All language subtitles for King Lear (1971) DVD.PAL.ENG

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 to our 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,

here are to be answered.

Tell me,

my daughters,

which of you shall we say
doth love us most?

Goneril, our eldest-born,

speak first.

Sir, I love you more than
word 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, honor;

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.

Of all these bounds,

even from this line to this,

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.

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 possesses,

and find I am alone felicitate
in your dear Highness' love.

To thee and thine hereditary ever

remain this ample third
of our fair kingdom;

no less in space,

validity and pleasure,

than that conferred
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.

Nothing, my lord.

Nothing!

Nothing.

Nothing will come
of nothing.

Speak again.

I love your Majesty
according to my bond; no more nor less.

But goes thy heart
with this?

Ay, my good lord.

So young
and so untender?

So young, my lord,

and true.

Let it be so!

Thy truth, then, be thy dower!

For, by the secret radiance
of the sun,

the mysteries of Hecat
and the night;

by all the operation of the orbs
from whom you exist and cease to be;

here I disclaim
all my paternal care,

and as a stranger to my heart and
me, hold thee from this for ever!

Royal Lear...

Come not between
the dragon and his wrath.

Cornwall and Albany,

with my two daughters' dowers,
digest the third.

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 sustained,

shall our abode
make with you by due turn.

Only we shall
retain the name,

and all the addition
to a king:

The sway, revenue,
execution of the rest,

beloved sons, be yours.

Lear is mad!

What would'st
thou do, old man?

Thy youngest daughter
does not love thee least.

The bow is
bent and drawn;

make from the shaft.

Let it fall.

Kent, on thy life,
no more.

My life I never held

but as a pawn to wage
against thine enemies.

Out of my sight!

See better, Lear.

Now, by Apollo...

Now, by Apollo, King, I'll
tell thee thou dost evil.

Take thy reward.

Turn thy hated back
upon our kingdom;

if thy banish'd trunk
be found in our dominion,

the moment
is thy death.

Better thou
hadst not been born,

than not to have
pleas'd me better.

Be it lawful,

I take up
what's cast away.

Thee and thy virtues
here I seize upon.

Thy dow'rless daughter,
King, is Queen of France.

Thou hast her, France;
let her be thine;

for we have
no such daughter,

nor shall ever see
that face of hers again.

I think our father
will away tonight.

That's most certain,
and with you;

next month with us.

You see how full
of changes his age is;

he always lov'd
our sister most;

and with what poor judgment
he hath now cast her off.

'Tis the infirmity
of his age;

yet he hath ever but
slenderly known himself.

We shall further
think on it.

We must do
something,

and i' th' heat.

These late eclipses of the sun
and moon portend no good to us.

In cities, mutinies;

in countries, discord;

in palaces, treason;

and the bond crack'd
between child and father.

We have seen
the best of our time:

Machinations,
hollowness, treachery,

and all ruinous
disorders follow us

disquietly to our graves.

And the noble and
true-hearted Kent banish'd!

'Tis strange.

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 judgment.

To fight
when I cannot choose.

And to eat no fish.

'Tis politic and safe to let him
keep at point a hundred knights;

yes, that on every dream, each buzz,

each fancy,
each complaint,

dislike,

he may enguard his
dotage with their pow'rs,

and hold our lives
in mercy.

You might
fear too far.

Safer than
trust too far.

No, no, my lord.

This milky gentleness of
yours shows want of wisdom.

Striving to better,
oft we mar what's well.

Nay, then.

Well, well.

The event.

Did my father strike my
gentleman for chiding of his fool?

Ay, madam.

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 short
of former services,

you shall do well;

the fault of it
I'll answer.

Put on what weary negligence
you please, you and your fellows.

I'd have it come to question. If he
distaste it, let him to my sister.

Idle old man,

that still would manage those
authorities that he hath given away.

Old fools are babes again.

Let me not
stay a jot for dinner;

go get it ready.

What art thou?

A very honest-hearted fellow,
sir, and as poor as the King.

If thou be'st as poor for a
subject as he is for a king,

thou art poor enough.

What would'st thou?

Service.

Who would'st thou serve?
You.

Dost thou
know me, fellow?

No, sir;

but you have that in your countenance
which I would fain call master.

What's that?
Authority.

Follow me;

thou shalt serve me.

If I like thee no worse
after dinner,

I'll not part
from thee yet.

Let his knights have colder looks
among you; what grows of it no matter.

Dinner!

Ho, dinner!

Where's my knave?
My fool?

Go you and call
my fool hither.

O you, sirrah, you,

where's my daughter?

Go call
the clotpoll back.

Hey, you!

Where is my fool?

I think the world's asleep.

Where's that mongrel?

He says, my lord,
your daughter is not well.

Why came the slave not back
to me when I called him?

He answered me he would not.
Would not!

Your Highness
is not entertained

with the same ceremonious
affection as you were wont.

Go you and tell my
daughter I'd speak with her.

And go you
call hither my fool.

O you,

you, sir.

Come you hither, sir.

Who am I, sir?

My lady's father.
"My lady's father"!

You whoreson dog!

You slave!

You cur!

I'll not be struck,
my lord.

Nor tripp'd neither,
you base football player.

