KING LEAR

by William Shakespeare

1606

Act II

SCENE I - GLOUCESTER's castle

    Enter EDMUND, and CURAN meets him

EDMUND

    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.

EDMUND

    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?

EDMUND

    Not I pray you, what are they?

CURAN

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

EDMUND

    Not a word.

CURAN

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

    Exit

EDMUND

    The duke be here to-night? The better! best!
    This weaves itself perforce into my business.
    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!

    Enter EDGAR
    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' the night, i' the haste,
    And Regan with him: have you nothing said
    Upon his party 'gainst the Duke of Albany?
    Advise yourself.

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
    Draw; seem to defend yourself; now quit you well.
    Yield: come before my father. Light, ho, here!
    Fly, brother. Torches, torches! So, farewell.

    Exit EDGAR
    Some blood drawn on me would beget opinion.

    Wounds his arm
    Of my more fierce endeavour: I have seen drunkards
    Do more than this in sport. Father, father!
    Stop, stop! No help?

    Enter GLOUCESTER, and Servants with torches

GLOUCESTER

    Now, Edmund, where's the villain?

EDMUND

    Here stood he in the dark, his sharp sword out,
    Mumbling of wicked charms, conjuring the moon
    To stand 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, ho! Go after.

    Exeunt some Servants
    By no means what?

EDMUND

    Persuade me to the murder of your lordship;
    But that I told him, the revenging 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, in fell motion,
    With his prepared sword, he charges home
    My unprovided body, lanced mine arm:
    But when he saw my best alarum'd spirits,
    Bold in the quarrel's right, roused to the encounter,
    Or whether gasted 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 to-night:
    By his authority I will proclaim it,
    That he which finds him shall deserve our thanks,
    Bringing the murderous coward to the stake;
    He that conceals him, death.

EDMUND

    When I dissuaded him from his intent,
    And found him pight to do it, with curst speech
    I threaten'd to discover him: he replied,
    'Thou unpossessing bastard! dost thou think,
    If I would stand against thee, would the reposal
    Of any trust, virtue, or worth in thee
    Make thy words faith'd? No: what I should deny,--
    As this I would: ay, though thou didst produce
    My very character,--I'ld turn it all
    To thy suggestion, plot, and damned practise:
    And thou must make a dullard of the world,
    If they not thought the profits of my death
    Were very pregnant and potential spurs
    To make thee seek it.'

GLOUCESTER

    Strong and fasten'd villain
    Would he deny his letter? I never got him.

    Tucket within
    Hark, the duke's trumpets! I know not why he comes.
    All ports I'll bar; the villain shall not 'scape;
    The duke must grant me that: besides, his picture
    I will send far and near, that all the kingdom
    May have the due note of him; and of my land,
    Loyal and natural boy, I'll work the means
    To make thee capable.

    Enter CORNWALL, REGAN, and Attendants

CORNWALL

    How now, my noble friend! since I came hither,
    Which I can call but now, I have heard strange news.

REGAN

    If it be true, all vengeance comes too short
    Which can pursue the offender. How dost, my lord?

GLOUCESTER

    O, madam, my old heart is crack'd, it's crack'd!

REGAN

    What, did my father's godson seek your life?
    He whom my father named? your Edgar?

GLOUCESTER

    O, lady, lady, shame would have it hid!

REGAN

    Was he not companion with the riotous knights
    That tend upon my father?

GLOUCESTER

    I know not, madam: 'tis too bad, too bad.

EDMUND

    Yes, madam, he was of that consort.

REGAN

    No marvel, then, though he were ill affected:
    'Tis they have put him on the old man's death,
    To have the expense and waste of his revenues.
    I have this present evening from my sister
    Been well inform'd of them; and with such cautions,
    That if they come to sojourn at my house,
    I'll not be there.

CORNWALL

    Nor I, assure thee, Regan.
    Edmund, I hear that you have shown your father
    A child-like office.

EDMUND

    'Twas my duty, sir.

