Chapter 30
Part 30
ANTONY. Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears; I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him. The evil that men do lives after them, The good is oft interred with their bones; So let it be with Caesar. The noble Brutus Hath told you Caesar was ambitious. If it were so, it was a grievous fault, And grievously hath Caesar answer’d it. Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest, For Brutus is an honourable man, So are they all, all honourable men, Come I to speak in Caesar’s funeral. He was my friend, faithful and just to me; But Brutus says he was ambitious, And Brutus is an honourable man. He hath brought many captives home to Rome, Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill: Did this in Caesar seem ambitious? When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept; Ambition should be made of sterner stuff: Yet Brutus says he was ambitious; And Brutus is an honourable man. You all did see that on the Lupercal I thrice presented him a kingly crown, Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition? Yet Brutus says he was ambitious; And sure he is an honourable man. I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke, But here I am to speak what I do know. You all did love him once, not without cause; What cause withholds you then to mourn for him? O judgement, thou art fled to brutish beasts, And men have lost their reason. Bear with me. My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar, And I must pause till it come back to me.
FIRST CITIZEN. Methinks there is much reason in his sayings.
SECOND CITIZEN. If thou consider rightly of the matter, Caesar has had great wrong.
THIRD CITIZEN. Has he, masters? I fear there will a worse come in his place.
FOURTH CITIZEN. Mark’d ye his words? He would not take the crown; Therefore ’tis certain he was not ambitious.
FIRST CITIZEN. If it be found so, some will dear abide it.
SECOND CITIZEN. Poor soul, his eyes are red as fire with weeping.
THIRD CITIZEN. There’s not a nobler man in Rome than Antony.
FOURTH CITIZEN. Now mark him; he begins again to speak.
ANTONY. But yesterday the word of Caesar might Have stood against the world; now lies he there, And none so poor to do him reverence. O masters! If I were dispos’d to stir Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage, I should do Brutus wrong and Cassius wrong, Who, you all know, are honourable men. I will not do them wrong; I rather choose To wrong the dead, to wrong myself and you, Than I will wrong such honourable men. But here’s a parchment with the seal of Caesar, I found it in his closet; ’tis his will: Let but the commons hear this testament, Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read, And they would go and kiss dead Caesar’s wounds, And dip their napkins in his sacred blood; Yea, beg a hair of him for memory, And, dying, mention it within their wills, Bequeathing it as a rich legacy Unto their issue.
FOURTH CITIZEN. We’ll hear the will. Read it, Mark Antony.
CITIZENS. The will, the will! We will hear Caesar’s will.
ANTONY. Have patience, gentle friends, I must not read it. It is not meet you know how Caesar loved you. You are not wood, you are not stones, but men; And being men, hearing the will of Caesar, It will inflame you, it will make you mad. ’Tis good you know not that you are his heirs; For if you should, O, what would come of it?
FOURTH CITIZEN. Read the will! We’ll hear it, Antony; You shall read us the will, Caesar’s will!
ANTONY. Will you be patient? Will you stay awhile? I have o’ershot myself to tell you of it. I fear I wrong the honourable men Whose daggers have stabb’d Caesar; I do fear it.
FOURTH CITIZEN. They were traitors. Honourable men!
CITIZENS. The will! The testament!
SECOND CITIZEN. They were villains, murderers. The will! Read the will!
ANTONY. You will compel me then to read the will? Then make a ring about the corpse of Caesar, And let me show you him that made the will. Shall I descend? and will you give me leave?
CITIZENS. Come down.
SECOND CITIZEN. Descend.
[_He comes down._]
THIRD CITIZEN. You shall have leave.
FOURTH CITIZEN. A ring! Stand round.
FIRST CITIZEN. Stand from the hearse, stand from the body.
SECOND CITIZEN. Room for Antony, most noble Antony!
ANTONY. Nay, press not so upon me; stand far off.
CITIZENS. Stand back; room! bear back.
ANTONY. If you have tears, prepare to shed them now. You all do know this mantle. I remember The first time ever Caesar put it on; ’Twas on a Summer’s evening, in his tent, That day he overcame the Nervii. Look, in this place ran Cassius’ dagger through: See what a rent the envious Casca made: Through this the well-beloved Brutus stabb’d; And as he pluck’d his cursed steel away, Mark how the blood of Caesar follow’d it, As rushing out of doors, to be resolv’d If Brutus so unkindly knock’d, or no; For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar’s angel. Judge, O you gods, how dearly Caesar lov’d him. This was the most unkindest cut of all; For when the noble Caesar saw him stab, Ingratitude, more strong than traitors’ arms, Quite vanquish’d him: then burst his mighty heart; And in his mantle muffling up his face, Even at the base of Pompey’s statue Which all the while ran blood, great Caesar fell. O, what a fall was there, my countrymen! Then I, and you, and all of us fell down, Whilst bloody treason flourish’d over us. O, now you weep; and I perceive you feel The dint of pity. These are gracious drops. Kind souls, what weep you when you but behold Our Caesar’s vesture wounded? Look you here, Here is himself, marr’d, as you see, with traitors.
FIRST CITIZEN. O piteous spectacle!
SECOND CITIZEN. O noble Caesar!
THIRD CITIZEN. O woeful day!
FOURTH CITIZEN. O traitors, villains!
FIRST CITIZEN. O most bloody sight!
SECOND CITIZEN. We will be revenged.
CITIZENS. Revenge,—about,—seek,—burn,—fire,—kill,—slay,—let not a traitor live!
ANTONY. Stay, countrymen.
FIRST CITIZEN. Peace there! Hear the noble Antony.
SECOND CITIZEN. We’ll hear him, we’ll follow him, we’ll die with him.
ANTONY. Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you up To such a sudden flood of mutiny. They that have done this deed are honourable. What private griefs they have, alas, I know not, That made them do it. They’re wise and honourable, And will, no doubt, with reasons answer you. I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts. I am no orator, as Brutus is; But, as you know me all, a plain blunt man, That love my friend; and that they know full well That gave me public leave to speak of him. For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech, To stir men’s blood. I only speak right on. I tell you that which you yourselves do know, Show you sweet Caesar’s wounds, poor poor dumb mouths, And bid them speak for me. But were I Brutus, And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony Would ruffle up your spirits, and put a tongue In every wound of Caesar, that should move The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny.
CITIZENS. We’ll mutiny.
FIRST CITIZEN. We’ll burn the house of Brutus.
THIRD CITIZEN. Away, then! come, seek the conspirators.
ANTONY. Yet hear me, countrymen; yet hear me speak.
CITIZENS. Peace, ho! Hear Antony; most noble Antony.
ANTONY. Why, friends, you go to do you know not what. Wherein hath Caesar thus deserved your loves? Alas, you know not; I must tell you then. You have forgot the will I told you of.
CITIZENS. Most true; the will!—let’s stay, and hear the will.
ANTONY. Here is the will, and under Caesar’s seal. To every Roman citizen he gives, To every several man, seventy-five drachmas.
SECOND CITIZEN. Most noble Caesar! We’ll revenge his death.
THIRD CITIZEN. O, royal Caesar!
ANTONY. Hear me with patience.
CITIZENS. Peace, ho!
ANTONY. Moreover, he hath left you all his walks, His private arbors, and new-planted orchards, On this side Tiber; he hath left them you, And to your heirs forever; common pleasures, To walk abroad, and recreate yourselves. Here was a Caesar! when comes such another?
FIRST CITIZEN. Never, never. Come, away, away! We’ll burn his body in the holy place, And with the brands fire the traitors’ houses. Take up the body.
SECOND CITIZEN. Go, fetch fire.
THIRD CITIZEN. Pluck down benches.
FOURTH CITIZEN. Pluck down forms, windows, anything.
[_Exeunt Citizens, with the body._]
ANTONY. Now let it work. Mischief, thou art afoot, Take thou what course thou wilt!
Enter a Servant.
How now, fellow?
SERVANT. Sir, Octavius is already come to Rome.
ANTONY. Where is he?
SERVANT. He and Lepidus are at Caesar’s house.
ANTONY. And thither will I straight to visit him. He comes upon a wish. Fortune is merry, And in this mood will give us anything.
SERVANT. I heard him say Brutus and Cassius Are rid like madmen through the gates of Rome.
