Page 20
p. 20
92
The
Tragedy
of
King
Lear.
clovest
thy
Crown
i’th’middle,
and
gav’st
away
both
parts,
thou
bor’st
thine
Ass
on
thy
back
o’re
the
dirt,
thou
had’st
little
wit
in
thy
bald
crown,
when
thou
gav’st
thy
golden
one
away:
if
I
speak
like
my
self
in
this,
let
him
be
whipt
that
first
finds
it
so.
Fools
had
ne're
less
grace
in
a
year,
For
wisemen,
are
grown
foppish,
And
know
not
how
their
wits
to
wear,
Their
manners
are
so
apish.
Lear.
When
were
you
wont
to
be
so
full
of
Songs,
Sirrah?
Fool.
I
have
used
it
Nuncle,
e’re
since
thou
mad’st
thy
Daughters
thy
Mothers,
for
when
thou
gav’st
them
the
rod,
and
put’st
down
thine
own
breechs,
then
they
For
sudden
joy
did
weep,
And
I
for
sorrow
sung,
That
such
a
King
should
play
bo
peep,
And
go
the
Fools
among.
Prythee
Nuncle
keep
a
School
Master
that
can
teach
thy
Fool
to
lye,
I
would
fain
learn
to
lye.
Lear.
And
you
lye,
Sirrah,
we’ll
have
you
whipt.
Fool.
I
marvel
what
kin
thou
and
thy
Daughters
are:
thy’ll
have
me
whipt
for
speaking
true:
thou’lt
have
me
whipt
for
lying,
and
sometimes
I
am
whipt,
for
holding
my
peace.
I
had
rather
be
any
kind
o’thing
than
a
fool,
and
yet
I
would
not
be
thee,
Nuncle;
thou
hast
pared
thy
wit
o’both
sides,
and
left
nothing
i’th’middle
herecomes
one
o’the
parings.
Enter
Goneril.
Lear.
How
now,
Daughter?
what
makes
that
Frontlet
on?
You
are
too
much
of
late
i’th’
frown.
Fool.
Thou
wast
a
pretty
fellow
when
thou
had’st
no
need
to
care
for
her
frowning;
now
thou
art
an
O
without
a
figure,
I
am
better
than
thou
art
now,
I
am
a
fool,
thou
art
nothing.
Yes
forsooth
I
will
hold
my
tongue,
so
your
face
bids
me,
though
you
say
nothing.
Mum,
Mum,
he
that
keeps
nor
crust,
nor
crum,
Weary
of
all,
shall
want
some.
That’s
a
sheal’d
Pescod.
Gon.
Not
only,
Sir,
this,
your
all
licenc’d
Fool,
But
other
of
your
insolent
retinue
Do
hourly
Carp
and
Quarrel,
breaking
forth
In
rank,
(and
not
to
be
endured)
riots,
Sir.
I
had
thought
by
making
this
well
know
unto
you,
To
have
sound
a
safe
fedress,
but
now
grow
fearful
By
what
your
self
too
late
have
spoke
and
done,
That
you
protect
this
course,
and
put
it
on
By
your
allowance,
which
if
you
should,
the
fault
Would
not
scape
censure,
nor
the
redresses
sleep,
Which
in
the
tender
of
a
wholesome
weal,
Might
in
their
working
do
you
that
offence,
Which
else
were
shame,
that
then
necessity
Will
call
discreet
proceeding.
Fool.
For
you
know,
Nuncle,
the
Hedge
sparrow
fed
the
Cuckooe
so
long,
that
it
had
it’s
head
bit
off
by
it’s
young,
so
out
went
the
Candle,
and
we
were
left
darkling.
Lear.
Are
you
our
Daughter?
Gon.
I
would
you
would
make
use
of
your
good
wisdom,
(Whereof
I
know
you
are
fraught)
and
put
away
These
dispositions,
which
of
late
transport
you
From
what
you
rightly
are.
Fool.
May
not
an
Ass
know,
when
the
Cart
draws
the
Horse?
Whoop
Jug
I
love
thee.
Lear.
Do’s
any
here
know
me?
