The Oxford Shakespeare: The Complete Works

by William Shakespeare

  Lend less than thou owest,

  Ride more than thou goest,

  Learn more than thou trowest,

  Set less than thou throwest,

  Leave thy drink and thy whore,

  And keep in-a-door,

  And thou shalt have more

  Than two tens to a score.

  KENT This is nothing, fool.

  FOOL Then ’tis like the breath of an unfee’d lawyer: you gave me nothing for’t. (To Lear) Can you make no use of nothing, nuncle?

  LEAR Why no, boy. Nothing can be made out of nothing.

  FOOL (to Kent) Prithee, tell him so much the rent of his land comes to. He will not believe a fool.

  LEAR A bitter fool.

  FOOL Dost know the difference, my boy, between a bitter fool and a sweet one?

  LEAR No, lad. Teach me.

  FOOL Nuncle, give me an egg, and I’ll give thee two crowns.

  LEAR What two crowns shall they be?

  FOOL Why, after I have cut the egg i‘th’ 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 thine 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 grace in a year,For wise men are grown foppish,

  And know not how their wits to wear,

  Their manners are so apish.

  LEAR When were you wont to be so full of songs, sirrah?

  FOOL I have used it, nuncle, e’er since thou madest thy daughters thy mothers; 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, sirrah, we’ll have you whipped.

  FOOL I marvel what kin thou and thy daughters are. They’ll have me whipped for speaking true, thou‘lt have me whipped for lying, and sometimes I am whipped for holding my peace. I had rather be any kind o’ thing than a fool; and yet I would not be thee, nuncle. Thou hast pared thy wit o’ both sides and left nothing i’th’ middle.

  Enter Goneril

  Here comes one o’ the parings.

  LEAR

  How now, daughter? What makes that frontlet on?

  You are too much of late i’th’ frown.

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

  ⌈Sings⌉ Mum, mum.

  He that keeps nor crust nor crumb,

  Weary of all, shall want some.

  That’s a shelled peascod.

  GONERIL (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 redresses sleep

  Which in the tender of a wholesome weal

  Might in their working do you that offence,

  Which else were shame, that then necessity

  Will call discreet proceeding.

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

  ⌈Sings⌉ 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 (to Goneril) Are you our daughter?

  GONERIL

  I would you would make use of your good wisdom,

  Whereof I know you are fraught, and put away

  These dispositions which of late transport 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

  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?

  FOOL Lear’s shadow.

  LEAR (to Goneril) Your name, fair gentlewoman?

  GONERIL

  This admiration, sir, is much o’th’ savour

  Of other your new pranks. I do beseech you

  To 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

  Makes it more like a tavern or a brothel

  Than a graced palace. The shame itself doth speak

  For instant remedy. Be then desired,

  By her that else will take the thing she begs,

  A little to disquantity your train,

  And the remainders that shall still depend

  To be such men as may besort your age,

  Which 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.

  GONERIL

  You strike my people, and your disordered rabble

  Make servants of their betters.

  Enter the Duke of Albany

  LEAR

  Woe that too late repents!

  Is it your will? Speak, sir.—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—

  ALBANY Pray sir, be patient.

  LEAR (to Goneril) 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,

  Which, 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, 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

  Of what hath moved you.

  LEAR It may be so, my lord.

  Hear, nature; hear, dear goddess, hear:

  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

  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. Away, away!

  Exeunt Lear, ⌈Kent, and attendants⌉

  ALBANY

  Now, gods that we adore, whereof comes this?

  GONERIL

  Never afflict yourself to know more of it,

  But let his disposition have that scope

  As dotage gives it.

  Enter King Lear

  LEAR

  What, fifty of my followers at a clap?

  Within a fortnight?

  ALBANY

  What’s the matter, sir?

  LEAR

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

  That thou hast power to shake my manhood thus,

  That these hot tears, which break from me perforce,

  Should make thee worth them. Blasts and fogs upon

  thee!

  Th’untented woundings of a father’s curse

  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 loose,

  To temper clay. Ha! Let it be so.

  I have another daughter

  Who, 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.

  Exit

  GONERIL

  Do you mark that?

  ALBANY

  I cannot be so partial, Goneril,

  To the great love I bear you—

  GONERIL

  Pray you, content. What, Oswald, ho!—

  You, sir, more knave than fool, after your master.

  FOOL

  Nuncle Lear, nuncle Lear,

  Tarry, 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

  GONERIL

  This man hath had good counsel—a hundred

  knights?