I'll teach thee
a speech.

Do.

This is nothing, fool.

Can you make no use
of nothing, nuncle?

Why, no, boy; Nothing can be

made out of nothing.

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

What two crowns
shall they be?

Why, after I've cut
the egg in the middle

and eat up
the meat,

the two crowns
of the egg.

Thou hadst little wit in thy bald crown
when thou gav'st thy golden one away.

I prithee, nuncle, keep a schoolmaster
that can teach thy fool to lie.

I would fain
learn to lie.

And you lie, sirrah,
we'll have you whipp'd.

I marvel what kin thou
and thy daughters are.

They'll have me whipped
for speaking true, for lying,

and sometimes
for holding my peace.

I'd rather be any kind
of a thing than a fool;

yet I would not
be thee, nuncle;

for thou hast pared thy wits o' both
sides and left nothing in the middle.

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

Ever since thou mad'st
thy daughters thy mothers;

for when thou gav'st them the rod,
and pulled down thine own breeches.

Nay,

and thou canst not smile
as the wind sits.

Thou'It catch cold shortly.

Yes, forsooth,

I will hold my tongue;
so your face bids me,

so I'll say nothing.

How now, daughter!

You are too much
of late i' th' frown.

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-endur'd riots.

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.

For you know, nuncle,

the hedge-sparrow
fed the cuckoo so long,

it had its head bit off
by its young.

So, out went the candle
and we were left darkling.

Are you our daughter?

I would you would make
use of your good wisdom,

whereof I know you are fraught,
and put away these dispositions

which of late transport you
from what you rightly are.

May not an ass know when the cart draws
the horse? Whoop, Jug! I love thee.

Does any here know me?

This is not Lear.

Does Lear walk thus,

speak thus?

Where are his eyes?

Ha, waking?

'Tis not so.

Who is it who can
tell me who I am?

Lear's shadow.

I would learn that.

Your name,

fair gentlewoman?

This admiration, sir, is much
of the savor of other your new pranks.

I do beseech you, understand
my purposes a'right,

as you are old and
reverend should be wise.

Here do you keep a hundred
knights and squires;

as men so disordered,
so debauched and bold,

that this, our court, infected with
their manners, shows like a riotous inn.

Epicurism and lust makes it
more like a tavern or a brothel

than a grac'd palace.

The shame itself doth
call for instant remedy.

Be then advis'd by her that else
will take the thing she begs,

a little to disquantity
your train;

and the remainders
that shall still depend

to be such men as may besort your age,

who know
themselves

and you.

Darkness and devils!

Saddle my horses!

Call my train
together!

Degenerate bastard!

Yet have I left a daughter.

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.

Oh, Lear, Lear, Lear!

Beat at this gate
that let thy folly in

and thy dear
judgment out.

My lord,
I am guiltless,

as I am ignorant of what hath moved you.

It may be so,
my lord.

Hear, Nature.

Hear, dear goddess,
hear.

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 honor her.

If she must teem,

create her child of spleen,

that it may live and be a
thwart disnatur'd torment to her.

Let it stamp wrinkles
in her brow of youth.

With cadent tears
fret channels in her cheeks.

Turn all her mother's pains and
benefits to laughter and contempt,

that she may feel how sharper
than a serpent's tooth it is

to have a thankless child.

Are my horses
ready?

Your asses are
gone about them.

Have you writ that letter to my sister?

Ay, madam.

Inform her full of my
particular fear. Get you gone.

I cannot be so
partial, Goneril,

to the great love
I bear you.

I pray you content.

Shalt see thy other daughter
will use thee kindly;

for although she's as like
this as a crab's like an apple,

yet I can tell
what I can tell.

What canst tell, boy?

That she will taste as like
this as a crab does to a crab.

Canst tell why one's nose stands
i' th' middle of one's face?

No.

Why, to keep one's eyes
on either side of one's nose.

That what a man cannot
smell out, he may spy into.

I did her wrong.

Canst tell how an
oyster makes his shell?

No.
Nor I, neither.

But I can tell why
a snail has a house.

Why?

Why, to put his head in; not to
give it away to his daughters.

I will forget
my nature.

So kind a father.

The reason why the seven
stars are no more than seven

is a pretty reason.

Because they are
not eight?

Yes, indeed.

Thou wouldst make
a good fool.

To take't
again perforce.

Monster ingratitude.

If thou wert
my fool, nuncle,

I'd have thee beaten for
being old before thy time.

How's that?

Thou shouldst not have been
old till thou hadst been wise.

O, let me
not be mad,

not mad, sweet heaven!

Keep me in temper.

I would not be mad.

How now, brother Edmund!

What serious contemplation
are you in?

I was thinking, brother, of a
prediction I read this other day,

what should follow
these eclipses.

And do you busy
yourself with that?

I promise you, the effects he
writes of succeed unhappily;

as of unnaturalness between
the child and the parent;

death, dearth,

dissolution,
divisions, menaces.

When we are sick
in fortune,

we make guilty
of our disasters

the sun, the moon,
the stars,

as if we were drunkards,
liars, and adulterers

by planetary influence.

Why brand they me
with baseness?

Bastardy? Base?

