KING LEAR

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

(PAGINA 5)

KING LEAR



ACT III





SCENE I A heath.



[Storm still. Enter KENT and a Gentleman, meeting]

KENT Who's there, besides foul weather?

Gentleman One minded like the weather, most unquietly.

KENT I know you. Where's the king?

Gentleman Contending with the fretful element:

Bids the winds blow the earth into the sea,

Or swell the curled water 'bove the main,

That things might change or cease; tears his white hair,

Which the impetuous blasts, with eyeless rage,

Catch in their fury, and make nothing of;

Strives in his little world of man to out-scorn

The to-and-fro-conflicting wind and rain.

This night, wherein the cub-drawn bear would couch,

The lion and the belly-pinched wolf

Keep their fur dry, unbonneted he runs,

And bids what will take all.

KENT But who is with him?

Gentleman None but the fool; who labours to out-jest

His heart-struck injuries.

KENT Sir, I do know you;

And dare, upon the warrant of my note,

Commend a dear thing to you. There is division,

Although as yet the face of it be cover'd

With mutual cunning, 'twixt Albany and Cornwall;

Who have--as who have not, that their great stars

Throned and set high?--servants, who seem no less,

Which are to France the spies and speculations

Intelligent of our state; what hath been seen,

Either in snuffs and packings of the dukes,

Or the hard rein which both of them have borne

Against the old kind king; or something deeper,

Whereof perchance these are but furnishings;

But, true it is, from France there comes a power

Into this scatter'd kingdom; who already,

Wise in our negligence, have secret feet

In some of our best ports, and are at point

To show their open banner. Now to you:

If on my credit you dare build so far

To make your speed to Dover, you shall find

Some that will thank you, making just report

Of how unnatural and bemadding sorrow

The king hath cause to plain.

I am a gentleman of blood and breeding;

And, from some knowledge and assurance, offer

This office to you.

Gentleman I will talk further with you.

KENT No, do not.

For confirmation that I am much more

Than my out-wall, open this purse, and take

What it contains. If you shall see Cordelia,--

As fear not but you shall,--show her this ring;

And she will tell you who your fellow is

That yet you do not know. Fie on this storm!

I will go seek the king.

Gentleman Give me your hand: have you no more to say?

KENT Few words, but, to effect, more than all yet;

That, when we have found the king,--in which your pain

That way, I'll this,--he that first lights on him

Holla the other.

[Exeunt severally]







KING LEAR



ACT III





SCENE II Another part of the heath. Storm still.



[Enter KING LEAR and Fool]

KING LEAR Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! rage! blow!

You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout

Till you have drench'd our steeples, drown'd the cocks!

You sulphurous and thought-executing fires,

Vaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thunderbolts,

Singe my white head! And thou, all-shaking thunder,

Smite flat the thick rotundity o' the world!

Crack nature's moulds, an germens spill at once,

That make ingrateful man!

Fool O nuncle, court holy-water in a dry

house is better than this rain-water out o' door.

Good nuncle, in, and ask thy daughters' blessing:

here's a night pities neither wise man nor fool.

KING LEAR Rumble thy bellyful! Spit, fire! spout, rain!

Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire, are my daughters:

I tax not you, you elements, with unkindness;

I never gave you kingdom, call'd you children,

You owe me no subscription: then let fall

Your horrible pleasure: here I stand, your slave,

A poor, infirm, weak, and despised old man:

But yet I call you servile ministers,

That have with two pernicious daughters join'd

Your high engender'd battles 'gainst a head

So old and white as this. O! O! 'tis foul!

Fool He that has a house to put's head in has a good

head-piece.

The cod-piece that will house

Before the head has any,

The head and he shall louse;

So beggars marry many.

The man that makes his toe

What he his heart should make

Shall of a corn cry woe,

And turn his sleep to wake.

For there was never yet fair woman but she made

mouths in a glass.

KING LEAR No, I will be the pattern of all patience;

I will say nothing.

[Enter KENT]

KENT Who's there?

Fool Marry, here's grace and a cod-piece; that's a wise

man and a fool.

