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twg_000000020900 | 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 daughters love, Long in our court have made their amorous sojourn, And here are to be answerd. Tell me, my daughters, Since now we will divest us both of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020901 | 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. GONERIL. Sir, I love you more than word can wield the matter; Dearer than eyesight, space, and liberty; Beyond what can be valud, rich or | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020902 | rare; No less than life, with grace, health, beauty, honour; As much as child eer lovd, or father found; A love that makes breath poor and speech unable; Beyond all manner of so much I love you. CORDELIA. [_Aside._] What shall Cordelia speak? Love, and be silent. LEAR. Of all these bounds, even from this line to this, With shadowy | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020903 | forests and with champains richd, With plenteous rivers and wide-skirted meads, We make thee lady: to thine and Albanys issue Be this perpetual.What says our second daughter, Our dearest Regan, wife of Cornwall? Speak. REGAN. 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020904 | my very deed of love; Only she comes too short, 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. CORDELIA. [_Aside._] Then poor Cordelia, And yet not so; since, I am sure, my loves More ponderous than my tongue. LEAR. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020905 | To thee and thine hereditary ever Remain this ample third of our fair kingdom; No less in space, validity, and pleasure Than that conferrd on Goneril.Now, our joy, Although the last and least; to whose young love The vines of France and milk of Burgundy Strive to be interessd; what can you say to draw A third more opulent than | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020906 | your sisters? Speak. CORDELIA. Nothing, my lord. LEAR. Nothing? CORDELIA. Nothing. LEAR. Nothing will come of nothing: speak again. CORDELIA. Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave My heart into my mouth: I love your majesty According to my bond; no more nor less. LEAR. How, how, Cordelia? Mend your speech a little, Lest you may mar your fortunes. CORDELIA. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020907 | Good my lord, You have begot me, bred me, lovd 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, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020908 | half my care and duty: Sure I shall never marry like my sisters, To love my father all. LEAR. But goes thy heart with this? CORDELIA. Ay, my good lord. LEAR. So young, and so untender? CORDELIA. So young, my lord, and true. LEAR. Let it be so, thy truth then be thy dower: For, by the sacred radiance of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020909 | the sun, The mysteries of Hecate and the night; By all the operation of the orbs, From whom we do exist and cease to be; 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020910 | generation messes To gorge his appetite, shall to my bosom Be as well neighbourd, pitied, and relievd, As thou my sometime daughter. KENT. Good my liege, LEAR. Peace, Kent! Come not between the dragon and his wrath. I lovd her most, and thought to set my rest On her kind nursery. [_To Cordelia._] Hence and avoid my sight! So be | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020911 | my grave my peace, as here I give Her fathers 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, Pre-eminence, and all the large effects That troop with majesty. Ourself, by monthly course, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020912 | With reservation of an hundred knights, By you to be sustaind, shall our abode Make with you by due turn. Only we shall retain The name, and all the addition to a king; the sway, Revenue, execution of the rest, Beloved sons, be yours; which to confirm, This coronet part between you. [_Giving the crown._] KENT. Royal Lear, Whom I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020913 | have ever honourd as my king, Lovd as my father, as my master followd, As my great patron thought on in my prayers. LEAR. The bow is bent and drawn; make from the shaft. KENT. Let it fall rather, though the fork invade The region of my heart: be Kent unmannerly When Lear is mad. What wouldst thou do, old | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020914 | man? Thinkst thou that duty shall have dread to speak, When power to flattery bows? To plainness honours bound When majesty falls to folly. Reverse thy state; And in thy best consideration check This hideous rashness: answer my life my judgement, Thy youngest daughter does not love thee least; Nor are those empty-hearted, whose low sounds Reverb no hollowness. LEAR. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020915 | Kent, on thy life, no more. KENT. My life I never held but as a pawn To wage against thine enemies; neer fear to lose it, Thy safety being the motive. LEAR. Out of my sight! KENT. See better, Lear; and let me still remain The true blank of thine eye. LEAR. Now, by Apollo, KENT. Now by Apollo, King, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020916 | Thou swearst thy gods in vain. LEAR. O vassal! Miscreant! [_Laying his hand on his sword._] ALBANY and CORNWALL. Dear sir, forbear! KENT. Kill thy physician, and the fee bestow Upon the foul disease. Revoke thy gift, Or, whilst I can vent clamour from my throat, Ill tell thee thou dost evil. LEAR. Hear me, recreant! on thine allegiance, hear | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020917 | me! Since thou hast sought to make us break our vows, Which we durst never yet, and with straind pride To come betwixt our sentences and our power, Which nor our nature, nor our place can bear, Our potency made good, take thy reward. Five days we do allot thee for provision, To shield thee from disasters of the world; | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020918 | And on the sixth to turn thy hated back Upon our kingdom: if, on the next day following, Thy banishd trunk be found in our dominions, The moment is thy death. Away! By Jupiter, This shall not be revokd. KENT. Fare thee well, King: sith thus thou wilt appear, Freedom lives hence, and banishment is here. [_To Cordelia._] The gods | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020919 | to their dear shelter take thee, maid, That justly thinkst and hast most rightly said! [_To Goneril and Regan._] 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; Hell shape his old course in a country new. [_Exit._] Flourish. Re-enter Gloucester, with France, Burgundy | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020920 | and Attendants. CORDELIA. Heres France and Burgundy, my noble lord. LEAR. My Lord of Burgundy, We first address toward you, who with this king Hath rivalld 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 offerd, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020921 | Nor will you tender less. LEAR. Right noble Burgundy, When she was dear to us, we did hold her so; But now her price is falln. Sir, there she stands: If aught within that little-seeming substance, Or all of it, with our displeasure piecd, And nothing more, may fitly like your grace, Shes there, and she is yours. BURGUNDY. I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020922 | know no answer. LEAR. Will you, with those infirmities she owes, Unfriended, new adopted to our hate, Dowerd with our curse, and strangerd with our oath, Take her or leave her? BURGUNDY. Pardon me, royal sir; Election makes not up in such conditions. LEAR. Then leave her, sir; for, by the power that made me, I tell you all her | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020923 | wealth. [_To France_] For you, great king, I would not from your love make such a stray To match you where I hate; therefore beseech you Tavert your liking a more worthier way Than on a wretch whom nature is ashamd Almost tacknowledge hers. FRANCE. This is most strange, That she, who even but now was your best object, The | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020924 | 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, or your fore-vouchd affection Fall into taint; which to believe of her Must be a faith that reason | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020925 | without miracle Should never plant in me. CORDELIA. I yet beseech your majesty, If for I want that glib and oily art To speak and purpose not; since what I well intend, Ill dot before I speak,that you make known It is no vicious blot, murder, or foulness, No unchaste action or dishonourd step, That hath deprivd me of your | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020926 | grace and favour; But even for want of that for which I am richer, A still soliciting eye, and such a tongue As I am glad I have not, though not to have it Hath lost me in your liking. LEAR. Better thou hadst Not been born than not to have pleasd me better. FRANCE. Is it but this?a tardiness | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020927 | in nature Which often leaves the history unspoke That it intends to do? My lord of Burgundy, What say you to the lady? Loves not love When it is mingled with regards that stands Aloof from the entire point. Will you have her? She is herself a dowry. BURGUNDY. Royal King, Give but that portion which yourself proposd, And here | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020928 | I take Cordelia by the hand, Duchess of Burgundy. LEAR. Nothing: I have sworn; I am firm. BURGUNDY. I am sorry, then, you have so lost a father That you must lose a husband. CORDELIA. Peace be with Burgundy! Since that respects of fortunes are his love, I shall not be his wife. FRANCE. Fairest Cordelia, that art most rich, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020929 | being poor; Most choice forsaken; and most lovd, despisd! Thee and thy virtues here I seize upon: Be it lawful, I take up whats cast away. Gods, gods! Tis strange that from their coldst neglect My love should kindle to inflamd respect. Thy dowerless daughter, King, thrown to my chance, Is queen of us, of ours, and our fair France: | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020930 | Not all the dukes of waterish Burgundy Can buy this unprizd precious maid of me. Bid them farewell, Cordelia, though unkind: Thou losest here, a better where to find. 