King Lear

King Lear is probably one of the biggest challenges a director is ever going to face.

It's an epic story of a man's descent into madness

his struggles with his pride, his arrogance.

It's also a story of the young wrestling power away from the old.

I started from the premise that he was sick,

and he knew he was sick,

and that sickness affected the decisions he made -

which are not good decisions, really.

But he was doing because he was looking for a means of protection

because he had intimations of his own mortality.

When I started working on King Lear,

I wanted to set it exactly where it's set, in an ancient Britain, a pagan time.

I also wanted to set it with a black king,

that was quite important to me.

There's an idea that the black presence in England started in the '50s, with the Windrush generation,

but as I kind of probed and dug I found that actually

there's been a black presence in England for absolute centuries,

so I pushed the idea even further and imagined, what if you could be the king?

I mean, this is a time when race isn't an issue.

The most important thing is whoever is the strongest -

they rule.

-So this is the story of King Lear.

-Enjoy.

I thought the King had more affected the Duke of Albany than Cornwall.

It always seemed so to us - but now, in the division

of the kingdom, it appears not which of the dukes he values most.

Is not this your son, my lord?

Mm. His breeding, sir, hath been at my charge.

I have so often blushed to acknowledge him

that now I am brazed to it.

I cannot conceive you.

Sir, this young fellow's mother could.

LAUGHTER

Whereupon she grew round-wombed, and had, indeed, sir,

a son for her cradle ere she had a husband for her bed.

Do you smell a fault?

I cannot wish the fault undone, the issue of it being so proper.

But I have a son, sir, by order of law,

who yet is no dearer in my account.

Though this knave came something saucily to the world

before he was sent for, yet was his mother fair -

there was good sport at his making.

THEY LAUGH

And the whoreson must be acknowledged.

Do you know this noble gentleman, Edmund?

No, my lord.

My lord of Kent - remember him hereafter as my honourable friend.

My services to your lordship.

I must love you, and sue to know you better.

Sir, I shall study deserving.

He has been out nine years, and away he shall again.

HEAVY DRUMBEAT

The King is coming.

FANFARE

Attend the lords of France and Burgundy, Gloucester.

I shall, my lord.

Meantime, we shall express our darker purpose.

Give me the map there.

Know that we have divided in three our kingdom.

And 'tis our fast intent

To shake all cares and business from our age,

Conferring them on younger strengths, while we

Unburdened crawl toward death.

Our son of Cornwall,

And you, our no less loving son of Albany,

We have this hour a constant will to publish

Our daughters' several dowers, that future strife

May be prevented now.

The two great princes, France and Burgundy,

Great rivals in our youngest daughter's love,

Long in our court have made their amorous sojourn,

And here are to be answered.

Tell me, my daughters -

Since now we will divest us both of rule,

Interest of territory, cares of state -

Which of you shall we say doth love us most,

That we our largest bounty may extend

Where nature doth with merit challenge?

Goneril, our eldest-born, speak first.

Sir, I do love you more than word can wield the matter,

Dearer than eyesight, space and liberty,

Beyond what can be valued, rich or rare,

No less than life, with grace, health, beauty, honour!

As much as child e'er loved, or father found,

A love that makes breath poor and speech unable -

Beyond all manner of so much I love you.

Of all these bounds, even from this line to this,

With shadowy forests and with champaigns riched,

With plenteous rivers and wide-skirted meads,

We make thee lady.

To thine and Albany's issues

Be this perpetual.

What says our second daughter,

Our dearest Regan, wife to Cornwall? Speak.

Sir, I am made of that self mettle as my sister,

And prize me at her worth.

In my true heart I find she names my very deed of love -

Only...she comes too short, that I profess

Myself an enemy to all other joys

Which the most precious square of sense possesses,

And find I am alone felicitate

In your dear highness' love.

To thee and thine hereditary ever

Remain this ample third of our fair kingdom,

No less in space, validity and pleasure

Than that conferred on Goneril.

But now, our joy,

Although the last and least, to whose young love

The vines of France and the milk of Burgundy

Strive to be interessed,

What can you say to draw

A third more opulent than your sisters?

Speak.

Nothing, my lord.

Nothing?

Nothing.

How? Nothing will come of nothing. Speak again.

Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave

My heart into my mouth.

I love your majesty

According to my bond, no more, no less.

How? How, Cordelia?

Mend your speech a little,

Lest you may mar your fortunes.

Good, my lord,

You have begot me, bred me, loved me.

I return those duties back as are right fit,

Obey you, love you and most honour you.

Why have my sisters' husbands, if they say

They love you all?

Happily when I shall wed,

That lord whose hand must take my plight shall carry

Half my love with him, half my care and duty.

Sure, I shall never marry like my sisters

To love my father all.

But goes thy heart with this?

Ay, my good lord.

So young and so untender?

So young, my lord, and true.

Well, let it be so.

Thy truth then be thy dower,

For by the sacred radiance of the sun,

The mysteries of Hecate and the night,

By all the operation of the orbs

From whom we do exist and cease to be -

Here I disclaim all my paternal care,

Propinquity and property of blood,

And as a stranger to my heart and me

Hold thee from this for ever.

Good, my liege...

Peace, Kent!

Come not between the dragon and his wrath!

I loved her most, and thought to set my rest

On her kind nursery.

Hence, and avoid my sight!

So be my grave my peace, as here I give

Her father's heart from her!

Call France. Who stirs? Call Burgundy.

Cornwall and Albany,

With my two daughters' dowers, digest this third.

Let pride, which she calls plainness, marry her.

I do invest you jointly with my power,

Pre-eminence and all the large effects

That troop with majesty.

