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you: Draw, you whoreson cullionly barber-monger, draw. [Drawing his Sword. Stew. Away; I have nothing to do with thee. Kent. Draw, you rascal: you come with letters against the king; and take Vanitys the puppet's part, against the royalty of her father: Draw, you rogue, or I'll so carbonado your shanks:-draw, you rascal; come your ways.
Stew. Help, ho! murder! help! Kent. Strike, you slave; stand, rogue, stand; you neat slave, strike. [Beating him.
Stew. Help, ho! murder! murder! Enter EDMUND, CORNWALL, REGAN, GLOSTER, and Servants.
Edm. How now? What's the matter? Part. Kent. With you, goodman boy, if you please; come, I'll flesh you; come on, young master. Glo. Weapons! arms! What's the matter here? Corn. Keep peace, upon your lives; He dies, that strikes again: What is the matter? Reg. The messengers from our sister and the king. Corn. What is your difference? speak. Stew. I am scarce in breath, my lord. Kent. No marvel, you have so bestirr'd your valor. You cowardly rascal, nature disclaims in thee; a tailor made thee.
Corn. Thou art a strange fellow: a tailor make a man?
Kent. Ay, a tailor, sir; a stone-cutter, or a painter, could not have made him so ill, though they had been but two hours at the trade.
Corn. Speak yet, how grew your quarrel? Stew. This ancient ruflian, sir, whose life I have spared,
At suit of his grey beard,
Kent. Thou whoreson zed! thou unnecessary letter! My lord, if you will give me leave, I will tread this unbolted villain into mortar, and daub the walls of a jakes! with him.-Spare my grey beard, you wagtail!
Corn. Peace, sirrah!
You beastly knave, know you no reverence?
Kent. That such a slave as this should wear a sword,
Who wears no honesty. Such smiling rogues as these,
Like rats, oft bite the holy cords atwain
Harbor more craft, and more corrupter ends,
Kent. Sir, in good sooth, in sincere verity,
What mean'st by this! Kent. To go out of my dialect, which you dis commend so much. I know, sir, I am no flatterer' he that beguiled you, in a plain accent, was a plain knave; which, for my part, I will not be, though I should win your displeasure to entreat me to it. Corn. What was the offence you gave him? Stew. Never any:
It pleas'd the king his master, very late,
Fetch forth the stocks, ho! 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; On whose employment I was sent to you; You shall do small respect, show too bold malice Against the grace and person of my master, Stocking his messenger.
Fetch forth the stocks: As I've life and honor, there shall he sit till noon. Reg. Till noon! till night, my lord; and all night
Kent. Why, madam, if I were your father's dog,
Sir, being his knave, I will.
Which are too intrinse t' unloose: smooth every For pilferings and most common trespasses,
That in the natures of their lords rebels;
How fell you out?
Kent. No contraries hold more antipathy, Than I and such a knave.
Corn. Why dost thou call him knave? What's his offence?
Kent. His countenance likes me not.
Corn. No more, perchance, does mine, or his, or hers.
Kent. Sir, 'tis my occupation to be plain:
I have seen better faces in my time,
Than stands on any shoulder that I see
Are punish'd with: the king must take it ill,
Corn. I'll answer that. Reg. My sister may receive it much more worse, To have her gentleman abused, assaulted, For following her affairs.-Put in his legs.[KENT is put in the Stocks. Come, my good lord; away. [Exeunt REGAN and CORNWALL. Glo. I am sorry for thee, friend; 'tis the duke's pleasure,
Whose disposition. all the world well knows, Will not be rubb'd, nor stopp'd: I'll entreat for thee.
Kent. Pray, do not, sir; I have watch'd, and
Thou out of heaven's benediction com'st
Approach, thou beacon to this under globe,
Fortune, good-night; smile once more; turn thy
i.e. Ajax is a fool to them.
SCENE III.-A Part of the Heath.
Edg. I heard myself proclaim'd:
Does not attend my taking. While I may 'scape,
Enforce their charity.-Poor Turlygood! poorTom!
To do upon respect such violent outrage:
Commanded me to follow, and attend
The leisure of their answer: gave me cold looks:
Display'd so saucily against your highness,)
Hair thus knotted was supposed to be the work of elves and fairies in the night.
A quibble on crewel, worsted.
The old word for stockings. People, train, or retinue.
How chance the king comes with so small a train?
