 | The Tragedie of King Lear |  |
Actus Primus.
Scæna Prima.
Enter Kent, Gloucester, and Edmond.Kent.
I thought the King had more affected the
Duke of Albany, then Cornwall.
Glou.
It did alwayes seeme so to vs: But
now in the diuision of the Kingdome, it appeares
not which of the Dukes hee valewes
most, for qualities are so weigh'd, that curiosity in neither,
can make choise of eithers moity.
Kent.
Is not this your Son, my Lord?
Glou.
His breeding Sir, hath bin at my charge. I haue
so often blush'd to acknowledge him, that now I am
braz'd too't.
Kent.
I cannot conceiue you.
Glou.
Sir, this yong Fellowes mother could; wherevpon
she grew round womb'd, and had indeede (Sir) a
Sonne for her Cradle, ere she had a husband for her bed.
Do you smell a fault?
Kent.
I cannot wish the fault vndone, the issue of it,
being so proper.
Glou.
But I haue a Sonne, Sir, by order of Law, some
yeere elder then this; who, yet is no deerer in my account,
though this Knaue came somthing sawcily to the
world before he was sent for: yet was his Mother fayre,
there was good sport at his making, and the horson must
be acknowledged. Doe you know this Noble Gentleman,
Edmond?
Edm.
No, my Lord.
Glou.
My Lord of Kent:
Remember him heereafter, as my Honourable Friend.
Edm.
My seruices to your Lordship.
Kent.
I must loue you, and sue to know you better.
Edm.
Sir, I shall study deseruing.
Glou.
He hath bin out nine yeares, and away he shall
againe. The King is comming.
Sennet. Enter King Lear, Cornwall, Albany, Gonerill, Regan, Cordelia, and attendants.
Lear.
Attend the Lords of France & Burgundy, Gloster.
Glou.
I shall, my Lord.
Exit.
Lear.
Meane time we shal expresse our darker purpose.
Giue me the Map there. Know, that we haue diuided
In three our Kingdome: and 'tis our fast intent,
To shake all Cares and Businesse from our Age,
Conferring them on yonger strengths, while we
Vnburthen'd crawle toward death. Our son of Cornwal,
And you our no lesse louing Sonne of Albany,
We haue this houre a constant will to publish
Our daughters seuerall Dowers, that future strife
May be preuented now. The Princes, France & Burgundy,
Great Riuals in our yongest daughters loue,
Long in our Court, haue made their amorous soiourne,
And heere are to be answer'd. Tell me my daughters
(Since now we will diuest vs both of Rule,
Interest of Territory, Cares of State)
Which of you shall we say doth loue vs most,
That we, our largest bountie may extend
Where Nature doth with merit challenge. Gonerill,
Our eldest borne, speake first.
Gon.
Sir, I loue you more then word can weild ye matter,
Deerer then eye-sight, space, and libertie,
Beyond what can be valewed, rich or rare,
No lesse then life, with grace, health, beauty, honor:
As much as Childe ere lou'd, or Father found.
A loue that makes breath poore, and speech vnable,
Beyond all manner of so much I loue you.
Cor.
What shall Cordelia speake? Loue, and be silent.
Lear.
Of all these bounds euen from this Line, to this,
With shadowie Forrests, and with Champains rich'd
With plenteous Riuers, and wide-skirted Meades
We make thee Lady. To thine and Albanies issues
Be this perpetuall. What sayes our second Daughter?
Our deerest Regan, wife of Cornwall?
Reg.
I am made of that selfe-mettle as my Sister,
And prize me at her worth. In my true heart,
I finde she names my very deede of loue:
Onely she comes too short, that I professe
My selfe an enemy to all other ioyes,
Which the most precious square of sense professes,
And finde I am alone felicitate
In your deere Highnesse loue.
Cor.
Then poore Cordelia,
And yet not so, since I am sure my loue's
More ponderous then my tongue.
Lear.
To thee, and thine hereditarie euer,
Remaine this ample third of our faire Kingdome,
No lesse in space, validitie, and pleasure
Then that conferr'd on Gonerill. Now our Ioy,
Although our last and least; to whose yong loue,
The Vines of France, and Milke of Burgundie,
Striue to be interest. What can you say, to draw
A third, more opilent then your Sisters? speake.
Cor.
Nothing my Lord.
Lear.
Nothing?
Nothing.
Lear.
Nothing will come of nothing, speake againe.
Cor.
Vnhappie that I am, I cannot heaue
My heart into my mouth: I loue your Maiesty
According to my bond, no more nor lesse.
Lear.
How, how Cordelia? Mend your speech a little,
Least you may marre your Fortunes.
Cor.
Good my Lord,
You haue begot me, bred me, lou'd me.
I returne those duties backe as are right fit,
Obey you, Loue you, and most Honour you.
Why haue my Sisters Husbands, if they say
They loue you all? Happily when I shall wed.
That Lord, whose hand must take my plight, shall carry
Halfe my loue with him, halfe my Care, and Dutie,
Sure I shall neuer marry like my Sisters.
