But I will tarry; the fool will stay,
And let the wise man fly:

The knave turns fool that runs away;
The fool no knave, perdy.

Kent. Where learn'd you this, fool?

Fool. Not i' the stocks, fool.

Re-enter LEAR, with GLOSTER.

My dear lord,

You know the fiery quality of the duke;
How unremovable and fix'd he is
In his own course.

Lear. Vengeance! plague! death! confusion!
Fiery? what quality? why, Gloster, Gloster,

I'd speak with the Duke of Cornwall and his wife.
Glo. Well, my good lord, I have inform'd them so.
Lear. Inform'd them! Dost thou understand me, man?
Glo. Ay, my good lord.

Lear. The king would speak with Cornwall; the dear father

Would with his daughter speak, commands her service:
Are they inform'd of this? My breath and blood!-
Fiery? the fiery duke?—Tell the hot duke that—-
No, but not yet:-may be he is not well:

Infirmity doth still neglect all office

Whereto our health is bound; we are not ourselves

When nature, being oppress'd, commands the mind
To suffer with the body: I'll forbear;

And am fall'n out with my more headier will
To take the indispos'd and sickly fit

For the sound man. -Death on my state! wherefore

[Looking on Kent. Should he sit here? This act persuades me

That this remotion of the duke and her

Is practice only. Give me my servant forth.

Go tell the duke and 's wife I'd speak with them,
Now, presently: bid them come forth and hear me,
Or at their chamber door I'll beat the drum.

Till it cry Sleep to death.

Glo. I would have all well betwixt you.

[Exit.

Lear. O me, my heart, my rising heart!-but, down!

Fool. Cry to it, nuncle, as the cockney did to the eels when she put them i' the paste alive; she knapped 'em o' the coxcombs with a stick, and cried, Down, wantons, down! 'Twas her brother that, in pure kindness to his horse, buttered his hay.

Enter CORNWALL, REGAN, GLOSTER, and Servants.
Lear. Good-morrow to you both.
Corn.

Hail to your grace!

[KENT is set at liberty.

Reg. I am glad to see your highness.

[TO KENT.

Lear. Regan, I think you are; I know what reason
I have to think so: if thou shouldst not be glad,
I would divorce me from thy mother's tomb,
Sepulchring an adultress.-O, are you free?
Some other time for that.-Beloved Regan,
Thy sister's naught: O Regan, she hath tied
Sharp-tooth'd unkindness, like a vulture, here,—

[Points to his heart.

I can scarce speak to thee; thou'lt not believe
With how deprav'd a quality-O Regan!
Reg. I pray you, sir, take patience: I have hope
You less know how to value her desert
Than she to scant her duty.

Lear.

Say, how is that?

Reg. I cannot think my sister in the least
Would fail her obligation: if, sir, perchance
She have restrain'd the riots of your followers,
'Tis on such ground, and to such wholesome end,
As clears her from all blame.

Lear. My curses on her!

Reg.
O, sir, you are old;
Nature in you stands on the very verge

Of her confine: you should be rul'd and led
By some discretion, that discerns your state
Better than you yourself. Therefore, I pray you,
That to our sister you do make return;

Say you have wrong'd her, sir.

Lear.

Ask her forgiveness?

Do you but mark how this becomes the house:

Dear daughter, I confess that I am old;

Age is unnecessary: on my knees I beg

That you'll vouchsafe me raiment, bed, and food.

[Kneeling.

Reg. Good sir, no more; these are unsightly tricks: Return you to my sister.

Lear. [rising.]

Never, Regan:

Look'd black upon me; struck me with her tongue,
Most serpent-like, upon the very heart:-

All the stor❜d vengeances of heaven fall

On her ingrateful top! Strike her young bones,
You taking airs, with lameness!

Corn.

Fie, sir, fie!

Lear. You nimble lightnings, dart your blinding flames Into her scornful eyes! Infect her beauty,

You fen-suck'd fogs, drawn by the powerful sun,
To fall and blast her pride!

O the blest gods!

Reg.
So will you wish on me when the rash mood is on.
Lear. No, Regan, thou shalt never have my curse:
Thy tender-hefted nature shall not give

Thee o'er to harshness: her eyes are fierce; but thine
Do comfort, and not burn. 'Tis not in thee

To grudge my pleasures, to cut off my train,
To bandy hasty words, to scant my sizes,
And, in conclusion, to oppose the bolt
Against my coming in: thou better know'st
The offices of nature, bond of childhood,
Effects of courtesy, dues of gratitude;

Thy half o' the kingdom hast thou not forgot,
Wherein I thee endow'd.

