint-stool.


And heres another, whose warpd 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?


That thou so oft have boasted to retain?


[Aside]  My tears begin to take his part so much,


The little dogs and all, Tray, Blanch, and


Tom will throw his head at them. Avaunt, you curs!


Do de, de, de. Sessa! Come, march to wakes and


fairs and market-towns. Poor Tom, thy horn is dry.


Then let them anatomize Regan; see what breeds


about her heart. Is there any cause in nature that


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 attire: but let them be changed.


Now, good my lord, lie here and rest awhile.


Make no noise, make no noise; draw the curtains:


so, so, so. Well go to supper i he morning. So, so, so.


Come hither, friend: where is the king my master?


Here, sir; but trouble him not, his wits are gone.


Good friend, I prithee, take him in thy arms;


I have oerheard a plot of death upon him:


And drive towards Dover, friend, where thou shalt meet


Both welcome and protection. Take up thy master:


If thou shouldst dally half an hour, his life,


With thine, and all that offer to defend him,


Stand in assured loss: take up, take up;


And follow me, that will to some provision


This rest might yet have balmd thy broken senses,


When we our betters see bearing our woes,


We scarcely think our miseries our foes.


Who alone suffers suffers most i the mind,


Leaving free things and happy shows behind:


But then the mind much sufferance doth oer skip,


When grief hath mates, and bearing fellowship.


How light and portable my pain seems now,


When that which makes me bend makes the king bow,


Mark the high noises; and thyself bewray,


When false opinion, whose wrong thought defiles thee,


In thy just proof, repeals and reconciles thee.


What will hap more to-night, safe scape the king!


Enter CORNWALL, REGAN, GONERIL, EDMUND, and Servants


Post speedily to my lord your husband; show him


this letter: the army of France is landed. Seek


Leave him to my displeasure. Edmund, keep you our


sister company: the revenges we are bound to take


upon your traitorous father are not fit for your


beholding. Advise the duke, where you are going, to


a most festinate preparation: we are bound to the


like. Our posts shall be swift and intelligent


betwixt us. Farewell, dear sister: farewell, my


My lord of Gloucester hath conveyd him hence:


Some five or six and thirty of his knights,


Hot questrists after him, met him at gate;


Who, with some other of the lords dependants,


Are gone with him towards Dover; where they boast


Pinion him like a thief, bring him before us.


Though well we may not pass upon his life


Without the form of justice, yet our power


Shall do a courtesy to our wrath, which men


May blame, but not control. Whos there? the traitor?


Enter GLOUCESTER, brought in by two or three


What mean your graces? Good my friends, consider


You are my guests: do me no foul play, friends.


To this chair bind him. Villain, thou shalt find--


These hairs, which thou dost ravish from my chin,


Will quicken, and accuse thee: I am your host:


With robbers hands my hospitable favours


You should not ruffle thus. What will you do?


Come, sir, what letters had you late from France?


Be simple answerer, for we know the truth.


And what confederacy have you with the traitors


To whose hands have you sent the lunatic king? Speak.


Which came from one thats of a neutral heart,


Wherefore to Dover? Wast thou not charged at peril--


Wherefore to Dover? Let him first answer that.


I am tied to the stake, and I must stand the course.


Pluck out his poor old eyes; nor thy fierce sister


In his anointed flesh stick boarish fangs.


The sea, with such a storm as his bare head


In hell-black night endured, would have buoyd up,


Yet, poor old heart, he holp the heavens to rain.


If wolves had at thy gate howld that stern time,


Thou shouldst have said Good porter, turn the key,


All cruels else subscribed: but I shall see


The winged vengeance overtake such children.


Seet shalt thou never. Fellows, hold the chair.


Upon these eyes of thine Ill set my foot.


He that will think to live till he be old,


One side will mock another; the other too.


I have served you ever since I was a child;


But better service have I never done you


Id shake it on this quarrel. What do you mean?


Nay, then, come on, and take the chance of anger.


Give me thy sword. A peasant stand up thus!


O, I am slain! My lord, you have one eye left


Lest it see more, prevent it. Out, vile jelly!


All dark and comfortless. Wheres my son Edmund?


Edmund, enkindle all the sparks of nature,


Thou callst on him that hates thee: it was he


That made the overture of thy treasons to us;


Kind gods, forgive me that, and prosper him!


Go thrust him out at gates, and let him smell


I have received a hurt: follow me, lady.


