King Lear Page #4

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A bitter fool!

Dost thou know

the difference, my boy,

between a bitter fool and a sweet one?

No, lad. Teach me.

# That lord that counselled thee

to give away thy land

# Come place him here by me,

do thou for him stand

# The sweet and bitter fool

will presently appear

# The one in motley here,

the other found out there #

Dost thou call me fool, boy?

All thy other titles

thou hast given away...

That thou wast born with.

This is not altogether fool, my lord.

No, faith. Lords and great men

will not let me.

Nuncle, give me an egg...

- And I'll give thee two crowns.

- Which two crowns shall they be?

Well, after I have cut the egg i'the middle

and eat up the meat,

the two crowns of the egg.

When thou clovest thy crown i'the middle,

and gavest away both parts,

thy borest thine ass on thy back

o'er the dirt.

Thou hadst little wit in thy bald crown

when thy gave thy golden one away.

Hey!

# Fools had ne'er less wit in a year

# For wise men are grown foppish

# And know not how their wits to wear

# Their manners are so apish #

When were thou wont to be

so full of songs, sirrah?

I have used it, nuncle, e'er since

thou madest thy daughters thy mothers.

For when thou gavest them the rod

and puttest down thine own breeches...

# 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 #

Prithee, nuncle, keep a schoolmaster

that could teach thy fool to lie.

- I would fain learn to lie.

- And you lie, sirrah, we'll have you whipped.

I marvel what kin thou

and thy daughters are.

They'll have me whipped for speaking

true, thou will have me whipped for lying,

and sometimes I am whipped

for holding my peace.

I had rather be any kind of thing

than a fool.

And yet I would not be thee, nuncle.

Thou hast pared thy wits o' both sides,

and left nothing i'the middle.

- Here comes one o'the paring.

- How now, daughter!

What makes that frontlet on?

You are too much of late i'the frown.

Thou was a pretty fellow when thou

hadst no need to care for her frowning.

Yes, forsooth, I will hold my tongue.

So your face bids me,

though you say nothing.

Mum, mum.

That's a shelled peascod.

Not only, sir, this your all-licensed 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 known unto you

to have found a safe redress,

but now grow fearful,

by what yourself 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.

For you know, nuncle,

the hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long

that it had its head bit off by its young.

- Are you our daughter?

- Come, sir.

I would you would make use of that good

wisdom, whereof I know you are fraught,

and put away these dispositions which of late

transport you from what you rightly are.

Does any here know me?

This is not Lear.

Does Lear walk thus, talk thus?

Where are his eyes? Ha!

Waking? Sleeping?

'Tis not so.

Who is it who can tell me who I am?

Lear's shadow.

I would learn that, for, by the marks

of sovereignty, knowledge and reason,

I should be false persuaded

I had daughters.

- Which they will make an obedient father.

- Your name, fair gentlewoman?

This admiration, sir, is much o' the savour

of other your new pranks!

I do beseech you

to understand my purposes aright.

As you are old and reverend,

should be wise.

Here do you keep a hundred knights and squires,

men so disordered, so deboshed and bold,

that this our court, infected with

their manners, shows like a riotous inn.

Epicurism and lust make it more like

a tavern or a brothel than a graced palace.

The shame itself doth speak

for instant remedy.

Be then desired, 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,

and know themselves and you.

Darkness and devils!

Saddle my horses! Call my train together!

Degenerate bastard, I'll not trouble you.

Yet have I left a daughter.

You strike my people, and your disordered

rabble make servants of their betters.

Woe, that too late repents!

O, sir, are you come?

Is it your will? Speak, sir.

Prepare my horses.

Detested kite! Thou liest.

My train are men of choice and rarest parts,

that in the most exact regard support

the worships of their name.

O Lear, Lear, Lear!

Beat at this gate, that let thy folly in

and thy dear judgment out!

Go, go, my people.

My lord, I am guiltless, as I am ignorant

of what hath moved you.

It may be so, my lord.

Hear, Nature, hear! Dear goddess, hear!

Suspend thy purpose if thou didst 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 disnatured torment to her.

Let it stamp wrinkles

in her brow of youth,

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!

Now gods that we adore,

whereof comes this?

Never afflict yourself to know more of it,

but let his disposition have that scope

as dotage gives it.

What, fifty of my followers at a clap!

- Within a fortnight?

- What is the matter, sir?

I'll tell thee...

I am ashamed that thou hast power

to shake my manhood thus.

Blasts and fogs upon thee!

Let it be so.

I have another daughter.

When she shall hear this of thee,

with her nails she'll flay thy wolvish visage.

Thou shalt find that I'll resume the shape

which thou dost think

I have cast off for ever.

Do you mark that?

I cannot be so partial, Goneril,

to the great love I bear you...

Pray you then, content. What, ho Oswald!

You, sir, more knave than fool,

after your master.

Nuncle Lear, nuncle Lear, tarry!

Take the fool with thee.

This man hath had good counsel!

A hundred knights!

'Tis politic and safe to let him keep

at point a hundred knights.

Yes, that on every dream,

each buzz, each fancy, dislike,

he may enguard his dotage

with their powers

and hold our lives in mercy.

Oswald, I say!

Well, you may fear too far.

Safer than trust too far.

I know his heart and I have writ my sister.

If she sustain him and his hundred knights

when I have showed the unfitness...

How now, Oswald!

- What, have you that letter to my sister?

- Ay, madam.

Take you some company and away to horse.

Inform her full of my particular fear.

Get thee gone. Hasten your return.

No, no, my lord.

This milky gentleness and course of yours,

though I condemn not, yet, under pardon,

you are much more a-taxed for want of

wisdom than praised for harmful mildness.

How far your eyes may pierce

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