THE HISTORY OF KING LEAR - THE QUARTO TEXT

Speaker	Line
THE HISTORY OF KING	LEAR
THE QUARTO TEXT	King Lear first appeared in print in a quarto of 1608. A substantially different text appeared in the 1623 Folio. Until the first appearance of the Oxford text, editors, assuming that each of these early texts imperfectly represented a single play, conflated them. But research conducted mainly during the 1970s and 1980s confirms an earlier view that the 1608 quarto represents the play as Shakespeare originally wrote it, and the 1623 Folio as he substantially revised it. He revised other plays, too, but usually by making many small changes in the dialogue and adding or omitting passages, as in Hamlet, Troilus and Cressida, and Othello. For these plays we print the revised text in so far as it can be ascertained. But in King Lear revisions are not simply local but structural, too; conflation, as Harley Granville-Barker wrote, ‘may make for redundancy or confusion’, so we print an edited version of each text. The first, printed in the following pages, represents the play as Shakespeare first conceived it, probably before it was performed. The story of a king who, angry with the failure of his virtuous youngest daughter (Cordelia) to respond as he desires in a love-test, divides his kingdom between her two malevolent sisters (Gonoril and Regan), had been often told; Shakespeare would have come upon it in Holinshed’s Chronicles and in A Mirror for Magistrates while reading for his plays on English history. It is told also (though briefly) in Edmund Spenser’s Faerie Queene (Book 2, canto 10), and had been dramatized in a play of unknown authorship—The True Chronicle History of King Leir and his three daughters—published in 1605, but probably written some fifteen years earlier. This play particularly gave Shakespeare much, including suggestions for the characters of Lear’s loyal servant, Kent, and of Gonoril’s husband, Albany, and her steward, Oswald; for the storm; for Lear’s kneeling to Cordelia; and for many details of language. Nevertheless, his play is a highly original creation. Lear’s madness and the harrowing series of disasters in King Lear’s final stages are of Shakespeare’s invention, and he complicates the plot by adding the story (based on an episode of Sir Philip Sidney’s Arcadia) of Gloucester and his two sons, Edmund and Edgar. Edgar’s love and loyalty to the father who, failing to see the truth, has rejected him in favour of the villainous Edmund makes him a counterpart to Cordelia; and the horrific blinding of Gloucester brought about by Edmund creates a physical parallel to Lear’s madness which reaches its consummation in the scene (Sc. 20) at Dover Cliff when the mad and the blind old men commune together. The clear-eyed intensity of Shakespeare’s tragic vision in King Lear has been too much for some audiences, and Nahum Tate’s adaptation, which gave the play a happy ending, held the stage from 1681 to 1843; since then, increased understanding of Shakespeare’s stagecraft along with a greater seriousness in theatre audiences has assisted in the rehabilitation of a play that is now recognized as one of the profoundest of all artistic explorations of the human condition. In the text which follows, the Quarto scene numbers are followed by the equivalent Folio act and scene numbers in parentheses. There is no equivalent to Sc. 17 in the Folio.
THE PERSONS OF THE	PLAY LEAR, King of Britain GONORIL, Lear’s eldest daughter Duke of ALBANY, her husband REGAN, Lear’s second daughter Duke of CORNWALL, her husband CORDELIA, Lear’s youngest daughter Earl of KENT, later disguised as Caius Earl of GLOUCESTER EDGAR, elder son of Gloucester, later disguised as Tom o’ Bedlam EDMUND, bastard son of Gloucester
OLD	MAN, a tenant of Gloucester CURAN, Gloucester’s retainer Lear’s FOOL OSWALD, Gonoril’s steward Three SERVANTS of Cornwall DOCTOR, attendant on Cordelia Three CAPTAINS A HERALD A KNIGHT A MESSENGER Gentlemen, servants, soldiers, followers, trumpeters, others The History of King Lear Sc. 1
(didascalia)	Enter the Earl of Kent, the Duke of Gloucester, and Edmund the bastard
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 kingdoms it appears not which of the Dukes he values most; for equalities 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 blushed to acknowledge him that now I am brazed to it.
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, sir, a son by order of law, some year elder than this, who yet is no dearer in my account. Though this knave came something saucily into 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. (To Edmund) Do you know this noble gentleman, Edmund?
EDMUND	No, my lord.
GLOUCESTER	(to Edmund) My lord of Kent. Remember him hereafter as my honourable friend.
EDMUND	(to Kent) My services to your lordship.
KENT	I must love you, and sue to know you better.
EDMUND	Sir, I shall study deserving.
GLOUCESTER	(to Kent) He hath been out nine years, and away he shall again.
(didascalia)	Sound a sennet
GLOUCESTER	The King is coming.
(didascalia)	Enter one bearing a coronet, then King Lear, then the Dukes of Albany and Cornwall; next Gonoril, Regan, Cordelia, with followers
LEAR	Attend my lords of France and Burgundy, Gloucester.
GLOUCESTER	I shall, my liege.
(didascalia)	Exit
LEAR	Meantime we will express our darker purposes. The map there. Know we have divided In three our kingdom, and ’tis our first intent To shake all cares and business off our state, Confirming them on younger years. The two great 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 answered. Tell me, my daughters, Which of you shall we say doth love us most, That we our largest bounty may extend Where merit doth most challenge it? Gonoril, our eldest born, speak first.
GONORIL	Sir, I do love you more than words can wield the matter; Dearer than eyesight, space, or liberty; Beyond what can be valued, rich or rare; No less than life; with grace, health, beauty, honour; As much as child e’er loved, or father, friend; A love that makes breath poor and speech unable. Beyond all manner of so much I love you.
CORDELIA	(aside) What shall Cordelia do? Love and be silent.
LEAR	(to Gonoril) Of all these bounds even from this line to this, With shady forests 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 to Cornwall, speak.
REGAN	Sir, I am made Of the self-same mettle that my sister is, And prize me at her worth. In my true heart I find she names my very deed of love— Only she came 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 richer than my tongue.
LEAR	(to Regan) To thee and thine hereditary ever Remain this ample third of our fair kingdom, No less in space, validity, and pleasure Than that confirmed on Gonoril. (To Cordelia) But now our joy, Although the last, not least in our dear love: What can you say to win a third more opulent Than your sisters?
CORDELIA	Nothing, my lord.
LEAR	How? Nothing can 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, nor more nor less.
LEAR	Go to, go to, mend your speech a little Lest it may mar your fortunes.
CORDELIA	Good my lord, You have begot me, bred me, loved 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 this with thy heart?
CORDELIA	Ay, good my lord.
LEAR	So young and so untender?
CORDELIA	So young, my lord, and true.
LEAR	Well, let it be so. Thy truth then he 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 be as well neighboured, pitied, and relieved As thou, my sometime daughter.
KENT	Good my +liege-
LEAR	Peace, Kent. Come not between the dragon and his wrath. I loved her most, and thought to set my rest
(didascalia)	On her kind nursery. To Cordelia Hence, and avoid
LEAR	my sight!— So be my grave my peace as here I give Her father’s heart from her. Call France. Who stirs? Call Burgundy.
(didascalia)	Exit one or more
LEAR	Cornwall and Albany, With my two daughters’ dowers digest this third. Let pride, which she calls plainness, marry her. I do invest you jointly in 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 sustained, shall our abode Make with you by due turns. Only we still retain The name and all the additions to a king. The sway, revenue, execution of the rest, Beloved sons, be yours; which to confirm, This crownet part betwixt you.
KENT	Royal Lear, Whom I have ever honoured as my king, Loved as my father, as my master followed, 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 wilt 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 stoops to folly. Reverse thy doom, 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 sound Reverbs no hollowness.
LEAR	Kent, on thy life, no more!
KENT	My life I never held but as a pawn To wage against thy enemies, nor 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.
(didascalia)	LEAR making to strike himl
KENT	Vassal, recreant!
KENT	Do, kill thy physician, And the fee bestow upon the foul disease. Revoke thy doom, or whilst I can vent clamour From my throat I’ll tell thee thou dost evil.
LEAR	Hear me; on thy allegiance hear me! Since thou hast sought to make us break our vow, Which we durst never yet, and with strayed pride To come between our sentence and our power, Which nor our nature nor our place can bear, Our potency made good take thy reward: Four days we do allot thee for provision To shield thee from dis-eases of the world, And on the fifth to turn thy hated back Upon our kingdom. If on the next day following Thy banished trunk be found in our dominions, The moment is thy death. Away! By Jupiter, This shall not be revoked.
KENT	Why, fare thee well, King; since thus thou wilt appear, Friendship lives hence, and banishment is here. (To Cordelia) The gods to their protection take thee, maid, That rightly thinks, and hast most justly said. (To Gonoril 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.
(didascalia)	Exit
(didascalia)	Enter the King of France and the Duke of
KENT	Burgundy, with the Duke of Gloucester
GLOUCESTER	Here’s France and Burgundy, my noble lord.
LEAR	My lord of Burgundy, We first address towards you, who with a king Hath rivalled for our daughter: what in the least Will you require in present dower with her Or cease your quest of love?
BURGUNDY	Royal majesty, I crave no more than what your highness offered; 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 fallen. Sir, there she stands. If aught within that little seeming substance, Or all of it, with our displeasure pieced, And nothing else, may fitly like your grace, She’s there, and she is yours.
BURGUNDY	I know no answer.
LEAR	Sir, will you with those infirmities she owes, Unfriended, new-adopted to our hate, Covered with our curse and strangered with our oath, Take her or leave her?
BURGUNDY	Pardon me, royal sir. Election makes not up on 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 To avert your liking a more worthier way Than on a wretch whom nature is ashamed Almost to acknowledge hers.
FRANCE	This is most strange, that she that even but now Was your best object, the argument of your praise, Balm of your age, most best, most 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-vouched affections Fall’n into taint; which to believe of her Must be a faith that reason without miracle Could never plant in me.
CORDELIA	(to Lear) I yet beseech your majestyIf 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 acknow It is no vicious blot, murder, or foulness, No unclean action or dishonoured step That hath deprived me of your grace and favour, But even the want of that for which I am rich— 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	Go to, go to. Better thou hadst not been born than not to have pleased me better.
FRANCE	Is it no more but this—a tardiness in nature, That 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 stands Aloof from the entire point. Will you have her? She is herself a dower.
BURGUNDY	Royal Lear, Give but that portion which yourself proposed, And here I take Cordelia by the hand, Duchess of Burgundy—
LEAR	Nothing. I have sworn.
BURGUNDY	(to Cordelia) 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 loved, despised: 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 inflamed respect.— Thy dowerless daughter, King, thrown to my chance, Is queen of us, of ours, and our fair France. Not all the dukes in wat’rish Burgundy Shall buy this unprized 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 and Burgundy, then
(didascalia)	Albany, Cornwall, Gloucester, Edmund,
LEAR	and followers
FRANCE	(to Cordelia) Bid farewell to your sisters.
CORDELIA	Ye jewels of our father, with washed eyes Cordelia leaves you. I know you what you are, And like a sister am most loath to call Your faults as they are named. Use 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.
GONORIL	Prescribe not us our duties.
REGAN	Let your study Be to content your lord, who hath received you At fortune’s alms. You have obedience scanted, And well are worth the worst that you have wanted.
CORDELIA	Time shall unfold what pleated cunning hides. Who covers faults, at last shame them derides. Well may you prosper.
FRANCE	Come, fair Cordelia.
(didascalia)	Exeunt France and Cordelia
GONORIL	Sister, it is not a 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.
GONORIL	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 gross.
REGAN	’Tis the infirmity of his age; yet he hath ever but slenderly known himself.
GONORIL	The best and soundest of his time hath been but rash; then must we look to receive from his age not alone the imperfection of long-engrafted condition, but therewithal 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.
GONORIL	There is further compliment of leave-taking between France and him. Pray, let’s hit together. If our father carry authority with such dispositions as he bears, this last surrender of his will but offend us.
REGAN	We shall further think on’t.
GONORIL	We must do something, and l’th’ heat. Exeunt Sc. 2
(didascalia)	Enter Edmund the bastard
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, base bastardy’, Who in the lusty stealth of nature take More composition and fierce quality Than doth within a stale, dull-eyed bed go To the creating a whole tribe of fops Got ’tween a sleep and wake? Well then, Legitimate Edgar, I must have your land. Our father’s love is to the bastard Edmund As to the legitimate. Well, my legitimate, if This letter speed and my invention thrive, Edmund the base shall to th’ legitimate. I grow, I prosper. Now gods, stand up for bastards!
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke of Gloucester. Edmund reads a letter
GLOUCESTER	Kent banished thus, and France in choler parted, And the King gone tonight, subscribed his power, Confined to exhibition—all this done Upon the gad?—Edmund, how now? What news?
EDMUND	So please your lordship, none.
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 needs 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; for so much as I have perused, I find it not fit for your liking.
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 assay or taste of my virtue. He gives Gloucester a letter
GLOUCESTER	(reads) ‘This policy 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! ‘Slept till I waked 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	Hath he never heretofore sounded you in this business? 70
EDMUND	Never, my lord; but I have often heard him maintain it to be fit that, sons at perfect age and fathers declining, his father should be as ward to the son, and the son manage the revenue.
GLOUCESTER	O villain, villain—his very opinion in the tetter! Abhorred villain, unnatural, detested, brutish villain—worse than brutish! Go, sir, seek him, ay, 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 this 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 he hath wrote this to feel my affection to your honour, and to no further 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 pilot, 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 your business after your own wisdom. I would unstate myself to be in a due resolution.
EDMUND	I shall seek him, sir, presently, convey the business as I shall see 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 thus and thus, yet nature finds itself scourged by the sequent effects. Love cools, friendship falls off, brothers divide; in cities mutinies, in countries discords, palaces treason, the bond cracked between son and father. 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 treacherers 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 stars! 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 of the firmament twinkled on my bastardy. Edgar …
(didascalia)	Enter Edgar
EDMUND	and on’s cue out he comes, like the catastrophe of the old comedy; mine is villainous melancholy, with a sigh like them of Bedlam.—O, these eclipses do portend these divisions.
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 about that?
EDMUND	I promise you, the effects he writ 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	Why, the night gone by.
EDMUND	Spake you with him?
EDGAR	Two hours together.
EDMUND	Parted you in good terms? Found you no displeasure in him by word or countenance?
EDGAR	None at all.
EDMUND	Bethink yourself wherein you may have offended him, and at my entreaty forbear his presence till 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 scarce allay.
EDGAR	Some villain hath done me wrong.
EDMUND	That’s my fear, brother. I advise you to the best. Go armed. I am no honest man if there be any good meaning towards 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.
(didascalia)	Exit Edgar
EDMUND	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.
(didascalia)	Exit
EDMUND	Sc. 3
(didascalia)	Enter Gonoril and Oswald, her gentleman
GONORIL	Did my father strike my gentleman For chiding of his fool?
OSWALD	Yes, madam.
GONORIL	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.
(didascalia)	Hunting horns within
OSWALD	He’s coming, madam. I hear him.
GONORIL	Put on what weary negligence you please, You and your fellow servants. I’d have it come in question. If he dislike 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 used With checks as flatteries, when they are seen abused. Remember what I tell you.
OSWALD	Very well, madam.
GONORIL	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. Go prepare for dinner.
(didascalia)	Exeunt severally
GONORIL	Sc. 4
(didascalia)	Enter the Earl of Kent, disguised
KENT	If but as well I other accents borrow That can my speech diffuse, my good intent May carry through itself to that full issue For which I razed my likeness. Now, banished Kent, If thou canst serve where thou dost stand condemned, Thy master, whom thou lov’st, shall find thee full of labour.
(didascalia)	Enter King Lear and servants from hunting
LEAR	Let me not stay a jot for dinner. Go get it ready.
(didascalia)	Exit one
LEAR	(To Kent) 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 as poor for a subject as he is for a king, thou’rt 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 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 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.
(didascalia)	Exit one
(didascalia)	Enter Oswald the steward
LEAR	You, sirrah, where’s my daughter?
OSWALD	So please you—
(didascalia)	Exit
LEAR	What says the fellow there? Call the clotpoll back.
(didascalia)	Exeunt Servant and Kent
LEAR	Where’s my fool? Ho, I think the world’s asleep.
(didascalia)	Enter the Earl of Kent and a Servant
LEAR	How now, where’s that mongrel?
KENT	He says, my lord, your daughter is not well.
LEAR	Why came not the slave back to me when I called him?
SERVANT	Sir, he answered me in the roundest manner he would not.
LEAR	A would not?
SERVANT	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 appears as well in the general dependants as in the Duke himself also, and your daughter.
LEAR	Ha, sayst thou so?
SERVANT	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 purport of unkindness. I will look further into’t. But where’s this fool? I have not seen him these two days.
SERVANT	Since my young lady’s going into France, sir, the fool hath much pined away.
(didascalia)	LEAR No more of that, I have noted it. Go you and tell my daughter I would speak with her. Exit one Go you, call hither my fool. Exit one
(didascalia)	Enter Oswald the steward crossing the stage
SERVANT	O you, sir, you, sir, come you hither. 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 this, my lord, I beseech you pardon me.
LEAR	Do you bandy looks with me, you rascal?
(didascalia)	Lear strikes him
OSWALD	I’ll not be struck, my lord—
KENT	(tripping him) Nor tripped neither, you base football player.
LEAR	(to Kent) I thank thee, fellow. Thou serv’st me, and I’ll love thee.
KENT	(to Oswald) Come, sir, I’ll teach you differences. Away, away. If you will measure your lubber’s length again, tarry; but away if you have wisdom.
(didascalia)	Exit Oswald
LEAR	Now, friendly knave, I thank thee.
(didascalia)	Enter Lear’s Fool
LEAR	There’s earnest of thy service. He gives Kent money
FOOL	Let me hire him, too. (To Kent) Here’s my coxcomb.
LEAR	How now, my pretty knave, how dost thou?
FOOL	(to Kent) 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 hath banished two on’s daughters and done the third a blessing against his will. If thou follow him, thou must needs wear my coxcomb. (To Lear) How now, nuncle? Would I had two coxcombs and two daughters.
LEAR	Why, my boy?
FOOL	If I gave them my living I’d keep my coxcombs myself. There’s mine; beg another off thy daughters.
LEAR	Take heed, sirrah—the whip.
FOOL	Truth is a dog that must to kennel. He must be whipped out when Lady the brach may stand by the fire and stink.
LEAR	A pestilent gall to me!
(didascalia)	FOOL to Kent Sirrah, I’ll teach thee a speech.
LEAR	Do.
FOOL	Mark it, uncle. 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.
LEAR	This is nothing, fool.
FOOL	Then, like the breath of an unfee’d lawyer, you gave me nothing for’t. Can you make no use of nothing, uncle?
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. 130
LEAR	A bitter fool.
FOOL	Dost know the difference, my boy, between a bitter fool and a sweet fool?
LEAR	No, lad. Teach me.
(didascalia)	FOOL sings
LEAR	That lord that counselled 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	(to Lear) 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. Give me an egg, nuncle, and I’ll give thee two crowns.
LEAR	What two crowns shall they be?
FOOL	Why, after I have cut the egg in the middle and eat up the meat, the two crowns of the egg. When thou clovest thy crown i‘th’ middle and gavest away both parts, thou borest thy ass o’th’ back o’er the dirt. Thou hadst little wit in thy bald crown when thou gavest thy golden one away. If I speak like myself in this, let him be whipped that first finds it so.
(didascalia)	Sings
FOOL	Fools had ne’er less wit in a year, For wise men are grown foppish. They know not how their wits do wear, Their manners are so apish.
LEAR	When were you wont to be so full of songs, sirrah?
FOOL	I have used it, nuncle, ever since thou madest thy daughters thy mother; for when thou gavest them the rod and puttest down thine own breeches,
(didascalia)	Sings
FOOL	Then they for sudden joy did weep, And I for sorrow sung, That such a king should play bo-peep And go the fools among. Prithee, nuncle, keep a schoolmaster that can teach thy fool to lie. I would fain learn to lie.
LEAR	An you lie, we’ll have you whipped.
FOOL	I marvel what kin thou and thy daughters are. They’ll have me whipped for speaking true, thou wilt have me whipped for lying, and sometime I am whipped 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.
(didascalia)	Enter Gonoril
FOOL	Here comes one of the parings.
LEAR	How now, daughter, what makes that frontlet on? Methinks you are too much o’ late i’th’ frown.
(didascalia)	FOOL Thou wast a pretty fellow when thou hadst no need to care for her frown. Now thou art an O without a figure. I am better than thou art, now. I am a fool; thou art nothing. To Gonoril Yes, forsooth, I will hold my tongue; so your face bids me, though you say nothing.
(didascalia)	Sings
LEAR	Mum, mum. He that keeps neither crust nor crumb, Weary of all, shall want some. That’s a shelled peascod.
GONORIL	(to Lear) Not only, sir, this your all-licensed fool, But other of your insolent retinue Do hourly carp and quarrel, breaking forth In rank and not-to-be-endured riots. Sir, I had thought by making this well known unto you To have found a safe redress, but now grow fearful, By what yourself too late have spoke and done, That you protect this course, and put it on By your allowance; which if you should, the fault Would not scape censure, nor the redress sleep Which in the tender of a wholesome weal Might in their working do you that offence, That else were shame, that then necessity Must call discreet proceedings.
FOOL	(to Lear) For, you trow, nuncle,
(didascalia)	Sings
FOOL	The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long That it had it head bit off by it young; so out went the candle, and we were left darkling.
LEAR	(to Gonoril) Are you our daughter?
GONORIL	Come, sir, I would you would make use of that good wisdom Whereof I know you are fraught, and put away These dispositions that of late transform you From what you rightly are.
(didascalia)	FOOL May not an ass know when the cart draws the horse? Sings ‘Whoop, jug, I love thee!’
LEAR	Doth any here know me? Why, this is not Lear. Doth 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 it that can tell me who I am? Lear’s shadow? I would learn that, for by the marks Of sovereignty, knowledge, and reason I should be false persuaded I had daughters.
FOOL	Which they will make an obedient father.
LEAR	(to Gonoril) Your name, fair gentlewoman?
GONORIL	Come, sir, This admiration is much of the savour Of other your new pranks. I do beseech you Understand my purposes aright, As you are old and reverend, should be wise. Here do you keep a hundred knights and squires, Men so disordered, so debauched and bold That this our court, infected with their manners, Shows like a riotous inn, epicurism And lust make more like to a tavern, or brothel, Than a great palace. The shame itself doth speak For instant remedy. Be thou desired, 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, That know themselves and you.
LEAR	Darkness and devils! Saddle my horses, call my train together!—
(didascalia)	Exit one or more
LEAR	Degenerate bastard, I’ll not trouble thee. Yet have I left a daughter.
GONORIL	You strike my people, and your disordered rabble Make servants of their betters.
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke of Albany
LEAR	We that too late repent‘s—O sir, are you come? Is it your will that we—prepare my horses.
(didascalia)	Exit one or more
LEAR	Ingratitude, thou marble-hearted fiend, More hideous when thou show’st thee in a child Than the sea-monster—(to Gonoril) 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 didst thou in Cordelia show, That, like an engine, wrenched my frame of nature From the fixed place, drew from my heart all love, And added to the gall! O Lear, Lear! Beat at this gate that let thy folly in And thy dear judgement out.—Go, go, my people!
ALBANY	My lord, I am guiltless as I am ignorant.
LEAR	It may be so, my lord. Hark, nature, hear: Dear goddess, suspend thy purpose if Thou didst 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 disnatured 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— That she may feel How sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is To have a thankless child.—Go, go, my people!
(didascalia)	Exeunt Lear, Kent, Fool, and servants
ALBANY	Now, gods that we adore, whereof comes this?
GONORIL	Never afflict yourself to know the cause, But let his disposition have that scope That dotage gives it.
(didascalia)	Enter King Lear and his Fool
LEAR	What, fifty of my followers at a clap?
(didascalia)	Within a fortnight?
ALBANY	What is the matter, sir?
LEAR	I’ll tell thee. (To Gonoril) Life and death! I am ashamed That thou hast power to shake my manhood thus, That these hot tears, that break from me perforce And should make thee—worst blasts and fogs upon thee! 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 make, To temper clay. Yea, Is’t come to this? Yet have I left a daughter Whom, I am sure, is kind and comfortable. When she shall hear this of thee, with her nails She’ll flay thy wolvish visage. Thou shalt find That I’ll resume the shape which thou dost think I have cast off for ever; thou shalt, I warrant thee.
(didascalia)	Exit
GONORIL	Do you mark that, my lord?
ALBANY	I cannot be so partial, Gonoril, To the great love I bear you—
GONORIL	Come, sir, no more.— You, more knave than fool, after your master!
FOOL	Nuncle Lear, nuncle Lear, tarry, and take the fool with thee. A fox when one has caught her, And such a daughter, Should sure to the slaughter, If my cap would buy a halter. So, the fool follows after.
(didascalia)	Exit
GONORIL	What, Oswald, ho!
(didascalia)	Enter Oswald
OSWALD	Here, madam.
GONORIL	What, have you writ this letter to my sister?
OSWALD	Yes, madam.
GONORIL	Take you some company, and away to horse. Inform her full of my particular fears, And thereto add such reasons of your own As may compact it more. Get you gone, And after, your retinue.
(didascalia)	Exit Oswald
GONORIL	Now, my lord, This milky gentleness and course of yours, Though I dislike not, yet under pardon You’re much more ataxed for want of wisdom Than praised for harmful mildness.
ALBANY	How far your eyes may pierce I cannot tell. Striving to better aught, we mar what’s well.
GONORIL	Nay, then—
ALBANY	Well, well, the event. Exeunt Sc. 5
(didascalia)	Enter King Lear, the Earl of Kent disguised, and Lear’s Fool
(didascalia)	LEAR to Kent Go you before to Gloucester with these letters. Acquaint my daughter no further with anything you know than comes from her demand out of the letter. If your diligence be not speedy, I shall be there before you.
KENT	I will not sleep, my lord, till I have delivered your letter.
(didascalia)	Exit
FOOL	If a man’s brains were in his heels, were’t not in danger of kibes?
LEAR	Ay, boy.
FOOL	Then, I prithee, be merry: thy wit shall ne’er go slipshod.
LEAR	Ha, ha, ha!
FOOL	Shalt see thy other daughter will use thee kindly, for though she’s as like this as a crab is like an apple, yet I con what I can tell.
LEAR	Why, what canst thou tell, my boy?
FOOL	Why, to keep his eyes on either side ’s nose, that what a man cannot smell out, a may spy into.
LEAR	I did her wrong.
FOOL	Canst tell how an oyster makes his shell?
LEAR	No.
FOOL	Nor I neither; but I can tell why a snail has a house.
LEAR	Why?
FOOL	Why, to put his head in, not to give it away to his daughter and leave his horns without a case.
LEAR	I will forget my nature. So kind a father! Be my horses ready?
FOOL	Thy asses are gone about them. The reason why the seven stars are no more than seven is a pretty reason.
LEAR	Because they are not eight.
FOOL	Yes. Thou wouldst make a good fool.
LEAR	To take’t again perforce—monster ingratitude!
FOOL	If thou wert my fool, nuncle, I’d have thee beaten for being old before thy time.
LEAR	How’s that?
FOOL	Thou shouldst not have been old before thou hadst been wise.
LEAR	O, let me not be mad, sweet heaven! I would not be mad. Keep me in temper. I would not be mad.
(didascalia)	Enter a Servant
LEAR	Are the horses ready?
SERVANT	Ready, my lord.
LEAR	(to Fool) Come, boy. Exeunt Lear and Servant
FOOL	She that is maid now, and laughs at my departure, Shall not be a maid long, except things be cut shorter.
(didascalia)	Exit
FOOL	Sc. 6
(didascalia)	Enter Edmund the bastard, and Curan, meeting
EDMUND	Save thee, Curan.
CURAN	And you, sir. I have been with your father, and given him notice that the Duke of Cornwall and his duchess will be here with him tonight.
EDMUND	How comes that?
CURAN	Nay, I know not. You have heard of the news abroad?—I mean the whispered ones, for there are yet but ear-bussing arguments.
EDMUND	Not. I pray you, what are they?
CURAN	Have you heard of no likely wars towards twixt the two Dukes of Cornwall and Albany?
EDMUND	Not a word.
CURAN	You may then in time. Fare you well, sir.
(didascalia)	Exit
EDMUND	The Duke be here tonight! The better, best. This weaves itself perforce into my business.
(didascalia)	Enter Edgar at a window above
EDMUND	My father hath set guard to take my brother, And I have one thing of a queasy question Which must ask briefness. Wit and fortune help!— Brother, a word. Descend, brother, I say.
(didascalia)	Edgar climbs down
EDMUND	My father watches. O, fly this place. Intelligence is given where you are hid. You have now the good advantage of the night. Have you not spoken ‘gainst the Duke of Cornwall aught? He’s coming hither now, in the night, i’th’ haste, And Regan with him. Have you nothing said Upon his party against the Duke of Albany? Advise you—
EDGAR	I am sure on’t, not a word.
EDMUND	I hear my father coming. Pardon me. In cunning I must draw my sword upon you. Seem to defend yourself. Now, quit you well. (Calling) Yield, come before my father. Light here, here! (To Edgar) Fly, brother, fly! (Calling) Torches, torches! (To Edgar) So, farewell.
(didascalia)	Exit Edgar
EDMUND	Some blood drawn on me would beget opinion Of my more fierce endeavour. He wounds his arm I have seen Drunkards do more than this in sport. (Calling) Father, father! Stop, stop! Ho, help!
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke of Gloucester and others
GLOUCESTER	Now, Edmund, where is the villain?
EDMUND	Here stood he in the dark, his sharp sword out, Warbling of wicked charms, conjuring the moon To stand ’s auspicious mistress.
GLOUCESTER	But where is he?
EDMUND	Look, sir, I bleed.
GLOUCESTER	Where is the villain, Edmund?
EDMUND	Fled this way, sir, when by no means he could—
GLOUCESTER	Pursue him, go after.
(didascalia)	Exeunt others
GLOUCESTER	By no means what?
EDMUND	Persuade me to the murder of your lordship, But that I told him the revengive gods ’Gainst parricides did all their thunders bend, Spoke with how manifold and strong a bond The child was bound to the father. Sir, in fine, Seeing how loathly opposite I stood To his unnatural purpose, with fell motion, With his prepared sword he charges home My unprovided body, lanced mine arm; But when he saw my best alarumed spirits Bold in the quarrel’s rights, roused to the encounter, Or whether ghasted by the noise I made
(didascalia)	Or I know not,
EDMUND	But suddenly he fled.
GLOUCESTER	Let him fly far, Not in this land shall he remain uncaught, And found, dispatch. The noble Duke my master, My worthy arch and patron, comes tonight. By his authority I will proclaim it That he which finds him shall deserve our thanks, Bringing the murderous caitiff to the stake; He that conceals him, death.
EDMUND	When I dissuaded him from his intent And found him pitched to do it, with curst speech I threatened to discover him. He replied, ‘Thou unpossessing bastard, dost thou think If I would stand against thee, could the reposure Of any trust, virtue, or worth in thee Make thy words faithed? No, what I should deny— As this I would, ay, though thou didst produce My very character—I’d turn it all To thy suggestion, plot, and damned pretence, And thou must make a dullard of the world If they not thought the profits of my death Were very pregnant and potential spurs To make thee seek it.’
GLOUCESTER	Strong and fastened villain! Would he deny his letter? I never got him.
(didascalia)	Trumpets within
GLOUCESTER	Hark, the Duke’s trumpets. I know not why he comes. All ports I’ll bar. The villain shall not scape. The Duke must grant me that; besides, his picture I will send far and near, that all the kingdom May have note of him—and of my land, Loyal and natural boy, I’ll work the means To make thee capable.
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke
GLOUCESTER	of Cornwall and Regan
CORNWALL	How now, my noble friend? Since I came hither, Which I can call but now, I have heard strange news.
REGAN	If it be true, all vengeance comes too short Which can pursue the offender. How dost, my lord?
GLOUCESTER	Madam, my old heart is cracked, is cracked.
REGAN	What, did my father’s godson seek your life? He whom my father named, your Edgar?
GLOUCESTER	Ay, lady, lady; shame would have it hid.
REGAN	Was he not companion with the riotous knights That tend upon my father?
GLOUCESTER	I know not, madam. ’Tis too bad, too bad.
EDMUND	Yes, madam, he was.
REGAN	No marvel, then, though he were ill affected. ’Tis they have put him on the old man’s death, To have the spoil and waste of his revenues. I have this present evening from my sister Been well informed of them, and with such cautions That if they come to sojourn at my house I’ll not be there.
CORNWALL	Nor I, assure thee, Regan. Edmund, I heard that you have shown your father A childlike office.
EDMUND	’Twas my duty, sir.
GLOUCESTER	(to Cornwall) He did betray his practice, and received This hurt you see striving to apprehend him.
CORNWALL	Is he pursued?
GLOUCESTER	Ay, my good lord.
CORNWALL	If he be taken, he shall never more Be feared of doing harm. Make your own purpose How in my strength you please. For you, Edmund, Whose virtue and obedience doth this instant So much commend itself, you shall be ours. Natures of such deep trust we shall much need. You we first seize on.
EDMUND	I shall serve you truly, However else.
GLOUCESTER	(to Cornwall) For him I thank your grace.
CORNWALL	You know not why we came to visit you—
REGAN	This out-of-season threat’ning dark-eyed night- Occasions, noble Gloucester, of some poise, Wherein we must have use of your advice. Our father he hath writ, so hath our sister, Of differences which I least thought it fit To answer from our home. The several messengers From hence attend dispatch. Our good old friend, Lay comforts to your bosom, and bestow Your needful counsel to our business, Which craves the instant use.
GLOUCESTER	I serve you, madam. Your graces are right welcome.
(didascalia)	Exeunt
GLOUCESTER	Sc. 7
(didascalia)	Enter the Earl of Kent, disguised, at one door, and Oswald the steward, at another door
OSWALD	Good even to thee, friend. Art of the house?
KENT	Ay.
OSWALD	Where may we set our horses?
KENT	I’th’ mire.
OSWALD	Prithee, if thou love me, tell me.
KENT	I love thee not.
OSWALD	Why then, I care not for thee.
KENT	If I had thee in Lipsbury pinfold I would make thee care for me.
OSWALD	Why dost thou use me thus? I know thee not.
KENT	Fellow, I know thee.
OSWALD	What dost thou know me for?
KENT	A knave, a rascal, an eater of broken meats, a base, proud, shallow, beggarly, three-suited, hundred-pound, filthy worsted-stocking knave; a lily-livered, action-taking knave; a whoreson, glass-gazing, superfinical rogue; one-trunk-inheriting slave; one that wouldst be a bawd in way of good service, and art nothing but the composition of a knave, beggar, coward, pander, and the son and heir of a mongrel bitch, whom I will beat into clamorous whining if thou deny the least syllable of the addition.
OSWALD	What a monstrous fellow art thou, thus to rail on one that’s neither known of thee nor knows thee!
KENT	What a brazen-faced varlet art thou, to deny thou knowest me! Is it two days ago since I beat thee and tripped up thy heels before the King? Draw, you rogue; for though it be night, the moon shines.
(didascalia)	He draws his sword
KENT	I’ll make a sop of the moonshine o’ you. Draw, you whoreson, cullionly barber-monger, draw!
OSWALD	Away. I have nothing to do with thee.
KENT	Draw, you rascal. You bring letters against the King, and take Vanity the puppet’s part against the royalty of her father. Draw, you rogue, or I’ll so carbonado your shanks—draw, you rascal, come your ways!
OSWALD	Help, ho, murder, help!
KENT	Strike, you slave! Stand, rogue! Stand, you neat slave, strike!
OSWALD	Help, ho, murder, help!
(didascalia)	Enter Edmund the bastard with his rapier drawn, then the Duke of Gloucester, then the Duke of Cornwall and Regan the Duchess
(didascalia)	EDMUND parting them How now, what’s the matter?
KENT	With you, goodman boy. An you please come, I’ll flesh you. Come on, young master.
GLOUCESTER	Weapons? Arms? What’s the matter here?
CORNWALL	Keep peace, upon your lives. He dies that strikes again. What’s the matter?
REGAN	The messengers from our sister and the King.
CORNWALL	(to Kent and Oswald) What’s your difference? Speak.
OSWALD	I am scarce in breath, my lord.
KENT	No marvel, you have so bestirred your valour, you cowardly rascal. Nature disclaims in thee; a tailor made thee.
CORNWALL	Thou art a strange fellow—a tailor make a man?
KENT	Ay, a tailor, sir. A stone-cutter or a painter could not have made him so ill though he had been but two hours at the trade.
GLOUCESTER	Speak yet; how grew your quarrel?
OSWALD	This ancient ruffian, sir, whose life I have spared at suit of his grey beard—
KENT	Thou whoreson Z, thou unnecessary letter—(to Cornwall) my lord, if you’ll give me leave I will tread this unboulted villain into mortar and daub the walls of a jakes with him. (To Oswald) Spare my grey beard, you wagtail?
CORNWALL	Peace, sir. You beastly knave, have you no reverence?
KENT	Yes, sir, but anger has a privilege.
CORNWALL	Why art thou angry?
KENT	That such a slave as this should wear a sword, That wears no honesty. Such smiling rogues As these, like rats, oft bite those cords in twain Which are too entrenched to unloose, smooth every passion That in the natures of their lords rebel, Bring oil to fire, snow to their colder moods, Renege, affirm, and turn their halcyon beaks With every gale and vary of their masters, Knowing naught, like dogs, but following. (To Oswald) A plague upon your epileptic visage! Smile you my speeches as I were a fool? Goose, an I had you upon Sarum Plain I’d send you cackling home to Camelot.
CORNWALL	What, art thou mad, old fellow?
(didascalia)	GLOUCESTER to Kent How fell you out? Say that.
KENT	No contraries hold more antipathy Than I and such a knave.
CORNWALL	Why dost thou call him knave? What’s his offence?
KENT	His countenance likes me not.
CORNWALL	No more perchance does mine, or his, or hers.
KENT	Sir, ’tis my occupation to be plain: I have seen better faces in my time Than stands on any shoulder that I see Before me at this instant.
CORNWALL	This is a fellow Who, having been praised for bluntness, doth affect A saucy roughness, and constrains the garb Quite from his nature. He cannot flatter, he. He must be plain, he must speak truth. An they will take’t, so; if not, he’s plain. These kind of knaves I know, which in this plainness Harbour more craft and more corrupter ends Than twenty silly-ducking observants That stretch their duties nicely.
KENT	Sir, in good sooth, or in sincere verity, Under the allowance of your grand aspect, Whose influence, like the wreath of radiant fire In flickering Phoebus’ front—
CORNWALL	What mean’st thou by this?
KENT	To go out of my dialect, which you discommend so much. I know, sir, I am no flatterer. He that beguiled you in a plain accent was a plain knave, which for my part I will not be, though I should win your displeasure to entreat me to’t.
CORNWALL	(to Oswald) What’s the offence you gave him?
OSWALD	I never gave him any. It pleased the King his master very late To strike at me upon his misconstruction, When he, conjunct, and flattering his displeasure, Tripped me behind; being down, insulted, railed, And put upon him such a deal of man that That worthied him, got praises of the King For him attempting who was self-subdued, And in the fleshment of this dread exploit Drew on me here again.
KENT	None of these rogues and cowards But Ajax is their fool.
(didascalia)	CORNWALL calling Bring forth the stocks, ho!—
KENT	You stubborn, ancient knave, you reverend braggart, We’ll teach you.
KENT	I am too old to learn. Call not your stocks for me. I serve the King, On whose employments I was sent to you. You should do small respect, show too bold malice Against the grace and person of my master, Stocking his messenger.
(didascalia)	CORNWALL calling Fetch forth the stocks!—
KENT	As I have life and honour, there shall he sit till noon.
REGAN	Till noon?—till night, my lord, and all night too.
KENT	Why, madam, if I were your father’s dog You could not use me so.
REGAN	Sir, being his knave, I will.
(didascalia)	Stocks brought out
CORNWALL	This is a fellow of the selfsame nature Our sister speaks of.—Come, bring away the stocks.
GLOUCESTER	Let me beseech your grace not to do so. His fault is much, and the good King his master Will check him for’t. Your purposed low correction Is such as basest and contemnèd wretches For pilf’rings and most common trespasses Are punished with. The King must take it ill That he’s so slightly valued in his messenger, Should have him thus restrained.
CORNWALL	I’ll answer that.
REGAN	My sister may receive it much more worse To have her gentlemen abused, assaulted, For following her affairs. Put in his legs. They put Kent in the stocks Come, my good lord, away!
(didascalia)	Exeunt all but Gloucester and Kent
GLOUCESTER	I am sorry for thee, friend. ’Tis the Duke’s pleasure, Whose disposition, all the world well knows, Will not be rubbed nor stopped. I’ll entreat for thee.
KENT	Pray you, do not, sir. I have watched and travelled hard. Some time I shall sleep out; the rest I’ll whistle. A good man’s fortune may grow out at heels. Give you good morrow.
GLOUCESTER	The Duke’s to blame in this; ’twill be ill took.
(didascalia)	Exit
KENT	Good King, that must approve the common say: Thou out of heaven’s benediction com’st To the warm sun.
(didascalia)	He takes out a letter
KENT	Approach, thou beacon to this under globe, That by thy comfortable beams I may Peruse this letter. Nothing almost sees miracles But misery. I know ’tis from Cordelia, Who hath now fortunately been informed Of my obscured course, and shall find time For this enormous state, seeking to give Losses their remedies. All weary and overwatched, Take vantage, heavy eyes, not to behold This shameful lodging. Fortune, good night; Smile; once more turn thy wheel. He sleeps
(didascalia)	Enter Edgar
EDGAR	I heard myself proclaimed, And by the happy hollow of a tree Escaped the hunt. No port is free, no place That guard and most unusual vigilance Does not attend my taking. While I may scape I will preserve myself, and am bethought To take the basest and most poorest shape That ever penury in contempt of man Brought near to beast. My face I’ll grime with filth, Blanket my loins, elf all my hair with knots, And with presented nakedness outface The wind and persecution of the sky. The country gives me proof and precedent Of Bedlam beggars who with roaring voices Strike in their numbed and mortified bare arms Pins, wooden pricks, nails, sprigs of rosemary, And with this horrible object from low farms, Poor pelting villages, sheep-cotes and mills Sometime with lunatic bans, sometime with prayers Enforce their charity. ‘Poor Tuelygod, Poor Tom!’ That’s something yet. Edgar I nothing am.
(didascalia)	Exit
(didascalia)	Enter King Lear, his Fool, and a Knight
LEAR	’Tis strange that they should so depart from home And not send back my messenger.
KNIGHT	As I learned, The night before there was no purpose Of his remove.
KENT	(waking) Hail to thee, noble master.
LEAR	How! Mak’st thou this shame thy pastime?
FOOL	Ha, ha, look, he wears cruel garters! Horses are tied by the heads, dogs and bears by th’ neck, monkeys by th’ loins, and men by th’ legs. When a man’s over-lusty at legs, then he wears wooden nether-stocks.
LEAR	(to Kent) What’s he that hath so much thy place mistook To set thee here?
KENT	It is both he and she: Your son and daughter.
LEAR	No.
KENT	Yes.
LEAR	No, I say.
KENT	I say yea.
LEAR	No, no, they would not.
KENT	Yes, they have.
LEAR	By Jupiter, I swear no. They durst not do‘t, They would not, could not do’t. ’Tis worse than murder, To do upon respect such violent outrage. Resolve me with all modest haste which way Thou mayst deserve or they propose this usage, Coming from us.
KENT	My lord, when at their home I did commend your highness’ letters to them, Ere I was risen from the place that showed My duty kneeling, came there a reeking post Stewed in his haste, half breathless, panting forth From Gonoril, his mistress, salutations, Delivered letters spite of intermission, Which presently they read, on whose contents They summoned up their meiny, straight took horse, Commanded me to follow and attend The leisure of their answer, gave me cold looks; And meeting here the other messenger, Whose welcome I perceived had poisoned mine— Being the very fellow that of late Displayed so saucily against your highness— Having more man than wit about me, drew. He raised the house with loud and coward cries. Your son and daughter found this trespass worth This shame which here it suffers.
LEAR	O, how this mother swells up toward my heart! Histerica passio, down, thou climbing sorrow; Thy element’s betow.—Where is this daughter?
KENT	With the Earl, sir, within.
LEAR	Follow me not; stay there.
(didascalia)	Exit
KNIGHT	(to Kent) Made you no more offence than what you speak of?
KENT	No. How chance the King comes with so small a train?
FOOL	An thou hadst been set in the stocks for that question, thou hadst well deserved it.
KENT	Why, fool?
FOOL	We’ll set thee to school to an ant, to teach thee there’s no labouring in the winter. All that follow their noses are led by their eyes but blind men, and there’s not a nose among a hundred but can smell him that’s stinking. Let go thy hold when a great wheel runs down a hill, lest it break thy neck with following it; but the great one that goes up the hill, let him draw thee after. When a wise man gives thee better counsel, give me mine again. I would have none but knaves follow it, since a fool gives it.
(didascalia)	Sings
FOOL	That sir that serves for gain And follows but for form, Will pack when it begin to rain, And leave thee in the storm. 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, pardie.
KENT	Where learnt you this, fool?
FOOL	Not in the stocks.
(didascalia)	Enter King Lear and the Duke of Gloucester
LEAR	Deny to speak with me? They’re sick, they’re weary? They travelled hard tonight?—mere insolence, Ay, the images of revolt and flying off. Fetch me a better answer.
GLOUCESTER	My dear lord, You know the fiery quality of the Duke, How unremovable and fixed he is In his own course.
LEAR	Vengeance, death, plague, confusion! What ‘fiery quality’? Why, Gloucester, Gloucester, I’d Speak with the Duke of Cornwall and his wife.
GLOUCESTER	Ay, my good lord.
LEAR	The King would speak with Cornwall; the dear father Would with his daughter speak, commands, tends service. ‘Fiery’? The Duke?—tell the hot Duke that Lear— No, but not yet. Maybe he is not well. Infirmity doth still neglect all office Whereto our health is bound. We are not ourselves When nature, being oppressed, commands the mind To suffer with the body. I’ll forbear, And am fallen out with my more headier will, To take the indisposed and sickly fit For the sound man.—Death on my state, Wherefore should he sit here? This act persuades me That this remotion of the Duke and her Is practice only. Give me my servant forth. Tell the Duke and ’s wife I’ll 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.
GLOUCESTER	I would have all well Betwixt you.
(didascalia)	Exit
LEAR	O, my heart, my heart!
FOOL	Cry to it, nuncle, as the cockney did to the eels when she put ‘em i’th’ paste alive. She rapped ‘em o’th’ coxcombs with a stick, and cried ‘Down, wantons, down!’ ’Twas her brother that, in pure kindness to his horse, buttered his hay.
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke of Cornwall and Regan, the Duke of Gloucester, and others
LEAR	Good morrow to you both.
CORNWALL	Hail to your grace.
(didascalia)	Kent here set at liberty
REGAN	I am glad to see your highness.
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 shrine, Sepulchring an adultress. (To Kent) Yea, are you free? Some other time for that.—Belovèd Regan, Thy sister is naught. O, Regan, she hath tied Sharp-toothed unkindness like a vulture here. I can scarce speak to thee. Thou’lt not believe Of how deplored a quality—O, Regan!
REGAN	I pray you, sir, take patience. I have hope You less know how to value her desert Than she to slack her duty.
LEAR	My curses on her.
REGAN	O sir, you are old. Nature in you stands on the very verge Of her confine. You should be ruled and led By some discretion that discerns your state Better than you yourself. Therefore I pray That to our sister you do make return; Say you have wronged her, sir.
LEAR	Ask her forgiveness? Do you mark how this becomes the house?
(didascalia)	Kneeling ‘Dear daughter, I confess that I am old.
LEAR	Age is unnecessary. On my knees I beg That you’ll vouchsafe me raiment, bed, and food.’
REGAN	Good sir, no more. These are unsightly tricks. Return you to my sister.
(didascalia)	LEAR rising No, Regan.
REGAN	She hath abated me of half my train, Looked black upon me, struck me with her tongue Most serpent-like upon the very heart. All the stored vengeances of heaven fall On her ungrateful top! Strike her young bones, You taking airs, with lameness!
CORNWALL	Fie, fie, sir.
LEAR	You nimble lightnings, dart your blinding flames Into her scornful eyes. Infect her beauty, You fen-sucked fogs drawn by the pow’rful sun To fall and blast her pride.
REGAN	O, the blest gods! So will you wish on me when the rash mood—
LEAR	No, Regan. Thou shalt never have my curse. Thy tender-hested 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 of the kingdom hast thou not forgot, Wherein I thee endowed.
REGAN	Good sir, to th’ purpose.
LEAR	Who put my man i’th’ stocks?
(didascalia)	Trumpets within
CORNWALL	What trumpet’s that?
(didascalia)	Enter Oswald the steward
REGAN	I know’t, my sister’s. This approves her letters That she would soon be here. (To Oswald) Is your lady come?
LEAR	This is a slave whose easy-borrowed pride Dwells in the fickle grace of her a follows.
(didascalia)	He strikes Oswald
LEAR	Out, varlet, from my sight!
CORNWALL	What means your grace?
(didascalia)	Enter Gonoril
GONORIL	Who struck my servant? Regan, I have good hope Thou didst not know on’t.
LEAR	Who comes here? O heavens, 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. (To Gonoril) Art not ashamed to look upon this beard? O Regan, wilt thou take her by the hand?
GONORIL	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’th’ stocks?
CORNWALL	I set him there, sir; but his own disorders Deserved much less advancement.
LEAR	You? Did you?
REGAN	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 dismissed? No, rather I abjure all roofs, and choose To be a comrade with the wolf and owl, To wage against the enmity of the air Necessity’s sharp pinch. Return with her? Why, the hot-blood in 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 afoot. Return with her? Persuade me rather to be slave and sumpter To this detested groom.
GONORIL	At your choice, sir.
LEAR	Now I prithee, 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 lies within 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.
REGAN	Not altogether so, sir. I look 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 are old, and so— But she knows what she does.
LEAR	Is this well spoken now?
REGAN	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 Speaks ‘gainst so great a number? How in a house Should many people under two commands Hold amity? ’Tis hard, almost impossible.
GONORIL	Why might not you, my lord, receive attendance From those that she calls servants, or from mine?
REGAN	Why not, my lord? If then they chanced 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.
REGAN	And in good time you gave it.
LEAR	Made you my guardians, my depositaries, But kept a reservation to be followed With such a number. What, must I come to you With five-and-twenty, Regan? Said you so?
REGAN	And speak’t again, my lord. No more with me.
LEAR	Those wicked creatures yet do seem well favoured When others are more wicked. Not being the worst Stands in some rank of praise. (To Gonoril) I’ll go with thee. Thy fifty yet doth double five-and-twenty, And thou art twice her love.
GONORIL	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?
REGAN	What needs 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, wearest, 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 fellow, As full of grief as age, wretched in both. If it be you that stirs these daughters’ hearts Against their father, fool me not so much To bear it tamely. Touch me with noble anger. O, let not women’s weapons, water-drops, Stain my man’s cheeks! No, you unnatural hags, I will have such revenges on you both That all the world shall—I will do such things— What they are, yet I know not; but they shall be The terrors of the earth. You think I’ll weep. No, I’ll not weep.
(didascalia)	Storm within
LEAR	I have full cause of weeping, but this heart Shall break into a hundred thousand flaws Or ere I’ll weep.—O fool, I shall go mad!
(didascalia)	Exeunt Lear, Gloucester, Kent, Knight, and Fool
CORNWALL	Let us withdraw. ’Twill be a storm.
REGAN	This house is little. The old man and his people Cannot be well bestowed.
GONORIL	’Tis his own blame; Hath put himself from rest, and must needs taste his folly.
REGAN	For his particular I’ll receive him gladly, But not one follower.
CORNWALL	So am I purposed. Where is my lord of Gloucester?
REGAN	Followed the old man forth.
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke of Gloucester
REGAN	He is returned.
GLOUCESTER	The King is in high rage, and will I know not whither.
REGAN	’Tis good to give him way. He leads himself.
GONORIL	(to Gloucester) My lord, entreat him by no means to stay.
GLOUCESTER	Alack, the night comes on, and the bleak winds Do sorely rustle. For many miles about There’s not a bush.
REGAN	O sir, to wilful men The injuries that they themselves procure Must be their schoolmasters. Shut up your doors. He is attended with a desperate train, And what they may incense him to, being apt To have his ear abused, wisdom bids fear.
CORNWALL	Shut up your doors, my lord. ‘Tis a wild night. My Regan counsels well. Come out o’th’ storm. Exeunt Sc. 8
(didascalia)	Storm. Enter the Earl of Kent disguised, and First Gentleman, at several doors
KENT	What’s here, beside foul weather?
FIRST GENTLEMAN	One minded like the weather, Most unquietly.
KENT	I know you. Where’s the King?
FIRST GENTLEMAN	Contending with the fretful element; Bids the wind blow the earth into the sea Or swell the curled waters ’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 outstorm 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?
FIRST GENTLEMAN	None but the fool, who labours to outjest His heart-struck injuries.
KENT	Sir, I do know you, And dare upon the warrant of my art Commend a dear thing to you. There is division, Although as yet the face of it be covered With mutual cunning, ’twixt Albany and Cornwall; But true it is. From France there comes a power Into this scattered 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.
FIRST GENTLEMAN	I will talk farther 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.
FIRST 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 endeavour I’ll this way, you that— He that first lights on him holla the other.
(didascalia)	Exeunt severally
KENT	Sc. 9
(didascalia)	Storm. Enter King Lear and his Fool
LEAR	Blow, wind, and crack your cheeks! Rage, blow, You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout Till you have drenched the steeples, drowned 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 of the world, Crack nature’s mould, all 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.
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, called you children. You owe me no subscription. Why 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 joined Your high engendered battle ‘gainst a head So old and white as this. O, ’tis foul!
FOOL	He that has a house to put his head in has a good headpiece.
(didascalia)	Sings
FOOL	The codpiece 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 have a corn cry woe, And turn his sleep to wake— for there was never yet fair woman but she made mouths in a glass.
LEAR	No, I will be the pattern of all patience.
(didascalia)	He sits. Enter the Earl of Kent disguised
LEAR	I will say nothing.
KENT	Who’s there?
FOOL	Marry, here’s grace and a codpiece—that’s a wise man and a fool.
KENT	(to Lear) Alas, sir, sit you here? Things that love night Love not such nights as these. The wrathful skies Gallow the very wanderers of the dark And makes 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 ne’er Remember to have heard. Man’s nature cannot carry The affliction nor the force.
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 undivulgèd crimes Unwhipped of justice; hide thee, thou bloody hand, Thou perjured and thou simular man of virtue That art incestuous; caitiff, in pieces shake, That under covert and convenient seeming Hast practised on man’s life; Close pent-up guilts, rive your concealed centres And cry these dreadful summoners grace. I am a man more sinned 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 whilst I to this hard house- More hard than is the stone whereof ’tis raised, Which even but now, demanding after you, Denied me to come in—return and force Their scanted courtesy.
LEAR	My wit begins to turn. (To Fool) 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 of my heart That sorrows yet for thee.
(didascalia)	FOOL sings
LEAR	He that has a little tiny wit, With heigh-ho, the wind and the rain, Must make content with his fortunes fit, For the rain it raineth every day.
LEAR	True, my good boy. (To Kent) Come, bring us to this hovel. Exeunt Sc. 10
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke of Gloucester and Edmund the bastard, with lights
GLOUCESTER	Alack, alack, Edmund, I like not this Unnatural dealing. When I desired their leave That I might pity him, they took from me The use of mine own house, charged me on pain Of their 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 landed. 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’t—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 do fall. Exit Sc. 11
(didascalia)	Storm. Enter King Lear, the Earl of Kent disguised, and Lear’s 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.
LEAR	Let me alone.
KENT	Good my lord, enter here.
LEAR	Wilt break my heart?
KENT	I had rather break mine own. Good my lord, enter.
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 fixed, The lesser is scarce felt. Thou’dst shun a bear, But if thy flight lay toward the roaring sea Thou‘dst meet the bear i’th’ mouth. When the mind’s free, The body’s delicate. This 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 sure. No, I will weep no more.— In such a night as this! O Regan, Gonoril, Your old kind father, whose frank heart gave you all— O, that way madness lies. Let me shun that. No more of that.
KENT	Good my lord, enter.
LEAR	Prithee, go in thyself. Seek thy own ease. This tempest will not give me leave to ponder On things would hurt me more; but I’ll go in.
(didascalia)	Exit Fool
LEAR	Poor naked wretches, wheresoe‘er you are, That bide the pelting of this pitiless night, How shall your houseless heads and unfed sides, Your looped and windowed 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.
(didascalia)	Enter Lear’s Fool
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. He says his name’s Poor Tom.
KENT	What art thou that dost grumble there in the straw? Come forth.
(didascalia)	Enter Edgar as a Bedlam beggar
EDGAR	Away, the foul fiend follows me. Through the sharp hawthorn blows the cold wind. Go to thy cold bed and warm thee.
LEAR	Hast thou given all to thy two daughters, And art thou come to this?
EDGAR	Who gives anything to Poor Tom, whom the foul fiend hath led through fire and through ford and whirlypool, o’er bog and quagmire; that has laid knives under his pillow and halters in his pew, set ratsbane by his potage, made him 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! 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.
LEAR	What, has his daughters brought him to this pass? (To Edgar) Couldst thou save nothing? Didst thou give them all?
FOOL	Nay, he reserved a blanket, else we had been all shamed.
LEAR	(to Edgar) Now all the plagues that in the pendulous air Hang fated o’er men’s faults fall on thy daughters!
KENT	He hath no daughters, sir.
LEAR	Death, traitor! Nothing could have subdued nature To such a lowness but his unkind daughters. (To Edgar) 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’s hill; a lo, lo, lo.
FOOL	This cold night will turn us all to fools and madmen.
EDGAR	Take heed o’th’ 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.
LEAR	What hast thou been?
EDGAR	A servingman, 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 rustlings of silks betray thy poor heart to women. Keep thy foot out of brothel, thy hand out of placket, thy pen from lender’s book, and defy the foul fiend. Still through the hawthorn blows the cold wind. Heigh no nonny. Dolphin, my boy, my boy! Cease, let him trot by.
LEAR	Why, thou wert better in thy grave than to answer with thy uncovered body this extremity of the skies. Is man no more but this? Consider him well. Thou owest the worm no silk, the beast no hide, the sheep no wool, the cat no perfume. 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 on, be true.
FOOL	Prithee, nuncle, be content. This is 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.
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke of 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, squinies the eye, and makes the harelip; mildews the white wheat, and hurts the poor creature of earth.
(didascalia)	Sings
EDGAR	Swithin footed thrice the wold, A met the night mare and her nine foal; Bid her alight And her troth plight, And aroint thee, witch, aroint thee!
KENT	(to Lear) How fares your grace?
LEAR	What’s he?
KENT	(to Gloucester) 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 cowdung for salads, 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 Hath been Tom’s food for seven long year- Beware my follower. Peace, Smolking; peace, thou fiend!
GLOUCESTER	(to Lear) What, hath your grace no better company?
EDGAR	The Prince of Darkness is a gentleman; Modo he’s called, and Mahu—
GLOUCESTER	(to Lear) Our flesh and blood is grown so vile, my lord, That it doth hate what gets it.
EDGAR	Poor Tom’s a-cold.
GLOUCESTER	(to Lear) 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 food and fire is ready.
LEAR	First let me talk with this philosopher. (To Edgar) What is the cause of thunder?
KENT	My good lord, Take his offer; go into the house.
LEAR	I’ll talk a word with this most learnèd Theban. (To Edgar) What is your study?
EDGAR	How to prevent the fiend, and to kill vermin.
LEAR	Let me ask you one word in private. They converse apart
KENT	(to Gloucester) Importune him to go, my lord. His wits begin to unsettle.
GLOUCESTER	Canst thou blame him? His daughters seek his death. O, that good Kent, He said it would be thus, poor banished man! Thou sayst the King grows mad; I’ll tell thee, friend, I am almost mad myself. I had a son, Now outlawed from my blood; a sought my life But lately, very late. I loved him, friend; No father his son dearer. True to tell thee, The grief hath crazed my wits. What a night’s this! (To Lear) I do beseech your grace—
LEAR	O, cry you mercy. (To Edgar) Noble philosopher, your company.
EDGAR	Tom’s a-cold.
GLOUCESTER	In, fellow, there in t’hovel; keep thee warm.
LEAR	Come, let’s in all.
KENT	This way, my lord.
LEAR	With him! I will keep still with my philosopher.
KENT	(to Gloucester) Good my lord, soothe him; let him take the fellow.
GLOUCESTER	Take him you on.
(didascalia)	KENT to Edgar
GLOUCESTER	Sirrah, come on. Go along with us.
LEAR	(to Edgar) Come, good Athenian.
GLOUCESTER	No words, no words. Hush.
EDGAR	Child Roland to the dark tower come, His word was still ‘Fie, fo, and fum; I smell the blood of a British man.’
(didascalia)	Exeunt
EDGAR	Sc. 12
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke of Cornwall and Edmund the bastard
CORNWALL	I will have my revenge ere I depart the house. EDMUND How, my lord, I may be censured, that nature thus gives way to loyalty, something fears me to think of.
