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Scena Tertia. Enter in conquest with Drum and Colours, Edmund, Lear, and Cordelia, as prisoners, Souldiers, Captaine. Bast. Some Officers take them away: good guard, Vntill their greater pleasures first be knowne That are to censure them Cor. We are not the first, Who with best meaning haue incurr'd the worst: For thee oppressed King I am cast downe, My selfe could else out-frowne false Fortunes frowne. Shall we not see these Daughters, and these Sisters? Lear. No, no, no, no: come let's away to prison, We two alone will sing like Birds i'th' Cage: When thou dost aske me blessing, Ile kneele downe And aske of thee forgiuenesse: So wee'l liue, And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh At gilded Butterflies: and heere (poore Rogues) Talke of Court newes, and wee'l talke with them too, Who looses, and who wins; who's in, who's out; And take vpon's the mystery of things, As if we were Gods spies: And wee'l weare out In a wall'd prison, packs and sects of great ones, That ebbe and flow by th' Moone Bast. Take them away Lear. Vpon such sacrifices my Cordelia, The Gods themselues throw Incense. Haue I caught thee? He that parts vs, shall bring a Brand from Heauen, And fire vs hence, like Foxes: wipe thine eyes, The good yeares shall deuoure them, flesh and fell, Ere they shall make vs weepe? Weele see 'em staru'd first: come. Enter. Bast. Come hither Captaine, hearke. Take thou this note, go follow them to prison, One step I haue aduanc'd thee, if thou do'st As this instructs thee, thou dost make thy way To Noble Fortunes: know thou this, that men Are as the time is; to be tender minded Do's not become a Sword, thy great imployment Will not beare question: either say thou'lt do't, Or thriue by other meanes Capt. Ile do't my Lord Bast. About it, and write happy, when th'hast done, Marke I say instantly, and carry it so As I haue set it downe. Exit Captaine. Flourish. Enter Albany, Gonerill, Regan, Soldiers. Alb. Sir, you haue shew'd to day your valiant straine And Fortune led you well: you haue the Captiues Who were the opposites of this dayes strife: I do require them of you so to vse them, As we shall find their merites, and our safety May equally determine Bast. Sir, I thought it fit, To send the old and miserable King to some retention, Whose age had Charmes in it, whose Title more, To plucke the common bosome on his side, And turne our imprest Launces in our eies Which do command them. With him I sent the Queen: My reason all the same, and they are ready To morrow, or at further space, t' appeare Where you shall hold your Session Alb. Sir, by your patience, I hold you but a subiect of this Warre, Not as a Brother Reg. That's as we list to grace him. Methinkes our pleasure might haue bin demanded Ere you had spoke so farre. He led our Powers, Bore the Commission of my place and person, The which immediacie may well stand vp, And call it selfe your Brother Gon. Not so hot: In his owne grace he doth exalt himselfe, More then in your addition Reg. In my rights, By me inuested, he compeeres the best Alb. That were the most, if he should husband you Reg. Iesters do oft proue Prophets Gon. Hola, hola, That eye that told you so, look'd but a squint Rega. Lady I am not well, else I should answere From a full flowing stomack. Generall, Take thou my Souldiers, prisoners, patrimony, Dispose of them, of me, the walls is thine: Witnesse the world, that I create thee heere My Lord, and Master Gon. Meane you to enioy him? Alb. The let alone lies not in your good will Bast. Nor in thine Lord Alb. Halfe-blooded fellow, yes Reg. Let the Drum strike, and proue my title thine Alb. Stay yet, heare reason: Edmund, I arrest thee On capitall Treason; and in thy arrest, This guilded Serpent: for your claime faire Sisters, I bare it in the interest of my wife, 'Tis she is sub-contracted to this Lord, And I her husband contradict your Banes. If you will marry, make your loues to me, My Lady is bespoke Gon. An enterlude Alb. Thou art armed Gloster, Let the Trumpet sound: If none appeare to proue vpon thy person, Thy heynous, manifest, and many Treasons, There is my pledge: Ile make it on thy heart Ere I taste bread, thou art in nothing lesse Then I haue heere proclaim'd thee Reg. Sicke, O sicke Gon. If not, Ile nere trust medicine Bast. There's my exchange, what in the world hes That names me Traitor, villain-like he lies, Call by the Trumpet: he that dares approach; On him, on you, who not, I will maintaine My truth and honor firmely. Enter a Herald. Alb. A Herald, ho. Trust to thy single vertue, for thy Souldiers All leuied in my name, haue in my name Tooke their discharge Regan. My sicknesse growes vpon me Alb. She is not well, conuey her to my Tent. Come hither Herald, let the Trumpet sound, And read out this. A Trumpet sounds. Herald reads. If any man of qualitie or degree, within the lists of the Army, will maintaine vpon Edmund, supposed Earle of Gloster, that he is a manifold Traitor, let him appeare by the third sound of the Trumpet: he is bold in his defence. 1 Trumpet. Her. Againe. 2 Trumpet. Her. Againe. 3 Trumpet. Trumpet answers within. Enter Edgar armed. Alb. Aske him his purposes, why he appeares Vpon this Call o'th' Trumpet Her. What are you? Your name, your quality, and why you answer This present Summons? Edg. Know my name is lost By Treasons tooth: bare-gnawne, and Canker-bit, Yet am I Noble as the Aduersary I come to cope Alb. Which is that Aduersary? Edg. What's he that speakes for Edmund Earle of Gloster? Bast. Himselfe, what saist thou to him? Edg. Draw thy Sword, That if my speech offend a Noble heart, Thy arme may do thee Iustice, heere is mine: Behold it is my priuiledge, The priuiledge of mine Honours, My oath, and my profession. I protest, Maugre thy strength, place, youth, and eminence, Despise thy victor-Sword, and fire new Fortune, Thy valor, and thy heart, thou art a Traitor: False to thy Gods, thy Brother, and thy Father, Conspirant 'gainst this high illustrious Prince, And from th' extremest vpward of thy head, To the discent and dust below thy foote, A most Toad-spotted Traitor. Say thou no, This Sword, this arme, and my best spirits are bent To proue vpon thy heart, where to I speake, Thou lyest Bast. In wisedome I should aske thy name, But since thy out-side lookes so faire and Warlike, And that thy tongue (some say) of breeding breathes, What safe, and nicely I might well delay, By rule of Knight-hood, I disdaine and spurne: Backe do I tosse these Treasons to thy head, With the hell-hated Lye, ore-whelme thy heart, Which for they yet glance by, and scarcely bruise, This Sword of mine shall giue them instant way, Where they shall rest for euer. Trumpets speake Alb. Saue him, saue him. Alarums. Fights. Gon. This is practise Gloster, By th' law of Warre, thou wast not bound to answer An vnknowne opposite: thou art not vanquish'd, But cozend, and beguild Alb. Shut your mouth Dame, Or with this paper shall I stop it: hold Sir, Thou worse then any name, reade thine owne euill: No tearing Lady, I perceiue you know it Gon. Say if I do, the Lawes are mine not thine, Who can araigne me for't? Enter. Alb. Most monstrous! O, know'st thou this paper? Bast. Aske me not what I know Alb. Go after her, she's desperate, gouerne her Bast. What you haue charg'd me with, That haue I done, And more, much more, the time will bring it out. 'Tis past, and so am I: But what art thou That hast this Fortune on me? If thou'rt Noble, I do forgiue thee Edg. Let's exchange charity: I am no lesse in blood then thou art Edmond, If more, the more th'hast wrong'd me. My name is Edgar and thy Fathers Sonne, The Gods are iust, and of our pleasant vices Make instruments to plague vs: The darke and vitious place where thee he got, Cost him his eyes Bast. Th'hast spoken right, 'tis true, The Wheele is come full circle, I am heere Alb. Me thought thy very gate did prophesie A Royall Noblenesse: I must embrace thee, Let sorrow split my heart, if euer I Did hate thee, or thy Father Edg. Worthy Prince I know't Alb. Where haue you hid your selfe? How haue you knowne the miseries of your Father? Edg. By nursing them my Lord. List a breefe tale, And when 'tis told, O that my heart would burst. The bloody proclamation to escape That follow'd me so neere, (O our liues sweetnesse, That we the paine of death would hourely dye, Rather then die at once) taught me to shift Into a mad-mans rags, t' assume a semblance That very Dogges disdain'd: and in this habit Met I my Father with his bleeding Rings, Their precious Stones new lost: became his guide, Led him, begg'd for him, sau'd him from dispaire. Neuer (O fault) reueal'd my selfe vnto him, Vntill some halfe houre past when I was arm'd, Not sure, though hoping of this good successe, I ask'd his blessing, and from first to last Told him our pilgrimage. But his flaw'd heart (Alacke too weake the conflict to support) Twixt two extremes of passion, ioy and greefe, Burst smilingly Bast. This speech of yours hath mou'd me, And shall perchance do good, but speake you on, You looke as you had something more to say Alb. If there be more, more wofull, hold it in, For I am almost ready to dissolue, Hearing of this. Enter a Gentleman. Gen. Helpe, helpe: O helpe Edg. What kinde of helpe? Alb. Speake man Edg. What meanes this bloody Knife? Gen. 'Tis hot, it smoakes, it came euen from the heart of- O she's dead Alb. Who dead? Speake man Gen. Your Lady Sir, your Lady; and her Sister By her is poyson'd: she confesses it Bast. I was contracted to them both, all three Now marry in an instant Edg. Here comes Kent. Enter Kent. Alb. Produce the bodies, be they aliue or dead; Gonerill and Regans bodies brought out. This iudgement of the Heauens that makes vs tremble. Touches vs not with pitty: O, is this he? The time will not allow the complement Which very manners vrges Kent. I am come To bid my King and Master aye good night. Is he not here? Alb. Great thing of vs forgot, Speake Edmund, where's the King? and where's Cordelia? Seest thou this obiect Kent? Kent. Alacke, why thus? Bast. Yet Edmund was belou'd: The one the other poison'd for my sake, And after slew herselfe Alb. Euen so: couer their faces Bast. I pant for life: some good I meane to do Despight of mine owne Nature. Quickly send, (Be briefe in it) to'th' Castle, for my Writ Is on the life of Lear, and on Cordelia: Nay, send in time Alb. Run, run, O run Edg. To who my Lord? Who ha's the Office? Send thy token of repreeue Bast. Well thought on, take my Sword, Giue it the Captaine Edg. Hast thee for thy life Bast. He hath Commission from thy Wife and me, To hang Cordelia in the prison, and To lay the blame vpon her owne dispaire, That she for-did her selfe Alb. The Gods defend her, beare him hence awhile. Enter Lear with Cordelia in his armes. Lear. Howle, howle, howle: O you are men of stones, Had I your tongues and eyes, Il'd vse them so, That Heauens vault should crack: she's gone for euer. I know when one is dead, and when one liues, She's dead as earth: Lend me a Looking-glasse, If that her breath will mist or staine the stone, Why then she liues Kent. Is this the promis'd end? Edg. Or image of that horror Alb. Fall and cease Lear. This feather stirs, she liues: if it be so, It is a chance which do's redeeme all sorrowes That euer I haue felt Kent. O my good Master Lear. Prythee away Edg. 'Tis Noble Kent your Friend Lear. A plague vpon you Murderors, Traitors all, I might haue sau'd her, now she's gone for euer: Cordelia, Cordelia, stay a little. Ha: What is't thou saist? Her voice was euer soft, Gentle, and low, an excellent thing in woman. I kill'd the Slaue that was a hanging thee Gent. 'Tis true (my Lords) he did Lear. Did I not fellow? I haue seene the day, with my good biting Faulchion I would haue made him skip: I am old now, And these same crosses spoile me. Who are you? Mine eyes are not o'th' best, Ile tell you straight Kent. If Fortune brag of two, she lou'd and hated, One of them we behold Lear. This is a dull sight, are you not Kent? Kent. The same: your Seruant Kent, Where is your Seruant Caius? Lear. He's a good fellow, I can tell you that, He'le strike and quickly too, he's dead and rotten Kent. No my good Lord, I am the very man Lear. Ile see that straight Kent. That from your first of difference and decay, Haue follow'd your sad steps Lear. You are welcome hither Kent. Nor no man else: All's cheerlesse, darke, and deadly, Your eldest Daughters haue fore-done themselues, And desperately are dead Lear. I so I thinke Alb. He knowes not what he saies, and vaine is it That we present vs to him. Enter a Messenger. Edg. Very bootlesse Mess. Edmund is dead my Lord Alb. That's but a trifle heere: You Lords and Noble Friends, know our intent, What comfort to this great decay may come, Shall be appli'd. For vs we will resigne, During the life of this old Maiesty To him our absolute power, you to your rights, With boote, and such addition as your Honours Haue more then merited. All Friends shall Taste the wages of their vertue, and all Foes The cup of their deseruings: O see, see Lear. And my poore Foole is hang'd: no, no, no life? Why should a Dog, a Horse, a Rat haue life, And thou no breath at all? Thou'lt come no more, Neuer, neuer, neuer, neuer, neuer. Pray you vndo this Button. Thanke you Sir, Do you see this? Looke on her? Looke her lips, Looke there, looke there. He dies. Edg. He faints, my Lord, my Lord Kent. Breake heart, I prythee breake Edg. Looke vp my Lord Kent. Vex not his ghost, O let him passe, he hates him, That would vpon the wracke of this tough world Stretch him out longer Edg. He is gon indeed Kent. The wonder is, he hath endur'd so long, He but vsurpt his life Alb. Beare them from hence, our present businesse Is generall woe: Friends of my soule, you twaine, Rule in this Realme, and the gor'd state sustaine Kent. I haue a iourney Sir, shortly to go, My Master calls me, I must not say no Edg. The waight of this sad time we must obey, Speake what we feele, not what we ought to say: The oldest hath borne most, we that are yong, Shall neuer see so much, nor liue so long. Exeunt. with a dead March. FINIS. THE TRAGEDIE OF KING LEAR.

The setting is the French camp near Dover. Kent hears that the king of France has been forced to return to his own country. Kent asks a Gentleman if, upon reading his letters, Cordelia revealed any emotion, and learns that she did manage to keep her feelings under control. Kent responds by acknowledging the stars' influence, which have made Cordelia so different from her sisters. Kent, who is still disguised, states that he will bring the Gentleman to Lear in Dover, and at the proper time, he will reveal his own identity.

summary

Scena Tertia. Enter in conquest with Drum and Colours, Edmund, Lear, and Cordelia, as prisoners, Souldiers, Captaine. Bast. Some Officers take them away: good guard, Vntill their greater pleasures first be knowne That are to censure them Cor. We are not the first, Who with best meaning haue incurr'd the worst: For thee oppressed King I am cast downe, My selfe could else out-frowne false Fortunes frowne. Shall we not see these Daughters, and these Sisters? Lear. No, no, no, no: come let's away to prison, We two alone will sing like Birds i'th' Cage: When thou dost aske me blessing, Ile kneele downe And aske of thee forgiuenesse: So wee'l liue, And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh At gilded Butterflies: and heere (poore Rogues) Talke of Court newes, and wee'l talke with them too, Who looses, and who wins; who's in, who's out; And take vpon's the mystery of things, As if we were Gods spies: And wee'l weare out In a wall'd prison, packs and sects of great ones, That ebbe and flow by th' Moone Bast. Take them away Lear. Vpon such sacrifices my Cordelia, The Gods themselues throw Incense. Haue I caught thee? He that parts vs, shall bring a Brand from Heauen, And fire vs hence, like Foxes: wipe thine eyes, The good yeares shall deuoure them, flesh and fell, Ere they shall make vs weepe? Weele see 'em staru'd first: come. Enter. Bast. Come hither Captaine, hearke. Take thou this note, go follow them to prison, One step I haue aduanc'd thee, if thou do'st As this instructs thee, thou dost make thy way To Noble Fortunes: know thou this, that men Are as the time is; to be tender minded Do's not become a Sword, thy great imployment Will not beare question: either say thou'lt do't, Or thriue by other meanes Capt. Ile do't my Lord Bast. About it, and write happy, when th'hast done, Marke I say instantly, and carry it so As I haue set it downe. Exit Captaine. Flourish. Enter Albany, Gonerill, Regan, Soldiers. Alb. Sir, you haue shew'd to day your valiant straine And Fortune led you well: you haue the Captiues Who were the opposites of this dayes strife: I do require them of you so to vse them, As we shall find their merites, and our safety May equally determine Bast. Sir, I thought it fit, To send the old and miserable King to some retention, Whose age had Charmes in it, whose Title more, To plucke the common bosome on his side, And turne our imprest Launces in our eies Which do command them. With him I sent the Queen: My reason all the same, and they are ready To morrow, or at further space, t' appeare Where you shall hold your Session Alb. Sir, by your patience, I hold you but a subiect of this Warre, Not as a Brother Reg. That's as we list to grace him. Methinkes our pleasure might haue bin demanded Ere you had spoke so farre. He led our Powers, Bore the Commission of my place and person, The which immediacie may well stand vp, And call it selfe your Brother Gon. Not so hot: In his owne grace he doth exalt himselfe, More then in your addition Reg. In my rights, By me inuested, he compeeres the best Alb. That were the most, if he should husband you Reg. Iesters do oft proue Prophets Gon. Hola, hola, That eye that told you so, look'd but a squint Rega. Lady I am not well, else I should answere From a full flowing stomack. Generall, Take thou my Souldiers, prisoners, patrimony, Dispose of them, of me, the walls is thine: Witnesse the world, that I create thee heere My Lord, and Master Gon. Meane you to enioy him? Alb. The let alone lies not in your good will Bast. Nor in thine Lord Alb. Halfe-blooded fellow, yes Reg. Let the Drum strike, and proue my title thine Alb. Stay yet, heare reason: Edmund, I arrest thee On capitall Treason; and in thy arrest, This guilded Serpent: for your claime faire Sisters, I bare it in the interest of my wife, 'Tis she is sub-contracted to this Lord, And I her husband contradict your Banes. If you will marry, make your loues to me, My Lady is bespoke Gon. An enterlude Alb. Thou art armed Gloster, Let the Trumpet sound: If none appeare to proue vpon thy person, Thy heynous, manifest, and many Treasons, There is my pledge: Ile make it on thy heart Ere I taste bread, thou art in nothing lesse Then I haue heere proclaim'd thee Reg. Sicke, O sicke Gon. If not, Ile nere trust medicine Bast. There's my exchange, what in the world hes That names me Traitor, villain-like he lies, Call by the Trumpet: he that dares approach; On him, on you, who not, I will maintaine My truth and honor firmely. Enter a Herald. Alb. A Herald, ho. Trust to thy single vertue, for thy Souldiers All leuied in my name, haue in my name Tooke their discharge Regan. My sicknesse growes vpon me Alb. She is not well, conuey her to my Tent. Come hither Herald, let the Trumpet sound, And read out this. A Trumpet sounds. Herald reads. If any man of qualitie or degree, within the lists of the Army, will maintaine vpon Edmund, supposed Earle of Gloster, that he is a manifold Traitor, let him appeare by the third sound of the Trumpet: he is bold in his defence. 1 Trumpet. Her. Againe. 2 Trumpet. Her. Againe. 3 Trumpet. Trumpet answers within. Enter Edgar armed. Alb. Aske him his purposes, why he appeares Vpon this Call o'th' Trumpet Her. What are you? Your name, your quality, and why you answer This present Summons? Edg. Know my name is lost By Treasons tooth: bare-gnawne, and Canker-bit, Yet am I Noble as the Aduersary I come to cope Alb. Which is that Aduersary? Edg. What's he that speakes for Edmund Earle of Gloster? Bast. Himselfe, what saist thou to him? Edg. Draw thy Sword, That if my speech offend a Noble heart, Thy arme may do thee Iustice, heere is mine: Behold it is my priuiledge, The priuiledge of mine Honours, My oath, and my profession. I protest, Maugre thy strength, place, youth, and eminence, Despise thy victor-Sword, and fire new Fortune, Thy valor, and thy heart, thou art a Traitor: False to thy Gods, thy Brother, and thy Father, Conspirant 'gainst this high illustrious Prince, And from th' extremest vpward of thy head, To the discent and dust below thy foote, A most Toad-spotted Traitor. Say thou no, This Sword, this arme, and my best spirits are bent To proue vpon thy heart, where to I speake, Thou lyest Bast. In wisedome I should aske thy name, But since thy out-side lookes so faire and Warlike, And that thy tongue (some say) of breeding breathes, What safe, and nicely I might well delay, By rule of Knight-hood, I disdaine and spurne: Backe do I tosse these Treasons to thy head, With the hell-hated Lye, ore-whelme thy heart, Which for they yet glance by, and scarcely bruise, This Sword of mine shall giue them instant way, Where they shall rest for euer. Trumpets speake Alb. Saue him, saue him. Alarums. Fights. Gon. This is practise Gloster, By th' law of Warre, thou wast not bound to answer An vnknowne opposite: thou art not vanquish'd, But cozend, and beguild Alb. Shut your mouth Dame, Or with this paper shall I stop it: hold Sir, Thou worse then any name, reade thine owne euill: No tearing Lady, I perceiue you know it Gon. Say if I do, the Lawes are mine not thine, Who can araigne me for't? Enter. Alb. Most monstrous! O, know'st thou this paper? Bast. Aske me not what I know Alb. Go after her, she's desperate, gouerne her Bast. What you haue charg'd me with, That haue I done, And more, much more, the time will bring it out. 'Tis past, and so am I: But what art thou That hast this Fortune on me? If thou'rt Noble, I do forgiue thee Edg. Let's exchange charity: I am no lesse in blood then thou art Edmond, If more, the more th'hast wrong'd me. My name is Edgar and thy Fathers Sonne, The Gods are iust, and of our pleasant vices Make instruments to plague vs: The darke and vitious place where thee he got, Cost him his eyes Bast. Th'hast spoken right, 'tis true, The Wheele is come full circle, I am heere Alb. Me thought thy very gate did prophesie A Royall Noblenesse: I must embrace thee, Let sorrow split my heart, if euer I Did hate thee, or thy Father Edg. Worthy Prince I know't Alb. Where haue you hid your selfe? How haue you knowne the miseries of your Father? Edg. By nursing them my Lord. List a breefe tale, And when 'tis told, O that my heart would burst. The bloody proclamation to escape That follow'd me so neere, (O our liues sweetnesse, That we the paine of death would hourely dye, Rather then die at once) taught me to shift Into a mad-mans rags, t' assume a semblance That very Dogges disdain'd: and in this habit Met I my Father with his bleeding Rings, Their precious Stones new lost: became his guide, Led him, begg'd for him, sau'd him from dispaire. Neuer (O fault) reueal'd my selfe vnto him, Vntill some halfe houre past when I was arm'd, Not sure, though hoping of this good successe, I ask'd his blessing, and from first to last Told him our pilgrimage. But his flaw'd heart (Alacke too weake the conflict to support) Twixt two extremes of passion, ioy and greefe, Burst smilingly Bast. This speech of yours hath mou'd me, And shall perchance do good, but speake you on, You looke as you had something more to say Alb. If there be more, more wofull, hold it in, For I am almost ready to dissolue, Hearing of this. Enter a Gentleman. Gen. Helpe, helpe: O helpe Edg. What kinde of helpe? Alb. Speake man Edg. What meanes this bloody Knife? Gen. 'Tis hot, it smoakes, it came euen from the heart of- O she's dead Alb. Who dead? Speake man Gen. Your Lady Sir, your Lady; and her Sister By her is poyson'd: she confesses it Bast. I was contracted to them both, all three Now marry in an instant Edg. Here comes Kent. Enter Kent. Alb. Produce the bodies, be they aliue or dead; Gonerill and Regans bodies brought out. This iudgement of the Heauens that makes vs tremble. Touches vs not with pitty: O, is this he? The time will not allow the complement Which very manners vrges Kent. I am come To bid my King and Master aye good night. Is he not here? Alb. Great thing of vs forgot, Speake Edmund, where's the King? and where's Cordelia? Seest thou this obiect Kent? Kent. Alacke, why thus? Bast. Yet Edmund was belou'd: The one the other poison'd for my sake, And after slew herselfe Alb. Euen so: couer their faces Bast. I pant for life: some good I meane to do Despight of mine owne Nature. Quickly send, (Be briefe in it) to'th' Castle, for my Writ Is on the life of Lear, and on Cordelia: Nay, send in time Alb. Run, run, O run Edg. To who my Lord? Who ha's the Office? Send thy token of repreeue Bast. Well thought on, take my Sword, Giue it the Captaine Edg. Hast thee for thy life Bast. He hath Commission from thy Wife and me, To hang Cordelia in the prison, and To lay the blame vpon her owne dispaire, That she for-did her selfe Alb. The Gods defend her, beare him hence awhile. Enter Lear with Cordelia in his armes. Lear. Howle, howle, howle: O you are men of stones, Had I your tongues and eyes, Il'd vse them so, That Heauens vault should crack: she's gone for euer. I know when one is dead, and when one liues, She's dead as earth: Lend me a Looking-glasse, If that her breath will mist or staine the stone, Why then she liues Kent. Is this the promis'd end? Edg. Or image of that horror Alb. Fall and cease Lear. This feather stirs, she liues: if it be so, It is a chance which do's redeeme all sorrowes That euer I haue felt Kent. O my good Master Lear. Prythee away Edg. 'Tis Noble Kent your Friend Lear. A plague vpon you Murderors, Traitors all, I might haue sau'd her, now she's gone for euer: Cordelia, Cordelia, stay a little. Ha: What is't thou saist? Her voice was euer soft, Gentle, and low, an excellent thing in woman. I kill'd the Slaue that was a hanging thee Gent. 'Tis true (my Lords) he did Lear. Did I not fellow? I haue seene the day, with my good biting Faulchion I would haue made him skip: I am old now, And these same crosses spoile me. Who are you? Mine eyes are not o'th' best, Ile tell you straight Kent. If Fortune brag of two, she lou'd and hated, One of them we behold Lear. This is a dull sight, are you not Kent? Kent. The same: your Seruant Kent, Where is your Seruant Caius? Lear. He's a good fellow, I can tell you that, He'le strike and quickly too, he's dead and rotten Kent. No my good Lord, I am the very man Lear. Ile see that straight Kent. That from your first of difference and decay, Haue follow'd your sad steps Lear. You are welcome hither Kent. Nor no man else: All's cheerlesse, darke, and deadly, Your eldest Daughters haue fore-done themselues, And desperately are dead Lear. I so I thinke Alb. He knowes not what he saies, and vaine is it That we present vs to him. Enter a Messenger. Edg. Very bootlesse Mess. Edmund is dead my Lord Alb. That's but a trifle heere: You Lords and Noble Friends, know our intent, What comfort to this great decay may come, Shall be appli'd. For vs we will resigne, During the life of this old Maiesty To him our absolute power, you to your rights, With boote, and such addition as your Honours Haue more then merited. All Friends shall Taste the wages of their vertue, and all Foes The cup of their deseruings: O see, see Lear. And my poore Foole is hang'd: no, no, no life? Why should a Dog, a Horse, a Rat haue life, And thou no breath at all? Thou'lt come no more, Neuer, neuer, neuer, neuer, neuer. Pray you vndo this Button. Thanke you Sir, Do you see this? Looke on her? Looke her lips, Looke there, looke there. He dies. Edg. He faints, my Lord, my Lord Kent. Breake heart, I prythee breake Edg. Looke vp my Lord Kent. Vex not his ghost, O let him passe, he hates him, That would vpon the wracke of this tough world Stretch him out longer Edg. He is gon indeed Kent. The wonder is, he hath endur'd so long, He but vsurpt his life Alb. Beare them from hence, our present businesse Is generall woe: Friends of my soule, you twaine, Rule in this Realme, and the gor'd state sustaine Kent. I haue a iourney Sir, shortly to go, My Master calls me, I must not say no Edg. The waight of this sad time we must obey, Speake what we feele, not what we ought to say: The oldest hath borne most, we that are yong, Shall neuer see so much, nor liue so long. Exeunt. with a dead March. FINIS. THE TRAGEDIE OF KING LEAR.

The King of France must return to his own country because a French invasion of England would be far too offensive for an audience still sensitive about a Spanish intrusion in recent years. The reason for the king's return is unimportant, and hence the vagueness in this scene's opening lines. The critical point is that Cordelia could not have her husband present to cloud the reunion with her father or to intrude on the final scene of the play. While the Marshal of France has been left to command the forces, the point is understood that Cordelia, who is English, will lead the defense of her father. At Kent's request, the Gentleman reveals Cordelia's response to news of her father's treatment. Her tears and pensive retreat prove her compassion and establish that she is, indeed, the opposite of her sisters. Kent takes the difference one step further by pointing to the stars, which he says have made sisters so different from one another. Deferring to the stars effectively absolves Regan and Goneril of any responsibility for their actions and credits fate with determining one sister's virtue and the other's vice. This conversation is important in understanding the role of divine justice in the events that occur later. Albany believes in divine justice, but both Lear and Gloucester have questioned whether such justice exists. The role of fate in understanding God's justice creates some complex issues to consider, since if Kent's words are to be taken literally, Cordelia's death lies with fate and not with divine justice. Divine justice, indeed any concept of God's intervention, cannot co-exist with a reliance on fate to explain events. Of course, it is important to remember that Shakespeare sets his events in the pre-Christian era, while both Shakespeare and his audience exist in a Judeo-Christian world. This creates a paradox and adds to the tension of the text. Glossary imports to mean; signify. smilets small smiles; half-smiles. question communication; an asking; inquiry. sovereign above or superior to all others; chief; greatest; supreme. dog-hearted ferocious; cruel; pitiless.

analysis

Scena Quinta. Enter Gloucester, and Edgar. Glou. When shall I come to th' top of that same hill? Edg. You do climbe vp it now. Look how we labor Glou. Me thinkes the ground is eeuen Edg. Horrible steepe. Hearke, do you heare the Sea? Glou. No truly Edg. Why then your other Senses grow imperfect By your eyes anguish Glou. So may it be indeed. Me thinkes thy voyce is alter'd, and thou speak'st In better phrase, and matter then thou did'st Edg. Y'are much deceiu'd: In nothing am I chang'd But in my Garments Glou. Me thinkes y'are better spoken Edg. Come on Sir, Heere's the place: stand still: how fearefull And dizie 'tis, to cast ones eyes so low, The Crowes and Choughes, that wing the midway ayre Shew scarse so grosse as Beetles. Halfe way downe Hangs one that gathers Sampire: dreadfull Trade: Me thinkes he seemes no bigger then his head. The Fishermen, that walk'd vpon the beach Appeare like Mice: and yond tall Anchoring Barke, Diminish'd to her Cocke: her Cocke, a Buoy Almost too small for sight. The murmuring Surge, That on th' vnnumbred idle Pebble chafes Cannot be heard so high. Ile looke no more, Least my braine turne, and the deficient sight Topple downe headlong Glou. Set me where you stand Edg. Giue me your hand: You are now within a foote of th' extreme Verge: For all beneath the Moone would I not leape vpright Glou. Let go my hand: Heere Friend's another purse: in it, a Iewell Well worth a poore mans taking. Fayries, and Gods Prosper it with thee. Go thou further off, Bid me farewell, and let me heare thee going Edg. Now fare ye well, good Sir Glou. With all my heart Edg. Why I do trifle thus with his dispaire, Is done to cure it Glou. O you mighty Gods! This world I do renounce, and in your sights Shake patiently my great affliction off: If I could beare it longer, and not fall To quarrell with your great opposelesse willes, My snuffe, and loathed part of Nature should Burne it selfe out. If Edgar liue, O blesse him: Now Fellow, fare thee well Edg. Gone Sir, farewell: And yet I know not how conceit may rob The Treasury of life, when life it selfe Yeelds to the Theft. Had he bin where he thought, By this had thought bin past. Aliue, or dead? Hoa, you Sir: Friend, heare you Sir, speake: Thus might he passe indeed: yet he reuiues. What are you Sir? Glou. Away, and let me dye Edg. Had'st thou beene ought But Gozemore, Feathers, Ayre, (So many fathome downe precipitating) Thou'dst shiuer'd like an Egge: but thou do'st breath: Hast heauy substance, bleed'st not, speak'st, art sound, Ten Masts at each, make not the altitude Which thou hast perpendicularly fell, Thy life's a Myracle. Speake yet againe Glou. But haue I falne, or no? Edg. From the dread Somnet of this Chalkie Bourne Looke vp a height, the shrill-gorg'd Larke so farre Cannot be seene, or heard: Do but looke vp Glou. Alacke, I haue no eyes: Is wretchednesse depriu'd that benefit To end it selfe by death? 'Twas yet some comfort, When misery could beguile the Tyrants rage, And frustrate his proud will Edg. Giue me your arme. Vp, so: How is't? Feele you your Legges? You stand Glou. Too well, too well Edg. This is aboue all strangenesse, Vpon the crowne o'th' Cliffe. What thing was that Which parted from you? Glou. A poore vnfortunate Beggar Edg. As I stood heere below, me thought his eyes Were two full Moones: he had a thousand Noses, Hornes wealk'd, and waued like the enraged Sea: It was some Fiend: Therefore thou happy Father, Thinke that the cleerest Gods, who make them Honors Of mens Impossibilities, haue preserued thee Glou. I do remember now: henceforth Ile beare Affliction, till it do cry out it selfe Enough, enough, and dye. That thing you speake of, I tooke it for a man: often 'twould say The Fiend, the Fiend, he led me to that place Edgar. Beare free and patient thoughts. Enter Lear. But who comes heere? The safer sense will ne're accommodate His Master thus Lear. No, they cannot touch me for crying. I am the King himselfe Edg. O thou side-piercing sight! Lear. Nature's aboue Art, in that respect. Ther's your Presse-money. That fellow handles his bow, like a Crowkeeper: draw mee a Cloathiers yard. Looke, looke, a Mouse: peace, peace, this peece of toasted Cheese will doo't. There's my Gauntlet, Ile proue it on a Gyant. Bring vp the browne Billes. O well flowne Bird: i'th' clout, i'th' clout: Hewgh. Giue the word Edg. Sweet Mariorum Lear. Passe Glou. I know that voice Lear. Ha! Gonerill with a white beard? They flatter'd me like a Dogge, and told mee I had the white hayres in my Beard, ere the blacke ones were there. To say I, and no, to euery thing that I said: I, and no too, was no good Diuinity. When the raine came to wet me once, and the winde to make me chatter: when the Thunder would not peace at my bidding, there I found 'em, there I smelt 'em out. Go too, they are not men o'their words; they told me, I was euery thing: 'Tis a Lye, I am not Agu-proofe Glou. The tricke of that voyce, I do well remember: Is't not the King? Lear. I, euery inch a King. When I do stare, see how the Subiect quakes. I pardon that mans life. What was thy cause? Adultery? thou shalt not dye: dye for Adultery? No, the Wren goes too't, and the small gilded Fly Do's letcher in my sight. Let Copulation thriue: For Glousters bastard Son was kinder to his Father, Then my Daughters got 'tweene the lawfull sheets. Too't Luxury pell-mell, for I lacke Souldiers. Behold yond simpring Dame, whose face betweene her Forkes presages Snow; that minces Vertue, & do's shake the head to heare of pleasures name. The Fitchew, nor the soyled Horse goes too't with a more riotous appetite: Downe from the waste they are Centaures, though Women all aboue: but to the Girdle do the Gods inherit, beneath is all the Fiends. There's hell, there's darkenes, there is the sulphurous pit; burning, scalding, stench, consumption: Fye, fie, fie; pah, pah: Giue me an Ounce of Ciuet; good Apothecary sweeten my immagination: There's money for thee Glou. O let me kisse that hand Lear. Let me wipe it first, It smelles of Mortality Glou. O ruin'd peece of Nature, this great world Shall so weare out to naught. Do'st thou know me? Lear. I remember thine eyes well enough: dost thou squiny at me? No, doe thy worst blinde Cupid, Ile not loue. Reade thou this challenge, marke but the penning of it Glou. Were all thy Letters Sunnes, I could not see Edg. I would not take this from report, It is, and my heart breakes at it Lear. Read Glou. What with the Case of eyes? Lear. Oh ho, are you there with me? No eies in your head, nor no mony in your purse? Your eyes are in a heauy case, your purse in a light, yet you see how this world goes Glou. I see it feelingly Lear. What, art mad? A man may see how this world goes, with no eyes. Looke with thine eares: See how yond Iustice railes vpon yond simple theefe. Hearke in thine eare: Change places, and handy-dandy, which is the Iustice, which is the theefe: Thou hast seene a Farmers dogge barke at a Beggar? Glou. I Sir Lear. And the Creature run from the Cur: there thou might'st behold the great image of Authoritie, a Dogg's obey'd in Office. Thou, Rascall Beadle, hold thy bloody hand: why dost thou lash that Whore? Strip thy owne backe, thou hotly lusts to vse her in that kind, for which thou whip'st her. The Vsurer hangs the Cozener. Thorough tatter'd cloathes great Vices do appeare: Robes, and Furr'd gownes hide all. Place sinnes with Gold, and the strong Lance of Iustice, hurtlesse breakes: Arme it in ragges, a Pigmies straw do's pierce it. None do's offend, none, I say none, Ile able 'em; take that of me my Friend, who haue the power to seale th' accusers lips. Get thee glasse-eyes, and like a scuruy Politician, seeme to see the things thou dost not. Now, now, now, now. Pull off my Bootes: harder, harder, so Edg. O matter, and impertinency mixt, Reason in Madnesse Lear. If thou wilt weepe my Fortunes, take my eyes. I know thee well enough, thy name is Glouster: Thou must be patient; we came crying hither: Thou know'st, the first time that we smell the Ayre We wawle, and cry. I will preach to thee: Marke Glou. Alacke, alacke the day Lear. When we are borne, we cry that we are come To this great stage of Fooles. This a good blocke: It were a delicate stratagem to shoo A Troope of Horse with Felt: Ile put't in proofe, And when I haue stolne vpon these Son in Lawes, Then kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill. Enter a Gentleman. Gent. Oh heere he is: lay hand vpon him, Sir. Your most deere Daughter- Lear. No rescue? What, a Prisoner? I am euen The Naturall Foole of Fortune. Vse me well, You shall haue ransome. Let me haue Surgeons, I am cut to'th' Braines Gent. You shall haue any thing Lear. No Seconds? All my selfe? Why, this would make a man, a man of Salt To vse his eyes for Garden water-pots. I wil die brauely, Like a smugge Bridegroome. What? I will be Iouiall: Come, come, I am a King, Masters, know you that? Gent. You are a Royall one, and we obey you Lear. Then there's life in't. Come, and you get it, You shall get it by running: Sa, sa, sa, sa. Enter. Gent. A sight most pittifull in the meanest wretch, Past speaking of in a King. Thou hast a Daughter Who redeemes Nature from the generall curse Which twaine haue brought her to Edg. Haile gentle Sir Gent. Sir, speed you: what's your will? Edg. Do you heare ought (Sir) of a Battell toward Gent. Most sure, and vulgar: Euery one heares that, which can distinguish sound Edg. But by your fauour: How neere's the other Army? Gent. Neere, and on speedy foot: the maine descry Stands on the hourely thought Edg. I thanke you Sir, that's all Gent. Though that the Queen on special cause is here Her Army is mou'd on. Enter. Edg. I thanke you Sir Glou. You euer gentle Gods, take my breath from me, Let not my worser Spirit tempt me againe To dye before you please Edg. Well pray you Father Glou. Now good sir, what are you? Edg. A most poore man, made tame to Fortunes blows Who, by the Art of knowne, and feeling sorrowes, Am pregnant to good pitty. Giue me your hand, Ile leade you to some biding Glou. Heartie thankes: The bountie, and the benizon of Heauen To boot, and boot. Enter Steward. Stew. A proclaim'd prize: most happie That eyelesse head of thine, was first fram'd flesh To raise my fortunes. Thou old, vnhappy Traitor, Breefely thy selfe remember: the Sword is out That must destroy thee Glou. Now let thy friendly hand Put strength enough too't Stew. Wherefore, bold Pezant, Dar'st thou support a publish'd Traitor? Hence, Least that th' infection of his fortune take Like hold on thee. Let go his arme Edg. Chill not let go Zir, Without vurther 'casion Stew. Let go Slaue, or thou dy'st Edg. Good Gentleman goe your gate, and let poore volke passe: and 'chud ha' bin zwaggerd out of my life, 'twould not ha' bin zo long as 'tis, by a vortnight. Nay, come not neere th' old man: keepe out che vor' ye, or Ile try whither your Costard, or my Ballow be the harder; chill be plaine with you Stew. Out Dunghill Edg. Chill picke your teeth Zir: come, no matter vor your foynes Stew. Slaue thou hast slaine me: Villain, take my purse; If euer thou wilt thriue, bury my bodie, And giue the Letters which thou find'st about me, To Edmund Earle of Glouster: seeke him out Vpon the English party. Oh vntimely death, death Edg. I know thee well. A seruiceable Villaine, As duteous to the vices of thy Mistris, As badnesse would desire Glou. What, is he dead? Edg. Sit you downe Father: rest you. Let's see these Pockets; the Letters that he speakes of May be my Friends: hee's dead; I am onely sorry He had no other Deathsman. Let vs see: Leaue gentle waxe, and manners: blame vs not To know our enemies mindes, we rip their hearts, Their Papers is more lawfull. Reads the Letter. Let our reciprocall vowes be remembred. You haue manie opportunities to cut him off: if your will want not, time and place will be fruitfully offer'd. There is nothing done. If hee returne the Conqueror, then am I the Prisoner, and his bed, my Gaole, from the loathed warmth whereof, deliuer me, and supply the place for your Labour. Your (Wife, so I would say) affectionate Seruant. Gonerill. Oh indistinguish'd space of Womans will, A plot vpon her vertuous Husbands life, And the exchange my Brother: heere, in the sands Thee Ile rake vp, the poste vnsanctified Of murtherous Letchers: and in the mature time, With this vngracious paper strike the sight Of the death-practis'd Duke: for him 'tis well, That of thy death, and businesse, I can tell Glou. The King is mad: How stiffe is my vilde sense That I stand vp, and haue ingenious feeling Of my huge Sorrowes? Better I were distract, So should my thoughts be seuer'd from my greefes, Drum afarre off. And woes, by wrong imaginations loose The knowledge of themselues Edg. Giue me your hand: Farre off methinkes I heare the beaten Drumme. Come Father, Ile bestow you with a Friend. Exeunt.

The setting is Gloucester's castle. Oswald reveals to Regan that Albany's forces have been deployed, but with much reluctance. Regan is more interested in the letter that Oswald carries from Goneril to Edmund. Regan insists that the letter be given to her, because she is aware of Goneril's amorous glances toward Edmund. Regan tells Oswald that Edmund is to be reserved for her, since she is now a widow. Regan also directs Oswald to kill Gloucester if he finds him.

summary

Scena Quinta. Enter Gloucester, and Edgar. Glou. When shall I come to th' top of that same hill? Edg. You do climbe vp it now. Look how we labor Glou. Me thinkes the ground is eeuen Edg. Horrible steepe. Hearke, do you heare the Sea? Glou. No truly Edg. Why then your other Senses grow imperfect By your eyes anguish Glou. So may it be indeed. Me thinkes thy voyce is alter'd, and thou speak'st In better phrase, and matter then thou did'st Edg. Y'are much deceiu'd: In nothing am I chang'd But in my Garments Glou. Me thinkes y'are better spoken Edg. Come on Sir, Heere's the place: stand still: how fearefull And dizie 'tis, to cast ones eyes so low, The Crowes and Choughes, that wing the midway ayre Shew scarse so grosse as Beetles. Halfe way downe Hangs one that gathers Sampire: dreadfull Trade: Me thinkes he seemes no bigger then his head. The Fishermen, that walk'd vpon the beach Appeare like Mice: and yond tall Anchoring Barke, Diminish'd to her Cocke: her Cocke, a Buoy Almost too small for sight. The murmuring Surge, That on th' vnnumbred idle Pebble chafes Cannot be heard so high. Ile looke no more, Least my braine turne, and the deficient sight Topple downe headlong Glou. Set me where you stand Edg. Giue me your hand: You are now within a foote of th' extreme Verge: For all beneath the Moone would I not leape vpright Glou. Let go my hand: Heere Friend's another purse: in it, a Iewell Well worth a poore mans taking. Fayries, and Gods Prosper it with thee. Go thou further off, Bid me farewell, and let me heare thee going Edg. Now fare ye well, good Sir Glou. With all my heart Edg. Why I do trifle thus with his dispaire, Is done to cure it Glou. O you mighty Gods! This world I do renounce, and in your sights Shake patiently my great affliction off: If I could beare it longer, and not fall To quarrell with your great opposelesse willes, My snuffe, and loathed part of Nature should Burne it selfe out. If Edgar liue, O blesse him: Now Fellow, fare thee well Edg. Gone Sir, farewell: And yet I know not how conceit may rob The Treasury of life, when life it selfe Yeelds to the Theft. Had he bin where he thought, By this had thought bin past. Aliue, or dead? Hoa, you Sir: Friend, heare you Sir, speake: Thus might he passe indeed: yet he reuiues. What are you Sir? Glou. Away, and let me dye Edg. Had'st thou beene ought But Gozemore, Feathers, Ayre, (So many fathome downe precipitating) Thou'dst shiuer'd like an Egge: but thou do'st breath: Hast heauy substance, bleed'st not, speak'st, art sound, Ten Masts at each, make not the altitude Which thou hast perpendicularly fell, Thy life's a Myracle. Speake yet againe Glou. But haue I falne, or no? Edg. From the dread Somnet of this Chalkie Bourne Looke vp a height, the shrill-gorg'd Larke so farre Cannot be seene, or heard: Do but looke vp Glou. Alacke, I haue no eyes: Is wretchednesse depriu'd that benefit To end it selfe by death? 'Twas yet some comfort, When misery could beguile the Tyrants rage, And frustrate his proud will Edg. Giue me your arme. Vp, so: How is't? Feele you your Legges? You stand Glou. Too well, too well Edg. This is aboue all strangenesse, Vpon the crowne o'th' Cliffe. What thing was that Which parted from you? Glou. A poore vnfortunate Beggar Edg. As I stood heere below, me thought his eyes Were two full Moones: he had a thousand Noses, Hornes wealk'd, and waued like the enraged Sea: It was some Fiend: Therefore thou happy Father, Thinke that the cleerest Gods, who make them Honors Of mens Impossibilities, haue preserued thee Glou. I do remember now: henceforth Ile beare Affliction, till it do cry out it selfe Enough, enough, and dye. That thing you speake of, I tooke it for a man: often 'twould say The Fiend, the Fiend, he led me to that place Edgar. Beare free and patient thoughts. Enter Lear. But who comes heere? The safer sense will ne're accommodate His Master thus Lear. No, they cannot touch me for crying. I am the King himselfe Edg. O thou side-piercing sight! Lear. Nature's aboue Art, in that respect. Ther's your Presse-money. That fellow handles his bow, like a Crowkeeper: draw mee a Cloathiers yard. Looke, looke, a Mouse: peace, peace, this peece of toasted Cheese will doo't. There's my Gauntlet, Ile proue it on a Gyant. Bring vp the browne Billes. O well flowne Bird: i'th' clout, i'th' clout: Hewgh. Giue the word Edg. Sweet Mariorum Lear. Passe Glou. I know that voice Lear. Ha! Gonerill with a white beard? They flatter'd me like a Dogge, and told mee I had the white hayres in my Beard, ere the blacke ones were there. To say I, and no, to euery thing that I said: I, and no too, was no good Diuinity. When the raine came to wet me once, and the winde to make me chatter: when the Thunder would not peace at my bidding, there I found 'em, there I smelt 'em out. Go too, they are not men o'their words; they told me, I was euery thing: 'Tis a Lye, I am not Agu-proofe Glou. The tricke of that voyce, I do well remember: Is't not the King? Lear. I, euery inch a King. When I do stare, see how the Subiect quakes. I pardon that mans life. What was thy cause? Adultery? thou shalt not dye: dye for Adultery? No, the Wren goes too't, and the small gilded Fly Do's letcher in my sight. Let Copulation thriue: For Glousters bastard Son was kinder to his Father, Then my Daughters got 'tweene the lawfull sheets. Too't Luxury pell-mell, for I lacke Souldiers. Behold yond simpring Dame, whose face betweene her Forkes presages Snow; that minces Vertue, & do's shake the head to heare of pleasures name. The Fitchew, nor the soyled Horse goes too't with a more riotous appetite: Downe from the waste they are Centaures, though Women all aboue: but to the Girdle do the Gods inherit, beneath is all the Fiends. There's hell, there's darkenes, there is the sulphurous pit; burning, scalding, stench, consumption: Fye, fie, fie; pah, pah: Giue me an Ounce of Ciuet; good Apothecary sweeten my immagination: There's money for thee Glou. O let me kisse that hand Lear. Let me wipe it first, It smelles of Mortality Glou. O ruin'd peece of Nature, this great world Shall so weare out to naught. Do'st thou know me? Lear. I remember thine eyes well enough: dost thou squiny at me? No, doe thy worst blinde Cupid, Ile not loue. Reade thou this challenge, marke but the penning of it Glou. Were all thy Letters Sunnes, I could not see Edg. I would not take this from report, It is, and my heart breakes at it Lear. Read Glou. What with the Case of eyes? Lear. Oh ho, are you there with me? No eies in your head, nor no mony in your purse? Your eyes are in a heauy case, your purse in a light, yet you see how this world goes Glou. I see it feelingly Lear. What, art mad? A man may see how this world goes, with no eyes. Looke with thine eares: See how yond Iustice railes vpon yond simple theefe. Hearke in thine eare: Change places, and handy-dandy, which is the Iustice, which is the theefe: Thou hast seene a Farmers dogge barke at a Beggar? Glou. I Sir Lear. And the Creature run from the Cur: there thou might'st behold the great image of Authoritie, a Dogg's obey'd in Office. Thou, Rascall Beadle, hold thy bloody hand: why dost thou lash that Whore? Strip thy owne backe, thou hotly lusts to vse her in that kind, for which thou whip'st her. The Vsurer hangs the Cozener. Thorough tatter'd cloathes great Vices do appeare: Robes, and Furr'd gownes hide all. Place sinnes with Gold, and the strong Lance of Iustice, hurtlesse breakes: Arme it in ragges, a Pigmies straw do's pierce it. None do's offend, none, I say none, Ile able 'em; take that of me my Friend, who haue the power to seale th' accusers lips. Get thee glasse-eyes, and like a scuruy Politician, seeme to see the things thou dost not. Now, now, now, now. Pull off my Bootes: harder, harder, so Edg. O matter, and impertinency mixt, Reason in Madnesse Lear. If thou wilt weepe my Fortunes, take my eyes. I know thee well enough, thy name is Glouster: Thou must be patient; we came crying hither: Thou know'st, the first time that we smell the Ayre We wawle, and cry. I will preach to thee: Marke Glou. Alacke, alacke the day Lear. When we are borne, we cry that we are come To this great stage of Fooles. This a good blocke: It were a delicate stratagem to shoo A Troope of Horse with Felt: Ile put't in proofe, And when I haue stolne vpon these Son in Lawes, Then kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill. Enter a Gentleman. Gent. Oh heere he is: lay hand vpon him, Sir. Your most deere Daughter- Lear. No rescue? What, a Prisoner? I am euen The Naturall Foole of Fortune. Vse me well, You shall haue ransome. Let me haue Surgeons, I am cut to'th' Braines Gent. You shall haue any thing Lear. No Seconds? All my selfe? Why, this would make a man, a man of Salt To vse his eyes for Garden water-pots. I wil die brauely, Like a smugge Bridegroome. What? I will be Iouiall: Come, come, I am a King, Masters, know you that? Gent. You are a Royall one, and we obey you Lear. Then there's life in't. Come, and you get it, You shall get it by running: Sa, sa, sa, sa. Enter. Gent. A sight most pittifull in the meanest wretch, Past speaking of in a King. Thou hast a Daughter Who redeemes Nature from the generall curse Which twaine haue brought her to Edg. Haile gentle Sir Gent. Sir, speed you: what's your will? Edg. Do you heare ought (Sir) of a Battell toward Gent. Most sure, and vulgar: Euery one heares that, which can distinguish sound Edg. But by your fauour: How neere's the other Army? Gent. Neere, and on speedy foot: the maine descry Stands on the hourely thought Edg. I thanke you Sir, that's all Gent. Though that the Queen on special cause is here Her Army is mou'd on. Enter. Edg. I thanke you Sir Glou. You euer gentle Gods, take my breath from me, Let not my worser Spirit tempt me againe To dye before you please Edg. Well pray you Father Glou. Now good sir, what are you? Edg. A most poore man, made tame to Fortunes blows Who, by the Art of knowne, and feeling sorrowes, Am pregnant to good pitty. Giue me your hand, Ile leade you to some biding Glou. Heartie thankes: The bountie, and the benizon of Heauen To boot, and boot. Enter Steward. Stew. A proclaim'd prize: most happie That eyelesse head of thine, was first fram'd flesh To raise my fortunes. Thou old, vnhappy Traitor, Breefely thy selfe remember: the Sword is out That must destroy thee Glou. Now let thy friendly hand Put strength enough too't Stew. Wherefore, bold Pezant, Dar'st thou support a publish'd Traitor? Hence, Least that th' infection of his fortune take Like hold on thee. Let go his arme Edg. Chill not let go Zir, Without vurther 'casion Stew. Let go Slaue, or thou dy'st Edg. Good Gentleman goe your gate, and let poore volke passe: and 'chud ha' bin zwaggerd out of my life, 'twould not ha' bin zo long as 'tis, by a vortnight. Nay, come not neere th' old man: keepe out che vor' ye, or Ile try whither your Costard, or my Ballow be the harder; chill be plaine with you Stew. Out Dunghill Edg. Chill picke your teeth Zir: come, no matter vor your foynes Stew. Slaue thou hast slaine me: Villain, take my purse; If euer thou wilt thriue, bury my bodie, And giue the Letters which thou find'st about me, To Edmund Earle of Glouster: seeke him out Vpon the English party. Oh vntimely death, death Edg. I know thee well. A seruiceable Villaine, As duteous to the vices of thy Mistris, As badnesse would desire Glou. What, is he dead? Edg. Sit you downe Father: rest you. Let's see these Pockets; the Letters that he speakes of May be my Friends: hee's dead; I am onely sorry He had no other Deathsman. Let vs see: Leaue gentle waxe, and manners: blame vs not To know our enemies mindes, we rip their hearts, Their Papers is more lawfull. Reads the Letter. Let our reciprocall vowes be remembred. You haue manie opportunities to cut him off: if your will want not, time and place will be fruitfully offer'd. There is nothing done. If hee returne the Conqueror, then am I the Prisoner, and his bed, my Gaole, from the loathed warmth whereof, deliuer me, and supply the place for your Labour. Your (Wife, so I would say) affectionate Seruant. Gonerill. Oh indistinguish'd space of Womans will, A plot vpon her vertuous Husbands life, And the exchange my Brother: heere, in the sands Thee Ile rake vp, the poste vnsanctified Of murtherous Letchers: and in the mature time, With this vngracious paper strike the sight Of the death-practis'd Duke: for him 'tis well, That of thy death, and businesse, I can tell Glou. The King is mad: How stiffe is my vilde sense That I stand vp, and haue ingenious feeling Of my huge Sorrowes? Better I were distract, So should my thoughts be seuer'd from my greefes, Drum afarre off. And woes, by wrong imaginations loose The knowledge of themselues Edg. Giue me your hand: Farre off methinkes I heare the beaten Drumme. Come Father, Ile bestow you with a Friend. Exeunt.

Albany's reluctance to support his wife's cause is clear as he reluctantly leads his army in defense of the kingdom. Oswald responds to Albany's hesitation by asserting that Goneril is the better soldier, which subordinates Albany's masculinity to his wife's powerful will. Oswald, however, is not accustomed to thinking about the morality of issues. As Goneril's servant, he accepts her orders without question. Ironically, Regan expresses concern that Gloucester be relieved of his misery, especially since she is directly responsible for that misery. Her "pity of his misery" indicates that she is cognizant of public opinion and interested in her subjects' support of her actions. But, Regan does not devote much attention to this consideration; after all, she has already dispatched Edmund to kill his father. Instead, she is concerned with the letter that Oswald is carrying from Goneril to Edmund. Obviously, Regan suspects Goneril of having feelings for Edmund, and the attempts to force Oswald into surrendering the letter lack any subtly. Regan implies that she and Edmund have an understanding, and she hints that their relationship is more than casual. By the end of this scene, the audience knows that Goneril and Regan are no longer working partners; instead, they have become rivals, engaging in hidden truths and plots. The sisters' competition for Edmund indicates that he is no longer simply the bastard son of Gloucester. Two royal princesses are vying for Edmund's attention, thus legitimizing his new position. At the conclusion of their meeting, Regan, who has already sent Edmund to kill Gloucester, now tells Oswald to kill the old man. She clearly does not want to take a chance that Gloucester might survive to reveal what happened to him. Glossary nighted made dark; black. belike quite likely; probably. of her bosom have her trust or confidence.

analysis

Scaena Septima. Enter Cordelia, Kent, and Gentleman. Cor. O thou good Kent, How shall I liue and worke To match thy goodnesse? My life will be too short, And euery measure faile me Kent. To be acknowledg'd Madam is ore-pai'd, All my reports go with the modest truth, Nor more, nor clipt, but so Cor. Be better suited, These weedes are memories of those worser houres: I prythee put them off Kent. Pardon deere Madam, Yet to be knowne shortens my made intent, My boone I make it, that you know me not, Till time, and I, thinke meet Cor. Then be't so my good Lord: How do's the King? Gent. Madam sleepes still Cor. O you kind Gods! Cure this great breach in his abused Nature, Th' vntun'd and iarring senses, O winde vp, Of this childe-changed Father Gent. So please your Maiesty, That we may wake the King, he hath slept long? Cor. Be gouern'd by your knowledge, and proceede I'th' sway of your owne will: is he array'd? Enter Lear in a chaire carried by Seruants] Gent. I Madam: in the heauinesse of sleepe, We put fresh garments on him. Be by good Madam when we do awake him, I doubt of his Temperance Cor. O my deere Father, restauratian hang Thy medicine on my lippes, and let this kisse Repaire those violent harmes, that my two Sisters Haue in thy Reuerence made Kent. Kind and deere Princesse Cor. Had you not bin their Father, these white flakes Did challenge pitty of them. Was this a face To be oppos'd against the iarring windes? Mine Enemies dogge, though he had bit me, Should haue stood that night against my fire, And was't thou faine (poore Father) To houell thee with Swine and Rogues forlorne, In short, and musty straw? Alacke, alacke, 'Tis wonder that thy life and wits, at once Had not concluded all. He wakes, speake to him Gen. Madam do you, 'tis fittest Cor. How does my Royall Lord? How fares your Maiesty? Lear. You do me wrong to take me out o'th' graue, Thou art a Soule in blisse, but I am bound Vpon a wheele of fire, that mine owne teares Do scal'd, like molten Lead Cor. Sir, do you know me? Lear. You are a spirit I know, where did you dye? Cor. Still, still, farre wide Gen. He's scarse awake, Let him alone a while Lear. Where haue I bin? Where am I? Faire day light? I am mightily abus'd; I should eu'n dye with pitty To see another thus. I know not what to say: I will not sweare these are my hands: let's see, I feele this pin pricke, would I were assur'd Of my condition Cor. O looke vpon me Sir, And hold your hand in benediction o're me, You must not kneele Lear. Pray do not mocke me: I am a very foolish fond old man, Fourescore and vpward, Not an houre more, nor lesse: And to deale plainely, I feare I am not in my perfect mind. Me thinkes I should know you, and know this man, Yet I am doubtfull: For I am mainely ignorant What place this is: and all the skill I haue Remembers not these garments: nor I know not Where I did lodge last night. Do not laugh at me, For (as I am a man) I thinke this Lady To be my childe Cordelia Cor. And so I am: I am Lear. Be your teares wet? Yes faith: I pray weepe not, If you haue poyson for me, I will drinke it: I know you do not loue me, for your Sisters Haue (as I do remember) done me wrong. You haue some cause, they haue not Cor. No cause, no cause Lear. Am I in France? Kent. In your owne kingdome Sir Lear. Do not abuse me Gent. Be comforted good Madam, the great rage You see is kill'd in him: desire him to go in, Trouble him no more till further setling Cor. Wilt please your Highnesse walke? Lear. You must beare with me: Pray you now forget, and forgiue, I am old and foolish. Exeunt.

The scene opens in a tent in the French camp. Cordelia is expressing her gratitude to Kent for the services he has tendered. Within moments, a sleeping Lear is brought into the tent, where Cordelia welcomes him with characteristic gentleness. As his senses return, the confused king asks if he is in France, and Kent assures Lear that he is in his own kingdom. Lear, Cordelia, and the doctor exit, leaving Kent and a Gentleman to discuss the most recent military developments.

summary

Scaena Septima. Enter Cordelia, Kent, and Gentleman. Cor. O thou good Kent, How shall I liue and worke To match thy goodnesse? My life will be too short, And euery measure faile me Kent. To be acknowledg'd Madam is ore-pai'd, All my reports go with the modest truth, Nor more, nor clipt, but so Cor. Be better suited, These weedes are memories of those worser houres: I prythee put them off Kent. Pardon deere Madam, Yet to be knowne shortens my made intent, My boone I make it, that you know me not, Till time, and I, thinke meet Cor. Then be't so my good Lord: How do's the King? Gent. Madam sleepes still Cor. O you kind Gods! Cure this great breach in his abused Nature, Th' vntun'd and iarring senses, O winde vp, Of this childe-changed Father Gent. So please your Maiesty, That we may wake the King, he hath slept long? Cor. Be gouern'd by your knowledge, and proceede I'th' sway of your owne will: is he array'd? Enter Lear in a chaire carried by Seruants] Gent. I Madam: in the heauinesse of sleepe, We put fresh garments on him. Be by good Madam when we do awake him, I doubt of his Temperance Cor. O my deere Father, restauratian hang Thy medicine on my lippes, and let this kisse Repaire those violent harmes, that my two Sisters Haue in thy Reuerence made Kent. Kind and deere Princesse Cor. Had you not bin their Father, these white flakes Did challenge pitty of them. Was this a face To be oppos'd against the iarring windes? Mine Enemies dogge, though he had bit me, Should haue stood that night against my fire, And was't thou faine (poore Father) To houell thee with Swine and Rogues forlorne, In short, and musty straw? Alacke, alacke, 'Tis wonder that thy life and wits, at once Had not concluded all. He wakes, speake to him Gen. Madam do you, 'tis fittest Cor. How does my Royall Lord? How fares your Maiesty? Lear. You do me wrong to take me out o'th' graue, Thou art a Soule in blisse, but I am bound Vpon a wheele of fire, that mine owne teares Do scal'd, like molten Lead Cor. Sir, do you know me? Lear. You are a spirit I know, where did you dye? Cor. Still, still, farre wide Gen. He's scarse awake, Let him alone a while Lear. Where haue I bin? Where am I? Faire day light? I am mightily abus'd; I should eu'n dye with pitty To see another thus. I know not what to say: I will not sweare these are my hands: let's see, I feele this pin pricke, would I were assur'd Of my condition Cor. O looke vpon me Sir, And hold your hand in benediction o're me, You must not kneele Lear. Pray do not mocke me: I am a very foolish fond old man, Fourescore and vpward, Not an houre more, nor lesse: And to deale plainely, I feare I am not in my perfect mind. Me thinkes I should know you, and know this man, Yet I am doubtfull: For I am mainely ignorant What place this is: and all the skill I haue Remembers not these garments: nor I know not Where I did lodge last night. Do not laugh at me, For (as I am a man) I thinke this Lady To be my childe Cordelia Cor. And so I am: I am Lear. Be your teares wet? Yes faith: I pray weepe not, If you haue poyson for me, I will drinke it: I know you do not loue me, for your Sisters Haue (as I do remember) done me wrong. You haue some cause, they haue not Cor. No cause, no cause Lear. Am I in France? Kent. In your owne kingdome Sir Lear. Do not abuse me Gent. Be comforted good Madam, the great rage You see is kill'd in him: desire him to go in, Trouble him no more till further setling Cor. Wilt please your Highnesse walke? Lear. You must beare with me: Pray you now forget, and forgiue, I am old and foolish. Exeunt.

Cordelia speaks with insight and appreciation when she tells Kent that his goodness is immeasurable. Although Kent's plans are inexplicit and the reason is unclear as to why revealing his identity would interfere with those plans, his devotion to Lear has been evident all along. At the end of this scene, Kent says, "My point and period will be thoroughly wrought / Or well or ill, as this day's battle's fought." . Kent's destiny is irrevocably connected to that of the king's, with the full meaning of these words manifest in the final scene of the play. Since his rescue, Lear has been sleeping, and he continues to sleep even as he is brought to Cordelia. When he awakens he thinks he is in hell, having been rescued by an angel: You do wrong to take me o@th@ grave;Thou art a soul in bliss; but I am boundUpon a wheel of fire, that mine own tearsDo scald like molten lead. The wheel of fire is a traditional metaphor for hell, deriving from the medieval period. Envisioning hell is not surprising for Lear, since Cordelia has only recently rescued him from a hellish existence on earth. In the previous scene, Lear related many of the things he has learned during this painful period, but in this brief scene, he clearly shows that he has learned other equally important lessons. In his speech to Cordelia , Lear makes no mention of royalty or of tests to determine the depth of love, as performed in Act I. Lear no longer sees himself as infallible, and he fully expects Cordelia to hate him. When he finally says "I think this lady / To be my child Cordelia" , Lear is finally once again sane. The music that greets Lear's return to wakefulness signals a return to harmony and replaces the sounds of the storm and the thundering disharmony between Lear and his older daughters. With the inclusion of music, order has returned to Lear's world, as he is reunited with Cordelia. The contrast between Cordelia and her sisters is especially dramatic in this scene. Cordelia has no desire for revenge, nor any need to make her father suffer for having misjudged her. Her virtue and purity make it easy to see why so many critics and scholars described Cordelia as Christ-like or representative of God's goodness. Glossary clipp'd inaccurate through omission. white flakes white hair. arbitrement an absolute and final decision.

analysis

Actus Quintus. Scena Prima. Enter with Drumme and Colours, Edmund, Regan. Gentlemen, and Souldiers. Bast. Know of the Duke if his last purpose hold, Or whether since he is aduis'd by ought To change the course, he's full of alteration, And selfereprouing, bring his constant pleasure Reg. Our Sisters man is certainely miscarried Bast. 'Tis to be doubted Madam Reg. Now sweet Lord, You know the goodnesse I intend vpon you: Tell me but truly, but then speake the truth, Do you not loue my Sister? Bast. In honour'd Loue Reg. But haue you neuer found my Brothers way, To the fore-fended place? Bast. No by mine honour, Madam Reg. I neuer shall endure her, deere my Lord Be not familiar with her Bast. Feare not, she and the Duke her husband. Enter with Drum and Colours, Albany, Gonerill, Soldiers. Alb. Our very louing Sister, well be-met: Sir, this I heard, the King is come to his Daughter With others, whom the rigour of our State Forc'd to cry out Regan. Why is this reasond? Gone. Combine together 'gainst the Enemie: For these domesticke and particular broiles, Are not the question heere Alb. Let's then determine with th' ancient of warre On our proceeding Reg. Sister you'le go with vs? Gon. No Reg. 'Tis most conuenient, pray go with vs Gon. Oh ho, I know the Riddle, I will goe. Exeunt. both the Armies. Enter Edgar. Edg. If ere your Grace had speech with man so poore, Heare me one word Alb. Ile ouertake you, speake Edg. Before you fight the Battaile, ope this Letter: If you haue victory, let the Trumpet sound For him that brought it: wretched though I seeme, I can produce a Champion, that will proue What is auouched there. If you miscarry, Your businesse of the world hath so an end, And machination ceases. Fortune loues you Alb. Stay till I haue read the Letter Edg. I was forbid it: When time shall serue, let but the Herald cry, And Ile appeare againe. Enter. Alb. Why farethee well, I will o're-looke thy paper. Enter Edmund. Bast. The Enemy's in view, draw vp your powers, Heere is the guesse of their true strength and Forces, By dilligent discouerie, but your hast Is now vrg'd on you Alb. We will greet the time. Enter. Bast. To both these Sisters haue I sworne my loue: Each iealous of the other, as the stung Are of the Adder. Which of them shall I take? Both? One? Or neither? Neither can be enioy'd If both remaine aliue: To take the Widdow, Exasperates, makes mad her Sister Gonerill, And hardly shall I carry out my side, Her husband being aliue. Now then, wee'l vse His countenance for the Battaile, which being done, Let her who would be rid of him, deuise His speedy taking off. As for the mercie Which he intends to Lear and to Cordelia, The Battaile done, and they within our power, Shall neuer see his pardon: for my state, Stands on me to defend, not to debate. Enter.

Regan, Edmund, and members of their army gather in the British camp near Dover. Regan quizzes Edmund about his feelings for Goneril. Edmund promises Regan that he will not be intimate with her sister. Goneril and Albany enter. Albany states that he intends to defend the kingdom against the French invaders. Goneril asserts that the fight is not a domestic quarrel, but a defense against an outside enemy. Edgar, still disguised as Poor Tom, appears and hands Albany the letter he removed from Oswald's body, the letter Goneril wrote ordering Edmund to kill her husband. Edgar leaves, and Edmund enters with news that the opposing forces are near.

summary

Actus Quintus. Scena Prima. Enter with Drumme and Colours, Edmund, Regan. Gentlemen, and Souldiers. Bast. Know of the Duke if his last purpose hold, Or whether since he is aduis'd by ought To change the course, he's full of alteration, And selfereprouing, bring his constant pleasure Reg. Our Sisters man is certainely miscarried Bast. 'Tis to be doubted Madam Reg. Now sweet Lord, You know the goodnesse I intend vpon you: Tell me but truly, but then speake the truth, Do you not loue my Sister? Bast. In honour'd Loue Reg. But haue you neuer found my Brothers way, To the fore-fended place? Bast. No by mine honour, Madam Reg. I neuer shall endure her, deere my Lord Be not familiar with her Bast. Feare not, she and the Duke her husband. Enter with Drum and Colours, Albany, Gonerill, Soldiers. Alb. Our very louing Sister, well be-met: Sir, this I heard, the King is come to his Daughter With others, whom the rigour of our State Forc'd to cry out Regan. Why is this reasond? Gone. Combine together 'gainst the Enemie: For these domesticke and particular broiles, Are not the question heere Alb. Let's then determine with th' ancient of warre On our proceeding Reg. Sister you'le go with vs? Gon. No Reg. 'Tis most conuenient, pray go with vs Gon. Oh ho, I know the Riddle, I will goe. Exeunt. both the Armies. Enter Edgar. Edg. If ere your Grace had speech with man so poore, Heare me one word Alb. Ile ouertake you, speake Edg. Before you fight the Battaile, ope this Letter: If you haue victory, let the Trumpet sound For him that brought it: wretched though I seeme, I can produce a Champion, that will proue What is auouched there. If you miscarry, Your businesse of the world hath so an end, And machination ceases. Fortune loues you Alb. Stay till I haue read the Letter Edg. I was forbid it: When time shall serue, let but the Herald cry, And Ile appeare againe. Enter. Alb. Why farethee well, I will o're-looke thy paper. Enter Edmund. Bast. The Enemy's in view, draw vp your powers, Heere is the guesse of their true strength and Forces, By dilligent discouerie, but your hast Is now vrg'd on you Alb. We will greet the time. Enter. Bast. To both these Sisters haue I sworne my loue: Each iealous of the other, as the stung Are of the Adder. Which of them shall I take? Both? One? Or neither? Neither can be enioy'd If both remaine aliue: To take the Widdow, Exasperates, makes mad her Sister Gonerill, And hardly shall I carry out my side, Her husband being aliue. Now then, wee'l vse His countenance for the Battaile, which being done, Let her who would be rid of him, deuise His speedy taking off. As for the mercie Which he intends to Lear and to Cordelia, The Battaile done, and they within our power, Shall neuer see his pardon: for my state, Stands on me to defend, not to debate. Enter.

The opening of this scene reveals that Regan remains very concerned about the relationship between Goneril and Edmund. Regan wants to know the truth or says she does, but she wants to know the truth only if it is what she wants to hear. And so, Edmund obliges with his version of the truth. His relationship to Goneril is only an "honour'd love" . Edmund adopts the language of nobility, just as he has since he first hatched his ambitious plot to rule the kingdom. Edmund's promise to not form a liaison with a married woman is unconvincing. Certainly, adultery is a sin, but that fact would not stop Edmund, who has demonstrated a propensity for far greater sins. When Goneril enters, her aside indicates how infatuated she, too, is with Edmund. Up to this point, having power has been most important to Goneril; now, quite suddenly, she is willing to lose the battle, and thus the kingdom, rather than lose Edmund. How far her infatuation will extend becomes clear in Scene 3. As soon as Goneril and Albany enter, he seeks to establish his position regarding the coming battle. Albany's lines demonstrate that he is an honest and just man . The king and his supporters are not enemies of the kingdom, but the French invasion is of sufficient purpose to lead his men into battle. Albany's intent is not to treat Lear and his defenders as enemies but only to defend the country against an outside invader. The others agree with Albany to appease him and ensure his cooperation. The rift between Goneril and Regan becomes more evident, and their competition for Edmund more obvious in this scene. Regan does not trust Goneril and will not allow her to be alone with Edmund, even for a moment. Regan's insistence that Goneril not remain behind with Edmund makes clear how far apart the sisters have moved from their earlier relationship. In Act I, Goneril and Regan acted as one, both voicing agreement in their flattery of Lear. They again were united in Act II, when they joined together to reduce Lear's forces. But with the inclusion of Edmund into their circle in Act III, they are now completely divided, each mistrusting the other. In turn, Edmund is busy with some plotting of his own. Edmund's growing ambition leads to a hope that Goneril will kill Albany, and in turn, be killed by Regan, who will be free to marry Edmund. With Lear and Cordelia dead, Edmund will be left to rule as king. He has come a long way from the bastard son of Act I. Glossary alteration change . forfended prohibited; forbidden. convenient appropriate; suitable. avouched asserted; affirmed. greet the time hurry; meet the emergency.

analysis

Scena Secunda. Alarum within. Enter with Drumme and Colours, Lear, Cordelia, and Souldiers, ouer the Stage, and Exeunt. Enter Edgar, and Gloster. Edg. Heere Father, take the shadow of this Tree For your good hoast: pray that the right may thriue: If euer I returne to you againe, Ile bring you comfort Glo. Grace go with you Sir. Enter. Alarum and Retreat within. Enter Edgar. Edgar. Away old man, giue me thy hand, away: King Lear hath lost, he and his Daughter tane, Giue me thy hand: Come on Glo. No further Sir, a man may rot euen heere Edg. What in ill thoughts againe? Men must endure Their going hence, euen as their comming hither, Ripenesse is all come on Glo. And that's true too. Exeunt.

The setting is a field between the British and French camps. Cordelia, Lear, and their forces move toward the battle. Edgar enters, looking for a safe place for Gloucester to wait out the conflict. After placing Gloucester in a sheltered spot, Edgar leaves, and the sounds of battle are heard. In a few moments, Edgar returns and orders Gloucester to follow him to a more secure spot because Lear's forces have lost, and the king and Cordelia have been taken prisoner.

summary

Scena Secunda. Alarum within. Enter with Drumme and Colours, Lear, Cordelia, and Souldiers, ouer the Stage, and Exeunt. Enter Edgar, and Gloster. Edg. Heere Father, take the shadow of this Tree For your good hoast: pray that the right may thriue: If euer I returne to you againe, Ile bring you comfort Glo. Grace go with you Sir. Enter. Alarum and Retreat within. Enter Edgar. Edgar. Away old man, giue me thy hand, away: King Lear hath lost, he and his Daughter tane, Giue me thy hand: Come on Glo. No further Sir, a man may rot euen heere Edg. What in ill thoughts againe? Men must endure Their going hence, euen as their comming hither, Ripenesse is all come on Glo. And that's true too. Exeunt.

Edgar echoes a common belief of Shakespeare's period when he says "Men must endure" . Patient suffering was a key part of seventeenth-century life, a fundamental belief of Christian doctrine. Within this context, the Book of Job was not just a part of the larger biblical text; it was instead, an element of every man's life. Job's trials were thought to be an actual historical account, written by Moses and designed by God to facilitate the acceptance of suffering as necessary for a later reward with God. In short, a belief in patience through suffering created the way to greater happiness and glory with God. Job's suffering increases with his willingness to suffer; and still, he only responds, "Shall we receive good at the hand of God, and shall we not receive evil?" . Even when Job can bear his suffering no longer, he refuses to curse God. Instead, he curses the day of his birth. Job's patience with his loss and pain is tremendous, and clearly this serves as a model for Edgar, who has borne his trials with patience. Eventually, even Job begins to question why he must suffer, and in turn, he is chastised by God and reminded of God's glory: "Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth?" . The reflective man, willing to suffer, reminded by patience of the reward from God, finds an expression of his glory in Job's text. Although the setting for King Lear is pre-Christianity, its influences are clearly seen in the way Edgar reminds his father that they must endure. Glossary good host shelterer, entertainer.

analysis

Actus Primus. Scoena Prima. Enter Kent, Gloucester, and Edmond. Kent. I thought the King had more affected the Duke of Albany, then Cornwall Glou. It did alwayes seeme so to vs: But now in the diuision of the Kingdome, it appeares not which of the Dukes hee valewes most, for qualities are so weigh'd, that curiosity in neither, can make choise of eithers moity Kent. Is not this your Son, my Lord? Glou. His breeding Sir, hath bin at my charge. I haue so often blush'd to acknowledge him, that now I am braz'd too't Kent. I cannot conceiue you Glou. Sir, this yong Fellowes mother could; wherevpon she grew round womb'd, and had indeede (Sir) a Sonne for her Cradle, ere she had a husband for her bed. Do you smell a fault? Kent. I cannot wish the fault vndone, the issue of it, being so proper Glou. But I haue a Sonne, Sir, by order of Law, some yeere elder then this; who, yet is no deerer in my account, though this Knaue came somthing sawcily to the world before he was sent for: yet was his Mother fayre, there was good sport at his making, and the horson must be acknowledged. Doe you know this Noble Gentleman, Edmond? Edm. No, my Lord Glou. My Lord of Kent: Remember him heereafter, as my Honourable Friend Edm. My seruices to your Lordship Kent. I must loue you, and sue to know you better Edm. Sir, I shall study deseruing Glou. He hath bin out nine yeares, and away he shall againe. The King is comming. Sennet. Enter King Lear, Cornwall, Albany, Gonerill, Regan, Cordelia, and attendants. Lear. Attend the Lords of France & Burgundy, Gloster Glou. I shall, my Lord. Enter. Lear. Meane time we shal expresse our darker purpose. Giue me the Map there. Know, that we haue diuided In three our Kingdome: and 'tis our fast intent, To shake all Cares and Businesse from our Age, Conferring them on yonger strengths, while we Vnburthen'd crawle toward death. Our son of Cornwal, And you our no lesse louing Sonne of Albany, We haue this houre a constant will to publish Our daughters seuerall Dowers, that future strife May be preuented now. The Princes, France & Burgundy, Great Riuals in our yongest daughters loue, Long in our Court, haue made their amorous soiourne, And heere are to be answer'd. Tell me my daughters (Since now we will diuest vs both of Rule, Interest of Territory, Cares of State) Which of you shall we say doth loue vs most, That we, our largest bountie may extend Where Nature doth with merit challenge. Gonerill, Our eldest borne, speake first Gon. Sir, I loue you more then word can weild y matter, Deerer then eye-sight, space, and libertie, Beyond what can be valewed, rich or rare, No lesse then life, with grace, health, beauty, honor: As much as Childe ere lou'd, or Father found. A loue that makes breath poore, and speech vnable, Beyond all manner of so much I loue you Cor. What shall Cordelia speake? Loue, and be silent Lear. Of all these bounds euen from this Line, to this, With shadowie Forrests, and with Champains rich'd With plenteous Riuers, and wide-skirted Meades We make thee Lady. To thine and Albanies issues Be this perpetuall. What sayes our second Daughter? Our deerest Regan, wife of Cornwall? Reg. I am made of that selfe-mettle as my Sister, And prize me at her worth. In my true heart, I finde she names my very deede of loue: Onely she comes too short, that I professe My selfe an enemy to all other ioyes, Which the most precious square of sense professes, And finde I am alone felicitate In your deere Highnesse loue Cor. Then poore Cordelia, And yet not so, since I am sure my loue's More ponderous then my tongue Lear. To thee, and thine hereditarie euer, Remaine this ample third of our faire Kingdome, No lesse in space, validitie, and pleasure Then that conferr'd on Gonerill. Now our Ioy, Although our last and least; to whose yong loue, The Vines of France, and Milke of Burgundie, Striue to be interest. What can you say, to draw A third, more opilent then your Sisters? speake Cor. Nothing my Lord Lear. Nothing? Cor. Nothing Lear. Nothing will come of nothing, speake againe Cor. Vnhappie that I am, I cannot heaue My heart into my mouth: I loue your Maiesty According to my bond, no more nor lesse Lear. How, how Cordelia? Mend your speech a little, Least you may marre your Fortunes Cor. Good my Lord, You haue begot me, bred me, lou'd me. I returne those duties backe as are right fit, Obey you, Loue you, and most Honour you. Why haue my Sisters Husbands, if they say They loue you all? Happily when I shall wed, That Lord, whose hand must take my plight, shall carry Halfe my loue with him, halfe my Care, and Dutie, Sure I shall neuer marry like my Sisters Lear. But goes thy heart with this? Cor. I my good Lord Lear. So young, and so vntender? Cor. So young my Lord, and true Lear. Let it be so, thy truth then be thy dowre: For by the sacred radience of the Sunne, The misteries of Heccat and the night: By all the operation of the Orbes, From whom we do exist, and cease to be, Heere I disclaime all my Paternall care, Propinquity and property of blood, And as a stranger to my heart and me, Hold thee from this for euer. The barbarous Scythian, Or he that makes his generation messes To gorge his appetite, shall to my bosome Be as well neighbour'd, pittied, and releeu'd, As thou my sometime Daughter Kent. Good my Liege Lear. Peace Kent, Come not betweene the Dragon and his wrath, I lou'd her most, and thought to set my rest On her kind nursery. Hence and avoid my sight: So be my graue my peace, as here I giue Her Fathers heart from her; call France, who stirres? Call Burgundy, Cornwall, and Albanie, With my two Daughters Dowres, digest the third, Let pride, which she cals plainnesse, marry her: I doe inuest you ioyntly with my power, Preheminence, and all the large effects That troope with Maiesty. Our selfe by Monthly course, With reseruation of an hundred Knights, By you to be sustain'd, shall our abode Make with you by due turne, onely we shall retaine The name, and all th' addition to a King: the Sway, Reuennew, Execution of the rest, Beloued Sonnes be yours, which to confirme, This Coronet part betweene you Kent. Royall Lear, Whom I haue euer honor'd as my King, Lou'd as my Father, as my Master follow'd, As my great Patron thought on in my praiers Le. The bow is bent & drawne, make from the shaft Kent. Let it fall rather, though the forke inuade The region of my heart, be Kent vnmannerly, When Lear is mad, what wouldest thou do old man? Think'st thou that dutie shall haue dread to speake, When power to flattery bowes? To plainnesse honour's bound, When Maiesty falls to folly, reserue thy state, And in thy best consideration checke This hideous rashnesse, answere my life, my iudgement: Thy yongest Daughter do's not loue thee least, Nor are those empty hearted, whose low sounds Reuerbe no hollownesse Lear. Kent, on thy life no more Kent. My life I neuer held but as pawne To wage against thine enemies, nere feare to loose it, Thy safety being motiue Lear. Out of my sight Kent. See better Lear, and let me still remaine The true blanke of thine eie Lear. Now by Apollo, Kent. Now by Apollo, King Thou swear'st thy Gods in vaine Lear. O Vassall! Miscreant Alb. Cor. Deare Sir forbeare Kent. Kill thy Physition, and thy fee bestow Vpon the foule disease, reuoke thy guift, Or whil'st I can vent clamour from my throate, Ile tell thee thou dost euill Lea. Heare me recreant, on thine allegeance heare me; That thou hast sought to make vs breake our vowes, Which we durst neuer yet; and with strain'd pride, To come betwixt our sentences, and our power, Which, nor our nature, nor our place can beare; Our potencie made good, take thy reward. Fiue dayes we do allot thee for prouision, To shield thee from disasters of the world, And on the sixt to turne thy hated backe Vpon our kingdome: if on the tenth day following, Thy banisht trunke be found in our Dominions, The moment is thy death, away. By Iupiter, This shall not be reuok'd, Kent. Fare thee well King, sith thus thou wilt appeare, Freedome liues hence, and banishment is here; The Gods to their deere shelter take thee Maid, That iustly think'st, and hast most rightly said: And your large speeches, may your deeds approue, That good effects may spring from words of loue: Thus Kent, O Princes, bids you all adew, Hee'l shape his old course, in a Country new. Enter. Flourish. Enter Gloster with France, and Burgundy, Attendants. Cor. Heere's France and Burgundy, my Noble Lord Lear. My Lord of Burgundie, We first addresse toward you, who with this King Hath riuald for our Daughter; what in the least Will you require in present Dower with her, Or cease your quest of Loue? Bur. Most Royall Maiesty, I craue no more then hath your Highnesse offer'd, Nor will you tender lesse? Lear. Right Noble Burgundy, When she was deare to vs, we did hold her so, But now her price is fallen: Sir, there she stands, If ought within that little seeming substance, Or all of it with our displeasure piec'd, And nothing more may fitly like your Grace, Shee's there, and she is yours Bur. I know no answer Lear. Will you with those infirmities she owes, Vnfriended, new adopted to our hate, Dow'rd with our curse, and stranger'd with our oath, Take her or, leaue her Bur. Pardon me Royall Sir, Election makes not vp in such conditions Le. Then leaue her sir, for by the powre that made me, I tell you all her wealth. For you great King, I would not from your loue make such a stray, To match you where I hate, therefore beseech you T' auert your liking a more worthier way, Then on a wretch whom Nature is asham'd Almost t' acknowledge hers Fra. This is most strange, That she whom euen but now, was your obiect, The argument of your praise, balme of your age, The best, the deerest, should in this trice of time Commit a thing so monstrous, to dismantle So many folds of fauour: sure her offence Must be of such vnnaturall degree, That monsters it: Or your fore-voucht affection Fall into taint, which to beleeue of her Must be a faith that reason without miracle Should neuer plant in me Cor. I yet beseech your Maiesty. If for I want that glib and oylie Art, To speake and purpose not, since what I will intend, Ile do't before I speake, that you make knowne It is no vicious blot, murther, or foulenesse, No vnchaste action or dishonoured step That hath depriu'd me of your Grace and fauour, But euen for want of that, for which I am richer, A still soliciting eye, and such a tongue, That I am glad I haue not, though not to haue it, Hath lost me in your liking Lear. Better thou had'st Not beene borne, then not t'haue pleas'd me better Fra. Is it but this? A tardinesse in nature, Which often leaues the history vnspoke That it intends to do: my Lord of Burgundy, What say you to the Lady? Loue's not loue When it is mingled with regards, that stands Aloofe from th' intire point, will you haue her? She is herselfe a Dowrie Bur. Royall King, Giue but that portion which your selfe propos'd, And here I take Cordelia by the hand, Dutchesse of Burgundie Lear. Nothing, I haue sworne, I am firme Bur. I am sorry then you haue so lost a Father, That you must loose a husband Cor. Peace be with Burgundie, Since that respect and Fortunes are his loue, I shall not be his wife Fra. Fairest Cordelia, that art most rich being poore, Most choise forsaken, and most lou'd despis'd, Thee and thy vertues here I seize vpon, Be it lawfull I take vp what's cast away. Gods, Gods! 'Tis strange, that from their cold'st neglect My Loue should kindle to enflam'd respect. Thy dowrelesse Daughter King, throwne to my chance, Is Queene of vs, of ours, and our faire France: Not all the Dukes of watrish Burgundy, Can buy this vnpriz'd precious Maid of me. Bid them farewell Cordelia, though vnkinde, Thou loosest here a better where to finde Lear. Thou hast her France, let her be thine, for we Haue no such Daughter, nor shall euer see That face of hers againe, therfore be gone, Without our Grace, our Loue, our Benizon: Come Noble Burgundie. Flourish. Exeunt. Fra. Bid farwell to your Sisters Cor. The Iewels of our Father, with wash'd eies Cordelia leaues you, I know you what you are, And like a Sister am most loth to call Your faults as they are named. Loue well our Father: To your professed bosomes I commit him, But yet alas, stood I within his Grace, I would prefer him to a better place, So farewell to you both Regn. Prescribe not vs our dutie Gon. Let your study Be to content your Lord, who hath receiu'd you At Fortunes almes, you haue obedience scanted, And well are worth the want that you haue wanted Cor. Time shall vnfold what plighted cunning hides, Who couers faults, at last with shame derides: Well may you prosper Fra. Come my faire Cordelia. Exit France and Cor. Gon. Sister, it is not little I haue to say, Of what most neerely appertaines to vs both, I thinke our Father will hence to night Reg. That's most certaine, and with you: next moneth with vs Gon. You see how full of changes his age is, the obseruation we haue made of it hath beene little; he alwaies lou'd our Sister most, and with what poore iudgement he hath now cast her off, appeares too grossely Reg. 'Tis the infirmity of his age, yet he hath euer but slenderly knowne himselfe Gon. The best and soundest of his time hath bin but rash, then must we looke from his age, to receiue not alone the imperfections of long ingraffed condition, but therewithall the vnruly way-wardnesse, that infirme and cholericke yeares bring with them Reg. Such vnconstant starts are we like to haue from him, as this of Kents banishment Gon. There is further complement of leaue-taking betweene France and him, pray you let vs sit together, if our Father carry authority with such disposition as he beares, this last surrender of his will but offend vs Reg. We shall further thinke of it Gon. We must do something, and i'th' heate. Exeunt.

