King Lear (Quarto 2, 1619)
Not Peer Reviewed
¶
Enter Lear, Kent, and Foole.
¶Kent. Here is the place my Lord, good my Lord enter, the tir-
¶rany of the open night's too ruffe for nature to endure.
¶Lear. Let me alone.
¶Kent. Good my Lord enter.
¶Lear. Wilt breake my heart?
¶Kent. I had rather breake mine owne, good my Lord enter.
¶Inuades vs to the skin, so tis to thee,
¶But where the greater malady is fixt,
1790But if thy flight lay toward the raging sea,
¶Thoud'st meete the beare it'h mouth, when the mind's free,
¶The bodies delicate, the tempest in my minde;
¶Saue what beares their filiall ingratitude,
1795Is it not as this mouth should teare this hand
¶No I will weepe no more; in such a night as this!
¶O Regan, Gonorill, your old kinde father
¶Let me shunne that, no more of that.
¶Kent. Good my lord enter.
1805This tempest will not giue me leaue to ponder
¶On things would hurt me more, but Ile go in,
¶Poore naked wretches, where so ere you are
¶Too little care of this, take physicke pompe,
¶me.
¶Kent. Giue me thy hand, who's there?
¶come foorth.
¶hathorne blowes the cold winde, goe to thy cold bed & warme
¶thee.
¶come to this?
¶Edg. Who giues any thing to poore Tom, whom the foule
¶fiend hath led through fire, and throgh foord, and whirli-poole,
¶ore bog and quagmire, that has laide kniues vnder his pillow, &
1835halters in his pue, set ratsbane by his pottage, made him proud
¶of heart, to ride on a bay trotting horse ouer foure incht bridg-
1840taking, do poore Tom some charity, whom the foule fiend vexes,
¶there could I haue him now, and there, and there againe.
¶med.
¶Lear. Now all the plagues that in the pendulous ayre
¶Hang fated ore mens faults, fall on thy daughters.
¶Should haue thus little mercy on their flesh,
¶Begot those Pelicane daughters.
¶Foole. This cold night will turne vs all to fooles & madmen.
1860Edg. Take heed of the foule fiend, obey thy parents, keepe thy
1870ued I deepely, dice dearely, and in woman, out paramord the
1875betray thy poore heart to women, keepe thy foote out of bro-
¶thell, thy hand out of placket, thy pen from lenders booke, and
¶defie the foule fiend, still through the hathorne blowes the colde
¶winde, hay no on ny, Dolphin my boy, my boy, cease let him trot
1880by.
¶thy vncouered body this extremity of the skies; is man no more
¶ted man is no more but such a poore bare forked Animal as thou
¶art, off, off you leadings, come on be true.
¶Foole. Prithee Nunckle be content, this is a naughty night to
¶swim in, now a little fire in a wilde field, were like an old lechers
¶a walking fire.
1890
Enter Glocester.
1895Edg. This is the foule fiend Sirberdegibit, he begins at curfue,
¶and walks till the first cocke, he gins the web, the pinqueuer the
¶eye, and makes the hart lip, mildewes the white wheate, & hurts
¶the poore creature of earth, swithald footed thrice the olde anel-
¶thu night Moore and her nine fold bid her, O light and her troth
¶plight and arint thee, with arint thee.
¶Kent. How fares your Grace?
1905Lear. What's he?
¶Glost. What are you there? your names.
¶toade pold, the wall-wort, and the water, that in the fruite of his
1910heart, when the foule fiend rages,
Eates cowdung for sallets, swallowes the old rat, and the ditch-
¶dog, drinkes the greene mantle of the standing poole, who is
¶dy, horse to ride, and weapon to weare.
¶Hath beene Toms food for seuen long yeare.
¶Beware my follower, peace snulbug, peace thou fiend.
1920Glost, What, hath your Grace no better company?
¶Edg. The Prince of darknes is a Gentleman, modo hee's called,
¶and ma hu --------
¶doth hate what gets it.
1925Edg. Poore Toms a colde.
¶daughters hard commands, though their iniunction be to barre
¶my doores, and let this tyranous night take hold vpon you, yet
1930haue I venter'd to come seeke you out, and bring you where
¶both food and fire is ready.
¶What is the cause of thunder?
¶is your study?
¶Edg. How to preuent the fiend, and to kill vermine.
¶Lear. Let me aske you one word in priuate.
1940Kent. Importune him to goe my Lord, his wits begin to vn-
¶setle.
¶His daughters seeke his death. O that good Kent,
¶Now out-lawed from my bloud, he sought my life
¶But lately, very late, I lou'd him friend,
¶No father his sonne dearer, truth to tell thee,
1950The greefe has craz'd my wits.
¶What a night's this? I do beseech your Grace.
¶Edg. Tom's a cold.
1955Glost. In fellow there, into th'houell, keepe thee warme.
¶Lear. Come, let's in all.
¶Kent. This way my Lord.
¶Glost. Take him you on.
¶Kent. Sirra come on, go along with vs.
¶Lear. Come good Athenian.
¶Edg. Childe Rowland, to the darke towne come,
¶His word was still fye, fo, and fum,