ANTONY. Belike they had some notice of the people, How I had moved them. Bring me to Octavius.
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE III. The same. A street.
Enter Cinna, the poet, and after him the citizens.
CINNA. I dreamt tonight that I did feast with Caesar, And things unluckily charge my fantasy. I have no will to wander forth of doors, Yet something leads me forth.
FIRST CITIZEN. What is your name?
SECOND CITIZEN. Whither are you going?
THIRD CITIZEN. Where do you dwell?
FOURTH CITIZEN. Are you a married man or a bachelor?
SECOND CITIZEN. Answer every man directly.
FIRST CITIZEN. Ay, and briefly.
FOURTH CITIZEN. Ay, and wisely.
THIRD CITIZEN. Ay, and truly, you were best.
CINNA. What is my name? Whither am I going? Where do I dwell? Am I a married man or a bachelor? Then, to answer every man directly and briefly, wisely and truly. Wisely I say I am a bachelor.
SECOND CITIZEN. That’s as much as to say they are fools that marry; you’ll bear me a bang for that, I fear. Proceed, directly.
CINNA. Directly, I am going to Caesar’s funeral.
FIRST CITIZEN. As a friend, or an enemy?
CINNA. As a friend.
SECOND CITIZEN. That matter is answered directly.
FOURTH CITIZEN. For your dwelling, briefly.
CINNA. Briefly, I dwell by the Capitol.
THIRD CITIZEN. Your name, sir, truly.
CINNA. Truly, my name is Cinna.
FIRST CITIZEN. Tear him to pieces! He’s a conspirator.
CINNA. I am Cinna the poet, I am Cinna the poet.
FOURTH CITIZEN. Tear him for his bad verses, tear him for his bad verses.
CINNA. I am not Cinna the conspirator.
FOURTH CITIZEN. It is no matter, his name’s Cinna; pluck but his name out of his heart, and turn him going.
THIRD CITIZEN. Tear him, tear him! Come; brands, ho! firebrands. To Brutus’, to Cassius’; burn all. Some to Decius’ house, and some to Casca’s, some to Ligarius’. Away, go!
[_Exeunt._]
ACT IV
SCENE I. Rome. A room in Antony’s house.
Enter Antony, Octavius and Lepidus, seated at a table.
ANTONY. These many then shall die; their names are prick’d.
OCTAVIUS. Your brother too must die; consent you, Lepidus?
LEPIDUS. I do consent,—
OCTAVIUS. Prick him down, Antony.
LEPIDUS. Upon condition Publius shall not live, Who is your sister’s son, Mark Antony.
ANTONY. He shall not live; look, with a spot I damn him. But, Lepidus, go you to Caesar’s house; Fetch the will hither, and we shall determine How to cut off some charge in legacies.
LEPIDUS. What, shall I find you here?
OCTAVIUS. Or here, or at the Capitol.
[_Exit Lepidus._]
ANTONY. This is a slight unmeritable man, Meet to be sent on errands. Is it fit, The three-fold world divided, he should stand One of the three to share it?
OCTAVIUS. So you thought him, And took his voice who should be prick’d to die In our black sentence and proscription.
ANTONY. Octavius, I have seen more days than you; And though we lay these honours on this man, To ease ourselves of divers sland’rous loads, He shall but bear them as the ass bears gold, To groan and sweat under the business, Either led or driven, as we point the way; And having brought our treasure where we will, Then take we down his load, and turn him off, Like to the empty ass, to shake his ears, And graze in commons.
OCTAVIUS. You may do your will; But he’s a tried and valiant soldier.
ANTONY. So is my horse, Octavius; and for that I do appoint him store of provender. It is a creature that I teach to fight, To wind, to stop, to run directly on, His corporal motion govern’d by my spirit. And, in some taste, is Lepidus but so: He must be taught, and train’d, and bid go forth: A barren-spirited fellow; one that feeds On objects, arts, and imitations, Which, out of use and stal’d by other men, Begin his fashion. Do not talk of him But as a property. And now, Octavius, Listen great things. Brutus and Cassius Are levying powers; we must straight make head. Therefore let our alliance be combin’d, Our best friends made, our means stretch’d; And let us presently go sit in council, How covert matters may be best disclos’d, And open perils surest answered.
OCTAVIUS. Let us do so: for we are at the stake, And bay’d about with many enemies; And some that smile have in their hearts, I fear, Millions of mischiefs.
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE II. Before Brutus’ tent, in the camp near Sardis.
Drum. Enter Brutus, Lucilius, Titinius and Soldiers; Pindarus meeting them; Lucius at some distance.
BRUTUS. Stand, ho!
LUCILIUS. Give the word, ho! and stand.
BRUTUS. What now, Lucilius! is Cassius near?
LUCILIUS. He is at hand, and Pindarus is come To do you salutation from his master.
[_Pindarus gives a letter to Brutus._]
BRUTUS. He greets me well. Your master, Pindarus, In his own change, or by ill officers, Hath given me some worthy cause to wish Things done, undone: but, if he be at hand, I shall be satisfied.
PINDARUS. I do not doubt But that my noble master will appear Such as he is, full of regard and honour.
BRUTUS. He is not doubted. A word, Lucilius; How he received you, let me be resolv’d.
LUCILIUS. With courtesy and with respect enough, But not with such familiar instances, Nor with such free and friendly conference, As he hath us’d of old.
BRUTUS. Thou hast describ’d A hot friend cooling. Ever note, Lucilius, When love begins to sicken and decay It useth an enforced ceremony. There are no tricks in plain and simple faith; But hollow men, like horses hot at hand, Make gallant show and promise of their mettle;
[_Low march within._]
But when they should endure the bloody spur, They fall their crests, and like deceitful jades Sink in the trial. Comes his army on?
LUCILIUS. They meant this night in Sardis to be quarter’d; The greater part, the horse in general, Are come with Cassius.
Enter Cassius and Soldiers.
BRUTUS. Hark! he is arriv’d. March gently on to meet him.
CASSIUS. Stand, ho!
BRUTUS. Stand, ho! Speak the word along.
FIRST SOLDIER. Stand!
SECOND SOLDIER. Stand!
THIRD SOLDIER. Stand!
CASSIUS. Most noble brother, you have done me wrong.
BRUTUS. Judge me, you gods; wrong I mine enemies? And if not so, how should I wrong a brother?
CASSIUS. Brutus, this sober form of yours hides wrongs; And when you do them—
BRUTUS. Cassius, be content. Speak your griefs softly, I do know you well. Before the eyes of both our armies here, Which should perceive nothing but love from us, Let us not wrangle. Bid them move away; Then in my tent, Cassius, enlarge your griefs, And I will give you audience.
CASSIUS. Pindarus, Bid our commanders lead their charges off A little from this ground.
BRUTUS. Lucilius, do you the like; and let no man Come to our tent till we have done our conference. Lucius and Titinius, guard our door.
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE III. Within the tent of Brutus.
Enter Brutus and Cassius.
CASSIUS. That you have wrong’d me doth appear in this: You have condemn’d and noted Lucius Pella For taking bribes here of the Sardians; Wherein my letters, praying on his side Because I knew the man, were slighted off.
BRUTUS. You wrong’d yourself to write in such a case.
CASSIUS. In such a time as this it is not meet That every nice offence should bear his comment.
BRUTUS. Let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself Are much condemn’d to have an itching palm, To sell and mart your offices for gold To undeservers.
CASSIUS. I an itching palm! You know that you are Brutus that speak this, Or, by the gods, this speech were else your last.
BRUTUS. The name of Cassius honours this corruption, And chastisement doth therefore hide his head.
CASSIUS. Chastisement!
BRUTUS. Remember March, the Ides of March remember: Did not great Julius bleed for justice’ sake? What villain touch’d his body, that did stab, And not for justice? What! Shall one of us, That struck the foremost man of all this world But for supporting robbers, shall we now Contaminate our fingers with base bribes, And sell the mighty space of our large honours For so much trash as may be grasped thus? I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon, Than such a Roman.
CASSIUS. Brutus, bait not me, I’ll not endure it. You forget yourself, To hedge me in. I am a soldier, I, Older in practice, abler than yourself To make conditions.
BRUTUS. Go to; you are not, Cassius.
CASSIUS. I am.
BRUTUS. I say you are not.
CASSIUS. Urge me no more, I shall forget myself; Have mind upon your health, tempt me no farther.