Unhappy that I am, I cannot heaveMy heart into my mouth. The play begins with two noblemen, Gloucester and Kent, discussing the fact that King Lear is about to divide his kingdom. Their conversation quickly changes, however, when Kent asks Gloucester to introduce his son. Gloucester introduces Edmund, explaining that Edmund is a bastard being raised away from home, but that he nevertheless loves his son dearly. Lear, the ruler of Britain, enters his throne room and announces his plan to divide the kingdom among his three daughters. He intends to give up the responsibilities of government and spend his old age visiting his children. He commands his daughters to say which of them loves him the most, promising to give the greatest share to that daughter. Lear's scheming older daughters, Goneril and Regan, respond to his test with flattery, telling him in wildly overblown terms that they love him more than anything else. But Cordelia, Lear's youngest daughter, refuses to speak. When pressed, she says that she cannot "heave her heart into her mouth," that she loves him exactly as much as a daughter should love her father, and that her sisters wouldn't have husbands if they loved their father as much as they say. In response, Lear flies into a rage, disowns Cordelia, and divides her share of the kingdom between her two sisters. The earl of Kent, a nobleman who has served Lear faithfully for many years, is the only courtier who disagrees with the king's actions. Kent tells Lear he is insane to reward the flattery of his older daughters and disown Cordelia, who loves him more than her sisters do. Lear turns his anger on Kent, banishing him from the kingdom and telling him that he must be gone within six days. The king of France and duke of Burgundy are at Lear's court, awaiting his decision as to which of them will marry Cordelia. Lear calls them in and tells them that Cordelia no longer has any title or land. Burgundy withdraws his offer of marriage, but France is impressed by Cordelia's honesty and decides to make her his queen. Lear sends her away without his blessing. Goneril and Regan scheme together in secrecy. Although they recognize that they now have complete power over the kingdom, they agree that they must act to reduce their father's remaining authority

summary

Actus Primus. Scoena Prima. Enter Kent, Gloucester, and Edmond. Kent. I thought the King had more affected the Duke of Albany, then Cornwall Glou. It did alwayes seeme so to vs: But now in the diuision of the Kingdome, it appeares not which of the Dukes hee valewes most, for qualities are so weigh'd, that curiosity in neither, can make choise of eithers moity Kent. Is not this your Son, my Lord? Glou. His breeding Sir, hath bin at my charge. I haue so often blush'd to acknowledge him, that now I am braz'd too't Kent. I cannot conceiue you Glou. Sir, this yong Fellowes mother could; wherevpon she grew round womb'd, and had indeede (Sir) a Sonne for her Cradle, ere she had a husband for her bed. Do you smell a fault? Kent. I cannot wish the fault vndone, the issue of it, being so proper Glou. But I haue a Sonne, Sir, by order of Law, some yeere elder then this; who, yet is no deerer in my account, though this Knaue came somthing sawcily to the world before he was sent for: yet was his Mother fayre, there was good sport at his making, and the horson must be acknowledged. Doe you know this Noble Gentleman, Edmond? Edm. No, my Lord Glou. My Lord of Kent: Remember him heereafter, as my Honourable Friend Edm. My seruices to your Lordship Kent. I must loue you, and sue to know you better Edm. Sir, I shall study deseruing Glou. He hath bin out nine yeares, and away he shall againe. The King is comming. Sennet. Enter King Lear, Cornwall, Albany, Gonerill, Regan, Cordelia, and attendants. Lear. Attend the Lords of France & Burgundy, Gloster Glou. I shall, my Lord. Enter. Lear. Meane time we shal expresse our darker purpose. Giue me the Map there. Know, that we haue diuided In three our Kingdome: and 'tis our fast intent, To shake all Cares and Businesse from our Age, Conferring them on yonger strengths, while we Vnburthen'd crawle toward death. Our son of Cornwal, And you our no lesse louing Sonne of Albany, We haue this houre a constant will to publish Our daughters seuerall Dowers, that future strife May be preuented now. The Princes, France & Burgundy, Great Riuals in our yongest daughters loue, Long in our Court, haue made their amorous soiourne, And heere are to be answer'd. Tell me my daughters (Since now we will diuest vs both of Rule, Interest of Territory, Cares of State) Which of you shall we say doth loue vs most, That we, our largest bountie may extend Where Nature doth with merit challenge. Gonerill, Our eldest borne, speake first Gon. Sir, I loue you more then word can weild y matter, Deerer then eye-sight, space, and libertie, Beyond what can be valewed, rich or rare, No lesse then life, with grace, health, beauty, honor: As much as Childe ere lou'd, or Father found. A loue that makes breath poore, and speech vnable, Beyond all manner of so much I loue you Cor. What shall Cordelia speake? Loue, and be silent Lear. Of all these bounds euen from this Line, to this, With shadowie Forrests, and with Champains rich'd With plenteous Riuers, and wide-skirted Meades We make thee Lady. To thine and Albanies issues Be this perpetuall. What sayes our second Daughter? Our deerest Regan, wife of Cornwall? Reg. I am made of that selfe-mettle as my Sister, And prize me at her worth. In my true heart, I finde she names my very deede of loue: Onely she comes too short, that I professe My selfe an enemy to all other ioyes, Which the most precious square of sense professes, And finde I am alone felicitate In your deere Highnesse loue Cor. Then poore Cordelia, And yet not so, since I am sure my loue's More ponderous then my tongue Lear. To thee, and thine hereditarie euer, Remaine this ample third of our faire Kingdome, No lesse in space, validitie, and pleasure Then that conferr'd on Gonerill. Now our Ioy, Although our last and least; to whose yong loue, The Vines of France, and Milke of Burgundie, Striue to be interest. What can you say, to draw A third, more opilent then your Sisters? speake Cor. Nothing my Lord Lear. Nothing? Cor. Nothing Lear. Nothing will come of nothing, speake againe Cor. Vnhappie that I am, I cannot heaue My heart into my mouth: I loue your Maiesty According to my bond, no more nor lesse Lear. How, how Cordelia? Mend your speech a little, Least you may marre your Fortunes Cor. Good my Lord, You haue begot me, bred me, lou'd me. I returne those duties backe as are right fit, Obey you, Loue you, and most Honour you. Why haue my Sisters Husbands, if they say They loue you all? Happily when I shall wed, That Lord, whose hand must take my plight, shall carry Halfe my loue with him, halfe my Care, and Dutie, Sure I shall neuer marry like my Sisters Lear. But goes thy heart with this? Cor. I my good Lord Lear. So young, and so vntender? Cor. So young my Lord, and true Lear. Let it be so, thy truth then be thy dowre: For by the sacred radience of the Sunne, The misteries of Heccat and the night: By all the operation of the Orbes, From whom we do exist, and cease to be, Heere I disclaime all my Paternall care, Propinquity and property of blood, And as a stranger to my heart and me, Hold thee from this for euer. The barbarous Scythian, Or he that makes his generation messes To gorge his appetite, shall to my bosome Be as well neighbour'd, pittied, and releeu'd, As thou my sometime Daughter Kent. Good my Liege Lear. Peace Kent, Come not betweene the Dragon and his wrath, I lou'd her most, and thought to set my rest On her kind nursery. Hence and avoid my sight: So be my graue my peace, as here I giue Her Fathers heart from her; call France, who stirres? Call Burgundy, Cornwall, and Albanie, With my two Daughters Dowres, digest the third, Let pride, which she cals plainnesse, marry her: I doe inuest you ioyntly with my power, Preheminence, and all the large effects That troope with Maiesty. Our selfe by Monthly course, With reseruation of an hundred Knights, By you to be sustain'd, shall our abode Make with you by due turne, onely we shall retaine The name, and all th' addition to a King: the Sway, Reuennew, Execution of the rest, Beloued Sonnes be yours, which to confirme, This Coronet part betweene you Kent. Royall Lear, Whom I haue euer honor'd as my King, Lou'd as my Father, as my Master follow'd, As my great Patron thought on in my praiers Le. The bow is bent & drawne, make from the shaft Kent. Let it fall rather, though the forke inuade The region of my heart, be Kent vnmannerly, When Lear is mad, what wouldest thou do old man? Think'st thou that dutie shall haue dread to speake, When power to flattery bowes? To plainnesse honour's bound, When Maiesty falls to folly, reserue thy state, And in thy best consideration checke This hideous rashnesse, answere my life, my iudgement: Thy yongest Daughter do's not loue thee least, Nor are those empty hearted, whose low sounds Reuerbe no hollownesse Lear. Kent, on thy life no more Kent. My life I neuer held but as pawne To wage against thine enemies, nere feare to loose it, Thy safety being motiue Lear. Out of my sight Kent. See better Lear, and let me still remaine The true blanke of thine eie Lear. Now by Apollo, Kent. Now by Apollo, King Thou swear'st thy Gods in vaine Lear. O Vassall! Miscreant Alb. Cor. Deare Sir forbeare Kent. Kill thy Physition, and thy fee bestow Vpon the foule disease, reuoke thy guift, Or whil'st I can vent clamour from my throate, Ile tell thee thou dost euill Lea. Heare me recreant, on thine allegeance heare me; That thou hast sought to make vs breake our vowes, Which we durst neuer yet; and with strain'd pride, To come betwixt our sentences, and our power, Which, nor our nature, nor our place can beare; Our potencie made good, take thy reward. Fiue dayes we do allot thee for prouision, To shield thee from disasters of the world, And on the sixt to turne thy hated backe Vpon our kingdome: if on the tenth day following, Thy banisht trunke be found in our Dominions, The moment is thy death, away. By Iupiter, This shall not be reuok'd, Kent. Fare thee well King, sith thus thou wilt appeare, Freedome liues hence, and banishment is here; The Gods to their deere shelter take thee Maid, That iustly think'st, and hast most rightly said: And your large speeches, may your deeds approue, That good effects may spring from words of loue: Thus Kent, O Princes, bids you all adew, Hee'l shape his old course, in a Country new. Enter. Flourish. Enter Gloster with France, and Burgundy, Attendants. Cor. Heere's France and Burgundy, my Noble Lord Lear. My Lord of Burgundie, We first addresse toward you, who with this King Hath riuald for our Daughter; what in the least Will you require in present Dower with her, Or cease your quest of Loue? Bur. Most Royall Maiesty, I craue no more then hath your Highnesse offer'd, Nor will you tender lesse? Lear. Right Noble Burgundy, When she was deare to vs, we did hold her so, But now her price is fallen: Sir, there she stands, If ought within that little seeming substance, Or all of it with our displeasure piec'd, And nothing more may fitly like your Grace, Shee's there, and she is yours Bur. I know no answer Lear. Will you with those infirmities she owes, Vnfriended, new adopted to our hate, Dow'rd with our curse, and stranger'd with our oath, Take her or, leaue her Bur. Pardon me Royall Sir, Election makes not vp in such conditions Le. Then leaue her sir, for by the powre that made me, I tell you all her wealth. For you great King, I would not from your loue make such a stray, To match you where I hate, therefore beseech you T' auert your liking a more worthier way, Then on a wretch whom Nature is asham'd Almost t' acknowledge hers Fra. This is most strange, That she whom euen but now, was your obiect, The argument of your praise, balme of your age, The best, the deerest, should in this trice of time Commit a thing so monstrous, to dismantle So many folds of fauour: sure her offence Must be of such vnnaturall degree, That monsters it: Or your fore-voucht affection Fall into taint, which to beleeue of her Must be a faith that reason without miracle Should neuer plant in me Cor. I yet beseech your Maiesty. If for I want that glib and oylie Art, To speake and purpose not, since what I will intend, Ile do't before I speake, that you make knowne It is no vicious blot, murther, or foulenesse, No vnchaste action or dishonoured step That hath depriu'd me of your Grace and fauour, But euen for want of that, for which I am richer, A still soliciting eye, and such a tongue, That I am glad I haue not, though not to haue it, Hath lost me in your liking Lear. Better thou had'st Not beene borne, then not t'haue pleas'd me better Fra. Is it but this? A tardinesse in nature, Which often leaues the history vnspoke That it intends to do: my Lord of Burgundy, What say you to the Lady? Loue's not loue When it is mingled with regards, that stands Aloofe from th' intire point, will you haue her? She is herselfe a Dowrie Bur. Royall King, Giue but that portion which your selfe propos'd, And here I take Cordelia by the hand, Dutchesse of Burgundie Lear. Nothing, I haue sworne, I am firme Bur. I am sorry then you haue so lost a Father, That you must loose a husband Cor. Peace be with Burgundie, Since that respect and Fortunes are his loue, I shall not be his wife Fra. Fairest Cordelia, that art most rich being poore, Most choise forsaken, and most lou'd despis'd, Thee and thy vertues here I seize vpon, Be it lawfull I take vp what's cast away. Gods, Gods! 'Tis strange, that from their cold'st neglect My Loue should kindle to enflam'd respect. Thy dowrelesse Daughter King, throwne to my chance, Is Queene of vs, of ours, and our faire France: Not all the Dukes of watrish Burgundy, Can buy this vnpriz'd precious Maid of me. Bid them farewell Cordelia, though vnkinde, Thou loosest here a better where to finde Lear. Thou hast her France, let her be thine, for we Haue no such Daughter, nor shall euer see That face of hers againe, therfore be gone, Without our Grace, our Loue, our Benizon: Come Noble Burgundie. Flourish. Exeunt. Fra. Bid farwell to your Sisters Cor. The Iewels of our Father, with wash'd eies Cordelia leaues you, I know you what you are, And like a Sister am most loth to call Your faults as they are named. Loue well our Father: To your professed bosomes I commit him, But yet alas, stood I within his Grace, I would prefer him to a better place, So farewell to you both Regn. Prescribe not vs our dutie Gon. Let your study Be to content your Lord, who hath receiu'd you At Fortunes almes, you haue obedience scanted, And well are worth the want that you haue wanted Cor. Time shall vnfold what plighted cunning hides, Who couers faults, at last with shame derides: Well may you prosper Fra. Come my faire Cordelia. Exit France and Cor. Gon. Sister, it is not little I haue to say, Of what most neerely appertaines to vs both, I thinke our Father will hence to night Reg. That's most certaine, and with you: next moneth with vs Gon. You see how full of changes his age is, the obseruation we haue made of it hath beene little; he alwaies lou'd our Sister most, and with what poore iudgement he hath now cast her off, appeares too grossely Reg. 'Tis the infirmity of his age, yet he hath euer but slenderly knowne himselfe Gon. The best and soundest of his time hath bin but rash, then must we looke from his age, to receiue not alone the imperfections of long ingraffed condition, but therewithall the vnruly way-wardnesse, that infirme and cholericke yeares bring with them Reg. Such vnconstant starts are we like to haue from him, as this of Kents banishment Gon. There is further complement of leaue-taking betweene France and him, pray you let vs sit together, if our Father carry authority with such disposition as he beares, this last surrender of his will but offend vs Reg. We shall further thinke of it Gon. We must do something, and i'th' heate. Exeunt.

Act 1, scenes 1-2 The love test at the beginning of Act 1, scene 1, sets the tone for this extremely complicated play, which is full of emotional subtlety, conspiracy, and double-talk, and which swings between confusing extremes of love and anger. Lear's demand that his daughters express how much they love him is puzzling and hints at the insecurity and fear of an old man who needs to be reassured of his own importance. Of course, rather than being a true assessment of his daughters' love for him, the test seems to invite--or even to demand--flattery. Goneril's and Regan's professions of love are obviously nothing but flattery: Goneril cannot even put her alleged love into words: "A love that makes . . . speech unable / Beyond all manner of so much I love you" ; Regan follows her sister's lead by saying, "I find she names my very deed of love; Only she comes too short" . In contrast to her sisters, whose professions are banal and insincere, Cordelia does not seem to know how to flatter her father--an immediate reflection of her honesty and true devotion to him. "Love, and be silent," she says to herself . When her father asks her the crucial question--what she can say to merit the greatest inheritance--she answers only, "Nothing, my lord," and thus seals her fate . Cordelia's authentic love and Lear's blindness to its existence trigger the tragic events that follow. The shift of the play's focus to Gloucester and Edmund in Act 1, scene 2, suggests parallels between this subplot and Lear's familial difficulties. Both Lear and Gloucester have children who are truly loyal to them and children who are planning to do them harm ; both fathers mistake the unloving for the loving, banishing the loyal children and designating the wicked ones their heirs. This symbolic blindness to the truth becomes more literal as the play progresses--in Lear's eventual madness and Gloucester's physical blinding. Moreover, Gloucester's willingness to believe the lies that Edmund tells him about Edgar seems to reflect a preexisting fear: that his children secretly want to destroy him and take his power. Ironically, this is what Edmund, of course, wants to do to Gloucester, but Gloucester is blind to Edmund's treachery. Gloucester's inability to see the truth echoes the discussion between Goneril and Regan at the end of Act 1, scene 1, about Lear's unreliability in his old age: the "infirmity of his age" and his "unconstant starts" evoke images of senility and suggest that his daughters ought to take control from him, just as Edmund is taking control from Gloucester. Edmund is significantly more complicated than the other major villains in the play, Regan and Goneril. He schemes against his father's life, but not just because he wants to inherit his wealth and land; indeed, his principal motive seems to be desire for recognition and perhaps even the love denied him because of his bastard status. The first time we see Edmund, at the beginning of Act 1, scene 1, his own father is mocking him because he is illegitimate. Edmund's treachery can be seen as a rebellion against the social hierarchy that makes him worthless in the eyes of the world. He rejects the "plague of custom" that makes society disdain him and dedicates himself to "nature" --that is, raw, unconstrained existence. He will not be the only character to invoke nature in the course of the play--the complicated relationships that obtain among the natural world, the gods above, and fate or justice pervade the entire play.

analysis

Scena Secunda. Enter Bastard. Bast. Thou Nature art my Goddesse, to thy Law My seruices are bound, wherefore should I Stand in the plague of custome, and permit The curiosity of Nations, to depriue me? For that I am some twelue, or fourteene Moonshines Lag of a Brother? Why Bastard? Wherefore base? When my Dimensions are as well compact, My minde as generous, and my shape as true As honest Madams issue? Why brand they vs With Base? With basenes Bastardie? Base, Base? Who in the lustie stealth of Nature, take More composition, and fierce qualitie, Then doth within a dull stale tyred bed Goe to th' creating a whole tribe of Fops Got 'tweene a sleepe, and wake? Well then, Legitimate Edgar, I must haue your land, Our Fathers loue, is to the Bastard Edmond, As to th' legitimate: fine word: Legitimate. Well, my Legittimate, if this Letter speed, And my inuention thriue, Edmond the base Shall to'th' Legitimate: I grow, I prosper: Now Gods, stand vp for Bastards. Enter Gloucester. Glo. Kent banish'd thus? and France in choller parted? And the King gone to night? Prescrib'd his powre, Confin'd to exhibition? All this done Vpon the gad? Edmond, how now? What newes? Bast. So please your Lordship, none Glou. Why so earnestly seeke you to put vp y Letter? Bast. I know no newes, my Lord Glou. What Paper were you reading? Bast. Nothing my Lord Glou. No? what needed then that terrible dispatch of it into your Pocket? The quality of nothing, hath not such neede to hide it selfe. Let's see: come, if it bee nothing, I shall not neede Spectacles Bast. I beseech you Sir, pardon mee; it is a Letter from my Brother, that I haue not all ore-read; and for so much as I haue perus'd, I finde it not fit for your ore-looking Glou. Giue me the Letter, Sir Bast. I shall offend, either to detaine, or giue it: The Contents, as in part I vnderstand them, Are too blame Glou. Let's see, let's see Bast. I hope for my Brothers iustification, hee wrote this but as an essay, or taste of my Vertue Glou. reads. This policie, and reuerence of Age, makes the world bitter to the best of our times: keepes our Fortunes from vs, till our oldnesse cannot rellish them. I begin to finde an idle and fond bondage, in the oppression of aged tyranny, who swayes not as it hath power, but as it is suffer'd. Come to me, that of this I may speake more. If our Father would sleepe till I wak'd him, you should enioy halfe his Reuennew for euer, and liue the beloued of your Brother. Edgar. Hum? Conspiracy? Sleepe till I wake him, you should enioy halfe his Reuennew: my Sonne Edgar, had hee a hand to write this? A heart and braine to breede it in? When came you to this? Who brought it? Bast. It was not brought mee, my Lord; there's the cunning of it. I found it throwne in at the Casement of my Closset Glou. You know the character to be your Brothers? Bast. If the matter were good my Lord, I durst swear it were his: but in respect of that, I would faine thinke it were not Glou. It is his Bast. It is his hand, my Lord: but I hope his heart is not in the Contents Glo. Has he neuer before sounded you in this busines? Bast. Neuer my Lord. But I haue heard him oft maintaine it to be fit, that Sonnes at perfect age, and Fathers declin'd, the Father should bee as Ward to the Son, and the Sonne manage his Reuennew Glou. O Villain, villain: his very opinion in the Letter. Abhorred Villaine, vnnaturall, detested, brutish Villaine; worse then brutish: Go sirrah, seeke him: Ile apprehend him. Abhominable Villaine, where is he? Bast. I do not well know my L[ord]. If it shall please you to suspend your indignation against my Brother, til you can deriue from him better testimony of his intent, you shold run a certaine course: where, if you violently proceed against him, mistaking his purpose, it would make a great gap in your owne Honor, and shake in peeces, the heart of his obedience. I dare pawne downe my life for him, that he hath writ this to feele my affection to your Honor, & to no other pretence of danger Glou. Thinke you so? Bast. If your Honor iudge it meete, I will place you where you shall heare vs conferre of this, and by an Auricular assurance haue your satisfaction, and that without any further delay, then this very Euening Glou. He cannot bee such a Monster. Edmond seeke him out: winde me into him, I pray you: frame the Businesse after your owne wisedome. I would vnstate my selfe, to be in a due resolution Bast. I will seeke him Sir, presently: conuey the businesse as I shall find meanes, and acquaint you withall Glou. These late Eclipses in the Sun and Moone portend no good to vs: though the wisedome of Nature can reason it thus, and thus, yet Nature finds it selfe scourg'd by the sequent effects. Loue cooles, friendship falls off, Brothers diuide. In Cities, mutinies; in Countries, discord; in Pallaces, Treason; and the Bond crack'd, 'twixt Sonne and Father. This villaine of mine comes vnder the prediction; there's Son against Father, the King fals from byas of Nature, there's Father against Childe. We haue seene the best of our time. Machinations, hollownesse, treacherie, and all ruinous disorders follow vs disquietly to our Graues. Find out this Villain, Edmond, it shall lose thee nothing, do it carefully: and the Noble & true-harted Kent banish'd; his offence, honesty. 'Tis strange. Exit Bast. This is the excellent foppery of the world, that when we are sicke in fortune, often the surfets of our own behauiour, we make guilty of our disasters, the Sun, the Moone, and Starres, as if we were villaines on necessitie, Fooles by heauenly compulsion, Knaues, Theeues, and Treachers by Sphericall predominance. Drunkards, Lyars, and Adulterers by an inforc'd obedience of Planatary influence; and all that we are euill in, by a diuine thrusting on. An admirable euasion of Whore-master-man, to lay his Goatish disposition on the charge of a Starre, My father compounded with my mother vnder the Dragons taile, and my Natiuity was vnder Vrsa Maior, so that it followes, I am rough and Leacherous. I should haue bin that I am, had the maidenlest Starre in the Firmament twinkled on my bastardizing. Enter Edgar. Pat: he comes like the Catastrophe of the old Comedie: my Cue is villanous Melancholly, with a sighe like Tom o' Bedlam. - O these Eclipses do portend these diuisions. Fa, Sol, La, Me Edg. How now Brother Edmond, what serious contemplation are you in? Bast. I am thinking Brother of a prediction I read this other day, what should follow these Eclipses Edg. Do you busie your selfe with that? Bast. I promise you, the effects he writes of, succeede vnhappily. When saw you my Father last? Edg. The night gone by Bast. Spake you with him? Edg. I, two houres together Bast. Parted you in good termes? Found you no displeasure in him, by word, nor countenance? Edg. None at all, Bast. Bethink your selfe wherein you may haue offended him: and at my entreaty forbeare his presence, vntill some little time hath qualified the heat of his displeasure, which at this instant so rageth in him, that with the mischiefe of your person, it would scarsely alay Edg. Some Villaine hath done me wrong Edm. That's my feare, I pray you haue a continent forbearance till the speed of his rage goes slower: and as I say, retire with me to my lodging, from whence I will fitly bring you to heare my Lord speake: pray ye goe, there's my key: if you do stirre abroad, goe arm'd Edg. Arm'd, Brother? Edm. Brother, I aduise you to the best, I am no honest man, if ther be any good meaning toward you: I haue told you what I haue seene, and heard: But faintly. Nothing like the image, and horror of it, pray you away Edg. Shall I heare from you anon? Enter. Edm. I do serue you in this businesse: A Credulous Father, and a Brother Noble, Whose nature is so farre from doing harmes, That he suspects none: on whose foolish honestie My practises ride easie: I see the businesse. Let me, if not by birth, haue lands by wit, All with me's meete, that I can fashion fit. Enter.

Thou, nature, art my goddess; to thy lawMy services are bound. Now, gods, stand up for bastards. Edmund enters and delivers a soliloquy expressing his dissatisfaction with society's attitude toward bastards. He bitterly resents his legitimate half-brother, Edgar, who stands to inherit their father's estate. He resolves to do away with Edgar and seize the privileges that society has denied him. Edmund begins his campaign to discredit Edgar by forging a letter in which Edgar appears to plot the death of their father, Gloucester. Edmund makes a show of hiding this letter from his father and so, naturally, Gloucester demands to read it. Edmund answers his father with careful lies, so that Gloucester ends up thinking that his legitimate son, Edgar, has been scheming to kill him in order to hasten his inheritance of Gloucester's wealth and lands. Later, when Edmund talks to Edgar, he tells him that Gloucester is very angry with him and that Edgar should avoid him as much as possible and carry a sword with him at all times. Thus, Edmund carefully arranges circumstances so that Gloucester will be certain that Edgar is trying to murder him

summary

Scena Secunda. Enter Bastard. Bast. Thou Nature art my Goddesse, to thy Law My seruices are bound, wherefore should I Stand in the plague of custome, and permit The curiosity of Nations, to depriue me? For that I am some twelue, or fourteene Moonshines Lag of a Brother? Why Bastard? Wherefore base? When my Dimensions are as well compact, My minde as generous, and my shape as true As honest Madams issue? Why brand they vs With Base? With basenes Bastardie? Base, Base? Who in the lustie stealth of Nature, take More composition, and fierce qualitie, Then doth within a dull stale tyred bed Goe to th' creating a whole tribe of Fops Got 'tweene a sleepe, and wake? Well then, Legitimate Edgar, I must haue your land, Our Fathers loue, is to the Bastard Edmond, As to th' legitimate: fine word: Legitimate. Well, my Legittimate, if this Letter speed, And my inuention thriue, Edmond the base Shall to'th' Legitimate: I grow, I prosper: Now Gods, stand vp for Bastards. Enter Gloucester. Glo. Kent banish'd thus? and France in choller parted? And the King gone to night? Prescrib'd his powre, Confin'd to exhibition? All this done Vpon the gad? Edmond, how now? What newes? Bast. So please your Lordship, none Glou. Why so earnestly seeke you to put vp y Letter? Bast. I know no newes, my Lord Glou. What Paper were you reading? Bast. Nothing my Lord Glou. No? what needed then that terrible dispatch of it into your Pocket? The quality of nothing, hath not such neede to hide it selfe. Let's see: come, if it bee nothing, I shall not neede Spectacles Bast. I beseech you Sir, pardon mee; it is a Letter from my Brother, that I haue not all ore-read; and for so much as I haue perus'd, I finde it not fit for your ore-looking Glou. Giue me the Letter, Sir Bast. I shall offend, either to detaine, or giue it: The Contents, as in part I vnderstand them, Are too blame Glou. Let's see, let's see Bast. I hope for my Brothers iustification, hee wrote this but as an essay, or taste of my Vertue Glou. reads. This policie, and reuerence of Age, makes the world bitter to the best of our times: keepes our Fortunes from vs, till our oldnesse cannot rellish them. I begin to finde an idle and fond bondage, in the oppression of aged tyranny, who swayes not as it hath power, but as it is suffer'd. Come to me, that of this I may speake more. If our Father would sleepe till I wak'd him, you should enioy halfe his Reuennew for euer, and liue the beloued of your Brother. Edgar. Hum? Conspiracy? Sleepe till I wake him, you should enioy halfe his Reuennew: my Sonne Edgar, had hee a hand to write this? A heart and braine to breede it in? When came you to this? Who brought it? Bast. It was not brought mee, my Lord; there's the cunning of it. I found it throwne in at the Casement of my Closset Glou. You know the character to be your Brothers? Bast. If the matter were good my Lord, I durst swear it were his: but in respect of that, I would faine thinke it were not Glou. It is his Bast. It is his hand, my Lord: but I hope his heart is not in the Contents Glo. Has he neuer before sounded you in this busines? Bast. Neuer my Lord. But I haue heard him oft maintaine it to be fit, that Sonnes at perfect age, and Fathers declin'd, the Father should bee as Ward to the Son, and the Sonne manage his Reuennew Glou. O Villain, villain: his very opinion in the Letter. Abhorred Villaine, vnnaturall, detested, brutish Villaine; worse then brutish: Go sirrah, seeke him: Ile apprehend him. Abhominable Villaine, where is he? Bast. I do not well know my L[ord]. If it shall please you to suspend your indignation against my Brother, til you can deriue from him better testimony of his intent, you shold run a certaine course: where, if you violently proceed against him, mistaking his purpose, it would make a great gap in your owne Honor, and shake in peeces, the heart of his obedience. I dare pawne downe my life for him, that he hath writ this to feele my affection to your Honor, & to no other pretence of danger Glou. Thinke you so? Bast. If your Honor iudge it meete, I will place you where you shall heare vs conferre of this, and by an Auricular assurance haue your satisfaction, and that without any further delay, then this very Euening Glou. He cannot bee such a Monster. Edmond seeke him out: winde me into him, I pray you: frame the Businesse after your owne wisedome. I would vnstate my selfe, to be in a due resolution Bast. I will seeke him Sir, presently: conuey the businesse as I shall find meanes, and acquaint you withall Glou. These late Eclipses in the Sun and Moone portend no good to vs: though the wisedome of Nature can reason it thus, and thus, yet Nature finds it selfe scourg'd by the sequent effects. Loue cooles, friendship falls off, Brothers diuide. In Cities, mutinies; in Countries, discord; in Pallaces, Treason; and the Bond crack'd, 'twixt Sonne and Father. This villaine of mine comes vnder the prediction; there's Son against Father, the King fals from byas of Nature, there's Father against Childe. We haue seene the best of our time. Machinations, hollownesse, treacherie, and all ruinous disorders follow vs disquietly to our Graues. Find out this Villain, Edmond, it shall lose thee nothing, do it carefully: and the Noble & true-harted Kent banish'd; his offence, honesty. 'Tis strange. Exit Bast. This is the excellent foppery of the world, that when we are sicke in fortune, often the surfets of our own behauiour, we make guilty of our disasters, the Sun, the Moone, and Starres, as if we were villaines on necessitie, Fooles by heauenly compulsion, Knaues, Theeues, and Treachers by Sphericall predominance. Drunkards, Lyars, and Adulterers by an inforc'd obedience of Planatary influence; and all that we are euill in, by a diuine thrusting on. An admirable euasion of Whore-master-man, to lay his Goatish disposition on the charge of a Starre, My father compounded with my mother vnder the Dragons taile, and my Natiuity was vnder Vrsa Maior, so that it followes, I am rough and Leacherous. I should haue bin that I am, had the maidenlest Starre in the Firmament twinkled on my bastardizing. Enter Edgar. Pat: he comes like the Catastrophe of the old Comedie: my Cue is villanous Melancholly, with a sighe like Tom o' Bedlam. - O these Eclipses do portend these diuisions. Fa, Sol, La, Me Edg. How now Brother Edmond, what serious contemplation are you in? Bast. I am thinking Brother of a prediction I read this other day, what should follow these Eclipses Edg. Do you busie your selfe with that? Bast. I promise you, the effects he writes of, succeede vnhappily. When saw you my Father last? Edg. The night gone by Bast. Spake you with him? Edg. I, two houres together Bast. Parted you in good termes? Found you no displeasure in him, by word, nor countenance? Edg. None at all, Bast. Bethink your selfe wherein you may haue offended him: and at my entreaty forbeare his presence, vntill some little time hath qualified the heat of his displeasure, which at this instant so rageth in him, that with the mischiefe of your person, it would scarsely alay Edg. Some Villaine hath done me wrong Edm. That's my feare, I pray you haue a continent forbearance till the speed of his rage goes slower: and as I say, retire with me to my lodging, from whence I will fitly bring you to heare my Lord speake: pray ye goe, there's my key: if you do stirre abroad, goe arm'd Edg. Arm'd, Brother? Edm. Brother, I aduise you to the best, I am no honest man, if ther be any good meaning toward you: I haue told you what I haue seene, and heard: But faintly. Nothing like the image, and horror of it, pray you away Edg. Shall I heare from you anon? Enter. Edm. I do serue you in this businesse: A Credulous Father, and a Brother Noble, Whose nature is so farre from doing harmes, That he suspects none: on whose foolish honestie My practises ride easie: I see the businesse. Let me, if not by birth, haue lands by wit, All with me's meete, that I can fashion fit. Enter.

Act 1, scenes 1-2 The love test at the beginning of Act 1, scene 1, sets the tone for this extremely complicated play, which is full of emotional subtlety, conspiracy, and double-talk, and which swings between confusing extremes of love and anger. Lear's demand that his daughters express how much they love him is puzzling and hints at the insecurity and fear of an old man who needs to be reassured of his own importance. Of course, rather than being a true assessment of his daughters' love for him, the test seems to invite--or even to demand--flattery. Goneril's and Regan's professions of love are obviously nothing but flattery: Goneril cannot even put her alleged love into words: "A love that makes . . . speech unable / Beyond all manner of so much I love you" ; Regan follows her sister's lead by saying, "I find she names my very deed of love; Only she comes too short" . In contrast to her sisters, whose professions are banal and insincere, Cordelia does not seem to know how to flatter her father--an immediate reflection of her honesty and true devotion to him. "Love, and be silent," she says to herself . When her father asks her the crucial question--what she can say to merit the greatest inheritance--she answers only, "Nothing, my lord," and thus seals her fate . Cordelia's authentic love and Lear's blindness to its existence trigger the tragic events that follow. The shift of the play's focus to Gloucester and Edmund in Act 1, scene 2, suggests parallels between this subplot and Lear's familial difficulties. Both Lear and Gloucester have children who are truly loyal to them and children who are planning to do them harm ; both fathers mistake the unloving for the loving, banishing the loyal children and designating the wicked ones their heirs. This symbolic blindness to the truth becomes more literal as the play progresses--in Lear's eventual madness and Gloucester's physical blinding. Moreover, Gloucester's willingness to believe the lies that Edmund tells him about Edgar seems to reflect a preexisting fear: that his children secretly want to destroy him and take his power. Ironically, this is what Edmund, of course, wants to do to Gloucester, but Gloucester is blind to Edmund's treachery. Gloucester's inability to see the truth echoes the discussion between Goneril and Regan at the end of Act 1, scene 1, about Lear's unreliability in his old age: the "infirmity of his age" and his "unconstant starts" evoke images of senility and suggest that his daughters ought to take control from him, just as Edmund is taking control from Gloucester. Edmund is significantly more complicated than the other major villains in the play, Regan and Goneril. He schemes against his father's life, but not just because he wants to inherit his wealth and land; indeed, his principal motive seems to be desire for recognition and perhaps even the love denied him because of his bastard status. The first time we see Edmund, at the beginning of Act 1, scene 1, his own father is mocking him because he is illegitimate. Edmund's treachery can be seen as a rebellion against the social hierarchy that makes him worthless in the eyes of the world. He rejects the "plague of custom" that makes society disdain him and dedicates himself to "nature" --that is, raw, unconstrained existence. He will not be the only character to invoke nature in the course of the play--the complicated relationships that obtain among the natural world, the gods above, and fate or justice pervade the entire play.

analysis

Scena Tertia. Enter Gonerill, and Steward. Gon. Did my Father strike my Gentleman for chiding of his Foole? Ste. I Madam Gon. By day and night, he wrongs me, euery howre He flashes into one grosse crime, or other, That sets vs all at ods: Ile not endure it; His Knights grow riotous, and himselfe vpbraides vs On euery trifle. When he returnes from hunting, I will not speake with him, say I am sicke, If you come slacke of former seruices, You shall do well, the fault of it Ile answer Ste. He's comming Madam, I heare him Gon. Put on what weary negligence you please, You and your Fellowes: I'de haue it come to question; If he distaste it, let him to my Sister, Whose mind and mine I know in that are one, Remember what I haue said Ste. Well Madam Gon. And let his Knights haue colder lookes among you: what growes of it no matter, aduise your fellowes so, Ile write straight to my Sister to hold my course; prepare for dinner. Exeunt.

Lear is spending the first portion of his retirement at Goneril's castle. Goneril complains to her steward, Oswald, that Lear's knights are becoming "riotous" and that Lear himself is an obnoxious guest. Seeking to provoke a confrontation, she orders her servants to behave rudely toward Lear and his attendants

summary

Scena Tertia. Enter Gonerill, and Steward. Gon. Did my Father strike my Gentleman for chiding of his Foole? Ste. I Madam Gon. By day and night, he wrongs me, euery howre He flashes into one grosse crime, or other, That sets vs all at ods: Ile not endure it; His Knights grow riotous, and himselfe vpbraides vs On euery trifle. When he returnes from hunting, I will not speake with him, say I am sicke, If you come slacke of former seruices, You shall do well, the fault of it Ile answer Ste. He's comming Madam, I heare him Gon. Put on what weary negligence you please, You and your Fellowes: I'de haue it come to question; If he distaste it, let him to my Sister, Whose mind and mine I know in that are one, Remember what I haue said Ste. Well Madam Gon. And let his Knights haue colder lookes among you: what growes of it no matter, aduise your fellowes so, Ile write straight to my Sister to hold my course; prepare for dinner. Exeunt.

Act 1, scenes 3-5 In these scenes, the tragedy of the play begins to unfold. It is now becoming clear to everyone that Lear has made a mistake in handing over his power to Goneril and Regan. Lear's major error is that, in stepping down from the throne, he has also given up all of his formal authority to those who do not actually love him. He no longer has the power to command anyone to do anything, even to give him shelter or food--his daughters, each of whom is now a queen over half of Britain, wield special authority over him. Goneril and, as we soon discover, Regan enjoy being in power and conspire to destroy Lear's remaining influence. Their plan to whittle down Lear's retinue from a hundred knights to fifty may not seem devious, but they will soon purge his knights altogether. This gradual diminishment of Lear's attendants symbolizes the gradual elimination of his remaining power. Knights and servants are part of the pomp that surrounds a powerful king, and Lear rightly sees his loss of them as representative of his daughter's declining respect for his rank. Goneril, of course, says that the reason she demands this reduction is that the knights have been loud and destructive in her castle--they are, she claims, "men so disordered, so deboshed and bold" . To be fair, it is difficult for us, as readers, to know how true this assertion is. Lear claims, "My train are men of choice and rarest parts, / That all particulars of duty know," yet we have already seen Lear make imperious demands and lose his temper in a seemingly unjustified way . At this point in the play, the audience may still be unsure about whether or not to sympathize with Lear, especially given his capricious decision to banish Cordelia. Still, we know that Goneril has been talking, in private, about how best to control her aging father. Lear seems to begin to question his own identity. When he realizes that Goneril plans to frustrate his desires, he asks, "Doth any here know me? This is not Lear. / . . . / Who is it that can tell me who I am?" . It is as if Goneril's insistence that Lear is now senile makes Lear himself wonder whether he is really himself anymore or whether he has lost his mind. Driven to despair at the end of Act 1, scene 5, he says, "O let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven!"--a foreshadowing of his eventual insanity . In Act 1, scene 4, we meet Lear's Fool. Many of Shakespeare's plays feature a clown of some sort, and King Lear arguably has two such clowns: the Fool himself and Edgar in his later disguise as Tom O'Bedlam. Many kings and queens during the Renaissance had court fools to amuse them. However, in addition to wearing funny costumes, singing, performing acrobatic tricks, and juggling, fools also made puns and rude jokes and offered their take on matters to their sovereigns. Lear's Fool cleverly combines this sort of foolishness with a deeper wisdom. The license, traditionally granted to official "fools," to say things to their superiors that anybody else would be punished for enables him to counsel Lear, even though he seems only to prattle nonsensically. Moreover, Lear seems to have a very close relationship with his Fool: the Fool calls Lear "nuncle" and Lear calls the Fool "boy." He is always speaking in riddles and songs, but in these scenes his meaning can be understood: he advises Lear to be wary of his daughters. In telling Lear, "I / am better than thou art now; I am a fool, thou art nothing," he hints at the dangerous situation in which Lear has put himself . His ostensibly silly singing--"The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long / That it had it head bit off by it young"--clearly warns the king that his daughters, each like a traitorous "cuckoo," plan to turn against the father who raised them .

analysis

Scena Quarta. Enter Kent. Kent. If but as will I other accents borrow, That can my speech defuse, my good intent May carry through it selfe to that full issue For which I raiz'd my likenesse. Now banisht Kent, If thou canst serue where thou dost stand condemn'd, So may it come, thy Master whom thou lou'st, Shall find thee full of labours. Hornes within. Enter Lear and Attendants. Lear. Let me not stay a iot for dinner, go get it ready: how now, what art thou? Kent. A man Sir Lear. What dost thou professe? What would'st thou with vs? Kent. I do professe to be no lesse then I seeme; to serue him truely that will put me in trust, to loue him that is honest, to conuerse with him that is wise and saies little, to feare iudgement, to fight when I cannot choose, and to eate no fish Lear. What art thou? Kent. A very honest hearted Fellow, and as poore as the King Lear. If thou be'st as poore for a subiect, as hee's for a King, thou art poore enough. What wouldst thou? Kent. Seruice Lear. Who wouldst thou serue? Kent. You Lear. Do'st thou know me fellow? Kent. No Sir, but you haue that in your countenance, which I would faine call Master Lear. What's that? Kent. Authority Lear. What seruices canst thou do? Kent. I can keepe honest counsaile, ride, run, marre a curious tale in telling it, and deliuer a plaine message bluntly: that which ordinary men are fit for, I am quallified in, and the best of me, is Dilligence Lear. How old art thou? Kent. Not so young Sir to loue a woman for singing, nor so old to dote on her for any thing. I haue yeares on my backe forty eight Lear. Follow me, thou shalt serue me, if I like thee no worse after dinner, I will not part from thee yet. Dinner ho, dinner, where's my knaue? my Foole? Go you and call my Foole hither. You you Sirrah, where's my Daughter? Enter Steward. Ste. So please you- Enter. Lear. What saies the Fellow there? Call the Clotpole backe: wher's my Foole? Ho, I thinke the world's asleepe, how now? Where's that Mungrell? Knigh. He saies my Lord, your Daughters is not well Lear. Why came not the slaue backe to me when I call'd him? Knigh. Sir, he answered me in the roundest manner, he would not Lear. He would not? Knight. My Lord, I know not what the matter is, but to my iudgement your Highnesse is not entertain'd with that Ceremonious affection as you were wont, theres a great abatement of kindnesse appeares as well in the generall dependants, as in the Duke himselfe also, and your Daughter Lear. Ha? Saist thou so? Knigh. I beseech you pardon me my Lord, if I bee mistaken, for my duty cannot be silent, when I thinke your Highnesse wrong'd Lear. Thou but remembrest me of mine owne Conception, I haue perceiued a most faint neglect of late, which I haue rather blamed as mine owne iealous curiositie, then as a very pretence and purpose of vnkindnesse; I will looke further intoo't: but where's my Foole? I haue not seene him this two daies Knight. Since my young Ladies going into France Sir, the Foole hath much pined away Lear. No more of that, I haue noted it well, goe you and tell my Daughter, I would speake with her. Goe you call hither my Foole; Oh you Sir, you, come you hither Sir, who am I Sir? Enter Steward. Ste. My Ladies Father Lear. My Ladies Father? my Lords knaue, you whorson dog, you slaue, you curre Ste. I am none of these my Lord, I beseech your pardon Lear. Do you bandy lookes with me, you Rascall? Ste. Ile not be strucken my Lord Kent. Nor tript neither, you base Foot-ball plaier Lear. I thanke thee fellow. Thou seru'st me, and Ile loue thee Kent. Come sir, arise, away, Ile teach you differences: away, away, if you will measure your lubbers length againe, tarry, but away, goe too, haue you wisedome, so Lear. Now my friendly knaue I thanke thee, there's earnest of thy seruice. Enter Foole. Foole. Let me hire him too, here's my Coxcombe Lear. How now my pretty knaue, how dost thou? Foole. Sirrah, you were best take my Coxcombe Lear. Why my Boy? Foole. Why? for taking ones part that's out of fauour, nay, & thou canst not smile as the wind sits, thou'lt catch colde shortly, there take my Coxcombe; why this fellow ha's banish'd two on's Daughters, and did the third a blessing against his will, if thou follow him, thou must needs weare my Coxcombe. How now Nunckle? would I had two Coxcombes and two Daughters Lear. Why my Boy? Fool. If I gaue them all my liuing, I'ld keepe my Coxcombes my selfe, there's mine, beg another of thy Daughters Lear. Take heed Sirrah, the whip Foole. Truth's a dog must to kennell, hee must bee whipt out, when the Lady Brach may stand by'th' fire and stinke Lear. A pestilent gall to me Foole. Sirha, Ile teach thee a speech Lear. Do Foole. Marke it Nuncle; Haue more then thou showest, Speake lesse then thou knowest, Lend lesse then thou owest, Ride more then thou goest, Learne more then thou trowest, Set lesse then thou throwest; Leaue thy drinke and thy whore, And keepe in a dore, And thou shalt haue more, Then two tens to a score Kent. This is nothing Foole Foole. Then 'tis like the breath of an vnfeed Lawyer, you gaue me nothing for't, can you make no vse of nothing Nuncle? Lear. Why no Boy, Nothing can be made out of nothing Foole. Prythee tell him, so much the rent of his land comes to, he will not beleeue a Foole Lear. A bitter Foole Foole. Do'st thou know the difference my Boy, betweene a bitter Foole, and a sweet one Lear. No Lad, teach me Foole. Nunckle, giue me an egge, and Ile giue thee two Crownes Lear. What two Crownes shall they be? Foole. Why after I haue cut the egge i'th' middle and eate vp the meate, the two Crownes of the egge: when thou clouest thy Crownes i'th' middle, and gau'st away both parts, thou boar'st thine Asse on thy backe o're the durt, thou hadst little wit in thy bald crowne, when thou gau'st thy golden one away; if I speake like my selfe in this, let him be whipt that first findes it so. Fooles had nere lesse grace in a yeere, For wisemen are growne foppish, And know not how their wits to weare, Their manners are so apish Le. When were you wont to be so full of Songs sirrah? Foole. I haue vsed it Nunckle, ere since thou mad'st thy Daughters thy Mothers, for when thou gau'st them the rod, and put'st downe thine owne breeches, then they For sodaine ioy did weepe, And I for sorrow sung, That such a King should play bo-peepe, And goe the Foole among. Pry'thy Nunckle keepe a Schoolemaster that can teach thy Foole to lie, I would faine learne to lie Lear. And you lie sirrah, wee'l haue you whipt Foole. I maruell what kin thou and thy daughters are, they'l haue me whipt for speaking true: thou'lt haue me whipt for lying, and sometimes I am whipt for holding my peace. I had rather be any kind o' thing then a foole, and yet I would not be thee Nunckle, thou hast pared thy wit o' both sides, and left nothing i'th' middle; heere comes one o'the parings. Enter Gonerill. Lear. How now Daughter? what makes that Frontlet on? You are too much of late i'th' frowne Foole. Thou wast a pretty fellow when thou hadst no need to care for her frowning, now thou art an O without a figure, I am better then thou art now, I am a Foole, thou art nothing. Yes forsooth I will hold my tongue, so your face bids me, though you say nothing. Mum, mum, he that keepes nor crust, nor crum, Weary of all, shall want some. That's a sheal'd Pescod Gon. Not only Sir this, your all-lycenc'd Foole, But other of your insolent retinue Do hourely Carpe and Quarrell, breaking forth In ranke, and (not to be endur'd) riots Sir. I had thought by making this well knowne vnto you, To haue found a safe redresse, but now grow fearefull By what your selfe too late haue 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 sleepe, Which in the tender of a wholesome weale, Mighty in their working do you that offence, Which else were shame, that then necessitie Will call discreet proceeding Foole. For you know Nunckle, the Hedge-Sparrow fed the Cuckoo so long, that it's had it head bit off by it young, so out went the Candle, and we were left darkling Lear. Are you our Daughter? Gon. I would you would make vse of your good wisedome (Whereof I know you are fraught), and put away These dispositions, which of late transport you From what you rightly are Foole. May not an Asse know, when the Cart drawes the Horse? Whoop Iugge I loue thee Lear. Do's any heere know me? This is not Lear: Do's Lear walke thus? Speake thus? Where are his eies? Either his Notion weakens, his Discernings Are Lethargied. Ha! Waking? 'Tis not so? Who is it that can tell me who I am? Foole. Lears shadow Lear. Your name, faire Gentlewoman? Gon. This admiration Sir, is much o'th' sauour Of other your new prankes. I do beseech you To vnderstand my purposes aright: As you are Old, and Reuerend, should be Wise. Heere do you keepe a hundred Knights and Squires, Men so disorder'd, so debosh'd and bold, That this our Court infected with their manners, Shewes like a riotous Inne; Epicurisme and Lust Makes it more like a Tauerne, or a Brothell, Then a grac'd Pallace. The shame it selfe doth speake For instant remedy. Be then desir'd By her, that else will take the thing she begges, A little to disquantity your Traine, And the remainders that shall still depend, To be such men as may besort your Age, Which know themselues, and you Lear. Darknesse, and Diuels. Saddle my horses: call my Traine together. Degenerate Bastard, Ile not trouble thee; Yet haue I left a daughter Gon. You strike my people, and your disorder'd rable, make Seruants of their Betters. Enter Albany. Lear. Woe, that too late repents: Is it your will, speake Sir? Prepare my Horses. Ingratitude! thou Marble-hearted Fiend, More hideous when thou shew'st thee in a Child, Then the Sea-monster Alb. Pray Sir be patient Lear. Detested Kite, thou lyest. My Traine are men of choice, and rarest parts, That all particulars of dutie know, And in the most exact regard, support The worships of their name. O most small fault, How vgly did'st thou in Cordelia shew? Which like an Engine, wrencht my frame of Nature From the fixt place: drew from my heart all loue, And added to the gall. O Lear, Lear, Lear! Beate at this gate that let thy Folly in, And thy deere Iudgement out. Go, go, my people Alb. My Lord, I am guiltlesse, as I am ignorant Of what hath moued you Lear. It may be so, my Lord. Heare Nature, heare deere Goddesse, heare: Suspend thy purpose, if thou did'st intend To make this Creature fruitfull: Into her Wombe conuey stirrility, Drie vp in her the Organs of increase, And from her derogate body, neuer spring A Babe to honor her. If she must teeme, Create her childe of Spleene, that it may liue And be a thwart disnatur'd torment to her. Let it stampe wrinkles in her brow of youth, With cadent Teares fret Channels in her cheekes, Turne all her Mothers paines, and benefits To laughter, and contempt: That she may feele, How sharper then a Serpents tooth it is, To haue a thanklesse Childe. Away, away. Enter. Alb. Now Gods that we adore, Whereof comes this? Gon. Neuer afflict your selfe to know more of it: But let his disposition haue that scope As dotage giues it. Enter Lear. Lear. What fiftie of my Followers at a clap? Within a fortnight? Alb. What's the matter, Sir? Lear. Ile tell thee: Life and death, I am asham'd That thou hast power to shake my manhood thus, That these hot teares, which breake from me perforce Should make thee worth them. Blastes and Fogges vpon thee: Th' vntented woundings of a Fathers curse Pierce euerie sense about thee. Old fond eyes, Beweepe this cause againe, Ile plucke ye out, And cast you with the waters that you loose To temper Clay. Ha? Let it be so. I haue another daughter, Who I am sure is kinde and comfortable: When she shall heare this of thee, with her nailes Shee'l flea thy Woluish visage. Thou shalt finde, That Ile resume the shape which thou dost thinke I haue cast off for euer. Exit Gon. Do you marke that? Alb. I cannot be so partiall Gonerill, To the great loue I beare you Gon. Pray you content. What Oswald, hoa? You Sir, more Knaue then Foole, after your Master Foole. Nunkle Lear, Nunkle Lear, Tarry, take the Foole with thee: A Fox, when one has caught her, And such a Daughter, Should sure to the Slaughter, If my Cap would buy a Halter, So the Foole followes after. Exit Gon. This man hath had good Counsell, A hundred Knights? 'Tis politike, and safe to let him keepe At point a hundred Knights: yes, that on euerie dreame, Each buz, each fancie, each complaint, dislike, He may enguard his dotage with their powres, And hold our liues in mercy. Oswald, I say Alb. Well, you may feare too farre Gon. Safer then trust too farre; Let me still take away the harmes I feare, Not feare still to be taken. I know his heart, What he hath vtter'd I haue writ my Sister: If she sustaine him, and his hundred Knights When I haue shew'd th' vnfitnesse. Enter Steward. How now Oswald? What haue you writ that Letter to my Sister? Stew. I Madam Gon. Take you some company, and away to horse, Informe her full of my particular feare, And thereto adde such reasons of your owne, As may compact it more. Get you gone, And hasten your returne; no, no, my Lord, This milky gentlenesse, and course of yours Though I condemne not, yet vnder pardon You are much more at task for want of wisedome, Then prais'd for harmefull mildnesse Alb. How farre your eies may pierce I cannot tell; Striuing to better, oft we marre what's well Gon. Nay then- Alb. Well, well, th' euent. Exeunt.

Disguised as a simple peasant, Kent appears in Goneril's castle, calling himself Caius. He puts himself in Lear's way, and after an exchange of words in which Caius emphasizes his plainspokenness and honesty, Lear accepts him into service. Lear's servants and knights notice that Goneril's servants no longer obey their commands. When Lear asks Oswald where Goneril is, Oswald rudely leaves the room without replying. Oswald soon returns, but his disrespectful replies to Lear's questions induce Lear to strike him. Kent steps in to aid Lear and trips Oswald. The Fool arrives and, in a series of puns and double entendres, tells Lear that he has made a great mistake in handing over his power to Goneril and Regan. After a long delay, Goneril herself arrives to speak with Lear. She tells him that his servants and knights have been so disorderly that he will have to send some of them away whether he likes it or not. Lear is shocked at Goneril's treasonous betrayal. Nonetheless, Goneril remains adamant in her demand that Lear send away half of his one hundred knights. An enraged Lear repents ever handing his power over to Goneril. He curses his daughter, calling on Nature to make her childless. Surprised by his own tears, he calls for his horses. He declares that he will stay with Regan, whom he believes will be a true daughter and give him the respect that he deserves. When Lear has gone, Goneril argues with her husband, Albany, who is upset with the harsh way she has treated Lear. She says that she has written a letter to her sister Regan, who is likewise determined not to house Lear's hundred knights

summary

Scena Quarta. Enter Kent. Kent. If but as will I other accents borrow, That can my speech defuse, my good intent May carry through it selfe to that full issue For which I raiz'd my likenesse. Now banisht Kent, If thou canst serue where thou dost stand condemn'd, So may it come, thy Master whom thou lou'st, Shall find thee full of labours. Hornes within. Enter Lear and Attendants. Lear. Let me not stay a iot for dinner, go get it ready: how now, what art thou? Kent. A man Sir Lear. What dost thou professe? What would'st thou with vs? Kent. I do professe to be no lesse then I seeme; to serue him truely that will put me in trust, to loue him that is honest, to conuerse with him that is wise and saies little, to feare iudgement, to fight when I cannot choose, and to eate no fish Lear. What art thou? Kent. A very honest hearted Fellow, and as poore as the King Lear. If thou be'st as poore for a subiect, as hee's for a King, thou art poore enough. What wouldst thou? Kent. Seruice Lear. Who wouldst thou serue? Kent. You Lear. Do'st thou know me fellow? Kent. No Sir, but you haue that in your countenance, which I would faine call Master Lear. What's that? Kent. Authority Lear. What seruices canst thou do? Kent. I can keepe honest counsaile, ride, run, marre a curious tale in telling it, and deliuer a plaine message bluntly: that which ordinary men are fit for, I am quallified in, and the best of me, is Dilligence Lear. How old art thou? Kent. Not so young Sir to loue a woman for singing, nor so old to dote on her for any thing. I haue yeares on my backe forty eight Lear. Follow me, thou shalt serue me, if I like thee no worse after dinner, I will not part from thee yet. Dinner ho, dinner, where's my knaue? my Foole? Go you and call my Foole hither. You you Sirrah, where's my Daughter? Enter Steward. Ste. So please you- Enter. Lear. What saies the Fellow there? Call the Clotpole backe: wher's my Foole? Ho, I thinke the world's asleepe, how now? Where's that Mungrell? Knigh. He saies my Lord, your Daughters is not well Lear. Why came not the slaue backe to me when I call'd him? Knigh. Sir, he answered me in the roundest manner, he would not Lear. He would not? Knight. My Lord, I know not what the matter is, but to my iudgement your Highnesse is not entertain'd with that Ceremonious affection as you were wont, theres a great abatement of kindnesse appeares as well in the generall dependants, as in the Duke himselfe also, and your Daughter Lear. Ha? Saist thou so? Knigh. I beseech you pardon me my Lord, if I bee mistaken, for my duty cannot be silent, when I thinke your Highnesse wrong'd Lear. Thou but remembrest me of mine owne Conception, I haue perceiued a most faint neglect of late, which I haue rather blamed as mine owne iealous curiositie, then as a very pretence and purpose of vnkindnesse; I will looke further intoo't: but where's my Foole? I haue not seene him this two daies Knight. Since my young Ladies going into France Sir, the Foole hath much pined away Lear. No more of that, I haue noted it well, goe you and tell my Daughter, I would speake with her. Goe you call hither my Foole; Oh you Sir, you, come you hither Sir, who am I Sir? Enter Steward. Ste. My Ladies Father Lear. My Ladies Father? my Lords knaue, you whorson dog, you slaue, you curre Ste. I am none of these my Lord, I beseech your pardon Lear. Do you bandy lookes with me, you Rascall? Ste. Ile not be strucken my Lord Kent. Nor tript neither, you base Foot-ball plaier Lear. I thanke thee fellow. Thou seru'st me, and Ile loue thee Kent. Come sir, arise, away, Ile teach you differences: away, away, if you will measure your lubbers length againe, tarry, but away, goe too, haue you wisedome, so Lear. Now my friendly knaue I thanke thee, there's earnest of thy seruice. Enter Foole. Foole. Let me hire him too, here's my Coxcombe Lear. How now my pretty knaue, how dost thou? Foole. Sirrah, you were best take my Coxcombe Lear. Why my Boy? Foole. Why? for taking ones part that's out of fauour, nay, & thou canst not smile as the wind sits, thou'lt catch colde shortly, there take my Coxcombe; why this fellow ha's banish'd two on's Daughters, and did the third a blessing against his will, if thou follow him, thou must needs weare my Coxcombe. How now Nunckle? would I had two Coxcombes and two Daughters Lear. Why my Boy? Fool. If I gaue them all my liuing, I'ld keepe my Coxcombes my selfe, there's mine, beg another of thy Daughters Lear. Take heed Sirrah, the whip Foole. Truth's a dog must to kennell, hee must bee whipt out, when the Lady Brach may stand by'th' fire and stinke Lear. A pestilent gall to me Foole. Sirha, Ile teach thee a speech Lear. Do Foole. Marke it Nuncle; Haue more then thou showest, Speake lesse then thou knowest, Lend lesse then thou owest, Ride more then thou goest, Learne more then thou trowest, Set lesse then thou throwest; Leaue thy drinke and thy whore, And keepe in a dore, And thou shalt haue more, Then two tens to a score Kent. This is nothing Foole Foole. Then 'tis like the breath of an vnfeed Lawyer, you gaue me nothing for't, can you make no vse of nothing Nuncle? Lear. Why no Boy, Nothing can be made out of nothing Foole. Prythee tell him, so much the rent of his land comes to, he will not beleeue a Foole Lear. A bitter Foole Foole. Do'st thou know the difference my Boy, betweene a bitter Foole, and a sweet one Lear. No Lad, teach me Foole. Nunckle, giue me an egge, and Ile giue thee two Crownes Lear. What two Crownes shall they be? Foole. Why after I haue cut the egge i'th' middle and eate vp the meate, the two Crownes of the egge: when thou clouest thy Crownes i'th' middle, and gau'st away both parts, thou boar'st thine Asse on thy backe o're the durt, thou hadst little wit in thy bald crowne, when thou gau'st thy golden one away; if I speake like my selfe in this, let him be whipt that first findes it so. Fooles had nere lesse grace in a yeere, For wisemen are growne foppish, And know not how their wits to weare, Their manners are so apish Le. When were you wont to be so full of Songs sirrah? Foole. I haue vsed it Nunckle, ere since thou mad'st thy Daughters thy Mothers, for when thou gau'st them the rod, and put'st downe thine owne breeches, then they For sodaine ioy did weepe, And I for sorrow sung, That such a King should play bo-peepe, And goe the Foole among. Pry'thy Nunckle keepe a Schoolemaster that can teach thy Foole to lie, I would faine learne to lie Lear. And you lie sirrah, wee'l haue you whipt Foole. I maruell what kin thou and thy daughters are, they'l haue me whipt for speaking true: thou'lt haue me whipt for lying, and sometimes I am whipt for holding my peace. I had rather be any kind o' thing then a foole, and yet I would not be thee Nunckle, thou hast pared thy wit o' both sides, and left nothing i'th' middle; heere comes one o'the parings. Enter Gonerill. Lear. How now Daughter? what makes that Frontlet on? You are too much of late i'th' frowne Foole. Thou wast a pretty fellow when thou hadst no need to care for her frowning, now thou art an O without a figure, I am better then thou art now, I am a Foole, thou art nothing. Yes forsooth I will hold my tongue, so your face bids me, though you say nothing. Mum, mum, he that keepes nor crust, nor crum, Weary of all, shall want some. That's a sheal'd Pescod Gon. Not only Sir this, your all-lycenc'd Foole, But other of your insolent retinue Do hourely Carpe and Quarrell, breaking forth In ranke, and (not to be endur'd) riots Sir. I had thought by making this well knowne vnto you, To haue found a safe redresse, but now grow fearefull By what your selfe too late haue 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 sleepe, Which in the tender of a wholesome weale, Mighty in their working do you that offence, Which else were shame, that then necessitie Will call discreet proceeding Foole. For you know Nunckle, the Hedge-Sparrow fed the Cuckoo so long, that it's had it head bit off by it young, so out went the Candle, and we were left darkling Lear. Are you our Daughter? Gon. I would you would make vse of your good wisedome (Whereof I know you are fraught), and put away These dispositions, which of late transport you From what you rightly are Foole. May not an Asse know, when the Cart drawes the Horse? Whoop Iugge I loue thee Lear. Do's any heere know me? This is not Lear: Do's Lear walke thus? Speake thus? Where are his eies? Either his Notion weakens, his Discernings Are Lethargied. Ha! Waking? 'Tis not so? Who is it that can tell me who I am? Foole. Lears shadow Lear. Your name, faire Gentlewoman? Gon. This admiration Sir, is much o'th' sauour Of other your new prankes. I do beseech you To vnderstand my purposes aright: As you are Old, and Reuerend, should be Wise. Heere do you keepe a hundred Knights and Squires, Men so disorder'd, so debosh'd and bold, That this our Court infected with their manners, Shewes like a riotous Inne; Epicurisme and Lust Makes it more like a Tauerne, or a Brothell, Then a grac'd Pallace. The shame it selfe doth speake For instant remedy. Be then desir'd By her, that else will take the thing she begges, A little to disquantity your Traine, And the remainders that shall still depend, To be such men as may besort your Age, Which know themselues, and you Lear. Darknesse, and Diuels. Saddle my horses: call my Traine together. Degenerate Bastard, Ile not trouble thee; Yet haue I left a daughter Gon. You strike my people, and your disorder'd rable, make Seruants of their Betters. Enter Albany. Lear. Woe, that too late repents: Is it your will, speake Sir? Prepare my Horses. Ingratitude! thou Marble-hearted Fiend, More hideous when thou shew'st thee in a Child, Then the Sea-monster Alb. Pray Sir be patient Lear. Detested Kite, thou lyest. My Traine are men of choice, and rarest parts, That all particulars of dutie know, And in the most exact regard, support The worships of their name. O most small fault, How vgly did'st thou in Cordelia shew? Which like an Engine, wrencht my frame of Nature From the fixt place: drew from my heart all loue, And added to the gall. O Lear, Lear, Lear! Beate at this gate that let thy Folly in, And thy deere Iudgement out. Go, go, my people Alb. My Lord, I am guiltlesse, as I am ignorant Of what hath moued you Lear. It may be so, my Lord. Heare Nature, heare deere Goddesse, heare: Suspend thy purpose, if thou did'st intend To make this Creature fruitfull: Into her Wombe conuey stirrility, Drie vp in her the Organs of increase, And from her derogate body, neuer spring A Babe to honor her. If she must teeme, Create her childe of Spleene, that it may liue And be a thwart disnatur'd torment to her. Let it stampe wrinkles in her brow of youth, With cadent Teares fret Channels in her cheekes, Turne all her Mothers paines, and benefits To laughter, and contempt: That she may feele, How sharper then a Serpents tooth it is, To haue a thanklesse Childe. Away, away. Enter. Alb. Now Gods that we adore, Whereof comes this? Gon. Neuer afflict your selfe to know more of it: But let his disposition haue that scope As dotage giues it. Enter Lear. Lear. What fiftie of my Followers at a clap? Within a fortnight? Alb. What's the matter, Sir? Lear. Ile tell thee: Life and death, I am asham'd That thou hast power to shake my manhood thus, That these hot teares, which breake from me perforce Should make thee worth them. Blastes and Fogges vpon thee: Th' vntented woundings of a Fathers curse Pierce euerie sense about thee. Old fond eyes, Beweepe this cause againe, Ile plucke ye out, And cast you with the waters that you loose To temper Clay. Ha? Let it be so. I haue another daughter, Who I am sure is kinde and comfortable: When she shall heare this of thee, with her nailes Shee'l flea thy Woluish visage. Thou shalt finde, That Ile resume the shape which thou dost thinke I haue cast off for euer. Exit Gon. Do you marke that? Alb. I cannot be so partiall Gonerill, To the great loue I beare you Gon. Pray you content. What Oswald, hoa? You Sir, more Knaue then Foole, after your Master Foole. Nunkle Lear, Nunkle Lear, Tarry, take the Foole with thee: A Fox, when one has caught her, And such a Daughter, Should sure to the Slaughter, If my Cap would buy a Halter, So the Foole followes after. Exit Gon. This man hath had good Counsell, A hundred Knights? 'Tis politike, and safe to let him keepe At point a hundred Knights: yes, that on euerie dreame, Each buz, each fancie, each complaint, dislike, He may enguard his dotage with their powres, And hold our liues in mercy. Oswald, I say Alb. Well, you may feare too farre Gon. Safer then trust too farre; Let me still take away the harmes I feare, Not feare still to be taken. I know his heart, What he hath vtter'd I haue writ my Sister: If she sustaine him, and his hundred Knights When I haue shew'd th' vnfitnesse. Enter Steward. How now Oswald? What haue you writ that Letter to my Sister? Stew. I Madam Gon. Take you some company, and away to horse, Informe her full of my particular feare, And thereto adde such reasons of your owne, As may compact it more. Get you gone, And hasten your returne; no, no, my Lord, This milky gentlenesse, and course of yours Though I condemne not, yet vnder pardon You are much more at task for want of wisedome, Then prais'd for harmefull mildnesse Alb. How farre your eies may pierce I cannot tell; Striuing to better, oft we marre what's well Gon. Nay then- Alb. Well, well, th' euent. Exeunt.

Act 1, scenes 3-5 In these scenes, the tragedy of the play begins to unfold. It is now becoming clear to everyone that Lear has made a mistake in handing over his power to Goneril and Regan. Lear's major error is that, in stepping down from the throne, he has also given up all of his formal authority to those who do not actually love him. He no longer has the power to command anyone to do anything, even to give him shelter or food--his daughters, each of whom is now a queen over half of Britain, wield special authority over him. Goneril and, as we soon discover, Regan enjoy being in power and conspire to destroy Lear's remaining influence. Their plan to whittle down Lear's retinue from a hundred knights to fifty may not seem devious, but they will soon purge his knights altogether. This gradual diminishment of Lear's attendants symbolizes the gradual elimination of his remaining power. Knights and servants are part of the pomp that surrounds a powerful king, and Lear rightly sees his loss of them as representative of his daughter's declining respect for his rank. Goneril, of course, says that the reason she demands this reduction is that the knights have been loud and destructive in her castle--they are, she claims, "men so disordered, so deboshed and bold" . To be fair, it is difficult for us, as readers, to know how true this assertion is. Lear claims, "My train are men of choice and rarest parts, / That all particulars of duty know," yet we have already seen Lear make imperious demands and lose his temper in a seemingly unjustified way . At this point in the play, the audience may still be unsure about whether or not to sympathize with Lear, especially given his capricious decision to banish Cordelia. Still, we know that Goneril has been talking, in private, about how best to control her aging father. Lear seems to begin to question his own identity. When he realizes that Goneril plans to frustrate his desires, he asks, "Doth any here know me? This is not Lear. / . . . / Who is it that can tell me who I am?" . It is as if Goneril's insistence that Lear is now senile makes Lear himself wonder whether he is really himself anymore or whether he has lost his mind. Driven to despair at the end of Act 1, scene 5, he says, "O let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven!"--a foreshadowing of his eventual insanity . In Act 1, scene 4, we meet Lear's Fool. Many of Shakespeare's plays feature a clown of some sort, and King Lear arguably has two such clowns: the Fool himself and Edgar in his later disguise as Tom O'Bedlam. Many kings and queens during the Renaissance had court fools to amuse them. However, in addition to wearing funny costumes, singing, performing acrobatic tricks, and juggling, fools also made puns and rude jokes and offered their take on matters to their sovereigns. Lear's Fool cleverly combines this sort of foolishness with a deeper wisdom. The license, traditionally granted to official "fools," to say things to their superiors that anybody else would be punished for enables him to counsel Lear, even though he seems only to prattle nonsensically. Moreover, Lear seems to have a very close relationship with his Fool: the Fool calls Lear "nuncle" and Lear calls the Fool "boy." He is always speaking in riddles and songs, but in these scenes his meaning can be understood: he advises Lear to be wary of his daughters. In telling Lear, "I / am better than thou art now; I am a fool, thou art nothing," he hints at the dangerous situation in which Lear has put himself . His ostensibly silly singing--"The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long / That it had it head bit off by it young"--clearly warns the king that his daughters, each like a traitorous "cuckoo," plan to turn against the father who raised them .

analysis

Scena Quinta. Enter Lear, Kent, Gentleman, and Foole. Lear. Go you before to Gloster with these Letters; acquaint my Daughter no further with any thing you know, then comes from her demand out of the Letter, if your Dilligence be not speedy, I shall be there afore you Kent. I will not sleepe my Lord, till I haue deliuered your Letter. Enter. Foole. If a mans braines were in's heeles, wert not in danger of kybes? Lear. I Boy Foole. Then I prythee be merry, thy wit shall not go slip-shod Lear. Ha, ha, ha Fool. Shalt see thy other Daughter will vse thee kindly, for though she's as like this, as a Crabbe's like an Apple, yet I can tell what I can tell Lear. What can'st tell Boy? Foole. She will taste as like this as, a Crabbe do's to a Crab: thou canst, tell why ones nose stands i'th' middle on's face? Lear. No Foole. Why to keepe ones eyes of either side 's nose, that what a man cannot smell out, he may spy into Lear. I did her wrong Foole. Can'st tell how an Oyster makes his shell? Lear. No Foole. Nor I neither; but I can tell why a Snaile ha's a house Lear. Why? Foole. Why to put's head in, not to giue it away to his daughters, and leaue his hornes without a case Lear. I will forget my Nature, so kind a Father? Be my Horsses ready? Foole. Thy Asses are gone about 'em; the reason why the seuen Starres are no mo then seuen, is a pretty reason Lear. Because they are not eight Foole. Yes indeed, thou would'st make a good Foole Lear. To tak't againe perforce; Monster Ingratitude! Foole. If thou wert my Foole Nunckle, Il'd haue thee beaten for being old before thy time Lear. How's that? Foole. Thou shouldst not haue bin old, till thou hadst bin wise Lear. O let me not be mad, not mad sweet Heauen: keepe me in temper, I would not be mad. How now are the Horses ready? Gent. Ready my Lord Lear. Come Boy Fool. She that's a Maid now, & laughs at my departure, Shall not be a Maid long, vnlesse things be cut shorter. Exeunt.

Lear sends Kent to deliver a message to Gloucester. The Fool needles Lear further about his bad decisions, foreseeing that Regan will treat Lear no better than Goneril did. Lear calls on heaven to keep him from going mad. Lear and his attendants leave for Regan's castle

summary

Scena Quinta. Enter Lear, Kent, Gentleman, and Foole. Lear. Go you before to Gloster with these Letters; acquaint my Daughter no further with any thing you know, then comes from her demand out of the Letter, if your Dilligence be not speedy, I shall be there afore you Kent. I will not sleepe my Lord, till I haue deliuered your Letter. Enter. Foole. If a mans braines were in's heeles, wert not in danger of kybes? Lear. I Boy Foole. Then I prythee be merry, thy wit shall not go slip-shod Lear. Ha, ha, ha Fool. Shalt see thy other Daughter will vse thee kindly, for though she's as like this, as a Crabbe's like an Apple, yet I can tell what I can tell Lear. What can'st tell Boy? Foole. She will taste as like this as, a Crabbe do's to a Crab: thou canst, tell why ones nose stands i'th' middle on's face? Lear. No Foole. Why to keepe ones eyes of either side 's nose, that what a man cannot smell out, he may spy into Lear. I did her wrong Foole. Can'st tell how an Oyster makes his shell? Lear. No Foole. Nor I neither; but I can tell why a Snaile ha's a house Lear. Why? Foole. Why to put's head in, not to giue it away to his daughters, and leaue his hornes without a case Lear. I will forget my Nature, so kind a Father? Be my Horsses ready? Foole. Thy Asses are gone about 'em; the reason why the seuen Starres are no mo then seuen, is a pretty reason Lear. Because they are not eight Foole. Yes indeed, thou would'st make a good Foole Lear. To tak't againe perforce; Monster Ingratitude! Foole. If thou wert my Foole Nunckle, Il'd haue thee beaten for being old before thy time Lear. How's that? Foole. Thou shouldst not haue bin old, till thou hadst bin wise Lear. O let me not be mad, not mad sweet Heauen: keepe me in temper, I would not be mad. How now are the Horses ready? Gent. Ready my Lord Lear. Come Boy Fool. She that's a Maid now, & laughs at my departure, Shall not be a Maid long, vnlesse things be cut shorter. Exeunt.

Act 1, scenes 3-5 In these scenes, the tragedy of the play begins to unfold. It is now becoming clear to everyone that Lear has made a mistake in handing over his power to Goneril and Regan. Lear's major error is that, in stepping down from the throne, he has also given up all of his formal authority to those who do not actually love him. He no longer has the power to command anyone to do anything, even to give him shelter or food--his daughters, each of whom is now a queen over half of Britain, wield special authority over him. Goneril and, as we soon discover, Regan enjoy being in power and conspire to destroy Lear's remaining influence. Their plan to whittle down Lear's retinue from a hundred knights to fifty may not seem devious, but they will soon purge his knights altogether. This gradual diminishment of Lear's attendants symbolizes the gradual elimination of his remaining power. Knights and servants are part of the pomp that surrounds a powerful king, and Lear rightly sees his loss of them as representative of his daughter's declining respect for his rank. Goneril, of course, says that the reason she demands this reduction is that the knights have been loud and destructive in her castle--they are, she claims, "men so disordered, so deboshed and bold" . To be fair, it is difficult for us, as readers, to know how true this assertion is. Lear claims, "My train are men of choice and rarest parts, / That all particulars of duty know," yet we have already seen Lear make imperious demands and lose his temper in a seemingly unjustified way . At this point in the play, the audience may still be unsure about whether or not to sympathize with Lear, especially given his capricious decision to banish Cordelia. Still, we know that Goneril has been talking, in private, about how best to control her aging father. Lear seems to begin to question his own identity. When he realizes that Goneril plans to frustrate his desires, he asks, "Doth any here know me? This is not Lear. / . . . / Who is it that can tell me who I am?" . It is as if Goneril's insistence that Lear is now senile makes Lear himself wonder whether he is really himself anymore or whether he has lost his mind. Driven to despair at the end of Act 1, scene 5, he says, "O let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven!"--a foreshadowing of his eventual insanity . In Act 1, scene 4, we meet Lear's Fool. Many of Shakespeare's plays feature a clown of some sort, and King Lear arguably has two such clowns: the Fool himself and Edgar in his later disguise as Tom O'Bedlam. Many kings and queens during the Renaissance had court fools to amuse them. However, in addition to wearing funny costumes, singing, performing acrobatic tricks, and juggling, fools also made puns and rude jokes and offered their take on matters to their sovereigns. Lear's Fool cleverly combines this sort of foolishness with a deeper wisdom. The license, traditionally granted to official "fools," to say things to their superiors that anybody else would be punished for enables him to counsel Lear, even though he seems only to prattle nonsensically. Moreover, Lear seems to have a very close relationship with his Fool: the Fool calls Lear "nuncle" and Lear calls the Fool "boy." He is always speaking in riddles and songs, but in these scenes his meaning can be understood: he advises Lear to be wary of his daughters. In telling Lear, "I / am better than thou art now; I am a fool, thou art nothing," he hints at the dangerous situation in which Lear has put himself . His ostensibly silly singing--"The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long / That it had it head bit off by it young"--clearly warns the king that his daughters, each like a traitorous "cuckoo," plan to turn against the father who raised them .

analysis

Actus Secundus. Scena Prima. Enter Bastard, and Curan, seuerally. Bast. Saue thee Curan Cur. And you Sir, I haue bin With your Father, and giuen him notice That the Duke of Cornwall, and Regan his Duchesse Will be here with him this night Bast. How comes that? Cur. Nay I know not, you haue heard of the newes abroad, I meane the whisper'd ones, for they are yet but ear-kissing arguments Bast. Not I: pray you what are they? Cur. Haue you heard of no likely Warres toward, 'Twixt the Dukes of Cornwall, and Albany? Bast. Not a word Cur. You may do then in time, Fare you well Sir. Enter. Bast. The Duke be here to night? The better best, This weaues it selfe perforce into my businesse, My Father hath set guard to take my Brother, And I haue one thing of a queazie question Which I must act, Briefenesse, and Fortune worke. Enter Edgar. Brother, a word, discend; Brother I say, My Father watches: O Sir, fly this place, Intelligence is giuen where you are hid; You haue now the good aduantage of the night, Haue you not spoken 'gainst the Duke of Cornewall? Hee's comming hither, now i'th' night, i'th' haste, And Regan with him, haue you nothing said Vpon his partie 'gainst the Duke of Albany? Aduise your selfe Edg. I am sure on't, not a word Bast. I heare my Father comming, pardon me: In cunning, I must draw my Sword vpon you: Draw, seeme to defend your selfe, Now quit you well. Yeeld, come before my Father, light hoa, here, Fly Brother, Torches, Torches, so farewell. Exit Edgar. Some blood drawne on me, would beget opinion Of my more fierce endeauour. I haue seene drunkards Do more then this in sport; Father, Father, Stop, stop, no helpe? Enter Gloster, and Seruants with Torches. Glo. Now Edmund, where's the villaine? Bast. Here stood he in the dark, his sharpe Sword out, Mumbling of wicked charmes, coniuring the Moone To stand auspicious Mistris Glo. But where is he? Bast. Looke Sir, I bleed Glo. Where is the villaine, Edmund? Bast. Fled this way Sir, when by no meanes he could Glo. Pursue him, ho: go after. By no meanes, what? Bast. Perswade me to the murther of your Lordship, But that I told him the reuenging Gods, 'Gainst Paricides did all the thunder bend, Spoke with how manifold, and strong a Bond The Child was bound to'th' Father; Sir in fine, Seeing how lothly opposite I stood To his vnnaturall purpose, in fell motion With his prepared Sword, he charges home My vnprouided body, latch'd mine arme; And when he saw my best alarum'd spirits Bold in the quarrels right, rouz'd to th' encounter, Or whether gasted by the noyse I made, Full sodainely he fled Glost. Let him fly farre: Not in this Land shall he remaine vncaught And found; dispatch, the Noble Duke my Master, My worthy Arch and Patron comes to night, By his authoritie I will proclaime it, That he which finds him shall deserue our thankes, Bringing the murderous Coward to the stake: He that conceales him death Bast. When I disswaded him from his intent, And found him pight to doe it, with curst speech I threaten'd to discouer him; he replied, Thou vnpossessing Bastard, dost thou thinke, If I would stand against thee, would the reposall Of any trust, vertue, or worth in thee Make thy words faith'd? No, what should I denie, (As this I would, though thou didst produce My very Character) I'ld turne it all To thy suggestion, plot, and damned practise: And thou must make a dullard of the world, If they not thought the profits of my death Were very pregnant and potentiall spirits To make thee seeke it. Tucket within. Glo. O strange and fastned Villaine, Would he deny his Letter, said he? Harke, the Dukes Trumpets, I know not wher he comes; All Ports Ile barre, the villaine shall not scape, The Duke must grant me that: besides, his picture I will send farre and neere, that all the kingdome May haue due note of him, and of my land, (Loyall and naturall Boy) Ile worke the meanes To make thee capable. Enter Cornewall, Regan, and Attendants. Corn. How now my Noble friend, since I came hither (Which I can call but now,) I haue heard strangenesse Reg. If it be true, all vengeance comes too short Which can pursue th' offender; how dost my Lord? Glo. O Madam, my old heart is crack'd, it's crack'd Reg. What, did my Fathers Godsonne seeke your life? He whom my Father nam'd, your Edgar? Glo. O Lady, Lady, shame would haue it hid Reg. Was he not companion with the riotous Knights That tended vpon my Father? Glo. I know not Madam, 'tis too bad, too bad Bast. Yes Madam, he was of that consort Reg. No maruaile then, though he were ill affected, 'Tis they haue put him on the old mans death, To haue th' expence and wast of his Reuenues: I haue this present euening from my Sister Beene well inform'd of them, and with such cautions, That if they come to soiourne at my house, Ile not be there Cor. Nor I, assure thee Regan; Edmund, I heare that you haue shewne your Father A Child-like Office Bast. It was my duty Sir Glo. He did bewray his practise, and receiu'd This hurt you see, striuing to apprehend him Cor. Is he pursued? Glo. I my good Lord Cor. If he be taken, he shall neuer more Be fear'd of doing harme, make your owne purpose, How in my strength you please: for you Edmund, Whose vertue and obedience doth this instant So much commend it selfe, you shall be ours, Nature's of such deepe trust, we shall much need: You we first seize on Bast. I shall serue you Sir truely, how euer else Glo. For him I thanke your Grace Cor. You know not why we came to visit you? Reg. Thus out of season, thredding darke ey'd night, Occasions Noble Gloster of some prize, Wherein we must haue vse of your aduise. Our Father he hath writ, so hath our Sister, Of differences, which I best thought it fit To answere from our home: the seuerall Messengers From hence attend dispatch, our good old Friend, Lay comforts to your bosome, and bestow Your needfull counsaile to our businesses, Which craues the instant vse Glo. I serue you Madam, Your Graces are right welcome. Exeunt. Flourish.

Note: Many editions of King Lear, including The Norton Shakespeare, divide Act 2 into four scenes. Other editions divide Act 2 into only two scenes

summary

Actus Secundus. Scena Prima. Enter Bastard, and Curan, seuerally. Bast. Saue thee Curan Cur. And you Sir, I haue bin With your Father, and giuen him notice That the Duke of Cornwall, and Regan his Duchesse Will be here with him this night Bast. How comes that? Cur. Nay I know not, you haue heard of the newes abroad, I meane the whisper'd ones, for they are yet but ear-kissing arguments Bast. Not I: pray you what are they? Cur. Haue you heard of no likely Warres toward, 'Twixt the Dukes of Cornwall, and Albany? Bast. Not a word Cur. You may do then in time, Fare you well Sir. Enter. Bast. The Duke be here to night? The better best, This weaues it selfe perforce into my businesse, My Father hath set guard to take my Brother, And I haue one thing of a queazie question Which I must act, Briefenesse, and Fortune worke. Enter Edgar. Brother, a word, discend; Brother I say, My Father watches: O Sir, fly this place, Intelligence is giuen where you are hid; You haue now the good aduantage of the night, Haue you not spoken 'gainst the Duke of Cornewall? Hee's comming hither, now i'th' night, i'th' haste, And Regan with him, haue you nothing said Vpon his partie 'gainst the Duke of Albany? Aduise your selfe Edg. I am sure on't, not a word Bast. I heare my Father comming, pardon me: In cunning, I must draw my Sword vpon you: Draw, seeme to defend your selfe, Now quit you well. Yeeld, come before my Father, light hoa, here, Fly Brother, Torches, Torches, so farewell. Exit Edgar. Some blood drawne on me, would beget opinion Of my more fierce endeauour. I haue seene drunkards Do more then this in sport; Father, Father, Stop, stop, no helpe? Enter Gloster, and Seruants with Torches. Glo. Now Edmund, where's the villaine? Bast. Here stood he in the dark, his sharpe Sword out, Mumbling of wicked charmes, coniuring the Moone To stand auspicious Mistris Glo. But where is he? Bast. Looke Sir, I bleed Glo. Where is the villaine, Edmund? Bast. Fled this way Sir, when by no meanes he could Glo. Pursue him, ho: go after. By no meanes, what? Bast. Perswade me to the murther of your Lordship, But that I told him the reuenging Gods, 'Gainst Paricides did all the thunder bend, Spoke with how manifold, and strong a Bond The Child was bound to'th' Father; Sir in fine, Seeing how lothly opposite I stood To his vnnaturall purpose, in fell motion With his prepared Sword, he charges home My vnprouided body, latch'd mine arme; And when he saw my best alarum'd spirits Bold in the quarrels right, rouz'd to th' encounter, Or whether gasted by the noyse I made, Full sodainely he fled Glost. Let him fly farre: Not in this Land shall he remaine vncaught And found; dispatch, the Noble Duke my Master, My worthy Arch and Patron comes to night, By his authoritie I will proclaime it, That he which finds him shall deserue our thankes, Bringing the murderous Coward to the stake: He that conceales him death Bast. When I disswaded him from his intent, And found him pight to doe it, with curst speech I threaten'd to discouer him; he replied, Thou vnpossessing Bastard, dost thou thinke, If I would stand against thee, would the reposall Of any trust, vertue, or worth in thee Make thy words faith'd? No, what should I denie, (As this I would, though thou didst produce My very Character) I'ld turne it all To thy suggestion, plot, and damned practise: And thou must make a dullard of the world, If they not thought the profits of my death Were very pregnant and potentiall spirits To make thee seeke it. Tucket within. Glo. O strange and fastned Villaine, Would he deny his Letter, said he? Harke, the Dukes Trumpets, I know not wher he comes; All Ports Ile barre, the villaine shall not scape, The Duke must grant me that: besides, his picture I will send farre and neere, that all the kingdome May haue due note of him, and of my land, (Loyall and naturall Boy) Ile worke the meanes To make thee capable. Enter Cornewall, Regan, and Attendants. Corn. How now my Noble friend, since I came hither (Which I can call but now,) I haue heard strangenesse Reg. If it be true, all vengeance comes too short Which can pursue th' offender; how dost my Lord? Glo. O Madam, my old heart is crack'd, it's crack'd Reg. What, did my Fathers Godsonne seeke your life? He whom my Father nam'd, your Edgar? Glo. O Lady, Lady, shame would haue it hid Reg. Was he not companion with the riotous Knights That tended vpon my Father? Glo. I know not Madam, 'tis too bad, too bad Bast. Yes Madam, he was of that consort Reg. No maruaile then, though he were ill affected, 'Tis they haue put him on the old mans death, To haue th' expence and wast of his Reuenues: I haue this present euening from my Sister Beene well inform'd of them, and with such cautions, That if they come to soiourne at my house, Ile not be there Cor. Nor I, assure thee Regan; Edmund, I heare that you haue shewne your Father A Child-like Office Bast. It was my duty Sir Glo. He did bewray his practise, and receiu'd This hurt you see, striuing to apprehend him Cor. Is he pursued? Glo. I my good Lord Cor. If he be taken, he shall neuer more Be fear'd of doing harme, make your owne purpose, How in my strength you please: for you Edmund, Whose vertue and obedience doth this instant So much commend it selfe, you shall be ours, Nature's of such deepe trust, we shall much need: You we first seize on Bast. I shall serue you Sir truely, how euer else Glo. For him I thanke your Grace Cor. You know not why we came to visit you? Reg. Thus out of season, thredding darke ey'd night, Occasions Noble Gloster of some prize, Wherein we must haue vse of your aduise. Our Father he hath writ, so hath our Sister, Of differences, which I best thought it fit To answere from our home: the seuerall Messengers From hence attend dispatch, our good old Friend, Lay comforts to your bosome, and bestow Your needfull counsaile to our businesses, Which craues the instant vse Glo. I serue you Madam, Your Graces are right welcome. Exeunt. Flourish.

