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Bohemia. The palace of POLIXENES Enter POLIXENES and CAMILLO POLIXENES. I pray thee, good Camillo, be no more importunate: 'tis a sickness denying thee anything; a death to grant this. CAMILLO. It is fifteen years since I saw my country; though I have for the most part been aired abroad, I desire to lay my bones there. Besides, the penitent King, my master, hath sent for me; to whose feeling sorrows I might be some allay, or I o'erween to think so, which is another spur to my departure. POLIXENES. As thou lov'st me, Camillo, wipe not out the rest of thy services by leaving me now. The need I have of thee thine own goodness hath made. Better not to have had thee than thus to want thee; thou, having made me businesses which none without thee can sufficiently manage, must either stay to execute them thyself, or take away with thee the very services thou hast done; which if I have not enough considered- as too much I cannot- to be more thankful to thee shall be my study; and my profit therein the heaping friendships. Of that fatal country Sicilia, prithee, speak no more; whose very naming punishes me with the remembrance of that penitent, as thou call'st him, and reconciled king, my brother; whose loss of his most precious queen and children are even now to be afresh lamented. Say to me, when saw'st thou the Prince Florizel, my son? Kings are no less unhappy, their issue not being gracious, than they are in losing them when they have approved their virtues. CAMILLO. Sir, it is three days since I saw the Prince. What his happier affairs may be are to me unknown; but I have missingly noted he is of late much retired from court, and is less frequent to his princely exercises than formerly he hath appeared. POLIXENES. I have considered so much, Camillo, and with some care, so far that I have eyes under my service which look upon his removedness; from whom I have this intelligence, that he is seldom from the house of a most homely shepherd- a man, they say, that from very nothing, and beyond the imagination of his neighbours, is grown into an unspeakable estate. CAMILLO. I have heard, sir, of such a man, who hath a daughter of most rare note. The report of her is extended more than can be thought to begin from such a cottage. POLIXENES. That's likewise part of my intelligence; but, I fear, the angle that plucks our son thither. Thou shalt accompany us to the place; where we will, not appearing what we are, have some question with the shepherd; from whose simplicity I think it not uneasy to get the cause of my son's resort thither. Prithee be my present partner in this business, and lay aside the thoughts of Sicilia. CAMILLO. I willingly obey your command. POLIXENES. My best Camillo! We must disguise ourselves. Exeunt

Polixenes and Camillo enter; they are in the middle of a discussion. The King of Bohemia has asked Camillo to drop his request to return to Sicilia, but Camillo cannot; he urges Polixenes to allow him to return to his beloved Sicilia because the penitent Leontes has requested him to do so. Camillo is growing old; he longs both to die at home and to ease the sorrows of the Sicilian king. Polixenes pleads with Camillo to stay; he claims that the goodness and administrative skills of Camillo can never be equaled. And as for the grief in Sicilia, Polixenes prefers not to be reminded of it. Edging toward his own problems, Polixenes asks Camillo if he has seen Prince Florizel recently. The king hints that a living son can create as much grief as a dead one. Camillo has neither seen Florizel nor can he guess where the prince goes. He knows only that the prince is often absent and has been neglecting his court duties. The king, however, does know where Florizel goes. Spies have reported that Florizel has been seen dawdling about the home of a shepherd, whose financial circumstances have mysteriously improved. Camillo recognizes the description of this shepherd: His household is said to include a daughter of unusual rarity. In order to discover why Florizel visits the shepherd's home, suspecting the lure of the shepherd's daughter, Polixenes wants Camillo to accompany him to the site. There, in disguise, they should be able to extract an answer of some kind from the simple shepherd. Camillo agrees to drop his request to return to Sicilia and accompany Polixenes on this mission.

summary

Bohemia. The palace of POLIXENES Enter POLIXENES and CAMILLO POLIXENES. I pray thee, good Camillo, be no more importunate: 'tis a sickness denying thee anything; a death to grant this. CAMILLO. It is fifteen years since I saw my country; though I have for the most part been aired abroad, I desire to lay my bones there. Besides, the penitent King, my master, hath sent for me; to whose feeling sorrows I might be some allay, or I o'erween to think so, which is another spur to my departure. POLIXENES. As thou lov'st me, Camillo, wipe not out the rest of thy services by leaving me now. The need I have of thee thine own goodness hath made. Better not to have had thee than thus to want thee; thou, having made me businesses which none without thee can sufficiently manage, must either stay to execute them thyself, or take away with thee the very services thou hast done; which if I have not enough considered- as too much I cannot- to be more thankful to thee shall be my study; and my profit therein the heaping friendships. Of that fatal country Sicilia, prithee, speak no more; whose very naming punishes me with the remembrance of that penitent, as thou call'st him, and reconciled king, my brother; whose loss of his most precious queen and children are even now to be afresh lamented. Say to me, when saw'st thou the Prince Florizel, my son? Kings are no less unhappy, their issue not being gracious, than they are in losing them when they have approved their virtues. CAMILLO. Sir, it is three days since I saw the Prince. What his happier affairs may be are to me unknown; but I have missingly noted he is of late much retired from court, and is less frequent to his princely exercises than formerly he hath appeared. POLIXENES. I have considered so much, Camillo, and with some care, so far that I have eyes under my service which look upon his removedness; from whom I have this intelligence, that he is seldom from the house of a most homely shepherd- a man, they say, that from very nothing, and beyond the imagination of his neighbours, is grown into an unspeakable estate. CAMILLO. I have heard, sir, of such a man, who hath a daughter of most rare note. The report of her is extended more than can be thought to begin from such a cottage. POLIXENES. That's likewise part of my intelligence; but, I fear, the angle that plucks our son thither. Thou shalt accompany us to the place; where we will, not appearing what we are, have some question with the shepherd; from whose simplicity I think it not uneasy to get the cause of my son's resort thither. Prithee be my present partner in this business, and lay aside the thoughts of Sicilia. CAMILLO. I willingly obey your command. POLIXENES. My best Camillo! We must disguise ourselves. Exeunt

This scene begins with the central conflict of the subplot. Its complications include Camillo's presence near the persuasive Polixenes, who opposes Camillo's yearning to return home to Sicilia. Another, later conflict, barely sketched here, will be the conflict between the desire of Polixenes, who wants his son to perform filial and royal duties, and Florizel, who wants only to be with Perdita. Camillo's characterization remains impressive. He behaves superbly as the able and trusted administrator who always exercises independent judgment. As in the first act, he now struggles with a conflict between his desire to serve both kings who want him and his own stronger personal motivation to return home. Polixenes is developing into a more manipulative and selfish character than we discerned earlier. However, he cannot be mistaken for an evil villain. Like Leontes, he must confront the question of loyal obedience within a family that he loves, but unlike Leontes, he does not permit a few observations to fester until he becomes mad. Before we leave this scene, note that two favorite Elizabethan dramatic gimmicks are promised for the audience's interest -- love and disguise.

analysis

Bohemia. A road near the SHEPHERD'S cottage Enter AUTOLYCUS, singing When daffodils begin to peer, With heigh! the doxy over the dale, Why, then comes in the sweet o' the year, For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale. The white sheet bleaching on the hedge, With heigh! the sweet birds, O, how they sing! Doth set my pugging tooth on edge, For a quart of ale is a dish for a king. The lark, that tirra-lirra chants, With heigh! with heigh! the thrush and the jay, Are summer songs for me and my aunts, While we lie tumbling in the hay. I have serv'd Prince Florizel, and in my time wore three-pile; but now I am out of service. But shall I go mourn for that, my dear? The pale moon shines by night; And when I wander here and there, I then do most go right. If tinkers may have leave to live, And bear the sow-skin budget, Then my account I well may give And in the stocks avouch it. My traffic is sheets; when the kite builds, look to lesser linen. My father nam'd me Autolycus; who, being, I as am, litter'd under Mercury, was likewise a snapper-up of unconsidered trifles. With die and drab I purchas'd this caparison; and my revenue is the silly-cheat. Gallows and knock are too powerful on the highway; beating and hanging are terrors to me; for the life to come, I sleep out the thought of it. A prize! a prize! Enter CLOWN CLOWN. Let me see: every 'leven wether tods; every tod yields pound and odd shilling; fifteen hundred shorn, what comes the wool to? AUTOLYCUS. [Aside] If the springe hold, the cock's mine. CLOWN. I cannot do 't without counters. Let me see: what am I to buy for our sheep-shearing feast? Three pound of sugar, five pound of currants, rice- what will this sister of mine do with rice? But my father hath made her mistress of the feast, and she lays it on. She hath made me four and twenty nosegays for the shearers- three-man song-men all, and very good ones; but they are most of them means and bases; but one Puritan amongst them, and he sings psalms to hornpipes. I must have saffron to colour the warden pies; mace; dates- none, that's out of my note; nutmegs, seven; race or two of ginger, but that I may beg; four pound of prunes, and as many of raisins o' th' sun. AUTOLYCUS. [Grovelling on the ground] O that ever I was born! CLOWN. I' th' name of me! AUTOLYCUS. O, help me, help me! Pluck but off these rags; and then, death, death! CLOWN. Alack, poor soul! thou hast need of more rags to lay on thee, rather than have these off. AUTOLYCUS. O sir, the loathsomeness of them offend me more than the stripes I have received, which are mighty ones and millions. CLOWN. Alas, poor man! a million of beating may come to a great matter. AUTOLYCUS. I am robb'd, sir, and beaten; my money and apparel ta'en from me, and these detestable things put upon me. CLOWN. What, by a horseman or a footman? AUTOLYCUS. A footman, sweet sir, a footman. CLOWN. Indeed, he should be a footman, by the garments he has left with thee; if this be a horseman's coat, it hath seen very hot service. Lend me thy hand, I'll help thee. Come, lend me thy hand. [Helping him up] AUTOLYCUS. O, good sir, tenderly, O! CLOWN. Alas, poor soul! AUTOLYCUS. O, good sir, softly, good sir; I fear, sir, my shoulder blade is out. CLOWN. How now! Canst stand? AUTOLYCUS. Softly, dear sir [Picks his pocket]; good sir, softly. You ha' done me a charitable office. CLOWN. Dost lack any money? I have a little money for thee. AUTOLYCUS. No, good sweet sir; no, I beseech you, sir. I have a kinsman not past three quarters of a mile hence, unto whom I was going; I shall there have money or anything I want. Offer me no money, I pray you; that kills my heart. CLOWN. What manner of fellow was he that robb'd you? AUTOLYCUS. A fellow, sir, that I have known to go about with troll-my-dames; I knew him once a servant of the Prince. I cannot tell, good sir, for which of his virtues it was, but he was certainly whipt out of the court. CLOWN. His vices, you would say; there's no virtue whipt out of the court. They cherish it to make it stay there; and yet it will no more but abide. AUTOLYCUS. Vices, I would say, sir. I know this man well; he hath been since an ape-bearer; then a process-server, a bailiff; then he compass'd a motion of the Prodigal Son, and married a tinker's wife within a mile where my land and living lies; and, having flown over many knavish professions, he settled only in rogue. Some call him Autolycus. CLOWN. Out upon him! prig, for my life, prig! He haunts wakes, fairs, and bear-baitings. AUTOLYCUS. Very true, sir; he, sir, he; that's the rogue that put me into this apparel. CLOWN. Not a more cowardly rogue in all Bohemia; if you had but look'd big and spit at him, he'd have run. AUTOLYCUS. I must confess to you, sir, I am no fighter; I am false of heart that way, and that he knew, I warrant him. CLOWN. How do you now? AUTOLYCUS. Sweet sir, much better than I was; I can stand and walk. I will even take my leave of you and pace softly towards my kinsman's. CLOWN. Shall I bring thee on the way? AUTOLYCUS. No, good-fac'd sir; no, sweet sir. CLOWN. Then fare thee well. I must go buy spices for our sheep-shearing. AUTOLYCUS. Prosper you, sweet sir! Exit CLOWN Your purse is not hot enough to purchase your spice. I'll be with you at your sheep-shearing too. If I make not this cheat bring out another, and the shearers prove sheep, let me be unroll'd, and my name put in the book of virtue! [Sings] Jog on, jog on, the footpath way, And merrily hent the stile-a; A merry heart goes all the day, Your sad tires in a mile-a. Exit

Autolycus enters singing a bawdy ballad. He interrupts his song to announce that he was once a well-dressed servant to Prince Florizel, but he is now out of service. Now, he collects odds and ends. There are hints that he steals them. With the help of harlots and dice, he has acquired his current attire. His favorite source of income, he says, "is the silly cheat," because he fears punishments for committing truly violent crimes. His spirits soar as he spots a prize! -- who is none other than the kind-hearted clown. The shepherd's son is struggling with calculations on the income from the wool of 1,500 sheep and with his responsibility to buy supplies for the sheep-shearing feast. All the details of this transaction arc mixed with thoughts about his family, particularly about his "sister," who is to be the "queen" of the feast. Obviously, they are preparing to entertain a large number of people. Autolycus goes to work. He grovels on the ground and begs the shocked clown to tear the rags off his back. But the clown protests that Autolycus needs more on his back, not less. Autolycus insists that the loathsome rags offend him more than his scars from many beatings. He claims that he was beaten and robbed by a footman who forced him to put on these detestable garments. The gentle, gullible clown assists Autolycus to his feet. However, as Autolycus winces to avoid aggravating his non-existent wounds, he picks the pocket of the clown. When the clown offers him money, Autolycus must, of course, refuse; so, he holds off the clown's charity by insisting that a nearby kinsman will aid him. Pressed for a description of his robber, Autolycus describes himself. The clown protests against this thief who "haunts wakes, fairs, and bear-baitings." Declaring himself well enough to walk to his relative's home, Autolycus sends the clown on to complete his errands. As soon as the good man exits, the rogue flaunts the stolen purse, mocks the clown's attempt to buy supplies without money, and declares that he will also cheat the guests at the sheep-shearing festival. Autolycus leaves as he entered, singing.

summary

Bohemia. A road near the SHEPHERD'S cottage Enter AUTOLYCUS, singing When daffodils begin to peer, With heigh! the doxy over the dale, Why, then comes in the sweet o' the year, For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale. The white sheet bleaching on the hedge, With heigh! the sweet birds, O, how they sing! Doth set my pugging tooth on edge, For a quart of ale is a dish for a king. The lark, that tirra-lirra chants, With heigh! with heigh! the thrush and the jay, Are summer songs for me and my aunts, While we lie tumbling in the hay. I have serv'd Prince Florizel, and in my time wore three-pile; but now I am out of service. But shall I go mourn for that, my dear? The pale moon shines by night; And when I wander here and there, I then do most go right. If tinkers may have leave to live, And bear the sow-skin budget, Then my account I well may give And in the stocks avouch it. My traffic is sheets; when the kite builds, look to lesser linen. My father nam'd me Autolycus; who, being, I as am, litter'd under Mercury, was likewise a snapper-up of unconsidered trifles. With die and drab I purchas'd this caparison; and my revenue is the silly-cheat. Gallows and knock are too powerful on the highway; beating and hanging are terrors to me; for the life to come, I sleep out the thought of it. A prize! a prize! Enter CLOWN CLOWN. Let me see: every 'leven wether tods; every tod yields pound and odd shilling; fifteen hundred shorn, what comes the wool to? AUTOLYCUS. [Aside] If the springe hold, the cock's mine. CLOWN. I cannot do 't without counters. Let me see: what am I to buy for our sheep-shearing feast? Three pound of sugar, five pound of currants, rice- what will this sister of mine do with rice? But my father hath made her mistress of the feast, and she lays it on. She hath made me four and twenty nosegays for the shearers- three-man song-men all, and very good ones; but they are most of them means and bases; but one Puritan amongst them, and he sings psalms to hornpipes. I must have saffron to colour the warden pies; mace; dates- none, that's out of my note; nutmegs, seven; race or two of ginger, but that I may beg; four pound of prunes, and as many of raisins o' th' sun. AUTOLYCUS. [Grovelling on the ground] O that ever I was born! CLOWN. I' th' name of me! AUTOLYCUS. O, help me, help me! Pluck but off these rags; and then, death, death! CLOWN. Alack, poor soul! thou hast need of more rags to lay on thee, rather than have these off. AUTOLYCUS. O sir, the loathsomeness of them offend me more than the stripes I have received, which are mighty ones and millions. CLOWN. Alas, poor man! a million of beating may come to a great matter. AUTOLYCUS. I am robb'd, sir, and beaten; my money and apparel ta'en from me, and these detestable things put upon me. CLOWN. What, by a horseman or a footman? AUTOLYCUS. A footman, sweet sir, a footman. CLOWN. Indeed, he should be a footman, by the garments he has left with thee; if this be a horseman's coat, it hath seen very hot service. Lend me thy hand, I'll help thee. Come, lend me thy hand. [Helping him up] AUTOLYCUS. O, good sir, tenderly, O! CLOWN. Alas, poor soul! AUTOLYCUS. O, good sir, softly, good sir; I fear, sir, my shoulder blade is out. CLOWN. How now! Canst stand? AUTOLYCUS. Softly, dear sir [Picks his pocket]; good sir, softly. You ha' done me a charitable office. CLOWN. Dost lack any money? I have a little money for thee. AUTOLYCUS. No, good sweet sir; no, I beseech you, sir. I have a kinsman not past three quarters of a mile hence, unto whom I was going; I shall there have money or anything I want. Offer me no money, I pray you; that kills my heart. CLOWN. What manner of fellow was he that robb'd you? AUTOLYCUS. A fellow, sir, that I have known to go about with troll-my-dames; I knew him once a servant of the Prince. I cannot tell, good sir, for which of his virtues it was, but he was certainly whipt out of the court. CLOWN. His vices, you would say; there's no virtue whipt out of the court. They cherish it to make it stay there; and yet it will no more but abide. AUTOLYCUS. Vices, I would say, sir. I know this man well; he hath been since an ape-bearer; then a process-server, a bailiff; then he compass'd a motion of the Prodigal Son, and married a tinker's wife within a mile where my land and living lies; and, having flown over many knavish professions, he settled only in rogue. Some call him Autolycus. CLOWN. Out upon him! prig, for my life, prig! He haunts wakes, fairs, and bear-baitings. AUTOLYCUS. Very true, sir; he, sir, he; that's the rogue that put me into this apparel. CLOWN. Not a more cowardly rogue in all Bohemia; if you had but look'd big and spit at him, he'd have run. AUTOLYCUS. I must confess to you, sir, I am no fighter; I am false of heart that way, and that he knew, I warrant him. CLOWN. How do you now? AUTOLYCUS. Sweet sir, much better than I was; I can stand and walk. I will even take my leave of you and pace softly towards my kinsman's. CLOWN. Shall I bring thee on the way? AUTOLYCUS. No, good-fac'd sir; no, sweet sir. CLOWN. Then fare thee well. I must go buy spices for our sheep-shearing. AUTOLYCUS. Prosper you, sweet sir! Exit CLOWN Your purse is not hot enough to purchase your spice. I'll be with you at your sheep-shearing too. If I make not this cheat bring out another, and the shearers prove sheep, let me be unroll'd, and my name put in the book of virtue! [Sings] Jog on, jog on, the footpath way, And merrily hent the stile-a; A merry heart goes all the day, Your sad tires in a mile-a. Exit

Obviously, this scene mixes comedy and pathos, its humor being tempered by the serious effect of the theft from the kind shepherd's son. It also sets up the causal and time sequences for Perdita's role in the sheep-shearing feast during the spring season. In addition, minor characterization developments occur. Shakespeare adds qualities of gullibility and slow-wittedness to the previously revealed quality of kindness in the clown. But the scene's real intrigue focuses on the clown's confusion of illusion with reality. As Autolycus identifies an illusory rogue by providing his own biography, the clown cries out against this imaginary thief to the real thief, the real Autolycus. And the clown never realizes that he himself is the real victim in this scene.

analysis

Bohemia. The SHEPHERD'S cottage Enter FLORIZEL and PERDITA FLORIZEL. These your unusual weeds to each part of you Do give a life- no shepherdess, but Flora Peering in April's front. This your sheep-shearing Is as a meeting of the petty gods, And you the Queen on't. PERDITA. Sir, my gracious lord, To chide at your extremes it not becomes me- O, pardon that I name them! Your high self, The gracious mark o' th' land, you have obscur'd With a swain's wearing; and me, poor lowly maid, Most goddess-like prank'd up. But that our feasts In every mess have folly, and the feeders Digest it with a custom, I should blush To see you so attir'd; swoon, I think, To show myself a glass. FLORIZEL. I bless the time When my good falcon made her flight across Thy father's ground. PERDITA. Now Jove afford you cause! To me the difference forges dread; your greatness Hath not been us'd to fear. Even now I tremble To think your father, by some accident, Should pass this way, as you did. O, the Fates! How would he look to see his work, so noble, Vilely bound up? What would he say? Or how Should I, in these my borrowed flaunts, behold The sternness of his presence? FLORIZEL. Apprehend Nothing but jollity. The gods themselves, Humbling their deities to love, have taken The shapes of beasts upon them: Jupiter Became a bull and bellow'd; the green Neptune A ram and bleated; and the fire-rob'd god, Golden Apollo, a poor humble swain, As I seem now. Their transformations Were never for a piece of beauty rarer, Nor in a way so chaste, since my desires Run not before mine honour, nor my lusts Burn hotter than my faith. PERDITA. O, but, sir, Your resolution cannot hold when 'tis Oppos'd, as it must be, by th' pow'r of the King. One of these two must be necessities, Which then will speak, that you must change this purpose, Or I my life. FLORIZEL. Thou dearest Perdita, With these forc'd thoughts, I prithee, darken not The mirth o' th' feast. Or I'll be thine, my fair, Or not my father's; for I cannot be Mine own, nor anything to any, if I be not thine. To this I am most constant, Though destiny say no. Be merry, gentle; Strangle such thoughts as these with any thing That you behold the while. Your guests are coming. Lift up your countenance, as it were the day Of celebration of that nuptial which We two have sworn shall come. PERDITA. O Lady Fortune, Stand you auspicious! FLORIZEL. See, your guests approach. Address yourself to entertain them sprightly, And let's be red with mirth. Enter SHEPHERD, with POLIXENES and CAMILLO, disguised; CLOWN, MOPSA, DORCAS, with OTHERS SHEPHERD. Fie, daughter! When my old wife liv'd, upon This day she was both pantler, butler, cook; Both dame and servant; welcom'd all; serv'd all; Would sing her song and dance her turn; now here At upper end o' th' table, now i' th' middle; On his shoulder, and his; her face o' fire With labour, and the thing she took to quench it She would to each one sip. You are retired, As if you were a feasted one, and not The hostess of the meeting. Pray you bid These unknown friends to's welcome, for it is A way to make us better friends, more known. Come, quench your blushes, and present yourself That which you are, Mistress o' th' Feast. Come on, And bid us welcome to your sheep-shearing, As your good flock shall prosper. PERDITA. [To POLIXENES] Sir, welcome. It is my father's will I should take on me The hostess-ship o' th' day. [To CAMILLO] You're welcome, sir. Give me those flow'rs there, Dorcas. Reverend sirs, For you there's rosemary and rue; these keep Seeming and savour all the winter long. Grace and remembrance be to you both! And welcome to our shearing. POLIXENES. Shepherdess- A fair one are you- well you fit our ages With flow'rs of winter. PERDITA. Sir, the year growing ancient, Not yet on summer's death nor on the birth Of trembling winter, the fairest flow'rs o' th' season Are our carnations and streak'd gillyvors, Which some call nature's bastards. Of that kind Our rustic garden's barren; and I care not To get slips of them. POLIXENES. Wherefore, gentle maiden, Do you neglect them? PERDITA. For I have heard it said There is an art which in their piedness shares With great creating nature. POLIXENES. Say there be; Yet nature is made better by no mean But nature makes that mean; so over that art Which you say adds to nature, is an art That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry A gentler scion to the wildest stock, And make conceive a bark of baser kind By bud of nobler race. This is an art Which does mend nature- change it rather; but The art itself is nature. PERDITA. So it is. POLIXENES. Then make your garden rich in gillyvors, And do not call them bastards. PERDITA. I'll not put The dibble in earth to set one slip of them; No more than were I painted I would wish This youth should say 'twere well, and only therefore Desire to breed by me. Here's flow'rs for you: Hot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram; The marigold, that goes to bed wi' th' sun, And with him rises weeping; these are flow'rs Of middle summer, and I think they are given To men of middle age. Y'are very welcome. CAMILLO. I should leave grazing, were I of your flock, And only live by gazing. PERDITA. Out, alas! You'd be so lean that blasts of January Would blow you through and through. Now, my fair'st friend, I would I had some flow'rs o' th' spring that might Become your time of day- and yours, and yours, That wear upon your virgin branches yet Your maidenheads growing. O Proserpina, From the flowers now that, frighted, thou let'st fall From Dis's waggon!- daffodils, That come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty; violets, dim But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes Or Cytherea's breath; pale primroses, That die unmarried ere they can behold Bright Phoebus in his strength- a malady Most incident to maids; bold oxlips, and The crown-imperial; lilies of all kinds, The flow'r-de-luce being one. O, these I lack To make you garlands of, and my sweet friend To strew him o'er and o'er! FLORIZEL. What, like a corse? PERDITA. No; like a bank for love to lie and play on; Not like a corse; or if- not to be buried, But quick, and in mine arms. Come, take your flow'rs. Methinks I play as I have seen them do In Whitsun pastorals. Sure, this robe of mine Does change my disposition. FLORIZEL. What you do Still betters what is done. When you speak, sweet, I'd have you do it ever. When you sing, I'd have you buy and sell so; so give alms; Pray so; and, for the ord'ring your affairs, To sing them too. When you do dance, I wish you A wave o' th' sea, that you might ever do Nothing but that; move still, still so, And own no other function. Each your doing, So singular in each particular, Crowns what you are doing in the present deeds, That all your acts are queens. PERDITA. O Doricles, Your praises are too large. But that your youth, And the true blood which peeps fairly through't, Do plainly give you out an unstain'd shepherd, With wisdom I might fear, my Doricles, You woo'd me the false way. FLORIZEL. I think you have As little skill to fear as I have purpose To put you to't. But, come; our dance, I pray. Your hand, my Perdita; so turtles pair That never mean to part. PERDITA. I'll swear for 'em. POLIXENES. This is the prettiest low-born lass that ever Ran on the green-sward; nothing she does or seems But smacks of something greater than herself, Too noble for this place. CAMILLO. He tells her something That makes her blood look out. Good sooth, she is The queen of curds and cream. CLOWN. Come on, strike up. DORCAS. Mopsa must be your mistress; marry, garlic, To mend her kissing with! MOPSA. Now, in good time! CLOWN. Not a word, a word; we stand upon our manners. Come, strike up. [Music] Here a dance Of SHEPHERDS and SHEPHERDESSES POLIXENES. Pray, good shepherd, what fair swain is this Which dances with your daughter? SHEPHERD. They call him Doricles, and boasts himself To have a worthy feeding; but I have it Upon his own report, and I believe it: He looks like sooth. He says he loves my daughter; I think so too; for never gaz'd the moon Upon the water as he'll stand and read, As 'twere my daughter's eyes; and, to be plain, I think there is not half a kiss to choose Who loves another best. POLIXENES. She dances featly. SHEPHERD. So she does any thing; though I report it That should be silent. If young Doricles Do light upon her, she shall bring him that Which he not dreams of. Enter a SERVANT SERVANT. O master, if you did but hear the pedlar at the door, you would never dance again after a tabor and pipe; no, the bagpipe could not move you. He sings several tunes faster than you'll tell money; he utters them as he had eaten ballads, and all men's ears grew to his tunes. CLOWN. He could never come better; he shall come in. I love a ballad but even too well, if it be doleful matter merrily set down, or a very pleasant thing indeed and sung lamentably. SERVANT. He hath songs for man or woman of all sizes; no milliner can so fit his customers with gloves. He has the prettiest love-songs for maids; so without bawdry, which is strange; with such delicate burdens of dildos and fadings, 'jump her and thump her'; and where some stretch-mouth'd rascal would, as it were, mean mischief, and break a foul gap into the matter, he makes the maid to answer 'Whoop, do me no harm, good man'- puts him off, slights him, with 'Whoop, do me no harm, good man.' POLIXENES. This is a brave fellow. CLOWN. Believe me, thou talkest of an admirable conceited fellow. Has he any unbraided wares? SERVANT. He hath ribbons of all the colours i' th' rainbow; points, more than all the lawyers in Bohemia can learnedly handle, though they come to him by th' gross; inkles, caddisses, cambrics, lawns. Why he sings 'em over as they were gods or goddesses; you would think a smock were she-angel, he so chants to the sleeve-hand and the work about the square on't. CLOWN. Prithee bring him in; and let him approach singing. PERDITA. Forewarn him that he use no scurrilous words in's tunes. Exit SERVANT CLOWN. You have of these pedlars that have more in them than you'd think, sister. PERDITA. Ay, good brother, or go about to think. Enter AUTOLYCUS, Singing Lawn as white as driven snow; Cypress black as e'er was crow; Gloves as sweet as damask roses; Masks for faces and for noses; Bugle bracelet, necklace amber, Perfume for a lady's chamber; Golden quoifs and stomachers, For my lads to give their dears; Pins and poking-sticks of steel- What maids lack from head to heel. Come, buy of me, come; come buy, come buy; Buy, lads, or else your lasses cry. Come, buy. CLOWN. If I were not in love with Mopsa, thou shouldst take no money of me; but being enthrall'd as I am, it will also be the bondage of certain ribbons and gloves. MOPSA. I was promis'd them against the feast; but they come not too late now. DORCAS. He hath promis'd you more than that, or there be liars. MOPSA. He hath paid you all he promis'd you. May be he has paid you more, which will shame you to give him again. CLOWN. Is there no manners left among maids? Will they wear their plackets where they should bear their faces? Is there not milking-time, when you are going to bed, or kiln-hole, to whistle off these secrets, but you must be tittle-tattling before all our guests? 'Tis well they are whisp'ring. Clammer your tongues, and not a word more. MOPSA. I have done. Come, you promis'd me a tawdry-lace, and a pair of sweet gloves. CLOWN. Have I not told thee how I was cozen'd by the way, and lost all my money? AUTOLYCUS. And indeed, sir, there are cozeners abroad; therefore it behoves men to be wary. CLOWN. Fear not thou, man; thou shalt lose nothing here. AUTOLYCUS. I hope so, sir; for I have about me many parcels of charge. CLOWN. What hast here? Ballads? MOPSA. Pray now, buy some. I love a ballad in print a-life, for then we are sure they are true. AUTOLYCUS. Here's one to a very doleful tune: how a usurer's wife was brought to bed of twenty money-bags at a burden, and how she long'd to eat adders' heads and toads carbonado'd. MOPSA. Is it true, think you? AUTOLYCUS. Very true, and but a month old. DORCAS. Bless me from marrying a usurer! AUTOLYCUS. Here's the midwife's name to't, one Mistress Taleporter, and five or six honest wives that were present. Why should I carry lies abroad? MOPSA. Pray you now, buy it. CLOWN. Come on, lay it by; and let's first see moe ballads; we'll buy the other things anon. AUTOLYCUS. Here's another ballad, of a fish that appeared upon the coast on Wednesday the fourscore of April, forty thousand fathom above water, and sung this ballad against the hard hearts of maids. It was thought she was a woman, and was turn'd into a cold fish for she would not exchange flesh with one that lov'd her. The ballad is very pitiful, and as true. DORCAS. Is it true too, think you? AUTOLYCUS. Five justices' hands at it; and witnesses more than my pack will hold. CLOWN. Lay it by too. Another. AUTOLYCUS. This is a merry ballad, but a very pretty one. MOPSA. Let's have some merry ones. AUTOLYCUS. Why, this is a passing merry one, and goes to the tune of 'Two maids wooing a man.' There's scarce a maid westward but she sings it; 'tis in request, I can tell you. MOPSA. can both sing it. If thou'lt bear a part, thou shalt hear; 'tis in three parts. DORCAS. We had the tune on't a month ago. AUTOLYCUS. I can bear my part; you must know 'tis my occupation. Have at it with you. SONG AUTOLYCUS. Get you hence, for I must go Where it fits not you to know. DORCAS. Whither? MOPSA. O, whither? DORCAS. Whither? MOPSA. It becomes thy oath full well Thou to me thy secrets tell. DORCAS. Me too! Let me go thither MOPSA. Or thou goest to th' grange or mill. DORCAS. If to either, thou dost ill. AUTOLYCUS. Neither. DORCAS. What, neither? AUTOLYCUS. Neither. DORCAS. Thou hast sworn my love to be. MOPSA. Thou hast sworn it more to me. Then whither goest? Say, whither? CLOWN. We'll have this song out anon by ourselves; my father and the gentlemen are in sad talk, and we'll not trouble them. Come, bring away thy pack after me. Wenches, I'll buy for you both. Pedlar, let's have the first choice. Follow me, girls. Exit with DORCAS and MOPSA AUTOLYCUS. And you shall pay well for 'em. Exit AUTOLYCUS, Singing Will you buy any tape, Or lace for your cape, My dainty duck, my dear-a? Any silk, any thread, Any toys for your head, Of the new'st and fin'st, fin'st wear-a? Come to the pedlar; Money's a meddler That doth utter all men's ware-a. Re-enter SERVANT SERVANT. Master, there is three carters, three shepherds, three neat-herds, three swineherds, that have made themselves all men of hair; they call themselves Saltiers, and they have dance which the wenches say is a gallimaufry of gambols, because they are not in't; but they themselves are o' th' mind, if it be not too rough for some that know little but bowling, it will please plentifully. SHEPHERD. Away! We'll none on't; here has been too much homely foolery already. I know, sir, we weary you. POLIXENES. You weary those that refresh us. Pray, let's see these four threes of herdsmen. SERVANT. One three of them, by their own report, sir, hath danc'd before the King; and not the worst of the three but jumps twelve foot and a half by th' squier. SHEPHERD. Leave your prating; since these good men are pleas'd, let them come in; but quickly now. SERVANT. Why, they stay at door, sir. Exit Here a dance of twelve SATYRS POLIXENES. [To SHEPHERD] O, father, you'll know more of that hereafter. [To CAMILLO] Is it not too far gone? 'Tis time to part them. He's simple and tells much. [To FLORIZEL] How now, fair shepherd! Your heart is full of something that does take Your mind from feasting. Sooth, when I was young And handed love as you do, I was wont To load my she with knacks; I would have ransack'd The pedlar's silken treasury and have pour'd it To her acceptance: you have let him go And nothing marted with him. If your lass Interpretation should abuse and call this Your lack of love or bounty, you were straited For a reply, at least if you make a care Of happy holding her. FLORIZEL. Old sir, I know She prizes not such trifles as these are. The gifts she looks from me are pack'd and lock'd Up in my heart, which I have given already, But not deliver'd. O, hear me breathe my life Before this ancient sir, whom, it should seem, Hath sometime lov'd. I take thy hand- this hand, As soft as dove's down and as white as it, Or Ethiopian's tooth, or the fann'd snow that's bolted By th' northern blasts twice o'er. POLIXENES. What follows this? How prettily the young swain seems to wash The hand was fair before! I have put you out. But to your protestation; let me hear What you profess. FLORIZEL. Do, and be witness to't. POLIXENES. And this my neighbour too? FLORIZEL. And he, and more Than he, and men- the earth, the heavens, and all: That, were I crown'd the most imperial monarch, Thereof most worthy, were I the fairest youth That ever made eye swerve, had force and knowledge More than was ever man's, I would not prize them Without her love; for her employ them all; Commend them and condemn them to her service Or to their own perdition. POLIXENES. Fairly offer'd. CAMILLO. This shows a sound affection. SHEPHERD. But, my daughter, Say you the like to him? PERDITA. I cannot speak So well, nothing so well; no, nor mean better. By th' pattern of mine own thoughts I cut out The purity of his. SHEPHERD. Take hands, a bargain! And, friends unknown, you shall bear witness to't: I give my daughter to him, and will make Her portion equal his. FLORIZEL. O, that must be I' th' virtue of your daughter. One being dead, I shall have more than you can dream of yet; Enough then for your wonder. But come on, Contract us fore these witnesses. SHEPHERD. Come, your hand; And, daughter, yours. POLIXENES. Soft, swain, awhile, beseech you; Have you a father? FLORIZEL. I have, but what of him? POLIXENES. Knows he of this? FLORIZEL. He neither does nor shall. POLIXENES. Methinks a father Is at the nuptial of his son a guest That best becomes the table. Pray you, once more, Is not your father grown incapable Of reasonable affairs? Is he not stupid With age and alt'ring rheums? Can he speak, hear, Know man from man, dispute his own estate? Lies he not bed-rid, and again does nothing But what he did being childish? FLORIZEL. No, good sir; He has his health, and ampler strength indeed Than most have of his age. POLIXENES. By my white beard, You offer him, if this be so, a wrong Something unfilial. Reason my son Should choose himself a wife; but as good reason The father- all whose joy is nothing else But fair posterity- should hold some counsel In such a business. FLORIZEL. I yield all this; But, for some other reasons, my grave sir, Which 'tis not fit you know, I not acquaint My father of this business. POLIXENES. Let him know't. FLORIZEL. He shall not. POLIXENES. Prithee let him. FLORIZEL. No, he must not. SHEPHERD. Let him, my son; he shall not need to grieve At knowing of thy choice. FLORIZEL. Come, come, he must not. Mark our contract. POLIXENES. [Discovering himself] Mark your divorce, young sir, Whom son I dare not call; thou art too base To be acknowledg'd- thou a sceptre's heir, That thus affects a sheep-hook! Thou, old traitor, I am sorry that by hanging thee I can but Shorten thy life one week. And thou, fresh piece Of excellent witchcraft, who of force must know The royal fool thou cop'st with- SHEPHERD. O, my heart! POLIXENES. I'll have thy beauty scratch'd with briers and made More homely than thy state. For thee, fond boy, If I may ever know thou dost but sigh That thou no more shalt see this knack- as never I mean thou shalt- we'll bar thee from succession; Not hold thee of our blood, no, not our kin, Farre than Deucalion off. Mark thou my words. Follow us to the court. Thou churl, for this time, Though full of our displeasure, yet we free thee From the dead blow of it. And you, enchantment, Worthy enough a herdsman- yea, him too That makes himself, but for our honour therein, Unworthy thee- if ever henceforth thou These rural latches to his entrance open, Or hoop his body more with thy embraces, I will devise a death as cruel for thee As thou art tender to't. Exit PERDITA. Even here undone! I was not much afeard; for once or twice I was about to speak and tell him plainly The self-same sun that shines upon his court Hides not his visage from our cottage, but Looks on alike. [To FLORIZEL] Will't please you, sir, be gone? I told you what would come of this. Beseech you, Of your own state take care. This dream of mine- Being now awake, I'll queen it no inch farther, But milk my ewes and weep. CAMILLO. Why, how now, father! Speak ere thou diest. SHEPHERD. I cannot speak nor think, Nor dare to know that which I know. [To FLORIZEL] O sir, You have undone a man of fourscore-three That thought to fill his grave in quiet, yea, To die upon the bed my father died, To lie close by his honest bones; but now Some hangman must put on my shroud and lay me Where no priest shovels in dust. [To PERDITA] O cursed wretch, That knew'st this was the Prince, and wouldst adventure To mingle faith with him!- Undone, undone! If I might die within this hour, I have liv'd To die when I desire. Exit FLORIZEL. Why look you so upon me? I am but sorry, not afeard; delay'd, But nothing alt'red. What I was, I am: More straining on for plucking back; not following My leash unwillingly. CAMILLO. Gracious, my lord, You know your father's temper. At this time He will allow no speech- which I do guess You do not purpose to him- and as hardly Will he endure your sight as yet, I fear; Then, till the fury of his Highness settle, Come not before him. FLORIZEL. I not purpose it. I think Camillo? CAMILLO. Even he, my lord. PERDITA. How often have I told you 'twould be thus! How often said my dignity would last But till 'twere known! FLORIZEL. It cannot fail but by The violation of my faith; and then Let nature crush the sides o' th' earth together And mar the seeds within! Lift up thy looks. From my succession wipe me, father; I Am heir to my affection. CAMILLO. Be advis'd. FLORIZEL. I am- and by my fancy; if my reason Will thereto be obedient, I have reason; If not, my senses, better pleas'd with madness, Do bid it welcome. CAMILLO. This is desperate, sir. FLORIZEL. So call it; but it does fulfil my vow: I needs must think it honesty. Camillo, Not for Bohemia, nor the pomp that may Be thereat glean'd, for all the sun sees or The close earth wombs, or the profound seas hides In unknown fathoms, will I break my oath To this my fair belov'd. Therefore, I pray you, As you have ever been my father's honour'd friend, When he shall miss me- as, in faith, I mean not To see him any more- cast your good counsels Upon his passion. Let myself and Fortune Tug for the time to come. This you may know, And so deliver: I am put to sea With her who here I cannot hold on shore. And most opportune to her need I have A vessel rides fast by, but not prepar'd For this design. What course I mean to hold Shall nothing benefit your knowledge, nor Concern me the reporting. CAMILLO. O my lord, I would your spirit were easier for advice. Or stronger for your need. FLORIZEL. Hark, Perdita. [Takes her aside] [To CAMILLO] I'll hear you by and by. CAMILLO. He's irremovable, Resolv'd for flight. Now were I happy if His going I could frame to serve my turn, Save him from danger, do him love and honour, Purchase the sight again of dear Sicilia And that unhappy king, my master, whom I so much thirst to see. FLORIZEL. Now, good Camillo, I am so fraught with curious business that I leave out ceremony. CAMILLO. Sir, I think You have heard of my poor services i' th' love That I have borne your father? FLORIZEL. Very nobly Have you deserv'd. It is my father's music To speak your deeds; not little of his care To have them recompens'd as thought on. CAMILLO. Well, my lord, If you may please to think I love the King, And through him what's nearest to him, which is Your gracious self, embrace but my direction. If your more ponderous and settled project May suffer alteration, on mine honour, I'll point you where you shall have such receiving As shall become your Highness; where you may Enjoy your mistress, from the whom, I see, There's no disjunction to be made but by, As heavens forfend! your ruin- marry her; And with my best endeavours in your absence Your discontenting father strive to qualify, And bring him up to liking. FLORIZEL. How, Camillo, May this, almost a miracle, be done? That I may call thee something more than man, And after that trust to thee. CAMILLO. Have you thought on A place whereto you'll go? FLORIZEL. Not any yet; But as th' unthought-on accident is guilty To what we wildly do, so we profess Ourselves to be the slaves of chance and flies Of every wind that blows. CAMILLO. Then list to me. This follows, if you will not change your purpose But undergo this flight: make for Sicilia, And there present yourself and your fair princess- For so, I see, she must be- fore Leontes. She shall be habited as it becomes The partner of your bed. Methinks I see Leontes opening his free arms and weeping His welcomes forth; asks thee there 'Son, forgiveness!' As 'twere i' th' father's person; kisses the hands Of your fresh princess; o'er and o'er divides him 'Twixt his unkindness and his kindness- th' one He chides to hell, and bids the other grow Faster than thought or time. FLORIZEL. Worthy Camillo, What colour for my visitation shall I Hold up before him? CAMILLO. Sent by the King your father To greet him and to give him comforts. Sir, The manner of your bearing towards him, with What you as from your father shall deliver, Things known betwixt us three, I'll write you down; The which shall point you forth at every sitting What you must say, that he shall not perceive But that you have your father's bosom there And speak his very heart. FLORIZEL. I am bound to you. There is some sap in this. CAMILLO. A course more promising Than a wild dedication of yourselves To unpath'd waters, undream'd shores, most certain To miseries enough; no hope to help you, But as you shake off one to take another; Nothing so certain as your anchors, who Do their best office if they can but stay you Where you'll be loath to be. Besides, you know Prosperity's the very bond of love, Whose fresh complexion and whose heart together Affliction alters. PERDITA. One of these is true: I think affliction may subdue the cheek, But not take in the mind. CAMILLO. Yea, say you so? There shall not at your father's house these seven years Be born another such. FLORIZEL. My good Camillo, She is as forward of her breeding as She is i' th' rear o' our birth. CAMILLO. I cannot say 'tis pity She lacks instructions, for she seems a mistress To most that teach. PERDITA. Your pardon, sir; for this I'll blush you thanks. FLORIZEL. My prettiest Perdita! But, O, the thorns we stand upon! Camillo- Preserver of my father, now of me; The medicine of our house- how shall we do? We are not furnish'd like Bohemia's son; Nor shall appear in Sicilia. CAMILLO. My lord, Fear none of this. I think you know my fortunes Do all lie there. It shall be so my care To have you royally appointed as if The scene you play were mine. For instance, sir, That you may know you shall not want- one word. [They talk aside] Re-enter AUTOLYCUS AUTOLYCUS. Ha, ha! what a fool Honesty is! and Trust, his sworn brother, a very simple gentleman! I have sold all my trumpery; not a counterfeit stone, not a ribbon, glass, pomander, brooch, table-book, ballad, knife, tape, glove, shoe-tie, bracelet, horn-ring, to keep my pack from fasting. They throng who should buy first, as if my trinkets had been hallowed and brought a benediction to the buyer; by which means I saw whose purse was best in picture; and what I saw, to my good use I rememb'red. My clown, who wants but something to be a reasonable man, grew so in love with the wenches' song that he would not stir his pettitoes till he had both tune and words, which so drew the rest of the herd to me that all their other senses stuck in ears. You might have pinch'd a placket, it was senseless; 'twas nothing to geld a codpiece of a purse; I would have fil'd keys off that hung in chains. No hearing, no feeling, but my sir's song, and admiring the nothing of it. So that in this time of lethargy I pick'd and cut most of their festival purses; and had not the old man come in with whoobub against his daughter and the King's son and scar'd my choughs from the chaff, I had not left a purse alive in the whole army. CAMILLO, FLORIZEL, and PERDITA come forward CAMILLO. Nay, but my letters, by this means being there So soon as you arrive, shall clear that doubt. FLORIZEL. And those that you'll procure from King Leontes? CAMILLO. Shall satisfy your father. PERDITA. Happy be you! All that you speak shows fair. CAMILLO. [seeing AUTOLYCUS] Who have we here? We'll make an instrument of this; omit Nothing may give us aid. AUTOLYCUS. [Aside] If they have overheard me now- why, hanging. CAMILLO. How now, good fellow! Why shak'st thou so? Fear not, man; here's no harm intended to thee. AUTOLYCUS. I am a poor fellow, sir. CAMILLO. Why, be so still; here's nobody will steal that from thee. Yet for the outside of thy poverty we must make an exchange; therefore discase thee instantly- thou must think there's a necessity in't- and change garments with this gentleman. Though the pennyworth on his side be the worst, yet hold thee, there's some boot. [Giving money] AUTOLYCUS. I am a poor fellow, sir. [Aside] I know ye well enough. CAMILLO. Nay, prithee dispatch. The gentleman is half flay'd already. AUTOLYCUS. Are you in camest, sir? [Aside] I smell the trick on't. FLORIZEL. Dispatch, I prithee. AUTOLYCUS. Indeed, I have had earnest; but I cannot with conscience take it. CAMILLO. Unbuckle, unbuckle. FLORIZEL and AUTOLYCUS exchange garments Fortunate mistress- let my prophecy Come home to ye!- you must retire yourself Into some covert; take your sweetheart's hat And pluck it o'er your brows, muffle your face, Dismantle you, and, as you can, disliken The truth of your own seeming, that you may- For I do fear eyes over- to shipboard Get undescried. PERDITA. I see the play so lies That I must bear a part. CAMILLO. No remedy. Have you done there? FLORIZEL. Should I now meet my father, He would not call me son. CAMILLO. Nay, you shall have no hat. [Giving it to PERDITA] Come, lady, come. Farewell, my friend. AUTOLYCUS. Adieu, sir. FLORIZEL. O Perdita, what have we twain forgot! Pray you a word. [They converse apart] CAMILLO. [Aside] What I do next shall be to tell the King Of this escape, and whither they are bound; Wherein my hope is I shall so prevail To force him after; in whose company I shall re-view Sicilia, for whose sight I have a woman's longing. FLORIZEL. Fortune speed us! Thus we set on, Camillo, to th' sea-side. CAMILLO. The swifter speed the better. Exeunt FLORIZEL, PERDITA, and CAMILLO AUTOLYCUS. I understand the business, I hear it. To have an open ear, a quick eye, and a nimble hand, is necessary for a cut-purse; a good nose is requisite also, to smell out work for th' other senses. I see this is the time that the unjust man doth thrive. What an exchange had this been without boot! What a boot is here with this exchange! Sure, the gods do this year connive at us, and we may do anything extempore. The Prince himself is about a piece of iniquity- stealing away from his father with his clog at his heels. If I thought it were a piece of honesty to acquaint the King withal, I would not do't. I hold it the more knavery to conceal it; and therein am I constant to my profession. Re-enter CLOWN and SHEPHERD Aside, aside- here is more matter for a hot brain. Every lane's end, every shop, church, session, hanging, yields a careful man work. CLOWN. See, see; what a man you are now! There is no other way but to tell the King she's a changeling and none of your flesh and blood. SHEPHERD. Nay, but hear me. CLOWN. Nay- but hear me. SHEPHERD. Go to, then. CLOWN. She being none of your flesh and blood, your flesh and blood has not offended the King; and so your flesh and blood is not to be punish'd by him. Show those things you found about her, those secret things- all but what she has with her. This being done, let the law go whistle; I warrant you. SHEPHERD. I will tell the King all, every word- yea, and his son's pranks too; who, I may say, is no honest man, neither to his father nor to me, to go about to make me the King's brother-in-law. CLOWN. Indeed, brother-in-law was the farthest off you could have been to him; and then your blood had been the dearer by I know how much an ounce. AUTOLYCUS. [Aside] Very wisely, puppies! SHEPHERD. Well, let us to the King. There is that in this fardel will make him scratch his beard. AUTOLYCUS. [Aside] I know not what impediment this complaint may be to the flight of my master. CLOWN. Pray heartily he be at palace. AUTOLYCUS. [Aside] Though I am not naturally honest, I am so sometimes by chance. Let me pocket up my pedlar's excrement. [Takes off his false beard] How now, rustics! Whither are you bound? SHEPHERD. To th' palace, an it like your worship. AUTOLYCUS. Your affairs there, what, with whom, the condition of that fardel, the place of your dwelling, your names, your ages, of what having, breeding, and anything that is fitting to be known- discover. CLOWN. We are but plain fellows, sir. AUTOLYCUS. A lie: you are rough and hairy. Let me have no lying; it becomes none but tradesmen, and they often give us soldiers the lie; but we pay them for it with stamped coin, not stabbing steel; therefore they do not give us the lie. CLOWN. Your worship had like to have given us one, if you had not taken yourself with the manner. SHEPHERD. Are you a courtier, an't like you, sir? AUTOLYCUS. Whether it like me or no, I am a courtier. Seest thou not the air of the court in these enfoldings? Hath not my gait in it the measure of the court? Receives not thy nose court-odour from me? Reflect I not on thy baseness court-contempt? Think'st thou, for that I insinuate, that toaze from thee thy business, I am therefore no courtier? I am courtier cap-a-pe, and one that will either push on or pluck back thy business there; whereupon I command the to open thy affair. SHEPHERD. My business, sir, is to the King. AUTOLYCUS. What advocate hast thou to him? SHEPHERD. I know not, an't like you. CLOWN. Advocate's the court-word for a pheasant; say you have none. SHEPHERD. None, sir; I have no pheasant, cock nor hen. AUTOLYCUS. How blessed are we that are not simple men! Yet nature might have made me as these are, Therefore I will not disdain. CLOWN. This cannot be but a great courtier. SHEPHERD. His garments are rich, but he wears them not handsomely. CLOWN. He seems to be the more noble in being fantastical. A great man, I'll warrant; I know by the picking on's teeth. AUTOLYCUS. The fardel there? What's i' th' fardel? Wherefore that box? SHEPHERD. Sir, there lies such secrets in this fardel and box which none must know but the King; and which he shall know within this hour, if I may come to th' speech of him. AUTOLYCUS. Age, thou hast lost thy labour. SHEPHERD. Why, Sir? AUTOLYCUS. The King is not at the palace; he is gone aboard a new ship to purge melancholy and air himself; for, if thou be'st capable of things serious, thou must know the King is full of grief. SHEPHERD. So 'tis said, sir- about his son, that should have married a shepherd's daughter. AUTOLYCUS. If that shepherd be not in hand-fast, let him fly; the curses he shall have, the tortures he shall feel, will break the back of man, the heart of monster. CLOWN. Think you so, sir? AUTOLYCUS. Not he alone shall suffer what wit can make heavy and vengeance bitter; but those that are germane to him, though remov'd fifty times, shall all come under the hangman- which, though it be great pity, yet it is necessary. An old sheep-whistling rogue, a ram-tender, to offer to have his daughter come into grace! Some say he shall be ston'd; but that death is too soft for him, say I. Draw our throne into a sheep-cote!- all deaths are too few, the sharpest too easy. CLOWN. Has the old man e'er a son, sir, do you hear, an't like you, sir? AUTOLYCUS. He has a son- who shall be flay'd alive; then 'nointed over with honey, set on the head of a wasp's nest; then stand till he be three quarters and a dram dead; then recover'd again with aqua-vitae or some other hot infusion; then, raw as he is, and in the hottest day prognostication proclaims, shall he be set against a brick wall, the sun looking with a southward eye upon him, where he is to behold him with flies blown to death. But what talk we of these traitorly rascals, whose miseries are to be smil'd at, their offences being so capital? Tell me, for you seem to be honest plain men, what you have to the King. Being something gently consider'd, I'll bring you where he is aboard, tender your persons to his presence, whisper him in your behalfs; and if it be in man besides the King to effect your suits, here is man shall do it. CLOWN. He seems to be of great authority. Close with him, give him gold; and though authority be a stubborn bear, yet he is oft led by the nose with gold. Show the inside of your purse to the outside of his hand, and no more ado. Remember- ston'd and flay'd alive. SHEPHERD. An't please you, sir, to undertake the business for us, here is that gold I have. I'll make it as much more, and leave this young man in pawn till I bring it you. AUTOLYCUS. After I have done what I promised? SHEPHERD. Ay, sir. AUTOLYCUS. Well, give me the moiety. Are you a party in this business? CLOWN. In some sort, sir; but though my case be a pitiful one, I hope I shall not be flay'd out of it. AUTOLYCUS. O, that's the case of the shepherd's son! Hang him, he'll be made an example. CLOWN. Comfort, good comfort! We must to the King and show our strange sights. He must know 'tis none of your daughter nor my sister; we are gone else. Sir, I will give you as much as this old man does, when the business is performed; and remain, as he says, your pawn till it be brought you. AUTOLYCUS. I will trust you. Walk before toward the sea-side; go on the right-hand; I will but look upon the hedge, and follow you. CLOWN. We are blest in this man, as I may say, even blest. SHEPHERD. Let's before, as he bids us. He was provided to do us good. Exeunt SHEPHERD and CLOWN AUTOLYCUS. If I had a mind to be honest, I see Fortune would not suffer me: she drops booties in my mouth. I am courted now with a double occasion- gold, and a means to do the Prince my master good; which who knows how that may turn back to my advancement? I will bring these two moles, these blind ones, aboard him. If he think it fit to shore them again, and that the complaint they have to the King concerns him nothing, let him call me rogue for being so far officious; for I am proof against that title, and what shame else belongs to't. To him will I present them. There may be matter in it. Exit

