( ♪ ) (Rain pattering) (Thunder rolling) (Bell tolling) (Thundering) ( ♪ ) (Clap of thunder) ( ♪ ) (Clap of thunder) ( ♪ ) (Clap of thunder) ( ♪ ) (Clap of thunder) ( ♪ ) (Thunder) (Wind howling) (Dog barking) (Gust of wind) I thought the King had more affected the Duke of Albany than Cornwall.

It did always seem so to us: But now, in the division of the kingdom, it appears not which of the dukes he values most.

Is not this your son, my lord?

His breeding, sir, hath been at my charge: I have so often blushed to acknowledge him that now I am brazed to't.

I cannot conceive you.

Sir, this young fellow's mother could; Whereupon she grew round-wombed, and had, indeed, sir, a son for her cradle ere she had a husband for her bed.

Do you smell a fault?

I cannot wish the fault undone, the issue of it being so proper.

But I have a son, sir, by order of law, some year elder than this, who yet is no dearer in my account.

Though this knave gave something saucily to the world before he was sent for, yet was his mother fair, there was good sport at his making, and the whoreson must be acknowledged.

Do you know this noble gentleman, Edmund?

No, my lord.

My lord of Kent: Remember him hereafter as my honourable friend.

My services to your lordship.

I must love you, and sue to know you better.

Sir, I shall study deserving.

He hath been out nine years, and away he shall again.

(Bell tolling) The King is coming.

(Bell tolling) Attend the lords of France and Burgundy, Gloucester.

I shall, my lord.

Meantime we shall express our darker purpose.

Give me the map there.

Know that we have divided.

In three our kingdom; And 'tis our fast intent.

To shake all cares and business from our age; Conferring them on younger strengths, while we.

Unburdened crawl toward death.

Our son of Cornwall, And you, our no less loving son of Albany, We have this hour a constant will to publish.

Our daughters' several dowers, that future strife.

May be prevented now.

The princes, France and Burgundy, Great rivals in our youngest daughter's love, Long in our court have made their amorous sojourn, And here are to be answered.

Tell me, my daughters...

Since now we will divest us both of rule, Interest of territory, cares of state...

Which of you shall we say doth love us most, That we our largest bounty may extend.

Where nature doth with merit challenge... Goneril, Our eldest-born, speak first.

Sir, I do love you more than word can wield the matter; Dearer than eyesight, space, and liberty, Beyond what can be valued, rich or rare; No less than life, with grace, health, beauty, honour.

As much as child e'er loved, or father found, A love that makes breath poor, and speech unable, Beyond all manner of so much I love you.

What shall Cordelia speak?

Love, and be silent.

Of all these bounds, even from this line to this, With shadowy forests and with plenteous rivers.

We make thee lady.

To thine and Albany's children.

Be this perpetual.

What says our second daughter, Our dearest Regan, wife of Cornwall?

Speak.

Sir, I am made.

Of the self mettle as my sister, And prize me at her worth.

In my true heart I find she names my very deed of love: Only she comes too short, (Laughing) That I profess.

Myself an enemy to all other joys.

Which the most precious square of sense possesses, And find I am alone felicitate.

In your dear highness' love.

Then poor Cordelia!

And yet not so, since I am sure my love's.

More ponderous than my tongue.

To thee and thine hereditary ever.

Remain this ample third of our fair kingdom; No less in space, validity, and pleasure, Than that conferred on Goneril...

But now our joy, Although the last and least, to whose young love.

The vines of France and milk of Burgundy.

Strive to be interessed, what can you say to draw.

A third more opulent than your sisters?

Speak.

Nothing, my lord.

Nothing!

Nothing.

Nothing will come of nothing.

(Laughter) Speak again.

Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave.

My heart into my mouth.

I love your majesty.

According to my bond, nor more nor less.

How, how, Cordelia?

Mend your speech a little, Lest you may mar your fortunes.

Good my lord, You have begot me, bred me, loved me.

I.

Return those duties back as are right fit, Obey you, love you, and most honour you.

Why have my sisters husbands, if they say.

They love you all?

Haply, when I shall wed, That lord whose hand must take my plight shall carry.

Half my love with him, half my care and duty.

Sure, I shall never marry like my sisters, To love my father all.

But goes thy heart with this?

Ay, my good lord.

So young, and so untender?

So young, my lord, and true.

Let it be so.

Thy truth, then, be thy dower: For by the sacred radiance of the sun, Here I disclaim all my paternal care, 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.

Be as well neighboured, pitied, and relieved, As thou my sometime daughter.

KENT: Good my liege... Peace, Kent, Come not between the dragon and his wrath.

I loved 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?

Call Burgundy.

Cornwall and Albany, With my two daughters' dowers digest this third: Let pride, which she calls plainness, marry her.

I do invest you jointly with my power, Ourself, by monthly course, With reservation of an hundred knights, By you to be sustain'd, shall our abode.

Make with you by due turn; Only we still retain.

The name, and all th'addition to a king: 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 honoured as my king, Loved as my father, as my master followed, As my great patron thought on in my prayers...

The bow is bent and drawn; Make from the shaft.

Let it fall rather, though the fork invade.

The region of my heart: Be Kent unmannerly, When Lear is mad.

What wilt thou do, old man?

To plainness honour's bound, When majesty falls to folly.

Reverse thy state, And in thy best consideration check.

This hideous rashness.

Answer my life my judgment, Thy youngest daughter does not love thee least; Kent, on thy life, no more.

My life I never held but as a pawn.

To wage against thine enemies, ne'er fear to lose it, Thy safety being the motive.

Out of my sight!

See better, Lear; And let me still remain.

The true blank of thine eye.

Now, by Apollo... Now, by Apollo, King, Thou swear'st thy gods in vain.

O, vassal!

Miscreant!

Dear sir, forbear.

Kill thy physician, and the fee bestow.

Upon thy foul disease.

Revoke thy gift, Or, whilst I can vent clamour from my throat, I tell thee thou dost evil.

Hear me, recreant!

On thine allegiance, hear me: Five days we do allot thee, for provision.

To shield thee from disasters of the world, And on the sixth to turn thy hated back.

Upon our kingdom.

If, on the next day following, Thy banished trunk be found in our dominions, The moment is thy death.

Away!

By Jupiter, This shall not be revoked.

Fare thee well, King, since thus thou wilt appear, Freedom lives hence, and banishment is here.

The gods to their dear shelter take thee, maid, That justly think'st, and hast most rightly said.

And your large speeches may your deeds approve, 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.

CORNWALL: Here's France and Burgundy, my noble lord.

Hmm?

(Panting) My lord of Burgundy.

We first address toward you, who with this king.

Hath rivalled for our daughter.

What in the least.

Will you require in present dower with her, Or cease your quest of love?

BURGUNDY: Most royal majesty, I crave no more than hath your highness offered...

Nor will you tender less?

Right noble Burgundy, When she was dear to us, we did hold her so; But now her price is fallen.

Sir, there she stands: If aught within that little-seeming substance, Or all of it, with our displeasure pieced, And nothing more, may fitly like your grace, She's there, and she is yours.

BURGUNDY: I know no answer.

Will you, with those infirmities she owes, Unfriended, new adopted to our hate, Dowered with our curse, and strangered with our oath, Take her, or leave her?

Pardon me, royal sir; Election makes not up on such conditions.

Then leave her, sir, for, by the power that made me, I tell you all her wealth.

LEAR: For you, great king, I would not from your love make such a stray, To match you where I hate, therefore beseech you.

T'avert your liking a more worthier way.

Than on a wretch whom nature is ashamed.

Almost t'acknowledge hers.

This is most strange, 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.

Must be of such unnatural degree, That monsters it.

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, murder, or foulness, That hath deprived 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.

Hath lost me in your liking.

Better thou hadst not been born than not to have pleased me better.

FRANCE: Is it but this... a tardiness in nature.

My lord of Burgundy, What say you to the lady?

Will you have her?

She is herself a dowry.

Royal King, Give but that portion which yourself proposed, And here I take Cordelia by the hand, Duchess of Burgundy.

Nothing.

I have sworn.

I am firm.

I am sorry, then, you have so lost a father.

That you must lose a husband.

CORDELIA: Peace be with Burgundy.

Since that respect and fortunes are his love, I shall not be his wife.

Fairest Cordelia, who art most rich, being poor, Most choice forsaken and most loved, despised!

Thee and thy virtues here I seize upon: Be it lawful I take up what's cast away.

(Crying) Gods, gods!

'Tis strange that from their cold'st neglect.

My love should kindle to inflamed respect.

(Laughing) Thy dowerless daughter, King, thrown to my chance, Is queen of us, of ours, and our fair France.

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.

Without our grace, our love, our benison.

Come, noble Burgundy.

(Bell tolling) Bid farewell to your sisters.

(Crying) The jewels of our father, with washed eyes Cordelia leaves you.

I know you what you are, And like a sister am most loath to call.

Your faults as they are named.

Love 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.

So farewell to you both.

Prescribe not us our duties.

Let your study.

Be to content your lord, who hath received you At fortune's alms.

You have obedience scanted, Well may you prosper.

Come, my fair Cordelia.

Sister, it is not little I have to say of what most nearly appertains to us both.

I think our father will hence tonight.

That's most certain, and with you; Next month with us.

You see how full of changes his age is.

He always loved our sister most; And with what poor judgment he hath now cast her off appears too grossly.

'Tis the infirmity of his age: Yet he hath ever but slenderly known himself.

The best and soundest of his time hath been but rash.

Now must we look to receive from his age the unruly waywardness that infirm and choleric years bring with them.

Such unconstant starts are we like to have from him as this of Kent's banishment.

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.

We shall further think of it.

We must do something, and I' the heat.

( ♪ ) EDMUND: Thou, Nature, art my goddess; To thy law My services are bound.

Wherefore should I.

Stand in the plague of custom, and permit.

The curiosity of nations to deprive me?

For that I am some twelve or fourteen moon-shines.

Lag of a brother?

Why bastard?

Wherefore base?

When my dimensions are as well compact, My mind as generous and my shape as true.

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, 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'!

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!

GLOUCESTER: Kent banished thus?

And France in choler parted?

And the king gone tonight?

All this done Upon the gad?

Edmund, how now, what news?

I know no news, my lord.

What paper were you reading?

Nothing, my lord.

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.

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.

Give me the letter, sir.

I shall offend, either to detain or give it.

