The Complete Works of William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare (moboreader .TXT) 📕

And as a stranger to my heart and me Hold thee from this for ever. The barbarous Scythian, Or he that makes his generation messes To gorge his appetite, shall to my bosom Be as well neighbour’d, pitied, and reliev’d, As thou my sometime daughter.

Kent. Good my liege—

Lear. Peace, Kent!

Come not between the dragon and his wrath.

I lov’d her most, and thought to set my rest On her kind nursery.- Hence and avoid my sight!-

So be my grave my peace as here I give Her father’s heart from her! Call France! Who stirs?

Call Burgundy! Cornwall and Albany,

With my two daughters’ dowers digest this third; Let pride, which she calls plainness, marry her.

I do invest you jointly in my power, Preeminence, and all the large effects That troop with majesty. Ourself, by monthly course, With reservation of an hundred knights, By you to be sustain’d, shall our abode Make with you by due turns. Only we still retain The name, and all th’ additions to a king. The sway, Revenue, execution of the rest,

Beloved sons, be yours; which to confirm, This coronet part betwixt you.

Kent. Royal Lear,

Whom I have ever honour’d as my king, Lov’d as my father, as my master follow’d, As my great patron thought on in my prayers-Lear. The bow is bent and drawn; make from the shaft.

Kent. Let it fall rather, though the fork invade The region of my heart! Be Kent unmannerly When Lear is mad. What wouldst thou do, old man?

Think’st thou that duty shall have dread to speak When power to flattery bows? To plainness honour’s bound When majesty falls to folly. Reverse thy doom; And in thy best consideration check

This hideous rashness. Answer my life my judgment, Thy youngest daughter does not love thee least, Nor are those empty-hearted whose low sound Reverbs no hollowness.

Lear. Kent, on thy life, no more!

Kent. My life I never held but as a pawn To wage against thine enemies; nor fear to lose it, Thy safety being the motive.

Lear. Out of my sight!

Kent. See better, Lear, and let me still remain The true blank of thine eye.

Lear. Now by Apollo—

Kent. Now by Apollo, King,

Thou swear’st thy gods in vain.

Lear. O vassal! miscreant!

[Lays his hand on his sword.]

Alb., Corn. Dear sir, forbear!

Kent. Do!

Kill thy physician, and the fee bestow Upon the foul disease. Revoke thy gift, Or, whilst I can vent clamour from my throat, I’ll tell thee thou dost evil.

Lear. Hear me, recreant!

On thine allegiance, hear me!

Since thou hast sought to make us break our vow-Which we durst never yet-and with strain’d pride To come between our sentence and our power,-

Which nor our nature nor our place can bear,-

Our potency made good, take thy reward.

Five days we do allot thee for provision To shield thee from diseases of the world, And on the sixth to turn thy hated back Upon our kingdom. If, on the tenth day following, Thy banish’d trunk be found in our dominions, The moment is thy death. Away! By Jupiter, This shall not be revok’d.

Kent. Fare thee well, King. Since thus thou wilt appear, Freedom lives hence, and banishment is here.

[To Cordelia] The gods to their dear shelter take thee, maid, That justly think’st and hast most rightly said!

[To Regan and Goneril] And your large speeches may your deeds approve,

That good effects may spring from words of love.

Thus Kent, O princes, bids you all adieu; He’ll shape his old course in a country new.

Exit.

Flourish. Enter Gloucester, with France and Burgundy; Attendants.

Glou. Here’s France and Burgundy, my noble lord.

Lear. My Lord of Burgundy,

We first address toward you, who with this king Hath rivall’d for our daughter. What in the least Will you require in present dower with her, Or cease your quest of love?

Bur. Most royal Majesty,

I crave no more than hath your Highness offer’d, Nor will you tender less.

Lear. Right noble Burgundy,

When she was dear to us, we did hold her so; But now her price is fall’n. Sir, there she stands.

If aught within that little seeming substance, Or all of it, with our displeasure piec’d, And nothing more, may fitly like your Grace, She’s there, and she is yours.

Bur. I know no answer.

Lear. Will you, with those infirmities she owes, Unfriended, new adopted to our hate, Dow’r’d with our curse, and stranger’d with our oath, Take her, or leave her?

Bur. Pardon me, royal sir.

Election makes not up on such conditions.

Lear. Then leave her, sir; for, by the pow’r that made me, I tell you all her wealth. [To France] For you, great King, I would not from your love make such a stray To match you where I hate; therefore beseech you T’ avert your liking a more worthier way Than on a wretch whom nature is asham’d Almost t’ acknowledge hers.

France. This is most strange,

That she that even but now was your best object, The argument of your praise, balm of your age, Most best, most dearest, should in this trice of time Commit a thing so monstrous to dismantle So many folds of favour. Sure her offence Must be of such unnatural degree

That monsters it, or your fore-vouch’d affection Fall’n into taint; which to believe of her Must be a faith that reason without miracle Should never plant in me.

Cor. I yet beseech your Majesty,

If for I want that glib and oily art To speak and purpose not, since what I well intend, I’ll do’t before I speak-that you make known It is no vicious blot, murther, or foulness, No unchaste action or dishonoured step, That hath depriv’d me of your grace and favour; But even for want of that for which I am richer-A still-soliciting eye, and such a tongue As I am glad I have not, though not to have it Hath lost me in your liking.