CORNWALL	I now perceive it was not altogether your brother’s evil disposition made him seek his death, but a provoking merit set a-work by a reprovable badness in himself.
EDMUND	How malicious is my fortune, that I must repent to be just! This is the letter he spoke of, which approves him an intelligent party to the advantages of France. O heavens, that his treason were not, or not I the detector!
CORNWALL	Go with me to the Duchess.
EDMUND	If the matter of this paper be certain, you have mighty business in hand.
CORNWALL	True or false, it hath made thee Earl of Gloucester. Seek out where thy father is, that he may be ready for our apprehension.
(didascalia)	EDMUND aside If I find him comforting the King, it will stuff his suspicion more fully. (To Cornwall) I will persever in my course of loyalty, though the conflict be sore between that and my blood.
CORNWALL	I will lay trust upon thee, and thou shalt find a dearer father in my love. Exeunt Sc. 13
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke of Gloucester and King Lear, the Earl of Kent disguised, Lear’s Fool, and Edgar as a Bedlam beggar
GLOUCESTER	Here is better than the open air; take it thankfully. I will piece out the comfort with what addition I can. I will not be long from you.
(didascalia)	KENT All the power of his wits have given way to impatience; the gods discern your kindness! Exit Gloucester
EDGAR	Frateretto calls me, and tells me Nero is an angler in the lake of darkness. Pray, innocent; beware the foul fiend.
FOOL	(to Lear) Prithee, nuncle, tell me whether a madman be a gentleman or a yeoman.
LEAR	A king, a king! To have a thousand With red burning spits come hissing in upon them!
EDGAR	The foul fiend bites my back.
FOOL	(to Lear) He’s mad that trusts in the tameness of a wolf, a horse’s health, a boy’s love, or a whore’s oath.
LEAR	It shall be done. I will arraign them straight.
(didascalia)	To Edgar Come, sit thou here, most learned justicer.
(didascalia)	To Fool Thou sapient sir, sit here.—No, you she-
LEAR	foxes—
EDGAR	Look where he stands and glares. Want’st thou eyes at troll-madam?
(didascalia)	Sings Come o’er the burn, Bessy, to me.
(didascalia)	FOOL sings
EDGAR	Her boat hath a leak, And she must not speak Why she dares not come over to thee.
EDGAR	The foul fiend haunts Poor Tom in the voice of a nightingale. Hoppedance cries in Tom’s belly for two white herring. Croak not, black angel: I have no food for thee.
KENT	(to Lear) How do you, sir? Stand you not so amazed. Will you lie down and rest upon the cushions?
LEAR	I’ll see their trial first. Bring in the evidence.
(didascalia)	To Edgar Thou robed man of justice, take thy place;
(didascalia)	To Fool And thou, his yokefellow of equity,
(didascalia)	Bench by his side. To Kent You are o’th’
LEAR	commission, Sit you, too.
EDGAR	Let us deal justly.
(didascalia)	Sings
EDGAR	Sleepest or wakest thou, jolly shepherd? Thy sheep be in the corn, And for one blast of thy minikin mouth Thy sheep shall take no harm. Purr, the cat is grey.
LEAR	Arraign her first. ’Tis Gonoril. I here take my oath before this honourable assembly she kicked the poor King her father.
FOOL	Come hither, mistress. Is your name Gonoril?
LEAR	She cannot deny it.
FOOL	Cry you mercy, I took you for a join-stool.
LEAR	And here’s another, whose warped looks proclaim What store her heart is made on. Stop her there. Arms, arms, sword, fire, corruption in the place! False justicer, why hast thou let her scape?
EDGAR	Bless thy five wits.
KENT	(to Lear) O pity! Sir, where is the patience now That you so oft have boasted to retain?
EDGAR	(aside) My tears begin to take his part so much They’ll mar my counterfeiting.
LEAR	The little dogs and all, Tray, Blanch, and Sweetheart—see, they bark at me.
EDGAR	Tom will throw his head at them.—Avaunt, you curs! Be thy mouth or black or white, Tooth that poisons if it bite, Mastiff, greyhound, mongrel grim, Hound or spaniel, brach or him, Bobtail tyke or trundle-tail, Tom will make them weep and wail; For with throwing thus my head, Dogs leap the hatch, and all are fled. Loudla, doodla! Come, march to wakes and fairs And market towns. Poor Tom, thy horn is dry.
LEAR	Then let them anatomize Regan; see what breeds about her heart. Is there any cause in nature that makes this hardness? (To Edgar) You, sir, I entertain you for one of my hundred, only I do not like the fashion of your garments. You’ll say they are Persian attire; but let them be changed.
KENT	Now, good my lord, lie here a while.
LEAR	Make no noise, make no noise. Draw the curtains. So, so, so. We’ll go to supper i’th’ morning. So, so, so. He sleeps. Enter the Duke of Gloucester
GLOUCESTER	(to Kent) Come hither, friend. Where is the King my master?
KENT	Here, sir, but trouble him not; his wits are gone.
GLOUCESTER	Good friend, I prithee take him in thy arms. I have o’erheard a plot of death upon him. There is a litter ready. Lay him in’t And drive towards Dover, friend, where thou shalt meet Both welcome and protection. Take up thy master. If thou shouldst dally half an hour, his life, With thine and all that offer to defend him, Stand in assured loss. Take up, take up, And follow me, that will to some provision Give thee quick conduct.
KENT	(to Lear) Oppressed nature sleeps. This rest might yet have balmed thy broken sinews Which, if convenience will not allow, Stand in hard cure. (To Fool) Come, help to bear thy master. Thou must not stay behind.
GLOUCESTER	Come, come away.
(didascalia)	Exeunt all but Edgar
EDGAR	When we our betters see bearing our woes, We scarcely think our miseries our foes. Who alone suffers, suffers most i‘th’ mind, Leaving free things and happy shows behind. But then the mind much sufferance doth o’erskip When grief hath mates, and bearing fellowship. How light and portable my pain seems now, When that which makes me bend, makes the King bow. He childed as I fathered. Tom, away. Mark the high noises, and thyself bewray When false opinion, whose wrong thoughts defile thee, In thy just proof repeals and reconciles thee. What will hap more tonight, safe scape the King! Lurk, lurk.
(didascalia)	Exit
EDGAR	Sc. 14
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke of Cornwall and Regan, and Gonoril and Edmund the bastard, and Servants
CORNWALL	(to Gonoril) Post speedily to my lord your husband. Show him this letter. The army of France is landed. (To Servants) Seek out the villain Gloucester.
(didascalia)	Exeunt some
REGAN	Hang him instantly.
GONORIL	Pluck out his eyes.
CORNWALL	Leave him to my displeasure.— Edmund, keep you our sister company. The revenges we are bound to take upon your traitorous father are not fit for your beholding. Advise the Duke where you are going, to a most festinate preparation; we are bound to the like. Our posts shall be swift, and intelligence betwixt us.— Farewell, dear sister. Farewell, my lord of Gloucester.
(didascalia)	Enter Oswald the steward
CORNWALL	How now, where’s the King?
OSWALD	My lord of Gloucester hath conveyed him hence. Some five- or six-and-thirty of his knights, Hot questants after him, met him at gate, Who, with some other of the lord’s dependants, Are gone with him towards Dover, where they boast To have well-armed friends.
CORNWALL	Get horses for your mistress. Exit Oswald
GONORIL	Farewell, sweet lord, and sister.
CORNWALL	Edmund, farewell. Exeunt Gonoril and Edmund (To Servants) Go seek the traitor Gloucester. Pinion him like a thief; bring him before us.
(didascalia)	Exeunt other Servants
CORNWALL	Though we may not pass upon his life Without the form of justice, yet our power Shall do a curtsy to our wrath, which men May blame but not control. Who’s there—the traitor?
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke of Gloucester brought in by two or
CORNWALL	three
REGAN	Ingrateful fox, ’tis he.
CORNWALL	(to Servants) Bind fast his corky arms.
GLOUCESTER	What means your graces? Good my friends, consider You are my guests. Do me no foul play, friends.
CORNWALL	(to Servants) Bind him, I say—
REGAN	Hard, hard! O filthy traitor!
GLOUCESTER	Unmerciful lady as you are, I am true.
CORNWALL	(to Servants) To this chair bind him. (To Gloucester) Villain, thou shalt find— Regan plucks Gloucester’s beard
GLOUCESTER	By the kind gods, ’tis most ignobly done, To pluck me by the beard.
REGAN	So white, and such a traitor!
GLOUCESTER	Naughty lady, These hairs which thou dost ravish from my chin Will quicken and accuse thee. I am your host. With robbers’ hands my hospitable favours You should not ruffle thus. What will you do?
CORNWALL	Come, sir, what letters had you late from France?
REGAN	Be simple, answerer, for we know the truth.
CORNWALL	And what confederacy have you with the traitors Late footed in the kingdom?
REGAN	To whose hands You have sent the lunatic King. Speak.
GLOUCESTER	I have a letter guessingly set down, Which came from one that’s of a neutral heart, And not from one opposed.
CORNWALL	Cunning.
REGAN	And false.
CORNWALL	Where hast thou sent the King?
GLOUCESTER	To Dover.
REGAN	Wherefore to Dover? Wast thou not charged at peril—
CORNWALL	Wherefore to Dover? Let him first answer that.
GLOUCESTER	I am tied to th’ stake, and I must stand the course.
REGAN	Wherefore to Dover, sir?
GLOUCESTER	Because I would not see thy cruel nails Pluck out his poor old eyes, nor thy fierce sister In his anointed flesh rash boarish fangs. The sea, with such a storm as his bowed head In hell-black night endured, would have buoyed up And quenched the stellèd fires. Yet, poor old heart, He holped the heavens to rage. If wolves had at thy gate howled that dern time, Thou shouldst have said ‘Good porter, turn the key; All cruels I’ll subscribe.’ But I shall see The winged vengeance overtake such children.
CORNWALL	See’t shalt thou never.—Fellows, hold the chair.— Upon those eyes of thine I’ll set my foot.
GLOUCESTER	He that will think to live till he be old Give me some help!—O cruel! O ye gods!
(didascalia)	Cornwall pulls out one of Gloucester’s eyes and
(didascalia)	stamps on it
REGAN	(to Cornwall) One side will mock another; t’other, too.
CORNWALL	(to Gloucester) If you see vengeance—
SERVANT	Hold your hand, my lord. I have served you ever since I was a child, But better service have I never done you Than now to bid you hold.
REGAN	How now, you dog!
SERVANT	If you did wear a beard upon your chin
(didascalia)	I’d shake it on this quarrel. To Cornwall What do
SERVANT	you mean?
CORNWALL	My villein!
SERVANT	Why then, come on, and take the chance of anger. They draw and fight
(didascalia)	REGAN to another Servant
SERVANT	Give me thy sword. A peasant stand up thus! She takes a sword and runs at him behind
SERVANT	(to Gloucester) O, I am slain, my lord! Yet have you one eye left To see some mischief on him.
(didascalia)	Regan stabs him again
SERVANT	O! He dies
CORNWALL	Lest it see more, prevent it. Out, vile jelly!
(didascalia)	He pulls out Gloucester’s other eye
CORNWALL	Where is thy lustre now?
GLOUCESTER	All dark and comfortless. Where’s my son Edmund? Edmund, enkindle all the sparks of nature To quite this horrid act.
REGAN	Out, villain! Thou call’st on him that hates thee. It was he That made the overture of thy treasons to us, Who is too good to pity thee.
GLOUCESTER	O, my follies! Then Edgar was abused. Kind gods, forgive me that, and prosper him!
REGAN	(to Servants) Go thrust him out at gates, and let him smell His way to Dover. (To Cornwall) How is’t, my lord? How look you?
CORNWALL	I have received a hurt. Follow me, lady. (To Servants) Turn out that eyeless villain. Throw this slave Upon the dunghill.
(didascalia)	Exit one or more with Gloucester
(didascalia)	and the body
CORNWALL	Regan, I bleed apace. Untimely comes this hurt. Give me your arm.
(didascalia)	Exeunt Cornwall and Regan
SECOND SERVANT	I’ll never care what wickedness I do If this man come to good.
THIRD SERVANT	If she live long And in the end meet the old course of death, Women will all turn monsters.
SECOND SERVANT	Let’s follow the old Earl and get the bedlam To lead him where he would. His roguish madness Allows itself to anything.
THIRD SERVANT	Go thou. I’ll fetch some flax and whites of eggs To apply to his bleeding face. Now heaven help him!
(didascalia)	Exeunt severally
THIRD SERVANT	Sc. 15
(didascalia)	Enter Edgar as a Bedlam beggar
EDGAR	Yet better thus and known to be contemned Than still contemned and flattered. To be worst, The low’st and most dejected thing of fortune, Stands still in esperance, lives not in fear. The lamentable change is from the best; The worst returns to laughter.
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke of Gloucester led by an Old Man
EDGAR	Who’s here? My father, parti-eyed? World, world, O world! But that thy strange mutations make us hate thee, Life would not yield to age.
(didascalia)	Edgar stands aside
OLD MAN	(to Gloucester) O my good lord, I have been your tenant and your father’s tenant This fourscore—
GLOUCESTER	Away, get thee away, good friend, be gone. Thy comforts can do me no good at all; Thee they may hurt.
OLD MAN	Alack, sir, you cannot see your way.
GLOUCESTER	I have no way, and therefore want no eyes. I stumbled when I saw. Full oft ’tis seen Our means secure us, and our mere defects Prove our commodities. Ah dear son Edgar, The food of thy abused father’s wrath— Might I but live to see thee in my touch I’d say I had eyes again.
OLD MAN	How now? Who’s there?
EDGAR	(aside) O gods! Who is’t can say ‘I am at the worst? I am worse than e’er I was.
OLD MAN	’Tis poor mad Tom.
EDGAR	(aside) And worse I may be yet. The worst is not As long as we can say ‘This is the worst.’
OLD MAN	(to Edgar) Fellow, where goest?
GLOUCESTER	Is it a beggarman?
OLD MAN	Madman and beggar too.
GLOUCESTER	A has some reason, else he could not beg. In the last night’s storm I such a fellow saw, Which made me think a man a worm. My son Came then into my mind, and yet my mind Was then scarce friends with him. I have heard more since. As flies to wanton boys are we to th’ gods; They kill us for their sport.
EDGAR	(aside) How should this be? Bad is the trade that must play fool to sorrow, Ang’ring itself and others.
(didascalia)	He comes forward
EDGAR	Bless thee, master.
GLOUCESTER	Is that the naked fellow?
OLD MAN	Ay, my lord.
GLOUCESTER	Then prithee, get thee gone. If for my sake Thou wilt o‘ertake us hence a mile or twain I’th’ way toward Dover, do it for ancient love, And bring some covering for this naked soul, Who I’ll entreat to lead me.
OLD MAN	Alack, sir, he is mad.
GLOUCESTER	’Tis the time’s plague when madmen lead the blind. Do as I bid thee; or rather do thy pleasure. Above the rest, be gone.
OLD MAN	I’ll bring him the best ’parel that I have, Come on’t what will. Exit
GLOUCESTER	Sirrah, naked fellow!
EDGAR	Poor Tom’s a-cold. I cannot dance it farther.
GLOUCESTER	Come hither, fellow.
EDGAR	Bless thy sweet eyes, they bleed.
GLOUCESTER	Know’st thou the way to Dover?
EDGAR	Both stile and gate, horseway and footpath. Poor Tom hath been scared out of his good wits. Bless thee, goodman, from the foul fiend. Five fiends have been in Poor Tom at once, as Obidicut of lust, Hobbididence prince of dumbness, Mahu of stealing, Modo of murder, Flibbertigibbet of mocking and mowing, who since possesses chambermaids and waiting-women. So bless thee, master.
GLOUCESTER	Here, take this purse, thou whom the heavens’ plagues Have humbled to all strokes. That I am wretched Makes thee the happier. Heavens deal so still. Let the superfluous and lust-dieted man That stands your ordinance, that will not see Because he does not feel, feel your power quickly. So distribution should undo excess, And each man have enough. Dost thou know Dover?
EDGAR	Ay, master.
GLOUCESTER	There is a cliff whose high and bending head Looks saucily in the confined deep. Bring me but to the very brim of it And I’ll repair the misery thou dost bear With something rich about me. From that place I shall no leading need.
EDGAR	Give me thy arm. Poor Tom shall lead thee.
(didascalia)	Exit Edgar guiding Gloucester
EDGAR	Sc. 16
(didascalia)	Enter at one door Gonoril and Edmund the bastard
GONORIL	Welcome, my lord. I marvel our mild husband Not met us on the way.
(didascalia)	Enter at another door Oswald the steward
GONORIL	Now, where’s your master?
OSWALD	Madam, within; but never man so changed. I told him of the army that was landed; He smiled at it. I told him you were coming; His answer was ‘The worse.’ Of Gloucester’s treachery And of the loyal service of his son When I informed him, then he called me sot, And told me I had turned the wrong side out. What he should most defy seems pleasant to him; What like, offensive.
GONORIL	(to Edmund) Then shall you go no further. It is the cowish terror of his spirit That dares not undertake. He’ll not feel wrongs Which tie him to an answer. Our wishes on the way May prove effects. Back, Edmund, to my brother. Hasten his musters and conduct his powers. I must change arms at home, and give the distaff Into my husband’s hands. This trusty servant Shall pass between us. Ere long you are like to hear, If you dare venture in your own behalf, A mistress’s command. Wear this. Spare speech. Decline your head. This kiss, if it durst speak, Would stretch thy spirits up into the air.
(didascalia)	she kisses him
GONORIL	Conceive, and fare you well.
EDMUND	Yours in the ranks of death.
GONORIL	My most dear Gloucester.
(didascalia)	Exit Edmund
GONORIL	To thee a woman’s services are due; My foot usurps my body.
OSWALD	Madam, here comes my lord.
(didascalia)	Exit
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke of Albany
GONORIL	I have been worth the whistling.
ALBANY	O Gonoril, You are not worth the dust which the rude wind Blows in your face. I fear your disposition. That nature which contemns it origin Cannot be bordered certain in itself. She that herself will sliver and disbranch From her material sap perforce must wither, And come to deadly use.
GONORIL	No more. The text is foolish.
ALBANY	Wisdom and goodness to the vile seem vile; Filths savour but themselves. What have you done? Tigers, not daughters, what have you performed? A father, and a gracious, aged man, Whose reverence even the head-lugged bear would lick, Most barbarous, most degenerate, have you madded. Could my good-brother suffer you to do it— A man, a prince by him so benefacted? If that the heavens do not their visible spirits Send quickly down to tame these vile offences, It will come, Humanity must perforce prey on itself, Like monsters of the deep.
GONORIL	Milk-livered man, That bear‘st a cheek for blows, a head for wrongs; Who hast not in thy brows an eye discerning Thine honour from thy suffering; that not know’st Fools do those villains pity who are punished Ere they have done their mischief: where’s thy drum? France spreads his banners in our noiseless land, With plumed helm thy flaxen biggin threats, Whiles thou, a moral fool, sits still and cries ‘Alack, why does he so?’
ALBANY	See thyself, devil. Proper deformity shows not in the fiend So horrid as in woman.
GONORIL	O vain fool! 60
ALBANY	Thou changed and self-covered thing, for shame Bemonster not thy feature. Were’t my fitness To let these hands obey my blood, They are apt enough to dislocate and tear Thy flesh and bones. Howe’er thou art a fiend, A woman’s shape doth shield thee.
GONORIL	Marry your manhood, mew—
(didascalia)	Enter Second Gentleman
ALBANY	What news?
(didascalia)	SECOND GENTLEMAN
ALBANY	O my good lord, the Duke of Cornwall’s dead, Slain by his servant going to put out The other eye of Gloucester.
ALBANY	Gloucester’s eyes?
(didascalia)	FSECOND GENTLEMAN
ALBANY	A servant that he bred, thralled with remorse, Opposed against the act, bending his sword To his great master, who thereat enraged Flew on him, and amongst them felled him dead, But not without that harmful stroke which since Hath plucked him after.
ALBANY	This shows you are above, You justicers, that these our nether crimes So speedily can venge. But O, poor Gloucester! Lost he his other eye?
(didascalia)	SECOND GENTLEMAN Both, both, my lord. 80
ALBANY	(To Gonoril) This letter, madam, craves a speedy answer. ’Tis from your sister.
GONORIL	(aside) One way I like this well; But being widow, and my Gloucester with her, May all the building on my fancy pluck Upon my hateful life. Another way The news is not so took.—I’ll read and answer. Exit
ALBANY	Where was his son when they did take his eyes?
(didascalia)	ECONDGENTLEMAN
ALBANY	Come with my lady hither.
ALBANY	He is not here.
(didascalia)	ECONDGENTLEMAN
ALBANY	No, my good lord; I met him back again.
ALBANY	Knows he the wickedness? 90
(didascalia)	ECONDGENTLEMAN
ALBANY	Ay, my good lord; ’twas he informed against him, And quit the house on purpose that their punishment Might have the freer course.
ALBANY	Gloucester, I live To thank thee for the love thou showed’st the King, And to revenge thy eyes.—Come hither, friend Tell me what more thou knowest. Exeunt Sc. 17
(didascalia)	Enter the Earl of Kent disguised, and First Gentleman
KENT	Why the King of France is so suddenly gone back know you no reason?
(didascalia)	FIRST GENTLEMAN
KENT	Something he left imperfect in the state Which, since his coming forth, is thought of; which Imports to the kingdom so much fear and danger That his personal return was most required And necessary.
KENT	Who hath he left behind him general?
(didascalia)	IRST NTLEMAN
KENT	The Maréchal of France, Monsieur la Far.
KENT	Did your letters pierce the Queen to any demonstration of grief? II
(didascalia)	IRST ENTLEMAN
KENT	Ay, sir. She took them, read them in my presence, And now and then an ample tear trilled down Her delicate cheek. It seemed she was a queen Over her passion who, most rebel-like, Sought to be king o’er her.
KENT	O, then it moved her.
(didascalia)	IRSTGENTLEMAN
KENT	Not to a rage. Patience and sorrow strove Who should express her goodliest. You have seen Sunshine and rain at once; her smiles and tears Were like, a better way. Those happy smilets That played on her ripe lip seemed not to know What guests were in her eyes, which parted thence As pearls from diamonds dropped. In brief, Sorrow would be a rarity most beloved If all could so become it.
KENT	Made she no verbal question?
(didascalia)	IRST ENTLEMAN
KENT	Faith, once or twice she heaved the name of ‘father’ Pantingly forth as if it pressed her heart, Cried ‘Sisters, sisters, shame of ladies, sisters, Kent, father, sisters, what, i‘th’ storm, i’th’ night, Let piety not be believed!’ There she shook The holy water from her heavenly eyes And clamour mastered, then away she started To deal with grief alone.
KENT	It is the stars, The stars above us govern our conditions, Else one self mate and make could not beget Such different issues. You spoke not with her since?
(didascalia)	IRST ENTLEMAN No.
KENT	Was this before the King returned?
(didascalia)	IRST ENTLEMAN No, since.
KENT	Well, sir, the poor distressed Lear’s i’th’ town, Who sometime in his better tune remembers What we are come about, and by no means Will yield to see his daughter.
(didascalia)	IRST NTLEMAN Why, good sir?
KENT	A sovereign shame so elbows him: his own unkindness, That stripped her from his benediction, turned her To foreign casualties, gave her dear rights To his dog-hearted daughters—these things sting His mind so venomously that burning shame Detains him from Cordelia.
(didascalia)	IRST ENTLEMAN Alack, poor gentleman!
KENT	Of Albany’s and Cornwall’s powers you heard not?
(didascalia)	IRST ENTLEMAN ’Tis so; they are afoot.
KENT	Well, sir, I’ll bring you to our master Lear, And leave you to attend him. Some dear cause Will in concealment wrap me up a while. When I am known aright you shall not grieve Lending me this acquaintance. I pray you go Along with me. Exeunt Sc. 18
(didascalia)	Enter Queen Cordelia, a Doctor, and others
CORDELIA	Alack, ’tis he! Why, he was met even now, As mad as the racked sea, singing aloud, Crowned with rank fumitor and furrow-weeds, With burdocks, hemlock, nettles, cuckoo-flowers, Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow In our sustaining corn. The centuries send forth. Search every acre in the high-grown field, And bring him to our eye.
(didascalia)	Exit one or more
CORDELIA	What can man’s wisdom In the restoring his bereaved sense, He that can help him Take all my outward worth.
DOCTOR	There is means, madam. Our foster-nurse of nature is repose, The which he lacks. That to provoke in him Are many simples operative, whose power Will close the eye of anguish.
CORDELIA	All blest secrets, All you unpublished virtues of the earth, Spring with my tears, be aidant and remediate In the good man’s distress!—Seek, seek for him, Lest his ungoverned rage dissolve the life That wants the means to lead it.
(didascalia)	Enter a Messenger
MESSENGER	News, madam. The British powers are marching hitherward.
CORDELIA	’Tis known before; our preparation stands In expectation of them.—O dear father, It is thy business that I go about; Therefore great France My mourning and important tears hath pitied. No blown ambition doth our arms incite, But love, dear love, and our aged father’s right. Soon may I hear and see him! Exeunt Sc. 19
(didascalia)	Enter Regan and Oswald, Gonoril’s steward
REGAN	But are my brother’s powers set forth?
OSWALD	Ay, madam.
REGAN	Himself in person?
OSWALD	Madam, with much ado. Your sister is the better soldier.
REGAN	Lord Edmund spake not with your lord at home?
OSWALD	No, madam.
REGAN	What might import my sister’s letters to him?
OSWALD	I know not, lady.
REGAN	Faith, he is posted hence on serious matter. It was great ignorance, Gloucester’s eyes being out, To let him live. Where he arrives he moves All hearts against us. Edmund, I think, is gone, In pity of his misery, to dispatch His ‘nighted life, moreover to descry The strength o’th’ army.
OSWALD	I must needs after with my letters, madam.
REGAN	Our troop sets forth tomorrow. Stay with us. The ways are dangerous.
OSWALD	I may not, madam. My lady charged my duty in this business.
REGAN	Why should she write to Edmund? Might not you Transport her purposes by word? Belike— Something, I know not what. I’ll love thee much: Let me unseal the letter.
OSWALD	Madam, I’d rather—
REGAN	I know your lady does not love her husband. I am sure of that, and at her late being here She gave strange oeillades and most speaking looks To noble Edmund. I know you are of her bosom.
OSWALD	I, madam?
REGAN	I speak in understanding, for I know’t. Therefore I do advise you take this note. My lord is dead. Edmund and I have talked, And more convenient is he for my hand Than for your lady’s. You may gather more. If you do find him, pray you give him this, And when your mistress hears thus much from you, I pray desire her call her wisdom to her. So, farewell. If you do chance to hear of that blind traitor, Preferment falls on him that cuts him off.
OSWALD	Would I could meet him, madam. I would show What lady I do follow.
REGAN	Fare thee well. Exeunt severally Sc. 20
(didascalia)	Enter Edgar disguised as a peasant, with a staff, guiding the blind Duke of Gloucester
GLOUCESTER	When shall we come to th’ top of that same hill?
EDGAR	You do climb up it now. Look how we labour.
GLOUCESTER	Methinks the ground is even.
EDGAR	Horrible steep. Hark, do you hear the sea?
GLOUCESTER	No, truly.
EDGAR	Why, then your other senses grow imperfect By your eyes’ anguish.
GLOUCESTER	So may it be indeed. Methinks thy voice is altered, and thou speak’st With better phrase and matter than thou didst.
EDGAR	You’re much deceived. In nothing am I changed But in my garments.
GLOUCESTER	Methinks you’re better spoken.
EDGAR	Come on, sir, here’s the place. Stand still. How fearful And dizzy ’tis to cast one’s eyes so low! The crows and choughs that wing the midway air Show scarce so gross as beetles. Halfway down Hangs one that gathers samphire, dreadful trade! Methinks he seems no bigger than his head. The fishermen that walk upon the beach Appear like mice, and yon tall anchoring barque Diminished to her cock, her cock a buoy Almost too small for sight. The murmuring surge That on the unnumbered idle pebble chafes Cannot be heard, it’s so high. I’ll look no more, Lest my brain turn and the deficient sight Topple down headlong.
GLOUCESTER	Set me where you stand.
EDGAR	Give me your hand. You are now within a foot Of th’extreme verge. For all beneath the moon Would I not leap upright.
GLOUCESTER	Let go my hand. Here, friend, ’s another purse; in it a jewel Well worth a poor man’s taking. Fairies and gods Prosper it with thee! Go thou farther off. Bid me farewell, and let me hear thee going.
EDGAR	Now fare you well, good sir. He stands aside
GLOUCESTER	With all my heart.
EDGAR	(aside) Why I do trifle thus with his despair Is done to cure it.
GLOUCESTER	O you mighty gods, He kneels This world I do renounce, and in your sights Shake patiently my great affliction off! If I could bear it longer, and not fall To quarrel with your great opposeless wills, My snuff and loathed part of nature should Burn itself out. If Edgar live, O bless him!— Now, fellow, fare thee well.
EDGAR	Gone, sir. Farewell. Gloucester falls forward (Aside) And yet I know not how conceit may rob The treasury of life, when life itself Yields to the theft. Had he been where he thought, By this had thought been past.—Ative or dead? (To Gloucester) Ho you, sir; hear you, sir? Speak. (Aside) Thus might he pass indeed. Yet he revives. (To Gloucester) What are you, sir?
GLOUCESTER	Away, and let me die.
EDGAR	Hadst thou been aught but goss‘mer, feathers, air, So many fathom down precipitating Thou hadst shivered like an egg. But thou dost breathe, Hast heavy substance, bleed’st not, speak’st, art sound. Ten masts a-length make not the altitude Which thou hast perpendicularly fell. Thy life’s a miracle. Speak yet again.
GLOUCESTER	But have I fallen, or no?
EDGAR	From the dread summit of this chalky bourn. Look up a-height. The shrill-gorged lark so far Cannot be seen or heard. Do but look up.
GLOUCESTER	Alack, I have no eyes. Is wretchedness deprived that benefit To end itself by death? ’Twas yet some comfort When misery could beguile the tyrant’s rage And frustrate his proud will.
EDGAR	Give me your arm. Up. So, how now? Feel you your legs? You stand.
GLOUCESTER	Too well, too well.
EDGAR	This is above all strangeness. Upon the crown of the cliff what thing was that Which parted from you?
GLOUCESTER	A poor unfortunate beggar.
EDGAR	As I stood here below, methoughts his eyes Were two full moons. A had a thousand noses, Horns whelked and waved like the enridged sea. It was some fiend. Therefore, thou happy father, Think that the clearest gods, who made their honours Of men’s impossibilities, have preserved thee.
GLOUCESTER	I do remember now. Henceforth I’ll bear Affliction till it do cry out itself ‘Enough, enough,’ and die. That thing you speak of, I took it for a man. Often would it say ‘The fiend, the fiend!’ He led me to that place.
EDGAR	Bear free and patient thoughts.
(didascalia)	Enter King Lear mad, crowned with weeds and
(didascalia)	flowers
EDGAR	But who comes here? The safer sense will ne’er accommodate His master thus.
LEAR	No, they cannot touch me for coining. I am the King himself.
EDGAR	O thou side-piercing sight!
LEAR	Nature is above art in that respect. There’s your press-money. That fellow handles his bow like a crow-keeper. Draw me a clothier’s yard. Look, look, a mouse! Peace, peace, this toasted cheese will do it. There’s my gauntlet. I’ll prove it on a giant. Bring up the brown bills. O, well flown, bird, in the air. Hal Give the word.
EDGAR	Sweet marjoram.
LEAR	Pass.
GLOUCESTER	I know that voice.
LEAR	Ha, Gonorill Ha, Regan! They flattered me like a dog, and told me I had white hairs in my beard ere the black ones were there. To say ‘ay’ and ‘no’ to everything I said ‘ay’ and ‘no’ to was no good divinity. When the rain came to wet me once, and the wind to make me chatter, when the thunder would not peace at my bidding, there I found them, there I smelt them out. Go to, they are not men of their words. They told me I was everything; ’tis a lie, I am not ague-proof.
GLOUCESTER	The trick of that voice I do well remember. Is’t not the King?
LEAR	Ay, every inch a king.
(didascalia)	Gloucester kneels
LEAR	When I do stare, see how the subject quakes! I pardon that man’s life. What was thy cause? Adultery? Thou shalt not die for adultery. No, the wren goes to‘t, and the small gilded fly Does lecher in my sight. Let copulation thrive, for Gloucester’s bastard son Was kinder to his father than my daughters Got ’tween the lawful sheets. To‘t, luxury, pell-mell, For I lack soldiers. Behold yon simp’ring dame, Whose face between her forks presageth snow, That minces virtue, and does shake the head To hear of pleasure’s name: The fitchew nor the soiled horse goes to’t With a more riotous appetite. Down from the waist They’re centaurs, though women all above. But to the girdle do the gods inherit; Beneath is all the fiend’s. There’s hell, there’s darkness, There’s the sulphury pit, burning, scalding, Stench, consummation. Fie, fie, fie; pah, pah! Give me an ounce of civet, good apothecary, To sweeten my imagination. There’s money for thee.
GLOUCESTER	O, let me kiss that hand!
LEAR	Here, wipe it first; it smells of mortality.
GLOUCESTER	O ruined piece of nature! This great world Shall so wear out to naught. Do you know me?
LEAR	I remember thy eyes well enough. Dost thou squiny on me? No, do thy worst, blind Cupid, I’ll not love. Read thou that challenge. Mark the penning of’t.
GLOUCESTER	Were all the letters suns, I could not see one.
EDGAR	(aside) I would not take this from report; it is, And my heart breaks at it.
LEAR	(to Gloucester) Read.
GLOUCESTER	What—with the case of eyes?
LEAR	O ho, are you there with me? No eyes in your head, nor no money in your purse? Your eyes are in a heavy case, your purse in a light; yet you see how this world goes.
GLOUCESTER	I see it feelingly.
LEAR	What, art mad? A man may see how the world goes with no eyes; look with thy ears. See how yon justice rails upon yon simple thief. Hark in thy ear: handy-dandy, which is the thief, which is the justice? Thou hast seen a farmer’s dog bark at a beggar?
GLOUCESTER	Ay, sir.
LEAR	An the creature run from the cur, there thou mightst behold the great image of authority. A dog’s obeyed in office. Thou rascal beadle, hold thy bloody hand. Why dost thou lash that whore? Strip thine own back. Thy blood as hotly lusts to use her in that kind For which thou whip’st her. The usurer hangs the cozener. Through tattered rags small vices do appear; Robes and furred gowns hides all. Get thee glass eyes, And, like a scurvy politician, seem To see the things thou dost not. No tears, now. Pull off my boots. Harder, harder! So.
EDGAR	(aside) O, matter and impertinency mixed— Reason in madness!
LEAR	If thou wilt weep my fortune, take my eyes. I know thee well enough: thy name is Gloucester. Thou must be patient. We came crying hither. Thou know’st the first time that we smell the air We wail and cry. I will preach to thee. Mark me.
GLOUCESTER	Alack, alack, the day!
(didascalia)	LEAR removing his crown of weeds
GLOUCESTER	When we are born, we cry that we are come To this great stage of fools. This’ a good block. It were a delicate stratagem to shoe A troop of horse with felt; and when I have stole upon These son-in-laws, then kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill!
(didascalia)	Enter three Gentlemen
(didascalia)	FIRST GENTLEMAN
GLOUCESTER	O, here he is. Lay hands upon him, sirs. (To Lear) Your most dear—
LEAR	No rescue? What, a prisoner? I am e’en The natural fool of fortune. Use me well. You shall have ransom. Let me have a surgeon; I am cut to the brains.
(didascalia)	FIRST GENTLEMAN You shall have anything.
LEAR	No seconds? All myself? Why, this would make a man a man of salt, To use his eyes for garden water-pots, Ay, and laying autumn’s dust.
(didascalia)	FIRST GENTLEMAN Good sir—
LEAR	I will die bravely, like a bridegroom. What, I will be jovial. Come, come, I am a king, my masters, know you that?
(didascalia)	FIRST GENTLEMAN
LEAR	You are a royal one, and we obey you.
LEAR	Then there’s life in’t. Nay, an you get it, you shall get it with running.
(didascalia)	Exit running, pursued by two Gentlemen
(didascalia)	FIRST GENTLEMAN
LEAR	A sight most pitiful in the meanest wretch, Past speaking in a king. Thou hast one daughter Who redeems nature from the general curse Which twain hath brought her to.
EDGAR	Hail, gentle sir.
(didascalia)	FIRST GENTLEMAN Sir, speed you. What’s your will?
EDGAR	Do you hear aught of a battle toward?
(didascalia)	FIRST GENTLEMAN
EDGAR	Most sure and vulgar, everyone hears that That can distinguish sense.
EDGAR	But, by your favour, How near’s the other army?
(didascalia)	FIRST GENTLEMAN
EDGAR	Near and on speedy foot, the main; descriers Stands on the hourly thoughts.
EDGAR	I thank you, sir. That’s all.
(didascalia)	FIRST GENTLEMAN
EDGAR	Though that the Queen on special cause is here, Her army is moved on.
EDGAR	I thank you, sir. Exit Gentleman
GLOUCESTER	You ever gentle gods, take my breath from me. Let not my worser spirit tempt me again To die before you please.
EDGAR	Well pray you, father.
GLOUCESTER	Now, good sir, what are you?
EDGAR	A most poor man, made lame by fortune’s blows, Who by the art of known and feeling sorrows Am pregnant to good pity. Give me your hand, I’ll lead you to some biding.
(didascalia)	GLOUCESTER rising Hearty thanks.
EDGAR	The bounty and the benison of heaven To send thee boot to boot.
(didascalia)	Enter Oswald the steward
OSWALD	A proclaimed prize! Most happy! That eyeless head of thine was first framed flesh To raise my fortunes. Thou most unhappy traitor, Briefly thyself remember. The sword is out That must destroy thee.
GLOUCESTER	Now let thy friendly hand Put strength enough to’t.
OSWALD	(to Edgar) Wherefore, bold peasant, Durst thou support a published traitor? Hence, Lest the infection of his fortune take Like hold on thee. Let go his arm.
EDGAR	‘Chill not let go, sir, without ’cagion.
OSWALD	Let go, slave, or thou diest.
EDGAR	Good gentleman, go your gate. Let poor volk pass. An ‘chud have been swaggered out of my life, it would not have been so long by a vortnight. Nay, come not near the old man. Keep out, ’che vor’ ye, or I’ll try whether your costard or my baton be the harder; I’ll be plain with you.
OSWALD	Out, dunghill! They fight
EDGAR	’Chill pick your teeth, sir. Come, no matter for your foins.
(didascalia)	Edgar knocks him down
OSWALD	Slave, thou hast slain me. Villain, take my purse. If ever thou wilt thrive, bury my body, And give the letters which thou find’st about me To Edmund, Earl of Gloucester. Seek him out Upon the British party. O untimely death! Death! He dies
EDGAR	I know thee well—a serviceable villain, As duteous to the vices of thy mistress As badness would desire.
GLOUCESTER	What, is he dead?
EDGAR	Sit you down, father. Rest you. Gloucester sits Let’s see his pockets. These letters that he speaks of May be my friends. He’s dead; I am only sorrow He had no other deathsman. Let us see. Leave, gentle wax; and manners, blame us not. To know our enemies’ minds we’d rip their hearts; Their papers is more lawful. He reads a letter ‘Let your reciprocal vows be remembered. You have many opportunities to cut him off. If your will want not, time and place will be fruitfully offered. There is nothing done if he return the conqueror; then am I the prisoner, and his bed my jail, from the loathed warmth whereof, deliver me, and supply the place for your labour. Your—wife, so I would say—your affectionate servant, and for you her own for venture, Gonoril.’ O indistinguished space of woman’s wit— A plot upon her virtuous husband’s life, And the exchange my brother!—Here in the sands Thee I’ll rake up, the post unsanctified Of murderous lechers, and in the mature time With this ungracious paper strike the sight Of the death-practised Duke. For him ’tis well That of thy death and business I can tell. [Exit with the body]
GLOUCESTER	The King is mad. How stiff is my vile sense, That I stand up and have ingenious feeling Of my huge sorrows! Better I were distraught; So should my thoughts be fenced from my griefs, And woes by wrong imaginations lose The knowledge of themselves. A drum afar off. [Enter Edgar]
EDGAR	Give me your hand. Far off methinks I hear the beaten drum. Come, father, I’ll bestow you with a friend.
(didascalia)	Exit Edgar guiding Gloucester
(didascalia)	Sc. 21 Soft music. Enter Queen Cordelia, and the Earl of Kent, disguised
CORDELIA	O thou good Kent, How shall I live and work to match thy goodness? My life will be too short, and every measure fail me.
KENT	To be acknowledged, madam, is o’erpaid. All my reports go with the modest truth, Nor more, nor clipped, but so.
CORDELIA	Be better suited. These weeds are memories of those worser hours. I prithee put them off.
KENT	Pardon me, dear madam. Yet to be known shortens my made intent. My boon I make it that you know me not Till time and I think meet.
CORDELIA	Then be’t so, my good lord. [Enter the Doctor and First Gentleman] How does the King?
DOCTOR	Madam, sleeps still.
CORDELIA	O you kind gods, Cure this great breach in his abused nature; The untuned and hurrying senses O wind up Of this child-changed father!
DOCTOR	So please your majesty That we may wake the King? He hath slept long.
CORDELIA	Be governed by your knowledge, and proceed I’th’ sway of your own will. Is he arrayed? [FIRST GENTLEMAN] Ay, madam. In the heaviness of his sleep We put fresh garments on him. [DOCTOR] Good madam, be by when we do awake him. I doubt not of his temperance.
CORDELIA	Very well.
DOCTOR	Please you draw near. Louder the music there! King Lear is [discovered] asleep
CORDELIA	O my dear father, restoration hang Thy medicine on my lips, and let this kiss Repair those violent harms that my two sisters Have in thy reverence made!
KENT	Kind and dear princess!
CORDELIA	Had you not been their father, these white flakes Had challenged pity of them. Was this a face To be exposed against the warring winds, To stand against the deep dread-bolted thunder In the most terrible and nimble stroke Of quick cross-lightning, to watch—poor perdu— With this thin helm? Mine injurer’s mean‘st dog, Though he had bit me, should have stood that night Against my fire. And wast thou fain, poor father, To hovel thee with swine and rogues forlorn In short and musty straw? Alack, alack, ’Tis wonder that thy life and wits at once Had not concluded all! (To the Doctor) He wakes. Speak to him.
DOCTOR	Madam, do you; ’tis fittest.
CORDELIA	(to Lear) How does my royal lord? How fares your majesty?
LEAR	You do me wrong to take me out o’th’ grave. Thou art a soul in bliss, but I am bound Upon a wheel of fire, that mine own tears Do scald like molten lead.
CORDELIA	Sir, know me.
LEAR	You’re a spirit, I know. Where did you die?
CORDELIA	(to the Doctor) Still, still far wide!
DOCTOR	He’s scarce awake. Let him alone a while.
LEAR	Where have I been? Where am I? Fair daylight? I am mightily abused. I should e’en die with pity To see another thus. I know not what to say. I will not swear these are my hands. Let’s see: I feel this pin prick. Would I were assured Of my condition.
CORDELIA	(kneeling) O look upon me, sir, And hold your hands in benediction o’er me. No, sir, you must not kneel.
LEAR	Pray do not mock. I am a very foolish, fond old man, Fourscore and upward, and to deal plainly, I fear I am not in my perfect mind. Methinks I should know you, and know this man; Yet I am doubtful, for I am mainly ignorant What place this is; and all the skill I have Remembers not these garments; nor I know not Where I did lodge last night. Do not laugh at me, For as I am a man, I think this lady To be my child, Cordelia.
CORDELIA	And so I am.
LEAR	Be your tears wet? Yes, faith. I pray, weep not. If you have poison for me, I will drink it. I know you do not love me; for your sisters Have, as I do remember, done me wrong. You have some cause; they have not.
CORDELIA	No cause, no cause.
LEAR	Am I in France?
KENT	In your own kingdom, sir.
LEAR	Do not abuse me.
DOCTOR	Be comforted, good madam. The great rage You see is cured in him, and yet it is danger To make him even o’er the time he has lost. Desire him to go in; trouble him no more Till further settling.
CORDELIA	(to Lear) Will’t please your highness walk?
LEAR	You must bear with me. Pray now, forget and forgive. I am old And foolish. Exeunt all but Kent and [First] Gentleman [FIRST] GENTLEMAN Holds it true, sir, that the Duke Of Cornwall was so slain?
KENT	Most certain, sir. [FIRST] GENTLEMAN Who is conductor of his people?
KENT	As ’tis said, The bastard son of Gloucester. [FIRST] GENTLEMAN They say Edgar, His banished son, is with the Earl of Kent In Germany.
KENT	Report is changeable. ’Tis time to look about. The powers of the kingdom 90 Approach apace. [FIRST] GENTLEMAN The arbitrement is Like to be bloody. Fare you well, sir. Exit
KENT	My point and period will be throughly wrought, Or well or ill, as this day’s battle’s fought. Exit Sc. 22
(didascalia)	Enter Edmund, Regan, and their powers
EDMUND	Know of the Duke if his last purpose hold, Or whether since he is advised by aught To change the course. He’s full of abdication And self-reproving. Bring his constant pleasure.
(didascalia)	Exit one or more
REGAN	Our sister’s man is certainly miscarried.
EDMUND	’Tis to be doubted, madam.
REGAN	Now, sweet lord, You know the goodness I intend upon you. Tell me but truly—but then speak the truth- Do you not love my sister?
EDMUND	Ay: honoured love.
REGAN	But have you never found my brother’s way To the forfended place?
EDMUND	That thought abuses you.
REGAN	I am doubtful That you have been conjunct and bosomed with her, As far as we call hers.
EDMUND	No, by mine honour, madam.
REGAN	I never shall endure her. Dear my lord, Be not familiar with her.
EDMUND	Fear me not. She and the Duke her husband—
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke of Albany and Gonoril with troops
GONORIL	(aside) I had rather lose the battle than that sister Should loosen him and me.
ALBANY	(to Regan) Our very loving sister, well bemet, For this I hear: the King is come to his daughter, With others whom the rigour of our state Forced to cry out. Where I could not be honest I never yet was valiant. For this business, It touches us as France invades our land; Yet bold’s the King, with others whom I fear. Most just and heavy causes make oppose.
EDMUND	Sir, you speak nobly.
REGAN	Why is this reasoned? 30
GONORIL	Combine together ’gainst the enemy; For these domestic poor particulars Are not to question here.
ALBANY	Let us then determine with the ensign of war On our proceedings.
EDMUND	I shall attend you Presently at your tent. [Exit with his powers]
REGAN	Sister, you’ll go with us?
GONORIL	No.
REGAN	’Tis most convenient. Pray you go with us.
GONORIL	[aside] O ho, I know the riddle! (To Regan) I will go.
(didascalia)	Enter Edgar disguised as a peasant
EDGAR	(to Albany) If e’er your grace had speech with man so poor, 40 Hear me one word.
ALBANY	(to the others) I’ll overtake you.
(didascalia)	Exeunt all but Albany and Edgar
ALBANY	Speak.
EDGAR	Before you fight the battle, ope this letter. If you have victory, let the trumpet sound For him that brought it. Wretched though I seem, I can produce a champion that will prove What is avouchèd there. If you miscarry, Your business of the world hath so an end. Fortune love you—
ALBANY	Stay till I have read the letter.
EDGAR	I was forbid it. 50 When time shall serve, let but the herald cry, And I’ll appear again.
ALBANY	Why, fare thee well. I will o’erlook the paper. Exit Edgar
(didascalia)	Enter Edmund
EDMUND	The enemy’s in view; draw up your powers. 55 He [offers] Albany a paper Here is the guess of their great strength and forces By diligent discovery; but your haste Is now urged on you.
ALBANY	We will greet the time. Exit
EDMUND	To both these sisters have I sworn my love, Each jealous of the other as the stung Are of the adder. Which of them shall I take?— Both?—one?—or neither? Neither can be enjoyed If both remain alive. To take the widow Exasperates, makes mad, her sister Gonoril, And hardly shall I carry out my side, Her husband being alive. Now then, we’ll use His countenance for the battle, which being done, Let her that would be rid of him devise His speedy taking off. As for his mercy Which he intends to Lear and to Cordelia, The battle done, and they within our power, Shall never see his pardon; for my state Stands on me to defend, not to debate. Exit Sc. 23
(didascalia)	Alarum. The powers of France pass over the stage led by Queen Cordelia with her father in her hand. Then enter Edgar disguised as a peasant, guiding the blind Duke of Gloucester
EDGAR	Here, father, take the shadow of this bush For your good host; pray that the right may thrive. If ever I return to you again I’ll bring you comfort. Exit
GLOUCESTER	Grace go with you, sir.
(didascalia)	Alarum and retreat. Enter Edgar
EDGAR	Away, old man. Give me thy hand. Away. King Lear hath lost, he and his daughter ta’en. Give me thy hand. Come on.
GLOUCESTER	No farther, sir. A man may rot even here.
EDGAR	What, in ill thoughts again? Men must endure Their going hence even as their coming hither. Ripeness is all. Come on. Exit Edgar guiding Gloucester Sc. 24
(didascalia)	Enter Edmund with King Lear and Queen Cordelia prisoners, a Captain, and soldiers
EDMUND	Some officers take them away. Good guard Until their greater pleasures best be known That are to censure them.
CORDELIA	(to Lear) We are not the first Who with best meaning have incurred the worst. For thee, oppressed King, am I cast down, Myself could else outfrown false fortune’s frown. Shall we not see these daughters and these sisters?
LEAR	No, no. Come, let’s away to prison. We two alone will sing like birds i’th’ cage. When thou dost ask me blessing, I’ll kneel down And ask of thee forgiveness; so we’ll live, And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh At gilded butterflies, and hear poor rogues Talk of court news, and we’ll talk with them too— Who loses and who wins, who’s in, who’s out, And take upon ’s the mystery of things As if we were God’s spies; and we’ll wear out In a walled prison packs and sects of great ones That ebb and flow by th’ moon.
EDMUND	(to soldiers) Take them away.
LEAR	(to Cordelia) Upon such sacrifices, my Cordelia, The gods themselves throw incense. Have I caught thee? He that parts us shall bring a brand from heaven And fire us hence like foxes. Wipe thine eyes. The goodyear shall devour ‘em, flesh and fell, Ere they shall make us weep. We’ll see ’em starve first. Come.
(didascalia)	Exeunt all but Edmund and the Captain
EDMUND	Come hither, captain. Hark. Take thou this note. Go follow them to prison. One step I have advanced thee; if thou dost As this instructs thee, thou dost make thy way To noble fortunes. Know thou this: that men Are as the time is. To be tender-minded Does not become a sword. Thy great employment Will not bear question. Either say thou’lt do’t, Or thrive by other means.
CAPTAIN	I’ll do’t, my lord.
EDMUND	About it, and write ‘happy’ when thou hast done. Mark, I say, instantly, and carry it so As I have set it down.
CAPTAIN	I cannot draw a cart, Nor eat dried oats. If it be man’s work, I’ll do’t. Exit Enter the Duke of Albany, the two ladies Gonoril and Regan, [another Captain,] and others
ALBANY	(to Edmund) Sir, you have showed today your valiant strain, And fortune led you well. You have the captives That were the opposites of this day’s strife. We do require then of you, so to use them As we shall find their merits and our safety May equally determine.
EDMUND	Sir, I thought it fit To send the old and miserable King To some retention and appointed guard, Whose age has charms in it, whose title more, To pluck the common bosom on his side And turn our impressed lances in our eyes Which do command them. With him I sent the Queen, My reason all the same, and they are ready Tomorrow, or at further space, to appear Where you shall hold your session. At this time We sweat and bleed. The friend hath lost his friend, And the best quarrels in the heat are cursed By those that feel their sharpness. The question of Cordelia and her father Requires a fitter place.
ALBANY	Sir, by your patience, I hold you but a subject of this war, Not as a brother.
REGAN	That’s as we list to grace him. Methinks our pleasure should have been demanded Ere you had spoke so far. He led our powers, Bore the commission of my place and person, The which immediate may well stand up And call itself your brother.
GONORIL	Not so hot. In his own grace he doth exalt himself More than in your advancement.
REGAN	In my right By me invested, he compeers the best.
GONORIL	That were the most if he should husband you.
REGAN	Jesters do oft prove prophets.
GONORIL	Holla, holla— That eye that told you so looked but asquint.
REGAN	Lady, I am not well, else I should answer From a full-flowing stomach. (To Edmund) General, Take thou my soldiers, prisoners, patrimony. Witness the world that I create thee here My lord and master.
GONORIL	Mean you to enjoy him, then?
ALBANY	The let-alone lies not in your good will.
EDMUND	Nor in thine, lord.
ALBANY	Half-blooded fellow, yes.
EDMUND	Let the drum strike and prove my title good.
ALBANY	Stay yet, hear reason. Edmund, I arrest thee On capital treason, and in thine attaint This gilded serpent. (To Regan) For your claim, fair sister, I bar it in the interest of my wife. ’Tis she is subcontracted to this lord, And I, her husband, contradict the banns. If you will marry, make your love to me. My lady is bespoke.—Thou art armed, Gloucester. If none appear to prove upon thy head Thy heinous, manifest, and many treasons, [He throws down a glove] There is my pledge. I’ll prove it on thy heart, Ere I taste bread, thou art in nothing less Than I have here proclaimed thee.
REGAN	Sick, O sick!
GONORIL	(aside) If not, I’ll ne’er trust poison.
EDMUND	(to Albany, [throwing down a glove]) There’s my exchange. What in the world he is That names me traitor, villain-like he lies. Call by thy trumpet. He that dares, approach; On him, on you—who not?—I will maintain My truth and honour firmly.
ALBANY	A herald, ho!
EDMUND	A herald, ho, a herald!
ALBANY	Trust to thy single virtue, for thy soldiers, All levied in my name, have in my name Took their discharge.
REGAN	This sickness grows upon me.
ALBANY	She is not well. Convey her to my tent.
(didascalia)	Exit one or more with Regan
ALBANY	[Enter a Herald and a trumpeter] Come hither, herald. Let the trumpet sound, And read out this.
SECOND CAPTAIN	Sound, trumpet! Trumpeter sounds
HERALD	(reads) ‘If any man of quality or degree in the host of the army will maintain upon Edmund, supposed Earl of Gloucester, that he’s a manifold traitor, let him appear at the third sound of the trumpet. He is bold in his defence.’
EDMUND	Sound! (Trumpeter sounds) Again!
(didascalia)	Enter Edgar, armed, at the third sound, a trumpeter before him
ALBANY	(to the Herald) Ask him his purposes, why he appears Upon this call o’th’ trumpet.
HERALD	(to Edgar) What are you? Your name and quality, and why you answer This present summons?
EDGAR	O, know my name is lost, By treason’s tooth bare-gnawn and canker-bit. Yet ere I move’t, where is the adversary I come to cope withal?
ALBANY	Which is that adversary?
EDGAR	What’s he that speaks for Edmund, Earl of Gloucester?
EDMUND	Himself. What sayst thou to him?
EDGAR	Draw thy sword, That if my speech offend a noble heart Thy arm may do thee justice. Here is mine. He draws his sword Behold, it is the privilege of my tongue, My oath, and my profession. I protest, Maugre thy strength, youth, place, and eminence, Despite thy victor-sword and fire-new fortune, Thy valour and thy heart, thou art a traitor, False to thy gods, thy brother, and thy father, Conspirant ‘gainst this high illustrious prince, And from th’extremest upward of thy head To the descent and dust beneath thy feet A most toad-spotted traitor. Say thou no, This sword, this arm, and my best spirits are bent To prove upon thy heart, whereto I speak, Thou liest.
EDMUND	In wisdom I should ask thy name, But since thy outside looks so fair and warlike, And that thy tongue some say of breeding breathes, My right of knighthood I disdain and spurn. Here do I toss those treasons to thy head, With the hell-hated lie o’erturn thy heart, Which, for they yet glance by and scarcely bruise, This sword of mine shall give them instant way Where they shall rest for ever. Trumpets, speak! [Flourish.] They fight. Edmund is vanquished [ALL] Save him, save him!
GONORIL	This is mere practice, Gloucester. By the law of arms thou art not bound to answer An unknown opposite. Thou art not vanquished, But cozened and beguiled.
ALBANY	Stop your mouth, dame, Or with this paper shall I stopple it. Thou worse than anything, read thine own evil. Nay, no tearing, lady. I perceive you know’t.
GONORIL	Say if I do, the laws are mine, not thine. Who shall arraign me for’t?
ALBANY	Most monstrous! Know’st thou this paper?
GONORIL	Ask me not what I know.
(didascalia)	Exit
ALBANY	Go after her. She’s desperate. Govern her.
(didascalia)	Exit one or more
EDMUND	What you have charged me with, that have I done, And more, much more. The time will bring it out. ’Tis past, and so am I. (To Edgar) But what art thou, That hast this fortune on me? If thou beest noble, I do forgive thee.
EDGAR	Let’s exchange charity. I am no less in blood than thou art, Edmund. If more, the more ignobly thou hast wronged me. [He takes off his helmet] My name is Edgar, and thy father’s son. The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices Make instruments to scourge us. The dark and vicious place where thee he got Cost him his eyes.
EDMUND	Thou hast spoken truth. The wheel is come full circled. I am here.
ALBANY	(to Edgar) Methought thy very gait did prophesy A royal nobleness. I must embrace thee. Let sorrow split my heart if I did ever hate Thee or thy father.
EDGAR	Worthy prince, I know’t.
ALBANY	Where have you hid yourself? How have you known the miseries of your father?
EDGAR	By nursing them, my lord. List a brief tale, And when ‘tis told, O that my heart would burst! The bloody proclamation to escape That followed me so near—O, our lives’ sweetness, That with the pain of death would hourly die Rather than die at once!—taught me to shift Into a madman’s rags, to assume a semblance That very dogs disdained; and in this habit Met I my father with his bleeding rings, The precious stones new-lost; became his guide, Led him, begged for him, saved him from despair; Never—O father!—revealed myself unto him Until some half hour past, when I was armed. Not sure, though hoping, of this good success, I asked his blessing, and from first to last Told him my pilgrimage; but his flawed heart— Alack, too weak the conflict to support— ’Twixt two extremes of passion, joy and grief, Burst smilingly.
EDMUND	This speech of yours hath moved me, And shall perchance do good. But speak you on— You look as you had something more to say.
ALBANY	If there be more, more woeful, hold it in, For I am almost ready to dissolve, Hearing of this.
EDGAR	This would have seemed a period To such as love not sorrow; but another To amplify, too much would make much more, And top extremity. Whilst I was big in clamour came there in a man Who, having seen me in my worst estate, Shunned my abhorred society; but then, finding Who ’twas that so endured, with his strong arms He fastened on my neck and bellowed out As he’d burst heaven; threw him on my father, Told the most piteous tale of Lear and him That ever ear received, which in recounting His grief grew puissant and the strings of life Began to crack. Twice then the trumpets sounded, And there I left him tranced.
ALBANY	But who was this?
EDGAR	Kent, sir, the banished Kent, who in disguise Followed his enemy king, and did him service Improper for a slave.
(didascalia)	Enter [Second] Gentleman with a bloody knife
EDGAR	FSECONDl GENTLEMEN Help, help!
ALBANY	What kind of help? What means that bloody knife?
(didascalia)	SECOND GENTLEMAN It’s hot, it smokes. It came even from the heart of—
ALBANY	Who, man? Speak. [SECOND] GENTLEMAN Your lady, sir, your lady; and her sister By her is poisonèd—she hath confessed it.
EDMUND	I was contracted to them both; all three Now marry in an instant.
ALBANY	Produce their bodies, be they alive or dead. This justice of the heavens, that makes us tremble, Touches us not with pity.
(didascalia)	Enter Kent as himself
EDGAR	Here comes Kent, sir.
ALBANY	O, ’tis he; the time will not allow The compliment that very manners urges.
KENT	I am come To bid my king and master aye good night. Is he not here?
ALBANY	Great thing of us forgot!— Speak, Edmund; where’s the King, and where’s Cordelia? The bodies of Gonoril and Regan are brought in Seest thou this object, Kent?
KENT	Alack, why thus?
EDMUND	Yet Edmund was beloved. The one the other poisoned for my sake, And after slew herself.
ALBANY	Even so.—Cover their faces.
EDMUND	I pant for life. Some good I mean to do, Despite of my own nature. Quickly send, Be brief in’t, to th’ castle; for my writ Is on the life of Lear and on Cordelia. Nay, send in time.
ALBANY	Run, run, O run!
EDGAR	To who, my lord? Who hath the office? Send Thy token of reprieve.
EDMUND	Well thought on! Take my sword. The captain, Give it the captain.
ALBANY	Haste thee for thy life.
(didascalia)	Exit [Second Captain]
EDMUND	He hath commission from thy wife and me To hang Cordelia in the prison, and To lay the blame upon her own despair, That she fordid herself.
ALBANY	The gods defend her!—Bear him hence a while.
(didascalia)	Exeunt some with Edmund
(didascalia)	Enter King Lear with Queen Cordelia in his arms,
ALBANY	[followed by the Second Captain]
LEAR	Howl, howl, howl, howl! O, you are men of stones. Had I your tongues and eyes, I would use them so That heaven’s vault should crack. She’s gone for ever. I know when one is dead and when one lives. She’s dead as earth. [He lays her down] Lend me a looking-glass. If that her breath will mist or stain the stone, Why, then she lives.
KENT	Is this the promised end?
EDGAR	Or image of that horror?
ALBANY	Fall and cease.
LEAR	This feather stirs. She lives. If it be so, It is a chance which does redeem all sorrows That ever I have felt.
KENT	[kneeling] Ah, my good master!
LEAR	Prithee, away.
EDGAR	w’Tis noble Kent, your friend.
LEAR	A plague upon you, murderous traitors all. I might have saved her; now she’s gone for ever.— Cordelia, Cordelia: stay a little. Ha? What is’t thou sayst?—Her voice was ever soft, Gentle, and low, an excellent thing in women.— I killed the slave that was a-hanging thee. [SECOND] CAPTAIN ’Tis true, my lords, he did.
LEAR	Did I not, fellow? I have seen the day with my good biting falchion I would have made them skip. I am old now, And these same crosses spoil me. (To Kent) Who are you? Mine eyes are not o’ the best, I’ll tell you straight.
KENT	If fortune bragged of two she loved or hated, One of them we behold.
LEAR	Are not you Kent?
KENT	The same, your servant Kent. Where is your servant Caius?
LEAR	He’s a good fellow, I can tell you that. He’ll strike, and quickly too. He’s dead and rotten.
KENT	No, my good lord, I am the very man—
LEAR	I’ll see that straight.
KENT	That from your first of difference and decay Have followed your sad steps.
LEAR	You’re welcome hither.
KENT	Nor no man else. All’s cheerless, dark, and deadly. Your eldest daughters have fordone themselves, And desperately are dead.
LEAR	So think I, too.
ALBANY	He knows not what he sees; and vain it is That we present us to him.
EDGAR	Very bootless.
(didascalia)	Enter another Captain
EDGAR	[THIRD] CAPTAIN (to Albany) Edmund is dead, my lord.
ALBANY	That’s but a trifle here.— You lords and noble friends, know our intent. What comfort to this great decay may come Shall be applied; for us, we will resign During the life of this old majesty To him our absolute power; (to Edgar and Kent) you to your rights, With boot and such addition as your honours Have more than merited. All friends shall taste The wages of their virtue, and all foes The cup of their deservings.—O see, see!
LEAR	And my poor fool is hanged. No, no life. Why should a dog, a horse, a rat have life, And thou no breath at all? O, thou wilt come no more. Never, never, never.—Pray you, undo This button. Thank you, sir. O, O, O, O!
EDGAR	He faints. (To Lear) My lord, my lord!
LEAR	Break, heart, I prithee break.
EDGAR	Look up, my lord.
KENT	Vex not his ghost. O, let him pass. He hates him That would upon the rack of this tough world Stretch him out longer. [Lear dies]
EDGAR	O, he is gone indeed.
KENT	The wonder is he hath endured so long. He but usurped his life.
ALBANY	(to attendants) Bear them from hence. Our present business Is to general woe. (To Kent and Edgar) Friends of my soul, you twain Rule in this kingdom, and the gored state sustain.
KENT	I have a journey, sir, shortly to go: My master calls, and I must not say no.
ALBANY	The weight of this sad time we must obey, Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say. The oldest have borne most. We that are young Shall never see so much, nor live so long.
(didascalia)	Exeunt carrying the bodies
BY WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE AND	THOMAS MIDDLETON
WE	know no more of Timon of Athens than we can deduce from the text printed in the 1623 Folio. Some episodes, such as the emblematic opening dialogue featuring a Poet and a Painter, are elegantly finished, but the play has more unpolished dialogue and loose ends of plot than usual: for example, the episode (3.6) in which Alcibiades pleads for a soldier’s life is only tenuously related to the main structure; and the final stretch of action seems imperfectly worked out. Various theories of collaboration and revision have been advanced to explain the play’s peculiarities. During the 1970s and 1980s strong linguistic and other evidence was adduced in support of the belief that it is a product of collaboration between Shakespeare and Thomas Middleton, a dramatist born in 1580 and educated at Queen’s College, Oxford, who was writing for the stage by 1602 and was to develop into a great playwright. The major passages for which Middleton seems to have taken prime responsibility are Act 1. Scene 2; all of Act 3 except for parts of Scene 7; and the closing episode (4.3.460-537) of Act 4. The theory of collaboration explains some features of the text—Middleton’s verse, for example, was less regular than Shakespeare’s. There is no record of early performance; the play is conjecturally assigned to 1605-6. The story of Timon was well known and had been told in an anonymous play which seems to have been acted at one of the Inns of Court in 1602 or 1603. The classical sources of Timon’s story are a brief, anecdotal passage in Plutarch’s Life of Mark Antony, and a Greek dialogue by Lucian, who wrote during the second century AD, the former was certainly known to the authors of Timon of Athens; the latter influences them directly or indirectly. Plutarch records two epitaphs, one written by Timon himself, which recur, conflated as one epitaph, almost word for word in the play. In Lucian, as in the play, Timon is a misanthrope because his friends flattered and sponged on him in prosperity but abandoned him in poverty. The first part of the play dramatizes this process; in the second part, as in Lucian, Timon finds gold and suddenly becomes attractive again to his old friends. Timon of Athens is an exceptionally schematic play falling into two sharply contrasting parts, the second a kind of mirror image of the first. Many of the characters are presented two-dimensionally, as if the dramatists were more concerned with the play’s pattern of ideas than with psychological realism. The overall tone is harsh and bitter; there are passages of magnificent invective along with brilliant satire, but there is also tenderness in the portrayal of Timon’s servants, especially his ‘one honest man’, Flavius. In the play’s comparatively rare performances some adaptation has usually been found necessary; but the exceptionally long role of Timon offers great opportunities to an actor who can convey his vulnerability as well as his virulence, especially in the strange music of the closing scenes which suggests in him a vision beyond the ordinary.
THE PERSONS OF THE	PLAY

