against child. We have seen the best of our time machinations, hollowness, treachery, and all ruinous disorders, follow us disquietly to our graves! Find out this villain, Edmund; it shall lose thee nothing: do it carefully. And the noble and true-hearted Kent banished! his offence, honesty!-Strange! strange! [Exit. Edm. This is the excellent foppery of the world! that when we are sick in fortune (often the surfeit of our own behaviour), we make guilty of our disasters the sun, the moon, and the stars as if we were villains by necessity; fools, by heavenly compulsion; knaves, thieves, and treachers, by spherical predominance; drunkards, liars, and adulterers, by an enforced obedience of planetary influence; and all that we are evil in, by a divine thrusting on. An admirable evasion of whoremaster man, to lay his goatish disposition to the charge of a star! My father compounded with my mother under the dragon's tail, and my nativity was under ursa major; so that it follows I am rough and lecherous!-Tut, I should have been that I am, had the maidenliest star in the firmament twinkled on my bastardizing. Edgar

Enter EDGAR.

And pat he comes, like the catastrophe of the old comedy. My cue is villanous melancholy, with a sigh like Tom o' Bedlam.-O, these eclipses do portend these divisions! fa, sol, la, mi.

Edg. How now, brother Edmund? What serious contemplation are you in?

Edm. I am thinking, brother, of a prediction I read this other day, what should follow these eclipses.

Edg. Do you busy yourself with that? Edm. I promise you, the effects he writes of succeed unhappily: as of unnaturalness between the child and the parent; death, dearth, dissolutions of ancient amities; divisions in state, menaces and maledictions against king and nobles; needless diffidences, banishment of friends, dissipation of cohorts, nuptial breaches, and I know not what.

Edg. How long have you been a sectary astronomical?

Edm. Come, come; when saw you my father last?
Edg. Why, the night gone by.
Edm. Spake you with him?
Edg. Ay, two hours together.

Edm. Parted you in good terms? found you no displeasure in him, by word or countenance? Edg. None at all.

Edm. Bethink yourself wherein you may have offended him and at my entreaty forbear his presence till some little time hath qualified the

heat of his displeasure; which at this instant so rageth in him, that with the mischief of your person it would scarcely allay.

Edg. Some villain hath done me wrong.

Edm. That's my fear. I pray you have a continent forbearance till the speed of his rage goes slower; and, as I say, retire with me to my lodging, from whence I will fitly bring you to hear my lord speak. Pray you, go; there's my key. If you do stir abroad, go armed. Edg. Armed, brother?

Edm. Brother, I advise you to the best. 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 and horror of it. Pray you, away.

Edg. Shall I hear from you anon?
Edm. I do serve you in this business.-

[Exit EDGAR.

A credulous father, and a brother noble,
Whose nature is so far from doing harms,
That he suspects none; on whose foolish honesty
My practices ride easy!-I see the business.
Let me, if not by birth, have lands by wit:
All with me's meet, that I can fashion fit. [Exit.

SCENE III-A Room in the DUKE OF ALBANY'S Palace.

Enter GONERIL and Steward.

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

Stew. Ay, madam.

Gon. By day and night he wrongs me: every
hour

He flashes into one gross crime or other,
That sets us all at odds: I'll not endure it:
His knights grow riotous, and himself upbraids us
On every trifle.-When he returns from hunting
I will not speak with him: say I am sick.
If you come slack of former services,
You shall do well: the fault of it I'll answer.
Stew. He's coming, madam; I hear him.
[Horns within.
Gon. Put on what weary negligence you please,
You and your fellows; I'd have it come to
question :

If he dislike it, let him to my sister,
Whose mind and mine I know in that are one,
Not to be overruled. Idle old man,
That still would manage those authorities
That he hath given away!-Now, by my life,
Old fools are babes again; and must be used
With checks, as flatteries,-when they are seen
abused.

Remember what I have said.

ACT I.

Very well, madam.

Stew.
Gon. And let his knights have colder looks

Lear. What dost thou profess? what wouldst thou with us?

Kent. I do profess to be no less than I seem; to serve him truly that will put me in trust; to love him that is honest; to converse with him that is wise and says little; to fear judgment; to fight when I cannot choose; and to eat no fish. Lear. What art thou?

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

Lear. If thou be as poor for a subject as he is for a king, thou art poor enough. What wouldst thou?

Kent. Service.

Lear. Who wouldst thou serve?

Kent. You.

Lear. Dost thou know me, fellow?

Kent. No, sir; but you have that in your countenance which I would fain call master.

Lear. What's that?

Kent. Authority.

Lear. What services canst thou do? Kent. I can keep honest counsel, ride, run, mar a curious tale in telling it, and deliver a plain message bluntly: that which ordinary men are fit for, I am qualified in; and the best of me is diligence.