Ourself by monthly course,

With reservation of an hundred knights

By you to be sustained, shall our abode

Make with you by due turn - only we shall retain

The name, and all the addition to a king - the sway,

Revenue, execution of the rest,

Beloved sons, be yours - which to confirm,

This coronet part between you.

Royal Lear, whom I have ever honoured as my king,

Loved as my father, as my master followed,

As my great patron thought on in my prayers...

The bow is bent and drawn - make from the shaft.

Let it fall rather, though the fork invade

The region of my heart - be Kent unmannerly

When Lear is mad!

What wouldst thou do, old man?

Think'st thou that duty shall have dread to speak,

When power to flattery bows?

To plainness honour's bound

When majesty stoops to folly.

Reverse thy state,

And in thy best consideration check

This hideous rashness.

Answer my life, my judgement,

Thy youngest daughter does not love thee least,

Nor are those empty-hearted, whose low sounds

Reverb no hollowness.

Kent, on thy life, no more.

My life I never held but as a pawn

To wage against thine enemies, ne'er fear to lose it,

Thy safety being the motive.

Out of my sight!

See better, Lear, and let me still remain

The true blank of thine eye.

Now by Apollo...

Now by Apollo, King,

Thou swear'st thy gods in vain!

O vassal! Miscreant!

-Dear sir...

-Forbear!

Do, kill thy physician, and thy fee bestow

Upon the foul disease.

Revoke thy gift,

Or whilst I can vent clamour from my throat

I'll tell thee thou dost evil.

Hear me, recreant,

On thine allegiance, hear me -

That thou hast sought to make us break our vows,

Which we durst never yet, and with strained pride

To come betwixt our sentencing and our power,

Which nor our nature, nor our place can bear,

Our potency made good, take thy reward.

Five days we do allot thee for provision,

To shield thee from disasters of the world,

And on the sixth to turn thy hated back

Upon our kingdom.

If on the next day following

Thy banished trunk is found in our dominions...

..The moment is thy death.

Away!

By Jupiter, this shall not be revoked.

Why, fare thee well, King, since thus thou wilt appear,

Freedom lives hence and banishment is here.

The gods to their dear shelter take thee, maid,

That justly think'st and hast most rightly said.

And your large speeches may your deeds approve,

That good effects may spring from words of love.

Thus Kent, O princes, bids you all adieu -

He'll shape his old course in a country new.

HEAVY DRUMBEAT

Here's France and Burgundy, my noble lord.

My lord of Burgundy,

We first address toward you,

Who with this king

Hath rivalled for our daughter.

What in the least

Will you require in present dower with her,

Or cease your quest of love?

Most royal majesty,

I crave no more than hath your highness offered.

Nor will you tender less?

Right noble Burgundy,

When she was dear to us, we did hold her so,

But now her price is fallen.

Sir, there she stands -

If aught within that little-seeming substance,

Or all of it, with our displeasure pieced,

And nothing more, may fitly like your grace,

She's there, and she is yours.

I know no answer.

Sir, will you, with those infirmities she owes,

Unfriended, new adopted to our hate,

Dowered with our curse and strangered with our oath,

Take her or leave her?

Pardon me, royal sir -

Election makes not up on such conditions.

Then leave her, sir!

For, by the power that made me,

I tell you all her wealth.

For you, great king,

I would not from your love make such a stray,

To match you where I hate, therefore beseech you

To avert your liking a more worthier way

Than on a wretch whom nature is ashamed

Almost to acknowledge hers.

This is most strange,

That she who even but now was your best object,

The argument of your praise, balm of your age,

The best, the dearest, should in this trice of time

Commit a thing so monstrous, to dismantle

So many folds of favour.

Sure, her offence

Must be of such unnatural degree

That monsters it, or your fore-vouched affection

Fallen into taint -

Which to believe of her

Must be a faith that reason without miracle

Should never plant in me.

I yet beseech your majesty,

If for I want that glib and oily art

To speak and purpose not - since what I well intend,

I'll do it before I speak -

That you make known

It is no vicious blot, murder, or foulness,

Nor unchaste action or dishonoured step,

That hath deprived me of your grace and favour,

But even for want of that for which I am richer,

A still-soliciting eye and such a tongue

That I am glad I have not - though not to have it

Hath lost me in your liking.

Go to, go to. Better thou

Hadst not been born than not to have pleased me better.

Is it no more but this?

A tardiness in nature,

Which often leaves the history unspoke that it intends to do?

My lord of Burgundy, what say you to the lady?

Love's not love

When it is mingled with regards that stand

Aloof from the entire point.

Will you have her? She is herself a dowry.

Royal King,

Give but that portion which yourself proposed,

And here I take Cordelia by the hand, Duchess of Burgundy.

Nothing.

I have sworn, I am firm.

I am sorry, then, you have so lost a father

That you must lose a husband.

Peace be with Burgundy.

Since that respects and fortune are his love,

I shall not be his wife.

Fairest Cordelia, that art most rich being poor,

Most choice forsaken and most loved despised,

Thee and thy virtues here I seize upon,

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

Thy dowerless daughter, King, thrown to my chance,

Is queen of us, of ours and our fair France.

Not all the dukes of waterish Burgundy

Can buy this unprized, precious maid of me.

Bid them farewell, Cordelia, though unkind,

Thou losest here, a better where to find.

Thou hast her, France - let her be thine, for we

Have no such daughter, nor will ever see

That face of hers again.

Therefore, be gone,

Without our grace, our love, our benison.

Come, noble Burgundy.

HEAVY DRUMBEAT

Bid farewell to your sisters.

The jewels of our father, with washed eyes

Cordelia leaves you.

I know you what you are,

And like a sister I am most loath to call

Your faults as they are named.

Love well our father!

To your professed bosom I commit him,

But yet, alas, stood I within his grace,

I would prefer him to a better place.