KENT Alas, sir, are you here? things that love night

Love not such nights as these; the wrathful skies

Gallow the very wanderers of the dark,

And make them keep their caves: since I was man,

Such sheets of fire, such bursts of horrid thunder,

Such groans of roaring wind and rain, I never

Remember to have heard: man's nature cannot carry

The affliction nor the fear.

KING LEAR Let the great gods,

That keep this dreadful pother o'er our heads,

Find out their enemies now. Tremble, thou wretch,

That hast within thee undivulged crimes,

Unwhipp'd of justice: hide thee, thou bloody hand;

Thou perjured, and thou simular man of virtue

That art incestuous: caitiff, to pieces shake,

That under covert and convenient seeming

Hast practised on man's life: close pent-up guilts,

Rive your concealing continents, and cry

These dreadful summoners grace. I am a man

More sinn'd against than sinning.

KENT Alack, bare-headed!

Gracious my lord, hard by here is a hovel;

Some friendship will it lend you 'gainst the tempest:

Repose you there; while I to this hard house--

More harder than the stones whereof 'tis raised;

Which even but now, demanding after you,

Denied me to come in--return, and force

Their scanted courtesy.

KING LEAR My wits begin to turn.

Come on, my boy: how dost, my boy? art cold?

I am cold myself. Where is this straw, my fellow?

The art of our necessities is strange,

That can make vile things precious. Come,

your hovel.

Poor fool and knave, I have one part in my heart

That's sorry yet for thee.

Fool [Singing]

He that has and a little tiny wit--

With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,--

Must make content with his fortunes fit,

For the rain it raineth every day.

KING LEAR True, my good boy. Come, bring us to this hovel.

[Exeunt KING LEAR and KENT]

Fool This is a brave night to cool a courtezan.

I'll speak a prophecy ere I go:

When priests are more in word than matter;

When brewers mar their malt with water;

When nobles are their tailors' tutors;

No heretics burn'd, but wenches' suitors;

When every case in law is right;

No squire in debt, nor no poor knight;

When slanders do not live in tongues;

Nor cutpurses come not to throngs;

When usurers tell their gold i' the field;

And bawds and whores do churches build;

Then shall the realm of Albion

Come to great confusion:

Then comes the time, who lives to see't,

That going shall be used with feet.

This prophecy Merlin shall make; for I live before his time.

[Exit]







KING LEAR



ACT III





SCENE III Gloucester's castle.



[Enter GLOUCESTER and EDMUND]

GLOUCESTER Alack, alack, Edmund, I like not this unnatural

dealing. When I desire their leave that I might

pity him, they took from me the use of mine own

house; charged me, on pain of their perpetual

displeasure, neither to speak of him, entreat for

him, nor any way sustain him.

EDMUND Most savage and unnatural!

GLOUCESTER Go to; say you nothing. There's a division betwixt

the dukes; and a worse matter than that: I have

received a letter this night; 'tis dangerous to be

spoken; I have locked the letter in my closet:

these injuries the king now bears will be revenged

home; there's part of a power already footed: we

must incline to the king. I will seek him, and

privily relieve him: go you and maintain talk with

the duke, that my charity be not of him perceived:

if he ask for me. I am ill, and gone to bed.

Though I die for it, as no less is threatened me,

the king my old master must be relieved. There is

some strange thing toward, Edmund; pray you, be careful.

[Exit]

EDMUND This courtesy, forbid thee, shall the duke

Instantly know; and of that letter too:

This seems a fair deserving, and must draw me

That which my father loses; no less than all:

The younger rises when the old doth fall.

[Exit]







KING LEAR



ACT III





SCENE IV The heath. Before a hovel.



[Enter KING LEAR, KENT, and Fool]

KENT Here is the place, my lord; good my lord, enter:

The tyranny of the open night's too rough

For nature to endure.

[Storm still]

KING LEAR Let me alone.

KENT Good my lord, enter here.

KING LEAR Wilt break my heart?

KENT I had rather break mine own. Good my lord, enter.