Lear. How old art thou?

Kent. Not so young, sir, to love a woman for singing; nor so old to dote on her for anything. I have years on my back forty-eight.

Lear. Follow me; thou shalt serve me: if I like thee no worse after dinner, I will not part from thee yet.-Dinner, ho, dinner!-Where's my knave; my fool. Go you, and call my fool hither.

Enter Steward.

[Exit.

You, you, sirrah, where 's my daughter? Stew. So please you,— Lear. What says the fellow there? Call the clotpoll back. Where 's my fool, ho?-I think the world's asleep.-How, now; where's that mongrel ?

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

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

Knight. Sir, he answered me in the roundest manner, he would not.

Lear. He would not!

Knight. My lord, I know not what the matter is; but, to my judgment, your highness is not entertained with that ceremonious affection as you were wont: there's a great abatement of kindness appears, as well in the general dependants as in the duke himself also, and your daughter.

Lear. Ha! sayst thou so?

Knight. I beseech you pardon me, my lord, if I be mistaken; for my duty cannot be silent when I think your highness is wronged.

Lear. Thou but rememberest me of mine own conception: I have perceived a most faint neglect of late: which I have rather blamed as mine own jealous curiosity, than as a very pretence and purpose of unkindness. I will look further into 't.—But where's my fool? I have not seen him this two days.

Knight. Since my young lady's going into France, sir, the fool hath much pined away.

Lear. No more of that; I have noted it well. -Go you, and tell my daughter I would speak with her.-Go you, call hither my fool.

Kent. Nor tripped neither, you base football player. [Tripping up his heels. Lear. I thank thee, fellow: thou servest me, and I'll love thee.

Kent. Come, sir, arise, away: I'll teach you differences away, away. If you will measure your lubber's length again, tarry; but away: go to. Have you wisdom? so.

[Pushing the Steward out. Lear. Now, my friendly knave, I thank thee: there's earnest of thy service.

[ Giving KENT money. Enter Fool. Fool. Let me hire him too:-here's my cox[Giving KENT his cap. Lear. How now, my pretty knave; how dost thou? Fool. Sirrah, you were best take my coxcomb.

comb.

Kent. Why, fool?

Fool. Why? for taking one's part that is out of favour. Nay, an thou canst not smile as the wind sits, thou 'lt catch cold shortly there, take my coxcomb. Why, this fellow has banished two of his daughters, and did the third a blessing against his will: if thou follow him, thou must needs wear my coxcomb.-How now, nuncle? 'Would I had two coxcombs, and two daughters. Lear. Why, my boy?

Fool. If I gave them all my living, I'd keep my coxcombs myself. There's mine beg another of thy daughters.

Lear. Take heed, sirrah: the whip.

:

Fool. Truth's a dog that must to kennel: he must be whipped out, when Lady, the brach, may stand by the fire and stink.

Lear. A pestilent gall to me!

Fool. Sirrah, I'll teach thee a speech.
Lear. Do.

Fool. Mark it, nuncle :

Have more than thou shewest,
Speak less than thou knowest,
Lend less than thou owest,
Ride more than thou goest,
Learn more than thou trowest,
Set less than thou throwest;
Leave thy drink and thy whore,
And keep in-a-door,

And thou shalt have more

Than two tens to a score.

Lear. This is nothing, fool.

Fool. Then 't is like the breath of an unfee'd lawyer you gave me nothing for 't. Can you make no use of nothing, nuncle?

Lear. Why, no, boy: nothing can be made out of nothing.

Fool. Pr'y thee, tell him, so much the rent of his land comes to: he will not believe a fool. [TO KENT.

Lear. A bitter fool! Fool. Dost thou know the difference, my boy, between a bitter fool and a sweet fool? Lear. No, lad: teach me.

Fool. That lord that counselled thee

To give away thy land,
Come, place him here by me,—

Or do thou for him stand:
The sweet and bitter fool

Will presently appear;

The one in motley here,

The other found out there!—

Lear. Dost thou call me fool, boy?

Fool. All thy other titles thou hast given away: that thou wast born with.

Kent. This is not altogether fool, my lord. Fool. No, 'faith, lords and great men will not let me; if I had a monopoly out, they would have part on 't and ladies, too, they will not let me have all fool to myself; they'll be snatching. Give me an egg, nuncle, and I'll give thee two crowns.

Lear. What two crowns shall they be?

Fool. Why, after I have cut the egg i'the middle, and eat up the meat, the two crowns of the egg. When thou clovest thy crown i' the middle, and gavest away both parts, thou borest thine ass on thy back over the dirt thou hadst little wit in thy bald crown, when thou gavest thy golden one away. If I speak like myself in this, let him be whipped that first finds it so.

Sings.

Fools had ne'er less grace in a year;

For wise men are grown foppish; And know not how their wits to wear, Their manners are so apish.