Florizel and Perdita enter in the middle of a discussion about their future. Florizel then talks about Perdita's role in the feast. He urges her to abandon her identification as the shepherd's daughter while she has this opportunity to exhibit the mythical and royal qualities that he sees in her. But Perdita rejects the romantic dreams of both her role in the feast and their future as lovers. Although she does not want "to chide at extremes," she details the sham of their costumes: Your high self, The gracious mark o' th' land, you have obscured With a swain's wearing, and me, poor lowly maid, Most goddess-like pranked up. Indeed, if costumes and pranks were not common to these feasts, she doubts that she could tolerate the sham. Florizel responds by blessing the time that his falcon flew over her father's land. Perdita, however, expresses her dread at the consequences of their "differences," recognizing that "your greatness/ Hath not been used to fear." Suddenly she trembles from the fear of his father arriving and confronting her for a defense of this liaison. Defending his point of view with examples from mythology, the prince cites a number of gods who transformed themselves for love. He gallantly argues that no precedent of surprise was "for a piece of beauty rarer,/ Nor in a way so chaste." But Perdita warns Florizel that his determination cannot withstand the power of a king. If King Polixenes opposes their union, either "you must change this purpose,/ Or I my life." Florizel declares that should his father force a choice, Perdita would be his choice. Believing that this assurance will free Perdita from her fears, he urges her to begin her fun at the feast by greeting the approaching guests. Far from feeling assured, Perdita appeals, "0 lady Fortune,/ Stand you auspicious!" Like Florizel, the shepherd urges Perdita to begin acting like the hostess of the feast; but, unlike Florizel, he approaches her with anger and frustration. She compares poorly with his old wife, who prepared all the food, then welcomed and served the guests, in addition to performing a song and dance; whereas, Perdita seems to fail at even serving as a hostess. Thus, the feast's "queen" begins to greet the strangers; first, she greets King Polixenes and Camillo , with an aside to us concerning her father's wish that she serve as hostess. She graciously offers nosegays of rosemary and rue as she welcomes them to the feast. All three exchange meaningful comments about flowers and life as Perdita favorably impresses the disguised king . Florizel then hurries Perdita away to dance, praising her until a pretty blush appears on her face. As they observe the lovers, Polixenes and Camillo are charmed by Perdita. The king describes her as beautiful and nobler than her background can explain. Camillo declares her to be "the queen of curds and cream." The clown, meanwhile, organizes a silly crew into a dance of shepherds and shepherdesses, and Polixenes asks the shepherd about his daughter's dancing partner. The shepherd calls him "Doricles," a worthy young man who obviously loves his daughter; furthermore, he hints at a surprising dowry if the two should marry. A servant announces that a "pedlar" who sings ballads requests entrance. Declaring himself a song-lover, the clown chortles over the sample verses, and he welcomes the pedlar. Perdita cautions against allowing tunes with "scurrilous words." The clown admits the rogue Autolycus, who instantly charms all his listeners. The clown promises gifts of lace ribbons and gloves to both of his female companions, and the three of them choose a suitable ballad to sing. Autolycus then leaves with them in order to rehearse the ballad. More entertainers request permission to perform. The shepherd objects, but Polixenes persuades him to permit them to perform; so they watch a dance of twelve satyrs. This reminds Polixenes that it is time to part the lovers. He teases his son about missing the opportunity to buy gifts for Perdita. Florizel retorts that Perdita prizes the gifts of love, not trifles. Further baited, the young prince declares his love for Perdita for all to hear. Immediately, the shepherd arranges a betrothal with a dowry "equal to Doricles's wealth." Polixenes interrupts to inquire if the young man has a father to consult. Florizel snorts that his father does not know of this matter and never shall. Although Polixenes grants that a young man should have a say in the choosing of a wife, he suggests that the joy and consequences should be discussed with a father. The shepherd joins in the entreaty. But Florizel stubbornly refuses. Angrily, Polixenes rips off his disguise. He severs his son's inheritance, threatens to hang the shepherd, and wants to scar Perdita's bewitching beauty before killing her. Perdita begs Florizel to return to his duties at court and forget her. The shepherd lashes out at his daughter for ruining him and rushes off. But Florizel arrogantly proclaims all this is but a mild setback. His plans remain unchanged. He will marry Perdita. Camillo intervenes to advise separation until the king's anger subsides. Perdita comments, "How often said, my dignity would last/ But till 'twere known!" Only Florizel remains unmoved by the disasters that he has brought upon everyone, seeing nothing as important as fulfilling his vow to Perdita. Camillo manages to convince Florizel to leave Bohemia and sail for Sicilia, and thus Camillo can both protect the young people and achieve his own goals. And he also convinces the young prince to marry Perdita, then present this romance to Leontes as part of a representation for a reconciliation mission on behalf of Polixenes. Perdita joins her common sense to Camillo's arguments that this plan is superior to aimless, poverty-stricken wandering. Beginning to realize that he has to protect his beloved, Florizel seeks more advice from Camillo. First, Camillo says, they must acquire disguises for Perdita and Florizel for the escape from Bohemia. This opportunity presents itself with Autolycus' entrance. The rogue is bragging about his successful thievery at the festival because of the clown's distracting singing. Only a wailing disruption by the distraught shepherd prevented Autolycus from successfully purse-snatching from the entire group. His celebration of what he managed to get away with, however, is interrupted by the approach of the three escapees. They are discussing effective letters that Camillo can provide. Autolycus fears that they have overheard enough to hang him. But Camillo is interested only in bartering for Autolycus' clothes. As soon as Autolycus recognizes Florizel, he begins scheming again, his schemes fueled by careful observation of the two hasty disguises. Camillo sends the two young lovers off; then, in an aside, he reveals that he will try to convince Polixenes to follow. Thus, Camillo hopes to see Sicilia again, "for whose sight/ I have a woman's longing." The delighted Autolycus remains to savor his opportunity to inform the king of the flight. But first, he must decide if this would be an honest deed. After deciding that it would be "more knavery to conceal it," he chooses silence as being more true to his profession. Then, Autolycus steps aside for another opportunity to make money, for he sees the clown and the shepherd approaching. The clown is arguing that his father should tell the king that Perdita is a changeling, not a legitimate daughter, and show the evidence to the king. The shepherd agrees, but he wants to add an indictment against Florizel's pranks. Autolycus decides to intervene, but he confuses the simple countrymen with an outburst of nonsense that makes him sound convincingly like a courtier. After saying that the king has sought solace from his grief on board a ship, Autolycus frightens the shepherd and his son into believing that they are slated for horrible deaths. Autolycus then promises to carry their story to the king. The gullible clown convinces his father to pay Autolycus enough to buy his help. As the two simpletons gratefully wander off toward Florizel's ship, Autolycus lingers on stage and talks to the audience about his plan. He will allow Florizel to consider the evidence and the possible harm that might happen to him. At best, the prince will reward him for the information; at worst, he will free the two men and scorn Autolycus for being too officious.

summary

Bohemia. The SHEPHERD'S cottage Enter FLORIZEL and PERDITA FLORIZEL. These your unusual weeds to each part of you Do give a life- no shepherdess, but Flora Peering in April's front. This your sheep-shearing Is as a meeting of the petty gods, And you the Queen on't. PERDITA. Sir, my gracious lord, To chide at your extremes it not becomes me- O, pardon that I name them! Your high self, The gracious mark o' th' land, you have obscur'd With a swain's wearing; and me, poor lowly maid, Most goddess-like prank'd up. But that our feasts In every mess have folly, and the feeders Digest it with a custom, I should blush To see you so attir'd; swoon, I think, To show myself a glass. FLORIZEL. I bless the time When my good falcon made her flight across Thy father's ground. PERDITA. Now Jove afford you cause! To me the difference forges dread; your greatness Hath not been us'd to fear. Even now I tremble To think your father, by some accident, Should pass this way, as you did. O, the Fates! How would he look to see his work, so noble, Vilely bound up? What would he say? Or how Should I, in these my borrowed flaunts, behold The sternness of his presence? FLORIZEL. Apprehend Nothing but jollity. The gods themselves, Humbling their deities to love, have taken The shapes of beasts upon them: Jupiter Became a bull and bellow'd; the green Neptune A ram and bleated; and the fire-rob'd god, Golden Apollo, a poor humble swain, As I seem now. Their transformations Were never for a piece of beauty rarer, Nor in a way so chaste, since my desires Run not before mine honour, nor my lusts Burn hotter than my faith. PERDITA. O, but, sir, Your resolution cannot hold when 'tis Oppos'd, as it must be, by th' pow'r of the King. One of these two must be necessities, Which then will speak, that you must change this purpose, Or I my life. FLORIZEL. Thou dearest Perdita, With these forc'd thoughts, I prithee, darken not The mirth o' th' feast. Or I'll be thine, my fair, Or not my father's; for I cannot be Mine own, nor anything to any, if I be not thine. To this I am most constant, Though destiny say no. Be merry, gentle; Strangle such thoughts as these with any thing That you behold the while. Your guests are coming. Lift up your countenance, as it were the day Of celebration of that nuptial which We two have sworn shall come. PERDITA. O Lady Fortune, Stand you auspicious! FLORIZEL. See, your guests approach. Address yourself to entertain them sprightly, And let's be red with mirth. Enter SHEPHERD, with POLIXENES and CAMILLO, disguised; CLOWN, MOPSA, DORCAS, with OTHERS SHEPHERD. Fie, daughter! When my old wife liv'd, upon This day she was both pantler, butler, cook; Both dame and servant; welcom'd all; serv'd all; Would sing her song and dance her turn; now here At upper end o' th' table, now i' th' middle; On his shoulder, and his; her face o' fire With labour, and the thing she took to quench it She would to each one sip. You are retired, As if you were a feasted one, and not The hostess of the meeting. Pray you bid These unknown friends to's welcome, for it is A way to make us better friends, more known. Come, quench your blushes, and present yourself That which you are, Mistress o' th' Feast. Come on, And bid us welcome to your sheep-shearing, As your good flock shall prosper. PERDITA. [To POLIXENES] Sir, welcome. It is my father's will I should take on me The hostess-ship o' th' day. [To CAMILLO] You're welcome, sir. Give me those flow'rs there, Dorcas. Reverend sirs, For you there's rosemary and rue; these keep Seeming and savour all the winter long. Grace and remembrance be to you both! And welcome to our shearing. POLIXENES. Shepherdess- A fair one are you- well you fit our ages With flow'rs of winter. PERDITA. Sir, the year growing ancient, Not yet on summer's death nor on the birth Of trembling winter, the fairest flow'rs o' th' season Are our carnations and streak'd gillyvors, Which some call nature's bastards. Of that kind Our rustic garden's barren; and I care not To get slips of them. POLIXENES. Wherefore, gentle maiden, Do you neglect them? PERDITA. For I have heard it said There is an art which in their piedness shares With great creating nature. POLIXENES. Say there be; Yet nature is made better by no mean But nature makes that mean; so over that art Which you say adds to nature, is an art That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry A gentler scion to the wildest stock, And make conceive a bark of baser kind By bud of nobler race. This is an art Which does mend nature- change it rather; but The art itself is nature. PERDITA. So it is. POLIXENES. Then make your garden rich in gillyvors, And do not call them bastards. PERDITA. I'll not put The dibble in earth to set one slip of them; No more than were I painted I would wish This youth should say 'twere well, and only therefore Desire to breed by me. Here's flow'rs for you: Hot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram; The marigold, that goes to bed wi' th' sun, And with him rises weeping; these are flow'rs Of middle summer, and I think they are given To men of middle age. Y'are very welcome. CAMILLO. I should leave grazing, were I of your flock, And only live by gazing. PERDITA. Out, alas! You'd be so lean that blasts of January Would blow you through and through. Now, my fair'st friend, I would I had some flow'rs o' th' spring that might Become your time of day- and yours, and yours, That wear upon your virgin branches yet Your maidenheads growing. O Proserpina, From the flowers now that, frighted, thou let'st fall From Dis's waggon!- daffodils, That come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty; violets, dim But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes Or Cytherea's breath; pale primroses, That die unmarried ere they can behold Bright Phoebus in his strength- a malady Most incident to maids; bold oxlips, and The crown-imperial; lilies of all kinds, The flow'r-de-luce being one. O, these I lack To make you garlands of, and my sweet friend To strew him o'er and o'er! FLORIZEL. What, like a corse? PERDITA. No; like a bank for love to lie and play on; Not like a corse; or if- not to be buried, But quick, and in mine arms. Come, take your flow'rs. Methinks I play as I have seen them do In Whitsun pastorals. Sure, this robe of mine Does change my disposition. FLORIZEL. What you do Still betters what is done. When you speak, sweet, I'd have you do it ever. When you sing, I'd have you buy and sell so; so give alms; Pray so; and, for the ord'ring your affairs, To sing them too. When you do dance, I wish you A wave o' th' sea, that you might ever do Nothing but that; move still, still so, And own no other function. Each your doing, So singular in each particular, Crowns what you are doing in the present deeds, That all your acts are queens. PERDITA. O Doricles, Your praises are too large. But that your youth, And the true blood which peeps fairly through't, Do plainly give you out an unstain'd shepherd, With wisdom I might fear, my Doricles, You woo'd me the false way. FLORIZEL. I think you have As little skill to fear as I have purpose To put you to't. But, come; our dance, I pray. Your hand, my Perdita; so turtles pair That never mean to part. PERDITA. I'll swear for 'em. POLIXENES. This is the prettiest low-born lass that ever Ran on the green-sward; nothing she does or seems But smacks of something greater than herself, Too noble for this place. CAMILLO. He tells her something That makes her blood look out. Good sooth, she is The queen of curds and cream. CLOWN. Come on, strike up. DORCAS. Mopsa must be your mistress; marry, garlic, To mend her kissing with! MOPSA. Now, in good time! CLOWN. Not a word, a word; we stand upon our manners. Come, strike up. [Music] Here a dance Of SHEPHERDS and SHEPHERDESSES POLIXENES. Pray, good shepherd, what fair swain is this Which dances with your daughter? SHEPHERD. They call him Doricles, and boasts himself To have a worthy feeding; but I have it Upon his own report, and I believe it: He looks like sooth. He says he loves my daughter; I think so too; for never gaz'd the moon Upon the water as he'll stand and read, As 'twere my daughter's eyes; and, to be plain, I think there is not half a kiss to choose Who loves another best. POLIXENES. She dances featly. SHEPHERD. So she does any thing; though I report it That should be silent. If young Doricles Do light upon her, she shall bring him that Which he not dreams of. Enter a SERVANT SERVANT. O master, if you did but hear the pedlar at the door, you would never dance again after a tabor and pipe; no, the bagpipe could not move you. He sings several tunes faster than you'll tell money; he utters them as he had eaten ballads, and all men's ears grew to his tunes. CLOWN. He could never come better; he shall come in. I love a ballad but even too well, if it be doleful matter merrily set down, or a very pleasant thing indeed and sung lamentably. SERVANT. He hath songs for man or woman of all sizes; no milliner can so fit his customers with gloves. He has the prettiest love-songs for maids; so without bawdry, which is strange; with such delicate burdens of dildos and fadings, 'jump her and thump her'; and where some stretch-mouth'd rascal would, as it were, mean mischief, and break a foul gap into the matter, he makes the maid to answer 'Whoop, do me no harm, good man'- puts him off, slights him, with 'Whoop, do me no harm, good man.' POLIXENES. This is a brave fellow. CLOWN. Believe me, thou talkest of an admirable conceited fellow. Has he any unbraided wares? SERVANT. He hath ribbons of all the colours i' th' rainbow; points, more than all the lawyers in Bohemia can learnedly handle, though they come to him by th' gross; inkles, caddisses, cambrics, lawns. Why he sings 'em over as they were gods or goddesses; you would think a smock were she-angel, he so chants to the sleeve-hand and the work about the square on't. CLOWN. Prithee bring him in; and let him approach singing. PERDITA. Forewarn him that he use no scurrilous words in's tunes. Exit SERVANT CLOWN. You have of these pedlars that have more in them than you'd think, sister. PERDITA. Ay, good brother, or go about to think. Enter AUTOLYCUS, Singing Lawn as white as driven snow; Cypress black as e'er was crow; Gloves as sweet as damask roses; Masks for faces and for noses; Bugle bracelet, necklace amber, Perfume for a lady's chamber; Golden quoifs and stomachers, For my lads to give their dears; Pins and poking-sticks of steel- What maids lack from head to heel. Come, buy of me, come; come buy, come buy; Buy, lads, or else your lasses cry. Come, buy. CLOWN. If I were not in love with Mopsa, thou shouldst take no money of me; but being enthrall'd as I am, it will also be the bondage of certain ribbons and gloves. MOPSA. I was promis'd them against the feast; but they come not too late now. DORCAS. He hath promis'd you more than that, or there be liars. MOPSA. He hath paid you all he promis'd you. May be he has paid you more, which will shame you to give him again. CLOWN. Is there no manners left among maids? Will they wear their plackets where they should bear their faces? Is there not milking-time, when you are going to bed, or kiln-hole, to whistle off these secrets, but you must be tittle-tattling before all our guests? 'Tis well they are whisp'ring. Clammer your tongues, and not a word more. MOPSA. I have done. Come, you promis'd me a tawdry-lace, and a pair of sweet gloves. CLOWN. Have I not told thee how I was cozen'd by the way, and lost all my money? AUTOLYCUS. And indeed, sir, there are cozeners abroad; therefore it behoves men to be wary. CLOWN. Fear not thou, man; thou shalt lose nothing here. AUTOLYCUS. I hope so, sir; for I have about me many parcels of charge. CLOWN. What hast here? Ballads? MOPSA. Pray now, buy some. I love a ballad in print a-life, for then we are sure they are true. AUTOLYCUS. Here's one to a very doleful tune: how a usurer's wife was brought to bed of twenty money-bags at a burden, and how she long'd to eat adders' heads and toads carbonado'd. MOPSA. Is it true, think you? AUTOLYCUS. Very true, and but a month old. DORCAS. Bless me from marrying a usurer! AUTOLYCUS. Here's the midwife's name to't, one Mistress Taleporter, and five or six honest wives that were present. Why should I carry lies abroad? MOPSA. Pray you now, buy it. CLOWN. Come on, lay it by; and let's first see moe ballads; we'll buy the other things anon. AUTOLYCUS. Here's another ballad, of a fish that appeared upon the coast on Wednesday the fourscore of April, forty thousand fathom above water, and sung this ballad against the hard hearts of maids. It was thought she was a woman, and was turn'd into a cold fish for she would not exchange flesh with one that lov'd her. The ballad is very pitiful, and as true. DORCAS. Is it true too, think you? AUTOLYCUS. Five justices' hands at it; and witnesses more than my pack will hold. CLOWN. Lay it by too. Another. AUTOLYCUS. This is a merry ballad, but a very pretty one. MOPSA. Let's have some merry ones. AUTOLYCUS. Why, this is a passing merry one, and goes to the tune of 'Two maids wooing a man.' There's scarce a maid westward but she sings it; 'tis in request, I can tell you. MOPSA. can both sing it. If thou'lt bear a part, thou shalt hear; 'tis in three parts. DORCAS. We had the tune on't a month ago. AUTOLYCUS. I can bear my part; you must know 'tis my occupation. Have at it with you. SONG AUTOLYCUS. Get you hence, for I must go Where it fits not you to know. DORCAS. Whither? MOPSA. O, whither? DORCAS. Whither? MOPSA. It becomes thy oath full well Thou to me thy secrets tell. DORCAS. Me too! Let me go thither MOPSA. Or thou goest to th' grange or mill. DORCAS. If to either, thou dost ill. AUTOLYCUS. Neither. DORCAS. What, neither? AUTOLYCUS. Neither. DORCAS. Thou hast sworn my love to be. MOPSA. Thou hast sworn it more to me. Then whither goest? Say, whither? CLOWN. We'll have this song out anon by ourselves; my father and the gentlemen are in sad talk, and we'll not trouble them. Come, bring away thy pack after me. Wenches, I'll buy for you both. Pedlar, let's have the first choice. Follow me, girls. Exit with DORCAS and MOPSA AUTOLYCUS. And you shall pay well for 'em. Exit AUTOLYCUS, Singing Will you buy any tape, Or lace for your cape, My dainty duck, my dear-a? Any silk, any thread, Any toys for your head, Of the new'st and fin'st, fin'st wear-a? Come to the pedlar; Money's a meddler That doth utter all men's ware-a. Re-enter SERVANT SERVANT. Master, there is three carters, three shepherds, three neat-herds, three swineherds, that have made themselves all men of hair; they call themselves Saltiers, and they have dance which the wenches say is a gallimaufry of gambols, because they are not in't; but they themselves are o' th' mind, if it be not too rough for some that know little but bowling, it will please plentifully. SHEPHERD. Away! We'll none on't; here has been too much homely foolery already. I know, sir, we weary you. POLIXENES. You weary those that refresh us. Pray, let's see these four threes of herdsmen. SERVANT. One three of them, by their own report, sir, hath danc'd before the King; and not the worst of the three but jumps twelve foot and a half by th' squier. SHEPHERD. Leave your prating; since these good men are pleas'd, let them come in; but quickly now. SERVANT. Why, they stay at door, sir. Exit Here a dance of twelve SATYRS POLIXENES. [To SHEPHERD] O, father, you'll know more of that hereafter. [To CAMILLO] Is it not too far gone? 'Tis time to part them. He's simple and tells much. [To FLORIZEL] How now, fair shepherd! Your heart is full of something that does take Your mind from feasting. Sooth, when I was young And handed love as you do, I was wont To load my she with knacks; I would have ransack'd The pedlar's silken treasury and have pour'd it To her acceptance: you have let him go And nothing marted with him. If your lass Interpretation should abuse and call this Your lack of love or bounty, you were straited For a reply, at least if you make a care Of happy holding her. FLORIZEL. Old sir, I know She prizes not such trifles as these are. The gifts she looks from me are pack'd and lock'd Up in my heart, which I have given already, But not deliver'd. O, hear me breathe my life Before this ancient sir, whom, it should seem, Hath sometime lov'd. I take thy hand- this hand, As soft as dove's down and as white as it, Or Ethiopian's tooth, or the fann'd snow that's bolted By th' northern blasts twice o'er. POLIXENES. What follows this? How prettily the young swain seems to wash The hand was fair before! I have put you out. But to your protestation; let me hear What you profess. FLORIZEL. Do, and be witness to't. POLIXENES. And this my neighbour too? FLORIZEL. And he, and more Than he, and men- the earth, the heavens, and all: That, were I crown'd the most imperial monarch, Thereof most worthy, were I the fairest youth That ever made eye swerve, had force and knowledge More than was ever man's, I would not prize them Without her love; for her employ them all; Commend them and condemn them to her service Or to their own perdition. POLIXENES. Fairly offer'd. CAMILLO. This shows a sound affection. SHEPHERD. But, my daughter, Say you the like to him? PERDITA. I cannot speak So well, nothing so well; no, nor mean better. By th' pattern of mine own thoughts I cut out The purity of his. SHEPHERD. Take hands, a bargain! And, friends unknown, you shall bear witness to't: I give my daughter to him, and will make Her portion equal his. FLORIZEL. O, that must be I' th' virtue of your daughter. One being dead, I shall have more than you can dream of yet; Enough then for your wonder. But come on, Contract us fore these witnesses. SHEPHERD. Come, your hand; And, daughter, yours. POLIXENES. Soft, swain, awhile, beseech you; Have you a father? FLORIZEL. I have, but what of him? POLIXENES. Knows he of this? FLORIZEL. He neither does nor shall. POLIXENES. Methinks a father Is at the nuptial of his son a guest That best becomes the table. Pray you, once more, Is not your father grown incapable Of reasonable affairs? Is he not stupid With age and alt'ring rheums? Can he speak, hear, Know man from man, dispute his own estate? Lies he not bed-rid, and again does nothing But what he did being childish? FLORIZEL. No, good sir; He has his health, and ampler strength indeed Than most have of his age. POLIXENES. By my white beard, You offer him, if this be so, a wrong Something unfilial. Reason my son Should choose himself a wife; but as good reason The father- all whose joy is nothing else But fair posterity- should hold some counsel In such a business. FLORIZEL. I yield all this; But, for some other reasons, my grave sir, Which 'tis not fit you know, I not acquaint My father of this business. POLIXENES. Let him know't. FLORIZEL. He shall not. POLIXENES. Prithee let him. FLORIZEL. No, he must not. SHEPHERD. Let him, my son; he shall not need to grieve At knowing of thy choice. FLORIZEL. Come, come, he must not. Mark our contract. POLIXENES. [Discovering himself] Mark your divorce, young sir, Whom son I dare not call; thou art too base To be acknowledg'd- thou a sceptre's heir, That thus affects a sheep-hook! Thou, old traitor, I am sorry that by hanging thee I can but Shorten thy life one week. And thou, fresh piece Of excellent witchcraft, who of force must know The royal fool thou cop'st with- SHEPHERD. O, my heart! POLIXENES. I'll have thy beauty scratch'd with briers and made More homely than thy state. For thee, fond boy, If I may ever know thou dost but sigh That thou no more shalt see this knack- as never I mean thou shalt- we'll bar thee from succession; Not hold thee of our blood, no, not our kin, Farre than Deucalion off. Mark thou my words. Follow us to the court. Thou churl, for this time, Though full of our displeasure, yet we free thee From the dead blow of it. And you, enchantment, Worthy enough a herdsman- yea, him too That makes himself, but for our honour therein, Unworthy thee- if ever henceforth thou These rural latches to his entrance open, Or hoop his body more with thy embraces, I will devise a death as cruel for thee As thou art tender to't. Exit PERDITA. Even here undone! I was not much afeard; for once or twice I was about to speak and tell him plainly The self-same sun that shines upon his court Hides not his visage from our cottage, but Looks on alike. [To FLORIZEL] Will't please you, sir, be gone? I told you what would come of this. Beseech you, Of your own state take care. This dream of mine- Being now awake, I'll queen it no inch farther, But milk my ewes and weep. CAMILLO. Why, how now, father! Speak ere thou diest. SHEPHERD. I cannot speak nor think, Nor dare to know that which I know. [To FLORIZEL] O sir, You have undone a man of fourscore-three That thought to fill his grave in quiet, yea, To die upon the bed my father died, To lie close by his honest bones; but now Some hangman must put on my shroud and lay me Where no priest shovels in dust. [To PERDITA] O cursed wretch, That knew'st this was the Prince, and wouldst adventure To mingle faith with him!- Undone, undone! If I might die within this hour, I have liv'd To die when I desire. Exit FLORIZEL. Why look you so upon me? I am but sorry, not afeard; delay'd, But nothing alt'red. What I was, I am: More straining on for plucking back; not following My leash unwillingly. CAMILLO. Gracious, my lord, You know your father's temper. At this time He will allow no speech- which I do guess You do not purpose to him- and as hardly Will he endure your sight as yet, I fear; Then, till the fury of his Highness settle, Come not before him. FLORIZEL. I not purpose it. I think Camillo? CAMILLO. Even he, my lord. PERDITA. How often have I told you 'twould be thus! How often said my dignity would last But till 'twere known! FLORIZEL. It cannot fail but by The violation of my faith; and then Let nature crush the sides o' th' earth together And mar the seeds within! Lift up thy looks. From my succession wipe me, father; I Am heir to my affection. CAMILLO. Be advis'd. FLORIZEL. I am- and by my fancy; if my reason Will thereto be obedient, I have reason; If not, my senses, better pleas'd with madness, Do bid it welcome. CAMILLO. This is desperate, sir. FLORIZEL. So call it; but it does fulfil my vow: I needs must think it honesty. Camillo, Not for Bohemia, nor the pomp that may Be thereat glean'd, for all the sun sees or The close earth wombs, or the profound seas hides In unknown fathoms, will I break my oath To this my fair belov'd. Therefore, I pray you, As you have ever been my father's honour'd friend, When he shall miss me- as, in faith, I mean not To see him any more- cast your good counsels Upon his passion. Let myself and Fortune Tug for the time to come. This you may know, And so deliver: I am put to sea With her who here I cannot hold on shore. And most opportune to her need I have A vessel rides fast by, but not prepar'd For this design. What course I mean to hold Shall nothing benefit your knowledge, nor Concern me the reporting. CAMILLO. O my lord, I would your spirit were easier for advice. Or stronger for your need. FLORIZEL. Hark, Perdita. [Takes her aside] [To CAMILLO] I'll hear you by and by. CAMILLO. He's irremovable, Resolv'd for flight. Now were I happy if His going I could frame to serve my turn, Save him from danger, do him love and honour, Purchase the sight again of dear Sicilia And that unhappy king, my master, whom I so much thirst to see. FLORIZEL. Now, good Camillo, I am so fraught with curious business that I leave out ceremony. CAMILLO. Sir, I think You have heard of my poor services i' th' love That I have borne your father? FLORIZEL. Very nobly Have you deserv'd. It is my father's music To speak your deeds; not little of his care To have them recompens'd as thought on. CAMILLO. Well, my lord, If you may please to think I love the King, And through him what's nearest to him, which is Your gracious self, embrace but my direction. If your more ponderous and settled project May suffer alteration, on mine honour, I'll point you where you shall have such receiving As shall become your Highness; where you may Enjoy your mistress, from the whom, I see, There's no disjunction to be made but by, As heavens forfend! your ruin- marry her; And with my best endeavours in your absence Your discontenting father strive to qualify, And bring him up to liking. FLORIZEL. How, Camillo, May this, almost a miracle, be done? That I may call thee something more than man, And after that trust to thee. CAMILLO. Have you thought on A place whereto you'll go? FLORIZEL. Not any yet; But as th' unthought-on accident is guilty To what we wildly do, so we profess Ourselves to be the slaves of chance and flies Of every wind that blows. CAMILLO. Then list to me. This follows, if you will not change your purpose But undergo this flight: make for Sicilia, And there present yourself and your fair princess- For so, I see, she must be- fore Leontes. She shall be habited as it becomes The partner of your bed. Methinks I see Leontes opening his free arms and weeping His welcomes forth; asks thee there 'Son, forgiveness!' As 'twere i' th' father's person; kisses the hands Of your fresh princess; o'er and o'er divides him 'Twixt his unkindness and his kindness- th' one He chides to hell, and bids the other grow Faster than thought or time. FLORIZEL. Worthy Camillo, What colour for my visitation shall I Hold up before him? CAMILLO. Sent by the King your father To greet him and to give him comforts. Sir, The manner of your bearing towards him, with What you as from your father shall deliver, Things known betwixt us three, I'll write you down; The which shall point you forth at every sitting What you must say, that he shall not perceive But that you have your father's bosom there And speak his very heart. FLORIZEL. I am bound to you. There is some sap in this. CAMILLO. A course more promising Than a wild dedication of yourselves To unpath'd waters, undream'd shores, most certain To miseries enough; no hope to help you, But as you shake off one to take another; Nothing so certain as your anchors, who Do their best office if they can but stay you Where you'll be loath to be. Besides, you know Prosperity's the very bond of love, Whose fresh complexion and whose heart together Affliction alters. PERDITA. One of these is true: I think affliction may subdue the cheek, But not take in the mind. CAMILLO. Yea, say you so? There shall not at your father's house these seven years Be born another such. FLORIZEL. My good Camillo, She is as forward of her breeding as She is i' th' rear o' our birth. CAMILLO. I cannot say 'tis pity She lacks instructions, for she seems a mistress To most that teach. PERDITA. Your pardon, sir; for this I'll blush you thanks. FLORIZEL. My prettiest Perdita! But, O, the thorns we stand upon! Camillo- Preserver of my father, now of me; The medicine of our house- how shall we do? We are not furnish'd like Bohemia's son; Nor shall appear in Sicilia. CAMILLO. My lord, Fear none of this. I think you know my fortunes Do all lie there. It shall be so my care To have you royally appointed as if The scene you play were mine. For instance, sir, That you may know you shall not want- one word. [They talk aside] Re-enter AUTOLYCUS AUTOLYCUS. Ha, ha! what a fool Honesty is! and Trust, his sworn brother, a very simple gentleman! I have sold all my trumpery; not a counterfeit stone, not a ribbon, glass, pomander, brooch, table-book, ballad, knife, tape, glove, shoe-tie, bracelet, horn-ring, to keep my pack from fasting. They throng who should buy first, as if my trinkets had been hallowed and brought a benediction to the buyer; by which means I saw whose purse was best in picture; and what I saw, to my good use I rememb'red. My clown, who wants but something to be a reasonable man, grew so in love with the wenches' song that he would not stir his pettitoes till he had both tune and words, which so drew the rest of the herd to me that all their other senses stuck in ears. You might have pinch'd a placket, it was senseless; 'twas nothing to geld a codpiece of a purse; I would have fil'd keys off that hung in chains. No hearing, no feeling, but my sir's song, and admiring the nothing of it. So that in this time of lethargy I pick'd and cut most of their festival purses; and had not the old man come in with whoobub against his daughter and the King's son and scar'd my choughs from the chaff, I had not left a purse alive in the whole army. CAMILLO, FLORIZEL, and PERDITA come forward CAMILLO. Nay, but my letters, by this means being there So soon as you arrive, shall clear that doubt. FLORIZEL. And those that you'll procure from King Leontes? CAMILLO. Shall satisfy your father. PERDITA. Happy be you! All that you speak shows fair. CAMILLO. [seeing AUTOLYCUS] Who have we here? We'll make an instrument of this; omit Nothing may give us aid. AUTOLYCUS. [Aside] If they have overheard me now- why, hanging. CAMILLO. How now, good fellow! Why shak'st thou so? Fear not, man; here's no harm intended to thee. AUTOLYCUS. I am a poor fellow, sir. CAMILLO. Why, be so still; here's nobody will steal that from thee. Yet for the outside of thy poverty we must make an exchange; therefore discase thee instantly- thou must think there's a necessity in't- and change garments with this gentleman. Though the pennyworth on his side be the worst, yet hold thee, there's some boot. [Giving money] AUTOLYCUS. I am a poor fellow, sir. [Aside] I know ye well enough. CAMILLO. Nay, prithee dispatch. The gentleman is half flay'd already. AUTOLYCUS. Are you in camest, sir? [Aside] I smell the trick on't. FLORIZEL. Dispatch, I prithee. AUTOLYCUS. Indeed, I have had earnest; but I cannot with conscience take it. CAMILLO. Unbuckle, unbuckle. FLORIZEL and AUTOLYCUS exchange garments Fortunate mistress- let my prophecy Come home to ye!- you must retire yourself Into some covert; take your sweetheart's hat And pluck it o'er your brows, muffle your face, Dismantle you, and, as you can, disliken The truth of your own seeming, that you may- For I do fear eyes over- to shipboard Get undescried. PERDITA. I see the play so lies That I must bear a part. CAMILLO. No remedy. Have you done there? FLORIZEL. Should I now meet my father, He would not call me son. CAMILLO. Nay, you shall have no hat. [Giving it to PERDITA] Come, lady, come. Farewell, my friend. AUTOLYCUS. Adieu, sir. FLORIZEL. O Perdita, what have we twain forgot! Pray you a word. [They converse apart] CAMILLO. [Aside] What I do next shall be to tell the King Of this escape, and whither they are bound; Wherein my hope is I shall so prevail To force him after; in whose company I shall re-view Sicilia, for whose sight I have a woman's longing. FLORIZEL. Fortune speed us! Thus we set on, Camillo, to th' sea-side. CAMILLO. The swifter speed the better. Exeunt FLORIZEL, PERDITA, and CAMILLO AUTOLYCUS. I understand the business, I hear it. To have an open ear, a quick eye, and a nimble hand, is necessary for a cut-purse; a good nose is requisite also, to smell out work for th' other senses. I see this is the time that the unjust man doth thrive. What an exchange had this been without boot! What a boot is here with this exchange! Sure, the gods do this year connive at us, and we may do anything extempore. The Prince himself is about a piece of iniquity- stealing away from his father with his clog at his heels. If I thought it were a piece of honesty to acquaint the King withal, I would not do't. I hold it the more knavery to conceal it; and therein am I constant to my profession. Re-enter CLOWN and SHEPHERD Aside, aside- here is more matter for a hot brain. Every lane's end, every shop, church, session, hanging, yields a careful man work. CLOWN. See, see; what a man you are now! There is no other way but to tell the King she's a changeling and none of your flesh and blood. SHEPHERD. Nay, but hear me. CLOWN. Nay- but hear me. SHEPHERD. Go to, then. CLOWN. She being none of your flesh and blood, your flesh and blood has not offended the King; and so your flesh and blood is not to be punish'd by him. Show those things you found about her, those secret things- all but what she has with her. This being done, let the law go whistle; I warrant you. SHEPHERD. I will tell the King all, every word- yea, and his son's pranks too; who, I may say, is no honest man, neither to his father nor to me, to go about to make me the King's brother-in-law. CLOWN. Indeed, brother-in-law was the farthest off you could have been to him; and then your blood had been the dearer by I know how much an ounce. AUTOLYCUS. [Aside] Very wisely, puppies! SHEPHERD. Well, let us to the King. There is that in this fardel will make him scratch his beard. AUTOLYCUS. [Aside] I know not what impediment this complaint may be to the flight of my master. CLOWN. Pray heartily he be at palace. AUTOLYCUS. [Aside] Though I am not naturally honest, I am so sometimes by chance. Let me pocket up my pedlar's excrement. [Takes off his false beard] How now, rustics! Whither are you bound? SHEPHERD. To th' palace, an it like your worship. AUTOLYCUS. Your affairs there, what, with whom, the condition of that fardel, the place of your dwelling, your names, your ages, of what having, breeding, and anything that is fitting to be known- discover. CLOWN. We are but plain fellows, sir. AUTOLYCUS. A lie: you are rough and hairy. Let me have no lying; it becomes none but tradesmen, and they often give us soldiers the lie; but we pay them for it with stamped coin, not stabbing steel; therefore they do not give us the lie. CLOWN. Your worship had like to have given us one, if you had not taken yourself with the manner. SHEPHERD. Are you a courtier, an't like you, sir? AUTOLYCUS. Whether it like me or no, I am a courtier. Seest thou not the air of the court in these enfoldings? Hath not my gait in it the measure of the court? Receives not thy nose court-odour from me? Reflect I not on thy baseness court-contempt? Think'st thou, for that I insinuate, that toaze from thee thy business, I am therefore no courtier? I am courtier cap-a-pe, and one that will either push on or pluck back thy business there; whereupon I command the to open thy affair. SHEPHERD. My business, sir, is to the King. AUTOLYCUS. What advocate hast thou to him? SHEPHERD. I know not, an't like you. CLOWN. Advocate's the court-word for a pheasant; say you have none. SHEPHERD. None, sir; I have no pheasant, cock nor hen. AUTOLYCUS. How blessed are we that are not simple men! Yet nature might have made me as these are, Therefore I will not disdain. CLOWN. This cannot be but a great courtier. SHEPHERD. His garments are rich, but he wears them not handsomely. CLOWN. He seems to be the more noble in being fantastical. A great man, I'll warrant; I know by the picking on's teeth. AUTOLYCUS. The fardel there? What's i' th' fardel? Wherefore that box? SHEPHERD. Sir, there lies such secrets in this fardel and box which none must know but the King; and which he shall know within this hour, if I may come to th' speech of him. AUTOLYCUS. Age, thou hast lost thy labour. SHEPHERD. Why, Sir? AUTOLYCUS. The King is not at the palace; he is gone aboard a new ship to purge melancholy and air himself; for, if thou be'st capable of things serious, thou must know the King is full of grief. SHEPHERD. So 'tis said, sir- about his son, that should have married a shepherd's daughter. AUTOLYCUS. If that shepherd be not in hand-fast, let him fly; the curses he shall have, the tortures he shall feel, will break the back of man, the heart of monster. CLOWN. Think you so, sir? AUTOLYCUS. Not he alone shall suffer what wit can make heavy and vengeance bitter; but those that are germane to him, though remov'd fifty times, shall all come under the hangman- which, though it be great pity, yet it is necessary. An old sheep-whistling rogue, a ram-tender, to offer to have his daughter come into grace! Some say he shall be ston'd; but that death is too soft for him, say I. Draw our throne into a sheep-cote!- all deaths are too few, the sharpest too easy. CLOWN. Has the old man e'er a son, sir, do you hear, an't like you, sir? AUTOLYCUS. He has a son- who shall be flay'd alive; then 'nointed over with honey, set on the head of a wasp's nest; then stand till he be three quarters and a dram dead; then recover'd again with aqua-vitae or some other hot infusion; then, raw as he is, and in the hottest day prognostication proclaims, shall he be set against a brick wall, the sun looking with a southward eye upon him, where he is to behold him with flies blown to death. But what talk we of these traitorly rascals, whose miseries are to be smil'd at, their offences being so capital? Tell me, for you seem to be honest plain men, what you have to the King. Being something gently consider'd, I'll bring you where he is aboard, tender your persons to his presence, whisper him in your behalfs; and if it be in man besides the King to effect your suits, here is man shall do it. CLOWN. He seems to be of great authority. Close with him, give him gold; and though authority be a stubborn bear, yet he is oft led by the nose with gold. Show the inside of your purse to the outside of his hand, and no more ado. Remember- ston'd and flay'd alive. SHEPHERD. An't please you, sir, to undertake the business for us, here is that gold I have. I'll make it as much more, and leave this young man in pawn till I bring it you. AUTOLYCUS. After I have done what I promised? SHEPHERD. Ay, sir. AUTOLYCUS. Well, give me the moiety. Are you a party in this business? CLOWN. In some sort, sir; but though my case be a pitiful one, I hope I shall not be flay'd out of it. AUTOLYCUS. O, that's the case of the shepherd's son! Hang him, he'll be made an example. CLOWN. Comfort, good comfort! We must to the King and show our strange sights. He must know 'tis none of your daughter nor my sister; we are gone else. Sir, I will give you as much as this old man does, when the business is performed; and remain, as he says, your pawn till it be brought you. AUTOLYCUS. I will trust you. Walk before toward the sea-side; go on the right-hand; I will but look upon the hedge, and follow you. CLOWN. We are blest in this man, as I may say, even blest. SHEPHERD. Let's before, as he bids us. He was provided to do us good. Exeunt SHEPHERD and CLOWN AUTOLYCUS. If I had a mind to be honest, I see Fortune would not suffer me: she drops booties in my mouth. I am courted now with a double occasion- gold, and a means to do the Prince my master good; which who knows how that may turn back to my advancement? I will bring these two moles, these blind ones, aboard him. If he think it fit to shore them again, and that the complaint they have to the King concerns him nothing, let him call me rogue for being so far officious; for I am proof against that title, and what shame else belongs to't. To him will I present them. There may be matter in it. Exit