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter the Earl of Kent, the Duke of Gloucester, and Edmund the bastard
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 kingdoms it appears not which of the Dukes he values most; for equalities 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 blushed to acknowledge him that now I am brazed to it.
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, sir, a son by order of law, some year elder than this, who yet is no dearer in my account. Though this knave came something saucily into 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. (To Edmund) Do you know this noble gentleman, Edmund?
EDMUND	No, my lord.
GLOUCESTER	(to Edmund) My lord of Kent. Remember him hereafter as my honourable friend.
EDMUND	(to Kent) My services to your lordship.
KENT	I must love you, and sue to know you better.
EDMUND	Sir, I shall study deserving.
GLOUCESTER	(to Kent) He hath been out nine years, and away he shall again.
(didascalia)	Sound a sennet
GLOUCESTER	The King is coming.
(didascalia)	Enter one bearing a coronet, then King Lear, then the Dukes of Albany and Cornwall; next Gonoril, Regan, Cordelia, with followers
LEAR	Attend my lords of France and Burgundy, Gloucester.
GLOUCESTER	I shall, my liege.
(didascalia)	Exit
LEAR	Meantime we will express our darker purposes. The map there. Know we have divided In three our kingdom, and ’tis our first intent To shake all cares and business off our state, Confirming them on younger years. The two great 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 answered. Tell me, my daughters, Which of you shall we say doth love us most, That we our largest bounty may extend Where merit doth most challenge it? Gonoril, our eldest born, speak first.
GONORIL	Sir, I do love you more than words can wield the matter; Dearer than eyesight, space, or liberty; Beyond what can be valued, rich or rare; No less than life; with grace, health, beauty, honour; As much as child e’er loved, or father, friend; A love that makes breath poor and speech unable. Beyond all manner of so much I love you.
CORDELIA	(aside) What shall Cordelia do? Love and be silent.
LEAR	(to Gonoril) Of all these bounds even from this line to this, With shady forests 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 to Cornwall, speak.
REGAN	Sir, I am made Of the self-same mettle that my sister is, And prize me at her worth. In my true heart I find she names my very deed of love— Only she came 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 richer than my tongue.
LEAR	(to Regan) To thee and thine hereditary ever Remain this ample third of our fair kingdom, No less in space, validity, and pleasure Than that confirmed on Gonoril. (To Cordelia) But now our joy, Although the last, not least in our dear love: What can you say to win a third more opulent Than your sisters?
CORDELIA	Nothing, my lord.
LEAR	How? Nothing can 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, nor more nor less.
LEAR	Go to, go to, mend your speech a little Lest it may mar your fortunes.
CORDELIA	Good my lord, You have begot me, bred me, loved 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 this with thy heart?
CORDELIA	Ay, good my lord.
LEAR	So young and so untender?
CORDELIA	So young, my lord, and true.
LEAR	Well, let it be so. Thy truth then he 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 be as well neighboured, pitied, and relieved As thou, my sometime daughter.
KENT	Good my +liege-
LEAR	Peace, Kent. Come not between the dragon and his wrath. I loved her most, and thought to set my rest
(didascalia)	On her kind nursery. To Cordelia Hence, and avoid
LEAR	my sight!— So be my grave my peace as here I give Her father’s heart from her. Call France. Who stirs? Call Burgundy.
(didascalia)	Exit one or more
LEAR	Cornwall and Albany, With my two daughters’ dowers digest this third. Let pride, which she calls plainness, marry her. I do invest you jointly in 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 sustained, shall our abode Make with you by due turns. Only we still retain The name and all the additions to a king. The sway, revenue, execution of the rest, Beloved sons, be yours; which to confirm, This crownet part betwixt you.
KENT	Royal Lear, Whom I have ever honoured as my king, Loved as my father, as my master followed, 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 wilt 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 stoops to folly. Reverse thy doom, 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 sound Reverbs no hollowness.
LEAR	Kent, on thy life, no more!
KENT	My life I never held but as a pawn To wage against thy enemies, nor 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.
(didascalia)	LEAR making to strike himl
KENT	Vassal, recreant!
KENT	Do, kill thy physician, And the fee bestow upon the foul disease. Revoke thy doom, or whilst I can vent clamour From my throat I’ll tell thee thou dost evil.
LEAR	Hear me; on thy allegiance hear me! Since thou hast sought to make us break our vow, Which we durst never yet, and with strayed pride To come between our sentence and our power, Which nor our nature nor our place can bear, Our potency made good take thy reward: Four days we do allot thee for provision To shield thee from dis-eases of the world, And on the fifth to turn thy hated back Upon our kingdom. If on the next day following Thy banished trunk be found in our dominions, The moment is thy death. Away! By Jupiter, This shall not be revoked.
KENT	Why, fare thee well, King; since thus thou wilt appear, Friendship lives hence, and banishment is here. (To Cordelia) The gods to their protection take thee, maid, That rightly thinks, and hast most justly said. (To Gonoril 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.
(didascalia)	Exit
(didascalia)	Enter the King of France and the Duke of
KENT	Burgundy, with the Duke of Gloucester
GLOUCESTER	Here’s France and Burgundy, my noble lord.
LEAR	My lord of Burgundy, We first address towards you, who with a king Hath rivalled for our daughter: what in the least Will you require in present dower with her Or cease your quest of love?
BURGUNDY	Royal majesty, I crave no more than what your highness offered; 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 fallen. Sir, there she stands. If aught within that little seeming substance, Or all of it, with our displeasure pieced, And nothing else, may fitly like your grace, She’s there, and she is yours.
BURGUNDY	I know no answer.
LEAR	Sir, will you with those infirmities she owes, Unfriended, new-adopted to our hate, Covered with our curse and strangered with our oath, Take her or leave her?
BURGUNDY	Pardon me, royal sir. Election makes not up on 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 To avert your liking a more worthier way Than on a wretch whom nature is ashamed Almost to acknowledge hers.
FRANCE	This is most strange, that she that even but now Was your best object, the argument of your praise, Balm of your age, most best, most 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-vouched affections Fall’n into taint; which to believe of her Must be a faith that reason without miracle Could never plant in me.
CORDELIA	(to Lear) I yet beseech your majestyIf 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 acknow It is no vicious blot, murder, or foulness, No unclean action or dishonoured step That hath deprived me of your grace and favour, But even the want of that for which I am rich— 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	Go to, go to. Better thou hadst not been born than not to have pleased me better.
FRANCE	Is it no more but this—a tardiness in nature, That 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 stands Aloof from the entire point. Will you have her? She is herself a dower.
BURGUNDY	Royal Lear, Give but that portion which yourself proposed, And here I take Cordelia by the hand, Duchess of Burgundy—
LEAR	Nothing. I have sworn.
BURGUNDY	(to Cordelia) 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 loved, despised: 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 inflamed respect.— Thy dowerless daughter, King, thrown to my chance, Is queen of us, of ours, and our fair France. Not all the dukes in wat’rish Burgundy Shall buy this unprized 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 and Burgundy, then
(didascalia)	Albany, Cornwall, Gloucester, Edmund,
LEAR	and followers
FRANCE	(to Cordelia) Bid farewell to your sisters.
CORDELIA	Ye jewels of our father, with washed eyes Cordelia leaves you. I know you what you are, And like a sister am most loath to call Your faults as they are named. Use 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.
GONORIL	Prescribe not us our duties.
REGAN	Let your study Be to content your lord, who hath received you At fortune’s alms. You have obedience scanted, And well are worth the worst that you have wanted.
CORDELIA	Time shall unfold what pleated cunning hides. Who covers faults, at last shame them derides. Well may you prosper.
FRANCE	Come, fair Cordelia.
(didascalia)	Exeunt France and Cordelia
GONORIL	Sister, it is not a 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.
GONORIL	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 gross.
REGAN	’Tis the infirmity of his age; yet he hath ever but slenderly known himself.
GONORIL	The best and soundest of his time hath been but rash; then must we look to receive from his age not alone the imperfection of long-engrafted condition, but therewithal 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.
GONORIL	There is further compliment of leave-taking between France and him. Pray, let’s hit together. If our father carry authority with such dispositions as he bears, this last surrender of his will but offend us.
REGAN	We shall further think on’t.
GONORIL	We must do something, and l’th’ heat. Exeunt

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Entrano il conte di Kent, il duca di Gloucester ed Edmund il bastardo
KENT	Credevo che il Re prediligesse il duca d’Albany più di quel di Cornovaglia.
GLOUCESTER	Così è sempre parso anche a noi; ma ora, nella divisione dei regni, non appare quale dei duchi egli stimi di più; ché le parti sono pesate tanto pari che nessuna curiosità saprebbe scegliere fra l’una e l’altra metà.
KENT	Non è questo vostro figlio, mio signore?
GLOUCESTER	La sua educazione, signore, è stata a mio carico. Ho arrossito tanto spesso nel riconoscerlo che ormai ci ho fatto il callo.
KENT	Non riesco a concepirvi.
GLOUCESTER	Signore, la madre di questo giovanotto seppe concepire, sì che le si arrotondò il ventre ed ebbe invero, signore, un figlio per la culla prima d’avere un marito per il letto. Sentite odore di fallo?
KENT	Non posso desiderare disfatto il fallo, essendone il frutto così ben fatto.
GLOUCESTER	Ma io ho, signore, un figlio per ordine di legge, d’un anno circa maggiore di questo, che tuttavia non m’è più caro. Benché questo furfante sia venuto al mondo un po’ sfacciatamente prima d’esser chiamato, pure sua madre era bella, vi fu buon spasso nel farlo, e il figlio di puttana va riconosciuto. (A Edmund) Conoscete questo nobile gentiluomo, Edmund?
EDMUND	No, mio signore.
GLOUCESTER	(a Edmund) Il mio signore di Kent. Ricordatelo d’ora innanzi come mio onorevole amico.
EDMUND	(a Kent) I miei servigi a vostra signoria.
KENT	Debbo amarvi, e chiedere di conoscervi meglio.
EDMUND	Signore, studierò di meritarlo.
GLOUCESTER	(a Kent) È stato fuori nove anni, e di nuovo se ne andrà.
(didascalia)	Squillo di trombe
GLOUCESTER	Viene il Re.
(didascalia)	Entra uno recando una corona, poi Re Lear, poi i duchi d’Albany e di Cornovaglia; quindi Gonoril, Regan, Cordelia, con seguito
LEAR	Accompagnate i miei signori di Francia e di Borgogna, Gloucester.
GLOUCESTER	Lo farò, mio sire.
(didascalia)	Esce
LEAR	Frattanto esprimeremo i nostri più oscuri intenti. La mappa, qua. Sappiate che abbiamo diviso in tre il nostro regno, ed è nostro primo proposito scuotere dal nostro stato ogni cura e travaglio, affidandoli ad anni più giovani. I due grandi principi, Francia e Borgogna— grandi rivali nell’amore della nostra figlia minore— lungamente hanno fatto nella nostra corte amoroso soggiorno, e qui vanno soddisfatti. Ditemi, figlie mie, quale di voi diremo che più ci ami, perché possiamo estendere la nostra più larga munificenza là dove il merito più la reclama? Gonoril, nostra primogenita, parla per prima.
GONORIL	Signore, io vi amo più di quanto le parole possano reggere la materia; più caro della vista, dello spazio, della libertà; oltre ciò che si può stimare, ricco o raro; non meno della vita; con grazia, salute, bellezza, onore; quanto mai figlio amò, o padre, o amico; un amore che fa povero il fiato e muta la parola. Oltre ogni misura di tanto io vi amo.
CORDELIA	(a parte) Che farà Cordelia? Amare e tacere.
LEAR	(a Gonoril) Di tutti questi confini, da questa linea a questa, con ombrose foreste e ampi prati distesi, ti facciamo signora. Alla tua discendenza e a quella d’Albany sia ciò perpetuo.—Che dice la nostra seconda figlia? La nostra carissima Regan, moglie a Cornovaglia, parli.
REGAN	Signore, io son fatta della stessa tempra di cui è mia sorella, e mi stimo al suo prezzo. Nel mio cuore verace trovo ch’ella nomina il mio stesso atto d’amore— solo che restò corta, ché io mi professo nemica d’ogni altra gioia che il più prezioso quadrante dei sensi possieda, e trovo ch’io son solo allora felice nell’amore di vostra cara altezza.
CORDELIA	(a parte) E allora povera Cordelia— eppure no, ché son certa che il mio amore è più ricco della mia lingua.
LEAR	(a Regan) A te e ai tuoi in eredità per sempre rimanga quest’ampio terzo del nostro bel regno, non minore per spazio, valore e diletto di quello confermato a Gonoril. (A Cordelia) Ma ora, gioia nostra, benché ultima, non ultima nel nostro caro amore: che sai dire per guadagnarti un terzo più opulento di quello delle tue sorelle?
CORDELIA	Nulla, mio signore.
LEAR	Come? Nulla può venire da nulla. Parla di nuovo.
CORDELIA	Infelice qual sono, non so sollevare il mio cuore fino alla bocca. Amo vostra maestà secondo il mio vincolo, né più né meno.
LEAR	Suvvia, suvvia, correggi un poco il tuo dire ché non guasti le tue fortune.
CORDELIA	Mio buon signore, voi m’avete generata, allevata, amata. Io vi rendo quei doveri che son giusti e convenienti— obbedirvi, amarvi, e sommamente onorarvi. Perché hanno mariti le mie sorelle, se dicono di amar voi tutto? Forse, quando sposerò quel signore la cui mano prenderà la mia fede, egli porterà metà del mio amore con sé, metà della mia cura e del mio dovere. Certo, non mi sposerò mai come le mie sorelle, per amare tutto mio padre.
LEAR	Ma va questo col tuo cuore?
CORDELIA	Sì, mio buon signore.
LEAR	Così giovane e così poco tenera?
CORDELIA	Così giovane, mio signore, e verace.
LEAR	Bene, sia così. La tua verità sia dunque la tua dote; ché per il sacro splendore del sole, per i misteri di Ecate e della notte, per tutte le operazioni degli astri da cui traiamo l’essere e cessiamo d’essere, qui io rinnego ogni mia cura paterna, propinquità e proprietà di sangue, e come straniera al mio cuore e a me ti tengo da quest’ora per sempre. Il barbaro Scita, o colui che fa della sua prole vivande per satollare il suo appetito, sarà altrettanto bene vicino, compianto e soccorso quanto te, un tempo mia figlia.
KENT	Mio buon +sire-
LEAR	Taci, Kent. Non t’interporre fra il drago e la sua ira. L’amavo sopra tutte, e pensavo di riporre il mio riposo
(didascalia)	nelle sue tenere cure. A Cordelia Via, e fuggi
LEAR	la mia vista!— Così mi sia la tomba pace, come qui io tolgo a lei il cuore di suo padre. Chiamate Francia. Chi si muove? Chiamate Borgogna.
(didascalia)	Esce uno o più
LEAR	Cornovaglia e Albany, con le doti delle mie due figlie digerite questo terzo. Che l’orgoglio, ch’ella chiama schiettezza, la sposi. Io v’investo congiuntamente del mio potere, della preminenza e di tutti i larghi effetti che fanno corteo alla maestà. Noi stessi, di mese in mese, con riserva di cento cavalieri da voi mantenuti, faremo dimora presso di voi a debiti turni. Solo ancora riteniamo il nome e tutti gli attributi d’un re. Il governo, le rendite, l’esercizio del resto, diletti figli, siano vostri; e a conferma di ciò, dividetevi fra voi questa coroncina.
KENT	Regale Lear, che ho sempre onorato come mio re, amato come mio padre, seguito come mio signore, ricordato nelle mie preghiere come mio gran patrono—
LEAR	L’arco è teso e tirato; scansati dal dardo.
KENT	Cada piuttosto, foss’anche la cocca a invadere la regione del mio cuore. Sia Kent scortese quando Lear è folle. Che vuoi fare, vecchio? Credi tu che il dovere avrà timore di parlare quando il potere s’inchina all’adulazione? Alla schiettezza l’onore è tenuto quando la maestà si piega alla follia. Revoca la tua sentenza, e nel tuo miglior giudizio frena questa orrenda avventatezza. Risponda la mia vita del mio giudizio: la tua figlia minore non ti ama di meno, né son di cuore vuoto coloro il cui suono basso non rimbomba di vacuità.
LEAR	Kent, sulla tua vita, non più!
KENT	La mia vita non tenni mai che come pegno da giocare contro i tuoi nemici, né temo di perderla, essendone movente la tua salvezza.
LEAR	Fuori dalla mia vista!
KENT	Vedi meglio, Lear, e lascia ch’io rimanga il vero bersaglio del tuo occhio.
LEAR	Ora, per Apollo-
KENT	Ora, per Apollo, Re, invano giuri per i tuoi dèi.
(didascalia)	LEAR facendo per colpirlol
KENT	Vassallo, rinnegato!
KENT	Fallo, uccidi il tuo medico, e l’onorario dona al morbo immondo. Revoca la tua sentenza, o finché potrò cavar clamore dalla mia gola ti dirò che fai il male.
LEAR	Ascoltami; per la tua fedeltà, ascoltami! Poiché hai cercato di farci rompere il voto, che mai ancora osammo, e con orgoglio traviato d’interporti fra la nostra sentenza e il nostro potere, ciò che né la nostra natura né il nostro rango può sopportare, fatta buona la nostra potenza, prenditi il tuo premio: quattro giorni ti concediamo per provvederti a schermirti dai dis-agi del mondo, e al quinto per volgere il tuo odiato dorso al nostro regno. Se il giorno appresso il tuo tronco bandito sarà trovato nei nostri domini, quell’istante è la tua morte. Via! Per Giove, questo non sarà revocato.
KENT	Ebbene, che tu stia bene, Re; poiché così vuoi apparire, l’amicizia vive lontano di qui, e qui è l’esilio. (A Cordelia) Gli dèi ti prendano nella loro protezione, fanciulla, che rettamente pensi, e giustissimamente hai parlato. (A Gonoril e a Regan) E i vostri ampi discorsi le vostre opere confermino, sì che buoni effetti possano sbocciare da parole d’amore. Così Kent, o principi, a tutti voi dice addio; il suo vecchio corso egli terrà in un nuovo paese.
(didascalia)	Esce
(didascalia)	Entrano il re di Francia e il duca di
KENT	Borgogna, col duca di Gloucester
GLOUCESTER	Ecco Francia e Borgogna, mio nobile signore.
LEAR	Mio signore di Borgogna, a voi per primo ci rivolgiamo, che con un re avete gareggiato per nostra figlia: che chiederete al minimo in dote presente con lei, o cesserete la vostra ricerca d’amore?
BORGOGNA	Regale maestà, non bramo più di quanto vostra altezza offerse; né voi offrirete meno.
LEAR	Nobilissimo Borgogna, quando ci era cara la tenevamo tale; ma ora il suo prezzo è caduto. Signore, eccola là. Se qualcosa in quella piccola apparente sostanza, o tutta quanta, accresciuta del nostro disfavore, e nient’altro, può convenire a vostra grazia, eccola là, ed è vostra.
BORGOGNA	Non so che rispondere.
LEAR	Signore, con quelle infermità ch’ella possiede, senza amici, nuovamente adottata dal nostro odio, coperta dalla nostra maledizione e fatta straniera dal nostro giuramento, la prendete o la lasciate?
BORGOGNA	Perdonatemi, regale signore. La scelta non si compie a tali condizioni.
LEAR	Allora lasciatela, signore; ché per la potenza che mi fece, vi dico tutta la sua ricchezza. (A Francia) Quanto a voi, gran Re, non vorrei dal vostro amore fare tale sviamento da unirvi dove io odio; perciò vi scongiuro di volgere il vostro favore a via più degna che a una miserabile di cui la natura si vergogna quasi di riconoscerla sua.
FRANCIA	Questo è stranissimo: che colei che pur ora era il vostro miglior oggetto, l’argomento della vostra lode, balsamo della vostra vecchiaia, la migliore, la più cara, debba in questo attimo di tempo commettere cosa tanto mostruosa da smantellare tante pieghe di favore. Certo, la sua offesa dev’essere di grado così innaturale da renderla mostruosa, oppure i vostri affetti prima giurati son caduti in corruzione; il che credere di lei sarebbe una fede che la ragione senza miracolo non potrebbe mai piantare in me.
CORDELIA	(a Lear) Ancora supplico vostra maestàSe perché mi manca quell’arte facile e untuosa di parlare senza intendere—giacché ciò che bene intendo, lo farò prima di dirlo—che vogliate riconoscere che non è vizioso marchio, omicidio o turpitudine, non atto impuro o passo disonorato che m’ha privata della vostra grazia e del vostro favore, ma proprio la mancanza di ciò per cui son ricca— un occhio sempre supplice, e una lingua tale ch’io son lieta di non avere, benché il non averla m’abbia perduta nel vostro favore.
LEAR	Suvvia, suvvia. Meglio per te non esser nata, che non avermi meglio compiaciuto.
FRANCIA	Non è altro che questo—una lentezza nella natura, che spesso lascia non detta la storia di ciò che intende fare?—Mio signore di Borgogna, che dite della dama? Amore non è amore quando è mescolato con riguardi che stanno lontani dal punto intero. La volete? Ella è di per sé una dote.
BORGOGNA	Regale Lear, date solo quella porzione che voi stesso proponeste, e qui prendo Cordelia per mano, duchessa di Borgogna—
LEAR	Nulla. L’ho giurato.
BORGOGNA	(a Cordelia) Mi dispiace, allora, che abbiate perduto un padre tanto da dover perdere un marito.
CORDELIA	Pace sia con Borgogna; poiché i riguardi della fortuna sono il suo amore, non sarò sua moglie.
FRANCIA	Bellissima Cordelia, che sei ricchissima essendo povera; elettissima, abbandonata; e amatissima, disprezzata: te e le tue virtù qui io afferro. Mi sia lecito: raccolgo ciò che è gettato via. Dèi, dèi! È strano che dal loro più freddo disprezzo il mio amore s’accenda in infiammato riguardo.— La tua figlia senza dote, Re, gettata alla mia sorte, è regina di noi, dei nostri, e della nostra bella Francia. Non tutti i duchi dell’acquosa Borgogna potranno comprarmi questa spregiata preziosa fanciulla.— Di’ loro addio, Cordelia, benché scortesi. Qui tu perdi, per trovare un dove migliore.
LEAR	Tu l’hai, Francia. Sia tua, ché noi non abbiamo tal figlia, né più vedremo quel suo volto. Perciò andatevene, senza la nostra grazia, il nostro amore, la nostra benedizione.— Venite, nobile Borgogna. [Squilli.! Escono Lear e Borgogna, poi
(didascalia)	Albany, Cornovaglia, Gloucester, Edmund,
LEAR	e il seguito
FRANCIA	(a Cordelia) Di’ addio alle tue sorelle.
CORDELIA	Voi gioielli di nostro padre, con occhi lavati Cordelia vi lascia. So bene che cosa siete, e come sorella assai mi ripugna chiamare le vostre colpe col loro nome. Trattate bene nostro padre. Ai vostri seni professati lo affido. Ma pure, ahimè, se fossi nella sua grazia lo vorrei in luogo migliore. Così addio a voi entrambe.
GONORIL	Non prescriverci i nostri doveri.
REGAN	Sia tuo studio contentare il tuo signore, che t’ha ricevuta per elemosina della fortuna. Hai lesinato obbedienza, e ben meriti il peggio di ciò che t’è mancato.
CORDELIA	Il tempo svelerà ciò che l’astuzia pieghettata nasconde. Chi copre le colpe, alfine la vergogna le deride. Possiate prosperare bene.
FRANCIA	Venite, bella Cordelia.
(didascalia)	Escono Francia e Cordelia
GONORIL	Sorella, non è poco quel che ho da dire di ciò che più da vicino tocca noi due. Credo che nostro padre partirà di qui stanotte.
REGAN	È certissimo, e con te. Il mese prossimo con noi.
GONORIL	Vedi quanto sia piena di mutamenti la sua vecchiaia. L’osservazione che ne abbiamo fatta non è stata piccola. Ha sempre amato più di tutte nostra sorella, e con che povero giudizio ora l’abbia respinta appare troppo grossolano.
REGAN	È l’infermità della sua età; eppure non ha mai conosciuto se stesso che scarsamente.
GONORIL	Il meglio e il più sano del suo tempo non fu che avventato; dobbiamo dunque aspettarci di ricevere dalla sua vecchiaia non soltanto l’imperfezione d’un carattere lungamente innestato, ma per giunta quell’indocile bizzarria che gli anni infermi e collerici portano con sé.
REGAN	Tali scatti incostanti dobbiamo attenderci da lui, come questo del bando di Kent.
GONORIL	Vi sono altri convenevoli di congedo fra Francia e lui. Ti prego, andiamo d’accordo. Se nostro padre porta autorità con le disposizioni che ha, quest’ultima sua rinuncia non farà che offenderci.
REGAN	Ci penseremo ancora.
GONORIL	Dobbiamo far qualcosa, e a caldo. Escono

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter Edmund the bastard
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, base bastardy’, Who in the lusty stealth of nature take More composition and fierce quality Than doth within a stale, dull-eyed bed go To the creating a whole tribe of fops Got ’tween a sleep and wake? Well then, Legitimate Edgar, I must have your land. Our father’s love is to the bastard Edmund As to the legitimate. Well, my legitimate, if This letter speed and my invention thrive, Edmund the base shall to th’ legitimate. I grow, I prosper. Now gods, stand up for bastards!
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke of Gloucester. Edmund reads a letter
GLOUCESTER	Kent banished thus, and France in choler parted, And the King gone tonight, subscribed his power, Confined to exhibition—all this done Upon the gad?—Edmund, how now? What news?
EDMUND	So please your lordship, none.
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 needs 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; for so much as I have perused, I find it not fit for your liking.
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 assay or taste of my virtue. He gives Gloucester a letter
GLOUCESTER	(reads) ‘This policy 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! ‘Slept till I waked 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	Hath he never heretofore sounded you in this business? 70
EDMUND	Never, my lord; but I have often heard him maintain it to be fit that, sons at perfect age and fathers declining, his father should be as ward to the son, and the son manage the revenue.
GLOUCESTER	O villain, villain—his very opinion in the tetter! Abhorred villain, unnatural, detested, brutish villain—worse than brutish! Go, sir, seek him, ay, 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 this 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 he hath wrote this to feel my affection to your honour, and to no further 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 pilot, 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 your business after your own wisdom. I would unstate myself to be in a due resolution.
EDMUND	I shall seek him, sir, presently, convey the business as I shall see 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 thus and thus, yet nature finds itself scourged by the sequent effects. Love cools, friendship falls off, brothers divide; in cities mutinies, in countries discords, palaces treason, the bond cracked between son and father. 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 treacherers 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 stars! 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 of the firmament twinkled on my bastardy. Edgar …
(didascalia)	Enter Edgar
EDMUND	and on’s cue out he comes, like the catastrophe of the old comedy; mine is villainous melancholy, with a sigh like them of Bedlam.—O, these eclipses do portend these divisions.
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 about that?
EDMUND	I promise you, the effects he writ 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	Why, the night gone by.
EDMUND	Spake you with him?
EDGAR	Two hours together.
EDMUND	Parted you in good terms? Found you no displeasure in him by word or countenance?
EDGAR	None at all.
EDMUND	Bethink yourself wherein you may have offended him, and at my entreaty forbear his presence till 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 scarce allay.
EDGAR	Some villain hath done me wrong.
EDMUND	That’s my fear, brother. I advise you to the best. Go armed. I am no honest man if there be any good meaning towards 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.
(didascalia)	Exit Edgar
EDMUND	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.
(didascalia)	Exit

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Entra Edmund il bastardo
EDMUND	Tu, natura, sei la mia dea. Alla tua legge son vincolati i miei servigi. Perché dovrei stare nella peste del costume e permettere che la curiosità delle nazioni mi privi solo perché son di dodici o quattordici lune più tardo d’un fratello? Perché «bastardo»? Perché «vile», quando le mie membra son bene compatte, la mia mente altrettanto generosa, e la mia forma altrettanto vera quanto la prole d’un’onesta madama? Perché ci marchiano con «vile, vile bastardaggine», noi che nel vigoroso furto della natura prendiamo più tempra e fiera qualità di quanta, dentro un letto stantio e dagli occhi spenti, ne vada a creare un’intera tribù di zerbinotti generati fra un sonno e una veglia? Bene, dunque, legittimo Edgar, io debbo avere la tua terra. L’amore di nostro padre è per il bastardo Edmund quanto per il legittimo. Bene, mio legittimo, se questa lettera riesce e la mia invenzione prospera, Edmund il vile s’alzerà sul legittimo. Io cresco, io prospero. Ora, dèi, sostenete i bastardi!
(didascalia)	Entra il duca di Gloucester. Edmund legge una lettera
GLOUCESTER	Kent così bandito, e Francia partito in collera, e il Re andato via stanotte, ceduto il suo potere, ridotto a un vitalizio—tutto questo fatto su due piedi?—Edmund, che c’è? Che nuove?
EDMUND	Con licenza di vostra signoria, nessuna.
GLOUCESTER	Perché cercate con tanto zelo di riporre quella lettera?
EDMUND	Non so nuove, mio signore.
GLOUCESTER	Che foglio stavate leggendo?
EDMUND	Nulla., mio signore.
GLOUCESTER	No? E che bisogno c’era, allora, di quel terribile spaccio nella vostra tasca? La qualità del nulla non ha tanto bisogno di nascondersi. Vediamo. Su, se è nulla non avrò bisogno d’occhiali.
EDMUND	Vi supplico, signore, perdonatemi. È una lettera di mio fratello che non ho ancora letta tutta; per quanto ne ho scorso, la trovo non adatta al vostro gradimento.
GLOUCESTER	Datemi la lettera, signore.
EDMUND	Offenderò sia a trattenerla sia a darla. Il contenuto, per quanto in parte lo intendo, è biasimevole.
GLOUCESTER	Vediamo, vediamo.
EDMUND	Spero, a giustificazione di mio fratello, ch’egli l’abbia scritta solo come saggio o assaggio della mia virtù. Dà a Gloucester una lettera
GLOUCESTER	(legge) «Questa politica dell’età rende il mondo amaro al meglio dei nostri anni, ci tiene lontane le nostre fortune finché la nostra vecchiaia non può più gustarle. Comincio a trovare una schiavitù oziosa e sciocca nell’oppressione della tirannia senile, che regna non perché ne abbia il potere, ma perché è sopportata. Vieni da me, che di questo io possa parlare di più. Se nostro padre volesse dormire finché io non lo svegliassi, tu godresti per sempre metà delle sue rendite e vivresti amato da tuo fratello, Edgar.» Uhm, congiura! «Dormisse finché io non lo svegliassi, tu godresti metà delle sue rendite»—mio figlio Edgar! Ebbe una mano per scrivere questo, un cuore e un cervello per covarlo? Quando vi è giunta? Chi l’ha portata?
EDMUND	Non mi è stata portata, mio signore: qui sta l’astuzia. L’ho trovata gettata dentro dalla finestra del mio stanzino.
GLOUCESTER	Riconoscete la scrittura come quella di vostro fratello?
EDMUND	Se la materia fosse buona, mio signore, oserei giurare che è sua; ma considerato ciò che dice, vorrei volentieri pensare che non lo sia.
GLOUCESTER	È sua.
EDMUND	È la sua mano, mio signore, ma spero che il suo cuore non sia nel contenuto.
GLOUCESTER	Non vi ha egli mai sondato prima d’ora in questa faccenda? 70
EDMUND	Mai, mio signore; ma l’ho udito spesso sostenere che sarebbe giusto che, essendo i figli in età perfetta e i padri in declino, il padre fosse come pupillo del figlio, e il figlio amministrasse le rendite.
GLOUCESTER	O scellerato, scellerato—la sua stessa opinione nella tettera! Aborrito scellerato, snaturato, detestato, bestiale scellerato—peggio che bestiale! Va’, signore, cercalo, sì, arrestalo. Abominevole scellerato! Dov’è?
EDMUND	Non lo so bene, mio signore. Se vi piacesse sospendere la vostra indignazione contro mio fratello finché non possiate ricavare da lui migliore testimonianza di questo intento, seguireste una via sicura; laddove, se procedete violentemente contro di lui fraintendendo il suo scopo, ciò farebbe un gran varco nel vostro stesso onore e scuoterebbe in pezzi il cuore della sua obbedienza. Oso impegnare la mia vita per lui, che ha scritto questo per saggiare il mio affetto verso il vostro onore, e senza alcun altro disegno di pericolo.
GLOUCESTER	Lo credete?
EDMUND	Se il vostro onore lo giudica opportuno, vi collocherò dove ci udrete conferire di questo, e con auricolare certezza avrete la vostra soddisfazione, e ciò senza altro indugio che questa sera stessa.
GLOUCESTER	Non può essere un tale mostro.
EDMUND	Né è pilota, di certo.
GLOUCESTER	Verso suo padre, che con tanta tenerezza e tanto interamente l’ama—cielo e terra! Edmund, cercalo, insinuami dentro di lui col vento. Ti prego, conduci l’affare secondo la tua propria saggezza. Mi spoglierei del mio stato per essere in una debita certezza.
EDMUND	Lo cercherò, signore, subito, condurrò l’affare come vedrò modo, e ve ne renderò conto.
GLOUCESTER	Queste recenti eclissi del sole e della luna non ci presagiscono nulla di buono. Benché la saggezza della natura possa ragionare così e così, pure la natura si trova flagellata dagli effetti che ne seguono. L’amore si raffredda, l’amicizia vien meno, i fratelli si dividono; nelle città ammutinamenti, nelle campagne discordie, nei palazzi tradimenti, e spezzato il vincolo fra figlio e padre. Scova questo scellerato, Edmund; non ti costerà nulla. Fallo con cura. E il nobile e sincero Kent bandito, e la sua colpa l’onestà! Strano, strano! Esce
EDMUND	Questa è l’eccellente scempiaggine del mondo: che quando siamo malati di fortuna—spesso per l’indigestione della nostra propria condotta—facciamo colpevoli dei nostri disastri il sole, la luna e le stelle, come se fossimo scellerati per necessità, sciocchi per celeste costrizione, furfanti, ladri e traditori per predominio delle sfere, ubriaconi, bugiardi e adulteri per un’obbedienza forzata all’influsso dei pianeti, e tutto ciò in cui siamo malvagi per una divina spinta. Ammirevole scappatoia dell’uomo puttaniere, addossare la sua caprigna disposizione alle stelle! Mio padre s’accoppiò con mia madre sotto la coda del Dragone e la mia natività fu sotto l’Orsa Maggiore, sicché ne segue ch’io son rozzo e lascivo. Puah! Sarei stato quel che sono anche se la stella più verginale del firmamento avesse ammiccato sulla mia bastardaggine. Edgar…
(didascalia)	Entra Edgar
EDMUND	ed eccolo uscire sulla sua battuta, come la catastrofe della vecchia commedia; la mia è una scellerata malinconia, con un sospiro come quelli di Bedlam.—Oh, queste eclissi presagiscono davvero tali divisioni.
EDGAR	Ebbene, fratello Edmund, in che seria contemplazione siete?
EDMUND	Sto pensando, fratello, a una predizione che lessi l’altro giorno, su ciò che dovrebbe seguire a queste eclissi.
EDGAR	Vi occupate di questo?
EDMUND	Vi assicuro che gli effetti di cui egli scrisse seguono infelicemente: come snaturatezza fra il figlio e il genitore, morte, carestia, dissoluzioni d’antiche amicizie, divisioni nello stato, minacce e maledizioni contro re e nobili, diffidenze senza motivo, bando d’amici, dissipazione di coorti, rotture nuziali, e non so che altro.
EDGAR	Da quanto tempo siete un settario dell’astronomia?
EDMUND	Suvvia, suvvia, quando vedeste mio padre l’ultima volta?
EDGAR	Ma, la notte scorsa.
EDMUND	Parlaste con lui?
EDGAR	Per due ore di seguito.
EDMUND	Vi separaste in buoni termini? Non trovaste in lui alcun malcontento nelle parole o nel volto?
EDGAR	Nessuno affatto.
EDMUND	Ripensate in che possiate averlo offeso, e su mia preghiera evitate la sua presenza finché un po’ di tempo non abbia temperato l’ardore del suo malcontento, che in questo istante infuria tanto in lui che a stento si placherebbe col danno della vostra persona.
EDGAR	Qualche scellerato m’ha fatto torto.
EDMUND	È questo il mio timore, fratello. Vi consiglio per il meglio. Andate armato. Non sono uomo onesto se v’è alcuna buona intenzione verso di voi. Vi ho detto ciò che ho visto e udito solo fiaccamente, nulla di simile all’immagine e all’orrore della cosa. Vi prego, andate.
EDGAR	Avrò presto vostre nuove?
EDMUND	Vi servo in questa faccenda.
(didascalia)	Esce Edgar
EDMUND	Un padre credulo, e un fratello nobile, la cui natura è tanto lontana dal far male ch’egli non ne sospetta in nessuno; sulla cui sciocca onestà le mie pratiche cavalcano agevoli. Vedo l’affare. Ch’io abbia terre, se non per nascita, per ingegno. Tutto m’è acconcio ciò che so foggiare adatto.
(didascalia)	Esce