Fool. We'll set thee to school to an ant, to teach thee there's no laboring in the winter. All that follow their noses are led by their eyes, but blind men; and there's not a nose among twenty, but can smell him that's stinking. Let go thy hold, when a great wheel runs down a hill, lest it break thy neck with following it; but the great one that goes up the hill, let him draw thee after. When a wise man gives thee better counsel, give me mine again: I would have none but knaves follow it, since a fool gives it.
That, sir, which serves and seeks for gain,
And leave thee in the storm.
The knave turns fool, that runs away;
Kent. Where learned you this, fool?
Re-enter LEAR, with GLOSter.
Lear. Deny to speak with me? They are sick?
they are weary?
They have travell'd hard to-night? Mere fetches; The images of revolt and flying off!
Fetch me a better answer.
My dear lord,
Lear. Vengeance! plague! death! confusion!
Glo. Ay, my good lord.
Lear. The king would speak with Cornwall; the dear father
Would with his daughter speak, commands her service:
Are they inform'd of this? My breath and blood!
Fiery the ficry duke ?-Tell the hot duke that-
Whereto our health is bound; we are not ourselves,
ls practices only. Give me my servant forth:
A quibble between dolors and dollars.
Or at their chamber-door I'll beat the drum,
Glo. I'd have all well betwixt you. [Exit. Lear. O me, my heart, my rising heart!-but, down.
Fool. Cry to it, nuncle, as the cockney did to the eels, when she put them i' the paste alive; she rapp'd 'em o' the coxcombs with a stick, and cry'd, Down, wantons, down: 'Twas her brother, that in pure kindness to his horse, butter'd his hay. Enter CORNWALL, REGAN, GLOSTER, and Servants. Lear. Good-morrow to you both. Corn. Hail to your grace! [KENT is set at liberty. Reg. I am glad to see your highness. Lear. Regan, I think you are; I know what
I have to think so: if thou shouldst not be glad, I would divorce me from thy mother's tomb, Sepúlchring an adultress.-Ö, are you free?
Lear. [TO KENT.
Some other time for that.-Beloved Regan,
Lear. Ask her forgiveness? Do you but mark how this becomes the house:9 Dear daughter, I confess that I am old; Age is unnecessary: on my knees I beg, [Kneeling. That you'll vouchsafe me raiment, bed, and food. Reg. Good sir, no more; these are unsightly tricks:
Return you to my sister. Lear.
On her ingrateful top! Strike her young bones,
Fye, fye, fye!
Lear. You nimble lightnings, dart your blinding
So will you wish on me, when the rash mood's on. Lear. No, Regan, thou shalt never have my
Thy tender-hefted nature shall not give
Thy half o' the kingdom hast thou not forgot,
Good sir, to the purpose.
That she would soon be here.-Is your lady come?
O, sides, you are too tough! Will you yet hold?-How came my man i' the stocks?
Corn. I set him there, sir: but his own disorders Deserv'd much less advancement.
Lear. You! did you? Reg. I pray you, father, being weak, seem so. If, till the expiration of your month, You will return and sojourn with my sister, Dismissing half your train, come then to me; I am now from home, and out of that provision Which shall be needful for your entertainment. Lear. Return to her, and fifty men dismiss'd? No, rather I abjure all roofs, and choose To wage against the enemy o' the air; To be a comrade with the wolf and owl,Necessity's sharp pinch!-Return with her? Why, the hot-blooded France, that dowerless took Our youngest born, I could as well be brought To knee his throne, and, squirc-like, pension beg To keep base life afoot:-Return with her? Persuade me rather to be slave and sumpter3 To this detested groom. [Looking on the Steward. Gon. At your choice, sir.
Lear. I pr'ythee, 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 emboss'd' carbuncle, In my corrupted blood. But I'll not chide thee; Let shame come when it will, I do not call it: I do not bid the thunder-bearer shoot, Mend when thou canst; be better at thy leisure: Nor tell tales of thee to high-judging Jove; I can be patient; I can stay with Regan, I, and my hundred knights.
Not altogether so, sir;
I look'd not for you yet, nor am provided
Is this well spoken, now Reg. I dare avouch it, sir: What, fifty followers! Is it not well? What should you need of more? Speak 'gainst so great a number? How, in one Yea, or so many! sith that both charge and danger
Are in the poorest thing superfluous:
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,
I have full cause of weeping; but this heart
Corn. 'Tis best to give him way; he leads himself.
Do sorely ruffle; for many miles about
And what they may incense him to, being apt
My Regan counsels well: come out o' the storm.
SCENE I-A Heath.
A Storm is heard, with Thunder and Lightning. Enter KENT and a Gentleman, meeting. Kent. Who's here, beside foul weather?