Lear.
But goes thy heart with this?
Cor.
I my good Lord.
Lear.
So young, and so vntender?
Cor.
So young my Lord, and true.
Lear.
Let it be so, thy truth then be thy dowre:
For by the sacred radience of the Sunne,
The miseries of Heccat and the night:
By all the operation of the Orbes,
From whom we do exist, and cease to be,
Heere I disclaime all my Paternall care,
Propinquity and property of blood,
And as a stranger to my heart and me,
Hold thee from this for euer. The barbarous Scythian,
Or he that makes his generation messes
To gorge his appetite, shall to my bosome
Be as well neighbour'd, pittied, and releeu'd,
As thou my sometime Daughter.
Kent.
Good my Liege.
Lear.
Peace Kent,
Come not betweene the Dragon and his wrath,
I lou'd her most, and thought to set my rest
On her kind nursery. Hence and avoid my sight:
So be my graue my peace, as here I giue
Her Fathers heart from her; call France, who stirres?
Call Burgundy, Cornwall, and Albanie,
With my two Daughters Dowres, digest the third,
Let pride, which she cals plainnesse, marry her:
I doe inuest you ioyntly with my power,
Preheminence, and all the large effects
That troope with Maiesty. Our selfe by Monthly course,
With reseruation of an hundred Knights,
By you to be sustain'd, shall our abode
Make with you by due turne, onely we shall retaine
The name, and all th'addition to a King: the Sway,
Reuennew, Execution of the rest,
Beloued Sonnes be yours, which to confirme,
This Coronet part betweene you.
Kent.
Royall Lear,
Whom I haue euer honor'd as my King,
Lou'd as my Father, as my Master follow'd,
As my great Patron thought on in my praiers.
Le.
The bow is bent & drawne, make from the shaft.
Kent.
Let it fall rather, though the forke inuade
The region of my heart, be Kent vnmannerly,
When Lear is mad, what wouldest thou do old man?
Think'st thou that dutie shall haue dread to speake,
When power to flattery bowes?
To plainnesse honour's bound,
When Maiesty falls to folly, reserue thy state,
And in thy best consideration checke
This hideous rashnesse, answere my life, my iudgement:
Thy yongest Daughter do's not loue thee least,
Nor are those empty hearted, whose low sounds
Reuerbe no hollownesse.
Lear.
Kent, on thy life no more.
Kent.
My life I neuer held but as pawne
To wage against thine enemies, nere feare to loose it,
Thy safety being motiue.
Lear.
Out of my sight.
Kent.
See better Lear, and let me still remaine
The true blanke of thine eie.
Kear.
Now by Apollo,
Lent.
Now by Apollo, King
Thou swear'st thy Gods in vaine.
Lear.
O Vassall! Miscreant.
Alb. Cor.
Deare Sir forbeare.
Kent.
Kill thy Physition, and thy fee bestow
Vpon the foule disease, reuoke thy guift,
Or whil'st I can vent clamour from my throate,
Ile tell thee thou dost euill.
Lea.
Heare me recreant, on thine allegeance heare me;
That thou hast sought to make vs breake our vowes,
Which we durst neuer yet; and with strain'd pride,
To come betwixt our sentences, and our power,
Which, nor our nature, nor our place can beare;
Our potencie made good, take thy reward.
Fiue dayes we do allot thee for prouision,
To shield thee from disasters of the world,
And on the sixt to turne thy hated backe
Vpon our kingdome; if on the tenth day following,
Thy banisht trunke be found in our Dominions,
The moment is thy death, away. By Iupiter,
This shall not be reuok'd,
Kent.
Fare thee well King, sith thus thou wilt appeare,
Freedome liues hence, and banishment is here;
The Gods to their deere shelter take thee Maid,
That iustly think'st, and hast most rightly said:
And your large speeches, may your deeds approue,
That good effects may spring from words of loue:
Thus Kent, O Princes, bids you all adew,
Hee'l shape his old course, in a Country new.
Exit.
Flourish. Enter Gloster with France, and Burgundy, Attendants.
Cor.
Heere's France and Burgundy, my Noble Lord.
Lear.
My Lord of Bugundie,
We first addresse toward you, who with this King
Hath riuald for our Daughter; what in the least
Will you require in present Dower with her,
Or cease your quest of Loue?
Bur.
Most Royall Maiesty,
I craue no more then hath your Highnesse offer'd,
Nor will you tender lesse?
Lear.
Right Noble Burgundy,
When she was deare to vs, we did hold her so,
But now her price is fallen: Sir, there she stands,
If ought within that little seeming substance,
Or all of it with our displeasure piec'd,
And nothing more may fitly like your Grace,
Shee's there, and she is yours.
Bur.
I know no answer.
Lear.
Will you with those infirmities she owes,
Vnfriended, new adopted to our hate,
Dow'rd with our curse, and stranger'd with our oath,
Take her or, leaue her.
Pardon me Royall Sir,
Election makes not vpon such conditions.
Le.
