book I

sought for so; I put it in the pocket of my gown.

[_Servants lie down._]

LUCIUS. I was sure your lordship did not give it me.

BRUTUS. Bear with me, good boy, I am much forgetful. Canst thou hold up thy heavy eyes awhile, And touch thy instrument a strain or two?

LUCIUS. Ay, my lord, an’t please you.

BRUTUS. It does, my boy. I trouble thee too much, but thou art willing.

LUCIUS. It is my duty, sir.

BRUTUS. I should not urge thy duty past thy might; I know young bloods look for a time of rest.

LUCIUS. I have slept, my lord, already.

BRUTUS. It was well done, and thou shalt sleep again; I will not hold thee long. If I do live, I will be good to thee.

[_Lucius plays and sings till he falls asleep._]

This is a sleepy tune. O murd’rous slumber, Layest thou thy leaden mace upon my boy, That plays thee music? Gentle knave, good night; I will not do thee so much wrong to wake thee. If thou dost nod, thou break’st thy instrument; I’ll take it from thee; and, good boy, good night. Let me see, let me see; is not the leaf turn’d down Where I left reading? Here it is, I think.

Enter the Ghost of Caesar.

How ill this taper burns! Ha! who comes here? I think it is the weakness of mine eyes That shapes this monstrous apparition. It comes upon me. Art thou anything? Art thou some god, some angel, or some devil, That mak’st my blood cold and my hair to stare? Speak to me what thou art.

GHOST. Thy evil spirit, Brutus.

BRUTUS. Why com’st thou?

GHOST. To tell thee thou shalt see me at Philippi.

BRUTUS. Well; then I shall see thee again?

GHOST. Ay, at Philippi.

BRUTUS. Why, I will see thee at Philippi then.

[_Ghost vanishes._]

Now I have taken heart, thou vanishest. Ill spirit, I would hold more talk with thee. Boy! Lucius! Varro! Claudius! Sirs, awake! Claudius!

LUCIUS. The strings, my lord, are false.

BRUTUS. He thinks he still is at his instrument. Lucius, awake!

LUCIUS. My lord?

BRUTUS. Didst thou dream, Lucius, that thou so criedst out?

LUCIUS. My lord, I do not know that I did cry.

BRUTUS. Yes, that thou didst. Didst thou see anything?

LUCIUS. Nothing, my lord.

BRUTUS. Sleep again, Lucius. Sirrah Claudius! Fellow thou, awake!

VARRO. My lord?

CLAUDIUS. My lord?

BRUTUS. Why did you so cry out, sirs, in your sleep?

VARRO. CLAUDIUS. Did we, my lord?

BRUTUS. Ay. Saw you anything?

VARRO. No, my lord, I saw nothing.

CLAUDIUS. Nor I, my lord.

BRUTUS. Go and commend me to my brother Cassius; Bid him set on his powers betimes before, And we will follow.

VARRO. CLAUDIUS. It shall be done, my lord.

[_Exeunt._]

## ACT V

## SCENE I. The plains of Philippi.

Enter Octavius, Antony and their Army.

OCTAVIUS. Now, Antony, our hopes are answered. You said the enemy would not come down, But keep the hills and upper regions. It proves not so; their battles are at hand, They mean to warn us at Philippi here, Answering before we do demand of them.

ANTONY. Tut, I am in their bosoms, and I know Wherefore they do it. They could be content To visit other places, and come down With fearful bravery, thinking by this face To fasten in our thoughts that they have courage; But ’tis not so.

Enter a Messenger.

MESSENGER. Prepare you, generals. The enemy comes on in gallant show; Their bloody sign of battle is hung out, And something to be done immediately.

ANTONY. Octavius, lead your battle softly on Upon the left hand of the even field.

OCTAVIUS. Upon the right hand I. Keep thou the left.

ANTONY. Why do you cross me in this exigent?

OCTAVIUS. I do not cross you; but I will do so.

[_March._]

Drum. Enter Brutus, Cassius and their Army; Lucilius, Titinius, Messala and others.

BRUTUS. They stand, and would have parley.

CASSIUS. Stand fast, Titinius; we must out and talk.

OCTAVIUS. Mark Antony, shall we give sign of battle?

ANTONY. No, Caesar, we will answer on their charge. Make forth; the generals would have some words.

OCTAVIUS. Stir not until the signal.

BRUTUS. Words before blows: is it so, countrymen?

OCTAVIUS. Not that we love words better, as you do.

BRUTUS. Good words are better than bad strokes, Octavius.

ANTONY. In your bad strokes, Brutus, you give good words; Witness the hole you made in Caesar’s heart, Crying, “Long live! Hail, Caesar!”

CASSIUS. Antony, The posture of your blows are yet unknown; But for your words, they rob the Hybla bees, And leave them honeyless.

ANTONY. Not stingless too.

