Page 26
p. 26
The
Tragedy
of
King
Lear.
In
my
corrupted
blood.
But
I’ll
not
chide
thee.
Let
shame
come
when
it
will,
I
do
not
call
it,
I
do
not
bid
the
Thunder-Bearer
shoot,
Nor
tell
tales
of
thee
to
high
judging
Jove,
Mend
when
thou
canst,
be
better
at
thy
leisure,
I
can
be
patient,
I
can
stay
with
Regan,
I
and
my
hundred
Knights.
Reg.
Not
altogether
so,
I
look’d
not
for
you
yet,
nor
am
provided
For
your
fit
welcome,
give
ear,
Sir,
to
my
Sister,
For
those
that
mingle
reason
with
your
passion,
Must
be
content
to
think
you
old,
and
so,
But
she
knows
what
she
does.
Lear.
Is
this
well
spoken?
Reg.
I
dare
avouch
it,
Sir,
what
fifty
followers?
Is
it
not
well?
What
should
you
need
of
more?
Yea,
or
so
many?
Sith
that
both
charge
and
danger,
Speak
’gainst
so
great
a
number:
How
in
one
house
Should
many
people,
under
two
commands
Hold
amity?
’Tis
hard,
almost
impossible.
Gon.
Why
might
not
you,
my
Lord,
receive
attendance
From
those
that
she
calls
servants,
or
from
mine?
Reg.
Why
not,
my
Lord?
If
then
they
chanc’d
to
slack
ye,
We
could
controll
them;
if
you
will
come
to
me,
(For
now
I
spy
a
danger)
I
intreat
you
To
bring
five
and
twenty,
to
no
more
Will
I
give
place
or
notice.
Lear.
I
gave
you
all.
Reg.
And
in
good
time
you
gave
it.
Lear.
Made
you
my
Guardians
my
Depositaries,
But
keep
a
reservation
to
be
followed
With
such
a
number?
What
must
I
come
to
you
With
five
and
twenty?
Regan,
said
you
so?
Reg.
And
speak’t
again,
my
Lord,
no
more
with
me.
Lear.
Those
wicked
Creatures
yet
do
look
well
favor’d
When
others
are
more
wicked,
not
being
the
worst
Stands
in
some
rank
of
praise;
I’ll
go
with
thee,
Thy
fifty
yet
doth
double
five
and
twenty.
And
thou
art
twice
her
Love.
Gon.
Hear
me,
my
Lord;
What
need
you
five
and
twenty?
Ten?
Or
five?
To
follow
in
a
house,
where
twice
so
many.
Have
a
command
to
tend
you?
Reg.
What
need
one?
Lear.
O
reason
not
the
need:
Our
basest
Beggars
Are
in
the
poorest
thing
superfluous,
Allow
not
Nature,
more
than
nature
needs:
Man’s
life
is
cheap
as
Beasts.
Thou
art
a
Lady;
If
only
to
go
warm
were
gorgeous:
Why
Nature
needs
not
what
thou
gorgeous
wear’st,
Which
scarcely
keeps
thee
warm,
but
for
true
need,
You
Heavens,
give
me
that
patience,
patience
I
need,
You
see
me
here
(you
gods)
a
poor
old
man,
As
full
of
grief
as
age,
wretched
in
both,
If
it
be
you
that
stirs
these
Daughters
hearts
Against
their
Father,
fool
me
not
so
much:
To
bear
it
tamely:
Touch
me
with
Noble
anger,
And
let
not
Women’s
weapons,
water
drops,
Stain
my
man’s
cheeks.
No,
you
unnatural
Hags,
I
will
have
such
revenges
on
you
both,
That
all
the
world
shall
I
will
do
such
things,
What
they
are
yet,
I
know
not,
but
they
shall
be
The
terrors
of
the
Earth,
you
think
I’ll
weep,
No,
I’ll
not
weep,
I
have
full
cause
of
weeping.
[Storm
and
Tempest.
