King Lear, William Shakespeare [android e book reader .TXT] 📗

apish.

 

Lear.

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

 

Fool.

I have used it, nuncle, e’er since thou mad’st thy daughters thy

mothers; for when thou gav’st them the rod, and puttest 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.

 

Pr’ythee, nuncle, keep a schoolmaster that can teach thy fool to

lie; I would fain learn to lie.

 

Lear.

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

 

Fool.

I marvel what kin thou and thy daughters are: they’ll have me

whipped for speaking true; thou’lt have me whipped for lying;

and sometimes I am whipped for holding my peace. I had rather be

any kind o’ thing than a fool: and yet I would not be thee,

nuncle: thou hast pared thy wit o’ both sides, and left nothing

i’ the middle:—here comes one o’ the parings.

 

[Enter Goneril.]

 

Lear.

How now, daughter? What makes that frontlet on? Methinks you

are too much of late i’ the frown.

 

Fool.

Thou wast a pretty fellow when thou hadst no need to care for

her frowning. Now thou art an O without a figure: I am better

than thou art; I am a fool, thou art nothing.—Yes, forsooth, I

will hold my tongue. So your face [To Goneril.] bids me, though

you say nothing. Mum, mum,

He that keeps nor crust nor crum,

Weary of all, shall want some.—

[Pointing to Lear.] That’s a shealed peascod.

 

Gon.

Not only, sir, this your all-licens’d fool,

But other of your insolent retinue

Do hourly carp and quarrel; breaking forth

In rank and not-to-be-endured riots. Sir,

I had thought, by making this well known unto you,

To have found a safe redress; but now grow fearful,

By what yourself too late have spoke and done,

That you protect this course, and put it on

By your allowance; which if you should, the fault

Would not scape censure, nor the redresses sleep,

Which, in the tender of a wholesome weal,

Might in their working do you that offence

Which else were shame, that then necessity

Will call discreet proceeding.

 

Fool.

For you know, nuncle,

The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long

That it had it head bit off by it young.

So out went the candle, and we were left darkling.

 

Lear.

Are you our daughter?

 

Gon.

Come, sir,

I would you would make use of that good wisdom,

Whereof I know you are fraught; and put away

These dispositions, that of late transform you

From what you rightly are.

 

Fool.

May not an ass know when the cart draws the horse?—Whoop, Jug! I

love thee!

 

Lear.

Doth any here know me?—This is not Lear;

Doth Lear walk thus? speak thus? Where are his eyes?

Either his notion weakens, his discernings

Are lethargied.—Ha! waking? ‘Tis not so!—

Who is it that can tell me who I am?

 

Fool.

Lear’s shadow.

 

Lear.

I would learn that; for, by the marks of sovereignty,

Knowledge, and reason,

I should be false persuaded I had daughters.

 

Fool.

Which they will make an obedient father.

 

Lear.

Your name, fair gentlewoman?

 

Gon.

This admiration, sir, is much o’ the favour

Of other your new pranks. I do beseech you

To understand my purposes aright:

As you are old and reverend, you 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 grac’d palace. The shame itself doth speak

For instant remedy: be, then, desir’d

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,

Which know themselves, and you.

 

Lear.

Darkness and devils!—

Saddle my horses; call my train together.—

Degenerate bastard! I’ll not trouble thee:

Yet have I left a daughter.

 

Gon.

You strike my people; and your disorder’d rabble

Make servants of their betters.

 

[Enter Albany.]

 

Lear.

Woe that too late repents!—

[To Albany.] 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!

 

Alb.

Pray, sir, be patient.

 

Lear.

[to Goneril] Detested kite, thou liest!:

My train are men of choice and rarest parts,

That all particulars of duty know;

And in the most exact regard support

The worships of their name.—O most small fault,

How ugly didst thou in Cordelia show!

Which, like an engine, wrench’d my frame of nature

From the fix’d 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 [Striking his head.]

And thy dear judgment out!—Go, go, my people.

 

Alb.

My lord, I am guiltless, as I am ignorant

Of what hath mov’d 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 disnatur’d 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!

 

[Exit.]

 

Alb.

Now, gods that we adore, whereof comes this?

 

Gon.

Never afflict yourself to know more of it;

But let his disposition have that scope

That dotage gives it.

 

[Re-enter Lear.]

 

Lear.

What, fifty of my followers at a clap!

Within a fortnight!

 

Alb.

What’s the matter, sir?

 

Lear.

I’ll tell thee.—Life and death!—[To Goneril] I am asham’d

That thou hast power to shake my manhood thus;

That these hot tears, which break from me perforce,

Should make thee worth them.—Blasts and fogs upon thee!