BRUTUS. O yes, and soundless too, For you have stol’n their buzzing, Antony, And very wisely threat before you sting.

ANTONY. Villains, you did not so when your vile daggers Hack’d one another in the sides of Caesar: You show’d your teeth like apes, and fawn’d like hounds, And bow’d like bondmen, kissing Caesar’s feet; Whilst damned Casca, like a cur, behind Struck Caesar on the neck. O you flatterers!

CASSIUS. Flatterers! Now, Brutus, thank yourself. This tongue had not offended so today, If Cassius might have rul’d.

OCTAVIUS. Come, come, the cause. If arguing makes us sweat, The proof of it will turn to redder drops. Look, I draw a sword against conspirators. When think you that the sword goes up again? Never, till Caesar’s three and thirty wounds Be well aveng’d; or till another Caesar Have added slaughter to the sword of traitors.

BRUTUS. Caesar, thou canst not die by traitors’ hands, Unless thou bring’st them with thee.

OCTAVIUS. So I hope. I was not born to die on Brutus’ sword.

BRUTUS. O, if thou wert the noblest of thy strain, Young man, thou couldst not die more honourable.

CASSIUS. A peevish school-boy, worthless of such honour, Join’d with a masker and a reveller.

ANTONY. Old Cassius still!

OCTAVIUS. Come, Antony; away! Defiance, traitors, hurl we in your teeth. If you dare fight today, come to the field; If not, when you have stomachs.

[_Exeunt Octavius, Antony and their Army._]

CASSIUS. Why now, blow wind, swell billow, and swim bark! The storm is up, and all is on the hazard.

BRUTUS. Ho, Lucilius! Hark, a word with you.

LUCILIUS. My lord?

[_Brutus and Lucilius talk apart._]

CASSIUS. Messala.

MESSALA. What says my General?

CASSIUS. Messala, This is my birth-day; as this very day Was Cassius born. Give me thy hand, Messala: Be thou my witness that against my will As Pompey was, am I compell’d to set Upon one battle all our liberties. You know that I held Epicurus strong, And his opinion. Now I change my mind, And partly credit things that do presage. Coming from Sardis, on our former ensign Two mighty eagles fell, and there they perch’d, Gorging and feeding from our soldiers’ hands, Who to Philippi here consorted us. This morning are they fled away and gone, And in their steads do ravens, crows, and kites Fly o’er our heads, and downward look on us, As we were sickly prey: their shadows seem A canopy most fatal, under which Our army lies, ready to give up the ghost.

MESSALA. Believe not so.

CASSIUS. I but believe it partly, For I am fresh of spirit, and resolv’d To meet all perils very constantly.

BRUTUS. Even so, Lucilius.

CASSIUS. Now, most noble Brutus, The gods today stand friendly, that we may, Lovers in peace, lead on our days to age! But, since the affairs of men rest still incertain, Let’s reason with the worst that may befall. If we do lose this battle, then is this The very last time we shall speak together: What are you then determined to do?

BRUTUS. Even by the rule of that philosophy By which I did blame Cato for the death Which he did give himself, I know not how, But I do find it cowardly and vile, For fear of what might fall, so to prevent The time of life, arming myself with patience To stay the providence of some high powers That govern us below.

CASSIUS. Then, if we lose this battle, You are contented to be led in triumph Thorough the streets of Rome?

BRUTUS. No, Cassius, no: think not, thou noble Roman, That ever Brutus will go bound to Rome; He bears too great a mind. But this same day Must end that work the Ides of March begun; And whether we shall meet again I know not. Therefore our everlasting farewell take. For ever, and for ever, farewell, Cassius. If we do meet again, why, we shall smile; If not, why then this parting was well made.

CASSIUS. For ever and for ever farewell, Brutus. If we do meet again, we’ll smile indeed; If not, ’tis true this parting was well made.

BRUTUS. Why then, lead on. O, that a man might know The end of this day’s business ere it come! But it sufficeth that the day will end, And then the end is known. Come, ho! away!

[_Exeunt._]

## SCENE II. The same. The field of battle.

Alarum. Enter Brutus and Messala.

BRUTUS. Ride, ride, Messala, ride, and give these bills Unto the legions on the other side.

[_Loud alarum._]

Let them set on at once; for I perceive But cold demeanor in Octavius’ wing, And sudden push gives them the overthrow. Ride, ride, Messala; let them all come down.

[_Exeunt._]

## SCENE III. Another part of the field.

Alarum. Enter Cassius and Titinius.

CASSIUS. O, look, Titinius, look, the villains fly! Myself have to mine own turn’d enemy: This ensign here of mine was turning back; I slew the coward, and did take it from him.

TITINIUS. O Cassius, Brutus gave the word too early, Who, having some advantage on Octavius, Took it too eagerly: his soldiers fell to spoil, Whilst we by Antony are all enclos’d.

Enter Pindarus.

