531Kent. If but as will I other accents borrow,

532That can my speech defuse, my good intent

533May carry through it selfe to that full issue

534For which I raiz'd my likenesse. Now banisht Kent,

535If thou canst serue where thou dost stand condemn'd,

536So may it come, thy Master whom thou lou'st,

537Shall find thee full of labours.

539Lear. Let me not stay a iot for dinner, go get it rea-

540dy: how now, what art thou?

541Kent. A man Sir.

542Lear. What dost thou professe? What would'st thou

543with vs?

544Kent. I do professe to be no lesse then I seeme; to serue

545him truely that will put me in trust, to loue him that is

546honest, to conuerse with him that is wise and saies little, to

547feare iudgement, to fight when I cannot choose, and to

548eate no fish.

549Lear. What art thou?

550Kent. A very honest hearted Fellow, and as poore as

551the King.

552Lear. If thou be'st as poore for a subiect,as hee's for a

553King, thou art poore enough. What wouldst thou?

554Kent. Seruice.

555Lear. Who wouldst thou serue?

556Kent. You.

557Lear. Do'st thou know me fellow?

558Kent. No Sir, but you haue that in your countenance,

559which I would faine call Master.

560Lear. What's that?

561Kent. Authority.

562Lear. What seruices canst thou do?

563Kent. I can keepe honest counsaile, ride, run, marre a

564curious tale in telling it, and deliuer a plaine message

565bluntly: that which ordinary men are fit for, I am qual-

566lified in, and the best of me, is Dilligence.

567Lear. How old art thou?

568Kent. Not so young Sir to loue a woman for singing,

569nor so old to dote on her for any thing. I haue yeares on

570my backe forty eight.

571Lear. Follow me, thou shalt serue me, if I like thee no

572worse after dinner, I will not part from thee yet. Dinner

573ho, dinner, where's my knaue? my Foole? Go you and call

574my Foole hither. You you Sirrah, where's my Daughter?

576Ste. So please you---- Exit.

577Lear. What saies the Fellow there? Call the Clot-

578pole backe: wher's my Foole? Ho, I thinke the world's

579asleepe, how now? Where's that Mungrell?

580Knigh. He saies my Lord, your Daughters is not well.

581Lear. Why came not the slaue backe to me when I

582call'd him?

583Knigh. Sir, he answered me in the roundest manner, he

584would not.

585Lear. He would not ?

586Knight. My Lord, I know not what the matter is,

587but to my iudgement your Highnesse is not entertain'd

588with that Ceremonious affection as you were wont,

589theres a great abatement of kindnesse appeares as well in

590the generall dependants, as in the Duke himselfe also, and

591your Daughter.

592Lear. Ha? Saist thou so?

593Knigh. I beseech you pardon me my Lord, if I bee

594mistaken, for my duty cannot be silent, when I thinke

595your Highnesse wrong'd.

596Lear. Thou but remembrest me of mine owne Con-

597ception, I haue perceiued a most faint neglect of late,

598which I haue rather blamed as mine owne iealous curio-

599sitie, then as a very pretence and purpose of vnkindnesse;

600I will looke further intoo't: but where's my Foole? I

601haue not seene him this two daies.

602Knight. Since my young Ladies going into France

603Sir, the Foole hath much pined away.

604Lear. No more of that, I haue noted it well, goe you

605and tell my Daughter, I would speake with her. Goe you

606call hither my Foole; Oh you Sir, you, come you hither

607Sir, who am I Sir?

609Ste. My Ladies Father.

610Lear. My Ladies Father? my Lords knaue, you whor-

611son dog, you slaue, you curre.

612Ste. I am none of these my Lord,

613I beseech your pardon.

614Lear. Do you bandy lookes with me, you Rascall?

615Ste. Ile not be strucken my Lord.

616Kent. Nor tript neither, you base Foot-ball plaier.

617Lear. I thanke thee fellow.

618Thou seru'st me, and Ile loue thee.

619Kent. Come sir, arise, away, Ile teach you differences:

620away, away, if you will measure your lubbers length a-

621gaine, tarry, but away, goe too, haue you wisedome, so.

622Lear. Now my friendly knaue I thanke thee, there's

623earnest of thy seruice.

625Foole. Let me hire him too, here's my Coxcombe.

626Lear. How now my pretty knaue, how dost thou?

627Foole. Sirrah, you were best take my Coxcombe.

628Lear. Why my Boy?

629Foole. Why? for taking ones part that's out of fauour,

630nay, & thou canst not smile as the wind sits, thou'lt catch

631colde shortly, there take my Coxcombe; why this fellow

632ha's banish'd two on's Daughters, and did the third a

633blessing against his will, if thou follow him, thou must

634needs weare my Coxcombe. How now Nunckle? would

635I had two Coxcombes and two Daughters.

636Lear. Why my Boy?

637Fool. If I gaue them all my liuing, I'ld keepe my Cox-

638combes my selfe, there's mine, beg another of thy

639Daughters.

640Lear. Take heed Sirrah, the whip.

641Foole. Truth's a dog must to kennell, hee must bee

642whipt out, when the Lady Brach may stand by'th'fire

643and stinke.