My father coupled with my
mother under the Dragon's tail,

and I was born
under Ursa Major,

so that it follows
that I am rough and lecherous.

I should have been
that I am,

had the maidenliest star
in the firmament

twinkled on
my bastardizing.

When sons are
at perfect age,

and fathers
in decline,

the father should be put
in the care of the son.

And the son manage
the revenue.

It's the policy
of reverence for age

that makes the world bitter.

The Duke of Cornwall and Regan his
Duchess will be here this night.

How comes that?
I know not.

The better best!

This weaves itself perforce
into my business.

Briefness and
fortune work!

If this letter thrive,

Edmund the bastard
shall top the legitimate.

Legitimate Edgar,

I must have your land.

Now, gods,

stand up for bastards!

Father!

I swore he could by no means.

By no means what?

Persuade me to the
murder of your lordship.

I told him the revenging gods 'gainst
parricides did all the thunder bend;

spoke with how strong a bond
the child was bound to th' father.

My son Edgar.

I threaten'd
to discover him.

He replied,

"Who would put any
trust or faith in thee,

"thou unpossessing
bastard?"

He cannot be
such a monster,

to his father that so tenderly
and entirely loves him.

I dare pawn down
my life for him.

He's done this to feel my
affection to your honor,

and no other
pretence of danger.

Think you so?

Has he never before
sounded you in this matter?

I have heard him
maintain it to be fit

that sons at perfect age
and fathers in decline,

the father should be
put in care of the son,

and the son
manage the revenue.

Villain, villain!

Unnatural,
brutish villain!

If your honor
judge it meet,

I'll place you where you
shall hear us confer of this.

Edgar, when saw you
my father last?

Parted you
on good terms?

Saw you no displeasure
in him?

Bethink yourself wherein
you may have offended him.

What does it say?

"If our father would
sleep till I wak'd him,

"you should enjoy
half his revenue for ever,

"and live the beloved
of your brother. "

"Edgar. "

Help! Murder!

When came you to this?
I found it at my casement.

Some villain hath done me wrong.
That's my fear.

Have you not spoken
'gainst the Duke of Cornwall?

He's coming hither now in the
night, in haste, and Regan with him.

Have you nothing said
against the Duke of Albany?

Not a word.
Help!

I've told you what I've
seen and heard but faintly.

Nothing like the image
and horror of it.

Pardon me, in cunning I
must draw my sword upon you.

Draw; seem to
defend yourself.

Quit you well!

Light, ho, here!

Stop!

Stop!

Torches!

Torches!
Where is the villain?

There stood he in the
dark, sir. His sharp sword out.

Pursue him.

Go after, ho!

There!

Loyal and natural boy.

Of all my lands,

I'll work the means
to make thee heritor.

Open up!

Your daughter
Regan and the Duke are gone.

'Tis strange that they
should so depart from home.

As I learned, the night before there
was no purpose in them of this remove.

'Tis said they make
toward Gloucester.

Go you before
to Gloucester

with these letters.

Acquaint my daughter no
further with anything you know.

If your diligence be not speedy,
I shall be there before you.

Did my father's godson
seek your life?

O, madam,
my old heart is crack'd.

'Tis too bad,
too bad.

I hear that you have shown
your father a child-like office.

It was my duty, sir.

While I can 'scape,
I will preserve myself.

My face

I'll grime with filth

like to a Bedlam beggar.

Poor Tom!

Who gives anything
to poor Tom?

Do poor Tom some charity!

Poor Tom!

Edgar,

I

nothing am.

Edgar I nothing am.

Ho!

Art of this house?
Ay.

Where may I
set my horse?

I' th' mire.

Prithee, if thou
lov'st me, tell me.

I love thee not.

Why dost thou use me
thus? I know thee not.

Fellow,

I know thee.

What dost thou
know me for?

A knave, beggar,

coward, pander,

and the son and heir
of a mongrel bitch.

Away! I have nothing
to do with thee.

You come with letters
against the King,

and take the puppet's part
against the royalty of her father.

You brazen-fac'd
varlet!

I'll flesh ye!
You wagtail!

You whoreson
cullionly barbermonger!

I'll flay you!

A plague upon
your epileptic visage!

Peace, shall I know you
no reverence?

Yes, sir; but anger
hath a privilege.

Why art thou angry?

My lord, if you
will give me leave,

I will tread this unbolted
villain into mortar,

and daub the wall
of a jakes with him.

What is
his fault?

His countenance
likes me not.

No more, perchance, does
mine, nor his, nor hers.

I have seen better faces
in my time.

This is some fellow who, having
been prais'd for bluntness,

doth affect
a saucy roughness.

He cannot flatter, he, an honest
mind and plain. He must speak truth.

I know, sir,
I am no flatterer.

I serve the King.

Fetch forth the stocks.

As I have life and honor,
there shall he sit till noon.

Till noon!

Till night,
my lord;

and all night too.

Madam, if I were your father's
dog, you should not use me so.

Sir, being his knave, I will.

Let me beseech your Grace not to do so.

The King must
take it ill.

I'll answer that.

My sister may receive it much more
worse to have her gentleman abus'd,

assaulted for
following her affairs.

Put in his legs.