PINDARUS. Fly further off, my lord, fly further off; Mark Antony is in your tents, my lord. Fly, therefore, noble Cassius, fly far off.

CASSIUS. This hill is far enough. Look, look, Titinius; Are those my tents where I perceive the fire?

TITINIUS. They are, my lord.

CASSIUS. Titinius, if thou lovest me, Mount thou my horse and hide thy spurs in him, Till he have brought thee up to yonder troops And here again, that I may rest assur’d Whether yond troops are friend or enemy.

TITINIUS. I will be here again, even with a thought.

[_Exit._]

CASSIUS. Go, Pindarus, get higher on that hill, My sight was ever thick. Regard Titinius, And tell me what thou notest about the field.

[_Pindarus goes up._]

This day I breathed first. Time is come round, And where I did begin, there shall I end. My life is run his compass. Sirrah, what news?

PINDARUS. [_Above._] O my lord!

CASSIUS. What news?

PINDARUS. [_Above._] Titinius is enclosed round about With horsemen, that make to him on the spur, Yet he spurs on. Now they are almost on him. Now, Titinius! Now some light. O, he lights too. He’s ta’en!

[_Shout._]

And, hark! they shout for joy.

CASSIUS. Come down; behold no more. O, coward that I am, to live so long, To see my best friend ta’en before my face!

[_Pindarus descends._]

Come hither, sirrah. In Parthia did I take thee prisoner; And then I swore thee, saving of thy life, That whatsoever I did bid thee do, Thou shouldst attempt it. Come now, keep thine oath. Now be a freeman; and with this good sword, That ran through Caesar’s bowels, search this bosom. Stand not to answer. Here, take thou the hilts; And when my face is cover’d, as ’tis now, Guide thou the sword.—Caesar, thou art reveng’d, Even with the sword that kill’d thee.

[_Dies._]

PINDARUS. So, I am free, yet would not so have been, Durst I have done my will. O Cassius! Far from this country Pindarus shall run, Where never Roman shall take note of him.

[_Exit._]

Enter Titinius with Messala.

MESSALA. It is but change, Titinius; for Octavius Is overthrown by noble Brutus’ power, As Cassius’ legions are by Antony.

TITINIUS. These tidings would well comfort Cassius.

MESSALA. Where did you leave him?

TITINIUS. All disconsolate, With Pindarus his bondman, on this hill.

MESSALA. Is not that he that lies upon the ground?

TITINIUS. He lies not like the living. O my heart!

MESSALA. Is not that he?

TITINIUS. No, this was he, Messala, But Cassius is no more. O setting sun, As in thy red rays thou dost sink to night, So in his red blood Cassius’ day is set. The sun of Rome is set. Our day is gone; Clouds, dews, and dangers come; our deeds are done. Mistrust of my success hath done this deed.

MESSALA. Mistrust of good success hath done this deed. O hateful Error, Melancholy’s child! Why dost thou show to the apt thoughts of men The things that are not? O Error, soon conceiv’d, Thou never com’st unto a happy birth, But kill’st the mother that engender’d thee!

TITINIUS. What, Pindarus! where art thou, Pindarus?

MESSALA. Seek him, Titinius, whilst I go to meet The noble Brutus, thrusting this report Into his ears. I may say thrusting it; For piercing steel and darts envenomed Shall be as welcome to the ears of Brutus As tidings of this sight.

TITINIUS. Hie you, Messala, And I will seek for Pindarus the while.

[_Exit Messala._]

Why didst thou send me forth, brave Cassius? Did I not meet thy friends? And did not they Put on my brows this wreath of victory, And bid me give it thee? Didst thou not hear their shouts? Alas, thou hast misconstrued everything! But, hold thee, take this garland on thy brow; Thy Brutus bid me give it thee, and I Will do his bidding. Brutus, come apace, And see how I regarded Caius Cassius. By your leave, gods. This is a Roman’s part. Come, Cassius’ sword, and find Titinius’ heart.

[_Dies._]

Alarum. Enter Brutus, Messala, young Cato, Strato, Volumnius and Lucilius.

BRUTUS. Where, where, Messala, doth his body lie?

MESSALA. Lo, yonder, and Titinius mourning it.

BRUTUS. Titinius’ face is upward.

CATO. He is slain.

BRUTUS. O Julius Caesar, thou art mighty yet! Thy spirit walks abroad, and turns our swords In our own proper entrails.

[_Low alarums._]

CATO. Brave Titinius! Look whether he have not crown’d dead Cassius!

BRUTUS. Are yet two Romans living such as these? The last of all the Romans, fare thee well! It is impossible that ever Rome Should breed thy fellow. Friends, I owe more tears To this dead man than you shall see me pay. I shall find time, Cassius, I shall find time. Come therefore, and to Thassos send his body. His funerals shall not be in our camp, Lest it discomfort us. Lucilius, come; And come, young Cato; let us to the field. Labeo and Flavius, set our battles on. ’Tis three o’clock; and Romans, yet ere night We shall try fortune in a second fight.

