Page 17
p. 17
The
Tragedy
of
King
Lear.
A
still
soliciting
eye,
and
such
a
tongue,
That
I
am
glad
I
have
not,
though
not
to
have
it,
Hath
lost
me
in
your
liking.
Lear.
Better
thou
had’st
Not
been
born,
than
not
t’have
pleas’d
me
better.
Fra.
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
th’intire
point,
will
you
have
her?
She
is
her
self
a
Dowry.
Bur.
Royal
King,
Give
but
that
portion
which
your
self
propos’d,
And
here
I
take
Cordelia
by
the
hand,
Dutchess
of
Burgundy.
Lear.
Nothing,
I
have
sworn,
I
am
firm.
Bur.
I
am
sorry
then
you
have
so
lost
a
Father,
That
you
must
lose
a
Husband.
Cor.
Peace
be
with
Burgundy,
Since
that
respect
and
fortunes
are
his
love,
I
shall
not
be
his
wife.
Fra.
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
enflam’d
respect.
Thy
dowreless
Daughter,
King,
thrown
to
my
chance,
Is
Queen
of
us,
of
ours,
and
our
fair
France:
Not
all
the
Dukes
of
watrish
Burgundy,
Can
buy
this
unpriz’d
precious
Maid
of
me.
Bid
them
farewel,
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
her’s
again,
therefore
be
gone,
Without
our
Grace,
our
Love,
our
Benizon:
Come
Noble
Burgundy.
Flourish.
[Exeunt.
Fra.
Bid
farewel
to
your
Sisters.
Cor.
The
Jewels
of
our
Father,
with
wash’d
eyes
Cordelia
leaves
you,
I
know
you
what
you
are,
And
like
a
Sister
am
most
loth
to
call
Your
faults
as
they
are
named.
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
farewel
to
you
both.
Reg.
Prescribe
not
us
our
duty.
Gon.
Let
your
study
Be
to
content
your
Lord,
who
hath
receiv’d
you,
At
fortunes
alms,
you
have
obedience
scanted,
And
well
are
worth
the
want
that
you
have
wanted.
Cor.
Time
shall
unfold
what
plighted
cunning
hides,
Who
covers
faults,
at
last
with
shame
derides.
Well
may
you
prosper.
Fra.
Come,
my
fair
Cordelia.
[Exeunt
France
and
Cor.
Gon.
Sister,
it
is
not
little
I
have
to
say,
Of
what
most
nearly
appertains
to
us
both,
I
think
our
Father
will
hence
to
night.
(with
us.
Reg.
That’s
most
certain,
and
with
you:
next
month
Gon.
You
see
how
full
of
changes
his
age
is,
the
observa-
tion
we
have
made
of
it
hath
been
little:
he
always
lov'd
our
Sister
most,
and
with
what
poor
judgement
he
hath
now
cast
her
off,
appears
too
too
grossely.
Reg.
’Tis
the
infirmity
of
his
Age,
yet
he
hath
ever
but
slenderly
known
himself.
Gon.
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
engraffed
condition,
but
there-
withal
the
unruly
way
wardness,
that
infirm
and
cholerick
years
bring
with
them.
Reg.
Such
unconstant
starts
are
we
like
to
have
from
him,
as
this
of
Kent's
banishment.
Gon.
There
is
further
complement
of
leave
taking,
be-
tween
France
and
him,
pray
you
let
us
fit
together,
if
our
Father
carry
Authority
with
such
disposition
as
he
bears,
this
last
surrender
of
his
will
but
offend
us.
Reg.
We
shall
further
think
of
it.
Goa.
We
must
do
something,
and
i’ch’heat.
[Exeunt
Scena
Secunda.
Enter
Bastard.
Bast.
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
tyred
bed
Go
the
creating
a
whole
Tribe
of
Fops
Got
’tween
a
sleep,
and
wake?
Well
then,
Legitimate
Edgar,
I
must
have
your
land,
Our
Father’s
love
is
to
the
Bastard
Edmund,
As
to
th’legitimate:
fine
word:
legitimate.
Well,
my
Legitimate,
if
this
Letter
speed,
And
my
invention
thrive,
Edmund
the
base
Shall
to
th’Legitimate:
I
grow,
I
prosper:
Now
gods,
stand
up
for
Bastards,
Enter
Gloucester.
Glo.
Kent
banish’d
thus?
and
France
in
choler
parted?
And
the
King
gone
to
night?
Prescrib’d
his
power,
Confin’d
to
exhibition?
All
this
gone
Upon
the
gad?
Edmund,
how
now?
what
news?
Bast.
So
please
your
Lordship,
none.
Glo.
Why
so
earnestly
seek
you
to
put
up
that
letter?
Bast.
I
know
no
news,
my
Lord.
Glo.
What
Paper
were
you
reading?
Bast.
Nothing
my
Lord.
Glo.
No?
what
needed
then
that
terrible
dispatch
of
it
into
your
Pocket?
the
quality
of
nothing,
hath
not
such
need
to
hide
it
self.
Let’s
see:
come,
if
it
be
nothing,
I
shall
not
need
Spectacles.
Bast.
I
beseech
you,
Sir,
pardon
me;
it
is
a
letter
from
my
Brother,
that
I
have
not
all
o’re-read;
and
for
so
much
as
I
have
perus’d,
I
find
it
not
fit
for
your
o're-looking.
Glo.
Give
me
the
Letter,
Sir.
Bast.
I
shall
offend,
either
to
detain,
or
give
it:
The
Contents,
as
in
part
I
understand
them,
Are
to
blame.
Glo.
Let’s
see,
let’s
see.
Bast.
I
hope
for
my
brother’s
justification,
he
wrote
this
but
as
an
essay,
or
taste
of
my
Virtue.
Glou.
reads.
This
policy,
and
reverence
of
Age,
makes
the
World
bitter
to
best
of
our
times
keeps
our
Fortunes
from
us,
'till
our
oldness
cannot
rellish
them.
I
begin
to
find
an
idle
and
fond
bondage,
in
the
oppression
of
aged
tyranny,
who
swayes
not
as
it
hath
power,
but
as
it
is
suffer'd.
Come
to
me,
that
of
this
I
may
speak
more.
If
our
Father
would
sleep
till
I
wak'd.
him,
you
should
enjoy
half
his
Revenue
for
ever,
and
live
the
beloved
of
your
Brother.
Edgar.
Hum?
Con-
spiracy?
Sleep
’till
I
wake
him,
you
should
enjoy
half
his
Revenue:
my
Son
Edgar,
had
he
a
hand
to
write
this?
A
heart
and
brain
to
breed
it
in?
When
came
this
to
you?
who
brought
it?
Bast.
It
was
not
brought
me,
my
Lord;
there's
the
cunning
of
it.
I
found
it
thrown
in
at
the
Casement
of
my
Closset.
Hhh
3
Glo.
89