 | The History of King Lear |  |
ACT I.
SCENE, The King's Palace.Enter Kent, Glocester, and Edmund the Bastard.
Kent.
H Thought the King had more affected
the Duke of Albany than Cornwall.
Glo.
It did always seem so to us:
but now in the division of the kingdom,
it appears not which of the
Dukes he values most.
Kent.
Is not this your son, my lord?
Glo.
His breeding, sir, hath been at my charge.
Kent.
I cannot conceive you.
Glo.
Sir, this young fellow's mother had, indeed,
a son for her cradle, ere she had a husband for her
bed. Do you smell a fault?
Kent.
I cannot wish the fault undone, the issue
of it being so proper.
But I have a son, sir, by order of law, some
year elder than this, who yet is no dearer in my
account. Do you know this nobleman, Edmund?
Edm.
No, my lord.
Glo.
My lord of Kent;—
Remember him hereafter as my honourable friend.
Edm.
My services to your lordship.
Kent.
I must love you, and sue to know you better.
Edm.
Sir, I shall study your deserving.
Trumpets sound, within.
Glo.
The King is coming.
Scene opens, and discovers King Lear, Cornwall, Albany, Gonerill, Regan, Cordelia, and attendants.
Lear.
Attend the lords of France and Burgundy,
Glo'ster.
Glo.
I shall, my liege.
[Exit.
Lear.
Mean time we shall express our darker purpose:
Give me the map here. Know, we have divided,
In three, our kingdom; and 'tis our fast intent,
To shake all cares and business from our age;
Conferring them on younger strengths, while we
Unburthen'd crawl tow'rd death. Our son of Cornwall,
And you, our no less loving son of Albany,
We have this hour a constant will to publish
Our daughters sev'ral dow'rs, that future strife
May be prevented now. The princes France and Burgundy,
Great rivals in our younger daughter's love,
Long in our court have made their am'rous sojourn,
And here are to be answer'd. Tell me, daughters,
Which of you, shall we say, doth love us most?
That we our largest bounty may extend,
Where nature doth with merit challenge. Gonerill,
Our eldest born, speak first.
Gon.
I love you, sir,
Dearer than eye-sight, space, and liberty;
No less than life, with grace, health, beauty, honour;
As much as child e'er lov'd, or father found.
A love that makes breath poor, and speech unable,
Beyond all manner of so much I love you.
Cor.
What shall Cordelia do? love, and be silent.
[Aside.
Lear.
Of all these bounds, ev'n from this line to this,
With shadowy forests and with champions rich'd,
With plenteous rivers and wide-skirted meads,
We make thee lady. To thine and Albany's issue
Be this perpetual.—What says our second daughter,
Our dearest Regan, wife of Cornwall? speak.
Reg.
I'm made of that self mould, as is my sister,
And prize me at her worth, in my true heart.
I find, she names my very deed of love;
Only she comes too short: that I profess
Myself an enemy to all other joys,
Than your dear Highness' love.
Cor.
Then poor Cordelia!
[Aside.
And yet not so, since, I am sure my love's
More pond'rous than my tongue.
Lear.
To thee, and thine, hereditary ever,
Remain this ample third of our fair kingdom;
No less in space, validity, and pleasure,
Than that conferr'd on Gonerill.—Now our joy,
Although our last, not least; to whose young love,
The vines of France, and milk of Burgundy,
Strive to be int'ress'd: what say you, to draw
A third, more opulent than your sisters? speak.
Cor.
Nothing, my lord.
Lear.
Nothing?
Cor.
Nothing.
Lear.
Nothing can come of nothing; speak again.
Cor.
Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave
My heart into my mouth: I love your Majesty
According to my bond, no more nor less.
How, how, Cordelia? mend your speech a little,
Lest you may mar your fortunes.
Cor.
Good my lord,
You gave me being, bred me, lov'd me. I
Return those duties back, as are right fit;
Obey you, love you, and most honour you.
Why have my sisters husbands, if they say,
They love you, all? hap'ly, when I shall wed,
That lord, whose hand must take my plight, shall carry
Half my love with him, half my care and duty:
Sure, I shall never marry like my sisters,
To love my father all.
Lear.