To show their open banner.-Now to you:
To make your speed to Dover, you shall find
Gent. One minded like the weather, most un- The king hath cause to 'plain.
Kent. I know you; Where's the king?
Gent. Contending with the fretful element: Bids the wind blow the earth into the sea, Or swell the curled waters 'bove the main, That things might change, or cease: tears his
Which the impetuous blasts, with eyeless rage, Catch in their fury, and make nothing of: Strives in his little world of man to out-scorn The to-and-fro conflicting wind and rain.
I am a gentleman of blood and breeding;
Gent. I will talk further with you.
No, do not.
This night, wherein the cub-drawn bear would I will go seek the king,
The lion and the belly-pinched wolf
Keep their fur dry, unbonneted he runs,
And bids what will take all.
Kent. But who is with him? Gent. None but the fool; who labors to out-jest His heart-struck injuries.
Sir, I do know you; And dare, upon the warrant of my heart, Commend a dear thing to you. There is division, Although as yet the face of it be cover'd
With mutual cunning, 'twixt Albany and Cornwall;
Whose dugs are drawn by its young.
Gent. Give me your hand: Have you no more to say?
Kent. Few words, but to effect, more than all yet; That, when we have found the king, (in which your pain
That way; I'll this,) he that first lights on him, Holla the other. [Exeunt severally.
SCENE II.-Another Part of the Heath.
Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire, are my daughters:
When usurers tell their gold
Then comes the time, who lives to see't,
This prophecy Merlin shall make; for I live before
SCENE III-A Room in Gloster's Castle.
Enter GLOSTER and EDMUND.
Glo. 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
Fool. He that has a house to put his head in, displeasure, neither to speak of him, entreat for has a good head-piece.
The cod-piece that will house,
The head and he shall louse ;
So beggars marry many.
The man that makes his toe
What he his heart should make,
Shall of a corn cry woe,
And turn his sleep to wake.
him, nor any way sustain him.
Edm. Most savage, and unnatural!
Glo. Go to; say you nothing: There is division between the dukes; and a worse matter than that: 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 footed: we must incline to the king. I will seek
-for there was never yet fair woman, but she him, and privily relieve him: go you, and maintain made mouths in a glass.
talk with the duke, that my charity be not of him perceived: If he ask for me, I am ill, and gone to bed. If I die for it, as no less is threatened me,
Lear. No, I will be the pattern of all patience, I the king my old master must be relieved. There will say nothing.
Kent. Who's there?
Fool. Marry, here's grace, and a cod-piece; that's a wise man, and a fool.
Kent. Alas, sir, are you here? things that love
Love not such nights as these: the wrathful skies Gallows the very wanderers of the dark,
And make them keep their caves. Since I was man, Such sheets of fire, such bursts of horrid thunder, Such groans of roaring wind and rain, I never Remember to have heard: man's nature cannot carry The affliction, nor the fear.
Lear. Let the great gods, That keep this dreadful pother o'er our heads, Find out their enemies now. Tremble, thou wretch, That hast within thee undivulged crimes, Unwhipp'd of justice: Hide thee, thou bloody hand; Thou perjur'd, and thou simular man of virtue, That art incestuous: Caitiff, to pieces shake, That under covert and convenient seeming Hast practised on man's life:-Close pent-up guilts, Rive your concealing continents, and cry These dreadful summoners grace.7-I am a man, More sinn'd against than sinning. Kent.
Alack, bare-headed! Gracious my lord, hard by here is a hovel; Some friendship will it lend you 'gainst the tempest; Repose you there: while I to this hard house" (More hard than is the stone whereof 'tis rais'd; Which even but now, demanding after you, Denied me to come in) return, and force Their scanted courtesy.
Lear. 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? The art of our necessities is strange,
That can make vile things precious. Come, your hovel,
Poor fool and knave, I have one part in my heart That's sorry yet for thee.
Fool. He that has a little tiny wit,
With heigh, ho, the wind and the rain,
When priests are more in word than matter;
is some strange thing toward, Edmund; pray you,
Kent. Here is the place, my lord; good my lord,
Wilt break my heart? Kent. I'd rather break mine own: Good my lord,
Lear. Thou think'st 'tis much, that this contentious storm
Invades us to the skin: so 'tis to thee;
But where the greater malady is tix'd,
The body's delicate: the tempest in my mind
Good my lord, enter here. Lear. Pr'ythee, go in thyself; seek thine own
On things would hurt me more.-But I'll go in:
Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel;
[The Fool runs out from the Hovel