Farewell to you both.

Prescribe not us our duty.

Let your study be to content your lord,

Who hath received you at fortune's alms.

You have obedience scanted,

And well are worth the want that you have wanted.

Time shall unfold what plighted cunning hides,

Who covert faults at last with shame derides.

Well may you prosper.

Come, my fair Cordelia.

Sister, it is not a little I have to say of what most nearly

appertains to us both.

I think our father will hence tonight.

That's most certain, and with you, next month with us.

You see how full of changes his age is.

He always loved our sister most, and with what poor judgement

he hath now cast her off appears too grossly.

'Tis the infirmity of his age, yet he hath ever

but slenderly known himself.

The best and soundest of his time hath been but rash.

Then must we look to receive from his years not alone

the imperfections of long-engrafted condition,

but therewithal the unruly waywardness

that infirm and choleric years bring with them.

Such unconstant starts are we like to have from him

as this of Kent's banishment.

Pray you let us hit together - if our father carry authority

with such disposition as he bears,

this last surrender of his will but offend us.

We shall further think of it.

We must do something, and in the heat.

Thou, Nature, art my goddess - to thy law

My services are bound.

Wherefore should I

Stand in the plague of custom, and permit

The curiosity of nations to deprive me?

For that I am some 12 or 14 moonshines

Lag of a brother?

Why bastard?

Wherefore base?

When my dimensions are as well compact,

My mind as generous, and my shape as true

As honest madam's issue?

Why brand they us

With base? With baseness, bastardy?

Base, base?!

Who, in the lusty stealth of nature take

More composition and fierce quality

Than doth within a dull, stale, tired bed

Go to the creating a whole tribe of fops

Got 'tween a sleep and wake?

Well, then,

Legitimate Edgar, I must have your land.

Our father's love is to the bastard Edmund

As to the legitimate.

HE LAUGHS RUEFULLY

Fine word, "legitimate"!

Well, my legitimate, if this letter speed,

And my invention thrive,

Edmund the base

Shall top the legitimate!

I grow, I prosper -

Now, gods, stand up for bastards!

Kent banished thus? And France in choler parted?

And the King gone tonight?

All this done upon the gad?

Edmund, how now, what news?

So please your lordship, none.

Why so earnestly seek you to put up that letter?

I know no news, my lord.

What paper were you reading?

Nothing, my lord.

No? What needed, then, that terrible dispatch of it into your pocket?

The quality of nothing hath no such need to hide itself.

Let's see - come.

If it be nothing, I shall not need spectacles.

I beseech you, sir, pardon me.

It is a letter from my brother that I have not all o'er-read,

and for so much as I have perused,

I find it not fit for your o'er-looking.

Give me the letter, sir.

I shall offend, either to detain or give it.

The contents, as in part I understand them, are to blame.

Let's see, let's see.

I hope, for my brother's justification,

he wrote this but as an essay, or taste of my virtue.

"This policy, and reverence of age,

"makes the world bitter to the best of our times,

"keeps our fortunes from us till our oldness cannot relish them.

"I begin to find an idle and fond bondage in the oppression

"of aged tyranny, who sways not as

"it hath power, but as it is suffered.

"Come to me, that of this I may speak more.

"If our father would sleep till I waked him...

"..you should enjoy half his revenue

"for ever and live the beloved of your brother, Edgar."

Huh! Conspiracy.

HE LAUGHS

"Sleep till I wake him, you should enjoy half his revenue."

My son Edgar? Had he a hand to write this?

A heart and brain to breed it in?

When came you to this? Who brought it?

It was not brought me, my lord, there's the cunning of it.

I found it thrown in at the casement of my closet.

You know the character to be your brother's?

If the matter were good, I durst swear it were his -

but, in respect of that, I would fain think it were not.

-It is his?

-It is his hand, my lord.

But I hope his heart is not in the contents.

Hath he never before sounded you in this business?

Never, my lord.

But I have heard him oft maintain it to be fit that,

sons at perfect age and fathers declined,

the father should be as ward to the son and the son manage his revenue.

O villain, villain!

His very opinion in the letter. Abhorred villain!

Unnatural, detested, brutish villain -

worse than brutish!

Go, sirrah, seek him.

I'll apprehend him.

Abominable villain, where is he?

I do not well know, my lord.

I dare pawn down my life for him, that he hath writ this to

feel my affection to your honour, and to no other pretence of danger.

Think you so?

If your honour judge it meet, I shall place you

where you shall hear us

confer of this and by an auricular assurance have your satisfaction,

and that without any further delay than this very evening.

He cannot be such a monster.

Nor is not, sure.

To his father, who so tenderly and entirely loves him.

Heaven and earth! Edmund, seek him out.

Wind me into him, I pray you, frame the business after your own wisdom.

I will seek him out, sir, presently -

convey the business as I shall find means and acquaint you withal.

These late eclipses in the sun and moon portend no good to us.

Though the wisdom of Nature can reason it thus and thus,

yet nature finds itself scourged by the sequent effects.

Love cools, friendship falls off, brothers divide,

and the bond cracked 'twixt son and father.

This villain of mine comes under the prediction -

there's son against father.

The King falls from bias of nature - there's father against child.

We have seen the best of our time.

Seek out this villain, Edmund. It shall lose thee nothing.

Do it carefully.

And the noble and true-hearted Kent banished, his offence, honesty!

'Tis strange!

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

the stars, as if we were villains on necessity, fools by heavenly

compulsion, knaves, thieves and treachers by spherical predominance.

Drunkards, liars and adulterers

by an enforced obedience of planetary influence.

And all that we are evil in by a divine thrusting on.

An admirable evasion of whoremaster man,

to lay his goatish disposition on the charge of a star.