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020931 | love, our benison. Come, noble Burgundy. [_Flourish. Exeunt Lear, Burgundy, Cornwall, Albany, Gloucester and Attendants._] FRANCE. Bid farewell to your sisters. CORDELIA. The jewels of our father, with washd eyes Cordelia leaves you: I know you what you are; And like a sister am most loath to call Your faults as they are namd. Love well our father: To your | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020932 | 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. REGAN. Prescribe not us our duties. GONERIL. Let your study Be to content your lord, who hath receivd you At fortunes alms. You have obedience scanted, And well are worth the want that you | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020933 | have wanted. CORDELIA. Time shall unfold what plighted cunning hides: Who covers faults, at last shame derides. Well may you prosper. FRANCE. Come, my fair Cordelia. [_Exeunt France and Cordelia._] GONERIL. Sister, it is not little I have to say of what most nearly appertains to us both. I think our father will hence tonight. REGAN. Thats most certain, and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020934 | with you; next month with us. GONERIL. You see how full of changes his age is; the observation we have made of it hath not been little: he always loved our sister most; and with what poor judgement he hath now cast her off appears too grossly. REGAN. Tis the infirmity of his age: yet he hath ever but slenderly | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020935 | known himself. GONERIL. The best and soundest of his time hath been but rash; then must we look from his age to receive not alone the imperfections of long-engrafted condition, but therewithal the unruly waywardness that infirm and choleric years bring with them. REGAN. Such unconstant starts are we like to have from him as this of Kents banishment. GONERIL. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020936 | There is further compliment of leave-taking between France and him. Pray you let us hit together: if our father carry authority with such disposition as he bears, this last surrender of his will but offend us. REGAN. We shall further think of it. GONERIL. We must do something, and i th heat. [_Exeunt._] SCENE II. A Hall in the Earl | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020937 | of Gloucesters Castle Enter Edmund with a letter. 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 moonshines Lag of a brother? Why bastard? Wherefore base? When my dimensions are | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020938 | as well compact, My mind as generous, and my shape as true As honest madams 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020939 | and wake? Well then, Legitimate Edgar, I must have your land: Our fathers 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! Enter Gloucester. GLOUCESTER. Kent banishd thus! | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020940 | and France in choler parted! And the King gone tonight! Prescribd his powr! Confind to exhibition! All this done Upon the gad!Edmund, how now! What news? EDMUND. So please your lordship, none. [_Putting up the letter._] GLOUCESTER. Why so earnestly seek you to put up that letter? EDMUND. I know no news, my lord. GLOUCESTER. What paper were you reading? | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020941 | EDMUND. Nothing, my lord. GLOUCESTER. No? What needed then that terrible dispatch of it into your pocket? The quality of nothing hath not such need to hide itself. Lets see. Come, if it be nothing, I shall not need spectacles. EDMUND. I beseech you, sir, pardon me. It is a letter from my brother that I have not all oer-read; | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020942 | and for so much as I have perusd, I find it not fit for your oer-looking. GLOUCESTER. Give me the letter, sir. EDMUND. I shall offend, either to detain or give it. The contents, as in part I understand them, are to blame. GLOUCESTER. Lets see, lets see! EDMUND. I hope, for my brothers justification, he wrote this but as | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020943 | an essay, or taste of my virtue. GLOUCESTER. [_Reads._] This policy and reverence of age makes the world bitter to the best of our times; 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; who sways not as it hath power, but as | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020944 | it is suffered. 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. Hum! Conspiracy? Sleep till I wake him, you should enjoy half his revenue.My son Edgar! Had he a hand to write this? | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020945 | A heart and brain to breed it in? When came this to you? Who brought it? EDMUND. It was not brought me, my lord, theres the cunning of it. I found it thrown in at the casement of my closet. GLOUCESTER. You know the character to be your brothers? EDMUND. If the matter were good, my lord, I durst swear | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020946 | it were his; but in respect of that, I would fain think it were not. GLOUCESTER. It is his. EDMUND. It is his hand, my lord; but I hope his heart is not in the contents. GLOUCESTER. Has he never before sounded you in this business? EDMUND. Never, my lord. But I have heard him oft maintain it to be | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020947 | fit that, sons at perfect age, and fathers declined, the father should be as ward to the son, and the son manage his revenue. GLOUCESTER. O villain, villain! His very opinion in the letter! Abhorred villain! Unnatural, detested, brutish villain! worse than brutish! Go, sirrah, seek him; Ill apprehend him. Abominable villain, Where is he? EDMUND. I do not well | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020948 | know, my lord. If it shall please you to suspend your indignation against my brother till you can derive from him better testimony of his intent, you should run a certain course; where, if you violently proceed against him, mistaking his purpose, it would make a great gap in your own honour, and shake in pieces the heart of his | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020949 | obedience. I dare pawn down my life for him, that he hath writ this to feel my affection to your honour, and to no other pretence of danger. GLOUCESTER. Think you so? EDMUND. 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, and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020950 | that without any further delay than this very evening. GLOUCESTER. He cannot be such a monster. EDMUND. Nor is not, sure. GLOUCESTER. To his father, that so tenderly and entirely loves him. Heaven and earth! Edmund, seek him out; wind me into him, I pray you: frame the business after your own wisdom. I would unstate myself to be in | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020951 | a due resolution. EDMUND. I will seek him, sir, presently; convey the business as I shall find means, and acquaint you withal. GLOUCESTER. These late eclipses in the sun and moon portend no good to us: though the wisdom of Nature can reason it thus and thus, yet nature finds itself scourged by the sequent effects. Love cools, friendship falls | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020952 | 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; theres son against father: the King falls from bias of nature; theres father against child. We have seen the best of our time. Machinations, hollowness, treachery, and all ruinous disorders follow us | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020953 | 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. [_Exit._] EDMUND. 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, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020954 | 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 to the charge | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020955 | of a star. My father compounded with my mother under the dragons tail, and my nativity was under Ursa Major, so that it follows I am rough and lecherous. Fut! I should have been that I am, had the maidenliest star in the firmament twinkled on my bastardizing. Enter Edgar. Pat! he comes, like the catastrophe of the old comedy: | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020956 | my cue is villainous melancholy, with a sigh like Tom oBedlam.O, these eclipses do portend these divisions! Fa, sol, la, mi. EDGAR. How now, brother Edmund, what serious contemplation are you in? EDMUND. I am thinking, brother, of a prediction I read this other day, what should follow these eclipses. EDGAR. Do you busy yourself with that? EDMUND. I promise | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020957 | you, the effects he writes of succeed unhappily: as of unnaturalness between the child and the parent; death, dearth, dissolutions of ancient amities; divisions in state, menaces and maledictions against King and nobles; needless diffidences, banishment of friends, dissipation of cohorts, nuptial breaches, and I know not what. EDGAR. How long have you been a sectary astronomical? EDMUND. Come, come! | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020958 | when saw you my father last? EDGAR. The night gone by. EDMUND. Spake you with him? EDGAR. Ay, two hours together. EDMUND. Parted you in good terms? Found you no displeasure in him, by word nor countenance? EDGAR. None at all. EDMUND. Bethink yourself wherein you may have offended him: and at my entreaty forbear his presence until some little | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020959 | time hath qualified the heat of his displeasure; which at this instant so rageth in him that with the mischief of your person it would scarcely allay. EDGAR. Some villain hath done me wrong. EDMUND. Thats my fear. I pray you have a continent forbearance till the speed of his rage goes slower; and, as I say, retire with me | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020960 | to my lodging, from whence I will fitly bring you to hear my lord speak: pray ye, go; theres my key. If you do stir abroad, go armed. EDGAR. Armed, brother? EDMUND. Brother, I advise you to the best; I am no honest man if there be any good meaning toward you: I have told you what I have seen | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020961 | and heard. But faintly; nothing like the image and horror of it: pray you, away! EDGAR. Shall I hear from you anon? EDMUND. I do serve you in this business. [_Exit Edgar._] A credulous father! and a brother noble, Whose nature is so far from doing harms That he suspects none; on whose foolish honesty My practices ride