But goes thy heart with this?
Cor.
Ay, my good lord.
Lear.
So young, and so untender?
Cor.
So young, my lord, and true.
Lear.
Let it be so, thy truth then be thy dower.
For by the sacred radiance of the sun,
The mysteries of Hecate, and the night,
By all the operations of the orbs,
From whom we do exist, and cease to be:
Here I disclaim all my paternal care,
Propinquity, and property of blood,
And as a stranger to my heart and me
Hold thee, from this, for ever.
Kent.
Good my Liege—
Lear.
Peace, Kent!
Come not between the dragon and his wrath.
I lov'd her most, and thought to set my Rest
On her kind nurs'ry. Hence, avoid my sight!—
[To Cor.
So be my grave my peace, as here I give
Her father's heart from her; call France; who stirs?
Call Burgundy.—Cornwall and Albany,
With my two daughters dowers, digest the third.
Let pride, which she calls plainness, marry her.
I do invest you jointly with my power,
That troop with majesty. Ourself by monthly course,
With reservation of an hundred knights,
By you to be sustain'd, shall our abode
Make with you by due turns: only retain
The name and all th' addition to a king:
The sway, revenue, execution,
Beloved sons, be yours; which to confirm,
This coronet part between you.
[Giving the crown.
Kent.
Royal Lear,
Whom I have ever honour'd as my king,
Lov'd as my father, as my master follow'd,
And as my patron thought on in my pray'rs—
Lear.
The bow is bent and drawn, make from the shaft.
Kent.
Let it fall rather, though the fork invade
The region of my heart; be Kent unmannerly,
When Lear is mad: with better judgment check
This hideous rashness; with my life I answer,
Thy youngest daughter does not love thee least.
Lear.
Kent, on thy life no more!
Kent.
My life I never held but as a pawn
To wage against thy foes; nor fear to lose it,
Thy safety being the motive.
Lear.
Out of my sight!
Kent.
See better, Lear.
Lear.
Now by Apollo—
Kent.
Now by Apollo, king,
Thou swear'st thy gods in vain.
Lear.
O vassal! miscreant!—
[Laying his hand on his sword.
Alb. Corn.
Dear sir, forbear.
Kent.
Kill thy physician, and thy fee bestow
Upon thy rank disease; revoke thy doom,
Or whilst I can vent clamour from my throat,
I'll tell thee thou dost evil.
Lear.
Hear me, recreant!
Since thou hast sought to make us break our vow,
To come betwixt our sentence and our power;
Take thy reward.
Five days we do allot thee for provision,
To shield thee from disasters of the world;
And, on the sixth, to turn thy hated back
Upon our kingdom; if, the tenth day following,
Thy banish'd trunk be found in our dominions,
The moment is thy death: away! By Jupiter,
This shall not be revok'd.
Kent.
Why fare thee well, King, since thou art resolv'd.
The Gods protect thee, excellent Cordelia,
That justly think'st, and hast most rightly said!
Now to new climates my old truth I bear;
Freedom lives hence, and banishment is here.
[Exit.
Enter Glocester, with France and Burgundy, and Attendants.
Glo.
Here's France and Burgundy, my noble lord.
Lear.
Right noble Burgundy,
Who with this king hast rivall'd for our daughter;
When she was dear to us, we held her so;
But now her price is fall'n: Sir, there she stands,
Will you with those infirmities she owes,
Unfriended, new-adopted to our hate,
Dowr'd with our curse, and stranger'd with our oath,
Take her, or leave her?
Bur.
Pardon, royal Sir;
Election makes not up on such conditions.
Lear.
Then leave her, Sir; for by the pow'r that made me,
I tell you all her wealth.—For you, great king,
[To France.
I would not from your love make such a stray,
To match you where I hate.
France.
This is most strange.
Cor.
I yet beseech your Majesty,
(If, for I want that glib and oily art,
To speak and purpose not; since what I well intend,
It is no vicious blot, scandal, or foulness,
No unchaste action, or dishonour'd step,
That hath depriv'd me of your grace and favour:
But ev'n for want of that, for which I'm richer,
A still soliciting eye, and such a tongue,
That I am glad I've not; though, not to have it,
Hath lost me in your liking.