My father compounded with my mother under the dragon's tail

and my nativity was under Ursa Major,

so that it follows I am lecherous and rough.

Fut!

I should have been that I am had the maidenliest star

in the firmament twinkled on my bastardizing.

Pat he comes, like the catastrophe of the old comedy.

My cue is villainous melancholy, with a sigh like Tom o' Bedlam.

O, these eclipses do foretell these divisions!

Fa, sol, la, mi.

How now, brother Edmund, what serious contemplation are you in?

I am thinking, brother, of a prediction

I read this other day, what should follow these eclipses.

Do you busy yourself with that?

I promise you, what he writes of succeeds unhappily,

as of the unnaturalness between the child and the parent,

death, dearth, dissolution of ancient amities, divisions in state,

menaces and maledictions against King and nobles,

needless diffidences, banishment of friends,

dissipation of cohorts, nuptial breaches, and I know not what.

How long have you been a sectary astronomical?

Come, come, when saw you my father last?

-Why, the night gone by.

-Spake you with him?

Ay, two hours together.

Parted you in good terms?

Found you no displeasure in him, by word nor countenance?

None at all.

Bethink yourself wherein you may have offended him, and at my

entreaty forbear his presence until some little time hath qualified

the heat of his displeasure, which at this instant so rageth in him

that with the mischief of your person it would scarcely allay.

Some villain hath done me wrong.

That's my fear.

I pray you, have a continent forbearance till

the speed of his rage goes slower, and, as I say, retire with me to

my lodging, from whence I will fitly bring you to hear my lord speak.

Pray ye, there's my key.

If you do stir abroad, go armed.

Armed, brother?

Brother, I advise you to the best, go armed.

I am no honest man if there be any good meaning toward you.

I have told you what I have seen and heard - but faintly -

nothing like the image and horror of it.

Now pray you, away!

Shall I hear from you anon?

I do serve you in this business.

A credulous father and a brother noble,

Whose nature is so far from doing harms

That he suspects none -

on whose foolish honesty

My practices ride easy.

I see the business.

Let me, if not by birth, have lands by wit.

All with me's meet that I can fashion fit.

Did my father strike my gentleman for chiding of his fool?

Ay, madam.

By day and night he wrongs me.

Every hour

He flashes into one gross crime or other

That sets us all at odds.

I'll not endure it.

His knights grow riotous and himself upbraids us

On every trifle.

When he returns from hunting, I will not speak with him - say I am sick.

If you come slack of former services

-You shall do well.

-Oh, I don't...

-The fault of it I'll answer.

HORNS SOUND

He's coming, madam - I hear him.

Put on what weary negligence you please,

You and your fellows. I'd have it come to question.

If he distaste it, let him to our sister,

Whose mind and mine,

I know in that are one, Not to be overruled.

Idle old man,

That still would manage those authorities

That he hath given away.

Now by my life

Old fools are babes again and must be used

With checks as flatteries, when they are seen abused.

-Remember what I have said.

-Very well, madam.

And let his knights have colder looks among you,

What grows of it no matter - advise your fellows so.

I would breed from hence occasions, and I shall,

That I may speak.

I'll write straight to my sister

To hold my very course.

Go, prepare for dinner.

LAUGHING AND CHATTER

If but as well I other accents borrow

That can my speech diffuse, my good intent

May carry through itself to that full issue

For which I razed my likeness.

Now, banished Kent,

If thou canst serve where thou dost stand condemned

So may it come thy master whom thou lov'st

Shall find thee full of labours.

YELLING

Let me not stay a jot for dinner -

go, get it ready.

-THEY CHANT:

-Dinner! Dinner! Dinner!

How now, what art thou?

A man, sir.

What dost thou profess? What wouldst thou with us?

I do profess to be no less than I seem - to serve him truly

that will put me in trust, to love him that is honest,

to converse with him that is wise and says little,

to fear judgment, to fight when I cannot choose - and to eat no fish.

LAUGHTER

What art thou?

A very honest-hearted fellow, and as poor as the King.

If thou be'st as poor for a subject as he is for a king,

thou art poor enough.

-What wouldst thou?

-Service.

Who wouldst thou serve?

You.

Dost thou know me, fellow?

No, sir, but you have that in your countenance

that I would fain call master.

What's that?

Authority.

What services canst thou do?

I can keep honest counsel, ride, run,

mar a curious tale in telling it and deliver a plain message bluntly.

That which ordinary men are fit for I am qualified in,

and the best of me is diligence.

How old art thou?

Not so young, sir, to love a woman for singing,

nor so old to dote on her for anything.

LAUGHTER

I have years on my back forty-eight.

Follow me, thou shalt serve me - if I like thee no worse after dinner,

I will not part from thee yet.

Dinner, ho, dinner!

Where's my knave, my fool?

You, you, sirrah, where's my daughter?

So please you -

un, deux, trois...

What says the fellow there? Call the clotpoll back.

Where's my fool?

Ho, I think the world's asleep.

How now, where's that mongrel?

He says, my lord, your daughter is not well.

Why came not the slave back to me when I called him?

Sir, he answered me in the roundest manner, he would not.

He would not?

My lord, I know not what the matter is,

but to my judgment your highness is not entertained with that

ceremonious affection as you were wont.

Ah. Sayst thou so.

I beseech you pardon me, my lord, if I be mistaken.

For my duty cannot be silent when I think your highness wronged.

I will look further into't.

But where's my fool?

I have not seen him this two days.

Since my young lady's going into France, sir,

the fool hath much pined away.

No more of that, I have noted it well.

Go you and tell my daughter I would speak with her.

Go you, call hither my fool.

You, sir. You, sir!

Come you hither, sir.

Who am I, sir?

My lady's father.