This
is
not
Lear:
Do’s
Lear
walk
thus?
Speak
thus?
Where
are
his
eyes?
Either
his
Notion
weakens,
his
Discernings
Are
Lethargied.
Ha?
Waking?
’Tis
not
so,
Who
is
it
that
can
tell
me
who
I
am?
Fool.
Lear's
shadow.
Lear.
Your
name,
fair
Gentlewoman?
Gon.
This
admiration,
Sir,
is
much
o’th'savour
Of
other
your
new
pranks.
I
do
beseech
you
To
understand
my
purposes
aright:
As
you
are
Old,
and
Reverend,
should
be
Wife.
Here
do
you
keep
a
hundred
Knights
and
Squires,
Men
so
disorder’d,
so
debosh’d,
and
bold,
That
this
our
Court
infected,
with
their
manners,
Shews
like
a
riotous
Inn;
Epicurism
and
Lust
Makes
it
more
like
a
Tavern,
or
a
Brothell,
Than
a
grac’d
Palace.
The
shame
it
self
doth
speak
For
instant
remedy.
Be
then
desir’d,
By
her
that
else
will
take
the
thing
she
begs,
A
little
to
disquantity
your
Train,
And
the
remainders
that
shall
still
depend,
To
be
such
men
as
may
besort
your
Age,
Which
know
themselves,
and
you.
Lear.
Darkness,
and
Devils,
Saddle
my
Horses:
call
my
Train
together.
Degenerate
Bastard,
I'le
not
trouble
thee;
Yet
have
I
left
a
Daughter.
Gon.
You
strike
my
people,
and
your
disorder’d
rabble
make
Servants
of
their
Betters.
Enter
Albany.
Lear.
Woe,
that
too
late
repents:
Is
it
your
will,
speak,
Sir?
Prepare
my
Horses.
Ingratitude!
thou
Marble-hearted
Fiend,
More-hideous
when
thou
shew’st
thee
in
a
Child,
Than
the
Sea-monster.
Alb.
Pray,
Sir,
be
patient.
Lear.
Detested
Kite,
thou
lyest.
My
Train
are
men
of
choice,
and
rarest
parts,
That
all
particulars
of
duty
know,
And
in
the
most
exact
regard,
support
Their
worships
of
their
name.
O
most
small
fault,
How
ugly
did’st
thou
in
Cordelia
shew?
Which
like
an
Engine,
wrencht
my
frame
of
Nature
From
the
fixt
place:
drew
from
my
heart
all
love,
And
added
to
the
gall.
O
Lear,
Lear,
Lear!
Beat
at
this
gate
that
let
thy
Folly
in,
And
thy
dear
Judgement
out.
Go,
go,
my
people.
Alb.
My
Lord,
I
am
guiltless,
as
I
am
ignorant
Of
what
hath
moved
you.
Lear.
It
may
be
so,
my
Lord,
Hear
Nature,
hear,
dear
Goddess,
hear:
Suspend
thy
purpose,
if
thou
did’st
intend
To
make
this
Creature
fruitful:
Into
her
Womb
convey
sterility,
Dry
up
in
her
the
Organs
of
increase,
And
from
her
derogate
body,
never
spring
A
Babe
to
honour
her.
If
she
must
teem,
Create
her
Child
of
Spleen,
that
it
may
live
And
be
a
thwart,
disnatur’d
torment
to
her.
Let
it
stamp
wrinkles
in
her
brow
of
youth,
With
cadent
Tears
fret
Chanels
in
her
Cheeks,
Turn
all
her
Mother’s
pains,
and
benefits
To
laughter,
and
contempt:
That
she
may
feel,
How
sharper
than
a
Serpent’s
tooth
it
is,
To
have
a
thankless
Child.
Away,
away,
[Exit.
Alb.
Now
gods
that
we
adore.
Whereof
comes
this?
Gon.
Never
afflict
your
self
to
know
of
it:
But
let
his
disposition
have
that
scope
As
dotage
gives
it.
Enter
Lear.
Lear.
What
fifty
of
my
followers
at
a
clap?
Within
a
fortnight?
Alb.
What’s
the
matter,
Sir?
Lear.