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter Gonoril and Oswald, her gentleman
GONORIL	Did my father strike my gentleman For chiding of his fool?
OSWALD	Yes, madam.
GONORIL	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.
(didascalia)	Hunting horns within
OSWALD	He’s coming, madam. I hear him.
GONORIL	Put on what weary negligence you please, You and your fellow servants. I’d have it come in question. If he dislike 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 used With checks as flatteries, when they are seen abused. Remember what I tell you.
OSWALD	Very well, madam.
GONORIL	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. Go prepare for dinner.
(didascalia)	Exeunt severally

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Entrano Gonoril e Oswald, suo gentiluomo
GONORIL	Ha percosso mio padre il mio gentiluomo per aver sgridato il suo Matto?
OSWALD	Sì, madama.
GONORIL	Di giorno e di notte mi fa torto. Ogni ora prorompe in un grossolano misfatto o in un altro che ci mette tutti in urto. Non lo sopporterò. I suoi cavalieri si fanno turbolenti, ed egli stesso ci rimprovera per ogni inezia. Quando torna dalla caccia non gli parlerò. Dite che son malata. Se sarete fiacchi nei servigi di prima farete bene; della colpa risponderò io.
(didascalia)	Corni da caccia all’interno
OSWALD	Sta venendo, madama. Lo sento.
GONORIL	Assumete quella stanca negligenza che vi piace, voi e i vostri compagni servi. Vorrei che la cosa venisse in questione. Se non gli garba, se ne vada da nostra sorella, la cui mente e la mia in ciò so essere una sola, e non vuole esser dominata. Vecchio ozioso, che ancora vorrebbe amministrare quelle autorità che ha dato via! Ora, sulla mia vita, i vecchi folli son di nuovo bambini, e vanno trattati con rimproveri più che con lusinghe, quando li si vede abusare. Ricordate quel che vi dico.
OSWALD	Molto bene, madama.
GONORIL	E i suoi cavalieri abbiano fra voi sguardi più freddi. Che ne nasca, non importa. Avvertitene i vostri compagni. Vorrei di qui far germogliare occasioni, e lo farò, per poter parlare. Scriverò subito a mia sorella perché tenga il mio stesso corso. Andate a preparare il pranzo.
(didascalia)	Escono separatamente

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter the Earl of Kent, disguised
KENT	If but as well I other accents borrow That can my speech diffuse, my good intent May carry through itself to that full issue For which I razed my likeness. Now, banished Kent, If thou canst serve where thou dost stand condemned, Thy master, whom thou lov’st, shall find thee full of labour.
(didascalia)	Enter King Lear and servants from hunting
LEAR	Let me not stay a jot for dinner. Go get it ready.
(didascalia)	Exit one
LEAR	(To Kent) 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 as poor for a subject as he is for a king, thou’rt 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 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 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.
(didascalia)	Exit one
(didascalia)	Enter Oswald the steward
LEAR	You, sirrah, where’s my daughter?
OSWALD	So please you—
(didascalia)	Exit
LEAR	What says the fellow there? Call the clotpoll back.
(didascalia)	Exeunt Servant and Kent
LEAR	Where’s my fool? Ho, I think the world’s asleep.
(didascalia)	Enter the Earl of Kent and a Servant
LEAR	How now, where’s that mongrel?
KENT	He says, my lord, your daughter is not well.
LEAR	Why came not the slave back to me when I called him?
SERVANT	Sir, he answered me in the roundest manner he would not.
LEAR	A would not?
SERVANT	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 appears as well in the general dependants as in the Duke himself also, and your daughter.
LEAR	Ha, sayst thou so?
SERVANT	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 purport of unkindness. I will look further into’t. But where’s this fool? I have not seen him these two days.
SERVANT	Since my young lady’s going into France, sir, the fool hath much pined away.
(didascalia)	LEAR No more of that, I have noted it. Go you and tell my daughter I would speak with her. Exit one Go you, call hither my fool. Exit one
(didascalia)	Enter Oswald the steward crossing the stage
SERVANT	O you, sir, you, sir, come you hither. 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 this, my lord, I beseech you pardon me.
LEAR	Do you bandy looks with me, you rascal?
(didascalia)	Lear strikes him
OSWALD	I’ll not be struck, my lord—
KENT	(tripping him) Nor tripped neither, you base football player.
LEAR	(to Kent) I thank thee, fellow. Thou serv’st me, and I’ll love thee.
KENT	(to Oswald) Come, sir, I’ll teach you differences. Away, away. If you will measure your lubber’s length again, tarry; but away if you have wisdom.
(didascalia)	Exit Oswald
LEAR	Now, friendly knave, I thank thee.
(didascalia)	Enter Lear’s Fool
LEAR	There’s earnest of thy service. He gives Kent money
FOOL	Let me hire him, too. (To Kent) Here’s my coxcomb.
LEAR	How now, my pretty knave, how dost thou?
FOOL	(to Kent) 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 hath banished two on’s daughters and done the third a blessing against his will. If thou follow him, thou must needs wear my coxcomb. (To Lear) How now, nuncle? Would I had two coxcombs and two daughters.
LEAR	Why, my boy?
FOOL	If I gave them my living I’d keep my coxcombs myself. There’s mine; beg another off thy daughters.
LEAR	Take heed, sirrah—the whip.
FOOL	Truth is a dog that must to kennel. He must be whipped out when Lady the brach may stand by the fire and stink.
LEAR	A pestilent gall to me!
(didascalia)	FOOL to Kent Sirrah, I’ll teach thee a speech.
LEAR	Do.
FOOL	Mark it, uncle. 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.
LEAR	This is nothing, fool.
FOOL	Then, like the breath of an unfee’d lawyer, you gave me nothing for’t. Can you make no use of nothing, uncle?
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. 130
LEAR	A bitter fool.
FOOL	Dost know the difference, my boy, between a bitter fool and a sweet fool?
LEAR	No, lad. Teach me.
(didascalia)	FOOL sings
LEAR	That lord that counselled 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	(to Lear) 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. Give me an egg, nuncle, and I’ll give thee two crowns.
LEAR	What two crowns shall they be?
FOOL	Why, after I have cut the egg in the middle and eat up the meat, the two crowns of the egg. When thou clovest thy crown i‘th’ middle and gavest away both parts, thou borest thy ass o’th’ back o’er the dirt. Thou hadst little wit in thy bald crown when thou gavest thy golden one away. If I speak like myself in this, let him be whipped that first finds it so.
(didascalia)	Sings
FOOL	Fools had ne’er less wit in a year, For wise men are grown foppish. They know not how their wits do wear, Their manners are so apish.
LEAR	When were you wont to be so full of songs, sirrah?
FOOL	I have used it, nuncle, ever since thou madest thy daughters thy mother; for when thou gavest them the rod and puttest down thine own breeches,
(didascalia)	Sings
FOOL	Then they for sudden joy did weep, And I for sorrow sung, That such a king should play bo-peep And go the fools among. Prithee, nuncle, keep a schoolmaster that can teach thy fool to lie. I would fain learn to lie.
LEAR	An you lie, we’ll have you whipped.
FOOL	I marvel what kin thou and thy daughters are. They’ll have me whipped for speaking true, thou wilt have me whipped for lying, and sometime I am whipped 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.
(didascalia)	Enter Gonoril
FOOL	Here comes one of the parings.
LEAR	How now, daughter, what makes that frontlet on? Methinks you are too much o’ late i’th’ frown.
(didascalia)	FOOL Thou wast a pretty fellow when thou hadst no need to care for her frown. Now thou art an O without a figure. I am better than thou art, now. I am a fool; thou art nothing. To Gonoril Yes, forsooth, I will hold my tongue; so your face bids me, though you say nothing.
(didascalia)	Sings
LEAR	Mum, mum. He that keeps neither crust nor crumb, Weary of all, shall want some. That’s a shelled peascod.
GONORIL	(to Lear) Not only, sir, this your all-licensed fool, But other of your insolent retinue Do hourly carp and quarrel, breaking forth In rank and not-to-be-endured riots. Sir, I had thought by making this well known unto you To have found a safe redress, but now grow fearful, By what yourself too late have spoke and done, That you protect this course, and put it on By your allowance; which if you should, the fault Would not scape censure, nor the redress sleep Which in the tender of a wholesome weal Might in their working do you that offence, That else were shame, that then necessity Must call discreet proceedings.
FOOL	(to Lear) For, you trow, nuncle,
(didascalia)	Sings
FOOL	The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long That it had it head bit off by it young; so out went the candle, and we were left darkling.
LEAR	(to Gonoril) Are you our daughter?
GONORIL	Come, sir, I would you would make use of that good wisdom Whereof I know you are fraught, and put away These dispositions that of late transform you From what you rightly are.
(didascalia)	FOOL May not an ass know when the cart draws the horse? Sings ‘Whoop, jug, I love thee!’
LEAR	Doth any here know me? Why, this is not Lear. Doth 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 it that can tell me who I am? Lear’s shadow? I would learn that, for by the marks Of sovereignty, knowledge, and reason I should be false persuaded I had daughters.
FOOL	Which they will make an obedient father.
LEAR	(to Gonoril) Your name, fair gentlewoman?
GONORIL	Come, sir, This admiration is much of the savour Of other your new pranks. I do beseech you Understand my purposes aright, As you are old and reverend, should be wise. Here do you keep a hundred knights and squires, Men so disordered, so debauched and bold That this our court, infected with their manners, Shows like a riotous inn, epicurism And lust make more like to a tavern, or brothel, Than a great palace. The shame itself doth speak For instant remedy. Be thou desired, 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, That know themselves and you.
LEAR	Darkness and devils! Saddle my horses, call my train together!—
(didascalia)	Exit one or more
LEAR	Degenerate bastard, I’ll not trouble thee. Yet have I left a daughter.
GONORIL	You strike my people, and your disordered rabble Make servants of their betters.
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke of Albany
LEAR	We that too late repent‘s—O sir, are you come? Is it your will that we—prepare my horses.
(didascalia)	Exit one or more
LEAR	Ingratitude, thou marble-hearted fiend, More hideous when thou show’st thee in a child Than the sea-monster—(to Gonoril) 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 didst thou in Cordelia show, That, like an engine, wrenched my frame of nature From the fixed place, drew from my heart all love, And added to the gall! O Lear, Lear! Beat at this gate that let thy folly in And thy dear judgement out.—Go, go, my people!
ALBANY	My lord, I am guiltless as I am ignorant.
LEAR	It may be so, my lord. Hark, nature, hear: Dear goddess, suspend thy purpose if Thou didst 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 disnatured 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— That she may feel How sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is To have a thankless child.—Go, go, my people!
(didascalia)	Exeunt Lear, Kent, Fool, and servants
ALBANY	Now, gods that we adore, whereof comes this?
GONORIL	Never afflict yourself to know the cause, But let his disposition have that scope That dotage gives it.
(didascalia)	Enter King Lear and his Fool
LEAR	What, fifty of my followers at a clap?
(didascalia)	Within a fortnight?
ALBANY	What is the matter, sir?
LEAR	I’ll tell thee. (To Gonoril) Life and death! I am ashamed That thou hast power to shake my manhood thus, That these hot tears, that break from me perforce And should make thee—worst blasts and fogs upon thee! 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 make, To temper clay. Yea, Is’t come to this? Yet have I left a daughter Whom, I am sure, is kind and comfortable. When she shall hear this of thee, with her nails She’ll flay thy wolvish visage. Thou shalt find That I’ll resume the shape which thou dost think I have cast off for ever; thou shalt, I warrant thee.
(didascalia)	Exit
GONORIL	Do you mark that, my lord?
ALBANY	I cannot be so partial, Gonoril, To the great love I bear you—
GONORIL	Come, sir, no more.— You, more knave than fool, after your master!
FOOL	Nuncle Lear, nuncle Lear, tarry, and take the fool with thee. A fox when one has caught her, And such a daughter, Should sure to the slaughter, If my cap would buy a halter. So, the fool follows after.
(didascalia)	Exit
GONORIL	What, Oswald, ho!
(didascalia)	Enter Oswald
OSWALD	Here, madam.
GONORIL	What, have you writ this letter to my sister?
OSWALD	Yes, madam.
GONORIL	Take you some company, and away to horse. Inform her full of my particular fears, And thereto add such reasons of your own As may compact it more. Get you gone, And after, your retinue.
(didascalia)	Exit Oswald
GONORIL	Now, my lord, This milky gentleness and course of yours, Though I dislike not, yet under pardon You’re much more ataxed for want of wisdom Than praised for harmful mildness.
ALBANY	How far your eyes may pierce I cannot tell. Striving to better aught, we mar what’s well.
GONORIL	Nay, then—
ALBANY	Well, well, the event. Exeunt

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Entra il conte di Kent, travestito
KENT	Se solo altrettanto bene prenderò a prestito altri accenti che sappiano confondere il mio parlare, il mio buon intento potrà portarsi da sé a quel pieno effetto per cui ho raso via il mio sembiante. Ora, bandito Kent, se puoi servire là dove stai condannato, il tuo padrone, che tu ami, ti troverà pieno di fatica.
(didascalia)	Entrano Re Lear e servi, di ritorno dalla caccia
LEAR	Non mi si faccia attendere un attimo per il pranzo. Andate a prepararlo.
(didascalia)	Esce uno
LEAR	(A Kent) Ebbene, che sei tu?
KENT	Un uomo, signore.
LEAR	Che professi? Che vuoi da noi?
KENT	Professo di non essere meno di quel che sembro, di servire fedelmente chi mi darà fiducia, di amare chi è onesto, di conversare con chi è saggio e parla poco, di temere il giudizio, di battermi quando non posso scegliere, e di non mangiar pesce.
LEAR	Che sei tu?
KENT	Un tipo dal cuore assai onesto, e povero quanto il Re.
LEAR	Se sei povero per un suddito quanto egli lo è per un re, sei povero abbastanza. Che vuoi?
KENT	Servizio.
LEAR	Chi vorresti servire?
KENT	Voi.
LEAR	Mi conosci, uomo?
KENT	No, signore, ma avete nel volto qualcosa che vorrei volentieri chiamare padrone.
LEAR	Che cosa?
KENT	Autorità.
LEAR	Che servigi sai fare?
KENT	So custodire un onesto segreto, cavalcare, correre, guastare un racconto elaborato nel dirlo, e recapitare schiettamente un semplice messaggio. Ciò a cui son buoni gli uomini comuni, io ne son capace; e il meglio di me è la diligenza.
LEAR	Quanti anni hai?
KENT	Non tanto giovane da amare una donna perché canta, né tanto vecchio da rimbambirmi per lei per qualsiasi cosa. Ho quarantotto anni sulla schiena.
LEAR	Seguimi. Mi servirai, se dopo pranzo non mi piacerai di meno. Non mi separerò ancora da te.—Il pranzo, ehi, il pranzo! Dov’è il mio furfante, il mio matto? Andate voi e chiamate qui il mio matto.
(didascalia)	Esce uno
(didascalia)	Entra Oswald il maggiordomo
LEAR	Voi, messere, dov’è mia figlia?
OSWALD	Con vostra licenza—
(didascalia)	Esce
LEAR	Che dice quel tale là? Richiamate indietro quel testone.
(didascalia)	Escono il Servo e Kent
LEAR	Dov’è il mio matto? Ehi, credo che il mondo dorma.
(didascalia)	Entrano il conte di Kent e un Servo
LEAR	Ebbene, dov’è quel bastardo?
KENT	Dice, mio signore, che vostra figlia non sta bene.
LEAR	Perché non è tornato da me quello schiavo quando l’ho chiamato?
SERVO	Signore, m’ha risposto nella maniera più tonda che non voleva.
LEAR	Non voleva?
SERVO	Mio signore, non so di che si tratti, ma a mio giudizio vostra altezza non è più accolta con quell’affetto cerimonioso di prima. Appare un gran calo tanto nella servitù in generale quanto nel Duca stesso, e in vostra figlia.
LEAR	Ah, dici così?
SERVO	Vi supplico di perdonarmi, mio signore, se m’inganno, ché il mio dovere non può tacere quando penso che vostra altezza sia offesa.
LEAR	Tu non fai che ricordarmi il mio proprio pensiero. Ho avvertito da poco una negligenza assai fioca, che ho piuttosto imputato alla mia gelosa suscettibilità che a un vero disegno e proposito di scortesia. Ci guarderò più addentro. Ma dov’è questo matto? Non l’ho visto da due giorni.
SERVO	Da quando la mia giovane signora è partita per la Francia, signore, il matto s’è molto consumato.
(didascalia)	LEAR Basta con questo, l’ho notato. Andate voi e dite a mia figlia che vorrei parlarle. Esce uno Andate voi, chiamate qui il mio matto. Esce uno
(didascalia)	Entra Oswald il maggiordomo attraversando la scena
SERVO	Oh voi, signore, voi, signore, venite qua. Chi sono io, signore?
OSWALD	Il padre della mia signora.
LEAR	Il padre della tua signora? Il furfante del tuo signore, cane figlio di puttana, schiavo, botolo!
OSWALD	Non son nulla di tutto questo, mio signore, vi supplico perdonatemi.
LEAR	Ricambi gli sguardi con me, mascalzone?
(didascalia)	Lear lo percuote
OSWALD	Non voglio esser percosso, mio signore—
KENT	(facendogli lo sgambetto) Né sgambettato, vile giocatore di pallone.
LEAR	(a Kent) Ti ringrazio, amico. Tu mi servi, e io ti amerò.
KENT	(a Oswald) Su, signore, v’insegnerò le differenze. Via, via. Se volete misurare di nuovo la vostra lunghezza di zoticone, restate; ma via, se avete senno.
(didascalia)	Esce Oswald
LEAR	Ora, amichevole furfante, ti ringrazio.
(didascalia)	Entra il Matto di Lear
LEAR	Ecco la caparra del tuo servizio. Dà del denaro a Kent
MATTO	Lascia che l’assuma anch’io. (A Kent) Ecco il mio berretto a cresta.
LEAR	Ebbene, mio grazioso furfante, come stai?
MATTO	(a Kent) Messere, faresti bene a prendere il mio berretto a cresta.
KENT	Perché, matto?
MATTO	Perché prendi le parti d’uno che è caduto in disgrazia. Anzi, se non sai sorridere secondo come tira il vento, presto prenderai freddo. Ecco, prendi il mio berretto a cresta. Ma guarda: costui ha bandito due delle sue figlie e alla terza ha fatto una benedizione contro voglia. Se lo segui, devi per forza portare il mio berretto a cresta. (A Lear) Ebbene, zietto? Vorrei avere due berretti a cresta e due figlie.
LEAR	Perché, ragazzo mio?
MATTO	Se dessi loro tutti i miei averi, mi terrei per me i berretti a cresta. Ecco il mio; mendicane un altro dalle tue figlie.
LEAR	Bada, messere—la frusta.
MATTO	La verità è un cane che dev’andare al canile. Bisogna cacciarla via a frustate, mentre Madama la cagna può stare accanto al fuoco e puzzare.
LEAR	Che pestifero fiele per me!
(didascalia)	MATTO a Kent Messere, t’insegnerò un discorso.
LEAR	Fallo.
MATTO	Notalo bene, zio. Abbi più di quel che mostri, di’ meno di quel che sai, presta meno di quel che hai, cavalca più di quel che vai, impara più di quel che credi, punta meno di quel che getti, lascia il bere e la puttana, e restatti in casa sana, e avrai più moneta che due decine in ventina.
LEAR	Questo è nulla, matto.
MATTO	Allora, come il fiato d’un avvocato non pagato, non m’avete dato nulla in cambio. Non sapete far uso del nulla, zio?
LEAR	Ma no, ragazzo. Nulla si può ricavare dal nulla.
MATTO	(a Kent) Di grazia, digli che a tanto ammonta la rendita della sua terra. Non vorrà credere a un matto. 130
LEAR	Un matto amaro.
MATTO	Conosci la differenza, ragazzo mio, fra un matto amaro e un matto dolce?
LEAR	No, figliolo. Insegnamela.
(didascalia)	Il MATTO canta
LEAR	Quel signore che ti consigliò di dar via la tua terra, vieni, mettilo qui accanto a me; tu sta’ al posto suo. Il matto dolce e amaro subito apparirà, l’uno qui in abito variopinto, l’altro scoperto laggiù.
LEAR	Mi chiami matto, ragazzo?
MATTO	Tutti gli altri tuoi titoli li hai dati via. Questo, con esso sei nato.
KENT	(a Lear) Questo non è del tutto matto, mio signore.
MATTO	No, in fede mia; i signori e i grandi non me lo permettono. Se avessi un monopolio, ne vorrebbero la loro parte, e anche le dame: non mi lasciano tenere per me tutto il matto—me lo strappano. Dammi un uovo, zietto, e io ti darò due corone.
LEAR	Che due corone saranno?
MATTO	Ma, dopo che avrò tagliato l’uovo nel mezzo e mangiato il contenuto, le due corone dell’uovo. Quando spaccasti la tua corona nel mezzo e desti via entrambe le parti, ti portasti l’asino in groppa attraverso il fango. Avevi poco senno nella tua corona calva quando desti via quella d’oro. Se in questo parlo da me stesso, sia frustato il primo che lo trovi tale.
(didascalia)	Canta
MATTO	Mai i matti ebbero in un anno men senno, ché i savi si son fatti scempi. Non sanno come il loro senno si consumi, tanto scimmiesche hanno le maniere.
LEAR	Da quando in qua sei così pieno di canzoni, messere?
MATTO	Ci ho preso l’abitudine, zietto, da quando facesti delle tue figlie la tua madre; ché quando desti loro la verga e ti calasti le tue proprie braghe,
(didascalia)	Canta
MATTO	Allora esse per gioia improvvisa piansero, e io per dolore cantai, che un tal re giocasse a rimpiattino e andasse fra i matti. Di grazia, zietto, tieni un maestro che insegni al tuo matto a mentire. Vorrei volentieri imparare a mentire.
LEAR	Se menti, ti faremo frustare.
MATTO	Mi meraviglio di che parentela siate tu e le tue figlie. Esse mi vogliono far frustare perché dico il vero, tu mi vuoi far frustare perché mento, e talvolta son frustato perché sto zitto. Preferirei essere qualunque altra cosa che un matto; eppure non vorrei essere te, zietto. Ti sei sbucciato il senno da entrambi i lati e non hai lasciato nulla nel mezzo.
(didascalia)	Entra Gonoril
MATTO	Ecco che viene una delle bucce.
LEAR	Ebbene, figlia, che ci fa quella benda in fronte? Mi pare che siate troppo accigliata da qualche tempo.
(didascalia)	MATTO Eri un bel tipo quando non avevi bisogno di curarti del suo cipiglio. Ora sei uno zero senza cifra. Io son meglio di te, adesso. Io sono un matto; tu non sei nulla. A Gonoril Sì, davvero, terrò la lingua a freno; così mi comanda il vostro viso, benché non diciate nulla.
(didascalia)	Canta
LEAR	Zitto, zitto. Chi non serba né crosta né briciola, stanco di tutto, di qualcosa avrà bisogno. Quello è un baccello sgusciato.
GONORIL	(a Lear) Non solo, signore, questo vostro matto a cui tutto è permesso, ma altri del vostro insolente seguito a ogni ora cavillano e litigano, prorompendo in risse volgari e non tollerabili. Signore, avevo pensato che, facendovi bene noto questo, avrei trovato sicuro rimedio; ma ora divento timorosa, per ciò che voi stesso avete or ora detto e fatto, che voi proteggiate tale condotta, e la incoraggiate col vostro consenso; il che se fosse, la colpa non sfuggirebbe al biasimo, né il rimedio dormirebbe, il quale, nella cura d’un sano bene comune, potrebbe nel suo operare farvi quell’offesa che altrimenti sarebbe vergogna, ma che allora la necessità dovrà chiamare discreto procedere.
MATTO	(a Lear) Perché, sai, zietto,
(didascalia)	Canta
MATTO	La passera di siepe nutrì il cuculo tanto a lungo che dal suo piccolo si vide staccare a morsi la testa; così si spense la candela, e restammo al buio.
LEAR	(a Gonoril) Siete voi nostra figlia?
GONORIL	Suvvia, signore, vorrei che faceste uso di quella buona saggezza di cui so che siete carico, e mettiate da parte queste disposizioni che da qualche tempo vi trasformano da ciò che veramente siete.
(didascalia)	MATTO Non può un asino sapere quando è il carro a tirare il cavallo? Canta «Uuh, brocca, ti amo!»
LEAR	Qualcuno qui mi conosce? Ma via, questo non è Lear. Cammina così Lear, parla così? Dove sono i suoi occhi? O la sua mente s’indebolisce, o i suoi discernimenti sono in letargo. Dormo o son desto, eh? Certo, non è così. Chi è che sa dirmi chi sono io? L’ombra di Lear? Vorrei impararlo, ché per i segni della sovranità, del sapere e della ragione dovrei esser falsamente persuaso d’aver avuto figlie.
MATTO	Le quali faranno di lui un padre obbediente.
LEAR	(a Gonoril) Il vostro nome, bella gentildonna?
GONORIL	Suvvia, signore, questa meraviglia sa molto del sapore d’altre vostre nuove bizzarrie. Vi supplico d’intendere rettamente i miei propositi: quale voi siete, vecchio e venerando, dovreste esser saggio. Qui voi tenete cento cavalieri e scudieri, uomini così disordinati, così dissoluti e sfrontati che questa nostra corte, infettata dai loro costumi, appare come una locanda in tumulto: gozzoviglia e lussuria la rendono più simile a una taverna, o a un bordello, che a un gran palazzo. La vergogna stessa reclama un rimedio immediato. Ti sia dunque chiesto, da colei che altrimenti prenderà ciò che domanda, di sfoltire un poco il vostro seguito; e quelli che ancora rimarranno al vostro servizio siano uomini tali da convenire alla vostra età, che conoscano se stessi e voi.
LEAR	Tenebre e diavoli! Sellate i miei cavalli, chiamate a raccolta il mio seguito!—
(didascalia)	Esce uno o più
LEAR	Degenere bastarda, non ti darò fastidio. Mi resta ancora una figlia.
GONORIL	Voi percuotete la mia gente, e la vostra sregolata marmaglia fa servi dei loro migliori.
(didascalia)	Entra il duca d’Albany
LEAR	Noi che troppo tardi ce ne pentiamo—oh signore, siete venuto? È vostra volontà che noi—preparate i miei cavalli.
(didascalia)	Esce uno o più
LEAR	Ingratitudine, demonio dal cuore di marmo, più orrenda quando ti mostri in un figlio che il mostro marino—(a Gonoril) detestato nibbio, tu menti. Il mio seguito son uomini scelti e di rarissime doti, che conoscono ogni particolare del dovere, e con la più esatta cura sostengono l’onore del proprio nome. Oh piccolissima colpa, quanto brutta apparisti in Cordelia, tu che, come una leva, strappasti la mia struttura di natura dal luogo fissato, trasse dal mio cuore ogni amore e vi aggiunse il fiele! Oh Lear, Lear! Batti a questa porta che lasciò entrare la tua follia e uscire il tuo caro giudizio.—Andiamo, andiamo, gente mia!
ALBANY	Mio signore, sono innocente quanto ignaro.
LEAR	Può essere, mio signore. Odi, natura, odi: cara dea, sospendi il tuo proposito se intendevi rendere feconda questa creatura. Nel suo grembo trasporta sterilità. Inaridisci in lei gli organi dell’incremento, e dal suo degradato corpo non sbocci mai un bimbo che le faccia onore. Se deve figliare, creale un figlio di bile, che possa vivere ed esserle tormento perverso e snaturato. Le stampi rughe sulla fronte giovane, con lacrime cadenti le scavi solchi nelle guance, volga tutte le pene e i benefici di madre in riso e disprezzo, ch’ella possa sentire— ch’ella possa sentire quanto sia più aguzzo del dente d’un serpente avere un figlio ingrato.—Andiamo, andiamo, gente mia!
(didascalia)	Escono Lear, Kent, il Matto e i servi
ALBANY	Ora, dèi che adoriamo, donde viene questo?
GONORIL	Non v’affliggete mai di saperne la causa, ma lasciate che il suo umore abbia tutto lo spazio che il rimbambimento gli concede.
(didascalia)	Entrano Re Lear e il suo Matto
LEAR	Come, cinquanta dei miei seguaci in un colpo solo?
(didascalia)	Entro quindici giorni?
ALBANY	Che c’è, signore?
LEAR	Te lo dirò. (A Gonoril) Vita e morte! Mi vergogno che tu abbia il potere di scuotere così la mia virilità, che queste calde lacrime, che mi sgorgano per forza e dovrebbero renderti—le peggiori raffiche e nebbie su di te! Le insondate ferite della maledizione d’un padre trafiggano ogni tuo senso! Vecchi occhi rimbambiti, se piangerete ancora per questa causa vi strapperò via e vi getterò, con le acque che fate, a impastare argilla. Sì, siamo giunti a questo? Eppure mi resta una figlia che, ne son certo, è gentile e consolante. Quando udrà questo di te, con le unghie ti scorticherà il volto di lupa. Troverai ch’io riprenderò la forma che tu credi ch’io abbia gettato via per sempre; la troverai, te lo garantisco.
(didascalia)	Esce
GONORIL	Lo notate, mio signore?
ALBANY	Non posso essere così parziale, Gonoril, verso il grande amore che vi porto—
GONORIL	Suvvia, signore, basta.— Tu, più furfante che matto, dietro al tuo padrone!
MATTO	Zietto Lear, zietto Lear, aspetta, e porta con te il matto. Una volpe, quando uno l’ha presa, e una figlia di tal fatta, dovrebbero di certo al macello, se il mio berretto comprasse un capestro. Così, il matto vien dietro.
(didascalia)	Esce
GONORIL	Ehi, Oswald, olà!
(didascalia)	Entra Oswald
OSWALD	Eccomi, madama.
GONORIL	Ebbene, avete scritto questa lettera a mia sorella?
OSWALD	Sì, madama.
GONORIL	Prendete con voi qualcuno, e a cavallo, via. Informatela per intero dei miei particolari timori, e aggiungetevi quelle ragioni vostre che possano rafforzarla. Partite, e dietro a voi il vostro seguito.
(didascalia)	Esce Oswald
GONORIL	Ora, mio signore, questa vostra lattea mitezza e condotta, benché non mi dispiaccia, pure, con vostra licenza, siete assai più biasimato per mancanza di saggezza che lodato per dannosa dolcezza.
ALBANY	Fin dove i vostri occhi possano penetrare non so dire. A voler migliorare qualcosa, guastiamo ciò che sta bene.
GONORIL	E allora—
ALBANY	Bene, bene, sarà l’evento a dirlo. Escono

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter King Lear, the Earl of Kent disguised, and Lear’s Fool
(didascalia)	LEAR to Kent Go you before to Gloucester with these letters. Acquaint my daughter no further with anything you know than comes from her demand out of the letter. If your diligence be not speedy, I shall be there before you.
KENT	I will not sleep, my lord, till I have delivered your letter.
(didascalia)	Exit
FOOL	If a man’s brains were in his heels, were’t not in danger of kibes?
LEAR	Ay, boy.
FOOL	Then, I prithee, be merry: thy wit shall ne’er go slipshod.
LEAR	Ha, ha, ha!
FOOL	Shalt see thy other daughter will use thee kindly, for though she’s as like this as a crab is like an apple, yet I con what I can tell.
LEAR	Why, what canst thou tell, my boy?
FOOL	Why, to keep his eyes on either side ’s nose, that what a man cannot smell out, a may spy into.
LEAR	I did her wrong.
FOOL	Canst tell how an oyster makes his shell?
LEAR	No.
FOOL	Nor I neither; but I can tell why a snail has a house.
LEAR	Why?
FOOL	Why, to put his head in, not to give it away to his daughter and leave his horns without a case.
LEAR	I will forget my nature. So kind a father! Be my horses ready?
FOOL	Thy asses are gone about them. The reason why the seven stars are no more than seven is a pretty reason.
LEAR	Because they are not eight.
FOOL	Yes. Thou wouldst make a good fool.
LEAR	To take’t again perforce—monster ingratitude!
FOOL	If thou wert my fool, nuncle, I’d have thee beaten for being old before thy time.
LEAR	How’s that?
FOOL	Thou shouldst not have been old before thou hadst been wise.
LEAR	O, let me not be mad, sweet heaven! I would not be mad. Keep me in temper. I would not be mad.
(didascalia)	Enter a Servant
LEAR	Are the horses ready?
SERVANT	Ready, my lord.
LEAR	(to Fool) Come, boy. Exeunt Lear and Servant
FOOL	She that is maid now, and laughs at my departure, Shall not be a maid long, except things be cut shorter.
(didascalia)	Exit

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Entrano Re Lear, il conte di Kent travestito, e il Matto di Lear
(didascalia)	LEAR a Kent Andate avanti voi a Gloucester con queste lettere. Non informate mia figlia di nulla di ciò che sapete oltre a quanto ella domandi in base alla lettera. Se la vostra diligenza non sarà rapida, sarò là prima di voi.
KENT	Non dormirò, mio signore, finché non avrò consegnato la vostra lettera.
(didascalia)	Esce
MATTO	Se il cervello d’un uomo stesse nei suoi talloni, non correrebbe pericolo di geloni?
LEAR	Sì, ragazzo.
MATTO	Allora, di grazia, sta’ allegro: il tuo senno non andrà mai in pantofole.
LEAR	Ah, ah, ah!
MATTO	Vedrai che l’altra tua figlia ti tratterà con gentilezza; ché, benché ella somigli a questa quanto una mela selvatica somiglia a una mela, pure io so quel che so dire.
LEAR	Ma che sai dire, ragazzo mio?
MATTO	Ma, di tenersi gli occhi ai due lati del naso, sì che ciò che un uomo non può fiutare, lo possa spiare.
LEAR	Le ho fatto torto.
MATTO	Sai dire come fa l’ostrica il suo guscio?
LEAR	No.
MATTO	Nemmeno io; ma so dire perché la lumaca ha una casa.
LEAR	Perché?
MATTO	Ma, per metterci dentro la testa, non per darla via a sua figlia e lasciar le corna senza custodia.
LEAR	Dimenticherò la mia natura. Un padre così buono! Sono pronti i miei cavalli?
MATTO	I tuoi asini son andati a occuparsene. La ragione per cui le sette stelle non sono più di sette è una graziosa ragione.
LEAR	Perché non sono otto.
MATTO	Sì. Faresti un buon matto.
LEAR	Riprendermelo per forza—mostro d’ingratitudine!
MATTO	Se tu fossi il mio matto, zietto, ti farei battere per esser vecchio prima del tuo tempo.
LEAR	E come?
MATTO	Non avresti dovuto esser vecchio prima d’esser saggio.
LEAR	Oh, non lasciarmi impazzire, dolce cielo! Non vorrei impazzire. Tienimi in equilibrio. Non vorrei impazzire.
(didascalia)	Entra un Servo
LEAR	Sono pronti i cavalli?
SERVO	Pronti, mio signore.
LEAR	(al Matto) Vieni, ragazzo. Escono Lear e il Servo
MATTO	Colei che ora è fanciulla, e ride della mia partenza, fanciulla non resterà a lungo, se le cose non vengono accorciate.
(didascalia)	Esce

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter Edmund the bastard, and Curan, meeting
EDMUND	Save thee, Curan.
CURAN	And you, sir. I have been with your father, and given him notice that the Duke of Cornwall and his duchess will be here with him tonight.
EDMUND	How comes that?
CURAN	Nay, I know not. You have heard of the news abroad?—I mean the whispered ones, for there are yet but ear-bussing arguments.
EDMUND	Not. I pray you, what are they?
CURAN	Have you heard of no likely wars towards twixt the two Dukes of Cornwall and Albany?
EDMUND	Not a word.
CURAN	You may then in time. Fare you well, sir.
(didascalia)	Exit
EDMUND	The Duke be here tonight! The better, best. This weaves itself perforce into my business.
(didascalia)	Enter Edgar at a window above
EDMUND	My father hath set guard to take my brother, And I have one thing of a queasy question Which must ask briefness. Wit and fortune help!— Brother, a word. Descend, brother, I say.
(didascalia)	Edgar climbs down
EDMUND	My father watches. O, fly this place. Intelligence is given where you are hid. You have now the good advantage of the night. Have you not spoken ‘gainst the Duke of Cornwall aught? He’s coming hither now, in the night, i’th’ haste, And Regan with him. Have you nothing said Upon his party against the Duke of Albany? Advise you—
EDGAR	I am sure on’t, not a word.
EDMUND	I hear my father coming. Pardon me. In cunning I must draw my sword upon you. Seem to defend yourself. Now, quit you well. (Calling) Yield, come before my father. Light here, here! (To Edgar) Fly, brother, fly! (Calling) Torches, torches! (To Edgar) So, farewell.
(didascalia)	Exit Edgar
EDMUND	Some blood drawn on me would beget opinion Of my more fierce endeavour. He wounds his arm I have seen Drunkards do more than this in sport. (Calling) Father, father! Stop, stop! Ho, help!
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke of Gloucester and others
GLOUCESTER	Now, Edmund, where is the villain?
EDMUND	Here stood he in the dark, his sharp sword out, Warbling of wicked charms, conjuring the moon To stand ’s auspicious mistress.
GLOUCESTER	But where is he?
EDMUND	Look, sir, I bleed.
GLOUCESTER	Where is the villain, Edmund?
EDMUND	Fled this way, sir, when by no means he could—
GLOUCESTER	Pursue him, go after.
(didascalia)	Exeunt others
GLOUCESTER	By no means what?
EDMUND	Persuade me to the murder of your lordship, But that I told him the revengive gods ’Gainst parricides did all their thunders bend, Spoke with how manifold and strong a bond The child was bound to the father. Sir, in fine, Seeing how loathly opposite I stood To his unnatural purpose, with fell motion, With his prepared sword he charges home My unprovided body, lanced mine arm; But when he saw my best alarumed spirits Bold in the quarrel’s rights, roused to the encounter, Or whether ghasted by the noise I made
(didascalia)	Or I know not,
EDMUND	But suddenly he fled.
GLOUCESTER	Let him fly far, Not in this land shall he remain uncaught, And found, dispatch. The noble Duke my master, My worthy arch and patron, comes tonight. By his authority I will proclaim it That he which finds him shall deserve our thanks, Bringing the murderous caitiff to the stake; He that conceals him, death.
EDMUND	When I dissuaded him from his intent And found him pitched to do it, with curst speech I threatened to discover him. He replied, ‘Thou unpossessing bastard, dost thou think If I would stand against thee, could the reposure Of any trust, virtue, or worth in thee Make thy words faithed? No, what I should deny— As this I would, ay, though thou didst produce My very character—I’d turn it all To thy suggestion, plot, and damned pretence, And thou must make a dullard of the world If they not thought the profits of my death Were very pregnant and potential spurs To make thee seek it.’
GLOUCESTER	Strong and fastened villain! Would he deny his letter? I never got him.
(didascalia)	Trumpets within
GLOUCESTER	Hark, the Duke’s trumpets. I know not why he comes. All ports I’ll bar. The villain shall not scape. The Duke must grant me that; besides, his picture I will send far and near, that all the kingdom May have note of him—and of my land, Loyal and natural boy, I’ll work the means To make thee capable.
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke
GLOUCESTER	of Cornwall and Regan
CORNWALL	How now, my noble friend? Since I came hither, Which I can call but now, I have heard strange news.
REGAN	If it be true, all vengeance comes too short Which can pursue the offender. How dost, my lord?
GLOUCESTER	Madam, my old heart is cracked, is cracked.
REGAN	What, did my father’s godson seek your life? He whom my father named, your Edgar?
GLOUCESTER	Ay, lady, lady; shame would have it hid.
REGAN	Was he not companion with the riotous knights That tend upon my father?
GLOUCESTER	I know not, madam. ’Tis too bad, too bad.
EDMUND	Yes, madam, he was.
REGAN	No marvel, then, though he were ill affected. ’Tis they have put him on the old man’s death, To have the spoil and waste of his revenues. I have this present evening from my sister Been well informed of them, and with such cautions That if they come to sojourn at my house I’ll not be there.
CORNWALL	Nor I, assure thee, Regan. Edmund, I heard that you have shown your father A childlike office.
EDMUND	’Twas my duty, sir.
GLOUCESTER	(to Cornwall) He did betray his practice, and received This hurt you see striving to apprehend him.
CORNWALL	Is he pursued?
GLOUCESTER	Ay, my good lord.
CORNWALL	If he be taken, he shall never more Be feared of doing harm. Make your own purpose How in my strength you please. For you, Edmund, Whose virtue and obedience doth this instant So much commend itself, you shall be ours. Natures of such deep trust we shall much need. You we first seize on.
EDMUND	I shall serve you truly, However else.
GLOUCESTER	(to Cornwall) For him I thank your grace.
CORNWALL	You know not why we came to visit you—
REGAN	This out-of-season threat’ning dark-eyed night- Occasions, noble Gloucester, of some poise, Wherein we must have use of your advice. Our father he hath writ, so hath our sister, Of differences which I least thought it fit To answer from our home. The several messengers From hence attend dispatch. Our good old friend, Lay comforts to your bosom, and bestow Your needful counsel to our business, Which craves the instant use.
GLOUCESTER	I serve you, madam. Your graces are right welcome.
(didascalia)	Exeunt

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Entrano Edmund il bastardo e Curan, incontrandosi
EDMUND	Dio ti salvi, Curan.
CURAN	E voi, signore. Sono stato da vostro padre, e gli ho dato avviso che il duca di Cornovaglia e la sua duchessa saranno qui da lui stanotte.
EDMUND	Come mai?
CURAN	Ma, non so. Avete udito le nuove che corrono?—intendo quelle bisbigliate, ché per ora non sono che discorsi da baciar l’orecchio.
EDMUND	No. Vi prego, quali sono?
CURAN	Non avete udito di probabili guerre imminenti fra i due duchi di Cornovaglia e d’Albany?
EDMUND	Non una parola.
CURAN	Potrete udirne allora col tempo. State bene, signore.
(didascalia)	Esce
EDMUND	Il Duca qui stanotte! Meglio, ottimo. Questo s’intreccia per forza col mio affare.
(didascalia)	Entra Edgar a una finestra in alto
EDMUND	Mio padre ha posto guardie per prendere mio fratello, e io ho una faccenda di delicata questione che chiede prestezza. Ingegno e fortuna, aiutatemi!— Fratello, una parola. Scendi, fratello, ti dico.
(didascalia)	Edgar scende
EDMUND	Mio padre vigila. Oh, fuggi questo luogo. Hanno riferito dove sei nascosto. Hai ora il buon vantaggio della notte. Non hai detto nulla contro il duca di Cornovaglia, proprio nulla? Egli viene qua ora, nella notte, in gran fretta, e Regan con lui. Non hai detto nulla a favore della sua parte contro il duca d’Albany? Rifletti—
EDGAR	Ne son certo, non una parola.
EDMUND	Sento venire mio padre. Perdonami. Per astuzia debbo trarre la spada contro di te. Fingi di difenderti. Ora, difenditi bene. (Chiamando) Arrenditi, vieni davanti a mio padre. Lume qua, qua! (A Edgar) Fuggi, fratello, fuggi! (Chiamando) Torce, torce! (A Edgar) Così, addio.
(didascalia)	Esce Edgar
EDMUND	Un po’ di sangue tratto da me genererebbe l’idea d’un mio più fiero sforzo. Si ferisce il braccio Ho visto ubriachi far più di questo per gioco. (Chiamando) Padre, padre! Fermatelo, fermatelo! Olà, aiuto!
(didascalia)	Entrano il duca di Gloucester e altri
GLOUCESTER	Ora, Edmund, dov’è lo scellerato?
EDMUND	Qui stava, nel buio, con la sua acuta spada sguainata, gorgheggiando malvagi incantesimi, scongiurando la luna d’essergli propizia signora.
GLOUCESTER	Ma dov’è?
EDMUND	Guardate, signore, sanguino.
GLOUCESTER	Dov’è lo scellerato, Edmund?
EDMUND	Fuggito per di qua, signore, quando in nessun modo poté—
GLOUCESTER	Inseguitelo, andategli dietro.
(didascalia)	Escono gli altri
GLOUCESTER	In nessun modo che cosa?
EDMUND	Persuadermi all’assassinio di vostra signoria, se non che gli dissi che gli dèi vendicatori contro i parricidi piegano tutti i loro tuoni, gli dissi con quanti e quanto forti vincoli il figlio sia legato al padre. Signore, insomma, vedendo con quanto ribrezzo io mi opponevo al suo snaturato proposito, con moto feroce, con la spada già sguainata carica a fondo il mio corpo indifeso, e mi squarciò il braccio; ma quando vide i miei spiriti al meglio allarmati, arditi nel diritto della contesa, destati allo scontro, o forse atterrito dal rumore ch’io facevo
(didascalia)	Oppure non so,
EDMUND	ma d’improvviso fuggì.
GLOUCESTER	Fugga pur lontano, in questa terra non resterà non preso, e trovato, sia spacciato. Il nobile Duca mio signore, mio degno capo e patrono, viene stanotte. Per sua autorità lo proclamerò: che chi lo trova meriterà i nostri ringraziamenti, portando al palo il micidiale sciagurato; chi lo nasconde, morte.
EDMUND	Quando lo dissuasi dal suo intento e lo trovai deciso a compierlo, con parole aspre minacciai di denunciarlo. Egli replicò: «Bastardo senza retaggio, credi tu che, se io mi opponessi a te, il deposito d’una qualche fiducia, virtù o merito in te farebbe dar fede alle tue parole? No: ciò ch’io negassi— e questo lo negherei, sì, anche se tu producessi la mia stessa scrittura—lo volgerei tutto a tua istigazione, trama e dannato inganno; e dovresti fare del mondo un balordo se esso non pensasse che i profitti della mia morte erano stimoli assai gravidi e potenti a fartela cercare.»
GLOUCESTER	Duro e incallito scellerato! Negherebbe la sua lettera? Io non l’ho generato.
(didascalia)	Trombe all’interno
GLOUCESTER	Odi, le trombe del Duca. Non so perché venga. Sbarrerò tutti i porti. Lo scellerato non scamperà. Il Duca dovrà concedermelo; inoltre il suo ritratto manderò lontano e vicino, sì che tutto il regno possa averne notizia—e delle mie terre, leale e naturale figliolo, troverò il modo di farti capace.
(didascalia)	Entra il duca
GLOUCESTER	di Cornovaglia e Regan
CORNOVAGLIA	Ebbene, mio nobile amico? Da quando son giunto qua, e posso dire proprio ora, ho udito strane nuove.
REGAN	Se è vero, ogni vendetta riesce troppo corta a inseguire l’offensore. Come state, mio signore?
GLOUCESTER	Madama, il mio vecchio cuore è spezzato, è spezzato.
REGAN	Come, il figlioccio di mio padre attentò alla vostra vita? Colui che mio padre battezzò, il vostro Edgar?
GLOUCESTER	Sì, signora, signora; la vergogna vorrebbe nasconderlo.
REGAN	Non era compagno dei turbolenti cavalieri che stanno al servizio di mio padre?
GLOUCESTER	Non so, madama. È troppo brutta, troppo brutta.
EDMUND	Sì, madama, lo era.
REGAN	Non c’è da stupirsi, allora, s’era mal disposto. Son loro che l’hanno spinto alla morte del vecchio, per avere il saccheggio e lo sperpero delle sue rendite. Questa sera stessa, da mia sorella, sono stata bene informata di loro, e con tali avvertimenti che se vengono a soggiornare nella mia casa io non ci sarò.
CORNOVAGLIA	Né io, te l’assicuro, Regan. Edmund, ho udito che avete reso a vostro padre un ufficio da figlio.
EDMUND	Era mio dovere, signore.
GLOUCESTER	(a Cornovaglia) Egli svelò la sua trama, e ricevette questa ferita che vedete cercando d’arrestarlo.
CORNOVAGLIA	È inseguito?
GLOUCESTER	Sì, mio buon signore.
CORNOVAGLIA	Se sarà preso, non si temerà mai più ch’ei faccia del male. Disponete a vostro piacere come valervi della mia forza. Quanto a voi, Edmund, la cui virtù e obbedienza in questo istante tanto si raccomandano, voi sarete nostro. Di nature di così profonda fiducia avremo gran bisogno. Voi per primo prendiamo con noi.
EDMUND	Vi servirò fedelmente, comunque altrimenti.
GLOUCESTER	(a Cornovaglia) Per lui ringrazio vostra grazia.
CORNOVAGLIA	Non sapete perché siamo venuti a visitarvi—
REGAN	Questa notte fuori stagione, minacciosa e dagli occhi scuri— occasioni, nobile Gloucester, di qualche peso, nelle quali dobbiamo valerci del vostro consiglio. Nostro padre ha scritto, e così nostra sorella, di dissensi ai quali men che mai stimai opportuno rispondere dalla nostra casa. I diversi messaggeri attendono di qui la risposta. Nostro buon vecchio amico, ponete conforti nel vostro petto, e concedete il vostro necessario consiglio ai nostri affari, che chiedono uso immediato.
GLOUCESTER	Vi servo, madama. Le vostre grazie sono ben venute.
(didascalia)	Escono

