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PERICLES.

Boult. What would you have me? go to the wars, would you? where a man may serve seven years for the loss of a leg, and have not money enough in the end to buy him a wooden one?-Act 4, Sc. 6.

KING LEAR.

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.
Lear. Sir,

I know no answer.

Will with those infirmities she owes,

you,

Unfriended, new-adopted to our hate,

Dower'd with our curse, and stranger'd with our oath,
Take her, or leave her?...

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

That I am glad I have not, though not to have it,
Hath lost me in your liking..

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 is not love,
When it is mingled with respects, that stand

Aloof from the entire point. Will you have her?
She is herself a dowry.

Burgundy.

Royal Lear,

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 fortune 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 :

Thy dowerless daughter, king, thrown to my chance,
Is queen of us, of ours, and our fair France.

Bid farewell to your sisters.

Cordelia. The jewels of our father, with wash'd eyes Cordelia leaves you. . . -Act 1, Sc. 1.

Gloster. What paper were you reading?

Edmund. Nothing, my lord.

Gloster. No? what needed then that terrible despatch 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. Hath he never heretofore sounded you

in this business?

...

Edmund. Never, my lord: But I have often heard him maintain it to be fit, that, sons at perfect age, and fathers declining, the father should be as ward to the son, and the son manage his revenue.

Gloster. 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?—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 between son and 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! -Strange! strange! (Exit.)

:

Edmund. This is the excellent foppery of the world! that when we are sick in fortune (often the surfeit of our own behaviour), we make guilty of our disasters, the sun, the moon, and the stars: as if we were villains by necessity; fools, by heavenly compulsion; knaves, thieves, and treachers, by spherical predominance; drunk

ards, liars, and adulterers, by an enforced obedience of planetary influence; and all that we are evil in, by a divine thrusting on. Edgar (Enter EDGAR)-and 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.-Sc. 2.

Knight. My lord, I know not what the matter is; but, to my judgment, your highness is not entertain'd 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 is wrong'd.

Lear. Thou but remember'st 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.

Fool. Truth's a dog that must to kennel.

Lear. Dost thou call me fool, boy?

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

Kent. This is not altogether fool, my lord.

Fool. ... Give me an egg, nuncle, and I'll give thee two

crowns.

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Lear. What two crowns shall they be?

Fool. Why, after I have cut the egg i' the middle, and eat up the meat, the two crowns of the egg. When thou clovest thy crown i' the middle, and gavest away both parts, thou borest thine ass on thy back over the dirt: Thou had'st little wit in thy bald crown, when thou gavest thy golden one away. If I speak like myself in this, let him be whipp'd that first finds it so.- -Pr'ythee, nuncle, keep a schoolmaster that can teach thy fool to lie; I would fain learn to lie.

Lear. If you lie, sirrah, we'll have you whipp'd.

Fool. I marvel, what kin thou and thy daughters are: they'll have me whipp'd for lying; and, sometimes, I'm whipp'd for holding my peace. I had rather be any kind of thing, than a fool: and yet I would not be thee, nuncle; thou hast pared thy

wit o' both sides, and left nothing in the middle: Here comes one o' the parings. (Enter GONERIL.)

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

That's a shealed peascod. (Pointing to Lear.)

The hedge sparrow fed the cuckoo so long,

That it had its head bit off by its young.

Lear. Does any here know me ?-Why this is not Lear: does Lear walk thus? Speak thus? Where are his eyes? Either his notion weakens, or his discernings are lethargied.-Sleeping or waking ?-Ha! sure 'tis not so. Who is that can

tell me who I am?

Goneril. . . .

Be then desir'd

By her, that else will take the thing she begs,
A little to disquantity your train;

And the remainder, that shall still depend
To be such men as may besort your age,
And know themselves and you.

Lear.
Darkness and devils!-
Saddle my horses; call my train together.-
Degenerate bastard! I'll not trouble thee;
Yet have I left a daughter.

Goneril. You strike my people; and your disorder'd rabble Make servants of their betters. (Enter ALBANY.)

Lear. Woe, that too late repents,-O! sir, are you come? Is it your will? (To ALBANY.) Speak, sir.-Prepare my horses. Ingratitude! thou marble-hearted fiend,

More hideous, when thou show'st thee in a child,
Than the sea-monster!

Albany.

Pray, sir, be patient.

Lear (to GONERIL). Detested kite! thou liest: My train are men of choice and rarest parts,

That all particulars of duty know :

And in the most exact regard support

The worships of their name.-O! most small fault,

How ugly did'st thou in Cordelia show!

Which, like an engine, wrench'd my frame of nature
From the fix'd place: drew from my heart all love,
And added to the gall. O! Lear, Lear, Lear,
Beat at this gate that let thy folly in, (striking his head)
And thy dear judgment out.-Go, go, my people.
Albany. My lord, I am guiltless, as I am ignorant
Of what hath mov'd you.

Lear. It may be so, my lord.-Hear, Nature, hear;

Dear goddess hear! suspend thy purpose if
Thou did'st intend to make this creature fruitful!
Into her womb convey sterility!

Dry up in her the organs of increase;
And from her derogate body never spring
A babe to honour her! If she must teem,
Create her child of spleen; that it may live,
And be a thwart disnatur'd torment to her!
Let it stamp wrinkles in her brow of youth;
With cadent tears fret channels in her cheeks:
Turn all her mother's pains, and benefits,
To laughter and contempt; that she may feel
How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is
To have a thankless child!-Away, away!

(Exit.)

Albany. Now, gods, that we adore, whereof comes this ? Goneril. Never afflict yourself to know the cause;

But let his disposition have that scope

That dotage gives it.

(Re-enter LEAR.)

Lear. What, fifty of my followers, at a clap!

Within a fortnight?

Albany.

What's the matter, sir?

Lear. I'll tell thee;-life and death! I am asham'd

That thou hast power to shake my manhood thus: (To GONERIL.)
That these hot tears which break from me perforce,

Should make thee worth them.-Blasts and fogs upon
The untented woundings of a father's curse
Pierce every sense about thee!-Old fond eyes,
Beweep this cause again, I'll pluck you out,
And cast you with the waters that you lose,
To temper clay.-Ha! is it come to this?
Let it be so:-Yet have I left a daughter,
Who, I am sure, is kind and comfortable;
When she shall hear this of thee, with her nails
She'll flay thy wolfish visage. Thou shalt find,
That I'll resume the shape which thou dost think

thee!

I have cast off for ever; thou shalt, I warrant thee. (Exeunt LEAR, KENT, and Attendants.)-Sc. 4.

Fool. Thou can'st tell why one's nose stands i' the middle of his face ?

Lear. No.

Fool. Why, to keep his eyes on either side his nose; That what a man cannot smell out, he may spy into. Lear. I did her wrong:

Fool. Canst thou tell how an oyster makes his shell?

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