King Lear

Act IScene I

A Room of State in King Lear’s Palace

Enter Kent, Gloucester and Edmund.

Kent

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

Gloucester

It did always seem so to us; but now, in the division of the kingdom, it appears not which of the Dukes he values most, for qualities are so weighed that curiosity in neither can make choice of either’s moiety.

Kent

Is not this your son, my lord?

Gloucester

His breeding, sir, hath been at my charge: I have so often blush’d to acknowledge him that now I am braz’d to’t.

Kent

I cannot conceive you.

Gloucester

Sir, this young fellow’s mother could; whereupon she grew round-wombed, and had indeed, sir, a son for her cradle ere she had a husband for her bed. Do you smell a fault?

Kent

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

Gloucester

But I have a son, sir, by order of law, some year elder than this, 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, and the whoreson must be acknowledged. Do you know this noble gentleman, Edmund?

Edmund

No, my lord.

Gloucester

My Lord of Kent: remember him hereafter as my honourable friend.

Edmund

My services to your lordship.

Kent

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

Edmund

Sir, I shall study deserving.

Gloucester

He hath been out nine years, and away he shall again. The King is coming.

Sennet within.

Enter Lear, Cornwall, Albany, Goneril, Regan, Cordelia and Attendants.

Lear

Attend the lords of France and Burgundy,Gloucester.

Gloucester

I shall, my lord.

Exeunt Gloucester and Edmund.

Lear

Meantime we shall express our darker purpose.Give me the map there. Know that we have dividedIn three our kingdom: and ’tis our fast intentTo shake all cares and business from our age;Conferring them on younger strengths, while weUnburden’d crawl toward death. Our son of Cornwall,And you, our no less loving son of Albany,We have this hour a constant will to publishOur daughters’ several dowers, that future strifeMay be prevented now. The princes, France and Burgundy,Great rivals in our youngest daughter’s love,Long in our court have made their amorous sojourn,And here are to be answer’d. Tell me, my daughters,—Since now we will divest us both of rule,Interest of territory, cares of state,—Which of you shall we say doth love us most?That we our largest bounty may extendWhere nature doth with merit challenge.—Goneril,Our eldest born, speak first.

Goneril

Sir, I love you more than word can wield the matter;Dearer than eyesight, space, and liberty;Beyond what can be valu’d, rich or rare;No less than life, with grace, health, beauty, honour;As much as child e’er lov’d, or father found;A love that makes breath poor and speech unable;Beyond all manner of so much I love you.

Cordelia

Aside.

What shall Cordelia speak? Love, and be silent.

Lear

Of all these bounds, even from this line to this,With shadowy forests and with champains rich’d,With plenteous rivers and wide-skirted meads,We make thee lady: to thine and Albany’s issueBe this perpetual.—What says our second daughter,Our dearest Regan, wife of Cornwall? Speak.

Regan

Sir, I am made of the self mettle as my sister,And prize me at her worth. In my true heartI find she names my very deed of love;Only she comes too short, that I professMyself an enemy to all other joysWhich the most precious square of sense possesses,And find I am alone felicitateIn your dear highness’ love.

Cordelia

Aside.

Then poor Cordelia,And yet not so; since, I am sure, my love’sMore ponderous than my tongue.

Lear

To thee and thine hereditary everRemain this ample third of our fair kingdom;No less in space, validity, and pleasureThan that conferr’d on Goneril.—Now, our joy,Although the last and least; to whose young loveThe vines of France and milk of BurgundyStrive to be interess’d; what can you say to drawA third more opulent than your sisters? Speak.

Cordelia

Nothing, my lord.

Lear

Nothing?

Cordelia

Nothing.

Lear

Nothing will come of nothing: speak again.

Cordelia

Unhappy that I am, I cannot heaveMy heart into my mouth: I love your majestyAccording to my bond; no more nor less.

Lear

How, how, Cordelia? Mend your speech a little,Lest you may mar your fortunes.

Cordelia

Good my lord,You have begot me, bred me, lov’d me: IReturn those duties back as are right fit,Obey you, love you, and most honour you.Why have my sisters husbands if they sayThey love you all? Haply, when I shall wed,That lord whose hand must take my plight shall carryHalf my love with him, half my care and duty:Sure I shall never marry like my sisters,To love my father all.

Lear

But goes thy heart with this?

Cordelia

Ay, my good lord.

Lear

So young, and so untender?

Cordelia

So young, my lord, and true.

Lear

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 meHold thee from this for ever. The barbarous Scythian,Or he that makes his generation messesTo gorge his appetite, shall to my bosomBe as well neighbour’d, pitied, and reliev’d,As thou my sometime daughter.

Kent

Good my liege,—

Lear

Peace, Kent!Come not between the dragon and his wrath.I lov’d her most, and thought to set my restOn her kind nursery.

To Cordelia.

Hence and avoid my sight!So be my grave my peace, as here I giveHer 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 effectsThat troop with majesty. Ourself, by monthly course,With reservation of an hundred knights,By you to be sustain’d, shall our abodeMake with you by due turn. Only we shall retainThe 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.

Giving the crown.

Kent

Royal Lear,Whom I have ever honour’d as my king,Lov’d as my father, as my master follow’d,As my great patron thought on in my prayers.—

Lear

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

Kent

Let it fall rather, though the fork invadeThe region of my heart: be Kent unmannerlyWhen 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 boundWhen majesty falls to folly. Reverse thy state;And in thy best consideration checkThis hideous rashness: answer my life my judgement,Thy youngest daughter does not love thee least;Nor are those empty-hearted, whose low soundsReverb no hollowness.