Then leaue her sir, for by the powre that made me,
I tell you all her wealth. For you great King,
I would not from your loue make such a stray,
To match you where I hate, therefore beseech you
T'auert your liking a more worthier way,
Then on a wretch whom Nature is asham'd
Almost t'acknowledge hers.
Fra.
This is most strange,
That she whom euen but now, was your obiect,
The argument of your praise, balme of your age,
The best, the deerest, should in this trice of time
Commit a thing so monstrous, to dismantle
So many folds of fauour: sure her offence
Must be of such vnnaturall degree,
That monsters it: Or your fore-voucht affection
Fall into taint, which to beleeue of her
Must be a faith that reason without miracle
Should neuer plant in me.
Cor.
I yet beseech your Maiesty.
If for I want that glib and oylie Art,
To speake and purpose not, since what I will intend,
Ile do't before I speake, that you make knowne
It is no vicious blot, murther, or foulenesse,
No vnchafte action or dishonoured step
That hath depriu'd me of your Grace and fauour,
But euen for want of that, for which I am richer,
A still soliciting eye, and such a tongue,
That I am glad I haue not, though not to haue it,
Hath lost me in your liking.
Lear.
Better thou had'st
Not beene borne, then not t haue pleas'd me better.
Fra.
Is it but this? A tardinesse in nature,
Which often leaues the history vnspoke
That it intends to do: my Lord of Burgundy,
What say you to the Lady? Loue's not loue
When it is mingled with regards, that stands
Aloofe from th'intire point, will you haue her?
She is herselfe a Dowrie.
Bur.
Royall King,
Giue but that portion which your selfe propos'd,
And here I take Cordelia by the hand,
Dutchesse of Burgundie.
Lear.
Nothing, I haue sworne, I am firme.
Bur.
I am sorry then you haue so lost a Father,
That you must loose a husband.
Cor.
Peace be with Burgundie,
Since that respect and Fortunes are his loue,
I shall not be his wife.
Fra.
Fairest Cordelia, that art most rich being poore,
Most choise forsaken, and most lou'd despis'd,
Thee and thy vertues here I seize vpon,
Be it lawfull I take vp what's cast away.
Gods, Gods! 'Tis strange, that from their cold'st neglect
My Loue should kindle to enflam'd respect.
Thy dowrelesse Daughter King, throwne to my chance,
Is Queene of vs, of ours, and our faire France:
Not all the Dukes of watrish Burgundy,
Can buy this vnpriz'd precious Maid of me.
Bid them farewell Cordelia, though vnkinde,
Thou loosest here a better where to finde.
Lear.
Thou hast her France, let her be thine, for we
Haue no such Daughter, nor shall euer see
That face of hers againe, therfore be gone,
Without our Grace, our Loue, our Benizon:
Come Noble Burgundie.
Flourish. Exeunt.
Fra.
Bid farwell to your Sisters.
Cor.
The Iewels of our Father, with wash'd eies
Cordelia leaues you, I know you what you are,
And like a Sister am most loth to call
Your faults as they are named. Loue well our Father:
To your professed bosomes I commit him,
But yet alas, stood I within his Grace,
I would prefer him to a better place,
So farewell to you both.
Regn.
Prescribe not vs our dutie.
Gon.
Let your study
Be to content your Lord, who hath receiu'd you
At Fortunes almes, you haue obedience scanted,
And well are worth the want that you haue wanted.
Cor.
Time shall vnfold what plighted cunning hides,
Who couers faults, at last with shame derides:
Well may you prosper.
Fra.
Come my faire Cordelia.
Exit France and Cor.
Gon.
Sister, it is not little I haue to say,
Of what most neerely appertaines to vs both,
I thinke our Father will hence to night.
Reg.
That's most certaine, and with you: next moneth with vs.
Gon.
You see how full of changes his age is, the obseruation
we haue made of it hath beene little; he alwaies
lou'd our Sister most, and with what poore iudgement he
hath now cast her off, appeares too grossely.
Reg.
'Tis the infirmity of his age, yet he hath euer but
slenderly knowne himselfe.
Gon.
The best and soundest of his time hath bin but
rash, then must we looke from his age, to receiue not alone
the imperfections of long ingraffed condition, but
therewithall the vnruly way-wardnesse, that infirme and
cholericke yeares bring with them.
Reg.
Such vnconstant starts are we like to haue from
him, as this of Kents banishment.
Gon.
There is further complement of leaue-taking betweene
France and him, pray you let vs sit together, if our
Father carry authority with such disposition as he beares,
this last surrender of his will but offend vs.
Reg.
We shall further thinke of it.
Gon.
We must do something, and i'th' heate.
Exeunt.
Scena Secunda.
Enter Bastard.Bast.
Thou Nature art my Goddesse, to thy Law
My seruices are bound, wherefore should I
Stand in the plague of custome, and permit
The curiosity of Nations, to depriue me?
For that I am some twelue, or fourteene Moonshines
Lag of a Brother? Why Bastard? Wherefore base?
When my Dimensions are as well compact,
My minde as generous, and my shape as true
As honest Madams issue? Why brand they vs
With Base? With basenes Barstadie? Base, Base?