This scene is dominated by the image of renewal. This image dominates all other dramatic elements in preparation for its healing role in resolving the major conflict of the plot. This was the role for which Perdita was saved by heavenly intervention and human heroism in Act III, Scene 3. Now, the remaining act must transport Perdita and her possessions toward Sicilia. This is accomplished by Polixenes' tantrum and by some fast thinking by Autolycus and Camillo. Florizel's opening speech, dense with the imagery of spring and rebirth, focuses on the hope of renewal that is indigenous to the world of this play. These your unusual weeds to each part of you Do give a life; no shepherdess, but Flora, Peering in April's front. This your sheep-shearing Is as a meeting of the petty gods, And you the queen on't. Perdita responds by clinging to reality . Ignorant of her royal heritage and the fact that she is a princess, she counters Florizel's romantic dreams with mundane facts, and she expresses her fears about the consequences of his impulsive obsessions. Without the traditions that justify a costume, she would have "sworn, I think,/ To show myself a glass." Flower imagery dominates Polixenes' estimation of Perdita. The dominant image of renewal is then extended to a universal idea by his weaving the idea of renewal into humanity and nature, then anchoring it to spring's rebirth. As her first act as "queen" of the feast, Perdita presents rosemary and rue to the guests, symbolizing "grace and remembrance," flowers which seem fresh for a long time "and savour all the winter long." At this point, Polixenes quizzes Perdita about her prejudice against gillyflowers. Perdita says that she has heard that the multi-colored appearance of these flowers, called by some "Nature's bastards," may be due as much to the skills of the gardener as to the flowers' natural characteristics. Polixenes reminds her that this is part of an art that enhances nature, as in the art of grafting, wherein, We marry A gentler scion to the wildest stock, And make conceive a bark of baser kind By bud of nobler race. But Perdita holds to the purity of nature, tying cycles of nature to cycles of humanity with references to flowers "of middle summer" for "men of middle age" and flowers for virgins with hope as well as for virgins who die without having enjoyed a fulfilling love. She covers the entire cycle of human life with a gentle, wise point of view that impresses her visitors. Perdita is embarrassed about her long speech, but Florizel adds it to a list that he wants to continue forever -- her speech, her singing, and her dancing: I wish you A wave o' th' sea, that you might ever do Nothing but that; move still, still so, And own no other function. Each your doing, So singular in each particular, Crowns what you are doing in the present deeds, That all your acts are queens. Perdita also impresses Polixenes with her unexpected grace and wisdom; in fact, all observers express amazement at her queenly behavior although she insists that they remember that she is only a simple shepherd's daughter. Ironically, Polixenes seems ready to "graft" this delight onto the royal family. But Florizel refuses to inform his father of the betrothal. This proud flaw in his nature serves as an important key to the plot development. Florizel refuses to be moved from his independent stance, and he eventually convinces Perdita that she must marry him. They both agree to serve as ambassadors of peace to Sicilia. These are right choices; therefore, no one is punished for filial impiety or deceit -- not Florizel, not Perdita, not Camillo, not Autolycus, not the shepherd, and not even the clown. By this time, the illusion/reality image is treated as a mirrored irony. No one realizes that Perdita's royal qualities are real when Camillo persuades Perdita to play the role of a disguised princess in Sicilia. As for Perdita, who has been trapped between reality and illusion since the end of Act III, the reality of being a "shepherd's daughter," which she believes herself to be, prevents her from accepting a role of royalty. Note that everyone believes that Perdita's natural qualities will provide the needed healing power for a reconciliation between Leontes and Polixenes. In summary, Camillo has intervened in events in order to achieve one more step in his consistent motivation -- that is, to return home to die. Polixenes has manipulated people in order to bend them to his will, and Florizel has maintained a single-minded motivation to marry Perdita. Autolycus, the shepherd, and the clown have acted upon previously established motivations. All have contributed to the eventual success of the trip to Sicilia -- the healing renewal. Perdita contributes the least to the plot development at this point because she is ignorant of her heritage and her potential contribution. But she does remain consistent to her character trait of having an uncommon amount of realistic, common sense. Although none of these characters are one-dimensional, they are all subordinate of the development of plot. Even Leontes emerges as relatively weak. He did not, like Galileo, cling to truth in spite of opposing opinion; Leontes simply flaunted truth with his incorrect opinion. Clearly, this long, elaborate subplot enhances the main plot; it is not merely filler. This scene moves from recognition of Perdita's unique qualities through the cataclysmic upheaval which removes her from her Bohemian sanctuary to the beginning of her journey back to Sicilia. At this point, the hope of renewal is added to Shakespeare's traditional tragic themes of prosperity and destruction.

analysis

ACT V. SCENE I. Sicilia. The palace of LEONTES Enter LEONTES, CLEOMENES, DION, PAULINA, and OTHERS CLEOMENES. Sir, you have done enough, and have perform'd A saint-like sorrow. No fault could you make Which you have not redeem'd; indeed, paid down More penitence than done trespass. At the last, Do as the heavens have done: forget your evil; With them forgive yourself. LEONTES. Whilst I remember Her and her virtues, I cannot forget My blemishes in them, and so still think of The wrong I did myself; which was so much That heirless it hath made my kingdom, and Destroy'd the sweet'st companion that e'er man Bred his hopes out of. PAULINA. True, too true, my lord. If, one by one, you wedded all the world, Or from the all that are took something good To make a perfect woman, she you kill'd Would be unparallel'd. LEONTES. I think so. Kill'd! She I kill'd! I did so; but thou strik'st me Sorely, to say I did. It is as bitter Upon thy tongue as in my thought. Now, good now, Say so but seldom. CLEOMENES. Not at all, good lady. You might have spoken a thousand things that would Have done the time more benefit, and grac'd Your kindness better. PAULINA. You are one of those Would have him wed again. DION. If you would not so, You pity not the state, nor the remembrance Of his most sovereign name; consider little What dangers, by his Highness' fail of issue, May drop upon his kingdom and devour Incertain lookers-on. What were more holy Than to rejoice the former queen is well? What holier than, for royalty's repair, For present comfort, and for future good, To bless the bed of majesty again With a sweet fellow to't? PAULINA. There is none worthy, Respecting her that's gone. Besides, the gods Will have fulfill'd their secret purposes; For has not the divine Apollo said, Is't not the tenour of his oracle, That King Leontes shall not have an heir Till his lost child be found? Which that it shall, Is all as monstrous to our human reason As my Antigonus to break his grave And come again to me; who, on my life, Did perish with the infant. 'Tis your counsel My lord should to the heavens be contrary, Oppose against their wills. [To LEONTES] Care not for issue; The crown will find an heir. Great Alexander Left his to th' worthiest; so his successor Was like to be the best. LEONTES. Good Paulina, Who hast the memory of Hermione, I know, in honour, O that ever I Had squar'd me to thy counsel! Then, even now, I might have look'd upon my queen's full eyes, Have taken treasure from her lips- PAULINA. And left them More rich for what they yielded. LEONTES. Thou speak'st truth. No more such wives; therefore, no wife. One worse, And better us'd, would make her sainted spirit Again possess her corpse, and on this stage, Where we offend her now, appear soul-vex'd, And begin 'Why to me'- PAULINA. Had she such power, She had just cause. LEONTES. She had; and would incense me To murder her I married. PAULINA. I should so. Were I the ghost that walk'd, I'd bid you mark Her eye, and tell me for what dull part in't You chose her; then I'd shriek, that even your ears Should rift to hear me; and the words that follow'd Should be 'Remember mine.' LEONTES. Stars, stars, And all eyes else dead coals! Fear thou no wife; I'll have no wife, Paulina. PAULINA. Will you swear Never to marry but by my free leave? LEONTES. Never, Paulina; so be blest my spirit! PAULINA. Then, good my lords, bear witness to his oath. CLEOMENES. You tempt him over-much. PAULINA. Unless another, As like Hermione as is her picture, Affront his eye. CLEOMENES. Good madam- PAULINA. I have done. Yet, if my lord will marry- if you will, sir, No remedy but you will- give me the office To choose you a queen. She shall not be so young As was your former; but she shall be such As, walk'd your first queen's ghost, it should take joy To see her in your arms. LEONTES. My true Paulina, We shall not marry till thou bid'st us. PAULINA. That Shall be when your first queen's again in breath; Never till then. Enter a GENTLEMAN GENTLEMAN. One that gives out himself Prince Florizel, Son of Polixenes, with his princess- she The fairest I have yet beheld- desires access To your high presence. LEONTES. What with him? He comes not Like to his father's greatness. His approach, So out of circumstance and sudden, tells us 'Tis not a visitation fram'd, but forc'd By need and accident. What train? GENTLEMAN. But few, And those but mean. LEONTES. His princess, say you, with him? GENTLEMAN. Ay; the most peerless piece of earth, I think, That e'er the sun shone bright on. PAULINA. O Hermione, As every present time doth boast itself Above a better gone, so must thy grave Give way to what's seen now! Sir, you yourself Have said and writ so, but your writing now Is colder than that theme: 'She had not been, Nor was not to be equall'd.' Thus your verse Flow'd with her beauty once; 'tis shrewdly ebb'd, To say you have seen a better. GENTLEMAN. Pardon, madam. The one I have almost forgot- your pardon; The other, when she has obtain'd your eye, Will have your tongue too. This is a creature, Would she begin a sect, might quench the zeal Of all professors else, make proselytes Of who she but bid follow. PAULINA. How! not women? GENTLEMAN. Women will love her that she is a woman More worth than any man; men, that she is The rarest of all women. LEONTES. Go, Cleomenes; Yourself, assisted with your honour'd friends, Bring them to our embracement. Exeunt Still, 'tis strange He thus should steal upon us. PAULINA. Had our prince, Jewel of children, seen this hour, he had pair'd Well with this lord; there was not full a month Between their births. LEONTES. Prithee no more; cease. Thou know'st He dies to me again when talk'd of. Sure, When I shall see this gentleman, thy speeches Will bring me to consider that which may Unfurnish me of reason. Re-enter CLEOMENES, with FLORIZEL, PERDITA, and ATTENDANTS They are come. Your mother was most true to wedlock, Prince; For she did print your royal father off, Conceiving you. Were I but twenty-one, Your father's image is so hit in you His very air, that I should call you brother, As I did him, and speak of something wildly By us perform'd before. Most dearly welcome! And your fair princess- goddess! O, alas! I lost a couple that 'twixt heaven and earth Might thus have stood begetting wonder as You, gracious couple, do. And then I lost- All mine own folly- the society, Amity too, of your brave father, whom, Though bearing misery, I desire my life Once more to look on him. FLORIZEL. By his command Have I here touch'd Sicilia, and from him Give you all greetings that a king, at friend, Can send his brother; and, but infirmity, Which waits upon worn times, hath something seiz'd His wish'd ability, he had himself The lands and waters 'twixt your throne and his Measur'd, to look upon you; whom he loves, He bade me say so, more than all the sceptres And those that bear them living. LEONTES. O my brother- Good gentleman!- the wrongs I have done thee stir Afresh within me; and these thy offices, So rarely kind, are as interpreters Of my behind-hand slackness! Welcome hither, As is the spring to th' earth. And hath he too Expos'd this paragon to th' fearful usage, At least ungentle, of the dreadful Neptune, To greet a man not worth her pains, much less Th' adventure of her person? FLORIZEL. Good, my lord, She came from Libya. LEONTES. Where the warlike Smalus, That noble honour'd lord, is fear'd and lov'd? FLORIZEL. Most royal sir, from thence; from him whose daughter His tears proclaim'd his, parting with her; thence, A prosperous south-wind friendly, we have cross'd, To execute the charge my father gave me For visiting your Highness. My best train I have from your Sicilian shores dismiss'd; Who for Bohemia bend, to signify Not only my success in Libya, sir, But my arrival and my wife's in safety Here where we are. LEONTES. The blessed gods Purge all infection from our air whilst you Do climate here! You have a holy father, A graceful gentleman, against whose person, So sacred as it is, I have done sin, For which the heavens, taking angry note, Have left me issueless; and your father's blest, As he from heaven merits it, with you, Worthy his goodness. What might I have been, Might I a son and daughter now have look'd on, Such goodly things as you! Enter a LORD LORD. Most noble sir, That which I shall report will bear no credit, Were not the proof so nigh. Please you, great sir, Bohemia greets you from himself by me; Desires you to attach his son, who has- His dignity and duty both cast off- Fled from his father, from his hopes, and with A shepherd's daughter. LEONTES. Where's Bohemia? Speak. LORD. Here in your city; I now came from him. I speak amazedly; and it becomes My marvel and my message. To your court Whiles he was hast'ning- in the chase, it seems, Of this fair couple- meets he on the way The father of this seeming lady and Her brother, having both their country quitted With this young prince. FLORIZEL. Camillo has betray'd me; Whose honour and whose honesty till now Endur'd all weathers. LORD. Lay't so to his charge; He's with the King your father. LEONTES. Who? Camillo? LORD. Camillo, sir; I spake with him; who now Has these poor men in question. Never saw I Wretches so quake. They kneel, they kiss the earth; Forswear themselves as often as they speak. Bohemia stops his ears, and threatens them With divers deaths in death. PERDITA. O my poor father! The heaven sets spies upon us, will not have Our contract celebrated. LEONTES. You are married? FLORIZEL. We are not, sir, nor are we like to be; The stars, I see, will kiss the valleys first. The odds for high and low's alike. LEONTES. My lord, Is this the daughter of a king? FLORIZEL. She is, When once she is my wife. LEONTES. That 'once,' I see by your good father's speed, Will come on very slowly. I am sorry, Most sorry, you have broken from his liking Where you were tied in duty; and as sorry Your choice is not so rich in worth as beauty, That you might well enjoy her. FLORIZEL. Dear, look up. Though Fortune, visible an enemy, Should chase us with my father, pow'r no jot Hath she to change our loves. Beseech you, sir, Remember since you ow'd no more to time Than I do now. With thought of such affections, Step forth mine advocate; at your request My father will grant precious things as trifles. LEONTES. Would he do so, I'd beg your precious mistress, Which he counts but a trifle. PAULINA. Sir, my liege, Your eye hath too much youth in't. Not a month Fore your queen died, she was more worth such gazes Than what you look on now. LEONTES. I thought of her Even in these looks I made. [To FLORIZEL] But your petition Is yet unanswer'd. I will to your father. Your honour not o'erthrown by your desires, I am friend to them and you. Upon which errand I now go toward him; therefore, follow me, And mark what way I make. Come, good my lord. Exeunt

Back in Sicilia, Leontes' subjects are urging him to end his long years of penitence. Cleomenes urges that Leontes "do as the heavens have done, forget your evil;/ With them forgive yourself." But Leontes says that he cannot forgive himself as long as he remembers the virtues of Hermione and feels the absence of an heir. Paulina agrees with him and reminds her king that he killed Hermione. When Dion suggests that Leontes remarry in order to create another heir, Paulina argues that not only are all women unworthy, but that it's impossible to counter Apollo's oracle. She also counsels Leontes to trust that a worthy heir will appear when needed. In the presence of witnesses, Paulina extracts Leontes' pledge not to remarry until she selects the time and person; she envisions an older woman who looks exactly like Hermione at a time "when your first queen's again in breath." Suddenly, they are interrupted by a servant who announces that Prince Florizel has arrived with a beautiful bride. Leontes guesses that the visit has been forced "by need and accident." Paulina attacks the servant's praise of the princess's beauty because she detects disloyalty to Hermione's superior beauty. The servant, however, apologizes but predicts that all will be similarly affected by this beautiful princess: Women will love her, that she is a womanMore worth than any man; men, that she isThe rarest of all women. During the pause before Florizel's entrance, Paulina reminds her king that Mamillius would have been much like this prince. Leontes lashes: "Prithee, no more; cease. Thou know'st/ He dies to me again when talked of." When Florizel. enters, Leontes notes the young man's resemblance to Polixenes, and he praises the beauty of Perdita, but still, he says, he deeply regrets the loss of so many loved ones. The king then repeats his wish to see Polixenes again, and Florizel spins a tale about being here to represent Polixenes, who is too infirm to come himself. He describes Perdita as being the daughter of Smalus of Libya. Claiming that he sent the major portion of his party back to Bohemia after Perdita's weeping departure from Smalus, the young prince then boldly tells a fabricated story about their strange arrival. As Leontes expresses his envy of Polixenes' wonderful family, a Bohemian lord enters with Polixenes' request that Leontes arrest the disobedient prince and the shepherd's daughter who married him. This lord says that Polixenes is in the city, but has paused to confront the shepherd and the clown. Florizel protests, "Camillo has betrayed me." The Bohemian lord confirms that Camillo is with Polixenes. Perdita says that she regrets the suffering of her father and the unlikelihood of her marriage being recognized. Leontes regrets that Florizel angered his father and that Perdita failed to qualify for a royal marriage. Although Florizel has voiced doubts , he begs Leontes to petition Polixenes for permission to allow him to keep Perdita as his wife. Leontes' eagerness to cooperate, because of his fascination for Perdita, brings a protest from Paulina; "Your eye hath too much youth in't." The king swears that he thinks only of Hermione when he stares at Perdita.

summary

ACT V. SCENE I. Sicilia. The palace of LEONTES Enter LEONTES, CLEOMENES, DION, PAULINA, and OTHERS CLEOMENES. Sir, you have done enough, and have perform'd A saint-like sorrow. No fault could you make Which you have not redeem'd; indeed, paid down More penitence than done trespass. At the last, Do as the heavens have done: forget your evil; With them forgive yourself. LEONTES. Whilst I remember Her and her virtues, I cannot forget My blemishes in them, and so still think of The wrong I did myself; which was so much That heirless it hath made my kingdom, and Destroy'd the sweet'st companion that e'er man Bred his hopes out of. PAULINA. True, too true, my lord. If, one by one, you wedded all the world, Or from the all that are took something good To make a perfect woman, she you kill'd Would be unparallel'd. LEONTES. I think so. Kill'd! She I kill'd! I did so; but thou strik'st me Sorely, to say I did. It is as bitter Upon thy tongue as in my thought. Now, good now, Say so but seldom. CLEOMENES. Not at all, good lady. You might have spoken a thousand things that would Have done the time more benefit, and grac'd Your kindness better. PAULINA. You are one of those Would have him wed again. DION. If you would not so, You pity not the state, nor the remembrance Of his most sovereign name; consider little What dangers, by his Highness' fail of issue, May drop upon his kingdom and devour Incertain lookers-on. What were more holy Than to rejoice the former queen is well? What holier than, for royalty's repair, For present comfort, and for future good, To bless the bed of majesty again With a sweet fellow to't? PAULINA. There is none worthy, Respecting her that's gone. Besides, the gods Will have fulfill'd their secret purposes; For has not the divine Apollo said, Is't not the tenour of his oracle, That King Leontes shall not have an heir Till his lost child be found? Which that it shall, Is all as monstrous to our human reason As my Antigonus to break his grave And come again to me; who, on my life, Did perish with the infant. 'Tis your counsel My lord should to the heavens be contrary, Oppose against their wills. [To LEONTES] Care not for issue; The crown will find an heir. Great Alexander Left his to th' worthiest; so his successor Was like to be the best. LEONTES. Good Paulina, Who hast the memory of Hermione, I know, in honour, O that ever I Had squar'd me to thy counsel! Then, even now, I might have look'd upon my queen's full eyes, Have taken treasure from her lips- PAULINA. And left them More rich for what they yielded. LEONTES. Thou speak'st truth. No more such wives; therefore, no wife. One worse, And better us'd, would make her sainted spirit Again possess her corpse, and on this stage, Where we offend her now, appear soul-vex'd, And begin 'Why to me'- PAULINA. Had she such power, She had just cause. LEONTES. She had; and would incense me To murder her I married. PAULINA. I should so. Were I the ghost that walk'd, I'd bid you mark Her eye, and tell me for what dull part in't You chose her; then I'd shriek, that even your ears Should rift to hear me; and the words that follow'd Should be 'Remember mine.' LEONTES. Stars, stars, And all eyes else dead coals! Fear thou no wife; I'll have no wife, Paulina. PAULINA. Will you swear Never to marry but by my free leave? LEONTES. Never, Paulina; so be blest my spirit! PAULINA. Then, good my lords, bear witness to his oath. CLEOMENES. You tempt him over-much. PAULINA. Unless another, As like Hermione as is her picture, Affront his eye. CLEOMENES. Good madam- PAULINA. I have done. Yet, if my lord will marry- if you will, sir, No remedy but you will- give me the office To choose you a queen. She shall not be so young As was your former; but she shall be such As, walk'd your first queen's ghost, it should take joy To see her in your arms. LEONTES. My true Paulina, We shall not marry till thou bid'st us. PAULINA. That Shall be when your first queen's again in breath; Never till then. Enter a GENTLEMAN GENTLEMAN. One that gives out himself Prince Florizel, Son of Polixenes, with his princess- she The fairest I have yet beheld- desires access To your high presence. LEONTES. What with him? He comes not Like to his father's greatness. His approach, So out of circumstance and sudden, tells us 'Tis not a visitation fram'd, but forc'd By need and accident. What train? GENTLEMAN. But few, And those but mean. LEONTES. His princess, say you, with him? GENTLEMAN. Ay; the most peerless piece of earth, I think, That e'er the sun shone bright on. PAULINA. O Hermione, As every present time doth boast itself Above a better gone, so must thy grave Give way to what's seen now! Sir, you yourself Have said and writ so, but your writing now Is colder than that theme: 'She had not been, Nor was not to be equall'd.' Thus your verse Flow'd with her beauty once; 'tis shrewdly ebb'd, To say you have seen a better. GENTLEMAN. Pardon, madam. The one I have almost forgot- your pardon; The other, when she has obtain'd your eye, Will have your tongue too. This is a creature, Would she begin a sect, might quench the zeal Of all professors else, make proselytes Of who she but bid follow. PAULINA. How! not women? GENTLEMAN. Women will love her that she is a woman More worth than any man; men, that she is The rarest of all women. LEONTES. Go, Cleomenes; Yourself, assisted with your honour'd friends, Bring them to our embracement. Exeunt Still, 'tis strange He thus should steal upon us. PAULINA. Had our prince, Jewel of children, seen this hour, he had pair'd Well with this lord; there was not full a month Between their births. LEONTES. Prithee no more; cease. Thou know'st He dies to me again when talk'd of. Sure, When I shall see this gentleman, thy speeches Will bring me to consider that which may Unfurnish me of reason. Re-enter CLEOMENES, with FLORIZEL, PERDITA, and ATTENDANTS They are come. Your mother was most true to wedlock, Prince; For she did print your royal father off, Conceiving you. Were I but twenty-one, Your father's image is so hit in you His very air, that I should call you brother, As I did him, and speak of something wildly By us perform'd before. Most dearly welcome! And your fair princess- goddess! O, alas! I lost a couple that 'twixt heaven and earth Might thus have stood begetting wonder as You, gracious couple, do. And then I lost- All mine own folly- the society, Amity too, of your brave father, whom, Though bearing misery, I desire my life Once more to look on him. FLORIZEL. By his command Have I here touch'd Sicilia, and from him Give you all greetings that a king, at friend, Can send his brother; and, but infirmity, Which waits upon worn times, hath something seiz'd His wish'd ability, he had himself The lands and waters 'twixt your throne and his Measur'd, to look upon you; whom he loves, He bade me say so, more than all the sceptres And those that bear them living. LEONTES. O my brother- Good gentleman!- the wrongs I have done thee stir Afresh within me; and these thy offices, So rarely kind, are as interpreters Of my behind-hand slackness! Welcome hither, As is the spring to th' earth. And hath he too Expos'd this paragon to th' fearful usage, At least ungentle, of the dreadful Neptune, To greet a man not worth her pains, much less Th' adventure of her person? FLORIZEL. Good, my lord, She came from Libya. LEONTES. Where the warlike Smalus, That noble honour'd lord, is fear'd and lov'd? FLORIZEL. Most royal sir, from thence; from him whose daughter His tears proclaim'd his, parting with her; thence, A prosperous south-wind friendly, we have cross'd, To execute the charge my father gave me For visiting your Highness. My best train I have from your Sicilian shores dismiss'd; Who for Bohemia bend, to signify Not only my success in Libya, sir, But my arrival and my wife's in safety Here where we are. LEONTES. The blessed gods Purge all infection from our air whilst you Do climate here! You have a holy father, A graceful gentleman, against whose person, So sacred as it is, I have done sin, For which the heavens, taking angry note, Have left me issueless; and your father's blest, As he from heaven merits it, with you, Worthy his goodness. What might I have been, Might I a son and daughter now have look'd on, Such goodly things as you! Enter a LORD LORD. Most noble sir, That which I shall report will bear no credit, Were not the proof so nigh. Please you, great sir, Bohemia greets you from himself by me; Desires you to attach his son, who has- His dignity and duty both cast off- Fled from his father, from his hopes, and with A shepherd's daughter. LEONTES. Where's Bohemia? Speak. LORD. Here in your city; I now came from him. I speak amazedly; and it becomes My marvel and my message. To your court Whiles he was hast'ning- in the chase, it seems, Of this fair couple- meets he on the way The father of this seeming lady and Her brother, having both their country quitted With this young prince. FLORIZEL. Camillo has betray'd me; Whose honour and whose honesty till now Endur'd all weathers. LORD. Lay't so to his charge; He's with the King your father. LEONTES. Who? Camillo? LORD. Camillo, sir; I spake with him; who now Has these poor men in question. Never saw I Wretches so quake. They kneel, they kiss the earth; Forswear themselves as often as they speak. Bohemia stops his ears, and threatens them With divers deaths in death. PERDITA. O my poor father! The heaven sets spies upon us, will not have Our contract celebrated. LEONTES. You are married? FLORIZEL. We are not, sir, nor are we like to be; The stars, I see, will kiss the valleys first. The odds for high and low's alike. LEONTES. My lord, Is this the daughter of a king? FLORIZEL. She is, When once she is my wife. LEONTES. That 'once,' I see by your good father's speed, Will come on very slowly. I am sorry, Most sorry, you have broken from his liking Where you were tied in duty; and as sorry Your choice is not so rich in worth as beauty, That you might well enjoy her. FLORIZEL. Dear, look up. Though Fortune, visible an enemy, Should chase us with my father, pow'r no jot Hath she to change our loves. Beseech you, sir, Remember since you ow'd no more to time Than I do now. With thought of such affections, Step forth mine advocate; at your request My father will grant precious things as trifles. LEONTES. Would he do so, I'd beg your precious mistress, Which he counts but a trifle. PAULINA. Sir, my liege, Your eye hath too much youth in't. Not a month Fore your queen died, she was more worth such gazes Than what you look on now. LEONTES. I thought of her Even in these looks I made. [To FLORIZEL] But your petition Is yet unanswer'd. I will to your father. Your honour not o'erthrown by your desires, I am friend to them and you. Upon which errand I now go toward him; therefore, follow me, And mark what way I make. Come, good my lord. Exeunt

Although chances for "renewal" once seemed impossible, they now seem resolvable. Leontes is almost to be purged of the sickness that once twisted him. Perdita, the lost heir, has returned, although she has not yet been recognized. And Leontes, by sympathizing with the young couple's spirit of love, begins to take steps that can heal most of his past destruction of the spiritual and natural order.

analysis

Sicilia. Before the palace of LEONTES Enter AUTOLYCUS and a GENTLEMAN AUTOLYCUS. Beseech you, sir, were you present at this relation? FIRST GENTLEMAN. I was by at the opening of the fardel, heard the old shepherd deliver the manner how he found it; whereupon, after a little amazedness, we were all commanded out of the chamber; only this, methought I heard the shepherd say he found the child. AUTOLYCUS. I would most gladly know the issue of it. FIRST GENTLEMAN. I make a broken delivery of the business; but the changes I perceived in the King and Camillo were very notes of admiration. They seem'd almost, with staring on one another, to tear the cases of their eyes; there was speech in their dumbness, language in their very gesture; they look'd as they had heard of a world ransom'd, or one destroyed. A notable passion of wonder appeared in them; but the wisest beholder that knew no more but seeing could not say if th' importance were joy or sorrow- but in the extremity of the one it must needs be. Enter another GENTLEMAN Here comes a gentleman that happily knows more. The news, Rogero? SECOND GENTLEMAN. Nothing but bonfires. The oracle is fulfill'd: the King's daughter is found. Such a deal of wonder is broken out within this hour that ballad-makers cannot be able to express it. Enter another GENTLEMAN Here comes the Lady Paulina's steward; he can deliver you more. How goes it now, sir? This news, which is call'd true, is so like an old tale that the verity of it is in strong suspicion. Has the King found his heir? THIRD GENTLEMAN. Most true, if ever truth were pregnant by circumstance. That which you hear you'll swear you see, there is such unity in the proofs. The mantle of Queen Hermione's; her jewel about the neck of it; the letters of Antigonus found with it, which they know to be his character; the majesty of the creature in resemblance of the mother; the affection of nobleness which nature shows above her breeding; and many other evidences- proclaim her with all certainty to be the King's daughter. Did you see the meeting of the two kings? SECOND GENTLEMAN. No. THIRD GENTLEMAN. Then you have lost a sight which was to be seen, cannot be spoken of. There might you have beheld one joy crown another, so and in such manner that it seem'd sorrow wept to take leave of them; for their joy waded in tears. There was casting up of eyes, holding up of hands, with countenance of such distraction that they were to be known by garment, not by favour. Our king, being ready to leap out of himself for joy of his found daughter, as if that joy were now become a loss, cries 'O, thy mother, thy mother!' then asks Bohemia forgiveness; then embraces his son-in-law; then again worries he his daughter with clipping her. Now he thanks the old shepherd, which stands by like a weather-bitten conduit of many kings' reigns. I never heard of such another encounter, which lames report to follow it and undoes description to do it. SECOND GENTLEMAN. What, pray you, became of Antigonus, that carried hence the child? THIRD GENTLEMAN. Like an old tale still, which will have matter to rehearse, though credit be asleep and not an ear open: he was torn to pieces with a bear. This avouches the shepherd's son, who has not only his innocence, which seems much, to justify him, but a handkerchief and rings of his that Paulina knows. FIRST GENTLEMAN. What became of his bark and his followers? THIRD GENTLEMAN. Wreck'd the same instant of their master's death, and in the view of the shepherd; so that all the instruments which aided to expose the child were even then lost when it was found. But, O, the noble combat that 'twixt joy and sorrow was fought in Paulina! She had one eye declin'd for the loss of her husband, another elevated that the oracle was fulfill'd. She lifted the Princess from the earth, and so locks her in embracing as if she would pin her to her heart, that she might no more be in danger of losing. FIRST GENTLEMAN. The dignity of this act was worth the audience of kings and princes; for by such was it acted. THIRD GENTLEMAN. One of the prettiest touches of all, and that which angl'd for mine eyes- caught the water, though not the fish- was, when at the relation of the Queen's death, with the manner how she came to't bravely confess'd and lamented by the King, how attentivenes wounded his daughter; till, from one sign of dolour to another, she did with an 'Alas!'- I would fain say- bleed tears; for I am sure my heart wept blood. Who was most marble there changed colour; some swooned, all sorrowed. If all the world could have seen't, the woe had been universal. FIRST GENTLEMAN. Are they returned to the court? THIRD GENTLEMAN. No. The Princess hearing of her mother's statue, which is in the keeping of Paulina- a piece many years in doing and now newly perform'd by that rare Italian master, Julio Romano, who, had he himself eternity and could put breath into his work, would beguile nature of her custom, so perfectly he is her ape. He so near to Hermione hath done Hermione that they say one would speak to her and stand in hope of answer- thither with all greediness of affection are they gone, and there they intend to sup. SECOND GENTLEMAN. I thought she had some great matter there in hand; for she hath privately twice or thrice a day, ever since the death of Hermione, visited that removed house. Shall we thither, and with our company piece the rejoicing? FIRST GENTLEMAN. Who would be thence that has the benefit of access? Every wink of an eye some new grace will be born. Our absence makes us unthrifty to our knowledge. Let's along. Exeunt GENTLEMEN AUTOLYCUS. Now, had I not the dash of my former life in me, would preferment drop on my head. I brought the old man and his son aboard the Prince; told him I heard them talk of a fardel and I know not what; but he at that time over-fond of the shepherd's daughter- so he then took her to be- who began to be much sea-sick, and himself little better, extremity of weather continuing, this mystery remained undiscover'd. But 'tis all one to me; for had I been the finder-out of this secret, it would not have relish'd among my other discredits. Enter SHEPHERD and CLOWN Here come those I have done good to against my will, and already appearing in the blossoms of their fortune. SHEPHERD. Come, boy; I am past moe children, but thy sons and daughters will be all gentlemen born. CLOWN. You are well met, sir. You denied to fight with me this other day, because I was no gentleman born. See you these clothes? Say you see them not and think me still no gentleman born. You were best say these robes are not gentlemen born. Give me the lie, do; and try whether I am not now a gentleman born. AUTOLYCUS. I know you are now, sir, a gentleman born. CLOWN. Ay, and have been so any time these four hours. SHEPHERD. And so have I, boy. CLOWN. So you have; but I was a gentleman born before my father; for the King's son took me by the hand and call'd me brother; and then the two kings call'd my father brother; and then the Prince, my brother, and the Princess, my sister, call'd my father father. And so we wept; and there was the first gentleman-like tears that ever we shed. SHEPHERD. We may live, son, to shed many more. CLOWN. Ay; or else 'twere hard luck, being in so preposterous estate as we are. AUTOLYCUS. I humbly beseech you, sir, to pardon me all the faults I have committed to your worship, and to give me your good report to the Prince my master. SHEPHERD. Prithee, son, do; for we must be gentle, now we are gentlemen. CLOWN. Thou wilt amend thy life? AUTOLYCUS. Ay, an it like your good worship. CLOWN. Give me thy hand. I will swear to the Prince thou art as honest a true fellow as any is in Bohemia. SHEPHERD. You may say it, but not swear it. CLOWN. Not swear it, now I am a gentleman? Let boors and franklins say it: I'll swear it. SHEPHERD. How if it be false, son? CLOWN. If it be ne'er so false, a true gentleman may swear it in the behalf of his friend. And I'll swear to the Prince thou art a tall fellow of thy hands and that thou wilt not be drunk; but I know thou art no tall fellow of thy hands and that thou wilt be drunk. But I'll swear it; and I would thou wouldst be a tall fellow of thy hands. AUTOLYCUS. I will prove so, sir, to my power. CLOWN. Ay, by any means, prove a tall fellow. If I do not wonder how thou dar'st venture to be drunk not being a tall fellow, trust me not. Hark! the kings and the princes, our kindred, are going to see the Queen's picture. Come, follow us; we'll be thy good masters. Exeunt

Autolycus organizes the majority of the events in this scene, which is a great help since it is told in fragments. First, Autolycus questions three gentlemen about proceedings in the nearby palace of Leontes. Gradually, he gathers information about the shepherd's testimony. The first gentleman heard only a vague reference to someone's finding a child; thus, he could not guess from what he saw whether or not Leontes and Camillo gestured in joy or sorrow. A second gentleman knows that people are celebrating because "the king's daughter is found." A third gentleman, steward to Paulina, fists enough evidence to dispel doubt about this truth "pregnant/ By circumstance." All major characters in the royal drama were observed to have behaved with a mixture of joy and sorrow when they learned about all of the sorrows that occurred sixteen years ago and rejoiced at today's news. Now, they are gathering at the site of a remarkably lifelike statue of Hermione to eat dinner, during which they hope to witness new and exciting discoveries. Autolycus reflects on how close he came to being the one to reveal these facts. When he sees the clown and the shepherd, he observes: "Here come those I have done good to against my will." He acknowledges the clown's favorite reward: I know you are now, sir, a gentleman born." Autolycus patiently listens to the two men boast that they have been "gentlemen born" for four hours. Then, Autolycus begs them to forgive his transgression and to provide a favorable report to Prince Florizel. Both the clown and shepherd agree because they believe that as "gentlemen" they should be generous. Thus, they invite Autolycus to accompany them in the capacity of a servant to view Hermione's statue.

summary

Sicilia. Before the palace of LEONTES Enter AUTOLYCUS and a GENTLEMAN AUTOLYCUS. Beseech you, sir, were you present at this relation? FIRST GENTLEMAN. I was by at the opening of the fardel, heard the old shepherd deliver the manner how he found it; whereupon, after a little amazedness, we were all commanded out of the chamber; only this, methought I heard the shepherd say he found the child. AUTOLYCUS. I would most gladly know the issue of it. FIRST GENTLEMAN. I make a broken delivery of the business; but the changes I perceived in the King and Camillo were very notes of admiration. They seem'd almost, with staring on one another, to tear the cases of their eyes; there was speech in their dumbness, language in their very gesture; they look'd as they had heard of a world ransom'd, or one destroyed. A notable passion of wonder appeared in them; but the wisest beholder that knew no more but seeing could not say if th' importance were joy or sorrow- but in the extremity of the one it must needs be. Enter another GENTLEMAN Here comes a gentleman that happily knows more. The news, Rogero? SECOND GENTLEMAN. Nothing but bonfires. The oracle is fulfill'd: the King's daughter is found. Such a deal of wonder is broken out within this hour that ballad-makers cannot be able to express it. Enter another GENTLEMAN Here comes the Lady Paulina's steward; he can deliver you more. How goes it now, sir? This news, which is call'd true, is so like an old tale that the verity of it is in strong suspicion. Has the King found his heir? THIRD GENTLEMAN. Most true, if ever truth were pregnant by circumstance. That which you hear you'll swear you see, there is such unity in the proofs. The mantle of Queen Hermione's; her jewel about the neck of it; the letters of Antigonus found with it, which they know to be his character; the majesty of the creature in resemblance of the mother; the affection of nobleness which nature shows above her breeding; and many other evidences- proclaim her with all certainty to be the King's daughter. Did you see the meeting of the two kings? SECOND GENTLEMAN. No. THIRD GENTLEMAN. Then you have lost a sight which was to be seen, cannot be spoken of. There might you have beheld one joy crown another, so and in such manner that it seem'd sorrow wept to take leave of them; for their joy waded in tears. There was casting up of eyes, holding up of hands, with countenance of such distraction that they were to be known by garment, not by favour. Our king, being ready to leap out of himself for joy of his found daughter, as if that joy were now become a loss, cries 'O, thy mother, thy mother!' then asks Bohemia forgiveness; then embraces his son-in-law; then again worries he his daughter with clipping her. Now he thanks the old shepherd, which stands by like a weather-bitten conduit of many kings' reigns. I never heard of such another encounter, which lames report to follow it and undoes description to do it. SECOND GENTLEMAN. What, pray you, became of Antigonus, that carried hence the child? THIRD GENTLEMAN. Like an old tale still, which will have matter to rehearse, though credit be asleep and not an ear open: he was torn to pieces with a bear. This avouches the shepherd's son, who has not only his innocence, which seems much, to justify him, but a handkerchief and rings of his that Paulina knows. FIRST GENTLEMAN. What became of his bark and his followers? THIRD GENTLEMAN. Wreck'd the same instant of their master's death, and in the view of the shepherd; so that all the instruments which aided to expose the child were even then lost when it was found. But, O, the noble combat that 'twixt joy and sorrow was fought in Paulina! She had one eye declin'd for the loss of her husband, another elevated that the oracle was fulfill'd. She lifted the Princess from the earth, and so locks her in embracing as if she would pin her to her heart, that she might no more be in danger of losing. FIRST GENTLEMAN. The dignity of this act was worth the audience of kings and princes; for by such was it acted. THIRD GENTLEMAN. One of the prettiest touches of all, and that which angl'd for mine eyes- caught the water, though not the fish- was, when at the relation of the Queen's death, with the manner how she came to't bravely confess'd and lamented by the King, how attentivenes wounded his daughter; till, from one sign of dolour to another, she did with an 'Alas!'- I would fain say- bleed tears; for I am sure my heart wept blood. Who was most marble there changed colour; some swooned, all sorrowed. If all the world could have seen't, the woe had been universal. FIRST GENTLEMAN. Are they returned to the court? THIRD GENTLEMAN. No. The Princess hearing of her mother's statue, which is in the keeping of Paulina- a piece many years in doing and now newly perform'd by that rare Italian master, Julio Romano, who, had he himself eternity and could put breath into his work, would beguile nature of her custom, so perfectly he is her ape. He so near to Hermione hath done Hermione that they say one would speak to her and stand in hope of answer- thither with all greediness of affection are they gone, and there they intend to sup. SECOND GENTLEMAN. I thought she had some great matter there in hand; for she hath privately twice or thrice a day, ever since the death of Hermione, visited that removed house. Shall we thither, and with our company piece the rejoicing? FIRST GENTLEMAN. Who would be thence that has the benefit of access? Every wink of an eye some new grace will be born. Our absence makes us unthrifty to our knowledge. Let's along. Exeunt GENTLEMEN AUTOLYCUS. Now, had I not the dash of my former life in me, would preferment drop on my head. I brought the old man and his son aboard the Prince; told him I heard them talk of a fardel and I know not what; but he at that time over-fond of the shepherd's daughter- so he then took her to be- who began to be much sea-sick, and himself little better, extremity of weather continuing, this mystery remained undiscover'd. But 'tis all one to me; for had I been the finder-out of this secret, it would not have relish'd among my other discredits. Enter SHEPHERD and CLOWN Here come those I have done good to against my will, and already appearing in the blossoms of their fortune. SHEPHERD. Come, boy; I am past moe children, but thy sons and daughters will be all gentlemen born. CLOWN. You are well met, sir. You denied to fight with me this other day, because I was no gentleman born. See you these clothes? Say you see them not and think me still no gentleman born. You were best say these robes are not gentlemen born. Give me the lie, do; and try whether I am not now a gentleman born. AUTOLYCUS. I know you are now, sir, a gentleman born. CLOWN. Ay, and have been so any time these four hours. SHEPHERD. And so have I, boy. CLOWN. So you have; but I was a gentleman born before my father; for the King's son took me by the hand and call'd me brother; and then the two kings call'd my father brother; and then the Prince, my brother, and the Princess, my sister, call'd my father father. And so we wept; and there was the first gentleman-like tears that ever we shed. SHEPHERD. We may live, son, to shed many more. CLOWN. Ay; or else 'twere hard luck, being in so preposterous estate as we are. AUTOLYCUS. I humbly beseech you, sir, to pardon me all the faults I have committed to your worship, and to give me your good report to the Prince my master. SHEPHERD. Prithee, son, do; for we must be gentle, now we are gentlemen. CLOWN. Thou wilt amend thy life? AUTOLYCUS. Ay, an it like your good worship. CLOWN. Give me thy hand. I will swear to the Prince thou art as honest a true fellow as any is in Bohemia. SHEPHERD. You may say it, but not swear it. CLOWN. Not swear it, now I am a gentleman? Let boors and franklins say it: I'll swear it. SHEPHERD. How if it be false, son? CLOWN. If it be ne'er so false, a true gentleman may swear it in the behalf of his friend. And I'll swear to the Prince thou art a tall fellow of thy hands and that thou wilt not be drunk; but I know thou art no tall fellow of thy hands and that thou wilt be drunk. But I'll swear it; and I would thou wouldst be a tall fellow of thy hands. AUTOLYCUS. I will prove so, sir, to my power. CLOWN. Ay, by any means, prove a tall fellow. If I do not wonder how thou dar'st venture to be drunk not being a tall fellow, trust me not. Hark! the kings and the princes, our kindred, are going to see the Queen's picture. Come, follow us; we'll be thy good masters. Exeunt

This scene dramatizes the effect of repentance and reconciliation that is, reward. Leontes has repented and Autolycus has nearly done away with his knavery. All of the major characters are reconciled. Rewards are given to the clown and the shepherd. Their primary reward, the rank of gentlemen, along with the reconciliation accomplished by the recognition of Perdita's royal rank, helps restore order because all are placed in a proper rank for the marriage. Unity with universal order is achieved by unifying most of the straggling elements of the plot. Narration informs the audience about the reconciliations. All of the emotional scenes occur offstage. But Shakespeare does provide guidelines for action which could be used to enliven the dull narrative: ". . . the king and Camillo/ . . . seemed almost) With staring on one another, to tear the cases/ Of their eyes. A notable passion of wonder appeared in them."

analysis

Sicilia. A chapel in PAULINA's house Enter LEONTES, POLIXENES, FLORIZEL, PERDITA, CAMILLO, PAULINA, LORDS and ATTENDANTS LEONTES. O grave and good Paulina, the great comfort That I have had of thee! PAULINA. What, sovereign sir, I did not well, I meant well. All my services You have paid home; but that you have vouchsaf'd, With your crown'd brother and these your contracted Heirs of your kingdoms, my poor house to visit, It is a surplus of your grace, which never My life may last to answer. LEONTES. O Paulina, We honour you with trouble; but we came To see the statue of our queen. Your gallery Have we pass'd through, not without much content In many singularities; but we saw not That which my daughter came to look upon, The statue of her mother. PAULINA. As she liv'd peerless, So her dead likeness, I do well believe, Excels whatever yet you look'd upon Or hand of man hath done; therefore I keep it Lonely, apart. But here it is. Prepare To see the life as lively mock'd as ever Still sleep mock'd death. Behold; and say 'tis well. [PAULINA draws a curtain, and discovers HERMIONE standing like a statue] I like your silence; it the more shows off Your wonder; but yet speak. First, you, my liege. Comes it not something near? LEONTES. Her natural posture! Chide me, dear stone, that I may say indeed Thou art Hermione; or rather, thou art she In thy not chiding; for she was as tender As infancy and grace. But yet, Paulina, Hermione was not so much wrinkled, nothing So aged as this seems. POLIXENES. O, not by much! PAULINA. So much the more our carver's excellence, Which lets go by some sixteen years and makes her As she liv'd now. LEONTES. As now she might have done, So much to my good comfort as it is Now piercing to my soul. O, thus she stood, Even with such life of majesty- warm life, As now it coldly stands- when first I woo'd her! I am asham'd. Does not the stone rebuke me For being more stone than it? O royal piece, There's magic in thy majesty, which has My evils conjur'd to remembrance, and From thy admiring daughter took the spirits, Standing like stone with thee! PERDITA. And give me leave, And do not say 'tis superstition that I kneel, and then implore her blessing. Lady, Dear queen, that ended when I but began, Give me that hand of yours to kiss. PAULINA. O, patience! The statue is but newly fix'd, the colour's Not dry. CAMILLO. My lord, your sorrow was too sore laid on, Which sixteen winters cannot blow away, So many summers dry. Scarce any joy Did ever so long live; no sorrow But kill'd itself much sooner. POLIXENES. Dear my brother, Let him that was the cause of this have pow'r To take off so much grief from you as he Will piece up in himself. PAULINA. Indeed, my lord, If I had thought the sight of my poor image Would thus have wrought you- for the stone is mine- I'd not have show'd it. LEONTES. Do not draw the curtain. PAULINA. No longer shall you gaze on't, lest your fancy May think anon it moves. LEONTES. Let be, let be. Would I were dead, but that methinks already- What was he that did make it? See, my lord, Would you not deem it breath'd, and that those veins Did verily bear blood? POLIXENES. Masterly done! The very life seems warm upon her lip. LEONTES. The fixture of her eye has motion in't, As we are mock'd with art. PAULINA. I'll draw the curtain. My lord's almost so far transported that He'll think anon it lives. LEONTES. O sweet Paulina, Make me to think so twenty years together! No settled senses of the world can match The pleasure of that madness. Let 't alone. PAULINA. I am sorry, sir, I have thus far stirr'd you; but I could afflict you farther. LEONTES. Do, Paulina; For this affliction has a taste as sweet As any cordial comfort. Still, methinks, There is an air comes from her. What fine chisel Could ever yet cut breath? Let no man mock me, For I will kiss her. PAULINA. Good my lord, forbear. The ruddiness upon her lip is wet; You'll mar it if you kiss it; stain your own With oily painting. Shall I draw the curtain? LEONTES. No, not these twenty years. PERDITA. So long could I Stand by, a looker-on. PAULINA. Either forbear, Quit presently the chapel, or resolve you For more amazement. If you can behold it, I'll make the statue move indeed, descend, And take you by the hand, but then you'll think- Which I protest against- I am assisted By wicked powers. LEONTES. What you can make her do I am content to look on; what to speak I am content to hear; for 'tis as easy To make her speak as move. PAULINA. It is requir'd You do awake your faith. Then all stand still; Or those that think it is unlawful business I am about, let them depart. LEONTES. Proceed. No foot shall stir. PAULINA. Music, awake her: strike. [Music] 'Tis time; descend; be stone no more; approach; Strike all that look upon with marvel. Come; I'll fill your grave up. Stir; nay, come away. Bequeath to death your numbness, for from him Dear life redeems you. You perceive she stirs. [HERMIONE comes down from the pedestal] Start not; her actions shall be holy as You hear my spell is lawful. Do not shun her Until you see her die again; for then You kill her double. Nay, present your hand. When she was young you woo'd her; now in age Is she become the suitor? LEONTES. O, she's warm! If this be magic, let it be an art Lawful as eating. POLIXENES. She embraces him. CAMILLO. She hangs about his neck. If she pertain to life, let her speak too. POLIXENES. Ay, and make it manifest where she has liv'd, Or how stol'n from the dead. PAULINA. That she is living, Were it but told you, should be hooted at Like an old tale; but it appears she lives Though yet she speak not. Mark a little while. Please you to interpose, fair madam. Kneel, And pray your mother's blessing. Turn, good lady; Our Perdita is found. HERMIONE. You gods, look down, And from your sacred vials pour your graces Upon my daughter's head! Tell me, mine own, Where hast thou been preserv'd? Where liv'd? How found Thy father's court? For thou shalt hear that I, Knowing by Paulina that the oracle Gave hope thou wast in being, have preserv'd Myself to see the issue. PAULINA. There's time enough for that, Lest they desire upon this push to trouble Your joys with like relation. Go together, You precious winners all; your exultation Partake to every one. I, an old turtle, Will wing me to some wither'd bough, and there My mate, that's never to be found again, Lament till I am lost. LEONTES. O peace, Paulina! Thou shouldst a husband take by my consent, As I by thine a wife. This is a match, And made between's by vows. Thou hast found mine; But how, is to be question'd; for I saw her, As I thought, dead; and have, in vain, said many A prayer upon her grave. I'll not seek far- For him, I partly know his mind- to find thee An honourable husband. Come, Camillo, And take her by the hand whose worth and honesty Is richly noted, and here justified By us, a pair of kings. Let's from this place. What! look upon my brother. Both your pardons, That e'er I put between your holy looks My ill suspicion. This your son-in-law, And son unto the King, whom heavens directing, Is troth-plight to your daughter. Good Paulina, Lead us from hence where we may leisurely Each one demand and answer to his part Perform'd in this wide gap of time since first We were dissever'd. Hastily lead away. Exeunt THE END