Lear

Kent, on thy life, no more.

Kent

My life I never held but as a pawnTo wage against thine enemies; ne’er fear to lose it,Thy safety being the motive.

Lear

Out of my sight!

Kent

See better, Lear; and let me still remainThe true blank of thine eye.

Lear

Now, by Apollo,—

Kent

Now by Apollo, King,Thou swear’st thy gods in vain.

Lear

O vassal! Miscreant!

Laying his hand on his sword.

Albany and Cornwall

Dear sir, forbear!

Kent

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

Lear

Hear me, recreant! on thine allegiance, hear me!Since thou hast sought to make us break our vows,Which we durst never yet, and with strain’d prideTo come betwixt our sentences 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 backUpon our kingdom: if, on the next day following,Thy banish’d trunk be found in our dominions,The moment is thy death. Away! By Jupiter,This shall not be revok’d.

Kent

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

To Cordelia.

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

To Goneril and Regan.

And your large speeches may your deeds approve,That good effects may spring from words of love.Thus Kent, O princes, bids you all adieu;He’ll shape his old course in a country new.

Exit.

Flourish. Re-enter Gloucester, with France, Burgundy and Attendants.

Cordelia

Here’s France and Burgundy, my noble lord.

Lear

My Lord of Burgundy,We first address toward you, who with this kingHath rivall’d for our daughter: what in the leastWill you require in present dower with her,Or cease your quest of love?

Burgundy

Most royal majesty,I crave no more than hath your highness offer’d,Nor will you tender less.

Lear

Right noble Burgundy,When she was dear to us, we did hold her so;But now her price is fall’n. Sir, there she stands:If aught within that little-seeming substance,Or all of it, with our displeasure piec’d,And nothing more, may fitly like your grace,She’s there, and she is yours.

Burgundy

I know no answer.

Lear

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

Burgundy

Pardon me, royal sir;Election makes not up in such conditions.

Lear

Then leave her, sir; for, by the power that made me,I tell you all her wealth.

To France

For you, great king,I would not from your love make such a strayTo match you where I hate; therefore beseech youT’avert your liking a more worthier wayThan on a wretch whom nature is asham’dAlmost t’acknowledge hers.

France

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 timeCommit a thing so monstrous, to dismantleSo many folds of favour. Sure her offenceMust be of such unnatural degreeThat monsters it, or your fore-vouch’d affectionFall into taint; which to believe of herMust be a faith that reason without miracleShould never plant in me.

Cordelia

I yet beseech your majesty,If for I want that glib and oily artTo speak and purpose not; since what I well intend,I’ll do’t before I speak,—that you make knownIt is no vicious blot, murder, or foulness,No unchaste action or dishonour’d step,That hath depriv’d me of your grace and favour;But even for want of that for which I am richer,A still soliciting eye, and such a tongueAs I am glad I have not, though not to have itHath lost me in your liking.

Lear

Better thou hadstNot been born than not to have pleas’d me better.

France

Is it but this?—a tardiness in natureWhich often leaves the history unspokeThat it intends to do? My lord of Burgundy,What say you to the lady? Love’s not loveWhen it is mingled with regards that standsAloof from the entire point. Will you have her?She is herself a dowry.

Burgundy

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

Lear

Nothing: I have sworn; I am firm.

Burgundy

I am sorry, then, you have so lost a fatherThat you must lose a husband.

Cordelia

Peace be with Burgundy!Since that respects of fortunes are his love,I shall not be his wife.

France

Fairest Cordelia, that art most rich, being poor;Most choice forsaken; and most lov’d, despis’d!Thee and thy virtues here I seize upon:Be it lawful, I take up what’s cast away.Gods, gods! ’Tis strange that from their cold’st neglectMy love should kindle to inflam’d respect.Thy dowerless daughter, King, thrown to my chance,Is queen of us, of ours, and our fair France:Not all the dukes of waterish BurgundyCan buy this unpriz’d precious maid of me.Bid them farewell, Cordelia, though unkind:Thou losest here, a better where to find.

Lear

Thou hast her, France: let her be thine; for weHave no such daughter, nor shall ever seeThat face of hers again. Therefore be goneWithout our grace, our love, our benison.Come, noble Burgundy.

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

France

Bid farewell to your sisters.

Cordelia

The jewels of our father, with wash’d eyesCordelia leaves you: I know you what you are;And like a sister am most loath to callYour faults as they are nam’d. Love well our father:To your professed bosoms I commit him:But yet, alas, stood I within his grace,I would prefer him to a better place.So farewell to you both.

Regan

Prescribe not us our duties.

Goneril

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

Cordelia

Time shall unfold what plighted cunning hides:Who covers faults, at last shame derides.Well may you prosper.

France

Come, my fair Cordelia.

Exeunt France and Cordelia.

Goneril

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

Regan

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

Goneril

You see how full of changes his age is; the observation we have made of it hath not been little: he always loved our sister most; and with what poor judgement he hath now cast her off appears too grossly.

Regan

’Tis the infirmity of his age: yet he hath ever but slenderly known himself.

Goneril

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

Regan

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

Goneril

There is further compliment of leave-taking between France and him. 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.

Regan

We shall further think of it.

Goneril

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

Exeunt.