Let's see, let's see.

I hope, for my brother's justification, that he has writ this but as an essay or taste of my virtue.

'This policy and reverence of age 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.

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.'

'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?

It was not brought me, my lord; There's the cunning of it.

I found it thrown in at the casement of my closet.

Know you the character to be your brother's?

It is his hand, my lord; But I hope his heart is not in the contents.

Hath he never before sounded you in this business?

Never.

Hark!

But I have heard him oft 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.

Villain, villain!

His very opinion in the letter!

Unnatural, brutish villain...

Worse than brutish!

Go, sirrah, seek him.

I'll apprehend him: Abominable villain, where is he?

I do not well know, my lord.

Please you, suspend your indignation against my brother till you can derive from him better testimony of his intent.

I dare pawn down my life for him, that he hath writ this but to feel my affection to your honour, and to no other pretence of danger.

Think you so?

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.

He cannot be such a monster.

Nor is not, sure.

To his father, that so tenderly and entirely loves him.

Heaven and earth!

Edmund, seek him out.

I pray you: Frame the business after your own wisdom.

I will seek him, sir, presently.

These late eclipses in the sun and moon portend no good to us.

Love cools, friendship falls off, brothers divide: In cities, mutinies; In countries, discord; In palaces, treason; And the bond cracked 'twixt 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 strange.

This is the excellent foppery of the world, that when we are sick in fortune, often the surfeits of our own behaviour, we make guilty of our disasters the sun, the moon, and the stars, as if we were villains on 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 on the charge of a star.

(Audience laughter) My father compounded with my mother under the dragon's tail and my nativity was under Ursa major; So that it follows that I am rough and lecherous.

(Laughter) Fut, I should have been that I am had the maidenliest star in the firmament twinkled on my bastardizing.

(Distant laughing) Pat he comes.

My cue is villanous melancholy.

(Laughing and shushing) EDMUND: Brother.

Brother!

Come away.

No!

Away!

(Laughing) How now, brother Edmund!

(Panting) How now?

What serious contemplation are you in?

When saw you my father last?

Why, the night gone by.

Spake you with him?

Ay, two hours together.

Parted you in good terms?

Found you no displeasure in him either in word or countenance?

No, no.

None at all.

Bethink yourself wherein you may have offended him: And at my entreaty forbear his presence till some little time hath qualified the heat of his displeasure; Which at this instant so rageth in him.

Some villain hath done me wrong.

That's my fear.

I pray you, retire with me to my lodging, from whence I will fitly bring you to hear my lord speak.

There's my key: Pray you away, if you do stir abroad, go armed.

Armed, brother?

Brother, I do advise you to the best; Go armed.

I have told you what I have seen and heard... but faintly, nothing like the image and horror of it: Pray you, away.

Shall I hear from you anon?

I do serve you in this business.

A credulous father and a brother on whose foolish honesty my practices ride easy.

I see the business.

Let me, if not by birth, have lands by wit; All with me's meet that I can fashion fit.

(Bell chiming, dogs barking) Did my father strike my gentleman for chiding of his fool?

Ay, madam.

By day and night he wrongs me.

Every hour He flashes into one gross crime or other, That sets us all at odds.

I'll not endure it.

His knights grow riotous, and himself upbraids us On every trifle.

When he returns from hunting, I will not speak with him; Say I am sick: If you come slack of former services, You shall do well; The fault of it I'll answer.

He's coming, madam; I hear him.

Put on what weary negligence you please, You and your fellows; I'll have it come to question: If he distaste it, let him to my sister, Whose mind and mine, I know, in that are one.

Well, madam.

All right, straight to my sister, To hold my very course.

Go, prepare for dinner.

(Dogs barking) (Horses whinnying) Now, banished Kent, If thou canst serve where thou dost stand condemned, So may it come, thy master, whom thou lov'st, Shall find thee full of labours.

(Chattering) (Boisterous laughter) Let me not stay a jot for dinner; Go get it ready.

KNIGHTS: Dinner!

How now, what art thou?

A man, sir.

What dost thou profess?

What wouldst thou with us?

KENT: I do profess to be no less than I seem; To serve him truly that will put me in trust: To love him that is honest; To converse with him that is wise, and says little, to fear judgment; To fight when I cannot choose... And to eat no fish.

(Laughing) What art thou?

A very honest-hearted fellow, sir, and as poor as the king.

If thou be'st as poor for a subject as he is for a king, thou art poor enough.

What wouldst thou?

Service.

Who wouldst thou serve?

You.

Dost thou know me, fellow?

No, sir; But you have that in your countenance I would fain call master.

What's that?

Authority.

What services canst thou do?

I can keep honest counsel, ride, run, mar a curious tale in telling it, and deliver a plain message bluntly: That which ordinary men are fit for, I am qualified in; And the best of me is diligence.

LEAR: How old art thou?

Not so young, sir, to love a woman for singing, nor so old to dote on her for anything: I have years on my back forty eight.

Follow me; Thou shalt serve me: If I like thee no worse after dinner, I will not part from thee yet.

Dinner, ho, dinner!

ALL: Dinner!

Where's my knave, my fool?

Go you, call hither my fool.

You, you, sirrah, where's my daughter?

So please you... What says the fellow there?

Call the clotpoll back.

Where's my fool?

Ho, I think the world's asleep.

How now, where's that mongrel?

He says, my lord, your daughter is not well.

Why came not the slave back to me when I called him?

Sir, he answered me in the roundest manner, he would not.

He would not?

My lord, I know not what the matter is; But to my judgment, your highness is not entertained with that ceremonious affection as you were wont.

There's a great abatement of kindness appears as well in the general dependants as in the duke himself also and your daughter.

Ha?

Sayst thou so?

I beseech you, pardon me, my lord, if I be mistaken, for my duty cannot be silent if I think your highness wronged.

I have perceived a most faint neglect of late.

I will look further into't.

But where's my fool?

I have not seen him this two days.

Since my young lady's going into France, sir, the fool hath much pined away.

No more of that; I have noted it well.

Go you, and tell my daughter I would speak with her.

Go you, call hither my fool.

You sir, you, come you hither, sir: Who am I, sir?

My lady's father.

'My lady's father'!

My lord's knave: You whoreson dog!

You slave!

You cur!

I am none of these, my lord, I beseech your pardon.

Do you bandy looks with me, you rascal?

I'll not be strucken, my lord.

(Yelling) Nor tripped neither, you base football player.

I'll teach you differences.

Have you wisdom?

(Laughing) Now, my friendly knave, I thank thee.

There's earnest of thy service.

Let me hire him too... (Cheering) Here's my coxcomb.

How now, my pretty knave, how dost thou?

Sirrah, you were best take my coxcomb.

Why, fool?

Why?

For taking one's part that's out of favour: Nay, an thou canst not smile as the wind sits, thou'lt catch cold shortly.

There, take my coxcomb.

Why, this fellow has banished two of his.

Daughters and did the third a blessing against his will...

If thou follow him, thou must needs wear my coxcomb.

How now, nuncle!

(Laughing) Would I had two coxcombs and two daughters.

Why, my boy?

If I gave them all my living, I'd keep my coxcombs myself.

There's mine; Beg another of thy daughters.

Take heed, sirrah; The whip.

Truth's a dog that must to kennel; He must be whipped out, when the Lady Brach may stand by the fire and stink.

(Laughing) A pestilent gall to me!

Sirrah, I'll teach thee a speech.

Do.

Mark it, nuncle: Have more than thou showest, Speak less than thou knowest, Lend less than thou owest, Learn more than thou trowest, Leave thy drink and thy whore, And keep in-a-door, And thou shalt have more Than two tens to a score.

(Chuckling) This is nothing, fool.

Then 'tis like the breath of an unfee'd lawyer; You gave me nothing for't.

(Laughing) Can you make no use of nothing, nuncle?

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

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

A bitter fool.

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

No, lad; Teach me.

That lord that counsell'd 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.

Dost thou call me fool, boy?

All thy other titles thou hast given away; (Audience laughter) That thou wast born with.

This is not altogether fool, my lord.

No, faith, lords and great men will not let me have all the fool to myself; They'll be snatching.

(Laughing) Nuncle, give me an egg and I'll give thee two crowns.

What two crowns shall they be?

Why, after I have cut the egg in the middle, and eat up the meat, (Slurping) the two crowns of the egg.

Thou hadst little wit in thy bald crown, when thou gavest thy golden one away.

(Singing) 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.

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

I have used it, nuncle, ever since thou mad'st thy daughters thy mothers: For when thou gav'st them the rod, and putt'st down thine own breeches, (Singing) 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.

An you lie, sirrah, we'll have you whipped.

(Laughing) I marvel what kin thou and thy daughters are: They'll have me whipped for speaking true, you'll have me whipped for lying; And sometimes I am whipped for holding my peace.

(Laughing) 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 I' the middle: Here comes one o' the parings.

How now, daughter?

What makes that frontlet on?

Methinks you are too much of late in the frown.

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.

Yes, forsooth, I will hold my tongue; So your face bids me, though you say nothing.

Mum, mum!

That's a shelled peascod.

(Laughing) 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 might do you that offence, Which else were shame, that then necessity.

Will call discreet proceeding.

For, you trow, nuncle, The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long, That it's had it head bit off by it young.

Are you our daughter?

Come, sir, 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.

May not an ass know when the cart draws the horse?

Whoop, Jug.

I love thee.

(Laughing) LEAR: Does any here know me?

This is not Lear.

Doth Lear walk thus, speak thus?

Where are his eyes?

Who is it that can tell me who I am?

FOOL: Lear's shadow.

I would learn that; For, by the marks of sovereignty, knowledge, and reason, I should be false persuaded I had daughters.

Which they will make an obedient father.

Your name, fair gentlewoman?

This admiration, sir, is much o' 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 disorder'd, so debosh'd and bold, That this our court, infected with their manners, Shows like a riotous inn; Epicurism and lust Make 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 remainder, that shall still depend, To be such men as may besort your age, And know themselves and you.

Darkness and devils!

Saddle my horses; Call my train together: Degenerate bastard!

I'll not trouble thee.

Yet have I left a daughter.

You strike my people; And your disorder'd rabble.

Make servants of their betters.

Woe, that too late repents... O, sir, are you come?

Is it your will?

Speak, sir.

Prepare my horses.

Ingratitude, thou marble-hearted fiend, More hideous when thou show'st thee in a child.

Than the sea-monster!

