The Oxford Shakespeare: The Complete Works

by William Shakespeare

  LEAR No, lad. Teach me.

  FOOL ⌈sings⌉That lord that counselled 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 (to Lear) 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. 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 in the middle and eat up the meat, the two crowns of the egg. When thou clovest thy crown i‘th’ middle and gavest away both parts, thou borest thy ass o’th’ back o’er 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 wit in a year,

  For wise men are grown foppish.

  They know not how their wits do 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 puttest 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.

  Prithee, nuncle, keep a schoolmaster that can teach thy fool to lie. I would fain learn to lie.

  LEAR An you lie, we’ll have you whipped.

  FOOL I marvel what kin thou and thy daughters are. They’ll have me whipped for speaking true, thou wilt have me whipped for lying, and sometime 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.

  Enter Gonoril

  Here comes one of the parings.

  LEAR

  How now, daughter, what makes that frontlet on?

  Methinks you are too much o’ late i’th’ frown.

  FOOL Thou wast a pretty fellow when thou hadst no need to care for her frown. Now thou art an O without a figure. I am better than thou art, now. I am a fool; thou art nothing. ⌈To Gonoril⌉ Yes, forsooth, I will hold my tongue; so your face bids me, though you say nothing.

  ⌈Sings⌉Mum, mum. He that keeps neither crust nor crumb,

  Weary of all, shall want some.

  That’s a shelled peascod.

  GONORIL (to Lear)

  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 redress sleep

  Which in the tender of a wholesome weal

  Might in their working do you that offence,

  That else were shame, that then necessity

  Must call discreet proceedings.

  FOOL (to Lear) For, you trow, nuncle,

  ⌈Sings⌉The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long

  That it had it head bit off by it young;

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

  LEAR (to Gonoril) Are you our daughter?

  GONORIL

  Come, sir, 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

  From what you rightly are.

  FOOL May not an ass know when the cart draws the horse? ⌈Sings⌉ ‘Whoop, jug, I love thee!’

  LEAR

  Doth any here know me? Why, this is not Lear.

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

  Either his notion weakens, or his discernings

  Are lethargied. Sleeping or waking, ha?

  Sure, ’tis 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 (to Gonoril)

  Your name, fair gentlewoman?

  GONORIL Come, sir,

  This admiration is much of the savour

  Of other your new pranks. I do beseech you

  Understand my purposes aright,

  As you are old and reverend, 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,

  Shows like a riotous inn, epicurism

  And lust make more like to a tavern, or brothel,

  Than a great palace. The shame itself doth speak

  For instant remedy. Be thou 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,

  That know themselves and you.

  LEAR Darkness and devils!

  Saddle my horses, call my train together!—

  ⌈Exit one or more⌉

  Degenerate bastard, I’ll not trouble thee.

  Yet have I left a daughter.

  GONORIL

  You strike my people, and your disordered rabble

  Make servants of their betters.

  Enter the Duke of Albany

  LEAR

  We that too late repent‘s—O sir, are you come?

  Is it your will that we—prepare my horses.

  ⌈Exit one or more⌉

  Ingratitude, thou marble-hearted fiend,

  More hideous when thou show’st thee in a child

  Than the sea-monster—(to Gonoril) detested kite, thou

  liest.

  My train are men of choice and rarest parts,

  That all particulars of duty know,

  And in the most exact regard support

  The worships of their name. O most small fault,

  How ugly didst thou in Cordelia show,

  That, 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!

  Beat at this gate that let thy folly in

  And thy dear judgement out.—Go, go, my people!

  ALBANY

  My lord, I am guiltless as I am ignorant.

  LEAR

  It may be so, my lord. Hark, nature, hear:

  Dear goddess, 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<
br />
  To laughter and contempt, that she may feel—

  That she may feel

  How sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is

  To have a thankless child.—Go, go, my people!

  Exeunt Lear, ⌈Kent, Fool, and servants⌉

  ALBANY

  Now, gods that we adore, whereof comes this?

  GONORIL

  Never afflict yourself to know the cause,

  But let his disposition have that scope

  That dotage gives it.

  Enter King Lear ⌈and his Fool⌉

  LEAR

  What, fifty of my followers at a clap?

  Within a fortnight?

  ALBANY What is the matter, sir?

  LEAR

  I’ll tell thee. (To Gonoril) Life and death! I am

  ashamed

  That thou hast power to shake my manhood thus,

  That these hot tears, that break from me perforce

  And should make thee—worst blasts and fogs upon

  thee!

  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 make,

  To temper clay. Yea,

  Is’t come to this? Yet have I left a daughter

  Whom, I am sure, is kind and comfortable.

  When she shall hear this of thee, with her nails

  She’ll flay thy wolvish 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.

  Exit

  GONORIL Do you mark that, my lord?

  ALBANY

  I cannot be so partial, Gonoril,

  To the great love I bear you—

  GONORIL Come, sir, no more.—

  You, more knave than fool, after your master!

  FOOL Nuncle Lear, nuncle Lear, tarry, and take the fool 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 fool follows after.

  Exit

  GONORIL What, Oswald, ho!

  Enter Oswald

  OSWALD Here, madam.

  GONORIL

  What, have you writ this letter to my sister?

  OSWALD Yes, madam.

  GONORIL

  Take you some company, and away to horse.

  Inform her full of my particular fears,

  And thereto add such reasons of your own

  As may compact it more. Get you gone,

  And after, your retinue.

  Exit Oswald

  Now, my lord,

  This milky gentleness and course of yours,

  Though I dislike not, yet under pardon

  You’re much more ataxed for want of wisdom

  Than praised for harmful mildness.

  ALBANY

  How far your eyes may pierce I cannot tell.

