id stringlengths 16 16 | text stringlengths 151 2.3k | word_count int64 30 60 | source stringclasses 1 value |
|---|---|---|---|
twg_000000021000 | thee in a child Than the sea-monster! ALBANY. 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021001 | engine, wrenchd my frame of nature From the fixd place; drew from my heart all love, And added to the gall. O Lear, Lear, Lear! [_Striking his head._] Beat at this gate that let thy folly in And thy dear judgement out! Go, go, my people. ALBANY. My lord, I am guiltless, as I am ignorant Of what hath moved | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021002 | 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, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021003 | that it may live And be a thwart disnaturd torment to her! Let it stamp wrinkles in her brow of youth; With cadent tears fret channels in her cheeks; Turn all her mothers pains and benefits To laughter and contempt; that she may feel How sharper than a serpents tooth it is To have a thankless child! Away, away! [_Exit._] | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021004 | ALBANY. Now, gods that we adore, whereof comes this? GONERIL. 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? ALBANY. Whats the matter, sir? LEAR. Ill tell thee. [_To Goneril._] Life and death! I am ashamd | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021005 | 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! Thuntented woundings of a fathers curse Pierce every sense about thee! Old fond eyes, Beweep this cause again, Ill pluck ye out, And cast you with the waters that you lose To | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021006 | 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 Shell flay thy wolvish visage. Thou shalt find That Ill resume the shape which thou dost think I have cast off for ever. [_Exeunt Lear, Kent and Attendants._] GONERIL. Do you | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021007 | mark that? 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021008 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021009 | 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 utterd I have writ my sister: If she sustain him and his hundred knights, When I have showd | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021010 | thunfitness, Re-enter Oswald. How now, Oswald! What, have you writ that letter to my sister? OSWALD. Ay, 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! | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021011 | This milky gentleness and course of yours, Though I condemn not, yet, under pardon, You are much more attaskd for want of wisdom Than praisd for harmful mildness. ALBANY. How far your eyes may pierce I cannot tell: Striving to better, oft we mar whats well. GONERIL. Nay then, ALBANY. Well, well; the event. [_Exeunt._] SCENE V. Court before the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021012 | Duke of Albanys Palace Enter Lear, Kent and Fool. LEAR. Go you before to Gloucester 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021013 | letter. [_Exit._] FOOL. If a mans brains were ins heels, weret not in danger of kibes? LEAR. Ay, boy. FOOL. Then I prythee be merry; thy wit shall not go slipshod. LEAR. Ha, ha, ha! FOOL. Shalt see thy other daughter will use thee kindly, for though shes as like this as a crabs like an apple, yet I can | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021014 | tell what I can tell. LEAR. What canst tell, boy? FOOL. Shell taste as like this as a crab does to a crab. Thou canst tell why ones nose stands ithe middle ons face? LEAR. No. FOOL. Why, to keep ones eyes of either sides nose, that what a man cannot smell out, he may spy into. LEAR. I did | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021015 | 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 puts 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! | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021016 | 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 takt again perforce!Monster ingratitude! FOOL. If thou wert my fool, nuncle, Id have thee beaten for being | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021017 | old before thy time. LEAR. Hows 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? GENTLEMAN. Ready, my lord. LEAR. Come, boy. FOOL. She thats a maid now, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021018 | 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 Gloucester Enter Edmund and Curan, meeting. EDMUND. Save thee, Curan. CURAN. And you, sir. I have been with your father, and given him notice that the Duke of Cornwall and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021019 | Regan his Duchess will be here with him this night. EDMUND. How comes that? CURAN. Nay, I know not. You have heard of the news abroad; I mean the whispered ones, for they are yet but ear-kissing arguments? EDMUND. Not I: pray you, what are they? CURAN. Have you heard of no likely wars toward, twixt the two dukes of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021020 | Cornwall and Albany? EDMUND. Not a word. CURAN. You may do, then, in time. Fare you well, sir. [_Exit._] EDMUND. The Duke be here tonight? The better! best! This weaves itself perforce into my business. My father hath set guard to take my brother; And I have one thing, of a queasy question, Which I must act. Briefness and fortune | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021021 | work! Brother, a word, descend, brother, I say! Enter Edgar. 