Pray, sir, be patient.

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, wrench'd 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 judgment out!

Go, go, my people.

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.

How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is.

To have a thankless child!

Away, away!

Now, gods that we adore, whereof comes this?

Never afflict yourself to know more of it; But let his disposition have that scope.

That dotage gives it.

(Sobbing) What, fifty of my followers at a clap!

Within a fortnight!

What's the matter, sir?

I'll tell thee: Life and death!

I am ashamed.

That thou hast power to shake my manhood thus; With these hot tears.

Old fond eyes, Beweep this cause again, I'll pluck ye out, Yea, it is come to this?

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.

Thou shalt, I warrant thee.

Do you mark that, my lord?

I cannot be so partial, Goneril, To the great love I bear you.

Pray you, content.

What, Oswald, ho!

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.

But Oswald, I say!

Well, you may fear too far.

Safer than trust too far: I know his heart.

What he hath utter'd have I writ my sister.

If she sustain him and his hundred knights.

When I have show'd the unfitness...

Here, madam.

What, have you writ that letter to my sister?

Ay, madam.

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.

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.

How far your eyes may pierce I can not tell: Striving to better, oft we mar what's well.

Nay, then.

Well, well, the event.

(Wind blowing) LEAR: Go you before to Regan with these letters.

If your diligence be not speedy, I'll be there afore you.

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

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

Ay, boy.

Then, I prithee, be merry; Thy wit shall not go slipshod.

Ha, ha, ha.

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.

What canst tell, boy?

She will taste as like this as a crab does to a crab.

Thou canst tell why one's nose stands I' the middle one's face?

No.

Why, to keep one's eyes on either side's nose; That what a man cannot smell out, he may spy into.

I did her wrong.

Canst tell how an oyster makes his shell?

No.

Nor I neither; (Audience laughter) But I know why a snail has a house.

Why?

Why, to put his head in; Not to give it away to his daughters, and leave his horns without a case.

I will forget my nature.

So kind a father!

Be my horses ready?

Thy asses are gone about 'em.

The reason why the seven stars are no more than seven is a pretty reason.

Because they are not eight.

Yes, indeed: Thou wouldst make a good fool.

To take 't again perforce... Monster ingratitude!

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

How's that?

Thou shouldst not have been old till thou hadst been wise.

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

Keep me in temper, I would not be mad!

(Horses neighing) How now!

Are the horses ready?

GENTLEMAN: Ready, my lord.

Come, boy.

(Horses neighing) Man: Sir!

Sir!

Please, sir!

Get away, I say!

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.

How comes that?

Nay, I know not.

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

Not a word.

You may do, then, in time.

Fare you well, sir.

The duke be here to-night?

The better... best!

This weaves itself perforce into my business.

Briefness and fortune, work!

Brother, a word; Descend, brother, I say!

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.

I am sure on't, not a word.

I hear my father coming: Pardon me: In cunning I must draw my sword upon you.

Seem to defend yourself.

Draw.

Yield: Come before my father.

Light, ho, here!

Brother!

(Grunting) Torches, torches!

Fly, brother, fly.

So, farewell.

Some blood drawn on me would beget opinion.

Of my more fierce endeavor.

(Gasping) Ah!

I have seen drunkards do more than this in sport.

Father, father!

Stop, stop!

No help?

GLOUCESTER: Now, Edmund, where's the villain?

Look, sir, I bleed.

Where's the villain, Edmund?

Fled this way, sir.

When by no means he could...

Pursue him, ho!

Go after.

SERVANT: Torches!

GLOUCESTER: 'By no means' what?

Persuade me to the murder of your lordship.

O strange, unnatural villain, I never begot him.

When I tried to dissuad him from his intent, I threatened to discover him.

He replied, 'Thou unpossessing bastard!'

Who would believe thee... Let him fly far.

Not in this land shall he remain uncaught.

He that find him shall deserve out thanks, Bringing the murderous coward to the stake: He that conceals him, death!

(Fanfare trumpeting) 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.

CORNWALL: How now, my noble friend?

I have heard strange news.

REGAN: How dost, my lord?

O, madam, my old heart is cracked, it's cracked!

What, did my father's godson seek your life?

He whom my father named, your Edgar?

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

Was he not companion with the riotous knights.

Which tended upon my father?

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

EDMUND: Yes, madam, he was of that consort.

No marvel, then, though he were ill affected: 'Tis they have put him on the old man's death, To have th'expense and waste of his revenues.

I have this present evening from my sister.

Been well informed 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 you have shown your father.

A child-like office.

EDMUND: It was my duty, sir.

GLOUCESTER: He did reveal his practice; And received This hurt you see, striving to apprehend him.

CORNWALL: Is he pursued?

Ay, my good lord.

If he be taken, he shall never more.

Be fear'd of doing harm.

For you, Edmund, You shall be ours: Natures of such deep trust we shall much need; You we first seize on.

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

For him I thank your grace.

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, lest I thought it fit To answer from our home.

Our good old friend, lay comforts to your bosom; And bestow your needful counsel to our business.

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

Man: Edgar!

Edgar!

Edgar!

Show thyself!

(Dogs barking) Man 2: Edgar!

(Panting) OSWALD: Good dawning to thee, friend.

Art of this house?

Ay.

Where may we set our horses?

I' the mire.

Prithee, if thou lovest me, tell me.

I love thee not.

Why dost thou use me thus?

I know thee not.

(Laughing) I know thee.

What dost thou know me for?

A knave; A rascal; A base, proud, shallow, beggarly, filthy, a lily-livered knave a whoreson, glass-gazing, super-serviceable finical rogue; 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: Ha!

One whom I will beat into clamorous whining, if thou deniest the least syllable of thy addition.

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

Why, what a brazen-faced varlet art thou, To deny thou knowest me?

Is it two days since I tripped up thy heels, and beat thee before the king?

Draw, you rogue: For, though it be night, oh, the moon shines.

I'll make a sop o' the moonshine of you: Draw, you whoreson cullionly barber-monger, draw.

Away!

I have nothing to do with thee.

Draw, you rascal: You come with letters against the king.

Draw!

I'll so carbonado your shanks!

Help, ho!

Murder, help!

Strike, you slave.

Stand, you neat slave, strike!

Help, ho!

Murder!

Murder!

(Bell tolling) (Shouting) With you, goodman boy, if you please.

Come, I'll flesh ye; Come on, young master.

CORNWALL: Keep peace, upon your lives: He dies that strikes again.

What's the matter?

REGAN: The messengers from my sister and the king.

CORNWALL: What is your difference?

Speak.

I am scarce in breath, my lord.

Well, no marvel, You've so bestirred your valour, you cowardly rascal.

Nature disclaims in thee: A tailor made thee.

Thou art a strange fellow... A tailor make a man?

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

Speak yet.

How grew your quarrel?

This ancient ruffian, sir, whose life I have spared at suit of his gray beard... 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 walls of an outhouse with him.

Spare my gray beard, you wagtail?

Peace, sirrah!

You beastly knave, know you no reverence?

Yes, yes, sir; But anger has a privilege.

Why art thou angry?

That such a slave as that should wear a sword, Who wears no honesty.

(Stammering) Smile you my speeches, as I were a fool?

A plague upon your epileptic visage!

Why, art thou mad, old fellow?

How fell you out?

Say that.

No contraries hold more antipathy.

Than I and such a knave.

Why dost thou call him a knave?

What is his fault?

His countenance likes me not.

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

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.

(Laughter) This is some fellow, Who, having been praised for bluntness, doth affect a saucy roughness.

He can not flatter.

He must speak truth.

Sir, in good faith, in sincere verity, Under th'allowance of your great aspect... What mean'st by this?

To go out of my accent, which you discommend so much.

I know, sir, I am no flatterer.

What was th'offence you gave him?

I never gave him any.

(Groaning) It pleased the king his master very late.

To strike at me, upon his misconstruction; When he flattering his displeasure, Tripped me behind; Being down, insulted, railed, And put upon him such a deal of man, That worthied him, got praises of the King.

Ah!

Fetch forth the stocks!

You stubborn ancient knave, you reverend braggart, We'll teach you.

Sir, I am too old to learn: Call not your stocks for me: I serve the king; (Clearing throat) You shall do small respect, show too bold malice Against the grace and person of my master, Stocking his messenger.

Fetch forth the stocks!

As I have life and honour, There shall he sit till noon.

Till noon!

Till night, my lord, and all night too.

Madam, if I...

If I were your father's dog, you should not use me so.

Sir, being his knave, I will.

Come, bring away the stocks!

Let me beseech your grace not to do so: The king, his master, needs must take it ill, That he's so slightly valued in his messenger, Should have him... thus restrained.

I'll answer that.

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

Come, my good lord, away.

Ha!

Argh!

(Whimpering) I am sorry for thee, friend; 'Tis the Duke's pleasure, Whose disposition, all the world well knows, Will not be rubbed nor stopped: I'll entreat for thee.

Oh, no, pray, pray you do not, sir: I have watched and travelled hard; Some time I'll sleep out, the rest I'll whistle.

Give you good morrow.

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

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 informed.

Of my obscured course.

'And shall find time from this monstrous state, to give losses their remedies'.

Fortune, good night: Smile once more, turn thy wheel.

(Wind howling) Edgar: (Panting) I heard myself proclaimed; 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.

While 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; I'll blanket my loins: I'll elf all my hair in knots; And with presented nakedness outface.

The winds and persecutions of the sky.

The country gives me proof and precedent Of Bedlam beggars, who, with roaring voices, Strike in their numbed and mortified bare arms.

Pins, wooden pricks, nails, sprigs of rosemary; And with this horrible object, from low farms, Poor pelting villages, sheepcotes, and mills, Sometime with lunatic bans, sometime with prayers, Enforce their charity.

Poor Turlygod, poor Tom!

(Dog barking) Poor Turlygod, poor Tom!

That's something yet: Edgar I nothing am.

(Ominous sound) LEAR: 'Tis strange that they should so depart from home, And not send back my messenger.

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

Hail to thee, noble master!

Ha?

Mak'st thou this shame thy pastime?

No, my lord.

Ha, ha!

Look, he wears cruel garters.

(Audience laughter) Horses are tied by the head, 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.

What's he that hath so much thy place mistook.

To set thee here?

It is both he and she, my lord.

Your son and daughter.

No.

Yea.

No, I say.

I say, yea.

By Jupiter, I swear, no.