Who in the lustie stealth of Nature, take
More composition, and fierce qualitie,
Then doth within a dull stale tyred bed
Goe to th'creating a whole tribe of Fops
Got 'tweene a sleepe, and wake? Well then,
Legitimate Edgar, I must haue your land,
Our Fathers loue, is to the Bastard Edmond,
As to th'legitimate: fine word: Legitimate.
And my inuention thriue, Edmond the base
Shall to'th' Legitimate: I grow, I prosper:
Now Gods, stand vp for Bastards.
Enter Gloucester.
Glo.
Kent banish'd thus? and France in choller parted?
And the King gone to night? Prescrib'd his powre,
Confin'd to exhibition? All this done
Vpon the gad? Edmond, how now? What newes?
Bast.
So please your Lordship, none.
Glou.
Why so earnestly seeke you to put vp y
t Letter?
Bast.
I know no newes, my Lord.
Glou.
What Paper were you reading?
Bast.
Nothing my Lord.
Glou.
No? what needed then that terrible dispatch of
it into your Pocket? The quality of nothing, hath not
such neede to hide it selfe. Let's see: come, if it bee nothing,
I shall not neede Spectacles.
Bast.
I beseech you Sir, pardon mee; it is a Letter
from my Brother, that I haue not all ore-read; and for so
much as I haue perus'd, I finde it not fit for your ore-looking.
Glou.
Giue me the Letter, Sir.
Bast.
I shall offend, either to detaine, or giue it:
The Contents, as in part I vnderstand them,
Are too blame.
Glou.
Let's see, let's see.
Bast.
I hope for my Brothers iustification, hee wrote
this but as an essay, or taste of my Vertue.
Glou.
reads.
This policie, and reuerence of Age, makes the
world bitter to the best of our times: keepes our Fortunes from
vs, till our oldnesse cannot rellish them. I begin to finde an idle
and fond bondage, in the oppression of aged tyranny, who swayes
not as it hath power, but as it is suffer'd. Come to me, that of
this I may speake more. If our Father would sleepe till I wak'd
him, you should enioy halfe his Reuennew for euer, and liue the
beloued of your Brother.
Edgar.
Hum? Conspiracy? Sleepe till I wake him, you should
enioy halfe his Reuennew: my Sonne Edgar, had hee a
hand to write this? A heart and braine to breede it in?
When came you to this? Who brought it?
Bast.
It was not brought mee, my Lord; there's the
cunning of it. I found it throwne in at the Casement of
my Closset.
Glou.
You know the character to be your Brothers?
Bast.
If the matter were good my Lord, I durst swear
it were his: but in respect of that, I would faine thinke it
were not.
Glou.
It is his.
Bast.
It is his hand, my Lord: but I hope his heart is
not in the Contents.
Glo.
Has he neuer before sounded you in this busines?
Bast.
Neuer my Lord. But I haue heard him oft maintaine
it to be fit, that Sonnes at perfect age, and Fathers
declin'd, the Father should bee as Ward to the Son, and
the Sonne manage his Reuennew.
Glou.
O Villain, villain: his very opinion in the Letter.
Abhorred Villaine, vnnaturall, detested, brutish
Villaine; worse then brutish: Go sirrah, seeke him: Ile
apprehend him. Abhominable Villaine, where is he?
Bast.
I do not well know my L. If it shall please you to
suspend your indignation against my Brother, til you can
deriue from him better testimony of his intent, you shold
run a certaine course: where, if you violently proceed against
him, mistaking his purpose, it would make a great
gap in your owne Honor, and shake in peeces, the heart of
his obedience. I dare pawne downe my life for him, that
he hath writ this to feele my affection to your Honor, &
to no other pretence of danger.
Glou.
Thinke you so?
Bast.
If your Honor iudge it meete, I will place you
where you shall heare vs conferre of this, and by an Auricular
assurance haue your satisfaction, and that without
any further delay, then this very Euening.
Glou.
He cannot bee such a Monster. Edmond seeke
him out: winde me into him, I pray you: frame the Businesse
after your owne wisedome. I would vnstate my
selfe, to be in a due resolution.
Bast.
I will seeke him Sir, presently: conuey the businesse
as I shall find meanes, and acquaint you withall.
Glou.
These late Eclipses in the Sun and Moone portend
no good to vs: though the wisedome of Nature can
reason it thus, and thus, yet Nature finds it selfe scourg'd
by the sequent effects. Loue cooles, friendship falls off,
Brothers diuide. In Cities, mutinies; in Countries, discord;
in Pallaces, Treason; and the Bond crack'd, 'twixt
Sonne and Father. This villaine of mine comes vnder the
prediction; there's Son against Father, the King fals from
byas of Nature, there's Father against Childe. We haue
seene the best of our time. Machinations, hollownesse,
treacherie, and all ruinous disorders follow vs disquietly
to our Graues. Find out this Villain Edmond, it shall lose
thee nothing, do it carefully: and the Noble & true-harted
Kent banish'd; his offence, honesty. 'Tis strange.