My lady's father?

My lord's knave, you whoreson dog, you slave, you cur!

I am none of these, my lord, I beseech your pardon.

Do you bandy looks with me, you rascal?

I'll not be strucken, my lord.

Nor tripped neither, you base football player.

I thank thee, fellow. Thou serv'st me and I'll love thee.

Come, sir, arise, away, I'll teach you differences.

Away, away. If you will measure your lubber's length again, tarry -

but away, go to, have you wisdom?

So!

Now, my friendly knave, I thank thee.

There's earnest of thy service.

A SINGLE PERSON APPLAUDS

Let me hire him too.

Here's my coxcomb.

How now, my pretty knave, how dost thou?

Sirrah, you were best take my coxcomb.

-Why, fool?

-Why? For taking one's part that's out of favour.

Nay, an thou canst not smile as the wind sits,

thou'lt catch cold shortly.

There, take my coxcomb.

Why, this fellow has banished two on's daughters

and did the third a blessing against his will -

if thou follow him, thou must needs wear my coxcomb.

How now, Nuncle?

THEY LAUGH

Would I had two coxcombs and two daughters.

Why, my boy?

If I gave them all my living, I'd keep my coxcombs myself.

There's mine - beg another of thy daughters.

Take heed, sirrah, the whip.

Truth's a dog that must to kennel - he must be whipped out,

when the Lady Brach may stand by the fire and stink.

A pestilent gall to me.

-Sirrah, I'll teach thee a speech.

-Do.

Mark it, Nuncle.

HE CLEARS HIS THROAT

Have more than thou showest,

Speak less than thou knowest, Lend less than thou owest,

Ride more than thou goest, Learn more than thou trowest,

Set less than thou throwest,

# Leave thy drink and thy whore

# And keep in-a-door, And thou shalt have more

# Than two tens to a score. #

This is nothing, fool.

Then 'tis like the breath of an unfee'd lawyer,

you gave me nothing for't.

Can you make no use of nothing, Nuncle?

Why no, boy - nothing can be made out of nothing.

Prithee tell him, so much the rent of his land comes to -

-he will not believe a fool.

-A bitter fool.

Dost thou know the difference, my boy, between a bitter fool

-and a sweet one?

-No, lad, teach me.

That lord that counselled thee to give away thy land,

Come place him here by me - Do thou for him stand.

The sweet and bitter fool Will presently appear,

The one in motley here, The other found out there.

Dost thou call me fool, boy?

All thy other titles thou hast given away - that thou wast born with.

This is not altogether fool, my lord.

Nuncle, give me an egg...

HE CLUCKS

..give me an egg and I'll give thee two crowns.

What two crowns shall they be?

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

and eat up the meat, the two crowns of the egg.

When thou clovest thy crown i' the middle, and gav'st away both parts,

thou bor'st thine ass on thy back o'er the dirt.

Thou hadst little wit in thy bald crown

when thou gav'st thy golden one away.

If I speak like myself in this,

let him be whipped that first finds it so.

# Fools had ne'er less grace in a year

# For wise men are grown foppish

# And know not what their wits to wear

# Their manners are so apish. #

When were you wont to be so full of songs, sirrah?

I have used it, Nuncle,

e'er since thou mad'st thy daughters thy mothers,

for when thou gav'st them the rod, and putt'st down thine own breeches,

# Then they for sudden joy did weep

# And I for sorrow sung

# That such a king should play bo-peep

# And go the fools among. #

Prithee, Nuncle, keep a schoolmaster that can teach thy fool to lie -

I would fain learn to lie.

An you lie, sirrah, we'll have you whipped.

I marvel what kin thou and thy daughters are.

They'll have me whipped for speaking true,

thou'lt have me whipped for lying,

and sometimes I am whipped for holding my peace.

LAUGHTER

I had rather be any kind o' thing than a fool,

and yet I would not be thee, Nuncle.

Thou hast pared thy wit o' both sides

and left nothing i' the middle.

Oh. Here comes one o'the parings.

LAUGHTER

How now, daughter? What makes that frontlet on?

Methinks you are too much of late i' the frown.

Thou wast a pretty fellow

when thou hadst no need to care for her frowning.

Now thou art an O without a figure - I am better than thou art now.

I am a fool, thou art nothing.

Yes, forsooth, I will hold my tongue, so your face bids me,

though you say nothing.

# Mum, mum!

# He that keeps nor crust nor crumb, Weary of all, shall want some. #

That's a shelled peascod.

Not only, sir, this your all-licensed fool,

But other of your insolent retinue Do hourly carp and quarrel,

breaking forth In rank and not-to-be-endured riots.

Sir, I had thought by making this well known unto you

To have found a safe redress,

but now grow fearful

By what yourself too late have spoke and done,

That you protect this course and put it on

By your allowance.

For you know, Nuncle,

The hedge-sparrow has fed the cuckoo so long

It's had it head bit off by its young.

So out went the candle and we were left darkling.

Are you our daughter?

Come, sir, I would you would make use of that good wisdom,

Whereof I know you are fraught, and put away

These dispositions, which of late transport you

From what you rightly are.

May not an ass know when the cart draws the horse?

Whoop, Jug, I love thee.

Doth any here know me?

Why, this is not Lear.

Doth Lear walk thus, speak thus? Where are his eyes?

Either his notion weakens or his discernings are lethargied - Ha!

Sleeping or waking? Sure 'tis not so.

Who is it that can tell me who I am?

Lear's shadow.

I would learn that, for by the marks of sovereignty, knowledge

and reason, I should be false persuaded I had daughters.

Which they will make an obedient father.

Your name, fair gentlewoman?

This admiration, sir, is much o' the savour

Of other your new pranks.

