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The Complete Works of William Shakespeare - Israel Gollancz William Shakespeare [910]

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this, let him be whipp'd that first finds it so.

[Sings] Fools had ne'er less grace in a year,

For wise men are grown foppish;

They know not how their wits to wear,

Their manners are so apish.

Lear. When were you wont to be so full of songs, sirrah?

Fool. I have us'd it, nuncle, ever since thou mad'st thy daughters

thy mother; for when thou gav'st them the rod, and put'st down

thine own breeches,

[Sings] 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, sirrah, we'll have you whipp'd.

Fool. I marvel what kin thou and thy daughters are. They'll have me

whipp'd for speaking true; thou'lt have me whipp'd for lying;

and sometimes I am whipp'd for holding my peace. I had rather be

any kind o' thing than a fool! And yet I would not be thee,

nuncle. Thou hast pared thy wit o' both sides and left nothing

i' th' middle. Here comes one o' the parings.

Enter Goneril.

Lear. How now, daughter? What makes that frontlet on? Methinks you

are too much o' late i' th' frown.

Fool. Thou wast a pretty fellow when thou hadst no need to care for

her frowning. Now thou art an O without a figure. I am better

than thou art now: I am a fool, thou art nothing.

[To Goneril] Yes, forsooth, I will hold my tongue. So your face

bids me, though you say nothing. Mum, mum!

He that keeps nor crust nor crum,

Weary of all, shall want some.-

[Points at Lear] That's a sheal'd peascod.

Gon. Not only, sir, this your all-licens'd 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 redresses sleep,

Which, in the tender of a wholesome weal,

Might in their working do you that offence

Which else were shame, that then necessity

Must call discreet proceeding.

Fool. For you know, nuncle,

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. Are you our daughter?

Gon. 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.

Fool. May not an ass know when the cart draws the horse?

Whoop, Jug, I love thee!

Lear. Doth any here know me? This is not Lear.

Doth Lear walk thus? speak thus? Where are his eyes?

Either his notion weakens, his discernings

Are lethargied- Ha! waking? 'Tis not so!

Who is it that can tell me who I am?

Fool. Lear's shadow.

Lear. 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. Your name, fair gentlewoman?

Gon. This admiration, sir, is much o' th' savour

Of other your new pranks. I do beseech you

To understand my purposes aright.

As you are old and reverend, you should be wise.

Here do you keep a hundred knights and squires;

Men so disorder'd, so debosh'd, and bold

That this our court, infected with their manners,

Shows like a riotous inn. Epicurism and lust

Make it more like a tavern or a brothel

Than a grac'd palace. The shame itself doth speak

For instant remedy. Be then desir'd

By her that else will take the thing she begs

A little to disquantity your train,

And the remainder that shall still depend

To be such men as may besort your age,

Which know themselves, and you.

Lear. Darkness and devils!

Saddle my horses! Call my train together!

Degenerate bastard, I'll not trouble thee;

Yet have I left a daughter.

Gon. You strike my people, and your disorder'd rabble

Make servants

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