Exit
Bast.
This is the excellent foppery of the world, that
when we are sicke in fortune, often the surfets of our own
behauiour, we make guilty of our disasters, the Sun, the
Moone, and Starres, as if we were villaines on necessitie,
Fooles by heauenly compulsion, Knaues, Theeues, and
Treachers by Sphericall predominance. Drunkards, Lyars,
and Adulterers by an inforc'd obedience of Planatary
influence; and all that we are euill in, by a diuine thrusting
on. An admirable euasion of Whore-master-man,
to lay his Goatish disposition on the charge of a Starre.
My father compounded with my mother vnder the Dragons
taile, and my Natiuity was vnder Vrsa Maior, so
that it followes, I am rough and Leacherous. I should
haue bin that I am, had the maidenlest Starre in the Firmament
twinkled on my bastardizing.
Pat: he comes like the Catastrophe of the old Comedie:
my Cue is villanous Melancholly, with a sighe like Tom
o'Bedlam.—O these Eclipses do portend these diuisions.
Fa, Sol, La, Me.
Edg.
How now Brother Edmond, what serious contemplation
are you in?
Bast.
I am thinking Brother of a prediction I read this
other day, what should follow these Eclipses.
Edg.
Do you busie your selfe with that?
Bast.
I promise you, the effects he writes of, succeede
vnhappily.
When saw you my Father last?
Edg.
The night gone by.
Bast.
Spake you with him?
Edg.
I, two houres together.
Bast.
Parted you in good termes? Found you no displeasure
in him, by word, nor countenance?
Edg.
None at all.
Bast.
Bethink your selfe wherein you may haue offended
him: and at my entreaty forbeare his presence, vntill
some little time hath qualified the heat of his displeasure,
which at this instant so rageth in him, that with the mischiefe
Edg.
Some Villaine hath done me wrong.
Edm.
That's my feare, I pray you haue 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 heare my Lord speake: pray ye goe,
there's my key if you do stirre abroad, goe arm'd.
Edg.
Arm'd, Brother?
Edm.
Brother, I aduise you to the best, I am no honest
man, if ther be any good meaning toward you: I haue told
you what I haue seene, and heard: But faintly. Nothing
like the image, and horror of it, pray you away.
Edg.
Shall I heare from you anon?
Exit.
Edm.
I do serue you in this businesse:
A Credulous Father, and a Brother Noble,
Whose nature is so farre from doing harmes,
That he suspects none: on whose foolish honestie
My practises ride easie: I see the businesse.
Let me, if not by birth, haue lands by wit,
All with me's meete, that I can fashion fit.
Exit.
Scena Tertia.
Enter Gonerill, and Steward.Gon.
Did my Father strike my Gentleman for chiding
of his Foole?
Ste.
I Madam.
Gon.
By day and night, he wrongs me, euery howre
He flashes into one grosse crime, or other,
That sets vs all at ods: Ile not endure it;
His Knights grow riotous, and himselfe vpbraides vs
On euery trifle. When he returnes from hunting,
I will not speake with him, say I am sicke,
If you come slacke of former seruices,
You shall do well, the fault of it Ile answer.
Ste.
He's comming Madam, I heare him.
Gon.
Put on what weary negligence you please,
You and your Fellowes: I'de haue it come to question;
If he distaste it, let him to my Sister,
Whose mind and mine I know in that are one,
Remember what I haue said.
Ste.
Well Madam.
Gon.
And let his Knights haue colder lookes among
you: what growes of it no matter, aduise your fellowes
so, Ile write straight to my Sister to hold my course: prepare
for dinner.
Exeunt.
Scena Quarta.
Enter Kent.Kent.
If but as will I other accents borrow,
That can my speech defuse, my good intent
May carry through it selfe to that full issue
For which I raiz'd my likenesse. Now banisht Kent,
If thou canst serue where thou dost stand condemn'd,
So may it come, thy Master whom thou lou'st,
Shall find thee full of labours.
Hornes within. Enter Lear and Attendants.
Lear.
Let me not stay a iot for dinner, go get it ready:
how now, what art thou?
Kent.
A man Sir.
Lear.
What dost thou professe? What would'st thou
with vs?
Kent.
I do professe to be no lesse then I seeme; to serue
him truely that will put me in trust, to loue him that is
honest, to conuerse with him that is wise and faies little, to
feare iudgement, to fight when I cannot choose, and to
eate no fish.
Lear.
What art thou?
Kent.
A very honest hearted Fellow, and as poore as
the King.
Lear.
If thou be'st as poore for a subiect, as hee's for a
King, thou art poore enough. What wouldst thou?
Kent.
Seruice.
Lear.
Who wouldst thou serue?
Kent.
You.
Lear.
Do'st thou know me fellow?
Kent.
No Sir, but you haue that in your countenance,
which I would faine call Master.
Lear.
What's that?
Kent.
Authority.
Lear.
What seruices canst thou do?
Kent.