By Juno, I swear, ay.

They durst not do it; They could not, would not do it; '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.

My lord, when at their house I did commend your highness' letters to them, Came there a reeking post, From Goneril delivering letters.

Which presently they read: Straight took to horse; Commanded me to follow, and attend.

And meeting here the fellow which of late.

Displayed so saucily against your highness, Having more man than wit about me, I drew.

He raised the house with loud and coward cries.

Your son and daughter found this trespass worth.

The shame which here it suffers.

Winter's not gone yet if the wild geese fly that way.

Where is this daughter?

With the earl, sir, here within.

Follow me not.

Stay here.

Made you no more offence but what you speak of?

None.

How chance the king comes with so small a number?

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

Why, fool?

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 it following: But the great one that goes up ward, let him draw thee after.

When a wise man gives thee better counsel, give me mine again.

Where learned you this, fool?

Well, not I' the stocks, fool.

Deny to speak with me?

They are sick, they are weary.

They have travelled all night?

Fetch me a better answer.

My dear lord, you know the fiery quality of the duke.

How unremoveable and fixed he is In his own course.

Vengeance, plague, death, confusion!

Fiery?

What quality?

Why, Gloucester, Gloucester, I'd speak with the Duke of Cornwall and his wife.

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

Inform'd them!

Dost thou understand me, man?

Ay, my good lord.

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...

But, no, not yet: May be he is not well.

We are not ourselves.

When nature, being oppressed, commands the mind to suffer with the body: I'll forbear, Death on my state!

Wherefore should he sit here?

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.

I would have all well betwixt you.

O me, my heart, my rising heart!

But down!

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!"

Good morrow to you both.

CORNWALL: Hail to your grace!

REGAN: I am glad to see your highness.

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.

(Groaning) 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.

I can scarce speak to thee; Thou'lt not believe.

With how depraved a quality... O Regan!

(Sobbing) I pray you, sir, take patience: I have hope.

You less know how to value her desert.

Than she to scant her duty.

Say, how is that?

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.

My curses on her.

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 wronged her.

Ask her forgiveness?

Do you but mark how this becomes the house?

Dear daughter, I confess I am old; Age is unnecessary: And on my knees I beg.

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

Sir, these are unsightly tricks: Return you to my sister.

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!

You nimble lightnings, dart your blinding flames.

Into her scornful eyes!

Infect her beauty, You fen-sucked fogs, drawn by the powerful sun, To fall and blister!

O the blest gods!

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

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, Thy half o' the kingdom thou hast not forgot, Wherein I thee endowed.

Good sir, to the purpose.

Who put my man I' the stocks?

(Trumpets blaring) CORNWALL: What trumpet's that?

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

Is your lady come?

This is a slave, whose easy-borrow'd pride.

Dwells in the fickle grace of her he follows.

Out, varlet, from my sight!

What means your grace?

Who stock'd 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 yourselves are old, Make it your cause; Send down, and take my part!

Art not ashamed to look upon this beard?

O Regan, will you take her by the hand?

Why not by the hand, sir?

How have I offended?

All's not offence that indiscretion finds.

And dotage terms so.

O sides, you are too tough; Will you yet hold?

How came my man in the stocks?

I set him there, sir: But his own disorders.

Deserved much less advancement.

You!

Did you?

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 a provision.

Return to her, and fifty men dismissed?

No!

Rather I abjure all roofs and choose.

To wage against the enmity o' th' air... To be a comrade with the wolf and owl...

Necessity's sharp pinch!

Return with her?

Persuade me rather to be slave and sumpter.

To this detested groom.

At your choice, sir.

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.

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... She knows what she does.

Is this well spoken?

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, can many people, under two commands, hold amity?

'Tis hard; Almost impossible.

Why might not you, my lord, receive attendance.

From those that she calls servants or from mine?

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.

I gave you all... And in good time you gave it.

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?

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

Those wicked creatures yet do look well favoured, When others are more wicked: Not being the worst.

Stands in some rank of praise.

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?

What need one?

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 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.

(Roll of thunder) I have full cause of weeping; But this heart.

Will break into a hundred thousand flaws, Or ere I'll weep.

O fool, I shall go mad!

(Thundering) CORNWALL: Let us withdraw; 'twill be a storm.

This house is little: The old man and's people.

Cannot be well bestowed.

'Tis his own blame; Hath put himself from rest, And must needs taste his folly.

For his particular, I'll receive him gladly, But not one follower.

So am I purposed.

Where is my lord of Gloucester?

Followed the old man forth: He is returned.

The king is in high rage.

Whither is he going?

He calls to horse; But will I know not whither.

'Tis best to give him way; He leads himself.

GONERIL: My lord, entreat him by no means to stay.

Alack, the night comes on, and the high winds.

Do sorely ruffle; For many miles a bout.

There's scarce a bush.

O, sir, to wilful men, The injuries that they themselves procure.

Must be their schoolmasters.

(Thundering) 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.

(Thundering) Shut up your doors, my lord; 'tis a wild night: My Regan counsels well; (Thundering, rain falling) Come out o' the storm.

(Thunder crashing) Till you have drenched our steeples, drowned the cocks!

You sulphurous and thought-executing fires, Vaunt-couriers of oak-cleaving thunderbolts, Singe my white head!

(Thunder crashing) And thou, all-shaking thunder, Strike flat the thick rotundity o' the world, Crack nature's moulds, all germens spill at once, That make ingrateful man!

O nuncle, court holy-water in a dry house is better than this rain-water out of doors.

Good nuncle, in, and ask thy daughters' blessing.

Here's a night pities neither wise men nor fools.

Rumble thy bellyful!

Spit fire!

Spout rain!

(Thunder booming) Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire, are my daughters: I tax not you, you elements, with unkindness; I never gave you kingdom, called you children, You owe me no subscription.

Why, then let fall your horrible pleasure: Here I stand, your slave, A poor, infirm, weak, and despised old man: But yet I call you servile ministers, That will with two pernicious daughters join.

Your high-engendered battles 'gainst a head.

So old and white as this.

O ho!

'Tis foul!

(Thunder booming) He that has a house to put's head in has a good head-piece.

No, I will be the pattern of all patience; I will say nothing.

KENT: Alas, sir, are you here?

Things that love night.

Love not such nights as these.

Let the great gods, That keep this dreadful pudder o'er our heads, Find out their enemies now tremble thou wretch that hast within thee undivulged crimes unwhipped of justice, cry these dreadful summoners grace.

I am a man.

More sinned against than sinning.

(Thunder booming) Alack, bareheaded?

Good my lord, hard by here is a hovel; Some friendship will it lend you 'gainst the tempest.

Repose you there a while, while I to this hard house...

Which even but now, demanding after you, Denied me to come in... Return, and force.

Their scanted courtesy.

My wits begin to turn.

Come on, my boy: How dost, my boy?

Art cold?

I am cold myself.

Where is this straw, my fellow?

KENT: Come.

The art of our necessities is strange, and can make vile things precious.

Come, your hovel.

Poor fool and knave, I have one part in my heart (Singing quietly) That's sorry yet for thee.

Come bring us to this hovel.

♪ ... make content with his fortunes fit, ♪ ♪ For the rain it raineth every day ♪ True, boy.

(Thunder booming) Alack, alack, Edmund, I like not this unnatural dealing.

When I desired their leave that I might pity him, they took from me the use of mine own house; Charged me on pain of their perpetual displeasure, neither to speak of him, entreat for him, nor any way sustain him.

Most savage and unnatural!

Go to, say you nothing.

(Panting) I have received a letter this night... 'Tis dangerous to be spoken I have locked the letter in my closet.

These injuries the king now bears will be revenged home.

There is part of a power already landed.

We must incline to the king.

I will look him, and privily relieve him.

Go you and maintain talk with the duke, that my charity be not of him perceived: If he ask for me.

I am ill, and gone to bed.

Though I die for it, as no less is threatened me, The king my old master must be relieved.

There is strange things toward, Edmund; Pray you, be careful.

(Thunder booming) This courtesy, forbid thee, shall the duke.

Instantly know; And of that letter too: This seems a fair deserving, and must draw me.

That which my father loses; No less than all: The younger rises when the old doth fall.

(Thunder crashing) KENT: Here is the place, my lord; Good my lord, enter: LEAR: Let me alone.

Good my lord, enter here.

Wilt break my heart?

KENT: I had rather break mine own.

Good my lord, enter.

The tyranny of the open night's too rough.

For nature to endure.

So 'tis to thee; But where the greater malady is fix'd, The lesser is scarce felt.

When the mind's free, The body's delicate, this tempest in my mind.

Doth from my senses take all feeling else.

Save what beats there.

Filial ingratitude!

But I will punish home: No, I will weep no more.

In such a night To shut me out?

Pour on; I will endure.

In such a night as this?

O Regan, Goneril!

Your old kind father, whose frank heart gave all... O, that way madness lies; Let me shun that; No more of that.

Good my lord, enter here.

Prithee, go in thyself, seek thine own ease: This tempest will not give me leave to ponder.

On things would hurt me more.

But I'll go in.

In boy, go first.

You houseless poverty... Nay, get thee in.

I'll pray, and then I'll sleep.

Poor naked wretches, whereso'er you are, That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm, How shall your houseless heads and unfed sides, Your looped and windowed raggedness, defend you from seasons such as these?

O, I have ta'en Too little care of this!

Take physic, pomp, Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel, That thou mayst shake the superflux to them, And show the heavens more just.

(Thunder booming, screaming) FOOL: Help me, help me!

KENT: Give me thy hand.

Who's there?

A spirit, a spirit, he says his name's Poor Tom.

(Ghostly moaning, screaming) KENT: What art thou that dost grumble there I' the straw?

Come forth.

EDGAR: Away, the foul fiend, it follows me!

Through the sharp hawthorn blows the cold wind.

Go to thy cold bed, and warm thee.

Didst thou give all to thy daughters?

(Audience laughing) And art thou come to this?

Who gives any thing to Poor Tom?

Whom the foul fiend hath led through fire and through flame, through ford and whirlpool, o'er bog and quagmire; That hath laid knives under his pillow.

Set ratsbane by his porridge; Made him proud of heart.

Bless thy five wits!

Tom's a-cold... (Growling) ♪ O, do, de, do, de, do, de Do poor Tom some charity, whom the foul fiend vexes.

There could I have him?

And there, and there again, and there.