Th’ untented woundings of a father’s curse

Pierce every sense about thee!—Old fond eyes,

Beweep this cause again, I’ll pluck you out,

And cast you, with the waters that you lose,

To temper clay. Ha!

Let it be so: I have another daughter,

Who, I am sure, is kind and comfortable:

When she shall hear this of thee, with her nails

She’ll flay thy wolvish visage. Thou shalt find

That I’ll resume the shape which thou dost think

I have cast off for ever.

 

[Exeunt Lear, Kent, and Attendants.]

 

Gon.

Do you mark that?

 

Alb.

I cannot be so partial, Goneril,

To the great love I bear you,—

 

Gon.

Pray you, content.—What, Oswald, ho!

[To the Fool] You, sir, more knave than fool, after your master.

 

Fool.

Nuncle Lear, nuncle Lear, tarry,—take the fool with thee.—

A fox when one has caught her,

And such a daughter,

Should sure to the slaughter,

If my cap would buy a halter;

So the fool follows after.

 

[Exit.]

 

Gon.

This man hath had good counsel.—A hundred knights!

‘Tis politic and safe to let him keep

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

Each buzz, each fancy, each complaint, dislike,

He may enguard his dotage with their powers,

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

 

Alb.

Well, you may fear too far.

 

Gon.

Safer than trust too far:

Let me still take away the harms I fear,

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

What he hath utter’d I have writ my sister:

If she sustain him and his hundred knights,

When I have show’d th’ unfitness,—

 

[Re-enter Oswald.]

 

How now, Oswald!

What, have you writ that letter to my sister?

 

Osw.

Ay, madam.

 

Gon.

Take you some company, and away to horse:

Inform her full of my particular fear;

And thereto add such reasons of your own

As may compact it more. Get you gone;

And hasten your return.

 

[Exit Oswald.]

 

No, no, my lord!

This milky gentleness and course of yours,

Though I condemn it not, yet, under pardon,

You are much more attask’d for want of wisdom

Than prais’d for harmful mildness.

 

Alb.

How far your eyes may pierce I cannot tell:

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

 

Gon.

Nay then,—

 

Alb.

Well, well; the event.

 

[Exeunt.]

 

Scene V. Court before the Duke of Albany’s Palace.

 

[Enter Lear, Kent, and Fool.]

 

Lear.

Go you before to Gloster with these letters: acquaint my

daughter no further with anything you know than comes from her

demand out of the letter. If your diligence be not speedy, I

shall be there afore you.

 

Kent.

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

 

[Exit.]

 

Fool.

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

 

Lear.

Ay, boy.

 

Fool.

Then I pr’ythee be merry; thy wit shall not go slipshod.

 

Lear.

Ha, ha, ha!

 

Fool.

Shalt see thy other daughter will use thee kindly; for though

she’s as like this as a crab’s like an apple, yet I can tell

what I can tell.

 

Lear.

What canst tell, boy?

 

Fool.

She’ll taste as like this as a crab does to a crab. Thou

canst tell why one’s nose stands i’ the middle on’s face?

 

Lear.

No.

 

Fool.

Why, to keep one’s eyes of either side’s nose, that what a man

cannot smell out, he may spy into.

 

Lear.

I did her wrong,—

 

Fool.

Canst tell how an oyster makes his shell?

 

Lear.

No.

 

Fool.

Nor I neither; but I can tell why a snail has a house.

 

Lear.

Why?

 

Fool.

Why, to put’s head in; not to give it away to his daughters, and

leave his horns without a case.

 

Lear.

I will forget my nature. So kind a father!—Be my horses ready?

 

Fool.

Thy asses are gone about ‘em. The reason why the seven stars are

no more than seven is a pretty reason.

 

Lear.

Because they are not eight?

 

Fool.

Yes indeed: thou wouldst make a good fool.

 

Lear.

To tak’t again perforce!—Monster ingratitude!

 

Fool.

If thou wert my fool, nuncle, I’ld have thee beaten for being

old before thy time.

 

Lear.

How’s that?

 

Fool.

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

 

Lear.

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

Keep me in temper; I would not be mad!—

 

[Enter Gentleman.]

 

How now? are the horses ready?

 

Gent.

Ready, my lord.

 

Lear.

Come, boy.

 

Fool.

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

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

 

[Exeunt.]

 

ACT II.

 

Scene I. A court within the Castle of the Earl of Gloster.

 

[Enter Edmund and Curan, meeting.]

 

Edm.

Save thee, Curan.

 

Cur.

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.

 

Edm.

How comes that?

 

Cur.

Nay, I know not.—You have heard of the news abroad; I mean the

whispered ones, for they are yet but ear-kissing arguments?

 

Edm.

Not I: pray you, what