ACT I
SCENE I Chamber in King Leir's palace at Troynovant.
Flourish. Thus to our grief the obsequies performed
Of our too late deceased and dearest queen,
Whose soul I hope, possessed of heavenly joys,
Doth ride in triumph amongst the cherubins;
Let us request your grave advice, my lords,
For the disposing of our princely daughters,
For whom our care is specially employed,
As nature bindeth to advance their states,
In royal marriage with some princely mates:
For wanting now their mother's good advice,
Under whose government they have received
A perfect pattern of a virtuous life:
Left as it were a ship without a stern,
Or silly sheep without a pastor's care:
Although ourselves do dearly tender them,
Yet are we ignorant of their affairs:
For fathers best do know to govern sons;
But daughters' steps the mother's counsel turns.
A son we want for to succeed our crown,
And course of time hath cancelled the date
Of further issue from our withered loins:
One foot already hangeth in the grave,
And age hath made deep furrows in my face:
The world of me, I of the world am weary,
And I would fain resign these earthly cares,
And think upon the welfare of my soul:
Which by no better means may be effected,
Than by resigning up the crown from me,
In equal dowry to my daughters three. A worthy care, my liege, which well declares,
The zeal you bare unto our quondam queen:
And since your grace hath licensed me to speak,
I censure thus; your majesty knowing well,
What several suitors your princely daughters have,
To make them each a jointure more or less,
As is their worth, to them that love profess. No more, nor less, but even all alike,
My zeal is fixed, all fashioned in one mould:
Wherefore unpartial shall my censure be,
Both old and young shall have alike from me. my gracious lord, I heartily do wish,
That god had lent you an heir indubitate,
Which might have set upon your royal throne,
When fates should loose the prison of your life,
By whose succession all this doubt might cease;
And as by you, by him we might have peace.
But after-wishes ever come too late,
And nothing can revoke the course of fate:
Wherefore, my liege, my censure deems it best,
To match them with some of your neighbour kings,
Bordering within the bounds of Albion,
By whose united friendship, this our state
May be protected against all foreign hate. Herein, my lords, your wishes sort with mine,
And mine (i hope) do sort with heavenly powers:
For at this instant two near neighbouring kings
Of Cornwall and of Cambria, motion love
To my two daughters, Gonorill and Ragan.
My youngest daughter, fair Cordella, vows
No liking to a monarch, unless love allows.
She is solicited by divers peers;
But none of them her partial fancy hears.
Yet, if my policy may her beguile,
I will match her to some king within this isle,
And so establish such a perfect peace,
As fortune's force shall never prevail to cease.
Of us and ours, your gracious care, my lord,
Deserves an everlasting memory,
To be enrolled in chronicles of fame,
By never-dying perpetuity:
Yet to become so provident a prince,
Lose not the title of a loving father:
Do not force love, where fancy cannot dwell,
Lest streams being stopped, above the banks do swell. I am resolved, and even now my mind
Doth meditate a sudden strategem,
To try which of my daughters loves me best:
Which till I know, I cannot be in rest.
This granted, when they jointly shall contend,
Each to exceed the other in their love:
Then at the vantage will I take Cordella,
Even as she doth protest she loves me best,
I will say, then, daughter, grant me one request,
To show thou lovest me as thy sisters do,
Accept a husband, whom myself will woo.
Although (poor soul) her senses will be mute:
Then will I triumph in my policy,
And match her with a king of Brittany. I will to them before, and bewray your secrecy.
Peril. Thus fathers think their children to beguile,
And oftentimes themselves do first repent,
When heavenly powers do frustrate their intent. { .}
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| | by William ShakespeareKing lear summary and analysis of act i, act i summary:. Gloucester and Kent, loyal to King Lear , objectively discuss his division of the kingdom (as Lear is preparing to step down) and to which dukes, Cornwall and Albany, they believe it will equally fall. Kent is introduced to Gloucester's illegitimate son, Edmund. Gloucester nonchalantly admits that the boy's breeding has been his charge ever since impregnating another woman soon after his legitimate son, Edgar, was born. Kent is pleased to meet Edmund. Gloucester mentions that Edmund has been nine years in military service and will return shortly. Lear enters and sends Gloucester to find France and Burgundy, Cordelia's suitors. He then begins to discuss the partitioning of Britain he has devised to each of his three daughters and their husbands. Lear decides to ask each of his daughters to express how much they love him before he hands over their piece of the kingdom. As oldest, Goneril speaks first, expressing her love as all encompassing. Regan adds that she is enemy to other joys. Lear gives each their parcel, wishing them well. Cordelia, as the youngest and most liked daughter, is saved the choicest piece of land. However, she responds to her father's request by saying she has nothing to add. She loves only as much as her obligation entitles and will save some of her love for a husband. Lear is enraged and hurt. After giving her a few chances, he strips Cordelia of any title or relation. Kent intercedes on her behalf but he too is estranged by Lear. Kent cries that honesty will continue to be his guide in any kingdom. Cordelia's suitors enter. Lear apprises them of Cordelia's new state of non-inheritance. Burgundy cannot accept her under the circumstances, but France finds her more appealing and takes her as his wife. Cordelia is not unhappy to leave her sisters and leaves with France. Goneril and Regan conspire to take rule away from Lear quickly as he is becoming more unreasonable. The scene centers around Edmund, at first alone on stage, crying out against his position as bastard to the material world. He is envious of Edgar, the legitimate son, and wishes to gain what he has by forging a treasonous letter concerning Gloucester from Edgar. Gloucester enters, amazed at the events which have occurred during the last scene. He wishes to know why Edmund is hiding a letter and demands to see it. He shrewdly acts as if he is embarrassed to show it to Gloucester and continually makes excuses for Edgar's apparent behavior. Gloucester reads the letter detailing "Edgar's" call to Edmund to take their father's land from him. Edmund asks that he not make too quick a judgment before they talk to Edgar as perhaps he is simply testing Edmund. He suggests forming a meeting where Edmund can ask Edgar about his proposals while Gloucester listens in secret. Gloucester agrees, musing on the effects of nature and its predictions. He leaves directly before Edgar enters. Edmund brings up the astronomical predictions he had discussed with Gloucester and alerts Edgar that Gloucester is very upset with him, though he knows not why. Edmund offers to take Edgar back to his lodging until he can bring he and Gloucester together and advises him to go armed. Edgar leaves and Edmund notes that he will soon take his due through wit. Scene iii reintroduces Goneril, as she is outraged by the offenses she contends Lear has been showing her since moving into her residence. He has struck Oswald for criticizing his fool, his knights are riotous and so on, she claims. Lear is out hunting. Goneril commands Oswald to allow her privacy from Lear and to treat Lear with "weary negligence". She does not want him to be happy, hoping that he will move to Regan's where she knows he will face the same contempt. She demands Oswald to treat his knights coldly as well. She leaves to write Regan. Kent enters, disguised and hoping to serve in secret as a servant to Lear so that he can help him though he is condemned. Lear accepts to try him as a servant.Oswald comes in quickly before exiting again curtly. A knight tells Lear that Goneril is not well and that Oswald answered him curtly as well. The knight fears Lear is being treated wrongly. Lear had blamed himself for any coldness but agrees to look into a problem in Goneril's household. Lear's fool has hidden himself since Cordelia's departure so Lear sends the knight for him. Oswald reenters, showing Lear the negligence Goneril had suggested. Lear and Kent strike him, endearing Kent in Lear's eyes. Oswald exits as Fool enters. Fool persistently mocks and ridicules Lear for his actions in scene i, his mistreatment of Cordelia, trust in Goneril and Regan, and giving up of his authority. He calls Lear himself a fool, noting he has given away all other titles. The fool notes that he is punished by Lear if he lies, punished by the household if he speaks the truth, and often punished for staying silent. Goneril harps on the trouble Lear and his retinue are causing, such as the insolence of Fool and the riotous behavior of the knights. She states that he is not showing her the proper respect and consideration by allowing these actions to occur. Lear is incredulous. Goneril continues by adding that as Lear's large, frenzied train cannot be controlled she will have to ask him to keep fewer than his hundred knights. Outraged, Lear admits that Goneril's offense makes Cordelia's seem small. As Albany enters, Lear curses Goneril with infertility or, in its stead, a thankless child. He then finds that his train has already been halved and again rages against the incredible impudence Goneril has shown him. He angrily leaves for Regan's residence. Albany does not approve of Goneril's behavior and is criticized by her for being weak. Goneril sends Oswald with a letter to her sister, detailing her fear that Lear is dangerous and should be curtailed as soon as possible. Impatient, Lear sends the disguised Kent to bring letters to Gloucester. The Fool wisely warns that Regan will likely act no better than her sister had. He criticizes Lear for giving away his own home and place, using examples such as a snail carrying his shell. Lear recognizes he will have to subdue his fatherly instincts toward Regan as well. Fool points out that Lear has gotten old before he is wise. Lear cries out, praying that he will not go mad. Act I Analysis:The kingdom's division as alluded to by Kent and Gloucester is strange in that it is not mentioned in the context of Lear's daughters. The seeming arbitrariness this sheds on Lear's enactment of the love test provides a contrast through which to view the misplaced importance Lear is placing on words, appearance, and position. We will soon learn that Kent and Gloucester are two of the only men who could provide Lear with sound, sincere advice, thus endowing their original take of the situation with a greater significance. They have no problem with Lear's decision to divide the kingdom as he is old and is attempting to escape greater conflict after his death. Thus Kent's revolt against Lear's actions arises not from Lear's initial undertaking but from his reaction to Cordelia. Notice too that he does not protest when Lear asks for an estimation/competition for love from his daughters or when Goneril and Regan respond in very coarse, superficial words. He only strikes against Lear's rule when Lear does not notice the sincerity of Cordelia's words and then moves to strip her of his love and titles. This is not only foolish but hurtful and unjust. The love test was foolish but, on the surface, harmed little. Yet, Goneril and Regan likely knew that their sister would not compete with them if their were extravagant enough in their claims of love toward their father. Of course, they did not love him with their all, but in Lear's old and insecure state, they knew he would fall for their insincerity and Cordelia would refrain from competing on such a hypocritical level. Notice the sonorous quality of the sisters' names. The two oldest have very harsh, coarse sounding names, lacking in femininity or beauty. Cordelia's name is much more melodic and feminine. This is the first constructed quality which sets her apart from her sisters. Also pay attention to the inflated verse Goneril and Regan use when addressing their father as opposed to the much harsher prose they regress to upon his exit in scene i. Their true voices are symbolized by the harsh prose we receive from them when alone, just as their names reverberate with crudeness. Cordelia however often speaks in rhyming couplets, a much more elevated form than her sisters, which allows her to be further set apart from their hypocrisy. We also note that Kent will at times, especially in his defense of Cordelia, slip into rhyming couplets. Shakespeare stresses the elevation of language to symbolize the true nature of characters, highlighting Kent and Cordelia as honorable characters. Cordelia frequently however understates her sincerity and true affections. She is aware that her sisters speak superficially, employing terms of value and worth in expressing their love, and refuses to echo their hypocrisy, thus responding more coldly than she likely otherwise would. Her asides to the audience give an unadulterated view into her thoughts, similar to the true voices of