[_Exeunt._]

## SCENE IV. Another part of the field.

Alarum. Enter fighting soldiers of both armies; then Brutus, Messala, young Cato, Lucilius, Flavius and others.

BRUTUS. Yet, countrymen, O, yet hold up your heads!

CATO. What bastard doth not? Who will go with me? I will proclaim my name about the field. I am the son of Marcus Cato, ho! A foe to tyrants, and my country’s friend. I am the son of Marcus Cato, ho!

[_Charges the enemy._]

LUCILIUS. And I am Brutus, Marcus Brutus, I; Brutus, my country’s friend; know me for Brutus!

[_Exit, charging the enemy. Cato is overpowered, and falls._]

LUCILIUS. O young and noble Cato, art thou down? Why, now thou diest as bravely as Titinius, And mayst be honour’d, being Cato’s son.

FIRST SOLDIER. Yield, or thou diest.

LUCILIUS. Only I yield to die: There is so much that thou wilt kill me straight;

[_Offering money_]

Kill Brutus, and be honour’d in his death.

FIRST SOLDIER. We must not. A noble prisoner!

SECOND SOLDIER. Room, ho! Tell Antony, Brutus is ta’en.

FIRST SOLDIER. I’ll tell the news. Here comes the General.

Enter Antony.

Brutus is ta’en, Brutus is ta’en, my lord.

ANTONY. Where is he?

LUCILIUS. Safe, Antony; Brutus is safe enough. I dare assure thee that no enemy Shall ever take alive the noble Brutus. The gods defend him from so great a shame! When you do find him, or alive or dead, He will be found like Brutus, like himself.

ANTONY. This is not Brutus, friend; but, I assure you, A prize no less in worth. Keep this man safe, Give him all kindness. I had rather have Such men my friends than enemies. Go on, And see whether Brutus be alive or dead; And bring us word unto Octavius’ tent How everything is chanc’d.

[_Exeunt._]

## SCENE V. Another part of the field.

Enter Brutus, Dardanius, Clitus, Strato and Volumnius.

BRUTUS. Come, poor remains of friends, rest on this rock.

CLITUS. Statilius show’d the torch-light; but, my lord, He came not back: he is or ta’en or slain.

BRUTUS. Sit thee down, Clitus. Slaying is the word; It is a deed in fashion. Hark thee, Clitus.

[_Whispering._]

CLITUS. What, I, my lord? No, not for all the world.

BRUTUS. Peace then, no words.

CLITUS. I’ll rather kill myself.

BRUTUS. Hark thee, Dardanius.

[_Whispers him._]

DARDANIUS. Shall I do such a deed?

CLITUS. O Dardanius!

DARDANIUS. O Clitus!

CLITUS. What ill request did Brutus make to thee?

DARDANIUS. To kill him, Clitus. Look, he meditates.

CLITUS. Now is that noble vessel full of grief, That it runs over even at his eyes.

BRUTUS. Come hither, good Volumnius; list a word.

VOLUMNIUS. What says my lord?

BRUTUS. Why, this, Volumnius: The ghost of Caesar hath appear’d to me Two several times by night; at Sardis once, And this last night here in Philippi fields. I know my hour is come.

VOLUMNIUS. Not so, my lord.

BRUTUS. Nay I am sure it is, Volumnius. Thou seest the world, Volumnius, how it goes; Our enemies have beat us to the pit.

[_Low alarums._]

It is more worthy to leap in ourselves Than tarry till they push us. Good Volumnius, Thou know’st that we two went to school together; Even for that our love of old, I pr’ythee Hold thou my sword-hilts, whilst I run on it.

VOLUMNIUS. That’s not an office for a friend, my lord.

[_Alarums still._]

CLITUS. Fly, fly, my lord! there is no tarrying here.

BRUTUS. Farewell to you; and you; and you, Volumnius. Strato, thou hast been all this while asleep; Farewell to thee too, Strato.—Countrymen, My heart doth joy, that yet in all my life I found no man but he was true to me. I shall have glory by this losing day More than Octavius and Mark Antony By this vile conquest shall attain unto. So fare you well at once; for Brutus’ tongue Hath almost ended his life’s history. Night hangs upon mine eyes; my bones would rest, That have but labour’d to attain this hour.

[_Alarums. Cry within, “Fly, fly, fly!”._]

CLITUS. Fly, my lord, fly!

BRUTUS. Hence! I will follow.

[_Exeunt Clitus, Dardanius and Volumnius._]

I pr’ythee, Strato, stay thou by thy lord. Thou art a fellow of a good respect; Thy life hath had some smatch of honour in it. Hold then my sword, and turn away thy face, While I do run upon it. Wilt thou, Strato?