BRUTUS. Away, slight man!
CASSIUS. Is’t possible?
BRUTUS. Hear me, for I will speak. Must I give way and room to your rash choler? Shall I be frighted when a madman stares?
CASSIUS. O ye gods, ye gods! Must I endure all this?
BRUTUS. All this? ay, more: fret till your proud heart break; Go show your slaves how choleric you are, And make your bondmen tremble. Must I budge? Must I observe you? Must I stand and crouch Under your testy humour? By the gods, You shall digest the venom of your spleen, Though it do split you; for, from this day forth, I’ll use you for my mirth, yea, for my laughter, When you are waspish.
CASSIUS. Is it come to this?
BRUTUS. You say you are a better soldier: Let it appear so; make your vaunting true, And it shall please me well. For mine own part, I shall be glad to learn of noble men.
CASSIUS. You wrong me every way, you wrong me, Brutus. I said, an elder soldier, not a better: Did I say better?
BRUTUS. If you did, I care not.
CASSIUS. When Caesar liv’d, he durst not thus have mov’d me.
BRUTUS. Peace, peace! you durst not so have tempted him.
CASSIUS. I durst not?
BRUTUS. No.
CASSIUS. What? durst not tempt him?
BRUTUS. For your life you durst not.
CASSIUS. Do not presume too much upon my love. I may do that I shall be sorry for.
BRUTUS. You have done that you should be sorry for. There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats, For I am arm’d so strong in honesty, That they pass by me as the idle wind, Which I respect not. I did send to you For certain sums of gold, which you denied me; For I can raise no money by vile means: By Heaven, I had rather coin my heart, And drop my blood for drachmas, than to wring From the hard hands of peasants their vile trash By any indirection. I did send To you for gold to pay my legions, Which you denied me: was that done like Cassius? Should I have answer’d Caius Cassius so? When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous, To lock such rascal counters from his friends, Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts, Dash him to pieces!
CASSIUS. I denied you not.
BRUTUS. You did.
CASSIUS. I did not. He was but a fool That brought my answer back. Brutus hath riv’d my heart. A friend should bear his friend’s infirmities; But Brutus makes mine greater than they are.
BRUTUS. I do not, till you practise them on me.
CASSIUS. You love me not.
BRUTUS. I do not like your faults.
CASSIUS. A friendly eye could never see such faults.
BRUTUS. A flatterer’s would not, though they do appear As huge as high Olympus.
CASSIUS. Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come, Revenge yourselves alone on Cassius, For Cassius is a-weary of the world: Hated by one he loves; brav’d by his brother; Check’d like a bondman; all his faults observ’d, Set in a note-book, learn’d and conn’d by rote, To cast into my teeth. O, I could weep My spirit from mine eyes! There is my dagger, And here my naked breast; within, a heart Dearer than Plutus’ mine, richer than gold: If that thou be’st a Roman, take it forth. I, that denied thee gold, will give my heart: Strike as thou didst at Caesar; for I know, When thou didst hate him worst, thou lovedst him better Than ever thou lovedst Cassius.
BRUTUS. Sheathe your dagger. Be angry when you will, it shall have scope; Do what you will, dishonour shall be humour. O Cassius, you are yoked with a lamb That carries anger as the flint bears fire, Who, much enforced, shows a hasty spark, And straight is cold again.
CASSIUS. Hath Cassius liv’d To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus, When grief and blood ill-temper’d vexeth him?
BRUTUS. When I spoke that, I was ill-temper’d too.
CASSIUS. Do you confess so much? Give me your hand.
BRUTUS. And my heart too.
CASSIUS. O Brutus!
BRUTUS. What’s the matter?
CASSIUS. Have not you love enough to bear with me, When that rash humour which my mother gave me Makes me forgetful?
BRUTUS. Yes, Cassius; and from henceforth, When you are over-earnest with your Brutus, He’ll think your mother chides, and leave you so.
Enter Poet, followed by Lucilius, Titinius and Lucius.
POET. [_Within._] Let me go in to see the generals, There is some grudge between ’em; ’tis not meet They be alone.
LUCILIUS. [_Within._] You shall not come to them.
POET. [_Within._] Nothing but death shall stay me.
CASSIUS. How now! What’s the matter?
POET. For shame, you generals! What do you mean? Love, and be friends, as two such men should be; For I have seen more years, I’m sure, than ye.
CASSIUS. Ha, ha! How vilely doth this cynic rhyme!
BRUTUS. Get you hence, sirrah. Saucy fellow, hence!
CASSIUS. Bear with him, Brutus; ’tis his fashion.
BRUTUS. I’ll know his humour when he knows his time. What should the wars do with these jigging fools? Companion, hence!
CASSIUS. Away, away, be gone!
[_Exit Poet._]
BRUTUS. Lucilius and Titinius, bid the commanders Prepare to lodge their companies tonight.
CASSIUS. And come yourselves and bring Messala with you Immediately to us.
[_Exeunt Lucilius and Titinius._]
BRUTUS. Lucius, a bowl of wine.
[_Exit Lucius._]
CASSIUS. I did not think you could have been so angry.
BRUTUS. O Cassius, I am sick of many griefs.
CASSIUS. Of your philosophy you make no use, If you give place to accidental evils.
BRUTUS. No man bears sorrow better. Portia is dead.
CASSIUS. Ha? Portia?
BRUTUS. She is dead.
CASSIUS. How ’scap’d I killing, when I cross’d you so? O insupportable and touching loss! Upon what sickness?
BRUTUS. Impatient of my absence, And grief that young Octavius with Mark Antony Have made themselves so strong; for with her death That tidings came. With this she fell distract, And, her attendants absent, swallow’d fire.
CASSIUS. And died so?
BRUTUS. Even so.
CASSIUS. O ye immortal gods!
Enter Lucius, with wine and a taper.
BRUTUS. Speak no more of her. Give me a bowl of wine. In this I bury all unkindness, Cassius.
[_Drinks._]
CASSIUS. My heart is thirsty for that noble pledge. Fill, Lucius, till the wine o’erswell the cup. I cannot drink too much of Brutus’ love.
[_Drinks._]
[_Exit Lucius._]
Enter Titinius and Messala.
BRUTUS. Come in, Titinius! Welcome, good Messala. Now sit we close about this taper here, And call in question our necessities.
CASSIUS. Portia, art thou gone?
BRUTUS. No more, I pray you. Messala, I have here received letters, That young Octavius and Mark Antony Come down upon us with a mighty power, Bending their expedition toward Philippi.
MESSALA. Myself have letters of the selfsame tenor.
BRUTUS. With what addition?
MESSALA. That by proscription and bills of outlawry Octavius, Antony, and Lepidus Have put to death an hundred Senators.
BRUTUS. Therein our letters do not well agree. Mine speak of seventy Senators that died By their proscriptions, Cicero being one.
CASSIUS. Cicero one!
MESSALA. Cicero is dead, And by that order of proscription. Had you your letters from your wife, my lord?
BRUTUS. No, Messala.
MESSALA. Nor nothing in your letters writ of her?
BRUTUS. Nothing, Messala.
MESSALA. That, methinks, is strange.
BRUTUS. Why ask you? Hear you aught of her in yours?
MESSALA. No, my lord.
BRUTUS. Now as you are a Roman, tell me true.
MESSALA. Then like a Roman bear the truth I tell, For certain she is dead, and by strange manner.
BRUTUS. Why, farewell, Portia. We must die, Messala. With meditating that she must die once, I have the patience to endure it now.
MESSALA. Even so great men great losses should endure.
CASSIUS. I have as much of this in art as you, But yet my nature could not bear it so.
BRUTUS. Well, to our work alive. What do you think Of marching to Philippi presently?
CASSIUS. I do not think it good.
BRUTUS. Your reason?
CASSIUS. This it is: ’Tis better that the enemy seek us; So shall he waste his means, weary his soldiers, Doing himself offence, whilst we, lying still, Are full of rest, defence, and nimbleness.
BRUTUS. Good reasons must of force give place to better. The people ’twixt Philippi and this ground Do stand but in a forced affection; For they have grudg’d us contribution. The enemy, marching along by them, By them shall make a fuller number up, Come on refresh’d, new-added, and encourag’d; From which advantage shall we cut him off If at Philippi we do face him there, These people at our back.