I can keepe honest counsaile, ride, run, marre a
curious tale in telling it, and deliuer a plaine message
bluntly: that which ordinary men are fit for, I am quallified
in, and the best of me, is Dilligence.
Lear.
How old art thou?
Kent.
Not so young Sir to loue a woman for singing,
nor so old to dote on her for any thing. I haue yeares on
my backe forty eight.
Lear.
Follow me, thou shalt serue me, if I like thee no
worse after dinner, I will not part from thee yet. Dinner
ho, dinner, where's my knaue? my Foole? Go you and call
my Foole hither. You you Sirrah, where's my Daughter?
Enter Steward.
Ste.
So please you—
Exit.
Lear.
What saies the Fellow there? Call the Clotpole
backe: wher's my Foole? Ho, I thinke the world's
asleepe, how now? Where's that Mungrell?
Knigh.
He saies my Lord, your Daughters is not well.
Lear.
Why came not the slaue backe to me when I
call'd him?
Knigh.
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 iudgement your Highnesse is not entertain'd
with that Ceremonious affection as you were wont,
theres a great abatement of kindnesse appeares as well in
the generall dependants, as in the Duke himselfe also, and
your Daughter.
Lear.
Ha? Saist thou so?
Knigh.
I beseech you pardon me my Lord, if I bee
mistaken, for my duty cannot be silent, when I thinke
your Highnesse wrong'd.
Lear.
Thou but remembrest me of mine owne Conception,
I haue perceiued a most faint neglect of late,
which I haue rather blamed as mine owne iealous curiositie,
then as a very pretence and purpose of vnkindnesse;
I will looke further intoo't : but where's my Foole? I
haue not seene him this two daies.
Knight.
Since my young Ladies going into France
Lear.
No more of that, I haue noted it well, goe you
and tell my Daughter, I would speake with her. Goe you
call hither my Foole; Oh you Sir, you, come you hither
Sir, who am I Sir?
Enter Steward.
Ste.
My Ladies Father.
Lear.
My Ladies Father? my Lords knaue, you whorson
dog, you slaue, you curre.
Ste.
I am none of these my Lord,
I beseech your pardon.
Lear.
Do you bandy lookes with me, you Rascall?
Ste.
Ile not be strucken my Lord.
Kent.
Nor tript neither, you base Foot-ball plaier.
Lear.
I thanke thee fellow.
Thou seru'st me, and Ile loue thee.
Kent.
Come sir, arise, away, Ile teach you differences:
away, away, if you will measure your lubbers length againe,
tarry, but away, goe too, haue you wisedome, so.
Lear.
Now my friendly knaue I thanke thee, there's
earnest of thy seruice.
Enter Foole.
Foole.
Let me hire him too, here's my Coxcombe.
Lear.
How now my pretty knaue, how dost thou?
Foole.
Sirrah, you were best take my Coxcombe.
Lear.
Why my Boy?
Foole.
Why? for taking ones part that's out of fauour,
nay, & thou canst not smile as the wind sits, thou'lt catch
colde shortly, there take my Coxcombe; why this fellow
ha's banish'd two on's Daughters, and did the third a
blessing against his will, if thou follow him, thou must
needs weare my Coxcombe. How now Nunckle? would
I had two Coxcombes and two Daughters.
Lear.
Why my Boy?
Fool.
If I gaue them all my liuing, I'ld keepe my Coxcombes
my selfe, there's mine, beg another of thy
Daughters.
Lear.
Take heed Sirrah, the whip.
Foole.
Truth's a dog must to kennell, hee must bee
whipt out, when the Lady Brach may stand by'th' fire
and stinke.
Lear.
A pestilent gall to me.
Foole.
Sirha, Ile teach thee a speech.
Lear.
Do.
Foole.
Marke it Nuncle;
Haue more then thou showest,
Speake lesse then thou knowest,
Lend lesse then thou owest,
Ride more then thou goest,
Learne more then thou trowest,
Set lesse then thou throwest;
Leaue thy drinke and thy whore,
And keepe in a dore,
And thou shalt haue more,
Then two tens to a score.
Kent.
This is nothing Foole.
Foole.
Then 'tis like the breath of an vnfeed Lawyer,
you gaue me nothing for't, can you make no vse of nothing
Nuncle?
Lear.
Why no Boy,
Nothing can be made out of nothing.
Foole.
Prythee tell him, so much the rent of his land
comes to, he will not beleeue a Foole.
Lear.
A bitter Foole.
Foole.
Do'st thou know the difference my Boy, betweene
a bitter Foole, and a sweet one.
Lear.
No Lad, teach me.
Foole.
Nunckle, giue me an egge, and Ile giue thee
two Crownes.
Lear.
What two Crownes shall they be?
Foole.
Why after I haue cut the egge i'th' middle and
eate vp the meate, the two Crownes of the egge: when
thou clouest thy Crownes i'th' middle, and gau'st away
both parts, thou boar'st thine Asse on thy backe o're the
durt, thou had'st little wit in thy bald crowne, when thou
gau'st thy golden one away; if I speake like my selfe in
this, let him be whipt that first findes it so.