I am sorry for thee, friend.

'Twill be ill taken.

I'll entreat for thee.

Pray, do not, sir.

I've travell'd hard; some time I
will sleep out, the rest I'll whistle.

Fortune, good night.

Smile once more.

Turn thy wheel.

Ha, ha!

He wears cruel garters.

What's he that hath so much thy
place mistook to set thee here?

It is both he and she,
your son and daughter.

No.
Yes.

No, I say.
I say, yea.

No, no, they would not.
Yes, yes, they have.

They durst not do't.

Winter's not gone yet till
the wild geese fly that way.

O, how this mother
swells up toward my heart!

Hysterica passio,

down,

thou climbing sorrow,

thy element's below.

Where is this daughter?
With the earl, sir. Within.

Follow me not. Stay here.

How chance the King comes
with so small a number?

An thou hadst been set i'
th' stocks for that question,

thou hadst
well deserved it.

We'll set thee
to school to an ant,

to teach thee there's no
laboring i' th' winter.

All that follow their nose

are led by their eyes
but blind men;

and there's not one nose among twenty
but can smell him that's stinking.

Let go thy hold when a great
wheel runs down the hill,

lest it break thy neck
with following;

but the great one
that goes upward,

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.

That, sir,

Where learn'd
you this, fool?

Not i' th' stocks, fool.

Deny to speak with me?

They are sick! They are weary!
They have traveled all night!

Fetch me a better answer!

My dear lord, you know the
fiery quality of the Duke.

Fiery? What quality?

Why, Gloucester... Gloucester, I'd speak
with the Duke of Cornwall and his wife.

Well, my good lord,
I have inform'd them so.

Inform'd them!

Dost thou understand me, man?

Ay, my good lord.

The King would speak
with Cornwall.

The dear father would
with his daughter speak;

commands her service.

Are they inform'd of this?

My breath and blood! Fiery?

The fiery Duke?

Tell the hot Duke that...
No, but not yet.

May be he is not well.

Death on my state!

Wherefore should
he sit here?

Give me my servant forth.

Tell the Duke and his wife
I'd 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.

I would have all well
between you.

O me, my heart,

my rising heart!

But, down.

Good morrow to you both.

Hail to your Grace.

I am glad to see
your Highness.

Regan,

I think you are;

I have good reason
to think so.

Are you free?

Some other time for that.

Beloved Regan,

thy sister is naught.

O Regan, she hath tied sharp-tooth'd
unkindness, like a vulture, here.

I can scarce
speak to thee;

thou'It not believe with
how depraved a quality she...

O Regan!

I cannot think my sister in the
least would fail her obligation.

Lf, so perchance, she has restrained
the riots of your followers,

'tis on such ground and
to such wholesome end

as clears her
from all blame.

My curses on her.
Sir, you are old.

Nature in you stands on the
very verge of his confine.

You should be rul'd and
led by some discretion

that discerns your state
better than you yourself.

Therefore, I pray you that to
our sister you do make return.

Say you have wrong'd her.
Ask her forgiveness?

Do you but mark
how this becomes the house:

"Dear daughter, I confess that
I am old; age is unnecessary.

"On my knees I beg that you
vouchsafe me raiment, bed and food. "

Good sir, no more;
these are unsightly tricks.

Return you to my sister.
Never, Regan.

All the stor'd vengeances
of heaven fall on her!

Blest gods! So will you wish
on me when the rash mood is on.

No, Regan.

Thou shalt never
have my curse.

Thy tender-hearted nature shall
not give thee o'er to harshness.

Her eyes are fierce,
but thine do comfort,

not burn.

'Tis not in thee
to grudge my pleasures,

to cut off my train,

to bandy hasty words,

to oppose the bolt
against my coming in.

Thy half of the kingdom thou hast
not forgot wherein I thee endow'd.

O heavens,

if you do love old men,

if your sweet sway
allow obedience,

if you yourselves are old,

make it your cause:

Send down and take my part.

Art not asham'd to look
upon this beard?

O Regan, will you take her
by the hand?

And why not by the hand, sir?
How have I offended?

All's not offence that indiscretion
finds, and dotage terms so.

O sides, you are too
tough! Will you yet hold?

How came my man
i' th' stocks?

I set him there, sir.
You, did you?

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.

Return to her,
and fifty men dismiss'd?

No, rather I abjure all roofs,

and choose to wage against
the enmity o' th' air,

to be a comrade
with the wolf and owl.

Necessity's sharp pinch!

At your choice, sir.

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,

or 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.

Why might not you, my lord, receive
attendance from those that she calls servants,

or from mine?

Why not, my lord?

If then they chanc'd 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.

I gave you all.

And in good time
you gave it.

Made you my guardians,

my depositories,

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?

And speak't again, my lord.
No more with me.

Those wicked creatures
yet do look well-favor'd

when others
are more wicked.

Not being the worst stands
in some rank of praise.

I'll go with thee.

Thy fifty yet doth
double five and twenty.

And thou art
twice her love.

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?

What need one?

O, reason not the need!

Our basest beggars are in
the poorest thing superfluous.

Allow not nature more
than nature needs,

man's life's as 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...

O heavens,
give me 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 shall break
into a hundred thousand flaws

or ere I'll weep.