As the celebration party strolls through Paulina's estate on their way to Hermione's statue, Leontes praises the hostess for her years of good service. When Paulina reveals Hermione, who is standing like a statue, the group is stunned into silence. Leontes speaks first of the statue's lifelike appearance, then notes: "Hermione was not so much wrinkled, nothing/ So aged as this seems." Paulina explains that the artist imagined how she would look now. Not surprisingly, Leontes feels rebuked by the lifelike statue. Perdita tries to touch it, but Paulina warns her that the paint on the statue is not yet dry. Leontes' painful sorrow is so evident that Camillo, Polixenes, and Paulina each try to ease his suffering. Leontes' intense desire for Hermione increases, and when Paulina tries to draw the curtain in front of the statue, she is forbidden to do so by Leontes. Perdita also expresses a desire to continue to look at the statue. Then Paulina offers to make the statue move if no one accuses her of consorting with evil spirits. Leontes encourages her. Calling for music, Paulina commands Hermione to descend from her pedestal. Leontes touches Hermione and wonders at her warmth: "If this be magic, let it be an art/ Lawful as eating." Hermione embraces Leontes, and Polixenes and Camillo suddenly wonder aloud if she is alive. When Paulina turns Hermione's attention to Perdita, Hermione speaks. First, she praises the gods, then she asks Perdita how she survived; finally, she states that with hope in the oracle's message, she preserved herself for this very moment. Paulina blesses the reunited family and then offers to withdraw: I, an old turtle , Will wing me to some withered bough and there My mate, that's never to be found again, Lament till I am lost. But Leontes forestalls her loneliness by arranging a match with Camillo. After some conciliatory remarks to all aggrieved parties, Leontes organizes a departure to exchange reminiscences.

summary

Sicilia. A chapel in PAULINA's house Enter LEONTES, POLIXENES, FLORIZEL, PERDITA, CAMILLO, PAULINA, LORDS and ATTENDANTS LEONTES. O grave and good Paulina, the great comfort That I have had of thee! PAULINA. What, sovereign sir, I did not well, I meant well. All my services You have paid home; but that you have vouchsaf'd, With your crown'd brother and these your contracted Heirs of your kingdoms, my poor house to visit, It is a surplus of your grace, which never My life may last to answer. LEONTES. O Paulina, We honour you with trouble; but we came To see the statue of our queen. Your gallery Have we pass'd through, not without much content In many singularities; but we saw not That which my daughter came to look upon, The statue of her mother. PAULINA. As she liv'd peerless, So her dead likeness, I do well believe, Excels whatever yet you look'd upon Or hand of man hath done; therefore I keep it Lonely, apart. But here it is. Prepare To see the life as lively mock'd as ever Still sleep mock'd death. Behold; and say 'tis well. [PAULINA draws a curtain, and discovers HERMIONE standing like a statue] I like your silence; it the more shows off Your wonder; but yet speak. First, you, my liege. Comes it not something near? LEONTES. Her natural posture! Chide me, dear stone, that I may say indeed Thou art Hermione; or rather, thou art she In thy not chiding; for she was as tender As infancy and grace. But yet, Paulina, Hermione was not so much wrinkled, nothing So aged as this seems. POLIXENES. O, not by much! PAULINA. So much the more our carver's excellence, Which lets go by some sixteen years and makes her As she liv'd now. LEONTES. As now she might have done, So much to my good comfort as it is Now piercing to my soul. O, thus she stood, Even with such life of majesty- warm life, As now it coldly stands- when first I woo'd her! I am asham'd. Does not the stone rebuke me For being more stone than it? O royal piece, There's magic in thy majesty, which has My evils conjur'd to remembrance, and From thy admiring daughter took the spirits, Standing like stone with thee! PERDITA. And give me leave, And do not say 'tis superstition that I kneel, and then implore her blessing. Lady, Dear queen, that ended when I but began, Give me that hand of yours to kiss. PAULINA. O, patience! The statue is but newly fix'd, the colour's Not dry. CAMILLO. My lord, your sorrow was too sore laid on, Which sixteen winters cannot blow away, So many summers dry. Scarce any joy Did ever so long live; no sorrow But kill'd itself much sooner. POLIXENES. Dear my brother, Let him that was the cause of this have pow'r To take off so much grief from you as he Will piece up in himself. PAULINA. Indeed, my lord, If I had thought the sight of my poor image Would thus have wrought you- for the stone is mine- I'd not have show'd it. LEONTES. Do not draw the curtain. PAULINA. No longer shall you gaze on't, lest your fancy May think anon it moves. LEONTES. Let be, let be. Would I were dead, but that methinks already- What was he that did make it? See, my lord, Would you not deem it breath'd, and that those veins Did verily bear blood? POLIXENES. Masterly done! The very life seems warm upon her lip. LEONTES. The fixture of her eye has motion in't, As we are mock'd with art. PAULINA. I'll draw the curtain. My lord's almost so far transported that He'll think anon it lives. LEONTES. O sweet Paulina, Make me to think so twenty years together! No settled senses of the world can match The pleasure of that madness. Let 't alone. PAULINA. I am sorry, sir, I have thus far stirr'd you; but I could afflict you farther. LEONTES. Do, Paulina; For this affliction has a taste as sweet As any cordial comfort. Still, methinks, There is an air comes from her. What fine chisel Could ever yet cut breath? Let no man mock me, For I will kiss her. PAULINA. Good my lord, forbear. The ruddiness upon her lip is wet; You'll mar it if you kiss it; stain your own With oily painting. Shall I draw the curtain? LEONTES. No, not these twenty years. PERDITA. So long could I Stand by, a looker-on. PAULINA. Either forbear, Quit presently the chapel, or resolve you For more amazement. If you can behold it, I'll make the statue move indeed, descend, And take you by the hand, but then you'll think- Which I protest against- I am assisted By wicked powers. LEONTES. What you can make her do I am content to look on; what to speak I am content to hear; for 'tis as easy To make her speak as move. PAULINA. It is requir'd You do awake your faith. Then all stand still; Or those that think it is unlawful business I am about, let them depart. LEONTES. Proceed. No foot shall stir. PAULINA. Music, awake her: strike. [Music] 'Tis time; descend; be stone no more; approach; Strike all that look upon with marvel. Come; I'll fill your grave up. Stir; nay, come away. Bequeath to death your numbness, for from him Dear life redeems you. You perceive she stirs. [HERMIONE comes down from the pedestal] Start not; her actions shall be holy as You hear my spell is lawful. Do not shun her Until you see her die again; for then You kill her double. Nay, present your hand. When she was young you woo'd her; now in age Is she become the suitor? LEONTES. O, she's warm! If this be magic, let it be an art Lawful as eating. POLIXENES. She embraces him. CAMILLO. She hangs about his neck. If she pertain to life, let her speak too. POLIXENES. Ay, and make it manifest where she has liv'd, Or how stol'n from the dead. PAULINA. That she is living, Were it but told you, should be hooted at Like an old tale; but it appears she lives Though yet she speak not. Mark a little while. Please you to interpose, fair madam. Kneel, And pray your mother's blessing. Turn, good lady; Our Perdita is found. HERMIONE. You gods, look down, And from your sacred vials pour your graces Upon my daughter's head! Tell me, mine own, Where hast thou been preserv'd? Where liv'd? How found Thy father's court? For thou shalt hear that I, Knowing by Paulina that the oracle Gave hope thou wast in being, have preserv'd Myself to see the issue. PAULINA. There's time enough for that, Lest they desire upon this push to trouble Your joys with like relation. Go together, You precious winners all; your exultation Partake to every one. I, an old turtle, Will wing me to some wither'd bough, and there My mate, that's never to be found again, Lament till I am lost. LEONTES. O peace, Paulina! Thou shouldst a husband take by my consent, As I by thine a wife. This is a match, And made between's by vows. Thou hast found mine; But how, is to be question'd; for I saw her, As I thought, dead; and have, in vain, said many A prayer upon her grave. I'll not seek far- For him, I partly know his mind- to find thee An honourable husband. Come, Camillo, And take her by the hand whose worth and honesty Is richly noted, and here justified By us, a pair of kings. Let's from this place. What! look upon my brother. Both your pardons, That e'er I put between your holy looks My ill suspicion. This your son-in-law, And son unto the King, whom heavens directing, Is troth-plight to your daughter. Good Paulina, Lead us from hence where we may leisurely Each one demand and answer to his part Perform'd in this wide gap of time since first We were dissever'd. Hastily lead away. Exeunt THE END

In this scene, Leontes, Camillo, Hermione, and Paulina all earn their rewards. In contrast, Polixenes, Florizel, and Perdita receive their rewards. The thematic confusion of illusion with reality is best illustrated by the statue. This time, Leontes errs by confusing the real Hermione with her illusory role as a lifeless statue: "The fixture of her eye has motion in 't,/ As we are mocked with art." Magic is mentioned, but the reality is its own miracle. Because of the general repentance, reconciliation and rewards and the specific reunion of family and friends, the ending is more clearly an element of the Romance than being in the genre of Comedy, History, or Tragedy. In the conclusion, the concept of renewal is added to the themes of prosperity and destruction that are more typical of Shakespearean tragedies. Thus, after Leontes has passed through sufficient years of repentance, he and all other major parties are poised for reconciliation, rewards and, above all, the renewal of their families. This renewal is precipitated by the daughter -- a feature this play has in common with the other "problem plays." Symbolic of this renewal is the resurrection of Hermione. Reminiscent of the sadness, as well as the joy that love brings in the "problem plays" is Paulina's dirge to her brave, dead husband, Antigonus. Although love and marriage dominate the action, this reminder of all the suffering endured by the loving family and friends since the beginning of the play haunts the observer. Yet, perhaps the entire possibility of a happy ending is suspect. Even when reality seems in focus again, Shakespeare confronts us with the unprovable illusion/reality controversies of resurrection and rebirth. Allusion to seasonal cycles of rebirth as a part of nature cannot prove within the world of this play that all destruction is a part of a cycle of rebirth. Time is still a shadow, and the play ends with memories of the world's mixture of illusion and reality, happiness and sadness, love and hate. Any of these lovers is capable of inflicting destruction and grief on their loved ones. But from the thematic perspective, with all characters now correctly exercising the use of Free Will, they are expected to contribute to the orderly maintenance of the universe. Their exit is an orderly representation of the Cosmic Dance and level of the Heavenly Order coming together in harmony.

analysis

Bohemia. The SHEPHERD'S cottage Enter FLORIZEL and PERDITA FLORIZEL. These your unusual weeds to each part of you Do give a life- no shepherdess, but Flora Peering in April's front. This your sheep-shearing Is as a meeting of the petty gods, And you the Queen on't. PERDITA. Sir, my gracious lord, To chide at your extremes it not becomes me- O, pardon that I name them! Your high self, The gracious mark o' th' land, you have obscur'd With a swain's wearing; and me, poor lowly maid, Most goddess-like prank'd up. But that our feasts In every mess have folly, and the feeders Digest it with a custom, I should blush To see you so attir'd; swoon, I think, To show myself a glass. FLORIZEL. I bless the time When my good falcon made her flight across Thy father's ground. PERDITA. Now Jove afford you cause! To me the difference forges dread; your greatness Hath not been us'd to fear. Even now I tremble To think your father, by some accident, Should pass this way, as you did. O, the Fates! How would he look to see his work, so noble, Vilely bound up? What would he say? Or how Should I, in these my borrowed flaunts, behold The sternness of his presence? FLORIZEL. Apprehend Nothing but jollity. The gods themselves, Humbling their deities to love, have taken The shapes of beasts upon them: Jupiter Became a bull and bellow'd; the green Neptune A ram and bleated; and the fire-rob'd god, Golden Apollo, a poor humble swain, As I seem now. Their transformations Were never for a piece of beauty rarer, Nor in a way so chaste, since my desires Run not before mine honour, nor my lusts Burn hotter than my faith. PERDITA. O, but, sir, Your resolution cannot hold when 'tis Oppos'd, as it must be, by th' pow'r of the King. One of these two must be necessities, Which then will speak, that you must change this purpose, Or I my life. FLORIZEL. Thou dearest Perdita, With these forc'd thoughts, I prithee, darken not The mirth o' th' feast. Or I'll be thine, my fair, Or not my father's; for I cannot be Mine own, nor anything to any, if I be not thine. To this I am most constant, Though destiny say no. Be merry, gentle; Strangle such thoughts as these with any thing That you behold the while. Your guests are coming. Lift up your countenance, as it were the day Of celebration of that nuptial which We two have sworn shall come. PERDITA. O Lady Fortune, Stand you auspicious! FLORIZEL. See, your guests approach. Address yourself to entertain them sprightly, And let's be red with mirth. Enter SHEPHERD, with POLIXENES and CAMILLO, disguised; CLOWN, MOPSA, DORCAS, with OTHERS SHEPHERD. Fie, daughter! When my old wife liv'd, upon This day she was both pantler, butler, cook; Both dame and servant; welcom'd all; serv'd all; Would sing her song and dance her turn; now here At upper end o' th' table, now i' th' middle; On his shoulder, and his; her face o' fire With labour, and the thing she took to quench it She would to each one sip. You are retired, As if you were a feasted one, and not The hostess of the meeting. Pray you bid These unknown friends to's welcome, for it is A way to make us better friends, more known. Come, quench your blushes, and present yourself That which you are, Mistress o' th' Feast. Come on, And bid us welcome to your sheep-shearing, As your good flock shall prosper. PERDITA. [To POLIXENES] Sir, welcome. It is my father's will I should take on me The hostess-ship o' th' day. [To CAMILLO] You're welcome, sir. Give me those flow'rs there, Dorcas. Reverend sirs, For you there's rosemary and rue; these keep Seeming and savour all the winter long. Grace and remembrance be to you both! And welcome to our shearing. POLIXENES. Shepherdess- A fair one are you- well you fit our ages With flow'rs of winter. PERDITA. Sir, the year growing ancient, Not yet on summer's death nor on the birth Of trembling winter, the fairest flow'rs o' th' season Are our carnations and streak'd gillyvors, Which some call nature's bastards. Of that kind Our rustic garden's barren; and I care not To get slips of them. POLIXENES. Wherefore, gentle maiden, Do you neglect them? PERDITA. For I have heard it said There is an art which in their piedness shares With great creating nature. POLIXENES. Say there be; Yet nature is made better by no mean But nature makes that mean; so over that art Which you say adds to nature, is an art That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry A gentler scion to the wildest stock, And make conceive a bark of baser kind By bud of nobler race. This is an art Which does mend nature- change it rather; but The art itself is nature. PERDITA. So it is. POLIXENES. Then make your garden rich in gillyvors, And do not call them bastards. PERDITA. I'll not put The dibble in earth to set one slip of them; No more than were I painted I would wish This youth should say 'twere well, and only therefore Desire to breed by me. Here's flow'rs for you: Hot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram; The marigold, that goes to bed wi' th' sun, And with him rises weeping; these are flow'rs Of middle summer, and I think they are given To men of middle age. Y'are very welcome. CAMILLO. I should leave grazing, were I of your flock, And only live by gazing. PERDITA. Out, alas! You'd be so lean that blasts of January Would blow you through and through. Now, my fair'st friend, I would I had some flow'rs o' th' spring that might Become your time of day- and yours, and yours, That wear upon your virgin branches yet Your maidenheads growing. O Proserpina, From the flowers now that, frighted, thou let'st fall From Dis's waggon!- daffodils, That come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty; violets, dim But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes Or Cytherea's breath; pale primroses, That die unmarried ere they can behold Bright Phoebus in his strength- a malady Most incident to maids; bold oxlips, and The crown-imperial; lilies of all kinds, The flow'r-de-luce being one. O, these I lack To make you garlands of, and my sweet friend To strew him o'er and o'er! FLORIZEL. What, like a corse? PERDITA. No; like a bank for love to lie and play on; Not like a corse; or if- not to be buried, But quick, and in mine arms. Come, take your flow'rs. Methinks I play as I have seen them do In Whitsun pastorals. Sure, this robe of mine Does change my disposition. FLORIZEL. What you do Still betters what is done. When you speak, sweet, I'd have you do it ever. When you sing, I'd have you buy and sell so; so give alms; Pray so; and, for the ord'ring your affairs, To sing them too. When you do dance, I wish you A wave o' th' sea, that you might ever do Nothing but that; move still, still so, And own no other function. Each your doing, So singular in each particular, Crowns what you are doing in the present deeds, That all your acts are queens. PERDITA. O Doricles, Your praises are too large. But that your youth, And the true blood which peeps fairly through't, Do plainly give you out an unstain'd shepherd, With wisdom I might fear, my Doricles, You woo'd me the false way. FLORIZEL. I think you have As little skill to fear as I have purpose To put you to't. But, come; our dance, I pray. Your hand, my Perdita; so turtles pair That never mean to part. PERDITA. I'll swear for 'em. POLIXENES. This is the prettiest low-born lass that ever Ran on the green-sward; nothing she does or seems But smacks of something greater than herself, Too noble for this place. CAMILLO. He tells her something That makes her blood look out. Good sooth, she is The queen of curds and cream. CLOWN. Come on, strike up. DORCAS. Mopsa must be your mistress; marry, garlic, To mend her kissing with! MOPSA. Now, in good time! CLOWN. Not a word, a word; we stand upon our manners. Come, strike up. [Music] Here a dance Of SHEPHERDS and SHEPHERDESSES POLIXENES. Pray, good shepherd, what fair swain is this Which dances with your daughter? SHEPHERD. They call him Doricles, and boasts himself To have a worthy feeding; but I have it Upon his own report, and I believe it: He looks like sooth. He says he loves my daughter; I think so too; for never gaz'd the moon Upon the water as he'll stand and read, As 'twere my daughter's eyes; and, to be plain, I think there is not half a kiss to choose Who loves another best. POLIXENES. She dances featly. SHEPHERD. So she does any thing; though I report it That should be silent. If young Doricles Do light upon her, she shall bring him that Which he not dreams of. Enter a SERVANT SERVANT. O master, if you did but hear the pedlar at the door, you would never dance again after a tabor and pipe; no, the bagpipe could not move you. He sings several tunes faster than you'll tell money; he utters them as he had eaten ballads, and all men's ears grew to his tunes. CLOWN. He could never come better; he shall come in. I love a ballad but even too well, if it be doleful matter merrily set down, or a very pleasant thing indeed and sung lamentably. SERVANT. He hath songs for man or woman of all sizes; no milliner can so fit his customers with gloves. He has the prettiest love-songs for maids; so without bawdry, which is strange; with such delicate burdens of dildos and fadings, 'jump her and thump her'; and where some stretch-mouth'd rascal would, as it were, mean mischief, and break a foul gap into the matter, he makes the maid to answer 'Whoop, do me no harm, good man'- puts him off, slights him, with 'Whoop, do me no harm, good man.' POLIXENES. This is a brave fellow. CLOWN. Believe me, thou talkest of an admirable conceited fellow. Has he any unbraided wares? SERVANT. He hath ribbons of all the colours i' th' rainbow; points, more than all the lawyers in Bohemia can learnedly handle, though they come to him by th' gross; inkles, caddisses, cambrics, lawns. Why he sings 'em over as they were gods or goddesses; you would think a smock were she-angel, he so chants to the sleeve-hand and the work about the square on't. CLOWN. Prithee bring him in; and let him approach singing. PERDITA. Forewarn him that he use no scurrilous words in's tunes. Exit SERVANT CLOWN. You have of these pedlars that have more in them than you'd think, sister. PERDITA. Ay, good brother, or go about to think. Enter AUTOLYCUS, Singing Lawn as white as driven snow; Cypress black as e'er was crow; Gloves as sweet as damask roses; Masks for faces and for noses; Bugle bracelet, necklace amber, Perfume for a lady's chamber; Golden quoifs and stomachers, For my lads to give their dears; Pins and poking-sticks of steel- What maids lack from head to heel. Come, buy of me, come; come buy, come buy; Buy, lads, or else your lasses cry. Come, buy. CLOWN. If I were not in love with Mopsa, thou shouldst take no money of me; but being enthrall'd as I am, it will also be the bondage of certain ribbons and gloves. MOPSA. I was promis'd them against the feast; but they come not too late now. DORCAS. He hath promis'd you more than that, or there be liars. MOPSA. He hath paid you all he promis'd you. May be he has paid you more, which will shame you to give him again. CLOWN. Is there no manners left among maids? Will they wear their plackets where they should bear their faces? Is there not milking-time, when you are going to bed, or kiln-hole, to whistle off these secrets, but you must be tittle-tattling before all our guests? 'Tis well they are whisp'ring. Clammer your tongues, and not a word more. MOPSA. I have done. Come, you promis'd me a tawdry-lace, and a pair of sweet gloves. CLOWN. Have I not told thee how I was cozen'd by the way, and lost all my money? AUTOLYCUS. And indeed, sir, there are cozeners abroad; therefore it behoves men to be wary. CLOWN. Fear not thou, man; thou shalt lose nothing here. AUTOLYCUS. I hope so, sir; for I have about me many parcels of charge. CLOWN. What hast here? Ballads? MOPSA. Pray now, buy some. I love a ballad in print a-life, for then we are sure they are true. AUTOLYCUS. Here's one to a very doleful tune: how a usurer's wife was brought to bed of twenty money-bags at a burden, and how she long'd to eat adders' heads and toads carbonado'd. MOPSA. Is it true, think you? AUTOLYCUS. Very true, and but a month old. DORCAS. Bless me from marrying a usurer! AUTOLYCUS. Here's the midwife's name to't, one Mistress Taleporter, and five or six honest wives that were present. Why should I carry lies abroad? MOPSA. Pray you now, buy it. CLOWN. Come on, lay it by; and let's first see moe ballads; we'll buy the other things anon. AUTOLYCUS. Here's another ballad, of a fish that appeared upon the coast on Wednesday the fourscore of April, forty thousand fathom above water, and sung this ballad against the hard hearts of maids. It was thought she was a woman, and was turn'd into a cold fish for she would not exchange flesh with one that lov'd her. The ballad is very pitiful, and as true. DORCAS. Is it true too, think you? AUTOLYCUS. Five justices' hands at it; and witnesses more than my pack will hold. CLOWN. Lay it by too. Another. AUTOLYCUS. This is a merry ballad, but a very pretty one. MOPSA. Let's have some merry ones. AUTOLYCUS. Why, this is a passing merry one, and goes to the tune of 'Two maids wooing a man.' There's scarce a maid westward but she sings it; 'tis in request, I can tell you. MOPSA. can both sing it. If thou'lt bear a part, thou shalt hear; 'tis in three parts. DORCAS. We had the tune on't a month ago. AUTOLYCUS. I can bear my part; you must know 'tis my occupation. Have at it with you. SONG AUTOLYCUS. Get you hence, for I must go Where it fits not you to know. DORCAS. Whither? MOPSA. O, whither? DORCAS. Whither? MOPSA. It becomes thy oath full well Thou to me thy secrets tell. DORCAS. Me too! Let me go thither MOPSA. Or thou goest to th' grange or mill. DORCAS. If to either, thou dost ill. AUTOLYCUS. Neither. DORCAS. What, neither? AUTOLYCUS. Neither. DORCAS. Thou hast sworn my love to be. MOPSA. Thou hast sworn it more to me. Then whither goest? Say, whither? CLOWN. We'll have this song out anon by ourselves; my father and the gentlemen are in sad talk, and we'll not trouble them. Come, bring away thy pack after me. Wenches, I'll buy for you both. Pedlar, let's have the first choice. Follow me, girls. Exit with DORCAS and MOPSA AUTOLYCUS. And you shall pay well for 'em. Exit AUTOLYCUS, Singing Will you buy any tape, Or lace for your cape, My dainty duck, my dear-a? Any silk, any thread, Any toys for your head, Of the new'st and fin'st, fin'st wear-a? Come to the pedlar; Money's a meddler That doth utter all men's ware-a. Re-enter SERVANT SERVANT. Master, there is three carters, three shepherds, three neat-herds, three swineherds, that have made themselves all men of hair; they call themselves Saltiers, and they have dance which the wenches say is a gallimaufry of gambols, because they are not in't; but they themselves are o' th' mind, if it be not too rough for some that know little but bowling, it will please plentifully. SHEPHERD. Away! We'll none on't; here has been too much homely foolery already. I know, sir, we weary you. POLIXENES. You weary those that refresh us. Pray, let's see these four threes of herdsmen. SERVANT. One three of them, by their own report, sir, hath danc'd before the King; and not the worst of the three but jumps twelve foot and a half by th' squier. SHEPHERD. Leave your prating; since these good men are pleas'd, let them come in; but quickly now. SERVANT. Why, they stay at door, sir. Exit Here a dance of twelve SATYRS POLIXENES. [To SHEPHERD] O, father, you'll know more of that hereafter. [To CAMILLO] Is it not too far gone? 'Tis time to part them. He's simple and tells much. [To FLORIZEL] How now, fair shepherd! Your heart is full of something that does take Your mind from feasting. Sooth, when I was young And handed love as you do, I was wont To load my she with knacks; I would have ransack'd The pedlar's silken treasury and have pour'd it To her acceptance: you have let him go And nothing marted with him. If your lass Interpretation should abuse and call this Your lack of love or bounty, you were straited For a reply, at least if you make a care Of happy holding her. FLORIZEL. Old sir, I know She prizes not such trifles as these are. The gifts she looks from me are pack'd and lock'd Up in my heart, which I have given already, But not deliver'd. O, hear me breathe my life Before this ancient sir, whom, it should seem, Hath sometime lov'd. I take thy hand- this hand, As soft as dove's down and as white as it, Or Ethiopian's tooth, or the fann'd snow that's bolted By th' northern blasts twice o'er. POLIXENES. What follows this? How prettily the young swain seems to wash The hand was fair before! I have put you out. But to your protestation; let me hear What you profess. FLORIZEL. Do, and be witness to't. POLIXENES. And this my neighbour too? FLORIZEL. And he, and more Than he, and men- the earth, the heavens, and all: That, were I crown'd the most imperial monarch, Thereof most worthy, were I the fairest youth That ever made eye swerve, had force and knowledge More than was ever man's, I would not prize them Without her love; for her employ them all; Commend them and condemn them to her service Or to their own perdition. POLIXENES. Fairly offer'd. CAMILLO. This shows a sound affection. SHEPHERD. But, my daughter, Say you the like to him? PERDITA. I cannot speak So well, nothing so well; no, nor mean better. By th' pattern of mine own thoughts I cut out The purity of his. SHEPHERD. Take hands, a bargain! And, friends unknown, you shall bear witness to't: I give my daughter to him, and will make Her portion equal his. FLORIZEL. O, that must be I' th' virtue of your daughter. One being dead, I shall have more than you can dream of yet; Enough then for your wonder. But come on, Contract us fore these witnesses. SHEPHERD. Come, your hand; And, daughter, yours. POLIXENES. Soft, swain, awhile, beseech you; Have you a father? FLORIZEL. I have, but what of him? POLIXENES. Knows he of this? FLORIZEL. He neither does nor shall. POLIXENES. Methinks a father Is at the nuptial of his son a guest That best becomes the table. Pray you, once more, Is not your father grown incapable Of reasonable affairs? Is he not stupid With age and alt'ring rheums? Can he speak, hear, Know man from man, dispute his own estate? Lies he not bed-rid, and again does nothing But what he did being childish? FLORIZEL. No, good sir; He has his health, and ampler strength indeed Than most have of his age. POLIXENES. By my white beard, You offer him, if this be so, a wrong Something unfilial. Reason my son Should choose himself a wife; but as good reason The father- all whose joy is nothing else But fair posterity- should hold some counsel In such a business. FLORIZEL. I yield all this; But, for some other reasons, my grave sir, Which 'tis not fit you know, I not acquaint My father of this business. POLIXENES. Let him know't. FLORIZEL. He shall not. POLIXENES. Prithee let him. FLORIZEL. No, he must not. SHEPHERD. Let him, my son; he shall not need to grieve At knowing of thy choice. FLORIZEL. Come, come, he must not. Mark our contract. POLIXENES. [Discovering himself] Mark your divorce, young sir, Whom son I dare not call; thou art too base To be acknowledg'd- thou a sceptre's heir, That thus affects a sheep-hook! Thou, old traitor, I am sorry that by hanging thee I can but Shorten thy life one week. And thou, fresh piece Of excellent witchcraft, who of force must know The royal fool thou cop'st with- SHEPHERD. O, my heart! POLIXENES. I'll have thy beauty scratch'd with briers and made More homely than thy state. For thee, fond boy, If I may ever know thou dost but sigh That thou no more shalt see this knack- as never I mean thou shalt- we'll bar thee from succession; Not hold thee of our blood, no, not our kin, Farre than Deucalion off. Mark thou my words. Follow us to the court. Thou churl, for this time, Though full of our displeasure, yet we free thee From the dead blow of it. And you, enchantment, Worthy enough a herdsman- yea, him too That makes himself, but for our honour therein, Unworthy thee- if ever henceforth thou These rural latches to his entrance open, Or hoop his body more with thy embraces, I will devise a death as cruel for thee As thou art tender to't. Exit PERDITA. Even here undone! I was not much afeard; for once or twice I was about to speak and tell him plainly The self-same sun that shines upon his court Hides not his visage from our cottage, but Looks on alike. [To FLORIZEL] Will't please you, sir, be gone? I told you what would come of this. Beseech you, Of your own state take care. This dream of mine- Being now awake, I'll queen it no inch farther, But milk my ewes and weep. CAMILLO. Why, how now, father! Speak ere thou diest. SHEPHERD. I cannot speak nor think, Nor dare to know that which I know. [To FLORIZEL] O sir, You have undone a man of fourscore-three That thought to fill his grave in quiet, yea, To die upon the bed my father died, To lie close by his honest bones; but now Some hangman must put on my shroud and lay me Where no priest shovels in dust. [To PERDITA] O cursed wretch, That knew'st this was the Prince, and wouldst adventure To mingle faith with him!- Undone, undone! If I might die within this hour, I have liv'd To die when I desire. Exit FLORIZEL. Why look you so upon me? I am but sorry, not afeard; delay'd, But nothing alt'red. What I was, I am: More straining on for plucking back; not following My leash unwillingly. CAMILLO. Gracious, my lord, You know your father's temper. At this time He will allow no speech- which I do guess You do not purpose to him- and as hardly Will he endure your sight as yet, I fear; Then, till the fury of his Highness settle, Come not before him. FLORIZEL. I not purpose it. I think Camillo? CAMILLO. Even he, my lord. PERDITA. How often have I told you 'twould be thus! How often said my dignity would last But till 'twere known! FLORIZEL. It cannot fail but by The violation of my faith; and then Let nature crush the sides o' th' earth together And mar the seeds within! Lift up thy looks. From my succession wipe me, father; I Am heir to my affection. CAMILLO. Be advis'd. FLORIZEL. I am- and by my fancy; if my reason Will thereto be obedient, I have reason; If not, my senses, better pleas'd with madness, Do bid it welcome. CAMILLO. This is desperate, sir. FLORIZEL. So call it; but it does fulfil my vow: I needs must think it honesty. Camillo, Not for Bohemia, nor the pomp that may Be thereat glean'd, for all the sun sees or The close earth wombs, or the profound seas hides In unknown fathoms, will I break my oath To this my fair belov'd. Therefore, I pray you, As you have ever been my father's honour'd friend, When he shall miss me- as, in faith, I mean not To see him any more- cast your good counsels Upon his passion. Let myself and Fortune Tug for the time to come. This you may know, And so deliver: I am put to sea With her who here I cannot hold on shore. And most opportune to her need I have A vessel rides fast by, but not prepar'd For this design. What course I mean to hold Shall nothing benefit your knowledge, nor Concern me the reporting. CAMILLO. O my lord, I would your spirit were easier for advice. Or stronger for your need. FLORIZEL. Hark, Perdita. [Takes her aside] [To CAMILLO] I'll hear you by and by. CAMILLO. He's irremovable, Resolv'd for flight. Now were I happy if His going I could frame to serve my turn, Save him from danger, do him love and honour, Purchase the sight again of dear Sicilia And that unhappy king, my master, whom I so much thirst to see. FLORIZEL. Now, good Camillo, I am so fraught with curious business that I leave out ceremony. CAMILLO. Sir, I think You have heard of my poor services i' th' love That I have borne your father? FLORIZEL. Very nobly Have you deserv'd. It is my father's music To speak your deeds; not little of his care To have them recompens'd as thought on. CAMILLO. Well, my lord, If you may please to think I love the King, And through him what's nearest to him, which is Your gracious self, embrace but my direction. If your more ponderous and settled project May suffer alteration, on mine honour, I'll point you where you shall have such receiving As shall become your Highness; where you may Enjoy your mistress, from the whom, I see, There's no disjunction to be made but by, As heavens forfend! your ruin- marry her; And with my best endeavours in your absence Your discontenting father strive to qualify, And bring him up to liking. FLORIZEL. How, Camillo, May this, almost a miracle, be done? That I may call thee something more than man, And after that trust to thee. CAMILLO. Have you thought on A place whereto you'll go? FLORIZEL. Not any yet; But as th' unthought-on accident is guilty To what we wildly do, so we profess Ourselves to be the slaves of chance and flies Of every wind that blows. CAMILLO. Then list to me. This follows, if you will not change your purpose But undergo this flight: make for Sicilia, And there present yourself and your fair princess- For so, I see, she must be- fore Leontes. She shall be habited as it becomes The partner of your bed. Methinks I see Leontes opening his free arms and weeping His welcomes forth; asks thee there 'Son, forgiveness!' As 'twere i' th' father's person; kisses the hands Of your fresh princess; o'er and o'er divides him 'Twixt his unkindness and his kindness- th' one He chides to hell, and bids the other grow Faster than thought or time. FLORIZEL. Worthy Camillo, What colour for my visitation shall I Hold up before him? CAMILLO. Sent by the King your father To greet him and to give him comforts. Sir, The manner of your bearing towards him, with What you as from your father shall deliver, Things known betwixt us three, I'll write you down; The which shall point you forth at every sitting What you must say, that he shall not perceive But that you have your father's bosom there And speak his very heart. FLORIZEL. I am bound to you. There is some sap in this. CAMILLO. A course more promising Than a wild dedication of yourselves To unpath'd waters, undream'd shores, most certain To miseries enough; no hope to help you, But as you shake off one to take another; Nothing so certain as your anchors, who Do their best office if they can but stay you Where you'll be loath to be. Besides, you know Prosperity's the very bond of love, Whose fresh complexion and whose heart together Affliction alters. PERDITA. One of these is true: I think affliction may subdue the cheek, But not take in the mind. CAMILLO. Yea, say you so? There shall not at your father's house these seven years Be born another such. FLORIZEL. My good Camillo, She is as forward of her breeding as She is i' th' rear o' our birth. CAMILLO. I cannot say 'tis pity She lacks instructions, for she seems a mistress To most that teach. PERDITA. Your pardon, sir; for this I'll blush you thanks. FLORIZEL. My prettiest Perdita! But, O, the thorns we stand upon! Camillo- Preserver of my father, now of me; The medicine of our house- how shall we do? We are not furnish'd like Bohemia's son; Nor shall appear in Sicilia. CAMILLO. My lord, Fear none of this. I think you know my fortunes Do all lie there. It shall be so my care To have you royally appointed as if The scene you play were mine. For instance, sir, That you may know you shall not want- one word. [They talk aside] Re-enter AUTOLYCUS AUTOLYCUS. Ha, ha! what a fool Honesty is! and Trust, his sworn brother, a very simple gentleman! I have sold all my trumpery; not a counterfeit stone, not a ribbon, glass, pomander, brooch, table-book, ballad, knife, tape, glove, shoe-tie, bracelet, horn-ring, to keep my pack from fasting. They throng who should buy first, as if my trinkets had been hallowed and brought a benediction to the buyer; by which means I saw whose purse was best in picture; and what I saw, to my good use I rememb'red. My clown, who wants but something to be a reasonable man, grew so in love with the wenches' song that he would not stir his pettitoes till he had both tune and words, which so drew the rest of the herd to me that all their other senses stuck in ears. You might have pinch'd a placket, it was senseless; 'twas nothing to geld a codpiece of a purse; I would have fil'd keys off that hung in chains. No hearing, no feeling, but my sir's song, and admiring the nothing of it. So that in this time of lethargy I pick'd and cut most of their festival purses; and had not the old man come in with whoobub against his daughter and the King's son and scar'd my choughs from the chaff, I had not left a purse alive in the whole army. CAMILLO, FLORIZEL, and PERDITA come forward CAMILLO. Nay, but my letters, by this means being there So soon as you arrive, shall clear that doubt. FLORIZEL. And those that you'll procure from King Leontes? CAMILLO. Shall satisfy your father. PERDITA. Happy be you! All that you speak shows fair. CAMILLO. [seeing AUTOLYCUS] Who have we here? We'll make an instrument of this; omit Nothing may give us aid. AUTOLYCUS. [Aside] If they have overheard me now- why, hanging. CAMILLO. How now, good fellow! Why shak'st thou so? Fear not, man; here's no harm intended to thee. AUTOLYCUS. I am a poor fellow, sir. CAMILLO. Why, be so still; here's nobody will steal that from thee. Yet for the outside of thy poverty we must make an exchange; therefore discase thee instantly- thou must think there's a necessity in't- and change garments with this gentleman. Though the pennyworth on his side be the worst, yet hold thee, there's some boot. [Giving money] AUTOLYCUS. I am a poor fellow, sir. [Aside] I know ye well enough. CAMILLO. Nay, prithee dispatch. The gentleman is half flay'd already. AUTOLYCUS. Are you in camest, sir? [Aside] I smell the trick on't. FLORIZEL. Dispatch, I prithee. AUTOLYCUS. Indeed, I have had earnest; but I cannot with conscience take it. CAMILLO. Unbuckle, unbuckle. FLORIZEL and AUTOLYCUS exchange garments Fortunate mistress- let my prophecy Come home to ye!- you must retire yourself Into some covert; take your sweetheart's hat And pluck it o'er your brows, muffle your face, Dismantle you, and, as you can, disliken The truth of your own seeming, that you may- For I do fear eyes over- to shipboard Get undescried. PERDITA. I see the play so lies That I must bear a part. CAMILLO. No remedy. Have you done there? FLORIZEL. Should I now meet my father, He would not call me son. CAMILLO. Nay, you shall have no hat. [Giving it to PERDITA] Come, lady, come. Farewell, my friend. AUTOLYCUS. Adieu, sir. FLORIZEL. O Perdita, what have we twain forgot! Pray you a word. [They converse apart] CAMILLO. [Aside] What I do next shall be to tell the King Of this escape, and whither they are bound; Wherein my hope is I shall so prevail To force him after; in whose company I shall re-view Sicilia, for whose sight I have a woman's longing. FLORIZEL. Fortune speed us! Thus we set on, Camillo, to th' sea-side. CAMILLO. The swifter speed the better. Exeunt FLORIZEL, PERDITA, and CAMILLO AUTOLYCUS. I understand the business, I hear it. To have an open ear, a quick eye, and a nimble hand, is necessary for a cut-purse; a good nose is requisite also, to smell out work for th' other senses. I see this is the time that the unjust man doth thrive. What an exchange had this been without boot! What a boot is here with this exchange! Sure, the gods do this year connive at us, and we may do anything extempore. The Prince himself is about a piece of iniquity- stealing away from his father with his clog at his heels. If I thought it were a piece of honesty to acquaint the King withal, I would not do't. I hold it the more knavery to conceal it; and therein am I constant to my profession. Re-enter CLOWN and SHEPHERD Aside, aside- here is more matter for a hot brain. Every lane's end, every shop, church, session, hanging, yields a careful man work. CLOWN. See, see; what a man you are now! There is no other way but to tell the King she's a changeling and none of your flesh and blood. SHEPHERD. Nay, but hear me. CLOWN. Nay- but hear me. SHEPHERD. Go to, then. CLOWN. She being none of your flesh and blood, your flesh and blood has not offended the King; and so your flesh and blood is not to be punish'd by him. Show those things you found about her, those secret things- all but what she has with her. This being done, let the law go whistle; I warrant you. SHEPHERD. I will tell the King all, every word- yea, and his son's pranks too; who, I may say, is no honest man, neither to his father nor to me, to go about to make me the King's brother-in-law. CLOWN. Indeed, brother-in-law was the farthest off you could have been to him; and then your blood had been the dearer by I know how much an ounce. AUTOLYCUS. [Aside] Very wisely, puppies! SHEPHERD. Well, let us to the King. There is that in this fardel will make him scratch his beard. AUTOLYCUS. [Aside] I know not what impediment this complaint may be to the flight of my master. CLOWN. Pray heartily he be at palace. AUTOLYCUS. [Aside] Though I am not naturally honest, I am so sometimes by chance. Let me pocket up my pedlar's excrement. [Takes off his false beard] How now, rustics! Whither are you bound? SHEPHERD. To th' palace, an it like your worship. AUTOLYCUS. Your affairs there, what, with whom, the condition of that fardel, the place of your dwelling, your names, your ages, of what having, breeding, and anything that is fitting to be known- discover. CLOWN. We are but plain fellows, sir. AUTOLYCUS. A lie: you are rough and hairy. Let me have no lying; it becomes none but tradesmen, and they often give us soldiers the lie; but we pay them for it with stamped coin, not stabbing steel; therefore they do not give us the lie. CLOWN. Your worship had like to have given us one, if you had not taken yourself with the manner. SHEPHERD. Are you a courtier, an't like you, sir? AUTOLYCUS. Whether it like me or no, I am a courtier. Seest thou not the air of the court in these enfoldings? Hath not my gait in it the measure of the court? Receives not thy nose court-odour from me? Reflect I not on thy baseness court-contempt? Think'st thou, for that I insinuate, that toaze from thee thy business, I am therefore no courtier? I am courtier cap-a-pe, and one that will either push on or pluck back thy business there; whereupon I command the to open thy affair. SHEPHERD. My business, sir, is to the King. AUTOLYCUS. What advocate hast thou to him? SHEPHERD. I know not, an't like you. CLOWN. Advocate's the court-word for a pheasant; say you have none. SHEPHERD. None, sir; I have no pheasant, cock nor hen. AUTOLYCUS. How blessed are we that are not simple men! Yet nature might have made me as these are, Therefore I will not disdain. CLOWN. This cannot be but a great courtier. SHEPHERD. His garments are rich, but he wears them not handsomely. CLOWN. He seems to be the more noble in being fantastical. A great man, I'll warrant; I know by the picking on's teeth. AUTOLYCUS. The fardel there? What's i' th' fardel? Wherefore that box? SHEPHERD. Sir, there lies such secrets in this fardel and box which none must know but the King; and which he shall know within this hour, if I may come to th' speech of him. AUTOLYCUS. Age, thou hast lost thy labour. SHEPHERD. Why, Sir? AUTOLYCUS. The King is not at the palace; he is gone aboard a new ship to purge melancholy and air himself; for, if thou be'st capable of things serious, thou must know the King is full of grief. SHEPHERD. So 'tis said, sir- about his son, that should have married a shepherd's daughter. AUTOLYCUS. If that shepherd be not in hand-fast, let him fly; the curses he shall have, the tortures he shall feel, will break the back of man, the heart of monster. CLOWN. Think you so, sir? AUTOLYCUS. Not he alone shall suffer what wit can make heavy and vengeance bitter; but those that are germane to him, though remov'd fifty times, shall all come under the hangman- which, though it be great pity, yet it is necessary. An old sheep-whistling rogue, a ram-tender, to offer to have his daughter come into grace! Some say he shall be ston'd; but that death is too soft for him, say I. Draw our throne into a sheep-cote!- all deaths are too few, the sharpest too easy. CLOWN. Has the old man e'er a son, sir, do you hear, an't like you, sir? AUTOLYCUS. He has a son- who shall be flay'd alive; then 'nointed over with honey, set on the head of a wasp's nest; then stand till he be three quarters and a dram dead; then recover'd again with aqua-vitae or some other hot infusion; then, raw as he is, and in the hottest day prognostication proclaims, shall he be set against a brick wall, the sun looking with a southward eye upon him, where he is to behold him with flies blown to death. But what talk we of these traitorly rascals, whose miseries are to be smil'd at, their offences being so capital? Tell me, for you seem to be honest plain men, what you have to the King. Being something gently consider'd, I'll bring you where he is aboard, tender your persons to his presence, whisper him in your behalfs; and if it be in man besides the King to effect your suits, here is man shall do it. CLOWN. He seems to be of great authority. Close with him, give him gold; and though authority be a stubborn bear, yet he is oft led by the nose with gold. Show the inside of your purse to the outside of his hand, and no more ado. Remember- ston'd and flay'd alive. SHEPHERD. An't please you, sir, to undertake the business for us, here is that gold I have. I'll make it as much more, and leave this young man in pawn till I bring it you. AUTOLYCUS. After I have done what I promised? SHEPHERD. Ay, sir. AUTOLYCUS. Well, give me the moiety. Are you a party in this business? CLOWN. In some sort, sir; but though my case be a pitiful one, I hope I shall not be flay'd out of it. AUTOLYCUS. O, that's the case of the shepherd's son! Hang him, he'll be made an example. CLOWN. Comfort, good comfort! We must to the King and show our strange sights. He must know 'tis none of your daughter nor my sister; we are gone else. Sir, I will give you as much as this old man does, when the business is performed; and remain, as he says, your pawn till it be brought you. AUTOLYCUS. I will trust you. Walk before toward the sea-side; go on the right-hand; I will but look upon the hedge, and follow you. CLOWN. We are blest in this man, as I may say, even blest. SHEPHERD. Let's before, as he bids us. He was provided to do us good. Exeunt SHEPHERD and CLOWN AUTOLYCUS. If I had a mind to be honest, I see Fortune would not suffer me: she drops booties in my mouth. I am courted now with a double occasion- gold, and a means to do the Prince my master good; which who knows how that may turn back to my advancement? I will bring these two moles, these blind ones, aboard him. If he think it fit to shore them again, and that the complaint they have to the King concerns him nothing, let him call me rogue for being so far officious; for I am proof against that title, and what shame else belongs to't. To him will I present them. There may be matter in it. Exit