Reg.

Good sir, to the purpose.

[Tucket within.

What trumpet's that?

Lear. Who put my man i' the stocks?

Corn.

Reg. I know't,-my sister's: this approves her letter, That she would soon be here.

Enter OSWALD.

Is your lady come?

Lear. This is a slave whose easy-borrow'd pride Dwells in the fickle grace of her he follows.

Out, varlet, from my sight!

Corn.

What means your grace?

Lear. Who stock'd my servant? Regan, I have good hope Thou didst not know on't.-Who comes here? O heavens,

Enter GONERIL.

If you do love old men, if your sweet sway

Allow obedience, if yourselves are old,

Make it your cause; send down, and take my part!—

Art not asham'd to look upon this beard?

O Regan, wilt thou take her by the hand?

[To GONERIL

Gon. Why not by the hand, sir? How have I offended? All's not offence that indiscretion finds,

And dotage terms so.

Lear.
O sides, you are too tough!
Will you yet hold?-How came my man i' the stocks?
Corn. I set him there, sir: but his own disorders
Deserv'd much less advancement.

Lear.

You! did you?

Reg. I pray you, father, being weak, seem so.
If, till the expiration of your month,
You will return and sojourn with my sister,
Dismissing half your train, come then to me:
I am now from home, and out of that provision
Which shall be needful for your entertainment.
Lear. Return to her, and fifty men dismiss'd?
No, rather I abjure all roofs, and choose
To wage against the enmity o' the air;
To be a comrade with the wolf and owl,-
Necessity's sharp pinch!-Return with her?
Why, the hot-blooded France, that dowerless took
Our youngest born, I could as well be brought
To knee his throne, and, squire-like, pension beg
To keep base life a-foot.-Return with her?
Persuade me rather to be slave and sumpter
To this detested groom.

Gon.

[Pointing to OSWALD.
At your choice, sir.
Lear. I pr'ythee, daughter, do not make me mad:
I will not trouble thee, my child; farewell:
We'll no more meet, no more see one another:-
But yet thou art my flesh, my blood, my daughter;
Or rather a disease that's in my flesh,

Which I must needs call mine: thou art a boil,
A plague-sore, an embossed carbuncle

In my corrupted blood. But I'll not chide thee;
Let shame come when it will, I do not call it:
I do not bid the thunder-bearer shoot,

Nor tell tales of thee to high-judging Jove:
Mend when thou canst; be better at thy leisure:
I can be patient; I can stay with Regan,
I and my hundred knights.

Reg.

Not altogether so:

I look'd not for you yet, nor am provided
For your fit welcome. Give ear, sir, to my sister;
For those that mingle reason with your passion
Must be content to think you old, and so-
But she knows what she does.

Lear.

Is this well spoken?
Reg. I dare avouch it, sir: what, fifty followers?
Is it not well? What should you need of more?
Yea, or so many, sith that both charge and danger
Speak 'gainst so great a number? How in one house,
Should many people under two commands

Hold amity? Tis hard; almost impossible.

Gon. Why might not you, my lord, receive attendance From those that she calls servants, or from mine?

Reg. Why not, my lord? If then they chanc'd to slack

you,

We could control them. If you will come to me,

For now I spy a danger,-I entreat you
To bring but five-and-twenty: to no more
Will I give place or notice.

Lear. I gave you all,—

Reg.
And in good time you gave it.
Lear. Made you my guardians, my depositaries;
But kept a reservation to be follow'd

With such a number. What, must I come to you
With five-and-twenty, Regan? said you so?

Reg. And speak't again, my lord; no more with me. Lear. Those wicked creatures yet do look well-favour'd When others are more wicked; not being the worst Stands in some rank of praise.—I'll go with thee:

Thy fifty yet doth double five-and-twenty,
And thou art twice her love.

[To GONERIL.

Gon.
Hear me, my lord:
What need you five-and-twenty, ten, or five,
To follow in a house where twice so many
Have a command to tend you?

Reg.

What need one?

Lear. O, reason not the need: our basest beggars

Are in the poorest thing superfluous:

Allow not nature more than nature needs,

Man's life is cheap as beast's: thou art a lady;

If only to go warm were gorgeous,

Why, nature needs not what thou gorgeous wear'st,
Which scarcely keeps thee warm.-But, for true need,—
You heavens, give me that patience, patience I need!
You see me here, you gods, a poor old man,
As full of grief as age; wretched in both!
If it be you that stir these daughters' hearts
Against their father, fool me not so much
To bear it tamely; touch me with noble anger,