Turn out that eyeless villain; throw this slave


Upon the dunghill. Regan, I bleed apace:


Untimely comes this hurt: give me your arm.


And in the end meet the old course of death,


Lets follow the old earl, and get the Bedlam


To lead him where he would: his roguish madness


Go thou: Ill fetch some flax and whites of eggs


To apply to his bleeding face. Now, heaven help him!


Yet better thus, and known to be contemnd,


Than still contemnd and flatterd. To be worst,


The lowest and most dejected thing of fortune,


Stands still in esperance, lives not in fear:


The worst returns to laughter. Welcome, then,


The wretch that thou hast blown unto the worst


Owes nothing to thy blasts. But who comes here?


My father, poorly led? World, world, O world!


But that thy strange mutations make us hate thee,


O, my good lord, I have been your tenant, and


your fathers tenant, these fourscore years.


Away, get thee away; good friend, be gone:


I have no way, and therefore want no eyes;


I stumbled when I saw: full oft tis seen,


Our means secure us, and our mere defects


Prove our commodities. O dear son Edgar,


Might I but live to see thee in my touch,


[Aside]  O gods! Who ist can say I am at


[Aside]  And worse I may be yet: the worst is not


So long as we can say  This is the worst.


He has some reason, else he could not beg.


I the last nights storm I such a fellow saw;


Which made me think a man a worm: my son


Was then scarce friends with him: I have heard


As flies to wanton boys, are we to the gods.


Bad is the trade that must play fool to sorrow,


Angering itself and others.--Bless thee, master!


Then, prithee, get thee gone: if, for my sake,


Thou wilt oertake us, hence a mile or twain,


I the way toward Dover, do it for ancient love;


And bring some covering for this naked soul,


Tis the times plague, when madmen lead the blind.


Do as I bid thee, or rather do thy pleasure;


Ill bring him the best parel that I have,


[Aside]  And yet I must.--Bless thy sweet eyes, they bleed.


Both stile and gate, horse-way and foot-path. Poor


Tom hath been scared out of his good wits: bless


thee, good mans son, from the foul fiend! five


fiends have been in poor Tom at once; of lust, as


Obidicut; Hobbididence, prince of dumbness; Mahu, of


stealing; Modo, of murder; Flibbertigibbet, of


mopping and mowing, who since possesses chambermaids


and waiting-women. So, bless thee, master!


Here, take this purse, thou whom the heavens plagues


Have humbled to all strokes: that I am wretched


Makes thee the happier: heavens, deal so still!


Let the superfluous and lust-dieted man,


That slaves your ordinance, that will not see


Because he doth not feel, feel your power quickly;


And each man have enough. Dost thou know Dover?


There is a cliff, whose high and bending head


And Ill repair the misery thou dost bear


With something rich about me: from that place


Welcome, my lord: I marvel our mild husband


Madam, within; but never man so changed.


He smiled at it: I told him you were coming:


His answer was The worse: of Gloucesters treachery,


When I informd him, then he calld me sot,


And told me I had turnd the wrong side out:


What most he should dislike seems pleasant to him;


[To EDMUND]  Then shall you go no further.


That dares not undertake: hell not feel wrongs


Which tie him to an answer. Our wishes on the way


May prove effects. Back, Edmund, to my brother;


Hasten his musters and conduct his powers:


I must change arms at home, and give the distaff


Into my husbands hands. This trusty servant


Shall pass between us: ere long you are like to hear,


A mistresss command. Wear this; spare speech;


Decline your head: this kiss, if it durst speak,


Would stretch thy spirits up into the air:


You are not worth the dust which the rude wind


Blows in your face. I fear your disposition:


She that herself will sliver and disbranch


From her material sap, perforce must wither


Wisdom and goodness to the vile seem vile:


Filths savour but themselves. What have you done?


Tigers, not daughters, what have you performd?


Whose reverence even the head-luggd bear would lick,


Most barbarous, most degenerate! have you madded.


Could my good brother suffer you to do it?


If that the heavens do not their visible spirits


Send quickly down to tame these vile offences,


That bearst a cheek for blows, a head for wrongs;


Who hast not in thy brows an eye discerning


Thine honour from thy suffering; that not knowst


Fools do those villains pity who are punishd


Ere they have done their mischief. Wheres thy drum?


