King Lear
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.
EDGAR.
How long have you been a sectary astronomical?
EDMUND.
Come, come! when saw you my father last?
EDGAR.
The night gone by.
EDMUND.
Spake you with him?
EDGAR.
Ay, two hours together.
EDMUND.
Parted you in good terms? Found you no displeasure in him, by word
nor countenance?
EDGAR.
None at all.
EDMUND.
Bethink yourself wherein you may have offended him: and at my
entreaty forbear his presence until 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.
EDGAR.
Some villain hath done me wrong.
EDMUND.
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 ye, go; there’s my key. If you do stir abroad, go
armed.
EDGAR.
Armed, brother?
EDMUND.
Brother, I advise you to the best; I am no honest man
if there be any good meaning toward you: I have told you what I
have seen and heard. But faintly; nothing like the image and
horror of it: pray you, away!
EDGAR.
Shall I hear from you anon?
EDMUND.
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 Oswald.
GONERIL.
Did my father strike my gentleman for chiding of his fool?
OSWALD.
Ay, madam.
GONERIL.
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.
[_Horns within._]
OSWALD.
He’s coming, madam; I hear him.
GONERIL.
Put on what weary negligence you please,
You and your fellows; I’d have it come to question:
If he distaste it, let him to our 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 us’d
With checks as flatteries, when they are seen abus’d.
Remember what I have said.
OSWALD.
Very well, madam.
GONERIL.
And let his knights have colder looks among you;
What grows of it, no matter; advise your fellows so;
I would breed from hence occasions, and I shall,
That I may speak. I’ll write straight to my sister
To hold my very course. Prepare for dinner.
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE IV. A Hall in Albany’s Palace
Enter Kent, disguised.
KENT.
If but as well I other accents borrow,
That can my speech defuse, my good intent
May carry through itself to that full issue
For which I rais’d my likeness. Now, banish’d Kent,
If thou canst serve where thou dost stand condemn’d,
So may it come, thy master, whom thou lov’st,
Shall find thee full of labours.
Horns within. Enter King
Lear, Knights and Attendants.
LEAR.
Let me not stay a jot for dinner; go get it ready.
[_Exit an Attendant._]
How now! what art thou?
KENT.
A man, sir.
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 judgement; 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’st as poor for a subject as he’s 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.
[_Exit an Attendant._]
Enter Oswald.
You, you, sirrah, where’s my daughter?
OSWALD.
So please you,—
[_Exit._]
LEAR.
What says the fellow there? Call the clotpoll back.
[_Exit a Knight._]
Where’s my fool? Ho, I think the world’s asleep.
Re-enter Knight.
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 judgement 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! say’st 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 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.
[_Exit Attendant._]
Go you, call hither my fool.
[_Exit another Attendant._]
Re-enter Oswald.
O, you, sir, you, come you hither, sir: who am I, sir?
OSWALD.
My lady’s father.
LEAR.
My lady’s father! my lord’s knave: you whoreson dog! you slave! you
cur!
OSWALD.
I am none of these, my lord; I beseech your pardon.
LEAR.
Do you bandy looks with me, you rascal?
[_Striking him._]
OSWALD.
I’ll not be struck, my lord.
KENT.
Nor tripp’d neither, you base football player.
[_Tripping up his heels._]
LEAR.
I thank thee, fellow. Thou serv’st me, and I’ll love thee.
KENT.
Come, sir, arise, away! I’ll teach you differences: away, away! If you
will measure your lubber’s length again, tarry; but away! go to; have
you wisdom? So.
[_Pushes Oswald out._]
LEAR.
Now, my friendly knave, I thank thee: there’s earnest of thy service.
[_Giving Kent money._]
Enter Fool.
FOOL.
Let me hire him too; here’s my coxcomb.
[_Giving Kent his cap._]
LEAR.
How now, my pretty knave, how dost thou?
FOOL.
Sirrah, you were best take my coxcomb.
KENT.
Why, fool?
FOOL.
Why, for taking one’s part that’s out of favour. Nay, an thou
canst not smile as the wind sits, thou’lt catch cold shortly:
there, take my coxcomb: why, this fellow has banish’d two on’s
daughters, and did the third a blessing against his will; if
thou follow him, thou must needs wear my coxcomb. How now,
nuncle! Would I had two coxcombs and two daughters!
LEAR.
Why, my boy?
FOOL.
If I gave them all my living, I’d keep my coxcombs myself. There’s
mine; beg another of thy daughters.
LEAR.
Take heed, sirrah, the whip.
FOOL.
Truth’s a dog must to kennel; he must be whipped out, when
the Lady 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 showest,
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.
KENT.
This is nothing, fool.
FOOL.
Then ’tis like the breath of an unfee’d lawyer, you gave me
nothing for’t. Can you make no use of nothing, nuncle?
LEAR.
Why, no, boy; nothing can be made out of nothing.
FOOL.
[_to Kent._] Prythee tell him, so much the rent of his land
comes to: he will not believe a fool.
LEAR.
A bitter fool.
FOOL.
Dost thou know the difference, my boy, between a bitter fool and
a sweet one?
LEAR.
No, lad; teach me.
FOOL.
That lord that counsell’d thee
To give away thy land,
Come place him here by me,
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 the fool to myself; they’ll be
snatching. Nuncle, give me an egg, and I’ll give thee two
crowns.
LEAR.
What two crowns shall they be?
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 gav’st away both parts, thou bor’st thine ass on
thy back o’er the dirt: thou hadst little wit in thy bald crown
when thou gav’st thy golden one away. If I speak like myself in
this, let him be whipped that first finds it so.
[_Singing._]
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, e’er since thou mad’st thy daughters thy
mothers; for when thou gav’st them the rod, and put’st down thine
own breeches,
[_Singing._]
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.
Prythee, nuncle, keep a schoolmaster that can teach thy fool to
lie; I would fain learn to lie.
LEAR.
An you lie, sirrah, we’ll have you whipped.
FOOL.
I marvel what kin thou and thy daughters are: they’ll have me
whipped for speaking true; thou’lt have me whipped for lying;
and sometimes I am whipped for holding my peace. I had rather be
any kind o’thing than a fool: and yet I would not be thee,
nuncle: thou hast pared thy wit o’both sides, and left nothing
i’ the middle: here comes one o’ the parings.
Enter Goneril.
LEAR.
How now, daughter? What makes that frontlet on? Methinks you
are too much of late i’ the frown.
FOOL.
Thou wast a pretty fellow when thou hadst no need to care for
her frowning. Now thou art an O without a figure: I am better
than thou art now. I am a fool, thou art nothing. [_To Goneril._]
Yes, forsooth, I will hold my tongue. So your face bids me, though
you say nothing. Mum, mum,
He that keeps nor crust nor crum,