Act 2, scenes 1-2 Edmund's clever scheming to get rid of Edgar shows his cunning and his immorality. His ability to manipulate people calls to mind arguably the greatest of Shakespeare's villains, Iago, from Othello, who demonstrates a similar capacity for twisting others to serve his own ends. There is a great deal of irony in Edmund's description to his father of the ways in which Edgar has allegedly schemed against Gloucester's life. Edmund goes so far as to state that Edgar told him that no one would ever believe Edmund's word against his because of Edmund's illegitimate birth. With this remark, Edmund not only calls attention to his bastard status--which is clearly central to his resentful, ambitious approach to life--but proves crafty enough to use it to his advantage. Gloucester's rejection of Edgar parallels Lear's rejection of Cordelia in Act 1, scene 1, and reminds us of the similarities between the two unhappy families: Edgar and Cordelia are good children of fathers who reject them in favor of children who do not love them. When Gloucester says, "I never got him"--that is, he never begot, or fathered, him--he seems to be denying that he is actually Edgar's father, just as Lear has disowned Cordelia . On the other hand, when he praises Edmund as a "loyal and natural boy," he seems to be acknowledging him as a true son . It is somewhat difficult to know what to make of Kent's attack on Oswald. Oswald's eagerness to serve the treacherous Goneril in Act 1, scene 4, has established him as one of the play's minor villains, but Kent's barrage of insults and subsequent physical attack on Oswald are clearly unprovoked. Oswald's failure to fight back may be interpreted as cowardice, but one can also interpret it as Oswald does: he says that he chooses not to attack Kent because of Kent's "gray beard"--at nearly fifty, Kent is an old man and thus no longer suited for fighting . Kent's attack seems to be rooted in his anger at Goneril's treatment of Lear--"anger hath a privilege" is the excuse that he gives Cornwall and Regan--and his rage at the hypocrisy surrounding Lear's betrayal by his daughters . Cornwall's and Regan's decision to put Kent in the stocks reinforces what we have already seen of their disrespect for their father. The stocks were a punishment used on common criminals, and their use on Lear's serving man could easily be interpreted as highly disrespectful to Lear's royal status. Gloucester announces as much when he protests, "Your purposed low correction / Is such as basest and contemned'st wretches / . . . / Are punished with" . Regan, however, ignores his pleas; she almost seems to welcome the idea of inviting Lear's anger.

analysis

Scena Secunda. Enter Kent, and Steward seuerally. Stew. Good dawning to thee Friend, art of this house? Kent. I Stew. Where may we set our horses? Kent. I'th' myre Stew. Prythee, if thou lou'st me, tell me Kent. I loue thee not Ste. Why then I care not for thee Kent. If I had thee in Lipsbury Pinfold, I would make thee care for me Ste. Why do'st thou vse me thus? I know thee not Kent. Fellow I know thee Ste. What do'st thou know me for? Kent. A Knaue, a Rascall, an eater of broken meates, a base, proud, shallow, beggerly, three-suited-hundred pound, filthy woosted-stocking knaue, a Lilly-liuered, action-taking, whoreson glasse-gazing super-seruiceable finicall Rogue, one Trunke-inheriting slaue, one that would'st be a Baud in way of good seruice, and art nothing but the composition of a Knaue, Begger, Coward, Pandar, and the Sonne and Heire of a Mungrill Bitch, one whom I will beate into clamours whining, if thou deny'st the least sillable of thy addition Stew. Why, what a monstrous Fellow art thou, thus to raile on one, that is neither knowne of thee, nor knowes thee? Kent. What a brazen-fac'd Varlet art thou, to deny thou knowest me? Is it two dayes since I tript vp thy heeles, and beate thee before the King? Draw you rogue, for though it be night, yet the Moone shines, Ile make a sop oth' Moonshine of you, you whoreson Cullyenly Barber-monger, draw Stew. Away, I haue nothing to do with thee Kent. Draw you Rascall, you come with Letters against the King, and take Vanitie the puppets part, against the Royaltie of her Father: draw you Rogue, or Ile so carbonado your shanks, draw you Rascall, come your waies Ste. Helpe, ho, murther, helpe Kent. Strike you slaue: stand rogue, stand you neat slaue, strike Stew. Helpe hoa, murther, murther. Enter Bastard, Cornewall, Regan, Gloster, Seruants. Bast. How now, what's the matter? Part Kent. With you goodman Boy, if you please, come, Ile flesh ye, come on yong Master Glo. Weapons? Armes? what's the matter here? Cor. Keepe peace vpon your liues, he dies that strikes againe, what is the matter? Reg. The Messengers from our Sister, and the King? Cor. What is your difference, speake? Stew. I am scarce in breath my Lord Kent. No Maruell, you haue so bestir'd your valour, you cowardly Rascall, nature disclaimes in thee: a Taylor made thee Cor. Thou art a strange fellow, a Taylor make a man? Kent. A Taylor Sir, a Stone-cutter, or a Painter, could not haue made him so ill, though they had bin but two yeares oth' trade Cor. Speake yet, how grew your quarrell? Ste. This ancient Ruffian Sir, whose life I haue spar'd at sute of his gray-beard Kent. Thou whoreson Zed, thou vnnecessary letter: my Lord, if you will giue me leaue, I will tread this vnboulted villaine into morter, and daube the wall of a Iakes with him. Spare my gray-beard, you wagtaile? Cor. Peace sirrah, You beastly knaue, know you no reuerence? Kent. Yes Sir, but anger hath a priuiledge Cor. Why art thou angrie? Kent. That such a slaue as this should weare a Sword, Who weares no honesty: such smiling rogues as these, Like Rats oft bite the holy cords a twaine, Which are t' intrince, t' vnloose: smooth euery passion That in the natures of their Lords rebell, Being oile to fire, snow to the colder moodes, Reuenge, affirme, and turne their Halcion beakes With euery gall, and varry of their Masters, Knowing naught (like dogges) but following: A plague vpon your Epilepticke visage, Smoile you my speeches, as I were a Foole? Goose, if I had you vpon Sarum Plaine, I'ld driue ye cackling home to Camelot Corn. What art thou mad old Fellow? Glost. How fell you out, say that? Kent. No contraries hold more antipathy, Then I, and such a knaue Corn. Why do'st thou call him Knaue? What is his fault? Kent. His countenance likes me not Cor. No more perchance do's mine, nor his, nor hers Kent. Sir, 'tis my occupation to be plaine, I haue seene better faces in my Time, Then stands on any shoulder that I see Before me, at this instant Corn. This is some Fellow, Who hauing beene prais'd for bluntnesse, doth affect A saucy roughnes, and constraines the garb Quite from his Nature. He cannot flatter he, An honest mind and plaine, he must speake truth, And they will take it so, if not, hee's plaine. These kind of Knaues I know, which in this plainnesse Harbour more craft, and more corrupter ends, Then twenty silly-ducking obseruants, That stretch their duties nicely Kent. Sir, in good faith, in sincere verity, Vnder th' allowance of your great aspect, Whose influence like the wreath of radient fire On flickring Phoebus front Corn. What mean'st by this? Kent. To go out of my dialect, which you discommend so much; I know Sir, I am no flatterer, he that beguild you in a plaine accent, was a plaine Knaue, which for my part I will not be, though I should win your displeasure to entreat me too't Corn. What was th' offence you gaue him? Ste. I neuer gaue him any: It pleas'd the King his Master very late To strike at me vpon his misconstruction, When he compact, and flattering his displeasure Tript me behind: being downe, insulted, rail'd, And put vpon him such a deale of Man, That worthied him, got praises of the King, For him attempting, who was selfe-subdued, And in the fleshment of this dead exploit, Drew on me here againe Kent. None of these Rogues, and Cowards But Aiax is there Foole Corn. Fetch forth the Stocks? You stubborne ancient Knaue, you reuerent Bragart, Wee'l teach you Kent. Sir, I am too old to learne: Call not your Stocks for me, I serue the King. On whose imployment I was sent to you, You shall doe small respects, show too bold malice Against the Grace, and Person of my Master, Stocking his Messenger Corn. Fetch forth the Stocks; As I haue life and Honour, there shall he sit till Noone Reg. Till noone? till night my Lord, and all night too Kent. Why Madam, if I were your Fathers dog, You should not vse me so Reg. Sir, being his Knaue, I will. Stocks brought out. Cor. This is a Fellow of the selfe same colour, Our Sister speakes of. Come, bring away the Stocks Glo. Let me beseech your Grace, not to do so, The King his Master, needs must take it ill That he so slightly valued in his Messenger, Should haue him thus restrained Cor. Ile answere that Reg. My Sister may recieue it much more worsse, To haue her Gentleman abus'd, assaulted Corn. Come my Lord, away. Enter. Glo. I am sorry for thee friend, 'tis the Dukes pleasure, Whose disposition all the world well knowes Will not be rub'd nor stopt, Ile entreat for thee Kent. Pray do not Sir, I haue watch'd and trauail'd hard, Some time I shall sleepe out, the rest Ile whistle: A good mans fortune may grow out at heeles: Giue you good morrow Glo. The Duke's too blame in this, 'Twill be ill taken. Enter. Kent. Good King, that must approue the common saw, Thou out of Heauens benediction com'st To the warme Sun. Approach thou Beacon to this vnder Globe, That by thy comfortable Beames I may Peruse this Letter. Nothing almost sees miracles But miserie. I know 'tis from Cordelia, Who hath most fortunately beene inform'd Of my obscured course. And shall finde time From this enormous State, seeking to giue Losses their remedies. All weary and o're-watch'd, Take vantage heauie eyes, not to behold This shamefull lodging. Fortune goodnight, Smile once more, turne thy wheele. Enter Edgar. Edg. I heard my selfe proclaim'd, And by the happy hollow of a Tree, Escap'd the hunt. No Port is free, no place That guard, and most vnusall vigilance Do's not attend my taking. Whiles I may scape I will preserue myselfe: and am bethought To take the basest, and most poorest shape That euer penury in contempt of man, Brought neere to beast; my face Ile grime with filth, Blanket my loines, else all my haires in knots, And with presented nakednesse out-face The Windes, and persecutions of the skie; The Country giues me proofe, and president Of Bedlam beggers, who with roaring voices, Strike in their num'd and mortified Armes. Pins, Wodden-prickes, Nayles, Sprigs of Rosemarie: And with this horrible obiect, from low Farmes, Poore pelting Villages, Sheeps-Coates, and Milles, Sometimes with Lunaticke bans, sometime with Praiers Inforce their charitie: poore Turlygod poore Tom, That's something yet: Edgar I nothing am. Enter. Enter Lear, Foole, and Gentleman. Lea. 'Tis strange that they should so depart from home, And not send backe my Messengers Gent. As I learn'd, The night before, there was no purpose in them Of this remoue Kent. Haile to thee Noble Master Lear. Ha? Mak'st thou this shame thy pastime? Kent. No my Lord Foole. Hah, ha, he weares Cruell Garters Horses are tide by the heads, Dogges and Beares by'th' necke, Monkies by'th' loynes, and Men by'th' legs: when a man ouerlustie at legs, then he weares wodden nether-stocks Lear. What's he, That hath so much thy place mistooke To set thee heere? Kent. It is both he and she, Your Son, and Daughter Lear. No Kent. Yes Lear. No I say Kent. I say yea Lear. By Iupiter I sweare no Kent. By Iuno, I sweare I Lear. They durst not do't: They could not, would not do't: 'tis worse then murther, To do vpon respect such violent outrage: Resolue me with all modest haste, which way Thou might'st deserue, or they impose this vsage, Comming from vs Kent. My Lord, when at their home I did commend your Highnesse Letters to them, Ere I was risen from the place, that shewed My dutie kneeling, came there a reeking Poste, Stew'd in his haste, halfe breathlesse, painting forth From Gonerill his Mistris, salutations; Deliuer'd Letters spight of intermission, Which presently they read; on those contents They summon'd vp their meiney, straight tooke Horse, Commanded me to follow, and attend The leisure of their answer, gaue me cold lookes, And meeting heere the other Messenger, Whose welcome I perceiu'd had poison'd mine, Being the very fellow which of late Displaid so sawcily against your Highnesse, Hauing more man then wit about me, drew; He rais'd the house, with loud and coward cries, Your Sonne and Daughter found this trespasse worth The shame which heere it suffers Foole. Winters not gon yet, if the wil'd Geese fly that way, Fathers that weare rags, do make their Children blind, But Fathers that beare bags, shall see their children kind. Fortune that arrant whore, nere turns the key toth' poore. But for all this thou shalt haue as many Dolors for thy Daughters, as thou canst tell in a yeare Lear. Oh how this Mother swels vp toward my heart! Historica passio, downe thou climing sorrow, Thy Elements below where is this Daughter? Kent. With the Earle Sir, here within Lear. Follow me not, stay here. Enter. Gen. Made you no more offence, But what you speake of? Kent. None: How chance the King comes with so small a number? Foole. And thou hadst beene set i'th' Stockes for that question, thoud'st well deseru'd it Kent. Why Foole? Foole. Wee'l set thee to schoole to an Ant, to teach thee ther's no labouring i'th' winter. All that follow their noses, are led by their eyes, but blinde men, and there's not a nose among twenty, but can smell him that's stinking; let go thy hold when a great wheele runs downe a hill, least it breake thy necke with following. But the great one that goes vpward, let him draw thee after: when a wiseman giues thee better counsell giue me mine againe, I would haue none but knaues follow it, since a Foole giues it. That Sir, which serues and seekes for gaine, And followes but for forme; Will packe, when it begins to raine, And leaue thee in the storme, But I will tarry, the Foole will stay, And let the wiseman flie: The knaue turnes Foole that runnes away, The Foole no knaue perdie. Enter Lear, and Gloster] : Kent. Where learn'd you this Foole? Foole. Not i'th' Stocks Foole Lear. Deny to speake with me? They are sicke, they are weary, They haue trauail'd all the night? meere fetches, The images of reuolt and flying off. Fetch me a better answer Glo. My deere Lord, You know the fiery quality of the Duke, How vnremoueable and fixt he is In his owne course Lear. Vengeance, Plague, Death, Confusion: Fiery? What quality? Why Gloster, Gloster, I'ld speake with the Duke of Cornewall, and his wife Glo. Well my good Lord, I haue inform'd them so Lear. Inform'd them? Do'st thou vnderstand me man Glo. I my good Lord Lear. The King would speake with Cornwall, The deere Father Would with his Daughter speake, commands, tends, seruice, 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 selues, When Nature being opprest, commands the mind To suffer with the body; Ile forbeare, And am fallen 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 sit heere? This act perswades me, That this remotion of the Duke and her Is practise only. Giue me my Seruant forth; Goe tell the Duke, and's wife, Il'd speake with them: Now, presently: bid them come forth and heare me, Or at their Chamber doore Ile beate the Drum, Till it crie sleepe to death Glo. I would haue all well betwixt you. Enter. Lear. Oh me my heart! My rising heart! But downe Foole. Cry to it Nunckle, as the Cockney did to the Eeles, when she put 'em i'th' Paste aliue, she knapt 'em o'th' coxcombs with a sticke, and cryed downe wantons, downe; 'twas her Brother, that in pure kindnesse to his Horse buttered his Hay. Enter Cornewall, Regan, Gloster, Seruants. Lear. Good morrow to you both Corn. Haile to your Grace. Kent here set at liberty. Reg. I am glad to see your Highnesse Lear. Regan, I thinke you are. I know what reason I haue to thinke so, if thou should'st not be glad, I would diuorce me from thy Mother Tombe, Sepulchring an Adultresse. O are you free? Some other time for that. Beloued Regan, Thy Sisters naught: oh Regan, she hath tied Sharpe-tooth'd vnkindnesse, like a vulture heere, I can scarce speake to thee, thou'lt not beleeue With how deprau'd a quality. Oh Regan Reg. I pray you Sir, take patience, I haue hope You lesse know how to value her desert, Then she to scant her dutie Lear. Say? How is that? Reg. I cannot thinke my Sister in the least Would faile her Obligation. If Sir perchance She haue restrained the Riots of your Followres, 'Tis on such ground, and to such wholesome end, As cleeres her from all blame Lear. My curses on her Reg. O Sir, you are old, Nature in you stands on the very Verge Of his confine: you should be rul'd, and led By some discretion, that discernes your state Better then you your selfe: therefore I pray you, That to our Sister, you do make returne, Say you haue wrong'd her Lear. Aske her forgiuenesse? Do you but marke how this becomes the house? Deere daughter, I confesse that I am old; Age is vnnecessary: on my knees I begge, That you'l vouchsafe me Rayment, Bed, and Food Reg. Good Sir, no more: these are vnsightly trickes: Returne you to my Sister Lear. Neuer Regan: She hath abated me of halfe my Traine; Look'd blacke vpon me, strooke me with her Tongue Most Serpent-like, vpon the very Heart. All the stor'd Vengeances of Heauen, fall On her ingratefull top: strike her yong bones You taking Ayres, with Lamenesse Corn. Fye sir, fie Le. You nimble Lightnings, dart your blinding flames Into her scornfull eyes: Infect her Beauty, You Fen-suck'd Fogges, drawne by the powrfull Sunne, To fall, and blister Reg. O the blest Gods! So will you wish on me, when the rash moode is on Lear. No Regan, thou shalt neuer haue my curse: Thy tender-hefted Nature shall not giue Thee o're to harshnesse: Her eyes are fierce, but thine Do comfort, and not burne. 'Tis not in thee To grudge my pleasures, to cut off my Traine, To bandy hasty words, to scant my sizes, And in conclusion, to oppose the bolt Against my comming in. Thou better know'st The Offices of Nature, bond of Childhood, Effects of Curtesie, dues of Gratitude: Thy halfe o'th' Kingdome hast thou not forgot, Wherein I thee endow'd Reg. Good Sir, to'th' purpose. Tucket within. Lear. Who put my man i'th' Stockes? Enter Steward. Corn. What Trumpet's that? Reg. I know't, my Sisters: this approues her Letter, That she would soone be heere. Is your Lady come? Lear. This is a Slaue, whose easie borrowed pride Dwels in the sickly grace of her he followes. Out Varlet, from my sight Corn. What meanes your Grace? Enter Gonerill. Lear. Who stockt my Seruant? Regan, I haue good hope Thou did'st not know on't. Who comes here? O Heauens! If you do loue old men; if your sweet sway Allow Obedience; if you your selues are old, Make it your cause: Send downe, and take my part. Art not asham'd to looke vpon this Beard? O Regan, will you take her by the hand? Gon. Why not by'th' hand Sir? How haue I offended? All's not offence that indiscretion findes, And dotage termes so Lear. O sides, you are too tough! Will you yet hold? How came my man i'th' Stockes? Corn. I set him there, Sir: but his owne Disorders Deseru'd much lesse aduancement Lear. You? Did you? Reg. I pray you Father being weake, seeme so. If till the expiration of your Moneth You will returne and soiourne with my Sister, Dismissing halfe your traine, come then to me, I am now from home, and out of that prouision Which shall be needfull for your entertainement Lear. Returne to her? and fifty men dismiss'd? No, rather I abiure all roofes, and chuse To wage against the enmity oth' ayre, To be a Comrade with the Wolfe, and Owle, Necessities sharpe pinch. Returne with her? Why the hot-bloodied France, that dowerlesse tooke Our yongest borne, I could as well be brought To knee his Throne, and Squire-like pension beg, To keepe base life a foote; returne with her? Perswade me rather to be slaue and sumpter To this detested groome Gon. At your choice Sir Lear. I prythee Daughter do not make me mad, I will not trouble thee my Child; farewell: Wee'l no more meete, 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 Byle, A plague sore, or imbossed Carbuncle In my corrupted blood. But Ile not chide thee, Let shame come when it will, I do not call it, I do not bid the Thunder-bearer shoote, Nor tell tales of thee to high-iudging Ioue, Mend when thou can'st, 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 prouided For your fit welcome, giue eare Sir to my Sister, For those that mingle reason with your passion, Must be content to thinke you old, and so, But she knowes what she doe's Lear. Is this well spoken? Reg. I dare auouch 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, Speake 'gainst so great a number? How in one house Should many people, vnder two commands Hold amity? 'Tis hard, almost impossible Gon. Why might not you my Lord, receiue attendance From those that she cals Seruants, or from mine? Reg. Why not my Lord? If then they chanc'd to slacke ye, We could comptroll them; if you will come to me, (For now I spie a danger) I entreate you To bring but fiue and twentie, to no more Will I giue place or notice Lear. I gaue you all Reg. And in good time you gaue it Lear. Made you my Guardians, my Depositaries, But kept a reseruation to be followed With such a number? What, must I come to you With fiue and twenty? Regan, said you so? Reg. And speak't againe my Lord, no more with me Lea. Those wicked Creatures yet do look wel fauor'd When others are more wicked, not being the worst Stands in some ranke of praise, Ile go with thee, Thy fifty yet doth double fiue and twenty, And thou art twice her Loue Gon. Heare me my Lord; What need you fiue and twenty? Ten? Or fiue? To follow in a house, where twice so many Haue a command to tend you? Reg. What need one? Lear. O reason not the need: our basest Beggers Are in the poorest thing superfluous. Allow not Nature, more then Nature needs: Mans life is cheape as Beastes. Thou art a Lady; If onely to go warme were gorgeous, Why Nature needs not what thou gorgeous wear'st, Which scarcely keepes thee warme, but for true need: You Heauens, giue me that patience, patience I need, You see me heere (you Gods) a poore old man, As full of griefe as age, wretched in both, If it be you that stirres these Daughters hearts Against their Father, foole me not so much, To beare it tamely: touch me with Noble anger, And let not womens weapons, water drops, Staine my mans cheekes. No you vnnaturall Hags, I will haue such reuenges on you both, That all the world shall- I will do such things, What they are yet, I know not, but they shalbe The terrors of the earth? you thinke Ile weepe, No, Ile not weepe, I haue full cause of weeping. Storme and Tempest. But this heart shal break into a hundred thousand flawes Or ere Ile weepe; O Foole, I shall go mad. Exeunt. Corn. Let vs withdraw, 'twill be a Storme Reg. This house is little, the old man and's people, Cannot be well bestow'd Gon. 'Tis his owne blame hath put himselfe from rest, And must needs taste his folly Reg. For his particular, Ile receiue 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. Whether is he going? Glo. He cals to Horse, but will I know not whether Corn. 'Tis best to giue him way, he leads himselfe Gon. My Lord, entreate him by no meanes to stay Glo. Alacke the night comes on, and the high windes Do sorely ruffle, for many Miles about There's scarce a Bush Reg. O Sir, to wilfull men, The iniuries that they themselues procure, Must be their Schoole-Masters: shut vp your doores, He is attended with a desperate traine, And what they may incense him too, being apt, To haue his eare abus'd, wisedome bids feare Cor. Shut vp your doores my Lord, 'tis a wil'd night, My Regan counsels well: come out oth' storme. Exeunt.

In Gloucester's castle, Gloucester's servant Curan tells Edmund that he has informed Gloucester that the duke of Cornwall and his wife, Regan, are coming to the castle that very night. Curan also mentions vague rumors about trouble brewing between the duke of Cornwall and the duke of Albany. Edmund is delighted to hear of Cornwall's visit, realizing that he can make use of him in his scheme to get rid of Edgar. Edmund calls Edgar out of his hiding place and tells him that Cornwall is angry with him for being on Albany's side of their disagreement. Edgar has no idea what Edmund is talking about. Edmund tells Edgar further that Gloucester has discovered his hiding place and that he ought to flee the house immediately under cover of night. When he hears Gloucester coming, Edmund draws his sword and pretends to fight with Edgar, while Edgar runs away. Edmund cuts his arm with his sword and lies to Gloucester, telling him that Edgar wanted him to join in a plot against Gloucester's life and that Edgar tried to kill him for refusing. The unhappy Gloucester praises Edmund and vows to pursue Edgar, sending men out to search for him. Cornwall and Regan arrive at Gloucester's house. They believe Edmund's lies about Edgar, and Regan asks if Edgar is one of the disorderly knights that attend Lear. Edmund replies that he is, and Regan speculates further that these knights put Edgar up to the idea of killing Gloucester in order to acquire Gloucester's wealth. Regan then asks Gloucester for his advice in answering letters from Lear and Goneril

summary

Scena Secunda. Enter Kent, and Steward seuerally. Stew. Good dawning to thee Friend, art of this house? Kent. I Stew. Where may we set our horses? Kent. I'th' myre Stew. Prythee, if thou lou'st me, tell me Kent. I loue thee not Ste. Why then I care not for thee Kent. If I had thee in Lipsbury Pinfold, I would make thee care for me Ste. Why do'st thou vse me thus? I know thee not Kent. Fellow I know thee Ste. What do'st thou know me for? Kent. A Knaue, a Rascall, an eater of broken meates, a base, proud, shallow, beggerly, three-suited-hundred pound, filthy woosted-stocking knaue, a Lilly-liuered, action-taking, whoreson glasse-gazing super-seruiceable finicall Rogue, one Trunke-inheriting slaue, one that would'st be a Baud in way of good seruice, and art nothing but the composition of a Knaue, Begger, Coward, Pandar, and the Sonne and Heire of a Mungrill Bitch, one whom I will beate into clamours whining, if thou deny'st the least sillable of thy addition Stew. Why, what a monstrous Fellow art thou, thus to raile on one, that is neither knowne of thee, nor knowes thee? Kent. What a brazen-fac'd Varlet art thou, to deny thou knowest me? Is it two dayes since I tript vp thy heeles, and beate thee before the King? Draw you rogue, for though it be night, yet the Moone shines, Ile make a sop oth' Moonshine of you, you whoreson Cullyenly Barber-monger, draw Stew. Away, I haue nothing to do with thee Kent. Draw you Rascall, you come with Letters against the King, and take Vanitie the puppets part, against the Royaltie of her Father: draw you Rogue, or Ile so carbonado your shanks, draw you Rascall, come your waies Ste. Helpe, ho, murther, helpe Kent. Strike you slaue: stand rogue, stand you neat slaue, strike Stew. Helpe hoa, murther, murther. Enter Bastard, Cornewall, Regan, Gloster, Seruants. Bast. How now, what's the matter? Part Kent. With you goodman Boy, if you please, come, Ile flesh ye, come on yong Master Glo. Weapons? Armes? what's the matter here? Cor. Keepe peace vpon your liues, he dies that strikes againe, what is the matter? Reg. The Messengers from our Sister, and the King? Cor. What is your difference, speake? Stew. I am scarce in breath my Lord Kent. No Maruell, you haue so bestir'd your valour, you cowardly Rascall, nature disclaimes in thee: a Taylor made thee Cor. Thou art a strange fellow, a Taylor make a man? Kent. A Taylor Sir, a Stone-cutter, or a Painter, could not haue made him so ill, though they had bin but two yeares oth' trade Cor. Speake yet, how grew your quarrell? Ste. This ancient Ruffian Sir, whose life I haue spar'd at sute of his gray-beard Kent. Thou whoreson Zed, thou vnnecessary letter: my Lord, if you will giue me leaue, I will tread this vnboulted villaine into morter, and daube the wall of a Iakes with him. Spare my gray-beard, you wagtaile? Cor. Peace sirrah, You beastly knaue, know you no reuerence? Kent. Yes Sir, but anger hath a priuiledge Cor. Why art thou angrie? Kent. That such a slaue as this should weare a Sword, Who weares no honesty: such smiling rogues as these, Like Rats oft bite the holy cords a twaine, Which are t' intrince, t' vnloose: smooth euery passion That in the natures of their Lords rebell, Being oile to fire, snow to the colder moodes, Reuenge, affirme, and turne their Halcion beakes With euery gall, and varry of their Masters, Knowing naught (like dogges) but following: A plague vpon your Epilepticke visage, Smoile you my speeches, as I were a Foole? Goose, if I had you vpon Sarum Plaine, I'ld driue ye cackling home to Camelot Corn. What art thou mad old Fellow? Glost. How fell you out, say that? Kent. No contraries hold more antipathy, Then I, and such a knaue Corn. Why do'st thou call him Knaue? What is his fault? Kent. His countenance likes me not Cor. No more perchance do's mine, nor his, nor hers Kent. Sir, 'tis my occupation to be plaine, I haue seene better faces in my Time, Then stands on any shoulder that I see Before me, at this instant Corn. This is some Fellow, Who hauing beene prais'd for bluntnesse, doth affect A saucy roughnes, and constraines the garb Quite from his Nature. He cannot flatter he, An honest mind and plaine, he must speake truth, And they will take it so, if not, hee's plaine. These kind of Knaues I know, which in this plainnesse Harbour more craft, and more corrupter ends, Then twenty silly-ducking obseruants, That stretch their duties nicely Kent. Sir, in good faith, in sincere verity, Vnder th' allowance of your great aspect, Whose influence like the wreath of radient fire On flickring Phoebus front Corn. What mean'st by this? Kent. To go out of my dialect, which you discommend so much; I know Sir, I am no flatterer, he that beguild you in a plaine accent, was a plaine Knaue, which for my part I will not be, though I should win your displeasure to entreat me too't Corn. What was th' offence you gaue him? Ste. I neuer gaue him any: It pleas'd the King his Master very late To strike at me vpon his misconstruction, When he compact, and flattering his displeasure Tript me behind: being downe, insulted, rail'd, And put vpon him such a deale of Man, That worthied him, got praises of the King, For him attempting, who was selfe-subdued, And in the fleshment of this dead exploit, Drew on me here againe Kent. None of these Rogues, and Cowards But Aiax is there Foole Corn. Fetch forth the Stocks? You stubborne ancient Knaue, you reuerent Bragart, Wee'l teach you Kent. Sir, I am too old to learne: Call not your Stocks for me, I serue the King. On whose imployment I was sent to you, You shall doe small respects, show too bold malice Against the Grace, and Person of my Master, Stocking his Messenger Corn. Fetch forth the Stocks; As I haue life and Honour, there shall he sit till Noone Reg. Till noone? till night my Lord, and all night too Kent. Why Madam, if I were your Fathers dog, You should not vse me so Reg. Sir, being his Knaue, I will. Stocks brought out. Cor. This is a Fellow of the selfe same colour, Our Sister speakes of. Come, bring away the Stocks Glo. Let me beseech your Grace, not to do so, The King his Master, needs must take it ill That he so slightly valued in his Messenger, Should haue him thus restrained Cor. Ile answere that Reg. My Sister may recieue it much more worsse, To haue her Gentleman abus'd, assaulted Corn. Come my Lord, away. Enter. Glo. I am sorry for thee friend, 'tis the Dukes pleasure, Whose disposition all the world well knowes Will not be rub'd nor stopt, Ile entreat for thee Kent. Pray do not Sir, I haue watch'd and trauail'd hard, Some time I shall sleepe out, the rest Ile whistle: A good mans fortune may grow out at heeles: Giue you good morrow Glo. The Duke's too blame in this, 'Twill be ill taken. Enter. Kent. Good King, that must approue the common saw, Thou out of Heauens benediction com'st To the warme Sun. Approach thou Beacon to this vnder Globe, That by thy comfortable Beames I may Peruse this Letter. Nothing almost sees miracles But miserie. I know 'tis from Cordelia, Who hath most fortunately beene inform'd Of my obscured course. And shall finde time From this enormous State, seeking to giue Losses their remedies. All weary and o're-watch'd, Take vantage heauie eyes, not to behold This shamefull lodging. Fortune goodnight, Smile once more, turne thy wheele. Enter Edgar. Edg. I heard my selfe proclaim'd, And by the happy hollow of a Tree, Escap'd the hunt. No Port is free, no place That guard, and most vnusall vigilance Do's not attend my taking. Whiles I may scape I will preserue myselfe: and am bethought To take the basest, and most poorest shape That euer penury in contempt of man, Brought neere to beast; my face Ile grime with filth, Blanket my loines, else all my haires in knots, And with presented nakednesse out-face The Windes, and persecutions of the skie; The Country giues me proofe, and president Of Bedlam beggers, who with roaring voices, Strike in their num'd and mortified Armes. Pins, Wodden-prickes, Nayles, Sprigs of Rosemarie: And with this horrible obiect, from low Farmes, Poore pelting Villages, Sheeps-Coates, and Milles, Sometimes with Lunaticke bans, sometime with Praiers Inforce their charitie: poore Turlygod poore Tom, That's something yet: Edgar I nothing am. Enter. Enter Lear, Foole, and Gentleman. Lea. 'Tis strange that they should so depart from home, And not send backe my Messengers Gent. As I learn'd, The night before, there was no purpose in them Of this remoue Kent. Haile to thee Noble Master Lear. Ha? Mak'st thou this shame thy pastime? Kent. No my Lord Foole. Hah, ha, he weares Cruell Garters Horses are tide by the heads, Dogges and Beares by'th' necke, Monkies by'th' loynes, and Men by'th' legs: when a man ouerlustie at legs, then he weares wodden nether-stocks Lear. What's he, That hath so much thy place mistooke To set thee heere? Kent. It is both he and she, Your Son, and Daughter Lear. No Kent. Yes Lear. No I say Kent. I say yea Lear. By Iupiter I sweare no Kent. By Iuno, I sweare I Lear. They durst not do't: They could not, would not do't: 'tis worse then murther, To do vpon respect such violent outrage: Resolue me with all modest haste, which way Thou might'st deserue, or they impose this vsage, Comming from vs Kent. My Lord, when at their home I did commend your Highnesse Letters to them, Ere I was risen from the place, that shewed My dutie kneeling, came there a reeking Poste, Stew'd in his haste, halfe breathlesse, painting forth From Gonerill his Mistris, salutations; Deliuer'd Letters spight of intermission, Which presently they read; on those contents They summon'd vp their meiney, straight tooke Horse, Commanded me to follow, and attend The leisure of their answer, gaue me cold lookes, And meeting heere the other Messenger, Whose welcome I perceiu'd had poison'd mine, Being the very fellow which of late Displaid so sawcily against your Highnesse, Hauing more man then wit about me, drew; He rais'd the house, with loud and coward cries, Your Sonne and Daughter found this trespasse worth The shame which heere it suffers Foole. Winters not gon yet, if the wil'd Geese fly that way, Fathers that weare rags, do make their Children blind, But Fathers that beare bags, shall see their children kind. Fortune that arrant whore, nere turns the key toth' poore. But for all this thou shalt haue as many Dolors for thy Daughters, as thou canst tell in a yeare Lear. Oh how this Mother swels vp toward my heart! Historica passio, downe thou climing sorrow, Thy Elements below where is this Daughter? Kent. With the Earle Sir, here within Lear. Follow me not, stay here. Enter. Gen. Made you no more offence, But what you speake of? Kent. None: How chance the King comes with so small a number? Foole. And thou hadst beene set i'th' Stockes for that question, thoud'st well deseru'd it Kent. Why Foole? Foole. Wee'l set thee to schoole to an Ant, to teach thee ther's no labouring i'th' winter. All that follow their noses, are led by their eyes, but blinde men, and there's not a nose among twenty, but can smell him that's stinking; let go thy hold when a great wheele runs downe a hill, least it breake thy necke with following. But the great one that goes vpward, let him draw thee after: when a wiseman giues thee better counsell giue me mine againe, I would haue none but knaues follow it, since a Foole giues it. That Sir, which serues and seekes for gaine, And followes but for forme; Will packe, when it begins to raine, And leaue thee in the storme, But I will tarry, the Foole will stay, And let the wiseman flie: The knaue turnes Foole that runnes away, The Foole no knaue perdie. Enter Lear, and Gloster] : Kent. Where learn'd you this Foole? Foole. Not i'th' Stocks Foole Lear. Deny to speake with me? They are sicke, they are weary, They haue trauail'd all the night? meere fetches, The images of reuolt and flying off. Fetch me a better answer Glo. My deere Lord, You know the fiery quality of the Duke, How vnremoueable and fixt he is In his owne course Lear. Vengeance, Plague, Death, Confusion: Fiery? What quality? Why Gloster, Gloster, I'ld speake with the Duke of Cornewall, and his wife Glo. Well my good Lord, I haue inform'd them so Lear. Inform'd them? Do'st thou vnderstand me man Glo. I my good Lord Lear. The King would speake with Cornwall, The deere Father Would with his Daughter speake, commands, tends, seruice, 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 selues, When Nature being opprest, commands the mind To suffer with the body; Ile forbeare, And am fallen 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 sit heere? This act perswades me, That this remotion of the Duke and her Is practise only. Giue me my Seruant forth; Goe tell the Duke, and's wife, Il'd speake with them: Now, presently: bid them come forth and heare me, Or at their Chamber doore Ile beate the Drum, Till it crie sleepe to death Glo. I would haue all well betwixt you. Enter. Lear. Oh me my heart! My rising heart! But downe Foole. Cry to it Nunckle, as the Cockney did to the Eeles, when she put 'em i'th' Paste aliue, she knapt 'em o'th' coxcombs with a sticke, and cryed downe wantons, downe; 'twas her Brother, that in pure kindnesse to his Horse buttered his Hay. Enter Cornewall, Regan, Gloster, Seruants. Lear. Good morrow to you both Corn. Haile to your Grace. Kent here set at liberty. Reg. I am glad to see your Highnesse Lear. Regan, I thinke you are. I know what reason I haue to thinke so, if thou should'st not be glad, I would diuorce me from thy Mother Tombe, Sepulchring an Adultresse. O are you free? Some other time for that. Beloued Regan, Thy Sisters naught: oh Regan, she hath tied Sharpe-tooth'd vnkindnesse, like a vulture heere, I can scarce speake to thee, thou'lt not beleeue With how deprau'd a quality. Oh Regan Reg. I pray you Sir, take patience, I haue hope You lesse know how to value her desert, Then she to scant her dutie Lear. Say? How is that? Reg. I cannot thinke my Sister in the least Would faile her Obligation. If Sir perchance She haue restrained the Riots of your Followres, 'Tis on such ground, and to such wholesome end, As cleeres her from all blame Lear. My curses on her Reg. O Sir, you are old, Nature in you stands on the very Verge Of his confine: you should be rul'd, and led By some discretion, that discernes your state Better then you your selfe: therefore I pray you, That to our Sister, you do make returne, Say you haue wrong'd her Lear. Aske her forgiuenesse? Do you but marke how this becomes the house? Deere daughter, I confesse that I am old; Age is vnnecessary: on my knees I begge, That you'l vouchsafe me Rayment, Bed, and Food Reg. Good Sir, no more: these are vnsightly trickes: Returne you to my Sister Lear. Neuer Regan: She hath abated me of halfe my Traine; Look'd blacke vpon me, strooke me with her Tongue Most Serpent-like, vpon the very Heart. All the stor'd Vengeances of Heauen, fall On her ingratefull top: strike her yong bones You taking Ayres, with Lamenesse Corn. Fye sir, fie Le. You nimble Lightnings, dart your blinding flames Into her scornfull eyes: Infect her Beauty, You Fen-suck'd Fogges, drawne by the powrfull Sunne, To fall, and blister Reg. O the blest Gods! So will you wish on me, when the rash moode is on Lear. No Regan, thou shalt neuer haue my curse: Thy tender-hefted Nature shall not giue Thee o're to harshnesse: Her eyes are fierce, but thine Do comfort, and not burne. 'Tis not in thee To grudge my pleasures, to cut off my Traine, To bandy hasty words, to scant my sizes, And in conclusion, to oppose the bolt Against my comming in. Thou better know'st The Offices of Nature, bond of Childhood, Effects of Curtesie, dues of Gratitude: Thy halfe o'th' Kingdome hast thou not forgot, Wherein I thee endow'd Reg. Good Sir, to'th' purpose. Tucket within. Lear. Who put my man i'th' Stockes? Enter Steward. Corn. What Trumpet's that? Reg. I know't, my Sisters: this approues her Letter, That she would soone be heere. Is your Lady come? Lear. This is a Slaue, whose easie borrowed pride Dwels in the sickly grace of her he followes. Out Varlet, from my sight Corn. What meanes your Grace? Enter Gonerill. Lear. Who stockt my Seruant? Regan, I haue good hope Thou did'st not know on't. Who comes here? O Heauens! If you do loue old men; if your sweet sway Allow Obedience; if you your selues are old, Make it your cause: Send downe, and take my part. Art not asham'd to looke vpon this Beard? O Regan, will you take her by the hand? Gon. Why not by'th' hand Sir? How haue I offended? All's not offence that indiscretion findes, And dotage termes so Lear. O sides, you are too tough! Will you yet hold? How came my man i'th' Stockes? Corn. I set him there, Sir: but his owne Disorders Deseru'd much lesse aduancement Lear. You? Did you? Reg. I pray you Father being weake, seeme so. If till the expiration of your Moneth You will returne and soiourne with my Sister, Dismissing halfe your traine, come then to me, I am now from home, and out of that prouision Which shall be needfull for your entertainement Lear. Returne to her? and fifty men dismiss'd? No, rather I abiure all roofes, and chuse To wage against the enmity oth' ayre, To be a Comrade with the Wolfe, and Owle, Necessities sharpe pinch. Returne with her? Why the hot-bloodied France, that dowerlesse tooke Our yongest borne, I could as well be brought To knee his Throne, and Squire-like pension beg, To keepe base life a foote; returne with her? Perswade me rather to be slaue and sumpter To this detested groome Gon. At your choice Sir Lear. I prythee Daughter do not make me mad, I will not trouble thee my Child; farewell: Wee'l no more meete, 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 Byle, A plague sore, or imbossed Carbuncle In my corrupted blood. But Ile not chide thee, Let shame come when it will, I do not call it, I do not bid the Thunder-bearer shoote, Nor tell tales of thee to high-iudging Ioue, Mend when thou can'st, 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 prouided For your fit welcome, giue eare Sir to my Sister, For those that mingle reason with your passion, Must be content to thinke you old, and so, But she knowes what she doe's Lear. Is this well spoken? Reg. I dare auouch 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, Speake 'gainst so great a number? How in one house Should many people, vnder two commands Hold amity? 'Tis hard, almost impossible Gon. Why might not you my Lord, receiue attendance From those that she cals Seruants, or from mine? Reg. Why not my Lord? If then they chanc'd to slacke ye, We could comptroll them; if you will come to me, (For now I spie a danger) I entreate you To bring but fiue and twentie, to no more Will I giue place or notice Lear. I gaue you all Reg. And in good time you gaue it Lear. Made you my Guardians, my Depositaries, But kept a reseruation to be followed With such a number? What, must I come to you With fiue and twenty? Regan, said you so? Reg. And speak't againe my Lord, no more with me Lea. Those wicked Creatures yet do look wel fauor'd When others are more wicked, not being the worst Stands in some ranke of praise, Ile go with thee, Thy fifty yet doth double fiue and twenty, And thou art twice her Loue Gon. Heare me my Lord; What need you fiue and twenty? Ten? Or fiue? To follow in a house, where twice so many Haue a command to tend you? Reg. What need one? Lear. O reason not the need: our basest Beggers Are in the poorest thing superfluous. Allow not Nature, more then Nature needs: Mans life is cheape as Beastes. Thou art a Lady; If onely to go warme were gorgeous, Why Nature needs not what thou gorgeous wear'st, Which scarcely keepes thee warme, but for true need: You Heauens, giue me that patience, patience I need, You see me heere (you Gods) a poore old man, As full of griefe as age, wretched in both, If it be you that stirres these Daughters hearts Against their Father, foole me not so much, To beare it tamely: touch me with Noble anger, And let not womens weapons, water drops, Staine my mans cheekes. No you vnnaturall Hags, I will haue such reuenges on you both, That all the world shall- I will do such things, What they are yet, I know not, but they shalbe The terrors of the earth? you thinke Ile weepe, No, Ile not weepe, I haue full cause of weeping. Storme and Tempest. But this heart shal break into a hundred thousand flawes Or ere Ile weepe; O Foole, I shall go mad. Exeunt. Corn. Let vs withdraw, 'twill be a Storme Reg. This house is little, the old man and's people, Cannot be well bestow'd Gon. 'Tis his owne blame hath put himselfe from rest, And must needs taste his folly Reg. For his particular, Ile receiue 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. Whether is he going? Glo. He cals to Horse, but will I know not whether Corn. 'Tis best to giue him way, he leads himselfe Gon. My Lord, entreate him by no meanes to stay Glo. Alacke the night comes on, and the high windes Do sorely ruffle, for many Miles about There's scarce a Bush Reg. O Sir, to wilfull men, The iniuries that they themselues procure, Must be their Schoole-Masters: shut vp your doores, He is attended with a desperate traine, And what they may incense him too, being apt, To haue his eare abus'd, wisedome bids feare Cor. Shut vp your doores my Lord, 'tis a wil'd night, My Regan counsels well: come out oth' storme. Exeunt.

Act 2, scenes 1-2 Edmund's clever scheming to get rid of Edgar shows his cunning and his immorality. His ability to manipulate people calls to mind arguably the greatest of Shakespeare's villains, Iago, from Othello, who demonstrates a similar capacity for twisting others to serve his own ends. There is a great deal of irony in Edmund's description to his father of the ways in which Edgar has allegedly schemed against Gloucester's life. Edmund goes so far as to state that Edgar told him that no one would ever believe Edmund's word against his because of Edmund's illegitimate birth. With this remark, Edmund not only calls attention to his bastard status--which is clearly central to his resentful, ambitious approach to life--but proves crafty enough to use it to his advantage. Gloucester's rejection of Edgar parallels Lear's rejection of Cordelia in Act 1, scene 1, and reminds us of the similarities between the two unhappy families: Edgar and Cordelia are good children of fathers who reject them in favor of children who do not love them. When Gloucester says, "I never got him"--that is, he never begot, or fathered, him--he seems to be denying that he is actually Edgar's father, just as Lear has disowned Cordelia . On the other hand, when he praises Edmund as a "loyal and natural boy," he seems to be acknowledging him as a true son . It is somewhat difficult to know what to make of Kent's attack on Oswald. Oswald's eagerness to serve the treacherous Goneril in Act 1, scene 4, has established him as one of the play's minor villains, but Kent's barrage of insults and subsequent physical attack on Oswald are clearly unprovoked. Oswald's failure to fight back may be interpreted as cowardice, but one can also interpret it as Oswald does: he says that he chooses not to attack Kent because of Kent's "gray beard"--at nearly fifty, Kent is an old man and thus no longer suited for fighting . Kent's attack seems to be rooted in his anger at Goneril's treatment of Lear--"anger hath a privilege" is the excuse that he gives Cornwall and Regan--and his rage at the hypocrisy surrounding Lear's betrayal by his daughters . Cornwall's and Regan's decision to put Kent in the stocks reinforces what we have already seen of their disrespect for their father. The stocks were a punishment used on common criminals, and their use on Lear's serving man could easily be interpreted as highly disrespectful to Lear's royal status. Gloucester announces as much when he protests, "Your purposed low correction / Is such as basest and contemned'st wretches / . . . / Are punished with" . Regan, however, ignores his pleas; she almost seems to welcome the idea of inviting Lear's anger.

analysis

Actus Tertius. Scena Prima. Storme still. Enter Kent, and a Gentleman, seuerally. Kent. Who's there besides foule weather? Gen. One minded like the weather, most vnquietly Kent. I know you: Where's the King? Gent. Contending with the fretfull Elements; Bids the winde blow the Earth into the Sea, Or swell the curled Waters 'boue the Maine, That things might change, or cease Kent. But who is with him? Gent. None but the Foole, who labours to out-iest His heart-strooke iniuries Kent. Sir, I do know you, And dare vpon the warrant of my note Commend a deere thing to you. There is diuision (Although as yet the face of it is couer'd With mutuall cunning) 'twixt Albany, and Cornwall: Who haue, as who haue not, that their great Starres Thron'd and set high; Seruants, who seeme no lesse, Which are to France the Spies and Speculations Intelligent of our State. What hath bin seene, Either in snuffes, and packings of the Dukes, Or the hard Reine which both of them hath borne Against the old kinde King; or something deeper, Whereof (perchance) these are but furnishings Gent. I will talke further with you Kent. No, do not: For confirmation that I am much more Then my out-wall; open this Purse, and take What it containes. If you shall see Cordelia, (As feare not but you shall) shew her this Ring, And she will tell you who that Fellow is That yet you do not know. Fye on this Storme, I will go seeke the King Gent. Giue me your hand, Haue you no more to say? Kent. Few words, but to effect more then all yet; That when we haue found the King, in which your pain That way, Ile this: He that first lights on him, Holla the other. Exeunt.

A storm rages on the heath. Kent, seeking Lear in vain, runs into one of Lear's knights and learns that Lear is somewhere in the area, accompanied only by his Fool. Kent gives the knight secret information: he has heard that there is unrest between Albany and Cornwall and that there are spies for the French in the English courts. Kent tells the knight to go to Dover, the city in England nearest to France, where he may find friends who will help Lear's cause. He gives the knight a ring and orders him to give it to Cordelia, who will know who has sent the knight when she sees the ring. Kent leaves to search for Lear

summary

Actus Tertius. Scena Prima. Storme still. Enter Kent, and a Gentleman, seuerally. Kent. Who's there besides foule weather? Gen. One minded like the weather, most vnquietly Kent. I know you: Where's the King? Gent. Contending with the fretfull Elements; Bids the winde blow the Earth into the Sea, Or swell the curled Waters 'boue the Maine, That things might change, or cease Kent. But who is with him? Gent. None but the Foole, who labours to out-iest His heart-strooke iniuries Kent. Sir, I do know you, And dare vpon the warrant of my note Commend a deere thing to you. There is diuision (Although as yet the face of it is couer'd With mutuall cunning) 'twixt Albany, and Cornwall: Who haue, as who haue not, that their great Starres Thron'd and set high; Seruants, who seeme no lesse, Which are to France the Spies and Speculations Intelligent of our State. What hath bin seene, Either in snuffes, and packings of the Dukes, Or the hard Reine which both of them hath borne Against the old kinde King; or something deeper, Whereof (perchance) these are but furnishings Gent. I will talke further with you Kent. No, do not: For confirmation that I am much more Then my out-wall; open this Purse, and take What it containes. If you shall see Cordelia, (As feare not but you shall) shew her this Ring, And she will tell you who that Fellow is That yet you do not know. Fye on this Storme, I will go seeke the King Gent. Giue me your hand, Haue you no more to say? Kent. Few words, but to effect more then all yet; That when we haue found the King, in which your pain That way, Ile this: He that first lights on him, Holla the other. Exeunt.

Act 3, scenes 1-3 The information that Kent gives the knight brings the audience out of the personal realm of Lear's anguish and into the political world of Lear's Britain. Throughout the play, we hear rumors of conflict between Albany and Cornwall and of possible war with France, but what exactly transpires at any specific moment is rarely clear. The question of the French is not definitively resolved until Act 4. Kent's mention of Dover, however, provides a clue: Dover is a port city in the south of England where ships from France often landed; it is famous for its high white cliffs. As various characters begin moving southward toward Dover in the scenes that follow, the tension of an inevitable conflict heightens. Whatever the particulars of the political struggle, however, it is clear that Lear, by giving away his power in Britain to Goneril and Regan--and eventually Edmund--has destroyed not only his own authority but all authority. Instead of a stable, hierarchical kingdom with Lear in control, chaos has overtaken the realm, and the country is at the mercy of the play's villains, who care for nothing but their own power. This political chaos is mirrored in the natural world. We find Lear and his courtiers plodding across a deserted heath with winds howling around them and rain drenching them. Lear, like the other characters, is unused to such harsh conditions, and he soon finds himself symbolically stripped bare. He has already discovered that his cruel daughters can victimize him; now he learns that a king caught in a storm is as much subject to the power of nature as any man. The importance of the storm, and its symbolic connection to the state of mind of the people caught in it, is first suggested by the knight's words to Kent. Kent asks the knight, "Who's there, besides foul weather?"; the knight answers, "One minded like the weather, most unquietly". Here the knight's state of mind is shown to be as turbulent as the winds and clouds surrounding him. This is true of Lear as well: when Kent asks the knight where the king is, the knight replies, "Contending with the fretful elements; / . . . / Strives in his little world of man to out-scorn / The to-and-fro-conflicting wind and rain" . Shakespeare's use of pathetic fallacy--a literary device in which inanimate objects such as nature assume human reactions--amplifies the tension of the characters' struggles by elevating human forces to the level of natural forces. Lear is trying to face down the powers of nature, an attempt that seems to indicate both his despair and his increasingly confused sense of reality. Both of these strains appear in Lear's famous speech to the storm, in which he commands, "Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! rage! blow! / You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout / Till you have drenched our steeples, drowned the cocks!" . Lear's attempt to speak to the storm suggests that he has lost touch with the natural world and his relation to it--or, at least, that he has lost touch with the ordinary human understanding of nature. In a sense, though, his diatribe against the weather embodies one of the central questions posed by King Lear: namely, whether the universe is fundamentally friendly or hostile to man. Lear asks whether nature and the gods are actually good, and, if so, how life can have treated him so badly. The storm marks one of the first appearances of the apocalyptic imagery that is so important in King Lear and that will become increasingly dominant as the play progresses. The chaos reflects the disorder in Lear's increasingly crazed mind, and the apocalyptic language represents the projection of Lear's rage and despair onto the outside world: if his world has come to a symbolic end because his daughters have stripped away his power and betrayed him, then, he seems to think, the real world ought to end, too. As we have seen, the chaos in nature also reflects the very real political chaos that has engulfed Britain in the absence of Lear's authority. Along with Lear's increasing despair and projection, we also see his understandable fixation on his daughters: "Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire, are my daughters: / I tax you not, you elements, with unkindness" . Lear tells the thunder that he does not blame it for attacking him because it does not owe him anything. But he does blame his "two pernicious daughters" for their betrayal . Despite the apparent onset of insanity, Lear exhibits some degree of rational thought--he is still able to locate the source of his misfortune. Finally, we see strange shifts beginning to occur inside Lear's mind. He starts to realize that he is going mad, a terrifying realization for anyone. Nevertheless, Lear suddenly notices his Fool and asks him, "How dost my boy? Art cold?" . He adds, "I have one part in my heart / That's sorry yet for thee" . Here, Lear takes real and compassionate notice of another human being for the first time in the play. This concern for others reflects the growth of Lear's humility, which eventually redeems him and enables him to win Cordelia's forgiveness.

analysis

Scena Secunda. Storme still. Enter Lear, and Foole. Lear. Blow windes, & crack your cheeks; Rage, blow You Cataracts, and Hyrricano's spout, Till you haue drench'd our Steeples, drown the Cockes. You Sulph'rous and Thought-executing Fires, Vaunt-curriors of Oake-cleauing Thunder-bolts, Sindge my white head. And thou all-shaking Thunder, Strike flat the thicke Rotundity o'th' world, Cracke Natures moulds, all germaines spill at once That makes ingratefull Man Foole. O Nunkle, Court holy-water in a dry house, is better then this Rain-water out o' doore. Good Nunkle, in, aske thy Daughters blessing, heere's a night pitties neither Wisemen, nor Fooles Lear. Rumble thy belly full: spit Fire, spowt Raine: Nor Raine, Winde, Thunder, Fire are my Daughters; I taxe not you, you Elements with vnkindnesse. I neuer gaue you Kingdome, call'd you Children; You owe me no subscription. Then let fall Your horrible pleasure. Heere I stand your Slaue, A poore, infirme, weake, and dispis'd old man: But yet I call you Seruile Ministers, That will with two pernicious Daughters ioyne Your high-engender'd Battailes, 'gainst a head So old, and white as this. O, ho! 'tis foule Foole. He that has a house to put's head in, has a good Head-peece: The Codpiece that will house, before the head has any; The Head, and he shall Lowse: so Beggers marry many. The man y makes his Toe, what he his Hart shold make, Shall of a Corne cry woe, and turne his sleepe to wake. For there was neuer yet faire woman, but shee made mouthes in a glasse. Enter Kent Lear. No, I will be the patterne of all patience, I will say nothing Kent. Who's there? Foole. Marry here's Grace, and a Codpiece, that's a Wiseman, and a Foole Kent. Alas Sir are you here? Things that loue night, Loue not such nights as these: The wrathfull Skies Gallow the very wanderers of the darke And make them keepe their Caues: Since I was man, Such sheets of Fire, such bursts of horrid Thunder, Such groanes of roaring Winde, and Raine, I neuer Remember to haue heard. Mans Nature cannot carry Th' affliction, nor the feare Lear. Let the great Goddes That keepe this dreadfull pudder o're our heads, Finde out their enemies now. Tremble thou Wretch, That hast within thee vndivulged Crimes Vnwhipt of Iustice. Hide thee, thou Bloudy hand; Thou Periur'd, and thou Simular of Vertue That art Incestuous. Caytiffe, to peeces shake That vnder couert, and conuenient seeming Ha's practis'd on mans life. Close pent-vp guilts, Riue your concealing Continents, and cry These dreadfull Summoners grace. I am a man, More sinn'd against, then sinning Kent. Alacke, bare-headed? Gracious my Lord, hard by heere is a Houell, Some friendship will it lend you 'gainst the Tempest: Repose you there, while I to this hard house, (More harder then the stones whereof 'tis rais'd, Which euen but now, demanding after you, Deny'd me to come in) returne, and force Their scanted curtesie Lear. My wits begin to turne. Come on my boy. How dost my boy? Art cold? I am cold my selfe. Where is this straw, my Fellow? The Art of our Necessities is strange, And can make vilde things precious. Come, your Houel; Poore Foole, and Knaue, I haue one part in my heart That's sorry yet for thee Foole. He that has and a little-tyne wit, With heigh-ho, the Winde and the Raine, Must make content with his Fortunes fit, Though the Raine it raineth euery day Le. True Boy: Come bring vs to this Houell. Enter. Foole. This is a braue night to coole a Curtizan: Ile speake a Prophesie ere I go: When Priests are more in word, then matter; When Brewers marre their Malt with water; When Nobles are their Taylors Tutors, No Heretiques burn'd, but wenches Sutors; When euery Case in Law, is right; No Squire in debt, nor no poore Knight; When Slanders do not liue in Tongues; Nor Cut-purses come not to throngs; When Vsurers tell their Gold i'th' Field, And Baudes, and whores, do Churches build, Then shal the Realme of Albion, come to great confusion: Then comes the time, who liues to see't, That going shalbe vs'd with feet. This prophecie Merlin shall make, for I liue before his time. Enter.

Meanwhile, Lear wanders around in the storm, cursing the weather and challenging it to do its worst against him. He seems slightly irrational, his thoughts wandering from idea to idea but always returning to fixate on his two cruel daughters. The Fool, who accompanies him, urges him to humble himself before his daughters and seek shelter indoors, but Lear ignores him. Kent finds the two of them and urges them to take shelter inside a nearby hovel. Lear finally agrees and follows Kent toward the hovel. The Fool makes a strange and confusing prophecy

summary

Scena Secunda. Storme still. Enter Lear, and Foole. Lear. Blow windes, & crack your cheeks; Rage, blow You Cataracts, and Hyrricano's spout, Till you haue drench'd our Steeples, drown the Cockes. You Sulph'rous and Thought-executing Fires, Vaunt-curriors of Oake-cleauing Thunder-bolts, Sindge my white head. And thou all-shaking Thunder, Strike flat the thicke Rotundity o'th' world, Cracke Natures moulds, all germaines spill at once That makes ingratefull Man Foole. O Nunkle, Court holy-water in a dry house, is better then this Rain-water out o' doore. Good Nunkle, in, aske thy Daughters blessing, heere's a night pitties neither Wisemen, nor Fooles Lear. Rumble thy belly full: spit Fire, spowt Raine: Nor Raine, Winde, Thunder, Fire are my Daughters; I taxe not you, you Elements with vnkindnesse. I neuer gaue you Kingdome, call'd you Children; You owe me no subscription. Then let fall Your horrible pleasure. Heere I stand your Slaue, A poore, infirme, weake, and dispis'd old man: But yet I call you Seruile Ministers, That will with two pernicious Daughters ioyne Your high-engender'd Battailes, 'gainst a head So old, and white as this. O, ho! 'tis foule Foole. He that has a house to put's head in, has a good Head-peece: The Codpiece that will house, before the head has any; The Head, and he shall Lowse: so Beggers marry many. The man y makes his Toe, what he his Hart shold make, Shall of a Corne cry woe, and turne his sleepe to wake. For there was neuer yet faire woman, but shee made mouthes in a glasse. Enter Kent Lear. No, I will be the patterne of all patience, I will say nothing Kent. Who's there? Foole. Marry here's Grace, and a Codpiece, that's a Wiseman, and a Foole Kent. Alas Sir are you here? Things that loue night, Loue not such nights as these: The wrathfull Skies Gallow the very wanderers of the darke And make them keepe their Caues: Since I was man, Such sheets of Fire, such bursts of horrid Thunder, Such groanes of roaring Winde, and Raine, I neuer Remember to haue heard. Mans Nature cannot carry Th' affliction, nor the feare Lear. Let the great Goddes That keepe this dreadfull pudder o're our heads, Finde out their enemies now. Tremble thou Wretch, That hast within thee vndivulged Crimes Vnwhipt of Iustice. Hide thee, thou Bloudy hand; Thou Periur'd, and thou Simular of Vertue That art Incestuous. Caytiffe, to peeces shake That vnder couert, and conuenient seeming Ha's practis'd on mans life. Close pent-vp guilts, Riue your concealing Continents, and cry These dreadfull Summoners grace. I am a man, More sinn'd against, then sinning Kent. Alacke, bare-headed? Gracious my Lord, hard by heere is a Houell, Some friendship will it lend you 'gainst the Tempest: Repose you there, while I to this hard house, (More harder then the stones whereof 'tis rais'd, Which euen but now, demanding after you, Deny'd me to come in) returne, and force Their scanted curtesie Lear. My wits begin to turne. Come on my boy. How dost my boy? Art cold? I am cold my selfe. Where is this straw, my Fellow? The Art of our Necessities is strange, And can make vilde things precious. Come, your Houel; Poore Foole, and Knaue, I haue one part in my heart That's sorry yet for thee Foole. He that has and a little-tyne wit, With heigh-ho, the Winde and the Raine, Must make content with his Fortunes fit, Though the Raine it raineth euery day Le. True Boy: Come bring vs to this Houell. Enter. Foole. This is a braue night to coole a Curtizan: Ile speake a Prophesie ere I go: When Priests are more in word, then matter; When Brewers marre their Malt with water; When Nobles are their Taylors Tutors, No Heretiques burn'd, but wenches Sutors; When euery Case in Law, is right; No Squire in debt, nor no poore Knight; When Slanders do not liue in Tongues; Nor Cut-purses come not to throngs; When Vsurers tell their Gold i'th' Field, And Baudes, and whores, do Churches build, Then shal the Realme of Albion, come to great confusion: Then comes the time, who liues to see't, That going shalbe vs'd with feet. This prophecie Merlin shall make, for I liue before his time. Enter.

Act 3, scenes 1-3 The information that Kent gives the knight brings the audience out of the personal realm of Lear's anguish and into the political world of Lear's Britain. Throughout the play, we hear rumors of conflict between Albany and Cornwall and of possible war with France, but what exactly transpires at any specific moment is rarely clear. The question of the French is not definitively resolved until Act 4. Kent's mention of Dover, however, provides a clue: Dover is a port city in the south of England where ships from France often landed; it is famous for its high white cliffs. As various characters begin moving southward toward Dover in the scenes that follow, the tension of an inevitable conflict heightens. Whatever the particulars of the political struggle, however, it is clear that Lear, by giving away his power in Britain to Goneril and Regan--and eventually Edmund--has destroyed not only his own authority but all authority. Instead of a stable, hierarchical kingdom with Lear in control, chaos has overtaken the realm, and the country is at the mercy of the play's villains, who care for nothing but their own power. This political chaos is mirrored in the natural world. We find Lear and his courtiers plodding across a deserted heath with winds howling around them and rain drenching them. Lear, like the other characters, is unused to such harsh conditions, and he soon finds himself symbolically stripped bare. He has already discovered that his cruel daughters can victimize him; now he learns that a king caught in a storm is as much subject to the power of nature as any man. The importance of the storm, and its symbolic connection to the state of mind of the people caught in it, is first suggested by the knight's words to Kent. Kent asks the knight, "Who's there, besides foul weather?"; the knight answers, "One minded like the weather, most unquietly". Here the knight's state of mind is shown to be as turbulent as the winds and clouds surrounding him. This is true of Lear as well: when Kent asks the knight where the king is, the knight replies, "Contending with the fretful elements; / . . . / Strives in his little world of man to out-scorn / The to-and-fro-conflicting wind and rain" . Shakespeare's use of pathetic fallacy--a literary device in which inanimate objects such as nature assume human reactions--amplifies the tension of the characters' struggles by elevating human forces to the level of natural forces. Lear is trying to face down the powers of nature, an attempt that seems to indicate both his despair and his increasingly confused sense of reality. Both of these strains appear in Lear's famous speech to the storm, in which he commands, "Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! rage! blow! / You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout / Till you have drenched our steeples, drowned the cocks!" . Lear's attempt to speak to the storm suggests that he has lost touch with the natural world and his relation to it--or, at least, that he has lost touch with the ordinary human understanding of nature. In a sense, though, his diatribe against the weather embodies one of the central questions posed by King Lear: namely, whether the universe is fundamentally friendly or hostile to man. Lear asks whether nature and the gods are actually good, and, if so, how life can have treated him so badly. The storm marks one of the first appearances of the apocalyptic imagery that is so important in King Lear and that will become increasingly dominant as the play progresses. The chaos reflects the disorder in Lear's increasingly crazed mind, and the apocalyptic language represents the projection of Lear's rage and despair onto the outside world: if his world has come to a symbolic end because his daughters have stripped away his power and betrayed him, then, he seems to think, the real world ought to end, too. As we have seen, the chaos in nature also reflects the very real political chaos that has engulfed Britain in the absence of Lear's authority. Along with Lear's increasing despair and projection, we also see his understandable fixation on his daughters: "Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire, are my daughters: / I tax you not, you elements, with unkindness" . Lear tells the thunder that he does not blame it for attacking him because it does not owe him anything. But he does blame his "two pernicious daughters" for their betrayal . Despite the apparent onset of insanity, Lear exhibits some degree of rational thought--he is still able to locate the source of his misfortune. Finally, we see strange shifts beginning to occur inside Lear's mind. He starts to realize that he is going mad, a terrifying realization for anyone. Nevertheless, Lear suddenly notices his Fool and asks him, "How dost my boy? Art cold?" . He adds, "I have one part in my heart / That's sorry yet for thee" . Here, Lear takes real and compassionate notice of another human being for the first time in the play. This concern for others reflects the growth of Lear's humility, which eventually redeems him and enables him to win Cordelia's forgiveness.

analysis

Enter Gloster, and Edmund. Glo. Alacke, alacke Edmund, I like not this vnnaturall dealing; when I desired their leaue that I might pity him, they tooke from me the vse of mine owne house, charg'd me on paine of perpetuall displeasure, neither to speake of him, entreat for him, or any way sustaine him Bast. Most sauage and vnnaturall Glo. Go too; say you nothing. There is diuision betweene the Dukes, and a worsse matter then that: I haue receiued a Letter this night, 'tis dangerous to be spoken, I haue lock'd the Letter in my Closset, these iniuries the King now beares, will be reuenged home; ther is part of a Power already footed, we must incline to the King, I will looke him, and priuily relieue him; goe you and maintaine talke with the Duke, that my charity be not of him perceiued; If he aske for me, I am ill, and gone to bed, if I die for it, (as no lesse is threatned me) the King my old Master must be relieued. There is strange things toward Edmund, pray you be carefull. Enter. Bast. This Curtesie forbid thee, shall the Duke Instantly know, and of that Letter too; This seemes a faire deseruing, and must draw me That which my Father looses: no lesse then all, The yonger rises, when the old doth fall. Enter.

Inside his castle, a worried Gloucester speaks with Edmund. The loyal Gloucester recounts how he became uncomfortable when Regan, Goneril, and Cornwall shut Lear out in the storm. But when he urged them to give him permission to go out and help Lear, they became angry, took possession of his castle, and ordered him never to speak to Lear or plead on his behalf. Gloucester tells Edmund that he has received news of a conflict between Albany and Cornwall. He also informs him that a French army is invading and that part of it has already landed in England. Gloucester feels that he must take Lear's side and now plans to go seek him out in the storm. He tells Edmund that there is a letter with news of the French army locked in his room, and he asks his son to go and distract the duke of Cornwall while he, Gloucester, goes onto the heath to search for Lear. He adds that it is imperative that Cornwall not notice his absence; otherwise, Gloucester might die for his treachery. When Gloucester leaves, Edmund privately rejoices at the opportunity that has presented itself. He plans to betray his father immediately, going to Cornwall to tell him about both Gloucester's plans to help Lear and the location of the traitorous letter from the French. Edmund expects to inherit his father's title, land, and fortune as soon as Gloucester is put to death

summary

Enter Gloster, and Edmund. Glo. Alacke, alacke Edmund, I like not this vnnaturall dealing; when I desired their leaue that I might pity him, they tooke from me the vse of mine owne house, charg'd me on paine of perpetuall displeasure, neither to speake of him, entreat for him, or any way sustaine him Bast. Most sauage and vnnaturall Glo. Go too; say you nothing. There is diuision betweene the Dukes, and a worsse matter then that: I haue receiued a Letter this night, 'tis dangerous to be spoken, I haue lock'd the Letter in my Closset, these iniuries the King now beares, will be reuenged home; ther is part of a Power already footed, we must incline to the King, I will looke him, and priuily relieue him; goe you and maintaine talke with the Duke, that my charity be not of him perceiued; If he aske for me, I am ill, and gone to bed, if I die for it, (as no lesse is threatned me) the King my old Master must be relieued. There is strange things toward Edmund, pray you be carefull. Enter. Bast. This Curtesie forbid thee, shall the Duke Instantly know, and of that Letter too; This seemes a faire deseruing, and must draw me That which my Father looses: no lesse then all, The yonger rises, when the old doth fall. Enter.

Act 3, scenes 1-3 The information that Kent gives the knight brings the audience out of the personal realm of Lear's anguish and into the political world of Lear's Britain. Throughout the play, we hear rumors of conflict between Albany and Cornwall and of possible war with France, but what exactly transpires at any specific moment is rarely clear. The question of the French is not definitively resolved until Act 4. Kent's mention of Dover, however, provides a clue: Dover is a port city in the south of England where ships from France often landed; it is famous for its high white cliffs. As various characters begin moving southward toward Dover in the scenes that follow, the tension of an inevitable conflict heightens. Whatever the particulars of the political struggle, however, it is clear that Lear, by giving away his power in Britain to Goneril and Regan--and eventually Edmund--has destroyed not only his own authority but all authority. Instead of a stable, hierarchical kingdom with Lear in control, chaos has overtaken the realm, and the country is at the mercy of the play's villains, who care for nothing but their own power. This political chaos is mirrored in the natural world. We find Lear and his courtiers plodding across a deserted heath with winds howling around them and rain drenching them. Lear, like the other characters, is unused to such harsh conditions, and he soon finds himself symbolically stripped bare. He has already discovered that his cruel daughters can victimize him; now he learns that a king caught in a storm is as much subject to the power of nature as any man. The importance of the storm, and its symbolic connection to the state of mind of the people caught in it, is first suggested by the knight's words to Kent. Kent asks the knight, "Who's there, besides foul weather?"; the knight answers, "One minded like the weather, most unquietly". Here the knight's state of mind is shown to be as turbulent as the winds and clouds surrounding him. This is true of Lear as well: when Kent asks the knight where the king is, the knight replies, "Contending with the fretful elements; / . . . / Strives in his little world of man to out-scorn / The to-and-fro-conflicting wind and rain" . Shakespeare's use of pathetic fallacy--a literary device in which inanimate objects such as nature assume human reactions--amplifies the tension of the characters' struggles by elevating human forces to the level of natural forces. Lear is trying to face down the powers of nature, an attempt that seems to indicate both his despair and his increasingly confused sense of reality. Both of these strains appear in Lear's famous speech to the storm, in which he commands, "Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! rage! blow! / You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout / Till you have drenched our steeples, drowned the cocks!" . Lear's attempt to speak to the storm suggests that he has lost touch with the natural world and his relation to it--or, at least, that he has lost touch with the ordinary human understanding of nature. In a sense, though, his diatribe against the weather embodies one of the central questions posed by King Lear: namely, whether the universe is fundamentally friendly or hostile to man. Lear asks whether nature and the gods are actually good, and, if so, how life can have treated him so badly. The storm marks one of the first appearances of the apocalyptic imagery that is so important in King Lear and that will become increasingly dominant as the play progresses. The chaos reflects the disorder in Lear's increasingly crazed mind, and the apocalyptic language represents the projection of Lear's rage and despair onto the outside world: if his world has come to a symbolic end because his daughters have stripped away his power and betrayed him, then, he seems to think, the real world ought to end, too. As we have seen, the chaos in nature also reflects the very real political chaos that has engulfed Britain in the absence of Lear's authority. Along with Lear's increasing despair and projection, we also see his understandable fixation on his daughters: "Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire, are my daughters: / I tax you not, you elements, with unkindness" . Lear tells the thunder that he does not blame it for attacking him because it does not owe him anything. But he does blame his "two pernicious daughters" for their betrayal . Despite the apparent onset of insanity, Lear exhibits some degree of rational thought--he is still able to locate the source of his misfortune. Finally, we see strange shifts beginning to occur inside Lear's mind. He starts to realize that he is going mad, a terrifying realization for anyone. Nevertheless, Lear suddenly notices his Fool and asks him, "How dost my boy? Art cold?" . He adds, "I have one part in my heart / That's sorry yet for thee" . Here, Lear takes real and compassionate notice of another human being for the first time in the play. This concern for others reflects the growth of Lear's humility, which eventually redeems him and enables him to win Cordelia's forgiveness.

analysis

Scena Quarta. Enter Lear, Kent, and Foole. Kent. Here is the place my Lord, good my Lord enter, The tirrany of the open night's too rough For Nature to endure. Storme still Lear. Let me alone Kent. Good my Lord enter heere Lear. Wilt breake my heart? Kent. I had rather breake mine owne, Good my Lord enter Lear. Thou think'st 'tis much that this contentious storme Inuades vs to the skin so: 'tis to thee, But where the greater malady is fixt, The lesser is scarce felt. Thou'dst shun a Beare, But if thy flight lay toward the roaring sea, Thou'dst meete the Beare i'th' mouth, when the mind's free, The bodies delicate: the tempest in my mind, Doth from my sences take all feeling else, Saue what beates there, Filliall ingratitude, Is it not as this mouth should teare this hand For lifting food too't? But I will punish home; No, I will weepe no more; in such a night, To shut me out? Poure on, I will endure: In such a night as this? O Regan, Gonerill, Your old kind Father, whose franke heart gaue all, O that way madnesse lies, let me shun that: No more of that Kent. Good my Lord enter here Lear. Prythee go in thy selfe, seeke thine owne ease, This tempest will not giue me leaue to ponder On things would hurt me more, but Ile goe in, In Boy, go first. You houselesse pouertie, Enter. Nay get thee in; Ile pray, and then Ile sleepe. Poore naked wretches, where so ere you are That bide the pelting of this pittilesse storme, How shall your House-lesse heads, and vnfed sides, Your lop'd, and window'd raggednesse defend you From seasons such as these? O I haue tane Too little care of this: Take Physicke, Pompe, Expose thy selfe to feele what wretches feele, That thou maist shake the superflux to them, And shew the Heauens more iust. Enter Edgar, and Foole. Edg. Fathom, and halfe, Fathom and halfe; poore Tom Foole. Come not in heere Nuncle, here's a spirit, helpe me, helpe me Kent. Giue my thy hand, who's there? Foole. A spirite, a spirite, he sayes his name's poore Tom Kent. What art thou that dost grumble there i'th' straw? Come forth Edg. Away, the foule Fiend followes me, through the sharpe Hauthorne blow the windes. Humh, goe to thy bed and warme thee Lear. Did'st thou giue all to thy Daughters? And art thou come to this? Edgar. Who giues any thing to poore Tom? Whom the foule fiend hath led through Fire, and through Flame, through Sword, and Whirle-Poole, o're Bog, and Quagmire, that hath laid Kniues vnder his Pillow, and Halters in his Pue, set Rats-bane by his Porredge, made him Proud of heart, to ride on a Bay trotting Horse, ouer foure incht Bridges, to course his owne shadow for a Traitor. Blisse thy fiue Wits, Toms a cold. O do, de, do, de, do, de, blisse thee from Whirle-Windes, Starre-blasting, and taking, do poore Tom some charitie, whom the foule Fiend vexes. There could I haue him now, and there, and there againe, and there. Storme still. Lear. Ha's his Daughters brought him to this passe? Could'st thou saue nothing? Would'st thou giue 'em all? Foole. Nay, he reseru'd a Blanket, else we had bin all sham'd Lea. Now all the plagues that in the pendulous ayre Hang fated o're mens faults, light on thy Daughters Kent. He hath no Daughters Sir Lear. Death Traitor, nothing could haue subdu'd Nature To such a lownesse, but his vnkind Daughters. Is it the fashion, that discarded Fathers, Should haue thus little mercy on their flesh: Iudicious punishment, 'twas this flesh begot Those Pelicane Daughters Edg. Pillicock sat on Pillicock hill, alow: alow, loo, loo Foole. This cold night will turne vs all to Fooles, and Madmen Edgar. Take heed o'th' foule Fiend, obey thy Parents, keepe thy words Iustice, sweare not, commit not, with mans sworne Spouse: set not thy Sweet-heart on proud array. Tom's a cold Lear. What hast thou bin? Edg. A Seruingman? Proud in heart, and minde; that curl'd my haire, wore Gloues in my cap; seru'd the Lust of my Mistris heart, and did the acte of darkenesse with her. Swore as many Oathes, as I spake words, & broke them in the sweet face of Heauen. One, that slept in the contriuing of Lust, and wak'd to doe it. Wine lou'd I deerely, Dice deerely; and in Woman, out-Paramour'd the Turke. False of heart, light of eare, bloody of hand; Hog in sloth, Foxe in stealth, Wolfe in greedinesse, Dog in madnes, Lyon in prey. Let not the creaking of shooes, Nor the rustling of Silkes, betray thy poore heart to woman. Keepe thy foote out of Brothels, thy hand out of Plackets, thy pen from Lenders Bookes, and defye the foule Fiend. Still through the Hauthorne blowes the cold winde: Sayes suum, mun, nonny, Dolphin my Boy, Boy Sesey: let him trot by. Storme still. Lear. Thou wert better in a Graue, then to answere with thy vncouer'd body, this extremitie of the Skies. Is man no more then this? Consider him well. Thou ow'st the Worme no Silke; the Beast, no Hide; the Sheepe, no Wooll; the Cat, no perfume. Ha? Here's three on's are sophisticated. Thou art the thing it selfe; vnaccommodated man, is no more but such a poore, bare, forked Animall as thou art. Off, off you Lendings: Come, vnbutton heere. Enter Gloucester, with a Torch. Foole. Prythee Nunckle be contented, 'tis a naughtie night to swimme in. Now a little fire in a wilde Field, were like an old Letchers heart, a small spark, all the rest on's body, cold: Looke, heere comes a walking fire Edg. This is the foule Flibbertigibbet; hee begins at Curfew, and walkes at first Cocke: Hee giues the Web and the Pin, squints the eye, and makes the Hare-lippe; Mildewes the white Wheate, and hurts the poore Creature of earth. Swithold footed thrice the old, He met the Night-Mare, and her nine-fold; Bid her a-light, and her troth-plight, And aroynt thee Witch, aroynt thee Kent. How fares your Grace? Lear. What's he? Kent. Who's there? What is't you seeke? Glou. What are you there? Your Names? Edg. Poore Tom, that eates the swimming Frog, the Toad, the Tod-pole, the wall-Neut, and the water: that in the furie of his heart, when the foule Fiend rages, eats Cow-dung for Sallets; swallowes the old Rat, and the ditch-Dogge; drinkes the green Mantle of the standing Poole: who is whipt from Tything to Tything, and stockt, punish'd, and imprison'd: who hath three Suites to his backe, sixe shirts to his body: Horse to ride, and weapon to weare: But Mice, and Rats, and such small Deare, Haue bin Toms food, for seuen long yeare: Beware my Follower. Peace Smulkin, peace thou Fiend Glou. What, hath your Grace no better company? Edg. The Prince of Darkenesse is a Gentleman. Modo he's call'd, and Mahu Glou. Our flesh and blood, my Lord, is growne so vilde, that it doth hate what gets it Edg. Poore Tom's a cold Glou. Go in with me; my duty cannot suffer T' obey in all your daughters hard commands: Though their Iniunction be to barre my doores, And let this Tyrannous night take hold vpon you, Yet haue I ventured to come seeke you out, And bring you where both fire, and food is ready Lear. First let me talke with this Philosopher, What is the cause of Thunder? Kent. Good my Lord take his offer, Go into th' house Lear. Ile talke a word with this same lerned Theban: What is your study? Edg. How to preuent the Fiend, and to kill Vermine Lear. Let me aske you one word in priuate Kent. Importune him once more to go my Lord, His wits begin t' vnsettle Glou. Canst thou blame him? Storm still His Daughters seeke his death: Ah, that good Kent, He said it would be thus: poore banish'd man: Thou sayest the King growes mad, Ile tell thee Friend I am almost mad my selfe. I had a Sonne, Now out-law'd from my blood: he sought my life But lately: very late: I lou'd him (Friend) No Father his Sonne deerer: true to tell thee, The greefe hath craz'd my wits. What a night's this? I do beseech your grace Lear. O cry you mercy, Sir: Noble Philosopher, your company Edg. Tom's a cold Glou. In fellow there, into th' Houel; keep thee warm Lear. Come, let's in all Kent. This way, my Lord Lear. With him; I will keepe still with my Philosopher Kent. Good my Lord, sooth him: Let him take the Fellow Glou. Take him you on Kent. Sirra, come on: go along with vs Lear. Come, good Athenian Glou. No words, no words, hush Edg. Childe Rowland to the darke Tower came, His word was still, fie, foh, and fumme, I smell the blood of a Brittish man. Exeunt.

Kent leads Lear through the storm to the hovel. He tries to get him to go inside, but Lear resists, saying that his own mental anguish makes him hardly feel the storm. He sends his Fool inside to take shelter and then kneels and prays. He reflects that, as king, he took too little care of the wretched and homeless, who have scant protection from storms such as this one. The Fool runs out of the hovel, claiming that there is a spirit inside. The spirit turns out to be Edgar in his disguise as Tom O'Bedlam. Edgar plays the part of the madman by complaining that he is being chased by a devil. He adds that fiends possess and inhabit his body. Lear, whose grip on reality is loosening, sees nothing strange about these statements. He sympathizes with Edgar, asking him whether bad daughters have been the ruin of him as well. Lear asks the disguised Edgar what he used to be before he went mad and became a beggar. Edgar replies that he was once a wealthy courtier who spent his days having sex with many women and drinking wine. Observing Edgar's nakedness, Lear tears off his own clothes in sympathy. Gloucester, carrying a torch, comes looking for the king. He is unimpressed by Lear's companions and tries to bring Lear back inside the castle with him, despite the possibility of evoking Regan and Goneril's anger. Kent and Gloucester finally convince Lear to go with Gloucester, but Lear insists on bringing the disguised Edgar, whom he has begun to like, with him

summary

Scena Quarta. Enter Lear, Kent, and Foole. Kent. Here is the place my Lord, good my Lord enter, The tirrany of the open night's too rough For Nature to endure. Storme still Lear. Let me alone Kent. Good my Lord enter heere Lear. Wilt breake my heart? Kent. I had rather breake mine owne, Good my Lord enter Lear. Thou think'st 'tis much that this contentious storme Inuades vs to the skin so: 'tis to thee, But where the greater malady is fixt, The lesser is scarce felt. Thou'dst shun a Beare, But if thy flight lay toward the roaring sea, Thou'dst meete the Beare i'th' mouth, when the mind's free, The bodies delicate: the tempest in my mind, Doth from my sences take all feeling else, Saue what beates there, Filliall ingratitude, Is it not as this mouth should teare this hand For lifting food too't? But I will punish home; No, I will weepe no more; in such a night, To shut me out? Poure on, I will endure: In such a night as this? O Regan, Gonerill, Your old kind Father, whose franke heart gaue all, O that way madnesse lies, let me shun that: No more of that Kent. Good my Lord enter here Lear. Prythee go in thy selfe, seeke thine owne ease, This tempest will not giue me leaue to ponder On things would hurt me more, but Ile goe in, In Boy, go first. You houselesse pouertie, Enter. Nay get thee in; Ile pray, and then Ile sleepe. Poore naked wretches, where so ere you are That bide the pelting of this pittilesse storme, How shall your House-lesse heads, and vnfed sides, Your lop'd, and window'd raggednesse defend you From seasons such as these? O I haue tane Too little care of this: Take Physicke, Pompe, Expose thy selfe to feele what wretches feele, That thou maist shake the superflux to them, And shew the Heauens more iust. Enter Edgar, and Foole. Edg. Fathom, and halfe, Fathom and halfe; poore Tom Foole. Come not in heere Nuncle, here's a spirit, helpe me, helpe me Kent. Giue my thy hand, who's there? Foole. A spirite, a spirite, he sayes his name's poore Tom Kent. What art thou that dost grumble there i'th' straw? Come forth Edg. Away, the foule Fiend followes me, through the sharpe Hauthorne blow the windes. Humh, goe to thy bed and warme thee Lear. Did'st thou giue all to thy Daughters? And art thou come to this? Edgar. Who giues any thing to poore Tom? Whom the foule fiend hath led through Fire, and through Flame, through Sword, and Whirle-Poole, o're Bog, and Quagmire, that hath laid Kniues vnder his Pillow, and Halters in his Pue, set Rats-bane by his Porredge, made him Proud of heart, to ride on a Bay trotting Horse, ouer foure incht Bridges, to course his owne shadow for a Traitor. Blisse thy fiue Wits, Toms a cold. O do, de, do, de, do, de, blisse thee from Whirle-Windes, Starre-blasting, and taking, do poore Tom some charitie, whom the foule Fiend vexes. There could I haue him now, and there, and there againe, and there. Storme still. Lear. Ha's his Daughters brought him to this passe? Could'st thou saue nothing? Would'st thou giue 'em all? Foole. Nay, he reseru'd a Blanket, else we had bin all sham'd Lea. Now all the plagues that in the pendulous ayre Hang fated o're mens faults, light on thy Daughters Kent. He hath no Daughters Sir Lear. Death Traitor, nothing could haue subdu'd Nature To such a lownesse, but his vnkind Daughters. Is it the fashion, that discarded Fathers, Should haue thus little mercy on their flesh: Iudicious punishment, 'twas this flesh begot Those Pelicane Daughters Edg. Pillicock sat on Pillicock hill, alow: alow, loo, loo Foole. This cold night will turne vs all to Fooles, and Madmen Edgar. Take heed o'th' foule Fiend, obey thy Parents, keepe thy words Iustice, sweare not, commit not, with mans sworne Spouse: set not thy Sweet-heart on proud array. Tom's a cold Lear. What hast thou bin? Edg. A Seruingman? Proud in heart, and minde; that curl'd my haire, wore Gloues in my cap; seru'd the Lust of my Mistris heart, and did the acte of darkenesse with her. Swore as many Oathes, as I spake words, & broke them in the sweet face of Heauen. One, that slept in the contriuing of Lust, and wak'd to doe it. Wine lou'd I deerely, Dice deerely; and in Woman, out-Paramour'd the Turke. False of heart, light of eare, bloody of hand; Hog in sloth, Foxe in stealth, Wolfe in greedinesse, Dog in madnes, Lyon in prey. Let not the creaking of shooes, Nor the rustling of Silkes, betray thy poore heart to woman. Keepe thy foote out of Brothels, thy hand out of Plackets, thy pen from Lenders Bookes, and defye the foule Fiend. Still through the Hauthorne blowes the cold winde: Sayes suum, mun, nonny, Dolphin my Boy, Boy Sesey: let him trot by. Storme still. Lear. Thou wert better in a Graue, then to answere with thy vncouer'd body, this extremitie of the Skies. Is man no more then this? Consider him well. Thou ow'st the Worme no Silke; the Beast, no Hide; the Sheepe, no Wooll; the Cat, no perfume. Ha? Here's three on's are sophisticated. Thou art the thing it selfe; vnaccommodated man, is no more but such a poore, bare, forked Animall as thou art. Off, off you Lendings: Come, vnbutton heere. Enter Gloucester, with a Torch. Foole. Prythee Nunckle be contented, 'tis a naughtie night to swimme in. Now a little fire in a wilde Field, were like an old Letchers heart, a small spark, all the rest on's body, cold: Looke, heere comes a walking fire Edg. This is the foule Flibbertigibbet; hee begins at Curfew, and walkes at first Cocke: Hee giues the Web and the Pin, squints the eye, and makes the Hare-lippe; Mildewes the white Wheate, and hurts the poore Creature of earth. Swithold footed thrice the old, He met the Night-Mare, and her nine-fold; Bid her a-light, and her troth-plight, And aroynt thee Witch, aroynt thee Kent. How fares your Grace? Lear. What's he? Kent. Who's there? What is't you seeke? Glou. What are you there? Your Names? Edg. Poore Tom, that eates the swimming Frog, the Toad, the Tod-pole, the wall-Neut, and the water: that in the furie of his heart, when the foule Fiend rages, eats Cow-dung for Sallets; swallowes the old Rat, and the ditch-Dogge; drinkes the green Mantle of the standing Poole: who is whipt from Tything to Tything, and stockt, punish'd, and imprison'd: who hath three Suites to his backe, sixe shirts to his body: Horse to ride, and weapon to weare: But Mice, and Rats, and such small Deare, Haue bin Toms food, for seuen long yeare: Beware my Follower. Peace Smulkin, peace thou Fiend Glou. What, hath your Grace no better company? Edg. The Prince of Darkenesse is a Gentleman. Modo he's call'd, and Mahu Glou. Our flesh and blood, my Lord, is growne so vilde, that it doth hate what gets it Edg. Poore Tom's a cold Glou. Go in with me; my duty cannot suffer T' obey in all your daughters hard commands: Though their Iniunction be to barre my doores, And let this Tyrannous night take hold vpon you, Yet haue I ventured to come seeke you out, And bring you where both fire, and food is ready Lear. First let me talke with this Philosopher, What is the cause of Thunder? Kent. Good my Lord take his offer, Go into th' house Lear. Ile talke a word with this same lerned Theban: What is your study? Edg. How to preuent the Fiend, and to kill Vermine Lear. Let me aske you one word in priuate Kent. Importune him once more to go my Lord, His wits begin t' vnsettle Glou. Canst thou blame him? Storm still His Daughters seeke his death: Ah, that good Kent, He said it would be thus: poore banish'd man: Thou sayest the King growes mad, Ile tell thee Friend I am almost mad my selfe. I had a Sonne, Now out-law'd from my blood: he sought my life But lately: very late: I lou'd him (Friend) No Father his Sonne deerer: true to tell thee, The greefe hath craz'd my wits. What a night's this? I do beseech your grace Lear. O cry you mercy, Sir: Noble Philosopher, your company Edg. Tom's a cold Glou. In fellow there, into th' Houel; keep thee warm Lear. Come, let's in all Kent. This way, my Lord Lear. With him; I will keepe still with my Philosopher Kent. Good my Lord, sooth him: Let him take the Fellow Glou. Take him you on Kent. Sirra, come on: go along with vs Lear. Come, good Athenian Glou. No words, no words, hush Edg. Childe Rowland to the darke Tower came, His word was still, fie, foh, and fumme, I smell the blood of a Brittish man. Exeunt.

