Act 1

Scene IV

A hall in the same.

	Enter Kent, disguised.
Kent	If but as well I other accents borrow, That can my speech defuse, my good intent May carry through itself to that full issue For which I razed my likeness. Now, banish’d Kent, If thou canst serve where thou dost stand condemn’d, So may it come, thy master, whom thou lovest, Shall find thee full of labours.
	Horns within. Enter King Lear, Knights, and Attendants.
King Lear	Let me not stay a jot for dinner; go get it ready. Exit an Attendant.
	How now! what art thou?
Kent	A man, sir.
King Lear	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.
King Lear	What art thou?
Kent	A very honest-hearted fellow, and as poor as the king.
King Lear	If thou be as poor for a subject as he is for a king, thou art poor enough. What wouldst thou?
Kent	Service.
King Lear	Who wouldst thou serve?
Kent	You.
King Lear	Dost thou know me, fellow?
Kent	No, sir; but you have that in your countenance which I would fain call master.
King Lear	What’s that?
Kent	Authority.
King Lear	What services canst thou do?
Kent	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.
King Lear	How old art thou?
Kent	Not so young, sir, to love a woman for singing, nor so old to dote on her for any thing: I have years on my back forty eight.
King Lear	Follow me; thou shalt serve me: if I like thee no worse after dinner, I will not part from thee yet. Dinner, ho, dinner! Where’s my knave? my fool? Go you, and call my fool hither. Exit an Attendant.
	Enter Oswald.
	You, you, sirrah, where’s my daughter?
Oswald	So please you⁠—Exit.
King Lear	What says the fellow there? Call the clotpoll back. Exit a Knight.
	Where’s my fool, ho? I think the world’s asleep.
	Reenter Knight.
	How now! where’s that mongrel?
Knight	He says, my lord, your daughter is not well.
King Lear	Why came not the slave back to me when I called him.
Knight	Sir, he answered me in the roundest manner, he would not.
King Lear	He would not!
Knight	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.
King Lear	Ha! sayest thou so?
Knight	I beseech you, pardon me, my lord, if I be mistaken; for my duty cannot be silent when I think your highness wronged.
King Lear	Thou but rememberest me of mine own conception: I have perceived a most faint neglect of late; which I have rather blamed as mine own jealous curiosity than as a very pretence and purpose of unkindness: I will look further into’t. But where’s my fool? I have not seen him this two days.
Knight	Since my young lady’s going into France, sir, the fool hath much pined away.
King Lear	No more of that; I have noted it well. Go you, and tell my daughter I would speak with her. Exit an Attendant. Go you, call hither my fool. Exit an Attendant.
	Reenter Oswald.
	O, you sir, you, come you hither, sir: who am I, sir?
Oswald	My lady’s father.
King Lear	“My lady’s father”! my lord’s knave: your whoreson dog! you slave! you cur!
Oswald	I am none of these, my lord; I beseech your pardon.
King Lear	Do you bandy looks with me, you rascal? Striking him.
Oswald	I’ll not be struck, my lord.
Kent	Nor tripped neither, you base football player. Tripping up his heels.
King Lear	I thank thee, fellow; thou servest me, and I’ll love thee.
Kent	Come, sir, arise, away! I’ll teach you differences: away, away! if you will measure your lubber’s length again, tarry: but away! go to; have you wisdom? so. Pushes Oswald* out.*
King Lear	Now, my friendly knave, I thank thee: there’s earnest of thy service. Giving Kent* money.*
	Enter Fool.
Fool	Let me hire him too: here’s my coxcomb. Offering Kent* his cap.*
King Lear	How now, my pretty knave! how dost thou?
Fool	Sirrah, you were best take my coxcomb.
Kent	Why, fool?
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 on’s daughters, and did the third a blessing against his will; if thou follow him, thou must needs wear my coxcomb. How now, nuncle! Would I had two coxcombs and two daughters!
King Lear	Why, my boy?
Fool	If I gave them all my living, I’ld keep my coxcombs myself. There’s mine; beg another of thy daughters.
King Lear	Take heed, sirrah; the whip.
Fool	Truth’s a dog must to kennel; he must be whipped out, when Lady the brach may stand by the fire and stink.
King Lear	A pestilent gall to me!
Fool	Sirrah, I’ll teach thee a speech.
King Lear	Do.
Fool	Mark it, nuncle: Have more than thou showest, Speak less than thou knowest, Lend less than thou owest, Ride more than thou goest, Learn more than thou trowest, Set less than thou throwest; Leave thy drink and thy whore, And keep in-a-door, And thou shalt have more Than two tens to a score.
Kent	This is nothing, fool.
Fool	Then ’tis like the breath of an unfee’d lawyer; you gave me nothing for’t. Can you make no use of nothing, nuncle?
King Lear	Why, no, boy; nothing can be made out of nothing.
Fool	To Kent. Prithee, tell him, so much the rent of his land comes to: he will not believe a fool.
King Lear	A bitter fool!
Fool	Dost thou know the difference, my boy, between a bitter fool and a sweet fool?
King Lear	No, lad; teach me.
Fool	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.
King Lear	Dost thou call me fool, boy?
Fool	All thy other titles thou hast given away; that thou wast born with.
Kent	This is not altogether fool, my lord.
Fool	No, faith, lords and great men will not let me; if I had a monopoly out, they would have part on’t: and ladies too, they will not let me have all fool to myself; they’ll be snatching. Give me an egg, nuncle, and I’ll give thee two crowns.
King Lear	What two crowns shall they be?