  Striving to better aught, we mar what’s well.

  GONORIL Nay, then—

  ALBANY Well, well, the event. Exeunt

  Sc. 5 Enter King Lear, the Earl of Kent disguised, and Lear’s Fool

  LEAR ⌈to Kent⌉ Go you before to Gloucester with these letters. Acquaint my daughter no further with anything you know than comes from her demand out of the letter. If your diligence be not speedy, I shall be there before you.

  KENT I will not sleep, my lord, till I have delivered your letter.

  Exit

  FOOL If a man’s brains were in his heels, were’t not in danger of kibes?

  LEAR Ay, boy.

  FOOL Then, I prithee, be merry: thy wit shall ne’er go slipshod.

  LEAR Ha, ha, ha!

  FOOL Shalt see thy other daughter will use thee kindly, for though she’s as like this as a crab is like an apple, yet I con what I can tell.

  LEAR Why, what canst thou tell, my boy?

  FOOL Why, to keep his eyes on either side ’s nose, that what a man cannot smell out, a may spy into.

  LEAR I did her wrong.

  FOOL Canst tell how an oyster makes his shell?

  LEAR No.

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

  LEAR Why?

  FOOL Why, to put his head in, not to give it away to his daughter and leave his horns without a case.

  LEAR

  I will forget my nature. So kind a father!

  Be my horses ready?

  FOOL Thy asses are gone about them. The reason why the seven stars are no more than seven is a pretty reason.

  LEAR Because they are not eight.

  FOOL Yes. Thou wouldst make a good fool.

  LEAR

  To take’t again perforce—monster ingratitude!

  FOOL If thou wert my fool, nuncle, I’d have thee beaten for being old before thy time.

  LEAR How’s that?

  FOOL Thou shouldst not have been old before thou hadst been wise.

  LEAR

  O, let me not be mad, sweet heaven!

  I would not be mad.

  Keep me in temper. I would not be mad.

  Enter a Servant

  Are the horses ready?

  SERVANT Ready, my lord.

  LEAR (to Fool) Come, boy. Exeunt Lear and Servant

  FOOL

  She that is maid now, and laughs at my departure,

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

  Exit

  Sc. 6 Enter Edmund the bastard, and Curan, meeting

  EDMUND Save thee, Curan.

  CURAN And you, sir. I have been with your father, and given him notice that the Duke of Cornwall and his duchess will be here with him tonight.

  EDMUND How comes that?

  CURAN Nay, I know not. You have heard of the news abroad?—I mean the whispered ones, for there are yet but ear-bussing arguments.

  EDMUND Not. I pray you, what are they?

  CURAN Have you heard of no likely wars towards twixt the two Dukes of Cornwall and Albany?

  EDMUND Not a word.

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

  Exit

  EDMUND

  The Duke be here tonight! The better, best.

  This weaves itself perforce into my business.

  ⌈Enter Edgar at a window above⌉

  My father hath set guard to take my brother,

  And I have one thing of a queasy question

  Which must ask briefness. Wit and fortune help!—

  Brother, a word. Descend, brother, I say.

  ⌈Edgar climbs down

  My father watches. O, 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

  aught?

  He’s coming hither now, in the night, i’th’ haste,

  And Regan with him. Have you nothing said

  Upon his party against the Duke of Albany?

  Advise you—

  EDGAR I am sure on’t, not a word.

  EDMUND

  I hear my father coming. Pardon me.

  In cunning I must draw my sword upon you.

  Seem to defend yourself. Now, quit you well.

  (Calling) Yield, come before my father. Light here,

  here!

  (To Edgar) Fly, brother, fly! (Calling) Torches, torches!

  (To Edgar) So, farewell.

  Exit Edgar

  Some blood drawn on me would beget opinion

  Of my more fierce endeavour.

  He wounds his arm

  I have seen

  Drunkards do more than this in sport. (Calling) Father,

  father!

  Stop, stop! Ho, help!

  Enter the Duke of Gloucester ⌈and others⌉

  GLOUCESTER Now, Edmund, wher
e is the villain?

  EDMUND

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

  Warbling of wicked charms, conjuring the moon

  To stand ’s auspicious mistress.

  GLOUCESTER But where is he?

  EDMUND

  Look, sir, I bleed.

  GLOUCESTER Where is the villain, Edmund?

  EDMUND

  Fled this way, sir, when by no means he could—

  GLOUCESTER

  Pursue him, go after.

  Exeunt others

  By no means what?

  EDMUND

  Persuade me to the murder of your lordship,

  But that I told him the revengive gods

  ’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,

  Seeing how loathly opposite I stood

  To his unnatural purpose, with fell motion,

  With his prepared sword he charges home

  My unprovided body, lanced mine arm;

  But when he saw my best alarumed spirits

  Bold in the quarrel’s rights, roused to the encounter,

  Or whether ghasted by the noise I made

  Or ⌈ ⌉ I know not,

  But suddenly he fled.

  GLOUCESTER Let him fly far,

  Not in this land shall he remain uncaught,

  And found, dispatch. The noble Duke my master,

  My worthy arch and patron, comes tonight.

  By his authority I will proclaim it

  That he which finds him shall deserve our thanks,

  Bringing the murderous caitiff to the stake;

  He that conceals him, death.

  EDMUND

  When I dissuaded him from his intent

  And found him pitched to do it, with curst speech

  I threatened to discover him. He replied,

  ‘Thou unpossessing bastard, dost thou think

  If I would stand against thee, could the reposure

  Of any trust, virtue, or worth in thee

  Make thy words faithed? No, what I should deny—

  As this I would, ay, though thou didst produce

  My very character—I’d turn it all

  To thy suggestion, plot, and damned pretence,

  And thou must make a dullard of the world