Page 25
p. 25
The
Tragedy
of
King
Lear.
The
dear
Father
Would
with
his
Daughter
speak,
commands,
tends,
service,
Are
they
inform'd
of
this?
My
breath
and
blood:
Fiery?
The
fiery
Duke,
tell
the
hot
Duke
that
No,
but
not
yet,
may
be
he
is
not
well,
Infirmity
doth
still
neglect
all
office,
Whereto
our
health
is
bound,
we
are
not
our
selves,
When
Nature
being
opprest,
commands
the
mind
To
suffer
with
the
body;
I’ll
forbear,
And
am
fall’n
out
with
my
more
headier
will,
To
take
the
indispos’d
and
sickly
fit,
For
the
sound
man.
Death
on
my
state:
wherefore
Should
he
fit
here?
This
act
perswades
me,
That
this
remotion
of
the
Duke
and
her
Is
practice
only,
give
me
my
servant
forth;
Go,
tell
the
Duke
and’s
Wife,
I’Id
speak
with
them:
Now
presently:
Bid
them
come
forth
and
hear
me,
Or
at
their
Chamber
door
I’ll
beat
the
Drum,
’Till
it
cry
sleep
to
death.
Glo.
I
would
have
all
well
betwixt
you.
[Exit.
Lear.
Oh
me,
my
heart!
My
rising
heart!
But
down.
Fool.
Cry
to
it,
Nuncle,
as
the
Cockney
did
to
the
Eels,
when
he
put
them
i’th’
Paste
alive,
she
knapt’em
o’th’
Coxcombs
with
a
stick,
and
cryed
down
wantons,
down;
’twas
his
Brother,
that
in
pure
kindness
to
his
Horse
buttered
his
Hay.
Enter
Cornwall,
Regan,
Gloster,
Servants.
Lear.
Good
morrow
to
you
both,
Com.
Hail
to
your
Grace.
[Kent
here
set
at
liberty.
Reg.
I
am
glad
to
see
your
Highness.
Lear.
Regan,
I
think
you
are,
I
know
what
reason,
I
have
to
think
so,
if
thou
should’st
not
be
glad,
I
would
divorce
me
from
thy
Mother’s
Tomb,
Sepulchring
an
Adulteress.
O,
are
you
free?
Some
other
time
for
that.
Beloved
Regan,
Thy
Sister’s
naught:
Oh
Regan,
she
hath
tyed
Sharp-tooth’d
unkindness,
like
a
Vulture
here,
I
can
scarce
speak
to
thee,
thou’lt
not
believe
With
how
deprav’d
a
quality.
Oh
Regan.
Reg.
I
pray
you,
Sir,
take
patience,
I
have
hope
You
less
know
how
to
value
her
desert,
Than
she
to
scant
her
duty.
Lear.
Say?
How
is
that?
Reg.
I
cannot
think
my
Sister
in
the
least
Would
fail
her
Obligation.
If,
Sir,
perchance
She
have
restrain’d
the
Riots
of
your
Followers,
’Tis
on
such
ground,
and
to
such
wholesome
end,
As
clears
her
from
all
blame.
Lear.
My
curses
on
her.
Reg.
O
Sir,
you
are
old,
Nature
in
you
stands
on
the
very
Verge
Of
her
confine:
You
should
be
rul’d
and
led
By
some
discretion,
that
discerns
your
state
Better
than
you
your
self:
Therefore
I
pray
you,
That
to
our
Sister
you
do
make
return,
Say
you
have
wrong’d
her.
Lear.
Ask
her
forgiveness?
Do
you
but
mark
how
this
becomes
the
house?
Dear
Daughter,
I
confess
that
I
am
old;
Age
is
unnecessary:
On
my
my
knees
I
beg,
That
you’ll
vouchsafe
me
Rayment,
Bed,
and
Food.
Reg.
Good
Sir,
no
more:
these
are
unsightly
tricks:
Return
you
to
my
Sister.
Lear.
Never,
Regan:
She
hath
abated
me
of
half
my
Train:
Look’d
black
upon
me,
strook
me
with
her
Tongue
Most:
Serpent-like,
upon
the
very
heart.
All
the
stor’d
vengeances
of
heaven
fall
On
her
ingrateful
top:
Strike
her
young
bones,
You
taking
Airs,
with
Lameness.