Lear. When were you wont to be so full of

songs, sirrah?

Fool. I have used it, nuncle, ever since thou madest thy daughters thy mother: for when thou gavest them the rod, and putt'st down thine own breeches,

Sings.

Then they for sudden joy did weep,

And I for sorrow sung,

That such a king should play bo-peep,
And go the fools among.

Pr'y thee, nuncle, keep a schoolmaster that can teach thy fool to lie: I would fain learn to lie. Lear. If you lie, sirrah, we'll have you whipped. Fool. I marvel what kin thou and thy daughters are they'll have me whipped for speaking true, thou 'lt have me whipped for lying; and sometimes I am whipped for holding my peace. I had rather be any kind of thing than a fool: and yet I would not be thee, nuncle; thou hast pared thy wit o' both sides, and left nothing in the middle. Here comes one o' the parings.

He that keeps nor crust nor crum,
Weary of all, shall want some.-

That's a shealed peascod.

[Pointing to LEAR. Gon. Not only, sir, this your all-licensed fool, But other of your insolent retinue

Do hourly carp and quarrel; breaking forth
In rank and not-to-be-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
Will call discreet proceeding.

Fool. For you trow, nuncle,

The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long, That it had its head bit off by its young. So out went the candle, and we were left darkling.

Lear. Are you our daughter?

Gon. Come, sir, I would you would make use of that good wisdom whereof I know you are fraught; and put away these dispositions, which of late transform you from what you rightly are. Fool. May not an ass know when the cart draws the horse?-Whoop, Jug! I love thee.

Lear. Does any here know me?-Why this is not Lear: does Lear walk thus? speak thus? Where are his eyes? Either his notion weakens, or his discernings are lethargied.-Sleeping or waking?-Ha! sure 't is not so.-Who is it that can tell me who I am?-Lear's shadow? I would learn that; for by the marks of sovereignty, knowledge, and reason, I should be false persuaded I had daughters

Fool. Which they will make an obedient father.
Lear. Your name, fair gentlewoman?
Gon. Come, sir;

This admiration is much o' the favour

Of other your new pranks. I do beseech you
To understand my purposes aright:

As you are old and reverend, you should be wise:
Here do you keep a hundred knights and squires;
Men so disordered, so debauched and bold,
That this our court, infected with their manners,
Shews like a riotous inn: epicurism and lust
Make it more like a tavern or a brothel
Than a graced palace. The shame itself doth speak
For instant remedy: be then desired

By her that else will take the thing she begs,
A little to disquantity your train:
And the remainder that shall still depend,
To be such men as may besort your age,
And know themselves and you.

Lear.
Saddle my horses; call my train together.—
Degenerate bastard! I'll not trouble thee:
Yet have I left a daughter.

Darkness and devils!

Gon. You strike my people; and your disordered rabble

Make servants of their betters.

How ugly didst thou in Cordelia shew!
Which, like an engine, wrenched my frame of

nature

From the fixed place; drew from my heart all love, And added to the gall. O Lear, Lear, Lear! Beat at this gate, that let thy folly in,

[Striking his head. And thy dear judgment out!-Go, go, my people. Alb. My lord, I am guiltless, as I am ignorant Of what hath moved you.

Lear. It may be so, my lord.-Hear, nature, hear; dear goddess, hear!Suspend thy purpose, if thou didst intend To make this creature fruitful! Into her womb convey sterility! Dry up in her the organs of increase; And from her derogate body never spring A babe to honour her! If she must teem, Create her child of spleen; that it may live, And be a thwart disnatured torment to her! Let it stamp wrinkles in her brow of youth; With cadent tears fret channels in her cheeks; Turn all her mother's pains and benefits To laughter and contempt: that she may feel How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is To have a thankless child!-Away, away! [Exit. Alb. Now, gods that we adore, whereof comes

this?

Gon. Never afflict yourself to know the cause; But let his disposition have that scope That dotage gives it.

Re-enter LEAR.

Lear. What, fifty of my followers at a clap! Within a fortnight!

Alb. What's the matter, sir?

Lear. I'll tell thee;-Life and death! I am

ashamed

That thou hast power to shake my manhood thus: [To GONERIL.

That these hot tears, which break from me per

force,

Should make thee worth them.-Blasts and fogs upon thee?

The untented woundings of a father's curse
Pierce every sense about thee!-Old fond eyes,
Beweep this cause again, I'll pluck you out,
And cast you, with the waters that you lose,
To temper clay.-Ha! is it come to this?
Let it 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
She'll flay thy wolfish visage. Thou shalt find
That I'll resume the shape which thou dost think
I have cast off for ever; thou shalt, I warrant thee.
[Exeunt LEAR, KENT, and Attendants.
Gon. Do you mark that, my lord?