France spreads his banners in our noiseless land;


With plumed helm thy slayer begins threats;


Whiles thou, a moral fool, sitst still, and criest


Thou changed and self-coverd thing, for shame,


Be-monster not thy feature. Weret my fitness


They are apt enough to dislocate and tear


Thy flesh and bones: howeer thou art a fiend,


O, my good lord, the Duke of Cornwalls dead:


A servant that he bred, thrilld with remorse,


Opposed against the act, bending his sword


To his great master; who, thereat enraged,


Flew on him, and amongst them felld him dead;


But not without that harmful stroke, which since


You justicers, that these our nether crimes


So speedily can venge! But, O poor Gloucester!


This letter, madam, craves a speedy answer;


[Aside]              One way I like this well;


But being widow, and my Gloucester with her,


The news is not so tart.--Ill read, and answer.


Where was his son when they did take his eyes?


Ay, my good lord; twas he informd against him;


And quit the house on purpose, that their punishment


To thank thee for the love thou showdst the king,


And to revenge thine eyes. Come hither, friend:


Why the King of France is so suddenly gone back


state, which since his coming forth is thought


of; which imports to the kingdom so much


fear and danger, that his personal return was


Did your letters pierce the queen to any


Ay, sir; she took them, read them in my presence;


And now and then an ample tear trilld down


Her delicate cheek: it seemd she was a queen


Not to a rage: patience and sorrow strove


Who should express her goodliest. You have seen


Sunshine and rain at once: her smiles and tears


Were like a better way: those happy smilets,


That playd on her ripe lip, seemd not to know


What guests were in her eyes; which parted thence,


As pearls from diamonds droppd. In brief,


Faith, once or twice she heaved the name of father


Pantingly forth, as if it pressd her heart:


Cried Sisters! sisters! Shame of ladies! sisters!


Kent! father! sisters! What, i the storm? i the night?


Let pity not be believed! There she shook


And clamour moistend: then away she started


The stars above us, govern our conditions;


Else one self mate and mate could not beget


Such different issues. You spoke not with her since?


Well, sir, the poor distressed Lears i the town;


Who sometime, in his better tune, remembers


A sovereign shame so elbows him: his own unkindness,


That strippd her from his benediction, turnd her


To foreign casualties, gave her dear rights


To his dog-hearted daughters, these things sting


His mind so venomously, that burning shame


Of Albanys and Cornwalls powers you heard not?


Well, sir, Ill bring you to our master Lear,


And leave you to attend him: some dear cause


When I am known aright, you shall not grieve


Lending me this acquaintance. I pray you, go


Enter, with drum and colours, CORDELIA, Doctor, and Soldiers


Crownd with rank fumiter and furrow-weeds,


With bur-docks, hemlock, nettles, cuckoo-flowers,


Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow


In our sustaining corn. A century send forth;


Search every acre in the high-grown field,


He that helps him take all my outward worth.


The which he lacks; that to provoke in him,


All you unpublishd virtues of the earth,


Spring with my tears! be aidant and remediate


In the good mans distress! Seek, seek for him;


Lest his ungovernd rage dissolve the life


The British powers are marching hitherward.


Tis known before; our preparation stands


My mourning and important tears hath pitied.


But love, dear love, and our aged fathers right:


Lord Edmund spake not with your lord at home?


What might import my sisters letter to him?


Faith, he is posted hence on serious matter.


It was great ignorance, Gloucesters eyes being out,


To let him live: where he arrives he moves


All hearts against us: Edmund, I think, is gone,


I must needs after him, madam, with my letter.


Our troops set forth to-morrow: stay with us;


My lady charged my duty in this business.


Why should she write to Edmund? Might not you


Something--I know not what: Ill love thee much,


I know your lady does not love her husband;


I am sure of that: and at her late being here


She gave strange oeillades and most speaking looks


To noble Edmund. I know you are of her bosom.


I speak in understanding; you are; I knowt:


Therefore I do advise you, take this note:


My lord is dead; Edmund and I have talkd;


Than for your ladys: you may gather more.


If you do find him, pray you, give him this;


And when your mistress hears thus much from you,


I pray, desire her call her wisdom to her.


If you do chance to hear of that blind traitor,


Preferment falls on him that cuts him off.


Would I could meet him, madam! I should show


Enter GLOUCESTER, and EDGAR dressed like a peasant


When shall we come to the top of that same hill?


You do climb up it now: look, how we labour.


Why, then, your other senses grow imperfect


Methinks thy voice is alterd; and thou speakst


In better phrase and matter than thou didst.