STRATO. Give me your hand first. Fare you well, my lord.

BRUTUS. Farewell, good Strato.—Caesar, now be still: I kill’d not thee with half so good a will.

[_He runs on his sword, and dies._]

Alarum. Retreat. Enter Antony, Octavius, Messala, Lucilius and the Army.

OCTAVIUS. What man is that?

MESSALA. My master’s man. Strato, where is thy master?

STRATO. Free from the bondage you are in, Messala. The conquerors can but make a fire of him; For Brutus only overcame himself, And no man else hath honour by his death.

LUCILIUS. So Brutus should be found. I thank thee, Brutus, That thou hast prov’d Lucilius’ saying true.

OCTAVIUS. All that serv’d Brutus, I will entertain them. Fellow, wilt thou bestow thy time with me?

STRATO. Ay, if Messala will prefer me to you.

OCTAVIUS. Do so, good Messala.

MESSALA. How died my master, Strato?

STRATO. I held the sword, and he did run on it.

MESSALA. Octavius, then take him to follow thee, That did the latest service to my master.

ANTONY. This was the noblest Roman of them all. All the conspirators save only he, Did that they did in envy of great Caesar; He only, in a general honest thought And common good to all, made one of them. His life was gentle, and the elements So mix’d in him that Nature might stand up And say to all the world, “This was a man!”

OCTAVIUS. According to his virtue let us use him With all respect and rites of burial. Within my tent his bones tonight shall lie, Most like a soldier, order’d honourably. So call the field to rest, and let’s away, To part the glories of this happy day.

[_Exeunt._]

THE TRAGEDY OF KING LEAR

Contents

## ACT I

## Scene I. A Room of State in King Lear’s Palace

## Scene II. A Hall in the Earl of Gloucester’s Castle

## Scene III. A Room in the Duke of Albany’s Palace

## Scene IV. A Hall in Albany’s Palace

## Scene V. Court before the Duke of Albany’s Palace

## ACT II

## Scene I. A court within the Castle of the Earl of Gloucester

## Scene II. Before Gloucester’s Castle

## Scene III. The open Country

## Scene IV. Before Gloucester’s Castle

## ACT III

## Scene I. A Heath

## Scene II. Another part of the heath

## Scene III. A Room in Gloucester’s Castle

## Scene IV. A part of the Heath with a Hovel

## Scene V. A Room in Gloucester’s Castle

## Scene VI. A Chamber in a Farmhouse adjoining the Castle

## Scene VII. A Room in Gloucester’s Castle

## ACT IV

## Scene I. The heath

## Scene II. Before the Duke of Albany’s Palace

## Scene III. The French camp near Dover

## Scene IV. The French camp. A Tent

## Scene V. A Room in Gloucester’s Castle

## Scene VI. The country near Dover

## Scene VII. A Tent in the French Camp

## ACT V

## Scene I. The Camp of the British Forces near Dover

## Scene II. A field between the two Camps

## Scene III. The British Camp near Dover

Dramatis Personæ

LEAR, King of Britain. GONERIL, eldest daughter to Lear. REGAN, second daughter to Lear. CORDELIA, youngest daughter to Lear. DUKE of ALBANY, married to Goneril. DUKE of CORNWALL, married to Regan. KING of FRANCE. DUKE of BURGUNDY. EARL of GLOUCESTER. EDGAR, elder son to Gloucester. EDMUND, younger bastard son to Gloucester. EARL of KENT. FOOL. OSWALD, steward to Goneril. CURAN, a Courtier. OLD MAN, Tenant to Gloucester. Physician. An Officer employed by Edmund. Gentleman, attendant on Cordelia. A Herald. Servants to Cornwall.

Knights attending on the King, Officers, Messengers, Soldiers and Attendants.

SCENE: Britain

## ACT I

## SCENE I. A Room of State in King Lear’s Palace

Enter Kent, Gloucester and Edmund.

KENT. I thought the King had more affected the Duke of Albany than Cornwall.

GLOUCESTER. It did always seem so to us; but now, in the division of the kingdom, it appears not which of the Dukes he values most, for qualities are so weighed that curiosity in neither can make choice of either’s moiety.

KENT. Is not this your son, my lord?

GLOUCESTER. His breeding, sir, hath been at my charge: I have so often blush’d to acknowledge him that now I am braz’d to’t.

KENT. I cannot conceive you.

GLOUCESTER. Sir, this young fellow’s mother could; whereupon she grew round-wombed, and had indeed, sir, a son for her cradle ere she had a husband for her bed. Do you smell a fault?

KENT. I cannot wish the fault undone, the issue of it being so proper.

GLOUCESTER. But I have a son, sir, by order of law, some year elder than this, who yet is no dearer in my account: though this knave came something saucily to the world before he was sent for, yet was his mother fair; there was good sport at his making, and the whoreson must be acknowledged. Do you know this noble gentleman, Edmund?