CASSIUS. Hear me, good brother.
BRUTUS. Under your pardon. You must note besides, That we have tried the utmost of our friends, Our legions are brim-full, our cause is ripe. The enemy increaseth every day; We, at the height, are ready to decline. There is a tide in the affairs of men, Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune; Omitted, all the voyage of their life Is bound in shallows and in miseries. On such a full sea are we now afloat, And we must take the current when it serves, Or lose our ventures.
CASSIUS. Then, with your will, go on: We’ll along ourselves, and meet them at Philippi.
BRUTUS. The deep of night is crept upon our talk, And nature must obey necessity, Which we will niggard with a little rest. There is no more to say?
CASSIUS. No more. Good night: Early tomorrow will we rise, and hence.
Enter Lucius.
BRUTUS. Lucius! My gown.
[_Exit Lucius._]
Farewell now, good Messala. Good night, Titinius. Noble, noble Cassius, Good night, and good repose.
CASSIUS. O my dear brother! This was an ill beginning of the night. Never come such division ’tween our souls! Let it not, Brutus.
Enter Lucius with the gown.
BRUTUS. Everything is well.
CASSIUS. Good night, my lord.
BRUTUS. Good night, good brother.
TITINIUS and MESSALA. Good night, Lord Brutus.
BRUTUS. Farewell, everyone.
[_Exeunt Cassius, Titinius and Messala._]
Give me the gown. Where is thy instrument?
LUCIUS. Here in the tent.
BRUTUS. What, thou speak’st drowsily? Poor knave, I blame thee not, thou art o’er-watch’d. Call Claudius and some other of my men; I’ll have them sleep on cushions in my tent.
LUCIUS. Varro and Claudius!
Enter Varro and Claudius.
VARRO. Calls my lord?
BRUTUS. I pray you, sirs, lie in my tent and sleep; It may be I shall raise you by-and-by On business to my brother Cassius.
VARRO. So please you, we will stand and watch your pleasure.
BRUTUS. I will not have it so; lie down, good sirs, It may be I shall otherwise bethink me. Look, Lucius, here’s the book I sought for so; I put it in the pocket of my gown.
[_Servants lie down._]
LUCIUS. I was sure your lordship did not give it me.
BRUTUS. Bear with me, good boy, I am much forgetful. Canst thou hold up thy heavy eyes awhile, And touch thy instrument a strain or two?
LUCIUS. Ay, my lord, an’t please you.
BRUTUS. It does, my boy. I trouble thee too much, but thou art willing.
LUCIUS. It is my duty, sir.
BRUTUS. I should not urge thy duty past thy might; I know young bloods look for a time of rest.
LUCIUS. I have slept, my lord, already.
BRUTUS. It was well done, and thou shalt sleep again; I will not hold thee long. If I do live, I will be good to thee.
[_Lucius plays and sings till he falls asleep._]
This is a sleepy tune. O murd’rous slumber, Layest thou thy leaden mace upon my boy, That plays thee music? Gentle knave, good night; I will not do thee so much wrong to wake thee. If thou dost nod, thou break’st thy instrument; I’ll take it from thee; and, good boy, good night. Let me see, let me see; is not the leaf turn’d down Where I left reading? Here it is, I think.
Enter the Ghost of Caesar.
How ill this taper burns! Ha! who comes here? I think it is the weakness of mine eyes That shapes this monstrous apparition. It comes upon me. Art thou anything? Art thou some god, some angel, or some devil, That mak’st my blood cold and my hair to stare? Speak to me what thou art.
GHOST. Thy evil spirit, Brutus.
BRUTUS. Why com’st thou?
GHOST. To tell thee thou shalt see me at Philippi.
BRUTUS. Well; then I shall see thee again?
GHOST. Ay, at Philippi.
BRUTUS. Why, I will see thee at Philippi then.
[_Ghost vanishes._]
Now I have taken heart, thou vanishest. Ill spirit, I would hold more talk with thee. Boy! Lucius! Varro! Claudius! Sirs, awake! Claudius!
LUCIUS. The strings, my lord, are false.
BRUTUS. He thinks he still is at his instrument. Lucius, awake!
LUCIUS. My lord?
BRUTUS. Didst thou dream, Lucius, that thou so criedst out?
LUCIUS. My lord, I do not know that I did cry.
BRUTUS. Yes, that thou didst. Didst thou see anything?
LUCIUS. Nothing, my lord.
BRUTUS. Sleep again, Lucius. Sirrah Claudius! Fellow thou, awake!
VARRO. My lord?
CLAUDIUS. My lord?
BRUTUS. Why did you so cry out, sirs, in your sleep?
VARRO. CLAUDIUS. Did we, my lord?
BRUTUS. Ay. Saw you anything?
VARRO. No, my lord, I saw nothing.
CLAUDIUS. Nor I, my lord.
BRUTUS. Go and commend me to my brother Cassius; Bid him set on his powers betimes before, And we will follow.
VARRO. CLAUDIUS. It shall be done, my lord.
[_Exeunt._]
ACT V
SCENE I. The plains of Philippi.
Enter Octavius, Antony and their Army.
OCTAVIUS. Now, Antony, our hopes are answered. You said the enemy would not come down, But keep the hills and upper regions. It proves not so; their battles are at hand, They mean to warn us at Philippi here, Answering before we do demand of them.
ANTONY. Tut, I am in their bosoms, and I know Wherefore they do it. They could be content To visit other places, and come down With fearful bravery, thinking by this face To fasten in our thoughts that they have courage; But ’tis not so.
Enter a Messenger.
MESSENGER. Prepare you, generals. The enemy comes on in gallant show; Their bloody sign of battle is hung out, And something to be done immediately.
ANTONY. Octavius, lead your battle softly on Upon the left hand of the even field.
OCTAVIUS. Upon the right hand I. Keep thou the left.
ANTONY. Why do you cross me in this exigent?
OCTAVIUS. I do not cross you; but I will do so.
[_March._]
Drum. Enter Brutus, Cassius and their Army; Lucilius, Titinius, Messala and others.
BRUTUS. They stand, and would have parley.
CASSIUS. Stand fast, Titinius; we must out and talk.
OCTAVIUS. Mark Antony, shall we give sign of battle?
ANTONY. No, Caesar, we will answer on their charge. Make forth; the generals would have some words.
OCTAVIUS. Stir not until the signal.
BRUTUS. Words before blows: is it so, countrymen?
OCTAVIUS. Not that we love words better, as you do.
BRUTUS. Good words are better than bad strokes, Octavius.
ANTONY. In your bad strokes, Brutus, you give good words; Witness the hole you made in Caesar’s heart, Crying, “Long live! Hail, Caesar!”
CASSIUS. Antony, The posture of your blows are yet unknown; But for your words, they rob the Hybla bees, And leave them honeyless.
ANTONY. Not stingless too.
BRUTUS. O yes, and soundless too, For you have stol’n their buzzing, Antony, And very wisely threat before you sting.
ANTONY. Villains, you did not so when your vile daggers Hack’d one another in the sides of Caesar: You show’d your teeth like apes, and fawn’d like hounds, And bow’d like bondmen, kissing Caesar’s feet; Whilst damned Casca, like a cur, behind Struck Caesar on the neck. O you flatterers!
CASSIUS. Flatterers! Now, Brutus, thank yourself. This tongue had not offended so today, If Cassius might have rul’d.
OCTAVIUS. Come, come, the cause. If arguing makes us sweat, The proof of it will turn to redder drops. Look, I draw a sword against conspirators. When think you that the sword goes up again? Never, till Caesar’s three and thirty wounds Be well aveng’d; or till another Caesar Have added slaughter to the sword of traitors.
BRUTUS. Caesar, thou canst not die by traitors’ hands, Unless thou bring’st them with thee.
OCTAVIUS. So I hope. I was not born to die on Brutus’ sword.
BRUTUS. O, if thou wert the noblest of thy strain, Young man, thou couldst not die more honourable.
CASSIUS. A peevish school-boy, worthless of such honour, Join’d with a masker and a reveller.
ANTONY. Old Cassius still!
OCTAVIUS. Come, Antony; away! Defiance, traitors, hurl we in your teeth. If you dare fight today, come to the field; If not, when you have stomachs.