Youre much deceived: in nothing am I changed


Come on, sir; heres the place: stand still. How fearful


And dizzy tis, to cast ones eyes so low!


The crows and choughs that wing the midway air


Show scarce so gross as beetles: half way down


Hangs one that gathers samphire, dreadful trade!


Methinks he seems no bigger than his head:


The fishermen, that walk upon the beach,


Appear like mice; and yond tall anchoring bark,


Almost too small for sight: the murmuring surge,


That on the unnumberd idle pebbles chafes,


Cannot be heard so high. Ill look no more;


Lest my brain turn, and the deficient sight


Give me your hand: you are now within a foot


Of the extreme verge: for all beneath the moon


Here, friend, s another purse; in it a jewel


Well worth a poor mans taking: fairies and gods


Prosper it with thee! Go thou farther off;


Bid me farewell, and let me hear thee going.


This world I do renounce, and, in your sights,


Shake patiently my great affliction off:


To quarrel with your great opposeless wills,


My snuff and loathed part of nature should


Burn itself out. If Edgar live, O, bless him!


Yields to the theft: had he been where he thought,


By this, had thought been past. Alive or dead?


Ho, you sir! friend! Hear you, sir! speak!


Thus might he pass indeed: yet he revives.


Hadst thou been aught but gossamer, feathers, air,


Thoudst shiverd like an egg: but thou dost breathe;


Hast heavy substance; bleedst not; speakst; art sound.


From the dread summit of this chalky bourn.


Look up a-height; the shrill-gorged lark so far


Cannot be seen or heard: do but look up.


To end itself by death? Twas yet some comfort,


When misery could beguile the tyrants rage,


Up: so. How is t? Feel you your legs? You stand.


Upon the crown o the cliff, what thing was that


As I stood here below, methought his eyes


Were two full moons; he had a thousand noses,


Horns whelkd and waved like the enridged sea:


It was some fiend; therefore, thou happy father,


Think that the clearest gods, who make them honours


Of mens impossibilities, have preserved thee.


Enough, enough, and die. That thing you speak of,


The fiend, the fiend: he led me to that place.


Bear free and patient thoughts. But who comes here?


Enter KING LEAR, fantastically dressed with wild flowers


No, they cannot touch me for coining; I am the


Natures above art in that respect. Theres your


press-money. That fellow handles his bow like a


crow-keeper: draw me a clothiers yard. Look,


look, a mouse! Peace, peace; this piece of toasted


cheese will do t. Theres my gauntlet; Ill prove


it on a giant. Bring up the brown bills. O, well


flown, bird! i the clout, i the clout: hewgh!


Ha! Goneril, with a white beard! They flattered


me like a dog; and told me I had white hairs in my


beard ere the black ones were there. To say ay


and no to every thing that I said!--Ay and no


too 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 every


The trick of that voice I do well remember:


When I do stare, see how the subject quakes.


I pardon that mans life. What was thy cause? Adultery?


Thou shalt not die: die for adultery! No:


The wren goes to t, and the small gilded fly


Let copulation thrive; for Gloucesters bastard son


Was kinder to his father than my daughters


To t, luxury, pell-mell! for I lack soldiers.


Whose face between her forks presages snow;


That minces virtue, and does shake the head


The fitchew, nor the soiled horse, goes to t


Theres hell, theres darkness, theres the


Burning, scalding, stench, consumption; fie,


fie, fie! pah, pah! Give me an ounce of civet,


good apothecary, to sweeten my imagination:


Let me wipe it first; it smells of mortality.


O ruind piece of nature! This great world


Shall so wear out to nought. Dost thou know me?


I remember thine eyes well enough. Dost thou squiny


at me? No, do thy worst, blind Cupid! Ill not


love. Read thou this challenge; mark but the


Were all the letters suns, I could not see one.


I would not take this from report; it is,


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


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


And the creature run from the cur? There thou


mightst behold the great image of authority: a


Thou rascal beadle, hold thy bloody hand!


Why dost thou lash that whore? Strip thine own back;


Thou hotly lustst to use her in that kind


For which thou whippst her. The usurer hangs the cozener.


Through tatterd clothes small vices do appear;


Robes and furrd gowns hide all. Plate sin with gold,


And the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks:


Arm it in rags, a pigmys straw does pierce it.