Lear. Better thou

Hadst not been born than not t’ have pleas’d me better.

France. Is it but this-a tardiness in nature Which often leaves the history unspoke That it intends to do? My Lord of Burgundy, What say you to the lady? Love’s not love When it is mingled with regards that stands Aloof from th’ entire point. Will you have her?

She is herself a dowry.

Bur. Royal Lear,

Give but that portion which yourself propos’d, And here I take Cordelia by the hand, Duchess of Burgundy.

Lear. Nothing! I have sworn; I am firm.

Bur. I am sorry then you have so lost a father That you must lose a husband.

Cor. Peace be with Burgundy!

Since that respects of fortune are his love, I shall not be his wife.

France. Fairest Cordelia, that art most rich, being poor; Most choice, forsaken; and most lov’d, despis’d!

Thee and thy virtues here I seize upon.

Be it lawful I take up what’s cast away.

Gods, gods! ‘tis strange that from their cold’st neglect My love should kindle to inflam’d respect.

Thy dow’rless daughter, King, thrown to my chance, Is queen of us, of ours, and our fair France.

Not all the dukes in wat’rish Burgundy Can buy this unpriz’d precious maid of me.

Bid them farewell, Cordelia, though unkind.

Thou losest here, a better where to find.

Lear. Thou hast her, France; let her be thine; for we Have no such daughter, nor shall ever see That face of hers again. Therefore be gone Without our grace, our love, our benison.

Come, noble Burgundy.

Flourish. Exeunt Lear, Burgundy, [Cornwall, Albany, Gloucester, and Attendants].

France. Bid farewell to your sisters.

Cor. The jewels of our father, with wash’d eyes Cordelia leaves you. I know you what you are; And, like a sister, am most loath to call Your faults as they are nam’d. Use well our father.

To your professed bosoms I commit him; But yet, alas, stood I within his grace, I would prefer him to a better place!

So farewell to you both.

Gon. Prescribe not us our duties.

Reg. Let your study

Be to content your lord, who hath receiv’d you At fortune’s alms. You have obedience scanted, And well are worth the want that you have wanted.

Cor. Time shall unfold what plighted cunning hides.

Who cover faults, at last shame them derides.

Well may you prosper!

France. Come, my fair Cordelia.

Exeunt France and Cordelia.

Gon. Sister, it is not little I have to say of what most nearly appertains to us both. I think our father will hence tonight.

Reg. That’s most certain, and with you; next month with us.

Gon. You see how full of changes his age is. The observation we have made of it hath not been little. He always lov’d our sister most, and with what poor judgment he hath now cast her off appears too grossly.

Reg. ‘Tis the infirmity of his age; yet he hath ever but slenderly known himself.

Gon. The best and soundest of his time hath been but rash; then must we look to receive from his age, not alone the imperfections of long-ingraffed condition, but therewithal the unruly waywardness that infirm and choleric years bring with them.

Reg. Such unconstant starts are we like to have from him as this of Kent’s banishment.

Gon. There is further compliment of leave-taking between France and him. Pray you let’s hit together. If our father carry authority with such dispositions as he bears, this last surrender of his will but offend us.

Reg. We shall further think on’t.

Gon. We must do something, and i’ th’ heat.

Exeunt.

Scene II.

The Earl of Gloucester’s Castle.

Enter [Edmund the] Bastard solus, [with a letter].

Edm. Thou, Nature, art my goddess; to thy law My services are bound. Wherefore should I Stand in the plague of custom, and permit The curiosity of nations to deprive me, For that I am some twelve or fourteen moonshines Lag of a brother? Why bastard? wherefore base?

When my dimensions are as well compact, My mind as generous, and my shape as true, As honest madam’s issue? Why brand they us With base? with baseness? bastardy? base, base?

Who, in the lusty stealth of nature, take More composition and fierce quality

Than doth, within a dull, stale, tired bed, Go to th’ creating a whole tribe of fops Got ‘tween asleep and wake? Well then, Legitimate Edgar, I must have your land.

Our father’s love is to the bastard Edmund As to th’ legitimate. Fine word- ‘legitimate’!

Well, my legitimate, if this letter speed, And my invention thrive, Edmund the base Shall top th’ legitimate. I grow; I prosper.

Now, gods, stand up for bastards!

Enter Gloucester.

Glou. Kent banish’d thus? and France in choler parted?

And the King gone tonight? subscrib’d his pow’r?

Confin’d to exhibition? All this done Upon the gad? Edmund, how now? What news?

Edm. So please your lordship, none.

[Puts up the letter.]

Glou. Why so earnestly seek you to put up that letter?

Edm. I know no news, my lord.

Glou. What paper were you reading?

Edm. Nothing, my lord.

Glou. No? What needed then that terrible dispatch of it into your pocket? The quality of nothing hath not such need to hide itself. Let’s see. Come, if it be nothing, I shall not need spectacles.

Edm. I beseech you, sir, pardon me. It is a letter from my brother that I have not all o’er-read; and for so much as I have perus’d, I find it not fit for your o’erlooking.

Glou. Give me the letter, sir.

Edm. I shall offend, either to detain or give it. The contents, as in part I understand them, are to blame.

Glou. Let’s see, let’s see!

Edm. I hope, for my brother’s justification,