Lear.
Better thou
Hadst not been born, than not have pleas'd me better.
France.
Is it but this? a tardiness in nature,
Which often leaves the history unspoke,
That it intends to do? Fairest Cordelia,
Thee and thy virtues here I seize upon;
Be't lawful, I take up what's cast away.
Thy dow'rless daughter, King, thrown to my chance,
Is queen of us, of ours, and our fair France.
Lear.
Thou hast her, France; let her be thine, for we
Have no such daughter; nor shall ever see
That face of hers again; away!
Come, noble Burgundy.
[Flourish. Exeunt Lear and Burgundy.
France.
Bid farewel to your sisters.
Cor.
Ye jewels of our father, with wash'd eyes
Cordelia leaves you: I know what you are,
And, like a sister, am most loth to call
Your faults, as they are nam'd. Love well our father.
To your professing bosoms I commit him;
So farewel to you both.
Reg.
Prescribe not us our duty.
Gon.
Let your study
Be to content your lord, who hath receiv'd you
At fortune's alms.
Cor.
Time shall unfold what plaited cunning hides.
Well may you prosper!
France.
Come, my fair Cordelia.
[Exit Fra. and Cor.
Sister, it is not little I've to say,
Of what most nearly appertains to us both;
I think, our father will go hence to night.
Reg.
That's certain, and with you; next month with us.
Gon.
You see how full of changes his age is: the
observation I have made of it hath not been little;
he always loved our sister most, and with what poor
judgement he hath now cast her off, appears too
grossly.
Reg.
'Tis the infirmity of his age; yet he hath
ever but slenderly known himself.
Gon.
The best and soundest of his time hath been
but rash; then must we look, from his age, to receive
not alone the imperfections of long-ingrafted
condition, but therewithal the unruly waywardness,
that infirm and cholerick years bring with them.
Reg.
Such inconstant starts are we like to have
from him, as this of Kent's banishment.
Gon.
There is further compliment of leave-taking
between France and him; pray you, let us hit together:
if our father carry authority with such disposition
as he bears, this last surrender of his will
but offend us.
Reg.
We shall further think of it.
Gon.
We must do something; ay, and suddenly.
[Exeunt.
SCENE changes to a Castle belonging to the Earl of Glocester.
Enter Edmund, with a Letter.
Edm.
Thou, Nature, art my goddess; to thy law
My services are bound; wherefore should I
Stand in the plague of custom, and permit
The courtesy of nations to deprive me,
For that I am some twelve or fourteen moon-shines
Lag of a brother? Why bastard? wherefore base?
When my dimensions are as well compact,
My mind as gen'rous, and my shape as true,
With base? with baseness? bastardy? base, base?
Our father's love is to the bastard Edmund,
As to th'legitimate Edgar; fine word—legitimate—
Well, my legitimate, if this letter speed,
And my invention thrive, Edmund the base
Shall be th' legitimate—I grow, I prosper;
Now, gods, stand up for bastards!
To him enter Glocester.
Glo.
Edmund, how now? What paper were you
reading?
Edm.
Nothing, my lord.
[Putting up the letter.
Glo.
No! what needed then that terrible dispatch
of it into your pocket? let me see.
Edm.
I beseech you, sir, pardon me; it is a letter
from my brother, that I have not all o'er-read;
and for so much as I have perus'd, I find it not fit
for your o'er-looking.
Glo.
Give me the letter, sir.
Edm.
I shall offend, either to detain, or give it:
the contents, as in part I understand them, are to
blame.
Glo.
Let's see, let's see.
Edm.
I hope, for my brother's justification, he
wrote this but as an essay, or taste, of my virtue.
Glo.
[reads.]
“This policy and reverence of ages 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 the oppression of aged
tyranny; which 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 wak'd him, you should enjoy half his
revenue for ever, and live the beloved of your
brother,
EDGAR.”
Sleep till I wake him—you should enjoy half his
revenue—My son Edgar! had he a hand to write
came this to you; who brought it?
Edm.
It was not brought me, my lord; there's
the cunning of it; I found it thrown in at the casement
of my closet.
Glo.
You know the character to be your brother's?
Edm.
