The Oxford Shakespeare: The Complete Works

by William Shakespeare

  KENT

  With the Earl, sir, here within.

  LEAR

  Follow me not; stay here.

  Exit

  ⌈FIRST⌉ GENTLEMAN (to Kent)

  Made you no more offence but what you speak of?

  KENT None.

  How chance the King comes with so small a number?

  FOOL An thou hadst been set i’th’ stocks for that question, thou’dst well deserved it.

  KENT Why, Fool?

  FOOL We’ll set thee to school to an ant, to teach thee there’s no labouring i’th’ winter. All that follow their noses are led by their eyes but blind men, and there’s not a nose among twenty but can smell him that’s stinking. Let go thy hold when a great wheel runs down a hill, lest it break thy neck with following; but the great one that goes upward, let him draw thee after. When a wise man gives thee better counsel, give me mine again. I would have none but knaves follow it, since a fool gives it.

  ⌈Sings⌉

  That sir which serves and seeks for gain

  And follows but for form,

  Will pack when it begin to rain,

  And leave thee in the storm.

  But I will tarry, the fool will stay,

  And let the wise man fly.

  The knave turns fool that runs away,

  The fool no knave, pardie.

  KENT Where learned you this, Fool?

  FOOL Not i’th’ stocks, fool.

  Enter King Lear and the Duke of Gloucester

  LEAR

  Deny to speak with me? They are sick, they are weary,

  They have travelled all the night?—mere fetches,

  The images of revolt and flying off.

  Fetch me a better answer.

  GLOUCESTER

  My dear lord,

  You know the fiery quality of the Duke,

  How unremovable and fixed he is

  In his own course.

  LEAR

  Vengeance, plague, death, confusion!

  ‘Fiery’? What ‘quality’? Why, Gloucester, Gloucester,

  I’d speak with the Duke of Cornwall and his wife.

  GLOUCESTER

  Well, my good lord, I have informed them so.

  LEAR

  ‘Informed them’? Dost thou understand me, man?

  GLOUCESTER Ay, my good lord.

  LEAR

  The King would speak with Cornwall; the dear father

  Would with his daughter speak, commands, tends

  service.

  Are they ‘informed’ of this? My breath and blood—

  ‘Fiery’? The ‘fiery’ Duke—tell the hot Duke that—

  No, but not yet. Maybe he is not well.

  Infirmity doth still neglect all office

  Whereto our health is bound. We are not ourselves

  When nature, being oppressed, commands the mind

  To suffer with the body. I’ll forbear,

  And am fallen out with my more headier will,

  To take the indisposed and sickly fit

  For the sound man.—Death on my state, wherefore

  Should he sit here? This act persuades me

  That this remotion of the Duke and her

  Is practice only. Give me my servant forth.

  Go tell the Duke and’s wife I’d speak with them,

  Now, presently. Bid them come forth and hear me,

  Or at their chamber door I’ll beat the drum

  Till it cry sleep to death.

  GLOUCESTER

  I would have all well betwixt you.

  Exit

  LEAR

  O me, my heart! My rising heart! But down.

  FOOL Cry to it, nuncle, as the cockney did to the eels when she put ‘em i’th’ paste alive. She knapped ‘em o’th’ coxcombs with a stick, and cried ‘Down, wantons, down!’ ’Twas her brother that, in pure kindness to his horse, buttered his hay.

  Enter the Duke of Cornwall, Regan, the Duke of Gloucester, and servants

  LEAR Good morrow to you both.

  CORNWALL Hail to your grace.

  Kent here set at liberty

  REGAN I am glad to see your highness.

  LEAR

  Regan, I think you are. I know what reason

  I have to think so. If thou shouldst not be glad

  I would divorce me from thy mother’s shrine,

  Sepulchring an adultress. (To Kent) O, are you free?

  Some other time for that. ⌈Exit Kent⌉

  Beloved Regan,

  Thy sister’s naught. O, Regan, she hath tied

  Sharp-toothed unkindness like a vulture here.

  I can scarce speak to thee. Thou’lt not believe

  With how depraved a quality-O, Regan!

  REGAN

  I pray you, sir, take patience. I have hope

  You less know how to value her desert

  Than she to scant her duty.

  LEAR

  Say, how is that?

  REGAN

  I cannot think my sister in the least

  Would fail her obligation. If, sir, perchance

  She have restrained the riots of your followers,

  ’Tis on such ground and to such wholesome end

  As clears her from all blame.

  LEAR My curses on her.

  REGAN O sir, you are old.

  Nature in you stands on the very verge

  Of his confine. You should be ruled and led

  By some discretion that discerns your state

  Better than you yourself. Therefore I pray you

  That to our sister you do make return;

  Say you have wronged her.

  LEAR

  Ask her forgiveness?

  Do you but mark how this becomes the house?

  ⌈Kneehng⌉ ‘Dear daughter, I confess that I am old.

  Age is unnecessary. On my knees I beg

  That you’ll vouchsafe me raiment, bed, and food.’

  REGAN

  Good sir, no more. These are unsightly tricks.