Goneril and Regan we meet at the end of scene i. Her response "Nothing" echoes these asides instead of disguising them and illustrates to the reader how Cordelia as a character is stripped of pretense and artifice. The idea is echoed literally and symbolically in Lear's comment of scene iv, "Nothing can be made out of nothing" (I.iv.126). In the very same scene that Lear admits he has overreacted toward Cordelia, though only at this point acknowledging that Goneril's offense is greater, he perceives that truth and sincerity cannot be represented by pretense. Regardless of how well Lear has been fooled by the artifice of his older daughters, he allows the Fool to counteract his elderly need for praise and love. Not surprisingly in Shakespeare's plays, the Fool is often the least foolish, directing the lead characters to their miscues in slightly comedic or condescending ways. His singing to Lear illustrates further the use of language and the presentation of language which Shakespeare employs to distinguish between different characters' qualities or the different intentions of single characters. King Lear is a parable, encrusted with symbolic figures and actions toward a predicted and fabled end. Suspension of disbelief must be enacted on a level as many readers are moved to question Lear's decision making and early blindness toward truth and goodness. As one critic raises, how would Kent and France recognize Cordelia's sincerity and inner beauty when her own father cannot? On a realistic level, Lear has started to regress toward dementia and old age. We know by Kent and Gloucester's loyalty toward him, that he had once been more reasonable. On the figurative and more appropriate level, Lear is a allegorical figure in a parable and must move blindly toward this character demise in order to be resurrected to honesty and the goodness his fallen daughter represents in the end. He committed a fatal and selfish human error which cannot be mended without the journey and transformation he must undergo. The story of King Lear had been kicked around in old British literature and lore, but Shakespeare appears to be the first to allow it to end as tragically as the story's course first suggests. With this in mind, Lear's life is headed in an almost inevitable downward spiral. The plot centers more around how Lear will handle this spiral and his conquering of artifice and insincerity. Blindness is one of the most frequently employed metaphors in King Lear. Blindness will become a physical problem for Gloucester later in the play, but its metaphoric weight is used to foreshadow and heighten this development. Lear is blind to the blatant hypocrisy of his two oldest daughters from the first moment we meet him. However, unlike the implication that he was once a more noble man since he has the support of seemingly noble subcharacters, Kent and Gloucester, we are not given the impression that he ever knew well enough to previously suspect Goneril or Regan of ingratitude or dishonesty. They have obviously shown their true colors at some point before though since Cordelia responds in such a manner to alert us that she will not sink as low in hypocrisy as her sisters will. For instance, she comments, "A still-soliciting eye, and such a tongue/ That I am glad I have not, though not to have it/ Hath lost me in your liking" (I.i.231-233). Thus, although Lear has obviously favored Cordelia, he has been blind to the inherent ingratitude of his two other daughters and is foolish enough to trust them with his livelihood after more foolishly disinheriting Cordelia and exiling Kent. A good example of this is presented in the very first scene. Lear cries to Kent, "Out of my sight!" to which Kent retorts, "See better, Lear, and let me still remain/ The true blank of thine eye" (I.i.158-159). He wishes to be allowed to remain the one who could center Lear's focus. Yet even when Kent reenters the play disguised, he cannot alter the course that Lear has begun. Lear becomes increasingly blind to the truth around him. Sight, or the lack of it, is referenced a few scenes later more explicitly when Lear himself notices that he has lost sight of what is important, so to say. He cries, "Does any here know me? This is not Lear./ Does Lear walk thus? speak thus? Where are his eyes?" (I.iv.216-217). Kent cannot become his eyes as the tragic plot and subplot move toward blindness and disillusion. The subplot of child betraying sibling and father eerily and intentionally mirrors the plot of children betraying father and father betraying child. Shakespeare's method of juxtaposing the two plots through the interspersing of a scene relating to the plot with a scene centered around Edmund's sinister conspiracy allows the audience to have a heightened awareness of the actions of one through the other. In both, the strong, honorable patriarch is undone by the ingratitude of at least one of his children. Both patriarchs seem to have contributed slightly to the misdeeds of their children. Gloucester directly separates his sons as legitimate and illegitimate and mentions it frequently. He also notes that he sent Edmund away, likely because of his illegitimacy, for a long period of time and plans to do so again. Stripped of property and title, one is less surprised by Edmund's move to undo his destiny. However, Shakespeare creates in the characters of Edgar and Gloucester hearts which seem honorable and trusting, making Edmund's plot to betray them more disgusting. Note that Gloucester immediately believes the letter which Edmund shows him, not at once questioning Edmund's honesty although it would be doubtful that Gloucester had any previous reason to suspect or distrust Edgar. Similarly, Edgar immediately believes Edmund when he tells him he should worry about his safety and his relationship with his father. The audience gains from these interactions that Edmund has done nothing in the past to arouse suspicion. Instead it seems that he has been waiting patiently to upset the familial balance and now hurries to do so when threatened with further military service. But remember, we must also keep in mind that an attempt to make sense out of every encounter and character intention is not the purpose of the play. Instead, we must explore the character flaws and relationship developments as they are entwined within the parable Shakespeare is constructing and expanding. The parable's breadth is exaggerated and amplified by the doubling of themes in the plot and subplot. The demise of the father's position through betrayal by his own children was considered to be one of the cruelest, harshest offenses imaginable. This reflection of plot, for which the seeds are planted in Act I, magnifies the horrors of the tragedy. In this manner, blindness is one of the main symbolic and physical vehicles through which Shakespeare describes the horrors of ingratitude, insincerity, and hypocrisy. Goneril is represented to the audience as one of the most evil participants in the familial crimes taking place. This character description is illustrated through the contrast Shakespeare establishes between her and her husband. Woman as the most evil of characters is not a new experiment for Shakespeare. Shortly before writing King Lear, he created a Lady Macbeth who expressed the need to sacrifice one's own children if necessary to gain more power and who urged her more weakhearted husband to kill the kindhearted King. Though in the end of Macbeth Lady Macbeth is suffering from her evil, she was still the instigator who brought about the continued evils by urging her husband to yearn for more and more power. Here, Goneril also yearns for power but does not feel the need to aim indirectly for it. Albany is basically told to stay out of her way as he is too weak to know what is best. She places more trust in her servant Oswald, it seems, as she sends him off to run her important letter to Regan whereas she pushes Albany off to the side. She manipulates how her sister will act and the manner in which they will strip Lear of his property and authority. The stories she creates of Lear's riotous knights and so on are supported by nothing in Shakespeare's text. The characters in Lear's train who speak to him are well behaved, polite, and honorable. They try to protect him and Lear himself is shown well when he places the blame for Goneril's coldness on himself instead of her and her household. Thus we exit the first Act with the knowledge of Cordelia's goodness, Lear's previous goodness and impending madness, Fool's truth telling, Edmund's plotting, and Goneril's evil. The parable is well in place.  King Lear Questions and AnswersThe Question and Answer section for King Lear is a great resource to ask questions, find answers, and discuss the novel. "Themes of King Lear are skilfully presented through imagery and symbolism" King Lear is rife with animal imagery, as the play is known for interrogating whether mankind is anything "more" than animal after all. Most often, animal imagery appears in the form of savage or carnivorous beasts, usually associated with Goneril... A tragic hero moves the reader to pity,since his misfortune is greater than he deserves,and also creates fear,since his tragedy might easily befall one of us.To what extent does Lear fit the definition of a tragic hero? Check this out: http://bailieborocslibrary.weebly.com/blog/lear-develops-more-as-a-tragic-hero-than-gloucester-discuss Edmund's "Up With Bastards" soliloquy in King Lear The repetition makes Edmund sound harsh and angry. Study Guide for King LearKing Lear study guide contains a biography of William Shakespeare, literature essays, a complete e-text, quiz questions, major themes, characters, and a full summary and analysis. - About King Lear
- King Lear Summary
- King Lear Video
- Character List
Essays for King LearKing Lear literature essays are academic essays for citation. These papers were written primarily by students and provide critical analysis of King Lear. - The Heroines of Crime and Punishment, King Lear, and To the Lighthouse
- Folly of the Fool
- Sight and Consciousness: An Interpretive Study in King Lear
- An Examination of the Inverse Tropes of Sight and Blindness in King Lear
- Gender, Power, and Economics in King Lear
Lesson Plan for King Lear- About the Author
- Study Objectives
- Common Core Standards
- Introduction to King Lear
- Relationship to Other Books
- Bringing in Technology
- Notes to the Teacher
- Related Links
- King Lear Bibliography
E-Text of King LearKing Lear E-Text contains the full text of King Lear Wikipedia Entries for King Lear- Introduction
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  King Lear Original Text: Act 1, Scene 1This page contains the original text of Act 1, Scene 1 of King Lear . Shakespeare’s original King Lear text is extremely long, so we’ve split the text into one Scene per page. All Acts and Scenes are listed and linked to from the bottom of this page, along with a simple, modern English translation of King Lear .  ACT 1. SCENE 1. King Lear’s palace.Enter KENT, GLOUCESTER, and EDMUND I thought the king had more affected the Duke of Albany than Cornwall. It did always seem so to us: but now, in the division of the kingdom, it appears not which of the dukes he values most; for equalities are so weighed, that curiosity in neither can make choice of either’s moiety. Is not this your son, my lord? His breeding, sir, hath been at my charge: I have so often blushed to acknowledge him, that now I am brazed to it. I cannot conceive you. Sir, this young fellow’s mother could: whereupon she grew round-wombed, and had, indeed, sir, a son for her cradle ere she had a husband for her bed. Do you smell a fault? I cannot wish the fault undone, the issue of it being so proper. But I have, sir, a son by order of law, some year elder than this, who yet is no dearer in my account: though this knave came something saucily into the world before he was sent for, yet was his mother fair; there was good sport at his making, and the whoreson must be acknowledged. Do you know this noble gentleman, Edmund? No, my lord. My lord of Kent: remember him hereafter as my honourable friend. My services to your lordship. I must love you, and sue to know you better. Sir, I shall study deserving. He hath been out nine years, and away he shall again. The king is coming. Sennet. Enter KING LEAR, CORNWALL, ALBANY, GONERIL, REGAN, CORDELIA, and Attendants Attend the lords of France and Burgundy, Gloucester. I shall, my liege. Exeunt GLOUCESTER and EDMUND Meantime we shall express our darker purpose. Give me the map there. Know that we have divided In three our kingdom: and ’tis our fast intent To shake all cares and business from our age; Conferring them on younger strengths, while we Unburthen’d crawl toward death. Our son of Cornwall, And you, our no less loving son of Albany, We have this hour a constant will to publish Our daughters’ several dowers, that future strife May be prevented now. The princes, France and Burgundy, Great rivals in our youngest daughter’s love, Long in our court have made their amorous sojourn, And here are to be answer’d. Tell me, my daughters,– Since now we will divest us both of rule, Interest of territory, cares of state,– Which of you shall we say doth love us most? That we our largest bounty may extend Where nature doth with merit challenge. Goneril, Our eldest-born, speak first. Sir, I love you more than words can wield the matter; Dearer than eye-sight, space, and liberty; Beyond what can be valued, rich or rare; No less than life, with grace, health, beauty, honour; As much as child e’er loved, or father found; A love that makes breath poor, and speech unable; Beyond all manner of so much I love you. [Aside] What shall Cordelia do? Love, and be silent. Of all these bounds, even from this line to this, With shadowy forests and with champains rich’d, With plenteous rivers and wide-skirted meads, We make thee lady: to thine and Albany’s issue Be this perpetual. What says our second daughter, Our dearest Regan, wife to Cornwall? Speak. Sir, I am made Of the self-same metal that my sister is, And prize me at her worth. In my true heart I find she names my very deed of love; Only she comes too short: that I profess Myself an enemy to all other joys, Which the most precious square of sense possesses; And find I am alone felicitate In your dear highness’ love. [Aside] Then poor Cordelia! And yet not so; since, I am sure, my love’s More richer than my tongue. To thee and thine hereditary ever Remain this ample third of our fair kingdom; No less in space, validity, and pleasure, Than that conferr’d on Goneril. Now, our joy, Although the last, not least; to whose young love The vines of France and milk of Burgundy Strive to be interess’d; what can you say to draw A third more opulent than your sisters? Speak. Nothing, my lord. Nothing will come of nothing: speak again. Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave My heart into my mouth: I love your majesty According to my bond; nor more nor less. How, how, Cordelia! mend your speech a little, Lest it may mar your fortunes. Good my lord, You have begot me, bred me, loved me: I Return those duties back as are right fit, Obey you, love you, and most honour you. Why have my sisters husbands, if they say They love you all? Haply, when I shall wed, That lord whose hand must take my plight shall carry Half my love with him, half my care and duty: Sure, I shall never marry like my sisters, To love my father all. But goes thy heart with this? Ay, good my lord. So young, and so untender? So young, my lord, and true. Let it be so; thy truth, then, be thy dower: For, by the sacred radiance of the sun, The mysteries of Hecate, and the night; By all the operation of the orbs From whom we do exist, and cease to be; Here I disclaim all my paternal care, Propinquity and property of blood, And as a stranger to my heart and me Hold thee, from this, for ever. The barbarous Scythian, Or he that makes his generation messes To gorge his appetite, shall to my bosom Be as well neighbour’d, pitied, and relieved, As thou my sometime daughter. Good my liege,– Peace, Kent! Come not between the dragon and his wrath. I loved her most, and thought to set my rest On her kind nursery. Hence, and avoid my sight! So be my grave my peace, as here I give Her father’s heart from her! Call France; who stirs? Call Burgundy. Cornwall and Albany, With my two daughters’ dowers digest this third: Let pride, which she calls plainness, marry her. I do invest you jointly with my power, Pre-eminence, and all the large effects That troop with majesty. Ourself, by monthly course, With reservation of an hundred knights, By you to be sustain’d, shall our abode Make with you by due turns. Only we still retain The name, and all the additions to a king; The sway, revenue, execution of the rest, Beloved sons, be yours: which to confirm, This coronet part betwixt you. Giving the crown Royal Lear, Whom I have ever honour’d as my king, Loved as my father, as my master follow’d, As my great patron thought on in my prayers,– The bow is bent and drawn, make from the shaft. Let it fall rather, though the fork invade The region of my heart: be Kent unmannerly, When Lear is mad. What wilt thou do, old man? Think’st thou that duty shall have dread to speak, When power to flattery bows? To plainness honour’s bound, When majesty stoops to folly. Reverse thy doom; And, in thy best consideration, cheque This hideous rashness: answer my life my judgment, Thy youngest daughter does not love thee least; Nor are those empty-hearted whose low sound Reverbs no hollowness. Kent, on thy life, no more. My life I never held but as a pawn To wage against thy enemies; nor fear to lose it, Thy safety being the motive. Out of my sight! See better, Lear; and let me still remain The true blank of thine eye. Now, by Apollo,– Now, by Apollo, king, Thou swear’st thy gods in vain. O, vassal! miscreant! Laying his hand on his sword ALBANY CORNWALL Dear sir, forbear. Do: Kill thy physician, and the fee bestow Upon thy foul disease. Revoke thy doom; Or, whilst I can vent clamour from my throat, I’ll tell thee thou dost evil. Hear me, recreant! On thine allegiance, hear me! Since thou hast sought to make us break our vow, Which we durst never yet, and with strain’d pride To come between our sentence and our power, Which nor our nature nor our place can bear, Our potency made good, take thy reward. Five days we do allot thee, for provision To shield thee from diseases of the world; And on the sixth to turn thy hated back Upon our kingdom: if, on the tenth day following, Thy banish’d trunk be found in our dominions, The moment is thy death. Away! by Jupiter, This shall not be revoked. Fare thee well, king: sith thus thou wilt appear, Freedom lives hence, and banishment is here. To CORDELIA The gods to their dear shelter take thee, maid, That justly think’st, and hast most rightly said! To REGAN and GONERIL And your large speeches may your deeds approve, That good effects may spring from words of love. Thus Kent, O princes, bids you all adieu; He’ll shape his old course in a country new. Flourish. Re-enter GLOUCESTER, with KING OF FRANCE, BURGUNDY, and Attendants Here’s France and Burgundy, my noble lord. My lord of Burgundy. We first address towards you, who with this king Hath rivall’d for our daughter: what, in the least, Will you require in present dower with her, Or cease your quest of love? Most royal majesty, I crave no more than what your highness offer’d, Nor will you tender less. Right noble Burgundy, When she was dear to us, we did hold her so; But now her price is fall’n. Sir, there she stands: If aught within that little seeming substance, Or all of it, with our displeasure pieced, And nothing more, may fitly like your grace, She’s there, and she is yours. I know no answer. Will you, with those infirmities she owes, Unfriended, new-adopted to our hate, Dower’d with our curse, and stranger’d with our oath, Take her, or leave her? Pardon me, royal sir; Election makes not up on such conditions. Then leave her, sir; for, by the power that made me, I tell you all her wealth. To KING OF FRANCE For you, great king, I would not from your love make such a stray, To match you where I hate; therefore beseech you To avert your liking a more worthier way Than on a wretch whom nature is ashamed Almost to acknowledge hers. KING OF FRANCE This is most strange, That she, that even but now was your best object, The argument of your praise, balm of your age, Most best, most dearest, should in this trice of time Commit a thing so monstrous, to dismantle So many folds of favour. Sure, her offence Must be of such unnatural degree, That monsters it, or your fore-vouch’d affection Fall’n into taint: which to believe of her, Must be a faith that reason without miracle Could never plant in me. I yet beseech your majesty,– If for I want that glib and oily art, To speak and purpose not; since what I well intend, I’ll do’t before I speak,–that you make known It is no vicious blot, murder, or foulness, No unchaste action, or dishonour’d step, That hath deprived me of your grace and favour; But even for want of that for which I am richer, A still-soliciting eye, and such a tongue As I am glad I have not, though not to have it Hath lost me in your liking. Better thou Hadst not been born than not to have pleased me better. Is it but this,–a tardiness in nature Which often leaves the history unspoke That it intends to do? My lord of Burgundy, What say you to the lady? Love’s not love When it is mingled with regards that stand Aloof from the entire point. Will you have her? She is herself a dowry. Royal Lear, Give but that portion which yourself proposed, And here I take Cordelia by the hand, Duchess of Burgundy. Nothing: I have sworn; I am firm. I am sorry, then, you have so lost a father That you must lose a husband. Peace be with Burgundy! Since that respects of fortune are his love, I shall not be his wife. Fairest Cordelia, that art most rich, being poor; Most choice, forsaken; and most loved, despised! Thee and thy virtues here I seize upon: Be it lawful I take up what’s cast away. Gods, gods! ’tis strange that from their cold’st neglect My love should kindle to inflamed respect. Thy dowerless daughter, king, thrown to my chance, Is queen of us, of ours, and our fair France: Not all the dukes of waterish Burgundy Can buy this unprized precious maid of me. Bid them farewell, Cordelia, though unkind: Thou losest here, a better where to find. Thou hast her, France: let her be thine; for we Have no such daughter, nor shall ever see That face of hers again. Therefore be gone Without our grace, our love, our benison. Come, noble Burgundy. Flourish. Exeunt all but KING OF FRANCE, GONERIL, REGAN, and CORDELIA Bid farewell to your sisters. The jewels of our father, with wash’d eyes Cordelia leaves you: I know you what you are; And like a sister am most loath to call Your faults as they are named. Use well our father: To your professed bosoms I commit him But yet, alas, stood I within his grace, I would prefer him to a better place. So, farewell to you both. Prescribe not us our duties. Let your study Be to content your lord, who hath received you At fortune’s alms. You have obedience scanted, And well are worth the want that you have wanted. Time shall unfold what plaited cunning hides: Who cover faults, at last shame them derides. Well may you prosper! Come, my fair Cordelia. Exeunt KING OF FRANCE and CORDELIA Sister, it is not a little I have to say of what most nearly appertains to us both. I think our father will hence to-night. That’s most certain, and with you; next month with us. You see how full of changes his age is; the observation we have made of it hath not been little: he always loved our sister most; and with what poor judgment he hath now cast her off appears too grossly. ‘Tis the infirmity of his age: yet he hath ever but slenderly known himself. The best and soundest of his time hath been but rash; then must we look to receive from his age, not alone the imperfections of long-engraffed condition, but therewithal the unruly waywardness that infirm and choleric years bring with them. Such unconstant starts are we like to have from him as this of Kent’s banishment. There is further compliment of leavetaking between France and him. Pray you, let’s hit together: if our father carry authority with such dispositions as he bears, this last surrender of his will but offend us. We shall further think on’t. We must do something, and i’ the heat. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Read more scenes from King Lear: | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | A guide to Shakespeare’s stage directions Read all of Shakespeare’s plays translated to modern English >> Leave a ReplyLeave a reply cancel reply. Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked * Save my name, email, and website in this browser for the next time I comment.  The Tragedy of King Lear King Lear’s Palace. The Earl of Gloucester’s Castle. The Duke of Albany’s Palace. The Duke of Albany’s Palace. Court before the Duke of Albany’s Palace. Enter Lear, Kent, and Fool. | • To print this text, click here • To save this text, go to your browser's File menu, then select Save As | | | Act I, Scene 1 King Lear’s Palace. | | | Enter Kent, Gloucester, and Edmund. [Kent and Gloucester converse. Edmund stands back.] I thought the King had more affected the Duke of Albany than
Cornwall. It did always seem so to us; but now, in the division of the
kingdom, it appears not which of the Dukes he values most, for 5
equalities are so weigh'd that curiosity in neither can make
choice of either's moiety. Is not this your son, my lord? His breeding, sir, hath been at my charge. I have so often
blush'd to acknowledge him that now I am braz'd to't. 10 I cannot conceive you. Sir, this young fellow's mother could; whereupon she grew
round-womb'd, and had indeed, sir, a son for her cradle ere she
had a husband for her bed. Do you smell a fault? I cannot wish the fault undone, the issue of it being so 15
proper. But I have, sir, a son by order of law, some year elder than
this, who yet is no dearer in my account. Though this knave came
something saucily into the world before he was sent for, yet was
his mother fair, there was good sport at his making, and the 20
whoreson must be acknowledged.- Do you know this noble gentleman,
Edmund? No, my lord. My Lord of Kent. Remember him hereafter as my honourable
friend. 25 My services to your lordship. I must love you, and sue to know you better. Sir, I shall study deserving. He hath been out nine years, and away he shall again.