I do beseech you

To understand my purposes aright -

As you are old and reverend, should be wise.

Here do you keep a hundred knights and squires,

Men so disordered, so debauched and bold,

That this our court, infected with their manners,

Shows like a riotous inn.

Epicurism and lust

Make it more like a tavern or a brothel

Than a graced palace.

The shame itself doth speak

For instant remedy.

Be then desired,

By her that else will take the thing she begs,

A little to disquantity your train,

And the remainder that shall still depend

To be such men as may besort your age,

And know themselves, and you.

Darkness and devils! Saddle my horses - call my train together.

Degenerate bastard, I'll not trouble thee -

Yet have I left a daughter.

You strike my people,

and your disordered rabble

Make servants of their betters.

Woe that too late repents!

O, sir, are you come?

Is it your will, sir? Speak.

Prepare my horses.

Ingratitude, thou marble-hearted fiend,

More hideous when thou show'st thee in a child

Than the sea-monster.

Pray, sir, be patient.

Detested kite, thou liest.

My train are men of choice and rarest part

That all particulars of duty know,

And in the most exact regard support The worships of their name.

O most small fault,

How ugly didst thou in Cordelia show,

Which like an engine wrenched my frame of nature

From the fixed place, drew from my heart all love

And added to the gall.

O Lear, Lear, Lear!

Beat at this gate that let thy folly in

And thy dear judgment out.

Go, go, my people.

My lord, I am guiltless as I am ignorant

Of what hath moved you.

It may be so, my lord.

Hear, Nature, hear, dear goddess, hear!

Suspend thy purpose if thou didst intend

To make this creature fruitful.

Into her womb convey sterility,

Dry up in her the organs of increase,

And from her derogate body never spring

A babe to honour her.

If she must teem, Create her child of spleen,

that it may live

And be a thwart disnatured torment to her.

Let it stamp wrinkles in her brow of youth,

With cadent tears fret channels in her cheeks,

Turn all her mother's pains and benefits

To laughter and contempt, that she may feel

How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is

To have a thankless child.

Away, away!

Now gods that we adore, whereof comes this?

Never afflict yourself to know more of it,

But let his disposition have such scope

As dotage gives it.

What, fifty of my followers at a clap? Within a fortnight?

What's the matter, sir?

I'll tell thee.

Life and death, I am ashamed

That thou hast power to shake my manhood thus,

That these hot tears, which break from me perforce,

Should make thee worth them.

Blasts and fogs upon thee!

Th' untented woundings of a father's curse

Pierce every sense about thee.

Old fond eyes,

Beweep this cause again,

I'll pluck ye out,

And cast you with the waters that you loose

To temper clay. Yea, is't come to this? Ha?

Let it be so - I have another daughter,

Who I am sure is kind and comfortable.

When she shall hear this of thee with her nails

She'll flay thy wolvish visage.

Thou shalt find

I'll resume that shape which thou dost think

I have cast off for ever.

Thou shalt, I warrant thee.

Do you mark that, my lord?

I cannot be so partial, Goneril, To the great love I bear you...

Pray you, content. Come, sir, no more. What, Oswald, ho?

You, sir, more knave than fool, after your master.

Nuncle Lear, Nuncle Lear, tarry, and take the Fool with thee.

This man hath had good counsel - a hundred knights!

'Tis politic, and safe, to let him keep

At point a hundred knights!

Yes, that on every dream,

Each buzz, each fancy, each complaint, dislike,

He may enguard his dotage with their powers

And hold our lives in mercy.

Oswald, I say!

Well, you may fear too far.

Safer than trust too far.

Let me still take away the harms I fear,

Not fear still to be taken.

I know his heart -

What he hath uttered I have writ my sister.

If she sustain him and his hundred knights

When I have showed th' unfitness -

Here, madam.

How now, Oswald? What, have you writ that letter to my sister?

Ay, madam.

Take you some company and away to horse.

Inform her full of my particular fears,

And thereto add such reasons of your own

As may compact it more.

Get you gone, And hasten your return.

No, no, my lord,

This milky gentleness and course of yours,

Though I condemn not, yet, under pardon,

You are much more attasked for want of wisdom

Than praised for harmful mildness.

How far your eyes may pierce I cannot tell,

Striving to better, oft we mar what's well.

Nay, then...

-Well, well, th' event.

-Oh!

THUNDER RUMBLES

Go you before with these letters.

Acquaint my daughter no further with anything you know

than comes from her demand out of the letter.

If your diligence be not speedy, I'll be there afore you.

I will not sleep, my lord, till I have delivered your letter.

Shalt see thy other daughter will use thee kindly, for though she's as

like this as a crab's like an apple, yet I can tell what I can tell.

Why, what canst thou tell, my boy?

She will taste as like this as a crab does a crab.

Thou canst not tell why one's nose stands i'the middle on's face?

-No.

-Why, to keep one's eyes of either side's nose,

that what a man cannot smell out he may spy into.

I did her wrong.

Canst tell why an oyster makes his shell?

No.

Nor I neither.

But I can tell why a snail has a house.

Why?

Why, to put his head in, not to give it away to his daughters

and leave his horns without a case.

I will forget my nature.

So kind a father!

Be my horses ready?

Thy asses are gone about 'em.

The reason why the seven stars are no more than seven

-is a pretty reason.

-Because they are not eight.

Yes, indeed - thou wouldst make a good fool.

To take't again perforce...

..monster ingratitude!

If thou wert my fool, Nuncle,

I'd have thee beaten for being old before thy time.

What's that?

Thou shouldst not have been old before thou hadst been wise.

O let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven!

I would not be mad.

Keep me in temper, let me not be mad.

How now, are the horses ready?

Ready, my lord.

Come, boy.