EDMUND. No, my lord.

GLOUCESTER. My Lord of Kent: remember him hereafter as my honourable friend.

EDMUND. My services to your lordship.

KENT. I must love you, and sue to know you better.

EDMUND. Sir, I shall study deserving.

GLOUCESTER. He hath been out nine years, and away he shall again. The King is coming.

[_Sennet within._]

Enter Lear, Cornwall, Albany, Goneril, Regan, Cordelia and Attendants.

LEAR. Attend the lords of France and Burgundy, Gloucester.

GLOUCESTER. I shall, my lord.

[_Exeunt Gloucester and Edmund._]

LEAR. Meantime we shall express our darker purpose. Give me the map there. Know that we have divided In three our kingdom: and ’tis our fast intent To shake all cares and business from our age; Conferring them on younger strengths, while we Unburden’d crawl toward death. Our son of Cornwall, And you, our no less loving son of Albany, We have this hour a constant will to publish Our daughters’ several dowers, that future strife May be prevented now. The princes, France and Burgundy, Great rivals in our youngest daughter’s love, Long in our court have made their amorous sojourn, And here are to be answer’d. Tell me, my daughters,— Since now we will divest us both of rule, Interest of territory, cares of state,— Which of you shall we say doth love us most? That we our largest bounty may extend Where nature doth with merit challenge.—Goneril, Our eldest born, speak first.

GONERIL. Sir, I love you more than word can wield the matter; Dearer than eyesight, space, and liberty; Beyond what can be valu’d, rich or rare; No less than life, with grace, health, beauty, honour; As much as child e’er lov’d, or father found; A love that makes breath poor and speech unable; Beyond all manner of so much I love you.

CORDELIA. [_Aside._] What shall Cordelia speak? Love, and be silent.

LEAR. Of all these bounds, even from this line to this, With shadowy forests and with champains rich’d, With plenteous rivers and wide-skirted meads, We make thee lady: to thine and Albany’s issue Be this perpetual.—What says our second daughter, Our dearest Regan, wife of Cornwall? Speak.

REGAN. Sir, I am made of the self mettle as my sister, And prize me at her worth. In my true heart I find she names my very deed of love; Only she comes too short, that I profess Myself an enemy to all other joys Which the most precious square of sense possesses, And find I am alone felicitate In your dear highness’ love.

CORDELIA. [_Aside._] Then poor Cordelia, And yet not so; since, I am sure, my love’s More ponderous than my tongue.

LEAR. To thee and thine hereditary ever Remain this ample third of our fair kingdom; No less in space, validity, and pleasure Than that conferr’d on Goneril.—Now, our joy, Although the last and least; to whose young love The vines of France and milk of Burgundy Strive to be interess’d; what can you say to draw A third more opulent than your sisters? Speak.

CORDELIA. Nothing, my lord.

LEAR. Nothing?

CORDELIA. Nothing.

LEAR. Nothing will come of nothing: speak again.

CORDELIA. Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave My heart into my mouth: I love your majesty According to my bond; no more nor less.

LEAR. How, how, Cordelia? Mend your speech a little, Lest you may mar your fortunes.

CORDELIA. Good my lord, You have begot me, bred me, lov’d me: I Return those duties back as are right fit, Obey you, love you, and most honour you. Why have my sisters husbands if they say They love you all? Haply, when I shall wed, That lord whose hand must take my plight shall carry Half my love with him, half my care and duty: Sure I shall never marry like my sisters, To love my father all.

LEAR. But goes thy heart with this?

CORDELIA. Ay, my good lord.

LEAR. So young, and so untender?

CORDELIA. So young, my lord, and true.

LEAR. Let it be so, thy truth then be thy dower: For, by the sacred radiance of the sun, The mysteries of Hecate and the night; By all the operation of the orbs, From whom we do exist and cease to be; Here I disclaim all my paternal care, Propinquity and property of blood, And as a stranger to my heart and me Hold thee from this for ever. The barbarous Scythian, Or he that makes his generation messes To gorge his appetite, shall to my bosom Be as well neighbour’d, pitied, and reliev’d, As thou my sometime daughter.

KENT. Good my liege,—

LEAR. Peace, Kent! Come not between the dragon and his wrath. I lov’d her most, and thought to set my rest On her kind nursery. [_To Cordelia._] Hence and avoid my sight! So be my grave my peace, as here I give Her father’s heart from her! Call France. Who stirs? Call Burgundy! Cornwall and Albany, With my two daughters’ dowers digest this third: Let pride, which she calls plainness, marry her. I do invest you jointly with my power, Pre-eminence, and all the large effects That troop with majesty. Ourself, by monthly course, With reservation of an hundred knights, By you to be sustain’d, shall our abode Make with you by due turn. Only we shall retain The name, and all the addition to a king; the sway, Revenue, execution of the rest, Beloved sons, be yours; which to confirm, This coronet part between you. [_Giving the crown._]

KENT. Royal Lear, Whom I have ever honour’d as my king, Lov’d as my father, as my master follow’d, As my great patron thought on in my prayers.—

LEAR. The bow is bent and drawn; make from the shaft.