None does offend, none, I say, none; Ill able em:


Take that of me, my friend, who have the power


To seal the accusers lips. Get thee glass eyes;


To see the things thou dost not. Now, now, now, now:


O, matter and impertinency mixd! 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 knowst, the first time that we smell the air,


We wawl and cry. I will preach to thee: mark.


When we are born, we cry that we are come


To this great stage of fools: this a good block;


A troop of horse with felt: Ill put t in proof;


And when I have stoln upon these sons-in-law,


Then, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill!


The natural fool of fortune. Use me well;


You shall have ransom. Let me have surgeons;


Why, this would make a man a man of salt,


I will die bravely, like a bridegroom. What!


I will be jovial: come, come; I am a king,


Then theres life int. Nay, if you get it, you


shall get it with running. Sa, sa, sa, sa.


A sight most pitiful in the meanest wretch,


Past speaking of in a king! Thou hast one daughter,


Who redeems nature from the general curse


Do you hear aught, sir, of a battle toward?


Most sure and vulgar: every one hears that,


Near and on speedy foot; the main descry


Though that the queen on special cause is here,


You ever-gentle gods, take my breath from me:


A most poor man, made tame to fortunes blows;


Who, by the art of known and feeling sorrows,


Am pregnant to good pity. Give me your hand,


That eyeless head of thine was first framed flesh


To raise my fortunes. Thou old unhappy traitor,


Briefly thyself remember: the sword is out


Darest thou support a publishd traitor? Hence;


Lest that the infection of his fortune take


Chill not let go, zir, without vurther casion.


Good gentleman, go your gait, and let poor volk


pass. An chud ha bin zwaggered out of my life,


twould not ha bin zo long as tis by a vortnight.


Nay, come not near th old man; keep out, che vor


ye, or ise try whether your costard or my ballow be


Chill pick your teeth, zir: come; no matter vor


Slave, thou hast slain me: villain, take my purse:


And give the letters which thou findst about me


To Edmund earl of Gloucester; seek him out


Upon the British party: O, untimely death!


I know thee well: a serviceable villain;


Lets see these pockets: the letters that he speaks of


May be my friends. Hes dead; I am only sorry


Leave, gentle wax; and, manners, blame us not:


To know our enemies minds, weld rip their hearts;


Let our reciprocal vows be remembered. You have


many opportunities to cut him off: if your will


want not, time and place will be fruitfully offered.


There is nothing done, if he return the conqueror:


then am I the prisoner, and his bed my goal; from


the loathed warmth whereof deliver me, and supply


And the exchange my brother! Here, in the sands,


Of murderous lechers: and in the mature time


With this ungracious paper strike the sight


Of the death practised duke: for him tis well


That of thy death and business I can tell.


The king is mad: how stiff is my vile sense,


That I stand up, and have ingenious feeling


Of my huge sorrows! Better I were distract:


So should my thoughts be severd from my griefs,


Far off, methinks, I hear the beaten drum:


Come, father, Ill bestow you with a friend.


SCENE VII. A tent in the French camp. LEAR on a bed asleep,


soft music playing; Gentleman, and others attending.


O thou good Kent, how shall I live and work,


To match thy goodness? My life will be too short,


All my reports go with the modest truth;


These weeds are memories of those worser hours:


Yet to be known shortens my made intent:


Cure this great breach in his abused nature!


The untuned and jarring senses, O, wind up


That we may wake the king: he hath slept long.


Be governd by your knowledge, and proceed


I the sway of your own will. Is he arrayd?


Ay, madam; in the heaviness of his sleep


Be by, good madam, when we do awake him;


Please you, draw near. Louder the music there!


Thy medicine on my lips; and let this kiss


Repair those violent harms that my two sisters


Had you not been their father, these white flakes


Had challenged pity of them. Was this a face


To be opposed against the warring winds?


To stand against the deep dread-bolted thunder?


Of quick, cross lightning? to watch--poor perdu!--


Though he had bit me, should have stood that night


Against my fire; and wast thou fain, poor father,


To hovel thee with swine, and rogues forlorn,


Tis wonder that thy life and wits at once


Had not concluded all. He wakes; speak to him.


How does my royal lord? How fares your majesty?


You do me wrong to take me out o the grave:


Thou art a soul in bliss; but I am bound


Upon a wheel of fire, that mine own tears


You are a spirit, I know: when did you die?


Where have I been? Where am I? Fair daylight?


I am mightily abused. I should een die with pity,


To see another thus. I know not what to say.