GLOUCESTER

    He did bewray his practise; and received
    This hurt you see, striving to apprehend him.

CORNWALL

    Is he pursued?

GLOUCESTER

    Ay, my good lord.

CORNWALL

    If he be taken, he shall never more
    Be fear'd of doing harm: make your own purpose,
    How in my strength you please. For you, Edmund,
    Whose virtue and obedience doth this instant
    So much commend itself, you shall be ours:
    Natures of such deep trust we shall much need;
    You we first seize on.

EDMUND

    I shall serve you, sir,
    Truly, however else.

GLOUCESTER

    For him I thank your grace.

CORNWALL

    You know not why we came to visit you,--

REGAN

    Thus out of season, threading dark-eyed night:
    Occasions, noble Gloucester, of some poise,
    Wherein we must have use of your advice:
    Our father he hath writ, so hath our sister,
    Of differences, which I least thought it fit
    To answer from our home; the several messengers
    From hence attend dispatch. Our good old friend,
    Lay comforts to your bosom; and bestow
    Your needful counsel to our business,
    Which craves the instant use.

GLOUCESTER

    I serve you, madam:
    Your graces are right welcome.

    Exeunt


SCENE II - Before Gloucester's castle

    Enter KENT and OSWALD, severally

OSWALD

    Good dawning to thee, friend: art of this house?

KENT

    Ay.

OSWALD

    Where may we set our horses?

KENT

    I' the mire.

OSWALD

    Prithee, if thou lovest me, tell me.

KENT

    I love thee not.

OSWALD

    Why, then, I care not for thee.

KENT

    If I had thee in Lipsbury pinfold, I would make thee
    care for me.

OSWALD

    Why dost thou use me thus? I know thee not.

KENT

    Fellow, I know thee.

OSWALD

    What dost thou know me for?

KENT

    A knave; a rascal; an eater of broken meats; a
    base, proud, shallow, beggarly, three-suited,
    hundred-pound, filthy, worsted-stocking knave; a
    lily-livered, action-taking knave, a whoreson,
    glass-gazing, super-serviceable finical rogue;
    one-trunk-inheriting slave; one that wouldst be a
    bawd, in way of good service, and art nothing but
    the composition of a knave, beggar, coward, pandar,
    and the son and heir of a mongrel bitch: one whom I
    will beat into clamorous whining, if thou deniest
    the least syllable of thy addition.

OSWALD

    Why, what a monstrous fellow art thou, thus to rail
    on one that is neither known of thee nor knows thee!

KENT

    What a brazen-faced varlet art thou, to deny thou
    knowest me! Is it two days ago since I tripped up
    thy heels, and beat thee before the king? Draw, you
    rogue: for, though it be night, yet the moon
    shines; I'll make a sop o' the moonshine of you:
    draw, you whoreson cullionly barber-monger, draw.

    Drawing his sword

OSWALD

    Away! I have nothing to do with thee.

KENT

    Draw, you rascal: you come with letters against the
    king; and take vanity the puppet's part against the
    royalty of her father: draw, you rogue, or I'll so
    carbonado your shanks: draw, you rascal; come your ways.

OSWALD

    Help, ho! murder! help!

KENT

    Strike, you slave; stand, rogue, stand; you neat
    slave, strike.

    Beating him

OSWALD

    Help, ho! murder! murder!

    Enter EDMUND, with his rapier drawn, CORNWALL, REGAN, GLOUCESTER, and Servants

EDMUND

    How now! What's the matter?

KENT

    With you, goodman boy, an you please: come, I'll
    flesh ye; come on, young master.

GLOUCESTER

    Weapons! arms! What 's the matter here?

CORNWALL

    Keep peace, upon your lives:
    He dies that strikes again. What is the matter?

REGAN

    The messengers from our sister and the king.

CORNWALL

    What is your difference? speak.

OSWALD

    I am scarce in breath, my lord.

KENT

    No marvel, you have so bestirred your valour. You
    cowardly rascal, nature disclaims in thee: a
    tailor made thee.

