King Lear By William Shakespeare

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King Lear

William Shakespeare

Published: 1606

Categorie(s): Fiction, Drama

Source: http://shakespeare.mit.edu/ About Shakespeare:

William Shakespeare (baptised 26 April 1564 – died 23 April 1616) was an English poet and playwright, widely regarded as the greatest writer in the English language and the world's pre-eminent dramatist. He is often called England's national poet and the "Bard of Avon" (or simply "The Bard"). His surviving works consist of 38 plays, 154 sonnets, two long narrative poems, and several other poems. His plays have been translated into every major living language, and are performed more often than those of any other playwright. Shakespeare was born and raised in Stratford-upon-Avon. At the age of 18 he married Anne Hathaway, who bore him three children: Susanna, and twins Hamnet and Judith. Between 1585 and 1592 he began a successful career in London as an actor, writer, and part owner of the playing company the Lord Chamberlain's Men, later known as the King's Men. He appears to have retired to Stratford around 1613, where he died three years later. Few records of Shakespeare's private life survive, and there has been considerable speculation about such matters as his sexuality, religious beliefs, and whether the works attributed to him were written by others. Shakespeare produced most of his known work between 1590 and 1613. His early plays were mainly comedies and histories, genres he raised to the peak of sophistication and artistry by the end of the sixteenth century. Next he wrote mainly tragedies until about 1608, including Hamlet, King Lear, and Macbeth, considered some of the finest examples in the English language. In his last phase, he wrote tragicomedies, also known as romances, and collaborated with other playwrights. Many of his plays were published in editions of varying quality and accuracy during his lifetime, and in 1623 two of his former theatrical colleagues published the First Folio, a collected edition of his dramatic works that included all but two of the plays now recognised as Shakespeare's. Shakespeare was a respected poet and playwright in his own day, but his reputation did not rise to its present heights until the nineteenth century. The Romantics, in particular, acclaimed Shakespeare's genius, and the Victorians hero-worshipped Shakespeare with a reverence that George Bernard Shaw called "bardolatry". In the twentieth century, his work was repeatedly adopted and rediscovered by new movements in scholarship and performance. His plays remain highly popular today and are consistently performed and reinterpreted in diverse cultural and political contexts throughout the world. Source: Wikipedia

Also available on Feedbooks Shakespeare:

- Romeo and Juliet (1597)

- Hamlet (1599)

- Macbeth (1606)

- A Midsummer Night's Dream (1596)

- Julius Caesar (1599)

- Othello (1603)

- The Merchant of Venice (1598)

- Much Ado About Nothing (1600)

- The Taming of the Shrew (1594)

- The Comedy of Errors (1594)

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Act I

SCENE I. King Lear's palace.

> Enter KENT, GLOUCESTER, and EDMUND

KENT

> I thought the king had more affected the Duke of

> Albany than Cornwall.

GLOUCESTER

> It did always seem so to us: but now, in the

> division of the kingdom, it appears not which of

> the dukes he values most; for 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. Do you know this

> noble gentleman, Edmund?

EDMUND

> No, my lord.

GLOUCESTER

> My lord of Kent: remember him hereafter as my

> honourable friend.

EDMUND

> My services to your lordship.

KENT

> I must love you, and sue to know you better.

EDMUND

> Sir, I shall study deserving.

GLOUCESTER

> He hath been out nine years, and away he shall

> again. The king is coming.

>

> Sennet. Enter KING LEAR, CORNWALL, ALBANY, GONERIL, REGAN, CORDELIA, and Attendants

KING LEAR

> Attend the lords of France and Burgundy, Gloucester.

GLOUCESTER

> I shall, my liege.

>

> Exeunt GLOUCESTER and EDMUND

KING LEAR

> Meantime we shall express our darker purpose.

> Give me the map there. Know that we have divided

> In three our kingdom: and 'tis our fast intent

> To shake all cares and business from our age;

> Conferring them on younger strengths, while we

> Unburthen'd crawl toward death. Our son of Cornwall,

> And you, our no less loving son of Albany,

> We have this hour a constant will to publish

> Our daughters' several dowers, that future strife

> May be prevented now. The princes, France and Burgundy,

> Great rivals in our youngest daughter's love,

> Long in our court have made their amorous sojourn,

> And here are to be answer'd. Tell me, my daughters,—

> Since now we will divest us both of rule,

> Interest of territory, cares of state,—

> Which of you shall we say doth love us most?