Act 3, scenes 4-5 When Kent asks Lear to enter the hovel at the beginning of Act 3, scene 4, Lear's reply demonstrates that part of his mind is still lucid and that the symbolic connection between the storm outside and Lear's own mental disturbance is significant. Lear explains to Kent that although the storm may be very uncomfortable for Kent, Lear himself hardly notices it: "The tempest in my mind / Doth from my senses take all feeling else" . Lear's sensitivity to the storm is blocked out by his mental and emotional anguish and by his obsession with his treacherous daughters. The only thing that he can think of is their "filial ingratitude" . Lear also continues to show a deepening sensitivity to other people, a trait missing from his character at the beginning of the play and an interesting side effect of his increasing madness and exposure to human cruelty. After he sends his Fool into the hovel to take shelter, he kneels in prayer--the first time we have seen him do so in the play. He does not pray for himself; instead, he asks the gods to help "poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are, / That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm" . Reproaching himself for his heartlessness, Lear urges himself to "expose thyself to feel what wretches feel" . This self-criticism and newfound sympathy for the plight of others mark the continuing humanization of Lear. Lear's obsessive contemplation of his own humanity and of his place in relation to nature and to the gods is heightened still further after he meets Edgar, who is clad only in rags. Lear's wandering mind turns to his own fine clothing, and he asks, addressing Edgar's largely uncovered body, "Is man no more than this? Consider him well" . As a king in fact as well as in name, with servants and subjects and seemingly loyal daughters, Lear could be confident of his place in the universe; indeed, the universe seemed to revolve around him. Now, as his humility grows, he becomes conscious of his real relationship to nature. He is frightened to see himself as little more than a "bare, forked animal," stripped of everything that made him secure and powerful . The destruction of Lear's pride leads him to question the social order that clothes kings in rich garments and beggars in rags. He realizes that each person, underneath his or her clothing, is naked and therefore weak. He sees too that clothing offers no protection against the forces of the elements or of the gods. When he tries to remove his own clothing, his companions restrain him. But Lear's attempt to bare himself is a sign that he has seen the similarities between himself and Edgar: only the flimsy surface of garments marks the difference between a king and a beggar. Each must face the cruelty of an uncaring world. The many names that Edgar uses for the demons that pester him seem to have been taken by Shakespeare from a single source--Samuel Harsnett's A Declaration of Egregious Popish Impostors, which describes demons in wild and outlandish language to ridicule the exorcisms performed by Catholic priests. Edgar uses similarly strange and haunting language to describe his demons. The audience assumes that he is only feigning madness; after all, we have seen him deliberately decide to pose as a crazed beggar in order to escape capture by his brother and father. But Edgar's ravings are so convincing, and the storm-wracked heath such a bizarre environment, that the line between pretending to be mad and actually being mad seems to blur.

analysis

Scena Quinta. Enter Cornwall, and Edmund. Corn. I will haue my reuenge, ere I depart his house Bast. How my Lord, I may be censured, that Nature thus giues way to Loyaltie, something feares mee to thinke of Cornw. I now perceiue, it was not altogether your Brothers euill disposition made him seeke his death: but a prouoking merit set a-worke by a reprouable badnesse in himselfe Bast. How malicious is my fortune, that I must repent to be iust? This is the Letter which hee spoake of; which approues him an intelligent partie to the aduantages of France. O Heauens! that this Treason were not; or not I the detector Corn. Go with me to the Dutchesse Bast. If the matter of this Paper be certain, you haue mighty businesse in hand Corn. True or false, it hath made thee Earle of Gloucester: seeke out where thy Father is, that hee may bee ready for our apprehension Bast. If I finde him comforting the King, it will stuffe his suspition more fully. I will perseuer in my course of Loyalty, though the conflict be sore betweene that, and my blood Corn. I will lay trust vpon thee: and thou shalt finde a deere Father in my loue. Exeunt.

Inside Gloucester's castle, Cornwall vows revenge against Gloucester, whom Edmund has betrayed by showing Cornwall a letter that proves Gloucester's secret support of a French invasion. Edmund pretends to be horrified at the discovery of his father's "treason," but he is actually delighted, since the powerful Cornwall, now his ally, confers upon him the title of earl of Gloucester. Cornwall sends Edmund to find Gloucester, and Edmund reasons to himself that if he can catch his father in the act of helping Lear, Cornwall's suspicions will be confirmed

summary

Scena Quinta. Enter Cornwall, and Edmund. Corn. I will haue my reuenge, ere I depart his house Bast. How my Lord, I may be censured, that Nature thus giues way to Loyaltie, something feares mee to thinke of Cornw. I now perceiue, it was not altogether your Brothers euill disposition made him seeke his death: but a prouoking merit set a-worke by a reprouable badnesse in himselfe Bast. How malicious is my fortune, that I must repent to be iust? This is the Letter which hee spoake of; which approues him an intelligent partie to the aduantages of France. O Heauens! that this Treason were not; or not I the detector Corn. Go with me to the Dutchesse Bast. If the matter of this Paper be certain, you haue mighty businesse in hand Corn. True or false, it hath made thee Earle of Gloucester: seeke out where thy Father is, that hee may bee ready for our apprehension Bast. If I finde him comforting the King, it will stuffe his suspition more fully. I will perseuer in my course of Loyalty, though the conflict be sore betweene that, and my blood Corn. I will lay trust vpon thee: and thou shalt finde a deere Father in my loue. Exeunt.

Act 3, scenes 4-5 When Kent asks Lear to enter the hovel at the beginning of Act 3, scene 4, Lear's reply demonstrates that part of his mind is still lucid and that the symbolic connection between the storm outside and Lear's own mental disturbance is significant. Lear explains to Kent that although the storm may be very uncomfortable for Kent, Lear himself hardly notices it: "The tempest in my mind / Doth from my senses take all feeling else" . Lear's sensitivity to the storm is blocked out by his mental and emotional anguish and by his obsession with his treacherous daughters. The only thing that he can think of is their "filial ingratitude" . Lear also continues to show a deepening sensitivity to other people, a trait missing from his character at the beginning of the play and an interesting side effect of his increasing madness and exposure to human cruelty. After he sends his Fool into the hovel to take shelter, he kneels in prayer--the first time we have seen him do so in the play. He does not pray for himself; instead, he asks the gods to help "poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are, / That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm" . Reproaching himself for his heartlessness, Lear urges himself to "expose thyself to feel what wretches feel" . This self-criticism and newfound sympathy for the plight of others mark the continuing humanization of Lear. Lear's obsessive contemplation of his own humanity and of his place in relation to nature and to the gods is heightened still further after he meets Edgar, who is clad only in rags. Lear's wandering mind turns to his own fine clothing, and he asks, addressing Edgar's largely uncovered body, "Is man no more than this? Consider him well" . As a king in fact as well as in name, with servants and subjects and seemingly loyal daughters, Lear could be confident of his place in the universe; indeed, the universe seemed to revolve around him. Now, as his humility grows, he becomes conscious of his real relationship to nature. He is frightened to see himself as little more than a "bare, forked animal," stripped of everything that made him secure and powerful . The destruction of Lear's pride leads him to question the social order that clothes kings in rich garments and beggars in rags. He realizes that each person, underneath his or her clothing, is naked and therefore weak. He sees too that clothing offers no protection against the forces of the elements or of the gods. When he tries to remove his own clothing, his companions restrain him. But Lear's attempt to bare himself is a sign that he has seen the similarities between himself and Edgar: only the flimsy surface of garments marks the difference between a king and a beggar. Each must face the cruelty of an uncaring world. The many names that Edgar uses for the demons that pester him seem to have been taken by Shakespeare from a single source--Samuel Harsnett's A Declaration of Egregious Popish Impostors, which describes demons in wild and outlandish language to ridicule the exorcisms performed by Catholic priests. Edgar uses similarly strange and haunting language to describe his demons. The audience assumes that he is only feigning madness; after all, we have seen him deliberately decide to pose as a crazed beggar in order to escape capture by his brother and father. But Edgar's ravings are so convincing, and the storm-wracked heath such a bizarre environment, that the line between pretending to be mad and actually being mad seems to blur.

analysis

Scena Sexta. Enter Kent, and Gloucester. Glou. Heere is better then the open ayre, take it thankfully: I will peece out the comfort with what addition I can: I will not be long from you. Exit Kent. All the powre of his wits, haue giuen way to his impatience: the Gods reward your kindnesse. Enter Lear, Edgar, and Foole. Edg. Fraterretto cals me, and tells me Nero is an Angler in the Lake of Darknesse: pray Innocent, and beware the foule Fiend Foole. Prythee Nunkle tell me, whether a madman be a Gentleman, or a Yeoman Lear. A King, a King Foole. No, he's a Yeoman, that ha's a Gentleman to his Sonne: for hee's a mad Yeoman that sees his Sonne a Gentleman before him Lear. To haue a thousand with red burning spits Come hizzing in vpon 'em Edg. Blesse thy fiue wits Kent. O pitty: Sir, where is the patience now That you so oft haue boasted to retaine? Edg. My teares begin to take his part so much, They marre my counterfetting Lear. The little dogges, and all; Trey, Blanch, and Sweet-heart: see, they barke at me Edg. Tom, will throw his head at them: Auaunt you Curres, be thy mouth or blacke or white: Tooth that poysons if it bite: Mastiffe, Grey-hound, Mongrill, Grim, Hound or Spaniell, Brache, or Hym: Or Bobtaile tight, or Troudle taile, Tom will make him weepe and waile, For with throwing thus my head; Dogs leapt the hatch, and all are fled. Do, de, de, de: sese: Come, march to Wakes and Fayres, And Market Townes: poore Tom thy horne is dry, Lear. Then let them Anatomize Regan: See what breeds about her heart. Is there any cause in Nature that make these hard-hearts. You sir, I entertaine for one of my hundred; only, I do not like the fashion of your garments. You will say they are Persian; but let them bee chang'd. Enter Gloster. Kent. Now good my Lord, lye heere, and rest awhile Lear. Make no noise, make no noise, draw the Curtaines: so, so, wee'l go to Supper i'th' morning Foole. And Ile go to bed at noone Glou. Come hither Friend: Where is the King my Master? Kent. Here Sir, but trouble him not, his wits are gon Glou. Good friend, I prythee take him in thy armes; I haue ore-heard a plot of death vpon him: There is a Litter ready, lay him in't, And driue toward Douer friend, where thou shalt meete Both welcome, and protection. Take vp thy Master, If thou should'st dally halfe an houre, his life With thine, and all that offer to defend him, Stand in assured losse. Take vp, take vp, And follow me, that will to some prouision Giue thee quicke conduct. Come, come, away. Exeunt.

Gloucester, Kent, Lear, and the Fool take shelter in a small building on Gloucester's property. Gloucester leaves to find provisions for the king. Lear, whose mind is wandering ever more widely, holds a mock trial of his wicked daughters, with Edgar, Kent, and the Fool presiding. Both Edgar and the Fool speak like madmen, and the trial is an exercise in hallucination and eccentricity. Gloucester hurries back in to tell Kent that he has overheard a plot to kill Lear. Gloucester begs Kent to quickly transport Lear toward Dover, in the south of England, where allies will be waiting for him. Gloucester, Kent, and the Fool leave. Edgar remains behind for a moment and speaks in his own, undisguised voice about how much less important his own suffering feels now that he has seen Lear's far worse suffering

summary

Scena Sexta. Enter Kent, and Gloucester. Glou. Heere is better then the open ayre, take it thankfully: I will peece out the comfort with what addition I can: I will not be long from you. Exit Kent. All the powre of his wits, haue giuen way to his impatience: the Gods reward your kindnesse. Enter Lear, Edgar, and Foole. Edg. Fraterretto cals me, and tells me Nero is an Angler in the Lake of Darknesse: pray Innocent, and beware the foule Fiend Foole. Prythee Nunkle tell me, whether a madman be a Gentleman, or a Yeoman Lear. A King, a King Foole. No, he's a Yeoman, that ha's a Gentleman to his Sonne: for hee's a mad Yeoman that sees his Sonne a Gentleman before him Lear. To haue a thousand with red burning spits Come hizzing in vpon 'em Edg. Blesse thy fiue wits Kent. O pitty: Sir, where is the patience now That you so oft haue boasted to retaine? Edg. My teares begin to take his part so much, They marre my counterfetting Lear. The little dogges, and all; Trey, Blanch, and Sweet-heart: see, they barke at me Edg. Tom, will throw his head at them: Auaunt you Curres, be thy mouth or blacke or white: Tooth that poysons if it bite: Mastiffe, Grey-hound, Mongrill, Grim, Hound or Spaniell, Brache, or Hym: Or Bobtaile tight, or Troudle taile, Tom will make him weepe and waile, For with throwing thus my head; Dogs leapt the hatch, and all are fled. Do, de, de, de: sese: Come, march to Wakes and Fayres, And Market Townes: poore Tom thy horne is dry, Lear. Then let them Anatomize Regan: See what breeds about her heart. Is there any cause in Nature that make these hard-hearts. You sir, I entertaine for one of my hundred; only, I do not like the fashion of your garments. You will say they are Persian; but let them bee chang'd. Enter Gloster. Kent. Now good my Lord, lye heere, and rest awhile Lear. Make no noise, make no noise, draw the Curtaines: so, so, wee'l go to Supper i'th' morning Foole. And Ile go to bed at noone Glou. Come hither Friend: Where is the King my Master? Kent. Here Sir, but trouble him not, his wits are gon Glou. Good friend, I prythee take him in thy armes; I haue ore-heard a plot of death vpon him: There is a Litter ready, lay him in't, And driue toward Douer friend, where thou shalt meete Both welcome, and protection. Take vp thy Master, If thou should'st dally halfe an houre, his life With thine, and all that offer to defend him, Stand in assured losse. Take vp, take vp, And follow me, that will to some prouision Giue thee quicke conduct. Come, come, away. Exeunt.

Act 3, scenes 6-7 In these scenes, Shakespeare continues to develop Lear's madness. Lear rages on against his daughters and is encouraged by comments that Edgar and the Fool make. We may interpret the Fool's remark "He's mad that trusts in the tameness of a wolf" as referring to Lear's folly in trusting his two wolflike daughters . Edgar, for his part, speaks like a madman who sees demons everywhere; since Lear has started to hallucinate that he sees his daughters, the two madmen get along well. For instance, when Lear accosts his absent daughters , Edgar scolds them likewise . Animal imagery will be applied to Goneril and Regan again later in Lear's mock trial of his daughters: "The little dogs and all, / Tray, Blanch, and Sweet-heart, see, they bark at me" . Having reduced his sense of himself to a "bare, forked animal," he now makes his vicious daughters animals as well--but they, of course, seem like predatory, disloyal creatures to him . Act 3, scene 6, is the Fool's last scene, and Edgar continues to take over the Fool's function by answering Lear's mad words and jingles. When Lear declares, "We'll go to supper i' the morning" , thus echoing the confusion of the natural order in the play, the Fool answers, "And I'll go to bed at noon" . This line is the last we hear from him in the play. One can argue that since Lear is sliding into madness, he can no longer understand the nonsense of the Fool, who actually is sane, but rather can relate only to Edgar, who pretends to be mad. One can also argue that Lear has internalized the Fool's criticisms of his own errors, and thus he no longer needs to hear them from an outside source. In any case, the Fool, having served Shakespeare's purpose, has become expendable. Edgar's speech at the end of Act 3, scene 6, in which he leaves off babbling and addresses the audience, gives us a needed reminder that, despite appearances, he is not actually insane. We are also reminded, yet again, of the similarities between his situation and Lear's. "He childed as I fathered," says Edgar, suggesting that just as Lear's ungrateful daughters put Lear where he is now, so Gloucester, too willing to believe the evil words of Edmund, did the same to Edgar . The shocking violence of Act 3, scene 7, is one of the bloodiest onstage actions in all of Shakespeare. Typically, especially in Shakespeare's later plays, murders and mutilations take place offstage. Here, however, the violence happens right before our eyes, with Cornwall's snarl "Out, vile jelly!" as a ghastly complement to the action . The horror of Gloucester's blinding marks a turning point in the play: cruelty, betrayal, and even madness may be reversible, but blinding is not. It becomes evident at this point that the chaos and cruelty permeating the play have reached a point of no return. Indeed, it is hard to overestimate the sheer cruelty that Regan and Cornwall perpetrate, in ways both obvious and subtle, against Gloucester. From Cornwall's order to "pinion him like a thief" and Regan's exhortation to tie his arms "hard, hard" --a disgraceful way to handle a nobleman--to Regan's astonishing rudeness in yanking on Gloucester's white beard after he is tied down, the two seem intent on hurting and humiliating Gloucester. Once again, the social order is inverted: the young are cruel to the old; loyalty to the old king is punished as treachery to the new rulers; Regan and Cornwall, guests within Gloucester's house, thoroughly violate the age-old conventions of respect and politeness. Cornwall does not have the authority to kill or punish Gloucester without a trial, but he decides to ignore that rule because he can: "Our power / Shall do a courtesy to our wrath, which men / May blame, but not control" . This violence is mitigated slightly by the unexpected display of humanity on the part of Cornwall's servants. Just as Cornwall and Regan violate a range of social norms, so too do the servants, by challenging their masters. One servant gives his life trying to save Gloucester; others help the injured Gloucester and bring him to the disguised Edgar. Even amid the increasing chaos, some human compassion remains.

analysis

Scena Septima. Enter Cornwall, Regan, Gonerill, Bastard, and Seruants. Corn. Poste speedily to my Lord your husband, shew him this Letter, the Army of France is landed: seeke out the Traitor Glouster Reg. Hang him instantly Gon. Plucke out his eyes Corn. Leaue him to my displeasure. Edmond, keepe you our Sister company: the reuenges wee are bound to take vppon your Traitorous Father, are not fit for your beholding. Aduice the Duke where you are going, to a most festinate preparation: we are bound to the like. Our Postes shall be swift, and intelligent betwixt vs. Farewell deere Sister, farewell my Lord of Glouster. Enter Steward. How now? Where's the King? Stew. My Lord of Glouster hath conuey'd him hence Some fiue or six and thirty of his Knights Hot Questrists after him, met him at gate, Who, with some other of the Lords, dependants, Are gone with him toward Douer; where they boast To haue well armed Friends Corn. Get horses for your Mistris Gon. Farewell sweet Lord, and Sister. Exit Corn. Edmund farewell: go seek the Traitor Gloster, Pinnion him like a Theefe, bring him before vs: Though well we may not passe vpon his life Without the forme of Iustice: yet our power Shall do a curt'sie to our wrath, which men May blame, but not comptroll. Enter Gloucester, and Seruants. Who's there? the Traitor? Reg. Ingratefull Fox, 'tis he Corn. Binde fast his corky armes Glou. What meanes your Graces? Good my Friends consider you are my Ghests: Do me no foule play, Friends Corn. Binde him I say Reg. Hard, hard: O filthy Traitor Glou. Vnmercifull Lady, as you are, I'me none Corn. To this Chaire binde him, Villaine, thou shalt finde Glou. By the kinde Gods, 'tis most ignobly done To plucke me by the Beard Reg. So white, and such a Traitor? Glou. Naughty Ladie, These haires which thou dost rauish from my chin Will quicken and accuse thee. I am your Host, With Robbers hands, my hospitable fauours You should not ruffle thus. What will you do? Corn. Come Sir. What Letters had you late from France? Reg. Be simple answer'd, for we know the truth Corn. And what confederacie haue you with the Traitors, late footed in the Kingdome? Reg. To whose hands You haue sent the Lunaticke King: Speake Glou. I haue a Letter guessingly set downe Which came from one that's of a newtrall heart, And not from one oppos'd Corn. Cunning Reg. And false Corn. Where hast thou sent the King? Glou. To Douer Reg. Wherefore to Douer? Was't thou not charg'd at perill Corn. Wherefore to Douer? Let him answer that Glou. I am tyed to'th' Stake, And I must stand the Course Reg. Wherefore to Douer? Glou. Because I would not see thy cruell Nailes Plucke out his poore old eyes: nor thy fierce Sister, In his Annointed flesh, sticke boarish phangs. The Sea, with such a storme as his bare head, In Hell-blacke-night indur'd, would haue buoy'd vp And quench'd the Stelled fires: Yet poore old heart, he holpe the Heauens to raine. If Wolues had at thy Gate howl'd that sterne time, Thou should'st haue said, good Porter turne the Key: All Cruels else subscribe: but I shall see The winged Vengeance ouertake such Children Corn. See't shalt thou neuer. Fellowes hold y Chaire, Vpon these eyes of thine, Ile set my foote Glou. He that will thinke to liue, till he be old, Giue me some helpe. - O cruell! O you Gods Reg. One side will mocke another: Th' other too Corn. If you see vengeance Seru. Hold your hand, my Lord: I haue seru'd you euer since I was a Childe: But better seruice haue I neuer done you, Then now to bid you hold Reg. How now, you dogge? Ser. If you did weare a beard vpon your chin, I'ld shake it on this quarrell. What do you meane? Corn. My Villaine? Seru. Nay then come on, and take the chance of anger Reg. Giue me thy Sword. A pezant stand vp thus? Killes him. Ser. Oh I am slaine: my Lord, you haue one eye left To see some mischefe on him. Oh Corn. Lest it see more, preuent it; Out vilde gelly: Where is thy luster now? Glou. All darke and comfortlesse? Where's my Sonne Edmund? Edmund, enkindle all the sparkes of Nature To quit this horrid acte Reg. Out treacherous Villaine, Thou call'st on him, that hates thee. It was he That made the ouerture of thy Treasons to vs: Who is too good to pitty thee Glou. O my Follies! then Edgar was abus'd, Kinde Gods, forgiue me that, and prosper him Reg. Go thrust him out at gates, and let him smell His way to Douer. Exit with Glouster. How is't my Lord? How looke you? Corn. I haue receiu'd a hurt: Follow me Lady; Turne out that eyelesse Villaine: throw this Slaue Vpon the Dunghill: Regan, I bleed apace, Vntimely comes this hurt. Giue me your arme. Exeunt.

Back in Gloucester's castle, Cornwall gives Goneril the treasonous letter concerning the French army at Dover and tells her to take it and show it to her husband, Albany. He then sends his servants to apprehend Gloucester so that Gloucester can be punished. He orders Edmund to go with Goneril to Albany's palace so that Edmund will not have to witness the violent punishment of his father. Oswald brings word that Gloucester has helped Lear escape to Dover. Gloucester is found and brought before Regan and Cornwall. They treat him cruelly, tying him up like a thief, insulting him, and pulling his white beard. Cornwall remarks to himself that he cannot put Gloucester to death without holding a formal trial but that he can still punish him brutally and get away with it. Admitting that he helped Lear escape, Gloucester swears that he will see Lear's wrongs avenged. Cornwall replies, "See 't shalt thou never," and proceeds to dig out one of Gloucester's eyes, throw it on the floor, and step on it. Gloucester screams, and Regan demands that Cornwall put out the other eye too. One of Gloucester's servants suddenly steps in, saying that he cannot stand by and let this outrage happen. Cornwall draws his sword and the two fight. The servant wounds Cornwall, but Regan grabs a sword from another servant and kills the first servant before he can injure Cornwall further. Irate, the wounded Cornwall gouges out Gloucester's remaining eye. Gloucester calls out for his son Edmund to help him, but Regan triumphantly tells him that it was Edmund who betrayed him to Cornwall in the first place. Gloucester, realizing immediately that Edgar was the son who really loved him, laments his folly and prays to the gods to help Edgar. Regan and Cornwall order that Gloucester be thrown out of the house to "smell / His way to Dover". Cornwall, realizing that his wound is bleeding heavily, exits with Regan's aid. Left alone with Gloucester, Cornwall's and Regan's servants express their shock and horror at what has just happened. They decide to treat Gloucester's bleeding face and hand him over to the mad beggar to lead Gloucester where he will

summary

Scena Septima. Enter Cornwall, Regan, Gonerill, Bastard, and Seruants. Corn. Poste speedily to my Lord your husband, shew him this Letter, the Army of France is landed: seeke out the Traitor Glouster Reg. Hang him instantly Gon. Plucke out his eyes Corn. Leaue him to my displeasure. Edmond, keepe you our Sister company: the reuenges wee are bound to take vppon your Traitorous Father, are not fit for your beholding. Aduice the Duke where you are going, to a most festinate preparation: we are bound to the like. Our Postes shall be swift, and intelligent betwixt vs. Farewell deere Sister, farewell my Lord of Glouster. Enter Steward. How now? Where's the King? Stew. My Lord of Glouster hath conuey'd him hence Some fiue or six and thirty of his Knights Hot Questrists after him, met him at gate, Who, with some other of the Lords, dependants, Are gone with him toward Douer; where they boast To haue well armed Friends Corn. Get horses for your Mistris Gon. Farewell sweet Lord, and Sister. Exit Corn. Edmund farewell: go seek the Traitor Gloster, Pinnion him like a Theefe, bring him before vs: Though well we may not passe vpon his life Without the forme of Iustice: yet our power Shall do a curt'sie to our wrath, which men May blame, but not comptroll. Enter Gloucester, and Seruants. Who's there? the Traitor? Reg. Ingratefull Fox, 'tis he Corn. Binde fast his corky armes Glou. What meanes your Graces? Good my Friends consider you are my Ghests: Do me no foule play, Friends Corn. Binde him I say Reg. Hard, hard: O filthy Traitor Glou. Vnmercifull Lady, as you are, I'me none Corn. To this Chaire binde him, Villaine, thou shalt finde Glou. By the kinde Gods, 'tis most ignobly done To plucke me by the Beard Reg. So white, and such a Traitor? Glou. Naughty Ladie, These haires which thou dost rauish from my chin Will quicken and accuse thee. I am your Host, With Robbers hands, my hospitable fauours You should not ruffle thus. What will you do? Corn. Come Sir. What Letters had you late from France? Reg. Be simple answer'd, for we know the truth Corn. And what confederacie haue you with the Traitors, late footed in the Kingdome? Reg. To whose hands You haue sent the Lunaticke King: Speake Glou. I haue a Letter guessingly set downe Which came from one that's of a newtrall heart, And not from one oppos'd Corn. Cunning Reg. And false Corn. Where hast thou sent the King? Glou. To Douer Reg. Wherefore to Douer? Was't thou not charg'd at perill Corn. Wherefore to Douer? Let him answer that Glou. I am tyed to'th' Stake, And I must stand the Course Reg. Wherefore to Douer? Glou. Because I would not see thy cruell Nailes Plucke out his poore old eyes: nor thy fierce Sister, In his Annointed flesh, sticke boarish phangs. The Sea, with such a storme as his bare head, In Hell-blacke-night indur'd, would haue buoy'd vp And quench'd the Stelled fires: Yet poore old heart, he holpe the Heauens to raine. If Wolues had at thy Gate howl'd that sterne time, Thou should'st haue said, good Porter turne the Key: All Cruels else subscribe: but I shall see The winged Vengeance ouertake such Children Corn. See't shalt thou neuer. Fellowes hold y Chaire, Vpon these eyes of thine, Ile set my foote Glou. He that will thinke to liue, till he be old, Giue me some helpe. - O cruell! O you Gods Reg. One side will mocke another: Th' other too Corn. If you see vengeance Seru. Hold your hand, my Lord: I haue seru'd you euer since I was a Childe: But better seruice haue I neuer done you, Then now to bid you hold Reg. How now, you dogge? Ser. If you did weare a beard vpon your chin, I'ld shake it on this quarrell. What do you meane? Corn. My Villaine? Seru. Nay then come on, and take the chance of anger Reg. Giue me thy Sword. A pezant stand vp thus? Killes him. Ser. Oh I am slaine: my Lord, you haue one eye left To see some mischefe on him. Oh Corn. Lest it see more, preuent it; Out vilde gelly: Where is thy luster now? Glou. All darke and comfortlesse? Where's my Sonne Edmund? Edmund, enkindle all the sparkes of Nature To quit this horrid acte Reg. Out treacherous Villaine, Thou call'st on him, that hates thee. It was he That made the ouerture of thy Treasons to vs: Who is too good to pitty thee Glou. O my Follies! then Edgar was abus'd, Kinde Gods, forgiue me that, and prosper him Reg. Go thrust him out at gates, and let him smell His way to Douer. Exit with Glouster. How is't my Lord? How looke you? Corn. I haue receiu'd a hurt: Follow me Lady; Turne out that eyelesse Villaine: throw this Slaue Vpon the Dunghill: Regan, I bleed apace, Vntimely comes this hurt. Giue me your arme. Exeunt.

Act 3, scenes 6-7 In these scenes, Shakespeare continues to develop Lear's madness. Lear rages on against his daughters and is encouraged by comments that Edgar and the Fool make. We may interpret the Fool's remark "He's mad that trusts in the tameness of a wolf" as referring to Lear's folly in trusting his two wolflike daughters . Edgar, for his part, speaks like a madman who sees demons everywhere; since Lear has started to hallucinate that he sees his daughters, the two madmen get along well. For instance, when Lear accosts his absent daughters , Edgar scolds them likewise . Animal imagery will be applied to Goneril and Regan again later in Lear's mock trial of his daughters: "The little dogs and all, / Tray, Blanch, and Sweet-heart, see, they bark at me" . Having reduced his sense of himself to a "bare, forked animal," he now makes his vicious daughters animals as well--but they, of course, seem like predatory, disloyal creatures to him . Act 3, scene 6, is the Fool's last scene, and Edgar continues to take over the Fool's function by answering Lear's mad words and jingles. When Lear declares, "We'll go to supper i' the morning" , thus echoing the confusion of the natural order in the play, the Fool answers, "And I'll go to bed at noon" . This line is the last we hear from him in the play. One can argue that since Lear is sliding into madness, he can no longer understand the nonsense of the Fool, who actually is sane, but rather can relate only to Edgar, who pretends to be mad. One can also argue that Lear has internalized the Fool's criticisms of his own errors, and thus he no longer needs to hear them from an outside source. In any case, the Fool, having served Shakespeare's purpose, has become expendable. Edgar's speech at the end of Act 3, scene 6, in which he leaves off babbling and addresses the audience, gives us a needed reminder that, despite appearances, he is not actually insane. We are also reminded, yet again, of the similarities between his situation and Lear's. "He childed as I fathered," says Edgar, suggesting that just as Lear's ungrateful daughters put Lear where he is now, so Gloucester, too willing to believe the evil words of Edmund, did the same to Edgar . The shocking violence of Act 3, scene 7, is one of the bloodiest onstage actions in all of Shakespeare. Typically, especially in Shakespeare's later plays, murders and mutilations take place offstage. Here, however, the violence happens right before our eyes, with Cornwall's snarl "Out, vile jelly!" as a ghastly complement to the action . The horror of Gloucester's blinding marks a turning point in the play: cruelty, betrayal, and even madness may be reversible, but blinding is not. It becomes evident at this point that the chaos and cruelty permeating the play have reached a point of no return. Indeed, it is hard to overestimate the sheer cruelty that Regan and Cornwall perpetrate, in ways both obvious and subtle, against Gloucester. From Cornwall's order to "pinion him like a thief" and Regan's exhortation to tie his arms "hard, hard" --a disgraceful way to handle a nobleman--to Regan's astonishing rudeness in yanking on Gloucester's white beard after he is tied down, the two seem intent on hurting and humiliating Gloucester. Once again, the social order is inverted: the young are cruel to the old; loyalty to the old king is punished as treachery to the new rulers; Regan and Cornwall, guests within Gloucester's house, thoroughly violate the age-old conventions of respect and politeness. Cornwall does not have the authority to kill or punish Gloucester without a trial, but he decides to ignore that rule because he can: "Our power / Shall do a courtesy to our wrath, which men / May blame, but not control" . This violence is mitigated slightly by the unexpected display of humanity on the part of Cornwall's servants. Just as Cornwall and Regan violate a range of social norms, so too do the servants, by challenging their masters. One servant gives his life trying to save Gloucester; others help the injured Gloucester and bring him to the disguised Edgar. Even amid the increasing chaos, some human compassion remains.

analysis

Actus Quartus. Scena Prima. Enter Edgar. Edg. Yet better thus, and knowne to be contemn'd, Then still contemn'd and flatter'd, to be worst: The lowest, and most deiected thing of Fortune, Stands still in esperance, liues not in feare: The lamentable change is from the best, The worst returnes to laughter. Welcome then, Thou vnsubstantiall ayre that I embrace: The Wretch that thou hast blowne vnto the worst, Owes nothing to thy blasts. Enter Glouster, and an Oldman. But who comes heere? My Father poorely led? World, World, O world! But that thy strange mutations make vs hate thee, Life would not yeelde to age Oldm. O my good Lord, I haue bene your Tenant, And your Fathers Tenant, these fourescore yeares Glou. Away, get thee away: good Friend be gone, Thy comforts can do me no good at all, Thee, they may hurt Oldm. You cannot see your way Glou. I haue no way, and therefore want no eyes: I stumbled when I saw. Full oft 'tis seene, Our meanes secure vs, and our meere defects Proue our Commodities. Oh deere Sonne Edgar, The food of thy abused Fathers wrath: Might I but liue to see thee in my touch, I'ld say I had eyes againe Oldm. How now? who's there? Edg. O Gods! Who is't can say I am at the worst? I am worse then ere I was Old. 'Tis poore mad Tom Edg. And worse I may be yet: the worst is not, So long as we can say this is the worst Oldm. Fellow, where goest? Glou. Is it a Beggar-man? Oldm. Madman, and beggar too Glou. He has some reason, else he could not beg. I'th' last nights storme, I such a fellow saw; Which made me thinke a Man, a Worme. My Sonne Came then into my minde, and yet my minde Was then scarse Friends with him. I haue heard more since: As Flies to wanton Boyes, are we to th' Gods, They kill vs for their sport Edg. How should this be? Bad is the Trade that must play Foole to sorrow, Ang'ring it selfe, and others. Blesse thee Master Glou. Is that the naked Fellow? Oldm. I, my Lord Glou. Get thee away: If for my sake Thou wilt ore-take vs hence a mile or twaine I'th' way toward Douer, do it for ancient loue, And bring some couering for this naked Soule, Which Ile intreate to leade me Old. Alacke sir, he is mad Glou. 'Tis the times plague, When Madmen leade the blinde: Do as I bid thee, or rather do thy pleasure: Aboue the rest, be gone Oldm. Ile bring him the best Parrell that I haue Come on't what will. Exit Glou. Sirrah, naked fellow Edg. Poore Tom's a cold. I cannot daub it further Glou. Come hither fellow Edg. And yet I must: Blesse thy sweete eyes, they bleede Glou. Know'st thou the way to Douer? Edg. Both style, and gate; Horseway, and foot-path: poore Tom hath bin scarr'd out of his good wits. Blesse thee good mans sonne, from the foule Fiend Glou. Here take this purse, y whom the heau'ns plagues Haue humbled to all strokes: that I am wretched Makes thee the happier: Heauens deale so still: Let the superfluous, and Lust-dieted man, That slaues your ordinance, that will not see Because he do's not feele, feele your powre quickly: So distribution should vndoo excesse, And each man haue enough. Dost thou know Douer? Edg. I Master Glou. There is a Cliffe, whose high and bending head Lookes fearfully in the confined Deepe: Bring me but to the very brimme of it, And Ile repayre the misery thou do'st beare With something rich about me: from that place, I shall no leading neede Edg. Giue me thy arme; Poore Tom shall leade thee. Exeunt.

As flies to wanton boys are we to the gods;They kill us for their sport. Edgar talks to himself on the heath, reflecting that his situation is not as bad as it could be. He is immediately presented with the horrifying sight of his blinded father. Gloucester is led by an old man who has been a tenant of both Gloucester and Gloucester's father for eighty years. Edgar hears Gloucester tell the old man that if he could only touch his son Edgar again, it would be worth more to him than his lost eyesight. But Edgar chooses to remain disguised as Poor Tom rather than reveal himself to his father. Gloucester asks the old man to bring some clothing to cover Tom, and he asks Tom to lead him to Dover. Edgar agrees. Specifically, Gloucester asks to be led to the top of the highest cliff

summary

Actus Quartus. Scena Prima. Enter Edgar. Edg. Yet better thus, and knowne to be contemn'd, Then still contemn'd and flatter'd, to be worst: The lowest, and most deiected thing of Fortune, Stands still in esperance, liues not in feare: The lamentable change is from the best, The worst returnes to laughter. Welcome then, Thou vnsubstantiall ayre that I embrace: The Wretch that thou hast blowne vnto the worst, Owes nothing to thy blasts. Enter Glouster, and an Oldman. But who comes heere? My Father poorely led? World, World, O world! But that thy strange mutations make vs hate thee, Life would not yeelde to age Oldm. O my good Lord, I haue bene your Tenant, And your Fathers Tenant, these fourescore yeares Glou. Away, get thee away: good Friend be gone, Thy comforts can do me no good at all, Thee, they may hurt Oldm. You cannot see your way Glou. I haue no way, and therefore want no eyes: I stumbled when I saw. Full oft 'tis seene, Our meanes secure vs, and our meere defects Proue our Commodities. Oh deere Sonne Edgar, The food of thy abused Fathers wrath: Might I but liue to see thee in my touch, I'ld say I had eyes againe Oldm. How now? who's there? Edg. O Gods! Who is't can say I am at the worst? I am worse then ere I was Old. 'Tis poore mad Tom Edg. And worse I may be yet: the worst is not, So long as we can say this is the worst Oldm. Fellow, where goest? Glou. Is it a Beggar-man? Oldm. Madman, and beggar too Glou. He has some reason, else he could not beg. I'th' last nights storme, I such a fellow saw; Which made me thinke a Man, a Worme. My Sonne Came then into my minde, and yet my minde Was then scarse Friends with him. I haue heard more since: As Flies to wanton Boyes, are we to th' Gods, They kill vs for their sport Edg. How should this be? Bad is the Trade that must play Foole to sorrow, Ang'ring it selfe, and others. Blesse thee Master Glou. Is that the naked Fellow? Oldm. I, my Lord Glou. Get thee away: If for my sake Thou wilt ore-take vs hence a mile or twaine I'th' way toward Douer, do it for ancient loue, And bring some couering for this naked Soule, Which Ile intreate to leade me Old. Alacke sir, he is mad Glou. 'Tis the times plague, When Madmen leade the blinde: Do as I bid thee, or rather do thy pleasure: Aboue the rest, be gone Oldm. Ile bring him the best Parrell that I haue Come on't what will. Exit Glou. Sirrah, naked fellow Edg. Poore Tom's a cold. I cannot daub it further Glou. Come hither fellow Edg. And yet I must: Blesse thy sweete eyes, they bleede Glou. Know'st thou the way to Douer? Edg. Both style, and gate; Horseway, and foot-path: poore Tom hath bin scarr'd out of his good wits. Blesse thee good mans sonne, from the foule Fiend Glou. Here take this purse, y whom the heau'ns plagues Haue humbled to all strokes: that I am wretched Makes thee the happier: Heauens deale so still: Let the superfluous, and Lust-dieted man, That slaues your ordinance, that will not see Because he do's not feele, feele your powre quickly: So distribution should vndoo excesse, And each man haue enough. Dost thou know Douer? Edg. I Master Glou. There is a Cliffe, whose high and bending head Lookes fearfully in the confined Deepe: Bring me but to the very brimme of it, And Ile repayre the misery thou do'st beare With something rich about me: from that place, I shall no leading neede Edg. Giue me thy arme; Poore Tom shall leade thee. Exeunt.

Act 4, scenes 1-2 In these scenes, the play moves further and further toward hopelessness. We watch characters who think that matters are improving realize that they are only getting worse. Edgar, wandering the plains half naked, friendless, and hunted, thinks the worst has passed, until the world sinks to another level of darkness, when he glimpses his beloved father blinded, crippled, and bleeding from the eye sockets. Gloucester, who seems to have resigned himself to his sightless future, expresses a similar feeling of despair in one of the play's most famous and disturbing lines: "As flies to wanton boys are we to the gods; / They kill us for their sport" . Here we have nihilism in its starkest form: the idea that there is no order, no goodness in the universe, only caprice and cruelty. This theme of despair in the face of an uncaring universe makes King Lear one of Shakespeare's darkest plays. For Gloucester, as for Lear on the heath, there is no possibility of redemption or happiness in the world--there is only the "sport" of vicious, inscrutable gods. It is unclear why Edgar keeps up his disguise as Poor Tom. Whatever Edgar's reasoning, his secrecy certainly creates dramatic tension and allows Edgar to continue to babble about the "foul fiend" that possess and follow him . It also makes him unlikely to ask Gloucester his reasons for wanting to go to Dover. Gloucester phrases his request strangely, asking Tom to lead him only to the brim of the cliff, where "from that place / I shall no leading need" . These lines clearly foreshadow Gloucester's later attempt to commit suicide. Meanwhile, the characters in power, having blinded Gloucester and driven off Lear, are swiftly becoming divided. The motif of betrayal recurs, but this time it is the wicked betraying the wicked. Cornwall has died, and Albany has turned against his wife, Goneril, and her remaining allies, Regan and Edmund. Albany's unexpected discovery of a conscience after witnessing his wife's cruelty raises the theme of redemption for the first time, offering the possibility that even an apparently wicked character can recover his goodness and try to make amends. Significantly, Albany's attacks on his wife echo Lear's own words: "O Goneril! / You are not worth the dust which the rude wind / Blows in your face," Albany tells her after hearing what she has done to her father . Like Lear, Albany uses animal imagery to describe the faithless daughters. "Tigers, not daughters, what have you performed?" he asks . Goneril, for her part, is hardly intimidated by him; she calls him a "moral fool" for criticizing her while France invades . Goneril equates Albany's moralizing with foolishness, a sign of her evil nature. When Albany hears that Cornwall is dead, he thanks divine justice in words that run counter to Gloucester's earlier despair. "This shows you are above, / You justicers," he cries, offering a slightly more optimistic--if grim--take on the possibility of divine justice than Gloucester's earlier comment about flies, boys, and death . His words imply that perhaps it will be possible to restore order after all, perhaps the wicked characters will yet suffer for their sins--or so the audience and characters alike can hope.

analysis

Scena Secunda. Enter Gonerill, Bastard, and Steward. Gon. Welcome my Lord. I meruell our mild husband Not met vs on the way. Now, where's your Master? Stew. Madam within, but neuer man so chang'd: I told him of the Army that was Landed: He smil'd at it. I told him you were comming, His answer was, the worse. Of Glosters Treachery, And of the loyall Seruice of his Sonne When I inform'd him, then he call'd me Sot, And told me I had turn'd the wrong side out: What most he should dislike, seemes pleasant to him; What like, offensiue Gon. Then shall you go no further. It is the Cowish terror of his spirit That dares not vndertake: Hee'l not feele wrongs Which tye him to an answer: our wishes on the way May proue effects. Backe Edmond to my Brother, Hasten his Musters, and conduct his powres. I must change names at home, and giue the Distaffe Into my Husbands hands. This trustie Seruant Shall passe betweene vs: ere long you are like to heare (If you dare venture in your owne behalfe) A Mistresses command. Weare this; spare speech, Decline your head. This kisse, if it durst speake Would stretch thy Spirits vp into the ayre: Conceiue, and fare thee well Bast. Yours in the rankes of death. Enter. Gon. My most deere Gloster. Oh, the difference of man, and man, To thee a Womans seruices are due, My Foole vsurpes my body Stew. Madam, here come's my Lord. Enter Albany. Gon. I haue beene worth the whistle Alb. Oh Gonerill, You are not worth the dust which the rude winde Blowes in your face Gon. Milke-Liuer'd man, That bear'st a cheeke for blowes, a head for wrongs, Who hast not in thy browes an eye-discerning Thine Honor, from thy suffering Alb. See thy selfe diuell: Proper deformitie seemes not in the Fiend So horrid as in woman Gon. Oh vaine Foole. Enter a Messenger. Mes. Oh my good Lord, the Duke of Cornwals dead, Slaine by his Seruant, going to put out The other eye of Glouster Alb. Glousters eyes Mes. A Seruant that he bred, thrill'd with remorse, Oppos'd against the act: bending his Sword To his great Master, who, threat-enrag'd Flew on him, and among'st them fell'd him dead, But not without that harmefull stroke, which since Hath pluckt him after Alb. This shewes you are aboue You Iustices, that these our neather crimes So speedily can venge. But (O poore Glouster) Lost he his other eye? Mes. Both, both, my Lord. This Leter Madam, craues a speedy answer: 'Tis from your Sister Gon. One way I like this well. But being widdow, and my Glouster with her, May all the building in my fancie plucke Vpon my hatefull life. Another way The Newes is not so tart. Ile read, and answer Alb. Where was his Sonne, When they did take his eyes? Mes. Come with my Lady hither Alb. He is not heere Mes. No my good Lord, I met him backe againe Alb. Knowes he the wickednesse? Mes. I my good Lord: 'twas he inform'd against him And quit the house on purpose, that their punishment Might haue the freer course Alb. Glouster, I liue To thanke thee for the loue thou shew'dst the King, And to reuenge thine eyes. Come hither Friend, Tell me what more thou know'st. Exeunt.

Goneril and Edmund arrive outside of her palace, and Goneril expresses surprise that Albany did not meet them on the way. Oswald tells her that Albany is displeased with Goneril's and Regan's actions, glad to hear that the French army had landed, and sorry to hear that Goneril is returning home. Goneril realizes that Albany is no longer her ally and criticizes his cowardice, resolving to assert greater control over her husband's military forces. She directs Edmund to return to Cornwall's house and raise Cornwall's troops for the fight against the French. She informs him that she will likewise take over power from her husband. She promises to send Oswald with messages. She bids Edmund goodbye with a kiss, strongly hinting that she wants to become his mistress. As Edmund leaves, Albany enters. He harshly criticizes Goneril. He has not yet learned about Gloucester's blinding, but he is outraged at the news that Lear has been driven mad by Goneril and Regan's abuse. Goneril angrily insults Albany, accusing him of being a coward. She tells him that he ought to be preparing to fight against the French invaders. Albany retorts by calling her monstrous and condemns the evil that she has done to Lear. A messenger arrives and delivers the news that Cornwall has died from the wound that he received while putting out Gloucester's eyes. Albany reacts with horror to the report of Gloucester's blinding and interprets Cornwall's death as divine retribution. Meanwhile, Goneril displays mixed feelings about Cornwall's death: on the one hand, it makes her sister Regan less powerful; on the other hand, it leaves Regan free to pursue Edmund herself. Goneril leaves to answer her sister's letters. Albany demands to know where Edmund was when his father was being blinded. When he hears that it was Edmund who betrayed Gloucester and that Edmund left the house specifically so that Cornwall could punish Gloucester, Albany resolves to take revenge upon Edmund and help Gloucester

summary

Scena Secunda. Enter Gonerill, Bastard, and Steward. Gon. Welcome my Lord. I meruell our mild husband Not met vs on the way. Now, where's your Master? Stew. Madam within, but neuer man so chang'd: I told him of the Army that was Landed: He smil'd at it. I told him you were comming, His answer was, the worse. Of Glosters Treachery, And of the loyall Seruice of his Sonne When I inform'd him, then he call'd me Sot, And told me I had turn'd the wrong side out: What most he should dislike, seemes pleasant to him; What like, offensiue Gon. Then shall you go no further. It is the Cowish terror of his spirit That dares not vndertake: Hee'l not feele wrongs Which tye him to an answer: our wishes on the way May proue effects. Backe Edmond to my Brother, Hasten his Musters, and conduct his powres. I must change names at home, and giue the Distaffe Into my Husbands hands. This trustie Seruant Shall passe betweene vs: ere long you are like to heare (If you dare venture in your owne behalfe) A Mistresses command. Weare this; spare speech, Decline your head. This kisse, if it durst speake Would stretch thy Spirits vp into the ayre: Conceiue, and fare thee well Bast. Yours in the rankes of death. Enter. Gon. My most deere Gloster. Oh, the difference of man, and man, To thee a Womans seruices are due, My Foole vsurpes my body Stew. Madam, here come's my Lord. Enter Albany. Gon. I haue beene worth the whistle Alb. Oh Gonerill, You are not worth the dust which the rude winde Blowes in your face Gon. Milke-Liuer'd man, That bear'st a cheeke for blowes, a head for wrongs, Who hast not in thy browes an eye-discerning Thine Honor, from thy suffering Alb. See thy selfe diuell: Proper deformitie seemes not in the Fiend So horrid as in woman Gon. Oh vaine Foole. Enter a Messenger. Mes. Oh my good Lord, the Duke of Cornwals dead, Slaine by his Seruant, going to put out The other eye of Glouster Alb. Glousters eyes Mes. A Seruant that he bred, thrill'd with remorse, Oppos'd against the act: bending his Sword To his great Master, who, threat-enrag'd Flew on him, and among'st them fell'd him dead, But not without that harmefull stroke, which since Hath pluckt him after Alb. This shewes you are aboue You Iustices, that these our neather crimes So speedily can venge. But (O poore Glouster) Lost he his other eye? Mes. Both, both, my Lord. This Leter Madam, craues a speedy answer: 'Tis from your Sister Gon. One way I like this well. But being widdow, and my Glouster with her, May all the building in my fancie plucke Vpon my hatefull life. Another way The Newes is not so tart. Ile read, and answer Alb. Where was his Sonne, When they did take his eyes? Mes. Come with my Lady hither Alb. He is not heere Mes. No my good Lord, I met him backe againe Alb. Knowes he the wickednesse? Mes. I my good Lord: 'twas he inform'd against him And quit the house on purpose, that their punishment Might haue the freer course Alb. Glouster, I liue To thanke thee for the loue thou shew'dst the King, And to reuenge thine eyes. Come hither Friend, Tell me what more thou know'st. Exeunt.

Act 4, scenes 1-2 In these scenes, the play moves further and further toward hopelessness. We watch characters who think that matters are improving realize that they are only getting worse. Edgar, wandering the plains half naked, friendless, and hunted, thinks the worst has passed, until the world sinks to another level of darkness, when he glimpses his beloved father blinded, crippled, and bleeding from the eye sockets. Gloucester, who seems to have resigned himself to his sightless future, expresses a similar feeling of despair in one of the play's most famous and disturbing lines: "As flies to wanton boys are we to the gods; / They kill us for their sport" . Here we have nihilism in its starkest form: the idea that there is no order, no goodness in the universe, only caprice and cruelty. This theme of despair in the face of an uncaring universe makes King Lear one of Shakespeare's darkest plays. For Gloucester, as for Lear on the heath, there is no possibility of redemption or happiness in the world--there is only the "sport" of vicious, inscrutable gods. It is unclear why Edgar keeps up his disguise as Poor Tom. Whatever Edgar's reasoning, his secrecy certainly creates dramatic tension and allows Edgar to continue to babble about the "foul fiend" that possess and follow him . It also makes him unlikely to ask Gloucester his reasons for wanting to go to Dover. Gloucester phrases his request strangely, asking Tom to lead him only to the brim of the cliff, where "from that place / I shall no leading need" . These lines clearly foreshadow Gloucester's later attempt to commit suicide. Meanwhile, the characters in power, having blinded Gloucester and driven off Lear, are swiftly becoming divided. The motif of betrayal recurs, but this time it is the wicked betraying the wicked. Cornwall has died, and Albany has turned against his wife, Goneril, and her remaining allies, Regan and Edmund. Albany's unexpected discovery of a conscience after witnessing his wife's cruelty raises the theme of redemption for the first time, offering the possibility that even an apparently wicked character can recover his goodness and try to make amends. Significantly, Albany's attacks on his wife echo Lear's own words: "O Goneril! / You are not worth the dust which the rude wind / Blows in your face," Albany tells her after hearing what she has done to her father . Like Lear, Albany uses animal imagery to describe the faithless daughters. "Tigers, not daughters, what have you performed?" he asks . Goneril, for her part, is hardly intimidated by him; she calls him a "moral fool" for criticizing her while France invades . Goneril equates Albany's moralizing with foolishness, a sign of her evil nature. When Albany hears that Cornwall is dead, he thanks divine justice in words that run counter to Gloucester's earlier despair. "This shows you are above, / You justicers," he cries, offering a slightly more optimistic--if grim--take on the possibility of divine justice than Gloucester's earlier comment about flies, boys, and death . His words imply that perhaps it will be possible to restore order after all, perhaps the wicked characters will yet suffer for their sins--or so the audience and characters alike can hope.

analysis

Scena Tertia. Enter with Drum and Colours, Cordelia, Gentlemen, and Souldiours. Cor. Alacke, 'tis he: why he was met euen now As mad as the vext Sea, singing alowd. Crown'd with ranke Fenitar, and furrow weeds, With Hardokes, Hemlocke, Nettles, Cuckoo flowres, Darnell, and all the idle weedes that grow In our sustaining Corne. A Centery send forth; Search euery Acre in the high-growne field, And bring him to our eye. What can mans wisedome In the restoring his bereaued Sense; he that helpes him, Take all my outward worth Gent. There is meanes Madam: Our foster Nurse of Nature, is repose, The which he lackes: that to prouoke in him Are many Simples operatiue, whose power Will close the eye of Anguish Cord. All blest Secrets, All you vnpublish'd Vertues of the earth Spring with my teares; be aydant, and remediate In the Goodmans desires: seeke, seeke for him, Least his vngouern'd rage, dissolue the life That wants the meanes to leade it. Enter Messenger. Mes. Newes Madam, The Brittish Powres are marching hitherward Cor. 'Tis knowne before. Our preparation stands In expectation of them. O deere Father, It is thy businesse that I go about: Therfore great France My mourning, and importun'd teares hath pittied: No blowne Ambition doth our Armes incite, But loue, deere loue, and our ag'd Fathers Rite: Soone may I heare, and see him. Exeunt.

Kent, still disguised as an ordinary serving man, speaks with a gentleman in the French camp near Dover. The gentleman tells Kent that the king of France landed with his troops but quickly departed to deal with a problem at home. Kent's letters have been brought to Cordelia, who is now the queen of France and who has been left in charge of the army. Kent questions the gentleman about Cordelia's reaction to the letters, and the gentleman gives a moving account of Cordelia's sorrow upon reading about her father's mistreatment. Kent tells the gentleman that Lear, who now wavers unpredictably between sanity and madness, has also arrived safely in Dover. Lear, however, refuses to see Cordelia because he is ashamed of the way he treated her. The gentleman informs Kent that the armies of both Albany and the late Cornwall are on the march, presumably to fight against the French troops

summary

Scena Tertia. Enter with Drum and Colours, Cordelia, Gentlemen, and Souldiours. Cor. Alacke, 'tis he: why he was met euen now As mad as the vext Sea, singing alowd. Crown'd with ranke Fenitar, and furrow weeds, With Hardokes, Hemlocke, Nettles, Cuckoo flowres, Darnell, and all the idle weedes that grow In our sustaining Corne. A Centery send forth; Search euery Acre in the high-growne field, And bring him to our eye. What can mans wisedome In the restoring his bereaued Sense; he that helpes him, Take all my outward worth Gent. There is meanes Madam: Our foster Nurse of Nature, is repose, The which he lackes: that to prouoke in him Are many Simples operatiue, whose power Will close the eye of Anguish Cord. All blest Secrets, All you vnpublish'd Vertues of the earth Spring with my teares; be aydant, and remediate In the Goodmans desires: seeke, seeke for him, Least his vngouern'd rage, dissolue the life That wants the meanes to leade it. Enter Messenger. Mes. Newes Madam, The Brittish Powres are marching hitherward Cor. 'Tis knowne before. Our preparation stands In expectation of them. O deere Father, It is thy businesse that I go about: Therfore great France My mourning, and importun'd teares hath pittied: No blowne Ambition doth our Armes incite, But loue, deere loue, and our ag'd Fathers Rite: Soone may I heare, and see him. Exeunt.

Act 4, scenes 3-5 In these scenes, we see Cordelia for the first time since Lear banished her in Act 1, scene 1. The words the gentleman uses to describe Cordelia to Kent seem to present her as a combination idealized female beauty and quasi-religious savior figure. The gentleman uses the language of love poetry to describe her beauty--her lips are "ripe," the tears in her eyes are "as pearls from diamonds dropped," and her "smiles and tears" are like the paradoxically coexisting "sunshine and rain" . But the gentleman also describes Cordelia in language that might be used to speak of a holy angel or the Virgin Mary herself: he says that, as she wiped away her tears, "she shook / The holy water from her heavenly eyes" . Cordelia's great love for her father, which contrasts sharply with Goneril and Regan's cruelty, elevates her to the level of reverence. The strength of Cordelia's daughterly love is reinforced in Act 4, scene 4, when Cordelia orders her people to seek out and help her father. We learn that the main reason for the French invasion of England is Cordelia's desire to help Lear: "great France / My mourning and importuned tears hath pitied," she says . The king of France, her husband, took pity on her grief and allowed the invasion in an effort to help restore Lear to the throne. When Cordelia proclaims that she is motivated not by ambition but by "love, dear love, and our aged father's right," we are reminded of how badly Lear treated her at the beginning of the play . Her virtue and devotion is manifest in her willingness to forgive her father for his awful behavior. At one point, she declares, "O dear father, / It is thy business that I go about" , echoing a biblical passage in which Christ says, "I must go about my father's business" . This allusion reinforces Cordelia's piety and purity and consciously links her to Jesus Christ, who, of course, was a martyr to love, just as Cordelia becomes at the play's close. The other characters in the play discuss Lear's madness in interesting language, and some of the most memorable turns of phrase in the play come from these descriptions. When Cordelia assesses Lear's condition in Act 4, scene 4, she says he is As mad as the vexed sea; singing aloud;Crowned with rank fumiter and furrow-weeds,With hordocks, hemlock, nettles, cuckoo-flowers,Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow. Lear's madness, which is indicated here by both his singing and his self-adornment with flowers, is marked by an embrace of the natural world; rather than perceiving himself as a heroic figure who transcends nature, he understands that he is a small, meaningless component of it. Additionally, this description brings to mind other famous scenes of madness in Shakespeare--most notably, the scenes of Ophelia's flower-bedecked madness in Hamlet. These scenes set up the resolution of the play's tension, which takes place in Act 5. While Lear hides from Cordelia out of shame, she seeks him out of love, crystallizing the contrast between her forgiveness and his repentance. Regan and Goneril have begun to become rivals for the affection of Edmund, as their twin ambitions inevitably bring them into conflict. On the political and military level, we learn that Albany's and Cornwall's armies are on the march toward the French camp at Dover. The play is rushing toward a conclusion, for all the characters' trajectories have begun to converge.

analysis

Scena Quarta. Enter Regan, and Steward. Reg. But are my Brothers Powres set forth? Stew. I Madam Reg. Himselfe in person there? Stew. Madam with much ado: Your Sister is the better Souldier Reg. Lord Edmund spake not with your Lord at home? Stew. No Madam Reg. What might import my Sisters Letter to him? Stew. I know not, Lady Reg. Faith he is poasted hence on serious matter: It was great ignorance, Glousters eyes being out To let him liue. Where he arriues, he moues All hearts against vs: Edmund, I thinke is gone In pitty of his misery, to dispatch His nighted life: Moreouer to descry The strength o'th' Enemy Stew. I must needs after him, Madam, with my Letter Reg. Our troopes set forth to morrow, stay with vs: The wayes are dangerous Stew. I may not Madam: My Lady charg'd my dutie in this busines Reg. Why should she write to Edmund? Might not you transport her purposes by word? Belike, Some things, I know not what. Ile loue thee much Let me vnseale the Letter Stew. Madam, I had rather- Reg. I know your Lady do's not loue her Husband, I am sure of that: and at her late being heere, She gaue strange Eliads, and most speaking lookes To Noble Edmund. I know you are of her bosome Stew. I, Madam? Reg. I speake in vnderstanding: Y'are: I know't, Therefore I do aduise you take this note: My Lord is dead: Edmond, and I haue talk'd, And more conuenient is he for my hand Then for your Ladies: You may gather more: If you do finde him, pray you giue him this; And when your Mistris heares thus much from you, I pray desire her call her wisedome to her. So fare you well: If you do chance to heare of that blinde Traitor, Preferment fals on him, that cuts him off Stew. Would I could meet Madam, I should shew What party I do follow Reg. Fare thee well. Exeunt.

Cordelia enters, leading her soldiers. Lear has hidden from her in the cornfields, draping himself in weeds and flowers and singing madly to himself. Cordelia sends one hundred of her soldiers to find Lear and bring him back. She consults with a doctor about Lear's chances for recovering his sanity. The doctor tells her that what Lear most needs is sleep and that there are medicines that can make him sleep. A messenger brings Cordelia the news that the British armies of Cornwall and Albany are marching toward them. Cordelia expected this news, and her army stands ready to fight

summary

Scena Quarta. Enter Regan, and Steward. Reg. But are my Brothers Powres set forth? Stew. I Madam Reg. Himselfe in person there? Stew. Madam with much ado: Your Sister is the better Souldier Reg. Lord Edmund spake not with your Lord at home? Stew. No Madam Reg. What might import my Sisters Letter to him? Stew. I know not, Lady Reg. Faith he is poasted hence on serious matter: It was great ignorance, Glousters eyes being out To let him liue. Where he arriues, he moues All hearts against vs: Edmund, I thinke is gone In pitty of his misery, to dispatch His nighted life: Moreouer to descry The strength o'th' Enemy Stew. I must needs after him, Madam, with my Letter Reg. Our troopes set forth to morrow, stay with vs: The wayes are dangerous Stew. I may not Madam: My Lady charg'd my dutie in this busines Reg. Why should she write to Edmund? Might not you transport her purposes by word? Belike, Some things, I know not what. Ile loue thee much Let me vnseale the Letter Stew. Madam, I had rather- Reg. I know your Lady do's not loue her Husband, I am sure of that: and at her late being heere, She gaue strange Eliads, and most speaking lookes To Noble Edmund. I know you are of her bosome Stew. I, Madam? Reg. I speake in vnderstanding: Y'are: I know't, Therefore I do aduise you take this note: My Lord is dead: Edmond, and I haue talk'd, And more conuenient is he for my hand Then for your Ladies: You may gather more: If you do finde him, pray you giue him this; And when your Mistris heares thus much from you, I pray desire her call her wisedome to her. So fare you well: If you do chance to heare of that blinde Traitor, Preferment fals on him, that cuts him off Stew. Would I could meet Madam, I should shew What party I do follow Reg. Fare thee well. Exeunt.

Act 4, scenes 3-5 In these scenes, we see Cordelia for the first time since Lear banished her in Act 1, scene 1. The words the gentleman uses to describe Cordelia to Kent seem to present her as a combination idealized female beauty and quasi-religious savior figure. The gentleman uses the language of love poetry to describe her beauty--her lips are "ripe," the tears in her eyes are "as pearls from diamonds dropped," and her "smiles and tears" are like the paradoxically coexisting "sunshine and rain" . But the gentleman also describes Cordelia in language that might be used to speak of a holy angel or the Virgin Mary herself: he says that, as she wiped away her tears, "she shook / The holy water from her heavenly eyes" . Cordelia's great love for her father, which contrasts sharply with Goneril and Regan's cruelty, elevates her to the level of reverence. The strength of Cordelia's daughterly love is reinforced in Act 4, scene 4, when Cordelia orders her people to seek out and help her father. We learn that the main reason for the French invasion of England is Cordelia's desire to help Lear: "great France / My mourning and importuned tears hath pitied," she says . The king of France, her husband, took pity on her grief and allowed the invasion in an effort to help restore Lear to the throne. When Cordelia proclaims that she is motivated not by ambition but by "love, dear love, and our aged father's right," we are reminded of how badly Lear treated her at the beginning of the play . Her virtue and devotion is manifest in her willingness to forgive her father for his awful behavior. At one point, she declares, "O dear father, / It is thy business that I go about" , echoing a biblical passage in which Christ says, "I must go about my father's business" . This allusion reinforces Cordelia's piety and purity and consciously links her to Jesus Christ, who, of course, was a martyr to love, just as Cordelia becomes at the play's close. The other characters in the play discuss Lear's madness in interesting language, and some of the most memorable turns of phrase in the play come from these descriptions. When Cordelia assesses Lear's condition in Act 4, scene 4, she says he is As mad as the vexed sea; singing aloud;Crowned with rank fumiter and furrow-weeds,With hordocks, hemlock, nettles, cuckoo-flowers,Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow. Lear's madness, which is indicated here by both his singing and his self-adornment with flowers, is marked by an embrace of the natural world; rather than perceiving himself as a heroic figure who transcends nature, he understands that he is a small, meaningless component of it. Additionally, this description brings to mind other famous scenes of madness in Shakespeare--most notably, the scenes of Ophelia's flower-bedecked madness in Hamlet. These scenes set up the resolution of the play's tension, which takes place in Act 5. While Lear hides from Cordelia out of shame, she seeks him out of love, crystallizing the contrast between her forgiveness and his repentance. Regan and Goneril have begun to become rivals for the affection of Edmund, as their twin ambitions inevitably bring them into conflict. On the political and military level, we learn that Albany's and Cornwall's armies are on the march toward the French camp at Dover. The play is rushing toward a conclusion, for all the characters' trajectories have begun to converge.

analysis

Scena Quinta. Enter Gloucester, and Edgar. Glou. When shall I come to th' top of that same hill? Edg. You do climbe vp it now. Look how we labor Glou. Me thinkes the ground is eeuen Edg. Horrible steepe. Hearke, do you heare the Sea? Glou. No truly Edg. Why then your other Senses grow imperfect By your eyes anguish Glou. So may it be indeed. Me thinkes thy voyce is alter'd, and thou speak'st In better phrase, and matter then thou did'st Edg. Y'are much deceiu'd: In nothing am I chang'd But in my Garments Glou. Me thinkes y'are better spoken Edg. Come on Sir, Heere's the place: stand still: how fearefull And dizie 'tis, to cast ones eyes so low, The Crowes and Choughes, that wing the midway ayre Shew scarse so grosse as Beetles. Halfe way downe Hangs one that gathers Sampire: dreadfull Trade: Me thinkes he seemes no bigger then his head. The Fishermen, that walk'd vpon the beach Appeare like Mice: and yond tall Anchoring Barke, Diminish'd to her Cocke: her Cocke, a Buoy Almost too small for sight. The murmuring Surge, That on th' vnnumbred idle Pebble chafes Cannot be heard so high. Ile looke no more, Least my braine turne, and the deficient sight Topple downe headlong Glou. Set me where you stand Edg. Giue me your hand: You are now within a foote of th' extreme Verge: For all beneath the Moone would I not leape vpright Glou. Let go my hand: Heere Friend's another purse: in it, a Iewell Well worth a poore mans taking. Fayries, and Gods Prosper it with thee. Go thou further off, Bid me farewell, and let me heare thee going Edg. Now fare ye well, good Sir Glou. With all my heart Edg. Why I do trifle thus with his dispaire, Is done to cure it Glou. O you mighty Gods! This world I do renounce, and in your sights Shake patiently my great affliction off: If I could beare it longer, and not fall To quarrell with your great opposelesse willes, My snuffe, and loathed part of Nature should Burne it selfe out. If Edgar liue, O blesse him: Now Fellow, fare thee well Edg. Gone Sir, farewell: And yet I know not how conceit may rob The Treasury of life, when life it selfe Yeelds to the Theft. Had he bin where he thought, By this had thought bin past. Aliue, or dead? Hoa, you Sir: Friend, heare you Sir, speake: Thus might he passe indeed: yet he reuiues. What are you Sir? Glou. Away, and let me dye Edg. Had'st thou beene ought But Gozemore, Feathers, Ayre, (So many fathome downe precipitating) Thou'dst shiuer'd like an Egge: but thou do'st breath: Hast heauy substance, bleed'st not, speak'st, art sound, Ten Masts at each, make not the altitude Which thou hast perpendicularly fell, Thy life's a Myracle. Speake yet againe Glou. But haue I falne, or no? Edg. From the dread Somnet of this Chalkie Bourne Looke vp a height, the shrill-gorg'd Larke so farre Cannot be seene, or heard: Do but looke vp Glou. Alacke, I haue no eyes: Is wretchednesse depriu'd that benefit To end it selfe by death? 'Twas yet some comfort, When misery could beguile the Tyrants rage, And frustrate his proud will Edg. Giue me your arme. Vp, so: How is't? Feele you your Legges? You stand Glou. Too well, too well Edg. This is aboue all strangenesse, Vpon the crowne o'th' Cliffe. What thing was that Which parted from you? Glou. A poore vnfortunate Beggar Edg. As I stood heere below, me thought his eyes Were two full Moones: he had a thousand Noses, Hornes wealk'd, and waued like the enraged Sea: It was some Fiend: Therefore thou happy Father, Thinke that the cleerest Gods, who make them Honors Of mens Impossibilities, haue preserued thee Glou. I do remember now: henceforth Ile beare Affliction, till it do cry out it selfe Enough, enough, and dye. That thing you speake of, I tooke it for a man: often 'twould say The Fiend, the Fiend, he led me to that place Edgar. Beare free and patient thoughts. Enter Lear. But who comes heere? The safer sense will ne're accommodate His Master thus Lear. No, they cannot touch me for crying. I am the King himselfe Edg. O thou side-piercing sight! Lear. Nature's aboue Art, in that respect. Ther's your Presse-money. That fellow handles his bow, like a Crowkeeper: draw mee a Cloathiers yard. Looke, looke, a Mouse: peace, peace, this peece of toasted Cheese will doo't. There's my Gauntlet, Ile proue it on a Gyant. Bring vp the browne Billes. O well flowne Bird: i'th' clout, i'th' clout: Hewgh. Giue the word Edg. Sweet Mariorum Lear. Passe Glou. I know that voice Lear. Ha! Gonerill with a white beard? They flatter'd me like a Dogge, and told mee I had the white hayres in my Beard, ere the blacke ones were there. To say I, and no, to euery thing that I said: I, and no too, was no good Diuinity. When the raine came to wet me once, and the winde to make me chatter: when the Thunder would not peace at my bidding, there I found 'em, there I smelt 'em out. Go too, they are not men o'their words; they told me, I was euery thing: 'Tis a Lye, I am not Agu-proofe Glou. The tricke of that voyce, I do well remember: Is't not the King? Lear. I, euery inch a King. When I do stare, see how the Subiect quakes. I pardon that mans life. What was thy cause? Adultery? thou shalt not dye: dye for Adultery? No, the Wren goes too't, and the small gilded Fly Do's letcher in my sight. Let Copulation thriue: For Glousters bastard Son was kinder to his Father, Then my Daughters got 'tweene the lawfull sheets. Too't Luxury pell-mell, for I lacke Souldiers. Behold yond simpring Dame, whose face betweene her Forkes presages Snow; that minces Vertue, & do's shake the head to heare of pleasures name. The Fitchew, nor the soyled Horse goes too't with a more riotous appetite: Downe from the waste they are Centaures, though Women all aboue: but to the Girdle do the Gods inherit, beneath is all the Fiends. There's hell, there's darkenes, there is the sulphurous pit; burning, scalding, stench, consumption: Fye, fie, fie; pah, pah: Giue me an Ounce of Ciuet; good Apothecary sweeten my immagination: There's money for thee Glou. O let me kisse that hand Lear. Let me wipe it first, It smelles of Mortality Glou. O ruin'd peece of Nature, this great world Shall so weare out to naught. Do'st thou know me? Lear. I remember thine eyes well enough: dost thou squiny at me? No, doe thy worst blinde Cupid, Ile not loue. Reade thou this challenge, marke but the penning of it Glou. Were all thy Letters Sunnes, I could not see Edg. I would not take this from report, It is, and my heart breakes at it Lear. Read Glou. What with the Case of eyes? Lear. Oh ho, are you there with me? No eies in your head, nor no mony in your purse? Your eyes are in a heauy case, your purse in a light, yet you see how this world goes Glou. I see it feelingly Lear. What, art mad? A man may see how this world goes, with no eyes. Looke with thine eares: See how yond Iustice railes vpon yond simple theefe. Hearke in thine eare: Change places, and handy-dandy, which is the Iustice, which is the theefe: Thou hast seene a Farmers dogge barke at a Beggar? Glou. I Sir Lear. And the Creature run from the Cur: there thou might'st behold the great image of Authoritie, a Dogg's obey'd in Office. Thou, Rascall Beadle, hold thy bloody hand: why dost thou lash that Whore? Strip thy owne backe, thou hotly lusts to vse her in that kind, for which thou whip'st her. The Vsurer hangs the Cozener. Thorough tatter'd cloathes great Vices do appeare: Robes, and Furr'd gownes hide all. Place sinnes with Gold, and the strong Lance of Iustice, hurtlesse breakes: Arme it in ragges, a Pigmies straw do's pierce it. None do's offend, none, I say none, Ile able 'em; take that of me my Friend, who haue the power to seale th' accusers lips. Get thee glasse-eyes, and like a scuruy Politician, seeme to see the things thou dost not. Now, now, now, now. Pull off my Bootes: harder, harder, so Edg. O matter, and impertinency mixt, Reason in Madnesse Lear. If thou wilt weepe my Fortunes, take my eyes. I know thee well enough, thy name is Glouster: Thou must be patient; we came crying hither: Thou know'st, the first time that we smell the Ayre We wawle, and cry. I will preach to thee: Marke Glou. Alacke, alacke the day Lear. When we are borne, we cry that we are come To this great stage of Fooles. This a good blocke: It were a delicate stratagem to shoo A Troope of Horse with Felt: Ile put't in proofe, And when I haue stolne vpon these Son in Lawes, Then kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill. Enter a Gentleman. Gent. Oh heere he is: lay hand vpon him, Sir. Your most deere Daughter- Lear. No rescue? What, a Prisoner? I am euen The Naturall Foole of Fortune. Vse me well, You shall haue ransome. Let me haue Surgeons, I am cut to'th' Braines Gent. You shall haue any thing Lear. No Seconds? All my selfe? Why, this would make a man, a man of Salt To vse his eyes for Garden water-pots. I wil die brauely, Like a smugge Bridegroome. What? I will be Iouiall: Come, come, I am a King, Masters, know you that? Gent. You are a Royall one, and we obey you Lear. Then there's life in't. Come, and you get it, You shall get it by running: Sa, sa, sa, sa. Enter. Gent. A sight most pittifull in the meanest wretch, Past speaking of in a King. Thou hast a Daughter Who redeemes Nature from the generall curse Which twaine haue brought her to Edg. Haile gentle Sir Gent. Sir, speed you: what's your will? Edg. Do you heare ought (Sir) of a Battell toward Gent. Most sure, and vulgar: Euery one heares that, which can distinguish sound Edg. But by your fauour: How neere's the other Army? Gent. Neere, and on speedy foot: the maine descry Stands on the hourely thought Edg. I thanke you Sir, that's all Gent. Though that the Queen on special cause is here Her Army is mou'd on. Enter. Edg. I thanke you Sir Glou. You euer gentle Gods, take my breath from me, Let not my worser Spirit tempt me againe To dye before you please Edg. Well pray you Father Glou. Now good sir, what are you? Edg. A most poore man, made tame to Fortunes blows Who, by the Art of knowne, and feeling sorrowes, Am pregnant to good pitty. Giue me your hand, Ile leade you to some biding Glou. Heartie thankes: The bountie, and the benizon of Heauen To boot, and boot. Enter Steward. Stew. A proclaim'd prize: most happie That eyelesse head of thine, was first fram'd flesh To raise my fortunes. Thou old, vnhappy Traitor, Breefely thy selfe remember: the Sword is out That must destroy thee Glou. Now let thy friendly hand Put strength enough too't Stew. Wherefore, bold Pezant, Dar'st thou support a publish'd Traitor? Hence, Least that th' infection of his fortune take Like hold on thee. Let go his arme Edg. Chill not let go Zir, Without vurther 'casion Stew. Let go Slaue, or thou dy'st Edg. Good Gentleman goe your gate, and let poore volke passe: and 'chud ha' bin zwaggerd out of my life, 'twould not ha' bin zo long as 'tis, by a vortnight. Nay, come not neere th' old man: keepe out che vor' ye, or Ile try whither your Costard, or my Ballow be the harder; chill be plaine with you Stew. Out Dunghill Edg. Chill picke your teeth Zir: come, no matter vor your foynes Stew. Slaue thou hast slaine me: Villain, take my purse; If euer thou wilt thriue, bury my bodie, And giue the Letters which thou find'st about me, To Edmund Earle of Glouster: seeke him out Vpon the English party. Oh vntimely death, death Edg. I know thee well. A seruiceable Villaine, As duteous to the vices of thy Mistris, As badnesse would desire Glou. What, is he dead? Edg. Sit you downe Father: rest you. Let's see these Pockets; the Letters that he speakes of May be my Friends: hee's dead; I am onely sorry He had no other Deathsman. Let vs see: Leaue gentle waxe, and manners: blame vs not To know our enemies mindes, we rip their hearts, Their Papers is more lawfull. Reads the Letter. Let our reciprocall vowes be remembred. You haue manie opportunities to cut him off: if your will want not, time and place will be fruitfully offer'd. There is nothing done. If hee returne the Conqueror, then am I the Prisoner, and his bed, my Gaole, from the loathed warmth whereof, deliuer me, and supply the place for your Labour. Your (Wife, so I would say) affectionate Seruant. Gonerill. Oh indistinguish'd space of Womans will, A plot vpon her vertuous Husbands life, And the exchange my Brother: heere, in the sands Thee Ile rake vp, the poste vnsanctified Of murtherous Letchers: and in the mature time, With this vngracious paper strike the sight Of the death-practis'd Duke: for him 'tis well, That of thy death, and businesse, I can tell Glou. The King is mad: How stiffe is my vilde sense That I stand vp, and haue ingenious feeling Of my huge Sorrowes? Better I were distract, So should my thoughts be seuer'd from my greefes, Drum afarre off. And woes, by wrong imaginations loose The knowledge of themselues Edg. Giue me your hand: Farre off methinkes I heare the beaten Drumme. Come Father, Ile bestow you with a Friend. Exeunt.

Back at Gloucester's castle, Oswald tells Regan that Albany's army has set out, although Albany has been dragging his feet about the expedition. It seems that Goneril is a "better soldier" than Albany. Regan is extremely curious about the letter that Oswald carries from Goneril to Edmund, but Oswald refuses to show it to her. Regan guesses that the letter concerns Goneril's love affair with Edmund, and she tells Oswald plainly that she wants Edmund for herself. Regan reveals that she has already spoken with Edmund about this possibility; it would be more appropriate for Edmund to get involved with her, now a widow, than with Goneril, with whom such involvement would constitute adultery. She gives Oswald a token or a letter to deliver to Edmund, whenever he may find him. Finally, she promises Oswald a reward if he can find and kill Gloucester

summary

Scena Quinta. Enter Gloucester, and Edgar. Glou. When shall I come to th' top of that same hill? Edg. You do climbe vp it now. Look how we labor Glou. Me thinkes the ground is eeuen Edg. Horrible steepe. Hearke, do you heare the Sea? Glou. No truly Edg. Why then your other Senses grow imperfect By your eyes anguish Glou. So may it be indeed. Me thinkes thy voyce is alter'd, and thou speak'st In better phrase, and matter then thou did'st Edg. Y'are much deceiu'd: In nothing am I chang'd But in my Garments Glou. Me thinkes y'are better spoken Edg. Come on Sir, Heere's the place: stand still: how fearefull And dizie 'tis, to cast ones eyes so low, The Crowes and Choughes, that wing the midway ayre Shew scarse so grosse as Beetles. Halfe way downe Hangs one that gathers Sampire: dreadfull Trade: Me thinkes he seemes no bigger then his head. The Fishermen, that walk'd vpon the beach Appeare like Mice: and yond tall Anchoring Barke, Diminish'd to her Cocke: her Cocke, a Buoy Almost too small for sight. The murmuring Surge, That on th' vnnumbred idle Pebble chafes Cannot be heard so high. Ile looke no more, Least my braine turne, and the deficient sight Topple downe headlong Glou. Set me where you stand Edg. Giue me your hand: You are now within a foote of th' extreme Verge: For all beneath the Moone would I not leape vpright Glou. Let go my hand: Heere Friend's another purse: in it, a Iewell Well worth a poore mans taking. Fayries, and Gods Prosper it with thee. Go thou further off, Bid me farewell, and let me heare thee going Edg. Now fare ye well, good Sir Glou. With all my heart Edg. Why I do trifle thus with his dispaire, Is done to cure it Glou. O you mighty Gods! This world I do renounce, and in your sights Shake patiently my great affliction off: If I could beare it longer, and not fall To quarrell with your great opposelesse willes, My snuffe, and loathed part of Nature should Burne it selfe out. If Edgar liue, O blesse him: Now Fellow, fare thee well Edg. Gone Sir, farewell: And yet I know not how conceit may rob The Treasury of life, when life it selfe Yeelds to the Theft. Had he bin where he thought, By this had thought bin past. Aliue, or dead? Hoa, you Sir: Friend, heare you Sir, speake: Thus might he passe indeed: yet he reuiues. What are you Sir? Glou. Away, and let me dye Edg. Had'st thou beene ought But Gozemore, Feathers, Ayre, (So many fathome downe precipitating) Thou'dst shiuer'd like an Egge: but thou do'st breath: Hast heauy substance, bleed'st not, speak'st, art sound, Ten Masts at each, make not the altitude Which thou hast perpendicularly fell, Thy life's a Myracle. Speake yet againe Glou. But haue I falne, or no? Edg. From the dread Somnet of this Chalkie Bourne Looke vp a height, the shrill-gorg'd Larke so farre Cannot be seene, or heard: Do but looke vp Glou. Alacke, I haue no eyes: Is wretchednesse depriu'd that benefit To end it selfe by death? 'Twas yet some comfort, When misery could beguile the Tyrants rage, And frustrate his proud will Edg. Giue me your arme. Vp, so: How is't? Feele you your Legges? You stand Glou. Too well, too well Edg. This is aboue all strangenesse, Vpon the crowne o'th' Cliffe. What thing was that Which parted from you? Glou. A poore vnfortunate Beggar Edg. As I stood heere below, me thought his eyes Were two full Moones: he had a thousand Noses, Hornes wealk'd, and waued like the enraged Sea: It was some Fiend: Therefore thou happy Father, Thinke that the cleerest Gods, who make them Honors Of mens Impossibilities, haue preserued thee Glou. I do remember now: henceforth Ile beare Affliction, till it do cry out it selfe Enough, enough, and dye. That thing you speake of, I tooke it for a man: often 'twould say The Fiend, the Fiend, he led me to that place Edgar. Beare free and patient thoughts. Enter Lear. But who comes heere? The safer sense will ne're accommodate His Master thus Lear. No, they cannot touch me for crying. I am the King himselfe Edg. O thou side-piercing sight! Lear. Nature's aboue Art, in that respect. Ther's your Presse-money. That fellow handles his bow, like a Crowkeeper: draw mee a Cloathiers yard. Looke, looke, a Mouse: peace, peace, this peece of toasted Cheese will doo't. There's my Gauntlet, Ile proue it on a Gyant. Bring vp the browne Billes. O well flowne Bird: i'th' clout, i'th' clout: Hewgh. Giue the word Edg. Sweet Mariorum Lear. Passe Glou. I know that voice Lear. Ha! Gonerill with a white beard? They flatter'd me like a Dogge, and told mee I had the white hayres in my Beard, ere the blacke ones were there. To say I, and no, to euery thing that I said: I, and no too, was no good Diuinity. When the raine came to wet me once, and the winde to make me chatter: when the Thunder would not peace at my bidding, there I found 'em, there I smelt 'em out. Go too, they are not men o'their words; they told me, I was euery thing: 'Tis a Lye, I am not Agu-proofe Glou. The tricke of that voyce, I do well remember: Is't not the King? Lear. I, euery inch a King. When I do stare, see how the Subiect quakes. I pardon that mans life. What was thy cause? Adultery? thou shalt not dye: dye for Adultery? No, the Wren goes too't, and the small gilded Fly Do's letcher in my sight. Let Copulation thriue: For Glousters bastard Son was kinder to his Father, Then my Daughters got 'tweene the lawfull sheets. Too't Luxury pell-mell, for I lacke Souldiers. Behold yond simpring Dame, whose face betweene her Forkes presages Snow; that minces Vertue, & do's shake the head to heare of pleasures name. The Fitchew, nor the soyled Horse goes too't with a more riotous appetite: Downe from the waste they are Centaures, though Women all aboue: but to the Girdle do the Gods inherit, beneath is all the Fiends. There's hell, there's darkenes, there is the sulphurous pit; burning, scalding, stench, consumption: Fye, fie, fie; pah, pah: Giue me an Ounce of Ciuet; good Apothecary sweeten my immagination: There's money for thee Glou. O let me kisse that hand Lear. Let me wipe it first, It smelles of Mortality Glou. O ruin'd peece of Nature, this great world Shall so weare out to naught. Do'st thou know me? Lear. I remember thine eyes well enough: dost thou squiny at me? No, doe thy worst blinde Cupid, Ile not loue. Reade thou this challenge, marke but the penning of it Glou. Were all thy Letters Sunnes, I could not see Edg. I would not take this from report, It is, and my heart breakes at it Lear. Read Glou. What with the Case of eyes? Lear. Oh ho, are you there with me? No eies in your head, nor no mony in your purse? Your eyes are in a heauy case, your purse in a light, yet you see how this world goes Glou. I see it feelingly Lear. What, art mad? A man may see how this world goes, with no eyes. Looke with thine eares: See how yond Iustice railes vpon yond simple theefe. Hearke in thine eare: Change places, and handy-dandy, which is the Iustice, which is the theefe: Thou hast seene a Farmers dogge barke at a Beggar? Glou. I Sir Lear. And the Creature run from the Cur: there thou might'st behold the great image of Authoritie, a Dogg's obey'd in Office. Thou, Rascall Beadle, hold thy bloody hand: why dost thou lash that Whore? Strip thy owne backe, thou hotly lusts to vse her in that kind, for which thou whip'st her. The Vsurer hangs the Cozener. Thorough tatter'd cloathes great Vices do appeare: Robes, and Furr'd gownes hide all. Place sinnes with Gold, and the strong Lance of Iustice, hurtlesse breakes: Arme it in ragges, a Pigmies straw do's pierce it. None do's offend, none, I say none, Ile able 'em; take that of me my Friend, who haue the power to seale th' accusers lips. Get thee glasse-eyes, and like a scuruy Politician, seeme to see the things thou dost not. Now, now, now, now. Pull off my Bootes: harder, harder, so Edg. O matter, and impertinency mixt, Reason in Madnesse Lear. If thou wilt weepe my Fortunes, take my eyes. I know thee well enough, thy name is Glouster: Thou must be patient; we came crying hither: Thou know'st, the first time that we smell the Ayre We wawle, and cry. I will preach to thee: Marke Glou. Alacke, alacke the day Lear. When we are borne, we cry that we are come To this great stage of Fooles. This a good blocke: It were a delicate stratagem to shoo A Troope of Horse with Felt: Ile put't in proofe, And when I haue stolne vpon these Son in Lawes, Then kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill. Enter a Gentleman. Gent. Oh heere he is: lay hand vpon him, Sir. Your most deere Daughter- Lear. No rescue? What, a Prisoner? I am euen The Naturall Foole of Fortune. Vse me well, You shall haue ransome. Let me haue Surgeons, I am cut to'th' Braines Gent. You shall haue any thing Lear. No Seconds? All my selfe? Why, this would make a man, a man of Salt To vse his eyes for Garden water-pots. I wil die brauely, Like a smugge Bridegroome. What? I will be Iouiall: Come, come, I am a King, Masters, know you that? Gent. You are a Royall one, and we obey you Lear. Then there's life in't. Come, and you get it, You shall get it by running: Sa, sa, sa, sa. Enter. Gent. A sight most pittifull in the meanest wretch, Past speaking of in a King. Thou hast a Daughter Who redeemes Nature from the generall curse Which twaine haue brought her to Edg. Haile gentle Sir Gent. Sir, speed you: what's your will? Edg. Do you heare ought (Sir) of a Battell toward Gent. Most sure, and vulgar: Euery one heares that, which can distinguish sound Edg. But by your fauour: How neere's the other Army? Gent. Neere, and on speedy foot: the maine descry Stands on the hourely thought Edg. I thanke you Sir, that's all Gent. Though that the Queen on special cause is here Her Army is mou'd on. Enter. Edg. I thanke you Sir Glou. You euer gentle Gods, take my breath from me, Let not my worser Spirit tempt me againe To dye before you please Edg. Well pray you Father Glou. Now good sir, what are you? Edg. A most poore man, made tame to Fortunes blows Who, by the Art of knowne, and feeling sorrowes, Am pregnant to good pitty. Giue me your hand, Ile leade you to some biding Glou. Heartie thankes: The bountie, and the benizon of Heauen To boot, and boot. Enter Steward. Stew. A proclaim'd prize: most happie That eyelesse head of thine, was first fram'd flesh To raise my fortunes. Thou old, vnhappy Traitor, Breefely thy selfe remember: the Sword is out That must destroy thee Glou. Now let thy friendly hand Put strength enough too't Stew. Wherefore, bold Pezant, Dar'st thou support a publish'd Traitor? Hence, Least that th' infection of his fortune take Like hold on thee. Let go his arme Edg. Chill not let go Zir, Without vurther 'casion Stew. Let go Slaue, or thou dy'st Edg. Good Gentleman goe your gate, and let poore volke passe: and 'chud ha' bin zwaggerd out of my life, 'twould not ha' bin zo long as 'tis, by a vortnight. Nay, come not neere th' old man: keepe out che vor' ye, or Ile try whither your Costard, or my Ballow be the harder; chill be plaine with you Stew. Out Dunghill Edg. Chill picke your teeth Zir: come, no matter vor your foynes Stew. Slaue thou hast slaine me: Villain, take my purse; If euer thou wilt thriue, bury my bodie, And giue the Letters which thou find'st about me, To Edmund Earle of Glouster: seeke him out Vpon the English party. Oh vntimely death, death Edg. I know thee well. A seruiceable Villaine, As duteous to the vices of thy Mistris, As badnesse would desire Glou. What, is he dead? Edg. Sit you downe Father: rest you. Let's see these Pockets; the Letters that he speakes of May be my Friends: hee's dead; I am onely sorry He had no other Deathsman. Let vs see: Leaue gentle waxe, and manners: blame vs not To know our enemies mindes, we rip their hearts, Their Papers is more lawfull. Reads the Letter. Let our reciprocall vowes be remembred. You haue manie opportunities to cut him off: if your will want not, time and place will be fruitfully offer'd. There is nothing done. If hee returne the Conqueror, then am I the Prisoner, and his bed, my Gaole, from the loathed warmth whereof, deliuer me, and supply the place for your Labour. Your (Wife, so I would say) affectionate Seruant. Gonerill. Oh indistinguish'd space of Womans will, A plot vpon her vertuous Husbands life, And the exchange my Brother: heere, in the sands Thee Ile rake vp, the poste vnsanctified Of murtherous Letchers: and in the mature time, With this vngracious paper strike the sight Of the death-practis'd Duke: for him 'tis well, That of thy death, and businesse, I can tell Glou. The King is mad: How stiffe is my vilde sense That I stand vp, and haue ingenious feeling Of my huge Sorrowes? Better I were distract, So should my thoughts be seuer'd from my greefes, Drum afarre off. And woes, by wrong imaginations loose The knowledge of themselues Edg. Giue me your hand: Farre off methinkes I heare the beaten Drumme. Come Father, Ile bestow you with a Friend. Exeunt.