[_Exeunt Octavius, Antony and their Army._]
CASSIUS. Why now, blow wind, swell billow, and swim bark! The storm is up, and all is on the hazard.
BRUTUS. Ho, Lucilius! Hark, a word with you.
LUCILIUS. My lord?
[_Brutus and Lucilius talk apart._]
CASSIUS. Messala.
MESSALA. What says my General?
CASSIUS. Messala, This is my birth-day; as this very day Was Cassius born. Give me thy hand, Messala: Be thou my witness that against my will As Pompey was, am I compell’d to set Upon one battle all our liberties. You know that I held Epicurus strong, And his opinion. Now I change my mind, And partly credit things that do presage. Coming from Sardis, on our former ensign Two mighty eagles fell, and there they perch’d, Gorging and feeding from our soldiers’ hands, Who to Philippi here consorted us. This morning are they fled away and gone, And in their steads do ravens, crows, and kites Fly o’er our heads, and downward look on us, As we were sickly prey: their shadows seem A canopy most fatal, under which Our army lies, ready to give up the ghost.
MESSALA. Believe not so.
CASSIUS. I but believe it partly, For I am fresh of spirit, and resolv’d To meet all perils very constantly.
BRUTUS. Even so, Lucilius.
CASSIUS. Now, most noble Brutus, The gods today stand friendly, that we may, Lovers in peace, lead on our days to age! But, since the affairs of men rest still incertain, Let’s reason with the worst that may befall. If we do lose this battle, then is this The very last time we shall speak together: What are you then determined to do?
BRUTUS. Even by the rule of that philosophy By which I did blame Cato for the death Which he did give himself, I know not how, But I do find it cowardly and vile, For fear of what might fall, so to prevent The time of life, arming myself with patience To stay the providence of some high powers That govern us below.
CASSIUS. Then, if we lose this battle, You are contented to be led in triumph Thorough the streets of Rome?
BRUTUS. No, Cassius, no: think not, thou noble Roman, That ever Brutus will go bound to Rome; He bears too great a mind. But this same day Must end that work the Ides of March begun; And whether we shall meet again I know not. Therefore our everlasting farewell take. For ever, and for ever, farewell, Cassius. If we do meet again, why, we shall smile; If not, why then this parting was well made.
CASSIUS. For ever and for ever farewell, Brutus. If we do meet again, we’ll smile indeed; If not, ’tis true this parting was well made.
BRUTUS. Why then, lead on. O, that a man might know The end of this day’s business ere it come! But it sufficeth that the day will end, And then the end is known. Come, ho! away!
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE II. The same. The field of battle.
Alarum. Enter Brutus and Messala.
BRUTUS. Ride, ride, Messala, ride, and give these bills Unto the legions on the other side.
[_Loud alarum._]
Let them set on at once; for I perceive But cold demeanor in Octavius’ wing, And sudden push gives them the overthrow. Ride, ride, Messala; let them all come down.
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE III. Another part of the field.
Alarum. Enter Cassius and Titinius.
CASSIUS. O, look, Titinius, look, the villains fly! Myself have to mine own turn’d enemy: This ensign here of mine was turning back; I slew the coward, and did take it from him.
TITINIUS. O Cassius, Brutus gave the word too early, Who, having some advantage on Octavius, Took it too eagerly: his soldiers fell to spoil, Whilst we by Antony are all enclos’d.
Enter Pindarus.
PINDARUS. Fly further off, my lord, fly further off; Mark Antony is in your tents, my lord. Fly, therefore, noble Cassius, fly far off.
CASSIUS. This hill is far enough. Look, look, Titinius; Are those my tents where I perceive the fire?
TITINIUS. They are, my lord.
CASSIUS. Titinius, if thou lovest me, Mount thou my horse and hide thy spurs in him, Till he have brought thee up to yonder troops And here again, that I may rest assur’d Whether yond troops are friend or enemy.
TITINIUS. I will be here again, even with a thought.
[_Exit._]
CASSIUS. Go, Pindarus, get higher on that hill, My sight was ever thick. Regard Titinius, And tell me what thou notest about the field.
[_Pindarus goes up._]
This day I breathed first. Time is come round, And where I did begin, there shall I end. My life is run his compass. Sirrah, what news?
PINDARUS. [_Above._] O my lord!
CASSIUS. What news?
PINDARUS. [_Above._] Titinius is enclosed round about With horsemen, that make to him on the spur, Yet he spurs on. Now they are almost on him. Now, Titinius! Now some light. O, he lights too. He’s ta’en!
[_Shout._]
And, hark! they shout for joy.
CASSIUS. Come down; behold no more. O, coward that I am, to live so long, To see my best friend ta’en before my face!
[_Pindarus descends._]
Come hither, sirrah. In Parthia did I take thee prisoner; And then I swore thee, saving of thy life, That whatsoever I did bid thee do, Thou shouldst attempt it. Come now, keep thine oath. Now be a freeman; and with this good sword, That ran through Caesar’s bowels, search this bosom. Stand not to answer. Here, take thou the hilts; And when my face is cover’d, as ’tis now, Guide thou the sword.—Caesar, thou art reveng’d, Even with the sword that kill’d thee.
[_Dies._]
PINDARUS. So, I am free, yet would not so have been, Durst I have done my will. O Cassius! Far from this country Pindarus shall run, Where never Roman shall take note of him.
[_Exit._]
Enter Titinius with Messala.
MESSALA. It is but change, Titinius; for Octavius Is overthrown by noble Brutus’ power, As Cassius’ legions are by Antony.
TITINIUS. These tidings would well comfort Cassius.
MESSALA. Where did you leave him?
TITINIUS. All disconsolate, With Pindarus his bondman, on this hill.
MESSALA. Is not that he that lies upon the ground?
TITINIUS. He lies not like the living. O my heart!
MESSALA. Is not that he?
TITINIUS. No, this was he, Messala, But Cassius is no more. O setting sun, As in thy red rays thou dost sink to night, So in his red blood Cassius’ day is set. The sun of Rome is set. Our day is gone; Clouds, dews, and dangers come; our deeds are done. Mistrust of my success hath done this deed.
MESSALA. Mistrust of good success hath done this deed. O hateful Error, Melancholy’s child! Why dost thou show to the apt thoughts of men The things that are not? O Error, soon conceiv’d, Thou never com’st unto a happy birth, But kill’st the mother that engender’d thee!
TITINIUS. What, Pindarus! where art thou, Pindarus?
MESSALA. Seek him, Titinius, whilst I go to meet The noble Brutus, thrusting this report Into his ears. I may say thrusting it; For piercing steel and darts envenomed Shall be as welcome to the ears of Brutus As tidings of this sight.
TITINIUS. Hie you, Messala, And I will seek for Pindarus the while.
[_Exit Messala._]
Why didst thou send me forth, brave Cassius? Did I not meet thy friends? And did not they Put on my brows this wreath of victory, And bid me give it thee? Didst thou not hear their shouts? Alas, thou hast misconstrued everything! But, hold thee, take this garland on thy brow; Thy Brutus bid me give it thee, and I Will do his bidding. Brutus, come apace, And see how I regarded Caius Cassius. By your leave, gods. This is a Roman’s part. Come, Cassius’ sword, and find Titinius’ heart.
[_Dies._]
Alarum. Enter Brutus, Messala, young Cato, Strato, Volumnius and Lucilius.
BRUTUS. Where, where, Messala, doth his body lie?
MESSALA. Lo, yonder, and Titinius mourning it.
BRUTUS. Titinius’ face is upward.
CATO. He is slain.
BRUTUS. O Julius Caesar, thou art mighty yet! Thy spirit walks abroad, and turns our swords In our own proper entrails.
[_Low alarums._]
CATO. Brave Titinius! Look whether he have not crown’d dead Cassius!
BRUTUS. Are yet two Romans living such as these? The last of all the Romans, fare thee well! It is impossible that ever Rome Should breed thy fellow. Friends, I owe more tears To this dead man than you shall see me pay. I shall find time, Cassius, I shall find time. Come therefore, and to Thassos send his body. His funerals shall not be in our camp, Lest it discomfort us. Lucilius, come; And come, young Cato; let us to the field. Labeo and Flavius, set our battles on. ’Tis three o’clock; and Romans, yet ere night We shall try fortune in a second fight.
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE IV. Another part of the field.