> That we our largest bounty may extend

> Where nature doth with merit challenge. Goneril,

> Our eldest-born, speak first.

GONERIL

> Sir, I love you more than words can wield the matter;

> Dearer than eye-sight, space, and 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 found;

> 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

> Of all these bounds, even from this line to this,

> With shadowy forests and with champains rich'd,

> With plenteous rivers and wide-skirted meads,

> We make thee lady: to thine and Albany's issue

> Be this perpetual. What says our second daughter,

> Our dearest Regan, wife to Cornwall? Speak.

REGAN

> Sir, I am made

> Of the self-same metal 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 comes too short: that I profess

> Myself an enemy to all other joys,

> Which the most precious square of sense possesses;

> And find I am alone felicitate

> In your dear highness' love.

CORDELIA

> [Aside] Then poor Cordelia!

> And yet not so; since, I am sure, my love's

> More richer than my tongue.

KING LEAR

> To thee and thine hereditary ever

> Remain this ample third of our fair kingdom;

> No less in space, validity, and pleasure,

> Than that conferr'd on Goneril. Now, our joy,

> Although the last, not least; to whose young love

> The vines of France and milk of Burgundy

> Strive to be interess'd; what can you say to draw

> A third more opulent than your sisters? Speak.

CORDELIA

> Nothing, my lord.

KING LEAR

> Nothing!

CORDELIA

> Nothing.

KING LEAR

> Nothing will come of nothing: speak again.

CORDELIA

> Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave

> My heart into my mouth: I love your majesty

> According to my bond; nor more nor less.

KING LEAR

> How, how, Cordelia! 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.

KING LEAR

> But goes thy heart with this?

CORDELIA

> Ay, good my lord.

KING LEAR

> So young, and so untender?

CORDELIA

> So young, my lord, and true.

KING LEAR

> Let it be so; thy truth, then, be thy dower:

> For, by the sacred radiance of the sun,

> The mysteries of Hecate, and the night;

> By all the operation of the orbs

> From whom we do exist, and cease to be;

> Here I disclaim all my paternal care,

> Propinquity and property of blood,

> And as a stranger to my heart and me

> Hold thee, from this, for ever. The barbarous Scythian,

> Or he that makes his generation messes

> To gorge his appetite, shall to my bosom

> Be as well neighbour'd, pitied, and relieved,

> As thou my sometime daughter.

KENT

> Good my liege,—

KING LEAR

> Peace, Kent!

> Come not between the dragon and his wrath.

> I loved her most, and thought to set my rest

> On her kind nursery. Hence, and avoid my sight!

> So be my grave my peace, as here I give

> Her father's heart from her! Call France; who stirs?

> Call Burgundy. Cornwall and Albany,

> With my two daughters' dowers digest this third:

> Let pride, which she calls plainness, marry her.

> I do invest you jointly with my power,

> Pre-eminence, and all the large effects

> That troop with majesty. Ourself, by monthly course,

> With reservation of an hundred knights,

> By you to be sustain'd, shall our abode

> Make with you by due 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 coronet part betwixt you.

>

> Giving the crown

KENT

> Royal Lear,

> Whom I have ever honour'd as my king,

> Loved as my father, as my master follow'd,

> As my great patron thought on in my prayers,—

KING 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, cheque

> This hideous rashness: answer my life my judgment,

> Thy youngest daughter does not love thee least;

> Nor are those empty-hearted whose low sound

> Reverbs no hollowness.

KING 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.

KING LEAR

> Out of my sight!

KENT

> See better, Lear; and let me still remain

> The true blank of thine eye.

KING LEAR

> Now, by Apollo,—

KENT

> Now, by Apollo, king,

> Thou swear'st thy gods in vain.

KING LEAR

> O, vassal! miscreant!

>

> Laying his hand on his sword

ALBANY CORNWALL

> Dear sir, forbear.