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? Hes coming hither; now, i the night, i the haste, And Regan with him: have you nothing | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021022 | said Upon his party gainst the Duke of Albany? Advise yourself. EDGAR. I am sure ont, not a word. EDMUND. I hear my father coming:pardon me; In cunning I must draw my sword upon you: Draw: seem to defend yourself: now quit you well. Yield: come before my father. Light, ho, here! Fly, brother. Torches, torches!So farewell. [_Exit Edgar._] Some | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021023 | blood drawn on me would beget opinion Of my more fierce endeavour: [_Wounds his arm._] I have seen drunkards Do more than this in sport. Father, father! Stop, stop! No help? Enter Gloucester and Servants with torches. GLOUCESTER. Now, Edmund, wheres the villain? EDMUND. Here stood he in the dark, his sharp sword out, Mumbling of wicked charms, conjuring the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021024 | moon To stand auspicious mistress. GLOUCESTER. But where is he? EDMUND. Look, sir, I bleed. GLOUCESTER. Where is the villain, Edmund? EDMUND. Fled this way, sir. When by no means he could, GLOUCESTER. Pursue him, ho! Go after. [_Exeunt Servants._] By no means what? EDMUND. Persuade me to the murder of your lordship; But that I told him the revenging | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021025 | gods Gainst parricides did all their thunders bend; Spoke with how manifold and strong a bond The child was bound to the father; sir, in fine, Seeing how loathly opposite I stood To his unnatural purpose, in fell motion With his prepared sword, he charges home My unprovided body, latchd mine arm; But when he saw my best alarumd spirits, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021026 | Bold in the quarrels right, rousd to thencounter, Or whether gasted by the noise I made, Full suddenly he fled. GLOUCESTER. Let him fly far; Not in this land shall he remain uncaught; And founddispatchd. The noble Duke my master, My worthy arch and patron, comes tonight: By his authority I will proclaim it, That he which finds him shall | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021027 | deserve our thanks, Bringing the murderous coward to the stake; He that conceals him, death. EDMUND. When I dissuaded him from his intent, And found him pight to do it, with curst speech I threatend to discover him: he replied, Thou unpossessing bastard! dost thou think, If I would stand against thee, would the reposal Of any trust, virtue, or | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021028 | worth in thee Make thy words faithd? No: what I should deny As this I would; ay, though thou didst produce My very character, Id turn it all To thy suggestion, plot, and damned practice: And thou must make a dullard of the world, If they not thought the profits of my death Were very pregnant and potential spurs To | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021029 | make thee seek it. GLOUCESTER. O strange and fastned villain! Would he deny his letter, said he? I never got him. [_Tucket within._] Hark, the Dukes trumpets! I know not why he comes. All ports Ill bar; the villain shall not scape; The Duke must grant me that: besides, his picture I will send far and near, that all the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021030 | kingdom May have due note of him; and of my land, Loyal and natural boy, Ill work the means To make thee capable. Enter Cornwall, Regan and Attendants. CORNWALL. How now, my noble friend! since I came hither, Which I can call but now, I have heard strange news. REGAN. If it be true, all vengeance comes too short Which | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021031 | can pursue thoffender. How dost, my lord? GLOUCESTER. O madam, my old heart is crackd, its crackd! REGAN. What, did my fathers godson seek your life? He whom my father namd? your Edgar? GLOUCESTER. O lady, lady, shame would have it hid! REGAN. Was he not companion with the riotous knights That tend upon my father? GLOUCESTER. I know not, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021032 | madam; tis too