easy! I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020962 | see the business. Let me, if not by birth, have lands by wit; All with mes meet that I can fashion fit. [_Exit._] SCENE III. A Room in the Duke of Albanys Palace Enter Goneril and Oswald. GONERIL. Did my father strike my gentleman for chiding of his fool? OSWALD. Ay, madam. GONERIL. By day and night, he wrongs me; | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020963 | every hour He flashes into one gross crime or other, That sets us all at odds; Ill 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020964 | it Ill answer. [_Horns within._] OSWALD. Hes coming, madam; I hear him. GONERIL. Put on what weary negligence you please, You and your fellows; Id have it come to question: If he distaste it, let him to our sister, Whose mind and mine, I know, in that are one, Not to be overruled. Idle old man, That still would manage | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020965 | those authorities That he hath given away! Now, by my life, Old fools are babes again; and must be usd With checks as flatteries, when they are seen abusd. Remember what I have said. OSWALD. Very well, madam. GONERIL. And let his knights have colder looks among you; What grows of it, no matter; advise your fellows so; I would | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020966 | breed from hence occasions, and I shall, That I may speak. Ill write straight to my sister To hold my very course. Prepare for dinner. [_Exeunt._] SCENE IV. A Hall in Albanys Palace 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020967 | issue For which I raisd my likeness. Now, banishd Kent, If thou canst serve where thou dost stand condemnd, So may it come, thy master, whom thou lovst, Shall find thee full of labours. Horns within. Enter King Lear, Knights and Attendants. LEAR. Let me not stay a jot for dinner; go get it ready. [_Exit an Attendant._] How now! | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020968 | what art thou? KENT. A man, sir. 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 judgement; to fight when | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020969 | I cannot choose; and to eat no fish. LEAR. What art thou? KENT. A very honest-hearted fellow, and as poor as the King. LEAR. If thou best as poor for a subject as hes for a king, thou art poor enough. What wouldst thou? KENT. Service. LEAR. Who wouldst thou serve? KENT. You. LEAR. Dost thou know me, fellow? KENT. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020970 | No, sir; but you have that in your countenance which I would fain call master. LEAR. Whats that? KENT. Authority. 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020971 | best of me is diligence. LEAR. How old art thou? KENT. 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. LEAR. Follow me; thou shalt serve me. If I like thee no worse after dinner, I will not part from thee yet. Dinner, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020972 | ho, dinner! Wheres my knave? my fool? Go you and call my fool hither. [_Exit an Attendant._] Enter Oswald. You, you, sirrah, wheres my daughter? OSWALD. So please you, [_Exit._] LEAR. What says the fellow there? Call the clotpoll back. [_Exit a Knight._] Wheres my fool? Ho, I think the worlds asleep. Re-enter Knight. How now! wheres that mongrel? KNIGHT. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020973 | He says, my lord, your daughter is not well. 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. LEAR. He would not? KNIGHT. My lord, I know not what the matter is; but to my judgement your highness is not entertained with that ceremonious | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020974 | affection as you were wont; theres a great abatement of kindness appears as well in the general dependants as in the Duke himself also, and your daughter. LEAR. Ha! sayst 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. LEAR. Thou but rememberest | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020975 | 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 intot. But wheres my fool? I have not seen him this two days. KNIGHT. Since my young ladys going into France, sir, the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020976 | fool hath much pined away. LEAR. No more of that; I have noted it well. Go you and tell my daughter I would speak with her. [_Exit Attendant._] Go you, call hither my fool. [_Exit another Attendant._] Re-enter Oswald. O, you, sir, you, come you hither, sir: who am I, sir? OSWALD. My ladys father. LEAR. My ladys father! my | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020977 | lords knave: you whoreson dog! you slave! you cur! OSWALD. I am none of these, my lord; I beseech your pardon. LEAR. Do you bandy looks with me, you rascal? [_Striking him._] OSWALD. Ill not be struck, my lord. KENT. Nor trippd neither, you base football player. [_Tripping up his heels._] LEAR. I thank thee, fellow. Thou servst me, and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020978 | Ill love thee. KENT. Come, sir, arise, away! Ill teach you differences: away, away! If you will measure your lubbers length again, tarry; but away! go to; have you wisdom? So. [_Pushes Oswald out._] LEAR. Now, my friendly knave, I thank thee: theres earnest of thy service. [_Giving