On the day of the sheepshearing, Perdita and Florizel walk together outside her home. She is decked out in flowers, and he compliments her on her grace and beauty. It quickly becomes apparent that the couple is deeply in love, but Perdita expresses concern over the possibility of their eventual union, pointing out that Florizel's father is bound to oppose it. The prince reassures her, declaring that "I'll be thine, my fair, / Or not my father's". As they talk together, the Shepherd comes in with a huge crowd, including the Clown, a group of shepherdesses, and the disguised Polixenes and Camillo. The Shepherd tells his adoptive daughter to act the hostess, as is proper, and so she busies herself distributing flowers to the new arrivals, which leads to a discussion of horticulture with Polixenes. Watching and listening to her, Florizel is inspired to another effusive declaration of his love. At this point we learn that he is going by the alias of Doricles./PARAGRAPH Polixenes remarks to Camillo that Perdita is "the prettiest lowborn lass that ever / ran on the greensward. Nothing she does or seems / But smacks of something greater than herself, too noble for this place". He asks the Shepherd about "Doricles," and the Shepherd tells him that his daughter's suitor is some high-born fellow, and that the two are deeply in love--"I think there is not half a kiss to choose / Who loves another best". Meanwhile, a peddler arrives, with the promise of entertaining the company with songs. He is allowed in--it is Autolycus, in a peddler's costume--and sets about selling ballads to the Clown and the shepherdesses, and then singing for the entire group. As he does so, Polixenes asks Florizel why he has not bought anything for his love, and the prince replies that he knows that Perdita does not desire such silly things as the peddler is offering. He then decides to take this moment to ask the Shepherd to seal their betrothal, and the old man gladly agrees to do so./PARAGRAPH Before they make the compact, however, Polixenes asks Florizel why he does not consult his father before getting engaged, and the prince replies that there are reasons, which he dares not share, why his father cannot know of his betrothal. He urges the Shepherd to "mark our contract", but the king now casts aside his disguise and declares that the betrothal shall not go forward: the Shepherd will be executed for allowing a prince to court his daughter; Perdita's beauty shall be "scratched with briers"; and Florizel will be disinherited if he ever speaks of her again. He relents slightly, after a moment, and decides to spare the life of the Shepherd and the face of his daughter, but tells them that if they ever see the prince again, there lives will be forfeit. Polixenes then departs, ordering his son to follow him to court, and leaving everyone horrified.

summary

Bohemia. The SHEPHERD'S cottage Enter FLORIZEL and PERDITA FLORIZEL. These your unusual weeds to each part of you Do give a life- no shepherdess, but Flora Peering in April's front. This your sheep-shearing Is as a meeting of the petty gods, And you the Queen on't. PERDITA. Sir, my gracious lord, To chide at your extremes it not becomes me- O, pardon that I name them! Your high self, The gracious mark o' th' land, you have obscur'd With a swain's wearing; and me, poor lowly maid, Most goddess-like prank'd up. But that our feasts In every mess have folly, and the feeders Digest it with a custom, I should blush To see you so attir'd; swoon, I think, To show myself a glass. FLORIZEL. I bless the time When my good falcon made her flight across Thy father's ground. PERDITA. Now Jove afford you cause! To me the difference forges dread; your greatness Hath not been us'd to fear. Even now I tremble To think your father, by some accident, Should pass this way, as you did. O, the Fates! How would he look to see his work, so noble, Vilely bound up? What would he say? Or how Should I, in these my borrowed flaunts, behold The sternness of his presence? FLORIZEL. Apprehend Nothing but jollity. The gods themselves, Humbling their deities to love, have taken The shapes of beasts upon them: Jupiter Became a bull and bellow'd; the green Neptune A ram and bleated; and the fire-rob'd god, Golden Apollo, a poor humble swain, As I seem now. Their transformations Were never for a piece of beauty rarer, Nor in a way so chaste, since my desires Run not before mine honour, nor my lusts Burn hotter than my faith. PERDITA. O, but, sir, Your resolution cannot hold when 'tis Oppos'd, as it must be, by th' pow'r of the King. One of these two must be necessities, Which then will speak, that you must change this purpose, Or I my life. FLORIZEL. Thou dearest Perdita, With these forc'd thoughts, I prithee, darken not The mirth o' th' feast. Or I'll be thine, my fair, Or not my father's; for I cannot be Mine own, nor anything to any, if I be not thine. To this I am most constant, Though destiny say no. Be merry, gentle; Strangle such thoughts as these with any thing That you behold the while. Your guests are coming. Lift up your countenance, as it were the day Of celebration of that nuptial which We two have sworn shall come. PERDITA. O Lady Fortune, Stand you auspicious! FLORIZEL. See, your guests approach. Address yourself to entertain them sprightly, And let's be red with mirth. Enter SHEPHERD, with POLIXENES and CAMILLO, disguised; CLOWN, MOPSA, DORCAS, with OTHERS SHEPHERD. Fie, daughter! When my old wife liv'd, upon This day she was both pantler, butler, cook; Both dame and servant; welcom'd all; serv'd all; Would sing her song and dance her turn; now here At upper end o' th' table, now i' th' middle; On his shoulder, and his; her face o' fire With labour, and the thing she took to quench it She would to each one sip. You are retired, As if you were a feasted one, and not The hostess of the meeting. Pray you bid These unknown friends to's welcome, for it is A way to make us better friends, more known. Come, quench your blushes, and present yourself That which you are, Mistress o' th' Feast. Come on, And bid us welcome to your sheep-shearing, As your good flock shall prosper. PERDITA. [To POLIXENES] Sir, welcome. It is my father's will I should take on me The hostess-ship o' th' day. [To CAMILLO] You're welcome, sir. Give me those flow'rs there, Dorcas. Reverend sirs, For you there's rosemary and rue; these keep Seeming and savour all the winter long. Grace and remembrance be to you both! And welcome to our shearing. POLIXENES. Shepherdess- A fair one are you- well you fit our ages With flow'rs of winter. PERDITA. Sir, the year growing ancient, Not yet on summer's death nor on the birth Of trembling winter, the fairest flow'rs o' th' season Are our carnations and streak'd gillyvors, Which some call nature's bastards. Of that kind Our rustic garden's barren; and I care not To get slips of them. POLIXENES. Wherefore, gentle maiden, Do you neglect them? PERDITA. For I have heard it said There is an art which in their piedness shares With great creating nature. POLIXENES. Say there be; Yet nature is made better by no mean But nature makes that mean; so over that art Which you say adds to nature, is an art That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry A gentler scion to the wildest stock, And make conceive a bark of baser kind By bud of nobler race. This is an art Which does mend nature- change it rather; but The art itself is nature. PERDITA. So it is. POLIXENES. Then make your garden rich in gillyvors, And do not call them bastards. PERDITA. I'll not put The dibble in earth to set one slip of them; No more than were I painted I would wish This youth should say 'twere well, and only therefore Desire to breed by me. Here's flow'rs for you: Hot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram; The marigold, that goes to bed wi' th' sun, And with him rises weeping; these are flow'rs Of middle summer, and I think they are given To men of middle age. Y'are very welcome. CAMILLO. I should leave grazing, were I of your flock, And only live by gazing. PERDITA. Out, alas! You'd be so lean that blasts of January Would blow you through and through. Now, my fair'st friend, I would I had some flow'rs o' th' spring that might Become your time of day- and yours, and yours, That wear upon your virgin branches yet Your maidenheads growing. O Proserpina, From the flowers now that, frighted, thou let'st fall From Dis's waggon!- daffodils, That come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty; violets, dim But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes Or Cytherea's breath; pale primroses, That die unmarried ere they can behold Bright Phoebus in his strength- a malady Most incident to maids; bold oxlips, and The crown-imperial; lilies of all kinds, The flow'r-de-luce being one. O, these I lack To make you garlands of, and my sweet friend To strew him o'er and o'er! FLORIZEL. What, like a corse? PERDITA. No; like a bank for love to lie and play on; Not like a corse; or if- not to be buried, But quick, and in mine arms. Come, take your flow'rs. Methinks I play as I have seen them do In Whitsun pastorals. Sure, this robe of mine Does change my disposition. FLORIZEL. What you do Still betters what is done. When you speak, sweet, I'd have you do it ever. When you sing, I'd have you buy and sell so; so give alms; Pray so; and, for the ord'ring your affairs, To sing them too. When you do dance, I wish you A wave o' th' sea, that you might ever do Nothing but that; move still, still so, And own no other function. Each your doing, So singular in each particular, Crowns what you are doing in the present deeds, That all your acts are queens. PERDITA. O Doricles, Your praises are too large. But that your youth, And the true blood which peeps fairly through't, Do plainly give you out an unstain'd shepherd, With wisdom I might fear, my Doricles, You woo'd me the false way. FLORIZEL. I think you have As little skill to fear as I have purpose To put you to't. But, come; our dance, I pray. Your hand, my Perdita; so turtles pair That never mean to part. PERDITA. I'll swear for 'em. POLIXENES. This is the prettiest low-born lass that ever Ran on the green-sward; nothing she does or seems But smacks of something greater than herself, Too noble for this place. CAMILLO. He tells her something That makes her blood look out. Good sooth, she is The queen of curds and cream. CLOWN. Come on, strike up. DORCAS. Mopsa must be your mistress; marry, garlic, To mend her kissing with! MOPSA. Now, in good time! CLOWN. Not a word, a word; we stand upon our manners. Come, strike up. [Music] Here a dance Of SHEPHERDS and SHEPHERDESSES POLIXENES. Pray, good shepherd, what fair swain is this Which dances with your daughter? SHEPHERD. They call him Doricles, and boasts himself To have a worthy feeding; but I have it Upon his own report, and I believe it: He looks like sooth. He says he loves my daughter; I think so too; for never gaz'd the moon Upon the water as he'll stand and read, As 'twere my daughter's eyes; and, to be plain, I think there is not half a kiss to choose Who loves another best. POLIXENES. She dances featly. SHEPHERD. So she does any thing; though I report it That should be silent. If young Doricles Do light upon her, she shall bring him that Which he not dreams of. Enter a SERVANT SERVANT. O master, if you did but hear the pedlar at the door, you would never dance again after a tabor and pipe; no, the bagpipe could not move you. He sings several tunes faster than you'll tell money; he utters them as he had eaten ballads, and all men's ears grew to his tunes. CLOWN. He could never come better; he shall come in. I love a ballad but even too well, if it be doleful matter merrily set down, or a very pleasant thing indeed and sung lamentably. SERVANT. He hath songs for man or woman of all sizes; no milliner can so fit his customers with gloves. He has the prettiest love-songs for maids; so without bawdry, which is strange; with such delicate burdens of dildos and fadings, 'jump her and thump her'; and where some stretch-mouth'd rascal would, as it were, mean mischief, and break a foul gap into the matter, he makes the maid to answer 'Whoop, do me no harm, good man'- puts him off, slights him, with 'Whoop, do me no harm, good man.' POLIXENES. This is a brave fellow. CLOWN. Believe me, thou talkest of an admirable conceited fellow. Has he any unbraided wares? SERVANT. He hath ribbons of all the colours i' th' rainbow; points, more than all the lawyers in Bohemia can learnedly handle, though they come to him by th' gross; inkles, caddisses, cambrics, lawns. Why he sings 'em over as they were gods or goddesses; you would think a smock were she-angel, he so chants to the sleeve-hand and the work about the square on't. CLOWN. Prithee bring him in; and let him approach singing. PERDITA. Forewarn him that he use no scurrilous words in's tunes. Exit SERVANT CLOWN. You have of these pedlars that have more in them than you'd think, sister. PERDITA. Ay, good brother, or go about to think. Enter AUTOLYCUS, Singing Lawn as white as driven snow; Cypress black as e'er was crow; Gloves as sweet as damask roses; Masks for faces and for noses; Bugle bracelet, necklace amber, Perfume for a lady's chamber; Golden quoifs and stomachers, For my lads to give their dears; Pins and poking-sticks of steel- What maids lack from head to heel. Come, buy of me, come; come buy, come buy; Buy, lads, or else your lasses cry. Come, buy. CLOWN. If I were not in love with Mopsa, thou shouldst take no money of me; but being enthrall'd as I am, it will also be the bondage of certain ribbons and gloves. MOPSA. I was promis'd them against the feast; but they come not too late now. DORCAS. He hath promis'd you more than that, or there be liars. MOPSA. He hath paid you all he promis'd you. May be he has paid you more, which will shame you to give him again. CLOWN. Is there no manners left among maids? Will they wear their plackets where they should bear their faces? Is there not milking-time, when you are going to bed, or kiln-hole, to whistle off these secrets, but you must be tittle-tattling before all our guests? 'Tis well they are whisp'ring. Clammer your tongues, and not a word more. MOPSA. I have done. Come, you promis'd me a tawdry-lace, and a pair of sweet gloves. CLOWN. Have I not told thee how I was cozen'd by the way, and lost all my money? AUTOLYCUS. And indeed, sir, there are cozeners abroad; therefore it behoves men to be wary. CLOWN. Fear not thou, man; thou shalt lose nothing here. AUTOLYCUS. I hope so, sir; for I have about me many parcels of charge. CLOWN. What hast here? Ballads? MOPSA. Pray now, buy some. I love a ballad in print a-life, for then we are sure they are true. AUTOLYCUS. Here's one to a very doleful tune: how a usurer's wife was brought to bed of twenty money-bags at a burden, and how she long'd to eat adders' heads and toads carbonado'd. MOPSA. Is it true, think you? AUTOLYCUS. Very true, and but a month old. DORCAS. Bless me from marrying a usurer! AUTOLYCUS. Here's the midwife's name to't, one Mistress Taleporter, and five or six honest wives that were present. Why should I carry lies abroad? MOPSA. Pray you now, buy it. CLOWN. Come on, lay it by; and let's first see moe ballads; we'll buy the other things anon. AUTOLYCUS. Here's another ballad, of a fish that appeared upon the coast on Wednesday the fourscore of April, forty thousand fathom above water, and sung this ballad against the hard hearts of maids. It was thought she was a woman, and was turn'd into a cold fish for she would not exchange flesh with one that lov'd her. The ballad is very pitiful, and as true. DORCAS. Is it true too, think you? AUTOLYCUS. Five justices' hands at it; and witnesses more than my pack will hold. CLOWN. Lay it by too. Another. AUTOLYCUS. This is a merry ballad, but a very pretty one. MOPSA. Let's have some merry ones. AUTOLYCUS. Why, this is a passing merry one, and goes to the tune of 'Two maids wooing a man.' There's scarce a maid westward but she sings it; 'tis in request, I can tell you. MOPSA. can both sing it. If thou'lt bear a part, thou shalt hear; 'tis in three parts. DORCAS. We had the tune on't a month ago. AUTOLYCUS. I can bear my part; you must know 'tis my occupation. Have at it with you. SONG AUTOLYCUS. Get you hence, for I must go Where it fits not you to know. DORCAS. Whither? MOPSA. O, whither? DORCAS. Whither? MOPSA. It becomes thy oath full well Thou to me thy secrets tell. DORCAS. Me too! Let me go thither MOPSA. Or thou goest to th' grange or mill. DORCAS. If to either, thou dost ill. AUTOLYCUS. Neither. DORCAS. What, neither? AUTOLYCUS. Neither. DORCAS. Thou hast sworn my love to be. MOPSA. Thou hast sworn it more to me. Then whither goest? Say, whither? CLOWN. We'll have this song out anon by ourselves; my father and the gentlemen are in sad talk, and we'll not trouble them. Come, bring away thy pack after me. Wenches, I'll buy for you both. Pedlar, let's have the first choice. Follow me, girls. Exit with DORCAS and MOPSA AUTOLYCUS. And you shall pay well for 'em. Exit AUTOLYCUS, Singing Will you buy any tape, Or lace for your cape, My dainty duck, my dear-a? Any silk, any thread, Any toys for your head, Of the new'st and fin'st, fin'st wear-a? Come to the pedlar; Money's a meddler That doth utter all men's ware-a. Re-enter SERVANT SERVANT. Master, there is three carters, three shepherds, three neat-herds, three swineherds, that have made themselves all men of hair; they call themselves Saltiers, and they have dance which the wenches say is a gallimaufry of gambols, because they are not in't; but they themselves are o' th' mind, if it be not too rough for some that know little but bowling, it will please plentifully. SHEPHERD. Away! We'll none on't; here has been too much homely foolery already. I know, sir, we weary you. POLIXENES. You weary those that refresh us. Pray, let's see these four threes of herdsmen. SERVANT. One three of them, by their own report, sir, hath danc'd before the King; and not the worst of the three but jumps twelve foot and a half by th' squier. SHEPHERD. Leave your prating; since these good men are pleas'd, let them come in; but quickly now. SERVANT. Why, they stay at door, sir. Exit Here a dance of twelve SATYRS POLIXENES. [To SHEPHERD] O, father, you'll know more of that hereafter. [To CAMILLO] Is it not too far gone? 'Tis time to part them. He's simple and tells much. [To FLORIZEL] How now, fair shepherd! Your heart is full of something that does take Your mind from feasting. Sooth, when I was young And handed love as you do, I was wont To load my she with knacks; I would have ransack'd The pedlar's silken treasury and have pour'd it To her acceptance: you have let him go And nothing marted with him. If your lass Interpretation should abuse and call this Your lack of love or bounty, you were straited For a reply, at least if you make a care Of happy holding her. FLORIZEL. Old sir, I know She prizes not such trifles as these are. The gifts she looks from me are pack'd and lock'd Up in my heart, which I have given already, But not deliver'd. O, hear me breathe my life Before this ancient sir, whom, it should seem, Hath sometime lov'd. I take thy hand- this hand, As soft as dove's down and as white as it, Or Ethiopian's tooth, or the fann'd snow that's bolted By th' northern blasts twice o'er. POLIXENES. What follows this? How prettily the young swain seems to wash The hand was fair before! I have put you out. But to your protestation; let me hear What you profess. FLORIZEL. Do, and be witness to't. POLIXENES. And this my neighbour too? FLORIZEL. And he, and more Than he, and men- the earth, the heavens, and all: That, were I crown'd the most imperial monarch, Thereof most worthy, were I the fairest youth That ever made eye swerve, had force and knowledge More than was ever man's, I would not prize them Without her love; for her employ them all; Commend them and condemn them to her service Or to their own perdition. POLIXENES. Fairly offer'd. CAMILLO. This shows a sound affection. SHEPHERD. But, my daughter, Say you the like to him? PERDITA. I cannot speak So well, nothing so well; no, nor mean better. By th' pattern of mine own thoughts I cut out The purity of his. SHEPHERD. Take hands, a bargain! And, friends unknown, you shall bear witness to't: I give my daughter to him, and will make Her portion equal his. FLORIZEL. O, that must be I' th' virtue of your daughter. One being dead, I shall have more than you can dream of yet; Enough then for your wonder. But come on, Contract us fore these witnesses. SHEPHERD. Come, your hand; And, daughter, yours. POLIXENES. Soft, swain, awhile, beseech you; Have you a father? FLORIZEL. I have, but what of him? POLIXENES. Knows he of this? FLORIZEL. He neither does nor shall. POLIXENES. Methinks a father Is at the nuptial of his son a guest That best becomes the table. Pray you, once more, Is not your father grown incapable Of reasonable affairs? Is he not stupid With age and alt'ring rheums? Can he speak, hear, Know man from man, dispute his own estate? Lies he not bed-rid, and again does nothing But what he did being childish? FLORIZEL. No, good sir; He has his health, and ampler strength indeed Than most have of his age. POLIXENES. By my white beard, You offer him, if this be so, a wrong Something unfilial. Reason my son Should choose himself a wife; but as good reason The father- all whose joy is nothing else But fair posterity- should hold some counsel In such a business. FLORIZEL. I yield all this; But, for some other reasons, my grave sir, Which 'tis not fit you know, I not acquaint My father of this business. POLIXENES. Let him know't. FLORIZEL. He shall not. POLIXENES. Prithee let him. FLORIZEL. No, he must not. SHEPHERD. Let him, my son; he shall not need to grieve At knowing of thy choice. FLORIZEL. Come, come, he must not. Mark our contract. POLIXENES. [Discovering himself] Mark your divorce, young sir, Whom son I dare not call; thou art too base To be acknowledg'd- thou a sceptre's heir, That thus affects a sheep-hook! Thou, old traitor, I am sorry that by hanging thee I can but Shorten thy life one week. And thou, fresh piece Of excellent witchcraft, who of force must know The royal fool thou cop'st with- SHEPHERD. O, my heart! POLIXENES. I'll have thy beauty scratch'd with briers and made More homely than thy state. For thee, fond boy, If I may ever know thou dost but sigh That thou no more shalt see this knack- as never I mean thou shalt- we'll bar thee from succession; Not hold thee of our blood, no, not our kin, Farre than Deucalion off. Mark thou my words. Follow us to the court. Thou churl, for this time, Though full of our displeasure, yet we free thee From the dead blow of it. And you, enchantment, Worthy enough a herdsman- yea, him too That makes himself, but for our honour therein, Unworthy thee- if ever henceforth thou These rural latches to his entrance open, Or hoop his body more with thy embraces, I will devise a death as cruel for thee As thou art tender to't. Exit PERDITA. Even here undone! I was not much afeard; for once or twice I was about to speak and tell him plainly The self-same sun that shines upon his court Hides not his visage from our cottage, but Looks on alike. [To FLORIZEL] Will't please you, sir, be gone? I told you what would come of this. Beseech you, Of your own state take care. This dream of mine- Being now awake, I'll queen it no inch farther, But milk my ewes and weep. CAMILLO. Why, how now, father! Speak ere thou diest. SHEPHERD. I cannot speak nor think, Nor dare to know that which I know. [To FLORIZEL] O sir, You have undone a man of fourscore-three That thought to fill his grave in quiet, yea, To die upon the bed my father died, To lie close by his honest bones; but now Some hangman must put on my shroud and lay me Where no priest shovels in dust. [To PERDITA] O cursed wretch, That knew'st this was the Prince, and wouldst adventure To mingle faith with him!- Undone, undone! If I might die within this hour, I have liv'd To die when I desire. Exit FLORIZEL. Why look you so upon me? I am but sorry, not afeard; delay'd, But nothing alt'red. What I was, I am: More straining on for plucking back; not following My leash unwillingly. CAMILLO. Gracious, my lord, You know your father's temper. At this time He will allow no speech- which I do guess You do not purpose to him- and as hardly Will he endure your sight as yet, I fear; Then, till the fury of his Highness settle, Come not before him. FLORIZEL. I not purpose it. I think Camillo? CAMILLO. Even he, my lord. PERDITA. How often have I told you 'twould be thus! How often said my dignity would last But till 'twere known! FLORIZEL. It cannot fail but by The violation of my faith; and then Let nature crush the sides o' th' earth together And mar the seeds within! Lift up thy looks. From my succession wipe me, father; I Am heir to my affection. CAMILLO. Be advis'd. FLORIZEL. I am- and by my fancy; if my reason Will thereto be obedient, I have reason; If not, my senses, better pleas'd with madness, Do bid it welcome. CAMILLO. This is desperate, sir. FLORIZEL. So call it; but it does fulfil my vow: I needs must think it honesty. Camillo, Not for Bohemia, nor the pomp that may Be thereat glean'd, for all the sun sees or The close earth wombs, or the profound seas hides In unknown fathoms, will I break my oath To this my fair belov'd. Therefore, I pray you, As you have ever been my father's honour'd friend, When he shall miss me- as, in faith, I mean not To see him any more- cast your good counsels Upon his passion. Let myself and Fortune Tug for the time to come. This you may know, And so deliver: I am put to sea With her who here I cannot hold on shore. And most opportune to her need I have A vessel rides fast by, but not prepar'd For this design. What course I mean to hold Shall nothing benefit your knowledge, nor Concern me the reporting. CAMILLO. O my lord, I would your spirit were easier for advice. Or stronger for your need. FLORIZEL. Hark, Perdita. [Takes her aside] [To CAMILLO] I'll hear you by and by. CAMILLO. He's irremovable, Resolv'd for flight. Now were I happy if His going I could frame to serve my turn, Save him from danger, do him love and honour, Purchase the sight again of dear Sicilia And that unhappy king, my master, whom I so much thirst to see. FLORIZEL. Now, good Camillo, I am so fraught with curious business that I leave out ceremony. CAMILLO. Sir, I think You have heard of my poor services i' th' love That I have borne your father? FLORIZEL. Very nobly Have you deserv'd. It is my father's music To speak your deeds; not little of his care To have them recompens'd as thought on. CAMILLO. Well, my lord, If you may please to think I love the King, And through him what's nearest to him, which is Your gracious self, embrace but my direction. If your more ponderous and settled project May suffer alteration, on mine honour, I'll point you where you shall have such receiving As shall become your Highness; where you may Enjoy your mistress, from the whom, I see, There's no disjunction to be made but by, As heavens forfend! your ruin- marry her; And with my best endeavours in your absence Your discontenting father strive to qualify, And bring him up to liking. FLORIZEL. How, Camillo, May this, almost a miracle, be done? That I may call thee something more than man, And after that trust to thee. CAMILLO. Have you thought on A place whereto you'll go? FLORIZEL. Not any yet; But as th' unthought-on accident is guilty To what we wildly do, so we profess Ourselves to be the slaves of chance and flies Of every wind that blows. CAMILLO. Then list to me. This follows, if you will not change your purpose But undergo this flight: make for Sicilia, And there present yourself and your fair princess- For so, I see, she must be- fore Leontes. She shall be habited as it becomes The partner of your bed. Methinks I see Leontes opening his free arms and weeping His welcomes forth; asks thee there 'Son, forgiveness!' As 'twere i' th' father's person; kisses the hands Of your fresh princess; o'er and o'er divides him 'Twixt his unkindness and his kindness- th' one He chides to hell, and bids the other grow Faster than thought or time. FLORIZEL. Worthy Camillo, What colour for my visitation shall I Hold up before him? CAMILLO. Sent by the King your father To greet him and to give him comforts. Sir, The manner of your bearing towards him, with What you as from your father shall deliver, Things known betwixt us three, I'll write you down; The which shall point you forth at every sitting What you must say, that he shall not perceive But that you have your father's bosom there And speak his very heart. FLORIZEL. I am bound to you. There is some sap in this. CAMILLO. A course more promising Than a wild dedication of yourselves To unpath'd waters, undream'd shores, most certain To miseries enough; no hope to help you, But as you shake off one to take another; Nothing so certain as your anchors, who Do their best office if they can but stay you Where you'll be loath to be. Besides, you know Prosperity's the very bond of love, Whose fresh complexion and whose heart together Affliction alters. PERDITA. One of these is true: I think affliction may subdue the cheek, But not take in the mind. CAMILLO. Yea, say you so? There shall not at your father's house these seven years Be born another such. FLORIZEL. My good Camillo, She is as forward of her breeding as She is i' th' rear o' our birth. CAMILLO. I cannot say 'tis pity She lacks instructions, for she seems a mistress To most that teach. PERDITA. Your pardon, sir; for this I'll blush you thanks. FLORIZEL. My prettiest Perdita! But, O, the thorns we stand upon! Camillo- Preserver of my father, now of me; The medicine of our house- how shall we do? We are not furnish'd like Bohemia's son; Nor shall appear in Sicilia. CAMILLO. My lord, Fear none of this. I think you know my fortunes Do all lie there. It shall be so my care To have you royally appointed as if The scene you play were mine. For instance, sir, That you may know you shall not want- one word. [They talk aside] Re-enter AUTOLYCUS AUTOLYCUS. Ha, ha! what a fool Honesty is! and Trust, his sworn brother, a very simple gentleman! I have sold all my trumpery; not a counterfeit stone, not a ribbon, glass, pomander, brooch, table-book, ballad, knife, tape, glove, shoe-tie, bracelet, horn-ring, to keep my pack from fasting. They throng who should buy first, as if my trinkets had been hallowed and brought a benediction to the buyer; by which means I saw whose purse was best in picture; and what I saw, to my good use I rememb'red. My clown, who wants but something to be a reasonable man, grew so in love with the wenches' song that he would not stir his pettitoes till he had both tune and words, which so drew the rest of the herd to me that all their other senses stuck in ears. You might have pinch'd a placket, it was senseless; 'twas nothing to geld a codpiece of a purse; I would have fil'd keys off that hung in chains. No hearing, no feeling, but my sir's song, and admiring the nothing of it. So that in this time of lethargy I pick'd and cut most of their festival purses; and had not the old man come in with whoobub against his daughter and the King's son and scar'd my choughs from the chaff, I had not left a purse alive in the whole army. CAMILLO, FLORIZEL, and PERDITA come forward CAMILLO. Nay, but my letters, by this means being there So soon as you arrive, shall clear that doubt. FLORIZEL. And those that you'll procure from King Leontes? CAMILLO. Shall satisfy your father. PERDITA. Happy be you! All that you speak shows fair. CAMILLO. [seeing AUTOLYCUS] Who have we here? We'll make an instrument of this; omit Nothing may give us aid. AUTOLYCUS. [Aside] If they have overheard me now- why, hanging. CAMILLO. How now, good fellow! Why shak'st thou so? Fear not, man; here's no harm intended to thee. AUTOLYCUS. I am a poor fellow, sir. CAMILLO. Why, be so still; here's nobody will steal that from thee. Yet for the outside of thy poverty we must make an exchange; therefore discase thee instantly- thou must think there's a necessity in't- and change garments with this gentleman. Though the pennyworth on his side be the worst, yet hold thee, there's some boot. [Giving money] AUTOLYCUS. I am a poor fellow, sir. [Aside] I know ye well enough. CAMILLO. Nay, prithee dispatch. The gentleman is half flay'd already. AUTOLYCUS. Are you in camest, sir? [Aside] I smell the trick on't. FLORIZEL. Dispatch, I prithee. AUTOLYCUS. Indeed, I have had earnest; but I cannot with conscience take it. CAMILLO. Unbuckle, unbuckle. FLORIZEL and AUTOLYCUS exchange garments Fortunate mistress- let my prophecy Come home to ye!- you must retire yourself Into some covert; take your sweetheart's hat And pluck it o'er your brows, muffle your face, Dismantle you, and, as you can, disliken The truth of your own seeming, that you may- For I do fear eyes over- to shipboard Get undescried. PERDITA. I see the play so lies That I must bear a part. CAMILLO. No remedy. Have you done there? FLORIZEL. Should I now meet my father, He would not call me son. CAMILLO. Nay, you shall have no hat. [Giving it to PERDITA] Come, lady, come. Farewell, my friend. AUTOLYCUS. Adieu, sir. FLORIZEL. O Perdita, what have we twain forgot! Pray you a word. [They converse apart] CAMILLO. [Aside] What I do next shall be to tell the King Of this escape, and whither they are bound; Wherein my hope is I shall so prevail To force him after; in whose company I shall re-view Sicilia, for whose sight I have a woman's longing. FLORIZEL. Fortune speed us! Thus we set on, Camillo, to th' sea-side. CAMILLO. The swifter speed the better. Exeunt FLORIZEL, PERDITA, and CAMILLO AUTOLYCUS. I understand the business, I hear it. To have an open ear, a quick eye, and a nimble hand, is necessary for a cut-purse; a good nose is requisite also, to smell out work for th' other senses. I see this is the time that the unjust man doth thrive. What an exchange had this been without boot! What a boot is here with this exchange! Sure, the gods do this year connive at us, and we may do anything extempore. The Prince himself is about a piece of iniquity- stealing away from his father with his clog at his heels. If I thought it were a piece of honesty to acquaint the King withal, I would not do't. I hold it the more knavery to conceal it; and therein am I constant to my profession. Re-enter CLOWN and SHEPHERD Aside, aside- here is more matter for a hot brain. Every lane's end, every shop, church, session, hanging, yields a careful man work. CLOWN. See, see; what a man you are now! There is no other way but to tell the King she's a changeling and none of your flesh and blood. SHEPHERD. Nay, but hear me. CLOWN. Nay- but hear me. SHEPHERD. Go to, then. CLOWN. She being none of your flesh and blood, your flesh and blood has not offended the King; and so your flesh and blood is not to be punish'd by him. Show those things you found about her, those secret things- all but what she has with her. This being done, let the law go whistle; I warrant you. SHEPHERD. I will tell the King all, every word- yea, and his son's pranks too; who, I may say, is no honest man, neither to his father nor to me, to go about to make me the King's brother-in-law. CLOWN. Indeed, brother-in-law was the farthest off you could have been to him; and then your blood had been the dearer by I know how much an ounce. AUTOLYCUS. [Aside] Very wisely, puppies! SHEPHERD. Well, let us to the King. There is that in this fardel will make him scratch his beard. AUTOLYCUS. [Aside] I know not what impediment this complaint may be to the flight of my master. CLOWN. Pray heartily he be at palace. AUTOLYCUS. [Aside] Though I am not naturally honest, I am so sometimes by chance. Let me pocket up my pedlar's excrement. [Takes off his false beard] How now, rustics! Whither are you bound? SHEPHERD. To th' palace, an it like your worship. AUTOLYCUS. Your affairs there, what, with whom, the condition of that fardel, the place of your dwelling, your names, your ages, of what having, breeding, and anything that is fitting to be known- discover. CLOWN. We are but plain fellows, sir. AUTOLYCUS. A lie: you are rough and hairy. Let me have no lying; it becomes none but tradesmen, and they often give us soldiers the lie; but we pay them for it with stamped coin, not stabbing steel; therefore they do not give us the lie. CLOWN. Your worship had like to have given us one, if you had not taken yourself with the manner. SHEPHERD. Are you a courtier, an't like you, sir? AUTOLYCUS. Whether it like me or no, I am a courtier. Seest thou not the air of the court in these enfoldings? Hath not my gait in it the measure of the court? Receives not thy nose court-odour from me? Reflect I not on thy baseness court-contempt? Think'st thou, for that I insinuate, that toaze from thee thy business, I am therefore no courtier? I am courtier cap-a-pe, and one that will either push on or pluck back thy business there; whereupon I command the to open thy affair. SHEPHERD. My business, sir, is to the King. AUTOLYCUS. What advocate hast thou to him? SHEPHERD. I know not, an't like you. CLOWN. Advocate's the court-word for a pheasant; say you have none. SHEPHERD. None, sir; I have no pheasant, cock nor hen. AUTOLYCUS. How blessed are we that are not simple men! Yet nature might have made me as these are, Therefore I will not disdain. CLOWN. This cannot be but a great courtier. SHEPHERD. His garments are rich, but he wears them not handsomely. CLOWN. He seems to be the more noble in being fantastical. A great man, I'll warrant; I know by the picking on's teeth. AUTOLYCUS. The fardel there? What's i' th' fardel? Wherefore that box? SHEPHERD. Sir, there lies such secrets in this fardel and box which none must know but the King; and which he shall know within this hour, if I may come to th' speech of him. AUTOLYCUS. Age, thou hast lost thy labour. SHEPHERD. Why, Sir? AUTOLYCUS. The King is not at the palace; he is gone aboard a new ship to purge melancholy and air himself; for, if thou be'st capable of things serious, thou must know the King is full of grief. SHEPHERD. So 'tis said, sir- about his son, that should have married a shepherd's daughter. AUTOLYCUS. If that shepherd be not in hand-fast, let him fly; the curses he shall have, the tortures he shall feel, will break the back of man, the heart of monster. CLOWN. Think you so, sir? AUTOLYCUS. Not he alone shall suffer what wit can make heavy and vengeance bitter; but those that are germane to him, though remov'd fifty times, shall all come under the hangman- which, though it be great pity, yet it is necessary. An old sheep-whistling rogue, a ram-tender, to offer to have his daughter come into grace! Some say he shall be ston'd; but that death is too soft for him, say I. Draw our throne into a sheep-cote!- all deaths are too few, the sharpest too easy. CLOWN. Has the old man e'er a son, sir, do you hear, an't like you, sir? AUTOLYCUS. He has a son- who shall be flay'd alive; then 'nointed over with honey, set on the head of a wasp's nest; then stand till he be three quarters and a dram dead; then recover'd again with aqua-vitae or some other hot infusion; then, raw as he is, and in the hottest day prognostication proclaims, shall he be set against a brick wall, the sun looking with a southward eye upon him, where he is to behold him with flies blown to death. But what talk we of these traitorly rascals, whose miseries are to be smil'd at, their offences being so capital? Tell me, for you seem to be honest plain men, what you have to the King. Being something gently consider'd, I'll bring you where he is aboard, tender your persons to his presence, whisper him in your behalfs; and if it be in man besides the King to effect your suits, here is man shall do it. CLOWN. He seems to be of great authority. Close with him, give him gold; and though authority be a stubborn bear, yet he is oft led by the nose with gold. Show the inside of your purse to the outside of his hand, and no more ado. Remember- ston'd and flay'd alive. SHEPHERD. An't please you, sir, to undertake the business for us, here is that gold I have. I'll make it as much more, and leave this young man in pawn till I bring it you. AUTOLYCUS. After I have done what I promised? SHEPHERD. Ay, sir. AUTOLYCUS. Well, give me the moiety. Are you a party in this business? CLOWN. In some sort, sir; but though my case be a pitiful one, I hope I shall not be flay'd out of it. AUTOLYCUS. O, that's the case of the shepherd's son! Hang him, he'll be made an example. CLOWN. Comfort, good comfort! We must to the King and show our strange sights. He must know 'tis none of your daughter nor my sister; we are gone else. Sir, I will give you as much as this old man does, when the business is performed; and remain, as he says, your pawn till it be brought you. AUTOLYCUS. I will trust you. Walk before toward the sea-side; go on the right-hand; I will but look upon the hedge, and follow you. CLOWN. We are blest in this man, as I may say, even blest. SHEPHERD. Let's before, as he bids us. He was provided to do us good. Exeunt SHEPHERD and CLOWN AUTOLYCUS. If I had a mind to be honest, I see Fortune would not suffer me: she drops booties in my mouth. I am courted now with a double occasion- gold, and a means to do the Prince my master good; which who knows how that may turn back to my advancement? I will bring these two moles, these blind ones, aboard him. If he think it fit to shore them again, and that the complaint they have to the King concerns him nothing, let him call me rogue for being so far officious; for I am proof against that title, and what shame else belongs to't. To him will I present them. There may be matter in it. Exit

440 - Commentary Perdita and Florizel make an appealing couple. Shakespeare gives him a number of excellent speeches to direct toward his beloved, including this one--"When you speak, sweet, / I'd have you do it ever: when you sing, / I'd have you buy and sell so, so give alms, / Pray so, and, for the ord'ring of your affairs, / to sing them too: when you do dance, I wish you / A wave o' the sea, that you might ever do / Nothing but that, move still, still so / And own no other function". Meanwhile, Perdita is implicitly linked with the Roman goddess Proserpina , who was kidnapped and forced to marry Pluto, god of the underworld, but who lives only half the year underground, and brings the spring with her every year on her return to the brighter world. Perdita is like Proserpina in that she, too, brings the spring--she is crowned with flowers, and dispenses them to all the guests, and the audience feels that this "winter's tale" has broken out into spring color, and it is all due to her arrival. The flowers occasion a debate between Polixenes and Perdita over the value of interbreeding flowers--he argues that a gardener can legitimately "mend nature--change it rather", while she prefers a purer nature, unsullied by human hands. Some critics have argued that this debate illuminates Shakespeare's own inner debate over the relation between his art and nature. The scene is ironic, however, for Polixenes argues for something in flowers--"you see, sweet maid, we marry / A gentler scion to the wildest stock"--that he opposes in his son's case, namely, the mixing of royal and common blood. The Bohemian king forfeits our sympathies almost completely in this scene, for while we may sympathize with his anger at his son, nothing can justify the absurd heights of his vitriol against the manifestly worthy Shepherd and the wonderful Perdita. Meanwhile, Autolycus's appearance as the peddler provides both a comic counterpoint to the more serious love-plot, and an opportunity for Shakespeare to satirize the ballad-sellers of his own London, and the eager buyers who snatched up their wares. "Here's one to a very doleful tune," Autolycus declares, "how a usurer's wife was brought to bed of twenty moneybags at a burden, and how she longed to eat adders' heads and toads carbonedoed. " The guileless shepherdess asks, "Is it true, think you?" to which the salesman replies, "Very true, and but a month old". The sale is made, and the audience can only applaud the virtuousity of the huckster.

analysis

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

Gloucester and Kent, loyal to King Lear, objectively discuss his division of the kingdom 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

summary

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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". 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". 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". 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. 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

analysis

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

Act II begins with a return to the secondary plot of Edmund, Edgar, and Gloucester. Edmund speaks with the courtier, Curan, who advises him that Regan and Cornwall will arrive shortly at Gloucester's castle. He also passes on the gossip that there may soon be a war between Cornwall and Albany. After Curan leaves, Edmund expresses his delight over the news he has learned as he can use that in his plot. Edgar enters and Edmund cleverly asks if he has offended Cornwall or Albany. Edgar says he has not. Edmund cries that he hears Gloucester coming and forces Edgar to draw his sword with him. Telling Edgar to flee, Edmund then wounds himself with his sword before calling out to Gloucester for help. Gloucester arrives quickly and sends servants to chase down the villain. Edmund explains that he would not allow Edgar to persuade him into murdering their father causing Edgar to slash him with his sword. He continues that Edgar threatened him and by no means intended to permit Edmund, an "unpossessing bastard", to stop him from his evil plot. Gloucester is indignant and claims that Edgar will be captured and punished. He promises that Edmund will become the heir of his land. At this point, Cornwall and Regan enter the scene, wondering if the gossip they had heard about Edgar is correct. Gloucester confirms it is. Edmund cleverly confirms Regan's fear that Edgar was acting as part of Lear's riotous knights. Cornwall acknowledges the good act Edmund has done for Gloucester and promises to take him into their favor. After Gloucester and Edmund thank them, Regan explains why she and Cornwall have come to Gloucester's castle. She had received a letter from Goneril and so had left home to avoid Lear. She asks for Gloucester's assistance

summary

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

Oswald, Goneril's servant, and Kent, still disguised as Lear's servant Caius, meet at Gloucester's castle after first trekking to Cornwall's residence with messages. Oswald does not first recognize Kent but Kent recognizes him and responds to him curtly with curses and name-calling. He claims that Oswald comes with letters against the King and sides with his evil daughter. He calls Oswald to draw his sword at which Oswald cries out for help. The noise brings in Edmund, Cornwall, Regan, Gloucester, and some servants. When asked what the commotion is, Kent continues to insult Oswald, who is breathless. Oswald claims that he has spared Kent because of his grey beard at which Kent scoffs. He describes that Oswald is like a dog, ignorantly following a master. To Cornwall's incredulousness, Kent says that he does not like the look of his face. Oswald explains that Kent had no reason to strike him in Lear's company or to draw on him at Gloucester's. Kent refers to Cornwall and Regan as cowards and they call for the stocks. Regan comments that they should leave him not only until noon, as Cornwall had suggested, but for over a day. Gloucester protests but is overruled. After the others have exited, Gloucester apologizes to Kent and admits that the Duke is to blame. Alone, Kent muses over a letter he has received from Cordelia, implying that she knows he has taken disguise and promises to try to save her father from the evil of her sisters. Kent recognizes he is at the bottom of luck. He falls asleep

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

As it continues to storm, Kent enters the stage asking who else is there and where is the King. A gentleman, one of Lear's knights, answers, describing the King as struggling and becoming one with the raging elements of nature. The King has been left alone except for his fool. Kent recognizes the gentleman and fills him in on the events he has learned concerning the Dukes and the news from France. He explains that a conflict has grown between Albany and Cornwall which is momentarily forgotten because they are united against Lear. He then mentions that French spies and soldiers have moved onto the island, nearly ready to admit openly to their invasion. He urges the gentleman to hurry to Dover where he will find allies to whom he can give an honest report of the treatment to the King and his declining health. Kent gives him his purse and a ring to confirm his honor and to show to Cordelia if he sees her. They move out to look for Lear before the gentleman leaves on his mission

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

We meet Lear, raging against the storm, daring the storm to break up the Earth. Fool pleads with him to dodge his pride and ask for his daughters' forgiveness so that he can take shelter in the castle. Lear notes that the storm, unlike his daughters, owes him nothing and has no obligation to treat him any better. Still, the storm is joining to help his ungrateful daughters in their unnecessary punishing of him. The fool says he is foolish, nevertheless, to reside in the house of of the storm but Lear responds that he will say nothing to his daughters. Kent enters, pleased to have found the King, and remarks that he has never witnessed a more violent storm. Lear cries that the gods will now show who has committed any wrongs by their treatment in the storm and Kent pushes him toward a cave where they can find a little shelter. Lear agrees to go, recognizing the cold which must be ravaging he and his fool. Before entering the hovel, Fool prophecies that when the abuses of England are reformed, the country will come into great confusion

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

Gloucester and Edmund speak in confidence. Gloucester complains of the unnatural dealings of Cornwall and Regan, taking over his home and forbidding him to help or appeal for Lear. Edmund feigns agreement. Taking him further in confidence, Gloucester alerts him to the division between Albany and Cornwall. He then tells him that he has received a letter, which he has locked in the closet because of it dangerous contents, divulging that a movement has started to avenge Lear at home. Gloucester plans to go find him and aid him until the forces arrive to help. He tells Edmund to accompany the Duke so that his absence is not felt and if they ask for him to report that he went to bed ill. Gloucester notes that he is risking his life but if he can save the King, his death would not be in vain. After he departs, Edmund tells the audience that he will alert Cornwall immediately of Gloucester's plans and the treasonous letter. The young will gain, he comments, where the old have faltered

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

Kent and Lear find their way to the cave, where Lear asks to be left alone. He notes that the storm rages harsher in his own mind and body due to the "filial ingratitude" he has been forced to endure. Thinking it may lead to madness, Lear tries not to think of his daughters' betrayal. Feeling the cruelty of the elements, Lear remarks that he has taken too little care of the poor who often do not have shelter from such storms in life. The fool enters the cave first and is frightened by the presence of Edgar disguised as poor Tom. Edgar enters, speaking in confused jargon and pointing to the foul fiend who bothers him greatly. Lear decides that Tom must have been betrayed by daughters in order to have fallen to such a state of despair and madness. Kent attempts to tell Lear that Tom has no daughters, but Lear can comprehend no other reason. Fool notes that the cold night would turn them all into madmen. Lear finds Tom intriguing and asks him about his life, to which Edgar replies that Tom was a serving man who was ruined by a woman he had loved. Lear realizes that man is no more than what they have been stripped to and begins to take off his clothes before Fool stops him. Gloucester finds his way to the cave. He questions the King's company before remarking that he and Lear must both hate what their bodies have given birth to, namely Edgar, Regan, and Goneril. Although he has been barred from securing shelter in his own castle for Lear, Gloucester entreats the King to come with him to a better shelter. Lear wishes to stay and talk with Tom, terming him a philosopher. Kent urges Gloucester to plead with Lear to go, but Gloucester notes it is no surprise that Lear's wits are not about him when his own daughters seek his death. Lear is persuaded to follow Gloucester when they agree to allow Tom to accompany him

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

Cornwall and Edmund converse over the information Edmund has shared with him. Edmund plays the part of a tortured son doing his duty for the kingdom. Cornwall muses that Edgar's disloyalty is better understood in terms of his own father's betrayal. Handing over the letter Gloucester had received, Edmund cries out wishing that he were not the filial traitor. Cornwall makes Edmund the new Earl of Gloucester and demands he find where his father is hiding. In an aside, Edmund hopes he will find Gloucester aiding the King to further incriminate him although it would be greater filial ingratitude on his part. Cornwall offers himself as a new and more loving father to Edmund

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

Gloucester finds the group slightly better shelter and then heads off to get assistance. Edgar speaks of the foul fiend and Fool tells the King a rhyme, concluding that the madman is the man who has too greatly indulged his own children. Lear pretends to hold a trial for his evil daughters, placing Edgar, the fool, and Kent on the bench to try them. Lear tries Goneril first and then Regan before crying that someone had accepted a bribe and allowed one to escape. Kent calls for him to remain patient as he had often been in the past and Edgar notes in an aside that he has nearly threatened his disguise with tears. He tells Lear that he will punish the daughters himself. Lear appreciates the gesture and claims that he will take Tom as one of the hundred in his train if he will agree to change his seemingly Persian garments. As Gloucester returns, he urges Kent to keep the King in his arms due to the death threats circulating. There is a caravan waiting which will take Lear to Dover and safety if they hurry. Edgar is left on stage and soliloquizes that the King's pains are so much greater than his own and he will pledge himself to helping him escape safely

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

Cornwall calls for Goneril to bring the letter concerning France's invasion to her husband and calls to his servants to seek out the traitor, Gloucester. Regan and Goneril call for tortuous punishment. Edmund is asked to accompany Goneril so as not to be present when his father is brought in. Oswald enters and alerts the court to the news of Gloucester's successful move of the King to Dover. As Goneril and Edmund depart, Cornwall sends servants in search of Gloucester. Gloucester enters with servants and Cornwall commands that he be bound to a chair. Regan plucks his beard as he protests that they are his guests and friends. They interrogate him on the letter he received from France and his part helping King Lear. Gloucester responds that he received the letter from an objective third-party but he is not believed. He admits that he sent the King to Dover, explaining that he was not safe out in the terrible storm nor in the company of those who would leave him in such conditions. He hopes that Lear's horrific children will have revenge light upon them. Cornwall answers that he will see no such thing, blinding one of his eyes. A servant speaks up in Gloucester's defense and is quickly stabbed by Regan using the sword Cornwall had drawn. Before the servant dies, he cries that Gloucester has one eye remaining to see harm come to the Duke and Duchess. Cornwall immediately blinds the other eye. Gloucester calls out for Edmund to help him in the time of peril to which Regan replies that it was Edmund who had alerted them to Gloucester's treachery. At this low point, Gloucester realizes the wrong he has shown Edgar if Edmund has done such evil. Regan has Gloucester thrown out of the castle and then helps Cornwall, who has received an injury, out of the room. Two servants discuss the incomprehensible evil of Cornwall and Regan, proposing to aid Gloucester in his blind stumbles. One of the servants leaves to find him while the other searches for ointments to sooth Gloucester's wounds.