30
The King is coming. Enter one bearing a coronet; then Lear; then the Dukes of Albany and Cornwall; next, Goneril, Regan, Cordelia, with Followers. Attend the lords of France and Burgundy, Gloucester. I shall, my liege. Exeunt [Gloucester and Edmund]. Meantime we shall express our darker purpose.
Give me the map there. Know we have divided
In three our kingdom; and 'tis our fast intent
To shake all cares and business from our age,
Conferring them on younger strengths while we 40
Unburthen'd crawl toward death. Our son of Cornwall,
And you, our no less loving son of Albany,
We have this hour a constant will to publish
Our daughters' several dowers, that future strife
May be prevented now. The princes, France and Burgundy, 45
Great rivals in our youngest daughter's love,
Long in our court have made their amorous sojourn,
And here are to be answer'd. Tell me, my daughters
(Since now we will divest us both of rule,
Interest of territory, cares of state), 50
Which of you shall we say doth love us most?
That we our largest bounty may extend
Where nature doth with merit challenge. Goneril,
Our eldest-born, speak first. Sir, I love you more than words can wield the matter; 55
Dearer than eyesight, space, and liberty;
Beyond what can be valued, rich or rare;
No less than life, with grace, health, beauty, honour;
As much as child e'er lov'd, or father found;
A love that makes breath poor, and speech unable. 60
Beyond all manner of so much I love you. What shall Cordelia speak? Love, and be silent. Of all these bounds, even from this line to this,
With shadowy forests and with champains rich'd,
With plenteous rivers and wide-skirted meads, 65
We make thee lady. To thine and Albany's issue
Be this perpetual.- What says our second daughter,
Our dearest Regan, wife to Cornwall? Speak. Sir, I am made
Of the selfsame metal that my sister is, 70
And prize me at her worth. In my true heart
I find she names my very deed of love;
Only she comes too short, that I profess
Myself an enemy to all other joys
Which the most precious square of sense possesses, 75
And find I am alone felicitate
In your dear Highness' love. Then poor Cordelia!
And yet not so; since I am sure my love's
More richer than my tongue. 80 To thee and thine hereditary ever
Remain this ample third of our fair kingdom,
No less in space, validity, and pleasure
Than that conferr'd on Goneril.- Now, our joy,
Although the last, not least; to whose young love 85
The vines of France and milk of Burgundy
Strive to be interest; what can you say to draw
A third more opulent than your sisters? Speak. Nothing, my lord. Nothing? 90 Nothing. Nothing can come of nothing. Speak again. Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave
My heart into my mouth. I love your Majesty
According to my bond; no more nor less. 95 How, how, Cordelia? Mend your speech a little,
Lest it may mar your fortunes. Good my lord,
You have begot me, bred me, lov'd me; I
Return those duties back as are right fit, 100
Obey you, love you, and most honour you.
Why have my sisters husbands, if they say
They love you all? Haply, when I shall wed,
That lord whose hand must take my plight shall carry
Half my love with him, half my care and duty. 105
Sure I shall never marry like my sisters,
To love my father all. But goes thy heart with this? Ay, good my lord. So young, and so untender? 110 So young, my lord, and true. Let it be so! thy truth then be thy dower!
For, by the sacred radiance of the sun,
The mysteries of Hecate and the night;
By all the operation of the orbs 115
From whom we do exist and cease to be;
Here I disclaim all my paternal care,
Propinquity and property of blood,
And as a stranger to my heart and me
Hold thee from this for ever. The barbarous Scythian, 120
Or he that makes his generation messes
To gorge his appetite, shall to my bosom
Be as well neighbour'd, pitied, and reliev'd,
As thou my sometime daughter. Good my liege- 125 Peace, Kent!
Come not between the dragon and his wrath.
I lov'd her most, and thought to set my rest
On her kind nursery.- Hence and avoid my sight!-
So be my grave my peace as here I give 130
Her father's heart from her! Call France! Who stirs?
Call Burgundy! Cornwall and Albany,
With my two daughters' dowers digest this third;
Let pride, which she calls plainness, marry her.
I do invest you jointly in my power, 135
Preeminence, and all the large effects
That troop with majesty. Ourself, by monthly course,
With reservation of an hundred knights,
By you to be sustain'd, shall our abode
Make with you by due turns. Only we still retain 140
The name, and all th' additions to a king. The sway,
Revenue, execution of the rest,
Beloved sons, be yours; which to confirm,
This coronet part betwixt you. Royal Lear, 145
Whom I have ever honour'd as my king,
Lov'd as my father, as my master follow'd,
As my great patron thought on in my prayers- The bow is bent and drawn; make from the shaft. Let it fall rather, though the fork invade 150
The region of my heart! Be Kent unmannerly
When Lear is mad. What wouldst thou do, old man?
Think'st thou that duty shall have dread to speak
When power to flattery bows? To plainness honour's bound
When majesty falls to folly. Reverse thy doom; 155
And in thy best consideration check
This hideous rashness. Answer my life my judgment,
Thy youngest daughter does not love thee least,
Nor are those empty-hearted whose low sound
Reverbs no hollowness. 160 Kent, on thy life, no more! My life I never held but as a pawn
To wage against thine enemies; nor fear to lose it,
Thy safety being the motive. Out of my sight! 165 See better, Lear, and let me still remain
The true blank of thine eye. Now by Apollo- Now by Apollo, King,
Thou swear'st thy gods in vain. 170 O vassal! miscreant! Dear sir, forbear! Do!
Kill thy physician, and the fee bestow
Upon the foul disease. Revoke thy gift, 175
Or, whilst I can vent clamour from my throat,
I'll tell thee thou dost evil. Hear me, recreant!
On thine allegiance, hear me!
Since thou hast sought to make us break our vow- 180
Which we durst never yet- and with strain'd pride
To come between our sentence and our power,-
Which nor our nature nor our place can bear,-
Our potency made good, take thy reward.
Five days we do allot thee for provision 185
To shield thee from diseases of the world,
And on the sixth to turn thy hated back
Upon our kingdom. If, on the tenth day following,
Thy banish'd trunk be found in our dominions,
The moment is thy death. Away! By Jupiter, 190
This shall not be revok'd. Fare thee well, King. Since thus thou wilt appear,
Freedom lives hence, and banishment is here.
The gods to their dear shelter take thee, maid,
That justly think'st and hast most rightly said! 195
And your large speeches may your deeds
approve,
That good effects may spring from words of love.
Thus Kent, O princes, bids you all adieu;
He'll shape his old course in a country new. Exit. 200 Flourish. Enter Gloucester, with France and Burgundy; Attendants. Here's France and Burgundy, my noble lord. My Lord of Burgundy,
We first address toward you, who with this king
Hath rivall'd for our daughter. What in the least 205
Will you require in present dower with her,
Or cease your quest of love? Most royal Majesty,
I crave no more than hath your Highness offer'd,
Nor will you tender less. 210 Right noble Burgundy,
When she was dear to us, we did hold her so;
But now her price is fall'n. Sir, there she stands.
If aught within that little seeming substance,
Or all of it, with our displeasure piec'd, 215
And nothing more, may fitly like your Grace,
She's there, and she is yours. I know no answer. Will you, with those infirmities she owes,
Unfriended, new adopted to our hate, 220
Dow'r'd with our curse, and stranger'd with our oath,
Take her, or leave her? Pardon me, royal sir.
Election makes not up on such conditions. Then leave her, sir; for, by the pow'r that made me, 225
I tell you all her wealth. For you, great King,
I would not from your love make such a stray
To match you where I hate; therefore beseech you
T' avert your liking a more worthier way
Than on a wretch whom nature is asham'd 230
Almost t' acknowledge hers. This is most strange,
That she that even but now was your best object,
The argument of your praise, balm of your age,
Most best, most dearest, should in this trice of time 235
Commit a thing so monstrous to dismantle
So many folds of favour. Sure her offence
Must be of such unnatural degree
That monsters it, or your fore-vouch'd affection
Fall'n into taint; which to believe of her 240
Must be a faith that reason without miracle
Should never plant in me. I yet beseech your Majesty,
If for I want that glib and oily art
To speak and purpose not, since what I well intend, 245
I'll do't before I speak- that you make known
It is no vicious blot, murther, or foulness,
No unchaste action or dishonoured step,
That hath depriv'd me of your grace and favour;
But even for want of that for which I am richer- 250
A still-soliciting eye, and such a tongue
As I am glad I have not, though not to have it
Hath lost me in your liking. Better thou
Hadst not been born than not t' have pleas'd me better. 255 Is it but this- a tardiness in nature
Which often leaves the history unspoke
That it intends to do? My Lord of Burgundy,
What say you to the lady? Love's not love
When it is mingled with regards that stands 260
Aloof from th' entire point. Will you have her?
She is herself a dowry. Royal Lear,
Give but that portion which yourself propos'd,
And here I take Cordelia by the hand, 265
Duchess of Burgundy. Nothing! I have sworn; I am firm. I am sorry then you have so lost a father
That you must lose a husband. Peace be with Burgundy! 270
Since that respects of fortune are his love,
I shall not be his wife. Fairest Cordelia, that art most rich, being poor;
Most choice, forsaken; and most lov'd, despis'd!
Thee and thy virtues here I seize upon. 275
Be it lawful I take up what's cast away.
Gods, gods! 'tis strange that from their cold'st neglect
My love should kindle to inflam'd respect.
Thy dow'rless daughter, King, thrown to my chance,
Is queen of us, of ours, and our fair France. 280
Not all the dukes in wat'rish Burgundy
Can buy this unpriz'd precious maid of me.
Bid them farewell, Cordelia, though unkind.
Thou losest here, a better where to find. Thou hast her, France; let her be thine; for we 285
Have no such daughter, nor shall ever see
That face of hers again. Therefore be gone
Without our grace, our love, our benison.
Come, noble Burgundy. Flourish. Exeunt Lear, Burgundy, [Cornwall, Albany, Gloucester, and Attendants]. Bid farewell to your sisters. The jewels of our father, with wash'd eyes
Cordelia leaves you. I know you what you are;
And, like a sister, am most loath to call
Your faults as they are nam'd. Use well our father. 295
To your professed bosoms I commit him;
But yet, alas, stood I within his grace,
I would prefer him to a better place!
So farewell to you both. Prescribe not us our duties. 300 Let your study
Be to content your lord, who hath receiv'd you
At fortune's alms. You have obedience scanted,
And well are worth the want that you have wanted. Time shall unfold what plighted cunning hides. 305
Who cover faults, at last shame them derides.
Well may you prosper! Come, my fair Cordelia. Exeunt France and Cordelia. Sister, it is not little I have to say of what most nearly 310
appertains to us both. I think our father will hence to-night. That's most certain, and with you; next month with us. You see how full of changes his age is. The observation we
have made of it hath not been little. He always lov'd our
sister most, and with what poor judgment he hath now cast her 315
off appears too grossly. 'Tis the infirmity of his age; yet he hath ever but slenderly
known himself. The best and soundest of his time hath been but rash; then
must we look to receive from his age, not alone the 320
imperfections of long-ingraffed condition, but therewithal
the unruly waywardness that infirm and choleric years bring with
them. Such unconstant starts are we like to have from him as this
of Kent's banishment. 325 There is further compliment of leave-taking between France and
him. Pray you let's hit together. If our father carry authority
with such dispositions as he bears, this last surrender of his
will but offend us. We shall further think on't. 330 We must do something, and i' th' heat. Exeunt. | | | | Act I, Scene 2 The Earl of Gloucester’s Castle. | | | Enter [Edmund the] Bastard solus, [with a letter]. Thou, Nature, art my goddess; to thy law
My services are bound. Wherefore should I 335
Stand in the plague of custom, and permit
The curiosity of nations to deprive me,
For that I am some twelve or fourteen moonshines
Lag of a brother? Why bastard? wherefore base?