Have his daughters brought him to this pass?

Couldst thou save nothing?

Wouldst thou give them all?

Nay, he reserved a blanket, else we had been all shamed.

Now, all the plagues that hang in the pendulous air light on thy daughters!

KENT: He hath no daughters, sir.

Death, traitor!

Nothing could have subdued nature.

To such a lowness but his unkind daughters.

Is it the fashion, that discarded fathers.

Should have thus little mercy on their flesh?

Judicious punishment, 'twas this flesh begot.

Those pelican daughters.

♪ Pillicock sat on Pillicock-hill: ♪ This cold night will turn us all to fools and madmen.

EDGAR: Take heed o' the foul fiend, obey thy parents; Keep thy word justly, swear not, commit not with man's sworn spouse.

Tom's a-cold.

Ohh... (Sobbing) What hast thou been?

A serving-man, proud in heart and mind, I served the lust of my mistress' heart, and did the act of darkness with her; I swore as many oaths as I spake words, and broke them in the sweet face of heaven.

One that slept in the contriving of lust, and waked to do it.

Wine loved I deeply, dice dearly: And in woman I out-paramoured the Turk: False of heart, light of ear, bloody of hand; Hog in sloth, fox in stealth, wolf in greediness, dog in madness... (Sobbing) Iion in prey.

Keep thy foot out of brothels, thy hand out of plackets, thy pen from lenders' books and defy the foul fiend.

Thou wert better in thy grave than to answer with thy uncovered body this extremity of the skies.

Is man no more than this?

Consider him well.

Thou ow'st the worm no silk, the beast no hide, the sheep no wool, the cat no perfume.

Ha?

Here's three on's are sophisticated!

Thou art the thing itself: Unaccommodated man is no more but such a poor bare, forked animal as thou art.

Off, off, you lendings, come unbutton here.

Prithee, nuncle, be contented; 'Tis a naughty night to swim in.

Oh, look, here comes a walking fire.

This is the foul fiend Flibbertigibbet: He hurts the poor creature of earth.

How fares your grace?

What's he?

Who are you?

What is't you seek?

What are you there?

Your names?

EDGAR Poor Tom; That eats the swimming frog, the toad, drinks the green mantle of the standing pool; Who is whipped, and stocked, punished, and imprisoned.

Peace, thou fiend!

What, hath your grace no better company?

The prince of darkness is a gentleman.

Our flesh and blood, my lord, is grown so vile, That it doth hate what gets it.

Tom's a-cold.

Pray you go in with me.

First!

Let me talk with this philosopher.

(Audience laughing) What is the cause of thunder?

Good my lord, take his offer; Go into the house.

I'll talk a word with this same learned Theban.

What is your study?

How to prevent the fiend, and to kill vermin.

Let me ask you one word in private.

Importune him once more, my lord, to go; His wits begin to unsettle.

Canst thou blame him?

His daughters seek his death.

Ah, that good Kent!

He said it would be thus, poor banished man!

Thou sayest the king grows mad; I'll tell thee, friend, I am almost mad myself.

If I had a son, now outlawed from my blood; He sought my life, But lately, very late: I loved him, friend, No father his son dearer.

Truth to tell thee, The grief hath crazed my wits.

(Thunder booming) What a night's this?

I do beseech your grace... O, cry your mercy, sir.

Noble philosopher, your company.

Tom's a-cold.

In, fellow, there, keep thee warm.

LEAR: Come let's in all.

This way, my lord.

With him; I will keep still with my philosopher.

Good my lord, soothe him, let him take the fellow.

Take you him on.

Come on, Sirrah, come along with us.

Come, good Athenian.

GLOUCESTER: No words.

No words.

(Thunder booming) I will have my revenge ere I depart his house.

This is the letter which he spoke of, which approves him an intelligent party to the invasion by France.

That this treason were not, or not I the detector!

Go with me to the duchess.

If the matter of this paper be certain, you have mighty business in hand.

True or false, it hath made thee earl of Gloucester.

(Thunder booming) GLOUCESTER: Here is better than the open air; Take it thankfully.

I will piece out the comfort with what addition I can.

All the power of his wits have given way to his impatience.

I will not be long from you.

The gods reward your kindness!

EDGAR: Nero is an angler in the lake of darkness.

Pray, innocent, beware the foul fiend.

To have a thousand with red burning spits.

Come hissing in upon 'em!

Oh, the foul fiend bites my back.

It shall be done; I will arraign them straight.

Come, sit thou here, most learned justicer; Thou, sapient sir, sit here.

Now, you she-foxes... Look, where he stands and glares!

KENT: How fares your Grace?

Stand you not so amazed.

Will you lie down and rest upon the cushions?

I'll see their trial first.

Bring in their evidence.

Thou robed man of justice, take thy place; And thou, his yoke-fellow of equity, Bench by his side: You are o' the commission, Sit you too.

Let us deal justly.

Arraign her first; 'tis Goneril.

I here take my oath before this honourable assembly... (Audience laughter) She kicked the poor King her father.

Come hither, gentle woman.

Is your name Goneril?

She cannot deny it.

Well, cry you mercy, I took you for a joint-stool.

(Audience laughter) And there's another.

And here's another whose warped looks proclaim.

What store her heart is made on.

Ahh!

Stop her there!

Arms, arms, sword, fire!

Corruption in the place!

Thou false justicer, why hast thou let her 'scape?

Bless thy five wits!

O pity!

Sir, where is the patience now, That thou so oft have boasted to retain?

The little dogs and all, Tray, Blanch, and Sweetheart, see, they bark at me.

Tom will throw his head at them: Avaunt, you curs!

(Barking) (Audience laughter) Then let them anatomize Regan; See what breeds about her heart.

Is there any cause in nature that makes these hard hearts?

You, sir, I entertain for one of my hundred; Only I do not like the fashion of your garments.

You will say they are Persian, but let them be changed.

KENT: Come, sir.

LEAR: Huh?

Iie down and rest awhile.

Make no noise, make no noise.

(Panting) Draw the curtains: So, so.

(Audience laughter) We'll go to supper in the morning.

And I'll go bed at noon.

GLOUCESTER: Where is the king, my master?

KENT: Here, my lord, trouble him not, his wits are gone.

Good friend, I have o'erheard a plot of death upon him: There is a litter ready; Lay him in 't, and drive towards Dover.

Friend, take up thy master!

If thou shouldst dally half an hour, his life, With thine, and all that offer to defend him, Stand in assured loss.

Oppressed nature sleeps: This rest might yet have balm'd thy broken sense.

Come, my lord.

My lord, come.

Come!

Help to bear thy master.

Thou must not stay behind.

GLOUCESTER: Come, come, away.

(Thunder rumbling) ( ♪ ) Who alone suffers, suffers most in the mind, Leaving free things and happy shows behind: But the mind much sufferance doth o'erskip, When grief hath mates, and fellowship.

How light and portable my pain seems now, When that which makes me bend makes the king bow, He childed as I fathered.

Tom, away; What more shall happen tonight, safe 'scape the king!

(Thunder booming) ( ♪ ) Post speedily to my lord your husband; Show him this letter.

The army of France is landed.

Seek out the traitor Gloucester.

Hang him instantly!

Pluck out his eyes!

Leave him to my displeasure.

Edmund, keep you our sister company: The revenges we are bound to take upon your traitorous father are not fit for your beholding.

Advise the duke to a most warlike preparation; We are bound to the like.

Our posts shall be swift and intelligent betwixt us.

Farewell, dear sister, farewell, my lord of Gloucester.

How now, where's the king?

My lord of Gloucester hath conveyed him hence: Some five - or six-and thirty of his knights, Are gone with him towards Dover; Where they boast To have well-armed friends.

Get horses for your mistress.

Farewell, sweet lord!

And sister.

Edmund, farewell.

Go, seek out the traitor Gloucester, bring him before us.

Pinion him like a thief.

Though well we may not pass upon his life.

Without the form of justice, yet our power shall do a courtesy to our wrath.

(Grunting, shouting) CURAN: My lord?

Who's there?

(Grunting in pain) The traitor.

REGAN: Ingrateful fox!

'Tis he.

Bind fast his corky arms.

What mean your graces?

Good my friends, consider, you are my guests.

Do me no foul play, friends.

Bind him, I say!

Hard, hard.

O filthy traitor!

Unmerciful lady as you are, I'm none.

To this chair bind him.

(Gasping, grunting) Villain, thou shalt find... Stop!

'Tis most ignobly done To pluck me by the beard.

So white, and such a traitor?

I am your host!

What will you do?

Come, sir, what letters had you late from France?

Be simple answerer, for we know the truth.

And what confederacy have you with the traitors now landed in the kingdom?

To whose hands have you sent the lunatic king?

Speak.

I have a letter guessingly set down, Which came from one that's of a neutral heart, And not from one opposed.

Cunning.

And false.

Where hast thou sent the king?

To Dover.

Wherefore to Dover?

Wast thou not charged at peril... Wherefore to Dover?

Let him first answer that.

Because I would not see thy cruel nails.

Pluck out his poor old eyes.

That I shall see the winged vengeance overtake such children.

See't shalt thou never.

CORNWALL: Fellows, hold the chair.

(Gasping) Upon these eyes of thine I'll set my foot.

(Screaming, gasping in horror) (Laughing maniacally) (Shouting, screaming) One side will mock another; The other too.

If you see vengeance...

Hold your hand, my lord: I have served ever since I was a child; But better service have I never done.

Than now to bid you hold.

How now, you dog?

My servant?

Nay, then, come on, and take the chance of anger.

REGAN: Give me your sword.

A peasant stand up thus!

Ah!

Ah!

Out, vile jelly!

Various: (Screaming) Where is thy lustre now?

Where's my son Edmund?

You call'st on him that hates thee: It was he unfolded thy treasons to us; Who is too good to pity thee.

O my follies!

Then Edgar was abused?

Go thrust him out at gates, and let him smell His way to Dover.

How is't, my lord?

How look you?

I have received a hurt.

Follow me, lady.

Throw this slave upon the dunghill.

(Groaning) Regan, I bleed apace: Most untimely comes this hurt: (Groaning) give me your arm.

(Panting) (Moaning) EDGAR: Yet better thus, and known to be despised, Than still despised and flattered.

To be worst, The lowest and most dejected thing in fortune, Stands still in hope, it lives not in fear.

The lamentable change is from the best; The worst returns to laughter.

OLD MAN: Oh, my lord.