For wisemen are growne foppish,
And know not how their wits to weare,
Their manners are so apish.
Le.
When were you wont to be so full of Songs sirrah?
Foole.
I haue vsed it Nunckle, ere since thou mad'st
thy Daughters thy Mothers, for when thou gau'st them
the rod, and put'st downe thine owne breeches, then they
And I for sorrow sung,
That such a King should play bo-peepe,
And goe the Foole among.
Pry'thy Nunckle keepe a Schoolemaster that can teach
thy Foole to lie, I would faine learne to lie.
Lear.
And you lie sirrah, wee'l haue you whipt.
Foole.
I maruell what kin thou and thy daughters are,
they'l haue me whipt for speaking true: thou'lt haue me
whipt for lying, and sometimes I am whipt for holding
my peace. I had rather be any kind o'thing then a foole,
and yet I would not be thee Nunckle, thou hast pared thy
wit o'both sides, and left nothing i'th' middle; heere
comes one o'the parings.
Enter Gonerill.
Lear.
How now Daughter? what makes that Frontlet
on? You are too much of late i'th'frowne.
Foole.
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 then thou art now, I am a Foole,
thou art nothing. Yes forsooth I will hold my tongue, so
your face bids me, though you say nothing.
Weary of all, shall want some. That's a sheal'd Pescod.
Gon.
Not only Sir this, your all-lycenc'd Foole,
But other of your insolent retinue
Do hourely Carpe and Quarrell, breaking forth
In ranke, and (not to be endur'd) riots Sir.
I had thought by making this well knowne vnto you,
To haue found a safe redresse, but now grow fearefull
By what your selfe too late haue 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 sleepe,
Which in the tender of a wholesome weale,
Might in their working do you that offence,
Which else were shame, that then necessitie
Will call discreet proceeding
Foole.
For you know Nunckle, the Hedge-Sparrow
fed the Cuckoo so long, that it's had it head bit off by it
young, so out went the Candle, and we were left darkling.
Lear.
Are you our Daughter?
Gon.
I would you would make vse of your good wisedome
(Whereof I know you are fraught), and put away
These dispositions, which of late transport you
From what you rightly are.
May not an Asse know, when the Cart drawes
the Horse?
Lear.
Do's any heere know me?
This is not Lear:
Do's Lear walke thus? Speake thus? Where are his eies?
Either his Notion weakens, his Discernings
Are Lethargied. Ha! Waking? 'Tis not so?
Who is it that can tell me who I am?
Foole.
Lears shadow.
Lear.
Your name, faire Gentlewoman?
Gon.
This admiration Sir, is much o'th' sauour
Of other your new prankes. I do beseech you
To vnderstand my purposes aright:
As you are Old, and Reuerend, should be Wise.
Heere do you keepe a hundred Knights and Squires,
Men so disorder'd, so debosh'd, and bold,
That this our Court infected with their manners,
Shewes like a riotous Inne; Epicurisme and Lust
Makes it more like a Tauerne, or a Brothell,
Then a grac'd Pallace. The shame it selfe doth speake
For instant remedy. Be then desir'd
By her, that else will take the thing she begges,
A little to disquantity your Traine,
And the remainders that shall still depend,
To be such men as may besort your Age,
Which know themselues, and you.
Lear.
Darknesse, and Diuels.
Saddle my horses: call my Traine together.
Degenerate Bastard, Ile not trouble thee;
Yet haue I left a daughter.
Gon.
You strike my people, and your disorder'd rable,
make Seruants of their Betters.
Enter Albany.
Lear.
Woe, that too late repents:
Is it your will, speake Sir? Prepare my Horses.
Ingratitude! thou Marble-hearted Fiend,
More hideous when thou shew'st thee in a Child,
Then the Sea-monster.
Alb.
Pray Sir be patient.
Lear.
Detested Kite, thou lyest.
My Traine are men of choice, and rarest parts,
That all particulars of dutie know,
And in the most exact regard, support
The worships of their name. O most small fault,
How vgly did'st thou in Cordelia shew?
Which like an Engine, wrencht my frame of Nature
From the fixt place: drew from my heart all loue,
And added to the gall. O Lear, Lear, Lear!
Beate at this gate that let thy Folly in,
And thy deere Iudgement out. Go, go, my people.
Alb.
My Lord, I am guiltlesse, as I am ignorant
Of what hath moued you.
Lear.
It may be so, my Lord.
Heare Nature, heare deere Goddesse, heare:
Suspend thy purpose, if thou did'st intend
To make this Creature fruitfull:
Into her Wombe conuey stirrility,
Drie vp in her the Organs of increase,
And from her derogate body, neuer spring
A Babe to honor her. If she must teeme,
Create her childe of Spleene, that it may liue
And be a thwart disnatur'd torment to her.
Let it stampe wrinkles in her brow of youth,
With cadent Teares fret Channels in her cheekes,
Turne all her Mothers paines, and benefits
To laughter, and contempt: That she may feele,
How sharper then a Serpents tooth it is,
To haue a thanklesse-Childe. Away, away.