Alarum. Enter fighting soldiers of both armies; then Brutus, Messala, young Cato, Lucilius, Flavius and others.
BRUTUS. Yet, countrymen, O, yet hold up your heads!
CATO. What bastard doth not? Who will go with me? I will proclaim my name about the field. I am the son of Marcus Cato, ho! A foe to tyrants, and my country’s friend. I am the son of Marcus Cato, ho!
[_Charges the enemy._]
LUCILIUS. And I am Brutus, Marcus Brutus, I; Brutus, my country’s friend; know me for Brutus!
[_Exit, charging the enemy. Cato is overpowered, and falls._]
LUCILIUS. O young and noble Cato, art thou down? Why, now thou diest as bravely as Titinius, And mayst be honour’d, being Cato’s son.
FIRST SOLDIER. Yield, or thou diest.
LUCILIUS. Only I yield to die: There is so much that thou wilt kill me straight;
[_Offering money_]
Kill Brutus, and be honour’d in his death.
FIRST SOLDIER. We must not. A noble prisoner!
SECOND SOLDIER. Room, ho! Tell Antony, Brutus is ta’en.
FIRST SOLDIER. I’ll tell the news. Here comes the General.
Enter Antony.
Brutus is ta’en, Brutus is ta’en, my lord.
ANTONY. Where is he?
LUCILIUS. Safe, Antony; Brutus is safe enough. I dare assure thee that no enemy Shall ever take alive the noble Brutus. The gods defend him from so great a shame! When you do find him, or alive or dead, He will be found like Brutus, like himself.
ANTONY. This is not Brutus, friend; but, I assure you, A prize no less in worth. Keep this man safe, Give him all kindness. I had rather have Such men my friends than enemies. Go on, And see whether Brutus be alive or dead; And bring us word unto Octavius’ tent How everything is chanc’d.
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE V. Another part of the field.
Enter Brutus, Dardanius, Clitus, Strato and Volumnius.
BRUTUS. Come, poor remains of friends, rest on this rock.
CLITUS. Statilius show’d the torch-light; but, my lord, He came not back: he is or ta’en or slain.
BRUTUS. Sit thee down, Clitus. Slaying is the word; It is a deed in fashion. Hark thee, Clitus.
[_Whispering._]
CLITUS. What, I, my lord? No, not for all the world.
BRUTUS. Peace then, no words.
CLITUS. I’ll rather kill myself.
BRUTUS. Hark thee, Dardanius.
[_Whispers him._]
DARDANIUS. Shall I do such a deed?
CLITUS. O Dardanius!
DARDANIUS. O Clitus!
CLITUS. What ill request did Brutus make to thee?
DARDANIUS. To kill him, Clitus. Look, he meditates.
CLITUS. Now is that noble vessel full of grief, That it runs over even at his eyes.
BRUTUS. Come hither, good Volumnius; list a word.
VOLUMNIUS. What says my lord?
BRUTUS. Why, this, Volumnius: The ghost of Caesar hath appear’d to me Two several times by night; at Sardis once, And this last night here in Philippi fields. I know my hour is come.
VOLUMNIUS. Not so, my lord.
BRUTUS. Nay I am sure it is, Volumnius. Thou seest the world, Volumnius, how it goes; Our enemies have beat us to the pit.
[_Low alarums._]
It is more worthy to leap in ourselves Than tarry till they push us. Good Volumnius, Thou know’st that we two went to school together; Even for that our love of old, I pr’ythee Hold thou my sword-hilts, whilst I run on it.
VOLUMNIUS. That’s not an office for a friend, my lord.
[_Alarums still._]
CLITUS. Fly, fly, my lord! there is no tarrying here.
BRUTUS. Farewell to you; and you; and you, Volumnius. Strato, thou hast been all this while asleep; Farewell to thee too, Strato.—Countrymen, My heart doth joy, that yet in all my life I found no man but he was true to me. I shall have glory by this losing day More than Octavius and Mark Antony By this vile conquest shall attain unto. So fare you well at once; for Brutus’ tongue Hath almost ended his life’s history. Night hangs upon mine eyes; my bones would rest, That have but labour’d to attain this hour.
[_Alarums. Cry within, “Fly, fly, fly!”._]
CLITUS. Fly, my lord, fly!
BRUTUS. Hence! I will follow.
[_Exeunt Clitus, Dardanius and Volumnius._]
I pr’ythee, Strato, stay thou by thy lord. Thou art a fellow of a good respect; Thy life hath had some smatch of honour in it. Hold then my sword, and turn away thy face, While I do run upon it. Wilt thou, Strato?
STRATO. Give me your hand first. Fare you well, my lord.
BRUTUS. Farewell, good Strato.—Caesar, now be still: I kill’d not thee with half so good a will.
[_He runs on his sword, and dies._]
Alarum. Retreat. Enter Antony, Octavius, Messala, Lucilius and the Army.
OCTAVIUS. What man is that?
MESSALA. My master’s man. Strato, where is thy master?
STRATO. Free from the bondage you are in, Messala. The conquerors can but make a fire of him; For Brutus only overcame himself, And no man else hath honour by his death.
LUCILIUS. So Brutus should be found. I thank thee, Brutus, That thou hast prov’d Lucilius’ saying true.
OCTAVIUS. All that serv’d Brutus, I will entertain them. Fellow, wilt thou bestow thy time with me?
STRATO. Ay, if Messala will prefer me to you.
OCTAVIUS. Do so, good Messala.
MESSALA. How died my master, Strato?
STRATO. I held the sword, and he did run on it.
MESSALA. Octavius, then take him to follow thee, That did the latest service to my master.
ANTONY. This was the noblest Roman of them all. All the conspirators save only he, Did that they did in envy of great Caesar; He only, in a general honest thought And common good to all, made one of them. His life was gentle, and the elements So mix’d in him that Nature might stand up And say to all the world, “This was a man!”
OCTAVIUS. According to his virtue let us use him With all respect and rites of burial. Within my tent his bones tonight shall lie, Most like a soldier, order’d honourably. So call the field to rest, and let’s away, To part the glories of this happy day.
[_Exeunt._]
THE TRAGEDY OF KING LEAR
Contents
ACT I Scene I. A Room of State in King Lear’s Palace Scene II. A Hall in the Earl of Gloucester’s Castle Scene III. A Room in the Duke of Albany’s Palace Scene IV. A Hall in Albany’s Palace Scene V. Court before the Duke of Albany’s Palace
ACT II Scene I. A court within the Castle of the Earl of Gloucester Scene II. Before Gloucester’s Castle Scene III. The open Country Scene IV. Before Gloucester’s Castle
ACT III Scene I. A Heath Scene II. Another part of the heath Scene III. A Room in Gloucester’s Castle Scene IV. A part of the Heath with a Hovel Scene V. A Room in Gloucester’s Castle Scene VI. A Chamber in a Farmhouse adjoining the Castle Scene VII. A Room in Gloucester’s Castle
ACT IV Scene I. The heath Scene II. Before the Duke of Albany’s Palace Scene III. The French camp near Dover Scene IV. The French camp. A Tent Scene V. A Room in Gloucester’s Castle Scene VI. The country near Dover Scene VII. A Tent in the French Camp
ACT V Scene I. The Camp of the British Forces near Dover Scene II. A field between the two Camps Scene III. The British Camp near Dover
Dramatis Personæ
LEAR, King of Britain. GONERIL, eldest daughter to Lear. REGAN, second daughter to Lear. CORDELIA, youngest daughter to Lear. DUKE of ALBANY, married to Goneril. DUKE of CORNWALL, married to Regan. KING of FRANCE. DUKE of BURGUNDY. EARL of GLOUCESTER. EDGAR, elder son to Gloucester. EDMUND, younger bastard son to Gloucester. EARL of KENT. FOOL. OSWALD, steward to Goneril. CURAN, a Courtier. OLD MAN, Tenant to Gloucester. Physician. An Officer employed by Edmund. Gentleman, attendant on Cordelia. A Herald. Servants to Cornwall.
Knights attending on the King, Officers, Messengers, Soldiers and Attendants.