KING LEAR Thou think'st 'tis much that this contentious storm

Invades us to the skin: so 'tis to thee;

But where the greater malady is fix'd,

The lesser is scarce felt. Thou'ldst shun a bear;

But if thy flight lay toward the raging sea,

Thou'ldst meet the bear i' the mouth. When the

mind's free,

The body's delicate: the tempest in my mind

Doth from my senses take all feeling else

Save what beats there. Filial ingratitude!

Is it not as this mouth should tear this hand

For lifting food to't? But I will punish home:

No, I will weep no more. In such a night

To shut me out! Pour on; I will endure.

In such a night as this! O Regan, Goneril!

Your old kind father, whose frank heart gave all,--

O, that way madness lies; let me shun that;

No more of that.

KENT Good my lord, enter here.

KING LEAR Prithee, go in thyself: seek thine own ease:

This tempest will not give me leave to ponder

On things would hurt me more. But I'll go in.

[To the Fool]

In, boy; go first. You houseless poverty,--

Nay, get thee in. I'll pray, and then I'll sleep.

[Fool goes in]

Poor naked wretches, whereso'er you are,

That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm,

How shall your houseless heads and unfed sides,

Your loop'd and window'd raggedness, defend you

From seasons such as these? O, I have ta'en

Too little care of this! Take physic, pomp;

Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel,

That thou mayst shake the superflux to them,

And show the heavens more just.

EDGAR [Within] Fathom and half, fathom and half! Poor Tom!

[The Fool runs out from the hovel]

Fool Come not in here, nuncle, here's a spirit

Help me, help me!

KENT Give me thy hand. Who's there?

Fool A spirit, a spirit: he says his name's poor Tom.

KENT What art thou that dost grumble there i' the straw?

Come forth.

[Enter EDGAR disguised as a mad man]

EDGAR Away! the foul fiend follows me!

Through the sharp hawthorn blows the cold wind.

Hum! go to thy cold bed, and warm thee.

KING LEAR Hast thou given all to thy two daughters?

And art thou come to this?

EDGAR Who gives any thing to poor Tom? whom the foul

fiend hath led through fire and through flame, and

through ford and whirlipool e'er bog and quagmire;

that hath laid knives under his pillow, and halters

in his pew; set ratsbane by his porridge; made film

proud of heart, to ride on a bay trotting-horse over

four-inched bridges, to course his own shadow for a

traitor. Bless thy five wits! Tom's a-cold,--O, do

de, do de, do de. Bless thee from whirlwinds,

star-blasting, and taking! Do poor Tom some

charity, whom the foul fiend vexes: there could I

have him now,--and there,--and there again, and there.

[Storm still]

KING LEAR What, have his daughters brought him to this pass?

Couldst thou save nothing? Didst thou give them all?

Fool Nay, he reserved a blanket, else we had been all shamed.

KING LEAR Now, all the plagues that in the pendulous air

Hang fated o'er men's faults light on thy daughters!

KENT He hath no daughters, sir.

KING LEAR Death, traitor! nothing could have subdued nature

To such a lowness but his unkind daughters.

Is it the fashion, that discarded fathers

Should have thus little mercy on their flesh?

Judicious punishment! 'twas this flesh begot

Those pelican daughters.

EDGAR Pillicock sat on Pillicock-hill:

Halloo, halloo, loo, loo!

Fool This cold night will turn us all to fools and madmen.

EDGAR Take heed o' the foul fiend: obey thy parents;

keep thy word justly; swear not; commit not with

man's sworn spouse; set not thy sweet heart on proud

array. Tom's a-cold.

KING LEAR What hast thou been?

EDGAR A serving-man, proud in heart and mind; that curled

my hair; wore gloves in my cap; served the lust of

my mistress' heart, and did the act of darkness with

her; swore as many oaths as I spake words, and

broke them in the sweet face of heaven: one that

slept in the contriving of lust, and waked to do it:

wine loved I deeply, dice dearly: and in woman

out-paramoured the Turk: false of heart, light of

ear, bloody of hand; hog in sloth, fox in stealth,

wolf in greediness, dog in madness, lion in prey.

Let not the creaking of shoes nor the rustling of

silks betray thy poor heart to woman: keep thy foot

out of brothels, thy hand out of plackets, thy pen

from lenders' books, and defy the foul fiend.