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter the Earl of Kent, disguised, at one door, and Oswald the steward, at another door
OSWALD	Good even to thee, friend. Art of the house?
KENT	Ay.
OSWALD	Where may we set our horses?
KENT	I’th’ mire.
OSWALD	Prithee, if thou love me, tell me.
KENT	I love thee not.
OSWALD	Why then, I care not for thee.
KENT	If I had thee in Lipsbury pinfold I would make thee care for me.
OSWALD	Why dost thou use me thus? I know thee not.
KENT	Fellow, I know thee.
OSWALD	What dost thou know me for?
KENT	A knave, a rascal, an eater of broken meats, a base, proud, shallow, beggarly, three-suited, hundred-pound, filthy worsted-stocking knave; a lily-livered, action-taking knave; a whoreson, glass-gazing, superfinical rogue; one-trunk-inheriting slave; one that wouldst be a bawd in way of good service, and art nothing but the composition of a knave, beggar, coward, pander, and the son and heir of a mongrel bitch, whom I will beat into clamorous whining if thou deny the least syllable of the addition.
OSWALD	What a monstrous fellow art thou, thus to rail on one that’s neither known of thee nor knows thee!
KENT	What a brazen-faced varlet art thou, to deny thou knowest me! Is it two days ago since I beat thee and tripped up thy heels before the King? Draw, you rogue; for though it be night, the moon shines.
(didascalia)	He draws his sword
KENT	I’ll make a sop of the moonshine o’ you. Draw, you whoreson, cullionly barber-monger, draw!
OSWALD	Away. I have nothing to do with thee.
KENT	Draw, you rascal. You bring letters against the King, and take Vanity the puppet’s part against the royalty of her father. Draw, you rogue, or I’ll so carbonado your shanks—draw, you rascal, come your ways!
OSWALD	Help, ho, murder, help!
KENT	Strike, you slave! Stand, rogue! Stand, you neat slave, strike!
OSWALD	Help, ho, murder, help!
(didascalia)	Enter Edmund the bastard with his rapier drawn, then the Duke of Gloucester, then the Duke of Cornwall and Regan the Duchess
(didascalia)	EDMUND parting them How now, what’s the matter?
KENT	With you, goodman boy. An you please come, I’ll flesh you. Come on, young master.
GLOUCESTER	Weapons? Arms? What’s the matter here?
CORNWALL	Keep peace, upon your lives. He dies that strikes again. What’s the matter?
REGAN	The messengers from our sister and the King.
CORNWALL	(to Kent and Oswald) What’s your difference? Speak.
OSWALD	I am scarce in breath, my lord.
KENT	No marvel, you have so bestirred your valour, you cowardly rascal. Nature disclaims in thee; a tailor made thee.
CORNWALL	Thou art a strange fellow—a tailor make a man?
KENT	Ay, a tailor, sir. A stone-cutter or a painter could not have made him so ill though he had been but two hours at the trade.
GLOUCESTER	Speak yet; how grew your quarrel?
OSWALD	This ancient ruffian, sir, whose life I have spared at suit of his grey beard—
KENT	Thou whoreson Z, thou unnecessary letter—(to Cornwall) my lord, if you’ll give me leave I will tread this unboulted villain into mortar and daub the walls of a jakes with him. (To Oswald) Spare my grey beard, you wagtail?
CORNWALL	Peace, sir. You beastly knave, have you no reverence?
KENT	Yes, sir, but anger has a privilege.
CORNWALL	Why art thou angry?
KENT	That such a slave as this should wear a sword, That wears no honesty. Such smiling rogues As these, like rats, oft bite those cords in twain Which are too entrenched to unloose, smooth every passion That in the natures of their lords rebel, Bring oil to fire, snow to their colder moods, Renege, affirm, and turn their halcyon beaks With every gale and vary of their masters, Knowing naught, like dogs, but following. (To Oswald) A plague upon your epileptic visage! Smile you my speeches as I were a fool? Goose, an I had you upon Sarum Plain I’d send you cackling home to Camelot.
CORNWALL	What, art thou mad, old fellow?
(didascalia)	GLOUCESTER to Kent How fell you out? Say that.
KENT	No contraries hold more antipathy Than I and such a knave.
CORNWALL	Why dost thou call him knave? What’s his offence?
KENT	His countenance likes me not.
CORNWALL	No more perchance does mine, or his, or hers.
KENT	Sir, ’tis my occupation to be plain: I have seen better faces in my time Than stands on any shoulder that I see Before me at this instant.
CORNWALL	This is a fellow Who, having been praised for bluntness, doth affect A saucy roughness, and constrains the garb Quite from his nature. He cannot flatter, he. He must be plain, he must speak truth. An they will take’t, so; if not, he’s plain. These kind of knaves I know, which in this plainness Harbour more craft and more corrupter ends Than twenty silly-ducking observants That stretch their duties nicely.
KENT	Sir, in good sooth, or in sincere verity, Under the allowance of your grand aspect, Whose influence, like the wreath of radiant fire In flickering Phoebus’ front—
CORNWALL	What mean’st thou by this?
KENT	To go out of my dialect, which you discommend so much. I know, sir, I am no flatterer. He that beguiled you in a plain accent was a plain knave, which for my part I will not be, though I should win your displeasure to entreat me to’t.
CORNWALL	(to Oswald) What’s the offence you gave him?
OSWALD	I never gave him any. It pleased the King his master very late To strike at me upon his misconstruction, When he, conjunct, and flattering his displeasure, Tripped me behind; being down, insulted, railed, And put upon him such a deal of man that That worthied him, got praises of the King For him attempting who was self-subdued, And in the fleshment of this dread exploit Drew on me here again.
KENT	None of these rogues and cowards But Ajax is their fool.
(didascalia)	CORNWALL calling Bring forth the stocks, ho!—
KENT	You stubborn, ancient knave, you reverend braggart, We’ll teach you.
KENT	I am too old to learn. Call not your stocks for me. I serve the King, On whose employments I was sent to you. You should do small respect, show too bold malice Against the grace and person of my master, Stocking his messenger.
(didascalia)	CORNWALL calling Fetch forth the stocks!—
KENT	As I have life and honour, there shall he sit till noon.
REGAN	Till noon?—till night, my lord, and all night too.
KENT	Why, madam, if I were your father’s dog You could not use me so.
REGAN	Sir, being his knave, I will.
(didascalia)	Stocks brought out
CORNWALL	This is a fellow of the selfsame nature Our sister speaks of.—Come, bring away the stocks.
GLOUCESTER	Let me beseech your grace not to do so. His fault is much, and the good King his master Will check him for’t. Your purposed low correction Is such as basest and contemnèd wretches For pilf’rings and most common trespasses Are punished with. The King must take it ill That he’s so slightly valued in his messenger, Should have him thus restrained.
CORNWALL	I’ll answer that.
REGAN	My sister may receive it much more worse To have her gentlemen abused, assaulted, For following her affairs. Put in his legs. They put Kent in the stocks Come, my good lord, away!
(didascalia)	Exeunt all but Gloucester and Kent
GLOUCESTER	I am sorry for thee, friend. ’Tis the Duke’s pleasure, Whose disposition, all the world well knows, Will not be rubbed nor stopped. I’ll entreat for thee.
KENT	Pray you, do not, sir. I have watched and travelled hard. Some time I shall sleep out; the rest I’ll whistle. A good man’s fortune may grow out at heels. Give you good morrow.
GLOUCESTER	The Duke’s to blame in this; ’twill be ill took.
(didascalia)	Exit
KENT	Good King, that must approve the common say: Thou out of heaven’s benediction com’st To the warm sun.
(didascalia)	He takes out a letter
KENT	Approach, thou beacon to this under globe, That by thy comfortable beams I may Peruse this letter. Nothing almost sees miracles But misery. I know ’tis from Cordelia, Who hath now fortunately been informed Of my obscured course, and shall find time For this enormous state, seeking to give Losses their remedies. All weary and overwatched, Take vantage, heavy eyes, not to behold This shameful lodging. Fortune, good night; Smile; once more turn thy wheel. He sleeps
(didascalia)	Enter Edgar
EDGAR	I heard myself proclaimed, And by the happy hollow of a tree Escaped the hunt. No port is free, no place That guard and most unusual vigilance Does not attend my taking. While I may scape I will preserve myself, and am bethought To take the basest and most poorest shape That ever penury in contempt of man Brought near to beast. My face I’ll grime with filth, Blanket my loins, elf all my hair with knots, And with presented nakedness outface The wind and persecution of the sky. The country gives me proof and precedent Of Bedlam beggars who with roaring voices Strike in their numbed and mortified bare arms Pins, wooden pricks, nails, sprigs of rosemary, And with this horrible object from low farms, Poor pelting villages, sheep-cotes and mills Sometime with lunatic bans, sometime with prayers Enforce their charity. ‘Poor Tuelygod, Poor Tom!’ That’s something yet. Edgar I nothing am.
(didascalia)	Exit
(didascalia)	Enter King Lear, his Fool, and a Knight
LEAR	’Tis strange that they should so depart from home And not send back my messenger.
KNIGHT	As I learned, The night before there was no purpose Of his remove.
KENT	(waking) Hail to thee, noble master.
LEAR	How! Mak’st thou this shame thy pastime?
FOOL	Ha, ha, look, he wears cruel garters! Horses are tied by the heads, dogs and bears by th’ neck, monkeys by th’ loins, and men by th’ legs. When a man’s over-lusty at legs, then he wears wooden nether-stocks.
LEAR	(to Kent) What’s he that hath so much thy place mistook To set thee here?
KENT	It is both he and she: Your son and daughter.
LEAR	No.
KENT	Yes.
LEAR	No, I say.
KENT	I say yea.
LEAR	No, no, they would not.
KENT	Yes, they have.
LEAR	By Jupiter, I swear no. They durst not do‘t, They would not, could not do’t. ’Tis worse than murder, To do upon respect such violent outrage. Resolve me with all modest haste which way Thou mayst deserve or they propose this usage, Coming from us.
KENT	My lord, when at their home I did commend your highness’ letters to them, Ere I was risen from the place that showed My duty kneeling, came there a reeking post Stewed in his haste, half breathless, panting forth From Gonoril, his mistress, salutations, Delivered letters spite of intermission, Which presently they read, on whose contents They summoned up their meiny, straight took horse, Commanded me to follow and attend The leisure of their answer, gave me cold looks; And meeting here the other messenger, Whose welcome I perceived had poisoned mine— Being the very fellow that of late Displayed so saucily against your highness— Having more man than wit about me, drew. He raised the house with loud and coward cries. Your son and daughter found this trespass worth This shame which here it suffers.
LEAR	O, how this mother swells up toward my heart! Histerica passio, down, thou climbing sorrow; Thy element’s betow.—Where is this daughter?
KENT	With the Earl, sir, within.
LEAR	Follow me not; stay there.
(didascalia)	Exit
KNIGHT	(to Kent) Made you no more offence than what you speak of?
KENT	No. How chance the King comes with so small a train?
FOOL	An thou hadst been set in the stocks for that question, thou hadst well deserved it.
KENT	Why, fool?
FOOL	We’ll set thee to school to an ant, to teach thee there’s no labouring in the winter. All that follow their noses are led by their eyes but blind men, and there’s not a nose among a hundred but can smell him that’s stinking. Let go thy hold when a great wheel runs down a hill, lest it break thy neck with following it; but the great one that goes up the hill, let him draw thee after. When a wise man gives thee better counsel, give me mine again. I would have none but knaves follow it, since a fool gives it.
(didascalia)	Sings
FOOL	That sir that serves for gain And follows but for form, Will pack when it begin to rain, And leave thee in the storm. 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, pardie.
KENT	Where learnt you this, fool?
FOOL	Not in the stocks.
(didascalia)	Enter King Lear and the Duke of Gloucester
LEAR	Deny to speak with me? They’re sick, they’re weary? They travelled hard tonight?—mere insolence, Ay, the images of revolt and flying off. Fetch me a better answer.
GLOUCESTER	My dear lord, You know the fiery quality of the Duke, How unremovable and fixed he is In his own course.
LEAR	Vengeance, death, plague, confusion! What ‘fiery quality’? Why, Gloucester, Gloucester, I’d Speak with the Duke of Cornwall and his wife.
GLOUCESTER	Ay, my good lord.
LEAR	The King would speak with Cornwall; the dear father Would with his daughter speak, commands, tends service. ‘Fiery’? The Duke?—tell the hot Duke that Lear— No, but not yet. Maybe he is not well. Infirmity doth still neglect all office Whereto our health is bound. We are not ourselves When nature, being oppressed, commands the mind To suffer with the body. I’ll forbear, And am fallen out with my more headier will, To take the indisposed and sickly fit For the sound man.—Death on my state, Wherefore should he sit here? This act persuades me That this remotion of the Duke and her Is practice only. Give me my servant forth. Tell the Duke and ’s wife I’ll 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.
GLOUCESTER	I would have all well Betwixt you.
(didascalia)	Exit
LEAR	O, my heart, my heart!
FOOL	Cry to it, nuncle, as the cockney did to the eels when she put ‘em i’th’ paste alive. She rapped ‘em o’th’ coxcombs with a stick, and cried ‘Down, wantons, down!’ ’Twas her brother that, in pure kindness to his horse, buttered his hay.
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke of Cornwall and Regan, the Duke of Gloucester, and others
LEAR	Good morrow to you both.
CORNWALL	Hail to your grace.
(didascalia)	Kent here set at liberty
REGAN	I am glad to see your highness.
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 shrine, Sepulchring an adultress. (To Kent) Yea, are you free? Some other time for that.—Belovèd Regan, Thy sister is naught. O, Regan, she hath tied Sharp-toothed unkindness like a vulture here. I can scarce speak to thee. Thou’lt not believe Of how deplored a quality—O, Regan!
REGAN	I pray you, sir, take patience. I have hope You less know how to value her desert Than she to slack her duty.
LEAR	My curses on her.
REGAN	O sir, you are old. Nature in you stands on the very verge Of her confine. You should be ruled and led By some discretion that discerns your state Better than you yourself. Therefore I pray That to our sister you do make return; Say you have wronged her, sir.
LEAR	Ask her forgiveness? Do you mark how this becomes the house?
(didascalia)	Kneeling ‘Dear daughter, I confess that I am old.
LEAR	Age is unnecessary. On my knees I beg That you’ll vouchsafe me raiment, bed, and food.’
REGAN	Good sir, no more. These are unsightly tricks. Return you to my sister.
(didascalia)	LEAR rising No, Regan.
REGAN	She hath abated me of half my train, Looked black upon me, struck me with her tongue Most serpent-like upon the very heart. All the stored vengeances of heaven fall On her ungrateful top! Strike her young bones, You taking airs, with lameness!
CORNWALL	Fie, fie, sir.
LEAR	You nimble lightnings, dart your blinding flames Into her scornful eyes. Infect her beauty, You fen-sucked fogs drawn by the pow’rful sun To fall and blast her pride.
REGAN	O, the blest gods! So will you wish on me when the rash mood—
LEAR	No, Regan. Thou shalt never have my curse. Thy tender-hested 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 of the kingdom hast thou not forgot, Wherein I thee endowed.
REGAN	Good sir, to th’ purpose.
LEAR	Who put my man i’th’ stocks?
(didascalia)	Trumpets within
CORNWALL	What trumpet’s that?
(didascalia)	Enter Oswald the steward
REGAN	I know’t, my sister’s. This approves her letters That she would soon be here. (To Oswald) Is your lady come?
LEAR	This is a slave whose easy-borrowed pride Dwells in the fickle grace of her a follows.
(didascalia)	He strikes Oswald
LEAR	Out, varlet, from my sight!
CORNWALL	What means your grace?
(didascalia)	Enter Gonoril
GONORIL	Who struck my servant? Regan, I have good hope Thou didst not know on’t.
LEAR	Who comes here? O heavens, 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. (To Gonoril) Art not ashamed to look upon this beard? O Regan, wilt thou take her by the hand?
GONORIL	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’th’ stocks?
CORNWALL	I set him there, sir; but his own disorders Deserved much less advancement.
LEAR	You? Did you?
REGAN	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 dismissed? No, rather I abjure all roofs, and choose To be a comrade with the wolf and owl, To wage against the enmity of the air Necessity’s sharp pinch. Return with her? Why, the hot-blood in 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 afoot. Return with her? Persuade me rather to be slave and sumpter To this detested groom.
GONORIL	At your choice, sir.
LEAR	Now I prithee, 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 lies within 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.
REGAN	Not altogether so, sir. I look 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 are old, and so— But she knows what she does.
LEAR	Is this well spoken now?
REGAN	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 Speaks ‘gainst so great a number? How in a house Should many people under two commands Hold amity? ’Tis hard, almost impossible.
GONORIL	Why might not you, my lord, receive attendance From those that she calls servants, or from mine?
REGAN	Why not, my lord? If then they chanced 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.
REGAN	And in good time you gave it.
LEAR	Made you my guardians, my depositaries, But kept a reservation to be followed With such a number. What, must I come to you With five-and-twenty, Regan? Said you so?
REGAN	And speak’t again, my lord. No more with me.
LEAR	Those wicked creatures yet do seem well favoured When others are more wicked. Not being the worst Stands in some rank of praise. (To Gonoril) I’ll go with thee. Thy fifty yet doth double five-and-twenty, And thou art twice her love.
GONORIL	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?
REGAN	What needs 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, wearest, 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 fellow, As full of grief as age, wretched in both. If it be you that stirs these daughters’ hearts Against their father, fool me not so much To bear it tamely. Touch me with noble anger. O, let not women’s weapons, water-drops, Stain my man’s cheeks! No, you unnatural hags, I will have such revenges on you both That all the world shall—I will do such things— What they are, yet I know not; but they shall be The terrors of the earth. You think I’ll weep. No, I’ll not weep.
(didascalia)	Storm within
LEAR	I have full cause of weeping, but this heart Shall break into a hundred thousand flaws Or ere I’ll weep.—O fool, I shall go mad!
(didascalia)	Exeunt Lear, Gloucester, Kent, Knight, and Fool
CORNWALL	Let us withdraw. ’Twill be a storm.
REGAN	This house is little. The old man and his people Cannot be well bestowed.
GONORIL	’Tis his own blame; Hath put himself from rest, and must needs taste his folly.
REGAN	For his particular I’ll receive him gladly, But not one follower.
CORNWALL	So am I purposed. Where is my lord of Gloucester?
REGAN	Followed the old man forth.
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke of Gloucester
REGAN	He is returned.
GLOUCESTER	The King is in high rage, and will I know not whither.
REGAN	’Tis good to give him way. He leads himself.
GONORIL	(to Gloucester) My lord, entreat him by no means to stay.
GLOUCESTER	Alack, the night comes on, and the bleak winds Do sorely rustle. For many miles about There’s not a bush.
REGAN	O sir, to wilful men The injuries that they themselves procure Must be their schoolmasters. Shut up your doors. He is attended with a desperate train, And what they may incense him to, being apt To have his ear abused, wisdom bids fear.
CORNWALL	Shut up your doors, my lord. ‘Tis a wild night. My Regan counsels well. Come out o’th’ storm. Exeunt

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Entrano il conte di Kent, travestito, da una porta, e Oswald il maggiordomo da un’altra porta
OSWALD	Buona sera a te, amico. Sei della casa?
KENT	Sì.
OSWALD	Dove possiamo mettere i nostri cavalli?
KENT	Nel pantano.
OSWALD	Di grazia, se mi ami, dimmelo.
KENT	Non ti amo.
OSWALD	E allora io non mi curo di te.
KENT	Se t’avessi nel recinto di Lipsbury ti farei curare di me.
OSWALD	Perché mi tratti così? Non ti conosco.
KENT	Io, uomo, ti conosco.
OSWALD	E per che cosa mi conosci?
KENT	Per un furfante, un mascalzone, un mangiatore d’avanzi; un vile, borioso, sciocco, pezzente furfante da tre vestiti, da cento sterline, dalle sudicie calze di lana; un furfante dal fegato di giglio, litigante per vie legali; un figlio di puttana, guardaspecchi, arcischifiltoso mariolo; uno schiavo che eredita un solo baule; uno che si farebbe ruffiano a titolo di buon servizio, e non è altro che il composto d’un furfante, d’un pezzente, d’un vigliacco, d’un mezzano, e figlio ed erede d’una cagna bastarda; e ti batterò fino a farti guaire con clamore se neghi la minima sillaba di questi titoli.
OSWALD	Che mostruoso individuo sei tu, per inveire così contro uno che né conosci né ti conosce!
KENT	Che sfacciato manigoldo sei tu, a negare di conoscermi! Son forse due giorni che t’ho battuto e t’ho fatto lo sgambetto davanti al Re? Sguaina, mariolo; ché, benché sia notte, la luna splende.
(didascalia)	Sguaina la spada
KENT	Farò di te una zuppa nel chiaro di luna. Sguaina, figlio di puttana, coglione da barbiere, sguaina!
OSWALD	Va’ via. Non ho nulla a che fare con te.
KENT	Sguaina, mascalzone. Tu porti lettere contro il Re, e prendi le parti di Vanità la marionetta contro la regalità di suo padre. Sguaina, mariolo, o ti squarcerò così le gambe—sguaina, mascalzone, vieni avanti!
OSWALD	Aiuto, olà, all’assassino, aiuto!
KENT	Colpisci, schiavo! Fermo, mariolo! Fermo, schiavo azzimato, colpisci!
OSWALD	Aiuto, olà, all’assassino, aiuto!
(didascalia)	Entra Edmund il bastardo con lo stocco sguainato, poi il duca di Gloucester, poi il duca di Cornovaglia e Regan la duchessa
(didascalia)	EDMUND separandoli Ebbene, che c’è?
KENT	Con voi, ragazzo mio. Se vi piace venire, vi darò il battesimo del sangue. Avanti, giovane padrone.
GLOUCESTER	Armi? Ferri? Che c’è qui?
CORNOVAGLIA	Pace, sulla vostra vita. Muore chi colpisce ancora. Che c’è?
REGAN	I messaggeri di nostra sorella e del Re.
CORNOVAGLIA	(a Kent e a Oswald) Qual è la vostra contesa? Parlate.
OSWALD	Ho appena fiato, mio signore.
KENT	Non c’è da stupirsi, hai tanto agitato il tuo valore, vigliacco mascalzone. La natura ti rinnega; un sarto ti ha fatto.
CORNOVAGLIA	Sei uno strano tipo—un sarto fare un uomo?
KENT	Sì, un sarto, signore. Uno scalpellino o un pittore non avrebbero potuto farlo così male anche se fossero stati solo due ore al mestiere.
GLOUCESTER	Parlate dunque; come nacque la vostra lite?
OSWALD	Questo vecchio malandrino, signore, la cui vita ho risparmiato per riguardo alla sua barba grigia—
KENT	Tu, zeta figlia di puttana, tu, lettera inutile—(a Cornovaglia) mio signore, se me ne date licenza pesterò questo scellerato non stacciato fino a farne malta e ne intonacherò le pareti d’una latrina. (A Oswald) Risparmiare la mia barba grigia, tu, cutrettola?
CORNOVAGLIA	Pace, signore. Furfante bestiale, non hai riverenza?
KENT	Sì, signore, ma l’ira ha un suo privilegio.
CORNOVAGLIA	Perché sei in collera?
KENT	Che un tal servo come questo porti spada, lui che non porta onestà. Simili furfanti sorridenti, come costoro, spesso rodono in due quei legami troppo stretti per esser sciolti; lisciano ogni passione che nell’animo dei loro signori si ribella, portano olio al fuoco, neve ai loro umori più freddi, negano, affermano, e volgono i loro becchi d’alcione a ogni raffica e mutamento dei padroni, nulla sapendo, come cani, se non seguire. (A Oswald) La peste sul tuo viso epilettico! Sorridi ai miei discorsi come s’io fossi un matto? Oca, se t’avessi sulla piana di Sarum ti manderei schiamazzando a casa a Camelot.
CORNOVAGLIA	Come, sei pazzo, vecchio?
(didascalia)	GLOUCESTER a Kent Come veniste a lite? Dite questo.
KENT	Non v’è coppia di contrari che serbi più antipatia di me e d’un tal furfante.
CORNOVAGLIA	Perché lo chiami furfante? Qual è la sua offesa?
KENT	La sua faccia non mi piace.
CORNOVAGLIA	E forse non ti piace nemmeno la mia, o la sua, o la sua.
KENT	Signore, è mio mestiere esser schietto: ho visto facce migliori al mio tempo di quante ne stiano su qualsiasi spalla ch’io veda davanti a me in questo istante.
CORNOVAGLIA	Costui è uno che, essendo stato lodato per schiettezza, affetta una sfrontata rozzezza, e forza il suo contegno del tutto fuori dalla sua natura. Egli non sa adulare, lui. Dev’esser schietto, deve dire la verità. Se lo accettano, bene; se no, lui è schietto. Conosco questa razza di furfanti, che sotto tale schiettezza covano più astuzia e fini più corrotti di venti ossequiosi che si piegano da sciocchi e tendono i loro doveri con ogni scrupolo.
KENT	Signore, in buona fede, o in sincera verità, sotto la licenza del vostro grande aspetto, il cui influsso, come la corona di raggiante fuoco sulla fronte tremolante di Febo—
CORNOVAGLIA	Che intendi con questo?
KENT	Uscire dal mio dialetto, che voi tanto biasimate. So, signore, di non essere un adulatore. Chi v’ingannò con accento schietto era uno schietto furfante, il che da parte mia non sarò, dovessi anche guadagnarmi il vostro disfavore col pregarmi voi di esserlo.
CORNOVAGLIA	(a Oswald) Qual è l’offesa che gli avete fatto?
OSWALD	Non gliene feci mai alcuna. Piacque al Re suo padrone poco fa di colpirmi per un suo fraintendimento, quando costui, unitosi a lui e assecondandone il disappunto, mi fece lo sgambetto alle spalle; e caduto ch’io fui, m’insultò, m’ingiuriò, e s’atteggiò a tal uomo di valore che se ne fece merito, e ottenne lodi dal Re per aver assalito chi già s’era da sé arreso; e nell’ebbrezza di questa terribile impresa ha sguainato di nuovo qui contro di me.
KENT	Non c’è uno di questi marioli e vigliacchi che non faccia d’Ajax il suo matto.
(didascalia)	CORNOVAGLIA chiamando Portate qua i ceppi, olà!—
KENT	Voi, ostinato vecchio furfante, voi, venerando spaccone, v’insegneremo noi.
KENT	Son troppo vecchio per imparare. Non chiamate i vostri ceppi per me. Io servo il Re, e per suoi incarichi fui mandato a voi. Mostrereste scarso rispetto, e troppo audace malizia contro la grazia e la persona del mio padrone, mettendo il suo messaggero in ceppi.
(didascalia)	CORNOVAGLIA chiamando Portate qua i ceppi!—
KENT	Com’è vero ch’io ho vita e onore, là egli siederà fino a mezzogiorno.
REGAN	Fino a mezzogiorno?—fino a notte, mio signore, e per tutta la notte ancora.
KENT	Ma, madama, se fossi il cane di vostro padre non potreste trattarmi così.
REGAN	Signore, essendo il suo furfante, lo farò.
(didascalia)	Vengono portati fuori i ceppi
CORNOVAGLIA	Costui è un individuo della stessissima natura di cui parla nostra sorella.—Su, portate qua i ceppi.
GLOUCESTER	Lasciate ch’io supplichi vostra grazia di non far ciò. La sua colpa è grande, e il buon Re suo padrone lo punirà. La bassa correzione che intendete è tale quale i più vili e disprezzati miserabili per furterelli e comunissime infrazioni subiscono. Il Re dovrà prenderla male, vedendosi così poco stimato nel suo messaggero, da averlo in tal modo costretto.
CORNOVAGLIA	Ne risponderò io.
REGAN	Mia sorella potrebbe prenderla assai peggio, vedendo i suoi gentiluomini oltraggiati, assaliti, per aver seguito i suoi affari. Mettetegli dentro le gambe. Mettono Kent nei ceppi Venite, mio buon signore, andiamo!
(didascalia)	Escono tutti tranne Gloucester e Kent
GLOUCESTER	Mi dispiace per te, amico. È il volere del Duca, la cui indole, come tutto il mondo bene sa, non vuol esser contrariata né fermata. Intercederò per te.
KENT	Vi prego, non fatelo, signore. Ho vegliato e viaggiato duramente. Un po’ di tempo lo passerò a dormire; il resto lo fischietterò. La fortuna d’un galantuomo può logorarsi ai calcagni. Dio vi dia il buongiorno.
GLOUCESTER	Il Duca ha torto in questo; sarà presa male.
(didascalia)	Esce
KENT	Buon Re, che devi confermare il detto comune: dalla benedizione del cielo tu passi al sole cocente.
(didascalia)	Tira fuori una lettera
KENT	Avvicinati, tu faro di questo globo inferiore, ch’io possa ai tuoi confortanti raggi scorrere questa lettera. Quasi nulla vede miracoli se non la miseria. So che viene da Cordelia, che ora fortunatamente è stata informata del mio corso oscurato, e troverà il tempo per questo enorme stato di cose, cercando di dare alle perdite i loro rimedi. Tutto stanco e sfinito di veglie, approfittatene, occhi pesanti, per non vedere questo vergognoso alloggio. Fortuna, buona notte; sorridi; ancora una volta gira la tua ruota. Si addormenta
(didascalia)	Entra Edgar
EDGAR	Ho udito proclamare il mio nome, e per il fortunato cavo d’un albero sono scampato alla caccia. Nessun porto è libero, nessun luogo dove guardia e straordinaria vigilanza non attendano di prendermi. Finché posso scampare mi preserverò, e ho deciso d’assumere la forma più vile e più povera in cui mai la penuria, a disprezzo dell’uomo, l’abbia accostato alla bestia. Mi sporcherò il viso di lordura, mi cingerò i lombi d’una coperta, aggroviglierò in nodi tutti i capelli, e con la nudità esibita affronterò il vento e la persecuzione del cielo. Il paese mi dà prova e precedente di quei mendicanti di Bedlam che con voci ruggenti si conficcano nelle braccia nude, intorpidite e mortificate, spilli, punte di legno, chiodi, rametti di rosmarino, e con questo orribile spettacolo, da poderi bassi, miseri villaggi da nulla, ovili e mulini, ora con maledizioni da lunatici, ora con preghiere impongono la loro carità. «Povero Tuelygod, povero Tom!» Questo è pur qualcosa. Edgar io non son nulla.
(didascalia)	Esce
(didascalia)	Entrano Re Lear, il suo Matto e un Cavaliere
LEAR	È strano che siano partiti così da casa e non abbiano rimandato indietro il mio messaggero.
CAVALIERE	Per quanto ho saputo, la notte prima non v’era proposito della sua partenza.
KENT	(svegliandosi) Salute a te, nobile padrone.
LEAR	Come! Fai di questa vergogna il tuo passatempo?
MATTO	Ah, ah, guarda, porta giarrettiere crudeli! I cavalli si legano per la testa, i cani e gli orsi per il collo, le scimmie per i lombi, e gli uomini per le gambe. Quando un uomo è troppo gagliardo di gambe, allora porta calze di legno.
LEAR	(a Kent) Chi è colui che ha tanto sbagliato il tuo posto da metterti qui?
KENT	Sono l’uno e l’altra: vostro figlio e vostra figlia.
LEAR	No.
KENT	Sì.
LEAR	No, dico.
KENT	E io dico di sì.
LEAR	No, no, non l’avrebbero fatto.
KENT	Sì, l’hanno fatto.
LEAR	Per Giove, giuro di no. Non oserebbero farlo, non vorrebbero, non potrebbero farlo. È peggio che assassinio fare al rispetto dovuto un oltraggio così violento. Spiegami con tutta modesta fretta in che modo tu possa meritare, o essi proporre, questo trattamento, venendo tu da noi.
KENT	Mio signore, quando alla loro casa consegnai loro le lettere di vostra altezza, prima ch’io mi fossi alzato dal luogo che mostrava in ginocchio il mio dovere, giunse un corriere fumante, cotto nella sua fretta, mezzo senza fiato, ansimando saluti da Gonoril, sua padrona; consegnò lettere a dispetto dell’interruzione, che essi subito lessero, e sul cui contenuto chiamarono a raccolta la servitù, montarono senz’altro a cavallo, mi comandarono di seguirli e d’attendere il comodo della loro risposta, mi diedero sguardi freddi; e incontrando qui l’altro messaggero, la cui accoglienza vidi bene ch’aveva avvelenato la mia— essendo egli proprio quel tale che poco fa s’era così sfacciatamente esibito contro vostra altezza— avendo in me più uomo che senno, sguainai. Egli levò a rumore la casa con grida forti e vigliacche. Vostro figlio e vostra figlia giudicarono questa trasgressione degna di questa vergogna che qui patisce.
LEAR	Oh, come questa madre mi si gonfia verso il cuore! Histerica passio, giù, dolore che sali; il tuo elemento è di sotto.—Dov’è questa figlia?
KENT	Col conte, signore, là dentro.
LEAR	Non seguitemi; restate lì.
(didascalia)	Esce
CAVALIERE	(a Kent) Non commetteste altra offesa che quella di cui parlate?
KENT	No. Come mai il Re viene con un seguito così scarso?
MATTO	Se t’avessero messo nei ceppi per quella domanda, l’avresti ben meritato.
KENT	Perché, matto?
MATTO	Ti manderemo a scuola da una formica, per insegnarti che nell’inverno non si lavora. Tutti quelli che seguono il proprio naso sono guidati dagli occhi, tranne i ciechi; e non c’è un naso su cento che non sappia fiutare chi puzza. Molla la presa quando una gran ruota rotola giù per una collina, ché non ti spezzi il collo a seguirla; ma quella grande che va su per la collina, lascia che ti tiri dietro. Quando un uomo saggio ti darà un consiglio migliore, rendimi il mio. Vorrei che solo i furfanti lo seguissero, poiché lo dà un matto.
(didascalia)	Canta
MATTO	Quel signore che serve per guadagno e segue solo per forma, farà fagotto quando comincia a piovere, e ti lascerà nella tempesta. Ma io resterò, il matto starà, e lasci pur fuggire il savio. Il furfante che scappa si fa matto, il matto non è furfante, perdio.
KENT	Dove imparaste questo, matto?
MATTO	Non nei ceppi.
(didascalia)	Entrano Re Lear e il duca di Gloucester
LEAR	Rifiutano di parlarmi? Sono malati, sono stanchi? Hanno viaggiato duramente stanotte?—pura insolenza, sì, immagini di rivolta e di diserzione. Portami una risposta migliore.
GLOUCESTER	Mio caro signore, voi conoscete l’indole focosa del Duca, quanto sia irremovibile e fisso nel proprio corso.
LEAR	Vendetta, morte, peste, confusione! Che «indole focosa»? Ma, Gloucester, Gloucester, io voglio parlare col duca di Cornovaglia e con sua moglie.
GLOUCESTER	Sì, mio buon signore.
LEAR	Il Re vorrebbe parlare con Cornovaglia; il caro padre vorrebbe parlare con sua figlia, lo comanda, ne attende il servizio. «Focoso»? Il Duca?—dite al Duca infuocato che Lear— no, non ancora. Forse non sta bene. L’infermità trascura sempre ogni ufficio a cui la nostra salute è tenuta. Non siamo noi stessi quando la natura, oppressa, comanda alla mente di soffrire insieme col corpo. Mi tratterrò, e mi sono sdegnato col mio volere troppo impetuoso per aver preso l’accesso indisposto e malato per l’uomo sano.—Morte sul mio stato, perché dovrebbe egli sedere qui? Quest’atto mi persuade che questo allontanarsi del Duca e di lei è solo una macchinazione. Datemi qua il mio servo. Dite al Duca e a sua moglie ch’io voglio parlar loro, ora, sull’istante. Ordinate che vengano fuori e mi ascoltino, o alla porta della loro camera batterò il tamburo finché non gridi il sonno a morte.
GLOUCESTER	Vorrei che tutto andasse bene fra voi.
(didascalia)	Esce
LEAR	Oh, il mio cuore, il mio cuore!
MATTO	Gridaglielo, zietto, come faceva la cuoca londinese alle anguille quando le mise vive nel pasticcio. Le batteva sulla cresta con un bastone, e gridava: «Giù, sfrontate, giù!». Era suo fratello quello che, per pura bontà verso il suo cavallo, gli imburrava il fieno.
(didascalia)	Entrano il duca di Cornovaglia e Regan, il duca di Gloucester, e altri
LEAR	Buongiorno a voi due.
CORNOVAGLIA	Salute a vostra grazia.
(didascalia)	Kent viene qui liberato
REGAN	Son lieta di vedere vostra altezza.
LEAR	Regan, credo che lo siate. So che ragione ho di crederlo. Se non ne foste lieta divorzierei dal sepolcro di tua madre, come da tomba d’un’adultera. (A Kent) Ebbene, siete libero? Di ciò un’altra volta.—Amata Regan, tua sorella non vale nulla. Oh, Regan, ella ha legato qui, come un avvoltoio, una scortesia dai denti aguzzi. A stento posso parlarti. Non crederai di che deplorata natura—oh, Regan!
REGAN	Vi prego, signore, abbiate pazienza. Ho speranza che voi sappiate stimare il suo merito meno di quanto ella sappia trascurare il suo dovere.
LEAR	Le mie maledizioni su di lei.
REGAN	Oh signore, voi siete vecchio. La natura in voi sta proprio sull’orlo del suo confine. Dovreste esser retto e guidato da qualche discernimento che veda il vostro stato meglio di voi stesso. Perciò vi prego di far ritorno da nostra sorella; dite che le avete fatto torto, signore.
LEAR	Chiederle perdono? Notate come questo si confà alla casa?
(didascalia)	Inginocchiandosi «Cara figlia, confesso che sono vecchio.
LEAR	La vecchiaia è inutile. In ginocchio ti prego che tu voglia concedermi vesti, letto e cibo.»
REGAN	Buon signore, basta. Sono giochi sconvenienti. Tornate da mia sorella.
(didascalia)	LEAR alzandosi No, Regan.
REGAN	Ella m’ha ridotto della metà il mio seguito, m’ha guardato torvo, m’ha colpito con la lingua proprio al cuore, come una serpe. Tutte le vendette accumulate del cielo cadano sul suo capo ingrato! Colpite le sue giovani ossa, o arie malefiche, con la paralisi!
CORNOVAGLIA	Vergogna, vergogna, signore.
LEAR	Voi, agili folgori, scagliate le vostre fiamme accecanti nei suoi occhi sprezzanti. Infettate la sua bellezza, voi nebbie succhiate dai pantani e tratte su dal sole possente, a cadere e a bruciare il suo orgoglio.
REGAN	Oh, per gli dèi benedetti! Così augurerete a me quando l’umore impetuoso—
LEAR	No, Regan. Tu non avrai mai la mia maledizione. La tua natura dal tenero cuore non ti darà in preda alla durezza. I suoi occhi sono feroci, ma i tuoi confortano e non bruciano. Non è da te lesinare i miei piaceri, tagliarmi il seguito, scambiare parole avventate, ridurmi le razioni, e, in conclusione, opporre il catenaccio al mio entrare. Tu meglio conosci i doveri della natura, il vincolo dell’infanzia, gli effetti della cortesia, i debiti della gratitudine. La tua metà del regno non l’hai dimenticata, di cui io t’ho dotata.
REGAN	Buon signore, al punto.
LEAR	Chi ha messo il mio uomo nei ceppi?
(didascalia)	Trombe all’interno
CORNOVAGLIA	Che tromba è quella?
(didascalia)	Entra Oswald il maggiordomo
REGAN	La riconosco, è di mia sorella. Ciò conferma la sua lettera, che sarebbe presto qui. (A Oswald) È giunta la vostra signora?
LEAR	Costui è uno schiavo il cui orgoglio preso a facile prestito dimora nella volubile grazia di colei ch’a segue.
(didascalia)	Percuote Oswald
LEAR	Via, manigoldo, dalla mia vista!
CORNOVAGLIA	Che intende vostra grazia?
(didascalia)	Entra Gonoril
GONORIL	Chi ha percosso il mio servo? Regan, ho buona speranza che tu non ne sapessi nulla.
LEAR	Chi viene qui? O cieli, se amate i vecchi, se il vostro dolce dominio approva l’obbedienza, se voi stessi siete vecchi, fatene la vostra causa! Scendete e prendete la mia parte. (A Gonoril) Non ti vergogni di guardare questa barba? Oh Regan, la prenderai per mano?
GONORIL	E perché non per mano, signore? In che ho offeso? Non è tutto offesa ciò che l’indiscrezione trova e il rimbambimento chiama tale.
LEAR	O fianchi, siete troppo saldi! Reggerete ancora?—Come è finito il mio uomo nei ceppi?
CORNOVAGLIA	Ce l’ho messo io, signore; ma i suoi propri disordini meritavano assai minor promozione.
LEAR	Voi? L’avete fatto voi?
REGAN	Vi prego, padre, essendo debole, mostratevi tale. Se fino allo scadere del vostro mese volete tornare e soggiornare presso mia sorella, congedando metà del vostro seguito, venite poi da me. Ora son lontana da casa, e priva di quei preparativi che occorrerebbero per accogliervi.
LEAR	Tornare da lei, e cinquanta uomini congedati? No, piuttosto abiuro ogni tetto, e scelgo d’esser compagno del lupo e del gufo, d’affrontare, contro l’inimicizia dell’aria, il morso aguzzo della necessità. Tornare con lei? Ma, quel sangue caldo di Francia che senza dote prese la nostra ultima nata—potrei altrettanto bene esser condotto a inginocchiarmi al suo trono e, da scudiero, mendicar pensione per tenere in piedi una vile vita. Tornare con lei? Persuadetemi piuttosto a farmi schiavo e bestia da soma di questo detestato staffiere.
GONORIL	A vostra scelta, signore.
LEAR	Ora ti prego, figlia, non farmi impazzire. Non ti darò fastidio, figlia mia. Addio. Non ci incontreremo più, non ci vedremo più. Eppure tu sei la mia carne, il mio sangue, mia figlia— o piuttosto una malattia che sta dentro la mia carne, che devo per forza chiamare mia. Tu sei un foruncolo, una piaga di peste, un carbonchio gonfio nel mio sangue corrotto. Ma non ti rimprovererò. Venga la vergogna quando vuole, io non la chiamo. Non ordino al portatore del tuono di scagliarlo, né racconto storie di te a Giove che alto giudica. Correggiti quando puoi; migliora con tuo comodo. Io so essere paziente, io posso stare con Regan, io e i miei cento cavalieri.
REGAN	Non proprio così, signore. Non vi aspetto ancora, né sono provvista per accogliervi come si conviene. Date ascolto, signore, a mia sorella; ché quelli che mescolano ragione alla vostra passione devono contentarsi di pensare che siete vecchio, e dunque— ma ella sa quel che fa.
LEAR	È ben detto questo, ora?
REGAN	Oso sostenerlo, signore. Come, cinquanta seguaci? Non sta bene così? Che bisogno avreste di più, anzi, perfino di tanti, quando spesa e pericolo parlano contro un numero così grande? Come, in una casa, potrebbero molte persone sotto due comandi mantenere concordia? È difficile, quasi impossibile.
GONORIL	Perché non potreste, mio signore, ricevere servizio da quelli ch’ella chiama servi, o dai miei?
REGAN	E perché no, mio signore? Se allora capitasse loro di trascurarvi, potremmo correggerli. Se verrete da me— ché ora scorgo un pericolo—vi supplico di portarne solo venticinque; a più di tanti non darò né posto né riconoscimento.
LEAR	Vi ho dato tutto.
REGAN	E in buon punto lo deste.
LEAR	Vi feci mie tutrici, mie depositarie, ma serbai la riserva d’esser seguito da un tal numero. Come, devo venire da voi con venticinque, Regan? L’avete detto?
REGAN	E lo ripeto, mio signore. Non di più con me.
LEAR	Quelle creature malvagie appaiono pur ben fatte quando altre sono più malvagie. Non essere il peggiore dà un certo grado di lode. (A Gonoril) Verrò con te. I tuoi cinquanta sono pur il doppio di venticinque, e tu vali due volte il suo amore.
GONORIL	Ascoltatemi, mio signore. Che bisogno avete di venticinque, di dieci o di cinque, per seguirvi in una casa dove il doppio di tanti hanno l’ordine di servirvi?
REGAN	Che bisogno d’uno solo?
LEAR	Oh, non ragionate del bisogno! I nostri più vili mendicanti hanno del superfluo nella loro cosa più povera. Non concedete alla natura più di quanto la natura chiede, e la vita dell’uomo vale quanto quella d’una bestia. Tu sei una dama. Se solo andar caldi fosse magnificenza, ebbene, la natura non ha bisogno di ciò che tu, magnifica, indossi, che a stento ti tiene calda. Ma quanto al vero bisogno— voi, cieli, datemi quella pazienza, la pazienza di cui ho bisogno. Voi mi vedete qui, o dèi, povero vecchio, carico di dolore quanto d’anni, misero in entrambi. Se siete voi ad aizzare il cuore di queste figlie contro il padre, non mi rendete tanto matto da sopportarlo mansueto. Toccatemi di nobile ira. Oh, non lasciate che le armi delle donne, gocce d’acqua, macchino le mie guance d’uomo! No, streghe snaturate, avrò tali vendette su voi due che tutto il mondo—farò tali cose— quali siano, ancora non so; ma saranno i terrori della terra. Credete ch’io pianga. No, non piangerò.
(didascalia)	Tempesta all’interno
LEAR	Ho ben motivo di piangere, ma questo cuore si spezzerà in centomila schegge prima ch’io pianga.—Oh matto, impazzirò!
(didascalia)	Escono Lear, Gloucester, Kent, il Cavaliere e il Matto
CORNOVAGLIA	Ritiriamoci. Verrà una tempesta.
REGAN	Questa casa è piccola. Il vecchio e la sua gente non possono esservi bene alloggiati.
GONORIL	È colpa sua; s’è privato del riposo, e deve per forza gustare la sua follia.
REGAN	Quanto a lui in persona, lo riceverò volentieri, ma non un solo seguace.
CORNOVAGLIA	Così ho deciso anch’io. Dov’è il mio signore di Gloucester?
REGAN	È uscito dietro al vecchio.
(didascalia)	Entra il duca di Gloucester
REGAN	È tornato.
GLOUCESTER	Il Re è in gran furia, e vuole andare non so dove.
REGAN	È bene lasciarlo fare. Si guida da sé.
GONORIL	(a Gloucester) Mio signore, non pregatelo in nessun modo di restare.
GLOUCESTER	Ahimè, la notte scende, e i venti gelidi stormiscono aspramente. Per molte miglia intorno non c’è un cespuglio.
REGAN	Oh signore, per gli uomini ostinati le offese che essi stessi si procurano devono essere i loro maestri. Sbarrate le porte. Egli è seguito da un seguito disperato, e a che possano istigarlo, essendo egli facile a farsi abusare l’orecchio, la saggezza comanda di temere.
CORNOVAGLIA	Sbarrate le porte, mio signore. È una notte selvaggia. La mia Regan consiglia bene. Venite via dalla tempesta. Escono

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Storm. Enter the Earl of Kent disguised, and First Gentleman, at several doors
KENT	What’s here, beside foul weather?
FIRST GENTLEMAN	One minded like the weather, Most unquietly.
KENT	I know you. Where’s the King?
FIRST GENTLEMAN	Contending with the fretful element; Bids the wind blow the earth into the sea Or swell the curled waters ’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 outstorm 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?
FIRST GENTLEMAN	None but the fool, who labours to outjest His heart-struck injuries.
KENT	Sir, I do know you, And dare upon the warrant of my art Commend a dear thing to you. There is division, Although as yet the face of it be covered With mutual cunning, ’twixt Albany and Cornwall; But true it is. From France there comes a power Into this scattered 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.
FIRST GENTLEMAN	I will talk farther 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.
FIRST 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 endeavour I’ll this way, you that— He that first lights on him holla the other.
(didascalia)	Exeunt severally

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Tempesta. Entrano il conte di Kent travestito e il Primo Gentiluomo, da porte diverse
KENT	Che c’è qui, oltre al maltempo?
PRIMO GENTILUOMO	Uno d’animo simile al tempo, quanto mai inquieto.
KENT	Vi conosco. Dov’è il Re?
PRIMO GENTILUOMO	A contendere con l’elemento irritato; ordina al vento di soffiar la terra dentro il mare o di gonfiare le acque ricciute sopra la terraferma, perché le cose mutino o cessino; si strappa i bianchi capelli, che le raffiche impetuose, con cieca rabbia, afferrano nel loro furore e riducono a nulla; si sforza, nel suo piccolo mondo d’uomo, di superare in tempesta il vento e la pioggia che si combattono avanti e indietro. In questa notte, nella quale l’orsa svuotata dai cuccioli si accovaccerebbe, il leone e il lupo dal ventre stretto tengono asciutta la pelliccia, egli corre a capo scoperto, e grida che il tutto se lo prenda chi vuole.
KENT	Ma chi è con lui?
PRIMO GENTILUOMO	Nessuno tranne il matto, che s’affanna a superare in facezie le ferite che gli han colpito il cuore.
KENT	Signore, io vi conosco, e oso, sulla garanzia della mia arte, affidarvi una cosa preziosa. C’è divisione, benché per ora ne sia coperto il volto da reciproca astuzia, fra Albany e Cornovaglia; ma è vero. Dalla Francia viene un esercito in questo regno disperso, e già, accorti nella nostra negligenza, hanno piede segreto in alcuni dei nostri porti migliori, e sono sul punto di mostrare aperto il loro vessillo. Ora, a voi: se sul mio credito osate costruire tanto da far la vostra corsa a Dover, troverete chi vi ringrazierà, facendo giusto rapporto di quale snaturato e folle dolore il Re abbia ragione di lamentarsi. Io sono un gentiluomo di sangue e di nascita, e per certa conoscenza e certezza vi offro questo ufficio.
PRIMO GENTILUOMO	Parlerò più a lungo con voi.
KENT	No, non fatelo. A conferma ch’io sono assai più del mio guscio esterno, aprite questa borsa, e prendete ciò che contiene. Se vedrete Cordelia— e non temete, la vedrete—mostratele questo anello ed ella vi dirà chi sia il vostro compagno, che ancora non conoscete. Vergogna su questa tempesta! Io andrò a cercare il Re.
PRIMO GENTILUOMO	Datemi la mano. Non avete altro da dire?
KENT	Poche parole, ma d’effetto più di tutte le altre: che quando avremo trovato il Re— e in questa impresa io andrò di qua, voi di là— chi per primo s’imbatte in lui chiami l’altro.
(didascalia)	Escono separatamente

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Storm. Enter King Lear and his Fool
LEAR	Blow, wind, and crack your cheeks! Rage, blow, You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout Till you have drenched the steeples, drowned 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 of the world, Crack nature’s mould, all 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.
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, called you children. You owe me no subscription. Why 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 joined Your high engendered battle ‘gainst a head So old and white as this. O, ’tis foul!
FOOL	He that has a house to put his head in has a good headpiece.
(didascalia)	Sings
FOOL	The codpiece 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 have a corn cry woe, And turn his sleep to wake— for there was never yet fair woman but she made mouths in a glass.
LEAR	No, I will be the pattern of all patience.
(didascalia)	He sits. Enter the Earl of Kent disguised
LEAR	I will say nothing.
KENT	Who’s there?
FOOL	Marry, here’s grace and a codpiece—that’s a wise man and a fool.
KENT	(to Lear) Alas, sir, sit you here? Things that love night Love not such nights as these. The wrathful skies Gallow the very wanderers of the dark And makes 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 ne’er Remember to have heard. Man’s nature cannot carry The affliction nor the force.
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 undivulgèd crimes Unwhipped of justice; hide thee, thou bloody hand, Thou perjured and thou simular man of virtue That art incestuous; caitiff, in pieces shake, That under covert and convenient seeming Hast practised on man’s life; Close pent-up guilts, rive your concealed centres And cry these dreadful summoners grace. I am a man more sinned 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 whilst I to this hard house- More hard than is the stone whereof ’tis raised, Which even but now, demanding after you, Denied me to come in—return and force Their scanted courtesy.
LEAR	My wit begins to turn. (To Fool) 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 of my heart That sorrows yet for thee.
(didascalia)	FOOL sings
LEAR	He that has a little tiny wit, With heigh-ho, the wind and the rain, Must make content with his fortunes fit, For the rain it raineth every day.
LEAR	True, my good boy. (To Kent) Come, bring us to this hovel. Exeunt

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Tempesta. Entrano Re Lear e il suo Matto
LEAR	Soffia, vento, e spaccati le gote! Infuria, soffia, voi cateratte e uragani, zampillate finché non avrete inzuppato i campanili, annegato le banderuole! Voi fuochi sulfurei, veloci come il pensiero, araldi delle folgori che spaccano le querce, bruciacchiate il mio capo bianco; e tu, tuono che tutto scuoti, schiaccia piatta la spessa rotondità del mondo, spezza lo stampo della natura, versa d’un colpo tutti i germi che fanno l’uomo ingrato.
MATTO	Oh zietto, l’acqua benedetta di corte in una casa asciutta è meglio di quest’acqua piovana all’aperto. Buon zietto, rientra, e chiedi la benedizione alle tue figlie. Ecco una notte che non ha pietà né del savio né del matto.
LEAR	Rimbomba a sazietà; sputa, fuoco; zampilla, pioggia. Né pioggia, né vento, né tuono, né fuoco sono mie figlie. Non v’accuso, o elementi, di scortesia. Non vi diedi mai regno, non vi chiamai figli. Non mi dovete obbedienza. E allora, lasciate cadere il vostro orribile piacere. Qui io sto, vostro schiavo, povero vecchio infermo, debole e disprezzato. Eppure vi chiamo ministri servili, che con due perniciose figlie avete unito la vostra battaglia generata in alto contro un capo vecchio e bianco come questo. Oh, è cosa turpe!
MATTO	Chi ha una casa in cui mettere la testa ha un buon copricapo.
(didascalia)	Canta
MATTO	La brachetta che vuol alloggiare prima che la testa abbia tetto, essa e la testa si faran pidocchiose, così i pezzenti si sposano a frotte. L’uomo che fa del suo dito del piede ciò che dovrebbe fare del suo cuore avrà un callo che grida guai, e muterà il suo sonno in veglia— ché non ci fu mai bella donna che non facesse smorfie allo specchio.
LEAR	No, io sarò il modello d’ogni pazienza.
(didascalia)	Si siede. Entra il conte di Kent travestito
LEAR	Non dirò nulla.
KENT	Chi è là?
MATTO	Perbacco, ecco una grazia e una brachetta—cioè un savio e un matto.
KENT	(a Lear) Ahimè, signore, sedete qui? Le cose che amano la notte non amano notti come questa. I cieli irati atterriscono perfino i vagabondi del buio e li fanno restare nelle loro tane. Da quando son uomo tali lenzuoli di fuoco, tali scoppi d’orrendo tuono, tali gemiti di vento ruggente e di pioggia non ricordo d’avere udito. La natura dell’uomo non può reggere né l’afflizione né la violenza.
LEAR	Che i grandi dèi, che tengono questo tremendo fracasso sopra le nostre teste, scoprano ora i loro nemici. Trema, tu miserabile che dentro di te hai delitti non rivelati e non frustati dalla giustizia; nasconditi, tu mano sanguinaria, tu spergiuro, e tu che simuli virtù e sei incestuoso; sciagurato, va’ in pezzi dal tremore, tu che sotto coperta e comoda apparenza hai macchinato contro la vita d’un uomo; colpe rinchiuse e serrate, squarciate i vostri centri nascosti e implorate grazia a questi terribili messi. Io sono un uomo più peccato contro che peccatore.
KENT	Ahimè, a capo scoperto? Grazioso mio signore, qui vicino c’è un tugurio. Qualche amicizia vi presterà contro la tempesta. Riposatevi là, mentre io a questa dura casa— più dura della pietra di cui è fatta, e che proprio or ora, quando chiedevo di voi, mi negò l’ingresso—tornerò e forzerò la loro lesinata cortesia.
LEAR	La mia mente comincia a girare. (Al Matto) Vieni, ragazzo mio. Come stai, ragazzo mio? Hai freddo? Ho freddo anch’io.—Dov’è questa paglia, amico? Strana è l’arte delle nostre necessità, che sa render preziose le cose vili. Su, il tuo tugurio.— Povero matto e furfante, ho una parte del mio cuore che ancora si duole per te.
(didascalia)	Il MATTO canta
LEAR	Chi ha un pochino piccino di senno, con oh-issa, il vento e la pioggia, deve contentarsi come porta la sorte, ché la pioggia piove ogni giorno.
LEAR	Vero, mio buon ragazzo. (A Kent) Vieni, portaci a questo tugurio. Escono

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke of Gloucester and Edmund the bastard, with lights
GLOUCESTER	Alack, alack, Edmund, I like not this Unnatural dealing. When I desired their leave That I might pity him, they took from me The use of mine own house, charged me on pain Of their 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 landed. 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’t—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 do fall. Exit

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Entrano il duca di Gloucester ed Edmund il bastardo, con lumi
GLOUCESTER	Ahimè, ahimè, Edmund, non mi piace questo procedere snaturato. Quando chiesi il loro permesso di poter aver pietà di lui, mi tolsero l’uso della mia stessa casa, m’ingiunsero sotto pena del loro disfavore di non parlare di lui, di non intercedere per lui, né in alcun modo di sostenerlo.
EDMUND	Cosa selvaggia e snaturata!
GLOUCESTER	Suvvia, non dite nulla. C’è divisione fra i Duchi, e cosa peggiore ancora. Ho ricevuto una lettera questa notte—è pericoloso parlarne—ho chiuso la lettera nel mio stanzino. Queste offese che il Re ora sopporta saranno vendicate fino in fondo. Parte d’un esercito è già sbarcata. Dobbiamo inclinare dalla parte del Re. Andrò a cercarlo e di nascosto lo soccorrerò. Andate voi e tenete a discorso il Duca, sì che la mia carità non sia da lui avvertita. Se chiede di me, sono malato e andato a letto. Anche se dovessi morirne—e nulla di meno mi si minaccia—il Re mio vecchio padrone dev’essere soccorso. Qualcosa di strano si prepara. Edmund, vi prego, siate cauto. Esce
EDMUND	Questa cortesia, a te vietata, il Duca la saprà all’istante, e anche di quella lettera. Questo pare un bel merito, e deve fruttarmi ciò che mio padre perde: nientemeno che tutto. Il giovane sale quando il vecchio cade. Esce