When my dimensions are as well compact, 340
My mind as generous, and my shape as true,
As honest madam's issue? Why brand they us
With base? with baseness? bastardy? base, base?
Who, in the lusty stealth of nature, take
More composition and fierce quality 345
Than doth, within a dull, stale, tired bed,
Go to th' creating a whole tribe of fops
Got 'tween asleep and wake? Well then,
Legitimate Edgar, I must have your land.
Our father's love is to the bastard Edmund 350
As to th' legitimate. Fine word- 'legitimate'!
Well, my legitimate, if this letter speed,
And my invention thrive, Edmund the base
Shall top th' legitimate. I grow; I prosper.
Now, gods, stand up for bastards! 355 Enter Gloucester. Kent banish'd thus? and France in choler parted?
And the King gone to-night? subscrib'd his pow'r?
Confin'd to exhibition? All this done
Upon the gad? Edmund, how now? What news? 360 So please your lordship, none. [Puts up the letter.] Why so earnestly seek you to put up that letter? I know no news, my lord. What paper were you reading? 365 Nothing, my lord. No? What needed then that terrible dispatch of it into your
pocket? The quality of nothing hath not such need to hide
itself. Let's see. Come, if it be nothing, I shall not need
spectacles. 370 I beseech you, sir, pardon me. It is a letter from my brother
that I have not all o'er-read; and for so much as I have
perus'd, I find it not fit for your o'erlooking. Give me the letter, sir. I shall offend, either to detain or give it. The contents, as 375
in part I understand them, are to blame. Let's see, let's see! I hope, for my brother's justification, he wrote this but as
an essay or taste of my virtue. 'This policy and reverence of age makes the world 380
bitter to the best of our times; keeps our fortunes from us
till our oldness cannot relish them. I begin to find an idle
and fond bondage in the oppression of aged tyranny, who sways,
not as it hath power, but as it is suffer'd. Come to me, that
of this I may speak more. If our father would sleep till I 385
wak'd him, you should enjoy half his revenue for ever, and live
the beloved of your brother,
'EDGAR.'
Hum! Conspiracy? 'Sleep till I wak'd him, you should enjoy half
his revenue.' My son Edgar! Had he a hand to write this? a heart 390
and brain to breed it in? When came this to you? Who brought it? It was not brought me, my lord: there's the cunning of it. I
found it thrown in at the casement of my closet. You know the character to be your brother's? If the matter were good, my lord, I durst swear it were his; 395
but in respect of that, I would fain think it were not. It is his. It is his hand, my lord; but I hope his heart is not in the
contents. Hath he never before sounded you in this business? 400 Never, my lord. But I have heard him oft maintain it to be fit
that, sons at perfect age, and fathers declining, the father
should be as ward to the son, and the son manage his revenue. O villain, villain! His very opinion in the letter! Abhorred
villain! Unnatural, detested, brutish villain! worse than 405
brutish! Go, sirrah, seek him. I'll apprehend him. Abominable
villain! Where is he? I do not well know, my lord. If it shall please you to suspend
your indignation against my brother till you can derive from him
better testimony of his intent, you should run a certain course; 410
where, if you violently proceed against him, mistaking his
purpose, it would make a great gap in your own honour and shake
in pieces the heart of his obedience. I dare pawn down my life
for him that he hath writ this to feel my affection to your
honour, and to no other pretence of danger. 415 Think you so? If your honour judge it meet, I will place you where you shall
hear us confer of this and by an auricular assurance have your
satisfaction, and that without any further delay than this very
evening. 420 He cannot be such a monster. Nor is not, sure. To his father, that so tenderly and entirely loves him.
Heaven and earth! Edmund, seek him out; wind me into him, I pray
you; frame the business after your own wisdom. I would unstate 425
myself to be in a due resolution. I will seek him, sir, presently; convey the business as I
shall find means, and acquaint you withal. These late eclipses in the sun and moon portend no good to
us. Though the wisdom of nature can reason it thus and thus, yet 430
nature finds itself scourg'd by the sequent effects. Love cools,
friendship falls off, brothers divide. In cities, mutinies; in
countries, discord; in palaces, treason; and the bond crack'd
'twixt son and father. This villain of mine comes under the
prediction; there's son against father: the King falls from bias 435
of nature; there's father against child. We have seen the best
of our time. Machinations, hollowness, treachery, and all
ruinous disorders follow us disquietly to our graves. Find out
this villain, Edmund; it shall lose thee nothing; do it
carefully. And the noble and true-hearted Kent banish'd! his 440
offence, honesty! 'Tis strange. Exit. This is the excellent foppery of the world, that, when we are
sick in fortune, often the surfeit of our own behaviour, we make
guilty of our disasters the sun, the moon, and the stars; as if
we were villains on necessity; fools by heavenly compulsion; 445
knaves, thieves, and treachers by spherical pre-dominance;
drunkards, liars, and adulterers by an enforc'd obedience of
planetary influence; and all that we are evil in, by a divine
thrusting on. An admirable evasion of whore-master man, to lay
his goatish disposition to the charge of a star! My father 450
compounded with my mother under the Dragon's Tail, and my
nativity was under Ursa Major, so that it follows I am rough and
lecherous. Fut! I should have been that I am, had the
maidenliest star in the firmament twinkled on my bastardizing.
Edgar- 455
and pat! he comes, like the catastrophe of the old comedy. My
cue is villainous melancholy, with a sigh like Tom o' Bedlam.
O, these eclipses do portend these divisions! Fa, sol, la, mi. How now, brother Edmund? What serious contemplation are you 460
in? I am thinking, brother, of a prediction I read this other day,
what should follow these eclipses. Do you busy yourself with that? I promise you, the effects he writes of succeed unhappily: as 465
of unnaturalness between the child and the parent; death,
dearth, dissolutions of ancient amities; divisions in state,
menaces and maledictions against king and nobles; needless
diffidences, banishment of friends, dissipation of cohorts,
nuptial breaches, and I know not what. 470 How long have you been a sectary astronomical? Come, come! When saw you my father last? The night gone by. Spake you with him? Ay, two hours together. 475 Parted you in good terms? Found you no displeasure in him by
word or countenance None at all. Bethink yourself wherein you may have offended him; and at my
entreaty forbear his presence until some little time hath 480
qualified the heat of his displeasure, which at this instant so
rageth in him that with the mischief of your person it would
scarcely allay. Some villain hath done me wrong. That's my fear. I pray you have a continent forbearance till 485
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 hear my
lord speak. Pray ye, go! There's my key. If you do stir abroad,
go arm'd. Arm'd, brother? 490 Brother, I advise you to the best. Go arm'd. I am no honest man
if there be any good meaning toward you. I have told you what I
have seen and heard; but faintly, nothing like the image and
horror of it. Pray you, away! Shall I hear from you anon? 495 I do serve you in this business.
A credulous father! and a brother noble,
Whose nature is so far from doing harms
That he suspects none; on whose foolish honesty 500
My practices ride easy! I see the business.
Let me, if not by birth, have lands by wit;
All with me's meet that I can fashion fit. Exit. | | | | Act I, Scene 3 The Duke of Albany’s Palace. | | | Enter Goneril and [her] Steward [Oswald]. Did my father strike my gentleman for chiding of his fool? 505 Ay, madam. By day and night, he wrongs me! Every hour
He flashes into one gross crime or other
That sets us all at odds. I'll not endure it.
His knights grow riotous, and himself upbraids us 510
On every trifle. When he returns from hunting,
I will not speak with him. Say I am sick.
If you come slack of former services,
You shall do well; the fault of it I'll answer. [Horns within.] He's coming, madam; I hear him. Put on what weary negligence you please,
You and your fellows. I'd have it come to question.
If he distaste it, let him to our sister,
Whose mind and mine I know in that are one, 520
Not to be overrul'd. Idle old man,
That still would manage those authorities
That he hath given away! Now, by my life,
Old fools are babes again, and must be us'd
With checks as flatteries, when they are seen abus'd. 525
Remember what I have said. Very well, madam. And let his knights have colder looks among you.
What grows of it, no matter. Advise your fellows so.
I would breed from hence occasions, and I shall, 530
That I may speak. I'll write straight to my sister
To hold my very course. Prepare for dinner. Exeunt. | | | | Act I, Scene 4 The Duke of Albany’s Palace. | | | Enter Kent, [disguised]. If but as well I other accents borrow, 535
That can my speech defuse, my good intent
May carry through itself to that full issue
For which I raz'd my likeness. Now, banish'd Kent,
If thou canst serve where thou dost stand condemn'd,
So may it come, thy master, whom thou lov'st, 540
Shall find thee full of labours.
Horns within. Enter Lear, and Attendants. Let me not stay a jot for dinner; go get it ready. How now? What art thou? A man, sir. 545 What dost thou profess? What wouldst thou with us? I do profess to be no less than I seem, to serve him truly
that will put me in trust, to love him that is honest, to
converse with him that is wise and says little, to fear
judgment, to fight when I cannot choose, and to eat no fish. 550 What art thou? A very honest-hearted fellow, and as poor as the King. If thou be'st as poor for a subject as he's for a king, thou
art poor enough. What wouldst thou? Service. 555 Who wouldst thou serve? You. Dost thou know me, fellow? No, sir; but you have that in your countenance which I would
fain call master. 560 What's that? Authority. What services canst thou do? I can keep honest counsel, ride, run, mar a curious tale in
telling it and deliver a plain message bluntly. That which 565
ordinary men are fit for, I am qualified in, and the best of me
is diligence. How old art thou? Not so young, sir, to love a woman for singing, nor so old to
dote on her for anything. I have years on my back forty-eight. 570 Follow me; thou shalt serve me. If I like thee no worse after
dinner, I will not part from thee yet. Dinner, ho, dinner!
Where's my knave? my fool? Go you and call my fool hither.
Steward.] 575
You, you, sirrah, where's my daughter? So please you- Exit. What says the fellow there? Call the clotpoll back.
Where's my fool, ho? I think the world's
asleep. 580
How now? Where's that mongrel? He says, my lord, your daughter is not well. Why came not the slave back to me when I call'd him? Sir, he answered me in the roundest manner, he would not. 585 He would not? My lord, I know not what the matter is; but to my judgment
your Highness is not entertain'd with that ceremonious affection
as you were wont. There's a great abatement of kindness appears
as well in the general dependants as in the Duke himself also 590
and your daughter. Ha! say'st thou so? I beseech you pardon me, my lord, if I be mistaken; for
my duty cannot be silent when I think your Highness wrong'd. Thou but rememb'rest me of mine own conception. I have 595
perceived a most faint neglect of late, which I have rather
blamed as mine own jealous curiosity than as a very pretence
and purpose of unkindness. I will look further into't. But
where's my fool? I have not seen him this two days. Since my young lady's going into France, sir, the fool 600
hath much pined away. No more of that; I have noted it well. Go you and tell my
daughter I would speak with her. Go you, call
hither my fool.