SCENE: Britain
ACT I
SCENE 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 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 Unburden’d crawl toward death. Our son of Cornwall, And you, our no less loving son of Albany, We have this hour a constant will to publish Our daughters’ several dowers, that future strife May be prevented now. The princes, France and Burgundy, Great rivals in our youngest daughter’s love, Long in our court have made their amorous sojourn, And here are to be answer’d. Tell me, my daughters,— Since now we will divest us both of rule, Interest of territory, cares of state,— Which of you shall we say doth love us most? That we our largest bounty may extend Where nature doth with merit challenge.—Goneril, Our eldest born, speak first.
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 issue Be 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 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.
CORDELIA. [_Aside._] Then poor Cordelia, And yet not so; since, I am sure, my love’s More ponderous than my tongue.
LEAR. To thee and thine hereditary ever Remain this ample third of our fair kingdom; No less in space, validity, and pleasure Than that conferr’d on Goneril.—Now, our joy, Although the last and least; to whose young love The vines of France and milk of Burgundy Strive to be interess’d; what can you say to draw A third more opulent than your sisters? Speak.
CORDELIA. Nothing, my lord.
LEAR. Nothing?
CORDELIA. Nothing.
LEAR. Nothing will come of nothing: speak again.
CORDELIA. Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave My heart into my mouth: I love your majesty According 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: I Return those duties back as are right fit, Obey you, love you, and most honour you. Why have my sisters husbands if they say They love you all? Haply, when I shall wed, That lord whose hand must take my plight shall carry Half my love with him, half my care and duty: Sure I shall never marry like my sisters, To love my father all.
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 me Hold thee from this for ever. The barbarous Scythian, Or he that makes his generation messes To gorge his appetite, shall to my bosom Be as well neighbour’d, pitied, and 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 rest On her kind nursery. [_To Cordelia._] Hence and avoid my sight! So be my grave my peace, as here I give Her father’s heart from her! Call France. Who stirs? Call Burgundy! Cornwall and Albany, With my two daughters’ dowers digest this third: Let pride, which she calls plainness, marry her. I do invest you jointly with my power, Pre-eminence, and all the large effects That troop with majesty. Ourself, by monthly course, With reservation of an hundred knights, By you to be sustain’d, shall our abode Make with you by due 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. [_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 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 falls 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.
LEAR. Kent, on thy life, no more.
KENT. 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.
LEAR. Out of my sight!
KENT. See better, Lear; and let me still remain The 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 bestow Upon 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 pride To 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 back Upon 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 king Hath rivall’d for our daughter: what in the least Will you require in present dower with her, Or cease your quest of love?
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 stray To match you where I hate; therefore beseech you T’avert your liking a more worthier way Than on a wretch whom nature is asham’d Almost 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 time Commit a thing so monstrous, to dismantle So many folds of favour. Sure her offence Must be of such unnatural degree That monsters it, or your fore-vouch’d affection Fall into taint; which to believe of her Must be a faith that reason without miracle Should never plant in me.
CORDELIA. I yet beseech your majesty, If for I want that glib and oily art To speak and purpose not; since what I well intend, I’ll do’t before I speak,—that you make known It is no vicious blot, murder, or foulness, No unchaste action or dishonour’d step, That hath 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 tongue As I am glad I have not, though not to have it Hath lost me in your liking.
LEAR. Better thou hadst Not been born than not to have pleas’d me better.
FRANCE. Is it but this?—a tardiness in nature Which often leaves the history unspoke That it intends to do? My lord of Burgundy, What say you to the lady? Love’s not love When it is mingled with regards that stands Aloof 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 father That 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 neglect My 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 Burgundy Can 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 we Have no such daughter, nor shall ever see That face of hers again. Therefore be gone Without our grace, our love, our benison. Come, noble Burgundy.
[_Flourish. Exeunt Lear, Burgundy, Cornwall, Albany, Gloucester and Attendants._]
FRANCE. Bid farewell to your sisters.
CORDELIA. The jewels of our father, with wash’d eyes Cordelia leaves you: I know you what you are; And like a sister am most loath to call Your faults as they are nam’d. 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 study Be to content your lord, who hath receiv’d you At fortune’s alms. You have obedience scanted, And well are worth the want that you have wanted.
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._]
SCENE II. A Hall in the Earl of Gloucester’s Castle
Enter Edmund with a letter.
EDMUND. Thou, Nature, art my goddess; to thy law My services are bound. Wherefore should I Stand in the plague of custom, and permit The curiosity of nations to deprive me? For that I am some twelve or fourteen moonshines Lag of a brother? Why bastard? Wherefore base? When my dimensions are as well compact, My mind as generous, and my shape as true As honest madam’s issue? Why brand they us With base? With baseness? bastardy? Base, base? Who, in the lusty stealth of nature, take More composition and fierce quality Than doth within a dull stale tired bed Go to the creating a whole tribe of fops Got ’tween asleep and wake? Well then, Legitimate Edgar, I must have your land: Our father’s love is to the bastard Edmund As to the legitimate: 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!
Enter Gloucester.
GLOUCESTER. Kent banish’d thus! and France in choler parted! And the King gone tonight! Prescrib’d his pow’r! Confin’d to exhibition! All this done Upon the gad!—Edmund, how now! What news?
EDMUND. So please your lordship, none.
[_Putting up the letter._]
GLOUCESTER. Why so earnestly seek you to put up that letter?
EDMUND. I know no news, my lord.
GLOUCESTER. What paper were you reading?
EDMUND. Nothing, my lord.
GLOUCESTER. No? What needed then that terrible dispatch of it into your pocket? The quality of nothing hath not such need to hide itself. Let’s see. Come, if it be nothing, I shall not need spectacles.
EDMUND. I beseech you, sir, pardon me. It is a letter from my brother that I have not all o’er-read; and for so much as I have perus’d, I find it not fit for your o’er-looking.
GLOUCESTER. Give me the letter, sir.
EDMUND. I shall offend, either to detain or give it. The contents, as in part I understand them, are to blame.
GLOUCESTER. Let’s see, let’s see!
EDMUND. I hope, for my brother’s justification, he wrote this but as an essay, or taste of my virtue.
GLOUCESTER. [_Reads._] ‘This policy and reverence of age makes the world bitter to the best of our times; keeps our fortunes from us till our oldness cannot relish them. I begin to find an idle and fond bondage in the oppression of aged tyranny; who sways not as it hath power, but as it is suffered. Come to me, that of this I may speak more. If our father would sleep till I waked him, you should enjoy half his revenue for ever, and live the beloved of your brother EDGAR.’ Hum! Conspiracy? ‘Sleep till I wake him, you should enjoy half his revenue.’—My son Edgar! Had he a hand to write this? A heart and brain to breed it in? When came this to you? Who brought it?
EDMUND. It was not brought me, my lord, there’s the cunning of it. I found it thrown in at the casement of my closet.
GLOUCESTER. You know the character to be your brother’s?
EDMUND. If the matter were good, my lord, I durst swear it were his; but in respect of that, I would fain think it were not.
GLOUCESTER. It is his.
EDMUND. It is his hand, my lord; but I hope his heart is not in the contents.
GLOUCESTER. Has he never before sounded you in this business?
EDMUND. 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.
GLOUCESTER. 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?
EDMUND. I do not well know, my lord. If it shall please you to suspend your indignation against my brother till you can derive from him better testimony of his intent, you should run a certain course; where, if you violently proceed against him, mistaking his purpose, it would make a great gap in your own honour, and shake in pieces the heart of his obedience. I dare pawn down my life for him, that he hath writ this to feel my affection to your honour, and to no other pretence of danger.
GLOUCESTER. Think you so?
EDMUND. If your honour judge it meet, I will place you where you shall hear us confer of this, and by an auricular assurance have your satisfaction, and that without any further delay than this very evening.
GLOUCESTER. He cannot be such a monster.
EDMUND. Nor is not, sure.
GLOUCESTER. To his father, that so tenderly and entirely loves him. Heaven and earth! Edmund, seek him out; wind me into him, I pray you: frame the business after your own wisdom. I would unstate myself to be in a due resolution.
EDMUND. I will seek him, sir, presently; convey the business as I shall find means, and acquaint you withal.
GLOUCESTER. These late eclipses in the sun and moon portend no good to us: though the wisdom of Nature can reason it thus and thus, yet nature finds itself scourged by the sequent effects. Love cools, friendship falls off, brothers divide: in cities, mutinies; in countries, discord; in palaces, treason; and the bond cracked ’twixt son and father. This villain of mine comes under the prediction; there’s son against father: the King falls from bias of nature; there’s father against child. We have seen the best of our time. Machinations, hollowness, treachery, and all ruinous disorders follow us disquietly to our graves. Find out this villain, Edmund; it shall lose thee nothing; do it carefully.—And the noble and true-hearted Kent banished! his offence, honesty! ’Tis strange.