O fool...

I shall go mad.

This house is little.

The old man and his people
cannot be well bestow'd.

'Tis his own blame.

Hath put himself from rest
and needs must taste his folly.

For his particular, I'll receive
him gladly, but not one follower.

So am I purpos'd.

Where's my Lord
of Gloucester?

The King is
in high rage.

To willful men,

the injuries that they themselves
procure must be their schoolmasters.

Shut up your doors. He is
attended with a desperate train.

Shut up your doors,
my lord.

Hyah!

Nuncle Lear, nuncle Lear,
tarry and take the fool with thee.

Blow, winds!

And crack your cheeks!

Rage.

Blow!

You cataracts
and hurricanoes,

spout till you have
drenched our steeples,

drown'd the cocks.

You sulph'rous and
thought-executing fires,

vaunt couriers of
oak-cleaving thunderbolts,

singe my white head.

And thou, all-shaking thunder,

strike flat
the thick rotundity of the world;

crack nature's moulds,

all germens spill at once,
that make ingrateful man.

O nuncle, court
holy water in a dry house

is better than this
rain-water out o' doors.

Good nuncle, in; ask
thy daughters' blessing.

Here's a night pities
neither wise men nor fools.

Rumble thy belly full.

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,

call'd you children.

You owe me
no subscription.

Then let fall
your horrible pleasure.

Here I stand, your slave,

a poor, infirm,
weak and despis'd old man;

but yet I call you
servile ministers

that will with two pernicious daughters
join your high-engender'd battles

'gainst a head
so old and white as this.

O, ho, 'tis foul!

He who has a house to put
his head in has a good head-piece.

No, I will be the
pattern of all patience.

I will say nothing.

Who's there?

A wise man and a fool.

Let the great gods that keep this
dreadful pudder o'er our heads

find out their enemies now.

Tremble, thou wretch,
that hast within thee

undivulged crimes
unwhipped of justice:

Caitiff, to pieces shake, that
under covert and convenient seeming

hast practis'd
on man's life.

Close pent-up guilts,

rive your concealing
continents,

and cry these dreadful
summoners grace.

I am a man more sinn'd
against than sinning.

Gracious my lord,

hard by here is a hovel;

some friendship will it
lend you 'gainst the tempest.

My wits begin to turn.

Come on, my boy.

How dost thou, boy?
Art cold?

Am cold myself. Where
is this straw, my fellow?

The art of our necessities
is strange

and can make
vile things precious.

Come, your hovel.

Poor fool and knave,

I have one part in my heart
that's sorry yet for thee.

My lord. Good my lord, enter.

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' th' mouth.

When the mind's free,

the body is delicate.

This tempest in my mind

doth from my senses
take all feeling else,

save what beats there.

Filial ingratitude.

But I will punish home.
No, I'll weep no more.

In such a night,
to shut me out!

Pour on;

I will endure!

Nay, get thee in.

I'll pray,

and then I'll sleep.

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 take
the superflux to them,

and show the heavens
more just.

Go to thy bed and warm thee.

Did'st thou give all to thy
daughters? And art come to this?

Who gives anything
to poor Tom?

Go you and talk to the Duke.

If he asks for me,
I am ill and gone to bed.

If I die for it,
as no less is threatened me,

the King, my old master,
must be relieved.

Pray you, be careful.

What hast thou been?

A serving-man,
proud in heart and mind;

that curl'd my hair;
wore gloves in my cap;

serv'd 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 wak'd to do it.

Wine lov'd I deeply,
dice dearly;

and in woman
out-paramour'd 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 rustling of silks

betray thy poor heart
to woman.

And defy the foul fiend.

Still through the hawthorn
blows the cold wind.

Thou wert better in a grave

than to answer with thy uncover'd
body this extremity of the skies.

Is man no more than this?

Consider him well.

Thou ow'st the worm no silk,
the beast no hide,

the sheep no wool,
the cat no perfume.

Ha! Here's three on us
are sophisticated.

Thou art the thing itself.

Unaccommodated man is no more but
such a poor, bare, fork'd animal

as thou art.

Off, off, you lendings!

Come, unbutton here.

Who's there?

Who's there?

What are your names?

Who's there?

This is the foul
fiend Flibbertigibbet!

Aroint thee, witch,
aroint thee!

The prince of darkness
is a gentleman;

Modo he's called, and Mahu.

Poor Tom's a-cold.

Go with me. I will bring
you where both fire and food is ready.

Let me talk with this philosopher.
What is the cause of thunder?

Good my lord,
take his offer.

What is your study?

How to prevent the
fiend and to kill vermin.

Let me ask you
one word in private.

Child Rowland
to the dark tower came.

His word was still,

"Fie, foh, and fum, I smell
the blood of a British man. "

I will have revenge
ere I depart his house.

O heavens! That this
treason were not my father's,

and I not
the detector of it.

Thou shalt find a
dearer father in my love.

This loyalty hath made
thee Earl of Gloucester.

You have mighty
business in hand.

Seek out where thy father is,

that he may be ready
for our apprehension.

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.

How do you, sir?

Stand you not
so amaz'd.

Will you lie down
and rest?