605
Steward.]
O, you, sir, you! Come you hither, sir. Who am I, sir? My lady's father. 'My lady's father'? My lord's knave! You whoreson dog! you
slave! you cur! 610 I am none of these, my lord; I beseech your pardon. Do you bandy looks with me, you rascal? [Strikes him.] I'll not be strucken, my lord. Nor tripp'd neither, you base football player? 615 [Trips up his heels. I thank thee, fellow. Thou serv'st me, and I'll love thee. Come, sir, arise, away! I'll teach you differences. Away,
away! If you will measure your lubber's length again, tarry; but
away! Go to! Have you wisdom? So. 620 [Pushes him out.] Now, my friendly knave, I thank thee. There's earnest of thy
service. Enter Fool. Let me hire him too. Here's my coxcomb. 625 [Offers Kent his cap.] How now, my pretty knave? How dost thou? Sirrah, you were best take my coxcomb. Why, fool? Why? For taking one's part that's out of favour. Nay, an thou 630
canst not smile as the wind sits, thou'lt catch cold shortly.
There, take my coxcomb! Why, this fellow hath banish'd two on's
daughters, and did the third a blessing against his will. If
thou follow him, thou must needs wear my coxcomb.- How now,
nuncle? Would I had two coxcombs and two daughters! 635 Why, my boy? If I gave them all my living, I'ld keep my coxcombs myself.
There's mine! beg another of thy daughters. Take heed, sirrah- the whip. Truth's a dog must to kennel; he must be whipp'd out, when 640
Lady the brach may stand by th' fire and stink. A pestilent gall to me! Sirrah, I'll teach thee a speech. Do. Mark it, nuncle. 645
Have more than thou showest,
Speak less than thou knowest,
Lend less than thou owest,
Ride more than thou goest,
Learn more than thou trowest, 650
Set less than thou throwest;
Leave thy drink and thy whore,
And keep in-a-door,
And thou shalt have more
Than two tens to a score. 655 This is nothing, fool. Then 'tis like the breath of an unfeed lawyer- you gave me
nothing for't. Can you make no use of nothing, nuncle? Why, no, boy. Nothing can be made out of nothing. Prithee tell him, so much the rent of his land 660
comes to. He will not believe a fool. A bitter fool! Dost thou know the difference, my boy, between a bitter
fool and a sweet fool? No, lad; teach me. 665 That lord that counsell'd thee
To give away thy land,
Come place him here by me-
Do thou for him stand.
The sweet and bitter fool 670
Will presently appear;
The one in motley here,
The other found out there. Dost thou call me fool, boy? All thy other titles thou hast given away; that thou wast 675
born with. This is not altogether fool, my lord. No, faith; lords and great men will not let me. If I had a
monopoly out, they would have part on't. And ladies too, they
will not let me have all the fool to myself; they'll be 680
snatching. Give me an egg, nuncle, and I'll give thee two
crowns. What two crowns shall they be? Why, after I have cut the egg i' th' middle and eat up the
meat, the two crowns of the egg. When thou clovest thy crown i' 685
th' middle and gav'st away both parts, thou bor'st thine ass on
thy back o'er the dirt. Thou hadst little wit in thy bald crown
when thou gav'st thy golden one away. If I speak like myself in
this, let him be whipp'd that first finds it so.
Fools had ne'er less grace in a year, 690
For wise men are grown foppish;
They know not how their wits to wear,
Their manners are so apish. When were you wont to be so full of songs, sirrah? I have us'd it, nuncle, ever since thou mad'st thy daughters 695
thy mother; for when thou gav'st them the rod, and put'st down
thine own breeches,
Then they for sudden joy did weep,
And I for sorrow sung,
That such a king should play bo-peep 700
And go the fools among.
Prithee, nuncle, keep a schoolmaster that can teach thy fool to
lie. I would fain learn to lie. An you lie, sirrah, we'll have you whipp'd. I marvel what kin thou and thy daughters are. They'll have me 705
whipp'd for speaking true; thou'lt have me whipp'd for lying;
and sometimes I am whipp'd for holding my peace. I had rather be
any kind o' thing than a fool! And yet I would not be thee,
nuncle. Thou hast pared thy wit o' both sides and left nothing
i' th' middle. Here comes one o' the parings. 710 Enter Goneril. How now, daughter? What makes that frontlet on? Methinks you
are too much o' late i' th' frown. 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 715
than thou art now: I am a fool, thou art nothing.
Yes, forsooth, I will hold my tongue. So your face
bids me, though you say nothing. Mum, mum!
He that keeps nor crust nor crum,
Weary of all, shall want some.- 720
That's a sheal'd peascod. Not only, sir, this your all-licens'd fool,
But other of your insolent retinue
Do hourly carp and quarrel, breaking forth
In rank and not-to-be-endured riots. Sir, 725
I had thought, by making this well known unto you,
To have found a safe redress, but now grow fearful,
By what yourself, too, late have spoke and done,
That you protect this course, and put it on
By your allowance; which if you should, the fault 730
Would not scape censure, nor the redresses sleep,
Which, in the tender of a wholesome weal,
Might in their working do you that offence
Which else were shame, that then necessity
Must call discreet proceeding. 735 For you know, nuncle,
The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long
That it had it head bit off by it young.
So out went the candle, and we were left darkling. Are you our daughter? 740 Come, sir,
I would you would make use of that good wisdom
Whereof I know you are fraught, and put away
These dispositions that of late transform you
From what you rightly are. 745 May not an ass know when the cart draws the horse?
Whoop, Jug, I love thee! Doth any here know me? This is not Lear.
Doth Lear walk thus? speak thus? Where are his eyes?
Either his notion weakens, his discernings 750
Are lethargied- Ha! waking? 'Tis not so!
Who is it that can tell me who I am? Lear's shadow. I would learn that; for, by the marks of sovereignty,
Knowledge, and reason, I should be false persuaded 755
I had daughters. Which they will make an obedient father. Your name, fair gentlewoman? This admiration, sir, is much o' th' savour
Of other your new pranks. I do beseech you 760
To understand my purposes aright.
As you are old and reverend, you should be wise.
Here do you keep a hundred knights and squires;
Men so disorder'd, so debosh'd, and bold
That this our court, infected with their manners, 765
Shows like a riotous inn. Epicurism and lust
Make it more like a tavern or a brothel
Than a grac'd palace. The shame itself doth speak
For instant remedy. Be then desir'd
By her that else will take the thing she begs 770
A little to disquantity your train,
And the remainder that shall still depend
To be such men as may besort your age,
Which know themselves, and you. Darkness and devils! 775
Saddle my horses! Call my train together!
Degenerate bastard, I'll not trouble thee;
Yet have I left a daughter. You strike my people, and your disorder'd rabble
Make servants of their betters. 780 Enter Albany. Woe that too late repents!- O, sir, are you come?
Is it your will? Speak, sir!- Prepare my horses.
Ingratitude, thou marble-hearted fiend,
More hideous when thou show'st thee in a child 785
Than the sea-monster! Pray, sir, be patient. Detested kite, thou liest!
My train are men of choice and rarest parts,
That all particulars of duty know 790
And in the most exact regard support
The worships of their name.- O most small fault,
How ugly didst thou in Cordelia show!
Which, like an engine, wrench'd my frame of nature
From the fix'd place; drew from my heart all love 795
And added to the gall. O Lear, Lear, Lear!
Beat at this gate that let thy folly in
And thy dear judgment out! Go, go, my people. My lord, I am guiltless, as I am ignorant
Of what hath mov'd you. 800 It may be so, my lord.
Hear, Nature, hear! dear goddess, hear!
Suspend thy purpose, if thou didst intend
To make this creature fruitful.
Into her womb convey sterility; 805
Dry up in her the organs of increase;
And from her derogate body never spring
A babe to honour her! If she must teem,
Create her child of spleen, that it may live
And be a thwart disnatur'd torment to her. 810
Let it stamp wrinkles in her brow of youth,
With cadent tears fret channels in her cheeks,
Turn all her mother's pains and benefits
To laughter and contempt, that she may feel
How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is 815
To have a thankless child! Away, away! Exit. Now, gods that we adore, whereof comes this? Never afflict yourself to know the cause;
But let his disposition have that scope
That dotage gives it. 820 Enter Lear. What, fifty of my followers at a clap?
Within a fortnight? What's the matter, sir? I'll tell thee. Life and death! I am asham'd 825
That thou hast power to shake my manhood thus;
That these hot tears, which break from me perforce,
Should make thee worth them. Blasts and fogs upon thee!
Th' untented woundings of a father's curse
Pierce every sense about thee!- Old fond eyes, 830
Beweep this cause again, I'll pluck ye out,
And cast you, with the waters that you lose,
To temper clay. Yea, is it come to this?
Let it be so. Yet have I left a daughter,
Who I am sure is kind and comfortable. 835
When she shall hear this of thee, with her nails
She'll flay thy wolvish visage. Thou shalt find
That I'll resume the shape which thou dost think
I have cast off for ever; thou shalt, I warrant thee. Exeunt [Lear, Kent, and Attendants]. Do you mark that, my lord? I cannot be so partial, Goneril,
To the great love I bear you— Pray you, content.- What, Oswald, ho!
You, sir, more knave than fool, after your master! 845 Nuncle Lear, nuncle Lear, tarry! Take the fool 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. 850
So the fool follows after. Exit. This man hath had good counsel! A hundred knights?
'Tis politic and safe to let him keep
At point a hundred knights; yes, that on every dream,
Each buzz, each fancy, each complaint, dislike, 855
He may enguard his dotage with their pow'rs
And hold our lives in mercy.- Oswald, I say! Well, you may fear too far. Safer than trust too far.
Let me still take away the harms I fear, 860
Not fear still to be taken. I know his heart.
What he hath utter'd I have writ my sister.
If she sustain him and his hundred knights,
When I have show'd th' unfitness- Steward.]
How now, Oswald? 865
What, have you writ that letter to my sister? Yes, madam. Take you some company, and away to horse!
Inform her full of my particular fear,
And thereto add such reasons of your own 870
As may compact it more. Get you gone,
And hasten your return. No, no, my lord!
This milky gentleness and course of yours,
Though I condemn it not, yet, under pardon,
You are much more at task for want of wisdom 875
Than prais'd for harmful mildness. How far your eyes may pierce I cannot tell.