Who comes here?

My father, poorly led?

World, world, O world!

Away, get thee away.

O, my good lord, I have been your tenant, and your father's tenant, these many years.

Good friend, be gone: Thy comforts can do me no good at all; Thee they may hurt.

You cannot see your way.

I have no way, and therefore want no eyes; I stumbled when I saw.

O dear son Edgar...

The food of thy abused father's wrath!

Might I but live to see thee in my touch, I'd say I had eyes again!

How now!

Who's there?

O gods!

Who is't can say "I am at the worst"?

I am worse than e'er I was.

Poor mad Tom.

And worse I may be yet: The worst is not.

So long as we can say "This is the worst."

Fellow, where goest?

Is it a beggar-man?

Oh, my lord, madman and beggar too.

In the last night's storm I such a fellow saw; Which made me think a man a worm: My son.

Came then into my mind; And yet my mind.

Was then scarce friends with him: I have heard more since.

As flies to wanton boys, are we to the gods.

They kill us for their sport.

Bless thee, master!

Is that the naked fellow?

Aye, my lord.

Get thee away, and bring some covering for this naked soul, which I'll entreat to lead me.

Alack, sir, he's mad.

'Tis the times' plague, when madmen lead the blind.

I'll bring him the best 'pparel I have, Come on't what will.

GLOUCESTER: Sirrah, naked fellow... Poor Tom's a-cold.

I cannot daub it further.

Come hither, fellow.

(Sobbing) Yet I must.

Bless thy sweet eyes, they bleed.

Know'st thou the way to Dover?

Both stile and gate, horse-way and foot-path.

Poor Tom hath been scared out of his good wits: Bless thee, good man's son, from the foul fiend!

Here, take this purse, that I am wretched makes thee the happier.

The heavens, deal so still!

Let the superfluous and lust-dieted man, That slaves your ordinance, that will not see Because he does not feel, feel your power quickly; So distribution should undo excess, And each man have enough.

Know'st thou Dover?

Aye, master.

There is a cliff, whose high and bending head.

Looks fearfully in the confined deep.

Bring me but to the very brim of it.

From that place I shall no leading need.

Give me thy arm.

Poor Tom shall lead thee.

(Groaning) GONERIL: Welcome, my lord.

I marvel our mild husband not met us on the way.

Now, where's your master?

Madam, within; But never man so changed.

I told him of the army that was landed; He smiled at it.

I told him you were coming: His answer was 'The worse:' of Gloucester's treachery, And of the loyal service of his son, When I informed him, then he called me sot, And told me I had turned the wrong side out: Then shall you go no further.

It is the cowish terror of his spirit, that dares not undertake.

Our wishes on the way may prove effects.

Back, Edmund, to my brother; Hasten his musters and conduct his powers: I must change names at home, and give the distaff Into my husband's hands.

This trusty servant Shall pass between us.

Ere long you are like to hear...

If you dare venture in your own behalf, a mistress's command.

Wear this.

Spare speech, decline your head.

This kiss, if it durst speak, Would stretch thy spirits up into the air.

Conceive, and fare thee well.

Yours in the ranks of death.

My most dear Gloucester!

(Laughing) The difference of man and man!

To thee a woman's services are due; A fool usurps my bed.

Madam, here comes my lord.

(Audience laughter) I have been worth the whistling.

O Goneril!

You are not worth the dust which the rude wind Blows in your face.

No more; The text is foolish.

Wisdom and goodness to the vile seem vile: What have you done?

Tigers, not daughters, what have you performed?

A father, and a gracious aged man.

Milk-livered man!

That bear'st a cheek for blows, a head for wrongs; Where's thy drum?

France spreads his banners in our noiseless land; Whilst thou, a moral fool, sits still, and cries, "Alack, why does he so?"

(Grunting) See thyself, devil!

O vain fool!

(Grunting, shouting) Were it my fitness.

To let these hands obey my blood, They were apt enough to dislocate and tear.

Thy flesh and bones.

Howe'er thou art a fiend, A woman's shape doth shield thee.

Marry, your manhood.

(Meowing) (Audience laughing) MESSENGER: My lord!

What news?

The Duke of Cornwall's dead, Slain by his servant, going to put out the eyes of Gloucester.

Gloucester's eyes?

This letter, madam, craves a speedy answer; 'Tis from your sister.

One way I like this well; But being widow, and my Gloucester with her.

I'll read and answer.

Where was his son when they did take his eyes?

Come with my lady hither.

He is not here.

No, my good lord; I met him back again.

Knows he the wickedness?

Ay, my good lord; 'Twas he informed against him; And quit the house on purpose that their punishment.

Might have the freer course.

(Sigh) Gloucester, I live To thank thee for the love thou show'dst the King, And to revenge thine eyes.

Come hither, friend: Tell me more what thou know'st.

(Drum playing military march) Alack, but 'tis he: Why, he was met even now.

As mad as the vexed sea.

Singing aloud; Crown'd with rank hemlock, nettles, cuckoo-flowers, and all the idle weeds that grow In our sustaining corn.

Send forth; Search every acre in the high-grown field, And bring him to our eye.

What can man's wisdom do to restore his bereaved sense?

He that helps him take all my outward worth.

There is means, madam.

Our foster-nurse of nature is repose, The which he lacks; That to provoke in him, Are many herbs operative, whose power.

Will close the eye of anguish.

All blest secrets, All you unpublished virtues of the earth, Spring with my tears!

Be aidant and remediate In the good man's distress!

Seek, seek for him, MESSENGER; News, madam; The British forces are marching hitherward.

Our preparation stands in expectation of them.

O dear father, It is thy business that I go about; No blown ambition doth our arms incite, But love, dear love, and our aged father's right: Soon may I hear and see him!

REGAN: But are my brother's powers set forth?

OSWALD: Ay, madam.

Himself in person there?

Madam, with much ado: Your sister is the better soldier.

Lord Edmund spake not with your lord at home?

No, madam.

What might import my sister's letter to him?

I know not, lady.

Faith.

It was great ignorance, Gloucester's eyes being out, To let him live.

Edmund, I think, is gone, to dispatch his nighted life.

I must needs after him, madam, with my letter.

Our troops set forth tomorrow; Stay with us; The ways are dangerous.

I may not, madam: My lady charged my duty in this business.

Why should she write to Edmund?

Might not you Transport her purposes by word?

Belike, Some things, I know not what I'll love thee much, Let me unseal the letter.

Madam, I had rather I know your lady does not love her husband; Of that I'm sure: And at her late being here.

She gave most... (Cynical chuckle) Speaking looks to noble Edmund.

I know you are of her bosom.

I, madam?

I speak in understanding; Y'are; I know't.

Therefore I do advise you, take this note.

My lord is dead; Edmund and I have talked; And more convenient is he for my hand.

Than for your lady's.

You may gather more.

If you do see him, give him this, and when your mistress hears thus much from you, I pray, Desire her call her wisdom to her.

So, fare you well.

If you do chance to hear of that blind traitor, Preferment falls on him that cuts him off.

Would I could meet him, madam!

I should show what party I do follow.

Fare thee well.

(Birds calling) When shall we come to the top of that same hill?

(Grunting) You do climb up it now.

Look, how we labour.

(Audience laughter) Methinks the ground is even.

(Audience laughter) Horrible steep.

Hark, do you hear the sea?

No, truly.

Why, then, your other senses grow imperfect.

By your eyes' anguish.

So may it be, indeed: Methinks thy voice is altered; And thou speak'st.

In better phrase and matter than thou didst.

Oh, you are much deceived: In nothing am I changed But in my garments.

Methinks you're better spoken.

Come on, sir.

Oh, God!

Come on!

(Gasping, grunting) Here's the place!

(Panting) Stand still!

How fearful and dizzy 'tis, to cast one's eyes so low.

The crows and choughs that wing the midway air.

Show scarce so gross as beetles.

The fishermen, that walk upon the beach, Appear like mice; And yond tall anchoring barque, Almost too small for sight.

(Sigh) I'll look no more; Lest my brain turn, and the deficient sight topple down headlong.

Set me where you stand.

Give me your hand.

You are now within a foot of the extreme verge.

For all beneath the moon would I not leap upright.

Let go my hand.

Here, friend's, a jewel.

Well worth a... A poor man's taking.

Go further off.

Bid me farewell, and let me hear thee going.

Now fare you well, good sir.

With all my heart.

Why I do trifle thus with his despair.

Is done to cure it.

O you mighty gods!

This world I do renounce.

If Edgar live, O, bless him!

(Panting, gasping) (Audience laughter) Had he been where he thought, by this, had thought been past.

(In another voice) Alive or dead?

(Audience laughing) Ho, you sir!

Friend, hear you, sir?

Speak!

He might have died indeed.

(Groaning) What?

Yet he revives!

(In another voice) What are you, sir?

Away, and let me die.

Hadst thou been aught but gossamer, feathers, air, So many fathom down precipitating, Thou'dst shivered like an egg: But thou dost breathe, Hast heavy substance; Bleed'st not; Speak'st; Art sound.

Thy life's a miracle.

Speak yet again.

But have I fallen, or no?

From the dread summit of this chalky bourn.

Look up a-height; Do but look up.

Alack, I have no eyes.

Is wretchedness deprived that benefit, To end itself by death?

Give me your arm.

Up, so.

How is 't?

Feel you your legs?

Oh, you stand.

Too well, too well.

(Sobbing) Well, this is above all strangeness.

Upon the crown o' the cliff, what thing was that Which parted from you?

A poor unfortunate beggar.

Ohhh, as I stood here below, methought his eyes Were two full moons; He had a thousand noses, Horns waved like the enraged sea.

It was some fiend; Think therefore, happy father, the clearest gods have preserved thee.

I do remember now.

That thing you speak of, I took it for a man; "Often 'twould say 'The fiend, the fiend" he led me to that place.

Bear free and patient thoughts.

Who comes here?

O thou side-piercing sight!

No, they cannot touch me for coining; I am the king himself.

(Audience laughing) Nature's above art in that respect.

There's your press-money.

That fellow handles his bow like a crow-keeper: Draw me a clothier's yard.

Oh, look!

Look, a mouse: Peace, peace; This piece of toasted cheese will do 't.

O, well flown, bird!

I' the clout, I' the clout: Hewgh!

Give the word.

Sweet marjoram.

Pass.

I know that voice.

Ha!

Goneril, with a white beard!