I'll see their trial first.

Bring in the evidence.

Thou robed man of
justice, take thy place.

Thou, his yoke-fellow of
equity, bench by his side.

You are o' th' commission,
sit you too.

Let us deal justly.

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.

Arraign her first;
'tis Goneril.

I here take my oath before this honourable
assembly, she kick'd the poor King, her father.

Come hither, mistress.
Is your name Goneril?

She cannot deny it.

Cry you mercy,
I took you for a joint-stool.

And here's another whose
warp'd looks proclaim

what stone her heart
is made on. Stop!

Stop her there! Arms, arms, sword, fire!

Corruption in the place! False
justicer, why hast thou let her 'scape?

O pity! Sir, where is the patience now
that you so oft have boasted to retain?

The dogs and all, Tray, Blanch and
Sweetheart, see, they bark at me.

Tom will throw his head
at them. Avaunt, you curs!

For, with throwing
thus my head,

dogs leapt the hatch
and all are fled.

Sessa.

Poor Tom, thy horn is dry.

Then let them
anatomize Regan;

see what breeds
about her heart.

Is there any cause in nature
that makes these hard hearts?

Now, good my lord,
lie here and rest awhile.

You, sir, I entertain to be
one of my hundred;

only I don't like the fashion
of your garments.

You may say they are Persian,

but let them be chang'd.

Oppressed
nature sleeps.

Drive toward Dover, friend.

I have o'erheard a
plot of death upon him.

From France there comes a
power landed at our best ports.

Thou shalt receive both
welcome and protection.

Good my friends;

do me no
foul play, friends.

The army of France is landed. Post
speedily to my lord your husband.

Advise him to a most sudden
preparation. We are bound to do the like.

Edmund, keep you
our sister company.

How now? Where's
the traitor Gloucester?

Bound fast
and pinioned like a thief.

Hang him instantly.
Pluck out his eyes.

Leave him
to my displeasure.

Farewell,
my Lord of Gloucester.

The revenges we are bound to
take upon your traitorous father

are not fit for your beholding.

Farewell, dear sister.

Ingrateful fox!

O filthy traitor.

What means
your Graces?

Good my friends, consider
you are my guests.

To this chair bind him.

I am your host.

What will you do?

Come, sir, what letters
had you late from France?

To whose hands have you
sent the lunatic King?

Speak.

Be simple-answer'd,
for we know the truth.

Where hast thou
sent the King?

To Dover.

Wherefore to Dover?
Was thou not charged...?

Wherefore to Dover?

Let him answer that.

Wherefore
to Dover?

Because I would not see thy cruel
nails pluck out his poor old eyes.

See it shalt thou never.

One side will mock
another; th' other too.

Out, vile jelly!

My lord, I have served you ever
since I was a boy, but now out!

All dark and comfortless!

Edmund.

Thou call'st on him
that hates thee.

It was he that made the
discovery of thy treason to us;

who is too good
to pity thee.

Regan,

give me your arm.

I bleed.

Throw him on a dunghill.

World, world, O world!

But that thy strange mutations
make us hate thee,

life would not yield to age.

Tom's a-cold.

Is that the naked fellow?

Ay, my lord.
Come hither.

Know'st thou the way to Dover?
Ay, master.

As flies to
wanton boys are we to th' gods.

They kill us for their sport.

Spare speech.
Decline your head;

this kiss,
if it durst speak,

would stretch thy
spirits up into the air.

Yours in the ranks
of death.

My most dear
Gloucester.

O, the difference
of man and man!

To thee a woman's
services are due.

A fool usurps my bed.

I have been worth
the whistle.

O Goneril.

You are not worth the dust which
the rude wind blows in your face.

I fear your disposition.

No more;
the text is foolish.

What have you done?

Tigers, not daughters,

what have you perform'd?

Most barbarous
and degenerate,

you maddened a father

and a gracious aged man.

Humanity perforce
doth prey upon itself,

like monsters of the deep.

Milk-liver'd man!
Where's thy drum?

France spreads
his banners in our land,

whil'st thou, a moral fool,

sits still and cries,
"Alack, why does he so?"

See yourself, devil!

O vain fool!

Were I of a fitness to let
these hands obey my blood,

they are apt enough to dislocate
and tear thy flesh and bones.

Marry, your manhood...

Mew!

The gods are just,

and of our present vices
make instruments to plague us.

The dark and vicious place

where thee he got

cost him his eyes.

Make no noise,
make no noise;

draw the curtains.
So, so.

We'll go to supper
i' th' morning.

And I'll go to bed at noon.

There is a cliff
looks fearfully on the deep:

Bring me to
the very brim of it.

From that place
I shall no leading need.

Come on, sir.

When shall I get
to the top of that same hill?

You do climb up it
now; look how we labour.

Methinks the
ground is even.

Horrible steep.

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.

The fishermen that walk upon
the beach appear like mice;

and yond tall
anchoring bark,

almost too small
for sight.

The murmuring surge that on the
unnumb'red idle pebble chafes

cannot be heard
so high.

I'll look no more;

lest my brain turn, and the
deficient sight topple down headlong.

Set me
where you stand.

Give me your hand.

You are now within a
foot of th' extreme verge.