I will not swear these are my hands: lets see;


I feel this pin prick. Would I were assured


And hold your hands in benediction oer me:


Fourscore and upward, not an hour more nor less;


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;


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


Be comforted, good madam: the great rage,


You see, is killd in him: and yet it is danger


To make him even oer the time he has lost.


Desire him to go in; trouble him no more


Pray you now, forget and forgive: I am old and foolish.


Holds it true, sir, that the Duke of Cornwall was so slain?


As tis said, the bastard son of Gloucester.


They say Edgar, his banished son, is with the Earl


Report is changeable. Tis time to look about; the


The arbitrement is like to be bloody. Fare you


My point and period will be throughly wrought,


Or well or ill, as this days battles fought.


Enter, with drum and colours, EDMUND, REGAN, Gentlemen, and Soldiers.


Know of the duke if his last purpose hold,


To change the course: hes full of alteration


And self-reproving: bring his constant pleasure.


Our sisters man is certainly miscarried.


You know the goodness I intend upon you:


Tell me--but truly--but then speak the truth,


But have you never found my brothers way


I am doubtful that you have been conjunct


And bosomd with her, as far as we call hers.


Enter, with drum and colours, ALBANY, GONERIL, and Soldiers


[Aside]  I had rather lose the battle than that sister


Sir, this I hear; the king is come to his daughter,


Forced to cry out. Where I could not be honest,


I never yet was valiant: for this business,


It toucheth us, as France invades our land,


Not bolds the king, with others, whom, I fear,


For these domestic and particular broils


With the ancient of war on our proceedings.


I shall attend you presently at your tent.


Tis most convenient; pray you, go with us.


[Aside]  O, ho, I know the riddle.--I will go.


As they are going out, enter EDGAR disguised


If eer your grace had speech with man so poor,


Before you fight the battle, ope this letter.


If you have victory, let the trumpet sound


For him that brought it: wretched though I seem,


I can produce a champion that will prove


What is avouched there. If you miscarry,


Your business of the world hath so an end,


And machination ceases. Fortune love you.


When time shall serve, let but the herald cry,


Why, fare thee well: I will oerlook thy paper.


The enemys in view; draw up your powers.


Here is the guess of their true strength and forces


To both these sisters have I sworn my love;


Are of the adder. Which of them shall I take?


Both? one? or neither? Neither can be enjoyd,


Exasperates, makes mad her sister Goneril;


Her husband being alive. Now then well use


His countenance for the battle; which being done,


Which he intends to Lear and to Cordelia,


The battle done, and they within our power,


Shall never see his pardon; for my state


SCENE II. A field between the two camps.


Alarum within. Enter, with drum and colours,  KING LEAR, CORDELIA, and Soldiers, over the stage; and exeunt


Here, father, take the shadow of this tree


For your good host; pray that the right may thrive:


Alarum and retreat within. Re-enter EDGAR


King Lear hath lost, he and his daughter taen:


No farther, sir; a man may rot even here.


What, in ill thoughts again? Men must endure


Their going hence, even as their coming hither;


Enter, in conquest, with drum and colours, EDMUND,  KING LEAR and CORDELIA, prisoners; Captain, Soldiers,  and c


Some officers take them away: good guard,


Until their greater pleasures first be known


Who, with best meaning, have incurrd the worst.


For thee, oppressed king, am I cast down;


Myself could else out-frown false fortunes frown.


Shall we not see these daughters and these sisters?


No, no, no, no! Come, lets away to prison:


We two alone will sing like birds i the cage:


When thou dost ask me blessing, Ill kneel down,


And ask of thee forgiveness: so well live,


And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh


At gilded butterflies, and hear poor rogues


Talk of court news; and well talk with them too,


Who loses and who wins; whos in, whos out;


As if we were Gods spies: and well wear out,


In a walld prison, packs and sects of great ones,


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: well see em starve


One step I have advanced thee; if thou dost


As this instructs thee, thou dost make thy way


To noble fortunes: know thou this, that men


Does not become a sword: thy great employment


Will not bear question; either say thoult do t,


About it; and write happy when thou hast done.


