King Lear, Act 1, Scene 4

If but as well I other accents borrow, That can my speech defuse, my good intent May carry through itself to that full issue For which I rais’d my likeness. Now, banish’d Kent, If thou canst serve where thou dost stand condemn’d, So may it come, thy master, whom thou lov’st, Shall find thee full of labours.

If I can borrow other accents as well as I have borrowed this disguise, ones that can blur my way of speaking, then my good purpose may carry itself through to the full result for which I changed my appearance. Now, banished Kent, if you can serve in the very place where you stand condemned, then it may happen that your master, whom you love, will find you full of hard work.

Let me not stay a jot for dinner; go get it ready.

Don't let me wait a moment for dinner; go and get it ready.

How now! what art thou?

Well now! What are you?

A man, sir.

A man, sir.

What dost thou profess? What wouldst thou with us?

What do you claim to be? What do you want with us?

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.

I claim to be nothing more than I appear to be: to serve faithfully the man who trusts me; to love the man who is honourable; to talk with the man who is wise and says little; to fear God's judgement; to fight when I have no choice; and to eat no fish.

What art thou?

What are you?

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

A thoroughly honest-hearted man, and as poor as the King.

If thou be’st as poor for a subject as he’s for a king, thou art poor enough. What wouldst thou?

If you are as poor for a subject as he is for a king, you are poor enough. What do you want?

Service.

Employment.

Who wouldst thou serve?

Who would you serve?

You.

You.

Dost thou know me, fellow?

Do you know me, fellow?

No, sir; but you have that in your countenance which I would fain call master.

No, sir; but there is something in your face that I would gladly call master.

What’s that?

What's that?

Authority.

Authority.

What services canst thou do?

What kinds of service can you do?

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.

I can keep an honest secret, ride, run, ruin an elaborate story in the telling of it, and deliver a straightforward message plainly. Whatever ordinary men are good for, I am fit for, and the best thing about me is that I work hard.

How old art thou?

How old are you?

Not so young, sir, to love a woman for singing; nor so old to dote on her for anything: I have years on my back forty-eight.

Not so young, sir, as to love a woman for her singing, nor so old as to be infatuated with her for any reason at all: I have forty-eight years on my back.

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.

Come with me; you shall serve me. If I like you no less after dinner, I won't part with you yet. Dinner, hey, dinner! Where's my boy? My fool? You, go and call my fool here.

You, you, sirrah, where’s my daughter?

You, you there, fellow, where's my daughter?

So please you,—

If you please—

What says the fellow there? Call the clotpoll back.

What is that fellow saying? Call the blockhead back.

Where’s my fool? Ho, I think the world’s asleep.

Where's my fool? Hey, I think the whole world is asleep.

How now! where’s that mongrel?

Well now! Where's that mongrel?

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

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

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

Why didn't the slave come back to me when I called him?

Sir, he answered me in the roundest manner, he would not.

Sir, he answered me in the bluntest way that he would not.

He would not?

He would not?

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 of kindness appears as well in the general dependants as in the Duke himself also, and your daughter.

My lord, I don't know what the trouble is; but in my judgement your highness is not treated with the respectful affection you used to be. There's a great falling off in warmth, showing in the household servants generally and in the Duke himself as well, and your daughter.

Ha! say’st thou so?

Ha! Do you say so?

I beseech you pardon me, my lord, if I be mistaken; for my duty cannot be silent when I think your highness wronged.

I beg you to forgive me, my lord, if I am wrong; for my sense of duty cannot keep quiet when I think your highness is being wronged.

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 purpose of unkindness: I will look further into’t. But where’s my fool? I have not seen him this two days.

You only remind me of what I had thought myself. I have noticed a very slight neglect lately, which I have put down to my own suspicious oversensitivity rather than to any real intention and plan of unkindness. I will look into it further. But where's my fool? I have not seen him these two days.

Since my young lady’s going into France, sir, the fool hath much pined away.

Since my young lady went to France, sir, the fool has wasted away with grief.

No more of that; I have noted it well. Go you and tell my daughter I would speak with her.

No more of that; I have noticed it well enough. You, go and tell my daughter I want to speak with her.