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

Analysis: The theme of madness is explored deeply in Act III as we encounter at least three different forms of madness in at least three different characters. King Lear most notably goes, or is driven, to a madness he had predicted in this Act, but he is accompanied by two others whom are meant to be playing fools or madmen but to whom he grants the greatest sincerity. These two men, the two Lear places on the bench of his fictitious jury, are Edgar as poor Tom and Lear's Fool. Edgar feigns a madness as poor Tom that provides a great contrast to Lear's actual madness by bringing into question what madness is and how it was looked upon in Shakespeare's day. History shows that in Shakespeare's time lunatics were viewed as comic entertainment. Elizabethans would go to certain places simply in order to watch lunatics act crazy. Furthermore, Edgar's character was believable on the level of a mad trickster, a common character in the day who was known to trick others into believing him out of his wits. In a time such as this, one had to be careful to illuminate a lunacy which would be taken seriously if that was Shakespeare's intent, which concerning King Lear we must assume it was. The reasons which justify his serious plunge into insanity are many as the audience is privy to the actions of his daughters and the indignity he has been shown since giving up his title which could easily drop an old proud former king into madness. The horrific action of all but two children in the play, Cordelia and Edgar, is summed up in a neat sentence by Gloucester as he enters the hovel to speak to Lear. He cries, "Our flesh and blood, my lord, is grown so vile/ That it doth hate what gets it". The vileness, the evil, of Lear's two daughters and of Edmund is such a betrayal that it has made the skin crawl and wish to reject the beings it helped to create. They have forsworn any human tie to their parents in such a vile way that hatred is the only word which can describe the relation. We also learn from Gloucester that Lear's daughters are now trying to kill him. Not only have they stripped him of all dignity, condescendingly and hypothetically turned many of his own knights against him, and thrown him unsheltered out into a raging dangerous storm, but they have finally cut the corner of pretense in which they said they would accept their father if he came without train and resolved to kill their own father who gave them all of his kingdom. Lear's fault in facing them was a quick temper and a love quantified into value and material weight. This love, as we have discussed, could not have always existed in this form as we know from Lear's reaction in Act I that Cordelia had been his favorite daughter and that she had never rejected him or his wish previously. Thus, the self-centered plea for love seems to be a fault of old age as well as ego. As Gloucester mentions flesh and blood, Lear's daughters have turned out for blood and power, in a way again similar to the ambition of Lady Macbeth, to which they have no need to battle for but of which they can seemingly not get enough. The rumors continue along the vein of a rift between Albany and Cornwall and we will soon encounter a major rivalry between Regan and Goneril. Their undoing, their evil, is thus based on an arrogant ambition and a horrific filial ingratitude. This evil leads Lear to his belief that madness on a large scale can only result from the betrayal of daughters. He has sincerely been led astray in his trust and loyalty and thus plunges into a darkness and a madness which the storm, the hovel, and the night quite literally and symbolically portray. Vividly Shakespeare portrays the transformation of man into storm and storm into man as Lear goes mad. Personifying the storm with himself and the children he has begotten, Lear wails, "Rumble thy bellyful. Spit, fire. Spout, rain. Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire are my daughters". The storm is given a belly and the elements are compared to daughters. Note even the sound effects are called for at key points in the dialogue to echo Lear's mutation. Storm still " is included by Shakespeare, for example, between poor Tom's continuing rants and Lear's conclusion that his madness must be the result of the betrayal of his daughters. In this state of rugged, stripped, essential man, Lear is able to focus on some important human issues that he has overlooked as king. Left to battle the elements of nature and the storms that are its products like the poor, Lear is forced to think on the daily lives of the homeless and his ignorance of the poor's situation. He comments, "Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are,/ That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm,/ How shall your houseless heads and unfed sides,/ Your looped and windowed raggedness, defend you/ From seasons such as these. O, I have ta'en/ Too little care of this. This is a climactic moment for Lear, as he stands on the threshold of madness. He will descend, it seems, as soon as he comes face to face with Edgar the reflection of madness he holds as philosophy and wisdom. And perhaps Lear comes much closer to a wisdom of humankind as a result. Madly, he attempts to strip himself naked only moments later before being stopped by the Fool, whose madness becomes simple complacency as he tries to look out for his master's safekeeping. In this, we see again how sane the Fool has been all along and how real Lear's madness is to make the Fool's speech become so practical. Lear is trying to physically strip himself of the artifice he has noticed within himself and most of mankind. He wishes to be put on par with poor Tom, a man who has lived much closer, he thinks, to the truth of nature. Edgar's character of poor Tom of Bedlam was based greatly on a text published shortly before Shakespeare's writing of King Lear. Harsnet's Declaration of Egregious Popishe Impostures, published in 1603, seems to provide much of the basis for Tom's language as well as the mention of the surreptitious "foul fiend" which plagues Tom constantly, biting at his back and instigating other evils upon him. With a feigned demonic madness, Tom's character is questioned less by the other characters allowing Edgar to provide commentary through his asides and the irony he often provides, especially in the contrast established between the disguised and acted madness he chooses and the uncontrollable, anguished madness which overtakes Lear. Tom also provides the physical character to represent the man Lear realizes he has ignored during his rule as King of Britain. Immediately after Lear cries out in recognition of his ignorance, he meets poor Tom. This allows Shakespeare to give more distinct meaning to Lear's, and later Gloucester's, wish for greater equality among the population in terms of money and favors. Lear exclaims, "Take physic, pomp;/ Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel,/ That thou mayst shake the superflux to them/ And show the heavens more just". In much the same vein as Robin Hood, Shakespeare here promotes a system where the rich would share their excess, their artifice, with the poor in order to even out the ranks a bit. Lear, in this manner, places himself at an equitable level with Tom and refuses to leave the stormy outdoors for shelter unless he can bring Tom with him. Lear has made his greatest leaps in humane awareness since his descent toward madness and his acquaintance with Tom. He states this for the audience when he remarks, "Is man no more than this. Consider him well. Thou ow'st the/ worm no silk, the beast no hide, the sheep no wool, the cat no perfumeThou art the thing itself; unaccomodated man is no/ more but such a poor, bare, forked animal as thou art". Clothing, excesses such as Lear referred to when speaking to Regan and Goneril about the need of his train, is superfluous and a great symbol of the artifice Lear has finally stripped from his body. Regan and Goneril move ever closer to their tragic ends as they progress substantially in their evil, as evidenced through their desire to kill Lear and the blinding of Gloucester. Regan, thought at first to be the tenderer of the two by Lear, leads the charge against Gloucester. Gloucester responds finally to the demands of why he sent Lear to Dover by addressing her and her sister as the basest of evils. It is her nails he mentions, not the power of Cornwall, even though the two have been joined in the punishment of Gloucester. He declares, "Because I would not see thy cruel nails/ Pluck out his poor old eyes". Ironically, this statement has greater truth for Gloucester himself. Regan taunts Gloucester after one eye is blinded and then takes the sword herself to kill a servant who stands up for Gloucester's honor. Moreover, she happily brags to Gloucester that his trusted Edmund was the one who alerted them to his treachery and then sends Gloucester out to "smell his way to Dover". In truth, we recognize this woman as more of a beast, a "bare, forked animal" than any of the characters against whom she is battling

analysis

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

Edgar is alone on stage soliloquizing about his fate. He seems more optimistic than earlier, hoping that he has seen the worst. This changes when Gloucester and an old man enters, displaying to Edgar the cruelty of Regan and Cornwall's punishment. Gloucester urges the old man aiding him to leave him, noting that his blindness should not affect him as "I have no way, and therefore want no eyes;/ I stumbled when I saw". He then laments the fool he has been toward his loyal son, Edgar. The old man tells him a mad beggarman is present to which Gloucester replies that he cannot be too mad if he knows to beg. Ironically, he notes that his introduction to a madman the night before had made him think of Edgar. This causes Edgar further pain. Gloucester again urges the old man to leave, commenting that poor Tom can lead him. He reasons that the time is such that madmen will lead the blind and tells the old man to meet them in a mile with new clothes for the beggar. The old man agrees to and leaves. Edgar wishes he did not have to deceive his father but reasons that he must. He speaks in his poor Tom manner of all of the fiends whom have plagued him. Gloucester gives him his purse, hoping to even out some of the inequality which exists between them, and asks him to lead him to the summit of the high cliff in Dover and leave him there

summary

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

Goneril and Edmund are en route to Goneril's home when Goneril asks Oswald why her husband has not met them. Oswald answers that Albany is a changed man. To all events Oswald expects he would be pleased by, he is upset and vice versa. The examples Oswald gives are the landing of the French army at which Albany smiled and Edmund's betrayal of Gloucester to which Albany was very displeased. Goneril is disgusted and sends Edmund back to Cornwall's with a kiss, telling him that she will have to become master of her household until she can become Edmund's mistress. After Edmund's departure, Albany enters and greets Goneril with disgust toward her character and the events with which she and Regan have been involved. He notes that humanity is in danger because of people like her. Goneril responds that he is weak, idly sitting by and allowing the French to invade their land without putting up protest or guarding against traitors. He lacks ambition and wisdom. The woman form she takes, Albany proclaims, disguises the fiend which exists beneath and if it were not for this cover, he would wish to destroy her. A messenger enters, conveying the news that Cornwall has died from the wound given him during the conflict with the servant who had stood up for Gloucester after one of his eye's had been blinded. In this manner, Albany learns of the treatment and subsequent blindness imparted to Gloucester by the hands of Regan and Cornwall. Though horrified, Albany remarks that the gods are at least conscious of justice and have already worked toward avenging the death of Gloucester by killing Cornwall. The messenger then delivers a letter to Goneril from Regan. In an aside, Goneril comments that the news of Cornwall's death is bad for her in that it leaves Regan a widow so she could easily marry Edmund. However, it may be a positive event since it takes Cornwall's threat to her reign out of the picture. She leaves to read and answer the letter. Albany asks the messenger of Edmund's location when Gloucester was blinded. The messenger informs him that Edmund was with Goneril at the time but that Edmund knew of the events which were to take place because it was he who had informed on Gloucester's treason. Albany swears to fight for Gloucester who has loved the good king and received such horrible treatment

summary

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

We learn from Kent's conversation with a gentleman that the King of France has had to return to France for important business and has left the Marshal of France in charge. The gentleman informs him also of Cordelia's response to Kent's letter. She was very moved, lamenting against her sisters and their treatment of her father. Kent comments that the stars must control people's characters if one man and one woman could have children of such different qualities, like Cordelia and her sisters. Kent notifies the gentleman that Lear refuses to see Cordelia as he is ashamed of his behavior toward her. The gentleman confirms that Albany and Cornwall's powers are advancing. Deciding to leave Lear with him, Kent goes off to handle confidential business

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

Pained, Cordelia laments the mad state of Lear and asks the doctor if there is a way to cure him. Rest might be the simple answer, the doctor replies, since Lear has been deprived of it. Cordelia prays for him and hopes that he will be revived. She must leave briefly on business for France

summary

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

Regan and Oswald discuss how Albany's powers are afoot. Oswald points out that Goneril is the better soldier and informs Regan that Edmund did not have a chance to speak with Albany. Regan asks what the letter which Oswald brought from Goneril for Edmund says but Oswald knows only that it must be of great importance. Regan regrets blinding Gloucester because allowing him to live arouses sympathy which results in more parties turned against Regan and her company. Stating that Edmund has gone in search of Gloucester to put him out of his misery, she then claims that he is checking out the strength of the enemy forces. She urges Oswald to remain with her because the roads are dangerous. She is jealous of what she fears the contents of the letter may be, namely entreaties to Edmund for his love. Advising him to remind Edmund of the matters he had discussed with her considering their marriage, Regan allows Oswald to continue. Oswald agrees to halt Gloucester if he comes upon him and thus show to whom his loyalty lies

summary

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

Cordelia thanks Kent for the goodness he has shown her father and the bravery he has espoused. She asks him to discard his disguise but he knows that he will be able to work better for Lear if he remains disguised. The Doctor remarks that Lear has slept for a long while so that they may try waking him. Lear is brought in, still sleeping. Hoping to resolve the horrors committed by her sisters, Cordelia kisses Lear and reflects on the vileness and ingratitude of her sisters, treating Lear worse than a dog by shutting their doors on him in the storm. Lear wakes and Cordelia addresses him. Lear feels awakened from the grave and wishes they had left him. Very drowsy at first, Lear thinks Cordelia is a spirit and then realizes he should know her and Kent but has difficulty putting his memory together. Finally he recognizes Cordelia, to her delight, but thinks he is in France. The Doctor advises them to give Lear his space so Cordelia takes him for a walk. The gentleman remains and asks Kent if the rumors of Cornwall's death and Edgar's position in Germany with the Earl of Kent are true. Kent confirms the first, but leaves the latter unanswered. The gentleman warns that the battle to come will be bloody.

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

Analysis: Act IV begins on a misleading high note as Edgar is pleased that any changes in his life will have to bring better times. Things cannot get worse, he implies. The paradox is established then with Gloucester's subsequent entrance and Edgar realizes that his life has gotten worse now that he knows the terrible treatment his father has endured. It is important to keep in mind that Edgar does not know how Edmund deceived his father into believing Edgar was the evil doer. All Edgar knows is that he had to run for his life because of the feelings Gloucester, Cornwall, and Albany held against him. Yet, even though he is incredibly saddened by Gloucester's appearance and torment, he does not once act reluctant to aid his father. Oddly however, to the audience, must have been Edgar's desire to remain disguised. He is still not sure of Gloucester's feelings toward him and leads him to Dover regardless. But he does soon learn of the events which have occurred, when Gloucester, thinking he is alone with the old man, wails, "O dear son Edgar,/ The food of thy abused father's wrath,/ Might I but live to see thee in my touch/ I'ld say I had eyes again. Thus, though Edgar cannot know yet of the plot led by Edmund, he is aware that his father dearly wishes to see him and be reconciled to him. So why not give him this favor. The most practical answers critics provide concern the theatrical quality of leaving Edgar in his beggar/madman attire. This disguise materially is quite important to the theme of artifice which flows throughout the play. Picking up from Lear's discussion of poor Tom's "Persian" robes when in fact he was wearing rags, we have moved through Lear's realization that rich clothing and authority does not shield one from having to be human underneath. Need is often hugely exploited by the wealthier and more powerful, Lear learns, as he becomes more cognizant of the many poor in his kingdom whom he has ignored. This metaphor is again employed by Albany in scene ii who notes that a woman's form saves Goneril from him ripping her apart but does not excuse the monster she is underneath. Another allusion to this deceptive form is given by Lear in scene vi who compares women, especially the women his daughters have represented, to centaurs as fiends from waist down. The covering of clothing or womanly ways, in the case of evil Regan and Goneril, is a heavily significant symbolic weapon displayed by Shakespeare. Thus many critics point to the symbolic utility of having Edgar dressed as a poor beggarman leading a once authoritative and wealthy, now blind and ruined, old man. Not only can Shakespeare further emphasize the dignified position which should be afforded to elders with this move, but he can make social commentary. The essential man, the philosopher for whom Lear saw Tom as, is stripped of social pretense and is leading the once powerful Earl. Moreover, he is the mad man leading the blind. Gloucester now too has been stripped of the illusions he once entertained and thus is rather fitted for this predicament. He gives voice to this element in the text by proclaiming, "'Tis the time's plague when madmen lead the blind". Gloucester himself has finally developed as a character whom has learned, like Lear has in his madness, of the errors in his life and of the things he has not given enough of his attention. He admits to the audience the central paradox of the entire play, one which we have pointed out since the beginning as it was highlighted very early by Shakespeare in many of the character's lines and references. I have no way, and therefore want no eyes;/ I stumbled when I saw. Full oft 'tis seen/ Our means secure us, and our mere defects/ Prove our commodities". The eyes are not the necessary vessels, such as the heart or mind might be, to a better understanding of humankind. He too, as Lear did, tries to equalize the financial inequalities by giving poor Tom his purse. Money provides another agent of the artifice which is becoming abhorrent to Gloucester and Lear but is desired by Goneril and Regan. Their battle for Edmund's hand stems not from love, as they eagerly wish to give up their husbands in order to take Edmund's side, but from their ambition and thirst for power. With Cornwall dead and Albany viewed as weak and overly moral, both sisters see Edmund as the proper choice for a mate. He has shown himself to be ambitious and loyal, even at the price of his own father's torture. Goneril views Edmund head and shoulders above a man who does not condone her ambition and refuses to fight for the power she wants to gain. She, as with Regan, likely hopes to rule a reunited kingdom and knows that her husband will not help her in this endeavor. Oswald, ever loyal to his mistress, retorts rightly to Regan that, "Your sister is the better soldier ". Albany has raised himself in the standards of nobility and clearly has separated himself from the evil of the two sisters, Cornwall, Edmund, and even Oswald. Though often paired with Cornwall earlier, he here moves so far from this category that Edgar later vows to defend him. Albany's angry outburst at Goneril echoes what the audience is likely thinking of her. It deepens their hatred for her when they realize that he does not even know yet about the blinding of Gloucester and he has no idea of the adulterous plans which Goneril has just hatched. We then look at Regan in scene v through the lens of the hatred toward Goneril and find her steeped in a hypocrisy just as great. Regan tries to manipulates Oswald, Goneril's loyal steward, to work for her means and when she cannot, she warns him to threaten Edmund. By the time Cordelia enters the Act, she is already a paramount of good will and honor simply in comparison. Her complete absence in the text, excepting the few times that Kent has mentioned her and the letter from her, has created a curiosity, a void, which allows for a greater suspense and then satisfaction when she fills that void. Some critics feel that the reason she is absent for such a long period has more to do with the fact that the Fool may have been played by the same actor. They point to the Fool's entrance after Cordelia's banishment and his disappearance before her return. In any case, the last time Cordelia was present in a scene was the very first scene of Act I in which she acted rather coldly when questioned by her father. We are given good reason when she points to the nature of her sisters, quantifying love and manipulating their father, as well as by the support she receives from Kent and France and by the way her father had previously favored her. Yet, we are given no proof from her own mouth until this point in the fourth act. Similar to Edmund's caretaking of Gloucester, she immediately forgives her father for the misjudgment he has made and strives to bring him back to his comfort and sanity. Echoing an the earlier outrage of Gloucester, she bemoans the manner in which her sisters turned Lear out by crying, Was this a face To be opposed against the jarring winds. To stand against the deep dread-bolted thunder. In the most terrible and nimble stroke Of quick cross lightening to watch, poor perdu With this thin helm. Mine enemy's dog, Though he had bit me, should have stood the night Against my fire; and wast thou fain, poor father, To hovel thee with swine and rogues forlorn In short and musty straw. Alack, alack, 'Tis wonder that thy life and wits at once Had not concluded all. The audience had not heard any sort of passion from the earlier Cordelia but we hear her now, and the change is extremely welcomed by the audience. This nature of extremes allows for the conclusion many make, linking Cordelia to a Christ figure. Ironically, this idea persists although she is a character in a pagan setting. Standing above the baseness of her fellow creatures, she has arrived in order to nurse her father back to health, having them change his garments and bring him into the music. In a sense, she brings him back from the dead, as he moans, "You do me wrong to take me out o' th' grave". Moreover, she turns her other cheek to the abuses her father had committed and eagerly forgives him and accepts him back into her life. Truly, there are Christian overtures in this, and throughout much of the play if we look for them. At any rate, Cordelia's sense of forgiveness and the goodness she exudes sets her far above her sisters and justifies the far lengths France and Kent have gone to defend her

analysis

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

Edmund sends an officer to learn of Albany's plans since he has become so fickle. Regan approaches Edmund, sweetly asking him if he loves her sister and if he has ever found his way into her bed. He replies that though he loves in "honored love" he has done nothing adulterous or to break their vow. Warning him to stay away from Goneril, Regan threatens that she will not put up with her sister's entreaties to him. Goneril and Albany enter as Goneril tells the audience that her battle for Edmund is more important to her than the battle with France. Albany informs Regan of Cordelia and Lear's reunion. Regan wonders why he brings up the subject of the King and his grievances. Goneril points out that they must join together against France and ignore their personal conflicts. As the two camps separate, Regan pleads with Goneril to accompany her instead of the other camp where Edmund will be present. Goneril refuses at first but then sees Regan's purpose and agrees. Edgar finds Albany alone and asks him to read the letter to Edmund from Goneril he had intercepted. Though he cannot stay while Albany reads it, he prays him to let the herald cry when the time is right and he will appear again. Albany leaves to read it when Edmund reenters to report of the oncoming enemy. In soliloquy, Edmund wonders what he will do about pledging his love to both sisters. He could take both of them, one, or neither. He decides to use Albany while in battle and after winning, to allow Goneril to kill him. Moreover, he plans to forbid any mercy Albany may show Cordelia and Lear because his rule of the state is his highest priority

summary

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

The army of France, accompanied by Cordelia and Lear, crosses the stage with their battle colors and drums and exits. Next, Edgar and Gloucester enter. Edgar offers Gloucester rest under a nearby tree while he goes into battle. The noises of the battle begin and end, at which time Edgar reenters the stage to speak with Gloucester. He calls for Gloucester to come with him as Cordelia and Lear have lost and been taken captive. Entertaining ideas of suicide again, Gloucester tries to remain but Edgar talks him into accompanying him, noting that men must endure the ups and downs of life

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

Edmund holds Cordelia and Lear prisoner. Trying to keep Lear's spirits up, Cordelia tells him that they are not the first innocent people who have had to endure the worst and she will be happy to endure for the King. She asks if they will see Goneril and Regan but Lear rejects that notion. He wants them to spend their days in prison enjoying their company, conversing and singing and playing and debating the "mystery of things". As they are taken away at Edmund's command, Lear encourages Cordelia to dry her tears and enjoy their reunion as they will never again be separated. Edmund demands the subordinate captain follow Lear and Cordelia to prison and carry out the punishment detailed by his written instructions. Threatened with demotion, the captain agrees. Albany praises Edmund for his work in the battle and in obtaining his prisoners. He then commands Edmund to turn Cordelia and Lear over into his protection. Edmund replies that he thought it best to send Lear and Cordelia into retention so that they did not arouse too much sympathy and start a riot, but he assures Albany that they will be ready the next day to appear before him. Albany warns Edmund to remember that he is only a subordinate to which Regan replies that Edmund is in fact her husband and thus an equal. Goneril proclaims that he is more honorable on his own merit than as Regan's partner. Not feeling well, Regan implores Edmund to accept all of her property and herself. Goneril asks if she means to be intimate with him to which Albany retorts that the matter does not relate to her. Edmund disagrees and Regan calls for him to take her title. Albany interrupts, arresting Edmund for treason and barring any relationship between Goneril and Edmund. He calls Edmund to duel, throwing down his glove. Edmund throws down his glove as well and Albany alerts him that all of his soldiers have been sent away. Feeling very ill, Regan is taken off. The herald reads aloud Albany's notice, calling for anyone who holds that Edmund is a traitor to come support that claim. The trumpet is sounded three times and Edgar, still disguised, appears after the last. Asked why he has responded, Edgar states that he is a noble adversary who desires to fight with Edmund, a traitor to "thy gods, thy brother, and thy father". They fight and Edmund falls. Albany calls for him to be spared while Goneril supports Edmund for fighting an unknown man when not required, noting that he cannot be defeated. Albany quiets her with the letter she wrote desiring Edmund's hand but Goneril retorts that as she is the ruler, he can bring no punishment upon her. She leaves before he can take command over her. Dying, Edmund asks his conqueror to reveal himself. Edgar tells of his identity and their relation, noting that Edmund has rightly fallen to the bottom as a result of his father's adulterous act, which also cost Gloucester his sight. Edmund agrees that he has come full circle and Albany rejoices in Edgar's true identity, sorrowful that he had ever worked against him or his father. Edgar describes his disguise and how he led his blinded father, protecting him and sheltering him. He had never revealed his identity until a half hour before, telling his father the entire story. Gloucester was so overwhelmed by the news that his heart gave out. Furthermore, after learning who Edgar was, Kent revealed his identity to Edgar, embracing him and spilling all of the horrid details of Lear's state and treatment. Edgar then learned that Kent too was dying but was forced to rush off as he heard the trumpet call. A gentleman runs onto the stage with a bloody knife, informing the company that it was just pulled from Goneril's heart. She had stabbed herself after admitting that she had poisoned Regan. Edmund notes that as he had been contracted to both sisters, now all three would die. Albany calls for the gentleman to produce the bodies and comments on the immediate judgment of the heavens. Kent enters, hoping to say goodbye to Lear. Realizing that he has forgotten about the safety of Cordelia and Lear in the excitement, Albany demands Edmund to tell of their circumstances. Edmund admits that he had ordered their murders but as he hopes to do some good, he sends an officer to try to halt Cordelia's hanging. He and Goneril had commanded it look like a suicide. Lear stumbles in, carrying the body of Cordelia. Overcome by grief, Lear rages against the senseless killing of Cordelia, admitting that he killed the guard who was hanging her. Lear recognizes Kent, though he can hardly see, and Kent informs him that he has been with him all along, disguised as his servant Caius. It is not clear if Lear ever understands. Kent tells him that his evil daughters have brought about their own deaths. A messenger enters to tell them that Edmund has died. Albany tries to set things right, reinstating Lear's absolute rule and Kent and Edgar's authority, promising to right all of the good and punish the evil. Lear continues to mourn the loss of Cordelia and then dies himself. Albany thus gives Kent and Edgar the rule of the kingdom to which Kent replies that he must move on to follow his master, leaving Edgar as the new ruler.

summary

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

Analysis: Let us return to the idea of King Lear as parable, as a patterned and figurative story, as we approach the play's conclusion and see the result of the prophesies and symbolic gestures we have noted all along. Lear was the king whose major flaw was a need for flattery and whose major error was his banishment of the honest daughter in favor of the two insincere daughters. Once this act is committed, Lear is destined to reap the consequences through a painful journey to essential man. Unaccommodated man is reached, in and within Lear's madness, in the very middle of the story, Act III, and his redemption begins following this point, conveniently as he is transported to Dover where Cordelia and the allies await. It is a Cinderella type fairy tale where the good daughter is cast aside for the betterment of the two wicked daughters. Lear makes this error and is punished for it. We also have the parallel subplot of Gloucester whose major flaw was adultery. This backfires when his bastard son resents his illegitimacy and moves to displace both Edgar and Gloucester. Somewhat coldly, Edgar sums up the nature of these events after he has fatally wounded Edmund. He states, "The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices/ Make instruments to plague us. The dark and vicious place where thee he got/ Cost him his eyes". Some critics view this line very harshly whereas others feel that Edgar was explaining the events in a manner which Edmund would understand and feel was justified. Edmund does respond in agreement which supports the last viewpoint. Furthermore, we have discussed Edgar as a parallel character to Cordelia and Kent, as he has both led his father to safety and nursed him because of filial love and loyalty. None of the three hold a grudge against Lear or Gloucester. This type of resentment was not necessary on their parts because of their roles as the good characters. They have saved the fallen men, their masters, and led them to safety. This has been their role. Edmund, Regan, and Goneril on the other hand, have been heavily tortured with resentment toward their fathers or siblings or anyone else whom holds power. As completely evil characters, they work laterally, fulfilling their evil role and not departing much from it. They are evil and become progressively so to the extent that Regan and Goneril are responsible for their own deaths. And one could hardly say Goneril is more at fault because she was the actual murderer in both occasions. We watched both women fight and claw for power from their father, husbands, Edmund, and each other. Whichever action or behavior fit their motive at the time, whether it was uniting against their father or becoming rivals for Edmund's hand, they eagerly took it on. Their jealousy and hostility bore itself up to the point that they barely resembled women as we noted was commented on by both Lear and Albany. Albany is one of the only characters who is seen to grow and develop over the course of the play. He is never truly evil, simply ambitious at the start. He is quickly transformed once he uncovers the true nature of his wife. Cordelia purposely remains at an even keel of goodness and virtue to aid the audience in understanding her station. Note that in the few lines Cordelia has in Act V, she voices them in rhymed couplet as she did in the very first scene. Melodically, she declares, "We are not the first/ Who with best meaning have incurred the worst. For thee, oppressed king, I am cast down;/ Myself could else outfrown false Fortune's frown". Her figure stands above the others, nobly and saintly. On the other hand, Edmund progresses in degrees of evil before alleviating his cruelty slightly at the end when he tries to stop the hanging of Cordelia. Most will feel however that this action is too little too late, especially considering how he waits for awhile after insinuating that he may do good before he actually does anything. The hesitation, this instance of the unsaid, is a metaphor for the character of Edmund as he can be understood as a figure of circumstance. We do not know if he would have been evil if he had been born into legitimacy and privilege as Edgar was. We know only that his largest grievance is his bastard status and this drives all else. Thus, he cannot easily let go of this drive when dying and is slow to think of anyone but himself. Edmund had continually worked between the lines to influence and manipulate the other characters. Hence, as he tries to effect change up front, he is not able to do so effectively. Lear and Gloucester both come to heavily allegorical ends, the first carrying his abused daughter dead in his arms and the latter dying not from his torture or attempted suicide, but from the strain of knowing his wronged son had helped him when he needed him most. They both seem a bit contrived, but that is the intention. This is the ends they were fated to have, one echoing the fate of the other. In this manner, it is not surprising that the play ends as it began with Lear and his three daughters on stage. Yet this time, all three are dead and Lear as well, though he is the last to go. Kent and Gloucester spoke to open the play and here Kent and the new Earl of Gloucester have the last two lines to end the play. Moreover, the kingdom is being divided in both cases with Lear as the divider in the beginning and Albany, one of the previous inheritors, dividing at the end. Wisely, Shakespeare ends the play without another shared division even though this means the death of Kent. Regardless of whether this was Shakespeare's intention , a sole ruler bodes better for the kingdom overall. Edgar had shown himself true to his father and the King throughout the text and as critics note, he played a different role in the play almost every couple of pages, from beggar to rustic peasant to poor gentleman to soldier to kindly son. Thus, it makes sense, allegorically if nothing else, that he would be best fitted to take over the role of king, which Lear taught us must be a person of tolerance, removed from artifice. When Lear and Cordelia are being sent to prison, we see Lear happy for the first time. He is looking forward to time when they can discuss life and sing and enjoy the world. Edgar, as one who has grown from a too trusting young man to a man who has seen many levels of life and death, can best support the void left by Lear. This pleasant take on the end should not distract the reader from the dismal events of Act V. Lear dies without knowing it was Kent who helped him and without having the chance he had wished for to spend time with Cordelia. Though Edgar's place on the throne at the end gives hope, the play ends with an overwhelming sentiment of failure. The efforts that Kent, Cordelia, and Edgar took to save Lear and Gloucester come to little. All prayers made to the gods to save the righteous or help the good were not answered. Many were senselessly killed, including those killed in a battle which occurred behind the scenes. Ironically, as several characters tried to persuade each other to focus on the larger battle against Lear's avengers rather than on their personal quarrels, the actual battle is hidden from view whereas the personal confrontations are mainly staged in full view

analysis

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

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. However, he's not going to base his decision on how much he values his sons-in-law, which means it's going to be a tough race . Gloucester introduces Kent to his illegitimate son, Edmund. Embarrassed, Gloucester cracks some jokes about his affair with Edmund's mother, who was apparently quite fun, but a little too fertile for everyone's good. Gloucester asks Kent "Do you smell a fault?", which is a reference to his sinful affair with Edmund's mother and also a dirty pun--"fault" is slang for female genitals so, basically, Gloucester is insulting his son and his son's mother. Gloucester says he has an older son who happens to be legitimate , but that he doesn't love him any more than he loves Edmund. Gloucester adds that Edmund has been hidden away for nine years, and that he will soon be going away again. Then King Lear enters and makes a formal announcement of his plan to divide the kingdom between his three daughters and their husbands. who attended one of the first performances of Lear, was trying to unite England and Scotland under his rule when he was crowned King of England in 1603, so the very idea of the division of Britain would have been troubling to Shakespeare's contemporaries.) Lear says he'll still officially be king, meaning he'll retain all of his power and revenues but he just doesn't want to do any of the work anymore. Further, dividing up the kingdom now will avoid any nasty disputes after his death. There's another matter Lear means to clear up, too: the King of France and the Duke of Burgundy are at his court right now, competing for Cordelia . He plans to hand her over in marriage to one of these men today, but, first things first... Lear's all set to carve up the kingdom, leaving his children to manage his affairs and his wealth. But here's the catch: Lear wants his daughters to say how much they love him. He says he'll give the most to the daughter who says she loves him most. Lear's eldest, Goneril makes a ridiculous and flattering speech about how she loves her father as much as life itself. Regan, the second daughter, declares Goneril is a good kid, but actually Regan is the one who loves her father more than life, so there. She declares his love is the only thing that gives her happiness . Cordelia, Lear's youngest and favorite daughter, listens to her sisters' empty speeches and thinks this love contest is stupid. Words of love are no substitute for actually feeling love, and her love is richer than her ability to flatter. So when Cordelia's turn comes, she refuses to play Lear's game. He asks her, "What can you say to draw a third more opulent than your sisters? Speak." She replies, "Nothing." Lear can't believe what he's hearing. "Nothing will come of nothing," he tells her. "Speak again." Brain Snack: "Nothing can come of nothing" is a variation on the famous phrase "ex nihilo nihil fit" - that's Latin for "from nothing, nothing comes," which is an ancient Greek philosophical and scientific expression. It's the opposite of the biblical notion that God created the world out of nothing . Cordelia has made up her mind. She loves her father, and says she loves him according to her bond to him , but she's not going to make a big insincere public speech about it. She says "I cannot heave my heart into my mouth," meaning her words are never sufficient enough to express her love for Lear. When Lear warns Cordelia that she'd better say something or she won't get her piece of the kingdom, Cordelia lashes out at the premises of the game. "Why have my sisters husbands, if they say / they love you all?" she asks pointedly. Cordelia promises that when she marries, half her love will be reserved for her husband; she won't claim that all her love belongs to her father. Lear is furious. It seems to him that his favorite child has betrayed him, and he says if she loves truth so much, truth can be her dowry, as she'll not be getting any piece of this kingdom pie. Lear then swears by Heaven and Hell that he is casting Cordelia out. She is no longer part of his family, and he thinks of her as fondly as he thinks of the kind of people who eat their children. Everyone is shocked. Kent, one of Lear's trusted advisers, tries to intervene on behalf of Cordelia but Lear orders both Cordelia and Kent "out of sight." Kent responds by saying "See better, Lear." Lear admits Cordelia was his favorite and that he planned to spend his old age with her--he was banking on her "kind nursery," which means that he was hoping Cordelia would play the role of mommy or nursemaid to him as he grew older. Lear gives his crown to Cornwall and Albany and announces that he'll spend months alternating between his other two daughters' houses, accompanied by 100 knights. Lear divides Cordelia's part of the kingdom between her sisters. Kent can't handle this tomfoolery, and he tells Lear he's acting rashly. Kent reasonably contends that Cordelia's honesty means more than the other girls' flattery. The two argue for some time, and Kent declares that, although he has spent his whole life devoted to Lear, he can't abide by this madness. Kent declares Lear is up to evil. Lear, even more enraged, gives Kent six days to leave the country, on pain of death. Kent valiantly takes his leave, declaring he's headed to freedom instead of banishment. Kent bids Cordelia good luck, and again praises her for her honest words. He also says he hopes Goneril and Regan's big speeches amount to more than big fat lies. Kent exits. Lear makes sure his rejection of Cordelia is complete by calling in her two suitors: the King of France and the Duke of Burgundy. Lear informs them that Cordelia is no longer his daughter, and that she therefore has no money or property to her name--much less a piece of the kingdom. "Still want her?" Lear asks. Burgundy says no thanks. He can't possibly make a decision about marriage under these circumstances--you know, circumstances that don't include a dowry. The King of France, on the other hand, marvels at how quickly Lear turned from loving to hating Cordelia. He says she must've done something pretty awful to deserve such censure, and yet, knowing what he knows of Cordelia, he's having a hard time believing that. Cordelia proclaims her only wrong is what she lacks, which is a flattering tongue. France decides to marry her, saying Cordelia's behavior has only increased his respect for her. Lear says something like "Fine, take her," informing Cordelia that he hopes to never see her face again. Lear exits. Cordelia offers a tense goodbye to her sisters. She's basically says, "I know how awful you are, but I won't say it," which, of course, says how awful they are. Cordelia claims her sisters don't really love their father as they stated. Regan and Goneril tell Cordelia that instead of telling them what to do, she should be focused on pleasing her husband, who's marrying her out of pity. They think she deserves to be disowned for being disobedient Cordelia wishes her sisters well, declares time will reveal them to be schemers. Left on their own, Regan and Goneril discuss what they should do about their silly old father, besides trash talk him. They say he was never the most rational and stable guy to begin with, and old age is only making his condition worse - Lear, they say, is going senile. There's no other explanation for why he would banish his favorite daughter and one of his best friends on a whim. They worry about what he might do next and decide they need to come up with some kind of plan for dealing with him, since it seems that Lear will only continue to act like a tantrum-throwing baby as he gets older and more "infirm."

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

Edmund, Gloucester's illegitimate son, delivers a soliloquy . He complains to the audience about the way society treats younger brothers and "illegitimate" children. Edmund argues that he's just as smart, attractive, and talented as his father's eldest and legitimate son, Edgar. But because of a technicality of birth, Edgar will get property and an important position and he, Edmund, will get nothing. We interrupt this program for a history snack: Edmund's beef about the way society treats younger brothers is a reference to primogeniture, the system by which eldest sons inherit all their fathers' wealth, titles, lands, power, debt, etc. In other words, younger brothers get shafted. As you can guess, this system tends to create a whole lot of family drama. The same system would have applied to Lear's family if Lear had a son to inherit the crown by lineal succession. Since the king doesn't have a son, he's decided to divvy up the kingdom between his daughters and sons-in-law, as we know. Now, back to our program: Edmund also insists that, since his parents had such an awesome and "lusty" time in bed when he was conceived, he's far more superior to any person legitimately conceived in a "stale tired bed." One way or another, Edmund is going to get his brother's land, and we doubt that he's interested in a time share. Edmund also points out that Gloucester loves him as much as he loves Edgar , which seems like evidence that society shouldn't make such a big deal about the difference between "legitimate" and "illegitimate" offspring. Finally, Edmund calls on the gods to "stand up for bastards!" When Gloucester comes in, Edmund puts his plan into action. Acting intentionally nervous, he very conspicuously puts away a letter he's supposedly been reading. When his father asks him what it is, Edmund acts flustered. He hints that the contents of the letter, which is from his brother, are pretty bad and will probably offend Gloucester. Edmund suggests his brother sent the letter as a test. Gloucester takes the bait and demands to see what the big deal is. The letter--supposedly from brother Edgar--suggests that the brothers conspire to kill their father. In the letter, "Edgar" claims that obedience to one's elders is a total drag and highly overrated. Plus, by the time Gloucester dies and Edgar gets his inheritance, he'll be too old to enjoy it. But, if Edmund were to help Edgar get rid of their old man, they could both split the profits. Gloucester, naturally, is shocked and outraged. He asks Edmund how he came upon the letter, and whether this is really Edgar's handwriting. Edmund, who's beginning to look a lot like an evil genius, says someone threw it in his bedroom window. It just breaks his heart to have to tell his beloved father that the handwriting is definitely Edgar's. Edmund then goes on to say that while Edgar never specifically planned a "let's murder-our-father" meeting, he's always running around saying he can't wait for Gloucester to kick the bucket. Gloucester immediately declares Edgar to be an "unnatural" villain. Edmund, pretending to be the virtuous younger brother, says Gloucester shouldn't jump to any hasty conclusions. Perhaps Edgar wrote this letter to test Edmund's love for their father? Edmund then promises he can provide his father with some kind of resolution: that very evening, he'll have a conversation with Edgar on which Gloucester can spy. Edmund will talk to Edgar of the business, and Gloucester can form his own conclusion. While Gloucester is clearly confused and upset by the suggestion that his son Edgar, whom he loves dearly, is a bad guy, he's still up to hearing the proof. Gloucester then laments that the recent solar and lunar eclipses in Britain are portentous, predicting failed loves, civil wars, treason, mutinies, divided brothers, and even the breaking of bonds between father and son . As further evidence that something really awful is going to happen, Gloucester points out that Lear has recently had a falling out with his child, Cordelia. We interrupt this program for another tasty history snack: when Gloucester says the "late eclipses of the sun and moon" are a bad omen, Shakespeare may have had in mind the actual eclipses that were seen in London in October and September of 1605 . Just thought you'd like to know, especially since some literary critics point to this as evidence that Shakespeare could not have written King Lear before 1605. Gloucester worries that they've already seen the best days of their lives, and that only disorder and grief will come with the future. Gloucester fusses about this mess, reminds Edmund that it's now up to him to sort out Edgar. He also wonders at the rash banishment of Kent. After Gloucester exits, Edmund takes time to snicker gleefully about the fact that people are often ready to blame their own failings and circumstances on the stars and their fates, as if they couldn't help being as villainous as they are. Edmund, who we see is pretty dang self-aware, knows that even if he'd been born during the best zodiacal circumstances, he'd still be a rotten guy. Then Edgar walks in, a prime opportunity for Part Two of Edmund's plan: Edmund makes a little speech about the horoscope promising death and division that will impact both states and families. After Edgar teases about how silly horoscopes are, Edmund convinces Edgar that his father is angry at him, and that he should lie low for a while. Edgar suggests that his father could only think badly of him because some villain has done him wrong, and Edmund agrees that's probably the case, though he stops short of saying, "A-ha! That villain is me!" Edmund lays it on thick about how Edgar should worry about his enemies, even suggesting Edgar shouldn't go out without a weapon. Edmund also provides a plan, saying if Edgar goes back to his place, he'll drop by and fetch him to speak to their father when the time is right. Edgar leaves, convinced that Edmund has his best interests in mind. Like his father, Edgar is a gullible guy. Edmund, alone, crows over how lucky he is to have a brother and father so good that they won't suspect his treachery, simply because they couldn't fathom it. This will make his evil deeds easy. Edmund declares he's sure to get Gloucester's land, if not by rightful inheritance, then by his own wits.

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

A brief recap: Lear had planned to spend his retirement with Cordelia. Obviously, that's not happening any more. So now he's spending alternate months with his remaining two daughters. Things are not going well at Goneril's castle. Lear's a lousy houseguest--he continues to act like he's in charge . Also, Oswald tells Goneril that Lear smacked one of her servants upside the head because the servant was rude to Lear's Fool . Not to mention Lear's entourage--a group of a hundred knights that the King brings everywhere--is a rowdy bunch. Goneril is fed up with all of their antics. She tells Oswald, her personal assistant, to be rude to Lear in order to spark a confrontation. This way, they can air everything out. Goneril also announces that Regan and she share the same distaste for their father, so she's safe if Lear goes to Regan for help. Goneril announces that old men are like babies again, and can therefore be manipulated easily. Goneril reiterates her plan to be rude to dad so she can have a stern talk with him.

summary

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

Kent, the loyal advisor Lear exiled back in Scene 1, enters Goneril's castle disguised as a down-and-out peasant, "Caius." He speaks in a strange accent so no one recognizes his voice. Kent lives to take care of Lear, and he's determined to do it even if Lear has treated him terribly. Lear enters with his rowdy entourage and orders one of his attendants to hurry up and fix his dinner. Kent--who now goes by the alias "Caius"--convinces Lear with a bit of banter that he's a good guy and should be allowed to join Lear's entourage. Lear sends Oswald, Goneril's steward, to go find his daughter. The King abruptly calls Oswald back, but Oswald ignores him. The insolence! A knight then enters and reports that Goneril says she isn't well. Lear is miffed that Goneril and Oswald have blown him off and the knight confirms that everyone in Goneril's castle seems to be being kind of rude and cold lately. The knight believes Lear isn't being given his due as the King, not by any of the castle servants, and definitely not by Goneril or her husband, the Duke of Albany. Lear reveals he was thinking along these lines already, but had dismissed it as his own imaginings. Lear asks for his Fool again, whom he says he hasn't seen in two days. The knight reports the Fool hasn't been the same since Cordelia left for France. Although Lear has noticed this also, he doesn't want to talk about it. When Oswald comes back, Lear, still smarting from being ignored, demands that Oswald tell him just who he thinks he's talking to. "My lady's father," Oswald replies. This is not an acceptable answer, as Lear is still the King, which, to Lear, is a more important label than "parent." Lear is livid. He may have given up his title, but he still thinks he should be treated like the most important person in the room. Lear and Kent proceed to rough up Oswald--Lear smacks him and then Kent trips him up and calls Oswald a "football player," which is British lingo for "soccer player," a game that was low-class in Shakespeare's day. The Fool--Lear's own personal comedian--comes in and starts making jokes. The Fool doesn't hold back--at all. The Fool jumps right into mocking Lear for giving away his kingdom to Goneril and Regan, and for leaving his one good daughter, Cordelia, out of the mix. According to the Fool, this was a bad idea that Lear can't really be punished for--except in mocking, and the Fool is taking care of that quite well. He suggests that Lear's pitiful position now is his own fault--after all, he made his daughters into his mother, basically handing them a stick and pulling his pants down for a spanking. The Fool has a lot more fun at Lear's expense, calling him a fool and making clear that he values Cordelia above Goneril and Regan, who are bad seeds. The Fool laments that there's no need for fools when wise men are foolish. Nobody else could get away with saying stuff like this to Lear except the Fool. Goneril comes in to scold Lear for letting his entourage get out of control. She claims his hundred knights are always loud and riotous, and that with the way he's been behaving lately, she worries he's actually encouraging this bad behavior. History Snack: King James I of England was notorious for creating hundreds of knights during times of peace, which was quite the scandal. G.P.V. Akrigg notes that "during his first six weeks in England he created at least 237 knights By the end of his first year the new king had created 838 new knights" . Is it possible that King Lear's hundred rowdy knights is Shakespeare's way of making a reference to James' practice of knighting men indiscriminately? She threatens her father, suggesting that the state's obligations to the public good might require that Lear be punished for enabling this bad behavior. Lear is shocked that his daughter has the nerve, the audacity, indeed, the gall to tell him what to do, and to threaten him. She clearly doesn't remember who she is--and what she owes him. "Are you our daughter?" Lear asks. FYI: Lear uses what's called the "Royal We," which means he refers to himself in the plural instead of the singular . Things escalate further, and Goneril declares her house has lately rivaled a tavern or a brothel, as Lear's knights are so drunk and rowdy. Goneril insists the situation requires immediate attention, and that Lear's entourage should be reduced significantly, either by Lear's command or hers. The only part of the entourage Goneril will allow to remain by Lear should be like him: quiet old people. Infuriated, Lear declares Goneril to be a "degenerate bastard" and announces he still has one daughter left As Lear demands that his horses be prepared and his entourage gathered to leave, Goneril continues to act rudely toward her father. Her husband, Albany, comes in during the middle of the fight, curious about what is going on. Lear calls Goneril a liar--he refuses to believe that any of his entourage misbehaved in any way. Importantly, Lear also admits that, when compared to Goneril's bad behavior, Cordelia's small fault is put in perspective. He realizes his decision to banish Cordelia was contrary to his very nature , and blames his head for letting foolishness in at the same time judgment went out. Finally, Lear calls upon the gods to make Goneril barren as punishment for the way she treated him. If not, he yells, he hopes she'll have a mean and nasty daughter who will treat her like garbage and cause nothing but misery for Goneril. Anyway, Lear hopes that Goneril "may feel / how sharper than a serpent's tooth it is / to have a thankless child." Lear storms out, storms back in, and yells some more, especially because Goneril has dismissed fifty members of his entourage. Lear tells Goneril that everyone at Regan's house will treat him like a king, not just like someone's elderly relative. Then he finally exits, for real this time, leaving Goneril's husband confused about the fight, which he missed. Goneril turns to her husband and says, "Can you believe him?" But when he tries to answer she shushes him. She's just spotted the Fool and she wants to be sure to send him away, too. After getting rid of the Fool, Goneril says they have to do something about her father. He can't be wandering around with a hundred soldiers ready to act on his next senile whim. Albany thinks she might be exaggerating a bit, but Goneril says she'd rather be safe than sorry. Goneril sends Oswald off with a message to Regan, her sister, informing her about the fight. It seems she is plotting. She says her sister is on her side, and she's got to make sure Regan doesn't take care of Lear when Goneril herself has turned him out, because this would make Goneril look bad. Goneril instructs Oswald to explain her reasoning while delivering the letter, and to feel free to add any juicy bits he thinks will keep Regan on their side. Goneril then tells her husband she's not upset with him for suggesting that she treat her father with more kindness, but she thinks he's being naive. Albany says he can't be sure--maybe she sees more than he does. But he knows that often when people try to make a situation better they wind up making it worse. Goneril basically says, "Now, now, honey," and dismisses him, which he seems okay with.