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Storm. Enter King Lear, the Earl of Kent disguised, and Lear’s 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.
LEAR	Let me alone.
KENT	Good my lord, enter here.
LEAR	Wilt break my heart?
KENT	I had rather break mine own. Good my lord, enter.
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 fixed, The lesser is scarce felt. Thou’dst shun a bear, But if thy flight lay toward the roaring sea Thou‘dst meet the bear i’th’ mouth. When the mind’s free, The body’s delicate. This 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 sure. No, I will weep no more.— In such a night as this! O Regan, Gonoril, Your old kind father, whose frank heart gave you all— O, that way madness lies. Let me shun that. No more of that.
KENT	Good my lord, enter.
LEAR	Prithee, go in thyself. Seek thy own ease. This tempest will not give me leave to ponder On things would hurt me more; but I’ll go in.
(didascalia)	Exit Fool
LEAR	Poor naked wretches, wheresoe‘er you are, That bide the pelting of this pitiless night, How shall your houseless heads and unfed sides, Your looped and windowed 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.
(didascalia)	Enter Lear’s Fool
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. He says his name’s Poor Tom.
KENT	What art thou that dost grumble there in the straw? Come forth.
(didascalia)	Enter Edgar as a Bedlam beggar
EDGAR	Away, the foul fiend follows me. Through the sharp hawthorn blows the cold wind. Go to thy cold bed and warm thee.
LEAR	Hast thou given all to thy two daughters, And art thou come to this?
EDGAR	Who gives anything to Poor Tom, whom the foul fiend hath led through fire and through ford and whirlypool, o’er bog and quagmire; that has laid knives under his pillow and halters in his pew, set ratsbane by his potage, made him 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! 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.
LEAR	What, has his daughters brought him to this pass? (To Edgar) Couldst thou save nothing? Didst thou give them all?
FOOL	Nay, he reserved a blanket, else we had been all shamed.
LEAR	(to Edgar) Now all the plagues that in the pendulous air Hang fated o’er men’s faults fall on thy daughters!
KENT	He hath no daughters, sir.
LEAR	Death, traitor! Nothing could have subdued nature To such a lowness but his unkind daughters. (To Edgar) 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’s hill; a lo, lo, lo.
FOOL	This cold night will turn us all to fools and madmen.
EDGAR	Take heed o’th’ 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.
LEAR	What hast thou been?
EDGAR	A servingman, 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 rustlings of silks betray thy poor heart to women. Keep thy foot out of brothel, thy hand out of placket, thy pen from lender’s book, and defy the foul fiend. Still through the hawthorn blows the cold wind. Heigh no nonny. Dolphin, my boy, my boy! Cease, let him trot by.
LEAR	Why, thou wert better in thy grave than to answer with thy uncovered body this extremity of the skies. Is man no more but this? Consider him well. Thou owest the worm no silk, the beast no hide, the sheep no wool, the cat no perfume. 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 on, be true.
FOOL	Prithee, nuncle, be content. This is 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.
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke of 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, squinies the eye, and makes the harelip; mildews the white wheat, and hurts the poor creature of earth.
(didascalia)	Sings
EDGAR	Swithin footed thrice the wold, A met the night mare and her nine foal; Bid her alight And her troth plight, And aroint thee, witch, aroint thee!
KENT	(to Lear) How fares your grace?
LEAR	What’s he?
KENT	(to Gloucester) 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 cowdung for salads, 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 Hath been Tom’s food for seven long year- Beware my follower. Peace, Smolking; peace, thou fiend!
GLOUCESTER	(to Lear) What, hath your grace no better company?
EDGAR	The Prince of Darkness is a gentleman; Modo he’s called, and Mahu—
GLOUCESTER	(to Lear) Our flesh and blood is grown so vile, my lord, That it doth hate what gets it.
EDGAR	Poor Tom’s a-cold.
GLOUCESTER	(to Lear) 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 food and fire is ready.
LEAR	First let me talk with this philosopher. (To Edgar) What is the cause of thunder?
KENT	My good lord, Take his offer; go into the house.
LEAR	I’ll talk a word with this most learnèd Theban. (To Edgar) What is your study?
EDGAR	How to prevent the fiend, and to kill vermin.
LEAR	Let me ask you one word in private. They converse apart
KENT	(to Gloucester) Importune him to go, my lord. His wits begin to unsettle.
GLOUCESTER	Canst thou blame him? His daughters seek his death. O, that good Kent, He said it would be thus, poor banished man! Thou sayst the King grows mad; I’ll tell thee, friend, I am almost mad myself. I had a son, Now outlawed from my blood; a sought my life But lately, very late. I loved him, friend; No father his son dearer. True to tell thee, The grief hath crazed my wits. What a night’s this! (To Lear) I do beseech your grace—
LEAR	O, cry you mercy. (To Edgar) Noble philosopher, your company.
EDGAR	Tom’s a-cold.
GLOUCESTER	In, fellow, there in t’hovel; keep thee warm.
LEAR	Come, let’s in all.
KENT	This way, my lord.
LEAR	With him! I will keep still with my philosopher.
KENT	(to Gloucester) Good my lord, soothe him; let him take the fellow.
GLOUCESTER	Take him you on.
(didascalia)	KENT to Edgar
GLOUCESTER	Sirrah, come on. Go along with us.
LEAR	(to Edgar) Come, good Athenian.
GLOUCESTER	No words, no words. Hush.
EDGAR	Child Roland to the dark tower come, His word was still ‘Fie, fo, and fum; I smell the blood of a British man.’
(didascalia)	Exeunt

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Tempesta. Entrano Re Lear, il conte di Kent travestito, e il Matto di Lear
KENT	Ecco il luogo, mio signore. Mio buon signore, entrate. La tirannia della notte all’aperto è troppo aspra perché la natura la sopporti.
LEAR	Lasciami solo.
KENT	Mio buon signore, entrate qui.
LEAR	Mi vuoi spezzare il cuore?
KENT	Preferirei spezzare il mio. Mio buon signore, entrate.
LEAR	Tu credi sia gran cosa che questa contenziosa tempesta ci invada fino alla pelle. Così è per te; ma dove è fisso il male maggiore, il minore appena si sente. Tu fuggiresti un orso; ma se la tua fuga andasse verso il mare ruggente affronteresti l’orso a viso aperto. Quando la mente è libera, il corpo è delicato. Questa tempesta nella mia mente toglie ai miei sensi ogni altra sensazione tranne ciò che là batte: l’ingratitudine filiale. Non è come se questa bocca lacerasse questa mano per averle portato il cibo? Ma punirò di sicuro. No, non piangerò più.— In una notte come questa! Oh Regan, Gonoril, il vostro vecchio padre affettuoso, che a cuore aperto vi diede tutto— oh, di là sta la follia. Ch’io la fugga. Basta con questo.
KENT	Mio buon signore, entrate.
LEAR	Di grazia, entra tu. Cerca il tuo agio. Questa tempesta non mi dà licenza di rimuginare su cose che mi ferirebbero di più; ma entrerò.
(didascalia)	Esce il Matto
LEAR	Poveri miserabili nudi, ovunque voi siate, che sopportate la sferza di questa spietata notte, come potranno le vostre teste senza tetto e i fianchi non nutriti, i vostri stracci pieni di buchi e di finestre, difendervi da stagioni come queste? Oh, ho avuto troppo poca cura di ciò. Prendi la medicina, o fasto: esponiti a sentire ciò che sentono i miserabili, perché tu possa scuotere il superfluo verso di loro e mostrare i cieli più giusti.
(didascalia)	Entra il Matto di Lear
MATTO	Non entrare qui, zietto; qui c’è uno spirito. Aiutatemi, aiutatemi!
KENT	Dammi la mano. Chi è là?
MATTO	Uno spirito. Dice che si chiama Povero Tom.
KENT	Che sei tu che brontoli là nella paglia? Vieni fuori.
(didascalia)	Entra Edgar travestito da mendicante di Bedlam
EDGAR	Via, il turpe demonio mi segue. Fra il biancospino pungente soffia il freddo vento. Va’ al tuo freddo letto e scaldati.
LEAR	Hai dato tutto alle tue due figlie, e sei ridotto a questo?
EDGAR	Chi dà qualcosa al Povero Tom, che il turpe demonio ha condotto attraverso il fuoco e il guado e il gorgo, per palude e pantano; che gli ha messo coltelli sotto il guanciale e capestri nel suo banco di chiesa, veleno per topi accanto alla minestra, che gli ha reso il cuore superbo tanto da cavalcare un cavallo baio al trotto su ponti larghi quattro pollici, e da inseguire la propria ombra come un traditore. Benedetti i tuoi cinque sensi, Tom ha freddo! Il cielo ti guardi da turbini, malefizi di stelle e contagi. Fate un po’ di carità al Povero Tom, che il turpe demonio tormenta. Là potrei averlo, ora, e là, e là di nuovo.
LEAR	Come, le sue figlie l’hanno ridotto a questo punto? (A Edgar) Non potesti serbar nulla? Desti loro tutto?
MATTO	No, s’è riservato una coperta, se no saremmo stati tutti svergognati.
LEAR	(a Edgar) Ora tutte le pesti che nell’aria sospesa pendono fatali sulle colpe degli uomini cadano sulle tue figlie!
KENT	Non ha figlie, signore.
LEAR	Morte, traditore! Nulla avrebbe potuto piegare la natura a tale bassezza se non le sue snaturate figlie. (A Edgar) È forse la moda che i padri scartati abbiano così poca pietà della propria carne? Giudiziosa punizione: fu questa carne a generare quelle figlie pellicane.
EDGAR	Pillicock sedeva sulla collina di Pillicock; ohilà, lallà, lallà.
MATTO	Questa fredda notte ci muterà tutti in matti e in pazzi.
EDGAR	Guardati dal turpe demonio; obbedisci ai tuoi genitori; mantieni con giustizia la parola; non giurare; non giacere con la sposa giurata d’un altro; non porre il tuo dolce cuore in superbe vesti. Tom ha freddo.
LEAR	Che cosa sei stato?
EDGAR	Un servitore, superbo di cuore e di mente, che m’arricciavo i capelli, portavo guanti sul cappello, servivo la lussuria del cuore della mia padrona, e con lei compivo l’atto delle tenebre; giuravo tanti giuramenti quante parole dicevo, e li rompevo in faccia al dolce cielo; uno che dormiva macchinando lussuria, e si svegliava per compierla. Il vino l’amai profondamente, i dadi teneramente, e in fatto di donne superai in amanti il Turco. Falso di cuore, leggero d’orecchio, sanguinario di mano; porco nell’accidia, volpe nella furbizia, lupo nell’ingordigia, cane nella follia, leone nella preda. Non lasciare che lo scricchiolio delle scarpe né il fruscio delle sete tradiscano il tuo povero cuore alle donne. Tieni il piede fuori dai bordelli, la mano fuori dalle sottane, la penna lontana dal libro dell’usuraio, e sfida il turpe demonio. Ancora fra il biancospino soffia il freddo vento. Ehi no nonny. Delfino, ragazzo mio, ragazzo mio! Ferma, lascialo trottar via.
LEAR	Ma via, staresti meglio nella tua tomba che ad affrontare col tuo corpo scoperto questa violenza dei cieli. L’uomo non è altro che questo? Consideralo bene. Tu non devi al baco la seta, alla bestia la pelle, alla pecora la lana, alla civetta il profumo. Eccoci qui, tre di noi contraffatti; tu sei la cosa stessa. L’uomo senza orpelli non è altro che un povero animale nudo e biforcuto come te. Via, via, voi prestiti! Su, siate sinceri.
MATTO	Di grazia, zietto, contèntati. Questa è una brutta notte per nuotarci. Ora un po’ di fuoco in un campo selvatico sarebbe come il cuore d’un vecchio libertino—una piccola scintilla, e tutto il resto del suo corpo freddo. Guarda, ecco che viene un fuoco che cammina.
(didascalia)	Entra il duca di Gloucester con una torcia
EDGAR	Questo è il turpe demonio Flibbertigibbet. Comincia al coprifuoco e va in giro fino al primo canto del gallo. Manda la cataratta e lo spillo negli occhi, fa lo strabismo e il labbro leporino; fa ammuffire il grano bianco, e nuoce alla povera creatura della terra.
(didascalia)	Canta
EDGAR	Swithin percorse tre volte la landa, incontrò la cavalla della notte e i suoi nove puledri; le ordinò di scendere e di giurar la sua fede, e vattene, strega, vattene!
KENT	(a Lear) Come sta vostra grazia?
LEAR	Chi è costui?
KENT	(a Gloucester) Chi è là? Che cercate?
GLOUCESTER	Che siete voi là? I vostri nomi?
EDGAR	Povero Tom, che mangia la rana che nuota, il rospo, il girino, la lucertola dei muri e quella d’acqua; che nel furore del suo cuore, quando il turpe demonio infuria, mangia sterco di vacca in insalata, ingoia il vecchio ratto e il cane del fosso, beve il verde manto della pozza stagnante; che è frustato di parrocchia in parrocchia, e punito coi ceppi, e imprigionato; che ebbe tre vestiti sulla schiena, sei camicie sul suo corpo, cavallo per cavalcare e arma da portare. Ma topi e ratti e simile piccola selvaggina furon cibo di Tom per sette lunghi anni— Attento al mio compagno. Pace, Smolking; pace, tu demonio!
GLOUCESTER	(a Lear) Come, non ha vostra grazia compagnia migliore?
EDGAR	Il Principe delle Tenebre è un gentiluomo; Modo si chiama, e Mahu—
GLOUCESTER	(a Lear) La nostra carne e il nostro sangue son divenuti così vili, mio signore, che odiano ciò che li genera.
EDGAR	Il Povero Tom ha freddo.
GLOUCESTER	(a Lear) Venite dentro con me. Il mio dovere non può sopportare d’obbedire in tutto ai duri comandi delle vostre figlie. Benché la loro ingiunzione sia di sbarrare le mie porte e di lasciare che questa tirannica notte v’afferri, pure ho osato venire a cercarvi e a condurvi dove cibo e fuoco son pronti.
LEAR	Prima lasciate ch’io parli con questo filosofo. (A Edgar) Qual è la causa del tuono?
KENT	Mio buon signore, accettate la sua offerta; entrate nella casa.
LEAR	Voglio scambiare una parola con questo dottissimo tebano. (A Edgar) Qual è il vostro studio?
EDGAR	Come prevenire il demonio, e come uccidere i parassiti.
LEAR	Lasciate ch’io vi chieda una parola in privato. Conversano in disparte
KENT	(a Gloucester) Insistete perché venga, mio signore. La sua mente comincia a vacillare.
GLOUCESTER	Puoi biasimarlo? Le sue figlie cercano la sua morte. Oh, quel buon Kent, disse che sarebbe andata così, povero uomo bandito! Tu dici che il Re impazzisce; ti dirò, amico, che quasi sono pazzo io stesso. Avevo un figlio, ora messo al bando dal mio sangue; attentò alla mia vita proprio ora, pochissimo fa. L’amavo, amico; nessun padre amò più caro suo figlio. A dirti il vero, il dolore m’ha guastato la mente. Che notte è questa! (A Lear) Io supplico vostra grazia—
LEAR	Oh, chiedo venia. (A Edgar) Nobile filosofo, favorite la vostra compagnia.
EDGAR	Tom ha freddo.
GLOUCESTER	Dentro, amico, là nel tugurio; tieniti al caldo.
LEAR	Su, entriamo tutti.
KENT	Di qua, mio signore.
LEAR	Con lui! Voglio restare col mio filosofo.
KENT	(a Gloucester) Mio buon signore, assecondatelo; lasciate che prenda con sé quel tale.
GLOUCESTER	Portatelo voi.
(didascalia)	KENT a Edgar
GLOUCESTER	Messere, andiamo. Vieni con noi.
LEAR	(a Edgar) Vieni, buon ateniese.
GLOUCESTER	Niente parole, niente parole. Zitti.
EDGAR	Il fanciullo Rolando alla torre oscura giunse, la sua parola era sempre «Puh, po e pum; sento il sangue d’un uomo britanno.»
(didascalia)	Escono

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke of Cornwall and Edmund the bastard
CORNWALL	I will have my revenge ere I depart the house. EDMUND How, my lord, I may be censured, that nature thus gives way to loyalty, something fears me to think of.
CORNWALL	I now perceive it was not altogether your brother’s evil disposition made him seek his death, but a provoking merit set a-work by a reprovable badness in himself.
EDMUND	How malicious is my fortune, that I must repent to be just! This is the letter he spoke of, which approves him an intelligent party to the advantages of France. O heavens, that his treason were not, or not I the detector!
CORNWALL	Go with me to the Duchess.
EDMUND	If the matter of this paper be certain, you have mighty business in hand.
CORNWALL	True or false, it hath made thee Earl of Gloucester. Seek out where thy father is, that he may be ready for our apprehension.
(didascalia)	EDMUND aside If I find him comforting the King, it will stuff his suspicion more fully. (To Cornwall) I will persever in my course of loyalty, though the conflict be sore between that and my blood.
CORNWALL	I will lay trust upon thee, and thou shalt find a dearer father in my love. Exeunt

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Entrano il duca di Cornovaglia ed Edmund il bastardo
CORNOVAGLIA	Avrò la mia vendetta prima di lasciare questa casa. EDMUND Come io possa esser biasimato, mio signore, per aver così ceduto la natura alla lealtà, un poco mi spaventa al solo pensarlo.
CORNOVAGLIA	Ora m’accorgo che non fu del tutto la malvagia indole di vostro fratello a fargli cercare la morte del padre, ma un merito provocante messo all’opera da una biasimevole cattiveria in lui stesso.
EDMUND	Com’è maligna la mia fortuna, che devo pentirmi d’esser giusto! Questa è la lettera di cui parlò, che lo prova parte informata dei vantaggi della Francia. O cieli, che il suo tradimento non fosse, o non fossi io a scoprirlo!
CORNOVAGLIA	Venite con me dalla Duchessa.
EDMUND	Se il contenuto di questo foglio è certo, avete fra le mani un affare potente.
CORNOVAGLIA	Vero o falso, esso t’ha fatto conte di Gloucester. Cerca dove sia tuo padre, ch’egli sia pronto per il nostro arresto.
(didascalia)	EDMUND a parte Se lo troverò a confortare il Re, ciò riempirà più pienamente il suo sospetto. (A Cornovaglia) Persevererò nel mio corso di lealtà, benché il conflitto sia aspro fra essa e il mio sangue.
CORNOVAGLIA	Riporrò fiducia in te, e tu troverai nel mio amore un padre più caro. Escono

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke of Gloucester and King Lear, the Earl of Kent disguised, Lear’s Fool, and Edgar as a Bedlam beggar
GLOUCESTER	Here is better than the open air; take it thankfully. I will piece out the comfort with what addition I can. I will not be long from you.
(didascalia)	KENT All the power of his wits have given way to impatience; the gods discern your kindness! Exit Gloucester
EDGAR	Frateretto calls me, and tells me Nero is an angler in the lake of darkness. Pray, innocent; beware the foul fiend.
FOOL	(to Lear) Prithee, nuncle, tell me whether a madman be a gentleman or a yeoman.
LEAR	A king, a king! To have a thousand With red burning spits come hissing in upon them!
EDGAR	The foul fiend bites my back.
FOOL	(to Lear) He’s mad that trusts in the tameness of a wolf, a horse’s health, a boy’s love, or a whore’s oath.
LEAR	It shall be done. I will arraign them straight.
(didascalia)	To Edgar Come, sit thou here, most learned justicer.
(didascalia)	To Fool Thou sapient sir, sit here.—No, you she-
LEAR	foxes—
EDGAR	Look where he stands and glares. Want’st thou eyes at troll-madam?
(didascalia)	Sings Come o’er the burn, Bessy, to me.
(didascalia)	FOOL sings
EDGAR	Her boat hath a leak, And she must not speak Why she dares not come over to thee.
EDGAR	The foul fiend haunts Poor Tom in the voice of a nightingale. Hoppedance cries in Tom’s belly for two white herring. Croak not, black angel: I have no food for thee.
KENT	(to Lear) How do you, sir? Stand you not so amazed. Will you lie down and rest upon the cushions?
LEAR	I’ll see their trial first. Bring in the evidence.
(didascalia)	To Edgar Thou robed man of justice, take thy place;
(didascalia)	To Fool And thou, his yokefellow of equity,
(didascalia)	Bench by his side. To Kent You are o’th’
LEAR	commission, Sit you, too.
EDGAR	Let us deal justly.
(didascalia)	Sings
EDGAR	Sleepest or wakest thou, jolly shepherd? Thy sheep be in the corn, And for one blast of thy minikin mouth Thy sheep shall take no harm. Purr, the cat is grey.
LEAR	Arraign her first. ’Tis Gonoril. I here take my oath before this honourable assembly she kicked the poor King her father.
FOOL	Come hither, mistress. Is your name Gonoril?
LEAR	She cannot deny it.
FOOL	Cry you mercy, I took you for a join-stool.
LEAR	And here’s another, whose warped looks proclaim What store her heart is made on. Stop her there. Arms, arms, sword, fire, corruption in the place! False justicer, why hast thou let her scape?
EDGAR	Bless thy five wits.
KENT	(to Lear) O pity! Sir, where is the patience now That you so oft have boasted to retain?
EDGAR	(aside) My tears begin to take his part so much They’ll mar my counterfeiting.
LEAR	The little dogs and all, Tray, Blanch, and Sweetheart—see, they bark at me.
EDGAR	Tom will throw his head at them.—Avaunt, you curs! Be thy mouth or black or white, Tooth that poisons if it bite, Mastiff, greyhound, mongrel grim, Hound or spaniel, brach or him, Bobtail tyke or trundle-tail, Tom will make them weep and wail; For with throwing thus my head, Dogs leap the hatch, and all are fled. Loudla, doodla! Come, march to wakes and fairs And market towns. Poor Tom, thy horn is dry.
LEAR	Then let them anatomize Regan; see what breeds about her heart. Is there any cause in nature that makes this hardness? (To Edgar) You, sir, I entertain you for one of my hundred, only I do not like the fashion of your garments. You’ll say they are Persian attire; but let them be changed.
KENT	Now, good my lord, lie here a while.
LEAR	Make no noise, make no noise. Draw the curtains. So, so, so. We’ll go to supper i’th’ morning. So, so, so. He sleeps. Enter the Duke of Gloucester
GLOUCESTER	(to Kent) Come hither, friend. Where is the King my master?
KENT	Here, sir, but trouble him not; his wits are gone.
GLOUCESTER	Good friend, I prithee take him in thy arms. I have o’erheard a plot of death upon him. There is a litter ready. Lay him in’t And drive towards Dover, friend, where thou shalt meet Both welcome and protection. Take up thy master. If thou shouldst dally half an hour, his life, With thine and all that offer to defend him, Stand in assured loss. Take up, take up, And follow me, that will to some provision Give thee quick conduct.
KENT	(to Lear) Oppressed nature sleeps. This rest might yet have balmed thy broken sinews Which, if convenience will not allow, Stand in hard cure. (To Fool) Come, help to bear thy master. Thou must not stay behind.
GLOUCESTER	Come, come away.
(didascalia)	Exeunt all but Edgar
EDGAR	When we our betters see bearing our woes, We scarcely think our miseries our foes. Who alone suffers, suffers most i‘th’ mind, Leaving free things and happy shows behind. But then the mind much sufferance doth o’erskip When grief hath mates, and bearing fellowship. How light and portable my pain seems now, When that which makes me bend, makes the King bow. He childed as I fathered. Tom, away. Mark the high noises, and thyself bewray When false opinion, whose wrong thoughts defile thee, In thy just proof repeals and reconciles thee. What will hap more tonight, safe scape the King! Lurk, lurk.
(didascalia)	Exit

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Entrano il duca di Gloucester e Re Lear, il conte di Kent travestito, il Matto di Lear, e Edgar travestito da mendicante di Bedlam
GLOUCESTER	Qui si sta meglio che all’aria aperta; prendetelo con gratitudine. Aggiungerò al conforto quanto altro potrò. Non starò a lungo lontano da voi.
(didascalia)	KENT Tutta la forza del suo ingegno ha ceduto all’insofferenza; gli dèi ricompensino la vostra bontà! Esce Gloucester
EDGAR	Frateretto mi chiama, e mi dice che Nerone è un pescatore nel lago delle tenebre. Prega, innocente; guardati dal turpe demonio.
MATTO	(a Lear) Di grazia, zietto, dimmi se un pazzo sia un gentiluomo o un possidente.
LEAR	Un re, un re! Averne mille con rossi spiedi ardenti che vengano sibilando addosso a loro!
EDGAR	Il turpe demonio mi morde la schiena.
MATTO	(a Lear) È pazzo chi si fida della mansuetudine d’un lupo, della salute d’un cavallo, dell’amore d’un ragazzo o del giuramento d’una puttana.
LEAR	Sarà fatto. Le processerò subito.
(didascalia)	A Edgar Vieni, siedi qui tu, dottissimo giudice.
(didascalia)	Al Matto Tu, sapiente signore, siedi qui.—No, voi, volpi
LEAR	femmine—
EDGAR	Guarda dove sta e sbarra gli occhi. Ti mancano occhi al gioco della trollamadama?
(didascalia)	Canta Vieni oltre il ruscello, Bessy, da me.
(didascalia)	Il MATTO canta
EDGAR	La sua barca fa acqua, ed ella non deve dire perché non osa venire da te.
EDGAR	Il turpe demonio perseguita il Povero Tom con la voce d’un usignolo. Hoppedance grida nel ventre di Tom per due aringhe bianche. Non gracchiare, angelo nero: non ho cibo per te.
KENT	(a Lear) Come state, signore? Non restate così sbigottito. Volete sdraiarvi e riposare sui cuscini?
LEAR	Prima voglio vedere il loro processo. Portate le prove.
(didascalia)	A Edgar Tu, uomo di giustizia in toga, prendi il tuo posto;
(didascalia)	Al Matto E tu, suo compagno di giogo nell’equità,
(didascalia)	siedi al suo fianco. A Kent Voi siete della
LEAR	commissione, sedete anche voi.
EDGAR	Procediamo con giustizia.
(didascalia)	Canta
EDGAR	Dormi o vegli, allegro pastore? Le tue pecore sono nel grano, e per un solo soffio della tua bocca sottile le tue pecore non avranno danno. Purr, il gatto è grigio.
LEAR	Processate prima lei. È Gonoril. Qui presto giuramento davanti a questa onorevole assemblea ch’ella prese a calci il povero Re suo padre.
MATTO	Venite qua, signora. Vi chiamate Gonoril?
LEAR	Non può negarlo.
MATTO	Chiedo venia, v’avevo preso per uno sgabello.
LEAR	Ed ecco l’altra, il cui sguardo storto proclama di che stoffa è fatto il suo cuore. Fermatela là. Alle armi, alle armi, spada, fuoco, corruzione nel tribunale! Falso giudice, perché l’hai lasciata scappare?
EDGAR	Benedetti i tuoi cinque sensi.
KENT	(a Lear) Oh, pietà! Signore, dov’è ora quella pazienza che tanto spesso vi vantaste di serbare?
EDGAR	(a parte) Le mie lacrime cominciano a prendere così tanto le sue parti che guasteranno la mia finzione.
LEAR	I piccoli cani e tutti quanti, Tray, Blanch e Sweetheart—guarda, mi abbaiano contro.
EDGAR	Tom scaglierà loro la testa.—Via, botoli! Sia la tua bocca nera o bianca, dente che avvelena se morde, mastino, levriero, bastardo torvo, segugio o spaniel, cagna o cane, botolo dalla coda mozza o dalla coda a spirale, Tom li farà piangere e ululare; ché al lanciar così la mia testa i cani saltano il cancello, e tutti son fuggiti. Loudla, doodla! Su, marciamo alle sagre e alle fiere e ai borghi di mercato. Povero Tom, il tuo corno è asciutto.
LEAR	Poi lascino che facciano l’anatomia di Regan; si veda che cosa cova attorno al suo cuore. C’è qualche causa nella natura che produce questa durezza? (A Edgar) Voi, signore, vi assumo per uno dei miei cento; solo che non mi piace la foggia delle vostre vesti. Direte che sono abiti persiani; ma si cambino.
KENT	Ora, mio buon signore, coricatevi qui un poco.
LEAR	Non fate rumore, non fate rumore. Tirate le cortine. Così, così, così. Andremo a cena domattina. Così, così, così. Si addormenta. Entra il duca di Gloucester
GLOUCESTER	(a Kent) Vieni qua, amico. Dov’è il Re mio padrone?
KENT	Qui, signore, ma non disturbatelo; la sua mente se n’è andata.
GLOUCESTER	Buon amico, ti prego, prendilo fra le braccia. Ho udito per caso una trama di morte contro di lui. C’è una lettiga pronta. Deponilo dentro e guida verso Dover, amico, dove troverai e accoglienza e protezione. Solleva il tuo padrone. Se indugiassi mezz’ora, la sua vita, con la tua e con quella di tutti coloro che tentassero di difenderlo, è sicuramente perduta. Sollevalo, sollevalo, e seguimi; io a qualche provvista ti darò rapida guida.
KENT	(a Lear) La natura oppressa dorme. Questo riposo avrebbe potuto ancora lenire i tuoi nervi spezzati i quali, se le circostanze non lo permettono, saranno di difficile cura. (Al Matto) Vieni, aiuta a portare il tuo padrone. Tu non devi restare indietro.
GLOUCESTER	Su, andiamo via.
(didascalia)	Escono tutti tranne Edgar
EDGAR	Quando vediamo i nostri superiori portare i nostri guai, a stento pensiamo nemiche le nostre miserie. Chi soffre solo, soffre più nella mente, lasciandosi dietro cose libere e lieti spettacoli. Ma allora la mente sorvola gran parte del patire quando il dolore ha compagni, e la sofferenza sodalizio. Quanto lieve e portabile mi pare ora il mio dolore, quando ciò che fa piegare me fa piegare il Re. Egli coi figli come io col padre. Tom, via. Sta’ attento ai grandi rumori, e rivelati quando la falsa opinione, i cui torti pensieri ti macchiano, alla tua giusta prova ti richiami e ti riconcili. Qualunque altra cosa accada stanotte, scampi salvo il Re! Nasconditi, nasconditi.
(didascalia)	Esce

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke of Cornwall and Regan, and Gonoril and Edmund the bastard, and Servants
CORNWALL	(to Gonoril) Post speedily to my lord your husband. Show him this letter. The army of France is landed. (To Servants) Seek out the villain Gloucester.
(didascalia)	Exeunt some
REGAN	Hang him instantly.
GONORIL	Pluck out his eyes.
CORNWALL	Leave him to my displeasure.— Edmund, keep you our sister company. The revenges we are bound to take upon your traitorous father are not fit for your beholding. Advise the Duke where you are going, to a most festinate preparation; we are bound to the like. Our posts shall be swift, and intelligence betwixt us.— Farewell, dear sister. Farewell, my lord of Gloucester.
(didascalia)	Enter Oswald the steward
CORNWALL	How now, where’s the King?
OSWALD	My lord of Gloucester hath conveyed him hence. Some five- or six-and-thirty of his knights, Hot questants after him, met him at gate, Who, with some other of the lord’s dependants, Are gone with him towards Dover, where they boast To have well-armed friends.
CORNWALL	Get horses for your mistress. Exit Oswald
GONORIL	Farewell, sweet lord, and sister.
CORNWALL	Edmund, farewell. Exeunt Gonoril and Edmund (To Servants) Go seek the traitor Gloucester. Pinion him like a thief; bring him before us.
(didascalia)	Exeunt other Servants
CORNWALL	Though we may not pass upon his life Without the form of justice, yet our power Shall do a curtsy to our wrath, which men May blame but not control. Who’s there—the traitor?
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke of Gloucester brought in by two or
CORNWALL	three
REGAN	Ingrateful fox, ’tis he.
CORNWALL	(to Servants) Bind fast his corky arms.
GLOUCESTER	What means your graces? Good my friends, consider You are my guests. Do me no foul play, friends.
CORNWALL	(to Servants) Bind him, I say—
REGAN	Hard, hard! O filthy traitor!
GLOUCESTER	Unmerciful lady as you are, I am true.
CORNWALL	(to Servants) To this chair bind him. (To Gloucester) Villain, thou shalt find— Regan plucks Gloucester’s beard
GLOUCESTER	By the kind gods, ’tis most ignobly done, To pluck me by the beard.
REGAN	So white, and such a traitor!
GLOUCESTER	Naughty lady, These hairs which thou dost ravish from my chin Will quicken and accuse thee. I am your host. With robbers’ hands my hospitable favours You should not ruffle thus. What will you do?
CORNWALL	Come, sir, what letters had you late from France?
REGAN	Be simple, answerer, for we know the truth.
CORNWALL	And what confederacy have you with the traitors Late footed in the kingdom?
REGAN	To whose hands You have sent the lunatic King. Speak.
GLOUCESTER	I have a letter guessingly set down, Which came from one that’s of a neutral heart, And not from one opposed.
CORNWALL	Cunning.
REGAN	And false.
CORNWALL	Where hast thou sent the King?
GLOUCESTER	To Dover.
REGAN	Wherefore to Dover? Wast thou not charged at peril—
CORNWALL	Wherefore to Dover? Let him first answer that.
GLOUCESTER	I am tied to th’ stake, and I must stand the course.
REGAN	Wherefore to Dover, sir?
GLOUCESTER	Because I would not see thy cruel nails Pluck out his poor old eyes, nor thy fierce sister In his anointed flesh rash boarish fangs. The sea, with such a storm as his bowed head In hell-black night endured, would have buoyed up And quenched the stellèd fires. Yet, poor old heart, He holped the heavens to rage. If wolves had at thy gate howled that dern time, Thou shouldst have said ‘Good porter, turn the key; All cruels I’ll subscribe.’ But I shall see The winged vengeance overtake such children.
CORNWALL	See’t shalt thou never.—Fellows, hold the chair.— Upon those eyes of thine I’ll set my foot.
GLOUCESTER	He that will think to live till he be old Give me some help!—O cruel! O ye gods!
(didascalia)	Cornwall pulls out one of Gloucester’s eyes and
(didascalia)	stamps on it
REGAN	(to Cornwall) One side will mock another; t’other, too.
CORNWALL	(to Gloucester) If you see vengeance—
SERVANT	Hold your hand, my lord. I have served you ever since I was a child, But better service have I never done you Than now to bid you hold.
REGAN	How now, you dog!
SERVANT	If you did wear a beard upon your chin
(didascalia)	I’d shake it on this quarrel. To Cornwall What do
SERVANT	you mean?
CORNWALL	My villein!
SERVANT	Why then, come on, and take the chance of anger. They draw and fight
(didascalia)	REGAN to another Servant
SERVANT	Give me thy sword. A peasant stand up thus! She takes a sword and runs at him behind
SERVANT	(to Gloucester) O, I am slain, my lord! Yet have you one eye left To see some mischief on him.
(didascalia)	Regan stabs him again
SERVANT	O! He dies
CORNWALL	Lest it see more, prevent it. Out, vile jelly!
(didascalia)	He pulls out Gloucester’s other eye
CORNWALL	Where is thy lustre now?
GLOUCESTER	All dark and comfortless. Where’s my son Edmund? Edmund, enkindle all the sparks of nature To quite this horrid act.
REGAN	Out, villain! Thou call’st on him that hates thee. It was he That made the overture of thy treasons to us, Who is too good to pity thee.
GLOUCESTER	O, my follies! Then Edgar was abused. Kind gods, forgive me that, and prosper him!
REGAN	(to Servants) Go thrust him out at gates, and let him smell His way to Dover. (To Cornwall) How is’t, my lord? How look you?
CORNWALL	I have received a hurt. Follow me, lady. (To Servants) Turn out that eyeless villain. Throw this slave Upon the dunghill.
(didascalia)	Exit one or more with Gloucester
(didascalia)	and the body
CORNWALL	Regan, I bleed apace. Untimely comes this hurt. Give me your arm.
(didascalia)	Exeunt Cornwall and Regan
SECOND SERVANT	I’ll never care what wickedness I do If this man come to good.
THIRD SERVANT	If she live long And in the end meet the old course of death, Women will all turn monsters.
SECOND SERVANT	Let’s follow the old Earl and get the bedlam To lead him where he would. His roguish madness Allows itself to anything.
THIRD SERVANT	Go thou. I’ll fetch some flax and whites of eggs To apply to his bleeding face. Now heaven help him!
(didascalia)	Exeunt severally

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Entrano il duca di Cornovaglia e Regan, e Gonoril ed Edmund il bastardo, e Servi
CORNOVAGLIA	(a Gonoril) Correte in fretta dal mio signore vostro marito. Mostrategli questa lettera. L’esercito di Francia è sbarcato. (Ai Servi) Cercate lo scellerato Gloucester.
(didascalia)	Escono alcuni
REGAN	Impiccatelo all’istante.
GONORIL	Cavategli gli occhi.
CORNOVAGLIA	Lasciatelo al mio disfavore.— Edmund, tenete voi compagnia a nostra sorella. Le vendette che dobbiamo prendere sul vostro traditore di padre non sono adatte alla vostra vista. Consigliate al Duca, là dove andate, un preparativo quanto mai sollecito; noi siamo tenuti al medesimo. I nostri corrieri saranno veloci, e vi sarà scambio d’informazioni fra noi.— Addio, cara sorella. Addio, mio signore di Gloucester.
(didascalia)	Entra Oswald il maggiordomo
CORNOVAGLIA	Ebbene, dov’è il Re?
OSWALD	Il mio signore di Gloucester l’ha condotto via di qui. Circa trentacinque o trentasei dei suoi cavalieri, che lo cercavano ardentemente, l’hanno incontrato alla porta; i quali, con altri seguaci del conte, sono andati con lui verso Dover, dove si vantano d’avere amici bene armati.
CORNOVAGLIA	Procurate cavalli per la vostra padrona. Esce Oswald
GONORIL	Addio, dolce signore, e sorella.
CORNOVAGLIA	Edmund, addio. Escono Gonoril ed Edmund (Ai Servi) Andate a cercare il traditore Gloucester. Legatelo come un ladro; portatelo davanti a noi.
(didascalia)	Escono altri Servi
CORNOVAGLIA	Benché non possiamo pronunciare sulla sua vita senza la forma della giustizia, pure il nostro potere farà un inchino alla nostra ira, che gli uomini potranno biasimare ma non frenare. Chi è là—il traditore?
(didascalia)	Entra il duca di Gloucester condotto dentro da due o
CORNOVAGLIA	tre
REGAN	Volpe ingrata, è lui.
CORNOVAGLIA	(ai Servi) Legate strette le sue braccia rinsecchite.
GLOUCESTER	Che intendono le vostre grazie? Buoni amici, considerate che siete miei ospiti. Non fatemi torto, amici.
CORNOVAGLIA	(ai Servi) Legatelo, vi dico—
REGAN	Stretto, stretto! Oh, lurido traditore!
GLOUCESTER	Spietata signora quale siete, io sono leale.
CORNOVAGLIA	(ai Servi) A questa sedia legatelo. (A Gloucester) Scellerato, tu vedrai— Regan strappa la barba a Gloucester
GLOUCESTER	Per gli dèi benigni, è cosa quanto mai ignobile strapparmi per la barba.
REGAN	Così bianca, e tanto traditore!
GLOUCESTER	Malvagia signora, questi peli che tu rapisci dal mio mento prenderanno vita e t’accuseranno. Io sono il vostro ospite. Con mani di ladri non dovreste così sconvolgere i favori della mia ospitalità. Che volete fare?
CORNOVAGLIA	Su, signore, che lettere aveste ultimamente dalla Francia?
REGAN	Siate schietto, rispondente, ché noi sappiamo la verità.
CORNOVAGLIA	E che intesa avete voi coi traditori ultimamente sbarcati nel regno?
REGAN	Nelle cui mani voi avete mandato il Re lunatico. Parlate.
GLOUCESTER	Ho una lettera scritta per congetture, che venne da uno di cuore neutrale, e non da uno della parte avversa.
CORNOVAGLIA	Astuzia.
REGAN	E menzogna.
CORNOVAGLIA	Dove hai mandato il Re?
GLOUCESTER	A Dover.
REGAN	Perché a Dover? Non t’era stato ingiunto a tuo rischio—
CORNOVAGLIA	Perché a Dover? Risponda prima a questo.
GLOUCESTER	Sono legato al palo, e devo sostenere l’assalto.
REGAN	Perché a Dover, signore?
GLOUCESTER	Perché non volevo vedere le tue crudeli unghie cavargli i poveri vecchi occhi, né la tua feroce sorella affondare zanne di cinghiale nella sua carne unta d’olio santo. Il mare, con una tempesta quale il suo capo chino sopportò nella notte nera d’inferno, sarebbe salito a spegnere i fuochi stellati. Eppure, povero vecchio cuore, egli aiutò i cieli a infuriare. Se i lupi avessero ululato alla tua porta in quell’ora tetra, allora, avresti dovuto dire: «Buon portiere, gira la chiave; a ogni crudeltà io sottoscrivo». Ma io vedrò l’alata vendetta raggiungere figlie come queste.
CORNOVAGLIA	Non lo vedrai mai.—Voialtri, tenete la sedia.— Su quei tuoi occhi poserò il mio piede.
GLOUCESTER	Chi spera di vivere fino a esser vecchio mi dia qualche aiuto!—Oh crudele! O dèi!
(didascalia)	Cornovaglia cava fuori uno degli occhi di Gloucester e
(didascalia)	lo pesta col piede
REGAN	(a Cornovaglia) Un lato schernirà l’altro; anche l’altro, dunque.
CORNOVAGLIA	(a Gloucester) Se vedrete vendetta—
SERVO	Fermate la mano, mio signore. Vi ho servito fin da quando ero fanciullo, ma miglior servizio non v’ho mai reso di questo, ora, di dirvi: fermatevi.
REGAN	Che c’è, cane!
SERVO	Se portaste una barba sul mento
(didascalia)	gliela scrollerei in questa contesa. A Cornovaglia Che
SERVO	intendete?
CORNOVAGLIA	Servo della gleba!
SERVO	E allora, avanti, e affrontate il rischio dell’ira. Sguainano e combattono
(didascalia)	REGAN a un altro Servo
SERVO	Dammi la tua spada. Un villano rizzarsi così! Ella prende una spada e lo trafigge alle spalle
SERVO	(a Gloucester) Oh, sono ucciso, mio signore! Pure vi resta un occhio per vedere qualche danno su di lui.
(didascalia)	Regan lo pugnala di nuovo
SERVO	Oh! Muore
CORNOVAGLIA	Perché non veda di più, impediamoglielo. Fuori, vile gelatina!
(didascalia)	Cava fuori l’altro occhio di Gloucester
CORNOVAGLIA	Dov’è ora il tuo splendore?
GLOUCESTER	Tutto buio e sconforto. Dov’è mio figlio Edmund? Edmund, accendi tutte le scintille della natura per vendicare questo orrendo atto.
REGAN	Va’ via, scellerato! Tu invochi colui che t’odia. Fu lui che ci rivelò i tuoi tradimenti, ed è troppo buono per aver pietà di te.
GLOUCESTER	Oh, le mie follie! Allora Edgar fu calunniato. Dèi benigni, perdonatemi questo, e fatelo prosperare!
REGAN	(ai Servi) Andate, spingetelo fuori dai cancelli, e lasciate che fiuti la sua strada verso Dover. (A Cornovaglia) Come state, mio signore? Che aspetto avete?
CORNOVAGLIA	Ho ricevuto una ferita. Seguitemi, signora. (Ai Servi) Cacciate fuori quello scellerato senz’occhi. Gettate questo schiavo sul letamaio.
(didascalia)	Esce uno o più con Gloucester
(didascalia)	e col corpo
CORNOVAGLIA	Regan, perdo sangue a fiotti. Fuori tempo giunge questa ferita. Datemi il braccio.
(didascalia)	Escono Cornovaglia e Regan
SECONDO SERVO	Non m’importerà mai più di quale malvagità io compia se quest’uomo farà buona fine.
TERZO SERVO	Se lei vivrà a lungo e alla fine incontrerà il vecchio corso della morte, tutte le donne diventeranno mostri.
SECONDO SERVO	Seguiamo il vecchio conte e prendiamo quel pazzo di Bedlam perché lo guidi dove vorrà. La sua furfantesca follia si presta a qualunque cosa.
TERZO SERVO	Va’ tu. Io andrò a prendere un po’ di lino e albumi d’uovo da applicare al suo volto sanguinante. Ora il cielo l’aiuti!
(didascalia)	Escono separatamente

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter Edgar as a Bedlam beggar
EDGAR	Yet better thus and known to be contemned Than still contemned and flattered. To be worst, The low’st and most dejected thing of fortune, Stands still in esperance, lives not in fear. The lamentable change is from the best; The worst returns to laughter.
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke of Gloucester led by an Old Man
EDGAR	Who’s here? My father, parti-eyed? World, world, O world! But that thy strange mutations make us hate thee, Life would not yield to age.
(didascalia)	Edgar stands aside
OLD MAN	(to Gloucester) O my good lord, I have been your tenant and your father’s tenant This fourscore—
GLOUCESTER	Away, get thee away, good friend, be gone. Thy comforts can do me no good at all; Thee they may hurt.
OLD MAN	Alack, sir, you cannot see your way.
GLOUCESTER	I have no way, and therefore want no eyes. I stumbled when I saw. Full oft ’tis seen Our means secure us, and our mere defects Prove our commodities. Ah dear son Edgar, The food of thy abused father’s wrath— Might I but live to see thee in my touch I’d say I had eyes again.
OLD MAN	How now? Who’s there?
EDGAR	(aside) O gods! Who is’t can say ‘I am at the worst? I am worse than e’er I was.
OLD MAN	’Tis poor mad Tom.
EDGAR	(aside) And worse I may be yet. The worst is not As long as we can say ‘This is the worst.’
OLD MAN	(to Edgar) Fellow, where goest?
GLOUCESTER	Is it a beggarman?
OLD MAN	Madman and beggar too.
GLOUCESTER	A has some reason, else he could not beg. In the last night’s storm I such a fellow saw, Which made me think a man a worm. My son Came then into my mind, and yet my mind Was then scarce friends with him. I have heard more since. As flies to wanton boys are we to th’ gods; They kill us for their sport.
EDGAR	(aside) How should this be? Bad is the trade that must play fool to sorrow, Ang’ring itself and others.
(didascalia)	He comes forward
EDGAR	Bless thee, master.
GLOUCESTER	Is that the naked fellow?
OLD MAN	Ay, my lord.
GLOUCESTER	Then prithee, get thee gone. If for my sake Thou wilt o‘ertake us hence a mile or twain I’th’ way toward Dover, do it for ancient love, And bring some covering for this naked soul, Who I’ll entreat to lead me.
OLD MAN	Alack, sir, he is mad.
GLOUCESTER	’Tis the time’s plague when madmen lead the blind. Do as I bid thee; or rather do thy pleasure. Above the rest, be gone.
OLD MAN	I’ll bring him the best ’parel that I have, Come on’t what will. Exit
GLOUCESTER	Sirrah, naked fellow!
EDGAR	Poor Tom’s a-cold. I cannot dance it farther.
GLOUCESTER	Come hither, fellow.
EDGAR	Bless thy sweet eyes, they bleed.
GLOUCESTER	Know’st thou the way to Dover?
EDGAR	Both stile and gate, horseway and footpath. Poor Tom hath been scared out of his good wits. Bless thee, goodman, from the foul fiend. Five fiends have been in Poor Tom at once, as Obidicut of lust, Hobbididence prince of dumbness, Mahu of stealing, Modo of murder, Flibbertigibbet of mocking and mowing, who since possesses chambermaids and waiting-women. So bless thee, master.
GLOUCESTER	Here, take this purse, thou whom the heavens’ plagues Have humbled to all strokes. That I am wretched Makes thee the happier. Heavens deal so still. Let the superfluous and lust-dieted man That stands your ordinance, that will not see Because he does not feel, feel your power quickly. So distribution should undo excess, And each man have enough. Dost thou know Dover?
EDGAR	Ay, master.
GLOUCESTER	There is a cliff whose high and bending head Looks saucily in the confined deep. Bring me but to the very brim of it And I’ll repair the misery thou dost bear With something rich about me. From that place I shall no leading need.
EDGAR	Give me thy arm. Poor Tom shall lead thee.
(didascalia)	Exit Edgar guiding Gloucester

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Entra Edgar travestito da mendicante di Bedlam
EDGAR	Meglio così, e sapersi disprezzato, che disprezzato e insieme adulato. Essere il peggio, la cosa più bassa e più abbietta della fortuna, è restare sempre nella speranza, non vivere nel timore. Il mutamento lamentevole è quello che parte dal meglio; il peggio ritorna al riso.
(didascalia)	Entra il duca di Gloucester guidato da un Vecchio
EDGAR	Chi è qui? Mio padre, con gli occhi conciati così? Mondo, mondo, o mondo! Se non fosse che le tue strane mutazioni ci fanno odiarti, la vita non cederebbe alla vecchiaia.
(didascalia)	Edgar si tiene in disparte
VECCHIO	(a Gloucester) Oh mio buon signore, sono stato vostro fittavolo e fittavolo di vostro padre per questi ottant’—
GLOUCESTER	Via, vattene, buon amico, va’ via. I tuoi conforti non possono farmi alcun bene; a te possono nuocere.
VECCHIO	Ahimè, signore, non potete vedere la vostra strada.
GLOUCESTER	Non ho strada, e perciò non ho bisogno d’occhi. Inciampai quando vedevo. Spesso si vede che i nostri mezzi ci rendono sicuri, e i nostri stessi difetti si rivelano vantaggi. Ah, caro figlio Edgar, pasto dell’ira del tuo padre ingannato— potessi vivere tanto da vederti col mio tatto, direi d’avere di nuovo gli occhi.
VECCHIO	Che c’è? Chi è là?
EDGAR	(a parte) O dèi! Chi può dire: «Sono al peggio? Sono peggio di quanto mai fui.
VECCHIO	È il povero Tom pazzo.
EDGAR	(a parte) E peggio posso essere ancora. Non è il peggio finché possiamo dire: «Questo è il peggio».
VECCHIO	(a Edgar) Amico, dove vai?
GLOUCESTER	È un mendicante?
VECCHIO	Pazzo e mendicante insieme.
GLOUCESTER	Ha un po’ di ragione, altrimenti non saprebbe mendicare. Nella tempesta della scorsa notte vidi un tale così, che mi fece pensare che l’uomo è un verme. Mio figlio mi venne allora in mente, eppure la mia mente era allora poco amica di lui. Ho udito altro da allora. Come mosche per ragazzi capricciosi, così noi per gli dèi; ci uccidono per loro sollazzo.
EDGAR	(a parte) Come può essere questo? Brutto mestiere è quello di far da matto al dolore, irritando se stesso e gli altri.
(didascalia)	Si fa avanti
EDGAR	Dio ti benedica, padrone.
GLOUCESTER	È quello l’uomo nudo?
VECCHIO	Sì, mio signore.
GLOUCESTER	Allora, ti prego, vattene. Se per amor mio vorrai raggiungerci di qui a un miglio o due sulla via verso Dover, fallo per l’antico affetto, e porta qualche veste per questa nuda anima, che pregherò di guidarmi.
VECCHIO	Ahimè, signore, egli è pazzo.
GLOUCESTER	È la peste del tempo quando i pazzi guidano i ciechi. Fa’ come t’ordino; o piuttosto fa’ a tuo piacere. Soprattutto, vattene.
VECCHIO	Gli porterò le migliori vesti che ho, e ne venga quel che vuole. Esce
GLOUCESTER	Ehi, tu, uomo nudo!
EDGAR	Il povero Tom ha freddo. Non posso ballarla più a lungo.
GLOUCESTER	Vieni qua, amico.
EDGAR	Benedetti i tuoi dolci occhi, sanguinano.
GLOUCESTER	Conosci la via per Dover?
EDGAR	E scaletta e cancello, strada da cavalli e sentiero. Il povero Tom è stato spaventato fuori del suo buon senno. Il cielo ti guardi, buon uomo, dal turpe demonio. Cinque demoni sono stati nel povero Tom tutti in una volta: Obidicut della lussuria, Hobbididence principe della mutezza, Mahu del furto, Modo dell’omicidio, Flibbertigibbet delle smorfie e degli sberleffi, che da allora possiede cameriere e damigelle. Così ti benedica, padrone.
GLOUCESTER	Ecco, prendi questa borsa, tu che le piaghe dei cieli hanno umiliato a ogni colpo. Che io sia miserabile ti fa più felice. Così facciano sempre i cieli. Che l’uomo superfluo e nutrito di lussuria, che tiene a bada la vostra legge, che non vuol vedere perché non sente, senta presto il vostro potere. Così la distribuzione disferebbe l’eccesso, e ciascuno avrebbe abbastanza. Conosci Dover?
EDGAR	Sì, padrone.
GLOUCESTER	C’è una scogliera il cui capo alto e sporgente guarda sfrontato nell’abisso ristretto. Portami solo fino all’estremo suo ciglio e io riparerò la miseria che tu porti con qualcosa di prezioso che ho addosso. Da quel luogo non avrò più bisogno di guida.
EDGAR	Dammi il braccio. Il povero Tom ti guiderà.
(didascalia)	Esce Edgar guidando Gloucester

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter at one door Gonoril and Edmund the bastard
GONORIL	Welcome, my lord. I marvel our mild husband Not met us on the way.
(didascalia)	Enter at another door Oswald the steward
GONORIL	Now, where’s your master?
OSWALD	Madam, within; but never man so changed. I told him of the army that was landed; He smiled at it. I told him you were coming; His answer was ‘The worse.’ Of Gloucester’s treachery And of the loyal service of his son When I informed him, then he called me sot, And told me I had turned the wrong side out. What he should most defy seems pleasant to him; What like, offensive.
GONORIL	(to Edmund) Then shall you go no further. It is the cowish terror of his spirit That dares not undertake. He’ll not feel wrongs Which tie him to an answer. Our wishes on the way May prove effects. Back, Edmund, to my brother. Hasten his musters and conduct his powers. I must change arms at home, and give the distaff Into my husband’s hands. This trusty servant Shall pass between us. Ere long you are like to hear, If you dare venture in your own behalf, A mistress’s command. Wear this. Spare speech. Decline your head. This kiss, if it durst speak, Would stretch thy spirits up into the air.
(didascalia)	she kisses him
GONORIL	Conceive, and fare you well.
EDMUND	Yours in the ranks of death.
GONORIL	My most dear Gloucester.
(didascalia)	Exit Edmund
GONORIL	To thee a woman’s services are due; My foot usurps my body.
OSWALD	Madam, here comes my lord.
(didascalia)	Exit
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke of Albany
GONORIL	I have been worth the whistling.
ALBANY	O Gonoril, You are not worth the dust which the rude wind Blows in your face. I fear your disposition. That nature which contemns it origin Cannot be bordered certain in itself. She that herself will sliver and disbranch From her material sap perforce must wither, And come to deadly use.
GONORIL	No more. The text is foolish.
ALBANY	Wisdom and goodness to the vile seem vile; Filths savour but themselves. What have you done? Tigers, not daughters, what have you performed? A father, and a gracious, aged man, Whose reverence even the head-lugged bear would lick, Most barbarous, most degenerate, have you madded. Could my good-brother suffer you to do it— A man, a prince by him so benefacted? If that the heavens do not their visible spirits Send quickly down to tame these vile offences, It will come, Humanity must perforce prey on itself, Like monsters of the deep.
GONORIL	Milk-livered man, That bear‘st a cheek for blows, a head for wrongs; Who hast not in thy brows an eye discerning Thine honour from thy suffering; that not know’st Fools do those villains pity who are punished Ere they have done their mischief: where’s thy drum? France spreads his banners in our noiseless land, With plumed helm thy flaxen biggin threats, Whiles thou, a moral fool, sits still and cries ‘Alack, why does he so?’
ALBANY	See thyself, devil. Proper deformity shows not in the fiend So horrid as in woman.
GONORIL	O vain fool! 60
ALBANY	Thou changed and self-covered thing, for shame Bemonster not thy feature. Were’t my fitness To let these hands obey my blood, They are apt enough to dislocate and tear Thy flesh and bones. Howe’er thou art a fiend, A woman’s shape doth shield thee.
GONORIL	Marry your manhood, mew—
(didascalia)	Enter Second Gentleman
ALBANY	What news?
(didascalia)	SECOND GENTLEMAN
ALBANY	O my good lord, the Duke of Cornwall’s dead, Slain by his servant going to put out The other eye of Gloucester.
ALBANY	Gloucester’s eyes?
(didascalia)	FSECOND GENTLEMAN
ALBANY	A servant that he bred, thralled with remorse, Opposed against the act, bending his sword To his great master, who thereat enraged Flew on him, and amongst them felled him dead, But not without that harmful stroke which since Hath plucked him after.
ALBANY	This shows you are above, You justicers, that these our nether crimes So speedily can venge. But O, poor Gloucester! Lost he his other eye?
(didascalia)	SECOND GENTLEMAN Both, both, my lord. 80
ALBANY	(To Gonoril) This letter, madam, craves a speedy answer. ’Tis from your sister.
GONORIL	(aside) One way I like this well; But being widow, and my Gloucester with her, May all the building on my fancy pluck Upon my hateful life. Another way The news is not so took.—I’ll read and answer. Exit
ALBANY	Where was his son when they did take his eyes?
(didascalia)	ECONDGENTLEMAN
ALBANY	Come with my lady hither.
ALBANY	He is not here.
(didascalia)	ECONDGENTLEMAN
ALBANY	No, my good lord; I met him back again.
ALBANY	Knows he the wickedness? 90
(didascalia)	ECONDGENTLEMAN
ALBANY	Ay, my good lord; ’twas he informed against him, And quit the house on purpose that their punishment Might have the freer course.
ALBANY	Gloucester, I live To thank thee for the love thou showed’st the King, And to revenge thy eyes.—Come hither, friend Tell me what more thou knowest. Exeunt