VOICES WHISPER

-Save thee, Curan.

-And you, sir.

I have been with your father and given him notice that the Duke

of Cornwall and Regan his Duchess will be here with him this night.

How comes that?

Nay, I know not.

You have heard of the news abroad?

I mean the whispered ones, for they are yet

but ear-bussing arguments.

Not I. Pray you, what are they?

Have you heard of no likely wars toward

'twixt the two dukes of Cornwall and Albany?

Not a word.

You may do then in time. Fare you well, sir.

The Duke be here tonight? The better - best!

This weaves itself perforce into my business.

Briefness and fortune work!

Brother, a word. Descend, brother, I say.

My father watches -

O sir, fly this place!

Intelligence is given where you are hid.

You have now the good advantage of the night.

Have you not spoken 'gainst the Duke of Cornwall aught?

He's coming hither, now, i' the night, i' the haste,

And Regan with him.

Have you nothing said

Upon his party 'gainst the Duke of Albany?

-Advise yourself.

-I am sure on't, not a word.

I hear my father coming - pardon me.

In cunning I must draw my sword upon you.

Draw, seem to defend yourself -

now quit you well.

Yield, come before my father!

Light, ho, here! Fly, brother, fly!

Torches, torches!

(So, farewell.)

Some blood drawn on me would beget opinion.

Of my more fierce endeavour

Oh! I have seen drunkards

Do more than this in sport.

Father, father! Stop, no help?

Now, Edmund, where's the villain?

Here stood he in the dark, his sharp sword out,

Mumbling of wicked charms, conjuring the moon

-To stand's auspicious mistress.

-But where is he?

-Look, sir, I bleed.

-Where is the villain, Edmund?

Fled this way, sir. When by no means he could...

Pursue him, ho! Go after!

By no means' what?

Persuade me to the murder of your lordship,

But that I told him the revenging gods

'Gainst parricides did all their thunders bend,

Spoke with how manifold and strong a bond

The child was bound to the father.

But when he saw my best alarumed spirits,

Bold in the quarrel's right, roused to th'encounter,

Or whether ghasted by the noise I made,

Full suddenly he fled. Ow!

Let him fly far -

Not in this land shall he remain uncaught,

And found - dispatch!

The noble Duke, my master,

My worthy arch and patron, comes tonight -

By his authority I will proclaim it,

That he which finds him shall deserve our thanks,

Bringing the murderous coward to the stake.

He that conceals him, death!

When I dissuaded him from his intent,

And found him pight to do it,

with curst speech I threatened to discover him.

He replied, "Thou unpossessing bastard, dost thou think,

"If I would stand against thee, would the reposal

"Of any trust, virtue or worth in thee

"Make thy words faithed?

"No, what I should deny, As this I would, ay,

"though thou didst produce

"My very character, I'd turn it all

"To thy suggestion, plot and damned practise."

O strange and fastened villain,

Would he deny his letter, said he?

I never got him.

TRUMPETS SOUND

Hark, the Duke's trumpets - I know not why he comes.

All ports I'll bar, the villain shall not scape -

The Duke must grant me that.

Besides, his picture I will send far and near,

that all the kingdom

May have the due note of him, and of my land,

Loyal and natural boy, I'll work the means

To make thee capable.

How now, my noble friend?

Since I came hither, I have heard strange news.

If it be true, all vengeance comes too short

Which can pursue th'offender.

How dost, my lord?

O madam, my old heart is cracked, it's cracked.

What, did my father's godson seek your life?

He whom my father named, your Edgar?

O, lady, lady, shame would have it hid.

Was he not companion with the riotous knights

That tend upon my father?

I know not, madam - 'tis too bad, too bad.

Yes, madam, he was of that consort.

No marvel, then, though he were ill affected.

'Tis they have put him on the old man's death,

To have th'expense and waste of his revenues.

I have this present evening from my sister

Been well informed of them, and with such cautions

That if they come to sojourn at my house I'll not be there.

Nor I, assure thee, Regan.

Edmund, I hear that you have shown your father

A child-like office.

It was my duty, sir.

He did bewray his practice, and received

This hurt you see, striving to apprehend him.

Is he pursued?

He is, my good lord.

If he be taken, he shall never more

Be feared of doing harm,

make your own purpose

How in my strength you please.

For you, Edmund,

Whose virtue and obedience doth this instant

So much commend itself, you shall be ours.

Natures of such deep trust we shall much need -

You we first seize on.

Sir, I shall serve you, truly, however else.

For him I thank your grace.

You know not why we came to visit you?

Thus out of season, threading dark-eyed night?

Occasions, noble Gloucester, of some poise

Wherein we must have use of your advice.

Our father he hath writ, so hath our sister,

Of differences, which I least thought it fit

To answer from our home.

The several messengers

From hence attend dispatch.

Our good old friend,

Lay comforts to your bosom, and bestow

Your needful counsel to our business,

Which craves the instant use.

I serve you, madam. Your graces are right welcome.

Good dawning to thee, friend. Art of this house?

Ay.

Where may we set our horses?

In the mire.

In the...?

LAUGHTER

Prithee, if thou lov'st me, tell me.

I love thee not.

LAUGHTER

Why, then, I care not for thee.

If I had thee in Lipsbury pinfold, I would make thee care for me.

Why dost thou use me thus? I know thee not.

Fellow, I know thee.

What dost thou know me for?

A knave, a rascal, an eater of broken meats.

A base, proud, shallow, beggarly, three-suited, hundred-pound,

filthy, worsted-stocking knave.

A lily-livered, action-taking knave, a whoreson, glass-gazing,

super-serviceable finical rogue.

One trunk-inheriting slave,

one that wouldst be a bawd in way of good service and art nothing

but the composition of a knave, coward, beggar, pander

and the son and heir of a mongrel bitch...