KENT. Let it fall rather, though the fork invade The region of my heart: be Kent unmannerly When Lear is mad. What wouldst thou do, old man? Think’st thou that duty shall have dread to speak, When power to flattery bows? To plainness honour’s bound When majesty falls to folly. Reverse thy state; And in thy best consideration check This hideous rashness: answer my life my judgement, Thy youngest daughter does not love thee least; Nor are those empty-hearted, whose low sounds Reverb no hollowness.

LEAR. Kent, on thy life, no more.

KENT. My life I never held but as a pawn To wage against thine enemies; ne’er fear to lose it, Thy safety being the motive.

LEAR. Out of my sight!

KENT. See better, Lear; and let me still remain The true blank of thine eye.

LEAR. Now, by Apollo,—

KENT. Now by Apollo, King, Thou swear’st thy gods in vain.

LEAR. O vassal! Miscreant!

[_Laying his hand on his sword._]

ALBANY and CORNWALL. Dear sir, forbear!

KENT. Kill thy physician, and the fee bestow Upon the foul disease. Revoke thy gift, Or, whilst I can vent clamour from my throat, I’ll tell thee thou dost evil.

LEAR. Hear me, recreant! on thine allegiance, hear me! Since thou hast sought to make us break our vows, Which we durst never yet, and with strain’d pride To come betwixt our sentences and our power, Which nor our nature, nor our place can bear, Our potency made good, take thy reward. Five days we do allot thee for provision, To shield thee from disasters of the world; And on the sixth to turn thy hated back Upon our kingdom: if, on the next day following, Thy banish’d trunk be found in our dominions, The moment is thy death. Away! By Jupiter, This shall not be revok’d.

KENT. Fare thee well, King: sith thus thou wilt appear, Freedom lives hence, and banishment is here. [_To Cordelia._] The gods to their dear shelter take thee, maid, That justly think’st and hast most rightly said! [_To Goneril and Regan._] And your large speeches may your deeds approve, That good effects may spring from words of love. Thus Kent, O princes, bids you all adieu; He’ll shape his old course in a country new.

[_Exit._]

Flourish. Re-enter Gloucester, with France, Burgundy and Attendants.

CORDELIA. Here’s France and Burgundy, my noble lord.

LEAR. My Lord of Burgundy, We first address toward you, who with this king Hath rivall’d for our daughter: what in the least Will you require in present dower with her, Or cease your quest of love?

BURGUNDY. Most royal majesty, I crave no more than hath your highness offer’d, Nor will you tender less.

LEAR. Right noble Burgundy, When she was dear to us, we did hold her so; But now her price is fall’n. Sir, there she stands: If aught within that little-seeming substance, Or all of it, with our displeasure piec’d, And nothing more, may fitly like your grace, She’s there, and she is yours.

BURGUNDY. I know no answer.

LEAR. Will you, with those infirmities she owes, Unfriended, new adopted to our hate, Dower’d with our curse, and stranger’d with our oath, Take her or leave her?

BURGUNDY. Pardon me, royal sir; Election makes not up in such conditions.

LEAR. Then leave her, sir; for, by the power that made me, I tell you all her wealth. [_To France_] For you, great king, I would not from your love make such a stray To match you where I hate; therefore beseech you T’avert your liking a more worthier way Than on a wretch whom nature is asham’d Almost t’acknowledge hers.

FRANCE. This is most strange, That she, who even but now was your best object, The argument of your praise, balm of your age, The best, the dearest, should in this trice of time Commit a thing so monstrous, to dismantle So many folds of favour. Sure her offence Must be of such unnatural degree That monsters it, or your fore-vouch’d affection Fall into taint; which to believe of her Must be a faith that reason without miracle Should never plant in me.

CORDELIA. I yet beseech your majesty, If for I want that glib and oily art To speak and purpose not; since what I well intend, I’ll do’t before I speak,—that you make known It is no vicious blot, murder, or foulness, No unchaste action or dishonour’d step, That hath depriv’d me of your grace and favour; But even for want of that for which I am richer, A still soliciting eye, and such a tongue As I am glad I have not, though not to have it Hath lost me in your liking.

LEAR. Better thou hadst Not been born than not to have pleas’d me better.

FRANCE. Is it but this?—a tardiness in nature Which often leaves the history unspoke That it intends to do? My lord of Burgundy, What say you to the lady? Love’s not love When it is mingled with regards that stands Aloof from the entire point. Will you have her? She is herself a dowry.

BURGUNDY. Royal King, Give but that portion which yourself propos’d, And here I take Cordelia by the hand, Duchess of Burgundy.