Go you, call hither my fool.

You, go and call my fool here.

O, you, sir, you, come you hither, sir: who am I, sir?

Oh, you, sir, you, come here, sir: who am I, sir?

My lady’s father.

My lady's father.

My lady’s father! my lord’s knave: you whoreson dog! you slave! you cur!

"My lady's father"! My lord's servant boy, you son of a whore, you dog! You slave! You mongrel!

I am none of these, my lord; I beseech your pardon.

I am none of these things, my lord; I beg your pardon.

Do you bandy looks with me, you rascal?

Are you trading stares with me, you rascal?

I’ll not be struck, my lord.

I won't be hit, my lord.

Nor tripp’d neither, you base football player.

Nor tripped either, you low football player.

I thank thee, fellow. Thou serv’st me, and I’ll love thee.

Thank you, fellow. You serve me well, and I'll love you for it.

Come, sir, arise, away! I’ll teach you differences: away, away! If you will measure your lubber’s length again, tarry; but away! go to; have you wisdom? So.

Come on, sir, get up, off with you! I'll teach you to know the difference in ranks. Off, off! If you want to stretch out your clumsy length on the floor again, stay here; but off with you! Go on: have you any sense? There.

Now, my friendly knave, I thank thee: there’s earnest of thy service.

Now, my friendly fellow, thank you: there's an advance payment for your service.

Let me hire him too; here’s my coxcomb.

Let me hire him as well; here's my fool's cap.

How now, my pretty knave, how dost thou?

Well now, my pretty boy, how are you?

Sirrah, you were best take my coxcomb.

Fellow, you would do best to take my fool's cap.

Why, fool?

Why, 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 has banish’d two on’s daughters, and did the third a blessing against his will; if thou follow him, thou must needs wear my coxcomb. How now, nuncle! Would I had two coxcombs and two daughters!

Why, for taking the side of someone who's out of favour. Listen, if you can't smile according to which way the wind is blowing, you'll catch cold soon enough. There, take my fool's cap. Why, this man here has banished two of his daughters and done the third one a blessing without meaning to. If you're going to follow him, you'll have to wear my fool's cap. Well now, uncle! I wish I had two fool's caps and two daughters!

Why, my boy?

Why, my boy?

If I gave them all my living, I’d keep my coxcombs myself. There’s mine; beg another of thy daughters.

If I gave them everything I owned, I'd keep my fool's caps for myself. There's mine; go and beg another one from your daughters.

Take heed, sirrah, the whip.

Watch out, fellow, or you'll get the whip.

Truth’s a dog must to kennel; he must be whipped out, when the Lady Brach may stand by the fire and stink.

Truth is a dog that has to go to its kennel; it must be whipped out of doors, while the lady's hound may stand by the fire and stink.

A pestilent gall to me!

What a poisonous sore he is to me!

Sirrah, I’ll teach thee a speech.

Fellow, I'll teach you a speech.

Do.

Do.

Mark it, nuncle: 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.

Pay attention to it, uncle: Have more than you show, speak less than you know, lend less than you own, ride more than you walk, learn more than you believe, stake less than you throw for; give up your drink and your whore, and stay indoors, and you'll end up with more than twenty in every twenty.

This is nothing, fool.

That's nothing, fool.

Then ’tis like the breath of an unfee’d lawyer, you gave me nothing for’t. Can you make no use of nothing, nuncle?

Then it's like the words of a lawyer who hasn't been paid — you gave me nothing for it. Can you make no use of nothing, uncle?

Why, no, boy; nothing can be made out of nothing.

Why, no, boy; nothing can be made out of nothing.

[to Kent.] Prythee tell him, so much the rent of his land comes to: he will not believe a fool.

[to Kent.] Please tell him that this is exactly what the rent of his land comes to. He won't believe a fool.

A bitter fool.

A sour fool.

Dost thou know the difference, my boy, between a bitter fool and a sweet one?

Do you know the difference, my boy, between a sour fool and a sweet one?

No, lad; teach me.

No, lad; teach me.

That lord that counsell’d 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.

The lord who advised you to give away your land — bring him here and stand him beside me, or you take his place yourself. Then the sweet fool and the sour one will appear at once: one here in the patched coat, the other discovered over there.