  Return you to my sister.

  LEAR ⌈rising⌉

  Never, Regan.

  She hath abated me of half my train,

  Looked black upon me, struck me with her tongue

  Most serpent-like upon the very heart.

  All the stored vengeances of heaven fall

  On her ingrateful top! Strike her young bones,

  You taking airs, with lameness!

  CORNWALL

  Fie, sir, fie.

  LEAR

  You nimble lightnings, dart your blinding flames

  Into her scornful eyes. Infect her beauty,

  You fen-sucked fogs drawn by the pow’rful sun

  To fall and blister.

  REGAN

  O, the blest gods!

  So will you wish on me when the rash mood is on.

  LEAR

  No, Regan. Thou shalt never have my curse.

  Thy tender-hafted nature shall not give

  Thee o‘er to harshness. Her eyes are fierce, but thine

  Do comfort and not burn. ’Tis not in thee

  To grudge my pleasures, to cut off my train,

  To bandy hasty words, to scant my sizes,

  And, in conclusion, to oppose the bolt

  Against my coming in. Thou better know‘st

  The offices of nature, bond of childhood,

  Effects of courtesy, dues of gratitude.

  Thy half o’th’ kingdom hast thou not forgot,

  Wherein I thee endowed.

  REGAN

  Good sir, to th’ purpose.

  LEAR

  Who put my man i’th’ stocks?

  Tucket within

  CORNWALL

  What trumpet’s that?

  Enter Oswald the steward

  REGAN

  I know’t, my sister’s. This approves her letter

  That she would soon be here. (To Oswald) Is your lady

  come?

  LEAR

  This is a slave whose
easy-borrowed pride

  Dwells in the sickly grace of her a follows.

  (To Oswald) Out, varlet, from my sight!

  CORNWALL What means your grace?

  Enter Goneril

  LEAR

  Who stocked my servant? Regan, I have good hope

  Thou didst not know on’t. Who comes here? O heavens,

  If you do love old men, if your sweet sway

  Allow obedience, if you yourselves are old,

  Make it your cause! Send down and take my part.

  (To Goneril) Art not ashamed to look upon this beard?

  O Regan, will you take her by the hand?

  GONERIL

  Why not by th’ hand, sir? How have I offended?

  All’s not offence that indiscretion finds

  And dotage terms so.

  LEAR

  O sides, you are too tough!

  Will you yet hold?—How came my man i’th’ stocks?

  CORNWALL

  I set him there, sir; but his own disorders

  Deserved much less advancement.

  LEAR

  You? Did you?

  REGAN

  I pray you, father, being weak, seem so.

  If till the expiration of your month

  You will return and sojourn with my sister,

  Dismissing half your train, come then to me.

  I am now from home, and out of that provision

  Which shall be needful for your entertainment.

  LEAR

  Return to her, and fifty men dismissed?

  No, rather I abjure all roofs, and choose

  To be a comrade with the wolf and owl,

  To wage against the enmity o’th’ air

  Necessity’s sharp pinch. Return with her?

  Why, the hot-blooded France, that dowerless took

  Our youngest born—I could as well be brought

  To knee his throne and, squire-like, pension beg

  To keep base life afoot. Return with her?

  Persuade me rather to be slave and sumpter

  To this detested groom.

  GONERIL

  At your choice, sir.

  LEAR

  I prithee, daughter, do not make me mad.

  I will not trouble thee, my child. Farewell.

  We’ll no more meet, no more see one another.

  But yet thou art my flesh, my blood, my daughter—

  Or rather a disease that’s in my flesh,

  Which I must needs call mine. Thou art a boil,

  A plague-sore or embossed carbuncle

  In my corrupted blood. But I’ll not chide thee.

  Let shame come when it will, I do not call it.

  I do not bid the thunder-bearer shoot,

  Nor tell tales of thee to high-judging Jove.

  Mend when thou canst; be better at thy leisure.

  I can be patient, I can stay with Regan,

  I and my hundred knights.

  REGAN

  Not altogether so.

  I looked not for you yet, nor am provided

  For your fit welcome. Give ear, sir, to my sister;

  For those that mingle reason with your passion

  Must be content to think you old, and so—

  But she knows what she does.

  LEAR

  Is this well spoken?

  REGAN

  I dare avouch it, sir. What, fifty followers?

  Is it not well? What should you need of more,

  Yea, or so many, sith that both charge and danger

  Speak ‘gainst so great a number? How in one house

  Should many people under two commands

  Hold amity? ’Tis hard, almost impossible.

  GONERIL

  Why might not you, my lord, receive attendance

  From those that she calls servants, or from mine?

  REGAN

  Why not, my lord? If then they chanced to slack ye,

  We could control them. If you will come to me—

  For now I spy a danger—I entreat you

  To bring but five-and-twenty; to no more

  Will I give place or notice.

  LEAR I gave you all.

  REGAN And in good time you gave it.

  LEAR

  Made you my guardians, my depositaries,

  But kept a reservation to be followed

  With such a number. What, must I come to you

  With five-and-twenty? Regan, said you so?