CORNWALL

    Thou art a strange fellow: a tailor make a man?

KENT

    Ay, a tailor, sir: a stone-cutter or painter could
    not have made him so ill, though he had been but two
    hours at the trade.

CORNWALL

    Speak yet, how grew your quarrel?

OSWALD

    This ancient ruffian, sir, whose life I have spared
    at suit of his gray beard,--

KENT

    Thou whoreson zed! thou unnecessary letter! My
    lord, if you will give me leave, I will tread this
    unbolted villain into mortar, and daub the wall of
    a jakes with him. Spare my gray beard, you wagtail?

CORNWALL

    Peace, sirrah!
    You beastly knave, know you no reverence?

KENT

    Yes, sir; but anger hath a privilege.

CORNWALL

    Why art thou angry?

KENT

    That such a slave as this should wear a sword,
    Who wears no honesty. Such smiling rogues as these,
    Like rats, oft bite the holy cords a-twain
    Which are too intrinse t' unloose; smooth every passion
    That in the natures of their lords rebel;
    Bring oil to fire, snow to their colder moods;
    Renege, affirm, and turn their halcyon beaks
    With every gale and vary of their masters,
    Knowing nought, like dogs, but following.
    A plague upon your epileptic visage!
    Smile you my speeches, as I were a fool?
    Goose, if I had you upon Sarum plain,
    I'ld drive ye cackling home to Camelot.

CORNWALL

    Why, art thou mad, old fellow?

GLOUCESTER

    How fell you out? say that.

KENT

    No contraries hold more antipathy
    Than I and such a knave.

CORNWALL

    Why dost thou call him a knave? What's his offence?

KENT

    His countenance likes me not.

CORNWALL

    No more, perchance, does mine, nor his, nor hers.

KENT

    Sir, 'tis my occupation to be plain:
    I have seen better faces in my time
    Than stands on any shoulder that I see
    Before me at this instant.

CORNWALL

    This is some fellow,
    Who, having been praised for bluntness, doth affect
    A saucy roughness, and constrains the garb
    Quite from his nature: he cannot flatter, he,
    An honest mind and plain, he must speak truth!
    An they will take it, so; if not, he's plain.
    These kind of knaves I know, which in this plainness
    Harbour more craft and more corrupter ends
    Than twenty silly ducking observants
    That stretch their duties nicely.

KENT

    Sir, in good sooth, in sincere verity,
    Under the allowance of your great aspect,
    Whose influence, like the wreath of radiant fire
    On flickering Phoebus' front,--

CORNWALL

    What mean'st by this?

KENT

    To go out of my dialect, which you
    discommend so much. I know, sir, I am no
    flatterer: he that beguiled you in a plain
    accent was a plain knave; which for my part
    I will not be, though I should win your displeasure
    to entreat me to 't.

CORNWALL

    What was the offence you gave him?

OSWALD

    I never gave him any:
    It pleased the king his master very late
    To strike at me, upon his misconstruction;
    When he, conjunct and flattering his displeasure,
    Tripp'd me behind; being down, insulted, rail'd,
    And put upon him such a deal of man,
    That worthied him, got praises of the king
    For him attempting who was self-subdued;
    And, in the fleshment of this dread exploit,
    Drew on me here again.

KENT

    None of these rogues and cowards
    But Ajax is their fool.

CORNWALL

    Fetch forth the stocks!
    You stubborn ancient knave, you reverend braggart,
    We'll teach you--

KENT

    Sir, I am too old to learn:
    Call not your stocks for me: I serve the king;
    On whose employment I was sent to you:
    You shall do small respect, show too bold malice
    Against the grace and person of my master,
    Stocking his messenger.

CORNWALL

    Fetch forth the stocks! As I have life and honour,
    There shall he sit till noon.

REGAN

    Till noon! till night, my lord; and all night too.

KENT

    Why, madam, if I were your father's dog,
    You should not use me so.

REGAN

    Sir, being his knave, I will.