Dost thou call me fool, boy?

Are you calling me a fool, boy?

All thy other titles thou hast given away; that thou wast born with.

You've given away all your other titles; that one you were born with.

This is not altogether fool, my lord.

This isn't all foolishness, my lord.

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. Nuncle, give me an egg, and I’ll give thee two crowns.

No, honestly; lords and great men won't allow it. If I had an exclusive licence on folly, they'd want a share of it — and ladies too; they won't let me keep all the foolery to myself; they'll be grabbing at it. Uncle, give me an egg and I'll give you two crowns.

What two crowns shall they be?

What two crowns will they be?

Why, after I have cut the egg i’ the middle and eat up the meat, the two crowns of the egg. When thou clovest thy crown i’ the middle and gav’st away both parts, thou bor’st thine ass on thy back o’er the dirt: thou hadst little wit in thy bald crown when thou gav’st thy golden one away. If I speak like myself in this, let him be whipped that first finds it so. [Singing.] Fools had ne’er less grace in a year; For wise men are grown foppish, And know not how their wits to wear, Their manners are so apish.

Why, once I've cut the egg down the middle and eaten up the inside, the two halves of the shell. When you split your crown down the middle and gave away both halves, you carried your donkey on your back across the mud. You had little sense in your bald head when you gave your golden crown away. If I'm speaking like my own foolish self in this, let the first man who says so be whipped. [Singing.] Fools were never so out of favour as this year, because wise men have turned silly, and don't know how to use their brains, their behaviour is so much like apes'.

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

Since when have you been so full of songs, boy?

I have used it, nuncle, e’er since thou mad’st thy daughters thy mothers; for when thou gav’st them the rod, and put’st down thine own breeches, [Singing.] 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. Prythee, nuncle, keep a schoolmaster that can teach thy fool to lie; I would fain learn to lie.

I've been in the habit of it, uncle, ever since you made your daughters your mothers; because when you handed them the whip and pulled down your own trousers, [Singing.] then they wept for sudden joy, and I sang for sorrow, that such a king should play hide-and-seek and go about among the fools. Please, uncle, hire a schoolmaster who can teach your fool to lie; I'd dearly like to learn to lie.

An you lie, sirrah, we’ll have you whipped.

If you lie, boy, we'll have you whipped.

I marvel what kin thou and thy daughters are: they’ll have me whipped for speaking true; thou’lt have me whipped for lying; and sometimes I am whipped 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’ the middle: here comes one o’ the parings.

I wonder what relation you and your daughters are: they'll have me whipped for speaking the truth; you'll have me whipped for lying; and sometimes I'm whipped for keeping quiet. I'd rather be anything at all than a fool — and yet I wouldn't be you, uncle. You've trimmed your wits away on both sides and left nothing in the middle. Here comes one of the trimmings.

How now, daughter? What makes that frontlet on? Methinks you are too much of late i’ the frown.

Well now, daughter? Why that frown wrinkling your forehead? It seems to me you've been frowning far too much lately.

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. [Pointing to Lear.] That’s a shealed peascod.

You were a fine fellow when you had no need to care about her frowning. Now you're a zero with no figure in front of it. I'm better off than you are now: I'm a fool, you're nothing. [To Goneril.] Yes, indeed, I'll hold my tongue. Your face orders me to, though you say nothing. Quiet, quiet. The man who keeps neither crust nor crumb, tired of everything, will go short of some. [Pointing to Lear.] That's an empty pea pod.

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 Will call discreet proceeding.

Sir, it isn't only this fool of yours, who is allowed to say anything, but others of your insolent followers who are constantly finding fault and picking quarrels, breaking out into gross and intolerable disorder. Sir, I thought that by making this clearly known to you I would get a reliable remedy; but now I'm growing afraid, from what you yourself have lately said and done, that you are protecting this behaviour and encouraging it by your approval. If you are, the offence won't escape rebuke, nor will the remedies stay asleep — remedies which, out of care for the health of the state, might in their operation do you an injury that would otherwise be shameful, but which then necessity will call a sensible measure.

