King Lear Page #3

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the moon, and stars,

as if we were villains by necessity,

fools by heavenly compulsion,

knaves, thieves, and treachers,

by spherical predominance,

drunkards, liars, and adulterers,

by an enforced obedience

of planetary influence,

and all that we are evil in

by a divine thrusting on.

An admirable evasion of whoremaster man,

to lay his goatish disposition

to the charge of a star!

Edgar. Pat he comes.

O these eclipses do portend

these divisions.

How now, brother Edmund!

What serious contemplation are you in?

I am thinking, brother, of a prediction

I read this other day,

what should follow these eclipses.

Do you busy yourself about that?

I promise you, brother, the effects

he writes of succeed unhappily,

as of unnaturalness between the child

and the parent,

death, dearth, dissolution

of ancient amities, divisions in state,

menaces and maledictions against kings

and nobles, and I know not what.

How long have you been

a sectary astronomical?

- When saw you my father last?

- The night gone by.

- Spake you with him?

- Ay, two hours together.

Parted you in good terms?

Found you no displeasure in him

by word nor countenance?

None at all.

Bethink yourself wherein

you may have offended him,

and at my entreaty forbear his presence

until some little time hath qualified

the heat of his displeasure.

- Some villain hath done me wrong.

- That's my fear.

Retire with me to my lodging,

from whence I will fitly bring you

to hear my lord speak. Pray you, go!

There's my key.

If you do stir abroad, go armed.

- Armed, brother?

- Brother, I advise you to the best.

I am no honest man if there be any good

meaning towards you. Pray you, away.

- Shall I hear from you anon?

- I do serve you in this business.

A credulous father and a brother noble,

whose nature is so far from doing harms

that he suspects none.

I see the business:

let me, if not by birth, have lands by wit,

all with me's meet that I can fashion fit.

Did my father strike my gentleman

for chiding of his fool?

Ay, madam.

By day and night he wrongs me,

every hour he flashes into one gross crime

or other that sets us all at odds.

I'll not endure it!

His knights grow riotous, and himself

upbraids us on every trifle.

When he returns from hunting

I will not speak with him. Say I am sick.

If you come slack of former services you

shall do well. The fault of it I'll answer.

He's coming, madam, I hear him.

Put on what weary negligence you please,

you and your fellows.

I'd have it come to question.

If he distaste it let him to our sister,

whose mind and mine I know in that are one,

not to be overruled.

Idle old man,

that still would manage those authorities

that he hath given away!

Now, by my life, old fools are babes again,

and must be used with checks as flatteries,

when they are seen abused.

Remember what I have said.

I'll write straight to my sister

to hold my very course.

Prepare for dinner.

If but as well I other accents borrow

that can my speech defuse,

my good intent may carry through itself

to that full issue

for which I razed my likeness.

Now, banished Kent...

If thou canst serve

where thou dost stand condemned,

so may it come,

thy master whom thou lovest

shall find thee full of labours.

Let me not stay a jot for dinner!

Go get it ready!

- What art thou?

- A man, sir.

- What dost thou profess?

- I do profess to be no less than I seem.

To serve him truly

that will put me in trust,

to fear judgment, to fight when I cannot

choose, and to eat no fish.

- What wouldst thou?

- Service.

- Who wouldst thou serve?

- You.

- Dost thou know me, fellow?

- No, sir.

But you have that in your countenance

which I would fain call master.

- What's that?

- Authority.

What services canst thou do?

I can keep honest counsel, ride, run,

mar a curious tale in telling it,

and deliver a plain message bluntly.

How old art thou?

Not so young, sir,

to love a woman for singing,

nor so old to dote on her for any thing.

I have years on my back

forty eight.

Follow me, thou shalt serve me

if I like thee no worse after dinner.

Where's my knave, my fool?

Go you, call hither my fool.

You! You, sirrah! Where's my daughter?

So please you...

What says the fellow there?

Call the clotpoll back.

Where's my knave?

Agh! The world's asleep.

How now? Where's that mongrel?

He says, my lord,

your daughter is not well.

Why came not the slave back to me

when I called him?

Sir, he answered me

in the roundest manner he would not.

- He would not!

- My lord, I know not what the matter is.

But to my judgment your highness

is not entertained

with that ceremonious affection

as you were wont.

Sayest thou so?

I will look further into't.

But where's my knave?

I have not seen him this two days.

Since my young lady's going into France,

sir, the fool hath much pined away.

No more of that!

I have noted it well.

Go you, and tell my daughter

I would speak with her.

Go you, call hither my Fool.

O, you, sir, you! Come you hither, sir.

Who am I, sir?

My lady's father.

"My lady's father", my lord's knave!

You whoreson dog! You slave! You cur!

I am none of these things, my lord,

I beseech your pardon.

- Do you bandy looks with me?

- I'll not be strucken, my lord.

Or tripped neither,

you base football player.

- I thank thee, fellow.

- Come, sir, arise, away!

I'll teach you differences.

Away, away!

If you will measure

your lubber's length again, tarry!

Go to!

Have you wisdom? So.

Now, my friendly knave.

There's earnest for your service.

- Let me hire him too.

- How now, pretty knave!

Here's my coxcomb.

- Sirrah, you were best take my coxcomb.

- Why, fool?

Why, for taking one's part

that's out of favour.

Thou canst not smile as the wind sits,

thou'It catch cold shortly.

Take my coxcomb!

Why, this fellow has banished

two of his daughters,

and did the third a blessing

against his will.

If thou followst him,

thou must needs take my coxcomb.

How now, nuncle!

Would I had two daughters

and two coxcombs.

Why, my boy?

If I gave them all my living,

I'd keep my coxcombs myself.

There's mine.

Beg another of thy daughters.

You take heed, sirrah, the whip!

Truth's a dog must to kennel.

He must be whipped out,

while Lady Brach may stand by the fire

and stink.

- A pestilent gall to me!

- Sirrah, I will teach thee a speech.

Ay, do.

Mark it, nuncle.

Have more than thou showest,

speak less than thou knowest,

lend less than thou owest,

ride more than thou goest,

learn more than thou trowest,

set less than thou throwest.

Leave thy drink and thy whore

and keep in-a-door,

and thou shalt have more

than two tens to a score!

This is nothing, fool.

Then 'tis like the breath of an unfee'd

lawyer. You gave me nothing for't.

Can you make no use of nothing, nuncle?

Why, no, boy.

Nothing can be made out of nothing.

Prithee tell him; so much the rent of his land

comes to. He will not believe a fool.

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