bad, too bad. EDMUND. Yes, madam, he was of that consort. REGAN. No marvel then though he were ill affected: Tis they have put him on the old mans death, To have the expense and waste of his revenues. I have this present evening from my sister Been well informd of them; and with such cautions That | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021033 | if they come to sojourn at my house, Ill not be there. CORNWALL. Nor I, assure thee, Regan. Edmund, I hear that you have shown your father A childlike office. EDMUND. It was my duty, sir. GLOUCESTER. He did bewray his practice; and receivd This hurt you see, striving to apprehend him. CORNWALL. Is he pursued? GLOUCESTER. Ay, my good | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021034 | lord. CORNWALL. If he be taken, he shall never more Be feard of doing harm: make your own purpose, How in my strength you please. For you, Edmund, Whose virtue and obedience doth this instant So much commend itself, you shall be ours: Natures of such deep trust we shall much need; You we first seize on. EDMUND. I shall | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021035 | serve you, sir, truly, however else. GLOUCESTER. For him I thank your grace. CORNWALL. You know not why we came to visit you? REGAN. Thus out of season, threading dark-eyd 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, which I best thought | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021036 | it fit To answer from our home; the several messengers From hence attend dispatch. Our good old friend, Lay comforts to your bosom; and bestow Your needful counsel to our business, Which craves the instant use. GLOUCESTER. I serve you, madam: Your graces are right welcome. [_Exeunt. Flourish._] SCENE II. Before Gloucesters Castle Enter Kent and Oswald, severally. OSWALD. Good | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021037 | dawning to thee, friend: art of this house? KENT. Ay. OSWALD. Where may we set our horses? KENT. I the mire. OSWALD. Prythee, if thou lovst me, tell me. KENT. I love thee not. OSWALD. Why then, I care not for thee. KENT. If I had thee in Lipsbury pinfold, I would make thee care for me. OSWALD. Why dost | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021038 | thou use me thus? I know thee not. KENT. Fellow, I know thee. OSWALD. What dost thou know me for? KENT. A knave; a rascal; an eater of broken meats; a base, proud, shallow, beggarly, three-suited, hundred-pound, filthy, worsted-stocking knave; a lily-livered, action-taking, whoreson, glass-gazing, super-serviceable, finical rogue; one trunk-inheriting slave; one that wouldst be a bawd in way of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021039 | good service, and art nothing but the composition of a knave, beggar, coward, pander, and the son and heir of a mongrel bitch: one whom I will beat into clamorous whining, if thou deniest the least syllable of thy addition. OSWALD. Why, what a monstrous fellow art thou, thus to rail on one thats neither known of thee nor knows | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021040 | thee? KENT. What a brazen-faced varlet art thou, to deny thou knowest me! Is it two days ago since I tripped up thy heels and beat thee before the King? Draw, you rogue: for, though it be night, yet the moon shines; Ill make a sop o the moonshine of you: draw, you whoreson cullionly barber-monger, draw! [_Drawing his sword._] | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021041 | OSWALD. Away! I have nothing to do with thee. KENT. Draw, you rascal: you come with letters against the King; and take vanity the puppets part against the royalty of her father: draw, you rogue, or Ill so carbonado your shanks:draw, you rascal; come your ways! OSWALD. Help, ho! murder! help! KENT. Strike, you slave; stand, rogue, stand; you neat | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021042 | slave, strike! [_Beating him._] OSWALD. Help, ho! murder! murder! Enter Edmund, Cornwall, Regan, Gloucester and Servants. EDMUND. How now! Whats the matter? Part! KENT. With you, goodman boy, if you please: come, Ill flesh ye; come on, young master. GLOUCESTER. Weapons! arms! Whats the matter here? CORNWALL. Keep peace, upon your lives, he dies that strikes again. What is the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021043 | matter? REGAN. The messengers from our sister and the King. CORNWALL. What is your difference? Speak. OSWALD. I am scarce in breath, my lord. KENT. No marvel, you have so bestirrd your valour. You cowardly rascal, nature disclaims in thee; a tailor made thee. CORNWALL. Thou art a strange fellow: a tailor make a man? KENT. Ay, a tailor, sir: | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021044 | a stonecutter or a painter could not have made him so ill, though he had been but two years at the trade. CORNWALL. Speak yet, how grew your quarrel? OSWALD. This ancient ruffian, sir, whose life I have spared at suit of his grey beard, KENT. Thou whoreson zed! thou unnecessary letter! My lord, if youll give me leave, I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021045 | will tread this unbolted villain into mortar and daub the walls of a jakes with him. Spare my grey beard, you wagtail? CORNWALL. Peace, sirrah! You beastly knave, know you no reverence? KENT. Yes, sir; but anger hath a privilege. CORNWALL. Why art thou angry? KENT. That such a slave as this should wear a sword, Who wears no honesty. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021046 | Such smiling rogues as these, Like rats, oft bite the holy cords a-twain Which are too intrince tunloose; smooth every passion That in the natures of their lords rebel; Bring oil to fire, snow to their colder moods; Renege, affirm, and turn their halcyon beaks With every gale and vary of their masters, Knowing naught, like dogs, but following. A | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021047 | plague upon your epileptic visage! Smile you my speeches, as I were a fool? Goose, if I had you upon Sarum plain, Id drive ye cackling home to Camelot. CORNWALL. What, art thou mad, old fellow? GLOUCESTER. How fell you out? Say that. KENT. No contraries hold more antipathy Than I and such a knave. CORNWALL. Why dost thou call | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021048 | him knave? What is his fault? KENT. His countenance likes me not. CORNWALL. 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 Before me at this instant. CORNWALL. This is some fellow Who, having been praisd | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021049 | for bluntness, doth affect A saucy roughness, and constrains the garb Quite from his nature: he cannot flatter, he, An honest mind and plain, he must speak truth! An they will take it, so; if not, hes plain. These kind of knaves I know which in this plainness Harbour more craft and more corrupter ends Than twenty silly-ducking observants That | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021050 | stretch their duties nicely. KENT. Sir, in good faith, in sincere verity, Under thallowance of your great aspect, Whose influence, like the wreath of radiant fire On flickering Phoebus front, CORNWALL. What meanst by this? KENT. To go out of my dialect, which you discommend so much. I know, sir, I am no flatterer: he that beguiled you in a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021051 | plain accent was a plain knave; which, for my part, I will not be, though I should win your displeasure to entreat me tot. CORNWALL. What was the offence you gave him? OSWALD. I never gave him any: It pleasd the King his master very late To strike at me, upon his misconstruction; When he, compact, and flattering his displeasure, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021052 | Trippd me behind; being down, insulted, raild And put upon him such a deal of man, That worthied him, got praises of the King For him attempting who was self-subdud; And, in the fleshment of this dread exploit, Drew on me here again. KENT. None of these rogues and cowards But Ajax is their fool. CORNWALL. Fetch forth the stocks! | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021053 | You stubborn ancient knave, you reverent braggart, Well teach you. KENT. 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. CORNWALL. Fetch forth the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021054 | stocks! As I have life and honour, there shall he sit till noon. REGAN. Till noon! Till night, my lord; and all night too! KENT. Why, madam, if I were your fathers dog, You should not use me so. REGAN. Sir, being his knave, I will. [_Stocks brought out._] CORNWALL. This is a fellow of the selfsame colour Our sister | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021055 | speaks of. Come, bring away the stocks! GLOUCESTER. Let me beseech your grace not to do so: His fault is much, and the good King his master Will check him fort: your purposd low correction Is such as basest and contemnedst wretches For pilferings and most common trespasses, Are punishd with. The King must take it ill That he, so | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021056 | slightly valued in his messenger, Should have him thus restrained. CORNWALL. Ill answer that. REGAN. My sister may receive it much more worse, To have her gentleman abusd, assaulted, For following her affairs. Put in his legs. [_Kent is put in the stocks._] CORNWALL. Come, my good lord, away. [_Exeunt all but Gloucester and Kent._] GLOUCESTER. I am sorry for | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021057 | thee, friend; tis the Dukes pleasure, Whose disposition, all the world well knows, Will not be rubbd nor stoppd; Ill entreat for thee. KENT. Pray do not, sir: I have watchd, and travelld hard; Some time I shall sleep out, the rest Ill whistle. A good mans fortune may grow out at heels: Give you good morrow! GLOUCESTER. The Dukes | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021058 | to blame in this: twill be ill taken. [_Exit._] KENT. Good King, that must approve the common saw, Thou out of heavens benediction comst To the warm sun. 