Here I disclaim all my paternal care, 100
Propinquity and property of blood,
And as a stranger to my heart and me
Hold thee from this for ever. The barbarous Scythian,
Or he that makes his generation messes
To gorge his appetite, shall to my bosom 105
Be as well neighbour’d, pitied, and reliev’d,
As thou my sometime daughter.
Kent. Good my liege, —
Lear. Peace, Kent!
Come not between the dragon and his wrath. 110
I lov’d her most, and thought to set my rest
On her kind nursery. Hence, and avoid my sight!
So be my grave my peace, as here I give
Her father’s heart from her! Call France.
Who stirs? 115
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,
Pre-eminence, and all the large effects 120
That troop with majesty. Ourself by monthly course,
With reservation of a hundred knights,
By you to be sustain’d, shall our abode
Make with you by due turn. Only we shall retain
The name and all th’ addition to a king; 125
The sway, revenue, execution of the rest,
Beloved sons, be yours: which to confirm,
This coronet part between you.
Kent. Royal Lear,
Whom I have ever honour’d as my king, 130
Lov’d as my father, as my master follow’d,
As my great patron thought on in my prayers, —
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 135
When Lear is mad. What wouldst thou do, old man?
Think’st thou that duty shall have dread to speak
When power to flattery bows? To plainness honour’s bound
When majesty falls to folly. Reserve thy state;
And, in thy best consideration, check 140
This hideous rashness: answer my life my judgment,
Thy youngest daughter does not love thee least;
Nor are those empty-hearted whose low sound
Reverbs no hollowness.
Lear. Kent, on thy life, no more. 145
Kent. My life I never held but as a pawn
To wage against thine enemies; nor fear to lose it,
Thy safety being the motive.
Lear. Out of my sight!
Kent. See better, Lear; and let me still remain 150
The true blank of thine eye.
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. 155
Alb. & Corn. Dear sir, forbear.
Kent. Do;
Kill thy physician, and the fee bestow
Upon the foul disease. Revoke thy gift;
Or, whilst I can vent clamour from my throat, 160
I’ll tell thee thou dost evil.
Lear. Hear me, recreant!
On thine allegiance, hear me!
Since thou hast sought to make us break our vow, —
Which we durst never yet, — and, with strain’d pride 165
To come betwixt our sentence and our power, —
Which nor our nature nor our place can bear, —
Our potency made good, take thy reward.
Five days we do allot thee for provision
To shield thee from diseases of the world; 170
And, on the sixth, to turn thy hated back
Upon our kingdom: if, on 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. 175
Kent. Fare thee well, king; sith thus thou wilt appear,
Freedom lives hence, and banishment is here.
[To CORDELIA.] The gods to their dear shelter take thee, maid,
That justly think’st, and hast most rightly said!
[To REGAN and GONERIL.] And your large speeches may your deeds approve, 180
That good effects may spring from words of love.
Thus Kent, O princes! bids you all adieu;
He’ll shape his old course in a country new. [Exit.
Flourish. Re-enter GLOUCESTER, with FRANCE, BURGUNDY, and Attendants.
Glo. Here’s France and Burgundy, my noble lord. 185
Lear. My Lord of Burgundy,
We first address toward you, who with this king
Hath rivall’d for our daughter. What, in the least,
Will you require in present dower with her,
Or cease your quest of love? 190
Bur. Most royal majesty,
I crave no more than hath your highness offer’d,
Nor will you tender less.
Lear. Right noble Burgundy,
When she was dear to us we did hold her so, 195
But now her price is fall’n. Sir, there she stands:
If aught within that little-seeming substance,
Or all of it, with our displeasure piec’d,
And nothing more, may fitly like your Grace,
She’s there, and she is yours. 200
Bur. I know no answer.
Lear. Will you, with those infirmities she owes,
Unfriended, new-adopted to our hate,
Dower’d with our curse, and stranger’d with our oath,
Take her, or leave her? 205
Bur. Pardon me, royal sir;
Election makes not up on such conditions.
Lear. Then leave her, sir; for, by the power that made me,
I tell you all her wealth. — [To FRANCE.] For you, great king,
I would not from your love make such a stray 210
To match you where I hate; therefore, beseech you
To avert your liking a more worthier way
Than on a wretch whom nature is asham’d
Almost to acknowledge hers.
France. This is most strange, 215
That she, who even but now was your best object,
The argument of your praise, balm of your age,
The best, the dearest, should in this trice of time
Commit a thing so monstrous, to dismantle
So many folds of favour. Sure, her offence 220
Must be of such unnatural degree
That monsters it, or your fore-vouch’d affection
Fall into taint; which to believe of her,
Must be a faith that reason without miracle
Could never plant in me. 225
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,
I’ll do ‘t before I speak — that you make known
It is no vicious blot nor other foulness, 230
No unchaste action, or dishonour’d step,
That hath depriv’d me of your grace and favour,
But even for want of that for which I am richer,
A still-soliciting eye, and such a tongue
That I am glad I have not, though not to have it 235
Hath lost me in your liking.
Lear. Better thou
Hadst not been born than not to have pleas’d me better.
France. Is it but this? a tardiness in nature
Which often leaves the history unspoke 240
That it intends to do? My Lord of Burgundy,
What say you to the lady? Love is not love
When it is mingled with regards that stand
Aloof from the entire point. Will you have her?
She is herself a dowr
y. 245
Bur. Royal Lear,
Give but that portion which yourself propos’d,
And here I take Cordelia by the hand,
Duchess of Burgundy.
Lear. Nothing: I have sworn; I am firm. 250
Bur. I am sorry, then, you have so lost a father
That you must lose a husband.
