Fool in Lear

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,
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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 know the difference, my boy, between a
bitter fool and a sweet one?
King Lear
No, lad,
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Fool
Nuncle, give me
an egg, and I’ll give thee two crowns.
King Lear
What two crowns shall they be?
Fool
Why, after I have cut the egg i’ th’ middle and eat
up the meat, the two crowns of the egg. When thou
clovest thy crown  i’ th’ middle and gav’st away
both parts,
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Fool
If a man’s brains were in ‘s heels, were ‘t not in
danger of kibes?
King Lear
Ay, boy.
Fool
Then, I prithee, be merry; thy wit shall not go slipshod.
King Lear
Ha, ha, ha!
Fool
Shalt see thy other daughter will use thee kindly,
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Gloucester
My dear lord,
You know the fiery quality of the Duke,
How unremovable and fixed he is
In his own course.
King Lear
Vengeance, plague, death, confusion!
—Fiery? What —quality? Why Gloucester, Gloucester,
I’d speak with the Duke of Cornwall and his wife.
Gloucester
Well, my good lord,
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King Lear
Blow winds, and crack your cheeks! Rage, blow!
You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout
Till you have drenched our steeples, drowned the cocks.
You sulph’rous and thought-executing fires,
Vaunt-couriers of oak-cleaving thunderbolts,
Singe my white head. And thou, all-shaking thunder,
Strike flat the thick rotundity o’ th’ world.
Crack nature’s molds, all germens spill at once
That makes ingrateful man.
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King 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
And 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.
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King Lear
Has his daughters brought him to this pass?—
Couldst thou save nothing? Wouldst thou give ’em all?
Fool
Nay, he reserved a blanket, else we had been all shamed.
King Lear
Now all the plagues that in the pendulous air
Hang fated o’er men’s faults light on thy daughters!
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Edgar
Frateretto calls me and tells me Nero is an
angler in the lake of darkness. Pray, innocent, and
beware the foul fiend.
Fool
Prithee, nuncle, tell me whether a madman be a
gentleman or a yeoman.
Lear
A king, a king!
Fool
No, he’s a yeoman that has a gentleman to his
son,
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