From I.i.  [Lear divides his kinbgdom]

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
    Unburden’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.
      Gon.  Sir, I love you more than word 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 lov’d, or father found;
   A love that makes breath poor, and speech unable:
    Beyond all manner of so much I love you.
      Cor.  [Aside.]  What shall Cordelia speak? 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 issues
    Be this perpetual. What says our second daughter,
    Our dearest Regan, wife of Cornwall? Speak.
      Reg.  I am made of that self metal as my sister,
    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 11 possesses;
    And find I am alone felicitate
   In your dear Highness’ love.
      Cor.        [Aside.]  Then poor Cordelia!
    And yet not so; since, I am sure, my love’s
    More ponderous than my tongue.
 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 our last and 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.
     Cor.  Nothing, my lord.
      Lear.  Nothing!
      Cor.  Nothing.
      Lear.  Nothing will come of nothing. Speak again.
Cor.  Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave
    My heart into my mouth. I love your Majesty
    According to my bond; no more nor less.
      Lear.  How, how, Cordelia! Mend your speech a little,
     Lest you may mar your fortunes.
      Cor.        Good my lord,
    You have begot me, bred me, lov’d 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 thy heart with this?
      Cor.        Ay, my good lord.
      Lear.  So young, and so untender?
      Cor.  So young, my lord, and true.
 

                                                 Beginning of I, ii  [Edmund and nature]

      Edm.  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 1 of nations to deprive me,
    For that I am some twelve or fourteen moonshines
    Lag of 2 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? with baseness? bastardy? base, base?
    Who, in the lusty stealth of nature, take
    More composition  and fierce quality
   Than doth, within a dull, stale, tired bed,
    Go to the creating a whole tribe of fops,
    Got ’tween asleep and wake? Well, then,
    Legitimate Edgar, I must have your land.
   Our father’s love is to the bastard Edmund
    As to the legitimate. Fine word, "legitimate"!
    Well, my legitimate, if this letter speed
    And my invention thrive, Edmund the base
   Shall top the legitimate. I grow; I prosper.
    Now, gods, stand up for bastards!

From II, iv  [and remaining scenes:  Lear’s retinue is cut by Goneril and Regan; storm and madness]

      Lear.  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’s in my flesh,
    Which I must needs call mine; thou art a boil,
    A plague-sore, an embossed  carbuncle,
   In my corrupted blood. But I’ll not chide thee;
    Let shame come when it will, I do not call it.
    I do not bid the thunder-bearer shoot,
    Nor tell tales of thee to high-judging Jove.
    Mend when thou canst; be better at thy leisure.
    I can be patient; I can stay with Regan,
    I and my hundred knights.
      Reg.        Not altogether so;
    I look’d not for you yet, nor am provided
    For your fit welcome. Give ear, sir, to my sister;
    For be content to think you old, and so—
    But she knows what she does.
    Lear.        Is this well spoken?
      Reg.  I dare avouch it, sir. What, fifty followers!
    Is it not well? What should you need of more?
    Yea, or so many, sith that both charge 31 and danger
    Speak ’gainst so great a number? How, in one house,
    Should many people, under two commands,
    Hold amity? ’Tis hard; almost impossible.
      Gon.  Why might not you, my lord, receive attendance
     From those that she calls servants or from mine?
      Reg.  Why not, my lord? If then they chanc’d to slack ye,
    We could control them. If you will come to me,—
    For now I spy a danger—I entreat you
    To bring but five and twenty; to no more
    Will I give place or notice.
      Lear.  I gave you all.
      Reg.        And in good time you gave it.
    Lear.  Made you my guardians, my depositaries;
    But kept a reservation to be followed
    With such a number. What, must I come to you
    With five and twenty, Regan? Said you so?
      Reg.  And speak ’t again, my lord; no more with me.
      Lear.  Those wicked creatures yet do look well-favour’d
    When others are more wicked; not being the worst
    Stands in some rank of praise. [To GON.] I’ll go with thee.
    Thy fifty yet doth double five and twenty,
    And thou art twice her love.
      Gon.        Hear me, my lord;
    What need you five and twenty, ten, or five,
   To follow in a house where twice so many
    Have a command to tend you?
      Reg.        What need one?
      Lear.  O, reason not the need! Our basest beggars
    Are in the poorest thing superfluous.
    Allow  not nature more than nature needs,
    Man’s life is cheap as beast’s. Thou art a lady;
    If only to go warm were gorgeous,
    Why, nature needs not what thou gorgeous wear’st,
    Which scarcely keeps thee warm. But, for true need,—
    You heavens, give me that patience, patience I need!
    You see me here, you gods, a poor old man,
    As full of grief as age; wretched in both!
    If it be you that stirs these daughters’ hearts
    Against their father, fool me not so much
    To bear it tamely; touch me with noble anger,
   And 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.
    I have full cause of weeping; but this heart  Storm and tempest.
   Shall break into a hundred thousand flaws,
    Or ere I’ll weep. O, Fool! I shall go mad!
*************
      Glou.  The King is in high rage.
      Corn.        Whither is he going?
      Glou.  He calls to horse; but will I know not whither.
      Corn.  ’Tis best to give him way; he leads himself.
    Gon.  My lord, entreat him by no means to stay.
      Glou.  Alack, the night comes on, and the high winds
    Do sorely ruffle;  for many miles about
    There’s scarce a bush.
    Reg.        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 abus’d, wisdom bids fear.
      Corn.  Shut up your doors, my lord; ’tis a wild night:
    My Regan counsels well. Come out o’ the storm.  [Exeunt.

                                                 Beginning of III, i

      Kent.  Who’s there, besides foul weather?
      Gent.  One minded like the weather, most unquietly.
      Kent.  I know you. Where’s the King?
      Gent.  Contending with the fretful elements;
    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 out-scorn
    The to-and-fro-conflicting wind and rain.
    This night, wherein the cub-drawn  bear would couch,
   The lion and the belly-pinched wolf
    Keep their fur dry, unbonneted he runs,
    And bids what will take all.]
 
 

 
 
Beginning of III, iv
                                     [The open country. Before a hovel]
Kent.  Here is the place, my lord; good my lord, enter.
    The tyranny of the open night’s too rough
    For nature to endure.  Storm still.
      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 fix’d,
    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’ the mouth. When the mind’s free,
    The body’s delicate; 1 the tempest in my mind
    Doth from my senses there. Filial ingratitude!
    Is it not as this mouth should tear this hand
    For lifting food to ’t? But I will punish home.
    No, I will weep no more. In such a night
    To shut me out! Pour on! I will endure.
    In such a night as this! O Regan, Goneril!
    Your old kind father, whose frank heart gave all,—
    O, that way madness lies; let me shun that;
    No more of that.
      Kent.        Good my lord, enter here.
    Lear.  Prithee, go in thyself; seek thine own ease.
    This tempest will not give me leave to ponder
    On things would hurt me more. But I’ll go in.
    [To the Fool.] In, boy; go first. You houseless poverty,—
    Nay, get thee in. I’ll pray, and then I’ll sleep.  Exit [Fool].
    Poor naked wretches, wheresoe’er you are,
    That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm,
    How shall your houseless heads and unfed sides,
   Your loop’d  and window’d  raggedness, defend you
    From seasons such as these? O, I have ta’en
    Too little care of this! Take physic, pomp;
    Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel,
   That thou mayst shake the superflux to them,
    And show the heavens more just.