CORNWALL

    This is a fellow of the self-same colour
    Our sister speaks of. Come, bring away the stocks!

    Stocks brought out

GLOUCESTER

    Let me beseech your grace not to do so:
    His fault is much, and the good king his master
    Will cheque him for 't: your purposed low correction
    Is such as basest and contemned'st wretches
    For pilferings and most common trespasses
    Are punish'd with: the king must take it ill,
    That he's so slightly valued in his messenger,
    Should have him thus restrain'd.

CORNWALL

    I'll answer that.

REGAN

    My sister may receive it much more worse,
    To have her gentleman abused, assaulted,
    For following her affairs. Put in his legs.

    KENT is put in the stocks
    Come, my good lord, away.

    Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER and KENT

GLOUCESTER

    I am sorry for thee, friend; 'tis the duke's pleasure,
    Whose disposition, all the world well knows,
    Will not be rubb'd nor stopp'd: I'll entreat for thee.

KENT

    Pray, do not, sir: I have watched and travell'd hard;
    Some time I shall sleep out, the rest I'll whistle.
    A good man's fortune may grow out at heels:
    Give you good morrow!

GLOUCESTER

    The duke's to blame in this; 'twill be ill taken.

    Exit

KENT

    Good king, that must approve the common saw,
    Thou out of heaven's benediction comest
    To the warm sun!
    Approach, thou beacon to this under globe,
    That by thy comfortable beams I may
    Peruse this letter! Nothing almost sees miracles
    But misery: I know 'tis from Cordelia,
    Who hath most fortunately been inform'd
    Of my obscured course; and shall find time
    From this enormous state, seeking to give
    Losses their remedies. All weary and o'erwatch'd,
    Take vantage, heavy eyes, not to behold
    This shameful lodging.
    Fortune, good night: smile once more: turn thy wheel!

    Sleeps


SCENE III - A wood

    Enter EDGAR

EDGAR

    I heard myself proclaim'd;
    And by the happy hollow of a tree
    Escaped the hunt. No port is free; no place,
    That guard, and most unusual vigilance,
    Does not attend my taking. Whiles I may 'scape,
    I will preserve myself: and am bethought
    To take the basest and most poorest shape
    That ever penury, in contempt of man,
    Brought near to beast: my face I'll grime with filth;
    Blanket my loins: elf all my hair in knots;
    And with presented nakedness out-face
    The winds and persecutions of the sky.
    The country gives me proof and precedent
    Of Bedlam beggars, who, with roaring voices,
    Strike in their numb'd and mortified bare arms
    Pins, wooden pricks, nails, sprigs of rosemary;
    And with this horrible object, from low farms,
    Poor pelting villages, sheep-cotes, and mills,
    Sometime with lunatic bans, sometime with prayers,
    Enforce their charity. Poor Turlygod! poor Tom!
    That's something yet: Edgar I nothing am.

    Exit


SCENE IV - Before GLOUCESTER's castle. KENT in the stocks

    Enter KING LEAR, Fool, and Gentleman

KING LEAR

    'Tis strange that they should so depart from home,
    And not send back my messenger.

Gentleman

    As I learn'd,
    The night before there was no purpose in them
    Of this remove.

KENT

    Hail to thee, noble master!

KING LEAR

    Ha!
    Makest thou this shame thy pastime?

KENT

    No, my lord.

Fool

    Ha, ha! he wears cruel garters. Horses are tied
    by the heads, dogs and bears by the neck, monkeys by
    the loins, and men by the legs: when a man's
    over-lusty at legs, then he wears wooden
    nether-stocks.

KING LEAR

    What's he that hath so much thy place mistook
    To set thee here?

KENT

    It is both he and she;
    Your son and daughter.

KING LEAR

    No.

KENT

    Yes.

KING LEAR

    No, I say.

KENT

    I say, yea.

KING LEAR

    No, no, they would not.

KENT

    Yes, they have.

KING LEAR

    By Jupiter, I swear, no.