(Audience laughing) They flattered me like a dog; Told me I had the white hairs in my beard ere the black ones were there.

To say 'ay' and 'no' to every thing that I said 'ay' and 'no' too was no good divinity.

When the rain came to wet me once, and the wind to make me chatter; When the thunder would not peace at my bidding; There I found 'em, there I smelt 'em out.

Go to, they are not men o' their words: They told me I was every thing; 'Tis a lie, I am not ague-proof.

The trick of that voice I do well remember: Is 't not the king?

Ay, every inch a king.

When I do stare, see how the subject quakes.

I pardon that man's life.

What was thy cause?

Adultery?

Thou shalt not die...

Die for adultery?

No!

The wren goes to 't, and the small gilded fly Does lecher in my sight.

Let copulation thrive.

For Gloucester's bastard son was kinder to his father than my daughters.

Got 'tween the lawful sheets.

To 't, luxury, pell-mell, for I lack soldiers.

Behold yon simp'ring dame, Whose face between her forks presages snow, That minces virtue, and does shake the head.

To hear of pleasure's name...

The fitchew, nor the soiled horse, goes to 't.

With a more riotous appetite.

Down from the waist they're centaurs, Though women all above, But to the girdle do the gods inherit, Beneath is all the fiend's.

There's hell, there's darkness, there's the sulphurous pit.

Burning, scalding, stench, consumption!

Fie, fie, fie, fie, fie, fie!

Give me an ounce of civet, good apothecary, sweeten my imagination.

There's money for thee.

O, let me kiss that hand!

Let me wipe it first.

(Audience laughter) It smells of mortality.

O ruined piece of nature, this great world will so wear out to naught.

Dost thou know me?

I remember thine eyes well enough.

(Audience laughing) Dost thou squiny at me?

No, do thy worst, blind Cupid!

I'll not love.

Read thou this challenge; Mark but the penning of it.

Were all the letters suns, I could not see.

Read.

What, with the case of eyes?

O ho, are you there with me?

No eyes in your head, no money in your purse?

Your eyes are in a heavy case, your purse is in a light, yet you see how this world goes.

I see it feelingly.

What, art mad?

A man may see how this world goes with no eyes.

Look with thine ears: See how yon justice rails upon yon simple thief.

Hark, in thine ear: Change places; Handy-dandy, which is the justice, which is the thief?

Thou hast seen a farmer's dog bark at a beggar?

Ay, sir.

And the creature run from the cur...

There mightst thou behold the great image of authority: A dog's obeyed in office.

Thou rascal beadle, hold thy bloody hand; Why dost thou lash that whore?

Strip thine own back, thou hotly lust'st to use her in that kind.

For which thou whipp'st her.

Through tattered clothes great vices do appear; Robes and furred gowns hide all.

Plate sin with gold, and the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks; Arm it in rags, a pigmy's straw does pierce it.

None does offend, none, I say, none.

I'll able 'em: Take that of me, my friend, who have the power To seal the accuser's lips.

Get thee glass eyes, And like a scurvy politician seem To see the things thou dost not.

(Audience laughter) Now, pull off my boots: Harder, harder.

(Sobbing) If thou wilt weep my fortunes, take my eyes.

I know thee well enough; Thy name is Gloucester: Thou must be patient.

We came crying hither: Thou know'st, the first time that we smell the air, we wawl and cry.

I'll preach to thee: Mark me.

Alack, alack the day!

When we are born, we cry that we are come.

To this great stage of... fools.

This a good block; 'Twere a delicate stratagem, to shoe.

A troop of horse with felt.

I'll put it in proof.

And when I have stolen upon these sons-in-law, Then, kill, kill, (Gloucester screaming) kill, kill, kill, kill!

GENTLEMAN: Here he is: Lay hands on him.

Sir!

Sire, your most dear daughter Cordelia... No rescue?

What, a prisoner?

I'm even the natural fool of fortune.

Use me well, you shall have ransom.

Let me have surgeons; I am cut to the brains.

You shall have anything.

I am a king, my masters, know you that?

You are a royal one, and we obey you.

Then there's life in't.

Hmm?

(Audience laughing) Come and you get it, you shall get it... by running!

(Groaning, shouting in dismay) Hail, gentle sir.

Speed you, sir.

What's your will?

Do you hear aught, sir, of a battle toward?

Sure most certain.

But, by your favour, how near's the other army?

Near and on speedy foot.

I thank you, sir.

That is all.

You ever-gentle gods, take my breath from me: Let not my worser spirit tempt me again then to die before you please!

Well pray you, father.

(Gasping in shock) Now, good sir, what are you?

OSWALD: A proclaimed prize!

Thou old unhappy traitor, The sword is out, that must destroy thee.

Now let thy friendly hand put strength enough to't.

Wherefore, bold peasant, darest thou support a published traitor?

Let go his arm.

Ch'ill not let go, sir.

Let go, slave, or thou diest.

Good gentleman, go your gait, and let poor folk pass.

Nay, (Grunting) Come not near th' old man.

Out, dunghill.

I'll pick your teeth, sir!

(Shouting) (Gasping in pain) (Panting) Slave, take my purse, bury my body.

And give the letters which thou find'st about me.

To Edmund earl of Gloucester; Seek him out.

Upon the English party.

Untimely...!

GLOUCESTER: What, is he dead?

Rest you, Father.

Let me see these pockets, the letters that he speaks of may be my friends.

'Edmund, I am his prisoner, and his bed my jail; From the loathed warmth whereof, deliver me and supply the place for your labour.

'Your... wife, so I would say...

Goneril.'

A plot upon her husband's life; And the exchange my brother.

(Drums playing military march) Give me your hand, Father.

Far off methinks I hear the beating drum.

Come, I'll bestow you with a friend.

CORDELIA: O thou good Kent, how shall I live and work, To match thy goodness?

My life will be too short, and every measure fail me.

To be acknowledged, madam, is o'erpaid.

Be better suited; These weeds are memories of those worser hours.

I prithee, put them off.

Pardon me, madam; My boon I make it, that you know me not.

Till time and I think meet.

Then be't so, my good lord.

How does the king?

Madam, sleeps still.

O you kind gods!

Cure this great breach in his abused nature; The untuned and jarring senses, O, wind up of this child-changed father!

So please your majesty That we may wake the King?

He hath slept long.

Be governed by your knowledge, and proceed.

Madam; In the heaviness of his sleep.

We put fresh garments on him.

Be by, good madam, when we do awake him; Very well.

(Flute playing) DOCTOR: Louder the music there!

(Flute continues playing) Please you, draw near.

O my dear father, restoration hang.

Thy medicine on my lips; And let this kiss.

Repair those violent harms that my two sisters.

Have in thy reverence made.

Kind and dear princess!

Had you not been their father, these white flakes.

Did challenged pity of them.

Was this a face to be opposed against the warring winds?

Mine enemy's dog, though he had bit me, should have stood that night against my fire.

He wakes; Speak to him.

Madam, do you; 'tis fittest.

How does my royal lord?

How fares your majesty?

You do me wrong to take me out o' the grave.

Thou art a soul in bliss; But I am bound upon a wheel of fire, that mine own tears do scald like molten lead.

Sir, do you know me?

You are a spirit, I know: Where did you die?

Still, still, far wide!

He's scarce awake: Let him alone awhile.

Where have I been?

Where am I?

Fair daylight?

I am mightily abused.

I should ev'n die with pity, To see another thus.

I know not what to say.

I will not swear these are my hands: Let's see.

(Grunt) I feel this pin prick.

Would I were assured Of my condition.

O, look upon me, sir, And hold your hands in benediction o'er me.

No, sir, you must not kneel.

Pray, do not mock me: I'm a very foolish fond old man, and, to deal plainly.

I fear I am not in my perfect mind.

Methinks.

I should know you, and know this man.

Yet.

I am doubtful for I am mainly ignorant.

What place this is; And all the skill I have.

Remembers not these garments; Nor I know not Where I did lodge last night.

Do not laugh at me; For, as I am a man, I think this lady to be my child Cordelia.

And so I am, I am.

Be your tears wet?

(Sobbing) Yes, faith.

I pray, weep not.

If you have poison for me, I will drink it.

I know you do not love me; For your sisters have, as I do remember, done me wrong: You have some cause, they have not.

No cause, no cause.

Am I in France?

KENT: In your own kingdom, sir.

Do not abuse me.

Be comforted, good madam, the great rage, You see, is killed in him.

Desire him to go in.

Trouble him no more Till further settling.

Will't please your highness walk?

You must bear with me.

Pray you now, forget and forgive.

I am old and foolish.

(Sobbing) (Drums playing military march, horses whinnying) EDMUND: Know of the Duke if his last purpose hold, Or whether since he is advised by aught.

To change the course.

He's full of alteration.

And self-reproving: Bring me his constant pleasure.

Our sister's man is certainly miscarried.

'Tis to be feared, madam.

Now, sweet lord, You know the goodness I intend upon you: Tell me but truly but then speak the truth... (Chuckling) Do you not love my sister?

In honoured love.

But have you never found my brother's way.

To the forfended place?

That thought abuses you.

I never shall endure her.

Good my lord, be not familiar with her.

Fear me not.

Our very loving sister, well be-met.

Sir, this I've heard; The King is come to his daughter, For this business, It touches us, as France invades our land, Not bolds the King.

Why is this reasoned?

Combine together 'gainst the enemy; For these domestic and particular broils.

Are not the question here.

Let's then determine with the officers of war on our proceedings.

I shall attend you presently at your tent.

Sister, will you go with us?

No.

(Audience laughter) 'Tis most convenient; Pray you go with us.

O, ho, I know the riddle.

I will go.

EDGAR: If e'er your grace had speech with man so poor, hear me one word.

I'll overtake you.

Speak.

'Fore you fight the battle, open this letter.

If you have victory, let the trumpet sound for him that brought it.

Wretched though I seem, I can produce a champion that will prove what is avouched there.

Fortune love you.

Stay till I have read the letter.

EDGAR: I was forbid it.

When time shall serve, let but the herald cry, And I'll appear again.

Why, fare thee well: I will o'erlook thy paper.

The enemy's in view.

Here is the guess of their true strength and forces.

Your haste is now urged on you, my lord.

We will greet the time.

To both these sisters have I sworn my love.

(Audience laughter) Each jealous of the other as the stung are of the adder.

Which of them shall I take?

Both?

One?