[_Exit._]
EDMUND. 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 to the charge of a star. My father compounded with my mother under the dragon’s tail, and my nativity was under Ursa Major, so that it follows I am rough and lecherous. Fut! I should have been that I am, had the maidenliest star in the firmament twinkled on my bastardizing.
Enter Edgar.
Pat! he comes, like the catastrophe of the old comedy: my cue is villainous melancholy, with a sigh like Tom o’Bedlam.—O, these eclipses do portend these divisions! Fa, sol, la, mi.
EDGAR. How now, brother Edmund, what serious contemplation are you in?
EDMUND. I am thinking, brother, of a prediction I read this other day, what should follow these eclipses.
EDGAR. Do you busy yourself with that?
EDMUND. I promise you, the effects he writes of succeed unhappily: as of unnaturalness between the child and the parent; death, dearth, dissolutions of ancient amities; divisions in state, menaces and maledictions against King and nobles; needless diffidences, banishment of friends, dissipation of cohorts, nuptial breaches, and I know not what.
EDGAR. How long have you been a sectary astronomical?
EDMUND. Come, come! when saw you my father last?
EDGAR. The night gone by.
EDMUND. Spake you with him?
EDGAR. Ay, two hours together.
EDMUND. Parted you in good terms? Found you no displeasure in him, by word nor countenance?
EDGAR. None at all.
EDMUND. 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.
EDGAR. Some villain hath done me wrong.
EDMUND. That’s my fear. I pray you have a continent forbearance till the speed of his rage goes slower; and, as I say, retire with me to my lodging, from whence I will fitly bring you to hear my lord speak: pray ye, go; there’s my key. If you do stir abroad, go armed.
EDGAR. Armed, brother?
EDMUND. Brother, I advise you to the best; I am no honest man if there be any good meaning toward you: I have told you what I have seen and heard. But faintly; nothing like the image and horror of it: pray you, away!
EDGAR. Shall I hear from you anon?
EDMUND. I do serve you in this business.
[_Exit Edgar._]
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.
[_Exit._]
SCENE III. A Room in the Duke of Albany’s Palace
Enter Goneril and Oswald.
GONERIL. Did my father strike my gentleman for chiding of his fool?
OSWALD. Ay, madam.
GONERIL. 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; the fault of it I’ll answer.
[_Horns within._]
OSWALD. He’s coming, madam; I hear him.
GONERIL. 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 us’d With checks as flatteries, when they are seen abus’d. Remember what I have said.
OSWALD. Very well, madam.
GONERIL. 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. Prepare for dinner.
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE IV. A Hall in Albany’s Palace
Enter Kent, disguised.
KENT. If but as well I other accents borrow, That can my speech defuse, my good intent May carry through itself to that full issue For which I rais’d my likeness. Now, banish’d Kent, If thou canst serve where thou dost stand condemn’d, So may it come, thy master, whom thou lov’st, Shall find thee full of labours.
Horns within. Enter King Lear, Knights and Attendants.
LEAR. Let me not stay a jot for dinner; go get it ready.
[_Exit an Attendant._]
How now! what art thou?
KENT. A man, sir.
LEAR. What dost thou profess? What wouldst thou with us?
KENT. 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 judgement; to fight when I cannot choose; and to eat no fish.
LEAR. What art thou?
KENT. A very honest-hearted fellow, and as poor as the King.
LEAR. If thou be’st as poor for a subject as he’s for a king, thou art poor enough. What wouldst thou?
KENT. Service.
LEAR. Who wouldst thou serve?
KENT. You.
LEAR. Dost thou know me, fellow?
KENT. No, sir; but you have that in your countenance which I would fain call master.
LEAR. What’s that?
KENT. Authority.
LEAR. What services canst thou do?
KENT. 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.
LEAR. How old art thou?
KENT. Not so young, sir, to love a woman for singing; nor so old to dote on her for anything: I have years on my back forty-eight.
LEAR. Follow me; thou shalt serve me. If I like thee no worse after dinner, I will not part from thee yet. Dinner, ho, dinner! Where’s my knave? my fool? Go you and call my fool hither.
[_Exit an Attendant._]
Enter Oswald.
You, you, sirrah, where’s my daughter?
OSWALD. So please you,—
[_Exit._]
LEAR. What says the fellow there? Call the clotpoll back.
[_Exit a Knight._]
Where’s my fool? Ho, I think the world’s asleep.
Re-enter Knight.
How now! where’s that mongrel?
KNIGHT. He says, my lord, your daughter is not well.
LEAR. Why came not the slave back to me when I called him?
KNIGHT. 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 judgement your highness is not entertained with that ceremonious affection as you were wont; there’s a great abatement of kindness appears as well in the general dependants as in the Duke himself also, and your daughter.
LEAR. Ha! say’st thou so?
KNIGHT. I beseech you pardon me, my lord, if I be mistaken; for my duty cannot be silent when I think your highness wronged.
LEAR. Thou but rememberest me of mine own conception: I have perceived a most faint neglect of late; which I have rather blamed as mine own jealous curiosity than as a very pretence and purpose of unkindness: I will look further into’t. But where’s my fool? I have not seen him this two days.
KNIGHT. Since my young lady’s going into France, sir, the fool hath much pined away.
LEAR. No more of that; I have noted it well. Go you and tell my daughter I would speak with her.
[_Exit Attendant._]
Go you, call hither my fool.
[_Exit another Attendant._]
Re-enter Oswald.
O, you, sir, you, come you hither, sir: who am I, sir?
OSWALD. My lady’s father.
LEAR. My lady’s father! my lord’s knave: you whoreson dog! you slave! you cur!
OSWALD. I am none of these, my lord; I beseech your pardon.
LEAR. Do you bandy looks with me, you rascal?
[_Striking him._]
OSWALD. I’ll not be struck, my lord.
KENT. Nor tripp’d neither, you base football player.
[_Tripping up his heels._]
LEAR. I thank thee, fellow. Thou serv’st me, and I’ll love thee.
KENT. 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.
[_Pushes Oswald out._]
LEAR. Now, my friendly knave, I thank thee: there’s earnest of thy service.
[_Giving Kent money._]
Enter Fool.
FOOL. Let me hire him too; here’s my coxcomb.
[_Giving Kent his cap._]
LEAR. How now, my pretty knave, how dost thou?
FOOL. Sirrah, you were best take my coxcomb.
KENT. Why, fool?
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 banish’d two on’s daughters, and did the third a blessing against his will; if thou follow him, thou must needs wear my coxcomb. How now, nuncle! Would I had two coxcombs and two daughters!
LEAR. Why, my boy?
FOOL. If I gave them all my living, I’d keep my coxcombs myself. There’s mine; beg another of thy daughters.
LEAR. Take heed, sirrah, the whip.
FOOL. Truth’s a dog must to kennel; he must be whipped out, when the Lady Brach may stand by the fire and stink.
LEAR. A pestilent gall to me!
FOOL. Sirrah, I’ll teach thee a speech.
LEAR. Do.
FOOL. Mark it, nuncle: 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.
KENT. This is nothing, fool.
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?
LEAR. Why, no, boy; nothing can be made out of nothing.
FOOL. [_to Kent._] Prithee tell him, so much the rent of his land comes to: he will not believe a fool.
LEAR. A bitter fool.
FOOL. Dost thou know the difference, my boy, between a bitter fool and a sweet one?
LEAR. No, lad; teach me.
FOOL. That lord that counsell’d thee To give away thy land, Come place him here by me, Do thou for him stand. The sweet and bitter fool Will presently appear; The one in motley here, The other found out there.
LEAR. Dost thou call me fool, boy?
FOOL. All thy other titles thou hast given away; that thou wast born with.
KENT. This is not altogether fool, my lord.
FOOL. No, faith; lords and great men will not let me; if I had a monopoly out, they would have part on’t and ladies too, they will not let me have all the fool to myself; they’ll be snatching. Nuncle, give me an egg, and I’ll give thee two crowns.
LEAR. What two crowns shall they be?