Kent money._] Enter Fool. FOOL. Let me hire him too; heres my | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020979 | coxcomb. [_Giving Kent his cap._] LEAR. How now, my pretty knave, how dost thou? FOOL. Sirrah, you were best take my coxcomb. KENT. Why, fool? FOOL. Why, for taking ones part thats out of favour. Nay, an thou canst not smile as the wind sits, thoult catch cold shortly: there, take my coxcomb: why, this fellow has banishd two ons | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020980 | 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! LEAR. Why, my boy? FOOL. If I gave them all my living, Id keep my coxcombs myself. Theres mine; beg another of thy daughters. LEAR. Take heed, sirrah, the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020981 | whip. FOOL. Truths a dog must to kennel; he must be whipped out, when the Lady Brach may stand by the fire and stink. LEAR. A pestilent gall to me! FOOL. Sirrah, Ill teach thee a speech. LEAR. Do. FOOL. Mark it, nuncle: Have more than thou showest, Speak less than thou knowest, Lend less than thou owest, Ride more | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020982 | 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 unfeed lawyer, you gave me nothing fort. Can you make no use of nothing, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020983 | nuncle? LEAR. Why, no, boy; nothing can be made out of nothing. FOOL. [_to Kent._] Prythee tell him, so much the rent of his land comes to: he will not believe a fool. LEAR. A bitter fool. FOOL. Dost thou know the difference, my boy, between a bitter fool and a sweet one? LEAR. No, lad; teach me. FOOL. That | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020984 | lord that counselld 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. LEAR. Dost thou call me fool, boy? FOOL. All thy other titles thou hast given away; that thou wast born with. KENT. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020985 | 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 ont and ladies too, they will not let me have all the fool to myself; theyll be snatching. Nuncle, give me an egg, and Ill give thee two crowns. LEAR. What two | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020986 | 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 gavst away both parts, thou borst thine ass on thy back oer the dirt: thou hadst little wit in thy bald crown when thou gavst | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020987 | thy golden one away. If I speak like myself in this, let him be whipped that first finds it so. [_Singing._] Fools had neer less grace in a year; For wise men are grown foppish, And know not how their wits to wear, Their manners are so apish. LEAR. When were you wont to be so full of songs, sirrah? | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020988 | FOOL. I have used it, nuncle, eer since thou madst thy daughters thy mothers; for when thou gavst them the rod, and putst 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. Prythee, nuncle, keep a schoolmaster that can teach | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020989 | thy fool to lie; I would fain learn to lie. LEAR. An you lie, sirrah, well have you whipped. FOOL. I marvel what kin thou and thy daughters are: theyll have me whipped for speaking true; thoult have me whipped for lying; and sometimes I am whipped for holding my peace. I had rather be any kind othing than a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020990 | fool: and yet I would not be thee, nuncle: thou hast pared thy wit oboth 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020991 | 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. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020992 | [_Pointing to Lear_.] Thats a shealed peascod. GONERIL. Not only, sir, this your all-licensd 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020993 | 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, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020994 | nuncle, The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long That its had it head bit off by it young. So out went the candle, and we were left darkling. 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, which of late | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020995 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020996 | that can tell me who I am? FOOL. Lears 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? GONERIL. This admiration, sir, is much o the favour Of other your new pranks. I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020997 | 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 disorderd, so deboshd and bold That this our court, infected with their manners, Shows like a riotous inn. Epicurism and lust Makes it more like a tavern or a brothel Than | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020998 | a gracd palace. The shame itself doth speak For instant remedy. Be, then, desird 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000020999 | train together. Degenerate bastard! Ill not trouble thee: Yet have I left a daughter. GONERIL. You strike my people; and your disorderd 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 showst | 60 | gutenberg |
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