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Entrano da una porta Gonoril ed Edmund il bastardo
GONORIL	Benvenuto, mio signore. Mi meraviglio che il nostro mite marito non ci abbia incontrati per via.
(didascalia)	Entra da un’altra porta Oswald il maggiordomo
GONORIL	Ora, dov’è il vostro padrone?
OSWALD	Madama, là dentro; ma mai uomo fu tanto mutato. Gli dissi dell’esercito ch’era sbarcato; ne sorrise. Gli dissi che voi stavate venendo; la sua risposta fu: «Tanto peggio». Del tradimento di Gloucester e del leale servizio di suo figlio, quando l’informai, allora mi chiamò stolto, e mi disse che avevo rivoltato il rovescio. Ciò che dovrebbe più aborrire gli pare piacevole; ciò che dovrebbe piacergli, offensivo.
GONORIL	(a Edmund) Allora non andrete oltre. È il vile terrore del suo spirito che non osa intraprendere. Non vorrà sentire le offese che lo obbligano a rispondere. I nostri desideri lungo la via potranno farsi effetti. Tornate, Edmund, da mio cognato. Affrettate le sue leve e guidate le sue forze. Io devo scambiare le armi a casa, e mettere la rocca nelle mani di mio marito. Questo fido servo farà da tramite fra noi. Fra non molto udrete, probabilmente, se osate arrischiarvi in vostro favore, il comando d’una signora. Portate questo. Risparmiate le parole. Chinate il capo. Questo bacio, se osasse parlare, solleverebbe i vostri spiriti fino all’aria.
(didascalia)	ella lo bacia
GONORIL	Intendete, e state bene.
EDMUND	Vostro fin nelle schiere della morte.
GONORIL	Mio carissimo Gloucester.
(didascalia)	Esce Edmund
GONORIL	A te son dovuti i servigi d’una donna; il mio piede usurpa il mio corpo.
OSWALD	Madama, ecco che viene il mio signore.
(didascalia)	Esce
(didascalia)	Entra il duca d’Albany
GONORIL	Son valsa la pena d’un fischio.
ALBANY	Oh Gonoril, voi non valete la polvere che il rude vento vi soffia in faccia. Io temo la vostra indole. Quella natura che disprezza la propria origine non può restare certa entro i propri confini. Colei che vuole scheggiarsi e staccarsi dalla sua linfa materna per forza deve appassire, e giungere a uso di morte.
GONORIL	Basta. Il testo è sciocco.
ALBANY	Saggezza e bontà paiono vili ai vili; le lordure gustano solo se stesse. Che avete fatto? Tigri, non figlie, che avete compiuto? Un padre, e un uomo benigno e vecchio, la cui riverenza perfino l’orso tirato per il muso leccherebbe, quanto mai barbare, quanto mai degenerate, l’avete fatto impazzire. Poté mio cognato permettervi di farlo— un uomo, un principe da lui tanto beneficato? Se i cieli non manderanno presto giù i loro spiriti visibili a domare queste vili offese, accadrà che l’umanità dovrà per forza predare se stessa, come i mostri dell’abisso.
GONORIL	Uomo dal fegato di latte, che porti una guancia per gli schiaffi, una testa per i torti; che non hai sulla fronte un occhio che distingua il tuo onore dal tuo patire; che non sai che solo gli sciocchi compiangono quei ribaldi che sono puniti prima d’aver compiuto il misfatto: dov’è il tuo tamburo? La Francia spiega i suoi vessilli nella nostra terra silenziosa, con elmo piumato minaccia la tua cuffia di lino, mentre tu, matto moralista, te ne stai fermo e gridi: «Ahimè, perché fa così?»
ALBANY	Guarda te stessa, demonio. La deformità propria non appare nel demonio così orrida come nella donna.
GONORIL	Oh vano matto! 60
ALBANY	Tu, cosa mutata e da te stessa coperta, per vergogna non fare della tua figura un mostro. Se mi convenisse lasciare che queste mani obbedissero al mio sangue, esse sarebbero abbastanza pronte a slogare e a lacerare la tua carne e le tue ossa. Comunque tu sia un demonio, la forma di donna ti protegge.
GONORIL	Perbacco, la tua virilità, miao—
(didascalia)	Entra il Secondo Gentiluomo
ALBANY	Che nuove?
(didascalia)	SECOND GENTLEMAN
ALBANY	Oh mio buon signore, il duca di Cornovaglia è morto, ucciso dal suo servo mentre stava per cavare l’altro occhio a Gloucester.
ALBANY	Gli occhi di Gloucester?
(didascalia)	FSECOND GENTLEMAN
ALBANY	Un servo da lui allevato, preso da rimorso, si oppose all’atto, volgendo la spada contro il suo gran padrone; il quale, adiratosi, gli si avventò addosso, e fra loro lo abbatterono morto, ma non senza quel colpo funesto che da allora l’ha trascinato dietro.
ALBANY	Questo mostra che voi siete lassù, o giudici, che questi nostri delitti di quaggiù sapete vendicare così presto. Ma oh, povero Gloucester! Perse egli anche l’altro occhio?
(didascalia)	SECOND GENTLEMAN Entrambi, entrambi, mio signore. 80
ALBANY	(A Gonoril) Questa lettera, madama, chiede una pronta risposta. È di vostra sorella.
GONORIL	(a parte) Per un verso ciò mi piace bene; ma essendo ella vedova, e il mio Gloucester con lei, tutto l’edificio della mia fantasia potrebbe crollare sulla mia odiosa vita. Per un altro verso la notizia non è così ben presa.—Leggerò e risponderò. Esce
ALBANY	Dov’era suo figlio quando gli cavarono gli occhi?
(didascalia)	ECONDGENTLEMAN
ALBANY	Venuto qua con la mia signora.
ALBANY	Egli non è qui.
(didascalia)	ECONDGENTLEMAN
ALBANY	No, mio buon signore; l’ho incontrato mentre tornava indietro.
ALBANY	Conosce egli la scelleratezza? 90
(didascalia)	ECONDGENTLEMAN
ALBANY	Sì, mio buon signore; fu lui a denunciarlo, e lasciò la casa apposta perché la loro punizione avesse corso più libero.
ALBANY	Gloucester, io vivo per ringraziarti dell’amore che mostrasti al Re, e per vendicare i tuoi occhi.—Vieni qua, amico, dimmi che altro sai. Escono

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter the Earl of Kent disguised, and First Gentleman
KENT	Why the King of France is so suddenly gone back know you no reason?
(didascalia)	FIRST GENTLEMAN
KENT	Something he left imperfect in the state Which, since his coming forth, is thought of; which Imports to the kingdom so much fear and danger That his personal return was most required And necessary.
KENT	Who hath he left behind him general?
(didascalia)	IRST NTLEMAN
KENT	The Maréchal of France, Monsieur la Far.
KENT	Did your letters pierce the Queen to any demonstration of grief? II
(didascalia)	IRST ENTLEMAN
KENT	Ay, sir. She took them, read them in my presence, And now and then an ample tear trilled down Her delicate cheek. It seemed she was a queen Over her passion who, most rebel-like, Sought to be king o’er her.
KENT	O, then it moved her.
(didascalia)	IRSTGENTLEMAN
KENT	Not to a rage. Patience and sorrow strove Who should express her goodliest. You have seen Sunshine and rain at once; her smiles and tears Were like, a better way. Those happy smilets That played on her ripe lip seemed not to know What guests were in her eyes, which parted thence As pearls from diamonds dropped. In brief, Sorrow would be a rarity most beloved If all could so become it.
KENT	Made she no verbal question?
(didascalia)	IRST ENTLEMAN
KENT	Faith, once or twice she heaved the name of ‘father’ Pantingly forth as if it pressed her heart, Cried ‘Sisters, sisters, shame of ladies, sisters, Kent, father, sisters, what, i‘th’ storm, i’th’ night, Let piety not be believed!’ There she shook The holy water from her heavenly eyes And clamour mastered, then away she started To deal with grief alone.
KENT	It is the stars, The stars above us govern our conditions, Else one self mate and make could not beget Such different issues. You spoke not with her since?
(didascalia)	IRST ENTLEMAN No.
KENT	Was this before the King returned?
(didascalia)	IRST ENTLEMAN No, since.
KENT	Well, sir, the poor distressed Lear’s i’th’ town, Who sometime in his better tune remembers What we are come about, and by no means Will yield to see his daughter.
(didascalia)	IRST NTLEMAN Why, good sir?
KENT	A sovereign shame so elbows him: his own unkindness, That stripped her from his benediction, turned her To foreign casualties, gave her dear rights To his dog-hearted daughters—these things sting His mind so venomously that burning shame Detains him from Cordelia.
(didascalia)	IRST ENTLEMAN Alack, poor gentleman!
KENT	Of Albany’s and Cornwall’s powers you heard not?
(didascalia)	IRST ENTLEMAN ’Tis so; they are afoot.
KENT	Well, sir, I’ll bring you to our master Lear, And leave you to attend him. Some dear cause Will in concealment wrap me up a while. When I am known aright you shall not grieve Lending me this acquaintance. I pray you go Along with me. Exeunt

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Entrano il conte di Kent travestito e il Primo Gentiluomo
KENT	Sapete la ragione per cui il re di Francia è tornato indietro così all’improvviso?
(didascalia)	FIRST GENTLEMAN
KENT	Qualcosa lasciò incompiuto nello stato a cui, dopo la sua partenza, s’è pensato; e ciò importa al regno tanto timore e pericolo che il suo personale ritorno era quanto mai richiesto e necessario.
KENT	Chi ha lasciato dietro di sé come comandante?
(didascalia)	IRST NTLEMAN
KENT	Il maresciallo di Francia, monsieur la Far.
KENT	Le vostre lettere trafissero la Regina fino a qualche manifestazione di dolore? II
(didascalia)	IRST ENTLEMAN
KENT	Sì, signore. Le prese, le lesse in mia presenza, e ogni tanto un’ampia lacrima scorreva giù per la sua delicata guancia. Pareva ch’ella fosse regina sopra la sua passione, la quale, da vera ribelle, cercava d’esser re su di lei.
KENT	Oh, dunque la commosse.
(didascalia)	IRSTGENTLEMAN
KENT	Non fino alla furia. Pazienza e dolore gareggiavano a chi la esprimesse più bella. Voi avete visto sole e pioggia insieme; i suoi sorrisi e le sue lacrime erano simili, ma in modo migliore. Quei felici sorrisetti che giocavano sul suo labbro maturo parevano non sapere quali ospiti fossero nei suoi occhi, e di là partivano come perle cadute da diamanti. Insomma, il dolore sarebbe una rarità quanto mai amata se a tutti stesse così bene.
KENT	Non fece ella domanda a parole?
(didascalia)	IRST ENTLEMAN
KENT	In fede mia, una o due volte sollevò il nome di «padre» ansimando, come se le pesasse sul cuore; gridò: «Sorelle, sorelle, vergogna delle dame, sorelle, Kent, padre, sorelle, come, nella tempesta, nella notte! Non si creda più alla pietà!» Allora scosse l’acqua santa dai suoi occhi celesti e, domato il clamore, se ne andò via di corsa a trattare sola col dolore.
KENT	Sono le stelle, le stelle sopra di noi governano le nostre condizioni; altrimenti uno stesso letto e uno stesso seme non potrebbero generare prole così diversa. Non le avete parlato da allora?
(didascalia)	IRST ENTLEMAN No.
KENT	Fu questo prima che il Re tornasse?
(didascalia)	IRST ENTLEMAN No, dopo.
KENT	Bene, signore, il povero afflitto Lear è in città, e talvolta, nei suoi momenti migliori, ricorda ciò per cui siamo venuti, e in nessun modo acconsente a vedere sua figlia.
(didascalia)	IRST NTLEMAN Perché, buon signore?
KENT	Una sovrana vergogna lo respinge: la propria durezza, che la privò della sua benedizione, la consegnò ai casi stranieri, diede i suoi cari diritti alle sue figlie dal cuore di cane—queste cose pungono la sua mente così velenosamente che l’ardente vergogna lo trattiene lontano da Cordelia.
(didascalia)	IRST ENTLEMAN Ahimè, povero gentiluomo!
KENT	Delle forze d’Albany e di Cornovaglia non avete udito?
(didascalia)	IRST ENTLEMAN È così; sono in marcia.
KENT	Bene, signore, vi condurrò dal nostro padrone Lear, e vi lascerò ad assisterlo. Una cara causa mi terrà avvolto ancora un poco nel segreto. Quando sarò conosciuto per quel che sono, non vi dorrà d’avermi concesso questa conoscenza. Vi prego, venite con me. Escono

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter Queen Cordelia, a Doctor, and others
CORDELIA	Alack, ’tis he! Why, he was met even now, As mad as the racked sea, singing aloud, Crowned with rank fumitor and furrow-weeds, With burdocks, hemlock, nettles, cuckoo-flowers, Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow In our sustaining corn. The centuries send forth. Search every acre in the high-grown field, And bring him to our eye.
(didascalia)	Exit one or more
CORDELIA	What can man’s wisdom In the restoring his bereaved sense, He that can help him Take all my outward worth.
DOCTOR	There is means, madam. Our foster-nurse of nature is repose, The which he lacks. That to provoke in him Are many simples operative, whose power Will close the eye of anguish.
CORDELIA	All blest secrets, All you unpublished virtues of the earth, Spring with my tears, be aidant and remediate In the good man’s distress!—Seek, seek for him, Lest his ungoverned rage dissolve the life That wants the means to lead it.
(didascalia)	Enter a Messenger
MESSENGER	News, madam. The British powers are marching hitherward.
CORDELIA	’Tis known before; our preparation stands In expectation of them.—O dear father, It is thy business that I go about; Therefore great France My mourning and important tears hath pitied. No blown ambition doth our arms incite, But love, dear love, and our aged father’s right. Soon may I hear and see him! Exeunt

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Entrano la regina Cordelia, un Medico e altri
CORDELIA	Ahimè, è lui! Ma se l’hanno incontrato proprio ora, pazzo come il mare squassato, cantando a gran voce, coronato di fumaria rigogliosa e d’erbe da solco, di bardane, cicuta, ortiche, fiori di cuculo, loglio, e tutte le erbacce oziose che crescono nel grano che ci nutre. Le centurie mandate fuori. Cercate ogni acro nel campo dalle messi alte, e portatelo al nostro sguardo.
(didascalia)	Esce uno o più
CORDELIA	Che può la saggezza dell’uomo nel restituirgli il senno perduto, colui che può aiutarlo prenda ogni mio bene esteriore.
MEDICO	C’è un mezzo, madama. La nostra nutrice della natura è il riposo, che a lui manca. A provocarlo in lui vi sono molti semplici efficaci, la cui virtù chiuderà l’occhio dell’angoscia.
CORDELIA	Tutti voi benedetti segreti, tutte voi virtù non divulgate della terra, sgorgate con le mie lacrime, siate soccorso e rimedio nella sventura di quel buon uomo!—Cercate, cercatelo, ché la sua furia sfrenata non dissolva la vita che manca dei mezzi per guidarla.
(didascalia)	Entra un Messaggero
MESSAGGERO	Nuove, madama. Le forze britanniche marciano verso qui.
CORDELIA	È già noto; i nostri preparativi stanno in attesa di loro.—Oh caro padre, è per la tua causa ch’io mi muovo; perciò la grande Francia ha avuto pietà del mio lutto e delle mie insistenti lacrime. Nessuna gonfia ambizione incita le nostre armi, ma l’amore, il caro amore, e il diritto del nostro vecchio padre. Possa presto udirlo e vederlo! Escono

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter Regan and Oswald, Gonoril’s steward
REGAN	But are my brother’s powers set forth?
OSWALD	Ay, madam.
REGAN	Himself in person?
OSWALD	Madam, with much ado. Your sister is the better soldier.
REGAN	Lord Edmund spake not with your lord at home?
OSWALD	No, madam.
REGAN	What might import my sister’s letters to him?
OSWALD	I know not, lady.
REGAN	Faith, he is posted hence on serious matter. It was great ignorance, Gloucester’s eyes being out, To let him live. Where he arrives he moves All hearts against us. Edmund, I think, is gone, In pity of his misery, to dispatch His ‘nighted life, moreover to descry The strength o’th’ army.
OSWALD	I must needs after with my letters, madam.
REGAN	Our troop sets forth tomorrow. Stay with us. The ways are dangerous.
OSWALD	I may not, madam. My lady charged my duty in this business.
REGAN	Why should she write to Edmund? Might not you Transport her purposes by word? Belike— Something, I know not what. I’ll love thee much: Let me unseal the letter.
OSWALD	Madam, I’d rather—
REGAN	I know your lady does not love her husband. I am sure of that, and at her late being here She gave strange oeillades and most speaking looks To noble Edmund. I know you are of her bosom.
OSWALD	I, madam?
REGAN	I speak in understanding, for I know’t. Therefore I do advise you take this note. My lord is dead. Edmund and I have talked, And more convenient is he for my hand Than for your lady’s. You may gather more. If you do find him, pray you give him this, And when your mistress hears thus much from you, I pray desire her call her wisdom to her. So, farewell. If you do chance to hear of that blind traitor, Preferment falls on him that cuts him off.
OSWALD	Would I could meet him, madam. I would show What lady I do follow.
REGAN	Fare thee well. Exeunt severally

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Entrano Regan e Oswald, maggiordomo di Gonoril
REGAN	Ma le forze di mio cognato sono partite?
OSWALD	Sì, madama.
REGAN	Egli in persona?
OSWALD	Madama, a gran fatica. Vostra sorella è il soldato migliore.
REGAN	Il signor Edmund non ha parlato col vostro signore a casa?
OSWALD	No, madama.
REGAN	Che possono importare le lettere di mia sorella per lui?
OSWALD	Non so, signora.
REGAN	In fede mia, egli è partito di qui in fretta per cosa grave. Fu grande sconsideratezza, cavati gli occhi a Gloucester, lasciarlo vivere. Dovunque arriva, muove tutti i cuori contro di noi. Edmund, credo, è andato, per pietà della sua miseria, a spegnere la sua vita ottenebrata, e inoltre a spiare la forza dell’esercito.
OSWALD	Devo per forza andargli dietro con le mie lettere, madama.
REGAN	La nostra truppa parte domani. Restate con noi. Le strade sono pericolose.
OSWALD	Non posso, madama. La mia signora m’ha ingiunto questo dovere.
REGAN	Perché dovrebbe scrivere a Edmund? Non potevate voi trasmetterne a voce le intenzioni? Forse— qualcosa, non so che. Ti amerò molto: lasciami dissuggellare la lettera.
OSWALD	Madama, preferirei—
REGAN	So che la vostra signora non ama suo marito. Di questo son certa; e quand’ella fu qui da ultimo lanciò strane occhiate e sguardi quanto mai eloquenti al nobile Edmund. So che voi siete nella sua confidenza.
OSWALD	Io, madama?
REGAN	Parlo con cognizione, ché lo so. Perciò vi consiglio di prender nota di questo. Il mio signore è morto. Edmund e io abbiamo parlato, ed egli è più conveniente per la mia mano che per quella della vostra signora. Il resto potete intenderlo. Se lo trovate, vi prego, dategli questo; e quando la vostra padrona udrà da voi tutto ciò, vi prego, invitatela a chiamare a sé la sua saggezza. Così, addio. Se per caso sentite parlare di quel cieco traditore, l’avanzamento tocca a chi lo fa fuori.
OSWALD	Potessi incontrarlo, madama! Mostrerei quale signora io seguo.
REGAN	Sta’ bene. Escono separatamente

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter Edgar disguised as a peasant, with a staff, guiding the blind Duke of Gloucester
GLOUCESTER	When shall we come to th’ top of that same hill?
EDGAR	You do climb up it now. Look how we labour.
GLOUCESTER	Methinks the ground is even.
EDGAR	Horrible steep. Hark, do you hear the sea?
GLOUCESTER	No, truly.
EDGAR	Why, then your other senses grow imperfect By your eyes’ anguish.
GLOUCESTER	So may it be indeed. Methinks thy voice is altered, and thou speak’st With better phrase and matter than thou didst.
EDGAR	You’re much deceived. In nothing am I changed But in my garments.
GLOUCESTER	Methinks you’re better spoken.
EDGAR	Come on, sir, here’s the place. Stand still. How fearful And dizzy ’tis to cast one’s eyes so low! The crows and choughs that wing the midway air Show scarce so gross as beetles. Halfway down Hangs one that gathers samphire, dreadful trade! Methinks he seems no bigger than his head. The fishermen that walk upon the beach Appear like mice, and yon tall anchoring barque Diminished to her cock, her cock a buoy Almost too small for sight. The murmuring surge That on the unnumbered idle pebble chafes Cannot be heard, it’s so high. I’ll look no more, Lest my brain turn and the deficient sight Topple down headlong.
GLOUCESTER	Set me where you stand.
EDGAR	Give me your hand. You are now within a foot Of th’extreme verge. For all beneath the moon Would I not leap upright.
GLOUCESTER	Let go my hand. Here, friend, ’s another purse; in it a jewel Well worth a poor man’s taking. Fairies and gods Prosper it with thee! Go thou farther off. Bid me farewell, and let me hear thee going.
EDGAR	Now fare you well, good sir. He stands aside
GLOUCESTER	With all my heart.
EDGAR	(aside) Why I do trifle thus with his despair Is done to cure it.
GLOUCESTER	O you mighty gods, He kneels This world I do renounce, and in your sights Shake patiently my great affliction off! If I could bear it longer, and not fall To quarrel with your great opposeless wills, My snuff and loathed part of nature should Burn itself out. If Edgar live, O bless him!— Now, fellow, fare thee well.
EDGAR	Gone, sir. Farewell. Gloucester falls forward (Aside) And yet I know not how conceit may rob The treasury of life, when life itself Yields to the theft. Had he been where he thought, By this had thought been past.—Ative or dead? (To Gloucester) Ho you, sir; hear you, sir? Speak. (Aside) Thus might he pass indeed. Yet he revives. (To Gloucester) What are you, sir?
GLOUCESTER	Away, and let me die.
EDGAR	Hadst thou been aught but goss‘mer, feathers, air, So many fathom down precipitating Thou hadst shivered like an egg. But thou dost breathe, Hast heavy substance, bleed’st not, speak’st, art sound. Ten masts a-length make not the altitude Which thou hast perpendicularly fell. Thy life’s a miracle. Speak yet again.
GLOUCESTER	But have I fallen, or no?
EDGAR	From the dread summit of this chalky bourn. Look up a-height. The shrill-gorged lark so far Cannot be seen or heard. Do but look up.
GLOUCESTER	Alack, I have no eyes. Is wretchedness deprived that benefit To end itself by death? ’Twas yet some comfort When misery could beguile the tyrant’s rage And frustrate his proud will.
EDGAR	Give me your arm. Up. So, how now? Feel you your legs? You stand.
GLOUCESTER	Too well, too well.
EDGAR	This is above all strangeness. Upon the crown of the cliff what thing was that Which parted from you?
GLOUCESTER	A poor unfortunate beggar.
EDGAR	As I stood here below, methoughts his eyes Were two full moons. A had a thousand noses, Horns whelked and waved like the enridged sea. It was some fiend. Therefore, thou happy father, Think that the clearest gods, who made their honours Of men’s impossibilities, have preserved thee.
GLOUCESTER	I do remember now. Henceforth I’ll bear Affliction till it do cry out itself ‘Enough, enough,’ and die. That thing you speak of, I took it for a man. Often would it say ‘The fiend, the fiend!’ He led me to that place.
EDGAR	Bear free and patient thoughts.
(didascalia)	Enter King Lear mad, crowned with weeds and
(didascalia)	flowers
EDGAR	But who comes here? The safer sense will ne’er accommodate His master thus.
LEAR	No, they cannot touch me for coining. I am the King himself.
EDGAR	O thou side-piercing sight!
LEAR	Nature is above art in that respect. There’s your press-money. That fellow handles his bow like a crow-keeper. Draw me a clothier’s yard. Look, look, a mouse! Peace, peace, this toasted cheese will do it. There’s my gauntlet. I’ll prove it on a giant. Bring up the brown bills. O, well flown, bird, in the air. Hal Give the word.
EDGAR	Sweet marjoram.
LEAR	Pass.
GLOUCESTER	I know that voice.
LEAR	Ha, Gonorill Ha, Regan! They flattered me like a dog, and told me I had white hairs in my beard ere the black ones were there. To say ‘ay’ and ‘no’ to everything I said ‘ay’ and ‘no’ to was no good divinity. When the rain came to wet me once, and the wind to make me chatter, when the thunder would not peace at my bidding, there I found them, there I smelt them out. Go to, they are not men of their words. They told me I was everything; ’tis a lie, I am not ague-proof.
GLOUCESTER	The trick of that voice I do well remember. Is’t not the King?
LEAR	Ay, every inch a king.
(didascalia)	Gloucester kneels
LEAR	When I do stare, see how the subject quakes! I pardon that man’s life. What was thy cause? Adultery? Thou shalt not die for adultery. No, the wren goes to‘t, and the small gilded fly Does lecher in my sight. Let copulation thrive, for Gloucester’s bastard son Was kinder to his father than my daughters Got ’tween the lawful sheets. To‘t, luxury, pell-mell, For I lack soldiers. Behold yon simp’ring dame, Whose face between her forks presageth snow, That minces virtue, and does shake the head To hear of pleasure’s name: The fitchew nor the soiled horse goes to’t With a more riotous appetite. Down from the waist They’re centaurs, though women all above. But to the girdle do the gods inherit; Beneath is all the fiend’s. There’s hell, there’s darkness, There’s the sulphury pit, burning, scalding, Stench, consummation. Fie, fie, fie; pah, pah! Give me an ounce of civet, good apothecary, To sweeten my imagination. There’s money for thee.
GLOUCESTER	O, let me kiss that hand!
LEAR	Here, wipe it first; it smells of mortality.
GLOUCESTER	O ruined piece of nature! This great world Shall so wear out to naught. Do you know me?
LEAR	I remember thy eyes well enough. Dost thou squiny on me? No, do thy worst, blind Cupid, I’ll not love. Read thou that challenge. Mark the penning of’t.
GLOUCESTER	Were all the letters suns, I could not see one.
EDGAR	(aside) I would not take this from report; it is, And my heart breaks at it.
LEAR	(to Gloucester) Read.
GLOUCESTER	What—with the case of eyes?
LEAR	O ho, are you there with me? No eyes in your head, nor no money in your purse? Your eyes are in a heavy case, your purse in a light; yet you see how this world goes.
GLOUCESTER	I see it feelingly.
LEAR	What, art mad? A man may see how the world goes with no eyes; look with thy ears. See how yon justice rails upon yon simple thief. Hark in thy ear: handy-dandy, which is the thief, which is the justice? Thou hast seen a farmer’s dog bark at a beggar?
GLOUCESTER	Ay, sir.
LEAR	An the creature run from the cur, there thou mightst behold the great image of authority. A dog’s obeyed in office. Thou rascal beadle, hold thy bloody hand. Why dost thou lash that whore? Strip thine own back. Thy blood as hotly lusts to use her in that kind For which thou whip’st her. The usurer hangs the cozener. Through tattered rags small vices do appear; Robes and furred gowns hides all. Get thee glass eyes, And, like a scurvy politician, seem To see the things thou dost not. No tears, now. Pull off my boots. Harder, harder! So.
EDGAR	(aside) O, matter and impertinency mixed— Reason in madness!
LEAR	If thou wilt weep my fortune, take my eyes. I know thee well enough: thy name is Gloucester. Thou must be patient. We came crying hither. Thou know’st the first time that we smell the air We wail and cry. I will preach to thee. Mark me.
GLOUCESTER	Alack, alack, the day!
(didascalia)	LEAR removing his crown of weeds
GLOUCESTER	When we are born, we cry that we are come To this great stage of fools. This’ a good block. It were a delicate stratagem to shoe A troop of horse with felt; and when I have stole upon These son-in-laws, then kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill!
(didascalia)	Enter three Gentlemen
(didascalia)	FIRST GENTLEMAN
GLOUCESTER	O, here he is. Lay hands upon him, sirs. (To Lear) Your most dear—
LEAR	No rescue? What, a prisoner? I am e’en The natural fool of fortune. Use me well. You shall have ransom. Let me have a surgeon; I am cut to the brains.
(didascalia)	FIRST GENTLEMAN You shall have anything.
LEAR	No seconds? All myself? Why, this would make a man a man of salt, To use his eyes for garden water-pots, Ay, and laying autumn’s dust.
(didascalia)	FIRST GENTLEMAN Good sir—
LEAR	I will die bravely, like a bridegroom. What, I will be jovial. Come, come, I am a king, my masters, know you that?
(didascalia)	FIRST GENTLEMAN
LEAR	You are a royal one, and we obey you.
LEAR	Then there’s life in’t. Nay, an you get it, you shall get it with running.
(didascalia)	Exit running, pursued by two Gentlemen
(didascalia)	FIRST GENTLEMAN
LEAR	A sight most pitiful in the meanest wretch, Past speaking in a king. Thou hast one daughter Who redeems nature from the general curse Which twain hath brought her to.
EDGAR	Hail, gentle sir.
(didascalia)	FIRST GENTLEMAN Sir, speed you. What’s your will?
EDGAR	Do you hear aught of a battle toward?
(didascalia)	FIRST GENTLEMAN
EDGAR	Most sure and vulgar, everyone hears that That can distinguish sense.
EDGAR	But, by your favour, How near’s the other army?
(didascalia)	FIRST GENTLEMAN
EDGAR	Near and on speedy foot, the main; descriers Stands on the hourly thoughts.
EDGAR	I thank you, sir. That’s all.
(didascalia)	FIRST GENTLEMAN
EDGAR	Though that the Queen on special cause is here, Her army is moved on.
EDGAR	I thank you, sir. Exit Gentleman
GLOUCESTER	You ever gentle gods, take my breath from me. Let not my worser spirit tempt me again To die before you please.
EDGAR	Well pray you, father.
GLOUCESTER	Now, good sir, what are you?
EDGAR	A most poor man, made lame by fortune’s blows, Who by the art of known and feeling sorrows Am pregnant to good pity. Give me your hand, I’ll lead you to some biding.
(didascalia)	GLOUCESTER rising Hearty thanks.
EDGAR	The bounty and the benison of heaven To send thee boot to boot.
(didascalia)	Enter Oswald the steward
OSWALD	A proclaimed prize! Most happy! That eyeless head of thine was first framed flesh To raise my fortunes. Thou most unhappy traitor, Briefly thyself remember. The sword is out That must destroy thee.
GLOUCESTER	Now let thy friendly hand Put strength enough to’t.
OSWALD	(to Edgar) Wherefore, bold peasant, Durst thou support a published traitor? Hence, Lest the infection of his fortune take Like hold on thee. Let go his arm.
EDGAR	‘Chill not let go, sir, without ’cagion.
OSWALD	Let go, slave, or thou diest.
EDGAR	Good gentleman, go your gate. Let poor volk pass. An ‘chud have been swaggered out of my life, it would not have been so long by a vortnight. Nay, come not near the old man. Keep out, ’che vor’ ye, or I’ll try whether your costard or my baton be the harder; I’ll be plain with you.
OSWALD	Out, dunghill! They fight
EDGAR	’Chill pick your teeth, sir. Come, no matter for your foins.
(didascalia)	Edgar knocks him down
OSWALD	Slave, thou hast slain me. Villain, take my purse. If ever thou wilt thrive, bury my body, And give the letters which thou find’st about me To Edmund, Earl of Gloucester. Seek him out Upon the British party. O untimely death! Death! He dies
EDGAR	I know thee well—a serviceable villain, As duteous to the vices of thy mistress As badness would desire.
GLOUCESTER	What, is he dead?
EDGAR	Sit you down, father. Rest you. Gloucester sits Let’s see his pockets. These letters that he speaks of May be my friends. He’s dead; I am only sorrow He had no other deathsman. Let us see. Leave, gentle wax; and manners, blame us not. To know our enemies’ minds we’d rip their hearts; Their papers is more lawful. He reads a letter ‘Let your reciprocal vows be remembered. You have many opportunities to cut him off. If your will want not, time and place will be fruitfully offered. There is nothing done if he return the conqueror; then am I the prisoner, and his bed my jail, from the loathed warmth whereof, deliver me, and supply the place for your labour. Your—wife, so I would say—your affectionate servant, and for you her own for venture, Gonoril.’ O indistinguished space of woman’s wit— A plot upon her virtuous husband’s life, And the exchange my brother!—Here in the sands Thee I’ll rake up, the post unsanctified Of murderous lechers, and in the mature time With this ungracious paper strike the sight Of the death-practised Duke. For him ’tis well That of thy death and business I can tell. [Exit with the body]
GLOUCESTER	The King is mad. How stiff is my vile sense, That I stand up and have ingenious feeling Of my huge sorrows! Better I were distraught; So should my thoughts be fenced from my griefs, And woes by wrong imaginations lose The knowledge of themselves. A drum afar off. [Enter Edgar]
EDGAR	Give me your hand. Far off methinks I hear the beaten drum. Come, father, I’ll bestow you with a friend.
(didascalia)	Exit Edgar guiding Gloucester

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Entra Edgar travestito da contadino, con un bastone, guidando il cieco duca di Gloucester
GLOUCESTER	Quando giungeremo in cima a quella collina?
EDGAR	La state salendo ora. Guardate come fatichiamo.
GLOUCESTER	Mi pare che il terreno sia piano.
EDGAR	Orribilmente ripido. Udite, sentite il mare?
GLOUCESTER	No, davvero.
EDGAR	Ma allora gli altri vostri sensi si fanno imperfetti per l’angoscia degli occhi.
GLOUCESTER	Può ben essere così davvero. Mi pare che la tua voce sia mutata, e che tu parli con miglior frase e miglior materia di prima.
EDGAR	V’ingannate assai. In nulla sono mutato se non nelle vesti.
GLOUCESTER	Mi pare che parli meglio.
EDGAR	Avanti, signore, ecco il luogo. State fermo. Che spavento e che vertigine gettar gli occhi tanto in basso! I corvi e le taccole che veleggiano a mezz’aria paiono appena grossi come scarabei. A mezza costa penzola uno che raccoglie il finocchio marino, mestiere terribile! Mi pare che non sembri più grande della sua testa. I pescatori che camminano sulla spiaggia appaiono come topi, e quell’alta barca all’ancora ridotta al suo battello, e il battello a una boa quasi troppo piccola per la vista. Il mormorio dei flutti che si frange sugli innumerevoli ciottoli oziosi non si può udire, tanto è alto. Non guarderò più, ché il cervello non mi giri e la vista mancante non mi faccia precipitare a capofitto.
GLOUCESTER	Mettimi dove stai tu.
EDGAR	Datemi la mano. Ora siete a un piede dall’estremo ciglio. Per tutto ciò che sta sotto la luna non farei un salto in piedi.
GLOUCESTER	Lascia la mia mano. Ecco, amico, un’altra borsa; dentro c’è un gioiello ben degno che un pover’uomo lo prenda. Le fate e gli dèi te lo facciano prosperare! Va’ più lontano. Dimmi addio, e fammi sentire che te ne vai.
EDGAR	Ora state bene, buon signore. Si tiene in disparte
GLOUCESTER	Con tutto il cuore.
EDGAR	(a parte) Se così scherzo con la sua disperazione, è per guarirla.
GLOUCESTER	O voi possenti dèi, S’inginocchia questo mondo io rinuncio, e sotto i vostri sguardi scuoto via con pazienza la mia grande afflizione! Se potessi sopportarla più a lungo, e non cadere a contendere coi vostri grandi voleri irresistibili, il mio moccolo, l’odiata parte della natura in me, si consumerebbe da sé. Se Edgar vive, oh, benedetelo!— Ora, amico, sta’ bene.
EDGAR	Sono andato, signore. Addio. Gloucester cade in avanti (A parte) Eppure non so come la fantasia possa derubare il tesoro della vita, quando la vita stessa cede al furto. Fosse egli stato dove credeva, a quest’ora il pensiero sarebbe finito.—Vivo o morto? (A Gloucester) Ehi, voi, signore; mi udite, signore? Parlate. (A parte) Così potrebbe davvero spirare. Eppure rinviene. (A Gloucester) Che siete voi, signore?
GLOUCESTER	Via, e lasciami morire.
EDGAR	Fossi stato altro che ragnatela, piume, aria, precipitando da tante braccia di profondità ti saresti frantumato come un uovo. Ma tu respiri, hai sostanza pesante, non sanguini, parli, sei intero. Dieci alberi di nave in fila non fanno l’altezza da cui sei caduto a perpendicolo. La tua vita è un miracolo. Parla ancora.
GLOUCESTER	Ma sono caduto, o no?
EDGAR	Dalla cima paurosa di questo limite di gesso. Guarda in alto. L’allodola dalla gola stridula, così lontano, non si può vedere né udire. Guarda solo in su.
GLOUCESTER	Ahimè, non ho occhi. È forse negato alla miseria quel beneficio di porre fine a se stessa con la morte? Era pur qualche conforto quando la sventura poteva ingannare la furia del tiranno e frustrarne il superbo volere.
EDGAR	Datemi il braccio. Su. Ecco, come va? Sentite le gambe? State in piedi.
GLOUCESTER	Troppo bene, troppo bene.
EDGAR	Questo supera ogni stranezza. Sulla cima della scogliera, che cosa era quella che si separò da voi?
GLOUCESTER	Un povero sventurato mendicante.
EDGAR	Mentre stavo qui sotto, mi parve che i suoi occhi fossero due lune piene. Aveva mille nasi, corna incurvate e ondulate come il mare a creste. Era qualche demonio. Perciò, tu, padre fortunato, pensa che i limpidissimi dèi, che si fanno onore delle impossibilità degli uomini, t’hanno salvato.
GLOUCESTER	Ora ricordo. D’ora innanzi sopporterò l’afflizione finché essa stessa non gridi «Basta, basta» e muoia. Quella cosa di cui parli, la presi per un uomo. Spesso diceva: «Il demonio, il demonio!» Egli mi condusse in quel luogo.
EDGAR	Portate pensieri liberi e pazienti.
(didascalia)	Entra Re Lear pazzo, incoronato d’erbacce e di
(didascalia)	fiori
EDGAR	Ma chi viene qui? Il senno sano non concerà mai così il suo padrone.
LEAR	No, non possono toccarmi per aver battuto moneta. Io sono il Re in persona.
EDGAR	Oh, vista che trafigge il fianco!
LEAR	La natura è superiore all’arte in questo. Ecco il vostro ingaggio. Quel tipo maneggia l’arco come uno spaventapasseri. Tiratemi una freccia da una iarda. Guarda, guarda, un topo! Zitti, zitti, questo formaggio arrostito basterà. Ecco il mio guanto di sfida. Lo sosterrò contro un gigante. Portate su le alabarde brune. Oh, ben volato, uccello, nell’aria. Ohilà! Dammi la parola d’ordine.
EDGAR	Dolce maggiorana.
LEAR	Passa.
GLOUCESTER	Conosco quella voce.
LEAR	Ah, Gonoril! Ah, Regan! Mi adularono come un cane, e mi dissero che avevo peli bianchi nella barba prima ancora che vi fossero i neri. Dire «sì» e «no» a tutto ciò a cui dicevo «sì» e «no» non era buona teologia. Quando la pioggia venne a bagnarmi una volta, e il vento a farmi battere i denti, quando il tuono non volle tacere al mio comando, allora li scoprii, allora li fiutai. Suvvia, non sono uomini di parola. Mi dicevano che io ero tutto; è una menzogna, non sono a prova di febbre.
GLOUCESTER	Il suono di quella voce lo ricordo bene. Non è il Re?
LEAR	Sì, ogni pollice un re.
(didascalia)	Gloucester s’inginocchia
LEAR	Quando fisso lo sguardo, guarda come trema il suddito! Grazio la vita a quell’uomo. Qual era la tua causa? Adulterio? Non morrai per adulterio. No, ci si mette anche lo scricciolo, e la piccola mosca dorata lussureggia sotto i miei occhi. Prosperi la copula, ché il figlio bastardo di Gloucester fu più affettuoso verso suo padre che le mie figlie generate fra lenzuola legittime. Avanti, lussuria, alla rinfusa, ché mi mancano soldati. Guarda là quella dama smorfiosa, il cui volto presagisce neve fra le sue forcelle, che affetta virtù e scuote il capo al sentir nominare il piacere: né la puzzola né il cavallo a pascolo vi si danno con appetito più sfrenato. Dalla cintola in giù sono centaure, benché donne tutte al di sopra. Fino alla cintura ereditano gli dèi; al di sotto è tutto del demonio. Là è l’inferno, là è il buio, là è la fossa sulfurea, che brucia, che scotta, fetore, consunzione. Puah, puah, puah; poh, poh! Dammi un’oncia di zibetto, buon speziale, per addolcire la mia immaginazione. Ecco del denaro per te.
GLOUCESTER	Oh, lasciate ch’io baci quella mano!
LEAR	Ecco, prima asciugala; puzza di mortalità.
GLOUCESTER	Oh rovinato pezzo di natura! Questo gran mondo si consumerà così fino al nulla. Mi conoscete?
LEAR	Ricordo i tuoi occhi abbastanza bene. Mi guardi di sbieco? No, fa’ il tuo peggio, cieco Cupido, non amerò. Leggi tu quella sfida. Guarda com’è vergata.
GLOUCESTER	Fossero tutte soli le lettere, non ne vedrei una.
EDGAR	(a parte) Non lo crederei per sentito dire; ma è così, e il mio cuore ne si spezza.
LEAR	(a Gloucester) Leggi.
GLOUCESTER	Come—con la custodia degli occhi?
LEAR	Oh oh, siete a questo punto con me? Niente occhi in testa, né denaro in borsa? I vostri occhi sono in caso grave, la vostra borsa in caso leggero; eppure vedete come va questo mondo.
GLOUCESTER	Lo vedo a tastoni.
LEAR	Come, sei pazzo? Un uomo può vedere come va il mondo anche senza occhi; guarda con le orecchie. Vedi come quel giudice inveisce contro quel povero ladro. Ascolta all’orecchio: gioco delle mani, chi è il ladro, chi è il giudice? Hai visto il cane d’un fattore abbaiare a un mendicante?
GLOUCESTER	Sì, signore.
LEAR	E se la creatura fugge dal botolo, là potresti scorgere la grande immagine dell’autorità. Un cane in carica è obbedito. Tu, mascalzone di sbirro, ferma la tua mano sanguinaria. Perché frusti quella puttana? Denuda la tua schiena. Il tuo sangue arde di brama d’usarla nel modo per cui la frusti. L’usuraio impicca il truffatore. Attraverso gli stracci laceri i piccoli vizi appaiono; toghe e vesti foderate di pelliccia nascondono tutto. Procùrati occhi di vetro, e, come uno scurrile politico, fingi di vedere ciò che non vedi. Niente lacrime, ora. Tirami via gli stivali. Più forte, più forte! Così.
EDGAR	(a parte) Oh, senno e insensatezza mescolati— ragione nella follia!
LEAR	Se vuoi piangere la mia sorte, prendi i miei occhi. Ti conosco abbastanza bene: il tuo nome è Gloucester. Devi esser paziente. Venimmo qua piangendo. Tu sai che la prima volta che fiutiamo l’aria gemiamo e piangiamo. Ti predicherò. Ascoltami.
GLOUCESTER	Ahimè, ahimè, che giorno!
(didascalia)	LEAR togliendosi la sua corona d’erbacce
GLOUCESTER	Quando nasciamo, piangiamo d’esser venuti su questo gran palcoscenico di folli. Questo è un buon ceppo. Sarebbe uno squisito stratagemma ferrare una truppa di cavalli col feltro; e quando mi sarò avvicinato di soppiatto a questi generi, allora ammazza, ammazza, ammazza, ammazza, ammazza, ammazza!
(didascalia)	Entrano tre Gentiluomini
(didascalia)	FIRST GENTLEMAN
GLOUCESTER	Oh, eccolo qui. Mettetegli le mani addosso, signori. (A Lear) La vostra carissima—
LEAR	Nessun soccorso? Come, prigioniero? Io sono proprio il matto naturale della fortuna. Trattatemi bene. Avrete un riscatto. Datemi un cerusico; sono ferito fino al cervello.
(didascalia)	FIRST GENTLEMAN Avrete ogni cosa.
LEAR	Nessun secondo? Tutto solo io? Ma questo farebbe d’un uomo un uomo di sale, a usare i suoi occhi come annaffiatoi da giardino per l’acqua, sì, e per abbattere la polvere d’autunno.
(didascalia)	FIRST GENTLEMAN Buon signore—
LEAR	Morrò da prode, come uno sposo. Come, sarò gioviale. Su, su, io sono un re, signori miei, lo sapete?
(didascalia)	FIRST GENTLEMAN
LEAR	Ne siete uno regale, e noi vi obbediamo.
LEAR	Allora c’è ancora vita. Suvvia, se lo volete, dovrete prenderlo correndo.
(didascalia)	Esce di corsa, inseguito da due Gentiluomini
(didascalia)	FIRST GENTLEMAN
LEAR	Vista pietosissima nel più misero degli sventurati, indicibile in un re. Tu hai una figlia che riscatta la natura dalla maledizione generale a cui le altre due l’hanno condotta.
EDGAR	Salute, gentile signore.
(didascalia)	FIRST GENTLEMAN Signore, buona fortuna. Qual è il vostro volere?
EDGAR	Sapete nulla d’una battaglia imminente?
(didascalia)	FIRST GENTLEMAN
EDGAR	Cosa certissima e comune: lo sente chiunque sappia distinguere un suono.
EDGAR	Ma, con vostra licenza, quanto è vicino l’altro esercito?
(didascalia)	FIRST GENTLEMAN
EDGAR	Vicino e a passo veloce, il grosso; le vedette si aspettano d’ora in ora.
EDGAR	Vi ringrazio, signore. È tutto.
(didascalia)	FIRST GENTLEMAN
EDGAR	Benché la Regina sia qui per speciale motivo, il suo esercito è avanzato.
EDGAR	Vi ringrazio, signore. Esce il Gentiluomo
GLOUCESTER	Voi dèi sempre benigni, toglietemi il respiro. Non lasciate che il mio spirito peggiore mi tenti di nuovo a morire prima che a voi piaccia.
EDGAR	Bene pregate, padre.
GLOUCESTER	Ora, buon signore, chi siete voi?
EDGAR	Un pover’uomo, reso zoppo dai colpi della fortuna, che per l’arte di dolori conosciuti e sentiti son gravido di buona pietà. Datemi la mano, vi condurrò a qualche ricovero.
(didascalia)	GLOUCESTER alzandosi Grazie di cuore.
EDGAR	La munificenza e la benedizione del cielo ti mandino dono sopra dono.
(didascalia)	Entra Oswald il maggiordomo
OSWALD	Una preda messa a taglia! Felicissimo caso! Quella tua testa senz’occhi fu plasmata carne proprio per far crescere le mie fortune. Tu, infelicissimo traditore, raccogliti in fretta. La spada è fuori che deve distruggerti.
GLOUCESTER	Ora la tua mano amica vi metta forza a sufficienza.
OSWALD	(a Edgar) Perché, villano temerario, osi tu sostenere un traditore proclamato? Via, ché l’infezione della sua sorte non prenda ugual presa su di te. Lascia il suo braccio.
EDGAR	Non lo mollo mica, signore, senza motivazione.
OSWALD	Lascia, schiavo, o muori.
EDGAR	Buon signore, andate per la vostra strada. Lasciate passare la povera gente. Se m’avessero potuto spaventare a morte a furia di smargiassate, non sarei campato quindici giorni di più. Ehi no, non v’accostate al vecchio. State alla larga, ve lo dico io, o proverò se sia più dura la vostra zucca o il mio bastone; ve lo dico chiaro e tondo.
OSWALD	Via, letamaio! Combattono
EDGAR	Vi stuzzicherò io i denti, signore. Su, non m’importa delle vostre stoccate.
(didascalia)	Edgar lo atterra
OSWALD	Schiavo, m’hai ucciso. Scellerato, prendi la mia borsa. Se mai vorrai prosperare, seppellisci il mio corpo, e dà le lettere che troverai addosso a me a Edmund, conte di Gloucester. Cercalo nel campo britannico. Oh morte immatura! Morte! Muore
EDGAR	Ti conosco bene—un servizievole scellerato, ossequioso ai vizi della tua padrona quanto la malvagità potrebbe desiderare.
GLOUCESTER	Come, è morto?
EDGAR	Sedetevi, padre. Riposatevi. Gloucester si siede Vediamo le sue tasche. Queste lettere di cui parla possono essermi amiche. È morto; solo mi duole ch’egli non abbia avuto altro carnefice. Vediamo. Permetti, gentile cera; e voi, buone maniere, non biasimateci. Per conoscere l’animo dei nemici squarceremmo loro il cuore; le loro carte è più lecito. Legge una lettera «Ricordatevi dei nostri voti reciproci. Avete molte occasioni per farlo fuori. Se non manca la volontà, il tempo e il luogo si offriranno fruttuosamente. Nulla è fatto se egli torna vincitore; allora io sono la prigioniera, e il suo letto la mia galera, dal cui odiato tepore liberatemi, e prendete voi quel posto per vostra fatica. Vostra—moglie, così vorrei dire—vostra affezionata serva, e per voi tutta sua a rischio suo, Gonoril.» Oh spazio indistinguibile dell’ingegno d’una donna— una trama contro la vita del suo virtuoso marito, e il cambio è mio fratello!—Qui nella sabbia ti ricoprirò, tu, corriere non consacrato di libertini omicidi; e a tempo maturo con questa carta odiosa colpirò la vista del Duca insidiato di morte. Per lui è bene ch’io possa raccontare della tua morte e del tuo incarico. [Esce col corpo]
GLOUCESTER	Il Re è pazzo. Com’è ostinato il mio vile senno, che sto in piedi e ho ingegnosa percezione dei miei immensi dolori! Meglio sarei stravolto; così i miei pensieri sarebbero difesi dai miei affanni, e i guai, per false immaginazioni, perderebbero la coscienza di se stessi. Un tamburo in lontananza. [Entra Edgar]
EDGAR	Datemi la mano. Lontano mi par d’udire il tamburo battuto. Venite, padre, vi affiderò a un amico.
(didascalia)	Esce Edgar guidando Gloucester

Speaker	Line
CORDELIA	O thou good Kent, How shall I live and work to match thy goodness? My life will be too short, and every measure fail me.
KENT	To be acknowledged, madam, is o’erpaid. All my reports go with the modest truth, Nor more, nor clipped, but so.
CORDELIA	Be better suited. These weeds are memories of those worser hours. I prithee put them off.
KENT	Pardon me, dear madam. Yet to be known shortens my made intent. My boon I make it that you know me not Till time and I think meet.
CORDELIA	Then be’t so, my good lord. [Enter the Doctor and First Gentleman] How does the King?
DOCTOR	Madam, sleeps still.
CORDELIA	O you kind gods, Cure this great breach in his abused nature; The untuned and hurrying senses O wind up Of this child-changed father!
DOCTOR	So please your majesty That we may wake the King? He hath slept long.
CORDELIA	Be governed by your knowledge, and proceed I’th’ sway of your own will. Is he arrayed? [FIRST GENTLEMAN] Ay, madam. In the heaviness of his sleep We put fresh garments on him. [DOCTOR] Good madam, be by when we do awake him. I doubt not of his temperance.
CORDELIA	Very well.
DOCTOR	Please you draw near. Louder the music there! King Lear is [discovered] asleep
CORDELIA	O my dear father, restoration hang Thy medicine on my lips, and let this kiss Repair those violent harms that my two sisters Have in thy reverence made!
KENT	Kind and dear princess!
CORDELIA	Had you not been their father, these white flakes Had challenged pity of them. Was this a face To be exposed against the warring winds, To stand against the deep dread-bolted thunder In the most terrible and nimble stroke Of quick cross-lightning, to watch—poor perdu— With this thin helm? Mine injurer’s mean‘st dog, Though he had bit me, should have stood that night Against my fire. And wast thou fain, poor father, To hovel thee with swine and rogues forlorn In short and musty straw? Alack, alack, ’Tis wonder that thy life and wits at once Had not concluded all! (To the Doctor) He wakes. Speak to him.
DOCTOR	Madam, do you; ’tis fittest.
CORDELIA	(to Lear) How does my royal lord? How fares your majesty?
LEAR	You do me wrong to take me out o’th’ grave. Thou art a soul in bliss, but I am bound Upon a wheel of fire, that mine own tears Do scald like molten lead.
CORDELIA	Sir, know me.
LEAR	You’re a spirit, I know. Where did you die?
CORDELIA	(to the Doctor) Still, still far wide!
DOCTOR	He’s scarce awake. Let him alone a while.
LEAR	Where have I been? Where am I? Fair daylight? I am mightily abused. I should e’en die with pity To see another thus. I know not what to say. I will not swear these are my hands. Let’s see: I feel this pin prick. Would I were assured Of my condition.
CORDELIA	(kneeling) O look upon me, sir, And hold your hands in benediction o’er me. No, sir, you must not kneel.
LEAR	Pray do not mock. I am a very foolish, fond old man, Fourscore and upward, and to deal plainly, I fear I am not in my perfect mind. Methinks I should know you, and know this man; Yet I am doubtful, for I am mainly ignorant What place this is; and all the skill I have Remembers not these garments; nor I know not Where I did lodge last night. Do not laugh at me, For as I am a man, I think this lady To be my child, Cordelia.
CORDELIA	And so I am.
LEAR	Be your tears wet? Yes, faith. I pray, weep not. If you have poison for me, I will drink it. I know you do not love me; for your sisters Have, as I do remember, done me wrong. You have some cause; they have not.
CORDELIA	No cause, no cause.
LEAR	Am I in France?
KENT	In your own kingdom, sir.
LEAR	Do not abuse me.
DOCTOR	Be comforted, good madam. The great rage You see is cured in him, and yet it is danger To make him even o’er the time he has lost. Desire him to go in; trouble him no more Till further settling.
CORDELIA	(to Lear) Will’t please your highness walk?
LEAR	You must bear with me. Pray now, forget and forgive. I am old And foolish. Exeunt all but Kent and [First] Gentleman [FIRST] GENTLEMAN Holds it true, sir, that the Duke Of Cornwall was so slain?
KENT	Most certain, sir. [FIRST] GENTLEMAN Who is conductor of his people?
KENT	As ’tis said, The bastard son of Gloucester. [FIRST] GENTLEMAN They say Edgar, His banished son, is with the Earl of Kent In Germany.
KENT	Report is changeable. ’Tis time to look about. The powers of the kingdom 90 Approach apace. [FIRST] GENTLEMAN The arbitrement is Like to be bloody. Fare you well, sir. Exit
KENT	My point and period will be throughly wrought, Or well or ill, as this day’s battle’s fought. Exit