Act 4, scenes 3-5 In these scenes, we see Cordelia for the first time since Lear banished her in Act 1, scene 1. The words the gentleman uses to describe Cordelia to Kent seem to present her as a combination idealized female beauty and quasi-religious savior figure. The gentleman uses the language of love poetry to describe her beauty--her lips are "ripe," the tears in her eyes are "as pearls from diamonds dropped," and her "smiles and tears" are like the paradoxically coexisting "sunshine and rain" . But the gentleman also describes Cordelia in language that might be used to speak of a holy angel or the Virgin Mary herself: he says that, as she wiped away her tears, "she shook / The holy water from her heavenly eyes" . Cordelia's great love for her father, which contrasts sharply with Goneril and Regan's cruelty, elevates her to the level of reverence. The strength of Cordelia's daughterly love is reinforced in Act 4, scene 4, when Cordelia orders her people to seek out and help her father. We learn that the main reason for the French invasion of England is Cordelia's desire to help Lear: "great France / My mourning and importuned tears hath pitied," she says . The king of France, her husband, took pity on her grief and allowed the invasion in an effort to help restore Lear to the throne. When Cordelia proclaims that she is motivated not by ambition but by "love, dear love, and our aged father's right," we are reminded of how badly Lear treated her at the beginning of the play . Her virtue and devotion is manifest in her willingness to forgive her father for his awful behavior. At one point, she declares, "O dear father, / It is thy business that I go about" , echoing a biblical passage in which Christ says, "I must go about my father's business" . This allusion reinforces Cordelia's piety and purity and consciously links her to Jesus Christ, who, of course, was a martyr to love, just as Cordelia becomes at the play's close. The other characters in the play discuss Lear's madness in interesting language, and some of the most memorable turns of phrase in the play come from these descriptions. When Cordelia assesses Lear's condition in Act 4, scene 4, she says he is As mad as the vexed sea; singing aloud;Crowned with rank fumiter and furrow-weeds,With hordocks, hemlock, nettles, cuckoo-flowers,Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow. Lear's madness, which is indicated here by both his singing and his self-adornment with flowers, is marked by an embrace of the natural world; rather than perceiving himself as a heroic figure who transcends nature, he understands that he is a small, meaningless component of it. Additionally, this description brings to mind other famous scenes of madness in Shakespeare--most notably, the scenes of Ophelia's flower-bedecked madness in Hamlet. These scenes set up the resolution of the play's tension, which takes place in Act 5. While Lear hides from Cordelia out of shame, she seeks him out of love, crystallizing the contrast between her forgiveness and his repentance. Regan and Goneril have begun to become rivals for the affection of Edmund, as their twin ambitions inevitably bring them into conflict. On the political and military level, we learn that Albany's and Cornwall's armies are on the march toward the French camp at Dover. The play is rushing toward a conclusion, for all the characters' trajectories have begun to converge.

analysis

Scaena Septima. Enter Cordelia, Kent, and Gentleman. Cor. O thou good Kent, How shall I liue and worke To match thy goodnesse? My life will be too short, And euery measure faile me Kent. To be acknowledg'd Madam is ore-pai'd, All my reports go with the modest truth, Nor more, nor clipt, but so Cor. Be better suited, These weedes are memories of those worser houres: I prythee put them off Kent. Pardon deere Madam, Yet to be knowne shortens my made intent, My boone I make it, that you know me not, Till time, and I, thinke meet Cor. Then be't so my good Lord: How do's the King? Gent. Madam sleepes still Cor. O you kind Gods! Cure this great breach in his abused Nature, Th' vntun'd and iarring senses, O winde vp, Of this childe-changed Father Gent. So please your Maiesty, That we may wake the King, he hath slept long? Cor. Be gouern'd by your knowledge, and proceede I'th' sway of your owne will: is he array'd? Enter Lear in a chaire carried by Seruants] Gent. I Madam: in the heauinesse of sleepe, We put fresh garments on him. Be by good Madam when we do awake him, I doubt of his Temperance Cor. O my deere Father, restauratian hang Thy medicine on my lippes, and let this kisse Repaire those violent harmes, that my two Sisters Haue in thy Reuerence made Kent. Kind and deere Princesse Cor. Had you not bin their Father, these white flakes Did challenge pitty of them. Was this a face To be oppos'd against the iarring windes? Mine Enemies dogge, though he had bit me, Should haue stood that night against my fire, And was't thou faine (poore Father) To houell thee with Swine and Rogues forlorne, In short, and musty straw? Alacke, alacke, 'Tis wonder that thy life and wits, at once Had not concluded all. He wakes, speake to him Gen. Madam do you, 'tis fittest Cor. How does my Royall Lord? How fares your Maiesty? Lear. You do me wrong to take me out o'th' graue, Thou art a Soule in blisse, but I am bound Vpon a wheele of fire, that mine owne teares Do scal'd, like molten Lead Cor. Sir, do you know me? Lear. You are a spirit I know, where did you dye? Cor. Still, still, farre wide Gen. He's scarse awake, Let him alone a while Lear. Where haue I bin? Where am I? Faire day light? I am mightily abus'd; I should eu'n dye with pitty To see another thus. I know not what to say: I will not sweare these are my hands: let's see, I feele this pin pricke, would I were assur'd Of my condition Cor. O looke vpon me Sir, And hold your hand in benediction o're me, You must not kneele Lear. Pray do not mocke me: I am a very foolish fond old man, Fourescore and vpward, Not an houre more, nor lesse: And to deale plainely, I feare I am not in my perfect mind. Me thinkes I should know you, and know this man, Yet I am doubtfull: For I am mainely ignorant What place this is: and all the skill I haue Remembers not these garments: nor I know not Where I did lodge last night. Do not laugh at me, For (as I am a man) I thinke this Lady To be my childe Cordelia Cor. And so I am: I am Lear. Be your teares wet? Yes faith: I pray weepe not, If you haue poyson for me, I will drinke it: I know you do not loue me, for your Sisters Haue (as I do remember) done me wrong. You haue some cause, they haue not Cor. No cause, no cause Lear. Am I in France? Kent. In your owne kingdome Sir Lear. Do not abuse me Gent. Be comforted good Madam, the great rage You see is kill'd in him: desire him to go in, Trouble him no more till further setling Cor. Wilt please your Highnesse walke? Lear. You must beare with me: Pray you now forget, and forgiue, I am old and foolish. Exeunt.

In the French camp, Cordelia speaks with Kent. She knows his real identity, but he wishes it to remain a secret to everyone else. Lear, who has been sleeping, is brought in to Cordelia. He only partially recognizes her. He says that he knows now that he is senile and not in his right mind, and he assumes that Cordelia hates him and wants to kill him, just as her sisters do. Cordelia tells him that she forgives him for banishing her. Meanwhile, the news of Cornwall's death is repeated in the camp, and we learn that Edmund is now leading Cornwall's troops. The battle between France and England rapidly approaches

summary

Scaena Septima. Enter Cordelia, Kent, and Gentleman. Cor. O thou good Kent, How shall I liue and worke To match thy goodnesse? My life will be too short, And euery measure faile me Kent. To be acknowledg'd Madam is ore-pai'd, All my reports go with the modest truth, Nor more, nor clipt, but so Cor. Be better suited, These weedes are memories of those worser houres: I prythee put them off Kent. Pardon deere Madam, Yet to be knowne shortens my made intent, My boone I make it, that you know me not, Till time, and I, thinke meet Cor. Then be't so my good Lord: How do's the King? Gent. Madam sleepes still Cor. O you kind Gods! Cure this great breach in his abused Nature, Th' vntun'd and iarring senses, O winde vp, Of this childe-changed Father Gent. So please your Maiesty, That we may wake the King, he hath slept long? Cor. Be gouern'd by your knowledge, and proceede I'th' sway of your owne will: is he array'd? Enter Lear in a chaire carried by Seruants] Gent. I Madam: in the heauinesse of sleepe, We put fresh garments on him. Be by good Madam when we do awake him, I doubt of his Temperance Cor. O my deere Father, restauratian hang Thy medicine on my lippes, and let this kisse Repaire those violent harmes, that my two Sisters Haue in thy Reuerence made Kent. Kind and deere Princesse Cor. Had you not bin their Father, these white flakes Did challenge pitty of them. Was this a face To be oppos'd against the iarring windes? Mine Enemies dogge, though he had bit me, Should haue stood that night against my fire, And was't thou faine (poore Father) To houell thee with Swine and Rogues forlorne, In short, and musty straw? Alacke, alacke, 'Tis wonder that thy life and wits, at once Had not concluded all. He wakes, speake to him Gen. Madam do you, 'tis fittest Cor. How does my Royall Lord? How fares your Maiesty? Lear. You do me wrong to take me out o'th' graue, Thou art a Soule in blisse, but I am bound Vpon a wheele of fire, that mine owne teares Do scal'd, like molten Lead Cor. Sir, do you know me? Lear. You are a spirit I know, where did you dye? Cor. Still, still, farre wide Gen. He's scarse awake, Let him alone a while Lear. Where haue I bin? Where am I? Faire day light? I am mightily abus'd; I should eu'n dye with pitty To see another thus. I know not what to say: I will not sweare these are my hands: let's see, I feele this pin pricke, would I were assur'd Of my condition Cor. O looke vpon me Sir, And hold your hand in benediction o're me, You must not kneele Lear. Pray do not mocke me: I am a very foolish fond old man, Fourescore and vpward, Not an houre more, nor lesse: And to deale plainely, I feare I am not in my perfect mind. Me thinkes I should know you, and know this man, Yet I am doubtfull: For I am mainely ignorant What place this is: and all the skill I haue Remembers not these garments: nor I know not Where I did lodge last night. Do not laugh at me, For (as I am a man) I thinke this Lady To be my childe Cordelia Cor. And so I am: I am Lear. Be your teares wet? Yes faith: I pray weepe not, If you haue poyson for me, I will drinke it: I know you do not loue me, for your Sisters Haue (as I do remember) done me wrong. You haue some cause, they haue not Cor. No cause, no cause Lear. Am I in France? Kent. In your owne kingdome Sir Lear. Do not abuse me Gent. Be comforted good Madam, the great rage You see is kill'd in him: desire him to go in, Trouble him no more till further setling Cor. Wilt please your Highnesse walke? Lear. You must beare with me: Pray you now forget, and forgiue, I am old and foolish. Exeunt.

Act 4, scenes 6-7 Besides moving the physical action of the play along, these scenes forward the play's psychological action. The strange, marvelous scene of Gloucester's supposed fall over the nonexistent cliffs of Dover, Lear's mad speeches to Gloucester and Edgar in the wilderness, and the redemptive reconciliation between Cordelia and her not-quite-sane father all set the stage for the resolution of the play's emotional movement in Act 5. The psychological motivations behind Gloucester's attempted suicide and Edgar's manipulation of it are complicated and ambiguous. Gloucester's death wish, which reflects his own despair at the cruel, uncaring universe--and perhaps the play's despair as well--would surely have been troubling to the self-consciously Christian society of Renaissance England. Shakespeare gets around much of the problem by setting King Lear in a pagan past; despite the fact that the play is full of Christian symbols and allusions, its characters pray only to the gods and never to the Christian God. Clearly, Edgar wants his father to live. He refuses to share in Gloucester's despair and still seeks a just and happy resolution to the events of the play. In letting Gloucester think that he has attempted suicide, Edgar manipulates Gloucester's understanding of divine will: he says to Gloucester after the latter's supposed fall and rebirth, "Thy life's a miracle. . . . / . . . / The clearest gods . . . / . . . have preserved thee" . Edgar not only stops Gloucester's suicidal thoughts but also shocks him into a rebirth. He tells his father that he should "bear free and patient thoughts": his life has been given back to him and he should take better care of it from now on . In these scenes, King Lear's madness brings forth some of his strangest and most interesting speeches. As Edgar notes, Lear's apparent ramblings are "matter and impertinency mixed! / Reason in madness!" . This description is similar to Polonius's muttering behind Hamlet's back in Hamlet: "Though this be madness, yet there is method in't" . Some of Lear's rambling does indeed seem to be meaningless babble, as when he talks about mice, cheese, and giants. But Lear swiftly moves on to talk of more relevant things. He finally understands that his older daughters, in Act 1, scene 1, and before, were sweet-talking him: "They flattered me like a dog. . . . To say 'aye' and 'no' to everything that I said!" . Lear has realized, despite what flatterers have told him and he has believed, that he is as vulnerable to the forces of nature as any human being. He cannot command the rain and thunder and is not immune to colds and fever . Just as, during the storm, he recognizes that beneath each man's clothing is "a poor, bare, forked animal" , Lear now understands that no amount of flattery and praise can make a king different from anyone else: "Through tattered clothes small vices do appear; / Robes and furred gowns hide all" . Armed with this knowledge, Lear can finally reunite with Cordelia and express his newfound humility and beg repentance. "I am a very foolish fond old man" , he tells her sadly, and he admits that she has "some cause" to hate him . Cordelia's moving response seals their reconciliation . Love and forgiveness, embodied in Lear's best daughter, join with humility and repentance, and, for a brief time, happiness prevails. But the forces that Lear's initial error unleashed--Goneril, Regan, and Edmund, with all their ambition and appetite for destruction--remain at large. We thus turn from happy reconciliation to conflict, as Cordelia leads her troops against the evil that her father's folly has set loose in Britain.

analysis

Actus Quintus. Scena Prima. Enter with Drumme and Colours, Edmund, Regan. Gentlemen, and Souldiers. Bast. Know of the Duke if his last purpose hold, Or whether since he is aduis'd by ought To change the course, he's full of alteration, And selfereprouing, bring his constant pleasure Reg. Our Sisters man is certainely miscarried Bast. 'Tis to be doubted Madam Reg. Now sweet Lord, You know the goodnesse I intend vpon you: Tell me but truly, but then speake the truth, Do you not loue my Sister? Bast. In honour'd Loue Reg. But haue you neuer found my Brothers way, To the fore-fended place? Bast. No by mine honour, Madam Reg. I neuer shall endure her, deere my Lord Be not familiar with her Bast. Feare not, she and the Duke her husband. Enter with Drum and Colours, Albany, Gonerill, Soldiers. Alb. Our very louing Sister, well be-met: Sir, this I heard, the King is come to his Daughter With others, whom the rigour of our State Forc'd to cry out Regan. Why is this reasond? Gone. Combine together 'gainst the Enemie: For these domesticke and particular broiles, Are not the question heere Alb. Let's then determine with th' ancient of warre On our proceeding Reg. Sister you'le go with vs? Gon. No Reg. 'Tis most conuenient, pray go with vs Gon. Oh ho, I know the Riddle, I will goe. Exeunt. both the Armies. Enter Edgar. Edg. If ere your Grace had speech with man so poore, Heare me one word Alb. Ile ouertake you, speake Edg. Before you fight the Battaile, ope this Letter: If you haue victory, let the Trumpet sound For him that brought it: wretched though I seeme, I can produce a Champion, that will proue What is auouched there. If you miscarry, Your businesse of the world hath so an end, And machination ceases. Fortune loues you Alb. Stay till I haue read the Letter Edg. I was forbid it: When time shall serue, let but the Herald cry, And Ile appeare againe. Enter. Alb. Why farethee well, I will o're-looke thy paper. Enter Edmund. Bast. The Enemy's in view, draw vp your powers, Heere is the guesse of their true strength and Forces, By dilligent discouerie, but your hast Is now vrg'd on you Alb. We will greet the time. Enter. Bast. To both these Sisters haue I sworne my loue: Each iealous of the other, as the stung Are of the Adder. Which of them shall I take? Both? One? Or neither? Neither can be enioy'd If both remaine aliue: To take the Widdow, Exasperates, makes mad her Sister Gonerill, And hardly shall I carry out my side, Her husband being aliue. Now then, wee'l vse His countenance for the Battaile, which being done, Let her who would be rid of him, deuise His speedy taking off. As for the mercie Which he intends to Lear and to Cordelia, The Battaile done, and they within our power, Shall neuer see his pardon: for my state, Stands on me to defend, not to debate. Enter.

In the British camp near Dover, Regan asks Edmund if he loves Goneril and if he has found his way into her bed. Edmund responds in the negative to both questions. Regan expresses jealousy of her sister and beseeches Edmund not to be familiar with her. Abruptly, Goneril and Albany enter with their troops. Albany states that he has heard that the invading French army has been joined by Lear and unnamed others who may have legitimate grievances against the present government. Despite his sympathy toward Lear and these other dissidents, Albany declares that he intends to fight alongside Edmund, Regan, and Goneril to repel the foreign invasion. Goneril and Regan jealously spar over Edmund, neither willing to leave the other alone with him. The three exit together. Just as Albany begins to leave, Edgar, now disguised as an ordinary peasant, catches up to him. He gives Albany the letter that he took from Oswald's body--the letter in which Goneril's involvement with Edmund is revealed and in which Goneril asks Edmund to kill Albany. Edgar tells Albany to read the letter and says that if Albany wins the upcoming battle, he can sound a trumpet and Edgar will provide a champion to defend the claims made in the letter. Edgar vanishes and Edmund returns. Edmund tells Albany that the battle is almost upon them, and Albany leaves. Alone, Edmund addresses the audience, stating that he has sworn his love to both Regan and Goneril. He debates what he should do, reflecting that choosing either one would anger the other. He decides to put off the decision until after the battle, observing that if Albany survives it, Goneril can take care of killing him herself. He asserts menacingly that if the British win the battle and he captures Lear and Cordelia, he will show them no mercy

summary

Actus Quintus. Scena Prima. Enter with Drumme and Colours, Edmund, Regan. Gentlemen, and Souldiers. Bast. Know of the Duke if his last purpose hold, Or whether since he is aduis'd by ought To change the course, he's full of alteration, And selfereprouing, bring his constant pleasure Reg. Our Sisters man is certainely miscarried Bast. 'Tis to be doubted Madam Reg. Now sweet Lord, You know the goodnesse I intend vpon you: Tell me but truly, but then speake the truth, Do you not loue my Sister? Bast. In honour'd Loue Reg. But haue you neuer found my Brothers way, To the fore-fended place? Bast. No by mine honour, Madam Reg. I neuer shall endure her, deere my Lord Be not familiar with her Bast. Feare not, she and the Duke her husband. Enter with Drum and Colours, Albany, Gonerill, Soldiers. Alb. Our very louing Sister, well be-met: Sir, this I heard, the King is come to his Daughter With others, whom the rigour of our State Forc'd to cry out Regan. Why is this reasond? Gone. Combine together 'gainst the Enemie: For these domesticke and particular broiles, Are not the question heere Alb. Let's then determine with th' ancient of warre On our proceeding Reg. Sister you'le go with vs? Gon. No Reg. 'Tis most conuenient, pray go with vs Gon. Oh ho, I know the Riddle, I will goe. Exeunt. both the Armies. Enter Edgar. Edg. If ere your Grace had speech with man so poore, Heare me one word Alb. Ile ouertake you, speake Edg. Before you fight the Battaile, ope this Letter: If you haue victory, let the Trumpet sound For him that brought it: wretched though I seeme, I can produce a Champion, that will proue What is auouched there. If you miscarry, Your businesse of the world hath so an end, And machination ceases. Fortune loues you Alb. Stay till I haue read the Letter Edg. I was forbid it: When time shall serue, let but the Herald cry, And Ile appeare againe. Enter. Alb. Why farethee well, I will o're-looke thy paper. Enter Edmund. Bast. The Enemy's in view, draw vp your powers, Heere is the guesse of their true strength and Forces, By dilligent discouerie, but your hast Is now vrg'd on you Alb. We will greet the time. Enter. Bast. To both these Sisters haue I sworne my loue: Each iealous of the other, as the stung Are of the Adder. Which of them shall I take? Both? One? Or neither? Neither can be enioy'd If both remaine aliue: To take the Widdow, Exasperates, makes mad her Sister Gonerill, And hardly shall I carry out my side, Her husband being aliue. Now then, wee'l vse His countenance for the Battaile, which being done, Let her who would be rid of him, deuise His speedy taking off. As for the mercie Which he intends to Lear and to Cordelia, The Battaile done, and they within our power, Shall neuer see his pardon: for my state, Stands on me to defend, not to debate. Enter.

Act 5, scenes 1-2 In these scenes, the battle is quickly commenced and just as quickly concluded. The actual fighting happens offstage, during the short Act 5, scene 2. Meanwhile, the tangled web of affection, romance, manipulation, power, and betrayal among Goneril, Regan, Albany, and Edmund has finally taken on a clear shape. We learn from Edmund that he has promised himself to both sisters; we do not know whether he is lying to Regan when he states that he has not slept with Goneril. Nor can we deduce from Edmund's speech which of the sisters he prefers--or, in fact, whether he really loves either of them--but it is clear that he has created a problem for himself by professing love for both. It is clear now which characters support Lear and Cordelia and which characters are against them. Albany plans to show Lear and Cordelia mercy; Edmund, like Goneril and Regan, does not. Since all of these characters are, theoretically, fighting on the same side--the British--it is unclear what the fate of the captured Lear and Cordelia will be. Ultimately, the sense that one has in these scenes is of evil turning inward and devouring itself. As long as Lear and Gloucester served as victims, Goneril and Regan were united. Now, though, with power concentrated in their hands, they fall to squabbling over Edmund's affections. Edmund himself has come into his own, taking command of an army and playing the two queens off against each other. It is suddenly clear that he, more than anyone else, will benefit from Lear's division of the kingdom. Gloucester's bastard may, indeed, shortly make himself king.

analysis

Scena Secunda. Alarum within. Enter with Drumme and Colours, Lear, Cordelia, and Souldiers, ouer the Stage, and Exeunt. Enter Edgar, and Gloster. Edg. Heere Father, take the shadow of this Tree For your good hoast: pray that the right may thriue: If euer I returne to you againe, Ile bring you comfort Glo. Grace go with you Sir. Enter. Alarum and Retreat within. Enter Edgar. Edgar. Away old man, giue me thy hand, away: King Lear hath lost, he and his Daughter tane, Giue me thy hand: Come on Glo. No further Sir, a man may rot euen heere Edg. What in ill thoughts againe? Men must endure Their going hence, euen as their comming hither, Ripenesse is all come on Glo. And that's true too. Exeunt.

The battle begins. Edgar, in peasant's clothing, leads Gloucester to the shelter of a tree and goes into battle to fight on Lear's side. He soon returns, shouting that Lear's side has lost and that Lear and Cordelia have been captured. Gloucester states that he will stay where he is and wait to be captured or killed, but Edgar says that one's death occurs at a predestined time. Persuaded, Gloucester goes with Edgar

summary

Scena Secunda. Alarum within. Enter with Drumme and Colours, Lear, Cordelia, and Souldiers, ouer the Stage, and Exeunt. Enter Edgar, and Gloster. Edg. Heere Father, take the shadow of this Tree For your good hoast: pray that the right may thriue: If euer I returne to you againe, Ile bring you comfort Glo. Grace go with you Sir. Enter. Alarum and Retreat within. Enter Edgar. Edgar. Away old man, giue me thy hand, away: King Lear hath lost, he and his Daughter tane, Giue me thy hand: Come on Glo. No further Sir, a man may rot euen heere Edg. What in ill thoughts againe? Men must endure Their going hence, euen as their comming hither, Ripenesse is all come on Glo. And that's true too. Exeunt.

Act 5, scenes 1-2 In these scenes, the battle is quickly commenced and just as quickly concluded. The actual fighting happens offstage, during the short Act 5, scene 2. Meanwhile, the tangled web of affection, romance, manipulation, power, and betrayal among Goneril, Regan, Albany, and Edmund has finally taken on a clear shape. We learn from Edmund that he has promised himself to both sisters; we do not know whether he is lying to Regan when he states that he has not slept with Goneril. Nor can we deduce from Edmund's speech which of the sisters he prefers--or, in fact, whether he really loves either of them--but it is clear that he has created a problem for himself by professing love for both. It is clear now which characters support Lear and Cordelia and which characters are against them. Albany plans to show Lear and Cordelia mercy; Edmund, like Goneril and Regan, does not. Since all of these characters are, theoretically, fighting on the same side--the British--it is unclear what the fate of the captured Lear and Cordelia will be. Ultimately, the sense that one has in these scenes is of evil turning inward and devouring itself. As long as Lear and Gloucester served as victims, Goneril and Regan were united. Now, though, with power concentrated in their hands, they fall to squabbling over Edmund's affections. Edmund himself has come into his own, taking command of an army and playing the two queens off against each other. It is suddenly clear that he, more than anyone else, will benefit from Lear's division of the kingdom. Gloucester's bastard may, indeed, shortly make himself king.

analysis

Scena Tertia. Enter in conquest with Drum and Colours, Edmund, Lear, and Cordelia, as prisoners, Souldiers, Captaine. Bast. Some Officers take them away: good guard, Vntill their greater pleasures first be knowne That are to censure them Cor. We are not the first, Who with best meaning haue incurr'd the worst: For thee oppressed King I am cast downe, My selfe could else out-frowne false Fortunes frowne. Shall we not see these Daughters, and these Sisters? Lear. No, no, no, no: come let's away to prison, We two alone will sing like Birds i'th' Cage: When thou dost aske me blessing, Ile kneele downe And aske of thee forgiuenesse: So wee'l liue, And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh At gilded Butterflies: and heere (poore Rogues) Talke of Court newes, and wee'l talke with them too, Who looses, and who wins; who's in, who's out; And take vpon's the mystery of things, As if we were Gods spies: And wee'l weare out In a wall'd prison, packs and sects of great ones, That ebbe and flow by th' Moone Bast. Take them away Lear. Vpon such sacrifices my Cordelia, The Gods themselues throw Incense. Haue I caught thee? He that parts vs, shall bring a Brand from Heauen, And fire vs hence, like Foxes: wipe thine eyes, The good yeares shall deuoure them, flesh and fell, Ere they shall make vs weepe? Weele see 'em staru'd first: come. Enter. Bast. Come hither Captaine, hearke. Take thou this note, go follow them to prison, One step I haue aduanc'd thee, if thou do'st As this instructs thee, thou dost make thy way To Noble Fortunes: know thou this, that men Are as the time is; to be tender minded Do's not become a Sword, thy great imployment Will not beare question: either say thou'lt do't, Or thriue by other meanes Capt. Ile do't my Lord Bast. About it, and write happy, when th'hast done, Marke I say instantly, and carry it so As I haue set it downe. Exit Captaine. Flourish. Enter Albany, Gonerill, Regan, Soldiers. Alb. Sir, you haue shew'd to day your valiant straine And Fortune led you well: you haue the Captiues Who were the opposites of this dayes strife: I do require them of you so to vse them, As we shall find their merites, and our safety May equally determine Bast. Sir, I thought it fit, To send the old and miserable King to some retention, Whose age had Charmes in it, whose Title more, To plucke the common bosome on his side, And turne our imprest Launces in our eies Which do command them. With him I sent the Queen: My reason all the same, and they are ready To morrow, or at further space, t' appeare Where you shall hold your Session Alb. Sir, by your patience, I hold you but a subiect of this Warre, Not as a Brother Reg. That's as we list to grace him. Methinkes our pleasure might haue bin demanded Ere you had spoke so farre. He led our Powers, Bore the Commission of my place and person, The which immediacie may well stand vp, And call it selfe your Brother Gon. Not so hot: In his owne grace he doth exalt himselfe, More then in your addition Reg. In my rights, By me inuested, he compeeres the best Alb. That were the most, if he should husband you Reg. Iesters do oft proue Prophets Gon. Hola, hola, That eye that told you so, look'd but a squint Rega. Lady I am not well, else I should answere From a full flowing stomack. Generall, Take thou my Souldiers, prisoners, patrimony, Dispose of them, of me, the walls is thine: Witnesse the world, that I create thee heere My Lord, and Master Gon. Meane you to enioy him? Alb. The let alone lies not in your good will Bast. Nor in thine Lord Alb. Halfe-blooded fellow, yes Reg. Let the Drum strike, and proue my title thine Alb. Stay yet, heare reason: Edmund, I arrest thee On capitall Treason; and in thy arrest, This guilded Serpent: for your claime faire Sisters, I bare it in the interest of my wife, 'Tis she is sub-contracted to this Lord, And I her husband contradict your Banes. If you will marry, make your loues to me, My Lady is bespoke Gon. An enterlude Alb. Thou art armed Gloster, Let the Trumpet sound: If none appeare to proue vpon thy person, Thy heynous, manifest, and many Treasons, There is my pledge: Ile make it on thy heart Ere I taste bread, thou art in nothing lesse Then I haue heere proclaim'd thee Reg. Sicke, O sicke Gon. If not, Ile nere trust medicine Bast. There's my exchange, what in the world hes That names me Traitor, villain-like he lies, Call by the Trumpet: he that dares approach; On him, on you, who not, I will maintaine My truth and honor firmely. Enter a Herald. Alb. A Herald, ho. Trust to thy single vertue, for thy Souldiers All leuied in my name, haue in my name Tooke their discharge Regan. My sicknesse growes vpon me Alb. She is not well, conuey her to my Tent. Come hither Herald, let the Trumpet sound, And read out this. A Trumpet sounds. Herald reads. If any man of qualitie or degree, within the lists of the Army, will maintaine vpon Edmund, supposed Earle of Gloster, that he is a manifold Traitor, let him appeare by the third sound of the Trumpet: he is bold in his defence. 1 Trumpet. Her. Againe. 2 Trumpet. Her. Againe. 3 Trumpet. Trumpet answers within. Enter Edgar armed. Alb. Aske him his purposes, why he appeares Vpon this Call o'th' Trumpet Her. What are you? Your name, your quality, and why you answer This present Summons? Edg. Know my name is lost By Treasons tooth: bare-gnawne, and Canker-bit, Yet am I Noble as the Aduersary I come to cope Alb. Which is that Aduersary? Edg. What's he that speakes for Edmund Earle of Gloster? Bast. Himselfe, what saist thou to him? Edg. Draw thy Sword, That if my speech offend a Noble heart, Thy arme may do thee Iustice, heere is mine: Behold it is my priuiledge, The priuiledge of mine Honours, My oath, and my profession. I protest, Maugre thy strength, place, youth, and eminence, Despise thy victor-Sword, and fire new Fortune, Thy valor, and thy heart, thou art a Traitor: False to thy Gods, thy Brother, and thy Father, Conspirant 'gainst this high illustrious Prince, And from th' extremest vpward of thy head, To the discent and dust below thy foote, A most Toad-spotted Traitor. Say thou no, This Sword, this arme, and my best spirits are bent To proue vpon thy heart, where to I speake, Thou lyest Bast. In wisedome I should aske thy name, But since thy out-side lookes so faire and Warlike, And that thy tongue (some say) of breeding breathes, What safe, and nicely I might well delay, By rule of Knight-hood, I disdaine and spurne: Backe do I tosse these Treasons to thy head, With the hell-hated Lye, ore-whelme thy heart, Which for they yet glance by, and scarcely bruise, This Sword of mine shall giue them instant way, Where they shall rest for euer. Trumpets speake Alb. Saue him, saue him. Alarums. Fights. Gon. This is practise Gloster, By th' law of Warre, thou wast not bound to answer An vnknowne opposite: thou art not vanquish'd, But cozend, and beguild Alb. Shut your mouth Dame, Or with this paper shall I stop it: hold Sir, Thou worse then any name, reade thine owne euill: No tearing Lady, I perceiue you know it Gon. Say if I do, the Lawes are mine not thine, Who can araigne me for't? Enter. Alb. Most monstrous! O, know'st thou this paper? Bast. Aske me not what I know Alb. Go after her, she's desperate, gouerne her Bast. What you haue charg'd me with, That haue I done, And more, much more, the time will bring it out. 'Tis past, and so am I: But what art thou That hast this Fortune on me? If thou'rt Noble, I do forgiue thee Edg. Let's exchange charity: I am no lesse in blood then thou art Edmond, If more, the more th'hast wrong'd me. My name is Edgar and thy Fathers Sonne, The Gods are iust, and of our pleasant vices Make instruments to plague vs: The darke and vitious place where thee he got, Cost him his eyes Bast. Th'hast spoken right, 'tis true, The Wheele is come full circle, I am heere Alb. Me thought thy very gate did prophesie A Royall Noblenesse: I must embrace thee, Let sorrow split my heart, if euer I Did hate thee, or thy Father Edg. Worthy Prince I know't Alb. Where haue you hid your selfe? How haue you knowne the miseries of your Father? Edg. By nursing them my Lord. List a breefe tale, And when 'tis told, O that my heart would burst. The bloody proclamation to escape That follow'd me so neere, (O our liues sweetnesse, That we the paine of death would hourely dye, Rather then die at once) taught me to shift Into a mad-mans rags, t' assume a semblance That very Dogges disdain'd: and in this habit Met I my Father with his bleeding Rings, Their precious Stones new lost: became his guide, Led him, begg'd for him, sau'd him from dispaire. Neuer (O fault) reueal'd my selfe vnto him, Vntill some halfe houre past when I was arm'd, Not sure, though hoping of this good successe, I ask'd his blessing, and from first to last Told him our pilgrimage. But his flaw'd heart (Alacke too weake the conflict to support) Twixt two extremes of passion, ioy and greefe, Burst smilingly Bast. This speech of yours hath mou'd me, And shall perchance do good, but speake you on, You looke as you had something more to say Alb. If there be more, more wofull, hold it in, For I am almost ready to dissolue, Hearing of this. Enter a Gentleman. Gen. Helpe, helpe: O helpe Edg. What kinde of helpe? Alb. Speake man Edg. What meanes this bloody Knife? Gen. 'Tis hot, it smoakes, it came euen from the heart of- O she's dead Alb. Who dead? Speake man Gen. Your Lady Sir, your Lady; and her Sister By her is poyson'd: she confesses it Bast. I was contracted to them both, all three Now marry in an instant Edg. Here comes Kent. Enter Kent. Alb. Produce the bodies, be they aliue or dead; Gonerill and Regans bodies brought out. This iudgement of the Heauens that makes vs tremble. Touches vs not with pitty: O, is this he? The time will not allow the complement Which very manners vrges Kent. I am come To bid my King and Master aye good night. Is he not here? Alb. Great thing of vs forgot, Speake Edmund, where's the King? and where's Cordelia? Seest thou this obiect Kent? Kent. Alacke, why thus? Bast. Yet Edmund was belou'd: The one the other poison'd for my sake, And after slew herselfe Alb. Euen so: couer their faces Bast. I pant for life: some good I meane to do Despight of mine owne Nature. Quickly send, (Be briefe in it) to'th' Castle, for my Writ Is on the life of Lear, and on Cordelia: Nay, send in time Alb. Run, run, O run Edg. To who my Lord? Who ha's the Office? Send thy token of repreeue Bast. Well thought on, take my Sword, Giue it the Captaine Edg. Hast thee for thy life Bast. He hath Commission from thy Wife and me, To hang Cordelia in the prison, and To lay the blame vpon her owne dispaire, That she for-did her selfe Alb. The Gods defend her, beare him hence awhile. Enter Lear with Cordelia in his armes. Lear. Howle, howle, howle: O you are men of stones, Had I your tongues and eyes, Il'd vse them so, That Heauens vault should crack: she's gone for euer. I know when one is dead, and when one liues, She's dead as earth: Lend me a Looking-glasse, If that her breath will mist or staine the stone, Why then she liues Kent. Is this the promis'd end? Edg. Or image of that horror Alb. Fall and cease Lear. This feather stirs, she liues: if it be so, It is a chance which do's redeeme all sorrowes That euer I haue felt Kent. O my good Master Lear. Prythee away Edg. 'Tis Noble Kent your Friend Lear. A plague vpon you Murderors, Traitors all, I might haue sau'd her, now she's gone for euer: Cordelia, Cordelia, stay a little. Ha: What is't thou saist? Her voice was euer soft, Gentle, and low, an excellent thing in woman. I kill'd the Slaue that was a hanging thee Gent. 'Tis true (my Lords) he did Lear. Did I not fellow? I haue seene the day, with my good biting Faulchion I would haue made him skip: I am old now, And these same crosses spoile me. Who are you? Mine eyes are not o'th' best, Ile tell you straight Kent. If Fortune brag of two, she lou'd and hated, One of them we behold Lear. This is a dull sight, are you not Kent? Kent. The same: your Seruant Kent, Where is your Seruant Caius? Lear. He's a good fellow, I can tell you that, He'le strike and quickly too, he's dead and rotten Kent. No my good Lord, I am the very man Lear. Ile see that straight Kent. That from your first of difference and decay, Haue follow'd your sad steps Lear. You are welcome hither Kent. Nor no man else: All's cheerlesse, darke, and deadly, Your eldest Daughters haue fore-done themselues, And desperately are dead Lear. I so I thinke Alb. He knowes not what he saies, and vaine is it That we present vs to him. Enter a Messenger. Edg. Very bootlesse Mess. Edmund is dead my Lord Alb. That's but a trifle heere: You Lords and Noble Friends, know our intent, What comfort to this great decay may come, Shall be appli'd. For vs we will resigne, During the life of this old Maiesty To him our absolute power, you to your rights, With boote, and such addition as your Honours Haue more then merited. All Friends shall Taste the wages of their vertue, and all Foes The cup of their deseruings: O see, see Lear. And my poore Foole is hang'd: no, no, no life? Why should a Dog, a Horse, a Rat haue life, And thou no breath at all? Thou'lt come no more, Neuer, neuer, neuer, neuer, neuer. Pray you vndo this Button. Thanke you Sir, Do you see this? Looke on her? Looke her lips, Looke there, looke there. He dies. Edg. He faints, my Lord, my Lord Kent. Breake heart, I prythee breake Edg. Looke vp my Lord Kent. Vex not his ghost, O let him passe, he hates him, That would vpon the wracke of this tough world Stretch him out longer Edg. He is gon indeed Kent. The wonder is, he hath endur'd so long, He but vsurpt his life Alb. Beare them from hence, our present businesse Is generall woe: Friends of my soule, you twaine, Rule in this Realme, and the gor'd state sustaine Kent. I haue a iourney Sir, shortly to go, My Master calls me, I must not say no Edg. The waight of this sad time we must obey, Speake what we feele, not what we ought to say: The oldest hath borne most, we that are yong, Shall neuer see so much, nor liue so long. Exeunt. with a dead March. FINIS. THE TRAGEDIE OF KING LEAR.

Howl, howl, howl, howl! O, you are men of stones . . . Edmund leads in Lear and Cordelia as his prisoners. Cordelia expects to confront Regan and Goneril, but Lear vehemently refuses to do so. He describes a vividly imagined fantasy, in which he and Cordelia live alone together like birds in a cage, hearing about the outside world but observed by no one. Edmund sends them away, giving the captain who guards them a note with instructions as to what to do with them. He doesn't make the note's contents clear to the audience, but he speaks ominously. The captain agrees to follow Edmund's orders. Albany enters accompanied by Goneril and Regan. He praises Edmund for his brave fighting on the British side and orders that he produce Lear and Cordelia. Edmund lies to Albany, claiming that he sent Lear and Cordelia far away because he feared that they would excite the sympathy of the British forces and create a mutiny. Albany rebukes him for putting himself above his place, but Regan breaks in to declare that she plans to make Edmund her husband. Goneril tells Regan that Edmund will not marry her, but Regan, who is unexpectedly beginning to feel sick, claims Edmund as her husband and lord. Albany intervenes, arresting Edmund on a charge of treason. Albany challenges Edmund to defend himself against the charge in a trial by combat, and he sounds the trumpet to summon his champion. While Regan, who is growing ill, is helped to Albany's tent, Edgar appears in full armor to accuse Edmund of treason and face him in single combat. Edgar defeats Edmund, and Albany cries out to Edgar to leave Edmund alive for questioning. Goneril tries to help the wounded Edmund, but Albany brings out the treacherous letter to show that he knows of her conspiracy against him. Goneril rushes off in desperation. Edgar takes off his helmet and reveals his identity. He reconciles with Albany and tells the company how he disguised himself as a mad beggar and led Gloucester through the countryside. He adds that he revealed himself to his father only as he was preparing to fight Edmund and that Gloucester, torn between joy and grief, died. A gentleman rushes in carrying a bloody knife. He announces that Goneril has committed suicide. Moreover, she fatally poisoned Regan before she died. The two bodies are carried in and laid out. Kent enters and asks where Lear is. Albany recalls with horror that Lear and Cordelia are still imprisoned and demands from Edmund their whereabouts. Edmund repents his crimes and determines to do good before his death. He tells the others that he had ordered that Cordelia be hanged and sends a messenger to try to intervene. Lear enters, carrying the dead Cordelia in his arms: the messenger arrived too late. Slipping in and out of sanity, Lear grieves over Cordelia's body. Kent speaks to Lear, but Lear barely recognizes him. A messenger enters and reveals that Edmund has also died. Lear asks Edgar to loosen Cordelia's button; then, just as Lear thinks that he sees her beginning to breathe again, he dies. Albany gives Edgar and Kent their power and titles back, inviting them to rule with him. Kent, feeling himself near death, refuses, but Edgar seems to accept. The few remaining survivors exit sadly as a funeral march plays.

summary

Scena Tertia. Enter in conquest with Drum and Colours, Edmund, Lear, and Cordelia, as prisoners, Souldiers, Captaine. Bast. Some Officers take them away: good guard, Vntill their greater pleasures first be knowne That are to censure them Cor. We are not the first, Who with best meaning haue incurr'd the worst: For thee oppressed King I am cast downe, My selfe could else out-frowne false Fortunes frowne. Shall we not see these Daughters, and these Sisters? Lear. No, no, no, no: come let's away to prison, We two alone will sing like Birds i'th' Cage: When thou dost aske me blessing, Ile kneele downe And aske of thee forgiuenesse: So wee'l liue, And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh At gilded Butterflies: and heere (poore Rogues) Talke of Court newes, and wee'l talke with them too, Who looses, and who wins; who's in, who's out; And take vpon's the mystery of things, As if we were Gods spies: And wee'l weare out In a wall'd prison, packs and sects of great ones, That ebbe and flow by th' Moone Bast. Take them away Lear. Vpon such sacrifices my Cordelia, The Gods themselues throw Incense. Haue I caught thee? He that parts vs, shall bring a Brand from Heauen, And fire vs hence, like Foxes: wipe thine eyes, The good yeares shall deuoure them, flesh and fell, Ere they shall make vs weepe? Weele see 'em staru'd first: come. Enter. Bast. Come hither Captaine, hearke. Take thou this note, go follow them to prison, One step I haue aduanc'd thee, if thou do'st As this instructs thee, thou dost make thy way To Noble Fortunes: know thou this, that men Are as the time is; to be tender minded Do's not become a Sword, thy great imployment Will not beare question: either say thou'lt do't, Or thriue by other meanes Capt. Ile do't my Lord Bast. About it, and write happy, when th'hast done, Marke I say instantly, and carry it so As I haue set it downe. Exit Captaine. Flourish. Enter Albany, Gonerill, Regan, Soldiers. Alb. Sir, you haue shew'd to day your valiant straine And Fortune led you well: you haue the Captiues Who were the opposites of this dayes strife: I do require them of you so to vse them, As we shall find their merites, and our safety May equally determine Bast. Sir, I thought it fit, To send the old and miserable King to some retention, Whose age had Charmes in it, whose Title more, To plucke the common bosome on his side, And turne our imprest Launces in our eies Which do command them. With him I sent the Queen: My reason all the same, and they are ready To morrow, or at further space, t' appeare Where you shall hold your Session Alb. Sir, by your patience, I hold you but a subiect of this Warre, Not as a Brother Reg. That's as we list to grace him. Methinkes our pleasure might haue bin demanded Ere you had spoke so farre. He led our Powers, Bore the Commission of my place and person, The which immediacie may well stand vp, And call it selfe your Brother Gon. Not so hot: In his owne grace he doth exalt himselfe, More then in your addition Reg. In my rights, By me inuested, he compeeres the best Alb. That were the most, if he should husband you Reg. Iesters do oft proue Prophets Gon. Hola, hola, That eye that told you so, look'd but a squint Rega. Lady I am not well, else I should answere From a full flowing stomack. Generall, Take thou my Souldiers, prisoners, patrimony, Dispose of them, of me, the walls is thine: Witnesse the world, that I create thee heere My Lord, and Master Gon. Meane you to enioy him? Alb. The let alone lies not in your good will Bast. Nor in thine Lord Alb. Halfe-blooded fellow, yes Reg. Let the Drum strike, and proue my title thine Alb. Stay yet, heare reason: Edmund, I arrest thee On capitall Treason; and in thy arrest, This guilded Serpent: for your claime faire Sisters, I bare it in the interest of my wife, 'Tis she is sub-contracted to this Lord, And I her husband contradict your Banes. If you will marry, make your loues to me, My Lady is bespoke Gon. An enterlude Alb. Thou art armed Gloster, Let the Trumpet sound: If none appeare to proue vpon thy person, Thy heynous, manifest, and many Treasons, There is my pledge: Ile make it on thy heart Ere I taste bread, thou art in nothing lesse Then I haue heere proclaim'd thee Reg. Sicke, O sicke Gon. If not, Ile nere trust medicine Bast. There's my exchange, what in the world hes That names me Traitor, villain-like he lies, Call by the Trumpet: he that dares approach; On him, on you, who not, I will maintaine My truth and honor firmely. Enter a Herald. Alb. A Herald, ho. Trust to thy single vertue, for thy Souldiers All leuied in my name, haue in my name Tooke their discharge Regan. My sicknesse growes vpon me Alb. She is not well, conuey her to my Tent. Come hither Herald, let the Trumpet sound, And read out this. A Trumpet sounds. Herald reads. If any man of qualitie or degree, within the lists of the Army, will maintaine vpon Edmund, supposed Earle of Gloster, that he is a manifold Traitor, let him appeare by the third sound of the Trumpet: he is bold in his defence. 1 Trumpet. Her. Againe. 2 Trumpet. Her. Againe. 3 Trumpet. Trumpet answers within. Enter Edgar armed. Alb. Aske him his purposes, why he appeares Vpon this Call o'th' Trumpet Her. What are you? Your name, your quality, and why you answer This present Summons? Edg. Know my name is lost By Treasons tooth: bare-gnawne, and Canker-bit, Yet am I Noble as the Aduersary I come to cope Alb. Which is that Aduersary? Edg. What's he that speakes for Edmund Earle of Gloster? Bast. Himselfe, what saist thou to him? Edg. Draw thy Sword, That if my speech offend a Noble heart, Thy arme may do thee Iustice, heere is mine: Behold it is my priuiledge, The priuiledge of mine Honours, My oath, and my profession. I protest, Maugre thy strength, place, youth, and eminence, Despise thy victor-Sword, and fire new Fortune, Thy valor, and thy heart, thou art a Traitor: False to thy Gods, thy Brother, and thy Father, Conspirant 'gainst this high illustrious Prince, And from th' extremest vpward of thy head, To the discent and dust below thy foote, A most Toad-spotted Traitor. Say thou no, This Sword, this arme, and my best spirits are bent To proue vpon thy heart, where to I speake, Thou lyest Bast. In wisedome I should aske thy name, But since thy out-side lookes so faire and Warlike, And that thy tongue (some say) of breeding breathes, What safe, and nicely I might well delay, By rule of Knight-hood, I disdaine and spurne: Backe do I tosse these Treasons to thy head, With the hell-hated Lye, ore-whelme thy heart, Which for they yet glance by, and scarcely bruise, This Sword of mine shall giue them instant way, Where they shall rest for euer. Trumpets speake Alb. Saue him, saue him. Alarums. Fights. Gon. This is practise Gloster, By th' law of Warre, thou wast not bound to answer An vnknowne opposite: thou art not vanquish'd, But cozend, and beguild Alb. Shut your mouth Dame, Or with this paper shall I stop it: hold Sir, Thou worse then any name, reade thine owne euill: No tearing Lady, I perceiue you know it Gon. Say if I do, the Lawes are mine not thine, Who can araigne me for't? Enter. Alb. Most monstrous! O, know'st thou this paper? Bast. Aske me not what I know Alb. Go after her, she's desperate, gouerne her Bast. What you haue charg'd me with, That haue I done, And more, much more, the time will bring it out. 'Tis past, and so am I: But what art thou That hast this Fortune on me? If thou'rt Noble, I do forgiue thee Edg. Let's exchange charity: I am no lesse in blood then thou art Edmond, If more, the more th'hast wrong'd me. My name is Edgar and thy Fathers Sonne, The Gods are iust, and of our pleasant vices Make instruments to plague vs: The darke and vitious place where thee he got, Cost him his eyes Bast. Th'hast spoken right, 'tis true, The Wheele is come full circle, I am heere Alb. Me thought thy very gate did prophesie A Royall Noblenesse: I must embrace thee, Let sorrow split my heart, if euer I Did hate thee, or thy Father Edg. Worthy Prince I know't Alb. Where haue you hid your selfe? How haue you knowne the miseries of your Father? Edg. By nursing them my Lord. List a breefe tale, And when 'tis told, O that my heart would burst. The bloody proclamation to escape That follow'd me so neere, (O our liues sweetnesse, That we the paine of death would hourely dye, Rather then die at once) taught me to shift Into a mad-mans rags, t' assume a semblance That very Dogges disdain'd: and in this habit Met I my Father with his bleeding Rings, Their precious Stones new lost: became his guide, Led him, begg'd for him, sau'd him from dispaire. Neuer (O fault) reueal'd my selfe vnto him, Vntill some halfe houre past when I was arm'd, Not sure, though hoping of this good successe, I ask'd his blessing, and from first to last Told him our pilgrimage. But his flaw'd heart (Alacke too weake the conflict to support) Twixt two extremes of passion, ioy and greefe, Burst smilingly Bast. This speech of yours hath mou'd me, And shall perchance do good, but speake you on, You looke as you had something more to say Alb. If there be more, more wofull, hold it in, For I am almost ready to dissolue, Hearing of this. Enter a Gentleman. Gen. Helpe, helpe: O helpe Edg. What kinde of helpe? Alb. Speake man Edg. What meanes this bloody Knife? Gen. 'Tis hot, it smoakes, it came euen from the heart of- O she's dead Alb. Who dead? Speake man Gen. Your Lady Sir, your Lady; and her Sister By her is poyson'd: she confesses it Bast. I was contracted to them both, all three Now marry in an instant Edg. Here comes Kent. Enter Kent. Alb. Produce the bodies, be they aliue or dead; Gonerill and Regans bodies brought out. This iudgement of the Heauens that makes vs tremble. Touches vs not with pitty: O, is this he? The time will not allow the complement Which very manners vrges Kent. I am come To bid my King and Master aye good night. Is he not here? Alb. Great thing of vs forgot, Speake Edmund, where's the King? and where's Cordelia? Seest thou this obiect Kent? Kent. Alacke, why thus? Bast. Yet Edmund was belou'd: The one the other poison'd for my sake, And after slew herselfe Alb. Euen so: couer their faces Bast. I pant for life: some good I meane to do Despight of mine owne Nature. Quickly send, (Be briefe in it) to'th' Castle, for my Writ Is on the life of Lear, and on Cordelia: Nay, send in time Alb. Run, run, O run Edg. To who my Lord? Who ha's the Office? Send thy token of repreeue Bast. Well thought on, take my Sword, Giue it the Captaine Edg. Hast thee for thy life Bast. He hath Commission from thy Wife and me, To hang Cordelia in the prison, and To lay the blame vpon her owne dispaire, That she for-did her selfe Alb. The Gods defend her, beare him hence awhile. Enter Lear with Cordelia in his armes. Lear. Howle, howle, howle: O you are men of stones, Had I your tongues and eyes, Il'd vse them so, That Heauens vault should crack: she's gone for euer. I know when one is dead, and when one liues, She's dead as earth: Lend me a Looking-glasse, If that her breath will mist or staine the stone, Why then she liues Kent. Is this the promis'd end? Edg. Or image of that horror Alb. Fall and cease Lear. This feather stirs, she liues: if it be so, It is a chance which do's redeeme all sorrowes That euer I haue felt Kent. O my good Master Lear. Prythee away Edg. 'Tis Noble Kent your Friend Lear. A plague vpon you Murderors, Traitors all, I might haue sau'd her, now she's gone for euer: Cordelia, Cordelia, stay a little. Ha: What is't thou saist? Her voice was euer soft, Gentle, and low, an excellent thing in woman. I kill'd the Slaue that was a hanging thee Gent. 'Tis true (my Lords) he did Lear. Did I not fellow? I haue seene the day, with my good biting Faulchion I would haue made him skip: I am old now, And these same crosses spoile me. Who are you? Mine eyes are not o'th' best, Ile tell you straight Kent. If Fortune brag of two, she lou'd and hated, One of them we behold Lear. This is a dull sight, are you not Kent? Kent. The same: your Seruant Kent, Where is your Seruant Caius? Lear. He's a good fellow, I can tell you that, He'le strike and quickly too, he's dead and rotten Kent. No my good Lord, I am the very man Lear. Ile see that straight Kent. That from your first of difference and decay, Haue follow'd your sad steps Lear. You are welcome hither Kent. Nor no man else: All's cheerlesse, darke, and deadly, Your eldest Daughters haue fore-done themselues, And desperately are dead Lear. I so I thinke Alb. He knowes not what he saies, and vaine is it That we present vs to him. Enter a Messenger. Edg. Very bootlesse Mess. Edmund is dead my Lord Alb. That's but a trifle heere: You Lords and Noble Friends, know our intent, What comfort to this great decay may come, Shall be appli'd. For vs we will resigne, During the life of this old Maiesty To him our absolute power, you to your rights, With boote, and such addition as your Honours Haue more then merited. All Friends shall Taste the wages of their vertue, and all Foes The cup of their deseruings: O see, see Lear. And my poore Foole is hang'd: no, no, no life? Why should a Dog, a Horse, a Rat haue life, And thou no breath at all? Thou'lt come no more, Neuer, neuer, neuer, neuer, neuer. Pray you vndo this Button. Thanke you Sir, Do you see this? Looke on her? Looke her lips, Looke there, looke there. He dies. Edg. He faints, my Lord, my Lord Kent. Breake heart, I prythee breake Edg. Looke vp my Lord Kent. Vex not his ghost, O let him passe, he hates him, That would vpon the wracke of this tough world Stretch him out longer Edg. He is gon indeed Kent. The wonder is, he hath endur'd so long, He but vsurpt his life Alb. Beare them from hence, our present businesse Is generall woe: Friends of my soule, you twaine, Rule in this Realme, and the gor'd state sustaine Kent. I haue a iourney Sir, shortly to go, My Master calls me, I must not say no Edg. The waight of this sad time we must obey, Speake what we feele, not what we ought to say: The oldest hath borne most, we that are yong, Shall neuer see so much, nor liue so long. Exeunt. with a dead March. FINIS. THE TRAGEDIE OF KING LEAR.

Analysis This long scene brings the play to its resolution, ending it on a note of relentless depression and gloom. Almost all of the main characters wind up dead; only Albany, Edgar, and Kent walk off the stage at the end, and the aging, unhappy Kent predicts his imminent demise. Goneril, Regan, Cordelia, and Lear lie dead onstage, and Edmund and Gloucester have passed away offstage. Albany philosophizes about his merciless end when he says, "All friends shall taste / The wages of their virtue, and all foes / The cup of their deserving" . One can argue that these words suggest that, in some sense, order and justice have triumphed over villainy and cruelty, and that the world is a just place after all. But one can also argue that Albany's words ring hollow: most of the virtuous characters die along with the villains, making it difficult to interpret the scene as poetic justice. Indeed, death seems to be a defining motif for the play, embracing characters indiscriminately. We may feel that the disloyal Goneril and Regan, the treacherous Edmund, the odious Oswald, and the brutal Cornwall richly deserve their deaths. But, in the last scene, when the audience expects some kind of justice to be doled out, the good characters--Gloucester, Cordelia, Lear--die as well, and their bodies litter the stage alongside the corpses of the wicked. This final, harrowing wave of death raises, yet again, a question that has burned throughout the play: is there any justice in the world? Albany's suggestion that the good and the evil both ultimately get what they deserve does not seem to hold true. Lear, howling over Cordelia's body, asks, "Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life, / And thou no breath at all?" . This question can be answered only with the stark truth that death comes to all, regardless of each individual's virtue or youth. The world of King Lear is not a Christian cosmos: there is no messiah to give meaning to suffering and no promise of an afterlife. All that King Lear offers is despair. The play's emotional extremes of hope and despair, joy and grief, love and hate, are brought to the fore as well in this final scene. Lear's address to Cordelia at the beginning of the scene is strangely joyful. He creates an intimate world that knows only love: "We two alone will sing like birds i' the cage. / When thou dost ask me blessing, I'll kneel down, / And ask of thee forgiveness" . This blissful vision, however, is countered by the terrible despair that Lear evokes at Cordelia's death: "Thou'lt come no more, / Never, never, never, never, never." . Yet, despite his grief, Lear expires in a flash of utterly misguided hope, thinking that Cordelia is coming back to life. In a sense, this final, false hope is the most depressing moment of all. Similarly, Gloucester, as Edgar announces, dies partly of joy: "his flawed heart-- / . . . / 'Twixt two extremes of passion, joy and grief, / Burst smilingly" . Even Edmund, learning of Goneril's and Regan's deaths, says, "Yet Edmund was beloved. / The one the other poisoned for my sake, / And after slew herself" . Even the cruel Edmund thinks of love in his last moments, a reminder of the warmth of which his bastard birth deprived him. But for him and the two sister queens, as for everyone else in King Lear, love seems to lead only to death. In perhaps the play's final cruelty, the audience is left with only a terrifying uncertainty: the good and the evil alike die, and joy and pain both lead to madness or death. The corpses on the stage at the end of the play, of the young as well as the old, symbolize despair and death--just as the storm at the play's center symbolizes chaos and madness. For Lear, at least, death is a mercy. As Kent says, "The wonder is, he hath endured so long" in his grief and madness . For the others, however, we are left wondering whether there is any justice, any system of punishment and reward in the "tough world" of this powerful but painful play .

analysis

Actus Primus. Scoena Prima. Enter Kent, Gloucester, and Edmond. Kent. I thought the King had more affected the Duke of Albany, then Cornwall Glou. It did alwayes seeme so to vs: But now in the diuision of the Kingdome, it appeares not which of the Dukes hee valewes most, for qualities are so weigh'd, that curiosity in neither, can make choise of eithers moity Kent. Is not this your Son, my Lord? Glou. His breeding Sir, hath bin at my charge. I haue so often blush'd to acknowledge him, that now I am braz'd too't Kent. I cannot conceiue you Glou. Sir, this yong Fellowes mother could; wherevpon she grew round womb'd, and had indeede (Sir) a Sonne for her Cradle, ere she had a husband for her bed. Do you smell a fault? Kent. I cannot wish the fault vndone, the issue of it, being so proper Glou. But I haue a Sonne, Sir, by order of Law, some yeere elder then this; who, yet is no deerer in my account, though this Knaue came somthing sawcily to the world before he was sent for: yet was his Mother fayre, there was good sport at his making, and the horson must be acknowledged. Doe you know this Noble Gentleman, Edmond? Edm. No, my Lord Glou. My Lord of Kent: Remember him heereafter, as my Honourable Friend Edm. My seruices to your Lordship Kent. I must loue you, and sue to know you better Edm. Sir, I shall study deseruing Glou. He hath bin out nine yeares, and away he shall againe. The King is comming. Sennet. Enter King Lear, Cornwall, Albany, Gonerill, Regan, Cordelia, and attendants. Lear. Attend the Lords of France & Burgundy, Gloster Glou. I shall, my Lord. Enter. Lear. Meane time we shal expresse our darker purpose. Giue me the Map there. Know, that we haue diuided In three our Kingdome: and 'tis our fast intent, To shake all Cares and Businesse from our Age, Conferring them on yonger strengths, while we Vnburthen'd crawle toward death. Our son of Cornwal, And you our no lesse louing Sonne of Albany, We haue this houre a constant will to publish Our daughters seuerall Dowers, that future strife May be preuented now. The Princes, France & Burgundy, Great Riuals in our yongest daughters loue, Long in our Court, haue made their amorous soiourne, And heere are to be answer'd. Tell me my daughters (Since now we will diuest vs both of Rule, Interest of Territory, Cares of State) Which of you shall we say doth loue vs most, That we, our largest bountie may extend Where Nature doth with merit challenge. Gonerill, Our eldest borne, speake first Gon. Sir, I loue you more then word can weild y matter, Deerer then eye-sight, space, and libertie, Beyond what can be valewed, rich or rare, No lesse then life, with grace, health, beauty, honor: As much as Childe ere lou'd, or Father found. A loue that makes breath poore, and speech vnable, Beyond all manner of so much I loue you Cor. What shall Cordelia speake? Loue, and be silent Lear. Of all these bounds euen from this Line, to this, With shadowie Forrests, and with Champains rich'd With plenteous Riuers, and wide-skirted Meades We make thee Lady. To thine and Albanies issues Be this perpetuall. What sayes our second Daughter? Our deerest Regan, wife of Cornwall? Reg. I am made of that selfe-mettle as my Sister, And prize me at her worth. In my true heart, I finde she names my very deede of loue: Onely she comes too short, that I professe My selfe an enemy to all other ioyes, Which the most precious square of sense professes, And finde I am alone felicitate In your deere Highnesse loue Cor. Then poore Cordelia, And yet not so, since I am sure my loue's More ponderous then my tongue Lear. To thee, and thine hereditarie euer, Remaine this ample third of our faire Kingdome, No lesse in space, validitie, and pleasure Then that conferr'd on Gonerill. Now our Ioy, Although our last and least; to whose yong loue, The Vines of France, and Milke of Burgundie, Striue to be interest. What can you say, to draw A third, more opilent then your Sisters? speake Cor. Nothing my Lord Lear. Nothing? Cor. Nothing Lear. Nothing will come of nothing, speake againe Cor. Vnhappie that I am, I cannot heaue My heart into my mouth: I loue your Maiesty According to my bond, no more nor lesse Lear. How, how Cordelia? Mend your speech a little, Least you may marre your Fortunes Cor. Good my Lord, You haue begot me, bred me, lou'd me. I returne those duties backe as are right fit, Obey you, Loue you, and most Honour you. Why haue my Sisters Husbands, if they say They loue you all? Happily when I shall wed, That Lord, whose hand must take my plight, shall carry Halfe my loue with him, halfe my Care, and Dutie, Sure I shall neuer marry like my Sisters Lear. But goes thy heart with this? Cor. I my good Lord Lear. So young, and so vntender? Cor. So young my Lord, and true Lear. Let it be so, thy truth then be thy dowre: For by the sacred radience of the Sunne, The misteries of Heccat and the night: By all the operation of the Orbes, From whom we do exist, and cease to be, Heere I disclaime all my Paternall care, Propinquity and property of blood, And as a stranger to my heart and me, Hold thee from this for euer. The barbarous Scythian, Or he that makes his generation messes To gorge his appetite, shall to my bosome Be as well neighbour'd, pittied, and releeu'd, As thou my sometime Daughter Kent. Good my Liege Lear. Peace Kent, Come not betweene the Dragon and his wrath, I lou'd her most, and thought to set my rest On her kind nursery. Hence and avoid my sight: So be my graue my peace, as here I giue Her Fathers heart from her; call France, who stirres? Call Burgundy, Cornwall, and Albanie, With my two Daughters Dowres, digest the third, Let pride, which she cals plainnesse, marry her: I doe inuest you ioyntly with my power, Preheminence, and all the large effects That troope with Maiesty. Our selfe by Monthly course, With reseruation of an hundred Knights, By you to be sustain'd, shall our abode Make with you by due turne, onely we shall retaine The name, and all th' addition to a King: the Sway, Reuennew, Execution of the rest, Beloued Sonnes be yours, which to confirme, This Coronet part betweene you Kent. Royall Lear, Whom I haue euer honor'd as my King, Lou'd as my Father, as my Master follow'd, As my great Patron thought on in my praiers Le. The bow is bent & drawne, make from the shaft Kent. Let it fall rather, though the forke inuade The region of my heart, be Kent vnmannerly, When Lear is mad, what wouldest thou do old man? Think'st thou that dutie shall haue dread to speake, When power to flattery bowes? To plainnesse honour's bound, When Maiesty falls to folly, reserue thy state, And in thy best consideration checke This hideous rashnesse, answere my life, my iudgement: Thy yongest Daughter do's not loue thee least, Nor are those empty hearted, whose low sounds Reuerbe no hollownesse Lear. Kent, on thy life no more Kent. My life I neuer held but as pawne To wage against thine enemies, nere feare to loose it, Thy safety being motiue Lear. Out of my sight Kent. See better Lear, and let me still remaine The true blanke of thine eie Lear. Now by Apollo, Kent. Now by Apollo, King Thou swear'st thy Gods in vaine Lear. O Vassall! Miscreant Alb. Cor. Deare Sir forbeare Kent. Kill thy Physition, and thy fee bestow Vpon the foule disease, reuoke thy guift, Or whil'st I can vent clamour from my throate, Ile tell thee thou dost euill Lea. Heare me recreant, on thine allegeance heare me; That thou hast sought to make vs breake our vowes, Which we durst neuer yet; and with strain'd pride, To come betwixt our sentences, and our power, Which, nor our nature, nor our place can beare; Our potencie made good, take thy reward. Fiue dayes we do allot thee for prouision, To shield thee from disasters of the world, And on the sixt to turne thy hated backe Vpon our kingdome: if on the tenth day following, Thy banisht trunke be found in our Dominions, The moment is thy death, away. By Iupiter, This shall not be reuok'd, Kent. Fare thee well King, sith thus thou wilt appeare, Freedome liues hence, and banishment is here; The Gods to their deere shelter take thee Maid, That iustly think'st, and hast most rightly said: And your large speeches, may your deeds approue, That good effects may spring from words of loue: Thus Kent, O Princes, bids you all adew, Hee'l shape his old course, in a Country new. Enter. Flourish. Enter Gloster with France, and Burgundy, Attendants. Cor. Heere's France and Burgundy, my Noble Lord Lear. My Lord of Burgundie, We first addresse toward you, who with this King Hath riuald for our Daughter; what in the least Will you require in present Dower with her, Or cease your quest of Loue? Bur. Most Royall Maiesty, I craue no more then hath your Highnesse offer'd, Nor will you tender lesse? Lear. Right Noble Burgundy, When she was deare to vs, we did hold her so, But now her price is fallen: Sir, there she stands, If ought within that little seeming substance, Or all of it with our displeasure piec'd, And nothing more may fitly like your Grace, Shee's there, and she is yours Bur. I know no answer Lear. Will you with those infirmities she owes, Vnfriended, new adopted to our hate, Dow'rd with our curse, and stranger'd with our oath, Take her or, leaue her Bur. Pardon me Royall Sir, Election makes not vp in such conditions Le. Then leaue her sir, for by the powre that made me, I tell you all her wealth. For you great King, I would not from your loue make such a stray, To match you where I hate, therefore beseech you T' auert your liking a more worthier way, Then on a wretch whom Nature is asham'd Almost t' acknowledge hers Fra. This is most strange, That she whom euen but now, was your obiect, The argument of your praise, balme of your age, The best, the deerest, should in this trice of time Commit a thing so monstrous, to dismantle So many folds of fauour: sure her offence Must be of such vnnaturall degree, That monsters it: Or your fore-voucht affection Fall into taint, which to beleeue of her Must be a faith that reason without miracle Should neuer plant in me Cor. I yet beseech your Maiesty. If for I want that glib and oylie Art, To speake and purpose not, since what I will intend, Ile do't before I speake, that you make knowne It is no vicious blot, murther, or foulenesse, No vnchaste action or dishonoured step That hath depriu'd me of your Grace and fauour, But euen for want of that, for which I am richer, A still soliciting eye, and such a tongue, That I am glad I haue not, though not to haue it, Hath lost me in your liking Lear. Better thou had'st Not beene borne, then not t'haue pleas'd me better Fra. Is it but this? A tardinesse in nature, Which often leaues the history vnspoke That it intends to do: my Lord of Burgundy, What say you to the Lady? Loue's not loue When it is mingled with regards, that stands Aloofe from th' intire point, will you haue her? She is herselfe a Dowrie Bur. Royall King, Giue but that portion which your selfe propos'd, And here I take Cordelia by the hand, Dutchesse of Burgundie Lear. Nothing, I haue sworne, I am firme Bur. I am sorry then you haue so lost a Father, That you must loose a husband Cor. Peace be with Burgundie, Since that respect and Fortunes are his loue, I shall not be his wife Fra. Fairest Cordelia, that art most rich being poore, Most choise forsaken, and most lou'd despis'd, Thee and thy vertues here I seize vpon, Be it lawfull I take vp what's cast away. Gods, Gods! 'Tis strange, that from their cold'st neglect My Loue should kindle to enflam'd respect. Thy dowrelesse Daughter King, throwne to my chance, Is Queene of vs, of ours, and our faire France: Not all the Dukes of watrish Burgundy, Can buy this vnpriz'd precious Maid of me. Bid them farewell Cordelia, though vnkinde, Thou loosest here a better where to finde Lear. Thou hast her France, let her be thine, for we Haue no such Daughter, nor shall euer see That face of hers againe, therfore be gone, Without our Grace, our Loue, our Benizon: Come Noble Burgundie. Flourish. Exeunt. Fra. Bid farwell to your Sisters Cor. The Iewels of our Father, with wash'd eies Cordelia leaues you, I know you what you are, And like a Sister am most loth to call Your faults as they are named. Loue well our Father: To your professed bosomes I commit him, But yet alas, stood I within his Grace, I would prefer him to a better place, So farewell to you both Regn. Prescribe not vs our dutie Gon. Let your study Be to content your Lord, who hath receiu'd you At Fortunes almes, you haue obedience scanted, And well are worth the want that you haue wanted Cor. Time shall vnfold what plighted cunning hides, Who couers faults, at last with shame derides: Well may you prosper Fra. Come my faire Cordelia. Exit France and Cor. Gon. Sister, it is not little I haue to say, Of what most neerely appertaines to vs both, I thinke our Father will hence to night Reg. That's most certaine, and with you: next moneth with vs Gon. You see how full of changes his age is, the obseruation we haue made of it hath beene little; he alwaies lou'd our Sister most, and with what poore iudgement he hath now cast her off, appeares too grossely Reg. 'Tis the infirmity of his age, yet he hath euer but slenderly knowne himselfe Gon. The best and soundest of his time hath bin but rash, then must we looke from his age, to receiue not alone the imperfections of long ingraffed condition, but therewithall the vnruly way-wardnesse, that infirme and cholericke yeares bring with them Reg. Such vnconstant starts are we like to haue from him, as this of Kents banishment Gon. There is further complement of leaue-taking betweene France and him, pray you let vs sit together, if our Father carry authority with such disposition as he beares, this last surrender of his will but offend vs Reg. We shall further thinke of it Gon. We must do something, and i'th' heate. Exeunt.

The play opens in King Lear's palace with Kent and Gloucester in conversation. They are discussing King Lear's regard for his two sons-in-law, the Dukes of Albany and Cornwall. Kent suggests that the King favors one over the other and fears that the favoritism will cause a problem and affect the kingdom. Listening to them is a young man, Edmund. Gloucester explains that Edmund is his illegitimate son--a folly of his youth. He then declares that he also has a legitimate son named Edgar. Gloucester prides himself on loving both of them equally even though Edmund is socially considered an outcast and a bastard. There is then an exchange of formalities between Kent and Edmund as they are introduced. The King enters with his procession. Due to his age, he has decided to abdicate his throne in the near future. He will divide his kingdom among his three daughters; the largest share will go to the child who proves that she loves him the most. He assumes that Cordelia, his youngest and favorite child, will receive the largest portion. After sitting on his throne, he makes public his plans to divide the kingdom into three parts and takes out a map to show the dividing lines. One will go to Goneril, who is married to the Duke of Albany; one will go to Regan, who is married to the Duke of Cornwall; and the last will go to the unmarried Cordelia, who is currently being courted by the Duke of Burgundy and the King of France. Lear asks his daughters to publicly explain their love for their father. Goneril answers with rich words that are loaded with flattery; everyone but Lear seems to know that Goneril praises her father only for personal gain. Regan states that nothing except her love for her father could possibly give her any joy. Both elder daughters promise that they love the King more than they love their husbands. Lear next calls on Cordelia; since she is Lear's favorite, he is expecting great praise and flowery speech from her; instead, her reply is short and unexpected. When Lear asks, "What can you say to draw a third more opulent than your sisters?" Cordelia replies, "Nothing." She then adds, "I love your Majesty according to my bond, no more nor less." This blunt, honest reply infuriates Lear. After asking her once again to reveal her love in words, Cordelia explains that she cannot. Lear grows more enraged. Then, much to the dismay of the others, the King curses Cordelia and disinherits her. When Kent pleads Cordelia's case, he is also sent away, banished like Cordelia. The King of France and the Duke of Burgundy arrive to court Cordelia. Hearing of her disgrace and banishment, the Duke withdraws his proposal of marriage. The King of France, however, seeks to know the reason for Lear's anger; when he hears what Cordelia has said, he understands her true worth and is all the more eager to wed her. The king and his retinue exit. Cordelia turns to her two older sisters and warns them to treat their father well. Her entreaties, however, fall on deaf ears. Goneril and Regan immediately begin their plotting. They comment on Lear's rashness and the general defects that age brings and agree that something must be done with him.

summary

Actus Primus. Scoena Prima. Enter Kent, Gloucester, and Edmond. Kent. I thought the King had more affected the Duke of Albany, then Cornwall Glou. It did alwayes seeme so to vs: But now in the diuision of the Kingdome, it appeares not which of the Dukes hee valewes most, for qualities are so weigh'd, that curiosity in neither, can make choise of eithers moity Kent. Is not this your Son, my Lord? Glou. His breeding Sir, hath bin at my charge. I haue so often blush'd to acknowledge him, that now I am braz'd too't Kent. I cannot conceiue you Glou. Sir, this yong Fellowes mother could; wherevpon she grew round womb'd, and had indeede (Sir) a Sonne for her Cradle, ere she had a husband for her bed. Do you smell a fault? Kent. I cannot wish the fault vndone, the issue of it, being so proper Glou. But I haue a Sonne, Sir, by order of Law, some yeere elder then this; who, yet is no deerer in my account, though this Knaue came somthing sawcily to the world before he was sent for: yet was his Mother fayre, there was good sport at his making, and the horson must be acknowledged. Doe you know this Noble Gentleman, Edmond? Edm. No, my Lord Glou. My Lord of Kent: Remember him heereafter, as my Honourable Friend Edm. My seruices to your Lordship Kent. I must loue you, and sue to know you better Edm. Sir, I shall study deseruing Glou. He hath bin out nine yeares, and away he shall againe. The King is comming. Sennet. Enter King Lear, Cornwall, Albany, Gonerill, Regan, Cordelia, and attendants. Lear. Attend the Lords of France & Burgundy, Gloster Glou. I shall, my Lord. Enter. Lear. Meane time we shal expresse our darker purpose. Giue me the Map there. Know, that we haue diuided In three our Kingdome: and 'tis our fast intent, To shake all Cares and Businesse from our Age, Conferring them on yonger strengths, while we Vnburthen'd crawle toward death. Our son of Cornwal, And you our no lesse louing Sonne of Albany, We haue this houre a constant will to publish Our daughters seuerall Dowers, that future strife May be preuented now. The Princes, France & Burgundy, Great Riuals in our yongest daughters loue, Long in our Court, haue made their amorous soiourne, And heere are to be answer'd. Tell me my daughters (Since now we will diuest vs both of Rule, Interest of Territory, Cares of State) Which of you shall we say doth loue vs most, That we, our largest bountie may extend Where Nature doth with merit challenge. Gonerill, Our eldest borne, speake first Gon. Sir, I loue you more then word can weild y matter, Deerer then eye-sight, space, and libertie, Beyond what can be valewed, rich or rare, No lesse then life, with grace, health, beauty, honor: As much as Childe ere lou'd, or Father found. A loue that makes breath poore, and speech vnable, Beyond all manner of so much I loue you Cor. What shall Cordelia speake? Loue, and be silent Lear. Of all these bounds euen from this Line, to this, With shadowie Forrests, and with Champains rich'd With plenteous Riuers, and wide-skirted Meades We make thee Lady. To thine and Albanies issues Be this perpetuall. What sayes our second Daughter? Our deerest Regan, wife of Cornwall? Reg. I am made of that selfe-mettle as my Sister, And prize me at her worth. In my true heart, I finde she names my very deede of loue: Onely she comes too short, that I professe My selfe an enemy to all other ioyes, Which the most precious square of sense professes, And finde I am alone felicitate In your deere Highnesse loue Cor. Then poore Cordelia, And yet not so, since I am sure my loue's More ponderous then my tongue Lear. To thee, and thine hereditarie euer, Remaine this ample third of our faire Kingdome, No lesse in space, validitie, and pleasure Then that conferr'd on Gonerill. Now our Ioy, Although our last and least; to whose yong loue, The Vines of France, and Milke of Burgundie, Striue to be interest. What can you say, to draw A third, more opilent then your Sisters? speake Cor. Nothing my Lord Lear. Nothing? Cor. Nothing Lear. Nothing will come of nothing, speake againe Cor. Vnhappie that I am, I cannot heaue My heart into my mouth: I loue your Maiesty According to my bond, no more nor lesse Lear. How, how Cordelia? Mend your speech a little, Least you may marre your Fortunes Cor. Good my Lord, You haue begot me, bred me, lou'd me. I returne those duties backe as are right fit, Obey you, Loue you, and most Honour you. Why haue my Sisters Husbands, if they say They loue you all? Happily when I shall wed, That Lord, whose hand must take my plight, shall carry Halfe my loue with him, halfe my Care, and Dutie, Sure I shall neuer marry like my Sisters Lear. But goes thy heart with this? Cor. I my good Lord Lear. So young, and so vntender? Cor. So young my Lord, and true Lear. Let it be so, thy truth then be thy dowre: For by the sacred radience of the Sunne, The misteries of Heccat and the night: By all the operation of the Orbes, From whom we do exist, and cease to be, Heere I disclaime all my Paternall care, Propinquity and property of blood, And as a stranger to my heart and me, Hold thee from this for euer. The barbarous Scythian, Or he that makes his generation messes To gorge his appetite, shall to my bosome Be as well neighbour'd, pittied, and releeu'd, As thou my sometime Daughter Kent. Good my Liege Lear. Peace Kent, Come not betweene the Dragon and his wrath, I lou'd her most, and thought to set my rest On her kind nursery. Hence and avoid my sight: So be my graue my peace, as here I giue Her Fathers heart from her; call France, who stirres? Call Burgundy, Cornwall, and Albanie, With my two Daughters Dowres, digest the third, Let pride, which she cals plainnesse, marry her: I doe inuest you ioyntly with my power, Preheminence, and all the large effects That troope with Maiesty. Our selfe by Monthly course, With reseruation of an hundred Knights, By you to be sustain'd, shall our abode Make with you by due turne, onely we shall retaine The name, and all th' addition to a King: the Sway, Reuennew, Execution of the rest, Beloued Sonnes be yours, which to confirme, This Coronet part betweene you Kent. Royall Lear, Whom I haue euer honor'd as my King, Lou'd as my Father, as my Master follow'd, As my great Patron thought on in my praiers Le. The bow is bent & drawne, make from the shaft Kent. Let it fall rather, though the forke inuade The region of my heart, be Kent vnmannerly, When Lear is mad, what wouldest thou do old man? Think'st thou that dutie shall haue dread to speake, When power to flattery bowes? To plainnesse honour's bound, When Maiesty falls to folly, reserue thy state, And in thy best consideration checke This hideous rashnesse, answere my life, my iudgement: Thy yongest Daughter do's not loue thee least, Nor are those empty hearted, whose low sounds Reuerbe no hollownesse Lear. Kent, on thy life no more Kent. My life I neuer held but as pawne To wage against thine enemies, nere feare to loose it, Thy safety being motiue Lear. Out of my sight Kent. See better Lear, and let me still remaine The true blanke of thine eie Lear. Now by Apollo, Kent. Now by Apollo, King Thou swear'st thy Gods in vaine Lear. O Vassall! Miscreant Alb. Cor. Deare Sir forbeare Kent. Kill thy Physition, and thy fee bestow Vpon the foule disease, reuoke thy guift, Or whil'st I can vent clamour from my throate, Ile tell thee thou dost euill Lea. Heare me recreant, on thine allegeance heare me; That thou hast sought to make vs breake our vowes, Which we durst neuer yet; and with strain'd pride, To come betwixt our sentences, and our power, Which, nor our nature, nor our place can beare; Our potencie made good, take thy reward. Fiue dayes we do allot thee for prouision, To shield thee from disasters of the world, And on the sixt to turne thy hated backe Vpon our kingdome: if on the tenth day following, Thy banisht trunke be found in our Dominions, The moment is thy death, away. By Iupiter, This shall not be reuok'd, Kent. Fare thee well King, sith thus thou wilt appeare, Freedome liues hence, and banishment is here; The Gods to their deere shelter take thee Maid, That iustly think'st, and hast most rightly said: And your large speeches, may your deeds approue, That good effects may spring from words of loue: Thus Kent, O Princes, bids you all adew, Hee'l shape his old course, in a Country new. Enter. Flourish. Enter Gloster with France, and Burgundy, Attendants. Cor. Heere's France and Burgundy, my Noble Lord Lear. My Lord of Burgundie, We first addresse toward you, who with this King Hath riuald for our Daughter; what in the least Will you require in present Dower with her, Or cease your quest of Loue? Bur. Most Royall Maiesty, I craue no more then hath your Highnesse offer'd, Nor will you tender lesse? Lear. Right Noble Burgundy, When she was deare to vs, we did hold her so, But now her price is fallen: Sir, there she stands, If ought within that little seeming substance, Or all of it with our displeasure piec'd, And nothing more may fitly like your Grace, Shee's there, and she is yours Bur. I know no answer Lear. Will you with those infirmities she owes, Vnfriended, new adopted to our hate, Dow'rd with our curse, and stranger'd with our oath, Take her or, leaue her Bur. Pardon me Royall Sir, Election makes not vp in such conditions Le. Then leaue her sir, for by the powre that made me, I tell you all her wealth. For you great King, I would not from your loue make such a stray, To match you where I hate, therefore beseech you T' auert your liking a more worthier way, Then on a wretch whom Nature is asham'd Almost t' acknowledge hers Fra. This is most strange, That she whom euen but now, was your obiect, The argument of your praise, balme of your age, The best, the deerest, should in this trice of time Commit a thing so monstrous, to dismantle So many folds of fauour: sure her offence Must be of such vnnaturall degree, That monsters it: Or your fore-voucht affection Fall into taint, which to beleeue of her Must be a faith that reason without miracle Should neuer plant in me Cor. I yet beseech your Maiesty. If for I want that glib and oylie Art, To speake and purpose not, since what I will intend, Ile do't before I speake, that you make knowne It is no vicious blot, murther, or foulenesse, No vnchaste action or dishonoured step That hath depriu'd me of your Grace and fauour, But euen for want of that, for which I am richer, A still soliciting eye, and such a tongue, That I am glad I haue not, though not to haue it, Hath lost me in your liking Lear. Better thou had'st Not beene borne, then not t'haue pleas'd me better Fra. Is it but this? A tardinesse in nature, Which often leaues the history vnspoke That it intends to do: my Lord of Burgundy, What say you to the Lady? Loue's not loue When it is mingled with regards, that stands Aloofe from th' intire point, will you haue her? She is herselfe a Dowrie Bur. Royall King, Giue but that portion which your selfe propos'd, And here I take Cordelia by the hand, Dutchesse of Burgundie Lear. Nothing, I haue sworne, I am firme Bur. I am sorry then you haue so lost a Father, That you must loose a husband Cor. Peace be with Burgundie, Since that respect and Fortunes are his loue, I shall not be his wife Fra. Fairest Cordelia, that art most rich being poore, Most choise forsaken, and most lou'd despis'd, Thee and thy vertues here I seize vpon, Be it lawfull I take vp what's cast away. Gods, Gods! 'Tis strange, that from their cold'st neglect My Loue should kindle to enflam'd respect. Thy dowrelesse Daughter King, throwne to my chance, Is Queene of vs, of ours, and our faire France: Not all the Dukes of watrish Burgundy, Can buy this vnpriz'd precious Maid of me. Bid them farewell Cordelia, though vnkinde, Thou loosest here a better where to finde Lear. Thou hast her France, let her be thine, for we Haue no such Daughter, nor shall euer see That face of hers againe, therfore be gone, Without our Grace, our Loue, our Benizon: Come Noble Burgundie. Flourish. Exeunt. Fra. Bid farwell to your Sisters Cor. The Iewels of our Father, with wash'd eies Cordelia leaues you, I know you what you are, And like a Sister am most loth to call Your faults as they are named. Loue well our Father: To your professed bosomes I commit him, But yet alas, stood I within his Grace, I would prefer him to a better place, So farewell to you both Regn. Prescribe not vs our dutie Gon. Let your study Be to content your Lord, who hath receiu'd you At Fortunes almes, you haue obedience scanted, And well are worth the want that you haue wanted Cor. Time shall vnfold what plighted cunning hides, Who couers faults, at last with shame derides: Well may you prosper Fra. Come my faire Cordelia. Exit France and Cor. Gon. Sister, it is not little I haue to say, Of what most neerely appertaines to vs both, I thinke our Father will hence to night Reg. That's most certaine, and with you: next moneth with vs Gon. You see how full of changes his age is, the obseruation we haue made of it hath beene little; he alwaies lou'd our Sister most, and with what poore iudgement he hath now cast her off, appeares too grossely Reg. 'Tis the infirmity of his age, yet he hath euer but slenderly knowne himselfe Gon. The best and soundest of his time hath bin but rash, then must we looke from his age, to receiue not alone the imperfections of long ingraffed condition, but therewithall the vnruly way-wardnesse, that infirme and cholericke yeares bring with them Reg. Such vnconstant starts are we like to haue from him, as this of Kents banishment Gon. There is further complement of leaue-taking betweene France and him, pray you let vs sit together, if our Father carry authority with such disposition as he beares, this last surrender of his will but offend vs Reg. We shall further thinke of it Gon. We must do something, and i'th' heate. Exeunt.