Still through the hawthorn blows the cold wind:

Says suum, mun, ha, no, nonny.

Dolphin my boy, my boy, sessa! let him trot by.

[Storm still]

KING LEAR Why, thou wert better in thy grave than to answer

with thy uncovered body this extremity of the skies.

Is man no more than this? Consider him well. Thou

owest the worm no silk, the beast no hide, the sheep

no wool, the cat no perfume. Ha! here's three on

's are sophisticated! Thou art the thing itself:

unaccommodated man is no more but such a poor bare,

forked animal as thou art. Off, off, you lendings!

come unbutton here.

[Tearing off his clothes]

Fool Prithee, nuncle, be contented; 'tis a naughty night

to swim in. Now a little fire in a wild field were

like an old lecher's heart; a small spark, all the

rest on's body cold. Look, here comes a walking fire.

[Enter GLOUCESTER, with a torch]

EDGAR This is the foul fiend Flibbertigibbet: he begins

at curfew, and walks till the first cock; he gives

the web and the pin, squints the eye, and makes the

hare-lip; mildews the white wheat, and hurts the

poor creature of earth.

S. Withold footed thrice the old;

He met the night-mare, and her nine-fold;

Bid her alight,

And her troth plight,

And, aroint thee, witch, aroint thee!

KENT How fares your grace?

KING LEAR What's he?

KENT Who's there? What is't you seek?

GLOUCESTER What are you there? Your names?

EDGAR Poor Tom; that eats the swimming frog, the toad,

the tadpole, the wall-newt and the water; that in

the fury of his heart, when the foul fiend rages,

eats cow-dung for sallets; swallows the old rat and

the ditch-dog; drinks the green mantle of the

standing pool; who is whipped from tithing to

tithing, and stock- punished, and imprisoned; who

hath had three suits to his back, six shirts to his

body, horse to ride, and weapon to wear;

But mice and rats, and such small deer,

Have been Tom's food for seven long year.

Beware my follower. Peace, Smulkin; peace, thou fiend!

GLOUCESTER What, hath your grace no better company?

EDGAR The prince of darkness is a gentleman:

Modo he's call'd, and Mahu.

GLOUCESTER Our flesh and blood is grown so vile, my lord,

That it doth hate what gets it.

EDGAR Poor Tom's a-cold.

GLOUCESTER Go in with me: my duty cannot suffer

To obey in all your daughters' hard commands:

Though their injunction be to bar my doors,

And let this tyrannous night take hold upon you,

Yet have I ventured to come seek you out,

And bring you where both fire and food is ready.

KING LEAR First let me talk with this philosopher.

What is the cause of thunder?

KENT Good my lord, take his offer; go into the house.

KING LEAR I'll talk a word with this same learned Theban.

What is your study?

EDGAR How to prevent the fiend, and to kill vermin.

KING LEAR Let me ask you one word in private.

KENT Importune him once more to go, my lord;

His wits begin to unsettle.

GLOUCESTER Canst thou blame him?

[Storm still]

His daughters seek his death: ah, that good Kent!

He said it would be thus, poor banish'd man!

Thou say'st the king grows mad; I'll tell thee, friend,

I am almost mad myself: I had a son,

Now outlaw'd from my blood; he sought my life,

But lately, very late: I loved him, friend;

No father his son dearer: truth to tell thee,

The grief hath crazed my wits. What a night's this!

I do beseech your grace,--

KING LEAR O, cry your mercy, sir.

Noble philosopher, your company.

EDGAR Tom's a-cold.

GLOUCESTER In, fellow, there, into the hovel: keep thee warm.

KING LEAR Come let's in all.

KENT This way, my lord.

KING LEAR With him;

I will keep still with my philosopher.

KENT Good my lord, soothe him; let him take the fellow.

GLOUCESTER Take him you on.

KENT Sirrah, come on; go along with us.

KING LEAR Come, good Athenian.

GLOUCESTER No words, no words: hush.

EDGAR Child Rowland to the dark tower came,

His word was still,--Fie, foh, and fum,

I smell the blood of a British man.

[Exeunt]


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