KENT

    By Juno, I swear, ay.

KING LEAR

    They durst not do 't;
    They could not, would not do 't; 'tis worse than murder,
    To do upon respect such violent outrage:
    Resolve me, with all modest haste, which way
    Thou mightst deserve, or they impose, this usage,
    Coming from us.

KENT

    My lord, when at their home
    I did commend your highness' letters to them,
    Ere I was risen from the place that show'd
    My duty kneeling, came there a reeking post,
    Stew'd in his haste, half breathless, panting forth
    From Goneril his mistress salutations;
    Deliver'd letters, spite of intermission,
    Which presently they read: on whose contents,
    They summon'd up their meiny, straight took horse;
    Commanded me to follow, and attend
    The leisure of their answer; gave me cold looks:
    And meeting here the other messenger,
    Whose welcome, I perceived, had poison'd mine,--
    Being the very fellow that of late
    Display'd so saucily against your highness,--
    Having more man than wit about me, drew:
    He raised the house with loud and coward cries.
    Your son and daughter found this trespass worth
    The shame which here it suffers.

Fool

    Winter's not gone yet, if the wild-geese fly that way.
    Fathers that wear rags
    Do make their children blind;
    But fathers that bear bags
    Shall see their children kind.
    Fortune, that arrant whore,
    Ne'er turns the key to the poor.
    But, for all this, thou shalt have as many dolours
    for thy daughters as thou canst tell in a year.

KING LEAR

    O, how this mother swells up toward my heart!
    Hysterica passio, down, thou climbing sorrow,
    Thy element's below! Where is this daughter?

KENT

    With the earl, sir, here within.

KING LEAR

    Follow me not;
    Stay here.

    Exit

Gentleman

    Made you no more offence but what you speak of?

KENT

    None.
    How chance the king comes with so small a train?

Fool

    And thou hadst been set i' the stocks for that
    question, thou hadst well deserved it.

KENT

    Why, fool?

Fool

    We'll set thee to school to an ant, to teach thee
    there's no labouring i' the 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 it: but the great one that goes up the
    hill, 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.
    That sir which serves and seeks for gain,
    And follows but for form,
    Will pack when it begins 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, perdy.

KENT

    Where learned you this, fool?

Fool

    Not i' the stocks, fool.

    Re-enter KING LEAR with GLOUCESTER

KING LEAR

    Deny to speak with me? They are sick? they are weary?
    They have travell'd 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 unremoveable and fix'd he is
    In his own course.

KING LEAR

    Vengeance! plague! death! confusion!
    Fiery? what quality? Why, Gloucester, Gloucester,
    I'ld speak with the Duke of Cornwall and his wife.

GLOUCESTER

    Well, my good lord, I have inform'd them so.

KING LEAR

    Inform'd them! Dost thou understand me, man?

GLOUCESTER

    Ay, my good lord.

KING LEAR

    The king would speak with Cornwall; the dear father
    Would with his daughter speak, commands her service:
    Are they inform'd of this? My breath and blood!
    Fiery? the fiery duke? Tell the hot duke that--
    No, but not yet: may be he is not well:
    Infirmity doth still neglect all office
    Whereto our health is bound; we are not ourselves
    When nature, being oppress'd, commands the mind
    To suffer with the body: I'll forbear;
    And am fall'n out with my more headier will,
    To take the indisposed and sickly fit
    For the sound man. Death on my state! wherefore

    Looking on KENT
    Should he sit here? This act persuades me
    That this remotion of the duke and her
    Is practise only. Give me my servant forth.
    Go tell the duke and 's wife I'ld 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

KING 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' the paste alive; she knapped 'em
    o' the coxcombs with a stick, and cried 'Down,
    wantons, down!' 'Twas her brother that, in pure
    kindness to his horse, buttered his hay.

    Enter CORNWALL, REGAN, GLOUCESTER, and Servants

KING LEAR

    Good morrow to you both.

CORNWALL

    Hail to your grace!

    KENT is set at liberty

REGAN

    I am glad to see your highness.