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

Lear tells the disguised Kent to deliver a letter to Regan informing her that he's about to show up at her place. The Fool cracks some bizarre jokes, mostly about the wild ingratitude of Goneril and the fact that Lear's hope of escaping to Regan's loving arms is stupid, because Regan is likely as bad as Goneril. Lear half-listens to him, but he can't get his mind off his one good daughter, Cordelia, who he seems to remember all of a sudden. "I did her wrong," Lear admits quietly. The Fool continues with the jokes. His most pointed wisecrack is that Lear should be beaten for being old before his time. Lear is all, "Huh?", and the Fool points out that men should be wise before they get old. Translation: Lear has been acting like a foolish old man, not a wise old man. Lear is afraid he's getting senile and says, "O let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven! I would not be mad," which is a really subtle hint from Shakespeare that just maybe, Lear might be driven to madness.

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

Back at Gloucester's house, Edmund's scheming is coming along nicely. He hears that Regan and her husband, Cornwall, will be paying an unexpected visit to his father and decides to factor that into his plans. Also, Edmund hears from Curan, a courtier, that there are rumors flying around about a dispute between Cornwall and Albany . Edgar comes in, totally bewildered by his situation. Apparently he's about to be arrested for plotting against his father, a crime which is news to him. Edmund tells Edgar he had better flee for his life, since his father's men are coming for him. Furthermore, Edmund asks him whether he hasn't said nasty things about the Duke of Cornwall regarding his dispute with the Duke of Albany. Edmund says that Cornwall is on his way to Gloucester's castle , which should worry Edgar, though Edgar says he hasn't been bad-mouthing anybody. Edmund announces he hears Gloucester coming, and Edmund suggests he and Edgar pretend to fight so that no one suspects that Edmund has been helping his brother. They fake sword fight for a bit, and then Edgar scurries off. As his father's guards come in looking for Edgar, now the "bad son," Edmund, cuts himself so it will look like Edgar hurt him. Gloucester enters, on the hunt for Edgar, and Edmund tells him a dramatic story about how he heroically fought off his wicked brother. Gloucester says something like, "Which way did he go?" and Edmund replies with something like, "Look at my wound!" and Gloucester returns, "Great, but which way did he go?" Gloucester announces that he has put a price on Edgar's head; he adds that with Cornwall's authority, he'll reward anyone that turns Edgar in and punish anyone that protects and hides him. Thus Edgar is made into one of Britain's Most Wanted Criminals. Edmund covers all his bases here. He reports the following: Edgar said that Edmund's illegitimate status would make him the less credible brother. Basically, Edmund is setting it up so that any story Edgar could possibly tell in his defense will immediately be suspect. Meanwhile, Regan and her husband, the Duke of Cornwall, arrive at Gloucester's house. They have already heard the news about Edgar's "treachery." Cornwall praises Edmund for his loyalty to his father, which is ironic. Regan then weighs in on the whole Edgar-trying-to-murder-his-father affair. Regan tells us the reason she's fled to Gloucester's house is that she's received word that Lear, her own father, is on his way to stay at her house--with all of his knights, of course. Regan recounts Goneril's information that the knights are a regular pack of miscreants, and she doesn't want to be at her house to welcome them in . Regan is convinced that the knights, in all their wickedness, have put Edgar up to the task of murdering Gloucester, as it's known Edgar used to keep company with Lear's entourage. Regan reveals to Gloucester that she's also caught in the middle of a tricky political/family squabble. Regan has received opposing letters from her father and her sister, both providing alternate accounts of their fight. If Regan lets Lear stay with her, that means she's on his side. If she tells him he can't stay, that means she's on Goneril's side. The solution? Regan chooses not to choose: if she's not in her own home, she can't invite Lear to stay there, nor can she turn him away. It's a pretty clever short-term plan, except the homeless father part. Regan appeals to Gloucester for helpful advice in settling the dispute between her father and sister. She needs some counsel immediately, as her messengers are waiting to send word back from Regan to Goneril and to Lear. Obviously, it's pretty poor manners to show up at someone's doorstep in the middle of the night, but Regan and Cornwall are more powerful than Gloucester, so Gloucester has no choice but to welcome them into his home.

summary

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

The disguised Kent , and the steward, Oswald , both show up at Gloucester's house at the same time. Kent, still angry at Oswald for insulting Lear, tries to pick a fight with Oswald. Oswald, not exactly the fighting kind, shrieks for help and Edmund rushes in. Edmund is followed by Cornwall, Regan, and Gloucester. Cornwall, the most powerful man in the room, demands to know what's going on. Oswald blames the whole thing on Kent/Caius, who can provide only one excuse for starting a fight with Oswald: he found Oswald's face displeasing. Kent answers Cornwall's questions rudely, without sucking up to him. Cornwall, not at all impressed, orders that Kent/Caius be put in the stocks. Gloucester protests this punishment, since Kent/Caius is a representative of King Lear, and thus he should have diplomatic immunity. It would be a direct insult to Lear to put his messenger in the stocks. Regan argues that it would be a direct insult to her sister, Goneril, to not punish the man who attacked Goneril's messenger. The power struggle between Lear and Goneril is clear, and Regan sides with her sister. She orders that Kent be put in the stocks and left there overnight. Gloucester stays behind once everyone has left to apologize to Kent . Gloucester offers to talk to Cornwall on Kent's behalf, but Kent says he doesn't mind the stocks because he's a tough guy. Kent cheerfully tells Gloucester to take it easy and have a pleasant night. Kent, once a powerful lord, is now left alone to endure a humiliating punishment in the cold. He settles down for the night, or actually, prepares to sit awkwardly for the night. Kent comforts himself by reading a letter from Cordelia, who is keeping herself informed about her sisters' treatment of their father. Kent closes the scene by saying, "Fortune, good night; smile once more, turn thy wheel." Brain Snack: Fortune is often portrayed as a fickle goddess. With the spin of a wheel, Fortune can raise men up to great heights or cast them down at any moment.

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

Kent, still disguised as Caius, meets up with the Gentleman, who informs him that the King is still running about in a night so dreadful that even lions and bears have taken to their dens. The gentleman says that only the Fool accompanies the King on his mad journey, trying to stave off Lear's madness with friendly jokes. Kent then gives the gentleman a political update: tension between Regan's husband and Goneril's husband may result in a civil war, though they're keeping it hush-hush. Aside from possibly having a war, both Albany and Cornwall may be united in one activity: plotting against the life of Lear, their father-in-law. This has all been discovered by spies placed strategically in their houses as servants, and France is even now preparing to make a move against these divided houses. Kent then reveals he's actually a gentleman himself, meaning that he's of noble breeding, and not just a random guy. But he doesn't go so far as to reveal that he's Kent. Kent asks the Gentleman to be a messenger for him. He instructs him to go to Dover and report of Lear's recent ill-treatment. He then gives the Gentleman his purse so the messenger will be inspired to actually do the job at hand. He also gives the Gentleman a ring to deliver to Cordelia along with the message. The ring will let Cordelia know who the message is from, and then she can tell the Gentleman who he's been dealing with. As they part, Kent says, "I'll go this way, and you go that way. Let me know if you find the King--I'll do the same."

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

This scene opens with an iconic image: Lear, a white-haired man, stands on a heath in the middle of a thunderstorm yelling at the sky. "Blow winds and crack your cheeks! Rage, blow!" The Fool begs Lear to go back to his daughters for shelter, but the King refuses; he would rather face the relentless elements than his ungrateful children. He never gave the weather his kingdom, so he can't fault nature for mistreating him. His kids on the other hand... Kent shows up, still disguised, and tells Lear he has to find shelter. Lear keeps yelling into to the wind. He calls for the storm to reveal all the crimes people have committed, kind of like the way strong winds strip away tree limbs and soil. He wants the storm to uncover everyone who's been unvirtuous, and he says if that happens it will be clear that he's been more of a victim here than a perpetrator. Finally, Kent manages to maneuver him towards a hovel that will provide some shelter against the rain. He says that while Lear rests in the hovel, he'll go back and demand shelter from Lear's daughters again--even though they're so hard-headed they wouldn't even answer the door last time he knocked. "My wits begin to turn," Lear mutters. But he has enough clarity of mind left to comfort his shivering Fool. Lear says, "Poor fool and knave, I have one part in my heart that's sorry yet for thee." The Fool sings a little ditty and Lear and Kent seek shelter. The Fool delivers a witty speech predicting that Britain will "come to great confusion" when priests are corrupt, beer-makers water down their beverages, when pickpockets stop preying on large crowds, and when "bawds and whores" build churches. In other words, these things happen all the time so, Britain has already fallen into decay. Get it? The Fool also predicts that, in the future, Merlin , will make this very same prophecy. Brain Snack: The Fool's "prophesy" is a parody of "Merlin's Prophesy," a poem that was falsely attributed to Geoffrey Chaucer in George Puttenham's famous book called The Arte of English Poesie . In other words, Shakespeare's giving a literary shout-out here.

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

Back at Gloucester's castle, Gloucester unloads his heart to his evil-genius son, Edmund. Gloucester is in a bad mood. He's upset about how unnaturally Lear's own daughters deal with the old King, and even more upset that they've taken over his house. The sisters have instructed Gloucester not to mention Lear in their presence, on pain of "perpetual displeasure. Gloucester then tells Edmund that he has received a politically explosive letter informing him that tension is rising between Albany and Cornwall and there are even worse things happening. He doesn't say what those things are, but tells Edmund he's locked the letter in his closet. He adds that the mistreatment of Lear will be avenged--someone's already mobilized to be sure of that. In the meantime, Gloucester can't bear to obey Cornwall's orders--he's going to go find Lear and bring him relief with all this good news, even though helping Lear is grounds for serious punishment . He tells Edmund to cover for him with Cornwall and to be careful, because there is a lot of strange stuff going on. Edmund, being Edmund, intends to betray his father to Cornwall instead. He'll tell him where his father is going and he'll make sure Cornwall sees that letter, too. That will bring Edmund one step closer to taking over his father's wealth and position.Bwahahahhahaha!

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

Out on a heath in the storm, Kent tries to maneuver Lear and the Fool into a little cave he's found, where they can have shelter. But Lear says he doesn't want to go inside--the violent storm is nothing compared to the "tempest" in Lear's own mind. Lear laments that his children are such ingrates but decides that it's best not to go there--dwelling on Goneril and Regan will make him go mad. Lear orders his Fool and Kent to seek shelter and then, delivers a speech about the plight of homelessness, which he now experiences first hand. Lear realizes he has not done enough for disadvantaged people, and swears he will try to assist them more in the future. The Fool, who has by now entered the hovel, emerges with a shriek. He has found the hovel already occupied by the strange figure of Poor Tom . Edgar has sunk ever deeply into the role: he begs and wheedles, sings songs, complains about the cold, and generally acts like a madman. In the presence of Poor Tom's pretend madness, Lear begins to lose his grip on sanity. He blames Poor Tom's naked misery on Poor Tom's "children." "He hath no daughters, sir," Kent clarifies, trying to soothe Lear. "Death, traitor!" Lear replies. "Nothing could have subdued nature / to such lowness but his unkind daughters." Staring at Poor Tom's nearly naked and shivering body, Lear begins to philosophize. Still full of his pity for the poor, Lear asks, "Is man no more than this? Unaccommodated man is no more but such a poor, bare, forked animal as thou art," he says to Edgar. Having concluded that clothing and social conventions are artificial additions to man's natural state, Lear starts taking off his own clothes. We interrupt this program for a brain snack: When Ian McKellen got naked as King Lear in the 2007 Royal Shakespeare Company's production of King Lear, he caused quite a commotion, leading some journalists to joke about the wizard's wand. The Fool tries to stop Lear, declaring that while he has a hot heart, the rest of his body is still rather cold, and at risk of exposure...in more than one sense of the word. Gloucester enters the scene and is greeted by a strange speech from his own son, Edgar. Still, Gloucester doesn't recognize Edgar in the disguise of Poor Tom, and instead seems worried about the king hanging out with beggars. "What, hath your grace no better company?" he asks. Gloucester informs us that he's come, against instructions and in spite of great threats, to bring Lear in from the storm and provide him with food and fire. Lear cannot be moved, even by the promise of a hot meal. Lear talks with Poor Tom, calling him a philosopher. Gloucester says Lear has reason to be driven to madness, since his own daughters want him dead. If only they'd listened to Kent! Gloucester says he can relate to the King's pain, as he recently lost his dearly beloved son . Gloucester says his grief is making him crazy, but he tries again to call the King inside. Gloucester finally convinces Lear to come out of the elements, but Lear will only go if he can take his fellow naked crazy man with him.

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

Meanwhile, back at Gloucester's castle, Edmund's evil plan is progressing nicely. Cue the evil smirk and hand-rubbing gesture. He has told Cornwall about his father's forbidden allegiance to Lear and has also showed Cornwall the incriminating, anti-Cornwall letter. Edmund humbly suggests that he's made a great sacrifice by placing his loyalty to Cornwall above his filial duty . Cornwall concludes that it now seems like Edgar's "plot" to kill his father was kind of just, what with Gloucester being such wicked guy and all. Edmund holds up the incriminating letter and says something like: "It's just so awful that I have to tell on my own father, who is clearly a spy and informant for France." Cornwall says that whether the letter is true or false doesn't matter. Edmund has shown great loyalty, so he's going to be the new Earl of Gloucester either way. Cornwall sends Edmund off to find Gloucester and bring him back for punishment. Edmund hopes that when he finds his father, the man will be comforting Lear, because then Gloucester will be doubly implicated for crimes.

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

We're back with that rebel Gloucester, who's led Lear, the disguised Kent, the disguised Edgar, and the Fool to a little building outside of his castle to get them all out of the storm. Lear asks the philosophizing Edgar--who is still pretending to be the mad Poor Tom--a bunch of questions. The Fool interjects occasionally, revealing that things must be really bad when the only person who makes sense in the conversation is the guy whose profession dictates that his speech doesn't make any sense at all. Kent tries to get Lear to lie down, but Lear says he has to see his daughters' trial first. Yep, his sanity continues to spiral downward. He imagines his daughters are in the room, and he demands that Poor Tom , Kent, and the Fool act as judges in a mock trial where he can charge his daughters with their crimes. Lear gets so worked up--and so obviously not in his right mind--that even Edgar is jolted from his role-playing to feel pity. Kent finally convinces Lear to lie down and get some sleep when Gloucester comes back again with bad news. There's definitely a plot against Lear's life, though Gloucester notably doesn't mention who's plotting. Kent has to wake up Lear immediately and get him into a cart that can take him to safety in Dover, where Cordelia is. They have no time to waste, because if the plotters find Lear, his life and the life of anyone who helps him will be in danger. Kent, Lear, the Fool, and Gloucester exit with the intention of getting Lear to safety... if not sanity. Edgar leaves after them, filled with pity for Lear, whose pathetic situation makes Edgar feel better about his own. Edgar admits that there's no greater suffering than mental illness. Edgar also ponders that his life will be okay just as soon as the truth comes out that he's been plotted against and wrongfully condemned.

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

Back at Gloucester's castle, Oswald reports to Cornwall that Gloucester has helped Lear and the Fool escape to Dover. He's apprehended Gloucester at the gate of his own castle. Cornwall, Regan, Goneril, and Edmund plan how they will punish Gloucester. Regan suggests they hang him instantly, while Goneril suggests they pluck out his eyes. Cornwall tells Edmund to escort Goneril back to her own castle . Cornwall explains that having Edmund in the castle while he tortures Edmund's father would be kind of inappropriate. But before Edmund and Goneril leave, Oswald comes in with the report that Lear is headed towards Dover, courtesy of Gloucester. As Cornwall's servants drag Gloucester into the room, Gloucester protests that Cornwall and Regan are his guests, and this isn't a very gracious way for guests to act. Huh. You think? Still, Regan and Cornwall haven't exactly been to charm school. They order the servants to tie him up. Then they berate Gloucester as a traitor, pull out some of his beard hairs, and demand to know where he sent King Lear. Gloucester gets defiant. He attacks Regan and Cornwall for their immoral treatment of Lear. "I shall see / The winged vengeance overtake such children," Gloucester warns them. "See't thou shalt never," Cornwall says coldly before ripping out one of Gloucester's eyeballs. Regan eagerly tells Cornwall to take out the other eye, too, but before he can do so, one of Cornwall's servants decides to rebel. He tells Cornwall he cannot watch him commit such an atrocity. Cornwall's pretty upset about this, so he quickly draws his sword for a fight. The servant wounds Cornwall, but Regan stabs the servant in the back and kills him. Cornwall, panting, takes out Gloucester's other eye, calling it "vile jelly." Not the kind of "jelly" they put in delicious donuts. Gloucester, now completely blind, calls upon his son Edmund for help. Regan informs him that it was Edmund who turned him in. Gloucester has the epiphany that Edmund is a traitor, and has likely been a traitor from the start. More importantly, Gloucester realizes that Edgar must have been innocent. Regan orders that Gloucester be put outside and abandoned to fend for himself. After a servant leads Gloucester out into the elements, Regan and Cornwall--about to collapse from his wound--stumble out as well. The servants left in the room are shocked at what they have just witnessed. They decide they have to help the blind Gloucester.

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

Edgar, disguised as Poor Tom, lurks outside in the cold. He comforts himself with the knowledge that, since he's hit rock bottom, at least things can't get any worse. Then, of course, Edgar sees his father stumble out of the castle bleeding from his eye sockets. Oops. Things just got worse. Gloucester speaks bitterly. An old man who has been a tenant on Gloucester's property has been trying to help him, though Gloucester declares he doesn't need help for his blindness--he was actually more blind when his eyeballs were intact. Edgar listens in agony as Gloucester laments the loss of his good son, Edgar. Gloucester declares if he could only touch his boy again, it would be as good as having eyes. The old man, who has been helping Gloucester, introduces father and son, who is still disguised as "Poor Tom," the beggar from Bedlam. Brain Snack: Shakespeare borrowed the Gloucester/Edgar/Edmund plot from Phillip Sidney's The Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia. In Book 2, Chapter 10 of the 1590 edition, the story's heroes encounter a blind king who is accompanied by his loyal son. It turns out that the loyal son has recently forgiven the king despite the fact that his father plotted to have him killed after the king's other kid stole his father's kingdom and poked out the old man's eyeballs. Now, back to Lear. Gloucester recalls seeing this fellow in last night's storm and briefly thinking of his son, whom he still hated at the time. Gloucester admits he's since learned he was wrong about Edgar, and sadly declares, "As flies to wanton boys are we to the gods / They kill us for their sport." In other words, Gloucester blames the gods for what's happened to him, not himself. And, in Gloucester's version, the "gods" are jerks. Gloucester bids the old man to leave him into Poor Tom's care, and also to bring Poor Tom some clothes, because even madmen shouldn't be naked. Though even the old man thinks this is a bad idea, as Poor Tom is also mad, Gloucester reveals a sense of humor by remarking, "'Tis the time's plague when madmen lead the blind." Left alone with his father, Edgar still does not reveal his identity. For some reason, he keeps up his Poor Tom charade, talking nonsense to his father. Gloucester asks Poor Tom to lead him to the edge of a cliff in Dover so Gloucester can jump off and end his misery . Also, in case anyone wasn't clear that Gloucester plans to kill himself by jumping off a cliff, Gloucester makes explicit that Poor Tom won't have to lead him back. This is a one-way ticket. Edgar agrees to take his father to his death. Or at least to Dover.

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

Meanwhile, Shakespeare gives us a peek at what the evil spawn are up to... Edmund, ever the gentleman, escorts Goneril to her castle and Goneril says something like "Gee, I wonder where my husband is." Before Edmund can make out with Goneril on her doorstep, Oswald, Goneril's trusty steward, enters and says that Albany is inside the castle and he's defected from "Team Bad Guy." Albany's pleased as punch that the French army has landed in Britain to mop the floor with Lear's good for nothing children. Goneril, hearing about her traitor husband, declares Albany a coward and is unable to go through with the final points of her plan. Goneril promises Edmund that he'll hear from her soon, and they share a lingering kiss good-bye. Clearly, the trip from Gloucester's castle to Goneril's was long enough to jumpstart an affair. Goneril speaks in pretty clear terms--knowing that Edmund is now the new Earl of Gloucester, he seems to have become a lot more attractive. Her husband's cowardice is less attractive than the power she could attain through villainy. As soon as Edmund leaves, Goneril's husband, Albany, comes in and chews her out for the way she has been treating her father. She waves him off for being preachy, and he declares that wisdom and goodness seem "vile" to those who are "vile." Goneril glosses over the whole discussion by saying Albany is wasting time moralizing while the kingdom is in danger of invasion. He rails on for a while, accusing Goneril of being a "fiend" disguised in a woman's body. He says he'd hit her, if his manhood didn't stop him from hitting a woman . Goneril sneers at the idea of Albany's "manhood." A messenger interrupts the domestic brawl with the news that Cornwall, Regan's husband, is dead. The wound he got from his rebellious servant during Gloucester's blinding was fatal. Husband and wife react to the news in different ways. Albany is horrified that Gloucester has been treated so brutally, but he thinks Cornwall's death is a sign that justice will prevail. Goneril is torn. On the one hand, Cornwall's death will make Edmund even more powerful. On the other hand she's horrified that Edmund will be alone with her recently widowed--and thus available--sister. Albany is curious about where on earth Edmund was while Gloucester was being mistreated . Albany finds out how deep the treachery runs when he learns that Edmund is a) the guy who tattled on his father, and b) the guy that took Goneril back home, thus making it easier for his father's torturers to do their thing. Albany is full of praise for Gloucester's loyalty to the King and declares he'll get revenge on behalf of Gloucester.

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

Kent, still in disguise and seemingly enjoying it, meets again with the messenger that was sent to Cordelia, but this time near the French camp at Dover. Kent wants all the details about how Cordelia reacted to his news, and the messenger reports that her nobility kept her from rage. It was rather clear, he says, that she was between patience and sorrow as she read of her sisters' wickedness and her father's suffering. The messenger declares that if everyone could look as good as Cordelia did while she wept for her father, then sorrow would be the new fashion. Further, Kent reveals that though Lear's in town near Cordelia, he refuses to see her. Not because he's stubborn, but because he's really ashamed himself. His shame consume him so much that he can't bring himself to see his only good daughter. Besides all of this family drama, we also learn that Albany and Cornwall both have military elements afoot. Kent says he'll drop the gentleman messenger off at Lear's place, and in the meantime go take care of some secret business.

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

We learn from Cordelia that Lear has run off from his caretakers and was last spotted in a wheat field, covered over with all sorts of plants. Cordelia sends a century to find him, and confers with a doctor to figure out if there's any way to cure Lear's madness. The doctor promises a long sleep will do the trick . Cordelia prays for her father's recovery. Cordelia explains that she has brought an army from France in furtherance of her father's wishes, and not because she wants power for herself. "Not blown ambition doth our arms incite / but love, dear love, and our aged father's right" she says. A messenger then abruptly informs Cordelia that her sisters' British troops are marching towards the French army. Sibling rivalry is about to be played out through full scale civil war.

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

At Gloucester's castle, Oswald has arrived to deliver Goneril's letter to Edmund. Regan tries to wheedle information out of him and learns that Albany's troops are on the move, seemingly at Goneril's insistence. Mostly, though, she's curious about the letter her sister has written to Edmund. She wants to know what it's about, but Oswald says he doesn't know. Regan tells Oswald that Edmund isn't there. She thinks he's gone after his pop, Gloucester, to finish him off--and to figure out how big the enemy army is. She tries to get Oswald to stay the night instead of going after Edmund, and then she tries to get him to just show her the letter. Please? She'll be his best friend... Oswald hesitates, and Regan says fine. She knows what's what. It's pretty obvious Goneril doesn't love her husband, and Regan noticed her flirting with Edmund before. She presses Oswald to confirm her theory, but he stalls. Regan tells Oswald to listen up if he knows what's good for him. First off, Regan and Edmund have already talked and they agree it makes much more sense for Edmund to marry Regan--not Goneril. Second, she also has a note for Edmund that she wants Oswald to deliver. Third, when Oswald sees Goneril again, he should tell her to wise up and use her head next time instead of trying to go around her sister. Finally, Regan informs him that there's a reward for killing Gloucester. Oswald says he's eager to kill Gloucester to prove his loyalty.

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

Cordelia enters, talking with Kent. She tells him it's time for him to take off his "Caius" disguise, but Kent says he's not ready to become himself again--he's got a plan and he doesn't want Cordelia to reveal his true identity. The doctor who has been tending Lear tells Cordelia that her father is ready to be woken up. They put on music for him, and Cordelia kisses her father and talks about how his other daughters have abused him. When he finally begins to wake, Cordelia asks him how he feels. When Lear opens his eyes, he assumes he is in the afterworld and surrounded by spirits. Slowly, he gets his bearings and recognizes Cordelia. The father and daughter are together for the first time since Lear unfairly banished her. Both of them need forgiveness from each other, but perhaps one more so than the other. When Cordelia kneels before him, he tries to kneel to her. "If you have poison for me, I will drink it," he tells her. "I know you do not love me, for your sisters / have, as I remember, done me wrong. / You have some cause, they have not." "No cause, no cause," Cordelia reassures him. They exit to continue this touching reunion scene offstage. Kent and the Gentleman stay behind to share intel. They confirm that Cornwall is dead, and Edmund now leads his troops as the Earl of Gloucester. There are also rumors that Edgar is with the Earl of Kent in Germany.

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

At the British battle camp near Dover, Edmund and Regan are engaged in what seems to be a heated conversation. Regan keeps asking Edmund if he's done "it" with Goneril. Edmund swears on his honor that he has never done anything with Goneril. Just as Regan orders Edmund to stay out of Goneril's bed, Goneril and her husband, Albany, abruptly enter. The showdown between Cordelia's French troops and the British troops led by Albany, Regan, and Goneril is about to begin. Albany notes that while the French troops are joined by Lear and many others with justifiable grievances against the state, Albany must still keep his country as a priority. As France is invading his land, he has to fight for it, even if he doesn't like his allies and he believes in the cause of his enemies. Goneril suggests that they should get over their little domestic squabbles for some greater good. She then continues her own personal domestic squabble with Regan over Edmund. Quietly fighting over the louse, the two sisters exit with him, neither trusting the other to be alone with Edmund. As the others start to go, the disguised Edgar approaches Albany, who tells his frenemies he'll catch up to them. Edgar gives Albany the letter he took from Oswald, demands Albany read it before the battle, and runs off without ever revealing his true identity. Edmund comes back to give Albany an update about the battle preparations. When Albany leaves, Edmund is left alone to gloat over his successes. "To both these sisters have I sworn my love... Which of them shall I take? / Both? One? Or neither?" he asks himself. He'll have to choose after the battle, he decides--or after Goneril kills her husband so she can be with him. Edmund decides that if they manage to capture Lear and Cordelia, he'll have to make sure that Albany doesn't pardon them and restore them to power. Edmund wants them out of the way so that he can take control of the kingdom.

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

Edgar still hasn't told his father who he really is. But he has decided to fight in the battle on the side of Lear and Cordelia. He stashes Gloucester beside a tree and tells him to hang out until the battle is over. Then he runs offstage. Edgar runs back onstage and informs his father that Lear and Cordelia have lost the battle. Predictably enough, Gloucester starts talking about suicide once more. Edgar tells him to buck up and leads him offstage.

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

Edmund, who has succeeded in capturing Lear and Cordelia, orders his guards to take them away until he figures out what he's going to do with them. All defiance, Cordelia demands to be taken before her wretched sisters. "No, no, no, no, let's away to prison," Lear tells her. In a moving speech, Lear says, "We two alone will sing like birds i'the'cage... we'll live / And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh / At gilded butterflies." Lear tells Cordelia that he is no longer interested in politics and court manipulation. In prison, he tells his daughter, the two of them will watch and laugh as different political factions engage in an endless struggle for dominance. Power doesn't matter to him anymore, he says; what he cares about is being with his beloved daughter. Edmund orders that the prisoners be taken away. He then writes his captain an order on a piece of paper and tells him that he will be promoted if he executes Lear and Cordelia. Albany, Regan, and Goneril enter for a victory conference. They all praise Edmund for his bravery in battle--he's clearly the one responsible for their triumph. Albany asks Edmund to hand over Lear and Cordelia, but Edmund distracts him from the issue, saying that Lear looked so pathetic that he had to send him away because the British troops might have felt sorry for him and rebelled. Edmund says also that now's not the most appropriate time to pass down judgment on Lear and Cordelia, seeing as how so many people are bleeding from battle wounds and counting up their dead friends. Albany tells Edmund that they're not equals in this war--Edgar is his subordinate, but Regan disagrees. This exchange sets off a tiff between the sisters over the evil yet oh-so scrumptious Edmund. Regan, who mentions that she isn't feeling so great, basically claims Edmund as her future husband, and she and Goneril scuffle about it--in veiled terms, since Goneril's husband is standing right there. When Goneril gets upset by the idea that Regan plans to "enjoy" Edmund, Albany tells her that it's not her place to object. She's not in charge, and--ahem--she's married, so she shouldn't be getting competitive over this shmuck. Edmund tells Albany to butt out, and Albany reminds him that he's only some illegitimate son of a lord. Regan tells Edmund to fight Albany on her behalf, but before Edmund can respond, Albany plays his trump card: he arrests both Edmund and Goneril for treason. Ah-ha! He reveals he knows they've been plotting against his life so they can get married. Albany orders that the trumpet sound three times--if nobody comes to challenge Edmund, then Albany will just have to challenge Edmund to a duel himself. Meanwhile, Regan's still belly-aching about how she's not feeling so hot. Goneril snickers and reveals to the audience that she's poisoned her sister. Edgar rushes in dramatically at the third trumpet call, and, still in disguise, challenges Edmund to a duel. In the midst of all this drama, Regan has to be escorted back to her tent. Goneril watches happily as her sister--her evil plan to poison her sister and secure marriage to Edmund seems to be working. In the duel, Edgar stabs Edmund in the guts. Albany tells Edgar not to kill Edmund--if he dies, Albany won't be able to throw him in prison. Goneril is freaking out because Edmund is hurt, and when Albany tries to confront her about her plot to murder him, she runs offstage. Edmund, mortally wounded, admits that he's guilty of the charges. He wants to know the identity of the man who killed him. Edgar finally reveals himself and tells his story. He explains that roughly half an hour ago, when he finally told Gloucester he was his son, Gloucester had a heart attack from a mixture of shock and joy. "This speech of yours hath moved me, / and shall perchance do good" Edmund says. Then a man runs onstage screaming and holding a bloody knife. Someone has died. The knife-wielding man reveals that Goneril confessed to poisoning her sister and then stabbed herself. Edmund admits that he was promised to both sisters. Now that all of them are dead or dying, Edmund says, "All three / Now marry in an instant." In other words, the two sisters are dead and Edmund's not far behind. The soldiers bring out the dead bodies of Regan and Goneril, just so we can really visualize the whole thing. Kent walks in and asks everybody where Lear and Cordelia are. Uh-oh, says Albany. We totally forgot about Lear and Cordelia! Looking at the corpses of Regan and Goneril, Edmund says proudly, "Yet Edmund was beloved." But then Edmund decides to do something good for a change. He suddenly confesses that he ordered his captain to have Lear and Cordelia killed. If Albany sends someone lickety-split to stop the Captain, maybe they can save Cordelia from being hanged. Edgar dashes off to intervene, and everyone else onstage waits tensely to find out if he is too late. "The gods defend her," Albany prays. The answer to Albany's prayer is the sound of Lear howling. The old King staggers onstage with his daughter in his arms. Cordelia is dead. Lear keeps asking for some way to check if Cordelia is still breathing--a mirror to look for the mist of her breath, or a feather that might move when she exhales. But really, Lear knows that it's too late. "A plague upon you murderers, traitors all," he curses. "I might have saved her; now she's gone for ever." Kent tries to comfort Lear, and reveals himself as Lear's guardian in disguise. But Lear brushes him off--he is too preoccupied with the death of his daughter to understand what Kent is trying to say. After sacrificing everything to help the King, Kent doesn't even get the satisfaction of Lear recognizing his devotion. Meanwhile, a Gentleman enters and announces that Edmund is dead. Whatever, says Albany, who tries to address the political situation. He tells Lear that he can be king again, but no one is listening to him. Lear still holds his daughter's corpse in his arms. "Why should a dog, a horse, a rat have life / And thou no breath at all?" he asks. "O thou'lt come no more, / Never, never, never, never, never." What happens next in King Lear is a bit tricky because there are two different versions of the play . In the First Folio edition , Lear dies thinking that Cordelia is dead and Albany gets to speak the final lines of the play. In the First Quarto edition of Lear , Edgar delivers the final lines and Lear dies believing that Cordelia is alive. Here's what goes down in this version: As Lear attends to Cordelia's body, he thinks she's still breathing--"Do you see this? Look on her: look, her lips / Look there, look there!" he says, and dies. With Lear dead, the kingdom needs a ruler. Albany suggests that Kent and Edgar share the throne and help England to heal. Kent refuses, saying ambiguously that he's got to follow his master, hinting that he'll go with Lear on his journey into death. Then Edgar says "The weight of this sad time we must obey / Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say. / The oldest hath borne most. We that are young / Shall never see so much, nor live so long." In other words, Edgar says we're all going to get old and die. In the meantime, we should all be honest and say what's in our hearts instead of running around lying all the time.

summary

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

The scene opens in King Lear's palace. 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 sons equally. This information provides the subplot. King Lear enters to a fanfare of trumpets, followed by his two sons-in-law -- Albany and Cornwall -- and his three daughters -- Goneril, Regan, and Cordelia. Lear announces that he has divided his kingdom into three shares to be given to his daughters as determined by their declarations of love for him. Goneril, as the eldest, speaks first. She tells her father that her love for him is boundless. Regan, as the middle child, speaks next. Her love, she says, is even greater than Goneril's. Finally, it is Cordelia's turn to express the depth of her love for her royal father. But when queried by Lear, Cordelia replies that she loves him as a daughter should love a father, no more and no less. She reminds her father that she also will owe devotion to a husband when she marries, and therefore cannot honestly tender all her love toward her father. Lear sees Cordelia's reply as rejection; in turn, he disowns Cordelia, saying that she will now be "a stranger to my heart and me" . King Lear then divides his kingdom between Goneril and Regan, giving each an equal share. Kent interferes by asking Lear to reconsider his rash action. Lear is not swayed, and in anger, he banishes Kent for defending Cordelia and for confronting the king. At Kent's departure, the King of France and Duke of Burgundy enter, both of whom are suitors for Cordelia's hand in marriage. They are told that Cordelia will not receive a dowry or inheritance from her father. The Duke withdraws his suit, because a wife without a dowry is of no use to him. In contrast, the King of France claims that Cordelia is a prize, even without her share of Lear's kingdom, and announces his intent to marry Cordelia. Cordelia bids her sisters farewell, and leaves with the King of France. When Goneril and Regan are left alone, the two sisters reveal their plan to discredit the king.

summary

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

The play opens with a scene that introduces most of the primary characters and establishes both the main plot and a subplot. This first scene also is important because it provides the audience with an introduction to the character of Kent before he is banished and before he reappears disguised as Caius in Scene 4. In the opening conversation, Gloucester speaks of Edmund's illegitimate birth in what can be described aptly as Elizabethan locker-room talk. Although Gloucester loves his illegitimate son Edmund and his legitimate son Edgar equally, Elizabethan society does not regard the two men as equals. Edmund realizes that his chances of a prosperous future are limited because he was born second to Gloucester from an unholy union. Edmund will not receive an equal inheritance under laws of primogeniture, which name the eldest son heir to his father's possessions. Gloucester relates to Kent that Edmund has been away seeking his fortune, but now he has returned -- perhaps believing that he can find his fortune at home. Initially, Lear appears to be a strong ruler, a monarch who has decided to divide his kingdom. Lear's choice will provide one clear benefit: Albany and Cornwall will be in charge of the outlying areas of his kingdom, which have not been easily governed. Lear plans to place Cordelia, with himself as her guest, in the center section. Lear recognizes that he is growing older and explains his decision to divide his kingdom by saying: 'tis our fast intentTo shake all cares and business from our age,Conferring them on younger strengths, while we Unburden'd crawl toward death. But the one benefit derived from this division creates many problems. By delegating his royal authority to his daughters, Lear creates chaos within his family and his kingdom not unlike the civil distress experienced by Shakespeare's audience. At the time Shakespeare penned King Lear, the English had survived years of civil war and division. Thus, Shakespeare's Elizabethan audience would have been horrified at Lear's decision to divide his kingdom. The audience also would have questioned Shakespeare's inclusion of the French suitor, especially since Lear intends for Cordelia and her new husband to oversee the choice center section of his kingdom. The fear that a foreign king might weaken England would have made Lear's actions seem even more irresponsible to the audience. But Lear is doing more than creating political and social chaos; he is also giving his daughters complete responsibility for his happiness, and he will blame them later when he is not happy. Moreover, the test that Lear devises to measure his daughters' love is a huge mistake. Lear is depicted as a wise ruler -- he has, after all, held the country together successfully for many years. Yet he lacks the common sense or the ability to detect his older daughters' falseness. This flaw in Lear leads the audience to think him either mad or stupid. The love test is derived from Shakespeare's source and so it is included. Shakespeare's primary source is an anonymous play, The True Chronicle History of King Leir, in which the love test is used to trick Cordelia into marriage. Consequently, the test of love is only a device to further the plot, which Shakespeare plucked from his source. It is important to remember that King Lear is not historically based, although sources state that the story was based on events occurring at about 800 B.C. King Lear should more accurately be regarded as a sort of fairy tale. In many ways, Goneril and Regan are similar to Cinderella's evil older sisters. Goneril and Regan's expressions of love are so extreme that they are questionable as rational responses to Lear's test. Cordelia's reply is honest, but Lear cannot recognize honesty amid the flattery, which he craves. Of course, Lear is not being honest either when he asks Cordelia, "what can you say to draw / A third more opulent than your sisters?" . Lear plans to reward Cordelia's expected exaltation with a larger portion of his kingdom than that allotted to her sisters. The shares should be equal, but Lear clearly loves Cordelia more. Cordelia's reply, "Nothing," is a word that will reappear throughout the play -- with disastrous connotations. "Nothing" is a key word that is repeated several times in the play, thus emphasizing the word's importance. Cordelia's uttering of "nothing" is echoed at the end of the play when she is dead, and "nothing" remains of her. But it is also important to remember that Lear really understands "nothing" about his daughters, just as Gloucester knows "nothing" about his sons. When Gloucester sees "nothing," he is finally able to see the truth, and when Lear emerges from the "nothingness" of his mental decline, it is to finally know that Cordelia has always loved him. Cordelia loves Lear according to the bonds of a blood relationship, as paternity demands. Her response is in keeping with Elizabethan social norms, which expect a daughter to love her father because that is the law of nature. According to nature, man is part of a hierarchy, from God to king to father to child. The love between each of these parties is reciprocal, and Cordelia's love for her father is what she owes him. Cordelia tempers her love test reply with reason -- a simple, unembellished statement of the honor due a father from his daughter. Lear irrationally responds by denying Cordelia all affection and paternal care. Kent's interference on Cordelia's behalf leads to another outburst from Lear. Like Cordelia, Kent is honest with the king, providing a voice of reason. Kent sees Lear making a mistake and tells him so. The depth of Lear's anger toward Kent suggests excessive pride -- Lear cannot be wrong. Cordelia's answer injures Lear's pride; he needs her excessive protestations of love to justify giving her the choicer parcel of land. Lear's intense anger toward Kent also suggests the fragility of the king's emotional state. Cordelia's two suitors provide more drama in this initial scene. The Duke of Burgundy cannot love Cordelia without her dowry, but the King of France points out that she is a prize as great as any dowry and correctly recognizes that Burgundy is guilty of selfish self-interest. France's reply to Cordelia reveals that he is, indeed, worthy of Cordelia's love: Fairest Cordelia, that art most rich, being poor,Most choice, forsaken, and most lov'd, despis'd!Thee and thy virtues here I seize upon,Be it lawful I take up what's cast away. The final section of this scene reveals that Cordelia knows that her sisters are liars, and so informs the audience of their dishonesty. Goneril replies that Cordelia deserves to be banished. This heated exchange foreshadows the feud that develops over the course of the next acts. Additional foreshadowing is supplied by Goneril and Regan's promise that if Lear becomes too much of a nuisance, they will have to deal with him accordingly. The first scene ends with Regan acknowledging that Lear isn't just weak because of old age, but that he has never really known himself -- or his daughters. Regan's complaint reveals much about the relationship that Lear has with his daughters. His obvious preference for Cordelia has come at the expense of losing touch with his older daughters. Lear cannot recognize Goneril and Regan's deceit because he does not know them well enough to recognize when they are being dishonest. Lear's privileging of Cordelia prevents him from forming the kind of relationship with his older daughters that might have resulted in genuine love. Scene 1 establishes a plot and subplot that will focus on a set of fathers and their relationships with their children. The audience will be privy to the conflict between father and child, and to fathers easily fooled by their children. Each father demonstrates poor judgment by rejecting a good child and trusting a dishonest child. The actions that follow illustrate just how correct Regan's words will prove to be. It will soon be obvious how little Lear knows and understands his daughters as Goneril and Regan move to restrict both the size of his retinue and his power. Glossary moiety 1 a half; either of two equal, or more or less equal, parts. 2 an indefinite share or part. braz'd 1 made of, or coated with, brass or a brasslike substance. 2 made hard like brass. proper fine; good; handsome. wide-skirted vast; extensive. felicitate made happy. propinquity nearness of relationship; kinship. make from to stay away from; avoid. recreant failing to keep faith; disloyal; traitorous; apostate. unpriz'd precious to be unimportant to one person, but appreciated or valued highly by another. long-engrafted firmly established.

analysis

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

Edmund enters the scene -- set in the Earl of Gloucester's house -- talking out loud to himself. In this soliloquy, Edmund figuratively asks Nature why society sees him as inferior to his brother Edgar simply because he is not his father's legitimate firstborn. Edmund's soliloquy reveals his plan to undermine his brother's position by tricking his father with a forged letter, which he presents to Gloucester in this scene. Edmund also succeeds in convincing Edgar that he's looking out for his brother's safety when he suggests that Edgar carry a weapon as protection from their father's anger -- a wrath, Edmund intimates, that's directed toward Edmund.

summary

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

Edmund's musings offer insight into his unhappiness. Edmund feels that each brother, equally loved, should share equally in his father's bounty. But there is no equality under the current law, and Edmund's ideal is not reality. Edmund asks why he is not as respected as his brother: When my dimensions are as well compact,My mind as generous, and my shape as true,An honest madam's issue? Why brand they usWith base? With baseness? Bastardy? Base, base? Edmund rejects the laws of state and society in favor of the laws he sees as eminently more practical and useful -- the laws of superior cunning and strength. Edmund's willingness to seize what he wants invokes laws of nature, although not the natural laws familiar to Elizabethan audiences in a class-defined society. Instead, Edmund supports survival of the fittest, an animalistic nature not based on human morality and common decency. Edmund says that he will take what he deserves through wit, even if he is not entitled by birth. This resolve is an affront to the nature that Edgar addresses in his opening soliloquy; underestimating the force of nature will also prove critical to Edmund's downfall. Edmund appears to be a villain without a conscience, selfishly driven to secure his own needs. Still, Edmund lacks the ill will of another of Shakespeare's villains, Iago, with whom Edmund is most often compared. In Othello, Iago acts without clear reason, since none of his suggested motives withstand a close examination. In contrast, Edmund has solid economic and emotional reasons for his actions. Edmund may also have overheard his father describe the "good sport at his making" . If so, Edmund's actions reveal a desire for personal revenge. The cavalier attitude with which Gloucester dismisses Edmund's paternity further reinforces the difference between Edmund and Edgar. Where Edgar is entitled to his father's name, his title, and his property, Edmund is entitled to nothing but the coarse jesting that accompanied his conception. Gloucester ignores any possibility that his youngest son may resent this easy dismissal of both Edmund's birth and his future prospects, but Edmund finds in his father's thoughtless words a reason to destroy Gloucester. In plotting his revenge, Edmund reveals that he is a worthy opponent, even though much of his desire for revenge is an emotional response to Gloucester's words. In Shakespeare's Othello, Iago makes sport of his actions while proving himself superior intellectually to those around him. In comparison, Edmund reacts to his situation with seriousness and reason, but his actions never stem from a need to make sport. Language is particularly noteworthy in this scene. Shakespeare weaves in much talk of seeing, although Gloucester does not truly see until he is blinded later in the play. Gloucester says that if Edmund's letter contains nothing significant, then "I shall not need my spectacles" . But, of course, even with spectacles, he cannot see that Edmund is deceiving him. After exclaiming "let's see, let's see" , he shows that he can neither recognize the dishonestly in what he reads nor see that Edmund is lying. In mistaking Edmund's motives, Gloucester is already blind to the evil events unfolding around him. Edmund condemns his father's age in the forged letter by suggesting that old men should step down and give control to those who are younger. Gloucester is referred to as an aged tyrant who desires to maintain control in order to keep his sons from receiving their inheritances. This brief exchange reminds the audience of Goneril and Regan's dismissal of Lear's actions as those of an old man, unable to decipher or understand the actions around him. And just as Lear condemned the guiltless Cordelia, Gloucester now condemns the innocent Edgar, who has no knowledge of the false letter. The irony of the letter's message -- that the old should be displaced -- proves true for Gloucester. Clearly, he is not intuitive or quick enough to understand the plotting or undercurrents present around him. Gloucester buys into Edmund's trickery. Gloucester asserts that the sun and moon play a role in current events. Gloucester absolves himself of any responsibility for his actions by giving power to the stars. Relying on astrological signs makes it easier to accept that Edgar might betray his father: "These late eclipses in the sun and moon portend no good to us" . This reflection echoes Lear's earlier statement about the astrological influences on man's life: "By all the operation of the orbs / From whom we do exist and cease to be" . Both fathers count on the stars to provide an excuse for their children's actions. But Edmund has his own opinion of these astrological signs, of which he says: This is the excellent foppery of the world, that, when we are sick in fortune, often the surfeits of our own behaviour, we make guilty of our disasters the sun, the moon, and stars; as if we were villains on necessity, fools by heavenly compulsion, knaves, thieves, and teachers by spherical predominance, 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 whoremaster man, to lay his goatish disposition to the charge of a star! . Edmund acknowledges that man is ultimately responsible for his actions. This passage also reveals how effectively Edmund is able to work the audience. He succeeds in making his father's beliefs and actions appear foolish. Gloucester's reliance on the stars appears to support Edmund's contention that his father is a witless old man. Edmund also easily fools Edgar, but not because of any misguided reliance upon astrological signs. Edgar's innate honesty and dignity make accepting Edmund's duplicity easy and prevents any questioning of Edmund's lies. Edgar cannot imagine that his brother would lie to him since Edgar would not lie to his brother. Edmund easily convinces Edgar that he should arm himself against their father, a man whom Edgar loves. The double plot is an important literary device in this play. With two plots, perfectly intertwined and yet offering parallel lessons, Shakespeare is able to demonstrate the tragic consequences that result when man's law is given precedence over natural law. Eventually, Gloucester and Lear learn the importance of natural law when they recognize that they have violated these basic tenets, with both finally turning to nature to find answers for why their children have betrayed them. Their counterparts, Edmund, Goneril, Regan, and Cornwall, represent the evil that functions in violation of natural law. The double plot serves an important function, emphasizing natural law as an essential facet of both plots. Shakespeare then uses the two plots to point to how essential an acknowledgment of natural law is in a moral society. In both plots the absence of natural law is destructive, and ultimately even those who are good cannot act to save Cordelia or the other good characters from the ravages of evil and tyranny. Glossary more composition the act of composing, or putting together a whole by combining parts. speed to have good fortune; prosper; succeed. character style of printing or handwriting. pawn anything given as security, as for a debt, performance of an action, and so on; pledge; guaranty. goatish lustful; lecherous.