Striving to better, oft we mar what's well. Nay then- Well, well; th' event. Exeunt. 880 | | | | Act I, Scene 5 Court before the Duke of Albany’s Palace. Enter Lear, Kent, and Fool. | | | Go you before to Gloucester with these letters. Acquaint my
daughter no further with anything you know than comes from her
demand out of the letter. If your diligence be not speedy, I
shall be there afore you. I will not sleep, my lord, till I have delivered your letter. Exit. 885 If a man's brains were in's heels, were't not in danger of
kibes? Ay, boy. Then I prithee be merry. Thy wit shall ne'er go slip-shod. Ha, ha, ha! 890 Shalt see thy other daughter will use thee kindly; for though
she's as like this as a crab's like an apple, yet I can tell
what I can tell. What canst tell, boy? She'll taste as like this as a crab does to a crab. Thou 895
canst tell why one's nose stands i' th' middle on's face? No. Why, to keep one's eyes of either side's nose, that what a
man cannot smell out, 'a may spy into. I did her wrong. 900 Canst tell how an oyster makes his shell? No. Nor I neither; but I can tell why a snail has a house. Why? Why, to put's head in; not to give it away to his daughters, 905
and leave his horns without a case. I will forget my nature. So kind a father!- Be my horses
ready? Thy asses are gone about 'em. The reason why the seven stars
are no moe than seven is a pretty reason. 910 Because they are not eight? Yes indeed. Thou wouldst make a good fool. To tak't again perforce! Monster ingratitude! If thou wert my fool, nuncle, I'ld have thee beaten for being
old before thy time. 915 How's that? Thou shouldst not have been old till thou hadst been wise. O, let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven!
Keep me in temper; I would not be mad!
How now? Are the horses ready? 920 Ready, my lord. Come, boy. She that's a maid now, and laughs at my departure,
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Navigate this workAct 1, scene 2. Edmund, the earl of Gloucester’s illegitimate son, plots to displace his legitimate brother, Edgar, as Gloucester’s heir by turning Gloucester against Edgar. He tricks Gloucester into thinking Edgar seeks Gloucester’s life. Stay connectedFind out what’s on, read our latest stories, and learn how you can get involved.  King Lear Shakescleare Translation King Lear Translation Act 1, Scene 2Enter EDMUND the bastard, with a letter EDMUND enters with a letter. Thou, nature, art my goddess. To thy law My services are bound. Wherefore should I Stand in the plague of custom and permit The curiosity of nations to deprive me For that I am some twelve or fourteen moonshines Lag of a brother? Why “bastard?” Wherefore “base?” When my dimensions are as well compact, My mind as generous, and my shape as true As honest madam’s issue? Why brand they us With “base,” with “baseness,” “bastardy,” “base,” “base”— Who in the lusty stealth of nature take More composition and fierce quality Than doth within a dull, stale, tirèd bed Go to th' creating a whole tribe of fops Got ’tween a sleep and wake? Well then, Legitimate Edgar, I must have your land. Our father’s love is to the bastard Edmund As to the legitimate.— Fine word, “legitimate!”— Well, my legitimate, if this letter speed And my invention thrive, Edmund the base Shall top th' legitimate. I grow, I prosper. Now, gods, stand up for bastards! Y ou, Nature, are my goddess, and I only serve the laws of nature. So why should I put up with the sick injustice of man-made social rules, which deprive me of rights just because I was born some twelve or fourteen months after my brother? Why call me a "bastard?" Why is a bastard inherently "worthless" when I'm as sound in my body and my mind as any legitimate child? Why do they call us "worthless," with "worthlessness," "bastard," "worthless," "worthless?" We bastards were at least conceived in a moment of passionate, stealthy lust, and so we have a stronger and fiercer nature than those shallow fools who were conceived in a dull, stale, tired marriage bed, where half-asleep couples churn out whole tribes of children. Well then, legitimate brother Edgar, I must have your land. Our father loves me just as much as he loves his legitimate son. What a fine word, "legitimate!" Well, my legitimate brother, if this letter succeeds and my plan goes well, Edmund the worthless will triumph over Edgar the legitimate. I will grow, I will prosper. Now, gods, stand up for the bastards! Enter GLOUCESTER. EDMUND looks over his letter GLOUCESTER enters. EDMUND looks over his letter. Kent banished thus? And France in choler parted? And the king gone tonight, prescribed his power Confined to exhibition? All this done Upon the gad?—Edmund, how now? What news? Has Kent really been banished like this? And the King of France has gone away angry? And King Lear has left tonight, having given up all his power except for some money and his title? All this done on the spur of the moment? Edmund, what's going on? What's the news? [pocketing the letter] So please your lordship, none. [Slipping the letter into his pocket] There is no news, my lord. Everything you need for every book you read.Why so earnestly seek you to put up that letter? Why are you being so secretive about that letter? I know no news, my lord. I don't have any news, my lord. What paper were you reading? What's that letter you were reading? Nothing, my lord. Nothing, my lord No? What needed, then, that terrible dispatch of it into your pocket? The quality of nothing hath not such need to hide itself. Let’s see. Come, if it be nothing, I shall not need spectacles. No? Why did you look so terrified and stuff it in your pocket then? If it's nothing, then there's no need to hide it. Let's see it. Come on, if it's nothing, I won't need my glasses to read it. I beseech you, sir, pardon me. It is a letter from my brother that I have not all o'er-read. And for so much as I have perused, I find it not fit for your o'erlooking. Please sir, forgive me. It's a letter from my brother that I haven't finished reading yet. And, judging by what I have read, it's not fit for you to look over. Give me the letter, sir. I shall offend, either to detain or give it. The contents, as in part I understand them, are to blame. I see that I'll offend you whether I keep it or give it to you. The only offensive thing is the content of the letter, as far as I can understand it. [taking the letter] Let’s see, let’s see. [Taking the letter] Let's see, let's see. I hope, for my brother’s justification, he wrote this but as an essay or taste of my virtue. I hope, for my brother's sake, that he wrote this just to test my virtue. [reads] “This policy and reverence of age makes the world bitter to the best of our times, keeps our fortunes from us till our oldness cannot relish them. I begin to find an idle and fond bondage in the oppression of aged tyranny, who sways not as it hath power but as it is suffered. Come to me, that of this I may speak more. If our father would sleep till I waked him, you should enjoy half his revenue forever, and live the beloved of your brother, Edgar.” Hum, conspiracy? “'Sleep till I wake him, you should enjoy half his revenue”—my son Edgar? Had he a hand to write this, a heart and brain to breed it in? When came this to you? Who brought it? [Reading] "The craftiness of old men and society's custom of treating them with reverence makes life bitter for those of us in the prime of our lives, and keeps us from our inheritance until we're too old to enjoy it. I begin to see a kind of useless, foolish slavery in the oppressive power of the elderly—and they only have this power because we allow them to have it. Come visit me, so I can speak more about this. If our father should happen to go to his eternal rest, then you would enjoy half of his wealth forever, and live as my beloved brother. Edgar" Hmm, is this a conspiracy? "If our father should happen to go to his eternal rest, then you would enjoy half of his wealth" —my son Edgar said this? How could he have a hand that would write such things, and a heart and brain to think them up? When did this letter come to you? Who brought it? It was not brought me, my lord. There’s the cunning of it. I found it thrown in at the casement of my closet. It wasn't brought to me, my lord. That's what's cunning about it. I found it. It had been thrown through the window of my room. You know the character to be your brother’s? And you're sure this is your brother's handwriting? If the matter were good, my lord, I durst swear it were his. But in respect of that, I would fain think it were not. My lord, if the letter's contents were good, I would swear that it was his handwriting. But because of what the letter does say, I would rather believe otherwise. It is his hand, my lord, but I hope his heart is not in the contents. It is his handwriting, my lord. But I hope he didn't really mean what he said. Hath he never heretofore sounded you in this business? Has he ever spoken to you about anything like this before? Never, my lord. But I have heard him oft maintain it to be fit that, sons at perfect age and fathers declined, the father should be as ward to the son, and the son manage his revenue. Never, my lord. But I've often heard him argue that when sons reach full maturity and their fathers grow old and feeble, the son should take care of the father, and manage his money. O villain, villain! His very opinion in the letter! Abhorred villain! Unnatural, detested, brutish villain—worse than brutish! Go, sirrah, seek him. I’ll apprehend him. Abominable villain! Where is he? Oh, the villain, the villain! That's the same opinion he expresses in the letter! The hateful villain! The unnatural, hateful, beastly villain—worse than a beast! Go, sir , and find him. I'll arrest him. The abominable villain! Where is he? I do not well know, my lord. If it shall please you to suspend your indignation against my brother till you can derive from him better testimony of his intent, you shall run a certain course— where if you violently proceed against him, mistaking his purpose, it would make a great gap in your own honor and shake in pieces the heart of his obedience. I dare pawn down my life for him that he hath wrote this to feel my affection to your honor and to no other pretense of danger. I don't know, my lord. If you can, you should restrain your anger against my brother until you can find out exactly what his intentions are. That would be a safer course. For if you immediately act violently against him and are mistaken about his purpose, then it would damage your own honor and badly hurt his loyalty to you. I would dare to bet my life that he wrote this letter only to test my love for you, and he didn't actually mean anything dangerous. Think you so? Do you think so? If your honor judge it meet, I will place you where you shall hear us confer of this and by an auricular assurance have your satisfaction—and that without any further delay than this very evening. If it would be acceptable to your sense of honor, I can hide you somewhere where you can hear us talking about the letter, and then you'll have the proof of your own hearing about his intentions. We can do it this very evening. He cannot be such a monster— He can't be such a monster— Nor is not, sure. I'm sure he isn't. To his father, that so tenderly and entirely loves him. Heaven and earth! Edmund, seek him out, wind me into him, I pray you. Frame the business after your own wisdom. I would unstate myself to be in a due resolution. —to his own father, who so tenderly and completely loves him. By heaven and earth! Edmund, go find him, and gain his confidence for my sake, please. Do whatever needs to be done, and use your own common sense. I would give up anything to relieve my doubts. I will seek him, sir, presently, convey the business as I shall find means, and acquaint you withal. Sir, I'll find him immediately, and manage the business in the best way I can. Then I'll tell you everything. These late eclipses in the sun and moon portend no good to us. Though the wisdom of nature can reason it thus and thus, yet nature finds itself scourged by the sequent effects. Love cools, friendship falls off, brothers divide, in cities mutinies, in countries discord, in palaces treason, and the bond cracked ’twixt son and father. This villain of mine comes under the prediction—there’s son against father. The king falls from bias of nature—there’s father against child. We have seen the best of our time. Machinations, hollowness, treachery, and all ruinous disorders follow us disquietly to our graves. Find out this villain, Edmund. It shall lose thee nothing. Do it carefully.—And the noble and true-hearted Kent banished, his offense honesty! 