644Lear. A pestilent gall to me.

645Foole. Sirha, Ile teach thee a speech.

646Lear. Do.

647Foole. Marke it Nuncle;

648Haue more then thou showest,

649Speake lesse then thou knowest,

650Lend lesse then thou owest,

651Ride more then thou goest,

652Learne more then thou trowest,

653Set lesse then thou throwest;

654Leaue thy drinke and thy whore,

655And keepe in a dore,

656And thou shalt haue more,

657Then two tens to a score.

658Kent. This is nothing Foole.

659Foole. Then 'tis like the breath of an vnfeed Lawyer,

660you gaue me nothing for't, can you make no vse of no-

661thing Nuncle ?

662Lear. Why no Boy,

663Nothing can be made out of nothing.

664Foole. Prythee tell him, so much the rent of his land

665comes to, he will not beleeue a Foole.

666Lear. A bitter Foole.

667Foole. Do'st thou know the difference my Boy, be-

668tweene a bitter Foole, and a sweet one.

669Lear. No Lad, reach me.

670Foole. Nunckle, giue me an egge, and Ile giue thee

671two Crownes.

672Lear. What two Crownes shall they be?

673Foole. Why after I haue cut the egge i'th'middle and

674eate vp the meate, the two Crownes of the egge : when

675thou clouest thy Crownes i'th'middle, and gau'st away

676both parts, thou boar'st thine Asse on thy backe o're the

677durt, thou had'st little wit in thy bald crowne, when thou

678gau'st thy golden one away ; if I speake like my selfe in

679this, let him be whipt that first findes it so.

680Fooles had nere lesse grace in a yeere,

681For wisemen are growne foppish,

682And know not how their wits to weare,

683Their manners are so apish.

684Le. When were you wont to be so full of Songs sirrah?

685Foole. I haue vsed it Nunckle, ere since thou mad'st

686thy Daughters thy Mothers, for when thou gau'st them

687the rod, and put'st downe thine owne breeches, then they

688For sodaine ioy did weepe,

689And I for sorrow sung,

690That such a King should play bo-peepe,

691And goe the Foole among.

692Pry'thy Nunckle keepe a Schoolemaster that can teach

693thy Foole to lie, I would faine learne to lie.

694Lear. And you lie sirrah, wee'l haue you whipt.

695Foole. I maruell what kin thou and thy daughters are,

696they'l haue me whipt for speaking true: thou'lt haue me

697whipt for lying, and sometimes I am whipt for holding

698my peace. I had rather be any kind o'thing then a foole,

699and yet I would not be thee Nunckle, thou hast pared thy

700wit o'both sides, and left nothing i'th'middle; heere

701comes one o'the parings.

703Lear. How now Daughter? what makes that Frontlet

704on? You are too much of late i'th'frowne.

705Foole. Thou wast a pretty fellow when thou hadst no

706need to care for her frowning, now thou art an O with-

707out a figure, I am better then thou art now, I am a Foole,

708thou art nothing. Yes forsooth I will hold my tongue, so

709your face bids me, though you say nothing.

710Mum, mum, he that keepes nor crust, not crum,

711Weary of all, shall want some. That's a sheal'd Pescod.

712Gon. Not only Sir this, your all-lycenc'd Foole,

713But other of your insolent retinue

714Do hourely Carpe and is Quarrell, breaking forth

715In ranke, and (not to be endur'd) riots Sir.

716I had thought by making this well knowne vnto you,

717To haue found a safe redresse, but now grow fearefull

718By what your selfe too late haue spoke and done,

719That you protect this course, and put it on

720By your allowance, which if you should, the fault

721Would not scape censure, nor the redresses sleepe,

722Which in the tender of a wholesome weale,

723Might in their working do you that offence,

724Which else were shame, that then necessitie

725Will call discreet proceeding.

726Foole. For you know Nunckle, the Hedge-Sparrow

727fed the Cuckoo so long, that it's had it head bit off by it

728young, so out went the Candle, and we were left dark-

729ling.

730Lear. Are you our Daughter?

731Gon. I would you would make vse of your good wise- (dome

732(Whereof I know you are fraught), and put away

733These dispositions, which of late transport you

734From what you rightly are.

735Foole. May not an Asse know, when the Cart drawes

736the Horse ?

737Whoop Iugge I loue thee.

738Lear. Do's any heere know me ?

739This is not Lear:

740Do's Lear walke thus? Speake thus? Where are his eies?

741Either his Notion weakens, his Discernings

742Are Lethargied. Ha! Waking? 'Tis not so?

743Who is it that can tell me who I am?

744Foole. Lears shadow.

745Lear. Your name, faire Gentlewoman?

746Gon. This admiration Sir, is much o'th'sauour

747Of other your new prankes. I do beseech you

748To vnderstand my purposes aright:

749As you are Old, and Reuerend, should be Wise.