  REGAN

  And speak’t again, my lord. No more with me.

  LEAR

  Those wicked creatures yet do look well favoured

  When others are more wicked. Not being the worst

  Stands in some rank of praise. (To Goneril) I’ll go with

  thee.

  Thy fifty yet doth double five-and-twenty,

  And thou art twice her love.

  GONERIL

  Hear me, my lord.

  What need you five-and-twenty, ten, or five,

  To follow in a house where twice so many

  Have a command to tend you?

  REGAN

  What need one?

  LEAR

  O, reason not the need! Our basest beggars

  Are in the poorest thing superfluous.

  Allow not nature more than nature needs,

  Man’s life is cheap as beast’s. Thou art a lady.

  If only to go warm were gorgeous,

  Why, nature needs not what thou, gorgeous, wear’st,

  Which scarcely keeps thee warm. But for true need—

  You heavens, give me that patience, patience I need.

  You see me here, you gods, a poor old man,

  As full of grief as age, wretched in both.

  If it be you that stirs these daughters’ hearts

  Against their father, fool me not so much

  To bear it tamely. Touch me with noble anger,

  And let not women’s weapons, water-drops,

  Stain my man’s cheeks. No, you unnatural hags,

  I will have such revenges on you both

  That all the world shall—I will do such things—

  What they are, yet I know not; but they shall be

  The terrors of the earth. You think I’ll weep.

  No, I’ll not weep. I have full cause of weeping,Storm and tempest

  But this heart shall break into a hundred thousand

  flaws

  Or ere I’ll weep.—O Fool, I shall go mad!

  Exeunt Lear, Fool, Gentleman, and Gloucester

  CORNWALL

  Let us withdraw. ’Twill be a storm.

  REGAN

  This house is little. The old man and ’s people

  Cannot be well bestowed.

  GONERIL

  ’Tis his own blame;

  Hath put himself from rest, and must needs taste his folly.

  REGAN

  For his particular I’ll receive him gladly,

  But not one follower.

  GONERIL

  So am I purposed.

  Where is my lord of Gloucester?

  CORNWALL

  Followed the old man forth.

  ⌈Enter the Duke of Gloucester⌉

  He is returned.

  GLOUCESTER

  The King is in high rage.

  CORNWALL

  Whither is he going?

  GLOUCESTER

  He calls to horse, but will I know not whither.

  CORNWALL

  ’Tis best to give him way. He leads himself.

  GONERIL (to Gloucester)

  My lord, entreat him by no means to stay.

  GLOUCESTER

  Alack, the night comes on, and the high winds

  Do sorely ruffle. For many miles about

  There’s scarce a bush.

  REGAN

  O sir, to wilful men

  The injuries that they themselves procure

  Must be their schoolmasters. Shut up your doors.

  He is attended with a desper
ate train,

  And what they may incense him to, being apt

  To have his ear abused, wisdom bids fear.

  CORNWALL

  Shut up your doors, my lord. ‘Tis a wild night.

  My Regan counsels well. Come out o’th’ storm. Exeunt

  3.1 Storm still. Enter the Earl of Kent disguised and ⌈the First⌉ Gentleman, severally

  KENT

  Who’s there, besides foul weather?

  ⌈FIRST⌉ GENTLEMAN

  One minded like the weather,

  Most unquietly.

  KENT

  I know you. Where’s the King?

  ⌈FIRST⌉ GENTLEMAN

  Contending with the fretful elements;

  Bids the wind blow the earth into the sea

  Or swell the curled waters ’bove the main,

  That things might change or cease.

  KENT

  But who is with him?

  ⌈FIRST⌉ GENTLEMAN

  None but the Fool, who labours to outjest

  His heart-struck injuries.

  KENT

  Sir, I do know you,

  And dare upon the warrant of my note

  Commend a dear thing to you. There is division,

  Although as yet the face of it is covered

  With mutual cunning, ’twixt Albany and Cornwall,

  Who have—as who have not that their great stars

  Throned and set high—servants, who seem no less,

  Which are to France the spies and speculations

  Intelligent of our state. What hath been seen,

  Either in snuffs and packings of the Dukes,

  Or the hard rein which both of them hath borne

  Against the old kind King; or something deeper,

  Whereof perchance these are but furnishings—

  ⌈FIRST⌉ GENTLEMAN

  I will talk further with you.

  KENT

  No, do not.

  For confirmation that I am much more

  Than my out-wall, open this purse, and take

  What it contains. If you shall see Cordelia—

  As fear not but you shall—show her this ring

  And she will tell you who that fellow is

  That yet you do not know. Fie on this storm!

  I will go seek the King.

  ⌈FIRST⌉ GENTLEMAN

  Give me your hand. Have you no more to say?

  KENT

  Few words, but to effect more than all yet:

  That when we have found the King—in which your

  pain

  That way, I’ll this—he that first lights on him

  Holla the other.

  Exeunt severally

  3.2 Storm still. Enter King Lear and his Fool