LEAR. Nothing: I have sworn; I am firm.

BURGUNDY. I am sorry, then, you have so lost a father That you must lose a husband.

CORDELIA. Peace be with Burgundy! Since that respects of fortunes are his love, I shall not be his wife.

FRANCE. Fairest Cordelia, that art most rich, being poor; Most choice forsaken; and most lov’d, despis’d! Thee and thy virtues here I seize upon: Be it lawful, I take up what’s cast away. Gods, gods! ’Tis strange that from their cold’st neglect My love should kindle to inflam’d respect. Thy dowerless daughter, King, thrown to my chance, Is queen of us, of ours, and our fair France: Not all the dukes of waterish Burgundy Can buy this unpriz’d precious maid of me. Bid them farewell, Cordelia, though unkind: Thou losest here, a better where to find.

LEAR. Thou hast her, France: let her be thine; for we Have no such daughter, nor shall ever see That face of hers again. Therefore be gone Without our grace, our love, our benison. Come, noble Burgundy.

[_Flourish. Exeunt Lear, Burgundy, Cornwall, Albany, Gloucester and Attendants._]

FRANCE. Bid farewell to your sisters.

CORDELIA. The jewels of our father, with wash’d eyes Cordelia leaves you: I know you what you are; And like a sister am most loath to call Your faults as they are nam’d. Love well our father: To your professed bosoms I commit him: But yet, alas, stood I within his grace, I would prefer him to a better place. So farewell to you both.

REGAN. Prescribe not us our duties.

GONERIL. Let your study Be to content your lord, who hath receiv’d you At fortune’s alms. You have obedience scanted, And well are worth the want that you have wanted.

CORDELIA. Time shall unfold what plighted cunning hides: Who covers faults, at last shame derides. Well may you prosper.

FRANCE. Come, my fair Cordelia.

[_Exeunt France and Cordelia._]

GONERIL. Sister, it is not little I have to say of what most nearly appertains to us both. I think our father will hence tonight.

REGAN. That’s most certain, and with you; next month with us.

GONERIL. You see how full of changes his age is; the observation we have made of it hath not been little: he always loved our sister most; and with what poor judgement he hath now cast her off appears too grossly.

REGAN. ’Tis the infirmity of his age: yet he hath ever but slenderly known himself.

GONERIL. The best and soundest of his time hath been but rash; then must we look from his age to receive not alone the imperfections of long-engrafted condition, but therewithal the unruly waywardness that infirm and choleric years bring with them.

REGAN. Such unconstant starts are we like to have from him as this of Kent’s banishment.

GONERIL. There is further compliment of leave-taking between France and him. Pray you let us hit together: if our father carry authority with such disposition as he bears, this last surrender of his will but offend us.

REGAN. We shall further think of it.

GONERIL. We must do something, and i’ th’ heat.

[_Exeunt._]

## SCENE II. A Hall in the Earl of Gloucester’s Castle

Enter Edmund with a letter.

EDMUND. Thou, Nature, art my goddess; to thy law My services are bound. Wherefore should I Stand in the plague of custom, and permit The curiosity of nations to deprive me? For that I am some twelve or fourteen moonshines Lag of a brother? Why bastard? Wherefore base? When my dimensions are as well compact, My mind as generous, and my shape as true As honest madam’s issue? Why brand they us With base? With baseness? bastardy? Base, base? Who, in the lusty stealth of nature, take More composition and fierce quality Than doth within a dull stale tired bed Go to the creating a whole tribe of fops Got ’tween asleep and wake? Well then, Legitimate Edgar, I must have your land: Our father’s love is to the bastard Edmund As to the legitimate: fine word: legitimate! Well, my legitimate, if this letter speed, And my invention thrive, Edmund the base Shall top the legitimate. I grow, I prosper. Now, gods, stand up for bastards!

Enter Gloucester.

GLOUCESTER. Kent banish’d thus! and France in choler parted! And the King gone tonight! Prescrib’d his pow’r! Confin’d to exhibition! All this done Upon the gad!—Edmund, how now! What news?

EDMUND. So please your lordship, none.

[_Putting up the letter._]

GLOUCESTER. Why so earnestly seek you to put up that letter?

EDMUND. I know no news, my lord.

GLOUCESTER. What paper were you reading?

EDMUND. Nothing, my lord.

GLOUCESTER. No? What needed then that terrible dispatch of it into your pocket? The quality of nothing hath not such need to hide itself. Let’s see. Come, if it be nothing, I shall not need spectacles.

EDMUND. I beseech you, sir, pardon me. It is a letter from my brother that I have not all o’er-read; and for so much as I have perus’d, I find it not fit for your o’er-looking.

GLOUCESTER. Give me the letter, sir.

EDMUND. I shall offend, either to detain or give it. The contents, as in

##