analysis

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

Set in the palace of Goneril and the Duke of Albany, this scene opens with Goneril asking her steward, Oswald, if Lear struck him for making fun of the king's Fool. Oswald confirms the encounter. Goneril, enraged, instructs Oswald to keep Lear waiting when he needs something, and if the king is unhappy with this treatment, he should be told to move to Regan's palace. Goneril then commands her servants to treat the king's company with coldness since the knights' lewd behavior is creating a disturbance in her household.

summary

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

Goneril promises at the end of Scene 1 that if her father proves to be a nuisance, she will deal with him accordingly. In Scene 3, Goneril does just that by refusing to respond to the needs of the king and his entourage. She is calling the shots now, and Lear is never to regain control again. He may see himself as king, but Goneril views him as a doddering old fool, one she refers to as an "Idle old man" . Goneril treats her father with particular cruelty and callousness, not with the love and adoration she professed in order to gain control of half of his kingdom. In this scene, as later in Scene 4, Goneril reveals her true character. She defies the hierarchy of nature, which calls for daughters to respect and honor their fathers, and lays the groundwork for the torment she sets in motion for the remainder of her father's life. In Goneril's defense, Lear is a poor guest. Goneril protests that his knights are riotous and that Lear complains constantly. By instructing her steward, Oswald, to make himself less accommodating, she is punishing her unruly guests. At this juncture, both father and daughter bear some fault, but Goneril has led her father to believe that her love for him extends beyond any evidence of bad behavior, and so ultimately, she is responsible for Lear's actions, having earlier endorsed them. This scene introduces Oswald, who is clearly more familiar with Goneril than customary in a lady/steward association. Because Goneril gives Oswald the authority to treat the king rudely, it is apparent that the steward's position is not simply that of a servant. The scene opens with Goneril's reference to Oswald's chiding of the king's Fool, conduct not expected from an ordinary servant. The steward obviously runs the household, wielding a significant amount of authority over other servants. Still, Goneril expresses her desire for Oswald to act on her authority; she will answer for any problems caused by his actions. Also noteworthy is the fact that Lear has been hunting, as the sounds of the hunting horns in the distance indicate. The king may be an old man, as Goneril states, but he is not infirm; nor is he idle, as she accuses him of being. Lear is obviously in good physical shape, even if not as mentally alert as he might have been in his younger years. Glossary idle frivolous; silly. straight immediately.

analysis

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

The setting is a hall in Goneril's palace. Kent, earlier banished by Lear, reappears in disguise as Caius. Lear enters and begins asking Kent questions about his identity and his intent. Kent's responses are vague, but he asserts his loyalty and willingness to serve the king. Kent's obvious admiration impresses Lear. When the king asks to see Goneril, Oswald leaves without responding to the request. A knight reports that Goneril is unwell and unavailable. The knight also tells Lear that all the members of Goneril's household are treating the king's entourage rudely. Goneril enters, complaining about the king's Fool and his unruly knights. Goneril demands that Lear reduce the number of knights in his service. In anger, the king declares that he will pack up his people and move to Regan's palace, where he is sure to receive a warmer reception.

summary

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

In this scene, the audience sees how erratically Lear deals with problems. When Oswald ignores the king, Lear is shocked: "he would not!" . Lear is king, and he expects to be obeyed. Nevertheless, when he learns of the poor service afforded his knights and recalls how he, too, has been neglected by Goneril's staff, Lear says, "I will look further into't" . But in the next line, Lear asks, "But where's my Fool?" . Lear looks to the Fool to distract him with entertainment, to help him forget his problems. Although the lack of attention and service is insulting and demeaning, the king is not prepared to confront Goneril and her steward. At other times, Lear responds to problems with outbursts of cursing, even a physical attack when provoked. The audience saw an angry Lear disown his youngest daughter in Scene 1. In this scene, Lear is almost out of control when he answers Oswald's insulting address: "My Lady's father! My lord's knave, you whoreson dog you slave, you cur!" . Lear is helpless, at the mercy of his daughter and her servants. The once-omnipotent king has no effective means of dealing with these events, except with anger. Kings are used to making rules, not following them. And thus, Lear responds to Oswald's insults with swearing and by striking him. Another response to his dilemma is expressed in self-pity. As he finally recognizes the precariousness of his new position, Lear strikes his own head and curses his misfortune . Lear succumbs to despair. As the play progresses, the king will lapse into other fits of self-pity and fury, and he will discover different means of dealing with the realities of the mistakes he has made. As the depth of his tragedy grows deeper, Lear will react with denial, with helplessness, with regret and apathy, and with a growing compassion for those around him. Kent reappears, disguised in this scene. He is truly selfless, devoted to the king who earlier banished him. When queried by Lear as to his identity, Kent replies that he is "a man" . Thus, he is no one special, and yet, he stands apart from other men. Kent's response distinguishes him from animals, because he is not defined by desires, needs, and a willingness to simply seize whatever he wants -- as animals do to survive. This characteristic sets him apart from other characters, such as Goneril, Regan, Cornwall, and Edmund, all of whom are willing to behave as beasts, taking what they want. Instead, Kent is a man defined by honesty and love for his king. The Fool enters the play for the first time in this scene. He functions much as a Chorus would in a Greek tragedy: His role is to comment on events and the king's actions, serving in some respects as the king's conscience. The Fool requires a careful study, because he often sounds cruel as he addresses the king with sarcasm and irony. Sometimes, the Fool seems to be rubbing salt in Lear's wounds, rather than acting as the king's advocate. However, as the play progresses, the audience begins to sense how much the Fool loves the king; he will try to protect and care for Lear just as Cordelia attempts to do when she returns. The Fool's initial address to Kent makes clear that he sees Kent as the king's ally; thus he asks if Kent is in need of a fool's coxcomb . These lines, which focus on the coxcomb, indicate that the Fool needs a fool, and clearly Kent is one, since he seeks to follow Lear, who has neither a kingdom nor even a home. The Fool is loyal and honest, a good match for Kent, but he is also able to point out the king's faults, as no one else can. The king may threaten to have the Fool whipped , but the audience never regards this as a viable threat. The Fool's use of irony, sarcasm, and humor helps to ease the truth and allows him to moderate Lear's behavior as no other character can. In Scene 1, Kent's attempts to restrain Lear's actions earn banishment, but the Fool can bridle the king's unpredictable disposition more successfully. Goneril's confrontation with her father initially invites the audience's sympathy. The king's retinue have been rude, demanding, and unappreciative guests. Goneril accuses Lear of not only failing to control his men but also encouraging their disruptive behavior. No doubt Goneril has suffered from this misconduct, which the king refuses to address. Instead of responding to these concerns, Lear replies by asking, "Are you our daughter?" . The king is, after all, the king, accustomed to having his own way and behaving any way that pleases him. He does not yet acknowledge his role of guest or his diminished control under a new order. Lear doesn't grasp that a king without a kingdom has little to distinguish him from any other man. But when Goneril abruptly dismisses half his men, Lear is forced to admit that he is no longer in control. However, any sympathy the audience might muster for Goneril dissipates when she sends Oswald to deliver a letter warning Regan of their father's pending visit. She instructs Oswald to add his own embellishments and warnings about Lear's conduct. As the conflict between father and daughter escalates, Lear turns inward and questions who he is . Can Lear be king when he has given away his kingdom? What Lear has relied upon as truth is no longer trustworthy; his reality has changed. His daughter is not obedient, nor does she treat him with the respect due a father and a king. Even her servants deny him the high regard generally granted to a sovereign. In conversation with the Fool, Lear echoes Cordelia's words from Scene 1 -- "Nothing, my lord" -- with his own -- "nothing can be made of nothing" . Kent began this exchange with his own "nothing" in response to the Fool's bit of verse. Again, "nothing" is a word with significant meaning, since already nothing has resulted in the growing tragedy. From nothing emerges the beginnings of a family tragedy, as Lear is displaced. Lear finally realizes he has treated Cordelia poorly and admits his mistake. Although he was present in Scene 1, Albany has no real role in the disbursement of the king's property. Nonetheless, the conversation in Scene 1 between Kent and Gloucester reveals that the king prefers Albany to his other son-in-law, Cornwall. In this scene, Albany attempts to calm the king, but Lear is beyond patience and refuses to listen to Albany, although he has admired him in the past. Albany obviously is concerned for the king's welfare, but he lacks the strength to stand up to his wife, Goneril, and thus, he cannot control her. Albany is Goneril's opposite, gentle and kind as compared with his wife's cruel and self-serving demeanor. Glossary defuse 1 complicate. 2 to render harmless. curious highly detailed, as in workmanship; elaborate. roundest outspoken; plain and blunt; straightforward. bandy to give and take; specifically, to exchange in an angry or argumentative manner. coxcomb a cap topped with a notched strip of red cloth like a cock's comb, formerly worn by jesters. besort to be suitable to. cadent falling.

analysis

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

The setting for this brief scene is outside Goneril's palace. Lear instructs Kent to go at once to Regan's palace and deliver a letter. As Kent leaves, the Fool attempts to distract the king with silly remarks, but their content points ironically to Lear's actions. The torment of the king is obvious as he laments his treatment of Cordelia. Lear expresses his first concerns, a premonition, for his sanity. Soon the horses are ready, and the king begins his journey to his second daughter's palace.

summary

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

In Scene 5, the king is clearly frightened and apprehensive for his future, although he continues to hope that Regan can be counted upon to provide him with sanctuary. Lear also expresses fear for his sanity: "O let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven! I would not be mad. Keep me in temper, I would not be mad" . This appeal foreshadows events that will occur later in the play. This brief plea also contains a prayer to a divinity. Although the setting of King Lear predates Christianity, Lear still relies upon a god to guide and protect him. The Fool does not give Lear any respite in this scene, as he continues to remind the king of the mistakes he has made and the precarious position in which he has placed himself. The Fool appears cruel once again, but Lear finally begins to understand that his foolishness has led to this current state of affairs. The king's thoughts once again turn to remorse for his behavior toward Cordelia: "I did her wrong" . Because this comment is offered without context, it reveals that Lear has noted a flash of insight into his own conduct, actions that he has come to regret. This brief mention of Cordelia also reminds the audience that she continues to have an important role in the play, although she will not reappear for some time. Glossary kibes a chapped or ulcerated chilblain especially on the heel.

analysis

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

The setting is the Earl of Gloucester's castle. As the scene opens, Curan, a courier, tells Edmund that Regan and Cornwall will be arriving that evening. Curan also mentions rumors of a feud between Cornwall and Albany. Edmund expresses excitement over Cornwall's visit because he imagines that he can involve the duke in his plans to discredit Edgar. As a means to that end, Edmund implies brotherly concern as he coaxes Edgar to slip away under the cover of night. Edmund suggests that Cornwall suspects Edgar of aiding his enemy, Albany. Edgar, innocent and unaware of any of this plotting, agrees to flee to protect himself. In another ploy to blemish Edgar's reputation, Edmund engages his brother in a fake battle, intentionally wounding himself to draw Gloucester's sympathy. In response to Edmund's explanation of his brother's attack, Gloucester promises to find Edgar and bring him to justice. Gloucester also pledges to make Edmund his heir. Regan and Cornwall enter. Without hesitation, they fall for Edmund's story and join in condemning Edgar. Cornwall proclaims that Edmund shall join forces with him. Regan and Cornwall flatter Gloucester by asking his advice on an appropriate response to letters received from Lear and Goneril.

summary

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

Curan's report of strife between Albany and Cornwall helps illustrate that Lear's division of his kingdom is a mistake. Shakespeare's Elizabethan audience would have expected such a conflict since the English know, all too well, that insurrection and conflict between petty lords requires a strong centralized government to maintain control. Making Cornwall and Albany equal, in effect co-leaders, inevitably leads to discord. Curan's disclosure is, at this moment, unimportant, except that Edmund sees the information as useful to his plotting. Edmund, an opportunist, takes advantage of Curan's report and accelerates his plans by calling Edgar out of hiding and creating a mock battle. By self-inflicting a minor wound, Edmund makes Edgar look like a villain. Gloucester is fooled easily by the staged sounds and blood of battle. With the physical evidence before his eyes, Gloucester believes Edmund's story. Edmund also convinces his father of Edgar's attack by carefully selecting his words: Spoke with how manifold and strong a bondThe child was bound to th' father; Sir in fine,Seeing how loathly opposite I stoodTo his unnatural purpose, in fell motion,With his prepared sword he charges homeMy unprovided body, launch'd arm. Here, Edmund speaks as a hero, the so-called "good guy," who stands up to evil at the risk of his own life. In Shakespeare's time, the testimony of a legitimate son would weigh more significantly than that of an illegitimate son; but in this instance, Edgar is not available to present his position. Gloucester easily accepts the illegitimate son's words, while rejecting a lifetime of evidence of Edgar's worthiness, illustrating how out of step the world has become with nature. According to natural order, years of devotion and love should lead to trust, but with the events of Act I, fathers no longer trust their children's love. Instead, fathers are easily fooled into rejecting the children who love them most. Lear has rejected the daughter who genuinely loves him, and now, Gloucester has rejected the son who genuinely loves him. These events further support the idea that Lear's earlier actions have rejected the natural order of the world. Regan and Cornwall's visit gives Edmund another opportunity to advance his plot. In this scene, Regan and Cornwall appear to be conscientious and reasonable people. Regan seems genuinely upset to learn of Edgar's betrayal. That Regan has come seeking Gloucester's advice also adds to her credibility because it creates the impression that she values the older man's guidance. Cornwall's acceptance of Edmund's story and his welcoming of Edmund into his clique foreshadow the evil that will emerge from Cornwall and provide a hint to the audience that Cornwall is not the nice guy he appears to be. As for Edmund, Cornwall's invitation offers him the chance to ally himself with Cornwall. Since Albany attempted to intercede on the king's behalf in Act I, the audience expects Cornwall to emerge as a villain, and his alliance with Edmund emphasizes that both men are evil figures. Gloucester, playing the part of a gullible old man, has no real reason to distrust either Edmund or Cornwall -- neither has proven untrustworthy in the past. Glossary briefness sudden action; a short duration or length. bend 1 to turn or direct. 2 to cause to have a fixed purpose; determine; aim. faith'd approved; endorsed. ill affected unfaithful.

analysis

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

The setting is just outside Gloucester's castle. Kent and Oswald arrive separately to deliver letters to Regan. Oswald does not immediately recognize Kent. The steward is confused when Kent denounces him and condemns his lack of integrity. When Oswald denies knowing him, Kent draws his sword and begins to beat the steward. Oswald's cries for help draw the attention of the castle's occupants, who come to his rescue. In answer to Cornwall's query about the encounter, Kent attacks Oswald's personality, his lack of honesty, and even his appearance. Cornwall defends Oswald and orders that Kent be placed in stocks. Gloucester intervenes, reminding Regan and Cornwall that the king will consider their action against his messenger as an indignity, but Regan suggests that insulting Goneril's steward is a more grievous offense. All exit but Gloucester, who apologizes to Kent for his mistreatment. When he is left alone, Kent reads a letter from Cordelia, which promises that she will somehow intervene on her father's behalf.

summary

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

Initially, Oswald appears to be the wronged party, while Kent is a rude thug, just looking to start a fight. This misconception illustrates the purpose of Kent's presence in Act I, where the audience is permitted to view the real Kent, honest and loyal. In both the play's opening scene and later, in his defense of Cordelia, Kent defines himself with integrity; thus, the audience recognizes that Kent's abusive behavior has a meaning beyond the obvious. In reality, Kent is a loyal lord to his king, but in this instance, it is important that he remain in disguise. However, Kent knows that Oswald is carrying letters that will be used against the king, and whether in disguise or not, Kent will not lie. Thus, Kent's attack on Oswald is a reaction to the steward's dishonesty and to his purpose in fulfilling Goneril's orders. Oswald's character is evil, and Kent's reaction, while seemingly unwarranted, is in keeping with his own highly developed sense of morality. Oswald, on the other hand, is Goneril's toady, and he is willingly rude to the king. Accordingly, the audience knows that, while appearing pleasant enough, the steward is a henchman without honor. Oswald adds to this negative perception when he fails to defend himself against Kent's attack. When his cries for help attract Cornwall, Oswald then lies that he has spared his attacker's life because Kent is an old man. All of these events portray Oswald as weak and dishonest. Oswald is, as Kent suggests, a parasite who thrives off Goneril's evil machinations and who makes her deceit easier to maintain. The confrontation between Kent and Cornwall gives the audience a clearer idea of Cornwall's true character. Cornwall's mistrust of Kent's honest speech assumes that, by saying what he means, Kent must be lying. This response to Kent's plain and truthful declarations indicates that Cornwall, who uses artifice as a substitute for honesty in his own speech, cannot recognize truth when he hears it. Cornwall assumes that, because he is willing to lie and often does so, that all other men must do the same. Placing Kent in the stocks is a serious affront to the king, akin to administering the same punishment to the king himself. This blatant act of treason perfectly illustrates how Lear's control over his subjects is crumbling. Traditionally, the king's emissary is the king in loco, and is accorded every respect and honor given the king, were he present. So, Kent must be treated as the king, since when the king is not present, his emissary represents him and deserves the same treatment that Lear would receive. Placing Kent in the stocks is the same as placing Lear in the stocks. This action is a serious insult to the king. In this instance, Kent's public humiliation also demeans and insults the king. The imprisonment is an offense against nature, because the king should be accorded the respect of his subjects, just as the father is to be accorded the respect of his children, and just as the aged should be afforded the respect of the younger members of society. Cornwall's actions reflect the upheaval occurring in nature, where the old are no longer revered and the king is no longer honored. Lear is, indeed, in grave danger from Cornwall. The scene ends with Kent reading a letter from Cordelia, but how Cordelia has learned of Lear's difficulty in this short span of time is not evident. The audience is expected to simply accept the incongruity of the letter's existence. Glossary finical finicky. cullionly low, contemptible. carbonado to cut gashes in; slash; hack. flesh to begin; activate. jakes an outdoor toilet; privy. silly-ducking submissive.

analysis

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

The scene opens on Edgar, alone in the woods. In his soliloquy, Edgar relates that he is aware of his outlaw status. Thus far, he has escaped capture by hiding in the "happy hollow of a tree" , but he knows that to remain free, he must mask himself. Edgar lays forth a plan in which he will disguise himself as a Bedlam beggar, smearing dirt on his face and body, tying his hair in knots, and covering his body with a blanket. In this costume, he will be known as Poor Tom.

summary

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

With Gloucester and Cornwall's men pursuing him, Edgar hides in the hollow of a tree. Believing that no one will look closely at a deranged beggar, Edgar covers himself with dirt, signs of injury, and a blanket as his humble attire. During Shakespeare's time, lunatics were assumed to be possessed by evil spirits and unable to feel pain, hence the self-mutilation as part of Edgar's disguise. The choice to assume a mantle of madness provides Edgar with the perfect disguise, but the decision also parallels the loss of sanity that soon envelops Lear. The difference will be one of choice and invention: Lear will not be pretending. As Edgar clothes himself in madness, he becomes Poor Tom and ceases to be Edgar. The change is essential if Edgar is to move safely out of hiding while investigating the wrongful accusations against him. As Poor Tom, Edgar has a chance at survival. As Edgar, he is doomed. Edgar ends his soliloquy with "That's something yet: Edgar I nothing am" . To survive under his new circumstances, Edgar must cease to exist. He quite literally becomes "nothing" in becoming Poor Tom. His previous life ceases to exist, to be nothing, and, as Tom, he is also nothing, since those who are mad exist in a world in which nothing is as it seems. Glossary pricks any of various pointed objects, as a thorn, goad, and so on. bans curses.

analysis

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

Lear and his followers arrive at Gloucester's castle. Kent hails the king, who promptly asks who has placed his messenger in stocks. Lear refuses to believe that Regan and Cornwall would imprison and humiliate someone in the king's employ. Regan and Cornwall decline speaking to the king, claiming fatigue from their journey. While Gloucester searches out the couple and secures Kent's release, the king's Fool presents a steady commentary on surrounding events -- in prose and verse. Ushered to the scene by Gloucester, Regan greets her father with seeming affection, and Lear details the sorrow that Goneril has caused him. Regan urges Lear to restrain himself and behave as befits a man of his age. Regan also advises Lear to seek Goneril's forgiveness, which provokes the king to anger and cursing. With Oswald and Goneril now present, Cornwall admits to Lear that he ordered Kent's punishment. Lear's disgust and disillusionment are further compounded when Regan refuses to host her father and his full complement of knights. Goneril, conspiring with her sister, proposes that Lear dismiss his entire entourage. The king, angered by his daughters' rejection, calls for his horse. Lear states that he would rather live outside under the stars or beg shelter in France than stay in the company of those who disrespect his proper place as father and king. Regan and Goneril instruct Gloucester not to stop their father from venturing into the night. Regan and Goneril remain unmoved and unconcerned that the old king is going forth into a severe storm.

summary

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

As in Act I, Scene 4, the audience is permitted to observe Lear's intense, unstable reactions to adversity. He is initially bewildered by Regan and Cornwall's absence, since Lear sent advance notice of his arrival. This departure from accepted rules of hospitality truly upsets the king. Next, Lear is amazed to discover that Cornwall is responsible for placing Kent in the stocks. At several points, Lear is so angry he can hardly speak and he can barely compose a rational sentence. The suggestion that he return to Goneril's palace infuriates Lear. He is most impassioned when he urges divine retribution against Goneril . Although Lear had earlier made some small effort to regain control , he cannot maintain composure in Goneril's presence. In many respects, Lear is in denial, as when he seeks an excuse for Cornwall's behavior: "may be he is not well" . And when Goneril appears, Lear first pleads with her for sympathy, and then indulges in self-pity: "Art not asham'd to look upon this beard?" . Even more pleading and self-pity is evident in his later address to both daughters: "You see here, you Gods, a poor old man, / As full of grief as age; wretched in both!" . Anger has not moved either Regan or Goneril, and groveling will be similarly ineffective, but Lear desperately tries to regain some order in a life in which he has abdicated control. In many ways, Lear appears almost resigned, as he acknowledges that Goneril is "my flesh, my blood, my daughter" . But he also concedes that she is of "my corrupted blood" , and thus, he accepts responsibility for her actions. His choices as her father have determined her choices as his daughter. All of these emotional responses cannot change the reality of his new life, nor do they provide an effective way to deal with solving the problems created by his hasty actions in Act I. Lear tries to retain the rights and demeanor of a king, although he remains king in name only. When he orders that Regan and Cornwall appear, he expects them to do so. But Gloucester's response -- "I have inform'd them so" -- indicates a new order. Regan agrees to speak to the king, but clearly on her terms. Lear wants to remain in charge of his destiny, even though the choices he makes are poor or filled with danger. Lear ventures out into the storm of his own accord, although Cornwall makes certain that any prospect of return for sanctuary is met with locked doors. The king would rather face a dark and turbulent night, even if it means sleeping in the open, than keep the company of daughters who require that he give up his followers. Regan initially appears to be a more sympathetic and gentle daughter. She greets Lear with politeness, but her deportment is deceptive. Regan has no real reverence for her royal father. Goneril has already revealed herself to be openly harsh and unyielding, but Regan is more competent at deception, easily assuming the mantle of respect and politeness that a gracious daughter is expected to display. And yet, the results are still the same. Her kindness is only a momentary deception. Like Goneril, Regan proves herself to be unyielding and cruel. Neither shows any love, tenderness, understanding, or gratitude toward their father who gave them his entire kingdom. In this section, Shakespeare focuses on what loyalty means to several of these characters. Gloucester is depicted as an impotent old man, given to making peace and offering soothing remarks. He is loyal to Lear, but ineffectual in his loyalty. Kent is also loyal to the king and rejects the Fool's advice to find a protector who is on the ascent and not the descent. It is possible to regard the Fool's advice as a test of Kent's loyalty. If this is a test, Kent easily passes. Kent is loyal to the king, as is the Fool, who declines to take his own advice -- because he is a fool, he says. In fact, the suggestion that Kent should find a protector who is on the ascent is what Edmund has already done. Edmund sees Cornwall as the stronger of the sisters' husbands, and so he links his prospects to those of Cornwall. But, unlike Gloucester, Kent, and the Fool, Edmund's ultimate loyalty is to himself. The coming storm signals the disarray in Lear's life. He is a sad character, unable to slow the momentum of the events he has set in motion. Lear sets out into the storm in an effort to regain some purpose in his life before it slips away. Lear's bewilderment at his circumstance, the loss of his daughter's respect, and the loss of his kingship all serve to make Lear a sympathetic character. His attempts to retain dignity, rather than dismiss his knights -- which represent the kingliness and power of his previous life -- add to this sense of sympathy. He leaves into the storm, and rather than wait for his daughters to reject him one more time, he rejects them. In leaving, Lear attempts to seize some small control over his life. The storm is the perfect venue for Lear. Nature, which has established the natural order for king and father, has also made man a creature dependent on love for survival. The king's daughters, who are unnatural in their lack of allegiance to their father and who have rejected the bonds of blood or social order, have deprived Lear of the love and respect that he feels he deserves and that he expects. In his moment of despair, Lear turns to nature for escape. Glossary nether-stocks tights or stockings. meiny attendants, collectively; retinue or household. fetches tricks; dodges. remotion 1 the act of removing. 2 inaccessibility. offices the function or characteristic action of a particular thing.

analysis

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

The setting is the heath in a raging storm. Conversing with a gentleman -- a character conveniently placed to enlighten Kent and the audience -- Kent learns that Lear and his Fool are out in the storm. Kent relates that Albany and Cornwall are pretending amicability. Kent also divulges that the king of France has been apprised of this information and is moving with an invasion force to offer assistance to Lear. Kent instructs the gentleman to go quickly to Dover, and when there, to make known the treatment that Lear has suffered. Kent gives the messenger a ring for delivery to Cordelia. This signet jewelry will disclose Kent's identity. Kent leaves to search for Lear.

summary

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

The previous scene opened with the lines "Who's there, besides foul weather?" , and now in this scene, we are presented with an image of Lear on the heath, his despair and rage clearly equaling the fury of the storm. The king's appearance, reflecting the turmoil of a familial tragedy, is as ravaged as the natural landscape under the assault of the storm. It is clear from the description that the storm is fierce, but so too is Lear's grief. However, Lear is not alone, and so, we also learn that the Fool shares his master's fate, to be cast out into the storm. In the Fool's earlier appearances, he functioned much as a Greek Chorus would, commenting upon the action and pointing out to Lear when he has erred. But in this scene, there is a new reason for the Fool's existence. As he attempts to ease his king's plight, it becomes clear that the Fool's new purpose is to protect Lear until Cordelia can arrive to help her father. This scene answers the lingering question from Act II Scene 2: How does Cordelia learn so quickly of her father's tragedy? Kent tells the gentleman that spies have been sent from France to observe the treatment of the king. Kent's story is somewhat vague and suggests an improbable timeframe because word of the past few days' events could not have traveled to France so rapidly. However, Shakespeare often manipulates time in his tragedies to move the play along purposely. In this case, the expectation of an invasion and the prospect of Cordelia's arrival provide hope that Lear's situation will soon improve. Kent also mentions a possible crack in the alliance between Albany and Cornwall, although they have sought to keep the information private. The audience has heard hints that Albany might not be as ruthless as Cornwall, but at this time, we have no reason to believe that Albany would spare Lear. If the two dukes are trying to conceal a possible rift, they may be working closely together -- making Albany equally untrustworthy. Glossary snuffs disputes; squabbles. bemadding maddening. plain to complain. out wall outside; exterior.

analysis

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

The storm continues on the heath. Lear's mood matches the intensity of nature's turbulence as he rages against his daughters' abusive treatment. The Fool attempts to reason with his king, noting that the shelter of a dry house, even one gained by losing face, is superior to a stay in the storm's fury. But Lear will have no part of submission, especially before his daughters. Kent arrives and points to a nearby hovel, which promises some protection, while he returns to Gloucester's castle to ask that they admit the king. The Fool, alone, remains on stage to proclaim a prophecy.

summary

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

Once again, the audience observes how Lear copes with the swell of problems besieging him. The scene opens on Lear in the midst of wind, rain, and personal despair. As he calls upon the storm to unleash its fury on the world, he also cries out for the destruction of ungrateful man: "Crack nature's moulds, all germens spill at once / That make ingrateful man!" . By destroying the molds that nature uses to create men, the genetic code of life will be lost. In this instance, Lear is without hope; his despondency is so great that it approaches nihilism, a belief in nothing. Lear continues to wallow in self-pity as he labels himself "A poor, infirm, weak, and despis'd old man" . Lear willingly submits to the strength of the storm rather than seek shelter or fight for his sanity. He has fallen so far from the strong monarch who began the play that he has strength only to wish for utter destruction. And yet, Lear remains a sympathetic character, one who fears for his own mental balance -- "My wits begin to turn" -- and one also who can express concern for his companion's comfort -- "How dost my boy? Art cold?" . In spite of his pitiful state, Lear is revealed as a complex man, one whose punishment far exceeds his foolish errors, and thus, Lear is deserving of the audience's sympathy. The Fool's final speech presents a contrast between the reality of the world he and Lear are experiencing and a utopian world, where justice and goodness replace evil. Glossary cataracts floodgate . vaunt-couriers a forerunner; precursor. fire extreme suffering or distress that tries one's endurance; tribulation or ordeal. punder confusion; excitement.

analysis

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

The setting is Gloucester's castle, where Gloucester and Edmund are conversing. Gloucester tells his son that when he asked Regan and Cornwall to leave, so that he might offer aid to Lear, they seized his house. Now Gloucester is little more than a prisoner in his own home, forbidden to even speak to the king. Gloucester also tells Edmund that he has heard of a plan to revenge the king's injuries, unaware that he is divulging the plans to a traitor. Gloucester exits. Alone, Edmund plans to gain Cornwall's favor by revealing the plan to aid the king.

summary

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

At the beginning of the play, Gloucester appears weak and foolish, easily fooled by Edmund. In Act I, his boasts about easy conquests misleads the audience into dismissing Gloucester as a silly old man; but in this scene, the earl seems worthy of the king's allegiance. Gloucester proves that he is willing to sacrifice his own life for the king by disobeying Regan and Cornwall. This genuinely heroic behavior sets Gloucester apart from Edmund. An opportunist, Edmund takes advantage of his father's trust, seizing the chance to win Cornwall's favor. Betraying his father will provide Edmund with the position and wealth he craves. Acting without hesitation, Edmund sets out on a course that belies his breeding; a triumph of conscience is not a likely prospect in his unfolding treachery. Glossary footed secured.

analysis

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

Although Kent directs Lear to a hovel for shelter, the king refuses to protect himself from the storm. The Fool runs from the hovel, exclaiming that a spirit has taken possession of the shelter. The spirit, who soon emerges, is Edgar disguised as Poor Tom, pitiful pauper. The king tears off his own clothing, making himself look more like the unclad Poor Tom. Gloucester enters the scene, carrying a torch. He has found both warm shelter and food for the king, but Lear declines, claiming that he needs to talk more with the Bedlam beggar. The disguised Edgar complains of the cold and everyone moves into the shelter.

summary

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

Much of this scene focuses on Lear's mental disintegration. Once again, Lear deals with his personal tragedy in a variety of ways. For the first time, Lear focuses his attention on others' lives, those who are as wretched as the king himself: Poor naked wretches, wherso'er you are,That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm,How shall your houseless heads and unfed sides,Your loo'd and window'd raggedness, defend youFrom seasons such as these? . These words are regretful, remorseful, empathetic, and compassionate for the poor, a population that Lear has not noticed before. Lear recognizes the parallels between their lives and his current situation. In a real sense, his pity for the poor is also a reflection of the pity he feels for his own situation. He finally feels compassion for the poor, only because he has become one of them. With this extension of pity comes a new social awareness. Lear realizes that he has done nothing to aid the poor people in his kingdom. Instead, he has contributed their demise. He chastises himself saying: O! I have ta'en Too little care of this. Take physic, Pomp;Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel,That thou mayst shake the superflux to them,And show the heavens more just. . Lear acknowledges that justice comes from man and heaven. Lear is the anointed king, God's representative, and thus, shares the responsibility for dispensing justice on earth. He recognizes that he bears responsibility for both his own problems and for those of others, who suffer equally. Once again, Lear is revealed as a complex and sympathetic figure, one who defies easy definition. With his new knowledge, Lear would be a more effective king. But because he has given up his royal position, he can take responsibility only for his present situation. His inability to right the wrongs he has inflicted upon his people contributes to his fall into madness. The turmoil in Lear's mind makes him oblivious to the weather storm that surrounds him, and his waning lucidity also provides an escape from the reality of his plight. When Poor Tom emerges from the hovel, Lear sees a mirror image of himself. Lear identifies with Poor Tom because both men have lost everything. Lear imagines that Tom is also the victim of deceitful and cruel daughters. Lear's identity with Tom is absolute when he removes his clothing to join Tom in near-nakedness. This inability to distinguish himself from Tom is a symptom of Lear's madness. This scene reminds the audience that very little separates man from beast. The fragility of man is inescapable, because only a fine line divides civilized and uncivilized states. Although parallels can be drawn between Gloucester's situation and Lear's circumstances , one notable difference remains: Gloucester retains his sanity. Gloucester is aware of how easily he might lose his mind, and he fears it may happen yet , but he has an inner strength that Lear does not have, which permits him to survive. Paradoxically, Gloucester fails to recognize his own son, Edgar, disguised as Poor Tom. This scene builds upon Scene 3 by showing Gloucester's determination to help the old king, but it also reveals a father in as much pain as the king. Gloucester is not aware that his own situation will turn disastrous soon. Glossary taking contagious; infectious. out-paramour'd having more lovers or mistresses. plackets pockets, especially in a woman's skirt or a petticoat. lendings things that one has let another have use of temporarily and on condition that they, or equivalents, be returned. first cock midnight. green mantle a surface covered with scum or froth.

analysis

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

The setting is Gloucester's castle. Edmund betrays his father and wins Cornwall's approval by releasing the details of France's plan to aid the king. As reward, Edmund gains Gloucester's title and lands.

summary

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

In this scene, both Edmund and Cornwall pretend to be virtuous, as each attempts to justify his disloyalty. Clearly, Gloucester and Lear are both victims of two self-serving men -- Edmund and Cornwall. Edmund, feigning regret for having betrayed his father, laments that his nature, which is to honor his father, must now be subordinate to the loyalty he feels for his country. Thus, Edmund makes excuses for betraying his own father. Cornwall's presence serves to reinforce Edmund's choice, when he suggests that perhaps Edgar is justified to seek his father's murder. Cornwall sees Gloucester's actions as treasonous, and describes him as having a "reproveable badness" . This pronouncement from Cornwall endorses Edmund's treachery toward his father, and also provides Edmund with a sort of self-righteous justice. Glossary apprehension capture or arrest. blood parental heritage; family line; lineage.

analysis

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

Gloucester sets out to find food, leaving the king and his party in a farmhouse next to the castle. The Fool and Edgar take part in Lear's mock trial of Regan and Goneril. Gloucester enters and reveals that he has learned of a plot to kill the king. The group prepares to take Lear to Dover, where friends can come to his aid.

summary

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

Edmund's gibberish about foul fiends certainly fits both Edgar and Lear's circumstances, since both have been victims of deceit and wickedness. Once they all come in out of the storm, Lear abandons his plans for seeking physical revenge, and instead, decides to place Goneril and Regan on trial. The audience might consider a mock trial as further evidence of Lear's madness; but a trial is typically a search for the truth -- and, often, a search for the motive or reason for an action. Lear, like so many victims, needs to know why this tragedy has happened. Did he deserve such abuse from his daughters? Did his actions contribute in some way to their evil attitudes? To Lear, gaining a grasp of the truth may lead the way to restoring his sanity. Lear appoints the disguised Edgar and the Fool as judges, and begins the trial of Goneril, whom Lear accuses of kicking him. But the blow Goneril gave to her father was not physical; her injury was to his heart and soul. Lear urges the judges to "anatomize Regan, to see what breeds about her heart" . Lear's words are pointed and painful. Edgar cannot continue to participate, and even the Fool falls silent. Finally, Lear is so exhausted by the strain of the mock trial that he decides to pause for a much-needed rest. This is the last appearance of the Fool. In his final line, he predicts his death: "I'll go to bed at noon" . The play never reveals whether the Fool actually dies, since the lines in Act V Scene 3 -- "And my poor fool is hang'd" -- refer to Cordelia's death. The Fool has fulfilled his role, stepping in to take Cordelia's place after her banishment and disappearing as she reappears. Both Cordelia and the Fool are caretakers for Lear, and when one is present, the other need not be. Lear and his allies heed Gloucester's warning that the king must flee to Dover. With the king and his forces gone, Gloucester is left alone to face Cornwall's wrath. After Gloucester also exits, Edgar is left alone on stage. His soliloquy ties together the two parallel plots and points to the similarities between his situation and that of the king's: "He childed as I father'd!" . The king has cruel children, while Edgar has a cruel father, but Edgar realizes his situation is insignificant compared with that of the king, who has lost both his rule and his mind. Glossary yokefellow a companion, partner, or associate. minikin very small and delicate; diminutive. joint-stool a stool made with jointed parts. trundle-tail a dog with a curled tail. portable bearable; endurable.

analysis

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

The setting moves back to Gloucester's castle. Cornwall is dispatching Goneril with a letter to Albany, telling him of the invasion by the King of France. Cornwall orders that Gloucester be found and brought to him. Edmund is told to accompany Goneril so that he is not present for Gloucester's punishment. Before Edmund and Goneril can leave, Oswald enters with news that Gloucester has warned the king and aided his escape to Dover. As soon as Gloucester appears on the scene, Cornwall orders him bound to a chair. Regan viciously plucks at Gloucester's beard, calling him a traitor. Intensifying the torture, Cornwall gouges out one of Gloucester's eyes. When a servant tries to stop the torment, Regan draws a sword and murders the steward. Cornwall gouges out Gloucester's other eye. When the old man calls out to Edmund for help, Regan reveals that it was Edmund who betrayed his father. At this, Gloucester finally understands that he has misjudged Edgar. After throwing Gloucester out to find his own way to Dover, Regan helps Cornwall, who was wounded in the fray, and both leave for Dover.

summary

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

The full impact of this scene cannot be felt in a reading of the play text. The brutality of Gloucester's blinding must be seen and heard on stage for the audience to fully appreciate the evil being manifested by Cornwall and Regan. Both Goneril and Regan are especially cruel and bloodthirsty, as they call for Gloucester's punishment: "Hang him instantly. / Pluck out his eyes " . Having heard these two vultures call out for his father's blood, Edmund must have understood how harsh a punishment Gloucester is about to endure. And yet, Edmund willingly and easily leaves on his errand. This scene illustrates Edmund's wickedness; he must appreciate the true measure of Cornwall's evil and his father's vulnerability in the face of Cornwall's anger. Cornwall's villainy in this scene is not unexpected. His anger earlier in Act III builds to the brink of losing control; in this scene, the audience sees Regan's husband refusing any attempts at civility. He has become the beast that is lurking just beneath the veneer of civilization. Cornwall appears to recognize that he lacks the authority to put Gloucester to death: Though well we may not pass upon his lifeWithout the form of justice, yet our powerShall do a court'sy to our wrath, which menMay blame but not control. Still, Cornwall argues that he is provoked and must gratify his wrath. When Gloucester is brought to him, Cornwall makes no attempt to control himself. Although Gloucester reminds Cornwall that they are guests in his home, neither Cornwall nor Regan has any interest in maintaining the rules of hospitality. Regan's plucking of Gloucester's beard reinforces the point that she has no basic respect for age or rank. Gloucester is an earl and an elderly statesman, and Regan's pulling of his beard further rejects the structure of nature, which provides that the older members of a society be revered for their age and wisdom. Gloucester recognizes the insult saying, "'tis most ignobly done" . Gloucester has faith in divine justice, just as Lear has implored the gods for justice. Nonetheless, justice appears to be lacking at several points throughout King Lear, and the plucking of Gloucester's eyes is certainly one instance. Gloucester has made many errors in judgment, but in this case, as with Lear, the punishment is surely in excess of his mistakes. When Regan reveals Edmund's treason, Gloucester is quick to recognize his folly, much quicker than Lear. The plucking out of Gloucester's eyes is so brutal that not even Cornwall's servants can stand by without acting. Regan, Goneril, and Cornwall's brutal natures have been evident all along, with each act of wickedness building upon the previous. And so, the audience is not totally unprepared for these events. But in spite of the hints, no one can be ready for Cornwall ripping out Gloucester's eyes and stomping them under his boot. This is a scene of particular brutality, matched only by the bloodthirsty brutality of certain scenes in Shakespeare's Latin plays, especially Titus Andronicus. Interestingly, Regan shows some real humanity, though briefly, when Cornwall is wounded. Her solicitous question -- "How is't my Lord. How look you?" -- reveals that she is not totally self-serving or incapable of love and compassion -- virtually the only instance where Regan appears human. Glossary festinate hurried. questrists seekers; pursuers. ruffle to disturb, irritate, or annoy; to take away the smoothness of; wrinkle; ripple. dearn gloomy; bleak.

analysis

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

The setting is the heath. A blinded Gloucester is led by an elderly man, one of his tenants. The ailing earl laments that he treated Edgar badly and wishes for the opportunity to once again touch his son, since he can no longer see him. Gloucester hears Edgar's voice and remembers Poor Tom from the night of the storm. In an act of humanity, Gloucester sends his tenant for some clothing so that the Bedlam beggar might be covered. Gloucester is concerned that the Old Man might suffer for having given assistance, so he dismisses him and asks Tom to be his guide to Dover, where he seeks the highest cliff. Tom agrees to take Gloucester to the cliff.

summary

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

Edgar's opening soliloquy reveals his belief that having survived the worst that fortune can throw at him, nothing more terrible can happen; but in fact, Edgar's acceptance of fortune is tested when the blinded Gloucester is led in. When he sees his father's condition, Edgar is forced to admit that his situation has disintegrated even further. Gloucester is being led by a tenant, who refuses to leave although his own life is at risk. Their conversation supplies a paradox: You cannot see your way. I have no way, and therefore want no eyes; I stumbled when I saw. These lines illustrate Gloucester's failing. When he had his vision, he could not see the deceit fabricated by his younger son, and thus, vision has not helped him see his way in the past. Now that he has lost his vision but finally seen the truth, Gloucester can envision no way in which he can regain the elder son, who is lost to him. For Gloucester, the disadvantage of lost sight has become an advantage , and his only wish is that he might "live to see thee in my touch" . In many ways, Gloucester's response to his tragedy parallels Lear's. Like Lear, Gloucester feels despair and questions gods who can "kill us for their sport" . And like Lear, Gloucester finds his humanity in the midst of his tragedy. The blinded old man who asks that clothing be brought, so that Poor Tom might be covered, is a very different man from the Gloucester of Act I. In the play's opening scene, the earl boasted about the good sport to be had at Edmund's illegitimate conception. Instead of a thoughtless braggart, Gloucester is filled with compassion for Poor Tom . This compassion for his fellow man indicates that Gloucester regrets the behavior of his past, as he seeks to make amends by sharing with those he never noticed before. This action parallels the self-awareness that moved Lear to suddenly consider the poor and disadvantaged in Act III, Scene 4. Like Lear, Gloucester questions divine justice, feels despair, evokes nihilism , and discovers his own humanity. This scene demonstrates dramatically the parallelism between the primary plot and the subplot. Glossary daub it further disguise it further. horse-way horse path. superfluous extravagant; prodigal. bending overhanging; prominent.

analysis

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

The setting is just outside the Duke of Albany's palace, where Goneril and Edmund are now present. Oswald enters with news that Albany is a changed man. The steward relates that Albany was pleased to learn of the proposed invasion by France and displeased when he learned that Gloucester had been replaced by his younger son Edmund, who had betrayed his father. With this announcement, Goneril takes command of her forces and orders Edmund to return to Cornwall while she deals with Albany. As they part, Goneril gives Edmund a favor of her affection and a farewell kiss. After Edmund leaves, Goneril remarks on the favorable impression he makes compared with her weakling husband. Albany enters and angrily accuses Goneril of being an unnatural daughter. He also accuses Goneril and Regan of being like tigers, who have attacked their aged father. A messenger enters with the announcement that Cornwall has died of the wounds he suffered after blinding Gloucester. Albany is aghast at the news of Gloucester's torture and calls Cornwall's death divine justice. Albany vows revenge against Edmund for leaving Gloucester at the mercy of Cornwall.

summary

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

Goneril is attracted to the young, handsome, and obedient Edmund. Such qualities make him more attractive to her than her own husband. Goneril expects obedience from a man, but she also wants strength and a willingness to take what he desires -- characteristics that match her own. The fact that Goneril is married does not appear to be a concern. The steward's news that Albany's political and personal alliances have changed only make Edmund more appealing to Goneril. Albany's initial remarks to Goneril reveal how much he has changed from the beginning of the play. Albany's previous hesitation to confront his wife is now replaced by direct address of her wickedness: "You are not worth the dust which the rude wind / blows in your face." His attack on Goneril's integrity shows that Albany is a highly moral and humane individual, the antithesis of his wife, and an individual the audience has not witnessed earlier in the play. In his attack on Goneril, Albany's view of nature is the opposite of his wife's. Where Goneril has created chaos, Albany endorses nature's design and a view of nature's work within an organic framework: That nature, which contemns it origin,Cannot be border'd certain in itself;She that herself will sliver and disbranchFrom her material sap, perforce must witherAnd come to deadly use. Albany accepts that nature's pattern is essential for survival. The hierarchy of father to child, king to subject, God to king, is essential to eliminating chaos of the world. Goneril has reversed that natural order in her treatment of Lear, and the resulting chaos and anarchy has turned man against himself. Albany points out that the news that Cornwall is dead is evidence of divine justice, and this event should provide a warning to Goneril, but she ignores Albany's words to focus on the greater concern -- Regan as a widow is now available to marry Edmund. Goneril on the other hand, does have a husband, one whom she expects to control. Goneril is heir to one-half the kingdom, and she expects Albany to remember that this was her dowry; but he is stronger than Cornwall. And although Albany hesitated earlier to confront Goneril when he thought she was wrong, he is not the willing participant in evil that Cornwall has shown himself to be. Albany is genuinely shocked when he learns of Gloucester's blinding, while Cornwall easily succumbed to this perversion. With this new resistance to his wife, Albany joins the ranks of characters who have undergone dramatic change during the course of the play, growing and evolving into a stronger and more compassionate individual. As the highest-ranking nobleman remaining, Albany will have no choice but to defend England against the French invasion. But this scene signals that Albany's loyalties will not be with his wife but with those who defend Lear. Goneril's role, here, is in contrast to that of most Elizabethan women. In this period, women were totally subordinate to their husband's desires. The chain of authority was from God to king, king to subject and male to women and children. Elizabeth I refused to marry rather than be subject to any man's authority. Goneril, however, sees herself as the ultimate authority, and this contradicts the reality of this historical period. Glossary cowish timid; cowardly. answer any act in response or retaliation. sliver to cut or break into slivers. bending to turn or direct. justicers legal officials; judges.

analysis