Notes In this first scene, all the major characters are introduced, either in person or in conversation. By the end of the scene, the major conflict has unfolded as Cordelia is disinherited and Goneril and Regan plot against their father. Many critics state that Lear makes several fatal mistakes in this first scene of the play. His plan for his daughters is not a wise one, for it totally removes power from the King and divides the kingdom. Since the British people believed in a centralized government and thought their king was a link between the divine and the human, they would be very displeased over Lear's plan. They would also believe that disavowing one's role as king would be to defy the divine ordination and to invite chaos and strife. Lear's plan will also inevitably pit one sibling against another in a struggle for more power. Even before the daughters declare their love to him, Lear has a plan for parceling out the kingdom, as revealed on the map that he unfolds; his youngest and favorite daughter will get the largest portion. Since his mind seems to be made up about the kingdom, it is obviously his pride and greed that cause him to demand his daughters' public declarations of fatherly devotion. It is a foolish mistake on Lear's part, for it appears that he is trying to buy the love of his daughters. The speeches of Goneril and Regan are flowery and pretentious; they praise their father profusely and state that they love him much more than their own husbands. They are flattering to Lear only because they hope to get more from him. Lear is blind to their hypocrisy and praises their spoken devotion to him. The pure and honest Cordelia refuses to play the game; she will not try and outdo her hypocritical older sisters. She simply states her love for her father and says she will also love her future husband; she also reprimands him for being so indulgent as to ask for a public display of love. Lear is shocked by her brevity and brashness and pushes her to say more, but Cordelia refuses. She will not make a public show of true love for Lear, least of all in exchange for riches. Lear grows enraged over her response and banishes Cordelia. He then redivides the kingdom between Regan and Goneril, fully proving his "blindness." Throughout the rest of the play, images and allusions or lack of sight or insight will be developed. Kent, in trying to persuade Lear to change his mind about banishing Cordelia, speaks with a bluntness that is characteristic of his personality. He is known for his stubbornness and straightforward approach. Although Lear knows his friend well, for they have been together for many years, the King is enraged by Kent's argument. In anger, Lear tells him not to come "between the dragon and his wrath;" the dragon, an ancient symbol of royalty of Britain, is a clear reference to the King. When Kent refuses to back down in his opinion, he, too, is banished, like Cordelia. After his interactions with Kent and Cordelia, Lear has emerged as a person whose judgement is clouded; he is flattered by those who are false and manipulative and blinded to those who are loyal and honest. The loss of judgement is very significant, for a king must be trusted to make correct decisions. The two suitors of Cordelia arrive and Lear explains to them what has happened to his youngest daughter. The shallow Duke of Burgundy quickly bows out from his proposal of marriage when he realizes that Cordelia no longer has a dowry. The King of France, however, is more eager than ever to wed Cordelia. He recognizes that she is "most rich, being poor; most choice, forsaken. . .To him Cordelia is herself a dowry." As Cordelia leaves to become the Queen of France, she is sad to be leaving her father. She fears that her sisters will manipulate him and treat him cruelly; as a result, she warns her sisters to take care of the King. As soon as Cordelia leaves, Regan and Goneril begin to plot against Lear. The subplot of the play revolves around Gloucester, a man who is passionate about life and irreverent about society and its tradition. In his youth, he fathered an illegitimate son, Edmund. To his credit, Gloucester loves Edmund as much as he loves Edgar, his legitimate son. The society around Gloucester, however, is not as liberal as he; Edmund is considered to be an unworthy bastard. By the end of the play, it will be obvious that Gloucester's love for Edmund was misplaced.

analysis

Scena Tertia. Enter Gonerill, and Steward. Gon. Did my Father strike my Gentleman for chiding of his Foole? Ste. I Madam Gon. By day and night, he wrongs me, euery howre He flashes into one grosse crime, or other, That sets vs all at ods: Ile not endure it; His Knights grow riotous, and himselfe vpbraides vs On euery trifle. When he returnes from hunting, I will not speake with him, say I am sicke, If you come slacke of former seruices, You shall do well, the fault of it Ile answer Ste. He's comming Madam, I heare him Gon. Put on what weary negligence you please, You and your Fellowes: I'de haue it come to question; If he distaste it, let him to my Sister, Whose mind and mine I know in that are one, Remember what I haue said Ste. Well Madam Gon. And let his Knights haue colder lookes among you: what growes of it no matter, aduise your fellowes so, Ile write straight to my Sister to hold my course; prepare for dinner. Exeunt.

This scene takes place at the Duke of Albany's castle. Goneril, Albany's wife, is in a bad temper, for she has discovered that Lear has struck her steward, Oswald, for castigating the King's Fool. She describes him as a tyrannical old man and wearies of his presence. She complains about Lear's fits of violence and the unruly behavior of his knights. She wants any excuse to quarrel openly with her father. Pretending to be sick, Goneril refuses to speak with Lear upon his return from the hunt and instructs Oswald to treat the king's men with sullen indifference. At the close of the scene, Goneril is planning to write to Regan about their next course of action concerning their father.

summary

Scena Tertia. Enter Gonerill, and Steward. Gon. Did my Father strike my Gentleman for chiding of his Foole? Ste. I Madam Gon. By day and night, he wrongs me, euery howre He flashes into one grosse crime, or other, That sets vs all at ods: Ile not endure it; His Knights grow riotous, and himselfe vpbraides vs On euery trifle. When he returnes from hunting, I will not speake with him, say I am sicke, If you come slacke of former seruices, You shall do well, the fault of it Ile answer Ste. He's comming Madam, I heare him Gon. Put on what weary negligence you please, You and your Fellowes: I'de haue it come to question; If he distaste it, let him to my Sister, Whose mind and mine I know in that are one, Remember what I haue said Ste. Well Madam Gon. And let his Knights haue colder lookes among you: what growes of it no matter, aduise your fellowes so, Ile write straight to my Sister to hold my course; prepare for dinner. Exeunt.

Notes Lear has given away his kingdom to avoid the problems of running the state, but he wants and expects to retain the privileges of a reigning monarch. In short, he wants the power but not the problems. Goneril is determined to deny her father the privileges that he expects. She clearly voices her contempt for Lear by the use of phrases like "idle old man" and "old fool." In Elizabethan times, such disrespect for age and parenthood is considered blasphemous, upsetting the natural order of life. Lear's striking of Oswald, who is Goneril's "gentleman" steward, again reveals Lear's poor judgement and ill temper. The action greatly upsets Goneril and hastens her desire to strip her old father of all remaining power and dignity; therefore, Lear has again contributed to his own downfall. She begins her humiliation of Lear by telling Oswald to ignore both her father and his knights.

analysis

Scena Quarta. Enter Kent. Kent. If but as will I other accents borrow, That can my speech defuse, my good intent May carry through it selfe to that full issue For which I raiz'd my likenesse. Now banisht Kent, If thou canst serue where thou dost stand condemn'd, So may it come, thy Master whom thou lou'st, Shall find thee full of labours. Hornes within. Enter Lear and Attendants. Lear. Let me not stay a iot for dinner, go get it ready: how now, what art thou? Kent. A man Sir Lear. What dost thou professe? What would'st thou with vs? Kent. I do professe to be no lesse then I seeme; to serue him truely that will put me in trust, to loue him that is honest, to conuerse with him that is wise and saies little, to feare iudgement, to fight when I cannot choose, and to eate no fish Lear. What art thou? Kent. A very honest hearted Fellow, and as poore as the King Lear. If thou be'st as poore for a subiect, as hee's for a King, thou art poore enough. What wouldst thou? Kent. Seruice Lear. Who wouldst thou serue? Kent. You Lear. Do'st thou know me fellow? Kent. No Sir, but you haue that in your countenance, which I would faine call Master Lear. What's that? Kent. Authority Lear. What seruices canst thou do? Kent. I can keepe honest counsaile, ride, run, marre a curious tale in telling it, and deliuer a plaine message bluntly: that which ordinary men are fit for, I am quallified in, and the best of me, is Dilligence Lear. How old art thou? Kent. Not so young Sir to loue a woman for singing, nor so old to dote on her for any thing. I haue yeares on my backe forty eight Lear. Follow me, thou shalt serue me, if I like thee no worse after dinner, I will not part from thee yet. Dinner ho, dinner, where's my knaue? my Foole? Go you and call my Foole hither. You you Sirrah, where's my Daughter? Enter Steward. Ste. So please you- Enter. Lear. What saies the Fellow there? Call the Clotpole backe: wher's my Foole? Ho, I thinke the world's asleepe, how now? Where's that Mungrell? Knigh. He saies my Lord, your Daughters is not well Lear. Why came not the slaue backe to me when I call'd him? Knigh. Sir, he answered me in the roundest manner, he would not Lear. He would not? Knight. My Lord, I know not what the matter is, but to my iudgement your Highnesse is not entertain'd with that Ceremonious affection as you were wont, theres a great abatement of kindnesse appeares as well in the generall dependants, as in the Duke himselfe also, and your Daughter Lear. Ha? Saist thou so? Knigh. I beseech you pardon me my Lord, if I bee mistaken, for my duty cannot be silent, when I thinke your Highnesse wrong'd Lear. Thou but remembrest me of mine owne Conception, I haue perceiued a most faint neglect of late, which I haue rather blamed as mine owne iealous curiositie, then as a very pretence and purpose of vnkindnesse; I will looke further intoo't: but where's my Foole? I haue not seene him this two daies Knight. Since my young Ladies going into France Sir, the Foole hath much pined away Lear. No more of that, I haue noted it well, goe you and tell my Daughter, I would speake with her. Goe you call hither my Foole; Oh you Sir, you, come you hither Sir, who am I Sir? Enter Steward. Ste. My Ladies Father Lear. My Ladies Father? my Lords knaue, you whorson dog, you slaue, you curre Ste. I am none of these my Lord, I beseech your pardon Lear. Do you bandy lookes with me, you Rascall? Ste. Ile not be strucken my Lord Kent. Nor tript neither, you base Foot-ball plaier Lear. I thanke thee fellow. Thou seru'st me, and Ile loue thee Kent. Come sir, arise, away, Ile teach you differences: away, away, if you will measure your lubbers length againe, tarry, but away, goe too, haue you wisedome, so Lear. Now my friendly knaue I thanke thee, there's earnest of thy seruice. Enter Foole. Foole. Let me hire him too, here's my Coxcombe Lear. How now my pretty knaue, how dost thou? Foole. Sirrah, you were best take my Coxcombe Lear. Why my Boy? Foole. Why? for taking ones part that's out of fauour, nay, & thou canst not smile as the wind sits, thou'lt catch colde shortly, there take my Coxcombe; why this fellow ha's banish'd two on's Daughters, and did the third a blessing against his will, if thou follow him, thou must needs weare my Coxcombe. How now Nunckle? would I had two Coxcombes and two Daughters Lear. Why my Boy? Fool. If I gaue them all my liuing, I'ld keepe my Coxcombes my selfe, there's mine, beg another of thy Daughters Lear. Take heed Sirrah, the whip Foole. Truth's a dog must to kennell, hee must bee whipt out, when the Lady Brach may stand by'th' fire and stinke Lear. A pestilent gall to me Foole. Sirha, Ile teach thee a speech Lear. Do Foole. Marke it Nuncle; Haue more then thou showest, Speake lesse then thou knowest, Lend lesse then thou owest, Ride more then thou goest, Learne more then thou trowest, Set lesse then thou throwest; Leaue thy drinke and thy whore, And keepe in a dore, And thou shalt haue more, Then two tens to a score Kent. This is nothing Foole Foole. Then 'tis like the breath of an vnfeed Lawyer, you gaue me nothing for't, can you make no vse of nothing Nuncle? Lear. Why no Boy, Nothing can be made out of nothing Foole. Prythee tell him, so much the rent of his land comes to, he will not beleeue a Foole Lear. A bitter Foole Foole. Do'st thou know the difference my Boy, betweene a bitter Foole, and a sweet one Lear. No Lad, teach me Foole. Nunckle, giue me an egge, and Ile giue thee two Crownes Lear. What two Crownes shall they be? Foole. Why after I haue cut the egge i'th' middle and eate vp the meate, the two Crownes of the egge: when thou clouest thy Crownes i'th' middle, and gau'st away both parts, thou boar'st thine Asse on thy backe o're the durt, thou hadst little wit in thy bald crowne, when thou gau'st thy golden one away; if I speake like my selfe in this, let him be whipt that first findes it so. Fooles had nere lesse grace in a yeere, For wisemen are growne foppish, And know not how their wits to weare, Their manners are so apish Le. When were you wont to be so full of Songs sirrah? Foole. I haue vsed it Nunckle, ere since thou mad'st thy Daughters thy Mothers, for when thou gau'st them the rod, and put'st downe thine owne breeches, then they For sodaine ioy did weepe, And I for sorrow sung, That such a King should play bo-peepe, And goe the Foole among. Pry'thy Nunckle keepe a Schoolemaster that can teach thy Foole to lie, I would faine learne to lie Lear. And you lie sirrah, wee'l haue you whipt Foole. I maruell what kin thou and thy daughters are, they'l haue me whipt for speaking true: thou'lt haue me whipt for lying, and sometimes I am whipt for holding my peace. I had rather be any kind o' thing then a foole, and yet I would not be thee Nunckle, thou hast pared thy wit o' both sides, and left nothing i'th' middle; heere comes one o'the parings. Enter Gonerill. Lear. How now Daughter? what makes that Frontlet on? You are too much of late i'th' frowne Foole. Thou wast a pretty fellow when thou hadst no need to care for her frowning, now thou art an O without a figure, I am better then thou art now, I am a Foole, thou art nothing. Yes forsooth I will hold my tongue, so your face bids me, though you say nothing. Mum, mum, he that keepes nor crust, nor crum, Weary of all, shall want some. That's a sheal'd Pescod Gon. Not only Sir this, your all-lycenc'd Foole, But other of your insolent retinue Do hourely Carpe and Quarrell, breaking forth In ranke, and (not to be endur'd) riots Sir. I had thought by making this well knowne vnto you, To haue found a safe redresse, but now grow fearefull By what your selfe too late haue 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 sleepe, Which in the tender of a wholesome weale, Mighty in their working do you that offence, Which else were shame, that then necessitie Will call discreet proceeding Foole. For you know Nunckle, the Hedge-Sparrow fed the Cuckoo so long, that it's had it head bit off by it young, so out went the Candle, and we were left darkling Lear. Are you our Daughter? Gon. I would you would make vse of your good wisedome (Whereof I know you are fraught), and put away These dispositions, which of late transport you From what you rightly are Foole. May not an Asse know, when the Cart drawes the Horse? Whoop Iugge I loue thee Lear. Do's any heere know me? This is not Lear: Do's Lear walke thus? Speake thus? Where are his eies? Either his Notion weakens, his Discernings Are Lethargied. Ha! Waking? 'Tis not so? Who is it that can tell me who I am? Foole. Lears shadow Lear. Your name, faire Gentlewoman? Gon. This admiration Sir, is much o'th' sauour Of other your new prankes. I do beseech you To vnderstand my purposes aright: As you are Old, and Reuerend, should be Wise. Heere do you keepe a hundred Knights and Squires, Men so disorder'd, so debosh'd and bold, That this our Court infected with their manners, Shewes like a riotous Inne; Epicurisme and Lust Makes it more like a Tauerne, or a Brothell, Then a grac'd Pallace. The shame it selfe doth speake For instant remedy. Be then desir'd By her, that else will take the thing she begges, A little to disquantity your Traine, And the remainders that shall still depend, To be such men as may besort your Age, Which know themselues, and you Lear. Darknesse, and Diuels. Saddle my horses: call my Traine together. Degenerate Bastard, Ile not trouble thee; Yet haue I left a daughter Gon. You strike my people, and your disorder'd rable, make Seruants of their Betters. Enter Albany. Lear. Woe, that too late repents: Is it your will, speake Sir? Prepare my Horses. Ingratitude! thou Marble-hearted Fiend, More hideous when thou shew'st thee in a Child, Then the Sea-monster Alb. Pray Sir be patient Lear. Detested Kite, thou lyest. My Traine are men of choice, and rarest parts, That all particulars of dutie know, And in the most exact regard, support The worships of their name. O most small fault, How vgly did'st thou in Cordelia shew? Which like an Engine, wrencht my frame of Nature From the fixt place: drew from my heart all loue, And added to the gall. O Lear, Lear, Lear! Beate at this gate that let thy Folly in, And thy deere Iudgement out. Go, go, my people Alb. My Lord, I am guiltlesse, as I am ignorant Of what hath moued you Lear. It may be so, my Lord. Heare Nature, heare deere Goddesse, heare: Suspend thy purpose, if thou did'st intend To make this Creature fruitfull: Into her Wombe conuey stirrility, Drie vp in her the Organs of increase, And from her derogate body, neuer spring A Babe to honor her. If she must teeme, Create her childe of Spleene, that it may liue And be a thwart disnatur'd torment to her. Let it stampe wrinkles in her brow of youth, With cadent Teares fret Channels in her cheekes, Turne all her Mothers paines, and benefits To laughter, and contempt: That she may feele, How sharper then a Serpents tooth it is, To haue a thanklesse Childe. Away, away. Enter. Alb. Now Gods that we adore, Whereof comes this? Gon. Neuer afflict your selfe to know more of it: But let his disposition haue that scope As dotage giues it. Enter Lear. Lear. What fiftie of my Followers at a clap? Within a fortnight? Alb. What's the matter, Sir? Lear. Ile tell thee: Life and death, I am asham'd That thou hast power to shake my manhood thus, That these hot teares, which breake from me perforce Should make thee worth them. Blastes and Fogges vpon thee: Th' vntented woundings of a Fathers curse Pierce euerie sense about thee. Old fond eyes, Beweepe this cause againe, Ile plucke ye out, And cast you with the waters that you loose To temper Clay. Ha? Let it be so. I haue another daughter, Who I am sure is kinde and comfortable: When she shall heare this of thee, with her nailes Shee'l flea thy Woluish visage. Thou shalt finde, That Ile resume the shape which thou dost thinke I haue cast off for euer. Exit Gon. Do you marke that? Alb. I cannot be so partiall Gonerill, To the great loue I beare you Gon. Pray you content. What Oswald, hoa? You Sir, more Knaue then Foole, after your Master Foole. Nunkle Lear, Nunkle Lear, Tarry, take the Foole with thee: A Fox, when one has caught her, And such a Daughter, Should sure to the Slaughter, If my Cap would buy a Halter, So the Foole followes after. Exit Gon. This man hath had good Counsell, A hundred Knights? 'Tis politike, and safe to let him keepe At point a hundred Knights: yes, that on euerie dreame, Each buz, each fancie, each complaint, dislike, He may enguard his dotage with their powres, And hold our liues in mercy. Oswald, I say Alb. Well, you may feare too farre Gon. Safer then trust too farre; Let me still take away the harmes I feare, Not feare still to be taken. I know his heart, What he hath vtter'd I haue writ my Sister: If she sustaine him, and his hundred Knights When I haue shew'd th' vnfitnesse. Enter Steward. How now Oswald? What haue you writ that Letter to my Sister? Stew. I Madam Gon. Take you some company, and away to horse, Informe her full of my particular feare, And thereto adde such reasons of your owne, As may compact it more. Get you gone, And hasten your returne; no, no, my Lord, This milky gentlenesse, and course of yours Though I condemne not, yet vnder pardon You are much more at task for want of wisedome, Then prais'd for harmefull mildnesse Alb. How farre your eies may pierce I cannot tell; Striuing to better, oft we marre what's well Gon. Nay then- Alb. Well, well, th' euent. Exeunt.

In this scene, Kent enters Goneril's castle in disguise; he has come to be of assistance to the King, if needed. Rather than leave the country as ordered, he has donned the garb of a menial servant. Lear enters with his retinue, having just returned from his hunting, and is impatient to be served. Since Oswald has been ordered by Goneril not to help Lear, Kent comes forward and offers his services to the King. He introduces himself and says he is an honest, trustworthy man. Lear takes a fancy to him and hires him as part of his retinue. Lear grows angry at his treatment and wants to see Goneril. Even though a knight informs him that she is ill, Lear is still determined to confront his daughter. Lear asks Oswald a question and receives a rude reply. Incensed, he again strikes Oswald, who now speaks rudely to the king. The loyal Kent trips the steward, and the King thanks him and rewards him with some money. The Fool enters the stage and with wit and jests comments on Goneril's negligence of the king. In truth, he is also poking fun at Lear. Goneril now enters, prepared to quarrel with her father. She complains about the knights' behavior and accuses Lear of encouraging them to act with insolence. Her language and manner wound the king. She also says that he needs to reduce the size of his retinue. Lear, totally amazed at his daughter's rude attitude, curses Goneril, calls her foul names, and speaks of her filial ingratitude. He orders his horses to be saddled, saying he will go and live at the house of his other daughter, Regan. Although he shows his anger, his heart is really filled with pain. Albany soon arrives, but he quickly proves he is too weak to stand up to his wife, causing Lear's anger to increase. When Lear leans that Goneril has dismissed fifty of his men, he curses his daughter again, this time with extreme passion and vehemence. He then sadly remembers how he had rejected Cordelia for a "most small fault. " Albany is disturbed by his wife's actions and tries to make her realize the enormity of what she has done. Goneril silences him and continues with her plans. She writes to Regan to gain her support, and sends Oswald with the message.

summary

Scena Quarta. Enter Kent. Kent. If but as will I other accents borrow, That can my speech defuse, my good intent May carry through it selfe to that full issue For which I raiz'd my likenesse. Now banisht Kent, If thou canst serue where thou dost stand condemn'd, So may it come, thy Master whom thou lou'st, Shall find thee full of labours. Hornes within. Enter Lear and Attendants. Lear. Let me not stay a iot for dinner, go get it ready: how now, what art thou? Kent. A man Sir Lear. What dost thou professe? What would'st thou with vs? Kent. I do professe to be no lesse then I seeme; to serue him truely that will put me in trust, to loue him that is honest, to conuerse with him that is wise and saies little, to feare iudgement, to fight when I cannot choose, and to eate no fish Lear. What art thou? Kent. A very honest hearted Fellow, and as poore as the King Lear. If thou be'st as poore for a subiect, as hee's for a King, thou art poore enough. What wouldst thou? Kent. Seruice Lear. Who wouldst thou serue? Kent. You Lear. Do'st thou know me fellow? Kent. No Sir, but you haue that in your countenance, which I would faine call Master Lear. What's that? Kent. Authority Lear. What seruices canst thou do? Kent. I can keepe honest counsaile, ride, run, marre a curious tale in telling it, and deliuer a plaine message bluntly: that which ordinary men are fit for, I am quallified in, and the best of me, is Dilligence Lear. How old art thou? Kent. Not so young Sir to loue a woman for singing, nor so old to dote on her for any thing. I haue yeares on my backe forty eight Lear. Follow me, thou shalt serue me, if I like thee no worse after dinner, I will not part from thee yet. Dinner ho, dinner, where's my knaue? my Foole? Go you and call my Foole hither. You you Sirrah, where's my Daughter? Enter Steward. Ste. So please you- Enter. Lear. What saies the Fellow there? Call the Clotpole backe: wher's my Foole? Ho, I thinke the world's asleepe, how now? Where's that Mungrell? Knigh. He saies my Lord, your Daughters is not well Lear. Why came not the slaue backe to me when I call'd him? Knigh. Sir, he answered me in the roundest manner, he would not Lear. He would not? Knight. My Lord, I know not what the matter is, but to my iudgement your Highnesse is not entertain'd with that Ceremonious affection as you were wont, theres a great abatement of kindnesse appeares as well in the generall dependants, as in the Duke himselfe also, and your Daughter Lear. Ha? Saist thou so? Knigh. I beseech you pardon me my Lord, if I bee mistaken, for my duty cannot be silent, when I thinke your Highnesse wrong'd Lear. Thou but remembrest me of mine owne Conception, I haue perceiued a most faint neglect of late, which I haue rather blamed as mine owne iealous curiositie, then as a very pretence and purpose of vnkindnesse; I will looke further intoo't: but where's my Foole? I haue not seene him this two daies Knight. Since my young Ladies going into France Sir, the Foole hath much pined away Lear. No more of that, I haue noted it well, goe you and tell my Daughter, I would speake with her. Goe you call hither my Foole; Oh you Sir, you, come you hither Sir, who am I Sir? Enter Steward. Ste. My Ladies Father Lear. My Ladies Father? my Lords knaue, you whorson dog, you slaue, you curre Ste. I am none of these my Lord, I beseech your pardon Lear. Do you bandy lookes with me, you Rascall? Ste. Ile not be strucken my Lord Kent. Nor tript neither, you base Foot-ball plaier Lear. I thanke thee fellow. Thou seru'st me, and Ile loue thee Kent. Come sir, arise, away, Ile teach you differences: away, away, if you will measure your lubbers length againe, tarry, but away, goe too, haue you wisedome, so Lear. Now my friendly knaue I thanke thee, there's earnest of thy seruice. Enter Foole. Foole. Let me hire him too, here's my Coxcombe Lear. How now my pretty knaue, how dost thou? Foole. Sirrah, you were best take my Coxcombe Lear. Why my Boy? Foole. Why? for taking ones part that's out of fauour, nay, & thou canst not smile as the wind sits, thou'lt catch colde shortly, there take my Coxcombe; why this fellow ha's banish'd two on's Daughters, and did the third a blessing against his will, if thou follow him, thou must needs weare my Coxcombe. How now Nunckle? would I had two Coxcombes and two Daughters Lear. Why my Boy? Fool. If I gaue them all my liuing, I'ld keepe my Coxcombes my selfe, there's mine, beg another of thy Daughters Lear. Take heed Sirrah, the whip Foole. Truth's a dog must to kennell, hee must bee whipt out, when the Lady Brach may stand by'th' fire and stinke Lear. A pestilent gall to me Foole. Sirha, Ile teach thee a speech Lear. Do Foole. Marke it Nuncle; Haue more then thou showest, Speake lesse then thou knowest, Lend lesse then thou owest, Ride more then thou goest, Learne more then thou trowest, Set lesse then thou throwest; Leaue thy drinke and thy whore, And keepe in a dore, And thou shalt haue more, Then two tens to a score Kent. This is nothing Foole Foole. Then 'tis like the breath of an vnfeed Lawyer, you gaue me nothing for't, can you make no vse of nothing Nuncle? Lear. Why no Boy, Nothing can be made out of nothing Foole. Prythee tell him, so much the rent of his land comes to, he will not beleeue a Foole Lear. A bitter Foole Foole. Do'st thou know the difference my Boy, betweene a bitter Foole, and a sweet one Lear. No Lad, teach me Foole. Nunckle, giue me an egge, and Ile giue thee two Crownes Lear. What two Crownes shall they be? Foole. Why after I haue cut the egge i'th' middle and eate vp the meate, the two Crownes of the egge: when thou clouest thy Crownes i'th' middle, and gau'st away both parts, thou boar'st thine Asse on thy backe o're the durt, thou hadst little wit in thy bald crowne, when thou gau'st thy golden one away; if I speake like my selfe in this, let him be whipt that first findes it so. Fooles had nere lesse grace in a yeere, For wisemen are growne foppish, And know not how their wits to weare, Their manners are so apish Le. When were you wont to be so full of Songs sirrah? Foole. I haue vsed it Nunckle, ere since thou mad'st thy Daughters thy Mothers, for when thou gau'st them the rod, and put'st downe thine owne breeches, then they For sodaine ioy did weepe, And I for sorrow sung, That such a King should play bo-peepe, And goe the Foole among. Pry'thy Nunckle keepe a Schoolemaster that can teach thy Foole to lie, I would faine learne to lie Lear. And you lie sirrah, wee'l haue you whipt Foole. I maruell what kin thou and thy daughters are, they'l haue me whipt for speaking true: thou'lt haue me whipt for lying, and sometimes I am whipt for holding my peace. I had rather be any kind o' thing then a foole, and yet I would not be thee Nunckle, thou hast pared thy wit o' both sides, and left nothing i'th' middle; heere comes one o'the parings. Enter Gonerill. Lear. How now Daughter? what makes that Frontlet on? You are too much of late i'th' frowne Foole. Thou wast a pretty fellow when thou hadst no need to care for her frowning, now thou art an O without a figure, I am better then thou art now, I am a Foole, thou art nothing. Yes forsooth I will hold my tongue, so your face bids me, though you say nothing. Mum, mum, he that keepes nor crust, nor crum, Weary of all, shall want some. That's a sheal'd Pescod Gon. Not only Sir this, your all-lycenc'd Foole, But other of your insolent retinue Do hourely Carpe and Quarrell, breaking forth In ranke, and (not to be endur'd) riots Sir. I had thought by making this well knowne vnto you, To haue found a safe redresse, but now grow fearefull By what your selfe too late haue 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 sleepe, Which in the tender of a wholesome weale, Mighty in their working do you that offence, Which else were shame, that then necessitie Will call discreet proceeding Foole. For you know Nunckle, the Hedge-Sparrow fed the Cuckoo so long, that it's had it head bit off by it young, so out went the Candle, and we were left darkling Lear. Are you our Daughter? Gon. I would you would make vse of your good wisedome (Whereof I know you are fraught), and put away These dispositions, which of late transport you From what you rightly are Foole. May not an Asse know, when the Cart drawes the Horse? Whoop Iugge I loue thee Lear. Do's any heere know me? This is not Lear: Do's Lear walke thus? Speake thus? Where are his eies? Either his Notion weakens, his Discernings Are Lethargied. Ha! Waking? 'Tis not so? Who is it that can tell me who I am? Foole. Lears shadow Lear. Your name, faire Gentlewoman? Gon. This admiration Sir, is much o'th' sauour Of other your new prankes. I do beseech you To vnderstand my purposes aright: As you are Old, and Reuerend, should be Wise. Heere do you keepe a hundred Knights and Squires, Men so disorder'd, so debosh'd and bold, That this our Court infected with their manners, Shewes like a riotous Inne; Epicurisme and Lust Makes it more like a Tauerne, or a Brothell, Then a grac'd Pallace. The shame it selfe doth speake For instant remedy. Be then desir'd By her, that else will take the thing she begges, A little to disquantity your Traine, And the remainders that shall still depend, To be such men as may besort your Age, Which know themselues, and you Lear. Darknesse, and Diuels. Saddle my horses: call my Traine together. Degenerate Bastard, Ile not trouble thee; Yet haue I left a daughter Gon. You strike my people, and your disorder'd rable, make Seruants of their Betters. Enter Albany. Lear. Woe, that too late repents: Is it your will, speake Sir? Prepare my Horses. Ingratitude! thou Marble-hearted Fiend, More hideous when thou shew'st thee in a Child, Then the Sea-monster Alb. Pray Sir be patient Lear. Detested Kite, thou lyest. My Traine are men of choice, and rarest parts, That all particulars of dutie know, And in the most exact regard, support The worships of their name. O most small fault, How vgly did'st thou in Cordelia shew? Which like an Engine, wrencht my frame of Nature From the fixt place: drew from my heart all loue, And added to the gall. O Lear, Lear, Lear! Beate at this gate that let thy Folly in, And thy deere Iudgement out. Go, go, my people Alb. My Lord, I am guiltlesse, as I am ignorant Of what hath moued you Lear. It may be so, my Lord. Heare Nature, heare deere Goddesse, heare: Suspend thy purpose, if thou did'st intend To make this Creature fruitfull: Into her Wombe conuey stirrility, Drie vp in her the Organs of increase, And from her derogate body, neuer spring A Babe to honor her. If she must teeme, Create her childe of Spleene, that it may liue And be a thwart disnatur'd torment to her. Let it stampe wrinkles in her brow of youth, With cadent Teares fret Channels in her cheekes, Turne all her Mothers paines, and benefits To laughter, and contempt: That she may feele, How sharper then a Serpents tooth it is, To haue a thanklesse Childe. Away, away. Enter. Alb. Now Gods that we adore, Whereof comes this? Gon. Neuer afflict your selfe to know more of it: But let his disposition haue that scope As dotage giues it. Enter Lear. Lear. What fiftie of my Followers at a clap? Within a fortnight? Alb. What's the matter, Sir? Lear. Ile tell thee: Life and death, I am asham'd That thou hast power to shake my manhood thus, That these hot teares, which breake from me perforce Should make thee worth them. Blastes and Fogges vpon thee: Th' vntented woundings of a Fathers curse Pierce euerie sense about thee. Old fond eyes, Beweepe this cause againe, Ile plucke ye out, And cast you with the waters that you loose To temper Clay. Ha? Let it be so. I haue another daughter, Who I am sure is kinde and comfortable: When she shall heare this of thee, with her nailes Shee'l flea thy Woluish visage. Thou shalt finde, That Ile resume the shape which thou dost thinke I haue cast off for euer. Exit Gon. Do you marke that? Alb. I cannot be so partiall Gonerill, To the great loue I beare you Gon. Pray you content. What Oswald, hoa? You Sir, more Knaue then Foole, after your Master Foole. Nunkle Lear, Nunkle Lear, Tarry, take the Foole with thee: A Fox, when one has caught her, And such a Daughter, Should sure to the Slaughter, If my Cap would buy a Halter, So the Foole followes after. Exit Gon. This man hath had good Counsell, A hundred Knights? 'Tis politike, and safe to let him keepe At point a hundred Knights: yes, that on euerie dreame, Each buz, each fancie, each complaint, dislike, He may enguard his dotage with their powres, And hold our liues in mercy. Oswald, I say Alb. Well, you may feare too farre Gon. Safer then trust too farre; Let me still take away the harmes I feare, Not feare still to be taken. I know his heart, What he hath vtter'd I haue writ my Sister: If she sustaine him, and his hundred Knights When I haue shew'd th' vnfitnesse. Enter Steward. How now Oswald? What haue you writ that Letter to my Sister? Stew. I Madam Gon. Take you some company, and away to horse, Informe her full of my particular feare, And thereto adde such reasons of your owne, As may compact it more. Get you gone, And hasten your returne; no, no, my Lord, This milky gentlenesse, and course of yours Though I condemne not, yet vnder pardon You are much more at task for want of wisedome, Then prais'd for harmefull mildnesse Alb. How farre your eies may pierce I cannot tell; Striuing to better, oft we marre what's well Gon. Nay then- Alb. Well, well, th' euent. Exeunt.

Notes Kent's selfless loyalty and steadfastness to Lear are clearly seen in this scene. He refuses to leave the country as ordered; instead, he dresses as a beggar and comes to the home of Goneril, whom he fears will harm the King. He wants to be close to Lear in order to offer assistance and protection when it is needed. Kent's goodness shines through even in his rags. As he eagerly waits on Lear, the King senses something special about this poor man and includes him in his retinue. Lear's anger continues to rage throughout the scene. He is demanding and imperious when returning from the hunt, and his knights are not any better; they have literally overtaken the castle and act in unruly ways. When Oswald refuses to serve Lear as suggested by Goneril, the King totally loses his temper, inspiring Goneril to more quickly carry out her plan against him. She is eager to get rid of her father, whom she considers to be a fool. In order to weaken Lear's power and encourage him to depart, Goneril dismisses fifty of his knights. The King is infuriated at her brazen action and suddenly realizes he has made a terrible mistake in disinheriting the gentle Cordelia while giving half the kingdom to the wicked Goneril. He cannot contain his anger for Goneril and curses her so cruelly that she seems victimized. In his anger, Lear curses Goneril of sterility, invoking the goddess to "'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 honor her." Ironically, this curse against his daughter is really a curse on Lear himself, for Goneril's offspring would be the natural inheritors of the throne. By calling for Goneril's sterility, he is destroying his lineage and the kingdom. During the scene, the foolish King calls for his Fool. As he entertains with wit and humor, Kent recognizes his keenness of insight as he jests with words filled with double meanings; he warns Lear that "this is not altogether a fool, my Lord." During the scene, the Fool takes license with his privileged position and does not restrain himself from castigating the King for his foolish actions; but he also seems to sympathize with the King. In fact, the Fool actually tries to warn Lear about what is going on although he does it with ambiguous language. He also acts as Lear's conscience and says to him, "Thou hadst little wit in thy bald crown when thou gav'st thy golden one away." Besides adding humor to the play, the Fool also clarifies events, points out personality traits, and speaks with wisdom; in the end, he helps the audience to understand that Lear is basically a good and just man who is characterized by bad judgements. In showing some sympathy for the plight of the King, the Fool, in the end, will be judged on the side of the good people in the play. In giving away his crown, Lear has lost his identity and can no longer act in a way that is fitting for a King. When the Fool calls him "a shadow," it suggests that Lear is only a pale reflection of his previous, powerful self. The idea of nothing comes into play once again. The Fool asks, "Can you make no use of nothing?" Lear replies, "Why no, boy; nothing can be made out of nothing. " This is an echo of his reply to Cordelia when he angrily told her, "Nothing will come out of nothing." Ironically, Lear has made much trouble out of nothing. Toward the end of the scene, Albany, the supposed master of the castle, appears. It is obvious that he is a weak man, easily cowed by his wife; he is powerless to make Goneril change, even though he points out that her intentions are evil and immoral. Goneril ignores his warning and begging words and proceeds with her plan. At the end of the scene, she sends off her letter to Regan, clarifying the scheme against Lear and asking for her assistance.

analysis

Scena Quinta. Enter Lear, Kent, Gentleman, and Foole. Lear. Go you before to Gloster with these Letters; acquaint my Daughter no further with any thing you know, then comes from her demand out of the Letter, if your Dilligence be not speedy, I shall be there afore you Kent. I will not sleepe my Lord, till I haue deliuered your Letter. Enter. Foole. If a mans braines were in's heeles, wert not in danger of kybes? Lear. I Boy Foole. Then I prythee be merry, thy wit shall not go slip-shod Lear. Ha, ha, ha Fool. Shalt see thy other Daughter will vse thee kindly, for though she's as like this, as a Crabbe's like an Apple, yet I can tell what I can tell Lear. What can'st tell Boy? Foole. She will taste as like this as, a Crabbe do's to a Crab: thou canst, tell why ones nose stands i'th' middle on's face? Lear. No Foole. Why to keepe ones eyes of either side 's nose, that what a man cannot smell out, he may spy into Lear. I did her wrong Foole. Can'st tell how an Oyster makes his shell? Lear. No Foole. Nor I neither; but I can tell why a Snaile ha's a house Lear. Why? Foole. Why to put's head in, not to giue it away to his daughters, and leaue his hornes without a case Lear. I will forget my Nature, so kind a Father? Be my Horsses ready? Foole. Thy Asses are gone about 'em; the reason why the seuen Starres are no mo then seuen, is a pretty reason Lear. Because they are not eight Foole. Yes indeed, thou would'st make a good Foole Lear. To tak't againe perforce; Monster Ingratitude! Foole. If thou wert my Foole Nunckle, Il'd haue thee beaten for being old before thy time Lear. How's that? Foole. Thou shouldst not haue bin old, till thou hadst bin wise Lear. O let me not be mad, not mad sweet Heauen: keepe me in temper, I would not be mad. How now are the Horses ready? Gent. Ready my Lord Lear. Come Boy Fool. She that's a Maid now, & laughs at my departure, Shall not be a Maid long, vnlesse things be cut shorter. Exeunt.

Lear is on his way to Regan's castle at Gloucester, accompanied by the Fool. He has sent the disguised Kent ahead to announce his arrival. The Fool comments on Lear's pathetic condition, asking seemingly foolish questions that elicit a laugh from the King. But the bantering soon descends into self-reproach and despair as the King realizes that he may be mad. The Fool tries to calm the King's anxieties with comments that have a great deal of wisdom and common sense. During the journey, Lear's thoughts wander back to the injustice he had done to Cordelia. When he states his profound regrets, the Fool aids him in his quest for self-realization. The Fool asks Lear, "Why a snail has a house?" The Fool answers himself by saying, "Why, to put his head in; not to give it away to his daughters, and leave his horns without a case. " With wit, he reveals the absurdity of the King's actions in renouncing his authority without thinking of the unnaturalness of the act. He adds, "Thou should'st not have been old till thou hadst been wise." He then cautions Lear that Regan will probably not act any better than Goneril.

summary

Scena Quinta. Enter Lear, Kent, Gentleman, and Foole. Lear. Go you before to Gloster with these Letters; acquaint my Daughter no further with any thing you know, then comes from her demand out of the Letter, if your Dilligence be not speedy, I shall be there afore you Kent. I will not sleepe my Lord, till I haue deliuered your Letter. Enter. Foole. If a mans braines were in's heeles, wert not in danger of kybes? Lear. I Boy Foole. Then I prythee be merry, thy wit shall not go slip-shod Lear. Ha, ha, ha Fool. Shalt see thy other Daughter will vse thee kindly, for though she's as like this, as a Crabbe's like an Apple, yet I can tell what I can tell Lear. What can'st tell Boy? Foole. She will taste as like this as, a Crabbe do's to a Crab: thou canst, tell why ones nose stands i'th' middle on's face? Lear. No Foole. Why to keepe ones eyes of either side 's nose, that what a man cannot smell out, he may spy into Lear. I did her wrong Foole. Can'st tell how an Oyster makes his shell? Lear. No Foole. Nor I neither; but I can tell why a Snaile ha's a house Lear. Why? Foole. Why to put's head in, not to giue it away to his daughters, and leaue his hornes without a case Lear. I will forget my Nature, so kind a Father? Be my Horsses ready? Foole. Thy Asses are gone about 'em; the reason why the seuen Starres are no mo then seuen, is a pretty reason Lear. Because they are not eight Foole. Yes indeed, thou would'st make a good Foole Lear. To tak't againe perforce; Monster Ingratitude! Foole. If thou wert my Foole Nunckle, Il'd haue thee beaten for being old before thy time Lear. How's that? Foole. Thou shouldst not haue bin old, till thou hadst bin wise Lear. O let me not be mad, not mad sweet Heauen: keepe me in temper, I would not be mad. How now are the Horses ready? Gent. Ready my Lord Lear. Come Boy Fool. She that's a Maid now, & laughs at my departure, Shall not be a Maid long, vnlesse things be cut shorter. Exeunt.

Notes This scene describes Lear's tormented state of mind. He is accompanied only by the Fool and a Gentleman as he travels toward the castle of Regan. Having lost all power and wealth that he had as King, his mind is beset with regrets and a fear for the future. He begs to the Almighty, "O, let me not be mad, not mad, sweet Heaven!" As the Fool comments on Lear's strange behavior, his humor acts as a counterpoint to the King's state of mind. He particularly mocks Lear's foolishness in giving away his power to his daughters and expecting Regan to behave better than Goneril. The brief scene is filled with the Fool's humor in which is hidden a great deal of wisdom.

analysis

Actus Secundus. Scena Prima. Enter Bastard, and Curan, seuerally. Bast. Saue thee Curan Cur. And you Sir, I haue bin With your Father, and giuen him notice That the Duke of Cornwall, and Regan his Duchesse Will be here with him this night Bast. How comes that? Cur. Nay I know not, you haue heard of the newes abroad, I meane the whisper'd ones, for they are yet but ear-kissing arguments Bast. Not I: pray you what are they? Cur. Haue you heard of no likely Warres toward, 'Twixt the Dukes of Cornwall, and Albany? Bast. Not a word Cur. You may do then in time, Fare you well Sir. Enter. Bast. The Duke be here to night? The better best, This weaues it selfe perforce into my businesse, My Father hath set guard to take my Brother, And I haue one thing of a queazie question Which I must act, Briefenesse, and Fortune worke. Enter Edgar. Brother, a word, discend; Brother I say, My Father watches: O Sir, fly this place, Intelligence is giuen where you are hid; You haue now the good aduantage of the night, Haue you not spoken 'gainst the Duke of Cornewall? Hee's comming hither, now i'th' night, i'th' haste, And Regan with him, haue you nothing said Vpon his partie 'gainst the Duke of Albany? Aduise your selfe Edg. I am sure on't, not a word Bast. I heare my Father comming, pardon me: In cunning, I must draw my Sword vpon you: Draw, seeme to defend your selfe, Now quit you well. Yeeld, come before my Father, light hoa, here, Fly Brother, Torches, Torches, so farewell. Exit Edgar. Some blood drawne on me, would beget opinion Of my more fierce endeauour. I haue seene drunkards Do more then this in sport; Father, Father, Stop, stop, no helpe? Enter Gloster, and Seruants with Torches. Glo. Now Edmund, where's the villaine? Bast. Here stood he in the dark, his sharpe Sword out, Mumbling of wicked charmes, coniuring the Moone To stand auspicious Mistris Glo. But where is he? Bast. Looke Sir, I bleed Glo. Where is the villaine, Edmund? Bast. Fled this way Sir, when by no meanes he could Glo. Pursue him, ho: go after. By no meanes, what? Bast. Perswade me to the murther of your Lordship, But that I told him the reuenging Gods, 'Gainst Paricides did all the thunder bend, Spoke with how manifold, and strong a Bond The Child was bound to'th' Father; Sir in fine, Seeing how lothly opposite I stood To his vnnaturall purpose, in fell motion With his prepared Sword, he charges home My vnprouided body, latch'd mine arme; And when he saw my best alarum'd spirits Bold in the quarrels right, rouz'd to th' encounter, Or whether gasted by the noyse I made, Full sodainely he fled Glost. Let him fly farre: Not in this Land shall he remaine vncaught And found; dispatch, the Noble Duke my Master, My worthy Arch and Patron comes to night, By his authoritie I will proclaime it, That he which finds him shall deserue our thankes, Bringing the murderous Coward to the stake: He that conceales him death Bast. When I disswaded him from his intent, And found him pight to doe it, with curst speech I threaten'd to discouer him; he replied, Thou vnpossessing Bastard, dost thou thinke, If I would stand against thee, would the reposall Of any trust, vertue, or worth in thee Make thy words faith'd? No, what should I denie, (As this I would, though thou didst produce My very Character) I'ld turne it all To thy suggestion, plot, and damned practise: And thou must make a dullard of the world, If they not thought the profits of my death Were very pregnant and potentiall spirits To make thee seeke it. Tucket within. Glo. O strange and fastned Villaine, Would he deny his Letter, said he? Harke, the Dukes Trumpets, I know not wher he comes; All Ports Ile barre, the villaine shall not scape, The Duke must grant me that: besides, his picture I will send farre and neere, that all the kingdome May haue due note of him, and of my land, (Loyall and naturall Boy) Ile worke the meanes To make thee capable. Enter Cornewall, Regan, and Attendants. Corn. How now my Noble friend, since I came hither (Which I can call but now,) I haue heard strangenesse Reg. If it be true, all vengeance comes too short Which can pursue th' offender; how dost my Lord? Glo. O Madam, my old heart is crack'd, it's crack'd Reg. What, did my Fathers Godsonne seeke your life? He whom my Father nam'd, your Edgar? Glo. O Lady, Lady, shame would haue it hid Reg. Was he not companion with the riotous Knights That tended vpon my Father? Glo. I know not Madam, 'tis too bad, too bad Bast. Yes Madam, he was of that consort Reg. No maruaile then, though he were ill affected, 'Tis they haue put him on the old mans death, To haue th' expence and wast of his Reuenues: I haue this present euening from my Sister Beene well inform'd of them, and with such cautions, That if they come to soiourne at my house, Ile not be there Cor. Nor I, assure thee Regan; Edmund, I heare that you haue shewne your Father A Child-like Office Bast. It was my duty Sir Glo. He did bewray his practise, and receiu'd This hurt you see, striuing to apprehend him Cor. Is he pursued? Glo. I my good Lord Cor. If he be taken, he shall neuer more Be fear'd of doing harme, make your owne purpose, How in my strength you please: for you Edmund, Whose vertue and obedience doth this instant So much commend it selfe, you shall be ours, Nature's of such deepe trust, we shall much need: You we first seize on Bast. I shall serue you Sir truely, how euer else Glo. For him I thanke your Grace Cor. You know not why we came to visit you? Reg. Thus out of season, thredding darke ey'd night, Occasions Noble Gloster of some prize, Wherein we must haue vse of your aduise. Our Father he hath writ, so hath our Sister, Of differences, which I best thought it fit To answere from our home: the seuerall Messengers From hence attend dispatch, our good old Friend, Lay comforts to your bosome, and bestow Your needfull counsaile to our businesses, Which craues the instant vse Glo. I serue you Madam, Your Graces are right welcome. Exeunt. Flourish.

At Gloucester Castle, Edmund learns from Curan, a courtier, that the Duke of Cornwall and his Duchess, Regan, will be arriving the same night. When he learns that there is hostility between Goneril, Regan, and their husbands, Edmund is excited. He believes that he can use their hard feelings to help him in his plan to get rid of Edgar. Edmund again tells his half-brother that their father is displeased with him and also that Cornwall thinks he is working with Albany against him. Edmund urges Edgar to flee from the castle. He convinces Edgar that he should pretend to attack him, which Edgar does. When Edmund is sure that Gloucester has seen the attack, he tells Edgar to escape quickly; again the trusting Edgar follows the instructions. As soon as Edgar has left, Edmund slashes his own arm to make it seem that his half-brother has harmed him. He then raises an alarm against Edgar. When Gloucester enters the room, Edmund presents his wound as an injury inflicted by Edgar. He says that his half-brother was angry over the fact that he had refused to aid Edgar in patricide. Without any questions, Gloucester believes Edmund completely. He decides to disinherit Edgar and proclaim him an outlaw. Through his lies and trickery, Edmund has succeeded in supplanting Edgar as the heir to Gloucester's fortune. For the first time in the play, the plot and the subplot are interlinked as Cornwall and Regan arrive at Gloucester's castle. They have come for a visit in order to avoid receiving Lear at their own castle. They condemn Edgar's treachery, the news of which has already reached them. Since Edgar is Lear's godson, Regan attributes Edgar's lawlessness to Lear's bad influence. Edmund further adds that Edgar was a part of the riotous behavior of the king's rebellious knights. Cornwall praises Edmund's filial love and loyalty. Edmund humbly replies that he was only acting out of duty. His humble behavior endears him to all, especially Gloucester. He is praised, given honors, and immediately taken into Cornwall's service. Regan now explains that her visit to Gloucester is to seek his advice. She pretends that she wants help in trying to settle the tensions between her sister and her father. In truth, she has simply come to avoid receiving her father.

summary

Actus Secundus. Scena Prima. Enter Bastard, and Curan, seuerally. Bast. Saue thee Curan Cur. And you Sir, I haue bin With your Father, and giuen him notice That the Duke of Cornwall, and Regan his Duchesse Will be here with him this night Bast. How comes that? Cur. Nay I know not, you haue heard of the newes abroad, I meane the whisper'd ones, for they are yet but ear-kissing arguments Bast. Not I: pray you what are they? Cur. Haue you heard of no likely Warres toward, 'Twixt the Dukes of Cornwall, and Albany? Bast. Not a word Cur. You may do then in time, Fare you well Sir. Enter. Bast. The Duke be here to night? The better best, This weaues it selfe perforce into my businesse, My Father hath set guard to take my Brother, And I haue one thing of a queazie question Which I must act, Briefenesse, and Fortune worke. Enter Edgar. Brother, a word, discend; Brother I say, My Father watches: O Sir, fly this place, Intelligence is giuen where you are hid; You haue now the good aduantage of the night, Haue you not spoken 'gainst the Duke of Cornewall? Hee's comming hither, now i'th' night, i'th' haste, And Regan with him, haue you nothing said Vpon his partie 'gainst the Duke of Albany? Aduise your selfe Edg. I am sure on't, not a word Bast. I heare my Father comming, pardon me: In cunning, I must draw my Sword vpon you: Draw, seeme to defend your selfe, Now quit you well. Yeeld, come before my Father, light hoa, here, Fly Brother, Torches, Torches, so farewell. Exit Edgar. Some blood drawne on me, would beget opinion Of my more fierce endeauour. I haue seene drunkards Do more then this in sport; Father, Father, Stop, stop, no helpe? Enter Gloster, and Seruants with Torches. Glo. Now Edmund, where's the villaine? Bast. Here stood he in the dark, his sharpe Sword out, Mumbling of wicked charmes, coniuring the Moone To stand auspicious Mistris Glo. But where is he? Bast. Looke Sir, I bleed Glo. Where is the villaine, Edmund? Bast. Fled this way Sir, when by no meanes he could Glo. Pursue him, ho: go after. By no meanes, what? Bast. Perswade me to the murther of your Lordship, But that I told him the reuenging Gods, 'Gainst Paricides did all the thunder bend, Spoke with how manifold, and strong a Bond The Child was bound to'th' Father; Sir in fine, Seeing how lothly opposite I stood To his vnnaturall purpose, in fell motion With his prepared Sword, he charges home My vnprouided body, latch'd mine arme; And when he saw my best alarum'd spirits Bold in the quarrels right, rouz'd to th' encounter, Or whether gasted by the noyse I made, Full sodainely he fled Glost. Let him fly farre: Not in this Land shall he remaine vncaught And found; dispatch, the Noble Duke my Master, My worthy Arch and Patron comes to night, By his authoritie I will proclaime it, That he which finds him shall deserue our thankes, Bringing the murderous Coward to the stake: He that conceales him death Bast. When I disswaded him from his intent, And found him pight to doe it, with curst speech I threaten'd to discouer him; he replied, Thou vnpossessing Bastard, dost thou thinke, If I would stand against thee, would the reposall Of any trust, vertue, or worth in thee Make thy words faith'd? No, what should I denie, (As this I would, though thou didst produce My very Character) I'ld turne it all To thy suggestion, plot, and damned practise: And thou must make a dullard of the world, If they not thought the profits of my death Were very pregnant and potentiall spirits To make thee seeke it. Tucket within. Glo. O strange and fastned Villaine, Would he deny his Letter, said he? Harke, the Dukes Trumpets, I know not wher he comes; All Ports Ile barre, the villaine shall not scape, The Duke must grant me that: besides, his picture I will send farre and neere, that all the kingdome May haue due note of him, and of my land, (Loyall and naturall Boy) Ile worke the meanes To make thee capable. Enter Cornewall, Regan, and Attendants. Corn. How now my Noble friend, since I came hither (Which I can call but now,) I haue heard strangenesse Reg. If it be true, all vengeance comes too short Which can pursue th' offender; how dost my Lord? Glo. O Madam, my old heart is crack'd, it's crack'd Reg. What, did my Fathers Godsonne seeke your life? He whom my Father nam'd, your Edgar? Glo. O Lady, Lady, shame would haue it hid Reg. Was he not companion with the riotous Knights That tended vpon my Father? Glo. I know not Madam, 'tis too bad, too bad Bast. Yes Madam, he was of that consort Reg. No maruaile then, though he were ill affected, 'Tis they haue put him on the old mans death, To haue th' expence and wast of his Reuenues: I haue this present euening from my Sister Beene well inform'd of them, and with such cautions, That if they come to soiourne at my house, Ile not be there Cor. Nor I, assure thee Regan; Edmund, I heare that you haue shewne your Father A Child-like Office Bast. It was my duty Sir Glo. He did bewray his practise, and receiu'd This hurt you see, striuing to apprehend him Cor. Is he pursued? Glo. I my good Lord Cor. If he be taken, he shall neuer more Be fear'd of doing harme, make your owne purpose, How in my strength you please: for you Edmund, Whose vertue and obedience doth this instant So much commend it selfe, you shall be ours, Nature's of such deepe trust, we shall much need: You we first seize on Bast. I shall serue you Sir truely, how euer else Glo. For him I thanke your Grace Cor. You know not why we came to visit you? Reg. Thus out of season, thredding darke ey'd night, Occasions Noble Gloster of some prize, Wherein we must haue vse of your aduise. Our Father he hath writ, so hath our Sister, Of differences, which I best thought it fit To answere from our home: the seuerall Messengers From hence attend dispatch, our good old Friend, Lay comforts to your bosome, and bestow Your needfull counsaile to our businesses, Which craues the instant vse Glo. I serue you Madam, Your Graces are right welcome. Exeunt. Flourish.

Notes The dissension that characterizes the play is further developed in this scene. Edmund, determined to become heir to his father's estate, cunningly plots to undo Edgar in order to cheat him out of his rightful inheritance. He convinces the trusting Edgar that he must flee the castle because Gloucester is angry with him; but first he should pretend to strike Edmund. Edgar naively follows his brother's directions. Edmund makes certain that Gloucester sees what transpires. Then out of Gloucester's sight, Edmund inflicts a surface wound on his own arm and loudly claims that Edgar has injured him. He tells his father that Edgar was angry because he would not go along with the plot to kill Gloucester. It is obvious that the amoral Edmund is also an opportunist and a good actor. Again Gloucester, like Lear, does not question the evil offspring; instead, he believes Edmund's powerful rhetoric, just as Lear believed Goneril and Regan. As a result, Gloucester disinherits Edgar and claims him to be an outlaw, reflecting Lear's similar punishment of Cordelia. The plot and the subplot of the play are brought together for the first time in this scene. Regan arrives at Gloucester's castle with her husband, Cornwall. They have come for a visit in order to escape Lear, who is coming to stay at their castle. At Gloucester's, the evil Regan immediately allies herself with the evil Edmund. She openly expresses her horror at the supposed treason of Edgar; her words are so convincing that it almost seems as if she could not commit such a deed herself. She then blames her father for having an evil influence on Edgar since Lear was the young man's godfather. Regan next tries to manipulate Gloucester's good will to her advantage, praising his honor profusely. Her husband joins in the praise and offers Edmund a place in his retinue. When Edmund accepts the offer, it is a foreshadowing of all the villains in the play joining forces. Although Cornwall does not yet project his evil side, his eagerness to take on Edmund is significant.

analysis

Scena Secunda. Enter Kent, and Steward seuerally. Stew. Good dawning to thee Friend, art of this house? Kent. I Stew. Where may we set our horses? Kent. I'th' myre Stew. Prythee, if thou lou'st me, tell me Kent. I loue thee not Ste. Why then I care not for thee Kent. If I had thee in Lipsbury Pinfold, I would make thee care for me Ste. Why do'st thou vse me thus? I know thee not Kent. Fellow I know thee Ste. What do'st thou know me for? Kent. A Knaue, a Rascall, an eater of broken meates, a base, proud, shallow, beggerly, three-suited-hundred pound, filthy woosted-stocking knaue, a Lilly-liuered, action-taking, whoreson glasse-gazing super-seruiceable finicall Rogue, one Trunke-inheriting slaue, one that would'st be a Baud in way of good seruice, and art nothing but the composition of a Knaue, Begger, Coward, Pandar, and the Sonne and Heire of a Mungrill Bitch, one whom I will beate into clamours whining, if thou deny'st the least sillable of thy addition Stew. Why, what a monstrous Fellow art thou, thus to raile on one, that is neither knowne of thee, nor knowes thee? Kent. What a brazen-fac'd Varlet art thou, to deny thou knowest me? Is it two dayes since I tript vp thy heeles, and beate thee before the King? Draw you rogue, for though it be night, yet the Moone shines, Ile make a sop oth' Moonshine of you, you whoreson Cullyenly Barber-monger, draw Stew. Away, I haue nothing to do with thee Kent. Draw you Rascall, you come with Letters against the King, and take Vanitie the puppets part, against the Royaltie of her Father: draw you Rogue, or Ile so carbonado your shanks, draw you Rascall, come your waies Ste. Helpe, ho, murther, helpe Kent. Strike you slaue: stand rogue, stand you neat slaue, strike Stew. Helpe hoa, murther, murther. Enter Bastard, Cornewall, Regan, Gloster, Seruants. Bast. How now, what's the matter? Part Kent. With you goodman Boy, if you please, come, Ile flesh ye, come on yong Master Glo. Weapons? Armes? what's the matter here? Cor. Keepe peace vpon your liues, he dies that strikes againe, what is the matter? Reg. The Messengers from our Sister, and the King? Cor. What is your difference, speake? Stew. I am scarce in breath my Lord Kent. No Maruell, you haue so bestir'd your valour, you cowardly Rascall, nature disclaimes in thee: a Taylor made thee Cor. Thou art a strange fellow, a Taylor make a man? Kent. A Taylor Sir, a Stone-cutter, or a Painter, could not haue made him so ill, though they had bin but two yeares oth' trade Cor. Speake yet, how grew your quarrell? Ste. This ancient Ruffian Sir, whose life I haue spar'd at sute of his gray-beard Kent. Thou whoreson Zed, thou vnnecessary letter: my Lord, if you will giue me leaue, I will tread this vnboulted villaine into morter, and daube the wall of a Iakes with him. Spare my gray-beard, you wagtaile? Cor. Peace sirrah, You beastly knaue, know you no reuerence? Kent. Yes Sir, but anger hath a priuiledge Cor. Why art thou angrie? Kent. That such a slaue as this should weare a Sword, Who weares no honesty: such smiling rogues as these, Like Rats oft bite the holy cords a twaine, Which are t' intrince, t' vnloose: smooth euery passion That in the natures of their Lords rebell, Being oile to fire, snow to the colder moodes, Reuenge, affirme, and turne their Halcion beakes With euery gall, and varry of their Masters, Knowing naught (like dogges) but following: A plague vpon your Epilepticke visage, Smoile you my speeches, as I were a Foole? Goose, if I had you vpon Sarum Plaine, I'ld driue ye cackling home to Camelot Corn. What art thou mad old Fellow? Glost. How fell you out, say that? Kent. No contraries hold more antipathy, Then I, and such a knaue Corn. Why do'st thou call him Knaue? What is his fault? Kent. His countenance likes me not Cor. No more perchance do's mine, nor his, nor hers Kent. Sir, 'tis my occupation to be plaine, I haue seene better faces in my Time, Then stands on any shoulder that I see Before me, at this instant Corn. This is some Fellow, Who hauing beene prais'd for bluntnesse, doth affect A saucy roughnes, and constraines the garb Quite from his Nature. He cannot flatter he, An honest mind and plaine, he must speake truth, And they will take it so, if not, hee's plaine. These kind of Knaues I know, which in this plainnesse Harbour more craft, and more corrupter ends, Then twenty silly-ducking obseruants, That stretch their duties nicely Kent. Sir, in good faith, in sincere verity, Vnder th' allowance of your great aspect, Whose influence like the wreath of radient fire On flickring Phoebus front Corn. What mean'st by this? Kent. To go out of my dialect, which you discommend so much; I know Sir, I am no flatterer, he that beguild you in a plaine accent, was a plaine Knaue, which for my part I will not be, though I should win your displeasure to entreat me too't Corn. What was th' offence you gaue him? Ste. I neuer gaue him any: It pleas'd the King his Master very late To strike at me vpon his misconstruction, When he compact, and flattering his displeasure Tript me behind: being downe, insulted, rail'd, And put vpon him such a deale of Man, That worthied him, got praises of the King, For him attempting, who was selfe-subdued, And in the fleshment of this dead exploit, Drew on me here againe Kent. None of these Rogues, and Cowards But Aiax is there Foole Corn. Fetch forth the Stocks? You stubborne ancient Knaue, you reuerent Bragart, Wee'l teach you Kent. Sir, I am too old to learne: Call not your Stocks for me, I serue the King. On whose imployment I was sent to you, You shall doe small respects, show too bold malice Against the Grace, and Person of my Master, Stocking his Messenger Corn. Fetch forth the Stocks; As I haue life and Honour, there shall he sit till Noone Reg. Till noone? till night my Lord, and all night too Kent. Why Madam, if I were your Fathers dog, You should not vse me so Reg. Sir, being his Knaue, I will. Stocks brought out. Cor. This is a Fellow of the selfe same colour, Our Sister speakes of. Come, bring away the Stocks Glo. Let me beseech your Grace, not to do so, The King his Master, needs must take it ill That he so slightly valued in his Messenger, Should haue him thus restrained Cor. Ile answere that Reg. My Sister may recieue it much more worsse, To haue her Gentleman abus'd, assaulted Corn. Come my Lord, away. Enter. Glo. I am sorry for thee friend, 'tis the Dukes pleasure, Whose disposition all the world well knowes Will not be rub'd nor stopt, Ile entreat for thee Kent. Pray do not Sir, I haue watch'd and trauail'd hard, Some time I shall sleepe out, the rest Ile whistle: A good mans fortune may grow out at heeles: Giue you good morrow Glo. The Duke's too blame in this, 'Twill be ill taken. Enter. Kent. Good King, that must approue the common saw, Thou out of Heauens benediction com'st To the warme Sun. Approach thou Beacon to this vnder Globe, That by thy comfortable Beames I may Peruse this Letter. Nothing almost sees miracles But miserie. I know 'tis from Cordelia, Who hath most fortunately beene inform'd Of my obscured course. And shall finde time From this enormous State, seeking to giue Losses their remedies. All weary and o're-watch'd, Take vantage heauie eyes, not to behold This shamefull lodging. Fortune goodnight, Smile once more, turne thy wheele. Enter Edgar. Edg. I heard my selfe proclaim'd, And by the happy hollow of a Tree, Escap'd the hunt. No Port is free, no place That guard, and most vnusall vigilance Do's not attend my taking. Whiles I may scape I will preserue myselfe: and am bethought To take the basest, and most poorest shape That euer penury in contempt of man, Brought neere to beast; my face Ile grime with filth, Blanket my loines, else all my haires in knots, And with presented nakednesse out-face The Windes, and persecutions of the skie; The Country giues me proofe, and president Of Bedlam beggers, who with roaring voices, Strike in their num'd and mortified Armes. Pins, Wodden-prickes, Nayles, Sprigs of Rosemarie: And with this horrible obiect, from low Farmes, Poore pelting Villages, Sheeps-Coates, and Milles, Sometimes with Lunaticke bans, sometime with Praiers Inforce their charitie: poore Turlygod poore Tom, That's something yet: Edgar I nothing am. Enter. Enter Lear, Foole, and Gentleman. Lea. 'Tis strange that they should so depart from home, And not send backe my Messengers Gent. As I learn'd, The night before, there was no purpose in them Of this remoue Kent. Haile to thee Noble Master Lear. Ha? Mak'st thou this shame thy pastime? Kent. No my Lord Foole. Hah, ha, he weares Cruell Garters Horses are tide by the heads, Dogges and Beares by'th' necke, Monkies by'th' loynes, and Men by'th' legs: when a man ouerlustie at legs, then he weares wodden nether-stocks Lear. What's he, That hath so much thy place mistooke To set thee heere? Kent. It is both he and she, Your Son, and Daughter Lear. No Kent. Yes Lear. No I say Kent. I say yea Lear. By Iupiter I sweare no Kent. By Iuno, I sweare I Lear. They durst not do't: They could not, would not do't: 'tis worse then murther, To do vpon respect such violent outrage: Resolue me with all modest haste, which way Thou might'st deserue, or they impose this vsage, Comming from vs Kent. My Lord, when at their home I did commend your Highnesse Letters to them, Ere I was risen from the place, that shewed My dutie kneeling, came there a reeking Poste, Stew'd in his haste, halfe breathlesse, painting forth From Gonerill his Mistris, salutations; Deliuer'd Letters spight of intermission, Which presently they read; on those contents They summon'd vp their meiney, straight tooke Horse, Commanded me to follow, and attend The leisure of their answer, gaue me cold lookes, And meeting heere the other Messenger, Whose welcome I perceiu'd had poison'd mine, Being the very fellow which of late Displaid so sawcily against your Highnesse, Hauing more man then wit about me, drew; He rais'd the house, with loud and coward cries, Your Sonne and Daughter found this trespasse worth The shame which heere it suffers Foole. Winters not gon yet, if the wil'd Geese fly that way, Fathers that weare rags, do make their Children blind, But Fathers that beare bags, shall see their children kind. Fortune that arrant whore, nere turns the key toth' poore. But for all this thou shalt haue as many Dolors for thy Daughters, as thou canst tell in a yeare Lear. Oh how this Mother swels vp toward my heart! Historica passio, downe thou climing sorrow, Thy Elements below where is this Daughter? Kent. With the Earle Sir, here within Lear. Follow me not, stay here. Enter. Gen. Made you no more offence, But what you speake of? Kent. None: How chance the King comes with so small a number? Foole. And thou hadst beene set i'th' Stockes for that question, thoud'st well deseru'd it Kent. Why Foole? Foole. Wee'l set thee to schoole to an Ant, to teach thee ther's no labouring i'th' winter. All that follow their noses, are led by their eyes, but blinde men, and there's not a nose among twenty, but can smell him that's stinking; let go thy hold when a great wheele runs downe a hill, least it breake thy necke with following. But the great one that goes vpward, let him draw thee after: when a wiseman giues thee better counsell giue me mine againe, I would haue none but knaues follow it, since a Foole giues it. That Sir, which serues and seekes for gaine, And followes but for forme; Will packe, when it begins to raine, And leaue thee in the storme, But I will tarry, the Foole will stay, And let the wiseman flie: The knaue turnes Foole that runnes away, The Foole no knaue perdie. Enter Lear, and Gloster] : Kent. Where learn'd you this Foole? Foole. Not i'th' Stocks Foole Lear. Deny to speake with me? They are sicke, they are weary, They haue trauail'd all the night? meere fetches, The images of reuolt and flying off. Fetch me a better answer Glo. My deere Lord, You know the fiery quality of the Duke, How vnremoueable and fixt he is In his owne course Lear. Vengeance, Plague, Death, Confusion: Fiery? What quality? Why Gloster, Gloster, I'ld speake with the Duke of Cornewall, and his wife Glo. Well my good Lord, I haue inform'd them so Lear. Inform'd them? Do'st thou vnderstand me man Glo. I my good Lord Lear. The King would speake with Cornwall, The deere Father Would with his Daughter speake, commands, tends, seruice, 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 selues, When Nature being opprest, commands the mind To suffer with the body; Ile forbeare, And am fallen 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 sit heere? This act perswades me, That this remotion of the Duke and her Is practise only. Giue me my Seruant forth; Goe tell the Duke, and's wife, Il'd speake with them: Now, presently: bid them come forth and heare me, Or at their Chamber doore Ile beate the Drum, Till it crie sleepe to death Glo. I would haue all well betwixt you. Enter. Lear. Oh me my heart! My rising heart! But downe Foole. Cry to it Nunckle, as the Cockney did to the Eeles, when she put 'em i'th' Paste aliue, she knapt 'em o'th' coxcombs with a sticke, and cryed downe wantons, downe; 'twas her Brother, that in pure kindnesse to his Horse buttered his Hay. Enter Cornewall, Regan, Gloster, Seruants. Lear. Good morrow to you both Corn. Haile to your Grace. Kent here set at liberty. Reg. I am glad to see your Highnesse Lear. Regan, I thinke you are. I know what reason I haue to thinke so, if thou should'st not be glad, I would diuorce me from thy Mother Tombe, Sepulchring an Adultresse. O are you free? Some other time for that. Beloued Regan, Thy Sisters naught: oh Regan, she hath tied Sharpe-tooth'd vnkindnesse, like a vulture heere, I can scarce speake to thee, thou'lt not beleeue With how deprau'd a quality. Oh Regan Reg. I pray you Sir, take patience, I haue hope You lesse know how to value her desert, Then she to scant her dutie Lear. Say? How is that? Reg. I cannot thinke my Sister in the least Would faile her Obligation. If Sir perchance She haue restrained the Riots of your Followres, 'Tis on such ground, and to such wholesome end, As cleeres her from all blame Lear. My curses on her Reg. O Sir, you are old, Nature in you stands on the very Verge Of his confine: you should be rul'd, and led By some discretion, that discernes your state Better then you your selfe: therefore I pray you, That to our Sister, you do make returne, Say you haue wrong'd her Lear. Aske her forgiuenesse? Do you but marke how this becomes the house? Deere daughter, I confesse that I am old; Age is vnnecessary: on my knees I begge, That you'l vouchsafe me Rayment, Bed, and Food Reg. Good Sir, no more: these are vnsightly trickes: Returne you to my Sister Lear. Neuer Regan: She hath abated me of halfe my Traine; Look'd blacke vpon me, strooke me with her Tongue Most Serpent-like, vpon the very Heart. All the stor'd Vengeances of Heauen, fall On her ingratefull top: strike her yong bones You taking Ayres, with Lamenesse Corn. Fye sir, fie Le. You nimble Lightnings, dart your blinding flames Into her scornfull eyes: Infect her Beauty, You Fen-suck'd Fogges, drawne by the powrfull Sunne, To fall, and blister Reg. O the blest Gods! So will you wish on me, when the rash moode is on Lear. No Regan, thou shalt neuer haue my curse: Thy tender-hefted Nature shall not giue Thee o're to harshnesse: Her eyes are fierce, but thine Do comfort, and not burne. 'Tis not in thee To grudge my pleasures, to cut off my Traine, To bandy hasty words, to scant my sizes, And in conclusion, to oppose the bolt Against my comming in. Thou better know'st The Offices of Nature, bond of Childhood, Effects of Curtesie, dues of Gratitude: Thy halfe o'th' Kingdome hast thou not forgot, Wherein I thee endow'd Reg. Good Sir, to'th' purpose. Tucket within. Lear. Who put my man i'th' Stockes? Enter Steward. Corn. What Trumpet's that? Reg. I know't, my Sisters: this approues her Letter, That she would soone be heere. Is your Lady come? Lear. This is a Slaue, whose easie borrowed pride Dwels in the sickly grace of her he followes. Out Varlet, from my sight Corn. What meanes your Grace? Enter Gonerill. Lear. Who stockt my Seruant? Regan, I haue good hope Thou did'st not know on't. Who comes here? O Heauens! If you do loue old men; if your sweet sway Allow Obedience; if you your selues are old, Make it your cause: Send downe, and take my part. Art not asham'd to looke vpon this Beard? O Regan, will you take her by the hand? Gon. Why not by'th' hand Sir? How haue I offended? All's not offence that indiscretion findes, And dotage termes so Lear. O sides, you are too tough! Will you yet hold? How came my man i'th' Stockes? Corn. I set him there, Sir: but his owne Disorders Deseru'd much lesse aduancement Lear. You? Did you? Reg. I pray you Father being weake, seeme so. If till the expiration of your Moneth You will returne and soiourne with my Sister, Dismissing halfe your traine, come then to me, I am now from home, and out of that prouision Which shall be needfull for your entertainement Lear. Returne to her? and fifty men dismiss'd? No, rather I abiure all roofes, and chuse To wage against the enmity oth' ayre, To be a Comrade with the Wolfe, and Owle, Necessities sharpe pinch. Returne with her? Why the hot-bloodied France, that dowerlesse tooke Our yongest borne, I could as well be brought To knee his Throne, and Squire-like pension beg, To keepe base life a foote; returne with her? Perswade me rather to be slaue and sumpter To this detested groome Gon. At your choice Sir Lear. I prythee Daughter do not make me mad, I will not trouble thee my Child; farewell: Wee'l no more meete, 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 Byle, A plague sore, or imbossed Carbuncle In my corrupted blood. But Ile not chide thee, Let shame come when it will, I do not call it, I do not bid the Thunder-bearer shoote, Nor tell tales of thee to high-iudging Ioue, Mend when thou can'st, 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 prouided For your fit welcome, giue eare Sir to my Sister, For those that mingle reason with your passion, Must be content to thinke you old, and so, But she knowes what she doe's Lear. Is this well spoken? Reg. I dare auouch 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, Speake 'gainst so great a number? How in one house Should many people, vnder two commands Hold amity? 'Tis hard, almost impossible Gon. Why might not you my Lord, receiue attendance From those that she cals Seruants, or from mine? Reg. Why not my Lord? If then they chanc'd to slacke ye, We could comptroll them; if you will come to me, (For now I spie a danger) I entreate you To bring but fiue and twentie, to no more Will I giue place or notice Lear. I gaue you all Reg. And in good time you gaue it Lear. Made you my Guardians, my Depositaries, But kept a reseruation to be followed With such a number? What, must I come to you With fiue and twenty? Regan, said you so? Reg. And speak't againe my Lord, no more with me Lea. Those wicked Creatures yet do look wel fauor'd When others are more wicked, not being the worst Stands in some ranke of praise, Ile go with thee, Thy fifty yet doth double fiue and twenty, And thou art twice her Loue Gon. Heare me my Lord; What need you fiue and twenty? Ten? Or fiue? To follow in a house, where twice so many Haue a command to tend you? Reg. What need one? Lear. O reason not the need: our basest Beggers Are in the poorest thing superfluous. Allow not Nature, more then Nature needs: Mans life is cheape as Beastes. Thou art a Lady; If onely to go warme were gorgeous, Why Nature needs not what thou gorgeous wear'st, Which scarcely keepes thee warme, but for true need: You Heauens, giue me that patience, patience I need, You see me heere (you Gods) a poore old man, As full of griefe as age, wretched in both, If it be you that stirres these Daughters hearts Against their Father, foole me not so much, To beare it tamely: touch me with Noble anger, And let not womens weapons, water drops, Staine my mans cheekes. No you vnnaturall Hags, I will haue such reuenges on you both, That all the world shall- I will do such things, What they are yet, I know not, but they shalbe The terrors of the earth? you thinke Ile weepe, No, Ile not weepe, I haue full cause of weeping. Storme and Tempest. But this heart shal break into a hundred thousand flawes Or ere Ile weepe; O Foole, I shall go mad. Exeunt. Corn. Let vs withdraw, 'twill be a Storme Reg. This house is little, the old man and's people, Cannot be well bestow'd Gon. 'Tis his owne blame hath put himselfe from rest, And must needs taste his folly Reg. For his particular, Ile receiue 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. Whether is he going? Glo. He cals to Horse, but will I know not whether Corn. 'Tis best to giue him way, he leads himselfe Gon. My Lord, entreate him by no meanes to stay Glo. Alacke the night comes on, and the high windes Do sorely ruffle, for many Miles about There's scarce a Bush Reg. O Sir, to wilfull men, The iniuries that they themselues procure, Must be their Schoole-Masters: shut vp your doores, He is attended with a desperate traine, And what they may incense him too, being apt, To haue his eare abus'd, wisedome bids feare Cor. Shut vp your doores my Lord, 'tis a wil'd night, My Regan counsels well: come out oth' storme. Exeunt.