For all beneath the moon
would I not leap upright.

Let go my hand.

Bid me farewell,

and let me
hear thee going.

Now fare ye well,
good sir.

With all my heart.

Now, fellow,
fare thee well.

O you mighty gods!

This world I do renounce,

and in your sights,

shake patiently
my great affliction off.

If I could bear it further,

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!

Ho, you sir! Friend!

Hear you, sir!

Speak!
What are you, sir?

Away, and let me die.

Hadst thou been aught but
gossamer, feathers, air,

thou'dst shiver'd
like an egg;

but thou dost breathe, bleed'st
not, speak'st, art sound.

Thy life's a miracle.
Speak yet again.

But have I fall'n,
or no?

From the dread summit
of this chalky bourn.

Look up a-height;

the shrill-gorg'd lark so
far cannot be seen or heard.

Do but look up.

Alack, I have no eyes.

Is wretchedness depriv'd that
benefit, to end itself by death?

Give me your arm. Up,

so.

How is't?

Feel you your legs?

You stand.

Too well, too well.

This is above
all strangeness.

Upon the crown
of the cliff,

what thing was that
which parted from you?

A poor unfortunate
beggar.

It was some fiend.

Thou happy father,

think that the clearest gods,

who make them honours
of men's impossibilities,

have preserved thee.

I do remember now.

Henceforth,
I'll bear affliction

till it do cry out itself,

"Enough, enough,"
and die.

See, that thing you speak
of, I took it for a man.

Bear free and patient
thoughts.

Now, good sir,
what are you?

A most poor man,

made tame
to fortune's blows,

who by the art of known
and feeling sorrows

am pregnant to good pity.

Give the word.

Sweet marjoram.

Pass.

Ha! Goneril
with a white beard!

They flatter'd me
like a dog.

They told me I had the
white hairs in my beard

ere the black ones
were there.

To say "ay" and "no"
to everything that I said!

"Ay" and "no" too
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 'em,
there I smelt 'em out.

Go to, they are not
men of their word.

They told me
I was everything.

It's a lie.

I am not ague-proof.

The trick of that voice I do
well remember. Is't not the King?

Ay, every inch a king.

When I do stare,
see how the subject quakes.

I pardon that man's life.
What was thy cause? Adultery?

Thou shall not die.

Die for adultery? No.

The wren goes to't,

and the small gilded fly
does lecher in my sight.

Let copulation thrive!

Gloucester's bastard son
was kinder to his father

than my daughters got
betwixt the lawful sheets.

To't, luxury, pell-mell,
for I lack soldiers.

Give me an ounce of civet,
good apothecary.

Sweeten my imagination.

There's money for thee.

O, let me kiss that hand!

Let me wipe it first;

it smells of mortality.

O ruin'd piece of nature!

This great world shall
so wear out to nought.

Dost thou know me?

I remember thine eyes
well enough.

Dost thou squiny at me?

No, do thy worst, blind
Cupid. I'll not love.

Read thou
this challenge;

mark but
the penning of it.

Were all thy letters suns,
I could not see.

Read.

What, with
a case of eyes?

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.

I see it feelingly.

What, art mad?

A man may see how the
world goes with no eyes.

Look with thine ears.

Behold yond justice rail on yond
simple thief. Hark in thine ear:

Change places
and, handy-dandy,

which is the justice,
which is the thief? Ey?

Thou hast seen the farmer's
dog bark at a beggar?

Ay, sir.

Yea, and 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;

thou hotly lusts to use her in that
kind for which thou whip'st her.

The usurer hangs
the cozener.

Through tatter'd clothes
great vices do appear.

Robes and furr'd
gowns hide all.

Plate sin with gold, and the strong
lance of justice hurtless breaks.

Arm it in rags, a pygmy's
straw does pierce it.

None does offend.

None.

I say none.

I'll able 'em.

Take that of me, my friend, who have
the power to seal th' accuser's lips.

Get thee glass eyes
and, like a scurvy politician,

seem to see
the things thou dost not.

Now, now, now, now!

Here, pull off my boots.

If thou wilt weep my fortunes,

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 wawl and cry.

I'll preach to thee. Mark.

Alack, alack the day!

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;

I'll put it to the proof; and when
I have stolen upon these son-in-laws,

then kill, kill,
kill, kill, kill, kill!

Sir, your
most dear daughter...

No rescue?

What, a prisoner?

I am even the natural
fool of fortune.

Use me well;
you shall have ransom.

Let me have surgeons;
I am cut to th' brains.

You shall
have anything.

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.

I will die bravely,

like a smug bridegroom.

What! I will be jovial.

Come, come; I am a king,
masters, know you that.

You are a
royal one, and we obey you.

Then there's life in't.

Come, an you get it.

You shall get it by
running. Sa, sa, sa, sa.

Come on,
come on, come on!

Ask of the Duke
if his last purpose hold,

or whether since
he's changed his course.

He's full of alteration.

Our very loving sister,
well be-met.

Sir, you speak nobly.

Where I could not be honest,
I never yet was valiant.

For this war, it touches us
as France invades this land,

not as regards the King,

whose cause is
just and heavy.

Why is this reason'd?