I cannot draw a cart, nor eat dried oats;


Flourish. Enter ALBANY, GONERIL, REGAN, another Captain, and Soldiers


Sir, you have shown to-day your valiant strain,


And fortune led you well: you have the captives


That were the opposites of this days strife:


We do require them of you, so to use them


As we shall find their merits and our safety


Whose age has charms in it, whose title more,


Which do command them. With him I sent the queen;


My reason all the same; and they are ready


To-morrow, or at further space, to appear


Where you shall hold your session. At this time


We sweat and bleed: the friend hath lost his friend;


And the best quarrels, in the heat, are cursed


Methinks our pleasure might have been demanded,


Ere you had spoke so far. He led our powers;


Bore the commission of my place and person;


That were the most, if he should husband you.


That eye that told you so lookd but a-squint.


Lady, I am not well; else I should answer


Take thou my soldiers, prisoners, patrimony;


Dispose of them, of me; the walls are thine:


Witness the world, that I create thee here


The let-alone lies not in your good will.


[To EDMUND]  Let the drum strike, and prove my title thine.


Stay yet; hear reason. Edmund, I arrest thee


On capital treason; and, in thine attaint,


And I, her husband, contradict your bans.


If you will marry, make your loves to me,


Thou art armd, Gloucester: let the trumpet sound:


Thy heinous, manifest, and many treasons,


Ere I taste bread, thou art in nothing less


[Aside]  If not, Ill neer trust medicine.


That names me traitor, villain-like he lies:


Call by thy trumpet: he that dares approach,


On him, on you, who not? I will maintain


Trust to thy single virtue; for thy soldiers,


She is not well; convey her to  my tent.


Come hither, herald,--Let the trumpet sound,


[Reads]  If any man of quality or degree within


the lists of the army will maintain upon Edmund,


supposed Earl of Gloucester, that he is a manifold


traitor, let him appear by the third sound of the


Enter EDGAR, at the third sound, armed, with a trumpet before him


Your name, your quality? and why you answer


By treasons tooth bare-gnawn and canker-bit:


Whats he that speaks for Edmund Earl of Gloucester?


That, if my speech offend a noble heart,


Thy arm may do thee justice: here is mine.


Behold, it is the privilege of mine honours,


Maugre thy strength, youth, place, and eminence,


Despite thy victor sword and fire-new fortune,


Thy valour and thy heart, thou art a traitor;


False to thy gods, thy brother, and thy father;


Conspirant gainst this high-illustrious prince;


And, from the extremest upward of thy head


A most toad-spotted traitor. Say thou No,


This sword, this arm, and my best spirits, are bent


To prove upon thy heart, whereto I speak,


But, since thy outside looks so fair and warlike,


And that thy tongue some say of breeding breathes,


By rule of knighthood, I disdain and spurn:


Back do I toss these treasons to thy head;


With the hell-hated lie oerwhelm thy heart;


Which, for they yet glance by and scarcely bruise,


This sword of mine shall give them instant way,


Where they shall rest for ever. Trumpets, speak!


By the law of arms thou wast not bound to answer


An unknown opposite; thou art not vanquishd,


Or with this paper shall I stop it: Hold, sir:


Thou worse than any name, read thine own evil:


No tearing, lady: I perceive you know it.


Say, if I do, the laws are mine, not thine:


Go after her: shes desperate; govern her.


What you have charged me with, that have I done;


And more, much more; the time will bring it out:


Tis past, and so am I. But what art thou


That hast this fortune on me? If thourt noble,


I am no less in blood than thou art, Edmund;


The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices


The dark and vicious place where thee he got


The wheel is come full circle: I am here.


How have you known the miseries of your father?


By nursing them, my lord. List a brief tale;


And when tis told, O, that my heart would burst!


That followd me so near,--O, our lives sweetness!


That we the pain of death would hourly die


Rather than die at once!--taught me to shift


Into a madmans rags; to assume a semblance


That very dogs disdaind: and in this habit


Met I my father with his bleeding rings,


Their precious stones new lost: became his guide,


Led him, beggd for him, saved him from despair;


Never,--O fault!--reveald myself unto him,


Until some half-hour past, when I was armd:


Not sure, though hoping, of this good success,


I askd his blessing, and from first to last


Told him my pilgrimage: but his flawd heart,


Alack, too weak the conflict to support!


Twixt two extremes of passion, joy and grief,


And shall perchance do good: but speak you on;


You look as you had something more to say.


If there be more, more woeful, hold it in;


To such as love not sorrow; but another,


To amplify too much, would make much more,


Whilst I was big in clamour came there in a man,


Shunnd my abhorrd society; but then, finding


Who twas that so endured, with his strong arms


As held burst heaven; threw him on my father;


Told the most piteous tale of Lear and him


That ever ear received: which in recounting


His grief grew puissant and the strings of life


Began to crack: twice then the trumpets sounded,


Kent, sir, the banishd Kent; who in disguise


Followd his enemy king, and did him service


It came even from the heart of--O, shes dead!