KENT

> Do:

> Kill thy physician, and the fee bestow

> Upon thy foul disease. Revoke thy doom;

> Or, whilst I can vent clamour from my throat,

> I'll tell thee thou dost evil.

KING LEAR

> Hear me, recreant!

> On thine allegiance, hear me!

> Since thou hast sought to make us break our vow,

> Which we durst never yet, and with strain'd 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.

> Five days we do allot thee, for provision

> To shield thee from diseases of the world;

> And on the sixth to turn thy hated back

> Upon our kingdom: if, on the tenth day following,

> Thy banish'd trunk be found in our dominions,

> The moment is thy death. Away! by Jupiter,

> This shall not be revoked.

KENT

> Fare thee well, king: sith thus thou wilt appear,

> Freedom lives hence, and banishment is here.

>

> To CORDELIA

>

> The gods to their dear shelter take thee, maid,

> That justly think'st, and hast most rightly said!

>

> To REGAN and GONERIL

>

> And your large speeches may your deeds approve,

> That good effects may spring from words of love.

> Thus Kent, O princes, bids you all adieu;

> He'll shape his old course in a country new.

>

> Exit

>

> Flourish. Re-enter GLOUCESTER, with KING OF FRANCE, BURGUNDY, and Attendants

GLOUCESTER

> Here's France and Burgundy, my noble lord.

KING LEAR

> My lord of Burgundy.

> We first address towards you, who with this king

> Hath rivall'd for our daughter: what, in the least,

> Will you require in present dower with her,

> Or cease your quest of love?

BURGUNDY

> Most royal majesty,

> I crave no more than what your highness offer'd,

> Nor will you tender less.

KING LEAR

> Right noble Burgundy,

> When she was dear to us, we did hold her so;

> But now her price is fall'n. Sir, there she stands:

> If aught within that little seeming substance,

> Or all of it, with our displeasure pieced,

> And nothing more, may fitly like your grace,

> She's there, and she is yours.

BURGUNDY

> I know no answer.

KING LEAR

> Will you, with those infirmities she owes,

> Unfriended, new-adopted to our hate,

> Dower'd with our curse, and stranger'd with our oath,

> Take her, or leave her?

BURGUNDY

> Pardon me, royal sir;

> Election makes not up on such conditions.

KING LEAR

> Then leave her, sir; for, by the power that made me,

> I tell you all her wealth.

>

> To KING OF 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.

KING OF 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-vouch'd affection

> Fall'n into taint: which to believe of her,

> Must be a faith that reason without miracle

> Could never plant in me.

CORDELIA

> I yet beseech your majesty,—

> If for I want that glib and oily art,

> To speak and purpose not; since what I well intend,

> I'll do't before I speak,—that you make known

> It is no vicious blot, murder, or foulness,

> No unchaste action, or dishonour'd step,

> That hath deprived me of your grace and favour;

> But even for want of that for which I am richer,

> A still-soliciting eye, and such a tongue

> As I am glad I have not, though not to have it

> Hath lost me in your liking.

KING LEAR

> Better thou

> Hadst not been born than not to have pleased me better.

KING OF FRANCE

> Is it but this,—a tardiness in nature

> Which often leaves the history unspoke

> That it intends to do? My lord of Burgundy,

> What say you to the lady? Love's not love

> When it is mingled with regards that stand

> Aloof from the entire point. Will you have her?

> She is herself a dowry.

BURGUNDY

> Royal Lear,

> Give but that portion which yourself proposed,

> And here I take Cordelia by the hand,

> Duchess of Burgundy.

KING LEAR

> Nothing: I have sworn; I am firm.

BURGUNDY

> I am sorry, then, you have so lost a father

> That you must lose a husband.

CORDELIA

> Peace be with Burgundy!

> Since that respects of fortune are his love,

> I shall not be his wife.

KING OF 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 of waterish Burgundy

> Can buy this unprized precious maid of me.

> Bid them farewell, Cordelia, though unkind:

> Thou losest here, a better where to find.

KING LEAR

> Thou hast her, France: let her be thine; for we

> Have no such daughter, nor shall ever see