Corn.
Fie,
Sir,
fie.
Lear.
You
nimble
Lightnings,
dart
your
blinding
flames
Into
her
scornful
eyes:
Infect
her
Beauty,
You
Fen-suck’d
Fogs,
drawn
by
the
powerful
Sun
To
fall,
and
blister.
Reg.
O
the
blest
gods!
So
will
you
wish
on
me,
when
the
rash
mood
is
on.
Lear.
No,
Regan,
thou
shalt
never
have
my
curse:
Thy
tender
hefted
nature
shall
not
give
Thee
o’er
to
harshness:
Her
eyes
are
fierce,
but
thine
Do
comfort,
and
not
burn,
'Tis
not
in
thee
To
grudge
my
pleasures,
to
cut
off
my
Train,
To
bandy
hasty
words,
to
scant
my
sizes,
And
in
conclusion,
to
oppose
the
bolt
Against
my
coming
in.
Thou
better
know’st
The
Offices
of
Nature,
Bond
of
Child-hood,
Effects
of
Courtesie,
Dues
of
Gratitude:
Thy
half
o’th’
Kingdom
hast
thou
not
forgot,
Wherein
I
thee
endow’d.
Reg.
Good
Sir,
to
th’purpose.
[Tucket
within.
Lear.
Who
put
my
man
i’th’
Stocks?
Enter
Steward.
Corn.
What
Trumpet’s
that
?
Reg.
I
know’t,
my
Sister’s:
This
approves
her
Letter,
That
she
would
soon
be
here.
Is
your
Lady
come?
Lear.
This
is
a
Slave,
whose
easie
borrowed
pride
Dwells
in
the
sickly
grace
of
her
he
follows.
Out
Varlet,
from
my
sight.
Corn.
What
means
your
Grace?
Enter
Gonerill.
Lear.
Who
stockt
my
Servant?
Regan,
I
have
good
hope
Thou
didst
not
know
on’t.
Who
comes
here?
O
Heavens!
If
you
do
love
old
men;
if
your
sweet
sway
Allow
Obedience;
if
you
your
selves
are
old,
Make
it
your
cause:
Send
down
and
take
my
part.
Art
not
asham’d
to
look
upon
this
Beard?
O
Regan,
will
you
take
her
by
the
hand?
Gon.
Why
not
by
th’
hand,
Sir?
How
have
I
offended?
All’s
not
offence
that
indiscretion
finds
And
dotage
terms
so.
Lear.
O
sides,
you
are
too
tough!
Will
you
yet
hold?
How
came
my
man
i’th’
Stocks?
Corn.
I
set
him
there,
Sir:
But
his
own
Disorders
Deserv’d
much
less
advancement.
Lear.
You?
Did
you?
Reg.
I
pray
you,
Father,
being
weak,
seem
so.
If,
’till
the
expiration
of
your
Month,
You
will
return
and
sojourn
with
my
Sister,
Dismissing
half
your
train,
come
then
to
me,
I
am
now
from
home,
and
out
of
that
provision,
Which
shall
be
needful
for
your
entertainment.
Lear.
Return
to
her?
and
fifty
men
dismiss’d?
No,
rather
I
abjure
all
roofs,
and
chuse
To
wage
against
the
enmity
o’th’air,
To
be
a
Comerade
with
the
Wolf
and
Owl,
Necessities
sharp
pinch.
Return
with
her?
Why?
The
hot
bloodied
France,
that
Dowerless
took
Our
youngest
born,
I
could
as
well
be
brought
To
knee
his
Throne,
and
Squire-like
pension
beg,
To
keep
base
life
a-foot;
return
with
her?
Perswade
me
rather
to
be
slave
and
sumpter
To
this
detested
Groom.
Gon.
At
your
choice,
Sir.
Lear.
I
prithee,
Daughter,
do
not
make
me
mad,
I
will
not
trouble
thee,
my
Child:
Farewell:
We’ll
no
more
meet,
no
more
see
one
another,
But
yet
thou
art
my
flesh,
my
blood,
my
daughter,
Or
rather
a
disease
that’s
in
my
flesh,
Which
I
must
needs
call
mine.
Thou
art
a
Bile,
A
plague-sore,
or
imbossed
Carbuncle
I
i
i
In
97