'Tis strange, strange. These recent eclipses of the sun and moon are evil omens for us. Though science can explain how they happen, they are still omens, and bad things always follow eclipses. Love loses its passion, friendships fall apart, brothers become enemies, riots break out in cities, civil wars begin, treason infiltrates palaces, and the bond between fathers and sons is broken. This villainous son of mine fits the prediction of the bad omens—that's son against father. The king goes against his former nature—that's father against child. The best part of our age has passed. Schemes, emptiness, treachery, and chaos will follow us loudly to our graves. Find out the truth about this villain, Edmund. It won't damage your reputation. Just do it carefully. And the noble and true-hearted Kent has been banished, for the crime of being honest! It's strange, strange. Exit GLOUCESTER GLOUCESTER exits. This is the excellent foppery of the world that when we are sick in fortune—often the surfeit of our own behavior—we make guilty of our disasters the sun, the moon, and the stars, as if we were villains by necessity, fools by heavenly compulsion, knaves, thieves, and treachers by spherical predominance, drunkards, liars, and adulterers by an enforced obedience of planetary influence, and all that we are evil in by a divine thrusting-on. An admirable evasion of whoremaster man, to lay his goatish disposition to the charge of a star! My father compounded with my mother under the dragon’s tail and my nativity was under Ursa Major, so that it follows I am rough and lecherous. Fut, I should have been that I am, had the maidenliest star in the firmament twinkled on my bastardizing. Edgar— This is the foolishness of the world, that when we are having bad luck—often because of our own excesses—we lay the blame for our disasters on the sun, the moon, and the stars, as if they forced us to be villains! As if we were fools because of the heavens' decree, or scoundrels, thieves, and traitors because of the influence of the planets, or drunkards, liars, and adulterers because the planets forced us to act that way. As if all our evil was the result of some divine compulsion! This is a good technique for avoiding blame, a trick by which a lustful man can blame his lechery on a star! My father slept with my mother under the influence of Draco, and I was born under the Big Dipper, so it naturally follows that I have a rude and lustful nature. Good God ! I would have turned out the way I am even if the most virginal star in the sky had twinkled over my conception. Edgar— Enter EDGAR EDGAR enters. and pat on ’s cue he comes like the catastrophe of the old comedy. My cue is villainous melancholy, with a sigh like Tom o' Bedlam. Oh, these eclipses do portend these divisions! Fa, sol, la, mi. And here he comes, right on cue, like the neat ending of a clichéd comedy. My role is to be falsely sad, and sigh like a crazy beggar . Oh, these eclipses are bad omens of such disasters! Fa, sol, la, mi. How now, brother Edmund? What serious contemplation are you in? How's it going, brother Edmund? What are you thinking about so seriously? I am thinking, brother, of a prediction I read this other day, what should follow these eclipses. Brother, I am thinking of a prediction I read about the other day. An astrologer wrote about what will follow these eclipses. Do you busy yourself about that? Are you really wasting your time with such things? I promise you, the effects he writes of succeed unhappily — as of unnaturalness between the child and the parent, death, dearth, dissolutions of ancient amities, divisions in state, menaces and maledictions against king and nobles, needless diffidences, banishment of friends, dissipation of cohorts, nuptial breaches, and I know not what. I promise you, the predictions he made keep getting worse—things like divisions among children and parents, death, famine, the breaking of old friendships, political fighting, treason and threats against kings and nobles, baseless suspicions, the banishment of friends, the desertion of troops, adultery, and I don't even know what else. How long have you been a sectary astronomical? How long have you been a follower of astrology? Come, come. When saw you my father last? Come now. When did you last see my father? Why, the night gone by. Why, just last night. Spake you with him? Did you speak with him? Ay, two hours together. Yes, we spent two hours together. Parted you in good terms? Found you no displeasure in him by word or countenance? Did you part on good terms? Did he seem displeased with you, in either his words or in his expression? None at all. Not at all. Bethink yourself wherein you may have offended him. And at my entreaty forbear his presence till some little time hath qualified the heat of his displeasure, which at this instant so rageth in him that with the mischief of your person it would scarcely allay. Try to remember how you might have offended him. And let me advise you to avoid his presence until he has some time to let off his rage. At this moment his anger is so hot that even physically injuring you would hardly cool it down. Some villain hath done me wrong. Some villain has told a malicious lie about me. That’s my fear. I pray you, have 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 hear my lord speak. Pray ye, go. There’s my key. If you do stir abroad, go armed. That's what I'm afraid of. But please, keep control of yourself until his rage slows down a little. And now come with me to my rooms, and at the right moment I'll bring you to hear my father speak. Please, go. There's my key. If you do go outside, arm yourself. Armed, brother? Arm myself, brother? Brother, I advise you to the best. Go armed. I am no honest man if there be any good meaning towards you. I have told you what I have seen and heard—but faintly, nothing like the image and horror of it. Pray you, away. Brother, I'm giving you the best advice I can. Arm yourself. I would be lying if I said that our father had good intentions towards you. I've told you what I've seen and heard—but only vaguely. I've toned down the horrible reality. Now please, go. Shall I hear from you anon? Will I hear from you soon? I do serve you in this business. Everything I'm doing in this business is to help you. EDGAR exits. A credulous father, and a brother noble— Whose nature is so far from doing harms That he suspects none, on whose foolish honesty My practices ride easy. I see the business. Let me, if not by birth, have lands by wit. All with me’s meet that I can fashion fit. A gullible father, and a noble brother, whose nature is so innocent of evil that he suspects no evil. My plots will easily work on his foolish honesty. I see what I must do. If I can't have lands by birthright, then let me have them through cunning. Everything that I can shape to fit my own purposes is good for me.  Act 1, Scene 1, King LearWhen he does regain sanity, he is a much wiser and enhanced man, father and king. Kent, one of Lears followers, is the first person to directly tell the King that he has made mistakes concerning the partition of his sovereignty. Unlike Lear who shows blindness in judgement and lack of paternal knowledge of his daughters, Kent is able to see through the superficiality of the elder daughters confessions of love. He believes that Cordelia is wronged when she receives nothing and is exiled, and condemns the King for his actions “When majesty stoops to folly. Reverse thy doom”. Related posts: |
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First, Goneril insists that she loves her father "dearer than eyesight, space, and liberty" (1.1.61); Lear awards her one third of his kingdom, accordingly. Then, Regan claims that she loves her father even more than Goneril does; she is an "enemy to all other joys" but his "dear Highness' love" (1.1.80-4). Lear grants her a third, in turn.
A conversation between Kent, Gloucester, and Gloucester's son Edmund introduces the play's primary plot: The king is planning to divide his kingdom among his three daughters. The audience also learns that Gloucester has two sons. The older, Edgar, is his legitimate heir, and the younger, Edmund, is illegitimate; however, Gloucester loves both ...
Start an essay Ask a question ... "King Lear - Act 1, Scenes 1-2 Summary and Analysis." ... How does Cordelia's dialogue in act 1 scene 1 of King Lear illustrate appearance vs. reality?
Act 1, scene 1. Scene 1. Synopsis: King Lear, intending to divide his power and kingdom among his three daughters, demands public professions of their love. His youngest daughter, Cordelia, refuses. Lear strips her of her dowry, divides the kingdom between his two other daughters, and then banishes the earl of Kent, who has protested against ...
Sennet. A trumpet call announces the arrival of the king. The king is coming. The king is coming. Enter one bearing a coronet, then King LEAR, then the Dukes of CORNWALL and ALBANY, next GONERIL, REGAN, CORDELIA, and attendants. A man enters bearing a crown, followed by KING LEAR; then the Dukes of CORNWALL and ALBANY; then GONERIL, REGAN ...
I must love you, and sue to know you better. 12. Edmund. Sir, I shall study deserving. 13. Earl of Gloucester. He hath been out nine years, and away he shall again. 14. Sound a sennet. The King is coming. 15. Enter one bearing a coronet, then King Lear, Cornwall, Albany, Goneril, Regan, Cordelia, and Attendants.
Summary of King Lear, Act 1, Scene 1: Enter KENT, GLOUCESTER, and EDMUND. Three men—one old, one middle-aged, and one young—are at King Lear's court, awaiting the arrival of the king and his entourage. The oldest man is the Earl of Gloucester, the main figure in the secondary plot which parallels the main plot. (By the way, his name is ...
King Lear Act 1, Scene 1 Summary. Back. More. Two lords, Gloucester and Kent, are at King Lear's palace in Britain, talking about Lear's plan to divide the kingdom. The men speculate as to why King Lear has decided to give the same amount of territory to both of his sons-in-law, even though everyone knows he likes one of them better.
In another essay on King Lear, I have tried to extend Jaffa's analysis, ... King Lear, Act 1, Scene 1," in Allan Bloom, Shakespeare's Politics (New York: Basic Books, 1964), 113-45.
The First Publication of King Lear The Fool in King Lear and his Function in the Play The Shakespeare Sisterhood: Cordelia The Condition of Lear's Mind Goneril: Physically, Intellectually, and Morally Difficult Passages in King Lear Scene-by-Scene Questions on King Lear with Answers King Lear Summary King Lear Essay Topics King Lear Character ...
Act I Summary: scene i: Gloucester and Kent, loyal to King Lear, objectively discuss his division of the kingdom (as Lear is preparing to step down) and to which dukes, Cornwall and Albany, they believe it will equally fall.Kent is introduced to Gloucester's illegitimate son, Edmund. Gloucester nonchalantly admits that the boy's breeding has been his charge ever since impregnating another ...
King Lear Modern Translation: Act 1, Scene 1. The courtiers were gathered in the great hall of the royal palace. The Duke of Gloucester had welcomed the King of France and the Duke of Burgundy, who waited in a nearby apartment to be called in. They had come to woo the king's youngest daughter, Cordelia, and King Lear was about to announce his ...
Shakespeare's original King Lear text is extremely long, so we've split the text into one Scene per page. All Acts and Scenes are listed and linked to from the bottom of this page, along with a simple, modern English translation of King Lear. ACT 1. SCENE 1. King Lear's palace. Enter KENT, GLOUCESTER, and EDMUND. KENT. I thought the king ...
Please see the bottom of this page for extensive King Lear; resources. Dramatis Personae. Act 1. Scene 1. King Lear's palace. Scene 2. The Earl of Gloucester's castle. Scene 3. The Duke of Albany's palace. Scene 4. A hall in the same. Scene 5. Court before the same. Act 2. Scene 1. GLOUCESTER's castle. Scene 2. Before Gloucester's castle. Scene ...
Act I, Scene 1. King Lear's Palace. Enter Kent, Gloucester, and Edmund. [Kent and Gloucester converse. Edmund stands back.] Earl of Kent. I thought the King had more affected the Duke of Albany than ... an essay or taste of my virtue. Earl of Gloucester. [reads] 'This policy and reverence of age makes the world 380
The first scene of the first act of King Lear had a genuinely dramatic affect upon me. This first glimpse into the world of Lear and his subordinates sets the premise for the whole play, unravelling within the first few pages, themes which I believe will become increasingly evident. The scene opens with the introduction of three characters ...
Summary Act 1. ACT I SCENE 1. Earls of Kent and Gloucester are speculating as to whom the King will allot the greater share of the kingdom's wealth, when Kent is impressed by Gloucester's son, never mind that Edmund is an illegitimate son whose mother Gloucester disparages. Anon, King Lear appears with his daughters and sons-in-law.
Essays and criticism on William Shakespeare's King Lear - Essays. ... (King Lear Act 1.Scene 1.Lines 38-41) The irony of these lines is revealed as their literal truth becomes apparent. Lear has ...
Act 1, scene 1 King Lear, intending to divide his power and kingdom among his three daughters, demands public professions of their love. His youngest daughter, Cordelia, refuses. Lear strips her of her dowry, divides the kingdom between his two other daughters, and then banishes the earl of Kent, who has protested against Lear's rash actions ...
In this scene, Edmund, the illegitimate son of Gloucester, reveals his plot to discredit his brother Edgar and gain his father's inheritance. He also begins to manipulate both the Duke of Cornwall and the Duke of Albany, who are vying for power after Lear's division of the kingdom. Read the original text and the modern translation of this crucial scene in King Lear, one of Shakespeare's most ...
King Lear of Britain, the ageing protagonist in Shakespeares tragic play undergoes radical change as a man, father and king as the plot progresses when forced to bear the repercussions of his actions. Lear is initially portrayed as being an egotistical ruler, relying on protestations of love from his daughters to apportion his kingdom.