Exit.
Alb.
Now Gods that we adore,
Whereof comes this?
Gon.
Neuer afflict your selfe to know more of it:
But let his disposition haue that scope
As dotage giues it.
Enter Lear.
Lear.
What fiftie of my Followers at a clap?
Within a fortnight?
Alb.
What's the matter, Sir?
Lear.
Ile tell thee:
Life and death, I am asham'd
That thou hast power to shake my manhood thus,
That these hot teares, which breake from me perforce
Should make thee worth them.
Blastes and Fogges vpon thee:
Th'vntented woundings of a Fathers curse
Pierce euerie sense about thee. Old fond eyes,
Beweepe this cause againe, Ile plucke ye out,
And cast you with the waters that you loose
To temper Clay. Ha? Let it be so.
I haue another daughter,
Who I am sure is kinde and comfortable:
When she shall heare this of thee, with her nailes
Shee'l flea thy Woluish visage. Thou shalt finde,
That Ile resume the shape which thou dost thinke
I haue cast off for euer.
Exit
Gon.
Do you marke that?
Alb.
I cannot be so partiall Gonerill,
To the great loue I beare you.
Gon.
Pray you content. What Oswald, hoa?
You Sir, more Knaue then Foole, after your Master.
Foole.
Nunkle Lear, Nunkle Lear,
Tarry, take the Foole with thee:
A Fox, when one has caught her,
And such a Daughter,
Should sure to the Slaughter,
If my Cap would buy a Halter,
So the Foole followes after.
Exit
Gon.
This man hath had good Counsell,
A hundred Knights?
'Tis politike, and safe to let him keepe
At point a hundred Knights: yes, that on euerie dreame,
Each buz, each fancie, each complaint, dislike,
He may enguard his dotage with their powres,
And hold our liues in mercy. Oswald, I say.
Alb.
Well, you may feare too farre.
Gon.
Safer then trust too farre;
Let me still take away the harmes I feare,
Not feare still to be taken. I know his heart,
What he hath vtter'd I haue writ my Sister:
If she sustaine him, and his hundred Knights
When I haue shew'd th'vnfitnesse.
Enter Steward.
How now Oswald?
What haue you writ that Letter to my Sister?
Stew.
I Madam.
Gon.
Take you some company, and away to horse,
Informe her full of my particular feare,
And thereto adde such reasons of your owne,
As may compact it more. Get you gone,
This milky gentlenesse, and course of yours
Though I condemne not, yet vnder pardon
Your are much more at task for want of wisedome,
Then prai'sd for harmefull mildnesse.
Alb.
How farre your eies may pierce I cannot tell;
Striuing to better, oft we marre what's well.
Gon.
Nay then—
Alb.
Well, well, the'uent.
Exeunt
Scena Quinta.
Enter Lear, Kent, Gentleman, and Foole.Lear.
Go you before to Gloster with these Letters;
acquaint my Daughter no further with any thing you
know, then comes from her demand out of the Letter,
if your Dilligence be not speedy, I shall be there afore
you.
Kent.
I will not sleepe my Lord, till I haue deliuered
your Letter.
Exit.
Foole.
If a mans braines were in's heeles, wert not in
danger of kybes?
Lear.
I Boy.
Foole.
Then I prythee be merry, thy wit shall not go
slip-shod.
Lear.
Ha, ha, ha.
Fool.
Shalt see thy other Daughter will vse thee kindly,
for though she's as like this, as a Crabbe's like an
Apple, yet I can tell what I can tell.
Lear.
What can'st tell Boy?
Foole.
She will taste as like this as, a Crabbe do's to a
Crab: thou canst tell why ones nose stands i'th' middle
on's face?
Lear.
No.
Foole.
Why to keepe ones eyes of either side's nose,
that what a man cannot smell out, he may spy into.
Lear.
I did her wrong.
Foole.
Can'st tell how an Oyster makes his shell?
Lear.
No.
Foole.
Nor I neither; but I can tell why a Snaile ha's
a house.
Lear.
Why?
Foole.
Why to put's head in, not to giue it away to his
daughters, and leaue his hornes without a case.
Lear.
I will forget my Nature, so kind a Father? Be
my Horsses ready?
Foole.
Thy Asses are gone about 'em; the reason why
the seuen Starres are no mo then seuen, is a pretty reason.
Lear.
Because they are not eight.
Foole.
Yes indeed, thou would'st make a good Foole.
Lear.
To tak't againe perforce; Monster Ingratitude!
Foole.
If thou wert my Foole Nunckle, Il'd haue thee
beaten for being old before thy time.
Lear.
How's that?
Foole.
Thou shouldst not haue bin old, till thou hadst
bin wise.
Lear.
O let me not be mad, not mad sweet Heauen:
keepe me in temper, I would not be mad. How now are
the Horses ready?
Gent.
Ready my Lord.
Lear.
Come Boy.
Fool.
She that's a Maid now, & laughs at my departure,
Shall not be a Maid long, vnlesse things be cut shorter.
Exeunt.
| The Tragedie of King Lear | |