Neither?

(Audience laughter) Neither can be enjoyed, if both remain alive.

As for the mercy the Duke intends to Lear and to Cordelia, the battle done, and they within our power, Shall never see his pardon; For my state.

Stands on me to defend, not to debate.

(Explosions booming) EDGAR: Here, father, take the shadow of this tree.

For your good host.

And pray that the right may thrive.

(Soldiers shouting, weapons clanging) (Horn blowing) EDGAR: Away, old man, away!

King Lear hath lost, he and his daughter ta'en: Give me thy hand; Come on!

No further, sir; A man may rot even here.

What, in ill thoughts again?

(Chuckling) Men must endure their going hence, even as their coming hither.

Ripeness is all.

And that's true too.

Come!

(Drums beating, wind howling) Some officers take them away, good guard, to the greater pleasures first be known.

That are to sentence them.

We are not the first.

Who with best meaning have incurred the worst.

For thee, oppressed King, I am cast down; Myself could else out-frown false fortune's frown.

Shall we not see these daughters and these sisters?

No.

No, no, no.

Come, let's away to prison: We two alone will sing like birds in the cage.

When thou dost ask me blessing, I'll kneel down, And ask of thee forgiveness.

And so we'll live, And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh.

At gilded butterflies, and hear poor rogues.

Talk of court news; And we'll talk with them too, Who loses and who wins; Who's in, who's out... And take upon's the mystery of things, As if we were God's spies: And we'll wear out, In a walled prison, packs and sects of great ones, That ebb and flow by the moon.

EDMUND: Take them away!

Upon such sacrifices, my Cordelia, the gods themselves throw incense.

(Laughing) Have I caught thee?

He that parts us shall bring a brand from heaven, And fire us hence like foxes.

Wipe thine eyes; The good years shall devour them, flesh and fell, Ere they shall make us weep!

We'll see 'em starved first: Come.

Come hither, captain.

Hark.

Take thou this note.

Go follow them to the prison.

One step I have advanced thee.

If thou dost as this instructs thee, thou dost make thy way To noble fortunes.

Know thou this, that men.

Are as the time is; To be tender-minded.

Does not become a sword.

Either say thou'lt do 't, or thrive by some other means.

I'll do 't, my lord.

About it and write happy when thou hast done't, instantly.

I cannot draw a cart, nor eat dried oats; If it be man's work, I'll do 't.

ALBANY: Ahh, sir, you have showed today your valiant strain, And fortune led you well.

You have the captives who were the opposites of this day's strife: I do require them of you.

Sir, I thought it fit.

To send the old and miserable king to some retention.

With him I sent the queen; My reason all the same; And they are ready tomorrow, or at further space, t'appear where you shall hold your session.

Sir, by your patience, I hold you but as a subject of this war, Not as a brother.

That's as we list to grace him.

He led our powers; Bore the commission of my place and person; The which immediacy may well stand up, And call itself your brother.

GONERIL: Not so hot!

In his own grace he doth exalt himself, More than in your addition.

In my rights, by me invested, he compeers the best.

Ahh, that were the most, if he should husband you.

Jesters do oft prove prophets.

Holla, holla!

That eye that told you so looked but asquint.

Lady, I am not well; Else I should answer from a full-flowing stomach.

General, take thou my soldiers, prisoners, patrimony; Dispose of them, of me, the walls is thine.

(Gasping) Witness the world, that I create thee here, my lord and master.

Mean you to enjoy him then?

The let-alone lies not in your good will.

Nor in thine, lord.

Half-blooded fellow, yes.

Let the drum strike, and prove my title thine.

Well, stay yet, hear reason.

Edmund, I arrest thee on capital treason, and, in thine attaint, this gilded serpent.

For your claim, fair sister, I bar it in the interest of my wife: 'Tis she is sub-contracted to this lord, And I, her husband, contradict your bans.

If you will marry, make your love to me, My lady is bespoke.

An interlude!

Thou art armed, Gloucester.

Let the trumpet sound.

If none appear to prove upon thy person.

Thy heinous, manifest, and many treasons, there is my pledge.

I'll prove it on thy heart.

Sick!

O, sick!

If not, I'll ne'er trust medicine.

There's my exchange.

What in the world he is.

That names me traitor, villain-like he lies.

Trust to thy single virtue, for thy soldiers, All levied in my name, have in my name took their discharge.

My sickness grows upon me!

Convey her to my tent.

Herald, let the trumpet sound, and read out.

HERALD: 'If any man of quality or degree within the lists of the army will maintain upon Edmund, supposed Earl of Gloucester, that he is a manifold traitor, let him appear by the third sound of the trumpet.

He is bold in his defence.'

(Trumpet playing fanfare) HERALD: Again.

(Trumpet playing fanfare) Again!

(Trumpet playing fanfare) (Laughing) (Horn sounding) What are you?

Your name, your quality, and why you answer.

This present summons?

Know my name is lost, yet am I noble as my adversary.

ALBANY: Which is that adversary?

What's he that speaks for Edmund, Earl of Gloucester?

Himself.

What say'st thou to him?

Thou art a traitor; False to thy gods, thy brother, and thy father, Conspirant 'gainst this high-illustrious prince.

Say thou no, this sword, this arm, and my best spirits, are bent to prove upon thy heart, whereto I speaks, thou liest.

Back do I toss these treasons.

To thy head this sword of mine shall give them instant way.

( ♪ ) (Grunting, swords clanging) (Shouting) (Grunting, swords clanging) (Shouting) Ahh!

(Swords clanging) (Yelling) ALBANY: No, stop!

Save him!

(Panting in exertion) This is mere practice, Gloucester: By the law of war thou wast not bound to answer.

An unknown opposite.

Thou art not vanquished, but cozened and beguiled.

Shut your mouth, dame.

Or with this paper shall I stop it.

Thou worse than any name, read thine own evil.

Ah, ah, ah, ah, nay.

No tearing, lady; I perceive you know it.

Say if I do, the laws are mine, not thine.

Who can arraign me for't?

Know'st thou this paper?

Ask me not what I know.

She's desperate, go after her, govern her.

What you have charged me with, that have I done, And more, much more; The time shall bring it out: 'Tis past, and so am I.

But what art thou that hast this fortune on me?

Let's exchange charities.

I am no less in blood than thou art, Edmund; My name is Edgar, and thy father's son.

The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices.

Make instruments to plague us: The dark and vicious place where thee he got.

Cost him his eyes.

Thou hast spoken right, 'tis true; The wheel is come full circle.

Where have you hid yourself?

How have you known the miseries of your father?

By nursing them, my lord.

O, that my heart would burst!

The bloody proclamation to escape, Taught me to shift into a madman's rags.

And in this habit Met I our father with his bleeding rings, I Became his guide, I Led him, I begged for him, I saved him from despair; - I Never - O fault!

- Revealed myself unto him.

Until some half-hour past, when I was armed, Not sure, though hoping of this good success, (Panting) I asked his blessing, and from first to last, I told him our pilgrimage.

But his flawed heart, alack, too weak the conflict to support, 'Twixt two extremes of passion, joy and grief, burst smilingly.

Help!

Oh, help!

She's dead.

Who's dead?

Speak, man.

Your lady, sir, with her own hand and her sister.

By her is poisoned; She confesses it.

All three Now marry in an instant.

(Cough) Yet... Edmund was beloved.

(Chuckling) Edgar: Here's Kent.

Come to bid my King and master, aye, good night: Is he not here?

Speak, Edmund, where's the king?

And where's Cordelia?

This speech of yours have moved me.

My writ is on the life of Lear and on Cordelia: Quickly send... to the prison.

ALBANY: Run, run, O, run.

EDGAR: Haste thee, for thy life.

The gods defend her!

To the prison!

LEAR: Howl!

Howl!

Howl!

Howl!

O, you are men of stones!

Had I your tongues and eyes, I'd use them so.

That heaven's vault should crack.

(Sobbing) She's gone for ever.

I know when one is dead, and when one lives; She's dead as earth.

(Sobbing) Lend me a looking-glass; If that her breath will mist or stain the stone, why then, she lives.

Is this the promised end?

Or image of that horror.

ALBANY: Fall, and cease.

This feather stirs, she lives: If it be so, It is a chance which does redeem all sorrows.

That ever I have felt.

My good master.

Prithee, away!

'Tis noble Kent, your friend.

A plague upon you, murderers, traitors all; I might have saved her; Now she's gone for ever.

Cordelia, Cordelia?

Stay a little.

Huh?

What is't thou say'st?

Her voice was ever soft, Gentle and low, an excellent thing in woman.

I killed the slave that was a-hanging thee.

GENTLEMAN: 'Tis true, my lords, he did.

Did I not, fellow?

I have seen the day, with my good biting falchion, I would have made him skip.

I am old now, and these same crosses spoil me.

Who are you?

Mine eyes are not o' the best.

I'll tell you straight.

If Fortune brag of two she loved and hated, One of them we behold.

This is a dull sight.

Are you not Kent?

The same, your servant Kent.

Where is your servant Caius?

Oh, he's a good fellow, I can tell you that; He'll strike, and quickly too.

He's dead and rotten.

I am the very man I'll see that straight.

That, from your first of difference and decay, have followed your sad steps.

You are welcome hither.

He knows not what he says and vain is it we present us to him.

And my poor fool is... hanged!

No... No... No life!

Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life.

And thou no breath at all?

Thou'lt come no more.

Never, never... Never never, never.

(Sobbing) Pray, undo this button.

(Whimpering) Thank you, sir.

Do you see this?

Look on her, look, her lips, look there, look there!

(Groaning in pain) He faints: My lord, my lord!

Break, heart; I prithee, break.

Look up, my lord.

Vex not his ghost.

Let him pass.

He hates him.

That would upon the rack of this tough world.

Stretch him out longer.

He is gone, indeed.

The wonder is, he hath endured so long.

He but usurped his life.

Friends of my soul, you twain rule in this realm, and the gored state sustain.

I I have a journey, sir, shortly to go; My master calls me, I must not say no.

The weight of this sad time we must obey.

Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say.

The oldest hath borne most: We that are young shall never see so much, nor live so long.

(Waves crashing) (Waves continue crashing) (Audience cheering, applauding) (Cheering, applauding continues) (Cheering, applauding continues) (Cheering, applauding continues) (Cheering, applauding thunderously) (Cheering, applauding continues) (Cheering, applauding continues) ( ♪ )