750Heere do you keepe a hundred Knights and Squires,

751Men so disorder'd, so debosh'd, and bold,

752That this our Court infected with their manners,

753Shewes like a riotous Inne; Epicurisme and Lust

754Makes it more like a Tauerne, or a Brothell,

755Then a grac'd Pallace. The shame it selfe doth speake

756For instant remedy. Be then desir'd

757By her, that else will take the thing she begges,

758A little to disquantity your Traine,

759And the remainders that shall still depend,

760To be such men as may besort your Age,

761Which know themselues, and you.

762Lear. Darknesse, and Diuels.

763Saddle my horses: call my Traine together.

764Degenerate Bastard, Ile not trouble thee;

765Yet haue I left a daughter.

766Gon. You strike my people, and your disorder'd rable,

767make Seruants of their Betters.

769Lear. Woe, that too late repents:

770Is it your will, speake Sir? Prepare my Horses.

771Ingratitude! thou Marble-hearted Fiend,

772More hideous when thou shew'st thee in a Child,

773Then the Sea-monster.

774Alb. Pray Sir be patient.

775Lear. Detested Kite, thou lyest.

776My Traine are men of choice, and rarest parts,

777That all particulars of dutie know,

778And in the most exact regard, support

779The worships of their name. O most small fault,

780How vgly did'st thou in Cordelia shew?

781Which like an Engine, wrencht my frame of Nature

782From the fixt place: drew from my heart all loue,

783And added to the gall. O Lear, Lear, Lear!

784Beate at this gate that let thy Folly in,

785And thy deere Iudgement out. Go, go, my people.

786Alb. My Lord, I am guiltlesse, as I am ignorant

787Of what hath moued you.

788Lear. It may be so, my Lord.

789Heare Nature, heare deere Goddesse, heare:

790Suspend thy purpose, if thou did'st intend

791To make this Creature fruitfull:

792Into her Wombe conuey stirrility,

793Drie vp in her the Organs of increase,

794And from her derogate body, neuer spring

795A Babe to honor her. If she must teeme,

796Create her childe of Spleene, that it may liue

797And be a thwart disnatur'd torment to her.

798Let it stampe wrinkles in her brow of youth,

799With cadent Teares fret Channels in her cheekes,

800Turne all her Mothers paines, and benefits

801To laughter, and contempt: That she may feele,

802How sharper then a Serpents tooth it is,

803To haue a thanklesse Childe. Away, away. Exit.

804Alb. Now Gods that we adore,

805Whereof comes this?

806Gon. Neuer afflict your selfe to know more of it:

807But let his disposition haue that scope

808As dotage giues it.

810Lear. What fiftie of my Followers at a clap?

811Within a fortnight?

812Alb. What's the matter, Sir?

813Lear. Ile tell thee:

814Life and death, I am asham'd

815That thou hast power to shake my manhood thus,

816That these hot teares, which breake from me perforce

817Should make thee worth them.

818Blastes and Fogges vpon thee:

819Th'vntented woundings of a Fathers curse

820Pierce euerie sense about thee. Old fond eyes,

821Beweepe this cause againe, Ile plucke ye out,

822And cast you with the waters that you loose

823To temper Clay. Ha? Let it be so.

824I haue another daughter,

825Who I am sure is kinde and comfortable:

826When she shall heare this of thee, with her nailes

827Shee'l flea thy Woluish visage. Thou shalt finde,

828That Ile resume the shape which thou dost thinke

829I haue cast off for euer. Exit

830Gon. Do you marke that?

831Alb. I cannot be so partiall Gonerill,

832To the great loue I beare you.

833Gon. Pray you content. What Oswald, hoa?

834You Sir, more Knaue then Foole, after your Master.

835Foole. Nunkle Lear, Nunkle Lear,

836Tarry, take the Foole with thee:

837A Fox, when one has caught her,

838And such a Daughter,

839Should sure to the Slaughter,

840If my Cap would buy a Halter,

841So the Foole followes after. Exit

842Gon. This man hath had good Counsell,

843A hundred Knights?

844'Tis politike, and safe to let him keepe

845At point a hundred Knights: yes, that on euerie dreame,

846Each buz, each fancie, each complaint, dislike,

847He may enguard his dotage with their powres,

848And hold our liues in mercy. Oswald, I say.

849Alb. Well, you may feare too farre.

850Gon. Safer then trust too farre;

851Let me still take away the harmes I feare,

852Not feare still to be taken. I know his heart,

853What he hath vtter'd I haue writ my Sister:

854If she sustaine him, and his hundred Knights

855When I haue shew'd th'vnfitnesse.

857How now Oswald?

858What haue you writ that Letter to my Sister?

859Stew. I Madam.

860Gon. Take you some company, and away to horse,

861Informe her full of my particular feare,

862And thereto adde such reasons of your owne,

863As may compact it more. Get you gone,

864And hasten your returne; no, no, my Lord,

865This milky gentlenesse, and course of yours

866Though I condemne not, yet vnder pardon

867Your are much more at task for want of wisedome,

868Then prai'sd for harmefull mildnesse.

869Alb. How farre your eies may pierce I cannot tell;

870Striuing to better, oft we marre what's well.

871Gon. Nay then----

872Alb. Well, well, th'euent. Exeunt