HE GASPS

..one whom I would beat into clamorous whining

if thou deniest the least syllable of thy addition.

Why...

what a monstrous...

..fellow art thou,

thus to rail on one that is neither known of thee, nor knows thee!

What a brazen-faced varlet art thou to deny thou knowest me?

Was it two days ago since I tripped up thy heels

and beat thee before the King? Hm?

Draw, you rogue, for though it be night, yet the moon shines.

I'll make a sop o' the moonshine of you.

Draw you whoreson cullionly barber-monger! Draw!

-Away, I have nothing to do with thee.

-Draw, you rascal!

You come with letters against the King.

-Help, ho! Murder, help!

-Strike, slave.

-Help, ho!

-Stand, rogue, stand you neat slave, strike!

-Murder, murder!

What's the matter? Part!

With you, goodman boy, if you please.

Come, I'll flesh ye - come, young master.

Weapons? Arms? What's the matter here?

Keep peace, upon your lives -

He dies that strikes again.

What's the matter?

The messengers from our sister and the King.

What is your difference? Speak.

I am scarce in breath, my lord.

No marvel, you have so bestirred your valour, you cowardly rascal,

nature disclaims in thee - a tailor made thee.

Thou art a strange fellow - a tailor make a man?

Ay, a tailor, sir -

a stone-cutter or painter could not have made him so ill,

though he had been but two years o'the trade.

Speak yet, how grew your quarrel?

This ancient ruffian, sir,

whose life I have spared at suit of his grey beard...

Thou whoreson zed! Thou unnecessary letter!

Spare my grey beard, you wagtail?

Peace, sirrah.

You beastly knave, know you no reverence?

Yes, sir, but anger hath a privilege.

Why art thou angry?

That such a slave as this should wear a sword,

Who wears no honesty.

HE SCOFFS

A plague upon your epileptic visage.

Smile you my speeches as I were a fool? Huh?!

Goose, if I had you upon Sarum plain,

I'd drive ye cackling home to Camelot.

What, art thou mad, old fellow?

How fell you out? Say that.

No contraries hold more antipathy

Than I and such a knave.

Why dost thou call him a knave? What is his fault?

His countenance likes me not.

No more perchance does mine, nor his, nor hers.

Sir, it is my occupation to be plain -

I have seen better faces in my time

Than stands on any shoulder that I see

Before me at this instant.

What was th'offence you gave him?

I never gave him any!

It pleased the king his master very late

To strike at me upon his misconstruction,

When he, compact and flattering his displeasure,

Tripped me behind - being down, insulted, railed,

And put upon him such a deal of man

That worthied him, got praises of the King

For him attempting who was self-subdued -

And in the fleshment of this dread exploit

Drew on me here again.

None of these rogues and cowards But Ajax is their fool.

Oh, fetch forth the stocks, ho!

You stubborn, ancient knave, you reverend braggart,

-We'll teach you.

-Sir, I am too old to learn.

Call not your stocks for me. I serve the King -

On whose employment I was sent to you.

You shall do small respect, show too bold malice

Against the grace and person of my master,

Stocking his messenger.

Fetch forth the stocks!

As I have life and honour, there shall he sit till noon.

Till noon? Till night, my lord, and all night too.

Madam, if I were your father's dog...

..You should not use me so.

Sir, being his knave, I will.

This is a fellow of the selfsame colour

-Our sister speaks of.

-Mm.

Come, bring away the stocks.

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 servant,

-Should have him thus restrained.

-I'll answer that.

My sister may receive it much more worse

To have her gentleman abused, assaulted,

For following her affairs.

Put in his legs.

Come, my good lord, away.

I am sorry for thee, friend - 'tis the Duke's pleasure,

Whose disposition all the world well knows

Will not be rubbed nor stopped.

I'll entreat for thee.

Pray you do not, sir.

I have watched and travelled hard.

Some time I'll sleep out, the rest I'll whistle.

A good man's fortune may grow out at heels.

Give you good morrow.

The Duke's to blame in this -

'twill be ill taken.

Approach, thou beacon to this underglobe,

That by thy comfortable beams I may

Peruse this letter.

I know 'tis from Cordelia,

Who hath most fortunately been informed

Of my obscured course...

..and "shall find time from this enormous state, seeking to give

"Losses their remedies."

Take vantage, heavy eyes, not to behold

This shameful lodging.

Fortune, good night -

smile once more, turn thy wheel.

RIDING HORN SOUNDS

DOG BARKS

Villain!

Pursue!

-DOGS BARK

-Go after him!

-Bringing the murderous coward...

-Murderous coward!

HORNS AND DOGS

He shall not escape!

Pursue him...

Go after him.

MAN YELLS

Pursue, pursue!

-Let him fly far.

-After!

-Not in this land shall he remain uncaught...

-Edgar!

-..And found - dispatch'd.

-You shall not escape!

Follow!

Murderous coward!

-HORN SOUNDS

-Murderous coward!

That he which finds him shall deserve our thanks,

Bringing the murderous coward to the stake.

He that conceals him, death.

You shall not escape!

HORN SOUNDS

Poor Tom, poor Tom!

HE YELPS

Gah!

HE YELPS

HE CHOKES

DOGS BARK

Poor Tom!

BARKING INTENSIFIES

Edgar I nothing am.

HORN SOUNDS

BARKING RECEDES

'Tis strange they should so depart from home

-And not send back my messenger.

-As I learned,

The night before there was no purpose in them

Of this remove.

Hail to thee, noble master.

Ha?

Mak'st thou this shame thy pastime?

No, my lord.

Ha, ha, look...

he wears cruel garters.

What's he that so much thy place mistook

To set thee here?

It is both he and she,