If the matter were good, my lord, I durst
swear it were his; but, in respect of that, I would
fain think it were not.
Glo.
It is his.
Edm.
It is his hand, my lord; I hope, his heart
is not in the contents.
Glo.
Has he never before sounded you in this
business?
Edm.
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 a
ward to the son, and the son manage his revenue.
Glo.
O villain, villain! his very opinion in the
letter. Abhorred villain! Go, seek him; I'll apprehend
him. Abominable villain! where is he?
Edm.
I do not well know, my lord. I dare
pawn down my life for him, that he hath writ this
to feel my affection to your honour, and to no
other pretence of danger.
Glo.
Think you so?
Edm.
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.
Glo.
He cannot be such a monster.
Edm.
Nor is not, sure.
Glo.
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
myself to be in a due resolution.
I will seek him, sir, presently; convey
the business as I shall find means, and acquaint you
withal.
Glo.
These late eclipses in the sun and moon portend
no good to us; tho' the wisdom of nature can
reason it thus and thus, yet nature finds itself
scourg'd by the frequent effects. Love cools,
friendship falls off, brothers divide. In cities,
mutinies; in countries, discord; in palaces, treason;
and the bond crack'd 'twixt son and father. We have
seen the best of our time. Find out this villain, Edmund;
and it shall lose thee nothing; do it carefully
—and the noble and true-hearted Kent banished!
his offence, Honesty. 'Tis strange.
[Exit.
Manet Edmund.
Edm.
This is the excellent foppery of the world,
that, when we are sick in fortune, (often the surfeits
of our own behaviour) we make guilty of our
disasters, the sun, the moon and stars; as if we
were villains on necessity; fools by heavenly compulsion;
knaves, thieves, and treacherous, by
spherical predominance; drunkards, lyars and
adulterers, by an inforc'd 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 on the
charge of a star! I should have been what I am,
had the maidenhest star in the firmament twinkled
on my Bastardizing.
Pat!—he comes, like the catastrophe of the old comedy;
my cue is villainous melancholy, with a
sigh like Tom o' Bedlam—O, these eclipses portend
these divisions!
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.
Do you busy yourself with that?
Edm.
I promise you, the effects he writes of
succeed unhappily. When saw you my father last?
Edg.
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 have offended
him: and, at my intreaty, 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.
Edg.
Some villain hath done me wrong.
Edm.
That's my fear; I pray you, retire with
me to my lodging, from whence I will fitly bring
you to hear my lord speak: pray you, go; 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 Edg.
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.
Enter Gonerill, and Steward.
Gon.
My father strike my gentleman?
Stew.
Ay, madam.
Gon.
By day and night, he wrongs me; I'll not endure it:
His knights grow riotous, and himself upbraids us
On ev'ry 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.
I understand, and will obey you, madam.
Gon.
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 my sister,
Whose mind and mine, I know, in that are one,
Not to be over-rul'd: idle old Man,
That still would manage those authorities,
That he hath given away.—
Remember what I've said.
Stew.
Very well, madam.
Gon.
And let his knights have colder looks
among you: what grows of it, no matter; advise
your fellows so: I'll write strait to my sister to
hold my course: away!
[Exeunt.
SCENE changes to an open Place before the Palace.
Enter Kent disguis'd.
Kent.
If but as well I other accents borrow,
And can my speech diffuse, my good intent
May carry thro' itself to that full issue,
For which I raz'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.
Lear.
Let me not stay a jot for dinner, go, get
it ready: how now, what art thou?
[To Kent.
Kent.
A man, sir.
Lear.
What dost thou profess? what would'st
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 fight when I cannot chuse,
and to eat no fish.
Lear.
What art thou?
Kent.
A very honest-hearted fellow, and as poor
as the king.
Lear.
If thou beest as poor for a subject, as he
is for a king, thou art poor enough. What would'st
thou?
Kent.
Service.
Lear.
Whom would'st 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 counsels, ride, run,
marr 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 doat on her for any thing. I
have years on my back forty-eight.
Lear.
Follow me, thou shalt serve me.
You, you, sirrah, where's my daughter?
Stew.
So please you—
[Exit.
Lear.
What says the fellow there? call the clotpole
back.
Knight.