But
this
heart
shall
break
into
a
hundred
thousand
flaws,
Or
e'er
I
weep.
O
fool,
I
shall
go
mad.
[Exeunt.
Corn.
Let
us
withdraw,
’twill
be
a
storm.
Reg.
This
house
is
little,
the
old
man
and’s
people
Cannot
be
well
bestow’d.
Gon.
’Tis
his
own
blame
hath
put
himself
from
rest,
And
must
needs
taste
his
folly.
Reg.
For
his
particular
I’ll
receive
him
gladly,
But
not
one
follower.
Gon.
So
am
I
purpos’d,
Where
is
my
Lord
of
Gloster?
Enter
Gloster.
Corn.
Followed
the
old
man
forth,
he
is
return’d.
Glo.
The
King
is
in
high
rage.
Corn.
Whither
is
he
going?
Glo.
He
calls
to
horse,
but
will
I
know
not
whither.
Corn.
’Tis
best
to
give
him
way,
he
leads
himself.
Gon.
My
Lord,
intreat
him
by
no
means
to
stay.
Glo.
Alack
the
night
comes
on:
and
the
high
winds
Do
sorely
ruffle,
for
many
Miles
about
There’s
scarce
a
Bush.
Reg.
O
Sir,
to
wilful
men,
The
injuries
that
they
themselves
procure,
Must
be
their
School-Masters:
Shut
up
your
doors,
He
is
attended
with
a
desperate
train,
And
what
they
may
incense
him
to,
being
apt,
To
have
his
ear
abus’d,
wisdom
bids
fear.
Corn.
Shut
up
your
doors,
my
Lord,
’tis
a
wild
night,
My
Regan
Counsels
well:
Come
out
o’th’
storm.
[Exeunt.
Actus
Tertius.
Scena
Prima.
Storm
still.
Enter
Kent,
and
a
Gentleman,
severally.
Kent.
WHo’s
there
besides
foul
weather?
(ly.
Gent.
One
minded
like
the
weather,
most
unquiet
Kent.
I
know
you:
Where’s
the
King?
Gent.
Contending
with
the
fretful
Elements.
Bids
the
wind
blow
the
earth
into
the
Sea,
Or
swell
the
curled
Waters
’bove
the
Main,
That
things
might
change,
or
cease.
Kent.
But
who
is
with
him?
Gent.
None
but
the
Fool,
who
labours
to
out-jest
His
heart-strook
injuries.
Kent.
Sir,
I
do
know
you,
And
dare
upon
the
warrant
of
my
note
Commend
a
dear
thing
to
you.
There
is
division
(Although
as
yet
the
face
of
it
is
cover’d
With
mutual
cunning)
’twixt
Albany
and
Cornwall:
Who
have,
as
who
have
not,
that
their
great
Stars
Thron’d
and
set
high;
Servants
who
seem
no
less,
Which
are
to
France
the
spies
and
Speculations
Intelligent
of
our
State.
What
hath
bin
seen,
Either
in
snuffs
and
packings
of
the
Dukes,
Or
the
hard
Rein
which
both
of
them
have
born
Against
the
old
kind
King;
or
something
deeper,
Whereof
(perchance)
these
are
but
furnishings.
Gent.
I
will
talk
further
with
you.
Kent.
No,
do
not:
For
confirmation
that
I
am
much
more
Than
my
out-wall;
open
this
purse
and
take
What
it
contains.
If
you
shall
see
Cordelia,
(As
fear
not
but
you
shall)
shew
her
this
Ring,
And
she
will
tell
you
who
that
fellow
is,
That
yet
you
do
not
know.
Fie
on
this
storm,
I
will
go
seek
the
King.
Gent.
Give
me
your
hand,
Have
you
no
more
to
say?
Kent.
Few
words,
but
to
effect
more
than
all
yet;
That
when
we
have
found
the
King,
in
which
your
pain
That
way,
I’ll
this:
He
that
first
lights
on
him,
Hollow
the
other.
[Exeunt.
Scena
98