For you know, nuncle, The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long That it’s had it head bit off by it young. So out went the candle, and we were left darkling.

Because you know, uncle, the hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long that its young bit its head off. So the candle went out, and we were left in the dark.

Are you our daughter?

Are you our daughter?

Come, sir, I would you would make use of that good wisdom, Whereof I know you are fraught; and put away These dispositions, which of late transform you From what you rightly are.

Come, sir, I wish you would make use of that good sense that I know you are full of, and put aside these moods, which lately change you from what you truly are.

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

Can't even a donkey tell when the cart is pulling the horse? Hey there, Jug! I love you!

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?

Does anyone here know me? This isn't Lear. Does Lear walk like this? Speak like this? Where are his eyes? Either his mind is weakening or his judgement has gone numb. Ha! Am I awake? It can't be so. Who is it that can tell me who I am?

Lear’s shadow.

Lear's shadow.

I would learn that; for by the marks of sovereignty, knowledge and reason, I should be false persuaded I had daughters.

I'd like to find that out; for by the signs of kingship, understanding and reason, I might be wrongly convinced that I had daughters.

Which they will make an obedient father.

Who intend to make you an obedient father.

Your name, fair gentlewoman?

Your name, my good lady?

This admiration, sir, is much o’ the favour 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 Makes 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.

This pretended astonishment, sir, is very much of a piece with your other new tricks. I beg you to understand my intentions correctly: since you are old and worthy of respect, you ought to be wise. You keep a hundred knights and squires here, men so unruly, so debauched and impudent that this court of ours, infected by their behaviour, looks like a rowdy inn. Their gluttony and lust make it more like a tavern or a brothel than a dignified palace. The disgrace itself cries out for an immediate cure. So let yourself be asked, by one who will otherwise simply take what she asks for, to reduce your following a little; and let the rest who are to remain in your service be men suitable to your age, men who know themselves and you.

Darkness and devils! Saddle my horses; call my train together. Degenerate bastard! I’ll not trouble thee: Yet have I left a daughter.

Darkness and devils! Saddle my horses; call my followers together. Unnatural bastard! I won't trouble you: I still have one daughter left.

You strike my people; and your disorder’d rabble Make servants of their betters.

You strike my servants, and your unruly mob treat their superiors as their servants.

Woe that too late repents!— [To Albany.] O, sir, are you come? Is it your will? Speak, sir.—Prepare my horses. Ingratitude, thou marble-hearted fiend, More hideous when thou show’st thee in a child Than the sea-monster!

How wretched to repent too late! — [To Albany.] Oh, sir, have you come? Is this what you want? Speak, sir. — Get my horses ready. Ingratitude, you fiend with a heart of marble, more hideous when you show yourself in a child than the sea-monster!

Pray, sir, be patient.

Please, sir, be patient.

[to Goneril.] 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! Which, like an engine, wrench’d my frame of nature From the fix’d place; drew from my heart all love, And added to the gall. O Lear, Lear, Lear! [Striking his head.] Beat at this gate that let thy folly in And thy dear judgement out! Go, go, my people.

[to Goneril.] Hateful hawk, you're lying. My followers are picked men of the rarest qualities, who know every detail of their duty, and who uphold the honour of their names with the most scrupulous care. Oh, tiny fault, how ugly you looked in Cordelia! You wrenched my whole nature, like a machine, out of its settled place, drew all the love from my heart and added bitterness instead. Oh Lear, Lear, Lear! [Striking his head.] Strike at this gate that let your folly in and your precious judgement out! Come away, come away, my men.

My lord, I am guiltless, as I am ignorant Of what hath moved you.

My lord, I am as innocent as I am ignorant of what has upset 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 honour 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! Away, away!

It may be so, my lord. Listen, Nature, listen; dear goddess, listen! Cancel your plan, if you meant to make this creature able to bear children. Fill her womb with barrenness; dry up in her the organs of reproduction, and let her degraded body never produce a baby to bring her honour! If she must give birth, make her child out of spite, so that it may live and be a perverse, unnatural torment to her. Let it stamp wrinkles in her young forehead, wear channels down her cheeks with falling tears, turn all a mother's labour and kindness into laughter and contempt — so that she may feel how much sharper than a serpent's tooth it is to have an ungrateful child. Away, away!