Your lady, sir, your lady: and her sister


By her is poisoned; she hath confessd it.


I was contracted to them both: all three


Produce their bodies, be they alive or dead:


This judgment of the heavens, that makes us tremble,


To bid my king and master aye good night:


Speak, Edmund, wheres the king? and wheres Cordelia?


The bodies of GONERIL and REGAN are brought in


I pant for life: some good I mean to do,


Despite of mine own nature. Quickly send,


Be brief in it, to the castle; for my writ


To who, my lord? Who hath the office? send


The gods defend her! Bear him hence awhile.


Re-enter KING LEAR, with CORDELIA dead in his arms; EDGAR, Captain, and others following


Howl, howl, howl, howl! O, you are men of stones:


Had I your tongues and eyes, Ild use them so


That heavens vault should crack. Shes gone for ever!


I know when one is dead, and when one lives;


Shes dead as earth. Lend me a looking-glass;


If that her breath will mist or stain the stone,


This feather stirs; she lives! if it be so,


It is a chance which does redeem all sorrows


A plague upon you, murderers, traitors all!


I might have saved her; now shes gone for ever!


What ist thou sayst? Her voice was ever soft,


Gentle, and low, an excellent thing in woman.


I killd the slave that was a-hanging thee.


I have seen the day, with my good biting falchion


I would have made them skip: I am old now,


And these same crosses spoil me. Who are you?


Mine eyes are not o the best: Ill tell you straight.


If fortune brag of two she loved and hated,


Your servant Kent: Where is your servant Caius?


Hell strike, and quickly too: hes dead and rotten.


That, from your first of difference and decay,


Nor no man else: alls cheerless, dark, and deadly.


Your eldest daughters have fordone them selves,


He knows not what he says: and vain it is


You lords and noble friends, know our intent.


What comfort to this great decay may come


Shall be applied: for us we will resign,


With boot, and such addition as your honours


Have more than merited. All friends shall taste


The cup of their deservings. O, see, see!


And my poor fool is hangd! No, no, no life!


Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life,


And thou no breath at all? Thoult come no more,


Pray you, undo this button: thank you, sir.


Do you see this? Look on her, look, her lips,


Vex not his ghost: O, let him pass! he hates him much


That would upon the rack of this tough world


Bear them from hence. Our present business


Rule in this realm, and the gored state sustain.


The weight of this sad time we must obey;


Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say.


The oldest hath borne most: we that are young


Shall never see so much, nor live so long.


Enter FERDINAND king of Navarre, BIRON, LONGAVILLE and DUMAIN


Let fame, that all hunt after in their lives,


And then grace us in the disgrace of death;


When, spite of cormorant devouring Time,


The endeavor of this present breath may buy


That honour which shall bate his scythes keen edge


Therefore, brave conquerors,--for so you are,


And the huge army of the worlds desires,--


Our late edict shall strongly stand in force:


Navarre shall be the wonder of the world;


You three, Biron, Dumain, and Longaville,


Have sworn for three years term to live with me


My fellow-scholars, and to keep those statutes


That are recorded in this schedule here:


Your oaths are passd; and now subscribe your names,


That his own hand may strike his honour down


That violates the smallest branch herein:


Subscribe to your deep oaths, and keep it too.


I am resolved; tis but a three years fast:


The mind shall banquet, though the body pine:


Fat paunches have lean pates, and dainty bits


Make rich the ribs, but bankrupt quite the wits.


The grosser manner of these worlds delights


He throws upon the gross worlds baser slaves:


To love, to wealth, to pomp, I pine and die;


So much, dear liege, I have already sworn,


That is, to live and study here three years.


Which I hope well is not enrolled there;


And then, to sleep but three hours in the night,


And not be seen to wink of all the day--


When I was wont to think no harm all night


And make a dark night too of half the day--


Which I hope well is not enrolled there:


O, these are barren tasks, too hard to keep,


Not to see ladies, study, fast, not sleep!


Your oath is passd to pass away from these.


Let me say no, my liege, an if you please:


And stay here in your court for three years space.


You swore to that, Biron, and to the rest.


By yea and nay, sir, then I swore in jest.