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021059 | been informd Of my obscured course. And shall find time From this enormous state, seeking to give Losses their remedies. All weary and oerwatchd, Take vantage, heavy eyes, not to behold This shameful lodging. Fortune, good night: smile once more, turn thy wheel! [_He sleeps._] SCENE III. The open Country Enter Edgar. EDGAR. I heard myself proclaimd, And by the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021060 | happy hollow of a tree Escapd 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 Ill grime with | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021061 | filth, Blanket my loins; 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 numbd and mortified bare arms Pins, wooden pricks, nails, sprigs of rosemary; And with this horrible object, from low farms, Poor | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021062 | pelting villages, sheep-cotes, and mills, Sometime with lunatic bans, sometime with prayers, Enforce their charity. Poor Turlygod! poor Tom, Thats something yet: Edgar I nothing am. [_Exit._] SCENE IV. Before Gloucesters Castle; Kent in the stocks Enter Lear, Fool and Gentleman. LEAR. Tis strange that they should so depart from home, And not send back my messenger. GENTLEMAN. As I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021063 | learnd, The night before there was no purpose in them Of this remove. KENT. Hail to thee, noble master! LEAR. Ha! Makst thou this shame thy pastime? KENT. No, my lord. FOOL. Ha, ha! he wears cruel garters. Horses are tied by the heads; dogs and bears by the neck, monkeys by the loins, and men by the legs: when | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021064 | a man is overlusty at legs, then he wears wooden nether-stocks. LEAR. Whats he that hath so much thy place mistook To set thee here? KENT. It is both he and she, Your son and daughter. LEAR. No. KENT. Yes. LEAR. No, I say. KENT. I say, yea. LEAR. No, no; they would not. KENT. Yes, they have. LEAR. By | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021065 | Jupiter, I swear no. KENT. By Juno, I swear ay. LEAR. They durst not dot. They could not, would not dot; 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. KENT. My lord, when at their home I did | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021066 | commend your highness letters to them, Ere I was risen from the place that showd My duty kneeling, came there a reeking post, Stewd in his haste, half breathless, panting forth From Goneril his mistress salutations; Deliverd letters, spite of intermission, Which presently they read; on those contents, They summond up their meiny, straight took horse; Commanded me to follow | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021067 | and attend The leisure of their answer; gave me cold looks: And meeting here the other messenger, Whose welcome I perceivd had poisond mine, Being the very fellow which of late Displayd so saucily against your highness, Having more man than wit about me, drew; He raisd the house with loud and coward cries. Your son and daughter found this | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021068 | trespass worth The shame which here it suffers. FOOL. Winters not gone yet, if the wild geese fly that way. Fathers that wear rags Do make their children blind, But fathers that bear bags Shall see their children kind. Fortune, that arrant whore, Neer turns the key to th poor. But for all this, thou shalt have as many dolours | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021069 | for thy daughters as thou canst tell in a year. LEAR. O, how this mother swells up toward my heart! _Hysterica passio_, down, thou climbing sorrow, Thy elements below! Where is this daughter? KENT. With the earl, sir, here within. LEAR. Follow me not; stay here. [_Exit._] GENTLEMAN. Made you no more offence but what you speak of? KENT. None. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021070 | How chance the King comes with so small a number? FOOL. An thou hadst been set i the stocks for that question, thou hadst well deserved it. KENT. Why, fool? FOOL. Well set thee to school to an ant, to teach thee theres no labouring ithe winter. All that follow their noses are led by their eyes but blind men; | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021071 | and theres not a nose among twenty but can smell him thats 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 upward, let him draw thee after. When a wise man gives thee better counsel, give me mine again: I would have | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021072 | none but knaves follow it, since a fool gives it. That sir which serves and seeks for gain, And follows but for form, Will pack when it begins to rain, And leave thee in the storm. But I will tarry; the fool will stay, And let the wise man fly: The knave turns fool that runs away; The fool no | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021073 | knave perdy. KENT. Where learnd you this, fool? FOOL. Not i the stocks, fool. Enter Lear and Gloucester. LEAR. Deny to speak with me? They are sick? they are weary? They have travelld all the night? Mere fetches; The images of revolt and flying off. Fetch me a better answer. GLOUCESTER. My dear lord, You know the fiery quality of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021074 | the Duke; How unremovable and fixd he is In his own course. LEAR. Vengeance! plague! death! confusion! Fiery? What quality? Why, Gloucester, Gloucester, Id speak with the Duke of Cornwall and his wife. GLOUCESTER. Well, my good lord, I have informd them so. LEAR. Informd them! Dost thou understand me, man? GLOUCESTER. Ay, my good lord. LEAR. The King would | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021075 | speak with Cornwall; the dear father Would with his daughter speak, commands, tends, service, Are they informd of this? My breath and blood! Fiery? The fiery Duke, tell the hot Duke that No, but not yet: maybe he is not well: Infirmity doth still neglect all office Whereto our health is bound: we are not ourselves When nature, being oppressd, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021076 | commands the mind To suffer with the body: Ill forbear; And am fallen out with my more headier will, To take the indisposd and sickly fit For the sound man. [_Looking on Kent._] Death on my state! Wherefore Should he sit here? This act persuades me That this remotion of the Duke and her Is practice only. Give me my | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021077 | servant forth. Go tell the Duke ands wife Id speak with them, Now, presently: bid them come forth and hear me, Or at their chamber door Ill beat the drum Till it cry sleep to death. GLOUCESTER. I would have all well betwixt you. [_Exit._] LEAR. O me, my heart, my rising heart! But down! FOOL. Cry to it, nuncle, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021078 | 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! Twas her brother that, in pure kindness to his horse buttered his hay. Enter Cornwall, Regan, Gloucester and Servants. LEAR. Good morrow to you both. CORNWALL. Hail to your grace! [_Kent | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021079 | here set at liberty._] REGAN. I am glad to see your highness. LEAR. 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 mothers tomb, Sepulchring an adultress. [_To Kent_] O, are you free? Some other time for that.Beloved Regan, Thy sisters naught: O | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021080 | Regan, she hath tied Sharp-toothd unkindness, like a vulture, here. [_Points to his heart._] I can scarce speak to thee; thoult not believe With how depravd a qualityO Regan! REGAN. I pray you, sir, take patience. I have hope You less know how to value her desert Than she to scant her duty. LEAR. Say, how is that? REGAN. I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021081 | cannot think my sister in the least Would fail her obligation. If, sir, perchance She have restraind the riots of your followers, Tis on such ground, and to such wholesome end, As clears her from all blame. LEAR. My curses on her. REGAN. O, sir, you are old; Nature in you stands on the very verge Of her confine: you | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021082 | should be ruld 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 wrongd her, sir. LEAR. Ask her forgiveness? Do you but mark how this becomes the house? Dear daughter, I confess that I am old; [_Kneeling._] Age is unnecessary: on | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021083 | my knees I beg That youll vouchsafe me raiment, bed, and food. REGAN. Good sir, no more! These are unsightly tricks: Return you to my sister. LEAR. [_Rising._] Never, Regan: She hath abated me of half my train; Lookd black upon me; struck me with her tongue, Most serpent-like, upon the very heart. All the stord vengeances of heaven fall | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021084 | On her ingrateful top! Strike her young bones, You taking airs, with lameness! CORNWALL. Fie, sir, fie! LEAR. You nimble lightnings, dart your blinding flames Into her scornful eyes! Infect her beauty, You fen-suckd fogs, drawn by the powerful sun, To fall and blast her pride! REGAN. O the blest gods! So will you wish on me when