Now, gods that we adore, whereof comes this?

Now, by the gods we worship, where does all this come from?

Never afflict yourself to know more of it; But let his disposition have that scope That dotage gives it.

Never trouble yourself to find out any more about it; just let his temper have all the scope that senile foolishness gives it.

What, fifty of my followers at a clap? Within a fortnight?

What, fifty of my followers dismissed at one stroke? Within two weeks?

What’s the matter, sir?

What's the matter, sir?

I’ll tell thee. [To Goneril.] Life and death! I am asham’d That thou hast power to shake my manhood thus; That these hot tears, which break from me perforce, Should make thee worth them. Blasts and fogs upon thee! Th’untented woundings of a father’s curse Pierce every sense about thee! Old fond eyes, Beweep this cause again, I’ll pluck ye out, And cast you with the waters that you lose To temper clay. Ha! Let it be so. I have another daughter, Who, 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.

I'll tell you. [To Goneril.] By life and death! I'm ashamed that you have the power to shake my manhood like this, that these hot tears, which force their way out of me, should make you worth them. Storms and fogs fall on you! May the untreatable wounds of a father's curse pierce every one of your senses! Foolish old eyes, if you weep over this again, I'll tear you out and throw you away, along with the water you're spilling, to soften clay. Ha! So be it. I have another daughter, who I'm sure is kind and comforting. When she hears this about you, she'll claw that wolf's face of yours with her nails. You'll find that I'll take up again the royal power you think I've thrown off for ever.

Do you mark that?

Do you notice that?

I cannot be so partial, Goneril, To the great love I bear you,—

Goneril, great as my love for you is, I can't be so biased as to—

Pray you, content. What, Oswald, ho! [To the Fool.] You, sir, more knave than fool, after your master.

Please, say no more. Hey, Oswald, there! [To the Fool.] You, sir, more rogue than fool, go after your master.

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.

Uncle Lear, uncle Lear, wait and take the fool with you. A fox, once she's been caught, and a daughter like that, should certainly go to the slaughter, if my cap could buy a rope to hang them; so the fool follows after.

This man hath had good counsel.—A hundred knights! ’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 powers, And hold our lives in mercy. Oswald, I say!

This man has been well advised. — A hundred knights! It's really shrewd and safe to let him keep a hundred knights ready for action — oh yes, so that at every dream, every rumour, every whim, every grievance or displeasure, he can defend his senile fancies with their force and hold our lives at his mercy. Oswald, I say!

Well, you may fear too far.

Well, you may be afraid of too much.

Safer than trust too far: Let me still take away the harms I fear, Not fear still to be taken: I know his heart. What he hath utter’d I have writ my sister: If she sustain him and his hundred knights, When I have show’d th’unfitness,—

That's safer than trusting too much. Let me always remove the dangers I'm afraid of, rather than always being afraid of being caught by them. I know his heart. I've written to my sister about what he has said. If she takes him in with his hundred knights, when I've pointed out how unsuitable it is—

How now, Oswald! What, have you writ that letter to my sister?

Well now, Oswald! Have you written that letter to my sister?

Ay, madam.

Yes, madam.

Take you some company, and away to horse: Inform her full of my particular fear; And thereto add such reasons of your own As may compact it more. Get you gone; And hasten your return.

Take some people with you and get on horseback. Tell her all about my particular fear, and add to it whatever reasons of your own may strengthen the case. Get going, and hurry back.

No, no, my lord! This milky gentleness and course of yours, Though I condemn not, yet, under pardon, You are much more attask’d for want of wisdom Than prais’d for harmful mildness.

No, no, my lord! This milky gentleness and way of behaving of yours — though I don't condemn it — still, if you'll forgive me, you're blamed far more for lacking wisdom than praised for a mildness that does harm.

How far your eyes may pierce I cannot tell: Striving to better, oft we mar what’s well.

How far your eyes can see I can't say: in trying to improve things, we often ruin what is already good.

Nay then,—

In that case—

Well, well; the event.

All right, all right; we'll see what happens.