Outside the outer walls of Gloucester Castle, Kent and Oswald arrive with their communications. Oswald, not recognizing Kent, greets him; Kent, wanting a quarrel, replies offensively. Oswald is startled by the stranger's rudeness and tells Kent that he does not know him. Kent replies that he knows him as a contemptuous person and delivers a scathing list of epithets that prove too much for Oswald. Eventually, a fight breaks out between the two of them. Kent thrashes Oswald, whose cries bring Edmund, Cornwall, Regan, Gloucester, and others rushing to the scene. Cornwall inquires about the cause of this extraordinary exhibition of violence. Kent answers by unleashing another torrent of abuse on Oswald, even threatening to tread him "into mortar." Kent calls him a rogue and further states his hatred for all rogues. When he cannot give a valid reason for his unacceptable behavior, everyone simply thinks he has gone mad. Cornwall orders Kent to be put in stocks despite Kent's protests that he is the king's messenger. He is led away in spite of Gloucester's entreaty that a king's messenger should not be treated so. When Cornwall, Regan, Edmund. and others leave the scene, Gloucester pleads helplessness. He tells Kent that the Duke's wishes cannot be disobeyed. The scene draws to an end with Kent's soliloquy on his master's sad situation, saying the king has left "heaven's benediction" to go into the hot sun. He removes and reads a message he is carrying from Cordelia. Her words seem to cheer Kent.

summary

Scena Secunda. Enter Kent, and Steward seuerally. Stew. Good dawning to thee Friend, art of this house? Kent. I Stew. Where may we set our horses? Kent. I'th' myre Stew. Prythee, if thou lou'st me, tell me Kent. I loue thee not Ste. Why then I care not for thee Kent. If I had thee in Lipsbury Pinfold, I would make thee care for me Ste. Why do'st thou vse me thus? I know thee not Kent. Fellow I know thee Ste. What do'st thou know me for? Kent. A Knaue, a Rascall, an eater of broken meates, a base, proud, shallow, beggerly, three-suited-hundred pound, filthy woosted-stocking knaue, a Lilly-liuered, action-taking, whoreson glasse-gazing super-seruiceable finicall Rogue, one Trunke-inheriting slaue, one that would'st be a Baud in way of good seruice, and art nothing but the composition of a Knaue, Begger, Coward, Pandar, and the Sonne and Heire of a Mungrill Bitch, one whom I will beate into clamours whining, if thou deny'st the least sillable of thy addition Stew. Why, what a monstrous Fellow art thou, thus to raile on one, that is neither knowne of thee, nor knowes thee? Kent. What a brazen-fac'd Varlet art thou, to deny thou knowest me? Is it two dayes since I tript vp thy heeles, and beate thee before the King? Draw you rogue, for though it be night, yet the Moone shines, Ile make a sop oth' Moonshine of you, you whoreson Cullyenly Barber-monger, draw Stew. Away, I haue nothing to do with thee Kent. Draw you Rascall, you come with Letters against the King, and take Vanitie the puppets part, against the Royaltie of her Father: draw you Rogue, or Ile so carbonado your shanks, draw you Rascall, come your waies Ste. Helpe, ho, murther, helpe Kent. Strike you slaue: stand rogue, stand you neat slaue, strike Stew. Helpe hoa, murther, murther. Enter Bastard, Cornewall, Regan, Gloster, Seruants. Bast. How now, what's the matter? Part Kent. With you goodman Boy, if you please, come, Ile flesh ye, come on yong Master Glo. Weapons? Armes? what's the matter here? Cor. Keepe peace vpon your liues, he dies that strikes againe, what is the matter? Reg. The Messengers from our Sister, and the King? Cor. What is your difference, speake? Stew. I am scarce in breath my Lord Kent. No Maruell, you haue so bestir'd your valour, you cowardly Rascall, nature disclaimes in thee: a Taylor made thee Cor. Thou art a strange fellow, a Taylor make a man? Kent. A Taylor Sir, a Stone-cutter, or a Painter, could not haue made him so ill, though they had bin but two yeares oth' trade Cor. Speake yet, how grew your quarrell? Ste. This ancient Ruffian Sir, whose life I haue spar'd at sute of his gray-beard Kent. Thou whoreson Zed, thou vnnecessary letter: my Lord, if you will giue me leaue, I will tread this vnboulted villaine into morter, and daube the wall of a Iakes with him. Spare my gray-beard, you wagtaile? Cor. Peace sirrah, You beastly knaue, know you no reuerence? Kent. Yes Sir, but anger hath a priuiledge Cor. Why art thou angrie? Kent. That such a slaue as this should weare a Sword, Who weares no honesty: such smiling rogues as these, Like Rats oft bite the holy cords a twaine, Which are t' intrince, t' vnloose: smooth euery passion That in the natures of their Lords rebell, Being oile to fire, snow to the colder moodes, Reuenge, affirme, and turne their Halcion beakes With euery gall, and varry of their Masters, Knowing naught (like dogges) but following: A plague vpon your Epilepticke visage, Smoile you my speeches, as I were a Foole? Goose, if I had you vpon Sarum Plaine, I'ld driue ye cackling home to Camelot Corn. What art thou mad old Fellow? Glost. How fell you out, say that? Kent. No contraries hold more antipathy, Then I, and such a knaue Corn. Why do'st thou call him Knaue? What is his fault? Kent. His countenance likes me not Cor. No more perchance do's mine, nor his, nor hers Kent. Sir, 'tis my occupation to be plaine, I haue seene better faces in my Time, Then stands on any shoulder that I see Before me, at this instant Corn. This is some Fellow, Who hauing beene prais'd for bluntnesse, doth affect A saucy roughnes, and constraines the garb Quite from his Nature. He cannot flatter he, An honest mind and plaine, he must speake truth, And they will take it so, if not, hee's plaine. These kind of Knaues I know, which in this plainnesse Harbour more craft, and more corrupter ends, Then twenty silly-ducking obseruants, That stretch their duties nicely Kent. Sir, in good faith, in sincere verity, Vnder th' allowance of your great aspect, Whose influence like the wreath of radient fire On flickring Phoebus front Corn. What mean'st by this? Kent. To go out of my dialect, which you discommend so much; I know Sir, I am no flatterer, he that beguild you in a plaine accent, was a plaine Knaue, which for my part I will not be, though I should win your displeasure to entreat me too't Corn. What was th' offence you gaue him? Ste. I neuer gaue him any: It pleas'd the King his Master very late To strike at me vpon his misconstruction, When he compact, and flattering his displeasure Tript me behind: being downe, insulted, rail'd, And put vpon him such a deale of Man, That worthied him, got praises of the King, For him attempting, who was selfe-subdued, And in the fleshment of this dead exploit, Drew on me here againe Kent. None of these Rogues, and Cowards But Aiax is there Foole Corn. Fetch forth the Stocks? You stubborne ancient Knaue, you reuerent Bragart, Wee'l teach you Kent. Sir, I am too old to learne: Call not your Stocks for me, I serue the King. On whose imployment I was sent to you, You shall doe small respects, show too bold malice Against the Grace, and Person of my Master, Stocking his Messenger Corn. Fetch forth the Stocks; As I haue life and Honour, there shall he sit till Noone Reg. Till noone? till night my Lord, and all night too Kent. Why Madam, if I were your Fathers dog, You should not vse me so Reg. Sir, being his Knaue, I will. Stocks brought out. Cor. This is a Fellow of the selfe same colour, Our Sister speakes of. Come, bring away the Stocks Glo. Let me beseech your Grace, not to do so, The King his Master, needs must take it ill That he so slightly valued in his Messenger, Should haue him thus restrained Cor. Ile answere that Reg. My Sister may recieue it much more worsse, To haue her Gentleman abus'd, assaulted Corn. Come my Lord, away. Enter. Glo. I am sorry for thee friend, 'tis the Dukes pleasure, Whose disposition all the world well knowes Will not be rub'd nor stopt, Ile entreat for thee Kent. Pray do not Sir, I haue watch'd and trauail'd hard, Some time I shall sleepe out, the rest Ile whistle: A good mans fortune may grow out at heeles: Giue you good morrow Glo. The Duke's too blame in this, 'Twill be ill taken. Enter. Kent. Good King, that must approue the common saw, Thou out of Heauens benediction com'st To the warme Sun. Approach thou Beacon to this vnder Globe, That by thy comfortable Beames I may Peruse this Letter. Nothing almost sees miracles But miserie. I know 'tis from Cordelia, Who hath most fortunately beene inform'd Of my obscured course. And shall finde time From this enormous State, seeking to giue Losses their remedies. All weary and o're-watch'd, Take vantage heauie eyes, not to behold This shamefull lodging. Fortune goodnight, Smile once more, turne thy wheele. Enter Edgar. Edg. I heard my selfe proclaim'd, And by the happy hollow of a Tree, Escap'd the hunt. No Port is free, no place That guard, and most vnusall vigilance Do's not attend my taking. Whiles I may scape I will preserue myselfe: and am bethought To take the basest, and most poorest shape That euer penury in contempt of man, Brought neere to beast; my face Ile grime with filth, Blanket my loines, else all my haires in knots, And with presented nakednesse out-face The Windes, and persecutions of the skie; The Country giues me proofe, and president Of Bedlam beggers, who with roaring voices, Strike in their num'd and mortified Armes. Pins, Wodden-prickes, Nayles, Sprigs of Rosemarie: And with this horrible obiect, from low Farmes, Poore pelting Villages, Sheeps-Coates, and Milles, Sometimes with Lunaticke bans, sometime with Praiers Inforce their charitie: poore Turlygod poore Tom, That's something yet: Edgar I nothing am. Enter. Enter Lear, Foole, and Gentleman. Lea. 'Tis strange that they should so depart from home, And not send backe my Messengers Gent. As I learn'd, The night before, there was no purpose in them Of this remoue Kent. Haile to thee Noble Master Lear. Ha? Mak'st thou this shame thy pastime? Kent. No my Lord Foole. Hah, ha, he weares Cruell Garters Horses are tide by the heads, Dogges and Beares by'th' necke, Monkies by'th' loynes, and Men by'th' legs: when a man ouerlustie at legs, then he weares wodden nether-stocks Lear. What's he, That hath so much thy place mistooke To set thee heere? Kent. It is both he and she, Your Son, and Daughter Lear. No Kent. Yes Lear. No I say Kent. I say yea Lear. By Iupiter I sweare no Kent. By Iuno, I sweare I Lear. They durst not do't: They could not, would not do't: 'tis worse then murther, To do vpon respect such violent outrage: Resolue me with all modest haste, which way Thou might'st deserue, or they impose this vsage, Comming from vs Kent. My Lord, when at their home I did commend your Highnesse Letters to them, Ere I was risen from the place, that shewed My dutie kneeling, came there a reeking Poste, Stew'd in his haste, halfe breathlesse, painting forth From Gonerill his Mistris, salutations; Deliuer'd Letters spight of intermission, Which presently they read; on those contents They summon'd vp their meiney, straight tooke Horse, Commanded me to follow, and attend The leisure of their answer, gaue me cold lookes, And meeting heere the other Messenger, Whose welcome I perceiu'd had poison'd mine, Being the very fellow which of late Displaid so sawcily against your Highnesse, Hauing more man then wit about me, drew; He rais'd the house, with loud and coward cries, Your Sonne and Daughter found this trespasse worth The shame which heere it suffers Foole. Winters not gon yet, if the wil'd Geese fly that way, Fathers that weare rags, do make their Children blind, But Fathers that beare bags, shall see their children kind. Fortune that arrant whore, nere turns the key toth' poore. But for all this thou shalt haue as many Dolors for thy Daughters, as thou canst tell in a yeare Lear. Oh how this Mother swels vp toward my heart! Historica passio, downe thou climing sorrow, Thy Elements below where is this Daughter? Kent. With the Earle Sir, here within Lear. Follow me not, stay here. Enter. Gen. Made you no more offence, But what you speake of? Kent. None: How chance the King comes with so small a number? Foole. And thou hadst beene set i'th' Stockes for that question, thoud'st well deseru'd it Kent. Why Foole? Foole. Wee'l set thee to schoole to an Ant, to teach thee ther's no labouring i'th' winter. All that follow their noses, are led by their eyes, but blinde men, and there's not a nose among twenty, but can smell him that's stinking; let go thy hold when a great wheele runs downe a hill, least it breake thy necke with following. But the great one that goes vpward, let him draw thee after: when a wiseman giues thee better counsell giue me mine againe, I would haue none but knaues follow it, since a Foole giues it. That Sir, which serues and seekes for gaine, And followes but for forme; Will packe, when it begins to raine, And leaue thee in the storme, But I will tarry, the Foole will stay, And let the wiseman flie: The knaue turnes Foole that runnes away, The Foole no knaue perdie. Enter Lear, and Gloster] : Kent. Where learn'd you this Foole? Foole. Not i'th' Stocks Foole Lear. Deny to speake with me? They are sicke, they are weary, They haue trauail'd all the night? meere fetches, The images of reuolt and flying off. Fetch me a better answer Glo. My deere Lord, You know the fiery quality of the Duke, How vnremoueable and fixt he is In his owne course Lear. Vengeance, Plague, Death, Confusion: Fiery? What quality? Why Gloster, Gloster, I'ld speake with the Duke of Cornewall, and his wife Glo. Well my good Lord, I haue inform'd them so Lear. Inform'd them? Do'st thou vnderstand me man Glo. I my good Lord Lear. The King would speake with Cornwall, The deere Father Would with his Daughter speake, commands, tends, seruice, 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 selues, When Nature being opprest, commands the mind To suffer with the body; Ile forbeare, And am fallen 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 sit heere? This act perswades me, That this remotion of the Duke and her Is practise only. Giue me my Seruant forth; Goe tell the Duke, and's wife, Il'd speake with them: Now, presently: bid them come forth and heare me, Or at their Chamber doore Ile beate the Drum, Till it crie sleepe to death Glo. I would haue all well betwixt you. Enter. Lear. Oh me my heart! My rising heart! But downe Foole. Cry to it Nunckle, as the Cockney did to the Eeles, when she put 'em i'th' Paste aliue, she knapt 'em o'th' coxcombs with a sticke, and cryed downe wantons, downe; 'twas her Brother, that in pure kindnesse to his Horse buttered his Hay. Enter Cornewall, Regan, Gloster, Seruants. Lear. Good morrow to you both Corn. Haile to your Grace. Kent here set at liberty. Reg. I am glad to see your Highnesse Lear. Regan, I thinke you are. I know what reason I haue to thinke so, if thou should'st not be glad, I would diuorce me from thy Mother Tombe, Sepulchring an Adultresse. O are you free? Some other time for that. Beloued Regan, Thy Sisters naught: oh Regan, she hath tied Sharpe-tooth'd vnkindnesse, like a vulture heere, I can scarce speake to thee, thou'lt not beleeue With how deprau'd a quality. Oh Regan Reg. I pray you Sir, take patience, I haue hope You lesse know how to value her desert, Then she to scant her dutie Lear. Say? How is that? Reg. I cannot thinke my Sister in the least Would faile her Obligation. If Sir perchance She haue restrained the Riots of your Followres, 'Tis on such ground, and to such wholesome end, As cleeres her from all blame Lear. My curses on her Reg. O Sir, you are old, Nature in you stands on the very Verge Of his confine: you should be rul'd, and led By some discretion, that discernes your state Better then you your selfe: therefore I pray you, That to our Sister, you do make returne, Say you haue wrong'd her Lear. Aske her forgiuenesse? Do you but marke how this becomes the house? Deere daughter, I confesse that I am old; Age is vnnecessary: on my knees I begge, That you'l vouchsafe me Rayment, Bed, and Food Reg. Good Sir, no more: these are vnsightly trickes: Returne you to my Sister Lear. Neuer Regan: She hath abated me of halfe my Traine; Look'd blacke vpon me, strooke me with her Tongue Most Serpent-like, vpon the very Heart. All the stor'd Vengeances of Heauen, fall On her ingratefull top: strike her yong bones You taking Ayres, with Lamenesse Corn. Fye sir, fie Le. You nimble Lightnings, dart your blinding flames Into her scornfull eyes: Infect her Beauty, You Fen-suck'd Fogges, drawne by the powrfull Sunne, To fall, and blister Reg. O the blest Gods! So will you wish on me, when the rash moode is on Lear. No Regan, thou shalt neuer haue my curse: Thy tender-hefted Nature shall not giue Thee o're to harshnesse: Her eyes are fierce, but thine Do comfort, and not burne. 'Tis not in thee To grudge my pleasures, to cut off my Traine, To bandy hasty words, to scant my sizes, And in conclusion, to oppose the bolt Against my comming in. Thou better know'st The Offices of Nature, bond of Childhood, Effects of Curtesie, dues of Gratitude: Thy halfe o'th' Kingdome hast thou not forgot, Wherein I thee endow'd Reg. Good Sir, to'th' purpose. Tucket within. Lear. Who put my man i'th' Stockes? Enter Steward. Corn. What Trumpet's that? Reg. I know't, my Sisters: this approues her Letter, That she would soone be heere. Is your Lady come? Lear. This is a Slaue, whose easie borrowed pride Dwels in the sickly grace of her he followes. Out Varlet, from my sight Corn. What meanes your Grace? Enter Gonerill. Lear. Who stockt my Seruant? Regan, I haue good hope Thou did'st not know on't. Who comes here? O Heauens! If you do loue old men; if your sweet sway Allow Obedience; if you your selues are old, Make it your cause: Send downe, and take my part. Art not asham'd to looke vpon this Beard? O Regan, will you take her by the hand? Gon. Why not by'th' hand Sir? How haue I offended? All's not offence that indiscretion findes, And dotage termes so Lear. O sides, you are too tough! Will you yet hold? How came my man i'th' Stockes? Corn. I set him there, Sir: but his owne Disorders Deseru'd much lesse aduancement Lear. You? Did you? Reg. I pray you Father being weake, seeme so. If till the expiration of your Moneth You will returne and soiourne with my Sister, Dismissing halfe your traine, come then to me, I am now from home, and out of that prouision Which shall be needfull for your entertainement Lear. Returne to her? and fifty men dismiss'd? No, rather I abiure all roofes, and chuse To wage against the enmity oth' ayre, To be a Comrade with the Wolfe, and Owle, Necessities sharpe pinch. Returne with her? Why the hot-bloodied France, that dowerlesse tooke Our yongest borne, I could as well be brought To knee his Throne, and Squire-like pension beg, To keepe base life a foote; returne with her? Perswade me rather to be slaue and sumpter To this detested groome Gon. At your choice Sir Lear. I prythee Daughter do not make me mad, I will not trouble thee my Child; farewell: Wee'l no more meete, 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 Byle, A plague sore, or imbossed Carbuncle In my corrupted blood. But Ile not chide thee, Let shame come when it will, I do not call it, I do not bid the Thunder-bearer shoote, Nor tell tales of thee to high-iudging Ioue, Mend when thou can'st, 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 prouided For your fit welcome, giue eare Sir to my Sister, For those that mingle reason with your passion, Must be content to thinke you old, and so, But she knowes what she doe's Lear. Is this well spoken? Reg. I dare auouch 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, Speake 'gainst so great a number? How in one house Should many people, vnder two commands Hold amity? 'Tis hard, almost impossible Gon. Why might not you my Lord, receiue attendance From those that she cals Seruants, or from mine? Reg. Why not my Lord? If then they chanc'd to slacke ye, We could comptroll them; if you will come to me, (For now I spie a danger) I entreate you To bring but fiue and twentie, to no more Will I giue place or notice Lear. I gaue you all Reg. And in good time you gaue it Lear. Made you my Guardians, my Depositaries, But kept a reseruation to be followed With such a number? What, must I come to you With fiue and twenty? Regan, said you so? Reg. And speak't againe my Lord, no more with me Lea. Those wicked Creatures yet do look wel fauor'd When others are more wicked, not being the worst Stands in some ranke of praise, Ile go with thee, Thy fifty yet doth double fiue and twenty, And thou art twice her Loue Gon. Heare me my Lord; What need you fiue and twenty? Ten? Or fiue? To follow in a house, where twice so many Haue a command to tend you? Reg. What need one? Lear. O reason not the need: our basest Beggers Are in the poorest thing superfluous. Allow not Nature, more then Nature needs: Mans life is cheape as Beastes. Thou art a Lady; If onely to go warme were gorgeous, Why Nature needs not what thou gorgeous wear'st, Which scarcely keepes thee warme, but for true need: You Heauens, giue me that patience, patience I need, You see me heere (you Gods) a poore old man, As full of griefe as age, wretched in both, If it be you that stirres these Daughters hearts Against their Father, foole me not so much, To beare it tamely: touch me with Noble anger, And let not womens weapons, water drops, Staine my mans cheekes. No you vnnaturall Hags, I will haue such reuenges on you both, That all the world shall- I will do such things, What they are yet, I know not, but they shalbe The terrors of the earth? you thinke Ile weepe, No, Ile not weepe, I haue full cause of weeping. Storme and Tempest. But this heart shal break into a hundred thousand flawes Or ere Ile weepe; O Foole, I shall go mad. Exeunt. Corn. Let vs withdraw, 'twill be a Storme Reg. This house is little, the old man and's people, Cannot be well bestow'd Gon. 'Tis his owne blame hath put himselfe from rest, And must needs taste his folly Reg. For his particular, Ile receiue 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. Whether is he going? Glo. He cals to Horse, but will I know not whether Corn. 'Tis best to giue him way, he leads himselfe Gon. My Lord, entreate him by no meanes to stay Glo. Alacke the night comes on, and the high windes Do sorely ruffle, for many Miles about There's scarce a Bush Reg. O Sir, to wilfull men, The iniuries that they themselues procure, Must be their Schoole-Masters: shut vp your doores, He is attended with a desperate traine, And what they may incense him too, being apt, To haue his eare abus'd, wisedome bids feare Cor. Shut vp your doores my Lord, 'tis a wil'd night, My Regan counsels well: come out oth' storme. Exeunt.

Notes In this scene, two loyal messengers come into conflict. Kent, the messenger from Lear, is incensed that Oswald carries a message from the impudent Goneril to her sister, Regan. With anger, he insults Oswald by calling him, "A knave, a rascal, an eater of broken meats; a base, proud, shallow, beggarly, three-suited." Oswald, not recognizing Kent in his disguise, has no wish to pick a fight with a stranger, but Kent proceeds to hit Goneril's messenger. Oswald, seeming cowardly, refuses to fight. On being questioned about his violence, Kent speaks boldly and bluntly. He does not conceal his distrust of either Regan or Goneril and gives no other reason for the fight than "his countenance likes me not." Cornwall, in ordering Kent to be put in stocks, shows his contempt and disdain for Lear. He and Regan state that Lear is no longer the king and cannot command their respect. They also demean Kent, referring to him as "this ancient ruffian" and "old fellow." Gloucester is very uneasy about the situation. He knows that Regan and Cornwall have committed intentional errors by disrespecting age, undermining the King's authority, and placing the king's messenger in the stocks. But Gloucester makes an error as well by refusing to stand up to Regan and Cornwall. While in the stocks, Kent receives a letter from Cordelia, inquiring about her father's well being. Although the letter is not logical because of its timing, it serves the dramatic purpose of cheering Kent and reminding the audience that Cordelia is still very much concerned about Lear.

analysis

Actus Tertius. Scena Prima. Storme still. Enter Kent, and a Gentleman, seuerally. Kent. Who's there besides foule weather? Gen. One minded like the weather, most vnquietly Kent. I know you: Where's the King? Gent. Contending with the fretfull Elements; Bids the winde blow the Earth into the Sea, Or swell the curled Waters 'boue the Maine, That things might change, or cease Kent. But who is with him? Gent. None but the Foole, who labours to out-iest His heart-strooke iniuries Kent. Sir, I do know you, And dare vpon the warrant of my note Commend a deere thing to you. There is diuision (Although as yet the face of it is couer'd With mutuall cunning) 'twixt Albany, and Cornwall: Who haue, as who haue not, that their great Starres Thron'd and set high; Seruants, who seeme no lesse, Which are to France the Spies and Speculations Intelligent of our State. What hath bin seene, Either in snuffes, and packings of the Dukes, Or the hard Reine which both of them hath borne Against the old kinde King; or something deeper, Whereof (perchance) these are but furnishings Gent. I will talke further with you Kent. No, do not: For confirmation that I am much more Then my out-wall; open this Purse, and take What it containes. If you shall see Cordelia, (As feare not but you shall) shew her this Ring, And she will tell you who that Fellow is That yet you do not know. Fye on this Storme, I will go seeke the King Gent. Giue me your hand, Haue you no more to say? Kent. Few words, but to effect more then all yet; That when we haue found the King, in which your pain That way, Ile this: He that first lights on him, Holla the other. Exeunt.

In this act, King Lear somewhat redeems himself. He faces the terrible fury of the storm with an inward fury, fueled by passion and rage. As he breaks down, he suffers intensely. The external tempest of nature's fury mingles with his inner one caused by filial betrayal. As he looks at the facts, he is forced to face his past mistakes and rashness and acknowledge his present impotence. The new insights into himself humble and subdue the king, giving him a genuine feeling of oneness with his fellow human beings. Stripped of his pomp and dignity, he realizes the similarities of man and beast. The scene actually begins with a meeting between Kent and the Gentleman; they are both searching for Lear. The Gentleman states that the king is wandering about in Nature's fury; he is accompanied by the Fool, who is trying his best to keep the desolate king's spirits up. Kent changes the subject and talks about the disturbances that are now occurring since Lear has given away the kingdom to his daughters. He believes that there is a growing hostility between the Dukes of Albany and Cornwall. There is also a rumor that Cordelia and her husband, the French king, have landed in Britain in order to lead an invasion. Kent asks the Gentleman to travel to Dover to find out if there is truth to the rumor. He gives him a ring to give to Cordelia if she is in Dover; it will identify that the Gentleman is a messenger from Kent. The scene closes as the two men go forth to individually search for the king.

summary

Actus Tertius. Scena Prima. Storme still. Enter Kent, and a Gentleman, seuerally. Kent. Who's there besides foule weather? Gen. One minded like the weather, most vnquietly Kent. I know you: Where's the King? Gent. Contending with the fretfull Elements; Bids the winde blow the Earth into the Sea, Or swell the curled Waters 'boue the Maine, That things might change, or cease Kent. But who is with him? Gent. None but the Foole, who labours to out-iest His heart-strooke iniuries Kent. Sir, I do know you, And dare vpon the warrant of my note Commend a deere thing to you. There is diuision (Although as yet the face of it is couer'd With mutuall cunning) 'twixt Albany, and Cornwall: Who haue, as who haue not, that their great Starres Thron'd and set high; Seruants, who seeme no lesse, Which are to France the Spies and Speculations Intelligent of our State. What hath bin seene, Either in snuffes, and packings of the Dukes, Or the hard Reine which both of them hath borne Against the old kinde King; or something deeper, Whereof (perchance) these are but furnishings Gent. I will talke further with you Kent. No, do not: For confirmation that I am much more Then my out-wall; open this Purse, and take What it containes. If you shall see Cordelia, (As feare not but you shall) shew her this Ring, And she will tell you who that Fellow is That yet you do not know. Fye on this Storme, I will go seeke the King Gent. Giue me your hand, Haue you no more to say? Kent. Few words, but to effect more then all yet; That when we haue found the King, in which your pain That way, Ile this: He that first lights on him, Holla the other. Exeunt.

Notes This scene, comprised of a conversation between Kent and Lear's Gentleman, describes how the King is out in the storm, "contending with the fretful elements." The Gentleman's description prepares the audience for the next scene in which Lear is seen being ravaged by the storm. The Gentleman hints that there is a threat to Lear's sanity as he "strives in his little world of man to outscorn /the to-and-fro conflicting wind and rain. " At least the devoted Fool is with the King, trying to protect his master and improve his spirits. Kent turns the conversation to the trouble that is brewing in England. He rails against the conspiracy hatched by Goneril, Regan, and their husbands and hopes that Cordelia may overcome them. The younger daughter has been kept abreast of what is happening to her father; she is fully aware of the horrid conduct of her sisters, Goneril and Regan. The fact that she has supposedly arrived in Britain with her husband is both good and bad news. The bad news is that she and the king have come to lead a French invasion of England; but there is also hope that she may rescue Lear and destroy the forces of evil that now reign in Britain.

analysis

Scena Secunda. Storme still. Enter Lear, and Foole. Lear. Blow windes, & crack your cheeks; Rage, blow You Cataracts, and Hyrricano's spout, Till you haue drench'd our Steeples, drown the Cockes. You Sulph'rous and Thought-executing Fires, Vaunt-curriors of Oake-cleauing Thunder-bolts, Sindge my white head. And thou all-shaking Thunder, Strike flat the thicke Rotundity o'th' world, Cracke Natures moulds, all germaines spill at once That makes ingratefull Man Foole. O Nunkle, Court holy-water in a dry house, is better then this Rain-water out o' doore. Good Nunkle, in, aske thy Daughters blessing, heere's a night pitties neither Wisemen, nor Fooles Lear. Rumble thy belly full: spit Fire, spowt Raine: Nor Raine, Winde, Thunder, Fire are my Daughters; I taxe not you, you Elements with vnkindnesse. I neuer gaue you Kingdome, call'd you Children; You owe me no subscription. Then let fall Your horrible pleasure. Heere I stand your Slaue, A poore, infirme, weake, and dispis'd old man: But yet I call you Seruile Ministers, That will with two pernicious Daughters ioyne Your high-engender'd Battailes, 'gainst a head So old, and white as this. O, ho! 'tis foule Foole. He that has a house to put's head in, has a good Head-peece: The Codpiece that will house, before the head has any; The Head, and he shall Lowse: so Beggers marry many. The man y makes his Toe, what he his Hart shold make, Shall of a Corne cry woe, and turne his sleepe to wake. For there was neuer yet faire woman, but shee made mouthes in a glasse. Enter Kent Lear. No, I will be the patterne of all patience, I will say nothing Kent. Who's there? Foole. Marry here's Grace, and a Codpiece, that's a Wiseman, and a Foole Kent. Alas Sir are you here? Things that loue night, Loue not such nights as these: The wrathfull Skies Gallow the very wanderers of the darke And make them keepe their Caues: Since I was man, Such sheets of Fire, such bursts of horrid Thunder, Such groanes of roaring Winde, and Raine, I neuer Remember to haue heard. Mans Nature cannot carry Th' affliction, nor the feare Lear. Let the great Goddes That keepe this dreadfull pudder o're our heads, Finde out their enemies now. Tremble thou Wretch, That hast within thee vndivulged Crimes Vnwhipt of Iustice. Hide thee, thou Bloudy hand; Thou Periur'd, and thou Simular of Vertue That art Incestuous. Caytiffe, to peeces shake That vnder couert, and conuenient seeming Ha's practis'd on mans life. Close pent-vp guilts, Riue your concealing Continents, and cry These dreadfull Summoners grace. I am a man, More sinn'd against, then sinning Kent. Alacke, bare-headed? Gracious my Lord, hard by heere is a Houell, Some friendship will it lend you 'gainst the Tempest: Repose you there, while I to this hard house, (More harder then the stones whereof 'tis rais'd, Which euen but now, demanding after you, Deny'd me to come in) returne, and force Their scanted curtesie Lear. My wits begin to turne. Come on my boy. How dost my boy? Art cold? I am cold my selfe. Where is this straw, my Fellow? The Art of our Necessities is strange, And can make vilde things precious. Come, your Houel; Poore Foole, and Knaue, I haue one part in my heart That's sorry yet for thee Foole. He that has and a little-tyne wit, With heigh-ho, the Winde and the Raine, Must make content with his Fortunes fit, Though the Raine it raineth euery day Le. True Boy: Come bring vs to this Houell. Enter. Foole. This is a braue night to coole a Curtizan: Ile speake a Prophesie ere I go: When Priests are more in word, then matter; When Brewers marre their Malt with water; When Nobles are their Taylors Tutors, No Heretiques burn'd, but wenches Sutors; When euery Case in Law, is right; No Squire in debt, nor no poore Knight; When Slanders do not liue in Tongues; Nor Cut-purses come not to throngs; When Vsurers tell their Gold i'th' Field, And Baudes, and whores, do Churches build, Then shal the Realme of Albion, come to great confusion: Then comes the time, who liues to see't, That going shalbe vs'd with feet. This prophecie Merlin shall make, for I liue before his time. Enter.

In the midst of a violent storm, Lear enters; he is accompanied by the Fool, who is shivering and terrified. Lear himself is "tempestuously" ecstatic. He exults in the power of nature and compares it to his daughters. Ironically, he now acknowledges himself as old, infirm, defenseless, and powerless. As he looks at the truth about himself, he begins to see "into the life of things" and feels, for the first time, a relationship with other human beings. As a result, he leaves self-pity behind. The Fool stays close by the king, trying to cheer him with half- witted axioms. Kent enters, looks at the raving Lear, and bemoans the fate of the helpless, old king. He listens as Lear rambles on about humanity and its folly, self-deception, and false values. Kent tries to reason with the King and pleas with him to seek shelter. Lear, however, is not worried about himself; instead, he reveals a tender concern for the Fool. Finally, Kent persuades Lear to move in the direction a nearby hovel. The two of them exit the stage and Fool follows them shortly, delivering a prophecy.

summary

Scena Secunda. Storme still. Enter Lear, and Foole. Lear. Blow windes, & crack your cheeks; Rage, blow You Cataracts, and Hyrricano's spout, Till you haue drench'd our Steeples, drown the Cockes. You Sulph'rous and Thought-executing Fires, Vaunt-curriors of Oake-cleauing Thunder-bolts, Sindge my white head. And thou all-shaking Thunder, Strike flat the thicke Rotundity o'th' world, Cracke Natures moulds, all germaines spill at once That makes ingratefull Man Foole. O Nunkle, Court holy-water in a dry house, is better then this Rain-water out o' doore. Good Nunkle, in, aske thy Daughters blessing, heere's a night pitties neither Wisemen, nor Fooles Lear. Rumble thy belly full: spit Fire, spowt Raine: Nor Raine, Winde, Thunder, Fire are my Daughters; I taxe not you, you Elements with vnkindnesse. I neuer gaue you Kingdome, call'd you Children; You owe me no subscription. Then let fall Your horrible pleasure. Heere I stand your Slaue, A poore, infirme, weake, and dispis'd old man: But yet I call you Seruile Ministers, That will with two pernicious Daughters ioyne Your high-engender'd Battailes, 'gainst a head So old, and white as this. O, ho! 'tis foule Foole. He that has a house to put's head in, has a good Head-peece: The Codpiece that will house, before the head has any; The Head, and he shall Lowse: so Beggers marry many. The man y makes his Toe, what he his Hart shold make, Shall of a Corne cry woe, and turne his sleepe to wake. For there was neuer yet faire woman, but shee made mouthes in a glasse. Enter Kent Lear. No, I will be the patterne of all patience, I will say nothing Kent. Who's there? Foole. Marry here's Grace, and a Codpiece, that's a Wiseman, and a Foole Kent. Alas Sir are you here? Things that loue night, Loue not such nights as these: The wrathfull Skies Gallow the very wanderers of the darke And make them keepe their Caues: Since I was man, Such sheets of Fire, such bursts of horrid Thunder, Such groanes of roaring Winde, and Raine, I neuer Remember to haue heard. Mans Nature cannot carry Th' affliction, nor the feare Lear. Let the great Goddes That keepe this dreadfull pudder o're our heads, Finde out their enemies now. Tremble thou Wretch, That hast within thee vndivulged Crimes Vnwhipt of Iustice. Hide thee, thou Bloudy hand; Thou Periur'd, and thou Simular of Vertue That art Incestuous. Caytiffe, to peeces shake That vnder couert, and conuenient seeming Ha's practis'd on mans life. Close pent-vp guilts, Riue your concealing Continents, and cry These dreadfull Summoners grace. I am a man, More sinn'd against, then sinning Kent. Alacke, bare-headed? Gracious my Lord, hard by heere is a Houell, Some friendship will it lend you 'gainst the Tempest: Repose you there, while I to this hard house, (More harder then the stones whereof 'tis rais'd, Which euen but now, demanding after you, Deny'd me to come in) returne, and force Their scanted curtesie Lear. My wits begin to turne. Come on my boy. How dost my boy? Art cold? I am cold my selfe. Where is this straw, my Fellow? The Art of our Necessities is strange, And can make vilde things precious. Come, your Houel; Poore Foole, and Knaue, I haue one part in my heart That's sorry yet for thee Foole. He that has and a little-tyne wit, With heigh-ho, the Winde and the Raine, Must make content with his Fortunes fit, Though the Raine it raineth euery day Le. True Boy: Come bring vs to this Houell. Enter. Foole. This is a braue night to coole a Curtizan: Ile speake a Prophesie ere I go: When Priests are more in word, then matter; When Brewers marre their Malt with water; When Nobles are their Taylors Tutors, No Heretiques burn'd, but wenches Sutors; When euery Case in Law, is right; No Squire in debt, nor no poore Knight; When Slanders do not liue in Tongues; Nor Cut-purses come not to throngs; When Vsurers tell their Gold i'th' Field, And Baudes, and whores, do Churches build, Then shal the Realme of Albion, come to great confusion: Then comes the time, who liues to see't, That going shalbe vs'd with feet. This prophecie Merlin shall make, for I liue before his time. Enter.

Notes Lear, pitted against nature in its most forceful form, gains a new insight into himself. He realizes how fully he has been tricked by his two older daughters and loudly bemoans their ingratitude and injustices. He then begins to rant and rave about the miserable condition of the world and invokes merciless nature to destroy evil. Fighting against the storm, he feels powerless, just as he feels powerless in the kingdom. Ironically, Lear appears to be less weak, defenseless and old in this storm as he has seemed in previous scenes. His anger has obviously animated him. The Fool chatters on, underlining Lear's raging internal tempest and drawing the King's attention to his personal follies; therefore, the Fool actually aids Lear in his discovery of himself and his relative position in the world. The storm also heightens Lear's internal tempest. Throughout the entire scene, there is howling wind, relentless rain, claps of thunder, and bolts of lightning, all of which seem to excite Lear more. In the brief silence between two thunderbolts, he cries out loudly, "I am a man, more sinned against, than sinning." Although he admits that he has done wrong, he feels his punishment is more than he deserves. When Kent tries to make Lear seek shelter, he reveals that he is more concerned about the Fool than about himself. It is the first time that Lear has fully reached out with great concern to someone else. In the process he becomes less selfish and more humanized.

analysis

Enter Gloster, and Edmund. Glo. Alacke, alacke Edmund, I like not this vnnaturall dealing; when I desired their leaue that I might pity him, they tooke from me the vse of mine owne house, charg'd me on paine of perpetuall displeasure, neither to speake of him, entreat for him, or any way sustaine him Bast. Most sauage and vnnaturall Glo. Go too; say you nothing. There is diuision betweene the Dukes, and a worsse matter then that: I haue receiued a Letter this night, 'tis dangerous to be spoken, I haue lock'd the Letter in my Closset, these iniuries the King now beares, will be reuenged home; ther is part of a Power already footed, we must incline to the King, I will looke him, and priuily relieue him; goe you and maintaine talke with the Duke, that my charity be not of him perceiued; If he aske for me, I am ill, and gone to bed, if I die for it, (as no lesse is threatned me) the King my old Master must be relieued. There is strange things toward Edmund, pray you be carefull. Enter. Bast. This Curtesie forbid thee, shall the Duke Instantly know, and of that Letter too; This seemes a faire deseruing, and must draw me That which my Father looses: no lesse then all, The yonger rises, when the old doth fall. Enter.

Back at his castle, Gloucester reveals his disapproval of the treatment given to Lear by his daughters. He condemns them for their disloyalty and declares his own loyalty to the king. His plan is to search for Lear and offer him aid, in the hope of relieving his suffering. A hypocritical Edmund also expresses his sympathy for Lear. Gloucester then talks to Edmund about the latest developments in the kingdom. He has received a secret letter containing information about the French invasion of Britain. He also expresses his concern about the hostility between the dukes. Before he departs, Gloucester warns Edmund to be wary. After his father's departure, Edmund reveals his secret plan to supplant his father.

summary

Enter Gloster, and Edmund. Glo. Alacke, alacke Edmund, I like not this vnnaturall dealing; when I desired their leaue that I might pity him, they tooke from me the vse of mine owne house, charg'd me on paine of perpetuall displeasure, neither to speake of him, entreat for him, or any way sustaine him Bast. Most sauage and vnnaturall Glo. Go too; say you nothing. There is diuision betweene the Dukes, and a worsse matter then that: I haue receiued a Letter this night, 'tis dangerous to be spoken, I haue lock'd the Letter in my Closset, these iniuries the King now beares, will be reuenged home; ther is part of a Power already footed, we must incline to the King, I will looke him, and priuily relieue him; goe you and maintaine talke with the Duke, that my charity be not of him perceiued; If he aske for me, I am ill, and gone to bed, if I die for it, (as no lesse is threatned me) the King my old Master must be relieued. There is strange things toward Edmund, pray you be carefull. Enter. Bast. This Curtesie forbid thee, shall the Duke Instantly know, and of that Letter too; This seemes a faire deseruing, and must draw me That which my Father looses: no lesse then all, The yonger rises, when the old doth fall. Enter.

Notes Shakespeare alternates the scenes of Lear's agony with the story of Gloucester, maintaining a skillful balance in the dramatic structure of the play. This scene returns to Gloucester Castle, where Edmund and his father engage in conversation. Gloucester expresses his horror over the "unnatural dealing" of Lear's daughters and his concern for the King. He resolves to resort secretly to doing all that he can to right the wrongs done to Lear. Gloucester's feelings reveal that he is a truly decent human being; he is just too easily duped by the deceitful Edmund, who is now planning to overcome his father.

analysis

Scena Quarta. Enter Lear, Kent, and Foole. Kent. Here is the place my Lord, good my Lord enter, The tirrany of the open night's too rough For Nature to endure. Storme still Lear. Let me alone Kent. Good my Lord enter heere Lear. Wilt breake my heart? Kent. I had rather breake mine owne, Good my Lord enter Lear. Thou think'st 'tis much that this contentious storme Inuades vs to the skin so: 'tis to thee, But where the greater malady is fixt, The lesser is scarce felt. Thou'dst shun a Beare, But if thy flight lay toward the roaring sea, Thou'dst meete the Beare i'th' mouth, when the mind's free, The bodies delicate: the tempest in my mind, Doth from my sences take all feeling else, Saue what beates there, Filliall ingratitude, Is it not as this mouth should teare this hand For lifting food too't? But I will punish home; No, I will weepe no more; in such a night, To shut me out? Poure on, I will endure: In such a night as this? O Regan, Gonerill, Your old kind Father, whose franke heart gaue all, O that way madnesse lies, let me shun that: No more of that Kent. Good my Lord enter here Lear. Prythee go in thy selfe, seeke thine owne ease, This tempest will not giue me leaue to ponder On things would hurt me more, but Ile goe in, In Boy, go first. You houselesse pouertie, Enter. Nay get thee in; Ile pray, and then Ile sleepe. Poore naked wretches, where so ere you are That bide the pelting of this pittilesse storme, How shall your House-lesse heads, and vnfed sides, Your lop'd, and window'd raggednesse defend you From seasons such as these? O I haue tane Too little care of this: Take Physicke, Pompe, Expose thy selfe to feele what wretches feele, That thou maist shake the superflux to them, And shew the Heauens more iust. Enter Edgar, and Foole. Edg. Fathom, and halfe, Fathom and halfe; poore Tom Foole. Come not in heere Nuncle, here's a spirit, helpe me, helpe me Kent. Giue my thy hand, who's there? Foole. A spirite, a spirite, he sayes his name's poore Tom Kent. What art thou that dost grumble there i'th' straw? Come forth Edg. Away, the foule Fiend followes me, through the sharpe Hauthorne blow the windes. Humh, goe to thy bed and warme thee Lear. Did'st thou giue all to thy Daughters? And art thou come to this? Edgar. Who giues any thing to poore Tom? Whom the foule fiend hath led through Fire, and through Flame, through Sword, and Whirle-Poole, o're Bog, and Quagmire, that hath laid Kniues vnder his Pillow, and Halters in his Pue, set Rats-bane by his Porredge, made him Proud of heart, to ride on a Bay trotting Horse, ouer foure incht Bridges, to course his owne shadow for a Traitor. Blisse thy fiue Wits, Toms a cold. O do, de, do, de, do, de, blisse thee from Whirle-Windes, Starre-blasting, and taking, do poore Tom some charitie, whom the foule Fiend vexes. There could I haue him now, and there, and there againe, and there. Storme still. Lear. Ha's his Daughters brought him to this passe? Could'st thou saue nothing? Would'st thou giue 'em all? Foole. Nay, he reseru'd a Blanket, else we had bin all sham'd Lea. Now all the plagues that in the pendulous ayre Hang fated o're mens faults, light on thy Daughters Kent. He hath no Daughters Sir Lear. Death Traitor, nothing could haue subdu'd Nature To such a lownesse, but his vnkind Daughters. Is it the fashion, that discarded Fathers, Should haue thus little mercy on their flesh: Iudicious punishment, 'twas this flesh begot Those Pelicane Daughters Edg. Pillicock sat on Pillicock hill, alow: alow, loo, loo Foole. This cold night will turne vs all to Fooles, and Madmen Edgar. Take heed o'th' foule Fiend, obey thy Parents, keepe thy words Iustice, sweare not, commit not, with mans sworne Spouse: set not thy Sweet-heart on proud array. Tom's a cold Lear. What hast thou bin? Edg. A Seruingman? Proud in heart, and minde; that curl'd my haire, wore Gloues in my cap; seru'd the Lust of my Mistris heart, and did the acte of darkenesse with her. Swore as many Oathes, as I spake words, & broke them in the sweet face of Heauen. One, that slept in the contriuing of Lust, and wak'd to doe it. Wine lou'd I deerely, Dice deerely; and in Woman, out-Paramour'd the Turke. False of heart, light of eare, bloody of hand; Hog in sloth, Foxe in stealth, Wolfe in greedinesse, Dog in madnes, Lyon in prey. Let not the creaking of shooes, Nor the rustling of Silkes, betray thy poore heart to woman. Keepe thy foote out of Brothels, thy hand out of Plackets, thy pen from Lenders Bookes, and defye the foule Fiend. Still through the Hauthorne blowes the cold winde: Sayes suum, mun, nonny, Dolphin my Boy, Boy Sesey: let him trot by. Storme still. Lear. Thou wert better in a Graue, then to answere with thy vncouer'd body, this extremitie of the Skies. Is man no more then this? Consider him well. Thou ow'st the Worme no Silke; the Beast, no Hide; the Sheepe, no Wooll; the Cat, no perfume. Ha? Here's three on's are sophisticated. Thou art the thing it selfe; vnaccommodated man, is no more but such a poore, bare, forked Animall as thou art. Off, off you Lendings: Come, vnbutton heere. Enter Gloucester, with a Torch. Foole. Prythee Nunckle be contented, 'tis a naughtie night to swimme in. Now a little fire in a wilde Field, were like an old Letchers heart, a small spark, all the rest on's body, cold: Looke, heere comes a walking fire Edg. This is the foule Flibbertigibbet; hee begins at Curfew, and walkes at first Cocke: Hee giues the Web and the Pin, squints the eye, and makes the Hare-lippe; Mildewes the white Wheate, and hurts the poore Creature of earth. Swithold footed thrice the old, He met the Night-Mare, and her nine-fold; Bid her a-light, and her troth-plight, And aroynt thee Witch, aroynt thee Kent. How fares your Grace? Lear. What's he? Kent. Who's there? What is't you seeke? Glou. What are you there? Your Names? Edg. Poore Tom, that eates the swimming Frog, the Toad, the Tod-pole, the wall-Neut, and the water: that in the furie of his heart, when the foule Fiend rages, eats Cow-dung for Sallets; swallowes the old Rat, and the ditch-Dogge; drinkes the green Mantle of the standing Poole: who is whipt from Tything to Tything, and stockt, punish'd, and imprison'd: who hath three Suites to his backe, sixe shirts to his body: Horse to ride, and weapon to weare: But Mice, and Rats, and such small Deare, Haue bin Toms food, for seuen long yeare: Beware my Follower. Peace Smulkin, peace thou Fiend Glou. What, hath your Grace no better company? Edg. The Prince of Darkenesse is a Gentleman. Modo he's call'd, and Mahu Glou. Our flesh and blood, my Lord, is growne so vilde, that it doth hate what gets it Edg. Poore Tom's a cold Glou. Go in with me; my duty cannot suffer T' obey in all your daughters hard commands: Though their Iniunction be to barre my doores, And let this Tyrannous night take hold vpon you, Yet haue I ventured to come seeke you out, And bring you where both fire, and food is ready Lear. First let me talke with this Philosopher, What is the cause of Thunder? Kent. Good my Lord take his offer, Go into th' house Lear. Ile talke a word with this same lerned Theban: What is your study? Edg. How to preuent the Fiend, and to kill Vermine Lear. Let me aske you one word in priuate Kent. Importune him once more to go my Lord, His wits begin t' vnsettle Glou. Canst thou blame him? Storm still His Daughters seeke his death: Ah, that good Kent, He said it would be thus: poore banish'd man: Thou sayest the King growes mad, Ile tell thee Friend I am almost mad my selfe. I had a Sonne, Now out-law'd from my blood: he sought my life But lately: very late: I lou'd him (Friend) No Father his Sonne deerer: true to tell thee, The greefe hath craz'd my wits. What a night's this? I do beseech your grace Lear. O cry you mercy, Sir: Noble Philosopher, your company Edg. Tom's a cold Glou. In fellow there, into th' Houel; keep thee warm Lear. Come, let's in all Kent. This way, my Lord Lear. With him; I will keepe still with my Philosopher Kent. Good my Lord, sooth him: Let him take the Fellow Glou. Take him you on Kent. Sirra, come on: go along with vs Lear. Come, good Athenian Glou. No words, no words, hush Edg. Childe Rowland to the darke Tower came, His word was still, fie, foh, and fumme, I smell the blood of a Brittish man. Exeunt.

This scene returns to Lear and his sufferings. With Kent and the Fool, the King finds a hovel that can provide some protection. He tells the Fool to enter first, thinking of others before himself. He also thinks about the contrasts between this modest hovel and the splendor of his court; amazingly, he now seems to despise all of the pomp and regality that he endured as the King. It is obvious that Lear's outlook has undergone a significant change. He states that physical sufferings pale in comparison to the keener sufferings of his emotional anguish. He knows that he can endure the fury exhibited by nature's storm, but he is totally undone by the filial ingratitude that he feels. His daughters' cruelties to him are almost unbearable. As Lear is about to enter the hovel, a pitiful creature wrapped in a filthy blanket emerges shrieking. This creature is Edgar; he is disguised as Poor Tom, a lunatic beggar. Although he recognizes the King, he does not show it; instead, he continues to act mad, muttering wild fancies. Tom pleads for charity and speaks of "the foul fiend" torturing him. Ironically, Lear sees a similarity between himself and the loathsome beggar before him. He is sure that the beggar, like him, has given away all his wealth to his daughters, who turned on him and reduced him to this pitiful state. Certain that Tom has evil daughters, he curses them with the plagues. Lear next contemplates the sorry state of humanity, comparing it to a bare animal that has no protection. As if to prove he is bare and vulnerable, Lear makes an effort to undo his clothing. The Fool, however, restrains him. Gloucester enters the scene; he is shocked and deeply moved at the pitiful plight of the King. He knows that it is filial ingratitude that has driven Lear into this state of misery. Since he has suffered filial ingratitude himself, Gloucester identifies closely with the King. He thinks about Edgar, whom he had loved deeply and foolishly banished. Wanting to lend a helping hand, Gloucester offers Lear and his companions shelter; but initially Lear refuses. Finally, with Kent's aid, Gloucester succeeds in leading the king away, but not until he promises Lear that Poor Tom can accompany them.

summary

Scena Quarta. Enter Lear, Kent, and Foole. Kent. Here is the place my Lord, good my Lord enter, The tirrany of the open night's too rough For Nature to endure. Storme still Lear. Let me alone Kent. Good my Lord enter heere Lear. Wilt breake my heart? Kent. I had rather breake mine owne, Good my Lord enter Lear. Thou think'st 'tis much that this contentious storme Inuades vs to the skin so: 'tis to thee, But where the greater malady is fixt, The lesser is scarce felt. Thou'dst shun a Beare, But if thy flight lay toward the roaring sea, Thou'dst meete the Beare i'th' mouth, when the mind's free, The bodies delicate: the tempest in my mind, Doth from my sences take all feeling else, Saue what beates there, Filliall ingratitude, Is it not as this mouth should teare this hand For lifting food too't? But I will punish home; No, I will weepe no more; in such a night, To shut me out? Poure on, I will endure: In such a night as this? O Regan, Gonerill, Your old kind Father, whose franke heart gaue all, O that way madnesse lies, let me shun that: No more of that Kent. Good my Lord enter here Lear. Prythee go in thy selfe, seeke thine owne ease, This tempest will not giue me leaue to ponder On things would hurt me more, but Ile goe in, In Boy, go first. You houselesse pouertie, Enter. Nay get thee in; Ile pray, and then Ile sleepe. Poore naked wretches, where so ere you are That bide the pelting of this pittilesse storme, How shall your House-lesse heads, and vnfed sides, Your lop'd, and window'd raggednesse defend you From seasons such as these? O I haue tane Too little care of this: Take Physicke, Pompe, Expose thy selfe to feele what wretches feele, That thou maist shake the superflux to them, And shew the Heauens more iust. Enter Edgar, and Foole. Edg. Fathom, and halfe, Fathom and halfe; poore Tom Foole. Come not in heere Nuncle, here's a spirit, helpe me, helpe me Kent. Giue my thy hand, who's there? Foole. A spirite, a spirite, he sayes his name's poore Tom Kent. What art thou that dost grumble there i'th' straw? Come forth Edg. Away, the foule Fiend followes me, through the sharpe Hauthorne blow the windes. Humh, goe to thy bed and warme thee Lear. Did'st thou giue all to thy Daughters? And art thou come to this? Edgar. Who giues any thing to poore Tom? Whom the foule fiend hath led through Fire, and through Flame, through Sword, and Whirle-Poole, o're Bog, and Quagmire, that hath laid Kniues vnder his Pillow, and Halters in his Pue, set Rats-bane by his Porredge, made him Proud of heart, to ride on a Bay trotting Horse, ouer foure incht Bridges, to course his owne shadow for a Traitor. Blisse thy fiue Wits, Toms a cold. O do, de, do, de, do, de, blisse thee from Whirle-Windes, Starre-blasting, and taking, do poore Tom some charitie, whom the foule Fiend vexes. There could I haue him now, and there, and there againe, and there. Storme still. Lear. Ha's his Daughters brought him to this passe? Could'st thou saue nothing? Would'st thou giue 'em all? Foole. Nay, he reseru'd a Blanket, else we had bin all sham'd Lea. Now all the plagues that in the pendulous ayre Hang fated o're mens faults, light on thy Daughters Kent. He hath no Daughters Sir Lear. Death Traitor, nothing could haue subdu'd Nature To such a lownesse, but his vnkind Daughters. Is it the fashion, that discarded Fathers, Should haue thus little mercy on their flesh: Iudicious punishment, 'twas this flesh begot Those Pelicane Daughters Edg. Pillicock sat on Pillicock hill, alow: alow, loo, loo Foole. This cold night will turne vs all to Fooles, and Madmen Edgar. Take heed o'th' foule Fiend, obey thy Parents, keepe thy words Iustice, sweare not, commit not, with mans sworne Spouse: set not thy Sweet-heart on proud array. Tom's a cold Lear. What hast thou bin? Edg. A Seruingman? Proud in heart, and minde; that curl'd my haire, wore Gloues in my cap; seru'd the Lust of my Mistris heart, and did the acte of darkenesse with her. Swore as many Oathes, as I spake words, & broke them in the sweet face of Heauen. One, that slept in the contriuing of Lust, and wak'd to doe it. Wine lou'd I deerely, Dice deerely; and in Woman, out-Paramour'd the Turke. False of heart, light of eare, bloody of hand; Hog in sloth, Foxe in stealth, Wolfe in greedinesse, Dog in madnes, Lyon in prey. Let not the creaking of shooes, Nor the rustling of Silkes, betray thy poore heart to woman. Keepe thy foote out of Brothels, thy hand out of Plackets, thy pen from Lenders Bookes, and defye the foule Fiend. Still through the Hauthorne blowes the cold winde: Sayes suum, mun, nonny, Dolphin my Boy, Boy Sesey: let him trot by. Storme still. Lear. Thou wert better in a Graue, then to answere with thy vncouer'd body, this extremitie of the Skies. Is man no more then this? Consider him well. Thou ow'st the Worme no Silke; the Beast, no Hide; the Sheepe, no Wooll; the Cat, no perfume. Ha? Here's three on's are sophisticated. Thou art the thing it selfe; vnaccommodated man, is no more but such a poore, bare, forked Animall as thou art. Off, off you Lendings: Come, vnbutton heere. Enter Gloucester, with a Torch. Foole. Prythee Nunckle be contented, 'tis a naughtie night to swimme in. Now a little fire in a wilde Field, were like an old Letchers heart, a small spark, all the rest on's body, cold: Looke, heere comes a walking fire Edg. This is the foule Flibbertigibbet; hee begins at Curfew, and walkes at first Cocke: Hee giues the Web and the Pin, squints the eye, and makes the Hare-lippe; Mildewes the white Wheate, and hurts the poore Creature of earth. Swithold footed thrice the old, He met the Night-Mare, and her nine-fold; Bid her a-light, and her troth-plight, And aroynt thee Witch, aroynt thee Kent. How fares your Grace? Lear. What's he? Kent. Who's there? What is't you seeke? Glou. What are you there? Your Names? Edg. Poore Tom, that eates the swimming Frog, the Toad, the Tod-pole, the wall-Neut, and the water: that in the furie of his heart, when the foule Fiend rages, eats Cow-dung for Sallets; swallowes the old Rat, and the ditch-Dogge; drinkes the green Mantle of the standing Poole: who is whipt from Tything to Tything, and stockt, punish'd, and imprison'd: who hath three Suites to his backe, sixe shirts to his body: Horse to ride, and weapon to weare: But Mice, and Rats, and such small Deare, Haue bin Toms food, for seuen long yeare: Beware my Follower. Peace Smulkin, peace thou Fiend Glou. What, hath your Grace no better company? Edg. The Prince of Darkenesse is a Gentleman. Modo he's call'd, and Mahu Glou. Our flesh and blood, my Lord, is growne so vilde, that it doth hate what gets it Edg. Poore Tom's a cold Glou. Go in with me; my duty cannot suffer T' obey in all your daughters hard commands: Though their Iniunction be to barre my doores, And let this Tyrannous night take hold vpon you, Yet haue I ventured to come seeke you out, And bring you where both fire, and food is ready Lear. First let me talke with this Philosopher, What is the cause of Thunder? Kent. Good my Lord take his offer, Go into th' house Lear. Ile talke a word with this same lerned Theban: What is your study? Edg. How to preuent the Fiend, and to kill Vermine Lear. Let me aske you one word in priuate Kent. Importune him once more to go my Lord, His wits begin t' vnsettle Glou. Canst thou blame him? Storm still His Daughters seeke his death: Ah, that good Kent, He said it would be thus: poore banish'd man: Thou sayest the King growes mad, Ile tell thee Friend I am almost mad my selfe. I had a Sonne, Now out-law'd from my blood: he sought my life But lately: very late: I lou'd him (Friend) No Father his Sonne deerer: true to tell thee, The greefe hath craz'd my wits. What a night's this? I do beseech your grace Lear. O cry you mercy, Sir: Noble Philosopher, your company Edg. Tom's a cold Glou. In fellow there, into th' Houel; keep thee warm Lear. Come, let's in all Kent. This way, my Lord Lear. With him; I will keepe still with my Philosopher Kent. Good my Lord, sooth him: Let him take the Fellow Glou. Take him you on Kent. Sirra, come on: go along with vs Lear. Come, good Athenian Glou. No words, no words, hush Edg. Childe Rowland to the darke Tower came, His word was still, fie, foh, and fumme, I smell the blood of a Brittish man. Exeunt.

Notes In this scene, Lear clearly expresses the nature of his torment. Although he feels miserable from the storm outside, it is nothing when compared to the storm that rages inside him. He feels totally betrayed by his daughters, Goneril and Regan, and is totally disgusted by their ingratitude. In spite of his deep emotions, Lear tries to restrain himself, for he is very fearful of insanity; he tells himself to "weep no more" and claims that he will endure. Lear is a changed man. His cruel treatment at the hands of his daughters has made him capable of empathizing with "poor and naked wretches" to whom he had earlier been indifferent. Because of his own misery, he has a new understanding of humanity and a true sympathy for all those who suffer. He even condemns himself for having done nothing to aid them when he had the power to do so. He also condemns himself for the cruelty he has shown to his own daughter, Cordelia. Not recognizing Edgar in disguise, the King sees him as a man reduced to the barest minimum, leading an animalistic existence. In fact, Poor Tom becomes for Lear the symbol of ultimate injustice. Identifying with this mad fool, he is certain that Poor Tom has been mistreated by evil daughters, whom the King openly curses. He then chastises himself for have begotten such evil daughters himself. To make himself more like near-naked Tom, Lear even tries to undress himself, stopped only by his own Fool. As Gloucester arrives on the scene, the Fool notes, "Here comes a walking fire." In truth, Gloucester has proven in the past he is a man who burns hot and cold. Now he seems genuinely concerned about the King and has come to offer him aid. He wants to lead Lear to shelter, warning that "his daughters seek his death." Gloucester's concern springs out of his own unhappiness. Like Lear, he has banished the wrong offspring and suffers at the hands of Edmund, just as Lear suffers at the hands of Regan and Goneril. He can truly empathize with the King's misery, for he is miserable himself, as shown when he says, "Thou sayest that the king grows mad; I'll tell thee, friend, I'm almost myself. /The grief has half- crazed my wits. " It is ironic that Gloucester's words are overheard by Edgar, his supposedly banished son; father does not recognize son in his disguise as an insane beggar. It is also ironic that Edgar, Gloucester, and Lear, three wealthy characters who have hit rock bottom, are taking refuge together in a hovel. The small space that unites them in their exile also protects them from the outside world, where the storminess of both Nature and humanity seems bent on destroying them.

analysis

Scena Quinta. Enter Cornwall, and Edmund. Corn. I will haue my reuenge, ere I depart his house Bast. How my Lord, I may be censured, that Nature thus giues way to Loyaltie, something feares mee to thinke of Cornw. I now perceiue, it was not altogether your Brothers euill disposition made him seeke his death: but a prouoking merit set a-worke by a reprouable badnesse in himselfe Bast. How malicious is my fortune, that I must repent to be iust? This is the Letter which hee spoake of; which approues him an intelligent partie to the aduantages of France. O Heauens! that this Treason were not; or not I the detector Corn. Go with me to the Dutchesse Bast. If the matter of this Paper be certain, you haue mighty businesse in hand Corn. True or false, it hath made thee Earle of Gloucester: seeke out where thy Father is, that hee may bee ready for our apprehension Bast. If I finde him comforting the King, it will stuffe his suspition more fully. I will perseuer in my course of Loyalty, though the conflict be sore betweene that, and my blood Corn. I will lay trust vpon thee: and thou shalt finde a deere Father in my loue. Exeunt.

The next scene is a brief exchange between Edmund and Cornwall. Edmund plots against his father, Gloucester; he tells the Duke about a letter showing Gloucester to be an accomplice to the invasion of Britain by France. To reward Edmund for the warning, Cornwall makes him the Earl of Gloucester and issues orders for Gloucester's arrest. Edmund expresses his deep loyalty to the Duke. He then goes off to find the hiding place of his father. He hopes to find Gloucester helping the king so that he can incriminate him even further.

summary

Scena Quinta. Enter Cornwall, and Edmund. Corn. I will haue my reuenge, ere I depart his house Bast. How my Lord, I may be censured, that Nature thus giues way to Loyaltie, something feares mee to thinke of Cornw. I now perceiue, it was not altogether your Brothers euill disposition made him seeke his death: but a prouoking merit set a-worke by a reprouable badnesse in himselfe Bast. How malicious is my fortune, that I must repent to be iust? This is the Letter which hee spoake of; which approues him an intelligent partie to the aduantages of France. O Heauens! that this Treason were not; or not I the detector Corn. Go with me to the Dutchesse Bast. If the matter of this Paper be certain, you haue mighty businesse in hand Corn. True or false, it hath made thee Earle of Gloucester: seeke out where thy Father is, that hee may bee ready for our apprehension Bast. If I finde him comforting the King, it will stuffe his suspition more fully. I will perseuer in my course of Loyalty, though the conflict be sore betweene that, and my blood Corn. I will lay trust vpon thee: and thou shalt finde a deere Father in my loue. Exeunt.

Notes In this scene, Edmund begins to openly implement his plot against his father. In truly hypocritical fashion, he bemoans the fact that his affection for his father must take second place to his loyalty to his country; but he has learned that his father is helping with the French invasion of Britain. In telling this lie, he shows he has no compunction in achieving his aims at the cost of destroying another person, even if it is his father. In fact, by lying, Edmund moves one step forward in achieving his objective. Cornwall is also exposed as a villain. He uses the words "trust" and "love" as if he himself were a paragon of virtue; instead, he also is a deceptive and cunning character who cannot be trusted.

analysis

Scena Sexta. Enter Kent, and Gloucester. Glou. Heere is better then the open ayre, take it thankfully: I will peece out the comfort with what addition I can: I will not be long from you. Exit Kent. All the powre of his wits, haue giuen way to his impatience: the Gods reward your kindnesse. Enter Lear, Edgar, and Foole. Edg. Fraterretto cals me, and tells me Nero is an Angler in the Lake of Darknesse: pray Innocent, and beware the foule Fiend Foole. Prythee Nunkle tell me, whether a madman be a Gentleman, or a Yeoman Lear. A King, a King Foole. No, he's a Yeoman, that ha's a Gentleman to his Sonne: for hee's a mad Yeoman that sees his Sonne a Gentleman before him Lear. To haue a thousand with red burning spits Come hizzing in vpon 'em Edg. Blesse thy fiue wits Kent. O pitty: Sir, where is the patience now That you so oft haue boasted to retaine? Edg. My teares begin to take his part so much, They marre my counterfetting Lear. The little dogges, and all; Trey, Blanch, and Sweet-heart: see, they barke at me Edg. Tom, will throw his head at them: Auaunt you Curres, be thy mouth or blacke or white: Tooth that poysons if it bite: Mastiffe, Grey-hound, Mongrill, Grim, Hound or Spaniell, Brache, or Hym: Or Bobtaile tight, or Troudle taile, Tom will make him weepe and waile, For with throwing thus my head; Dogs leapt the hatch, and all are fled. Do, de, de, de: sese: Come, march to Wakes and Fayres, And Market Townes: poore Tom thy horne is dry, Lear. Then let them Anatomize Regan: See what breeds about her heart. Is there any cause in Nature that make these hard-hearts. You sir, I entertaine for one of my hundred; only, I do not like the fashion of your garments. You will say they are Persian; but let them bee chang'd. Enter Gloster. Kent. Now good my Lord, lye heere, and rest awhile Lear. Make no noise, make no noise, draw the Curtaines: so, so, wee'l go to Supper i'th' morning Foole. And Ile go to bed at noone Glou. Come hither Friend: Where is the King my Master? Kent. Here Sir, but trouble him not, his wits are gon Glou. Good friend, I prythee take him in thy armes; I haue ore-heard a plot of death vpon him: There is a Litter ready, lay him in't, And driue toward Douer friend, where thou shalt meete Both welcome, and protection. Take vp thy Master, If thou should'st dally halfe an houre, his life With thine, and all that offer to defend him, Stand in assured losse. Take vp, take vp, And follow me, that will to some prouision Giue thee quicke conduct. Come, come, away. Exeunt.

Gloucester leaves the King and his companions in safety at a farmhouse close to the castle and departs to find provisions. Left to his agony, Lear dwells on his mistreatment. He conjures up a mock trial of Goneril and Regan, where he sits in judgment and tries his older daughters for their cruelty towards their father. This imagined trial takes place amid the lunatic ravings of Tom and the Fool's half-witted pieces of song. The alternating dialogues of Tom and the Fool are acutely perceptive, but Kent interrupts. He cannot bear to see Lear in such a state of torment and dementia. Lear, however, continues with the imaginary trial and charges Goneril for kicking her father. He fancies Goneril trying to escape and cries that she be stopped. Kent is moved by the pathetic nature of the King's ravings, and Edgar, still in disguise, is deeply pained. Kent steps forward and pleads with Lear to rest so that he may recover. He assents, but almost immediately, Gloucester hastily returns with bad news. Gloucester informs the group about a plot to murder Lear and insists that the King leave for Dover immediately. Kent laments that the sleep, which might have soothed the King's broken nerves, is not to be. As a dazed Lear is led out to make the journey, Gloucester returns to his castle. The scene ends with a soliloquy by Edgar, in which he feels that his own misfortunes pale in comparison with the tragedies suffered by Lear. He further declares that he will remain in the disguise of a lunatic beggar until his honesty is proven, his outlaw repealed, and his position restored.

summary

Scena Sexta. Enter Kent, and Gloucester. Glou. Heere is better then the open ayre, take it thankfully: I will peece out the comfort with what addition I can: I will not be long from you. Exit Kent. All the powre of his wits, haue giuen way to his impatience: the Gods reward your kindnesse. Enter Lear, Edgar, and Foole. Edg. Fraterretto cals me, and tells me Nero is an Angler in the Lake of Darknesse: pray Innocent, and beware the foule Fiend Foole. Prythee Nunkle tell me, whether a madman be a Gentleman, or a Yeoman Lear. A King, a King Foole. No, he's a Yeoman, that ha's a Gentleman to his Sonne: for hee's a mad Yeoman that sees his Sonne a Gentleman before him Lear. To haue a thousand with red burning spits Come hizzing in vpon 'em Edg. Blesse thy fiue wits Kent. O pitty: Sir, where is the patience now That you so oft haue boasted to retaine? Edg. My teares begin to take his part so much, They marre my counterfetting Lear. The little dogges, and all; Trey, Blanch, and Sweet-heart: see, they barke at me Edg. Tom, will throw his head at them: Auaunt you Curres, be thy mouth or blacke or white: Tooth that poysons if it bite: Mastiffe, Grey-hound, Mongrill, Grim, Hound or Spaniell, Brache, or Hym: Or Bobtaile tight, or Troudle taile, Tom will make him weepe and waile, For with throwing thus my head; Dogs leapt the hatch, and all are fled. Do, de, de, de: sese: Come, march to Wakes and Fayres, And Market Townes: poore Tom thy horne is dry, Lear. Then let them Anatomize Regan: See what breeds about her heart. Is there any cause in Nature that make these hard-hearts. You sir, I entertaine for one of my hundred; only, I do not like the fashion of your garments. You will say they are Persian; but let them bee chang'd. Enter Gloster. Kent. Now good my Lord, lye heere, and rest awhile Lear. Make no noise, make no noise, draw the Curtaines: so, so, wee'l go to Supper i'th' morning Foole. And Ile go to bed at noone Glou. Come hither Friend: Where is the King my Master? Kent. Here Sir, but trouble him not, his wits are gon Glou. Good friend, I prythee take him in thy armes; I haue ore-heard a plot of death vpon him: There is a Litter ready, lay him in't, And driue toward Douer friend, where thou shalt meete Both welcome, and protection. Take vp thy Master, If thou should'st dally halfe an houre, his life With thine, and all that offer to defend him, Stand in assured losse. Take vp, take vp, And follow me, that will to some prouision Giue thee quicke conduct. Come, come, away. Exeunt.

Notes This is the last scene in the play with comic elements, and the Fool is not seen again. His main function, in addition to providing comic relief, has been to act as Lear's conscience and instructor. The Fool brought to light the King's foibles by using his seemingly inane chatter and absurd phrases to act as an objective commentator on Lear's mistakes. The Fool is no longer needed, for Lear has accepted the error of his ways and now wants to right the wrongs. Although there is humor and absurdity throughout the scene, there is also a great seriousness about it. Lear's state of mind borders on insanity, and his life is in danger. Additionally, the scene underscores the serious theme of justice. Lear's imaginary trial, with him in the seat of judgement, is a flashback to the beginning of the play when he judged his three daughters and found Cordelia lacking. Now he is attempting to rectify his actions in his own mind by bringing Goneril and Regan, the ones he trusted, to justice for their misdeeds. Lear, in his search for understanding, wants to know, "Is there any cause in nature that makes these hard hearts?" Edgar, still in disguise, is very touched by Lear's ramblings and realizes the King's plight is even worse than his own. Unable to hide his sorrow for Lear, he fears that "my tears begin to take his part so much, They mar my counterfeiting." Gloucester is also touched by the King's situation. To protect the King, he has hidden Lear away in a farmhouse close to his castle and gone to find provisions for him and his companions. When Gloucester returns, he brings the bad news that there is a plot to kill Lear. He encourages the King to go immediately to Dover for his own safety. At the end of the scene, Lear and his party depart, Gloucester heads for his own castle, and Edgar is left to give his emotional soliloquy.

analysis

Scena Septima. Enter Cornwall, Regan, Gonerill, Bastard, and Seruants. Corn. Poste speedily to my Lord your husband, shew him this Letter, the Army of France is landed: seeke out the Traitor Glouster Reg. Hang him instantly Gon. Plucke out his eyes Corn. Leaue him to my displeasure. Edmond, keepe you our Sister company: the reuenges wee are bound to take vppon your Traitorous Father, are not fit for your beholding. Aduice the Duke where you are going, to a most festinate preparation: we are bound to the like. Our Postes shall be swift, and intelligent betwixt vs. Farewell deere Sister, farewell my Lord of Glouster. Enter Steward. How now? Where's the King? Stew. My Lord of Glouster hath conuey'd him hence Some fiue or six and thirty of his Knights Hot Questrists after him, met him at gate, Who, with some other of the Lords, dependants, Are gone with him toward Douer; where they boast To haue well armed Friends Corn. Get horses for your Mistris Gon. Farewell sweet Lord, and Sister. Exit Corn. Edmund farewell: go seek the Traitor Gloster, Pinnion him like a Theefe, bring him before vs: Though well we may not passe vpon his life Without the forme of Iustice: yet our power Shall do a curt'sie to our wrath, which men May blame, but not comptroll. Enter Gloucester, and Seruants. Who's there? the Traitor? Reg. Ingratefull Fox, 'tis he Corn. Binde fast his corky armes Glou. What meanes your Graces? Good my Friends consider you are my Ghests: Do me no foule play, Friends Corn. Binde him I say Reg. Hard, hard: O filthy Traitor Glou. Vnmercifull Lady, as you are, I'me none Corn. To this Chaire binde him, Villaine, thou shalt finde Glou. By the kinde Gods, 'tis most ignobly done To plucke me by the Beard Reg. So white, and such a Traitor? Glou. Naughty Ladie, These haires which thou dost rauish from my chin Will quicken and accuse thee. I am your Host, With Robbers hands, my hospitable fauours You should not ruffle thus. What will you do? Corn. Come Sir. What Letters had you late from France? Reg. Be simple answer'd, for we know the truth Corn. And what confederacie haue you with the Traitors, late footed in the Kingdome? Reg. To whose hands You haue sent the Lunaticke King: Speake Glou. I haue a Letter guessingly set downe Which came from one that's of a newtrall heart, And not from one oppos'd Corn. Cunning Reg. And false Corn. Where hast thou sent the King? Glou. To Douer Reg. Wherefore to Douer? Was't thou not charg'd at perill Corn. Wherefore to Douer? Let him answer that Glou. I am tyed to'th' Stake, And I must stand the Course Reg. Wherefore to Douer? Glou. Because I would not see thy cruell Nailes Plucke out his poore old eyes: nor thy fierce Sister, In his Annointed flesh, sticke boarish phangs. The Sea, with such a storme as his bare head, In Hell-blacke-night indur'd, would haue buoy'd vp And quench'd the Stelled fires: Yet poore old heart, he holpe the Heauens to raine. If Wolues had at thy Gate howl'd that sterne time, Thou should'st haue said, good Porter turne the Key: All Cruels else subscribe: but I shall see The winged Vengeance ouertake such Children Corn. See't shalt thou neuer. Fellowes hold y Chaire, Vpon these eyes of thine, Ile set my foote Glou. He that will thinke to liue, till he be old, Giue me some helpe. - O cruell! O you Gods Reg. One side will mocke another: Th' other too Corn. If you see vengeance Seru. Hold your hand, my Lord: I haue seru'd you euer since I was a Childe: But better seruice haue I neuer done you, Then now to bid you hold Reg. How now, you dogge? Ser. If you did weare a beard vpon your chin, I'ld shake it on this quarrell. What do you meane? Corn. My Villaine? Seru. Nay then come on, and take the chance of anger Reg. Giue me thy Sword. A pezant stand vp thus? Killes him. Ser. Oh I am slaine: my Lord, you haue one eye left To see some mischefe on him. Oh Corn. Lest it see more, preuent it; Out vilde gelly: Where is thy luster now? Glou. All darke and comfortlesse? Where's my Sonne Edmund? Edmund, enkindle all the sparkes of Nature To quit this horrid acte Reg. Out treacherous Villaine, Thou call'st on him, that hates thee. It was he That made the ouerture of thy Treasons to vs: Who is too good to pitty thee Glou. O my Follies! then Edgar was abus'd, Kinde Gods, forgiue me that, and prosper him Reg. Go thrust him out at gates, and let him smell His way to Douer. Exit with Glouster. How is't my Lord? How looke you? Corn. I haue receiu'd a hurt: Follow me Lady; Turne out that eyelesse Villaine: throw this Slaue Vpon the Dunghill: Regan, I bleed apace, Vntimely comes this hurt. Giue me your arme. Exeunt.

At Gloucester Castle, Cornwall is concerned about the French invasion. He is going to send Goneril and Edmund with a letter to Albany, explaining that the French Army is about to attack Britain. He has also ordered Gloucester's arrest for "treachery." Goneril suggests plucking out Gloucester's eye after his capture, and Regan wants him hanged. Oswald enters into the conversation and informs Cornwall about Gloucester's part in sending Lear to safety at Dover. Soon the arrested Gloucester is brought in. Cornwall and Regan treat him savagely. Gloucester begs for mercy and reminds them that they are his guests. Cornwall ignores his pleas and orders him to be tied. Regan calls him a foul traitor and pulls at his beard. When Gloucester is questioned about his helping to send Lear to Dover, he replies with dignity that he is trying to see that justice is done. In reaction, he is bound to a chair and one of his eyes is gouged out. Cornwall, in a barbaric manner, crushes it with his foot. Unable to endure the sight of an old man suffering, one of Cornwall's servants intervenes and challenges his master to stop his cruelty. In response, Cornwall stabs the servant, who is then killed by Regan. In retaliation to the servant's support of Gloucester, Cornwall gouges out his other eye. Blinded, bleeding, and pathetic, Gloucester is further tortured by Regan. She tells him that Edmund, the son whom he calls for in his pain, has betrayed his father and hates him fully. Her words cause Gloucester's heart more pain than that being felt by his body. Like Lear, he is fully pained by the misjudgment of his children. At the close of the scene, Cornwall, fatally wounded in the foray, is led away by Regan. After their departure, a brief conversation occurs among several of Cornwall's servants; they condemn the acts of Cornwall and Regan and judge them to be totally evil.

summary

Scena Septima. Enter Cornwall, Regan, Gonerill, Bastard, and Seruants. Corn. Poste speedily to my Lord your husband, shew him this Letter, the Army of France is landed: seeke out the Traitor Glouster Reg. Hang him instantly Gon. Plucke out his eyes Corn. Leaue him to my displeasure. Edmond, keepe you our Sister company: the reuenges wee are bound to take vppon your Traitorous Father, are not fit for your beholding. Aduice the Duke where you are going, to a most festinate preparation: we are bound to the like. Our Postes shall be swift, and intelligent betwixt vs. Farewell deere Sister, farewell my Lord of Glouster. Enter Steward. How now? Where's the King? Stew. My Lord of Glouster hath conuey'd him hence Some fiue or six and thirty of his Knights Hot Questrists after him, met him at gate, Who, with some other of the Lords, dependants, Are gone with him toward Douer; where they boast To haue well armed Friends Corn. Get horses for your Mistris Gon. Farewell sweet Lord, and Sister. Exit Corn. Edmund farewell: go seek the Traitor Gloster, Pinnion him like a Theefe, bring him before vs: Though well we may not passe vpon his life Without the forme of Iustice: yet our power Shall do a curt'sie to our wrath, which men May blame, but not comptroll. Enter Gloucester, and Seruants. Who's there? the Traitor? Reg. Ingratefull Fox, 'tis he Corn. Binde fast his corky armes Glou. What meanes your Graces? Good my Friends consider you are my Ghests: Do me no foule play, Friends Corn. Binde him I say Reg. Hard, hard: O filthy Traitor Glou. Vnmercifull Lady, as you are, I'me none Corn. To this Chaire binde him, Villaine, thou shalt finde Glou. By the kinde Gods, 'tis most ignobly done To plucke me by the Beard Reg. So white, and such a Traitor? Glou. Naughty Ladie, These haires which thou dost rauish from my chin Will quicken and accuse thee. I am your Host, With Robbers hands, my hospitable fauours You should not ruffle thus. What will you do? Corn. Come Sir. What Letters had you late from France? Reg. Be simple answer'd, for we know the truth Corn. And what confederacie haue you with the Traitors, late footed in the Kingdome? Reg. To whose hands You haue sent the Lunaticke King: Speake Glou. I haue a Letter guessingly set downe Which came from one that's of a newtrall heart, And not from one oppos'd Corn. Cunning Reg. And false Corn. Where hast thou sent the King? Glou. To Douer Reg. Wherefore to Douer? Was't thou not charg'd at perill Corn. Wherefore to Douer? Let him answer that Glou. I am tyed to'th' Stake, And I must stand the Course Reg. Wherefore to Douer? Glou. Because I would not see thy cruell Nailes Plucke out his poore old eyes: nor thy fierce Sister, In his Annointed flesh, sticke boarish phangs. The Sea, with such a storme as his bare head, In Hell-blacke-night indur'd, would haue buoy'd vp And quench'd the Stelled fires: Yet poore old heart, he holpe the Heauens to raine. If Wolues had at thy Gate howl'd that sterne time, Thou should'st haue said, good Porter turne the Key: All Cruels else subscribe: but I shall see The winged Vengeance ouertake such Children Corn. See't shalt thou neuer. Fellowes hold y Chaire, Vpon these eyes of thine, Ile set my foote Glou. He that will thinke to liue, till he be old, Giue me some helpe. - O cruell! O you Gods Reg. One side will mocke another: Th' other too Corn. If you see vengeance Seru. Hold your hand, my Lord: I haue seru'd you euer since I was a Childe: But better seruice haue I neuer done you, Then now to bid you hold Reg. How now, you dogge? Ser. If you did weare a beard vpon your chin, I'ld shake it on this quarrell. What do you meane? Corn. My Villaine? Seru. Nay then come on, and take the chance of anger Reg. Giue me thy Sword. A pezant stand vp thus? Killes him. Ser. Oh I am slaine: my Lord, you haue one eye left To see some mischefe on him. Oh Corn. Lest it see more, preuent it; Out vilde gelly: Where is thy luster now? Glou. All darke and comfortlesse? Where's my Sonne Edmund? Edmund, enkindle all the sparkes of Nature To quit this horrid acte Reg. Out treacherous Villaine, Thou call'st on him, that hates thee. It was he That made the ouerture of thy Treasons to vs: Who is too good to pitty thee Glou. O my Follies! then Edgar was abus'd, Kinde Gods, forgiue me that, and prosper him Reg. Go thrust him out at gates, and let him smell His way to Douer. Exit with Glouster. How is't my Lord? How looke you? Corn. I haue receiu'd a hurt: Follow me Lady; Turne out that eyelesse Villaine: throw this Slaue Vpon the Dunghill: Regan, I bleed apace, Vntimely comes this hurt. Giue me your arme. Exeunt.

Notes This scene is one of the cruelest in all of drama as Regan and Cornwall inflict their torture upon Gloucester. Although the old man has been blind to the morality of the world, misjudging the virtue of Edgar and the evil of Edmund, he does not deserve to have his eyes gouged into physical blindness. The physical torture, however, is not as bad as the torture of the truth. Regan cruelly tells Gloucester that it was Edmund who turned him in and that his son truly hates him. Without trying to offer any excuses for his misjudgment, he assumes the burden of guilt and prays for Edgar's well being. He still has faith in the morality of the world and believes that evil will be punished. There is one element of redemption in the scene. Cornwall's own servant lashes out against his master for his cruelty to Gloucester. Even though Cornwall is a repugnant and immoral soul, his servants have not conformed to his warped view of humanity. Unfortunately, the evil ones still have the upper hand, and the kind servant is cruelly killed for his support of Gloucester; but Cornwall is wounded in the foray as well.

analysis

Actus Quartus. Scena Prima. Enter Edgar. Edg. Yet better thus, and knowne to be contemn'd, Then still contemn'd and flatter'd, to be worst: The lowest, and most deiected thing of Fortune, Stands still in esperance, liues not in feare: The lamentable change is from the best, The worst returnes to laughter. Welcome then, Thou vnsubstantiall ayre that I embrace: The Wretch that thou hast blowne vnto the worst, Owes nothing to thy blasts. Enter Glouster, and an Oldman. But who comes heere? My Father poorely led? World, World, O world! But that thy strange mutations make vs hate thee, Life would not yeelde to age Oldm. O my good Lord, I haue bene your Tenant, And your Fathers Tenant, these fourescore yeares Glou. Away, get thee away: good Friend be gone, Thy comforts can do me no good at all, Thee, they may hurt Oldm. You cannot see your way Glou. I haue no way, and therefore want no eyes: I stumbled when I saw. Full oft 'tis seene, Our meanes secure vs, and our meere defects Proue our Commodities. Oh deere Sonne Edgar, The food of thy abused Fathers wrath: Might I but liue to see thee in my touch, I'ld say I had eyes againe Oldm. How now? who's there? Edg. O Gods! Who is't can say I am at the worst? I am worse then ere I was Old. 'Tis poore mad Tom Edg. And worse I may be yet: the worst is not, So long as we can say this is the worst Oldm. Fellow, where goest? Glou. Is it a Beggar-man? Oldm. Madman, and beggar too Glou. He has some reason, else he could not beg. I'th' last nights storme, I such a fellow saw; Which made me thinke a Man, a Worme. My Sonne Came then into my minde, and yet my minde Was then scarse Friends with him. I haue heard more since: As Flies to wanton Boyes, are we to th' Gods, They kill vs for their sport Edg. How should this be? Bad is the Trade that must play Foole to sorrow, Ang'ring it selfe, and others. Blesse thee Master Glou. Is that the naked Fellow? Oldm. I, my Lord Glou. Get thee away: If for my sake Thou wilt ore-take vs hence a mile or twaine I'th' way toward Douer, do it for ancient loue, And bring some couering for this naked Soule, Which Ile intreate to leade me Old. Alacke sir, he is mad Glou. 'Tis the times plague, When Madmen leade the blinde: Do as I bid thee, or rather do thy pleasure: Aboue the rest, be gone Oldm. Ile bring him the best Parrell that I haue Come on't what will. Exit Glou. Sirrah, naked fellow Edg. Poore Tom's a cold. I cannot daub it further Glou. Come hither fellow Edg. And yet I must: Blesse thy sweete eyes, they bleede Glou. Know'st thou the way to Douer? Edg. Both style, and gate; Horseway, and foot-path: poore Tom hath bin scarr'd out of his good wits. Blesse thee good mans sonne, from the foule Fiend Glou. Here take this purse, y whom the heau'ns plagues Haue humbled to all strokes: that I am wretched Makes thee the happier: Heauens deale so still: Let the superfluous, and Lust-dieted man, That slaues your ordinance, that will not see Because he do's not feele, feele your powre quickly: So distribution should vndoo excesse, And each man haue enough. Dost thou know Douer? Edg. I Master Glou. There is a Cliffe, whose high and bending head Lookes fearfully in the confined Deepe: Bring me but to the very brimme of it, And Ile repayre the misery thou do'st beare With something rich about me: from that place, I shall no leading neede Edg. Giue me thy arme; Poore Tom shall leade thee. Exeunt.

Still disguised as the filthy beggar Tom, Edgar tries to be optimistic and cheerful. He says that it is better to be openly despised than to be openly flattered and secretly despised. In his beggar's garb, he is no longer troubled by the contempt that society heaps on him. Then an old man leads Gloucester in front of Edgar. At the sight of his blinded father, Edgar's optimism breaks down. He feels tremendous pity for his father and knows that his own misfortunes are nothing in comparison to Gloucester's anguish. Still ignorant of the beggar's true identity, Gloucester asks Edgar to lead him to a cliff in Dover. Edgar agrees, and the two set out, a beggar leading a blind man.

summary

Actus Quartus. Scena Prima. Enter Edgar. Edg. Yet better thus, and knowne to be contemn'd, Then still contemn'd and flatter'd, to be worst: The lowest, and most deiected thing of Fortune, Stands still in esperance, liues not in feare: The lamentable change is from the best, The worst returnes to laughter. Welcome then, Thou vnsubstantiall ayre that I embrace: The Wretch that thou hast blowne vnto the worst, Owes nothing to thy blasts. Enter Glouster, and an Oldman. But who comes heere? My Father poorely led? World, World, O world! But that thy strange mutations make vs hate thee, Life would not yeelde to age Oldm. O my good Lord, I haue bene your Tenant, And your Fathers Tenant, these fourescore yeares Glou. Away, get thee away: good Friend be gone, Thy comforts can do me no good at all, Thee, they may hurt Oldm. You cannot see your way Glou. I haue no way, and therefore want no eyes: I stumbled when I saw. Full oft 'tis seene, Our meanes secure vs, and our meere defects Proue our Commodities. Oh deere Sonne Edgar, The food of thy abused Fathers wrath: Might I but liue to see thee in my touch, I'ld say I had eyes againe Oldm. How now? who's there? Edg. O Gods! Who is't can say I am at the worst? I am worse then ere I was Old. 'Tis poore mad Tom Edg. And worse I may be yet: the worst is not, So long as we can say this is the worst Oldm. Fellow, where goest? Glou. Is it a Beggar-man? Oldm. Madman, and beggar too Glou. He has some reason, else he could not beg. I'th' last nights storme, I such a fellow saw; Which made me thinke a Man, a Worme. My Sonne Came then into my minde, and yet my minde Was then scarse Friends with him. I haue heard more since: As Flies to wanton Boyes, are we to th' Gods, They kill vs for their sport Edg. How should this be? Bad is the Trade that must play Foole to sorrow, Ang'ring it selfe, and others. Blesse thee Master Glou. Is that the naked Fellow? Oldm. I, my Lord Glou. Get thee away: If for my sake Thou wilt ore-take vs hence a mile or twaine I'th' way toward Douer, do it for ancient loue, And bring some couering for this naked Soule, Which Ile intreate to leade me Old. Alacke sir, he is mad Glou. 'Tis the times plague, When Madmen leade the blinde: Do as I bid thee, or rather do thy pleasure: Aboue the rest, be gone Oldm. Ile bring him the best Parrell that I haue Come on't what will. Exit Glou. Sirrah, naked fellow Edg. Poore Tom's a cold. I cannot daub it further Glou. Come hither fellow Edg. And yet I must: Blesse thy sweete eyes, they bleede Glou. Know'st thou the way to Douer? Edg. Both style, and gate; Horseway, and foot-path: poore Tom hath bin scarr'd out of his good wits. Blesse thee good mans sonne, from the foule Fiend Glou. Here take this purse, y whom the heau'ns plagues Haue humbled to all strokes: that I am wretched Makes thee the happier: Heauens deale so still: Let the superfluous, and Lust-dieted man, That slaues your ordinance, that will not see Because he do's not feele, feele your powre quickly: So distribution should vndoo excesse, And each man haue enough. Dost thou know Douer? Edg. I Master Glou. There is a Cliffe, whose high and bending head Lookes fearfully in the confined Deepe: Bring me but to the very brimme of it, And Ile repayre the misery thou do'st beare With something rich about me: from that place, I shall no leading neede Edg. Giue me thy arme; Poore Tom shall leade thee. Exeunt.

Notes In his soliloquy, Edgar is presented as a model of patience and endurance in the face of adversity. He believes that he has suffered the worst that fate has in store for him and adopts a cheerful attitude for his circumstances. His optimism is quickly dashed, however, when the "blinded and bloody" Gloucester is led before him. Gloucester, driven to the edge of sanity, states, "I stumbled when I saw. " It is a reference to his figurative blindness when he could actually see; he was unable to view the truth of his sons' hearts and misjudged them both foolishly. His figurative blindness led him to stumble--to make the mistake of accepting Edmund and banishing Edgar. Now that he is literally blind, he longs for Edgar, not realizing he is at hand. He dreams of touching his son once again and says, "Might I but live to see thee in my touch, I'd say I have eyes again." Gloucester's pain and misery is great, just like the pain and misery felt by Lear, who also misjudged his offspring. Gloucester is embittered by his fate and says, "As flies to wanton boys are we to the Gods/ They kill us for their sport." But in his misery, Gloucester has a new identification with humanity, much like Lear. Still unaware that the beggar is his son, he hands over his purse to him in generosity. Critics have often questioned why Shakespeare does not allow Edgar to reveal himself to Gloucester at this point. The answer seems to be that Gloucester must hit rock bottom, going far beyond ordinary human suffering, before he can be spiritually redeemed.

analysis

Scena Secunda. Enter Gonerill, Bastard, and Steward. Gon. Welcome my Lord. I meruell our mild husband Not met vs on the way. Now, where's your Master? Stew. Madam within, but neuer man so chang'd: I told him of the Army that was Landed: He smil'd at it. I told him you were comming, His answer was, the worse. Of Glosters Treachery, And of the loyall Seruice of his Sonne When I inform'd him, then he call'd me Sot, And told me I had turn'd the wrong side out: What most he should dislike, seemes pleasant to him; What like, offensiue Gon. Then shall you go no further. It is the Cowish terror of his spirit That dares not vndertake: Hee'l not feele wrongs Which tye him to an answer: our wishes on the way May proue effects. Backe Edmond to my Brother, Hasten his Musters, and conduct his powres. I must change names at home, and giue the Distaffe Into my Husbands hands. This trustie Seruant Shall passe betweene vs: ere long you are like to heare (If you dare venture in your owne behalfe) A Mistresses command. Weare this; spare speech, Decline your head. This kisse, if it durst speake Would stretch thy Spirits vp into the ayre: Conceiue, and fare thee well Bast. Yours in the rankes of death. Enter. Gon. My most deere Gloster. Oh, the difference of man, and man, To thee a Womans seruices are due, My Foole vsurpes my body Stew. Madam, here come's my Lord. Enter Albany. Gon. I haue beene worth the whistle Alb. Oh Gonerill, You are not worth the dust which the rude winde Blowes in your face Gon. Milke-Liuer'd man, That bear'st a cheeke for blowes, a head for wrongs, Who hast not in thy browes an eye-discerning Thine Honor, from thy suffering Alb. See thy selfe diuell: Proper deformitie seemes not in the Fiend So horrid as in woman Gon. Oh vaine Foole. Enter a Messenger. Mes. Oh my good Lord, the Duke of Cornwals dead, Slaine by his Seruant, going to put out The other eye of Glouster Alb. Glousters eyes Mes. A Seruant that he bred, thrill'd with remorse, Oppos'd against the act: bending his Sword To his great Master, who, threat-enrag'd Flew on him, and among'st them fell'd him dead, But not without that harmefull stroke, which since Hath pluckt him after Alb. This shewes you are aboue You Iustices, that these our neather crimes So speedily can venge. But (O poore Glouster) Lost he his other eye? Mes. Both, both, my Lord. This Leter Madam, craues a speedy answer: 'Tis from your Sister Gon. One way I like this well. But being widdow, and my Glouster with her, May all the building in my fancie plucke Vpon my hatefull life. Another way The Newes is not so tart. Ile read, and answer Alb. Where was his Sonne, When they did take his eyes? Mes. Come with my Lady hither Alb. He is not heere Mes. No my good Lord, I met him backe againe Alb. Knowes he the wickednesse? Mes. I my good Lord: 'twas he inform'd against him And quit the house on purpose, that their punishment Might haue the freer course Alb. Glouster, I liue To thanke thee for the loue thou shew'dst the King, And to reuenge thine eyes. Come hither Friend, Tell me what more thou know'st. Exeunt.