KING 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 tomb,
    Sepulchring an adultress.

    To KENT
    O, are you free?
    Some other time for that. Beloved Regan,
    Thy sister's naught: O Regan, she hath tied
    Sharp-tooth'd unkindness, like a vulture, here:

    Points to his heart
    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.

KING LEAR

    Say, how is that?

REGAN

    I cannot think my sister in the least
    Would fail her obligation: if, sir, perchance
    She have restrain'd the riots of your followers,
    'Tis on such ground, and to such wholesome end,
    As clears her from all blame.

KING LEAR

    My curses on her!

REGAN

    O, sir, you are old.
    Nature in you stands on the very verge
    Of her 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 wrong'd her, sir.

KING LEAR

    Ask her forgiveness?
    Do you but mark how this becomes the house:
    'Dear daughter, I confess that I am old;

    Kneeling
    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.

KING LEAR

    [Rising] Never, Regan:
    She hath abated me of half my train;
    Look'd 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!

KING LEAR

    You nimble lightnings, dart your blinding flames
    Into her scornful eyes! Infect her beauty,
    You fen-suck'd fogs, drawn by the powerful sun,
    To fall and blast her pride!

REGAN

    O the blest gods! so will you wish on me,
    When the rash mood is on.

KING LEAR

    No, Regan, thou shalt never have my curse:
    Thy tender-hefted 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' the kingdom hast thou not forgot,
    Wherein I thee endow'd.

REGAN

    Good sir, to the purpose.

KING LEAR

    Who put my man i' the stocks?

    Tucket within

CORNWALL

    What trumpet's that?

REGAN

    I know't, my sister's: this approves her letter,
    That she would soon be here.

    Enter OSWALD
    Is your lady come?

KING LEAR

    This is a slave, whose easy-borrow'd pride
    Dwells in the fickle grace of her he follows.
    Out, varlet, from my sight!

CORNWALL

    What means your grace?

KING LEAR

    Who stock'd my servant? Regan, I have good hope
    Thou didst not know on't. Who comes here? O heavens,

    Enter GONERIL
    If you do love old men, if your sweet sway
    Allow obedience, if 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, wilt thou take her by the hand?

GONERIL

    Why not by the hand, sir? How have I offended?
    All's not offence that indiscretion finds
    And dotage terms so.

KING LEAR

    O sides, you are too tough;
    Will you yet hold? How came my man i' the stocks?

CORNWALL

    I set him there, sir: but his own disorders
    Deserved much less advancement.

KING 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.

KING LEAR

    Return to her, and fifty men dismiss'd?
    No, rather I abjure all roofs, and choose
    To wage against the enmity o' the air;
    To be a comrade with the wolf and owl,--
    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.

    Pointing at OSWALD

GONERIL

    At your choice, sir.

KING 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, an 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 look'd 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.

KING 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 you,
    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.

KING LEAR

    I gave you all--

REGAN

    And in good time you gave it.

KING LEAR

    Made you my guardians, my depositaries;
    But kept a reservation to be follow'd
    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.

KING LEAR

    Those wicked creatures yet do look well-favour'd,
    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?

KING 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's as 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 stir 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; but this heart
    Shall break into a hundred thousand flaws,
    Or ere I'll weep. O fool, I shall go mad!

    Exeunt KING LEAR, GLOUCESTER, KENT, and Fool

    Storm and tempest

CORNWALL

    Let us withdraw; 'twill be a storm.

REGAN

    This house is little: the old man and his people
    Cannot be well bestow'd.

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

    Follow'd the old man forth: he is return'd.

    Re-enter GLOUCESTER

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

    My lord, entreat him by no means to stay.

GLOUCESTER

    Alack, the night comes on, and the bleak winds
    Do sorely ruffle; for many miles a bout
    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 desperate 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' the storm.

    Exeunt

Continue on to Act III
Return to the Table of Contents
Return to the Shakespeare Table of Contents
Return to List of Authors and Books