Chi parla	Battuta
CORDELIA	Oh tu, buon Kent, come vivrò e opererò per eguagliare la tua bontà? La mia vita sarà troppo breve, e ogni misura mi verrà meno.
KENT	Essere riconosciuto, madama, è già pagamento eccessivo. Tutti i miei racconti vanno con la modesta verità, né più, né mozzati, ma proprio così.
CORDELIA	Vestitevi meglio. Queste vesti sono memorie di quelle ore peggiori. Ti prego, deponile.
KENT	Perdonatemi, cara madama. Farmi conoscere ora accorcerebbe il mio disegno. Vi chiedo in grazia che non mi riconosciate finché il tempo e io non lo stimeremo opportuno.
CORDELIA	E allora sia così, mio buon signore. [Entrano il Medico e il Primo Gentiluomo] Come sta il Re?
MEDICO	Madama, dorme ancora.
CORDELIA	Oh voi, dèi benigni, guarite questa grande breccia nella sua oltraggiata natura; oh, riavvolgete i sensi scordati e in tumulto di questo padre mutato dai figli!
MEDICO	Piaccia a vostra maestà che possiamo svegliare il Re? Ha dormito a lungo.
CORDELIA	Regolatevi secondo la vostra scienza, e procedete secondo il vostro volere. È vestito? [PRIMO GENTILUOMO] Sì, madama. Nella pesantezza del suo sonno gli abbiamo messo vesti fresche. [MEDICO] Buona madama, siate presente quando lo sveglieremo. Non dubito della sua calma.
CORDELIA	Molto bene.
MEDICO	Piacciavi accostarvi. Più forte la musica, là! Re Lear appare addormentato
CORDELIA	Oh mio caro padre, la guarigione sospenda la sua medicina alle mie labbra, e questo bacio ripari quei violenti danni che le mie due sorelle hanno fatto alla tua venerabile persona!
KENT	Gentile e cara principessa!
CORDELIA	Se non foste stato il loro padre, questi bianchi fiocchi avrebbero reclamato pietà da loro. Era questo un volto da esporre contro i venti in guerra, da opporre al profondo tuono dai fulmini spaventosi nel colpo più terribile e più rapido della veloce folgore a croce, da vegliare—povera sentinella perduta— con questo elmo sottile? Il più vile cane di chi m’offende, anche se m’avesse morso, avrebbe dovuto star quella notte accanto al mio fuoco. E fosti costretto, povero padre, a rifugiarti coi porci e con vagabondi derelitti in paglia corta e ammuffita? Ahimè, ahimè, è meraviglia che la tua vita e il tuo senno insieme non abbiano finito tutto! (Al Medico) Si sveglia. Parlategli.
MEDICO	Madama, fatelo voi; è più conveniente.
CORDELIA	(a Lear) Come sta il mio regale signore? Come sta vostra maestà?
LEAR	Mi fate torto a trarmi fuori dalla tomba. Tu sei un’anima in beatitudine, ma io sono legato a una ruota di fuoco, sicché le mie stesse lacrime scottano come piombo fuso.
CORDELIA	Signore, riconoscetemi.
LEAR	Voi siete uno spirito, lo so. Dove moriste?
CORDELIA	(al Medico) Ancora, ancora fuori strada!
MEDICO	È appena sveglio. Lasciatelo solo un poco.
LEAR	Dove sono stato? Dove sono? Chiara luce del giorno? Sono grandemente ingannato. Morirei di pietà a veder un altro così. Non so che dire. Non giurerò che queste siano le mie mani. Vediamo: sento la puntura di questo spillo. Vorrei esser certo della mia condizione.
CORDELIA	(inginocchiandosi) Oh guardatemi, signore, e tenete le mani in benedizione sopra di me. No, signore, voi non dovete inginocchiarvi.
LEAR	Di grazia, non schernitemi. Sono un vecchio molto sciocco e rimbambito, di ottant’anni e più; e a dirla schietta, temo di non essere nel mio perfetto senno. Mi pare che dovrei conoscere voi, e conoscere quest’uomo; eppure son dubbioso, ché ignoro del tutto che luogo sia questo; e tutta l’abilità che ho non ricorda queste vesti; né so dove ho alloggiato la scorsa notte. Non ridete di me, ché, com’è vero che sono un uomo, io credo che questa dama sia la mia figlia, Cordelia.
CORDELIA	E tale io sono.
LEAR	Sono bagnate le vostre lacrime? Sì, in fede mia. Vi prego, non piangete. Se avete veleno per me, lo berrò. So che non mi amate; ché le vostre sorelle m’hanno, per quanto ricordo, fatto torto. Voi avete qualche motivo; esse no.
CORDELIA	Nessun motivo, nessun motivo.
LEAR	Sono in Francia?
KENT	Nel vostro regno, signore.
LEAR	Non ingannatemi.
MEDICO	Consolatevi, buona madama. La grande furia che vedete è guarita in lui, eppure è pericoloso fargli ricuperare il tempo che ha perduto. Invitatelo a rientrare; non disturbatelo più fino a ulteriore quiete.
CORDELIA	(a Lear) Piace a vostra altezza di camminare?
LEAR	Dovete sopportarmi. Vi prego ora, dimenticate e perdonate. Sono vecchio e sciocco. Escono tutti tranne Kent e il [Primo] Gentiluomo [PRIMO] GENTILUOMO È vero, signore, che il duca di Cornovaglia fu ucciso così?
KENT	Certissimo, signore. [PRIMO] GENTILUOMO Chi guida la sua gente?
KENT	A quanto si dice, il figlio bastardo di Gloucester. [PRIMO] GENTILUOMO Dicono che Edgar, suo figlio bandito, sia col conte di Kent in Germania.
KENT	Le voci sono mutevoli. È tempo di guardarsi intorno. Le forze del regno 90 s’avvicinano rapide. [PRIMO] GENTILUOMO L’arbitrato sarà probabilmente sanguinoso. State bene, signore. Esce
KENT	Il mio scopo e il mio termine saranno interamente compiuti, o bene o male, secondo come si combatterà la battaglia di questo giorno. Esce

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter Edmund, Regan, and their powers
EDMUND	Know of the Duke if his last purpose hold, Or whether since he is advised by aught To change the course. He’s full of abdication And self-reproving. Bring his constant pleasure.
(didascalia)	Exit one or more
REGAN	Our sister’s man is certainly miscarried.
EDMUND	’Tis to be doubted, madam.
REGAN	Now, sweet lord, You know the goodness I intend upon you. Tell me but truly—but then speak the truth- Do you not love my sister?
EDMUND	Ay: honoured love.
REGAN	But have you never found my brother’s way To the forfended place?
EDMUND	That thought abuses you.
REGAN	I am doubtful That you have been conjunct and bosomed with her, As far as we call hers.
EDMUND	No, by mine honour, madam.
REGAN	I never shall endure her. Dear my lord, Be not familiar with her.
EDMUND	Fear me not. She and the Duke her husband—
(didascalia)	Enter the Duke of Albany and Gonoril with troops
GONORIL	(aside) I had rather lose the battle than that sister Should loosen him and me.
ALBANY	(to Regan) Our very loving sister, well bemet, For this I hear: the King is come to his daughter, With others whom the rigour of our state Forced to cry out. Where I could not be honest I never yet was valiant. For this business, It touches us as France invades our land; Yet bold’s the King, with others whom I fear. Most just and heavy causes make oppose.
EDMUND	Sir, you speak nobly.
REGAN	Why is this reasoned? 30
GONORIL	Combine together ’gainst the enemy; For these domestic poor particulars Are not to question here.
ALBANY	Let us then determine with the ensign of war On our proceedings.
EDMUND	I shall attend you Presently at your tent. [Exit with his powers]
REGAN	Sister, you’ll go with us?
GONORIL	No.
REGAN	’Tis most convenient. Pray you go with us.
GONORIL	[aside] O ho, I know the riddle! (To Regan) I will go.
(didascalia)	Enter Edgar disguised as a peasant
EDGAR	(to Albany) If e’er your grace had speech with man so poor, 40 Hear me one word.
ALBANY	(to the others) I’ll overtake you.
(didascalia)	Exeunt all but Albany and Edgar
ALBANY	Speak.
EDGAR	Before you fight the battle, ope this letter. If you have victory, let the trumpet sound For him that brought it. Wretched though I seem, I can produce a champion that will prove What is avouchèd there. If you miscarry, Your business of the world hath so an end. Fortune love you—
ALBANY	Stay till I have read the letter.
EDGAR	I was forbid it. 50 When time shall serve, let but the herald cry, And I’ll appear again.
ALBANY	Why, fare thee well. I will o’erlook the paper. Exit Edgar
(didascalia)	Enter Edmund
EDMUND	The enemy’s in view; draw up your powers. 55 He [offers] Albany a paper Here is the guess of their great strength and forces By diligent discovery; but your haste Is now urged on you.
ALBANY	We will greet the time. Exit
EDMUND	To both these sisters have I sworn my love, Each jealous of the other as the stung Are of the adder. Which of them shall I take?— Both?—one?—or neither? Neither can be enjoyed If both remain alive. To take the widow Exasperates, makes mad, her sister Gonoril, And hardly shall I carry out my side, Her husband being alive. Now then, we’ll use His countenance for the battle, which being done, Let her that would be rid of him devise His speedy taking off. As for his mercy Which he intends to Lear and to Cordelia, The battle done, and they within our power, Shall never see his pardon; for my state Stands on me to defend, not to debate. Exit

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Entrano Edmund, Regan e le loro forze
EDMUND	Sappiate dal Duca se il suo ultimo proposito regga, o se da allora sia stato indotto da qualcosa a mutar corso. È tutto pieno d’abdicazione e di autorimprovero. Portateci il suo fermo volere.
(didascalia)	Esce uno o più
REGAN	L’uomo di nostra sorella è certamente perito.
EDMUND	C’è da temerlo, madama.
REGAN	Ora, dolce signore, voi conoscete il bene che intendo farvi. Ditemi solo con sincerità—ma allora dite la verità— non amate voi mia sorella?
EDMUND	Sì: d’amore onorato.
REGAN	Ma non avete mai trovato la via di mio cognato al luogo proibito?
EDMUND	Quel pensiero vi fa torto.
REGAN	Io son dubbiosa che voi siate stato congiunto e in intimità con lei, fin dove si dice esser suo.
EDMUND	No, sul mio onore, madama.
REGAN	Non la sopporterò mai. Caro mio signore, non siate familiare con lei.
EDMUND	Non temete di me. Lei e il Duca suo marito—
(didascalia)	Entrano il duca d’Albany e Gonoril con truppe
GONORIL	(a parte) Preferirei perdere la battaglia piuttosto che quella sorella sciogliesse lui da me.
ALBANY	(a Regan) Nostra amatissima sorella, ben trovata. Ecco ciò che odo: il Re è giunto da sua figlia, con altri che il rigore del nostro governo ha costretto a gridare. Dove non ho potuto essere onesto non fui mai valoroso. Quanto a questo affare, ci tocca in quanto la Francia invade la nostra terra; eppure è ardito il Re, con altri ch’io temo. Cause giustissime e gravi ci muovono a opporci.
EDMUND	Signore, parlate nobilmente.
REGAN	Perché si ragiona di questo? 30
GONORIL	Uniamoci insieme contro il nemico; ché queste povere particolarità domestiche non son da discutere qui.
ALBANY	Determiniamo allora coi veterani di guerra il nostro procedere.
EDMUND	Verrò da voi subito, alla vostra tenda. [Esce con le sue forze]
REGAN	Sorella, venite con noi?
GONORIL	No.
REGAN	È assai conveniente. Vi prego, venite con noi.
GONORIL	[a parte] Oh oh, conosco l’indovinello! (A Regan) Verrò.
(didascalia)	Entra Edgar travestito da contadino
EDGAR	(ad Albany) Se mai vostra grazia parlò con uomo tanto povero, 40 ascoltatemi una parola.
ALBANY	(agli altri) Vi raggiungo.
(didascalia)	Escono tutti tranne Albany ed Edgar
ALBANY	Parla.
EDGAR	Prima che combattiate la battaglia, aprite questa lettera. Se avrete vittoria, fate suonare la tromba per colui che l’ha portata. Per quanto misero io sembri, posso produrre un campione che proverà ciò che vi è affermato. Se soccombete, i vostri affari nel mondo finiscono così. La fortuna vi ami—
ALBANY	Fermati finché non abbia letto la lettera.
EDGAR	Mi fu proibito. 50 Quando il tempo sarà venuto, basti che l’araldo gridi, e io apparirò di nuovo.
ALBANY	Ebbene, sta’ bene. Esaminerò la carta. Esce Edgar
(didascalia)	Entra Edmund
EDMUND	Il nemico è in vista; schierate le vostre forze. 55 [Porge] ad Albany un foglio Ecco la stima della loro grande forza e delle loro schiere per diligente ricognizione; ma la vostra fretta ora vi è sollecitata.
ALBANY	Andremo incontro al momento. Esce
EDMUND	A entrambe queste sorelle ho giurato il mio amore, gelose l’una dell’altra come i punti lo sono della vipera. Quale delle due prenderò?— Entrambe?—una?—o nessuna? Nessuna si può godere se restano vive entrambe. Prendere la vedova esaspera e fa impazzire sua sorella Gonoril, e a stento potrò condurre a fine la mia parte finché suo marito è vivo. Ora dunque useremo la sua presenza per la battaglia; e fatto questo, colei che vuol liberarsi di lui escogiti di toglierlo presto di mezzo. Quanto alla sua clemenza che intende usare verso Lear e verso Cordelia, finita la battaglia, e caduti essi in nostro potere, mai vedranno il suo perdono; ché il mio stato tocca a me difenderlo, non discuterlo. Esce

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Alarum. The powers of France pass over the stage led by Queen Cordelia with her father in her hand. Then enter Edgar disguised as a peasant, guiding the blind Duke of Gloucester
EDGAR	Here, father, take the shadow of this bush For your good host; pray that the right may thrive. If ever I return to you again I’ll bring you comfort. Exit
GLOUCESTER	Grace go with you, sir.
(didascalia)	Alarum and retreat. Enter Edgar
EDGAR	Away, old man. Give me thy hand. Away. King Lear hath lost, he and his daughter ta’en. Give me thy hand. Come on.
GLOUCESTER	No farther, sir. A man may rot even here.
EDGAR	What, in ill thoughts again? Men must endure Their going hence even as their coming hither. Ripeness is all. Come on. Exit Edgar guiding Gloucester

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Allarme. Le forze di Francia attraversano la scena guidate dalla regina Cordelia che tiene per mano suo padre. Poi entra Edgar travestito da contadino, guidando il cieco duca di Gloucester
EDGAR	Qui, padre, prendete l’ombra di questo cespuglio per vostro buon ospite; pregate che il diritto trionfi. Se mai tornerò da voi vi porterò conforto. Esce
GLOUCESTER	La grazia vada con voi, signore.
(didascalia)	Allarme e ritirata. Entra Edgar
EDGAR	Via, vecchio. Dammi la mano. Via. Re Lear ha perduto; lui e sua figlia son presi. Dammi la mano. Andiamo.
GLOUCESTER	Non oltre, signore. Un uomo può marcire anche qui.
EDGAR	Come, di nuovo in cattivi pensieri? Gli uomini devono sopportare il loro andarsene di qui come il loro venirci. La maturità è tutto. Andiamo. Esce Edgar guidando Gloucester

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	Enter Edmund with King Lear and Queen Cordelia prisoners, a Captain, and soldiers
EDMUND	Some officers take them away. Good guard Until their greater pleasures best be known That are to censure them.
CORDELIA	(to Lear) We are not the first Who with best meaning have incurred the worst. For thee, oppressed King, am I cast down, Myself could else outfrown false fortune’s frown. Shall we not see these daughters and these sisters?
LEAR	No, no. Come, let’s away to prison. We two alone will sing like birds i’th’ cage. When thou dost ask me blessing, I’ll kneel down And ask of thee forgiveness; so we’ll live, And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh At gilded butterflies, and hear poor rogues Talk of court news, and we’ll talk with them too— Who loses and who wins, who’s in, who’s out, And take upon ’s the mystery of things As if we were God’s spies; and we’ll wear out In a walled prison packs and sects of great ones That ebb and flow by th’ moon.
EDMUND	(to soldiers) Take them away.
LEAR	(to Cordelia) Upon such sacrifices, my Cordelia, The gods themselves throw incense. Have I caught thee? He that parts us shall bring a brand from heaven And fire us hence like foxes. Wipe thine eyes. The goodyear shall devour ‘em, flesh and fell, Ere they shall make us weep. We’ll see ’em starve first. Come.
(didascalia)	Exeunt all but Edmund and the Captain
EDMUND	Come hither, captain. Hark. Take thou this note. Go follow them to prison. One step I have advanced thee; if thou dost As this instructs thee, thou dost make thy way To noble fortunes. Know thou this: that men Are as the time is. To be tender-minded Does not become a sword. Thy great employment Will not bear question. Either say thou’lt do’t, Or thrive by other means.
CAPTAIN	I’ll do’t, my lord.
EDMUND	About it, and write ‘happy’ when thou hast done. Mark, I say, instantly, and carry it so As I have set it down.
CAPTAIN	I cannot draw a cart, Nor eat dried oats. If it be man’s work, I’ll do’t. Exit Enter the Duke of Albany, the two ladies Gonoril and Regan, [another Captain,] and others
ALBANY	(to Edmund) Sir, you have showed today your valiant strain, And fortune led you well. You have the captives That were the opposites of this day’s strife. We do require then of you, so to use them As we shall find their merits and our safety May equally determine.
EDMUND	Sir, I thought it fit To send the old and miserable King To some retention and appointed guard, Whose age has charms in it, whose title more, To pluck the common bosom on his side And turn our impressed lances in our eyes Which do command them. With him I sent the Queen, My reason all the same, and they are ready Tomorrow, or at further space, to appear Where you shall hold your session. At this time We sweat and bleed. The friend hath lost his friend, And the best quarrels in the heat are cursed By those that feel their sharpness. The question of Cordelia and her father Requires a fitter place.
ALBANY	Sir, by your patience, I hold you but a subject of this war, Not as a brother.
REGAN	That’s as we list to grace him. Methinks our pleasure should have been demanded Ere you had spoke so far. He led our powers, Bore the commission of my place and person, The which immediate may well stand up And call itself your brother.
GONORIL	Not so hot. In his own grace he doth exalt himself More than in your advancement.
REGAN	In my right By me invested, he compeers the best.
GONORIL	That were the most if he should husband you.
REGAN	Jesters do oft prove prophets.
GONORIL	Holla, holla— That eye that told you so looked but asquint.
REGAN	Lady, I am not well, else I should answer From a full-flowing stomach. (To Edmund) General, Take thou my soldiers, prisoners, patrimony. Witness the world that I create thee here My lord and master.
GONORIL	Mean you to enjoy him, then?
ALBANY	The let-alone lies not in your good will.
EDMUND	Nor in thine, lord.
ALBANY	Half-blooded fellow, yes.
EDMUND	Let the drum strike and prove my title good.
ALBANY	Stay yet, hear reason. Edmund, I arrest thee On capital treason, and in thine attaint This gilded serpent. (To Regan) For your claim, fair sister, I bar it in the interest of my wife. ’Tis she is subcontracted to this lord, And I, her husband, contradict the banns. If you will marry, make your love to me. My lady is bespoke.—Thou art armed, Gloucester. If none appear to prove upon thy head Thy heinous, manifest, and many treasons, [He throws down a glove] There is my pledge. I’ll prove it on thy heart, Ere I taste bread, thou art in nothing less Than I have here proclaimed thee.
REGAN	Sick, O sick!
GONORIL	(aside) If not, I’ll ne’er trust poison.
EDMUND	(to Albany, [throwing down a glove]) There’s my exchange. What in the world he is That names me traitor, villain-like he lies. Call by thy trumpet. He that dares, approach; On him, on you—who not?—I will maintain My truth and honour firmly.
ALBANY	A herald, ho!
EDMUND	A herald, ho, a herald!
ALBANY	Trust to thy single virtue, for thy soldiers, All levied in my name, have in my name Took their discharge.
REGAN	This sickness grows upon me.
ALBANY	She is not well. Convey her to my tent.
(didascalia)	Exit one or more with Regan
ALBANY	[Enter a Herald and a trumpeter] Come hither, herald. Let the trumpet sound, And read out this.
SECOND CAPTAIN	Sound, trumpet! Trumpeter sounds
HERALD	(reads) ‘If any man of quality or degree in the host of the army will maintain upon Edmund, supposed Earl of Gloucester, that he’s a manifold traitor, let him appear at the third sound of the trumpet. He is bold in his defence.’
EDMUND	Sound! (Trumpeter sounds) Again!
(didascalia)	Enter Edgar, armed, at the third sound, a trumpeter before him
ALBANY	(to the Herald) Ask him his purposes, why he appears Upon this call o’th’ trumpet.
HERALD	(to Edgar) What are you? Your name and quality, and why you answer This present summons?
EDGAR	O, know my name is lost, By treason’s tooth bare-gnawn and canker-bit. Yet ere I move’t, where is the adversary I come to cope withal?
ALBANY	Which is that adversary?
EDGAR	What’s he that speaks for Edmund, Earl of Gloucester?
EDMUND	Himself. What sayst thou to him?
EDGAR	Draw thy sword, That if my speech offend a noble heart Thy arm may do thee justice. Here is mine. He draws his sword Behold, it is the privilege of my tongue, My oath, and my profession. I protest, Maugre thy strength, youth, place, and eminence, Despite thy victor-sword and fire-new fortune, Thy valour and thy heart, thou art a traitor, False to thy gods, thy brother, and thy father, Conspirant ‘gainst this high illustrious prince, And from th’extremest upward of thy head To the descent and dust beneath thy feet A most toad-spotted traitor. Say thou no, This sword, this arm, and my best spirits are bent To prove upon thy heart, whereto I speak, Thou liest.
EDMUND	In wisdom I should ask thy name, But since thy outside looks so fair and warlike, And that thy tongue some say of breeding breathes, My right of knighthood I disdain and spurn. Here do I toss those treasons to thy head, With the hell-hated lie o’erturn thy heart, Which, for they yet glance by and scarcely bruise, This sword of mine shall give them instant way Where they shall rest for ever. Trumpets, speak! [Flourish.] They fight. Edmund is vanquished [ALL] Save him, save him!
GONORIL	This is mere practice, Gloucester. By the law of arms thou art not bound to answer An unknown opposite. Thou art not vanquished, But cozened and beguiled.
ALBANY	Stop your mouth, dame, Or with this paper shall I stopple it. Thou worse than anything, read thine own evil. Nay, no tearing, lady. I perceive you know’t.
GONORIL	Say if I do, the laws are mine, not thine. Who shall arraign me for’t?
ALBANY	Most monstrous! Know’st thou this paper?
GONORIL	Ask me not what I know.
(didascalia)	Exit
ALBANY	Go after her. She’s desperate. Govern her.
(didascalia)	Exit one or more
EDMUND	What you have charged me with, that have I done, And more, much more. The time will bring it out. ’Tis past, and so am I. (To Edgar) But what art thou, That hast this fortune on me? If thou beest noble, I do forgive thee.
EDGAR	Let’s exchange charity. I am no less in blood than thou art, Edmund. If more, the more ignobly thou hast wronged me. [He takes off his helmet] My name is Edgar, and thy father’s son. The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices Make instruments to scourge us. The dark and vicious place where thee he got Cost him his eyes.
EDMUND	Thou hast spoken truth. The wheel is come full circled. I am here.
ALBANY	(to Edgar) Methought thy very gait did prophesy A royal nobleness. I must embrace thee. Let sorrow split my heart if I did ever hate Thee or thy father.
EDGAR	Worthy prince, I know’t.
ALBANY	Where have you hid yourself? How have you known the miseries of your father?
EDGAR	By nursing them, my lord. List a brief tale, And when ‘tis told, O that my heart would burst! The bloody proclamation to escape That followed me so near—O, our lives’ sweetness, That with the pain of death would hourly die Rather than die at once!—taught me to shift Into a madman’s rags, to assume a semblance That very dogs disdained; and in this habit Met I my father with his bleeding rings, The precious stones new-lost; became his guide, Led him, begged for him, saved him from despair; Never—O father!—revealed myself unto him Until some half hour past, when I was armed. Not sure, though hoping, of this good success, I asked his blessing, and from first to last Told him my pilgrimage; but his flawed heart— Alack, too weak the conflict to support— ’Twixt two extremes of passion, joy and grief, Burst smilingly.
EDMUND	This speech of yours hath moved me, And shall perchance do good. But speak you on— You look as you had something more to say.
ALBANY	If there be more, more woeful, hold it in, For I am almost ready to dissolve, Hearing of this.
EDGAR	This would have seemed a period To such as love not sorrow; but another To amplify, too much would make much more, And top extremity. Whilst I was big in clamour came there in a man Who, having seen me in my worst estate, Shunned my abhorred society; but then, finding Who ’twas that so endured, with his strong arms He fastened on my neck and bellowed out As he’d burst heaven; threw him on my father, Told the most piteous tale of Lear and him That ever ear received, which in recounting His grief grew puissant and the strings of life Began to crack. Twice then the trumpets sounded, And there I left him tranced.
ALBANY	But who was this?
EDGAR	Kent, sir, the banished Kent, who in disguise Followed his enemy king, and did him service Improper for a slave.
(didascalia)	Enter [Second] Gentleman with a bloody knife
EDGAR	FSECONDl GENTLEMEN Help, help!
ALBANY	What kind of help? What means that bloody knife?
(didascalia)	SECOND GENTLEMAN It’s hot, it smokes. It came even from the heart of—
ALBANY	Who, man? Speak. [SECOND] GENTLEMAN Your lady, sir, your lady; and her sister By her is poisonèd—she hath confessed it.
EDMUND	I was contracted to them both; all three Now marry in an instant.
ALBANY	Produce their bodies, be they alive or dead. This justice of the heavens, that makes us tremble, Touches us not with pity.
(didascalia)	Enter Kent as himself
EDGAR	Here comes Kent, sir.
ALBANY	O, ’tis he; the time will not allow The compliment that very manners urges.
KENT	I am come To bid my king and master aye good night. Is he not here?
ALBANY	Great thing of us forgot!— Speak, Edmund; where’s the King, and where’s Cordelia? The bodies of Gonoril and Regan are brought in Seest thou this object, Kent?
KENT	Alack, why thus?
EDMUND	Yet Edmund was beloved. The one the other poisoned for my sake, And after slew herself.
ALBANY	Even so.—Cover their faces.
EDMUND	I pant for life. Some good I mean to do, Despite of my own nature. Quickly send, Be brief in’t, to th’ castle; for my writ Is on the life of Lear and on Cordelia. Nay, send in time.
ALBANY	Run, run, O run!
EDGAR	To who, my lord? Who hath the office? Send Thy token of reprieve.
EDMUND	Well thought on! Take my sword. The captain, Give it the captain.
ALBANY	Haste thee for thy life.
(didascalia)	Exit [Second Captain]
EDMUND	He hath commission from thy wife and me To hang Cordelia in the prison, and To lay the blame upon her own despair, That she fordid herself.
ALBANY	The gods defend her!—Bear him hence a while.
(didascalia)	Exeunt some with Edmund
(didascalia)	Enter King Lear with Queen Cordelia in his arms,
ALBANY	[followed by the Second Captain]
LEAR	Howl, howl, howl, howl! O, you are men of stones. Had I your tongues and eyes, I would use them so That heaven’s vault should crack. She’s gone for ever. I know when one is dead and when one lives. She’s dead as earth. [He lays her down] Lend me a looking-glass. If that her breath will mist or stain the stone, Why, then she lives.
KENT	Is this the promised end?
EDGAR	Or image of that horror?
ALBANY	Fall and cease.
LEAR	This feather stirs. She lives. If it be so, It is a chance which does redeem all sorrows That ever I have felt.
KENT	[kneeling] Ah, my good master!
LEAR	Prithee, away.
EDGAR	w’Tis noble Kent, your friend.
LEAR	A plague upon you, murderous traitors all. I might have saved her; now she’s gone for ever.— Cordelia, Cordelia: stay a little. Ha? What is’t thou sayst?—Her voice was ever soft, Gentle, and low, an excellent thing in women.— I killed the slave that was a-hanging thee. [SECOND] CAPTAIN ’Tis true, my lords, he did.
LEAR	Did I not, fellow? I have seen the day with my good biting falchion I would have made them skip. I am old now, And these same crosses spoil me. (To Kent) Who are you? Mine eyes are not o’ the best, I’ll tell you straight.
KENT	If fortune bragged of two she loved or hated, One of them we behold.
LEAR	Are not you Kent?
KENT	The same, your servant Kent. Where is your servant Caius?
LEAR	He’s a good fellow, I can tell you that. He’ll strike, and quickly too. He’s dead and rotten.
KENT	No, my good lord, I am the very man—
LEAR	I’ll see that straight.
KENT	That from your first of difference and decay Have followed your sad steps.
LEAR	You’re welcome hither.
KENT	Nor no man else. All’s cheerless, dark, and deadly. Your eldest daughters have fordone themselves, And desperately are dead.
LEAR	So think I, too.
ALBANY	He knows not what he sees; and vain it is That we present us to him.
EDGAR	Very bootless.
(didascalia)	Enter another Captain
EDGAR	[THIRD] CAPTAIN (to Albany) Edmund is dead, my lord.
ALBANY	That’s but a trifle here.— You lords and noble friends, know our intent. What comfort to this great decay may come Shall be applied; for us, we will resign During the life of this old majesty To him our absolute power; (to Edgar and Kent) you to your rights, With boot and such addition as your honours Have more than merited. All friends shall taste The wages of their virtue, and all foes The cup of their deservings.—O see, see!
LEAR	And my poor fool is hanged. No, no life. Why should a dog, a horse, a rat have life, And thou no breath at all? O, thou wilt come no more. Never, never, never.—Pray you, undo This button. Thank you, sir. O, O, O, O!
EDGAR	He faints. (To Lear) My lord, my lord!
LEAR	Break, heart, I prithee break.
EDGAR	Look up, my lord.
KENT	Vex not his ghost. O, let him pass. He hates him That would upon the rack of this tough world Stretch him out longer. [Lear dies]
EDGAR	O, he is gone indeed.
KENT	The wonder is he hath endured so long. He but usurped his life.
ALBANY	(to attendants) Bear them from hence. Our present business Is to general woe. (To Kent and Edgar) Friends of my soul, you twain Rule in this kingdom, and the gored state sustain.
KENT	I have a journey, sir, shortly to go: My master calls, and I must not say no.
ALBANY	The weight of this sad time we must obey, Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say. The oldest have borne most. We that are young Shall never see so much, nor live so long.
(didascalia)	Exeunt carrying the bodies
BY WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE AND	THOMAS MIDDLETON
WE	know no more of Timon of Athens than we can deduce from the text printed in the 1623 Folio. Some episodes, such as the emblematic opening dialogue featuring a Poet and a Painter, are elegantly finished, but the play has more unpolished dialogue and loose ends of plot than usual: for example, the episode (3.6) in which Alcibiades pleads for a soldier’s life is only tenuously related to the main structure; and the final stretch of action seems imperfectly worked out. Various theories of collaboration and revision have been advanced to explain the play’s peculiarities. During the 1970s and 1980s strong linguistic and other evidence was adduced in support of the belief that it is a product of collaboration between Shakespeare and Thomas Middleton, a dramatist born in 1580 and educated at Queen’s College, Oxford, who was writing for the stage by 1602 and was to develop into a great playwright. The major passages for which Middleton seems to have taken prime responsibility are Act 1. Scene 2; all of Act 3 except for parts of Scene 7; and the closing episode (4.3.460-537) of Act 4. The theory of collaboration explains some features of the text—Middleton’s verse, for example, was less regular than Shakespeare’s. There is no record of early performance; the play is conjecturally assigned to 1605-6. The story of Timon was well known and had been told in an anonymous play which seems to have been acted at one of the Inns of Court in 1602 or 1603. The classical sources of Timon’s story are a brief, anecdotal passage in Plutarch’s Life of Mark Antony, and a Greek dialogue by Lucian, who wrote during the second century AD, the former was certainly known to the authors of Timon of Athens; the latter influences them directly or indirectly. Plutarch records two epitaphs, one written by Timon himself, which recur, conflated as one epitaph, almost word for word in the play. In Lucian, as in the play, Timon is a misanthrope because his friends flattered and sponged on him in prosperity but abandoned him in poverty. The first part of the play dramatizes this process; in the second part, as in Lucian, Timon finds gold and suddenly becomes attractive again to his old friends. Timon of Athens is an exceptionally schematic play falling into two sharply contrasting parts, the second a kind of mirror image of the first. Many of the characters are presented two-dimensionally, as if the dramatists were more concerned with the play’s pattern of ideas than with psychological realism. The overall tone is harsh and bitter; there are passages of magnificent invective along with brilliant satire, but there is also tenderness in the portrayal of Timon’s servants, especially his ‘one honest man’, Flavius. In the play’s comparatively rare performances some adaptation has usually been found necessary; but the exceptionally long role of Timon offers great opportunities to an actor who can convey his vulnerability as well as his virulence, especially in the strange music of the closing scenes which suggests in him a vision beyond the ordinary.
THE PERSONS OF THE	PLAY

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Entra Edmund con Re Lear e la regina Cordelia prigionieri, un Capitano e soldati
EDMUND	Alcuni ufficiali li conducano via. Buona guardia finché non si conosca il volere di quei maggiori che devono giudicarli.
CORDELIA	(a Lear) Non siamo i primi che con le migliori intenzioni hanno incontrato il peggio. Per te, oppresso Re, sono abbattuta; altrimenti saprei io stessa sfidare il cipiglio della falsa fortuna. Non vedremo queste figlie e queste sorelle?
LEAR	No, no. Vieni, andiamo in prigione. Noi due soli canteremo come uccelli in gabbia. Quando tu mi chiederai la benedizione, io m’inginocchierò e ti chiederò perdono; così vivremo, e pregheremo, e canteremo, e racconteremo vecchie storie, e rideremo delle farfalle dorate, e udremo poveri furfanti parlare delle nuove di corte; e parleremo anche noi con loro— chi perde e chi vince, chi è dentro, chi è fuori— e ci assumeremo il mistero delle cose come fossimo spie di Dio; e consumeremo, in una prigione murata, fazioni e sette di grandi che fluiscono e rifluiscono con la luna.
EDMUND	(ai soldati) Portateli via.
LEAR	(a Cordelia) Su tali sacrifici, Cordelia mia, gli dèi stessi gettano incenso. T’ho dunque ritrovata? Chi ci separa dovrà portare un tizzone dal cielo e stanarci col fuoco come volpi. Asciugati gli occhi. La malora li divorerà, carne e pelle, prima che ci facciano piangere. Li vedremo morire di fame prima. Vieni.
(didascalia)	Escono tutti tranne Edmund e il Capitano
EDMUND	Vieni qua, capitano. Ascolta. Prendi questo biglietto. Va’, seguili in prigione. D’un grado t’ho già promosso; se farai come questo t’istruisce, ti aprirai la via a nobili fortune. Sappi questo: che gli uomini sono come è il tempo. Aver l’animo tenero non si conviene a una spada. Il tuo grande incarico non ammette discussione. O dici che lo farai, o prospera per altre vie.
CAPITANO	Lo farò, mio signore.
EDMUND	All’opera; e scrivi «felice» quando avrai finito. Bada, dico, all’istante, e conducilo così come l’ho messo per iscritto.
CAPITANO	Non so tirare un carro, né mangiare avena secca. Se è lavoro da uomo, lo farò. Esce Entrano il duca d’Albany, le due dame Gonoril e Regan, [un altro Capitano] e altri
ALBANY	(a Edmund) Signore, avete mostrato oggi la vostra valorosa tempra, e la fortuna vi ha ben guidato. Avete i prigionieri che furono gli avversari della contesa di questo giorno. Vi chiediamo dunque di consegnarceli, per usarne come i loro meriti e la nostra sicurezza possano insieme determinare.
EDMUND	Signore, ho stimato opportuno mandare il vecchio e misero Re a qualche luogo di custodia e sotto guardia assegnata: la sua età ha incanti in sé, e più ancora il suo titolo, tali da trarre a sé il cuore del popolo e volgere le lance da noi arruolate contro gli occhi di noi che le comandiamo. Con lui mandai la Regina, per la stessa mia ragione; e saranno pronti domani, o a più lungo intervallo, a comparire dove terrete la vostra sessione. In questo momento noi sudiamo e sanguiniamo. L’amico ha perduto il suo amico, e le contese migliori, nel calore, son maledette da chi ne sente il taglio. La questione di Cordelia e di suo padre richiede luogo più adatto.
ALBANY	Signore, con vostra licenza, io vi tengo solo per un suddito di questa guerra, non per un fratello.
REGAN	Ciò è come a noi piaccia onorarlo. Mi pare che si sarebbe dovuto chiedere il nostro piacere prima che voi parlaste tanto oltre. Egli guidò le nostre forze, portò il mandato del mio grado e della mia persona; e questa immediatezza può bene rizzarsi e chiamarsi vostro fratello.
GONORIL	Non tanto ardore. Egli s’innalza per la propria virtù più che per la vostra promozione.
REGAN	Nel mio diritto, da me investito, egli sta pari ai migliori.
GONORIL	Sarebbe il massimo, se vi facesse da marito.
REGAN	I burloni spesso si rivelano profeti.
GONORIL	Olà, olà— quell’occhio che ve l’ha detto guardava di traverso.
REGAN	Signora, non sto bene, altrimenti risponderei con lo stomaco traboccante. (A Edmund) Generale, prendi i miei soldati, i prigionieri, il patrimonio. Il mondo sia testimone ch’io ti creo qui mio signore e padrone.
GONORIL	Intendete goderlo, dunque?
ALBANY	L’astenersi non dipende dal vostro buon volere.
EDMUND	Né dal tuo, signore.
ALBANY	Uomo di mezzo sangue, sì.
EDMUND	Suoni il tamburo e provi buono il mio titolo.
ALBANY	Fermati ancora, ascolta ragione. Edmund, t’arresto per alto tradimento; e nella tua condanna anche questa serpe dorata. (A Regan) Quanto alla vostra pretesa, bella sorella, la sbarro nell’interesse di mia moglie. È lei che è segretamente promessa a questo signore, e io, suo marito, contraddico le pubblicazioni. Se volete sposarvi, fate all’amore con me. La mia dama è impegnata.—Tu sei armato, Gloucester. Se nessuno comparirà a provare sulla tua testa i tuoi odiosi, manifesti e molti tradimenti, [Getta a terra un guanto] ecco il mio pegno. Lo proverò sul tuo cuore, prima ch’io gusti pane, che tu non sei in nulla meno di ciò che qui t’ho proclamato.
REGAN	Male, oh, mi sento male!
GONORIL	(a parte) Se no, non crederò più al veleno.
EDMUND	(ad Albany, [gettando a terra un guanto]) Ecco il mio scambio. Chiunque al mondo egli sia che mi chiama traditore, mente da scellerato. Chiama con la tua tromba. Chi osa, s’avvicini; contro di lui, contro di voi—chi no?—sosterrò la mia verità e il mio onore fermamente.
ALBANY	Un araldo, olà!
EDMUND	Un araldo, olà, un araldo!
ALBANY	Confida nel tuo solo valore, ché i tuoi soldati, tutti arruolati nel mio nome, nel mio nome hanno avuto il congedo.
REGAN	Questo male cresce in me.
ALBANY	Non sta bene. Portatela alla mia tenda.
(didascalia)	Esce uno o più con Regan
ALBANY	[Entrano un Araldo e un trombettiere] Vieni qua, araldo. Suoni la tromba, e leggi ad alta voce questo.
SECONDO CAPITANO	Suona, tromba! Il trombettiere suona
ARALDO	(legge) «Se qualsiasi uomo di qualità o di grado nelle schiere dell’esercito vorrà sostenere contro Edmund, sedicente conte di Gloucester, ch’egli è traditore molteplice, si presenti al terzo squillo di tromba. Egli è pronto alla sua difesa.»
EDMUND	Suona! (Il trombettiere suona) Ancora!
(didascalia)	Entra Edgar, armato, al terzo squillo, preceduto da un trombettiere
ALBANY	(all’Araldo) Chiedigli i suoi propositi, perché compare a questo richiamo di tromba.
ARALDO	(a Edgar) Chi siete voi? Il vostro nome e la vostra qualità, e perché rispondete a questa presente citazione?
EDGAR	Oh, sappiate che il mio nome è perduto, roso fino all’osso dal dente del tradimento e morso dal cancro. Pure, prima ch’io lo dica, dov’è l’avversario che vengo ad affrontare?
ALBANY	Qual è quell’avversario?
EDGAR	Chi è colui che parla per Edmund, conte di Gloucester?
EDMUND	Egli stesso. Che gli dici?
EDGAR	Sguaina la tua spada, sì che, se il mio discorso offende un cuore nobile, il tuo braccio possa renderti giustizia. Ecco la mia. Sguaina la spada Guarda: essa è il privilegio della mia lingua, il mio giuramento e la mia professione. Io affermo, a dispetto della tua forza, giovinezza, rango ed eminenza, a dispetto della tua spada vittoriosa e della tua fortuna nuova di fiamma, del tuo valore e del tuo cuore, che tu sei un traditore, falso ai tuoi dèi, a tuo fratello e a tuo padre, cospiratore contro questo alto illustre principe; e dalla sommità estrema del tuo capo fino alla discesa e alla polvere sotto i tuoi piedi un traditore maculato come un rospo. Di’ tu di no, e questa spada, questo braccio e i miei migliori spiriti son tesi a provare sul tuo cuore, a cui parlo, che tu menti.
EDMUND	Per prudenza dovrei chiedere il tuo nome; ma poiché il tuo aspetto pare così bello e guerriero, e la tua lingua spira un non so che di nobile nascita, il mio diritto di cavaliere lo sdegno e lo respingo. Qui rigetto quei tradimenti sulla tua testa, e con la menzogna odiata dall’inferno ti rovescio il cuore; e poiché essi ancora sfiorano appena e a stento ammaccano, questa mia spada darà loro immediata via là dove riposeranno per sempre. Trombe, parlate! [Squilli.] Combattono. Edmund è vinto [TUTTI] Salvatelo, salvatelo!
GONORIL	Questo è puro inganno, Gloucester. Per la legge d’armi tu non eri tenuto a rispondere a un avversario ignoto. Tu non sei vinto, ma raggirato e ingannato.
ALBANY	Chiudete la bocca, signora, o con questa carta ve la tapperò. Tu, peggiore d’ogni cosa, leggi il tuo stesso male. Ehi, niente strappi, signora. Vedo bene che lo conoscete.
GONORIL	Ammesso che lo conosca, le leggi sono mie, non tue. Chi mi processerà per questo?
ALBANY	Cosa mostruosissima! Conosci tu questa carta?
GONORIL	Non chiedermi ciò che so.
(didascalia)	Esce
ALBANY	Andatele dietro. È disperata. Tenetela a freno.
(didascalia)	Esce uno o più
EDMUND	Ciò di cui m’avete accusato, l’ho fatto, e più, molto di più. Il tempo lo farà emergere. È passato, e così sono io. (A Edgar) Ma chi sei tu, che hai questa fortuna su di me? Se sei nobile, io ti perdono.
EDGAR	Scambiamoci carità. Non sono da meno di te per sangue, Edmund. Se son di più, tanto più ignobilmente m’hai fatto torto. [Si toglie l’ elmo] Il mio nome è Edgar, e son figlio di tuo padre. Gli dèi sono giusti, e dei nostri piacevoli vizi fanno strumenti per flagellarci. Il luogo oscuro e vizioso dove ti generò gli costò gli occhi.
EDMUND	Hai detto la verità. La ruota ha compiuto il suo giro. Io son qui.
ALBANY	(a Edgar) Mi parve che la tua stessa andatura profetasse una regale nobiltà. Devo abbracciarti. Il dolore mi spacchi il cuore se mai odiai te o tuo padre.
EDGAR	Degno principe, lo so.
ALBANY	Dove vi siete nascosto? Come avete saputo delle miserie di vostro padre?
EDGAR	Vegliandole, mio signore. Udite un breve racconto, e quando sarà detto, oh, che il mio cuore scoppi! Per sfuggire alla sanguinosa proclamazione che mi seguiva così da presso—oh, dolcezza delle nostre vite, che col dolore della morte vorremmo morire d’ora in ora piuttosto che morire in una volta!—imparai a mutarmi negli stracci d’un pazzo, ad assumere un aspetto che perfino i cani disdegnavano; e in tale abito incontrai mio padre con gli anelli sanguinanti, le pietre preziose appena perdute; divenni sua guida, lo condussi, mendicai per lui, lo salvai dalla disperazione; mai—oh padre!—mi rivelai a lui fino a mezz’ora fa, quando ero armato. Non certo, benché speranzoso, di questo buon esito, gli chiesi la benedizione, e dal principio alla fine gli raccontai il mio pellegrinaggio; ma il suo cuore incrinato— ahimè, troppo debole per sostenere il conflitto— fra due estremi di passione, gioia e dolore, scoppiò sorridendo.
EDMUND	Questo vostro discorso m’ha commosso, e forse farà del bene. Ma continuate— avete l’aria d’aver qualcos’altro da dire.
ALBANY	Se v’è altro, e più doloroso, tenetelo dentro, ché io son quasi pronto a dissolvermi all’udire questo.
EDGAR	Questo sarebbe parso un termine per chi non ama il dolore; ma un altro ad amplificarlo, il troppo farebbe assai di più, e supererebbe l’estremo. Mentre io ero grande nel lamento venne un uomo che, avendomi visto nel mio stato peggiore, aveva fuggito la mia aborrita compagnia; ma allora, scoprendo chi fosse colui che tanto pativa, con le sue forti braccia mi si strinse al collo e urlò come volesse far scoppiare il cielo; si gettò su mio padre, narrò la più pietosa storia di Lear e di lui che orecchio mai ricevette; e nel raccontarla il suo dolore si fece violento e le corde della vita cominciarono a spezzarsi. Due volte allora suonarono le trombe, e là lo lasciai in deliquio.
ALBANY	Ma chi era costui?
EDGAR	Kent, signore, il bandito Kent, che travestito seguì il suo re nemico, e gli rese servigi indegni d’uno schiavo.
(didascalia)	Entra il [Secondo] Gentiluomo con un coltello insanguinato
EDGAR	FSECONDl GENTLEMEN Aiuto, aiuto!
ALBANY	Che sorta d’aiuto? Che significa quel coltello insanguinato?
(didascalia)	SECOND GENTLEMAN È caldo, fuma. Viene proprio dal cuore di—
ALBANY	Di chi, uomo? Parla. [SECONDO] GENTILUOMO Della vostra signora, signore, della vostra signora; e sua sorella è stata da lei avvelenata—ella l’ha confessato.
EDMUND	Ero promesso a entrambe; tutt’e tre ora ci sposiamo in un istante.
ALBANY	Portate qua i loro corpi, siano vive o morte. Questa giustizia dei cieli, che ci fa tremare, non ci tocca di pietà.
(didascalia)	Entra Kent in propria persona
EDGAR	Ecco che viene Kent, signore.
ALBANY	Oh, è lui; il tempo non permette i convenevoli che le buone maniere esigono.
KENT	Son venuto a dare al mio re e padrone l’ultima buona notte. Non è qui?
ALBANY	Gran cosa da noi dimenticata!— Parla, Edmund; dov’è il Re, e dov’è Cordelia? Vengono portati dentro i corpi di Gonoril e di Regan Vedi tu questo spettacolo, Kent?
KENT	Ahimè, perché così?
EDMUND	Pure Edmund fu amato. L’una avvelenò l’altra per amor mio, e poi uccise se stessa.
ALBANY	Proprio così.—Coprite loro il volto.
EDMUND	Ansimo per la vita. Un po’ di bene intendo fare, a dispetto della mia stessa natura. Mandate presto, fate in fretta, al castello; ché il mio ordine è sulla vita di Lear e su Cordelia. Suvvia, mandate in tempo.
ALBANY	Corri, corri, oh corri!
EDGAR	Da chi, mio signore? Chi ha l’incarico? Manda il tuo segno di grazia.
EDMUND	Ben pensato! Prendi la mia spada. Il capitano, dalla al capitano.
ALBANY	Affrettati, ne va della tua vita.
(didascalia)	Esce [il Secondo Capitano]
EDMUND	Egli ha mandato da tua moglie e da me d’impiccare Cordelia nella prigione, e di darne la colpa alla sua stessa disperazione, come s’ella si fosse uccisa.
ALBANY	Gli dèi la difendano!—Portatelo via di qui un momento.
(didascalia)	Escono alcuni con Edmund
(didascalia)	Entra Re Lear con la regina Cordelia fra le braccia,
ALBANY	[seguito dal Secondo Capitano]
LEAR	Urlate, urlate, urlate, urlate! Oh, voi siete uomini di pietra. Avessi le vostre lingue e i vostri occhi, li userei così che la volta del cielo si spaccherebbe. Se n’è andata per sempre. So quando uno è morto e quando uno vive. Ella è morta come terra. [La depone] Datemi uno specchio. Se il suo respiro appannerà o macchierà il cristallo, ebbene, allora vive.
KENT	È questa la fine promessa?
EDGAR	O l’immagine di quell’orrore?
ALBANY	Cada tutto e cessi.
LEAR	Questa piuma si muove. Ella vive. Se è così, è un caso che riscatta tutti i dolori ch’io abbia mai sentito.
KENT	[inginocchiandosi] Ah, mio buon padrone!
LEAR	Di grazia, va’ via.
EDGAR	w’È il nobile Kent, vostro amico.
LEAR	La peste su voi, traditori assassini tutti quanti. Avrei potuto salvarla; ora se n’è andata per sempre.— Cordelia, Cordelia: resta un poco. Eh? Che dici tu?—La sua voce fu sempre dolce, gentile e bassa: cosa eccellente in una donna.— Ho ucciso lo schiavo che ti stava impiccando. [SECONDO] CAPITANO È vero, miei signori, l’ha fatto.
LEAR	Non è così, amico? Ho visto il giorno in cui col mio buon brando affilato li avrei fatti saltare. Ora son vecchio, e queste stesse traversie mi guastano. (A Kent) Chi siete voi? I miei occhi non sono dei migliori, ve lo dirò subito.
KENT	Se la fortuna si vantasse di due che amò o odiò, uno di quelli l’abbiamo qui davanti.
LEAR	Non siete voi Kent?
KENT	Lo stesso, il vostro servo Kent. Dov’è il vostro servo Caio?
LEAR	È un buon compagno, questo ve lo posso dire. Sa colpire, e in fretta anche. È morto e imputridito.
KENT	No, mio buon signore, io sono proprio quell’uomo—
LEAR	Ci penserò subito.
KENT	Che dal vostro primo mutare e decadere ho seguito i vostri tristi passi.
LEAR	Siate il benvenuto qui.
KENT	Né io né altri. Tutto è squallido, buio e mortale. Le vostre figlie maggiori si son distrutte, e sono morte disperatamente.
LEAR	Così credo anch’io.
ALBANY	Non sa quel che vede; ed è vano che ci presentiamo a lui.
EDGAR	Del tutto inutile.
(didascalia)	Entra un altro Capitano
EDGAR	[TERZO] CAPITANO (ad Albany) Edmund è morto, mio signore.
ALBANY	Questa qui non è che un’inezia.— Voi, signori e nobili amici, sappiate il nostro intento. Quel conforto che può venire a questa grande rovina sarà applicato; quanto a noi, rassegneremo, finché duri la vita di questa vecchia maestà, a lui il nostro potere assoluto; (a Edgar e a Kent) voi ai vostri diritti, con guadagno e con quell’aggiunta che i vostri onori hanno più che meritato. Tutti gli amici gusteranno la mercede della loro virtù, e tutti i nemici la coppa di ciò che meritano.—Oh, guardate, guardate!
LEAR	E il mio povero matto è impiccato. No, no, niente vita. Perché un cane, un cavallo, un topo dovrebbero avere vita, e tu nessun respiro? Oh, tu non tornerai più. Mai, mai, mai.—Vi prego, slacciate questo bottone. Grazie, signore. Oh, oh, oh, oh!
EDGAR	Sviene. (A Lear) Mio signore, mio signore!
LEAR	Spezzati, cuore, ti prego, spezzati.
EDGAR	Guardate in su, mio signore.
KENT	Non tormentate il suo spirito. Oh, lasciatelo passare. Odia colui che sulla ruota di tortura di questo aspro mondo volesse stenderlo più a lungo. [Lear muore]
EDGAR	Oh, se n’è andato davvero.
KENT	La meraviglia è che abbia resistito tanto a lungo. Egli non faceva che usurpare la propria vita.
ALBANY	(agli attendenti) Portateli via di qui. Il nostro presente compito è al lutto generale. (A Kent e a Edgar) Amici dell’anima mia, voi due reggete questo regno, e sostenete lo stato squarciato.
KENT	Ho un viaggio, signore, da fare tra breve: il mio padrone chiama, e non posso dire di no.
ALBANY	Al peso di questo triste tempo dobbiamo obbedire, dire ciò che sentiamo, non ciò che si dovrebbe dire. I più vecchi hanno sopportato di più. Noi che siam giovani non vedremo mai tanto, né vivremo tanto a lungo.
(didascalia)	Escono portando i corpi