  ’Tis politic and safe to let him keep

  At point a hundred knights, yes, that on every dream,

  Each buzz, each fancy, each complaint, dislike,

  He may enguard his dotage with their powers

  And hold our lives in mercy.—Oswald, I say!

  ALBANY

  Well, you may fear too far.

  GONERIL

  Safer than trust too far.

  Let me still take away the harms I fear,

  Not fear still to be taken. I know his heart.

  What he hath uttered I have writ my sister.

  If she sustain him and his hundred knights

  When I have showed th’unfitness—

  Enter Oswald the steward

  How now, Oswald?

  What, have you writ that letter to my sister?

  OSWALD Ay, madam.

  GONERIL

  Take you some company, and away to horse.

  Inform her full of my particular fear,

  And thereto add such reasons of your own

  As may compact it more. Get you gone,

  And hasten your return.

  Exit Oswald

  No, no, my lord,

  This milky gentleness and course of yours,

  Though I condemn not, yet under pardon

  You are much more attasked for want of wisdom

  Than praised for harmful mildness.

  ALBANY

  How far your eyes may pierce I cannot tell.

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

  GONERIL Nay, then—

  ALBANY Well, well, th’event.

  Exeunt

  1.5 Enter King Lear, the Earl of Kent disguised, the First Gentleman, and Lear’s Fool

  LEAR ⌈to the Gentleman, giving him a letter⌉ Go you before to Gloucester with these letters. ⌈Exit Gentleman⌉ ⌈To Kent, giving him a letter⌉ 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 afore you.

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

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

  LEAR Ay, boy.

  FOOL Then, I prithee, be merry: thy wit shall not 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’s like an apple, yet I can tell what I can tell.

  LEAR What canst tell, boy?

  FOOL She will taste as like this as a crab does to a crab. Thou canst tell why one’s nose stands i’th’ middle on ’s face?

  LEAR No.

  FOOL Why, to keep one’s eyes of 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 ’s head in, not to give it away to his daughters 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 ’em. The reason why the seven stars are no more than seven is a pretty reason.

  LEAR Because they are not eight.

  FOOL Yes, indeed, 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 till thou hadst been wise.

  LEAR

  O, let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven!

  Keep me in temper. I would not be mad.

  ⌈Enter the First Gentleman⌉

  How now, are the horses ready?

  ⌈FIRST⌉ GENTLEMAN Ready, my lord.

  LEAR (to Fool) Come, boy.

  ⌈Exeunt Lear and Gentleman⌉

  FOOL

  She that’s a maid now, and laughs at my departure,

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

  ⌈Exit⌉

  2.1 Enter Edmond the bastard, and Curan, severally EDMOND Save thee, Curan.

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

  EDMOND How comes that? CURAN Nay, I know not. You have heard of the news abroad?—I mean the whispered ones, for they are yet but ear-kissing arguments.

  EDMOND Not I. Pray you, what are they?

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

  EDMOND Not a word.

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

  Exit

  EDMOND

  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 I must act. Briefness and fortune work!—

  Brother, a word, descend. Brother, I say.

  ⌈Edgar climbs down⌉

  My father watches. O sir, 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?

  He’s coming hither, now, i’th’ night, i‘th’ haste,

  And Regan with him. Have you nothing said

  Upon his party ’gainst the Duke of Alban
y?

  Advise yourself.

  EDGAR

  I am sure on’t, not a word.

  EDMOND

  I hear my father coming. Pardon me.

  In cunning I must draw my sword upon you.

  Draw. Seem to defend yourself. Now, quit you well.

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

  (To Edgar) Fly, brother! (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 servants with torches

  GLOUCESTER

  Now, Edmond, where’s the villain?

  EDMOND

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

  Mumbling of wicked charms, conjuring the moon

  To stand ’s auspicious mistress.

  GLOUCESTER

  But where is he?

  EDMOND

  Look, sir, I bleed.

  GLOUCESTER

  Where is the villain, Edmond?

  EDMOND

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

  GLOUCESTER

  Pursue him, ho! Go after.

  Exeunt servants

  By no means what?

  EDMOND

  Persuade me to the murder of your lordship,

  But that I told him the revenging gods

  ‘Gainst parricides did all the thunder bend,

  Spoke with how manifold and strong a bond

  The child was bound to th’ father. Sir, in fine,

  Seeing how loathly opposite I stood

  To his unnatural purpose, in fell motion

  With his prepared sword he charges home

  My unprovided body, latched mine arm;

  And when he saw my best alarumed spirits

  Bold in the quarrel’s right, roused to th’encounter,

  Or whether ghasted by the noise I made,

  Full 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,