Fool	Why, after I have cut the egg i’ the middle, and eat up the meat, the two crowns of the egg. When thou clovest thy crown i’ the middle, and gavest away both parts, thou borest thy ass on thy back o’er the dirt: thou hadst little wit in thy bald crown, when thou gavest thy golden one away. If I speak like myself in this, let him be whipped that first finds it so.
	Singing. Fools had ne’er less wit in a year; For wise men are grown foppish, They know not how their wits to wear, Their manners are so apish.
King Lear	When were you wont to be so full of songs, sirrah?
Fool	I have used it, nuncle, ever since thou madest thy daughters thy mothers: for when thou gavest them the rod, and put’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.
King 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.
King 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 now; I am a fool, thou art nothing. To Goneril. Yes, forsooth, I will hold my tongue; so your face bids me, though you say nothing.
	Mum, mum, He that keeps nor crust nor crum, Weary of all, shall want some.
	Pointing to King Lear. That’s a shealed peascod.
Goneril	Not only, sir, this your all-licensed fool, But other of your insolent retinue Do hourly carp and quarrel; breaking forth In rank and not-to-be endured riots. Sir, I had thought, by making this well known unto you, To have found a safe redress; but now grow fearful, By what yourself too late have spoke and done. That you protect this course, and put it on By your allowance; which if you should, the fault Would not ’scape censure, nor the redresses sleep, Which, in the tender of a wholesome weal, Might in their working do you that offence, Which else were shame, that then necessity Will call discreet proceeding.
Fool	For, you trow, nuncle, The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long, That it’s had it head bit off by it young. So, out went the candle, and we were left darkling.
King Lear	Are you our daughter?
Goneril	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.
King 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.
King 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.
King Lear	Your name, fair gentlewoman?
Goneril	This admiration, sir, is much o’ the savour 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 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.
King Lear	Darkness and devils! Saddle my horses; call my train together: Degenerate bastard! I’ll not trouble thee. Yet have I left a daughter.
Goneril	You strike my people; and your disorder’d rabble Make servants of their betters.
	Enter Albany.
King 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!
Albany	Pray, sir, be patient.
King 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! That, like an engine, wrench’d my frame of nature From the fix’d place; drew from 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.
Albany	My lord, I am guiltless, as I am ignorant Of what hath moved you.
King 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! Exit.
Albany	Now, gods that we adore, whereof comes this?
Goneril	Never afflict yourself to know the cause; But let his disposition have that scope That dotage gives it.
	Reenter King Lear.
King Lear	What, fifty of my followers at a clap! Within a fortnight!
Albany	What’s the matter, sir?
King Lear	I’ll tell thee: To Goneril. Life and death! I am ashamed That thou hast power to shake my manhood thus; That these hot tears, which break from me perforce, Should make thee worth them. Blasts and fogs upon thee! The untented woundings of a father’s curse Pierce every sense about thee! Old fond eyes, Beweep this cause again, I’ll pluck ye out, And cast you, with the waters that you lose, To temper clay. Yea, it is come to this? Let it be so: yet have I left a 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. Exeunt King Lear, Kent, and Attendants.
Goneril	Do you mark that, my lord?
Albany	I cannot be so partial, Goneril, To the great love I bear you⁠—
Goneril	Pray you, content. What, Oswald, ho! To the Fool. You, sir, more knave than fool, after your master.
Fool	Nuncle Lear, nuncle Lear, tarry and take the fool with thee. A fox, when one has caught her, And such a daughter, Should sure to the slaughter, If my cap would buy a halter: So the fool follows after. Exit.
Goneril	This man hath had good counsel:⁠—a hundred knights! ’Tis politic and safe to let him keep At point a hundred knights: yes, that, on every dream, Each buzz, each fancy, each complaint, dislike, He may enguard his dotage with their powers, And hold our lives in mercy. Oswald, I say!
Albany	Well, you may fear too far.
Goneril	Safer than trust too far: Let me still take away the harms I fear, Not fear still to be taken: I know his heart. What he hath utter’d I have writ my sister If she sustain him and his hundred knights When I have show’d the unfitness⁠—
	Reenter Oswald.
	How now, Oswald! What, have you writ that letter to my sister?
Oswald	Yes, madam.
Goneril	Take you some company, and away to horse: Inform her full of my particular fear; And thereto add such reasons of your own As may compact it more. Get you gone; And hasten your return. Exit Oswald.
	No, no, my lord, This milky gentleness and course of yours Though I condemn not, yet, under pardon, You are much more attask’d for want of wisdom Than praised for harmful mildness.
Albany	How far your eyes may pierce I can not tell: Striving to better, oft we mar what’s well.
Goneril	Nay, then⁠—
Albany	Well, well; the event. Exeunt.