I heard myself proclaimed,
And by the happy hollow of a tree
Escaped the hunt. No port is free;
I heard myself proclaimed,
How now, daughter? What makes that frontlet on?
Methinks you are too much of late i’ th’ frown.
Edmund, how now? What news?
So please your Lordship, none.
He puts a paper in his pocket.
And my poor fool is hanged. No, no, no life?
Why should a dog,
Edmund is dead, my lord.
That’s but a trifle here.—
You lords and noble friends,
Edmund, to Edgar
What you have charged me with, that have I done,
Cordelia, to Lear
We are not the first
Who with best meaning have incurred the worst.
Where have I been? Where am I? Fair daylight?
I am mightily abused; I should e’en die with pity
To see another thus.
Cordelia, kissing Lear
O, my dear father, restoration hang
Thy medicine on my lips,
The King is mad. How stiff is my vile sense
That I stand up and have ingenious feeling
Of my huge sorrows!
O ho, are you there with me? No eyes in your
head, nor no money in your purse?
The trick of that voice I do well remember.
Is ’t not the King?
Alack, ’tis he! Why, he was met even now
As mad as the vexed sea,
Did your letters pierce the Queen to any demonstration
I have been worth the whistle.
You are not worth the dust which the rude wind
Blows in your face.
Is it a beggar-man?
Madman and beggar too.
He has some reason,
Yet better thus, and known to be contemned,
Than still contemned and flattered. To be worst,
Where hast thou sent the King?
Wherefore to Dover?
When we our betters see bearing our woes,
We scarcely think our miseries our foes.
Who alone suffers suffers most i’ th’ mind,
Has his daughters brought him to this pass?—
Couldst thou save nothing?
Here is the place, my lord. Good my lord, enter.
The tyranny of the open night ’s too rough
For nature to endure.
My wits begin to turn.—
Come on, my boy. How dost, my boy? Art cold?
Alas, sir, are you here? Things that love night
Love not such nights as these.
Blow winds, and crack your cheeks! Rage, blow!
You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout
Till you have drenched our steeples,
Who’s there, besides foul weather?
One minded like the weather, most unquietly.
Those wicked creatures yet do look well-favored
When others are more wicked. Not being the worst
Stands in some rank of praise.
I pray you, father, being weak, seem so.
If till the expiration of your month
You will return and sojourn with my sister,
My dear lord,
You know the fiery quality of the Duke,
How unremovable and fixed he is
In his own course.
If a man’s brains were in ’s heels, were ’t not in
danger of kibes?
No, no, my lord,
This milky gentleness and course of yours,
Though I condemn not,
This admiration, sir, is much o’ th’ savor
Of other your new pranks. I do beseech you
To understand my purposes aright.
Nuncle, give me
an egg, and I’ll give thee two crowns.
What two crowns shall they be?
Fool, to Kent
Prithee tell him, so much the rent of his
land comes to.
Sirrah, I’ll teach thee a speech.
How now, what art thou?
A man, sir.
What dost thou profess?
Brother, I advise you to the best. I am no
honest man if there be any good meaning toward
These late eclipses in the sun and moon
portend no good to us. Though the wisdom of
nature can reason it thus and thus,
Thou, Nature, art my goddess. To thy law
My services are bound. Wherefore should I
Stand in the plague of custom,
Sister, it is not little I have to say of what
most nearly appertains to us both.
Fairest Cordelia, that art most rich being poor;
Most choice, forsaken; and most loved, despised,
Is it but this—a tardiness in nature
Which often leaves the history unspoke
That it intends to do?—My lord of Burgundy,
This is most strange,
That she whom even but now was your best object,
The argument of your praise,
Fare thee well, king. Sith thus thou wilt appear,
Freedom lives hence, and banishment is here.
Whom I have ever honored as my king,
Loved as my father,
Now, our joy,
Although our last and least, to whose young love
The vines of France and milk of Burgundy
Strive to be interessed,
Sir, I love you more than word can wield the matter,
Dearer than eyesight, space, and liberty,
Beyond what can be valued,
Meantime we shall express our darker purpose.—
Give me the map there. He is handed a map.
Know that we have divided
In three our kingdom,
I thought the King had more affected the Duke
of Albany than Cornwall.
It did always seem so to us,
Frateretto calls me and tells me Nero is an
angler in the lake of darkness.
Jesters do oft prove prophets.
Come hither, captain. Hark.
Handing him a paper.
Take thou this note.