He says, my lord, your daughter is not
well.
Lear.
Why came not the slave back to me when
I call'd him?
Knight.
Sir, he answer'd 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 entertain'd
with that ceremonious affection as you were
wont.
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 is wrong'd.
Lear.
Thou but remember'st me of my own
conception. I have perceiv'd a most faint neglect
of late; I will look further into't. Go you and
tell my daughter, I would speak with her.
O, you, sir, come you hither, sir; who am I, sir?
Stew.
My lady's father.
Lear.
My lady's father? my lord's knave!
Stew.
I am none of these, my lord; I beseech
your pardon.
Lear.
Do you bandy looks with me, rascal?
[Striking him.
Stew.
I'll not be struck, my lord?
Kent.
Nor tript neither, you base foot-ball
player.
[Tripping up his heels.
Lear.
I thank thee, fellow. Thou serv'st me,
and I'll love thee.
Kent.
Come, sir, arise, away.
[Pushes the Steward out.
Lear.
How now, daughter, what makes that
frontlet on? you are too much of late i'th'frown.
Gon.
Your insolent retinue, sir,
Do hourly carp and quarrel, breaking forth
In rank and not to be endured riots.
I thought by making this well known unto you,
T'have sound a safe redress; but now grow fearful,
That you protect this course, and put it on
By your allowance; if you should, the fault
Would not 'scape censure, nor the redresses sleep.
Lear.
Are you our daughter?
Gon.
I would, you would make use of your good wisdom,
Whereof' know you are fraught, and put away
These dispositions, which of late transport you
From what you rightly are.
Lear.
Does any here know me? this is not Lear:
Does Lear walk thus? speak thus? where are his eyes?
Either his notion weakens, his discernings
Are lethargied—Ha! waking?—'tis not so;
Who is it that can tell me who I am?
Your name, fair gentlewoman?
Gon.
This admiration, sir, is much o'th'savour
Of other your new humours. I beseech you,
To understand my purposes aright.
You, as you're old and reverend, should be wise.
Here do you keep a hundred knights and squires,
Men so disorder'd, so debauch'd and bold,
That this our court, infected with their manners,
Shews like a riotous inn. Be then desir'd
By her, that else will take the thing she begs,
Of fifty to disquantity your train;
And the remainders,
To be such men as may besort your age,
And know themselves and you.
Lear.
Darkness and devils!
Degen'rate viper! I'll not trouble thee;
Yet have I left a daughter.
Gon.
You strike my people, and your disorder'd rabble
Make servants of their betters.
To them, Enter Albany.
Lear.
Woe! that too late repents.—O, sir, are you come?
Is it your will? speak, sir. Prepare my horses.—
[To Alb.
Ingratitude! thou marble-hearted fiend,
More hideous when thou shew'st thee in a child,
Than the sea-monster.
Alb.
Pray, sir, be patient.
Lear.
Detested kite! thou liest.
[To Gonerill.
My train are men of choice and rarest parts,
That all particulars of duty know.
O most small fault!
How ugly didst thou in Cordelia shew!
Which, like an engine, wrencht my frame of nature
From the fix'd 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.
Now, gods, that we adore, whereof comes this?
Gon.
Never afflict yourself to know of it;
But let his disposition have that scope,
That dotage gives it.
Lear.
What, fifty of my followers at a clap?
Alb.
What's the matter, sir?
Lear.
I tell thee—life and death! I am asham'd,
That thou hast power to shake my manhood thus;
[To Gon.
That these hot tears, which break from me perforce,
Should make thee worth them.—blasts and fogs upon thee!
Pierce every sense about thee! old fond eyes,
Beweep this cause again, I'll pluck ye out,
And cast you, with the waters that you lose,
To temper clay. No, Gorgon, thou shalt find,
That I'll resume the shape, which thou dost think
I have cast off for ever.
Alb.
My lord, I'm guiltless, as I'm ignorant,
Of what hath mov'd you.
Lear.
It may be so, my lord—
Hear, Nature, hear; dear goddess, hear a father!
If thou didst intend
To make this creature fruitful, change thy purpose;
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 disnatur'd 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.—Go, go, my people.
[Exeunt.
| The History of King Lear | |