Back at the castle, Oswald informs Goneril that her husband, Albany, is behaving strangely. Although earlier he had been too weak to restrain his wife's cruelty, now he is condemning her and Edmund, looking forward to the King of France's arrival in Dover. Goneril is displeased and declares she will take over. She also reveals her passion for Edmund and asks him to be her mate. Edmund, now the Earl of Gloucester, swears his love and loyalty to Goneril. He then leaves with a message for Regan, warning her to mobilize her army. Albany enters and openly accuses his wife of cruelty and filial ingratitude. He is sure that Goneril's deeds will bring the vengeance of heaven upon her. Although Goneril protests, Albany is unmoved, which greatly angers her. It is clear that husband and wife both detest each other. Their quarrel is interrupted by a messenger, who brings news of Cornwall's death. He has died from the wound he received while fighting one of his own servants. Albany is also shocked to learn that Gloucester has been blinded. Before departing, the messenger gives Goneril a letter from Regan. She secretly fears that her sister, now a widow, will become her rival for Edmund's love. Her mind filled with dark thoughts as she leaves the stage. Albany finds out the details of Gloucester's tragedy and the part that Edmund has played in it. His worst suspicions about Goneril and Regan are now confirmed. He is also fearful of Edmund, believing that he is powerful enough to bring even greater disaster on the kingdom. Albany decides his course of action; he will do his duty to avert further evils and to "revenge Gloucester's eyes."

summary

Scena Secunda. Enter Gonerill, Bastard, and Steward. Gon. Welcome my Lord. I meruell our mild husband Not met vs on the way. Now, where's your Master? Stew. Madam within, but neuer man so chang'd: I told him of the Army that was Landed: He smil'd at it. I told him you were comming, His answer was, the worse. Of Glosters Treachery, And of the loyall Seruice of his Sonne When I inform'd him, then he call'd me Sot, And told me I had turn'd the wrong side out: What most he should dislike, seemes pleasant to him; What like, offensiue Gon. Then shall you go no further. It is the Cowish terror of his spirit That dares not vndertake: Hee'l not feele wrongs Which tye him to an answer: our wishes on the way May proue effects. Backe Edmond to my Brother, Hasten his Musters, and conduct his powres. I must change names at home, and giue the Distaffe Into my Husbands hands. This trustie Seruant Shall passe betweene vs: ere long you are like to heare (If you dare venture in your owne behalfe) A Mistresses command. Weare this; spare speech, Decline your head. This kisse, if it durst speake Would stretch thy Spirits vp into the ayre: Conceiue, and fare thee well Bast. Yours in the rankes of death. Enter. Gon. My most deere Gloster. Oh, the difference of man, and man, To thee a Womans seruices are due, My Foole vsurpes my body Stew. Madam, here come's my Lord. Enter Albany. Gon. I haue beene worth the whistle Alb. Oh Gonerill, You are not worth the dust which the rude winde Blowes in your face Gon. Milke-Liuer'd man, That bear'st a cheeke for blowes, a head for wrongs, Who hast not in thy browes an eye-discerning Thine Honor, from thy suffering Alb. See thy selfe diuell: Proper deformitie seemes not in the Fiend So horrid as in woman Gon. Oh vaine Foole. Enter a Messenger. Mes. Oh my good Lord, the Duke of Cornwals dead, Slaine by his Seruant, going to put out The other eye of Glouster Alb. Glousters eyes Mes. A Seruant that he bred, thrill'd with remorse, Oppos'd against the act: bending his Sword To his great Master, who, threat-enrag'd Flew on him, and among'st them fell'd him dead, But not without that harmefull stroke, which since Hath pluckt him after Alb. This shewes you are aboue You Iustices, that these our neather crimes So speedily can venge. But (O poore Glouster) Lost he his other eye? Mes. Both, both, my Lord. This Leter Madam, craues a speedy answer: 'Tis from your Sister Gon. One way I like this well. But being widdow, and my Glouster with her, May all the building in my fancie plucke Vpon my hatefull life. Another way The Newes is not so tart. Ile read, and answer Alb. Where was his Sonne, When they did take his eyes? Mes. Come with my Lady hither Alb. He is not heere Mes. No my good Lord, I met him backe againe Alb. Knowes he the wickednesse? Mes. I my good Lord: 'twas he inform'd against him And quit the house on purpose, that their punishment Might haue the freer course Alb. Glouster, I liue To thanke thee for the loue thou shew'dst the King, And to reuenge thine eyes. Come hither Friend, Tell me what more thou know'st. Exeunt.

Notes Previously in the play, Albany has been portrayed as a weak character, unable to stand up to the strength of his evil wife. In this scene, Albany emerges as a strong character, filled with moral courage to do what is right. First he argues with Goneril, accusing her of filial ingratitude and warning her that heaven will send its vengeance upon her. She calls him a coward, showing her contempt for her "mild husband;" she despises the fact that he is compassionate, humane and morally upright. He tells her, "O Goneril! You are not worth the dust which the rude wind blows in your face." He finds her cruelty to Lear unforgivable and asserts that the mistreatment of a parent will ensure that the offspring "perforce must wither and come to deadly use." The news of Gloucester's blinding is a shock to Albany; but Cornwall's death is even more shocking for both Cornwall and his wife. With Cornwall's passing, Albany is now the King of Britain, and Goneril is his queen. In spite of this fact, he is still eager for the arrival of the French forces in England, hoping they will avenge Lear's ill treatment. He personally swears to avenge Gloucester's blinding. It is not surprising that Goneril, in rejecting her husband, turns her passion towards the evil Edmund, who also declares his love and loyalty for her; since he is an amoral being, it makes no difference to him that Goneril is the wife of Albany, now King of England. At the end of the scene, however, Goneril is troubled; she fears that Regan, her widowed sister, will have an interest in Edmund and win his love.

analysis

Scena Tertia. Enter with Drum and Colours, Cordelia, Gentlemen, and Souldiours. Cor. Alacke, 'tis he: why he was met euen now As mad as the vext Sea, singing alowd. Crown'd with ranke Fenitar, and furrow weeds, With Hardokes, Hemlocke, Nettles, Cuckoo flowres, Darnell, and all the idle weedes that grow In our sustaining Corne. A Centery send forth; Search euery Acre in the high-growne field, And bring him to our eye. What can mans wisedome In the restoring his bereaued Sense; he that helpes him, Take all my outward worth Gent. There is meanes Madam: Our foster Nurse of Nature, is repose, The which he lackes: that to prouoke in him Are many Simples operatiue, whose power Will close the eye of Anguish Cord. All blest Secrets, All you vnpublish'd Vertues of the earth Spring with my teares; be aydant, and remediate In the Goodmans desires: seeke, seeke for him, Least his vngouern'd rage, dissolue the life That wants the meanes to leade it. Enter Messenger. Mes. Newes Madam, The Brittish Powres are marching hitherward Cor. 'Tis knowne before. Our preparation stands In expectation of them. O deere Father, It is thy businesse that I go about: Therfore great France My mourning, and importun'd teares hath pittied: No blowne Ambition doth our Armes incite, But loue, deere loue, and our ag'd Fathers Rite: Soone may I heare, and see him. Exeunt.

At Dover, Kent learns from the Gentleman that the King of France has been called back to his own country, but French troops have arrived in England. The Gentleman also describes Cordelia's reactions to the letter Kent had written, telling of her father's miseries. Cordelia had wept upon reading about Lear's tragic plight. Her love shines brightly in the dark world of hatred and treachery. Kent is amazed that the kind Cordelia is really a sister to Goneril and Regan. Kent informs the Gentleman that an insane Lear has arrived in Dover. Amidst his ranting and raving, he sometimes remembers that he has banished the kind Cordelia. Although he would love to see her, his "burning shame detains him from Cordelia." After his explanation, Kent sends the Gentleman to attend to the King. Kent himself will remain in hiding, for one "dear cause" yet remains undone.

summary

Scena Tertia. Enter with Drum and Colours, Cordelia, Gentlemen, and Souldiours. Cor. Alacke, 'tis he: why he was met euen now As mad as the vext Sea, singing alowd. Crown'd with ranke Fenitar, and furrow weeds, With Hardokes, Hemlocke, Nettles, Cuckoo flowres, Darnell, and all the idle weedes that grow In our sustaining Corne. A Centery send forth; Search euery Acre in the high-growne field, And bring him to our eye. What can mans wisedome In the restoring his bereaued Sense; he that helpes him, Take all my outward worth Gent. There is meanes Madam: Our foster Nurse of Nature, is repose, The which he lackes: that to prouoke in him Are many Simples operatiue, whose power Will close the eye of Anguish Cord. All blest Secrets, All you vnpublish'd Vertues of the earth Spring with my teares; be aydant, and remediate In the Goodmans desires: seeke, seeke for him, Least his vngouern'd rage, dissolue the life That wants the meanes to leade it. Enter Messenger. Mes. Newes Madam, The Brittish Powres are marching hitherward Cor. 'Tis knowne before. Our preparation stands In expectation of them. O deere Father, It is thy businesse that I go about: Therfore great France My mourning, and importun'd teares hath pittied: No blowne Ambition doth our Armes incite, But loue, deere loue, and our ag'd Fathers Rite: Soone may I heare, and see him. Exeunt.

Notes This short scene is often excluded from the production of the play, judged to be unimportant. It does, however, present several important pieces of information. The French troops have arrived in England, but Cordelia's husband, the King of France, has been called home; without adequate leadership, it seems likely that the French army will be defeated. Additionally, the scene reveals that Lear has arrived in Dover in a state of near insanity. In his few lucid moments, he bemoans the fact that he has banished Cordelia and longs to see her even though he is too ashamed to face her. The emphasis on Cordelia in the scene seems to foreshadow that she will eventually take control of the situation and help her father.

analysis

Scena Quarta. Enter Regan, and Steward. Reg. But are my Brothers Powres set forth? Stew. I Madam Reg. Himselfe in person there? Stew. Madam with much ado: Your Sister is the better Souldier Reg. Lord Edmund spake not with your Lord at home? Stew. No Madam Reg. What might import my Sisters Letter to him? Stew. I know not, Lady Reg. Faith he is poasted hence on serious matter: It was great ignorance, Glousters eyes being out To let him liue. Where he arriues, he moues All hearts against vs: Edmund, I thinke is gone In pitty of his misery, to dispatch His nighted life: Moreouer to descry The strength o'th' Enemy Stew. I must needs after him, Madam, with my Letter Reg. Our troopes set forth to morrow, stay with vs: The wayes are dangerous Stew. I may not Madam: My Lady charg'd my dutie in this busines Reg. Why should she write to Edmund? Might not you transport her purposes by word? Belike, Some things, I know not what. Ile loue thee much Let me vnseale the Letter Stew. Madam, I had rather- Reg. I know your Lady do's not loue her Husband, I am sure of that: and at her late being heere, She gaue strange Eliads, and most speaking lookes To Noble Edmund. I know you are of her bosome Stew. I, Madam? Reg. I speake in vnderstanding: Y'are: I know't, Therefore I do aduise you take this note: My Lord is dead: Edmond, and I haue talk'd, And more conuenient is he for my hand Then for your Ladies: You may gather more: If you do finde him, pray you giue him this; And when your Mistris heares thus much from you, I pray desire her call her wisedome to her. So fare you well: If you do chance to heare of that blinde Traitor, Preferment fals on him, that cuts him off Stew. Would I could meet Madam, I should shew What party I do follow Reg. Fare thee well. Exeunt.

Cordelia hears that Lear is wandering about in a deranged state of mind and is very afraid that grief will kill him. She has sought the help of a doctor, who advises that the King needs rest and herbs to help his health. She gives orders to her soldiers that they should look for Lear and bring him to her. A messenger enters with news of the movements of the British army. Cordelia states that the French invasion has only one aim - to restore Lear to his throne. She explains that she is on a mission of love, not of conquest.

summary

Scena Quarta. Enter Regan, and Steward. Reg. But are my Brothers Powres set forth? Stew. I Madam Reg. Himselfe in person there? Stew. Madam with much ado: Your Sister is the better Souldier Reg. Lord Edmund spake not with your Lord at home? Stew. No Madam Reg. What might import my Sisters Letter to him? Stew. I know not, Lady Reg. Faith he is poasted hence on serious matter: It was great ignorance, Glousters eyes being out To let him liue. Where he arriues, he moues All hearts against vs: Edmund, I thinke is gone In pitty of his misery, to dispatch His nighted life: Moreouer to descry The strength o'th' Enemy Stew. I must needs after him, Madam, with my Letter Reg. Our troopes set forth to morrow, stay with vs: The wayes are dangerous Stew. I may not Madam: My Lady charg'd my dutie in this busines Reg. Why should she write to Edmund? Might not you transport her purposes by word? Belike, Some things, I know not what. Ile loue thee much Let me vnseale the Letter Stew. Madam, I had rather- Reg. I know your Lady do's not loue her Husband, I am sure of that: and at her late being heere, She gaue strange Eliads, and most speaking lookes To Noble Edmund. I know you are of her bosome Stew. I, Madam? Reg. I speake in vnderstanding: Y'are: I know't, Therefore I do aduise you take this note: My Lord is dead: Edmond, and I haue talk'd, And more conuenient is he for my hand Then for your Ladies: You may gather more: If you do finde him, pray you giue him this; And when your Mistris heares thus much from you, I pray desire her call her wisedome to her. So fare you well: If you do chance to heare of that blinde Traitor, Preferment fals on him, that cuts him off Stew. Would I could meet Madam, I should shew What party I do follow Reg. Fare thee well. Exeunt.

Notes Cordelia is portrayed is a model of spiritual beauty in her compassion for her tormented, old father. She has heard about his deranged state and worries that he may die from grief over his mistreatment at the hands of her sisters. She herself has totally forgiven Lear for rejecting her for her guileless nature. She has come to Britain to heal the King and restore his sanity and power, not to invade, conquer, or gain power for herself.

analysis

Scena Quinta. Enter Gloucester, and Edgar. Glou. When shall I come to th' top of that same hill? Edg. You do climbe vp it now. Look how we labor Glou. Me thinkes the ground is eeuen Edg. Horrible steepe. Hearke, do you heare the Sea? Glou. No truly Edg. Why then your other Senses grow imperfect By your eyes anguish Glou. So may it be indeed. Me thinkes thy voyce is alter'd, and thou speak'st In better phrase, and matter then thou did'st Edg. Y'are much deceiu'd: In nothing am I chang'd But in my Garments Glou. Me thinkes y'are better spoken Edg. Come on Sir, Heere's the place: stand still: how fearefull And dizie 'tis, to cast ones eyes so low, The Crowes and Choughes, that wing the midway ayre Shew scarse so grosse as Beetles. Halfe way downe Hangs one that gathers Sampire: dreadfull Trade: Me thinkes he seemes no bigger then his head. The Fishermen, that walk'd vpon the beach Appeare like Mice: and yond tall Anchoring Barke, Diminish'd to her Cocke: her Cocke, a Buoy Almost too small for sight. The murmuring Surge, That on th' vnnumbred idle Pebble chafes Cannot be heard so high. Ile looke no more, Least my braine turne, and the deficient sight Topple downe headlong Glou. Set me where you stand Edg. Giue me your hand: You are now within a foote of th' extreme Verge: For all beneath the Moone would I not leape vpright Glou. Let go my hand: Heere Friend's another purse: in it, a Iewell Well worth a poore mans taking. Fayries, and Gods Prosper it with thee. Go thou further off, Bid me farewell, and let me heare thee going Edg. Now fare ye well, good Sir Glou. With all my heart Edg. Why I do trifle thus with his dispaire, Is done to cure it Glou. O you mighty Gods! This world I do renounce, and in your sights Shake patiently my great affliction off: If I could beare it longer, and not fall To quarrell with your great opposelesse willes, My snuffe, and loathed part of Nature should Burne it selfe out. If Edgar liue, O blesse him: Now Fellow, fare thee well Edg. Gone Sir, farewell: And yet I know not how conceit may rob The Treasury of life, when life it selfe Yeelds to the Theft. Had he bin where he thought, By this had thought bin past. Aliue, or dead? Hoa, you Sir: Friend, heare you Sir, speake: Thus might he passe indeed: yet he reuiues. What are you Sir? Glou. Away, and let me dye Edg. Had'st thou beene ought But Gozemore, Feathers, Ayre, (So many fathome downe precipitating) Thou'dst shiuer'd like an Egge: but thou do'st breath: Hast heauy substance, bleed'st not, speak'st, art sound, Ten Masts at each, make not the altitude Which thou hast perpendicularly fell, Thy life's a Myracle. Speake yet againe Glou. But haue I falne, or no? Edg. From the dread Somnet of this Chalkie Bourne Looke vp a height, the shrill-gorg'd Larke so farre Cannot be seene, or heard: Do but looke vp Glou. Alacke, I haue no eyes: Is wretchednesse depriu'd that benefit To end it selfe by death? 'Twas yet some comfort, When misery could beguile the Tyrants rage, And frustrate his proud will Edg. Giue me your arme. Vp, so: How is't? Feele you your Legges? You stand Glou. Too well, too well Edg. This is aboue all strangenesse, Vpon the crowne o'th' Cliffe. What thing was that Which parted from you? Glou. A poore vnfortunate Beggar Edg. As I stood heere below, me thought his eyes Were two full Moones: he had a thousand Noses, Hornes wealk'd, and waued like the enraged Sea: It was some Fiend: Therefore thou happy Father, Thinke that the cleerest Gods, who make them Honors Of mens Impossibilities, haue preserued thee Glou. I do remember now: henceforth Ile beare Affliction, till it do cry out it selfe Enough, enough, and dye. That thing you speake of, I tooke it for a man: often 'twould say The Fiend, the Fiend, he led me to that place Edgar. Beare free and patient thoughts. Enter Lear. But who comes heere? The safer sense will ne're accommodate His Master thus Lear. No, they cannot touch me for crying. I am the King himselfe Edg. O thou side-piercing sight! Lear. Nature's aboue Art, in that respect. Ther's your Presse-money. That fellow handles his bow, like a Crowkeeper: draw mee a Cloathiers yard. Looke, looke, a Mouse: peace, peace, this peece of toasted Cheese will doo't. There's my Gauntlet, Ile proue it on a Gyant. Bring vp the browne Billes. O well flowne Bird: i'th' clout, i'th' clout: Hewgh. Giue the word Edg. Sweet Mariorum Lear. Passe Glou. I know that voice Lear. Ha! Gonerill with a white beard? They flatter'd me like a Dogge, and told mee I had the white hayres in my Beard, ere the blacke ones were there. To say I, and no, to euery thing that I said: I, and no too, was no good Diuinity. When the raine came to wet me once, and the winde to make me chatter: when the Thunder would not peace at my bidding, there I found 'em, there I smelt 'em out. Go too, they are not men o'their words; they told me, I was euery thing: 'Tis a Lye, I am not Agu-proofe Glou. The tricke of that voyce, I do well remember: Is't not the King? Lear. I, euery inch a King. When I do stare, see how the Subiect quakes. I pardon that mans life. What was thy cause? Adultery? thou shalt not dye: dye for Adultery? No, the Wren goes too't, and the small gilded Fly Do's letcher in my sight. Let Copulation thriue: For Glousters bastard Son was kinder to his Father, Then my Daughters got 'tweene the lawfull sheets. Too't Luxury pell-mell, for I lacke Souldiers. Behold yond simpring Dame, whose face betweene her Forkes presages Snow; that minces Vertue, & do's shake the head to heare of pleasures name. The Fitchew, nor the soyled Horse goes too't with a more riotous appetite: Downe from the waste they are Centaures, though Women all aboue: but to the Girdle do the Gods inherit, beneath is all the Fiends. There's hell, there's darkenes, there is the sulphurous pit; burning, scalding, stench, consumption: Fye, fie, fie; pah, pah: Giue me an Ounce of Ciuet; good Apothecary sweeten my immagination: There's money for thee Glou. O let me kisse that hand Lear. Let me wipe it first, It smelles of Mortality Glou. O ruin'd peece of Nature, this great world Shall so weare out to naught. Do'st thou know me? Lear. I remember thine eyes well enough: dost thou squiny at me? No, doe thy worst blinde Cupid, Ile not loue. Reade thou this challenge, marke but the penning of it Glou. Were all thy Letters Sunnes, I could not see Edg. I would not take this from report, It is, and my heart breakes at it Lear. Read Glou. What with the Case of eyes? Lear. Oh ho, are you there with me? No eies in your head, nor no mony in your purse? Your eyes are in a heauy case, your purse in a light, yet you see how this world goes Glou. I see it feelingly Lear. What, art mad? A man may see how this world goes, with no eyes. Looke with thine eares: See how yond Iustice railes vpon yond simple theefe. Hearke in thine eare: Change places, and handy-dandy, which is the Iustice, which is the theefe: Thou hast seene a Farmers dogge barke at a Beggar? Glou. I Sir Lear. And the Creature run from the Cur: there thou might'st behold the great image of Authoritie, a Dogg's obey'd in Office. Thou, Rascall Beadle, hold thy bloody hand: why dost thou lash that Whore? Strip thy owne backe, thou hotly lusts to vse her in that kind, for which thou whip'st her. The Vsurer hangs the Cozener. Thorough tatter'd cloathes great Vices do appeare: Robes, and Furr'd gownes hide all. Place sinnes with Gold, and the strong Lance of Iustice, hurtlesse breakes: Arme it in ragges, a Pigmies straw do's pierce it. None do's offend, none, I say none, Ile able 'em; take that of me my Friend, who haue the power to seale th' accusers lips. Get thee glasse-eyes, and like a scuruy Politician, seeme to see the things thou dost not. Now, now, now, now. Pull off my Bootes: harder, harder, so Edg. O matter, and impertinency mixt, Reason in Madnesse Lear. If thou wilt weepe my Fortunes, take my eyes. I know thee well enough, thy name is Glouster: Thou must be patient; we came crying hither: Thou know'st, the first time that we smell the Ayre We wawle, and cry. I will preach to thee: Marke Glou. Alacke, alacke the day Lear. When we are borne, we cry that we are come To this great stage of Fooles. This a good blocke: It were a delicate stratagem to shoo A Troope of Horse with Felt: Ile put't in proofe, And when I haue stolne vpon these Son in Lawes, Then kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill. Enter a Gentleman. Gent. Oh heere he is: lay hand vpon him, Sir. Your most deere Daughter- Lear. No rescue? What, a Prisoner? I am euen The Naturall Foole of Fortune. Vse me well, You shall haue ransome. Let me haue Surgeons, I am cut to'th' Braines Gent. You shall haue any thing Lear. No Seconds? All my selfe? Why, this would make a man, a man of Salt To vse his eyes for Garden water-pots. I wil die brauely, Like a smugge Bridegroome. What? I will be Iouiall: Come, come, I am a King, Masters, know you that? Gent. You are a Royall one, and we obey you Lear. Then there's life in't. Come, and you get it, You shall get it by running: Sa, sa, sa, sa. Enter. Gent. A sight most pittifull in the meanest wretch, Past speaking of in a King. Thou hast a Daughter Who redeemes Nature from the generall curse Which twaine haue brought her to Edg. Haile gentle Sir Gent. Sir, speed you: what's your will? Edg. Do you heare ought (Sir) of a Battell toward Gent. Most sure, and vulgar: Euery one heares that, which can distinguish sound Edg. But by your fauour: How neere's the other Army? Gent. Neere, and on speedy foot: the maine descry Stands on the hourely thought Edg. I thanke you Sir, that's all Gent. Though that the Queen on special cause is here Her Army is mou'd on. Enter. Edg. I thanke you Sir Glou. You euer gentle Gods, take my breath from me, Let not my worser Spirit tempt me againe To dye before you please Edg. Well pray you Father Glou. Now good sir, what are you? Edg. A most poore man, made tame to Fortunes blows Who, by the Art of knowne, and feeling sorrowes, Am pregnant to good pitty. Giue me your hand, Ile leade you to some biding Glou. Heartie thankes: The bountie, and the benizon of Heauen To boot, and boot. Enter Steward. Stew. A proclaim'd prize: most happie That eyelesse head of thine, was first fram'd flesh To raise my fortunes. Thou old, vnhappy Traitor, Breefely thy selfe remember: the Sword is out That must destroy thee Glou. Now let thy friendly hand Put strength enough too't Stew. Wherefore, bold Pezant, Dar'st thou support a publish'd Traitor? Hence, Least that th' infection of his fortune take Like hold on thee. Let go his arme Edg. Chill not let go Zir, Without vurther 'casion Stew. Let go Slaue, or thou dy'st Edg. Good Gentleman goe your gate, and let poore volke passe: and 'chud ha' bin zwaggerd out of my life, 'twould not ha' bin zo long as 'tis, by a vortnight. Nay, come not neere th' old man: keepe out che vor' ye, or Ile try whither your Costard, or my Ballow be the harder; chill be plaine with you Stew. Out Dunghill Edg. Chill picke your teeth Zir: come, no matter vor your foynes Stew. Slaue thou hast slaine me: Villain, take my purse; If euer thou wilt thriue, bury my bodie, And giue the Letters which thou find'st about me, To Edmund Earle of Glouster: seeke him out Vpon the English party. Oh vntimely death, death Edg. I know thee well. A seruiceable Villaine, As duteous to the vices of thy Mistris, As badnesse would desire Glou. What, is he dead? Edg. Sit you downe Father: rest you. Let's see these Pockets; the Letters that he speakes of May be my Friends: hee's dead; I am onely sorry He had no other Deathsman. Let vs see: Leaue gentle waxe, and manners: blame vs not To know our enemies mindes, we rip their hearts, Their Papers is more lawfull. Reads the Letter. Let our reciprocall vowes be remembred. You haue manie opportunities to cut him off: if your will want not, time and place will be fruitfully offer'd. There is nothing done. If hee returne the Conqueror, then am I the Prisoner, and his bed, my Gaole, from the loathed warmth whereof, deliuer me, and supply the place for your Labour. Your (Wife, so I would say) affectionate Seruant. Gonerill. Oh indistinguish'd space of Womans will, A plot vpon her vertuous Husbands life, And the exchange my Brother: heere, in the sands Thee Ile rake vp, the poste vnsanctified Of murtherous Letchers: and in the mature time, With this vngracious paper strike the sight Of the death-practis'd Duke: for him 'tis well, That of thy death, and businesse, I can tell Glou. The King is mad: How stiffe is my vilde sense That I stand vp, and haue ingenious feeling Of my huge Sorrowes? Better I were distract, So should my thoughts be seuer'd from my greefes, Drum afarre off. And woes, by wrong imaginations loose The knowledge of themselues Edg. Giue me your hand: Farre off methinkes I heare the beaten Drumme. Come Father, Ile bestow you with a Friend. Exeunt.

Goneril and Regan have become adversaries, both scheming to win Edmund's love. Goneril sends a letter to Edmund through her trusted servant, Oswald. Upon reaching Gloucester Castle, Oswald is met by Regan, who tries to persuade him to reveal the contents of Goneril's letter. When he refuses, their conversation turns to the state of affairs in England. He tells her that Albany is quite reluctant to take up arms against the French army. Goneril tells Oswald that Gloucester is turning people against them and that his being alive has brought unnecessary problems. Edmund has, therefore, gone to kill his father. Regan again tries to get Goneril's letter from Oswald, but he refuses. Regan then confides that she is to wed Edmund. He has supposedly decided that Regan is the better match for him, since she is a widow. She asks Oswald to convey this news to Goneril and to convince her to act wisely. What Regan does not know is that Goneril has planned to kill Albany, becoming a widow herself; she will then be free to wed Edmund. The two evil sisters are vying to outdo each other in their wickedness.

summary

Scena Quinta. Enter Gloucester, and Edgar. Glou. When shall I come to th' top of that same hill? Edg. You do climbe vp it now. Look how we labor Glou. Me thinkes the ground is eeuen Edg. Horrible steepe. Hearke, do you heare the Sea? Glou. No truly Edg. Why then your other Senses grow imperfect By your eyes anguish Glou. So may it be indeed. Me thinkes thy voyce is alter'd, and thou speak'st In better phrase, and matter then thou did'st Edg. Y'are much deceiu'd: In nothing am I chang'd But in my Garments Glou. Me thinkes y'are better spoken Edg. Come on Sir, Heere's the place: stand still: how fearefull And dizie 'tis, to cast ones eyes so low, The Crowes and Choughes, that wing the midway ayre Shew scarse so grosse as Beetles. Halfe way downe Hangs one that gathers Sampire: dreadfull Trade: Me thinkes he seemes no bigger then his head. The Fishermen, that walk'd vpon the beach Appeare like Mice: and yond tall Anchoring Barke, Diminish'd to her Cocke: her Cocke, a Buoy Almost too small for sight. The murmuring Surge, That on th' vnnumbred idle Pebble chafes Cannot be heard so high. Ile looke no more, Least my braine turne, and the deficient sight Topple downe headlong Glou. Set me where you stand Edg. Giue me your hand: You are now within a foote of th' extreme Verge: For all beneath the Moone would I not leape vpright Glou. Let go my hand: Heere Friend's another purse: in it, a Iewell Well worth a poore mans taking. Fayries, and Gods Prosper it with thee. Go thou further off, Bid me farewell, and let me heare thee going Edg. Now fare ye well, good Sir Glou. With all my heart Edg. Why I do trifle thus with his dispaire, Is done to cure it Glou. O you mighty Gods! This world I do renounce, and in your sights Shake patiently my great affliction off: If I could beare it longer, and not fall To quarrell with your great opposelesse willes, My snuffe, and loathed part of Nature should Burne it selfe out. If Edgar liue, O blesse him: Now Fellow, fare thee well Edg. Gone Sir, farewell: And yet I know not how conceit may rob The Treasury of life, when life it selfe Yeelds to the Theft. Had he bin where he thought, By this had thought bin past. Aliue, or dead? Hoa, you Sir: Friend, heare you Sir, speake: Thus might he passe indeed: yet he reuiues. What are you Sir? Glou. Away, and let me dye Edg. Had'st thou beene ought But Gozemore, Feathers, Ayre, (So many fathome downe precipitating) Thou'dst shiuer'd like an Egge: but thou do'st breath: Hast heauy substance, bleed'st not, speak'st, art sound, Ten Masts at each, make not the altitude Which thou hast perpendicularly fell, Thy life's a Myracle. Speake yet againe Glou. But haue I falne, or no? Edg. From the dread Somnet of this Chalkie Bourne Looke vp a height, the shrill-gorg'd Larke so farre Cannot be seene, or heard: Do but looke vp Glou. Alacke, I haue no eyes: Is wretchednesse depriu'd that benefit To end it selfe by death? 'Twas yet some comfort, When misery could beguile the Tyrants rage, And frustrate his proud will Edg. Giue me your arme. Vp, so: How is't? Feele you your Legges? You stand Glou. Too well, too well Edg. This is aboue all strangenesse, Vpon the crowne o'th' Cliffe. What thing was that Which parted from you? Glou. A poore vnfortunate Beggar Edg. As I stood heere below, me thought his eyes Were two full Moones: he had a thousand Noses, Hornes wealk'd, and waued like the enraged Sea: It was some Fiend: Therefore thou happy Father, Thinke that the cleerest Gods, who make them Honors Of mens Impossibilities, haue preserued thee Glou. I do remember now: henceforth Ile beare Affliction, till it do cry out it selfe Enough, enough, and dye. That thing you speake of, I tooke it for a man: often 'twould say The Fiend, the Fiend, he led me to that place Edgar. Beare free and patient thoughts. Enter Lear. But who comes heere? The safer sense will ne're accommodate His Master thus Lear. No, they cannot touch me for crying. I am the King himselfe Edg. O thou side-piercing sight! Lear. Nature's aboue Art, in that respect. Ther's your Presse-money. That fellow handles his bow, like a Crowkeeper: draw mee a Cloathiers yard. Looke, looke, a Mouse: peace, peace, this peece of toasted Cheese will doo't. There's my Gauntlet, Ile proue it on a Gyant. Bring vp the browne Billes. O well flowne Bird: i'th' clout, i'th' clout: Hewgh. Giue the word Edg. Sweet Mariorum Lear. Passe Glou. I know that voice Lear. Ha! Gonerill with a white beard? They flatter'd me like a Dogge, and told mee I had the white hayres in my Beard, ere the blacke ones were there. To say I, and no, to euery thing that I said: I, and no too, was no good Diuinity. When the raine came to wet me once, and the winde to make me chatter: when the Thunder would not peace at my bidding, there I found 'em, there I smelt 'em out. Go too, they are not men o'their words; they told me, I was euery thing: 'Tis a Lye, I am not Agu-proofe Glou. The tricke of that voyce, I do well remember: Is't not the King? Lear. I, euery inch a King. When I do stare, see how the Subiect quakes. I pardon that mans life. What was thy cause? Adultery? thou shalt not dye: dye for Adultery? No, the Wren goes too't, and the small gilded Fly Do's letcher in my sight. Let Copulation thriue: For Glousters bastard Son was kinder to his Father, Then my Daughters got 'tweene the lawfull sheets. Too't Luxury pell-mell, for I lacke Souldiers. Behold yond simpring Dame, whose face betweene her Forkes presages Snow; that minces Vertue, & do's shake the head to heare of pleasures name. The Fitchew, nor the soyled Horse goes too't with a more riotous appetite: Downe from the waste they are Centaures, though Women all aboue: but to the Girdle do the Gods inherit, beneath is all the Fiends. There's hell, there's darkenes, there is the sulphurous pit; burning, scalding, stench, consumption: Fye, fie, fie; pah, pah: Giue me an Ounce of Ciuet; good Apothecary sweeten my immagination: There's money for thee Glou. O let me kisse that hand Lear. Let me wipe it first, It smelles of Mortality Glou. O ruin'd peece of Nature, this great world Shall so weare out to naught. Do'st thou know me? Lear. I remember thine eyes well enough: dost thou squiny at me? No, doe thy worst blinde Cupid, Ile not loue. Reade thou this challenge, marke but the penning of it Glou. Were all thy Letters Sunnes, I could not see Edg. I would not take this from report, It is, and my heart breakes at it Lear. Read Glou. What with the Case of eyes? Lear. Oh ho, are you there with me? No eies in your head, nor no mony in your purse? Your eyes are in a heauy case, your purse in a light, yet you see how this world goes Glou. I see it feelingly Lear. What, art mad? A man may see how this world goes, with no eyes. Looke with thine eares: See how yond Iustice railes vpon yond simple theefe. Hearke in thine eare: Change places, and handy-dandy, which is the Iustice, which is the theefe: Thou hast seene a Farmers dogge barke at a Beggar? Glou. I Sir Lear. And the Creature run from the Cur: there thou might'st behold the great image of Authoritie, a Dogg's obey'd in Office. Thou, Rascall Beadle, hold thy bloody hand: why dost thou lash that Whore? Strip thy owne backe, thou hotly lusts to vse her in that kind, for which thou whip'st her. The Vsurer hangs the Cozener. Thorough tatter'd cloathes great Vices do appeare: Robes, and Furr'd gownes hide all. Place sinnes with Gold, and the strong Lance of Iustice, hurtlesse breakes: Arme it in ragges, a Pigmies straw do's pierce it. None do's offend, none, I say none, Ile able 'em; take that of me my Friend, who haue the power to seale th' accusers lips. Get thee glasse-eyes, and like a scuruy Politician, seeme to see the things thou dost not. Now, now, now, now. Pull off my Bootes: harder, harder, so Edg. O matter, and impertinency mixt, Reason in Madnesse Lear. If thou wilt weepe my Fortunes, take my eyes. I know thee well enough, thy name is Glouster: Thou must be patient; we came crying hither: Thou know'st, the first time that we smell the Ayre We wawle, and cry. I will preach to thee: Marke Glou. Alacke, alacke the day Lear. When we are borne, we cry that we are come To this great stage of Fooles. This a good blocke: It were a delicate stratagem to shoo A Troope of Horse with Felt: Ile put't in proofe, And when I haue stolne vpon these Son in Lawes, Then kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill. Enter a Gentleman. Gent. Oh heere he is: lay hand vpon him, Sir. Your most deere Daughter- Lear. No rescue? What, a Prisoner? I am euen The Naturall Foole of Fortune. Vse me well, You shall haue ransome. Let me haue Surgeons, I am cut to'th' Braines Gent. You shall haue any thing Lear. No Seconds? All my selfe? Why, this would make a man, a man of Salt To vse his eyes for Garden water-pots. I wil die brauely, Like a smugge Bridegroome. What? I will be Iouiall: Come, come, I am a King, Masters, know you that? Gent. You are a Royall one, and we obey you Lear. Then there's life in't. Come, and you get it, You shall get it by running: Sa, sa, sa, sa. Enter. Gent. A sight most pittifull in the meanest wretch, Past speaking of in a King. Thou hast a Daughter Who redeemes Nature from the generall curse Which twaine haue brought her to Edg. Haile gentle Sir Gent. Sir, speed you: what's your will? Edg. Do you heare ought (Sir) of a Battell toward Gent. Most sure, and vulgar: Euery one heares that, which can distinguish sound Edg. But by your fauour: How neere's the other Army? Gent. Neere, and on speedy foot: the maine descry Stands on the hourely thought Edg. I thanke you Sir, that's all Gent. Though that the Queen on special cause is here Her Army is mou'd on. Enter. Edg. I thanke you Sir Glou. You euer gentle Gods, take my breath from me, Let not my worser Spirit tempt me againe To dye before you please Edg. Well pray you Father Glou. Now good sir, what are you? Edg. A most poore man, made tame to Fortunes blows Who, by the Art of knowne, and feeling sorrowes, Am pregnant to good pitty. Giue me your hand, Ile leade you to some biding Glou. Heartie thankes: The bountie, and the benizon of Heauen To boot, and boot. Enter Steward. Stew. A proclaim'd prize: most happie That eyelesse head of thine, was first fram'd flesh To raise my fortunes. Thou old, vnhappy Traitor, Breefely thy selfe remember: the Sword is out That must destroy thee Glou. Now let thy friendly hand Put strength enough too't Stew. Wherefore, bold Pezant, Dar'st thou support a publish'd Traitor? Hence, Least that th' infection of his fortune take Like hold on thee. Let go his arme Edg. Chill not let go Zir, Without vurther 'casion Stew. Let go Slaue, or thou dy'st Edg. Good Gentleman goe your gate, and let poore volke passe: and 'chud ha' bin zwaggerd out of my life, 'twould not ha' bin zo long as 'tis, by a vortnight. Nay, come not neere th' old man: keepe out che vor' ye, or Ile try whither your Costard, or my Ballow be the harder; chill be plaine with you Stew. Out Dunghill Edg. Chill picke your teeth Zir: come, no matter vor your foynes Stew. Slaue thou hast slaine me: Villain, take my purse; If euer thou wilt thriue, bury my bodie, And giue the Letters which thou find'st about me, To Edmund Earle of Glouster: seeke him out Vpon the English party. Oh vntimely death, death Edg. I know thee well. A seruiceable Villaine, As duteous to the vices of thy Mistris, As badnesse would desire Glou. What, is he dead? Edg. Sit you downe Father: rest you. Let's see these Pockets; the Letters that he speakes of May be my Friends: hee's dead; I am onely sorry He had no other Deathsman. Let vs see: Leaue gentle waxe, and manners: blame vs not To know our enemies mindes, we rip their hearts, Their Papers is more lawfull. Reads the Letter. Let our reciprocall vowes be remembred. You haue manie opportunities to cut him off: if your will want not, time and place will be fruitfully offer'd. There is nothing done. If hee returne the Conqueror, then am I the Prisoner, and his bed, my Gaole, from the loathed warmth whereof, deliuer me, and supply the place for your Labour. Your (Wife, so I would say) affectionate Seruant. Gonerill. Oh indistinguish'd space of Womans will, A plot vpon her vertuous Husbands life, And the exchange my Brother: heere, in the sands Thee Ile rake vp, the poste vnsanctified Of murtherous Letchers: and in the mature time, With this vngracious paper strike the sight Of the death-practis'd Duke: for him 'tis well, That of thy death, and businesse, I can tell Glou. The King is mad: How stiffe is my vilde sense That I stand vp, and haue ingenious feeling Of my huge Sorrowes? Better I were distract, So should my thoughts be seuer'd from my greefes, Drum afarre off. And woes, by wrong imaginations loose The knowledge of themselues Edg. Giue me your hand: Farre off methinkes I heare the beaten Drumme. Come Father, Ile bestow you with a Friend. Exeunt.

Notes It is not surprising that the two evil sisters have turned against one another, for neither knows the meaning of loyalty. Desperate to have the love of Edmund, Regan has planned the murder of her husband, Albany; his death will make her a widow and free her to marry Edmund. But according to Goneril, the two-faced, amoral Edmund has already pledged himself to marry Goneril, even though he has told Regan that he loved her. By creating this sibling rivalry, Shakespeare further complicates an already complex plot.

analysis

Scaena Septima. Enter Cordelia, Kent, and Gentleman. Cor. O thou good Kent, How shall I liue and worke To match thy goodnesse? My life will be too short, And euery measure faile me Kent. To be acknowledg'd Madam is ore-pai'd, All my reports go with the modest truth, Nor more, nor clipt, but so Cor. Be better suited, These weedes are memories of those worser houres: I prythee put them off Kent. Pardon deere Madam, Yet to be knowne shortens my made intent, My boone I make it, that you know me not, Till time, and I, thinke meet Cor. Then be't so my good Lord: How do's the King? Gent. Madam sleepes still Cor. O you kind Gods! Cure this great breach in his abused Nature, Th' vntun'd and iarring senses, O winde vp, Of this childe-changed Father Gent. So please your Maiesty, That we may wake the King, he hath slept long? Cor. Be gouern'd by your knowledge, and proceede I'th' sway of your owne will: is he array'd? Enter Lear in a chaire carried by Seruants] Gent. I Madam: in the heauinesse of sleepe, We put fresh garments on him. Be by good Madam when we do awake him, I doubt of his Temperance Cor. O my deere Father, restauratian hang Thy medicine on my lippes, and let this kisse Repaire those violent harmes, that my two Sisters Haue in thy Reuerence made Kent. Kind and deere Princesse Cor. Had you not bin their Father, these white flakes Did challenge pitty of them. Was this a face To be oppos'd against the iarring windes? Mine Enemies dogge, though he had bit me, Should haue stood that night against my fire, And was't thou faine (poore Father) To houell thee with Swine and Rogues forlorne, In short, and musty straw? Alacke, alacke, 'Tis wonder that thy life and wits, at once Had not concluded all. He wakes, speake to him Gen. Madam do you, 'tis fittest Cor. How does my Royall Lord? How fares your Maiesty? Lear. You do me wrong to take me out o'th' graue, Thou art a Soule in blisse, but I am bound Vpon a wheele of fire, that mine owne teares Do scal'd, like molten Lead Cor. Sir, do you know me? Lear. You are a spirit I know, where did you dye? Cor. Still, still, farre wide Gen. He's scarse awake, Let him alone a while Lear. Where haue I bin? Where am I? Faire day light? I am mightily abus'd; I should eu'n dye with pitty To see another thus. I know not what to say: I will not sweare these are my hands: let's see, I feele this pin pricke, would I were assur'd Of my condition Cor. O looke vpon me Sir, And hold your hand in benediction o're me, You must not kneele Lear. Pray do not mocke me: I am a very foolish fond old man, Fourescore and vpward, Not an houre more, nor lesse: And to deale plainely, I feare I am not in my perfect mind. Me thinkes I should know you, and know this man, Yet I am doubtfull: For I am mainely ignorant What place this is: and all the skill I haue Remembers not these garments: nor I know not Where I did lodge last night. Do not laugh at me, For (as I am a man) I thinke this Lady To be my childe Cordelia Cor. And so I am: I am Lear. Be your teares wet? Yes faith: I pray weepe not, If you haue poyson for me, I will drinke it: I know you do not loue me, for your Sisters Haue (as I do remember) done me wrong. You haue some cause, they haue not Cor. No cause, no cause Lear. Am I in France? Kent. In your owne kingdome Sir Lear. Do not abuse me Gent. Be comforted good Madam, the great rage You see is kill'd in him: desire him to go in, Trouble him no more till further setling Cor. Wilt please your Highnesse walke? Lear. You must beare with me: Pray you now forget, and forgiue, I am old and foolish. Exeunt.

Cordelia is in her camp near Dover with Kent, a doctor, and others. Cordelia thanks Kent for all that he has done for her father. When Cordelia asks the doctor about the condition of her father who has been brought to her, the doctor replies that the king is still asleep. A sleeping Lear is brought on the scene, and Cordelia kneels before him, waiting for him to wake up. The doctor assures her that the king will be all right. Cordelia gives her father's cheek a kiss. Lear opens his eyes and sees Cordelia looking at him with both love and pity. In his amazement, he thinks she is a spirit come to comfort his poor, tormented soul. When Cordelia asks him if he knows her, Lear replies that she is a spirit. Totally dazed, the King does not know where he is; but he still remembers how much he has suffered. Lear, thinking he may still be asleep, reassures himself that he is awake by pricking his body with his fingers. Cordelia, still kneeling before him, asks him to bless her. With remorse and humility, Lear kneels with his daughter, whom he now recognizes. Ashamed of the wrong he has done to her, he wants to die and forget all the misery that he has caused. He asks for a cup of poison. The doctor suggests that Lear sleep some more; therefore, Cordelia leads her father away. Kent, left on stage, converses with a gentleman about the impending battle between the forces of Cordelia and those of Cornwall and Albany.

summary

Scaena Septima. Enter Cordelia, Kent, and Gentleman. Cor. O thou good Kent, How shall I liue and worke To match thy goodnesse? My life will be too short, And euery measure faile me Kent. To be acknowledg'd Madam is ore-pai'd, All my reports go with the modest truth, Nor more, nor clipt, but so Cor. Be better suited, These weedes are memories of those worser houres: I prythee put them off Kent. Pardon deere Madam, Yet to be knowne shortens my made intent, My boone I make it, that you know me not, Till time, and I, thinke meet Cor. Then be't so my good Lord: How do's the King? Gent. Madam sleepes still Cor. O you kind Gods! Cure this great breach in his abused Nature, Th' vntun'd and iarring senses, O winde vp, Of this childe-changed Father Gent. So please your Maiesty, That we may wake the King, he hath slept long? Cor. Be gouern'd by your knowledge, and proceede I'th' sway of your owne will: is he array'd? Enter Lear in a chaire carried by Seruants] Gent. I Madam: in the heauinesse of sleepe, We put fresh garments on him. Be by good Madam when we do awake him, I doubt of his Temperance Cor. O my deere Father, restauratian hang Thy medicine on my lippes, and let this kisse Repaire those violent harmes, that my two Sisters Haue in thy Reuerence made Kent. Kind and deere Princesse Cor. Had you not bin their Father, these white flakes Did challenge pitty of them. Was this a face To be oppos'd against the iarring windes? Mine Enemies dogge, though he had bit me, Should haue stood that night against my fire, And was't thou faine (poore Father) To houell thee with Swine and Rogues forlorne, In short, and musty straw? Alacke, alacke, 'Tis wonder that thy life and wits, at once Had not concluded all. He wakes, speake to him Gen. Madam do you, 'tis fittest Cor. How does my Royall Lord? How fares your Maiesty? Lear. You do me wrong to take me out o'th' graue, Thou art a Soule in blisse, but I am bound Vpon a wheele of fire, that mine owne teares Do scal'd, like molten Lead Cor. Sir, do you know me? Lear. You are a spirit I know, where did you dye? Cor. Still, still, farre wide Gen. He's scarse awake, Let him alone a while Lear. Where haue I bin? Where am I? Faire day light? I am mightily abus'd; I should eu'n dye with pitty To see another thus. I know not what to say: I will not sweare these are my hands: let's see, I feele this pin pricke, would I were assur'd Of my condition Cor. O looke vpon me Sir, And hold your hand in benediction o're me, You must not kneele Lear. Pray do not mocke me: I am a very foolish fond old man, Fourescore and vpward, Not an houre more, nor lesse: And to deale plainely, I feare I am not in my perfect mind. Me thinkes I should know you, and know this man, Yet I am doubtfull: For I am mainely ignorant What place this is: and all the skill I haue Remembers not these garments: nor I know not Where I did lodge last night. Do not laugh at me, For (as I am a man) I thinke this Lady To be my childe Cordelia Cor. And so I am: I am Lear. Be your teares wet? Yes faith: I pray weepe not, If you haue poyson for me, I will drinke it: I know you do not loue me, for your Sisters Haue (as I do remember) done me wrong. You haue some cause, they haue not Cor. No cause, no cause Lear. Am I in France? Kent. In your owne kingdome Sir Lear. Do not abuse me Gent. Be comforted good Madam, the great rage You see is kill'd in him: desire him to go in, Trouble him no more till further setling Cor. Wilt please your Highnesse walke? Lear. You must beare with me: Pray you now forget, and forgiue, I am old and foolish. Exeunt.

Notes In this scene, Cordelia and Lear are reunited with melodious tunes playing in the background. The music, representing harmony and peace, is meant to serve as a restorative power, suggesting that chaos can be replaced by order. Cordelia is a total contrast to her older two sisters. She reveres her father and asks for his blessing. When he tells her that she has reason to despise him, Cordelia responds, "No cause. No cause." Unwilling to judge Lear harshly, even though she has many reasons to do so, she forgives him totally and unconditionally. Lear's response to his daughter's kindness and generosity is a newfound sense of humility, which gives him a sense of grace. The scene clearly emphasizes that goodness is stronger than evil.

analysis

Actus Quintus. Scena Prima. Enter with Drumme and Colours, Edmund, Regan. Gentlemen, and Souldiers. Bast. Know of the Duke if his last purpose hold, Or whether since he is aduis'd by ought To change the course, he's full of alteration, And selfereprouing, bring his constant pleasure Reg. Our Sisters man is certainely miscarried Bast. 'Tis to be doubted Madam Reg. Now sweet Lord, You know the goodnesse I intend vpon you: Tell me but truly, but then speake the truth, Do you not loue my Sister? Bast. In honour'd Loue Reg. But haue you neuer found my Brothers way, To the fore-fended place? Bast. No by mine honour, Madam Reg. I neuer shall endure her, deere my Lord Be not familiar with her Bast. Feare not, she and the Duke her husband. Enter with Drum and Colours, Albany, Gonerill, Soldiers. Alb. Our very louing Sister, well be-met: Sir, this I heard, the King is come to his Daughter With others, whom the rigour of our State Forc'd to cry out Regan. Why is this reasond? Gone. Combine together 'gainst the Enemie: For these domesticke and particular broiles, Are not the question heere Alb. Let's then determine with th' ancient of warre On our proceeding Reg. Sister you'le go with vs? Gon. No Reg. 'Tis most conuenient, pray go with vs Gon. Oh ho, I know the Riddle, I will goe. Exeunt. both the Armies. Enter Edgar. Edg. If ere your Grace had speech with man so poore, Heare me one word Alb. Ile ouertake you, speake Edg. Before you fight the Battaile, ope this Letter: If you haue victory, let the Trumpet sound For him that brought it: wretched though I seeme, I can produce a Champion, that will proue What is auouched there. If you miscarry, Your businesse of the world hath so an end, And machination ceases. Fortune loues you Alb. Stay till I haue read the Letter Edg. I was forbid it: When time shall serue, let but the Herald cry, And Ile appeare againe. Enter. Alb. Why farethee well, I will o're-looke thy paper. Enter Edmund. Bast. The Enemy's in view, draw vp your powers, Heere is the guesse of their true strength and Forces, By dilligent discouerie, but your hast Is now vrg'd on you Alb. We will greet the time. Enter. Bast. To both these Sisters haue I sworne my loue: Each iealous of the other, as the stung Are of the Adder. Which of them shall I take? Both? One? Or neither? Neither can be enioy'd If both remaine aliue: To take the Widdow, Exasperates, makes mad her Sister Gonerill, And hardly shall I carry out my side, Her husband being aliue. Now then, wee'l vse His countenance for the Battaile, which being done, Let her who would be rid of him, deuise His speedy taking off. As for the mercie Which he intends to Lear and to Cordelia, The Battaile done, and they within our power, Shall neuer see his pardon: for my state, Stands on me to defend, not to debate. Enter.

The battle between England and France is about to begin. Regan has made Edmund the general of her forces. As the scene opens she speaks to Edmund about her love for him; but she also questions him about Goneril. Edmund denies any interest in her and professes undying love and loyalty to Regan. Regan still warns him about the guile of her sister. Albany and Goneril arrive with their army. Goneril, noticing the rapport between Regan and Edmund, decides that she would rather lose the battle than allow her sister to win Edmund. Albany declares that his sole intention in the battle is to repel the invasion of Britain. Edgar comes in and gives Albany the letter from Goneril, written to Edmund; it is the one he had received from Oswald. He leaves before Albany opens the letter. Edmund enters, says that the battle is about to begin and asks for Albany's presence on the battlefield. Albany exits, leaving Edmund alone on the stage. Edmund unfolds his evil plans in a soliloquy. If Goneril does not first kill her husband, he plans to send Albany into battle, making sure that he is killed there. He will also have the King and Cordelia captured during the battle. His plan is to kill Lear and become the King of England himself. He is unsure who should be his queen. Having made advances to both Regan and Goneril, he knows they are both enamored with him. He also knows if he marries one, it will make the other very angry. If both sisters remain alive, his difficulty will be great; therefore, he must soon choose and act.

summary

Actus Quintus. Scena Prima. Enter with Drumme and Colours, Edmund, Regan. Gentlemen, and Souldiers. Bast. Know of the Duke if his last purpose hold, Or whether since he is aduis'd by ought To change the course, he's full of alteration, And selfereprouing, bring his constant pleasure Reg. Our Sisters man is certainely miscarried Bast. 'Tis to be doubted Madam Reg. Now sweet Lord, You know the goodnesse I intend vpon you: Tell me but truly, but then speake the truth, Do you not loue my Sister? Bast. In honour'd Loue Reg. But haue you neuer found my Brothers way, To the fore-fended place? Bast. No by mine honour, Madam Reg. I neuer shall endure her, deere my Lord Be not familiar with her Bast. Feare not, she and the Duke her husband. Enter with Drum and Colours, Albany, Gonerill, Soldiers. Alb. Our very louing Sister, well be-met: Sir, this I heard, the King is come to his Daughter With others, whom the rigour of our State Forc'd to cry out Regan. Why is this reasond? Gone. Combine together 'gainst the Enemie: For these domesticke and particular broiles, Are not the question heere Alb. Let's then determine with th' ancient of warre On our proceeding Reg. Sister you'le go with vs? Gon. No Reg. 'Tis most conuenient, pray go with vs Gon. Oh ho, I know the Riddle, I will goe. Exeunt. both the Armies. Enter Edgar. Edg. If ere your Grace had speech with man so poore, Heare me one word Alb. Ile ouertake you, speake Edg. Before you fight the Battaile, ope this Letter: If you haue victory, let the Trumpet sound For him that brought it: wretched though I seeme, I can produce a Champion, that will proue What is auouched there. If you miscarry, Your businesse of the world hath so an end, And machination ceases. Fortune loues you Alb. Stay till I haue read the Letter Edg. I was forbid it: When time shall serue, let but the Herald cry, And Ile appeare againe. Enter. Alb. Why farethee well, I will o're-looke thy paper. Enter Edmund. Bast. The Enemy's in view, draw vp your powers, Heere is the guesse of their true strength and Forces, By dilligent discouerie, but your hast Is now vrg'd on you Alb. We will greet the time. Enter. Bast. To both these Sisters haue I sworne my loue: Each iealous of the other, as the stung Are of the Adder. Which of them shall I take? Both? One? Or neither? Neither can be enioy'd If both remaine aliue: To take the Widdow, Exasperates, makes mad her Sister Gonerill, And hardly shall I carry out my side, Her husband being aliue. Now then, wee'l vse His countenance for the Battaile, which being done, Let her who would be rid of him, deuise His speedy taking off. As for the mercie Which he intends to Lear and to Cordelia, The Battaile done, and they within our power, Shall neuer see his pardon: for my state, Stands on me to defend, not to debate. Enter.

Notes Albany, now a representative of good, clearly states that his only intention in battle is to repel the French invaders; his plan is to make sure that Lear and Cordelia are protected. Edmund is a sharp contrast to him. He shows himself to be an opportunistic, double- dealing manipulator, who encourages both Goneril and Regan's affections for him. As the sisters vie for his love, Edmund schemes for his future. He wants to make sure that Albany is killed, either by Goneril or in battle; he will also make certain that Lear is captured and killed. Then by marrying one of the sisters, Edmund plans to make himself King of England. Edgar comes into the scene briefly to hand over to Albany the letter that Goneril has written to Edmund. He does not wait for it to be opened or read. Edgar, quickly departing, will next appear in the final scene of the play as the defender of righteousness.

analysis

Scena Secunda. Alarum within. Enter with Drumme and Colours, Lear, Cordelia, and Souldiers, ouer the Stage, and Exeunt. Enter Edgar, and Gloster. Edg. Heere Father, take the shadow of this Tree For your good hoast: pray that the right may thriue: If euer I returne to you againe, Ile bring you comfort Glo. Grace go with you Sir. Enter. Alarum and Retreat within. Enter Edgar. Edgar. Away old man, giue me thy hand, away: King Lear hath lost, he and his Daughter tane, Giue me thy hand: Come on Glo. No further Sir, a man may rot euen heere Edg. What in ill thoughts againe? Men must endure Their going hence, euen as their comming hither, Ripenesse is all come on Glo. And that's true too. Exeunt.

Edgar leads his father to a safe shelter and asks Gloucester to pray that the British will win. Edgar then leaves to go to battle. Cordelia, after making certain that Lear is safe, leads the French troops, who do not fair well in the fight. Edgar returns to Gloucester and announces that Cordelia's army has lost the battle and that Lear and Cordelia have been taken prisoners. Realizing his father is also in imminent danger, he tries to lead his father away. Gloucester loses hope and sinks into despair, speaking of suicide. Edgar, however, comforts him and finally persuades him to go away.

summary

Scena Secunda. Alarum within. Enter with Drumme and Colours, Lear, Cordelia, and Souldiers, ouer the Stage, and Exeunt. Enter Edgar, and Gloster. Edg. Heere Father, take the shadow of this Tree For your good hoast: pray that the right may thriue: If euer I returne to you againe, Ile bring you comfort Glo. Grace go with you Sir. Enter. Alarum and Retreat within. Enter Edgar. Edgar. Away old man, giue me thy hand, away: King Lear hath lost, he and his Daughter tane, Giue me thy hand: Come on Glo. No further Sir, a man may rot euen heere Edg. What in ill thoughts againe? Men must endure Their going hence, euen as their comming hither, Ripenesse is all come on Glo. And that's true too. Exeunt.

Notes The blind Gloucester plunges into deep despair and again contemplates suicide as the British lose the battle and Lear and Cordelia are taken prisoners. Edgar talks to his father about gaining control over his emotions in the face of adversity and standing strong. He finally convinces his father to come away with him to seek safety.

analysis

Scena Tertia. Enter in conquest with Drum and Colours, Edmund, Lear, and Cordelia, as prisoners, Souldiers, Captaine. Bast. Some Officers take them away: good guard, Vntill their greater pleasures first be knowne That are to censure them Cor. We are not the first, Who with best meaning haue incurr'd the worst: For thee oppressed King I am cast downe, My selfe could else out-frowne false Fortunes frowne. Shall we not see these Daughters, and these Sisters? Lear. No, no, no, no: come let's away to prison, We two alone will sing like Birds i'th' Cage: When thou dost aske me blessing, Ile kneele downe And aske of thee forgiuenesse: So wee'l liue, And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh At gilded Butterflies: and heere (poore Rogues) Talke of Court newes, and wee'l talke with them too, Who looses, and who wins; who's in, who's out; And take vpon's the mystery of things, As if we were Gods spies: And wee'l weare out In a wall'd prison, packs and sects of great ones, That ebbe and flow by th' Moone Bast. Take them away Lear. Vpon such sacrifices my Cordelia, The Gods themselues throw Incense. Haue I caught thee? He that parts vs, shall bring a Brand from Heauen, And fire vs hence, like Foxes: wipe thine eyes, The good yeares shall deuoure them, flesh and fell, Ere they shall make vs weepe? Weele see 'em staru'd first: come. Enter. Bast. Come hither Captaine, hearke. Take thou this note, go follow them to prison, One step I haue aduanc'd thee, if thou do'st As this instructs thee, thou dost make thy way To Noble Fortunes: know thou this, that men Are as the time is; to be tender minded Do's not become a Sword, thy great imployment Will not beare question: either say thou'lt do't, Or thriue by other meanes Capt. Ile do't my Lord Bast. About it, and write happy, when th'hast done, Marke I say instantly, and carry it so As I haue set it downe. Exit Captaine. Flourish. Enter Albany, Gonerill, Regan, Soldiers. Alb. Sir, you haue shew'd to day your valiant straine And Fortune led you well: you haue the Captiues Who were the opposites of this dayes strife: I do require them of you so to vse them, As we shall find their merites, and our safety May equally determine Bast. Sir, I thought it fit, To send the old and miserable King to some retention, Whose age had Charmes in it, whose Title more, To plucke the common bosome on his side, And turne our imprest Launces in our eies Which do command them. With him I sent the Queen: My reason all the same, and they are ready To morrow, or at further space, t' appeare Where you shall hold your Session Alb. Sir, by your patience, I hold you but a subiect of this Warre, Not as a Brother Reg. That's as we list to grace him. Methinkes our pleasure might haue bin demanded Ere you had spoke so farre. He led our Powers, Bore the Commission of my place and person, The which immediacie may well stand vp, And call it selfe your Brother Gon. Not so hot: In his owne grace he doth exalt himselfe, More then in your addition Reg. In my rights, By me inuested, he compeeres the best Alb. That were the most, if he should husband you Reg. Iesters do oft proue Prophets Gon. Hola, hola, That eye that told you so, look'd but a squint Rega. Lady I am not well, else I should answere From a full flowing stomack. Generall, Take thou my Souldiers, prisoners, patrimony, Dispose of them, of me, the walls is thine: Witnesse the world, that I create thee heere My Lord, and Master Gon. Meane you to enioy him? Alb. The let alone lies not in your good will Bast. Nor in thine Lord Alb. Halfe-blooded fellow, yes Reg. Let the Drum strike, and proue my title thine Alb. Stay yet, heare reason: Edmund, I arrest thee On capitall Treason; and in thy arrest, This guilded Serpent: for your claime faire Sisters, I bare it in the interest of my wife, 'Tis she is sub-contracted to this Lord, And I her husband contradict your Banes. If you will marry, make your loues to me, My Lady is bespoke Gon. An enterlude Alb. Thou art armed Gloster, Let the Trumpet sound: If none appeare to proue vpon thy person, Thy heynous, manifest, and many Treasons, There is my pledge: Ile make it on thy heart Ere I taste bread, thou art in nothing lesse Then I haue heere proclaim'd thee Reg. Sicke, O sicke Gon. If not, Ile nere trust medicine Bast. There's my exchange, what in the world hes That names me Traitor, villain-like he lies, Call by the Trumpet: he that dares approach; On him, on you, who not, I will maintaine My truth and honor firmely. Enter a Herald. Alb. A Herald, ho. Trust to thy single vertue, for thy Souldiers All leuied in my name, haue in my name Tooke their discharge Regan. My sicknesse growes vpon me Alb. She is not well, conuey her to my Tent. Come hither Herald, let the Trumpet sound, And read out this. A Trumpet sounds. Herald reads. If any man of qualitie or degree, within the lists of the Army, will maintaine vpon Edmund, supposed Earle of Gloster, that he is a manifold Traitor, let him appeare by the third sound of the Trumpet: he is bold in his defence. 1 Trumpet. Her. Againe. 2 Trumpet. Her. Againe. 3 Trumpet. Trumpet answers within. Enter Edgar armed. Alb. Aske him his purposes, why he appeares Vpon this Call o'th' Trumpet Her. What are you? Your name, your quality, and why you answer This present Summons? Edg. Know my name is lost By Treasons tooth: bare-gnawne, and Canker-bit, Yet am I Noble as the Aduersary I come to cope Alb. Which is that Aduersary? Edg. What's he that speakes for Edmund Earle of Gloster? Bast. Himselfe, what saist thou to him? Edg. Draw thy Sword, That if my speech offend a Noble heart, Thy arme may do thee Iustice, heere is mine: Behold it is my priuiledge, The priuiledge of mine Honours, My oath, and my profession. I protest, Maugre thy strength, place, youth, and eminence, Despise thy victor-Sword, and fire new Fortune, Thy valor, and thy heart, thou art a Traitor: False to thy Gods, thy Brother, and thy Father, Conspirant 'gainst this high illustrious Prince, And from th' extremest vpward of thy head, To the discent and dust below thy foote, A most Toad-spotted Traitor. Say thou no, This Sword, this arme, and my best spirits are bent To proue vpon thy heart, where to I speake, Thou lyest Bast. In wisedome I should aske thy name, But since thy out-side lookes so faire and Warlike, And that thy tongue (some say) of breeding breathes, What safe, and nicely I might well delay, By rule of Knight-hood, I disdaine and spurne: Backe do I tosse these Treasons to thy head, With the hell-hated Lye, ore-whelme thy heart, Which for they yet glance by, and scarcely bruise, This Sword of mine shall giue them instant way, Where they shall rest for euer. Trumpets speake Alb. Saue him, saue him. Alarums. Fights. Gon. This is practise Gloster, By th' law of Warre, thou wast not bound to answer An vnknowne opposite: thou art not vanquish'd, But cozend, and beguild Alb. Shut your mouth Dame, Or with this paper shall I stop it: hold Sir, Thou worse then any name, reade thine owne euill: No tearing Lady, I perceiue you know it Gon. Say if I do, the Lawes are mine not thine, Who can araigne me for't? Enter. Alb. Most monstrous! O, know'st thou this paper? Bast. Aske me not what I know Alb. Go after her, she's desperate, gouerne her Bast. What you haue charg'd me with, That haue I done, And more, much more, the time will bring it out. 'Tis past, and so am I: But what art thou That hast this Fortune on me? If thou'rt Noble, I do forgiue thee Edg. Let's exchange charity: I am no lesse in blood then thou art Edmond, If more, the more th'hast wrong'd me. My name is Edgar and thy Fathers Sonne, The Gods are iust, and of our pleasant vices Make instruments to plague vs: The darke and vitious place where thee he got, Cost him his eyes Bast. Th'hast spoken right, 'tis true, The Wheele is come full circle, I am heere Alb. Me thought thy very gate did prophesie A Royall Noblenesse: I must embrace thee, Let sorrow split my heart, if euer I Did hate thee, or thy Father Edg. Worthy Prince I know't Alb. Where haue you hid your selfe? How haue you knowne the miseries of your Father? Edg. By nursing them my Lord. List a breefe tale, And when 'tis told, O that my heart would burst. The bloody proclamation to escape That follow'd me so neere, (O our liues sweetnesse, That we the paine of death would hourely dye, Rather then die at once) taught me to shift Into a mad-mans rags, t' assume a semblance That very Dogges disdain'd: and in this habit Met I my Father with his bleeding Rings, Their precious Stones new lost: became his guide, Led him, begg'd for him, sau'd him from dispaire. Neuer (O fault) reueal'd my selfe vnto him, Vntill some halfe houre past when I was arm'd, Not sure, though hoping of this good successe, I ask'd his blessing, and from first to last Told him our pilgrimage. But his flaw'd heart (Alacke too weake the conflict to support) Twixt two extremes of passion, ioy and greefe, Burst smilingly Bast. This speech of yours hath mou'd me, And shall perchance do good, but speake you on, You looke as you had something more to say Alb. If there be more, more wofull, hold it in, For I am almost ready to dissolue, Hearing of this. Enter a Gentleman. Gen. Helpe, helpe: O helpe Edg. What kinde of helpe? Alb. Speake man Edg. What meanes this bloody Knife? Gen. 'Tis hot, it smoakes, it came euen from the heart of- O she's dead Alb. Who dead? Speake man Gen. Your Lady Sir, your Lady; and her Sister By her is poyson'd: she confesses it Bast. I was contracted to them both, all three Now marry in an instant Edg. Here comes Kent. Enter Kent. Alb. Produce the bodies, be they aliue or dead; Gonerill and Regans bodies brought out. This iudgement of the Heauens that makes vs tremble. Touches vs not with pitty: O, is this he? The time will not allow the complement Which very manners vrges Kent. I am come To bid my King and Master aye good night. Is he not here? Alb. Great thing of vs forgot, Speake Edmund, where's the King? and where's Cordelia? Seest thou this obiect Kent? Kent. Alacke, why thus? Bast. Yet Edmund was belou'd: The one the other poison'd for my sake, And after slew herselfe Alb. Euen so: couer their faces Bast. I pant for life: some good I meane to do Despight of mine owne Nature. Quickly send, (Be briefe in it) to'th' Castle, for my Writ Is on the life of Lear, and on Cordelia: Nay, send in time Alb. Run, run, O run Edg. To who my Lord? Who ha's the Office? Send thy token of repreeue Bast. Well thought on, take my Sword, Giue it the Captaine Edg. Hast thee for thy life Bast. He hath Commission from thy Wife and me, To hang Cordelia in the prison, and To lay the blame vpon her owne dispaire, That she for-did her selfe Alb. The Gods defend her, beare him hence awhile. Enter Lear with Cordelia in his armes. Lear. Howle, howle, howle: O you are men of stones, Had I your tongues and eyes, Il'd vse them so, That Heauens vault should crack: she's gone for euer. I know when one is dead, and when one liues, She's dead as earth: Lend me a Looking-glasse, If that her breath will mist or staine the stone, Why then she liues Kent. Is this the promis'd end? Edg. Or image of that horror Alb. Fall and cease Lear. This feather stirs, she liues: if it be so, It is a chance which do's redeeme all sorrowes That euer I haue felt Kent. O my good Master Lear. Prythee away Edg. 'Tis Noble Kent your Friend Lear. A plague vpon you Murderors, Traitors all, I might haue sau'd her, now she's gone for euer: Cordelia, Cordelia, stay a little. Ha: What is't thou saist? Her voice was euer soft, Gentle, and low, an excellent thing in woman. I kill'd the Slaue that was a hanging thee Gent. 'Tis true (my Lords) he did Lear. Did I not fellow? I haue seene the day, with my good biting Faulchion I would haue made him skip: I am old now, And these same crosses spoile me. Who are you? Mine eyes are not o'th' best, Ile tell you straight Kent. If Fortune brag of two, she lou'd and hated, One of them we behold Lear. This is a dull sight, are you not Kent? Kent. The same: your Seruant Kent, Where is your Seruant Caius? Lear. He's a good fellow, I can tell you that, He'le strike and quickly too, he's dead and rotten Kent. No my good Lord, I am the very man Lear. Ile see that straight Kent. That from your first of difference and decay, Haue follow'd your sad steps Lear. You are welcome hither Kent. Nor no man else: All's cheerlesse, darke, and deadly, Your eldest Daughters haue fore-done themselues, And desperately are dead Lear. I so I thinke Alb. He knowes not what he saies, and vaine is it That we present vs to him. Enter a Messenger. Edg. Very bootlesse Mess. Edmund is dead my Lord Alb. That's but a trifle heere: You Lords and Noble Friends, know our intent, What comfort to this great decay may come, Shall be appli'd. For vs we will resigne, During the life of this old Maiesty To him our absolute power, you to your rights, With boote, and such addition as your Honours Haue more then merited. All Friends shall Taste the wages of their vertue, and all Foes The cup of their deseruings: O see, see Lear. And my poore Foole is hang'd: no, no, no life? Why should a Dog, a Horse, a Rat haue life, And thou no breath at all? Thou'lt come no more, Neuer, neuer, neuer, neuer, neuer. Pray you vndo this Button. Thanke you Sir, Do you see this? Looke on her? Looke her lips, Looke there, looke there. He dies. Edg. He faints, my Lord, my Lord Kent. Breake heart, I prythee breake Edg. Looke vp my Lord Kent. Vex not his ghost, O let him passe, he hates him, That would vpon the wracke of this tough world Stretch him out longer Edg. He is gon indeed Kent. The wonder is, he hath endur'd so long, He but vsurpt his life Alb. Beare them from hence, our present businesse Is generall woe: Friends of my soule, you twaine, Rule in this Realme, and the gor'd state sustaine Kent. I haue a iourney Sir, shortly to go, My Master calls me, I must not say no Edg. The waight of this sad time we must obey, Speake what we feele, not what we ought to say: The oldest hath borne most, we that are yong, Shall neuer see so much, nor liue so long. Exeunt. with a dead March. FINIS. THE TRAGEDIE OF KING LEAR.

In this final scene, Edmund enters triumphantly, having captured Lear and Cordelia. He plans to have both of them put in prison. Lear, seeming somewhat sane again, realizes the danger that threatens Cordelia and him, but he refuses to be unhappy with Cordelia at his side. She is not concerned about herself, but is grieving for her unfortunate father. Before they are taken away, Edmund orders his Captain to kill both Lear and Cordelia while they are in prison. Albany, Regan, Goneril, and their soldiers return from the battlefield. Albany demands that Edmund release the prisoners. Edmund informs him that they cannot be released, for their freedom would jeopardize the loyalty of the British soldiers. Regan, bickering with Goneril about Edmund, suddenly announces that she will marry him. Albany steps forward and forbids the marriage. He accuses Edmund and Goneril of high treason, arresting them both. Having finally read the letter that Goneril has written, he reveals her plot to murder him with the assistance of Edmund. Regan, horrified at the turn of events, feels ill and is led away. Albany offers to let Edmund fight a duel, allowing him to die with some honor. The trumpet is sounded to call for a champion to come forth and fight Edmund. Albany states that he will enter the duel if no one else rises to the challenge. An unknown opponent, dressed in armor, comes forward to duel with Edmund. In the fight that follows, Edmund is fatally wounded. Goneril, realizing her own pathetic state, runs out. As Edmund is dying, he confesses his treachery and forgives his adversary. Edgar then reveals himself. Albany welcomes Edgar, who informs them of the death of Gloucester. He tells Edmund of how he looked after their father after he was blinded and how Gloucester has died knowing the truth about Edgar's identity. Edgar also praises Kent's loyalty to both Gloucester and Lear, helping them both when they were full of misery and madness. A gentleman enters and announces the deaths of both Goneril and Regan. In her jealousy over Edmund, Goneril poisoned Regan, causing the illness seen earlier in the scene. Goneril then stabs herself, joining her sister in death. Edmund is also dying, gasping for breath. He has admitted that he led a vile life and was unworthy of the love shown him by Regan and Goneril. Kent enters to say that he is taking leave of his King. Albany then remembers that Lear and Cordelia are still prisoners and needs to get them released. In an attempt to do some "last good" before he dies, Edmund states that he has instructed Cordelia to be hanged and wants to rescind the order. He tells an officer to go and stop the killing and hands him his sword to take as proof. As the officer departs to save Cordelia from certain hanging, a grieved Lear staggers in carrying her dead body. The punishment was not stopped in time. The King, obviously shocked and bewildered, lays Cordelia on the ground and kneels beside her. He calls for a mirror, holding out hope that Cordelia's breath will appear on the looking glass. Kent kneels beside Lear, who is totally grief-stricken. He believes that the world is a nightmare, where men and women are barbarians and murderers. After an officer comes in with the news of Edmund's death, Albany begins to plan the future. Wanting goodness to replace evil, he reinstates Lear as King and says that Kent and Edgar will be rewarded for their loyalty. Lear's condition, however, is rapidly deteriorating. His rambling words make no sense, and he thinks that Cordelia is alive again. Then with everyone watching him, Lear simply topples over and dies. The bodies of Lear and Cordelia are taken away. Albany wishes for Kent and Edgar to rule England, but Kent has no interest. He declares that he will soon follow his master, King Lear. The play ends with a brief, logical speech by Edgar, who has been made the new ruler of Britain. It appears that order will finally be returned to the kingdom.

summary

Scena Tertia. Enter in conquest with Drum and Colours, Edmund, Lear, and Cordelia, as prisoners, Souldiers, Captaine. Bast. Some Officers take them away: good guard, Vntill their greater pleasures first be knowne That are to censure them Cor. We are not the first, Who with best meaning haue incurr'd the worst: For thee oppressed King I am cast downe, My selfe could else out-frowne false Fortunes frowne. Shall we not see these Daughters, and these Sisters? Lear. No, no, no, no: come let's away to prison, We two alone will sing like Birds i'th' Cage: When thou dost aske me blessing, Ile kneele downe And aske of thee forgiuenesse: So wee'l liue, And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh At gilded Butterflies: and heere (poore Rogues) Talke of Court newes, and wee'l talke with them too, Who looses, and who wins; who's in, who's out; And take vpon's the mystery of things, As if we were Gods spies: And wee'l weare out In a wall'd prison, packs and sects of great ones, That ebbe and flow by th' Moone Bast. Take them away Lear. Vpon such sacrifices my Cordelia, The Gods themselues throw Incense. Haue I caught thee? He that parts vs, shall bring a Brand from Heauen, And fire vs hence, like Foxes: wipe thine eyes, The good yeares shall deuoure them, flesh and fell, Ere they shall make vs weepe? Weele see 'em staru'd first: come. Enter. Bast. Come hither Captaine, hearke. Take thou this note, go follow them to prison, One step I haue aduanc'd thee, if thou do'st As this instructs thee, thou dost make thy way To Noble Fortunes: know thou this, that men Are as the time is; to be tender minded Do's not become a Sword, thy great imployment Will not beare question: either say thou'lt do't, Or thriue by other meanes Capt. Ile do't my Lord Bast. About it, and write happy, when th'hast done, Marke I say instantly, and carry it so As I haue set it downe. Exit Captaine. Flourish. Enter Albany, Gonerill, Regan, Soldiers. Alb. Sir, you haue shew'd to day your valiant straine And Fortune led you well: you haue the Captiues Who were the opposites of this dayes strife: I do require them of you so to vse them, As we shall find their merites, and our safety May equally determine Bast. Sir, I thought it fit, To send the old and miserable King to some retention, Whose age had Charmes in it, whose Title more, To plucke the common bosome on his side, And turne our imprest Launces in our eies Which do command them. With him I sent the Queen: My reason all the same, and they are ready To morrow, or at further space, t' appeare Where you shall hold your Session Alb. Sir, by your patience, I hold you but a subiect of this Warre, Not as a Brother Reg. That's as we list to grace him. Methinkes our pleasure might haue bin demanded Ere you had spoke so farre. He led our Powers, Bore the Commission of my place and person, The which immediacie may well stand vp, And call it selfe your Brother Gon. Not so hot: In his owne grace he doth exalt himselfe, More then in your addition Reg. In my rights, By me inuested, he compeeres the best Alb. That were the most, if he should husband you Reg. Iesters do oft proue Prophets Gon. Hola, hola, That eye that told you so, look'd but a squint Rega. Lady I am not well, else I should answere From a full flowing stomack. Generall, Take thou my Souldiers, prisoners, patrimony, Dispose of them, of me, the walls is thine: Witnesse the world, that I create thee heere My Lord, and Master Gon. Meane you to enioy him? Alb. The let alone lies not in your good will Bast. Nor in thine Lord Alb. Halfe-blooded fellow, yes Reg. Let the Drum strike, and proue my title thine Alb. Stay yet, heare reason: Edmund, I arrest thee On capitall Treason; and in thy arrest, This guilded Serpent: for your claime faire Sisters, I bare it in the interest of my wife, 'Tis she is sub-contracted to this Lord, And I her husband contradict your Banes. If you will marry, make your loues to me, My Lady is bespoke Gon. An enterlude Alb. Thou art armed Gloster, Let the Trumpet sound: If none appeare to proue vpon thy person, Thy heynous, manifest, and many Treasons, There is my pledge: Ile make it on thy heart Ere I taste bread, thou art in nothing lesse Then I haue heere proclaim'd thee Reg. Sicke, O sicke Gon. If not, Ile nere trust medicine Bast. There's my exchange, what in the world hes That names me Traitor, villain-like he lies, Call by the Trumpet: he that dares approach; On him, on you, who not, I will maintaine My truth and honor firmely. Enter a Herald. Alb. A Herald, ho. Trust to thy single vertue, for thy Souldiers All leuied in my name, haue in my name Tooke their discharge Regan. My sicknesse growes vpon me Alb. She is not well, conuey her to my Tent. Come hither Herald, let the Trumpet sound, And read out this. A Trumpet sounds. Herald reads. If any man of qualitie or degree, within the lists of the Army, will maintaine vpon Edmund, supposed Earle of Gloster, that he is a manifold Traitor, let him appeare by the third sound of the Trumpet: he is bold in his defence. 1 Trumpet. Her. Againe. 2 Trumpet. Her. Againe. 3 Trumpet. Trumpet answers within. Enter Edgar armed. Alb. Aske him his purposes, why he appeares Vpon this Call o'th' Trumpet Her. What are you? Your name, your quality, and why you answer This present Summons? Edg. Know my name is lost By Treasons tooth: bare-gnawne, and Canker-bit, Yet am I Noble as the Aduersary I come to cope Alb. Which is that Aduersary? Edg. What's he that speakes for Edmund Earle of Gloster? Bast. Himselfe, what saist thou to him? Edg. Draw thy Sword, That if my speech offend a Noble heart, Thy arme may do thee Iustice, heere is mine: Behold it is my priuiledge, The priuiledge of mine Honours, My oath, and my profession. I protest, Maugre thy strength, place, youth, and eminence, Despise thy victor-Sword, and fire new Fortune, Thy valor, and thy heart, thou art a Traitor: False to thy Gods, thy Brother, and thy Father, Conspirant 'gainst this high illustrious Prince, And from th' extremest vpward of thy head, To the discent and dust below thy foote, A most Toad-spotted Traitor. Say thou no, This Sword, this arme, and my best spirits are bent To proue vpon thy heart, where to I speake, Thou lyest Bast. In wisedome I should aske thy name, But since thy out-side lookes so faire and Warlike, And that thy tongue (some say) of breeding breathes, What safe, and nicely I might well delay, By rule of Knight-hood, I disdaine and spurne: Backe do I tosse these Treasons to thy head, With the hell-hated Lye, ore-whelme thy heart, Which for they yet glance by, and scarcely bruise, This Sword of mine shall giue them instant way, Where they shall rest for euer. Trumpets speake Alb. Saue him, saue him. Alarums. Fights. Gon. This is practise Gloster, By th' law of Warre, thou wast not bound to answer An vnknowne opposite: thou art not vanquish'd, But cozend, and beguild Alb. Shut your mouth Dame, Or with this paper shall I stop it: hold Sir, Thou worse then any name, reade thine owne euill: No tearing Lady, I perceiue you know it Gon. Say if I do, the Lawes are mine not thine, Who can araigne me for't? Enter. Alb. Most monstrous! O, know'st thou this paper? Bast. Aske me not what I know Alb. Go after her, she's desperate, gouerne her Bast. What you haue charg'd me with, That haue I done, And more, much more, the time will bring it out. 'Tis past, and so am I: But what art thou That hast this Fortune on me? If thou'rt Noble, I do forgiue thee Edg. Let's exchange charity: I am no lesse in blood then thou art Edmond, If more, the more th'hast wrong'd me. My name is Edgar and thy Fathers Sonne, The Gods are iust, and of our pleasant vices Make instruments to plague vs: The darke and vitious place where thee he got, Cost him his eyes Bast. Th'hast spoken right, 'tis true, The Wheele is come full circle, I am heere Alb. Me thought thy very gate did prophesie A Royall Noblenesse: I must embrace thee, Let sorrow split my heart, if euer I Did hate thee, or thy Father Edg. Worthy Prince I know't Alb. Where haue you hid your selfe? How haue you knowne the miseries of your Father? Edg. By nursing them my Lord. List a breefe tale, And when 'tis told, O that my heart would burst. The bloody proclamation to escape That follow'd me so neere, (O our liues sweetnesse, That we the paine of death would hourely dye, Rather then die at once) taught me to shift Into a mad-mans rags, t' assume a semblance That very Dogges disdain'd: and in this habit Met I my Father with his bleeding Rings, Their precious Stones new lost: became his guide, Led him, begg'd for him, sau'd him from dispaire. Neuer (O fault) reueal'd my selfe vnto him, Vntill some halfe houre past when I was arm'd, Not sure, though hoping of this good successe, I ask'd his blessing, and from first to last Told him our pilgrimage. But his flaw'd heart (Alacke too weake the conflict to support) Twixt two extremes of passion, ioy and greefe, Burst smilingly Bast. This speech of yours hath mou'd me, And shall perchance do good, but speake you on, You looke as you had something more to say Alb. If there be more, more wofull, hold it in, For I am almost ready to dissolue, Hearing of this. Enter a Gentleman. Gen. Helpe, helpe: O helpe Edg. What kinde of helpe? Alb. Speake man Edg. What meanes this bloody Knife? Gen. 'Tis hot, it smoakes, it came euen from the heart of- O she's dead Alb. Who dead? Speake man Gen. Your Lady Sir, your Lady; and her Sister By her is poyson'd: she confesses it Bast. I was contracted to them both, all three Now marry in an instant Edg. Here comes Kent. Enter Kent. Alb. Produce the bodies, be they aliue or dead; Gonerill and Regans bodies brought out. This iudgement of the Heauens that makes vs tremble. Touches vs not with pitty: O, is this he? The time will not allow the complement Which very manners vrges Kent. I am come To bid my King and Master aye good night. Is he not here? Alb. Great thing of vs forgot, Speake Edmund, where's the King? and where's Cordelia? Seest thou this obiect Kent? Kent. Alacke, why thus? Bast. Yet Edmund was belou'd: The one the other poison'd for my sake, And after slew herselfe Alb. Euen so: couer their faces Bast. I pant for life: some good I meane to do Despight of mine owne Nature. Quickly send, (Be briefe in it) to'th' Castle, for my Writ Is on the life of Lear, and on Cordelia: Nay, send in time Alb. Run, run, O run Edg. To who my Lord? Who ha's the Office? Send thy token of repreeue Bast. Well thought on, take my Sword, Giue it the Captaine Edg. Hast thee for thy life Bast. He hath Commission from thy Wife and me, To hang Cordelia in the prison, and To lay the blame vpon her owne dispaire, That she for-did her selfe Alb. The Gods defend her, beare him hence awhile. Enter Lear with Cordelia in his armes. Lear. Howle, howle, howle: O you are men of stones, Had I your tongues and eyes, Il'd vse them so, That Heauens vault should crack: she's gone for euer. I know when one is dead, and when one liues, She's dead as earth: Lend me a Looking-glasse, If that her breath will mist or staine the stone, Why then she liues Kent. Is this the promis'd end? Edg. Or image of that horror Alb. Fall and cease Lear. This feather stirs, she liues: if it be so, It is a chance which do's redeeme all sorrowes That euer I haue felt Kent. O my good Master Lear. Prythee away Edg. 'Tis Noble Kent your Friend Lear. A plague vpon you Murderors, Traitors all, I might haue sau'd her, now she's gone for euer: Cordelia, Cordelia, stay a little. Ha: What is't thou saist? Her voice was euer soft, Gentle, and low, an excellent thing in woman. I kill'd the Slaue that was a hanging thee Gent. 'Tis true (my Lords) he did Lear. Did I not fellow? I haue seene the day, with my good biting Faulchion I would haue made him skip: I am old now, And these same crosses spoile me. Who are you? Mine eyes are not o'th' best, Ile tell you straight Kent. If Fortune brag of two, she lou'd and hated, One of them we behold Lear. This is a dull sight, are you not Kent? Kent. The same: your Seruant Kent, Where is your Seruant Caius? Lear. He's a good fellow, I can tell you that, He'le strike and quickly too, he's dead and rotten Kent. No my good Lord, I am the very man Lear. Ile see that straight Kent. That from your first of difference and decay, Haue follow'd your sad steps Lear. You are welcome hither Kent. Nor no man else: All's cheerlesse, darke, and deadly, Your eldest Daughters haue fore-done themselues, And desperately are dead Lear. I so I thinke Alb. He knowes not what he saies, and vaine is it That we present vs to him. Enter a Messenger. Edg. Very bootlesse Mess. Edmund is dead my Lord Alb. That's but a trifle heere: You Lords and Noble Friends, know our intent, What comfort to this great decay may come, Shall be appli'd. For vs we will resigne, During the life of this old Maiesty To him our absolute power, you to your rights, With boote, and such addition as your Honours Haue more then merited. All Friends shall Taste the wages of their vertue, and all Foes The cup of their deseruings: O see, see Lear. And my poore Foole is hang'd: no, no, no life? Why should a Dog, a Horse, a Rat haue life, And thou no breath at all? Thou'lt come no more, Neuer, neuer, neuer, neuer, neuer. Pray you vndo this Button. Thanke you Sir, Do you see this? Looke on her? Looke her lips, Looke there, looke there. He dies. Edg. He faints, my Lord, my Lord Kent. Breake heart, I prythee breake Edg. Looke vp my Lord Kent. Vex not his ghost, O let him passe, he hates him, That would vpon the wracke of this tough world Stretch him out longer Edg. He is gon indeed Kent. The wonder is, he hath endur'd so long, He but vsurpt his life Alb. Beare them from hence, our present businesse Is generall woe: Friends of my soule, you twaine, Rule in this Realme, and the gor'd state sustaine Kent. I haue a iourney Sir, shortly to go, My Master calls me, I must not say no Edg. The waight of this sad time we must obey, Speake what we feele, not what we ought to say: The oldest hath borne most, we that are yong, Shall neuer see so much, nor liue so long. Exeunt. with a dead March. FINIS. THE TRAGEDIE OF KING LEAR.

Notes In this complex final act, all of the threads of the plot and subplot are brought together into a great series of tragic events. First, Gloucester dies, "twixt two extremes of passion, joy and grief." Although blinded, he had at least lived long enough to gain true vision and realize that Edgar was his champion. Lear and Cordelia are captured during battle and brought forth to be imprisoned; amazingly, Lear has found happiness and sanity with his youngest daughter by his side. Cordelia, the symbol of purity in the play, realizes that good deeds are not always rewarded and says of Lear and herself, "We are not the first who with the best meaning have incurr'd the worst. " The worst is symbolized by the evil Edmund, who gives his command that both Lear and Cordelia are to be killed while in prison. Goneril and Regan, symbols of evil, cruelty, and greed, meet their just end. Out of jealousy over Edmund's attention to her sister, Goneril poisons Regan and then stabs herself. Edmund is also undone by Albany, who becomes a symbol of goodness in this last scene. He reveals the plot of Edmund and Goneril to have him killed, so that Edmund can marry Goneril and assume the crown. Albany arrests them both and calls for Edmund to fight a duel. The noble Edgar, another symbol of goodness, steps forward to fight his evil stepbrother and mortally wounds him. As he dies, Edmund, trying to regain one ounce of goodness, reveals that he has ordered Cordelia to be hung. Unfortunately, his warning comes too late. Lear comes in carrying the body of his beloved Cordelia. Shocked out of sanity, he at first refuses to believe that she is really dead and calls for a mirror, sure that he will see her breath on it. When he finds no life in Cordelia's still body, he topples over and dies of grief. The tragic play does, however, end on a small note of hope. Edgar's words foreshadow that there will again be a world restored to its proper order, where respect for elders is honored and evil is quelled.

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