the rash | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021085 | mood is on. LEAR. No, Regan, thou shalt never have my curse. Thy tender-hefted nature shall not give Thee oer 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, And, in conclusion, to oppose the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021086 | bolt Against my coming in. Thou better knowst The offices of nature, bond of childhood, Effects of courtesy, dues of gratitude; Thy half o the kingdom hast thou not forgot, Wherein I thee endowd. REGAN. Good sir, to the purpose. LEAR. Who put my man i the stocks? [_Tucket within._] CORNWALL. What trumpets that? REGAN. I knowt, my sisters: this | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021087 | approves her letter, That she would soon be here. Enter Oswald. Is your lady come? LEAR. This is a slave, whose easy borrowed pride Dwells in the fickle grace of her he follows. Out, varlet, from my sight! CORNWALL. What means your grace? LEAR. Who stockd my servant? Regan, I have good hope Thou didst not know ont. Who comes | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021088 | here? O heavens! Enter Goneril. 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! [_To Goneril._] Art not ashamd to look upon this beard? O Regan, wilt thou take her by the hand? GONERIL. Why not by the hand, sir? How have I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021089 | offended? Alls not offence that indiscretion finds And dotage terms so. LEAR. O sides, you are too tough! Will you yet hold? How came my man i the stocks? CORNWALL. I set him there, sir: but his own disorders Deservd much less advancement. LEAR. You? Did you? REGAN. I pray you, father, being weak, seem so. If, till the expiration | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021090 | 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 dismissd? No, rather I abjure all roofs, and choose To wage against the enmity o the air; | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021091 | To be a comrade with the wolf and owl, Necessitys 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, squire-like, pension beg To keep base life afoot. Return with her? Persuade me rather to be slave and sumpter To this detested groom. [_Pointing | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021092 | to Oswald._] GONERIL. At your choice, sir. LEAR. I prythee, daughter, do not make me mad: I will not trouble thee, my child; farewell: Well no more meet, no more see one another. But yet thou art my flesh, my blood, my daughter; Or rather a disease thats in my flesh, Which I must needs call mine. Thou art a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021093 | boil, A plague sore, or embossed carbuncle In my corrupted blood. But Ill not chide thee; Let shame come when it will, I do not call it: I do not bid the thunder-bearer shoot, Nor tell tales of thee to high-judging Jove: Mend when thou canst; be better at thy leisure: I can be patient; I can stay with Regan, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021094 | I and my hundred knights. REGAN. Not altogether so, I lookd 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 But she knows what she does. LEAR. Is this well spoken? REGAN. I dare avouch | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021095 | 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 Should many people, under two commands, Hold amity? Tis hard; almost impossible. GONERIL. Why might not you, my lord, receive attendance From those that she | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021096 | calls servants, or from mine? REGAN. Why not, my lord? If then they chancd to slack ye, 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. LEAR. I gave you all, REGAN. And in good time you gave | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021097 | it. LEAR. Made you my guardians, my depositaries; But kept a reservation to be followed With such a number. What, must I come to you With five-and-twenty, Regan, said you so? REGAN. And speakt again my lord; no more with me. LEAR. Those wicked creatures yet do look well-favourd When others are more wicked; not being the worst Stands in | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021098 | some rank of praise. [_To Goneril._] Ill 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? REGAN. What need one? LEAR. O, reason not the need: our | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000021099 | basest beggars Are in the poorest thing superfluous: Allow not nature more than nature needs, Mans life is cheap as beasts. Thou art a lady; If only to go warm were gorgeous, Why, nature needs not what thou gorgeous wearst Which scarcely keeps thee warm. But, for true need, You heavens, give me that patience, patience I need! You see | 60 | gutenberg |
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.