Cor. Peace be with Burgundy!
Since that respects of fortune are his love,
I shall not be his wife. 255
France. Fairest Cordelia, that art most rich, being poor;
Most choice, forsaken; and most lov’d, despis’d!
Thee and thy virtues here I seize upon:
Be it lawful I take up what’s cast away.
Gods, gods! ’tis strange that from their cold’st neglect 260
My love should kindle to inflam’d respect.
Thy dowerless daughter, king, thrown to my chance,
Is queen of us, of ours, and our fair France:
Not all the dukes of waterish Burgundy
Shall buy this unpriz’d precious maid of me. 265
Bid them farewell, Cordelia, though unkind:
Thou losest here, a better where to find.
Lear. Thou hast her, France; let her be thine, for we
Have no such daughter, nor shall ever see
That face of hers again, therefore be gone 270
Without our grace, our love, our benison.
Come, noble Burgundy. [Flourish. Exeunt LEAR, BURGUNDY, CORNWALL, ALBANY, GLOUCESTER, and Attendants.
France. Bid farewell to your sisters.
Cor. The jewels of our father, with wash’d eyes
Cordelia leaves you: I know you what you are; 275
And like a sister am most loath to call
Your faults as they are nam’d. Use well our father:
To your professed bosoms I commit him:
But yet, alas! stood I within his grace,
I would prefer him to a better place. 280
So farewell to you both.
Reg. Prescribe not us our duties.
Gon. Let your study
Be to content your lord, who hath receiv’d you
At fortune’s alms; you have obedience scanted, 285
And well are worth the want that you have wanted.
Cor. Time shall unfold what plighted cunning hides;
Who covers faults, at last shame them derides.
Well may you prosper!
France. Come, my fair Cordelia. [Exit FRANCE and CORDELIA. 290
Gon. Sister, it is not little I have to say of what most nearly appertains to us both. I think our father will hence to-night.
Reg. That’s most certain, and with you; next month with us.
Gon. You see how full of changes his age is; the observation we have made of it hath not been little: he always loved our sister most; and with what poor judgment 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 to receive from his age, not alone the imperfections of long-engraffed condition, but, therewithal the unruly waywardness that infirm and choleric years bring with them. 295
Reg. Such unconstant 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 dispositions as he bears, this last surrender of his will but offend us.
Reg. We shall further think on ‘t.
Gon. We must do something, and i’ the heat. [Exeunt.
Act I. Scene II.
A Hall in the EARL OF GLOUCESTER’S Castle.
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 5
The curiosity of nations to deprive me,
For that I am some twelve or fourteen moonshines
Lag of a brother? Why bastard? wherefore base?
When my dimensions are as well compact,
My mind as generous, and my shape as true, 10
As honest madam’s issue? Why brand they us
With base? with baseness? bastardy? base, base?
Who in the lusty stealth of nature take
More composition and fierce quality
Than doth, within a dull, stale, tired bed, 15
Go to the creating a whole tribe of fops,
Got ‘tween asleep and wake? Well then,
Legitimate Edgar, I must have your land:
Our father’s love is to the bastard Edmund
As to the legitimate. Fine word, ‘legitimate!’ 20
Well, my legitimate, if this letter speed,
And my invention thrive, Edmund the base
Shall top the legitimate: — I grow, I prosper;
Now, gods, stand up for bastards!
Enter GLOUCESTER. 25
Glo. Kent banished thus! And France in choler parted!
And the king gone to-night! subscrib’d his power!
Confin’d to exhibition! All this done
Upon the gad! Edmund, how now! what news?
Edm. So please your lordship, none. [Putting up the letter. 30
Glo. Why so earnestly seek you to put up that letter?
Edm. I know no news, my lord.
Glo. What paper were you reading?
Edm. Nothing, my lord.
Glo. No? What needed then that terrible dispatch of it into your pocket? the quality of nothing hath not such need to hide itself. Let’s see; come; if it be nothing, I shall not need spectacles. 35
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 perused, 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. 40
Glo. This policy and reverence of age 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 an idle and fond bondage in the oppression of aged tyranny, who 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 waked him, you should enjoy half his revenue for ever, and live the beloved of your brother, EDGAR. — Hum! Conspiracy! ‘Sleep till I waked him, you should enjoy half his revenue.’ — My son Edgar! Had he a hand to write this? a heart and brain to breed it in? When 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. 45
Edm. It is his hand, my lord; but I hope his heart is not in the contents.
Glo. Hath he never heretofore sounded you in this business?
Edm. Never, my lord: but I have often heard him maintain it to be fit that, sons at perfect age, and fathers declined, the father should be as ward to the son, and the son manage his revenue.
Glo. O villain, villain! His very opinion in the letter! Abhorred villain! Unnatural, detested, brutish villain! worse than brutish! Go, sirrah, seek him; I’ll apprehend him. Abominable villain! Where is he?
Edm. I do not well know, my lord. If it shall please you to suspend your indignation against my brother till you can derive from him better testimony of his intent, you shall run a certain course; where, if you violently proceed against him, mistaking his
purpose, it would make a great gap in your own honour, and shake in pieces the heart of his obedience. 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. 50
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. 55
Edm. 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: though the wisdom of nature can reason it thus and thus, yet nature finds itself scourged by the sequent effects. Love cools, friendship falls off, brothers divide: in cities, mutinies; in countries, discord; in palaces, treason; and the bond cracked between son and father. This villain of mine comes under the prediction; there’s son against father: the king falls from bias of nature; there’s father 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! ’Tis 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. ‘Sfoot! 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. 60
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.
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