The enemy's in view;
draw up your powers.

Combine together
'gainst the enemy;

for these particular broils
are not the question here.

Then let's determine
on our proceeding.

I shall attend you
presently at your tent.

Now, sweet lord, tell me,

but truly,

but then speak
the truth,

do you not
love my sister?

In honour'd love.

But have you never found my
brother's way to the forfended place?

That thought
abuses you.

I never shall endure her.

Dear my lord, be not familiar with her.

Fear me not.

Oswald.

Ho!

"If he return the conqueror,

"then am I the prisoner,

"and his bed my gaol;

"from the loathed warmth
whereof deliver me,

"and supply the place
for your labour. "

I had rather lose the battle

than that sister should
loosen him and me.

She being widow,
and my Gloucester with her,

may all the building in my
fancy pluck upon my hateful life.

A proclaim'd prize!
Most happy!

That eyeless head of thine was first
fram'd flesh to raise my fortune.

Come not near the old man.
Let go his arm.

I'll not let go!
Out, dunghill!

Thou old unhappy traitor,
briefly thyself remember.

How does my royal lord?

How fares
your Majesty?

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.

Sir,

do you know me?

You are a spirit,
I know.

When did you die?

Still far wide.

He's scarce awake;
let him alone awhile.

Where have I been?

Where am I?

In your own kingdom, sir.

Pray, do not mock me;

I am a very foolish
fond old man,

fourscore and upward,

not an hour more nor less.

And, to deal plainly,

I fear that I'm not
in my perfect mind.

Methinks I should know you,

and know this man,

but I am doubtful;

for I am mainly ignorant
what place this is.

All the skill I have remembers not
these garments,

nor do I know
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.

And so I am.

I am.

Be your tears wet?

Yes, faith.

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.

No cause, no cause.

You must bear
with me.

Pray you now,

forget and forgive;

I am old

and foolish.

Away, old man.
King Lear has lost.

No further,
sir; a man may rot even here.

What, in ill thoughts again?

Men must endure
their going hence,

even as their coming hither.

Ripeness is all.

And that's true too.

Shall we not see these
daughters and these sisters?

No.

No, 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.

And so we'll live,
and pray,

and sing,

and tell old tales,

and laugh at gilded butterflies,

and we'll 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 us
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.

Take them away.

Have I caught thee?

He that parts us shall
bring a brand from heaven

and fire us hence like foxes.

Wipe thine eyes;

the good years
shall devour them,

flesh and fell, ere they shall
make us weep.

Take them away!
We'll see 'em starv'd first.

Come hither, Captain.

Hark. Take thou this note;

go follow them to prison.

Know thou this:

Men are as the time is;

to be tender-hearted
does not become a sword.

Sir, you have showed to-day
your valiant strain,

and fortune led you well.

You have the captives;
I do require them of you.

The question of Cordelia and her
father requires a fitter place.

Sir, by your patience,

I hold you
but a subject in this war,

not as a brother.

That's as we list to grace him.

Methinks our pleasure might have been
demanded ere you had spoke so far.

He led our powers.

In his own grace he doth exalt
himself, more than in your addition.

In my rights, by me invested,
he compeers the best.

That were the most,
if he should husband you.

Jesters do oft
prove prophets.

Ask him his purposes.

What are you?

Your name, your quality?

I am as noble as the adversary
I come to cope.

Which is
that adversary?

He that speaks for Edmund,
Earl of Gloucester.

In wisdom
I should ask your name.

Know that
my name is lost.

The wheel is come full circle;

I am here.

Read.

Know'st thou this paper?

Ask me not what I know.

Howl!

Howl!

O, you are men of stones!

Had I your tongues and eyes,

I'd 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.

This feather stirs;

she lives.

If it be so, it is a chance
which does redeem all sorrows

that ever I have felt.

Is this the promis'd end?

Or image of that horror?

A plague upon you,
murderers, traitors all!

I might have sav'd her;

now she's gone for ever.

Cordelia,

Cordelia,

stay a little.

What is't
thou say'st?

Her voice was ever soft,

gentle and low,

an excellent thing
in woman.

I kill'd the slave
that was a-hanging thee.

Did I not, fellow?

Who are you?

Mine eyes are not of the
best, I'll tell you straight.

Are you not Kent?

The same,
your servant Kent.

He's dead and rotten.
No, my good lord;

I am the very man

I'll see that straight.

That from your first of difference
and decay have follow'd your sad steps.

You are welcome hither.

Nor no man else.

And my poor fool
is hang'd.

No,

no, no life!

Why should a dog,
a horse, a rat have life,

and thou no breath at all?

Thou'It come no more,

never, never,

never, never, never.

O, do you see this?

Look on her.

Look, her lips.

Look there,

look there!

Look up, my lord.
Vex not his ghost.

O, let him pass.

He hates him that would upon the rack
of this world stretch him out longer.

Friends of my soul,

you twain rule in this realm
and the gor'd state sustain.

I have a journey,
sir, shortly to go.

My master calls me;

I must not say no.

The weight of this sad time
we must obey.

Speak what we feel,
not what we ought to say.

The oldest hath borne most.

We that are young

shall never see so much

nor live so long.

Ripped by:
SkyFury