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 another way of speaking as well as I've borrowed this look, one that can disguise my speech, then my good intention may reach 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 one 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's your trade? 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.

My trade is to be nothing less than I appear to be; to serve the man who trusts me faithfully; to love the man who is honest; to talk with the man who is wise and says little; to fear the day of judgement; to fight when I have no other 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 fellow, 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're as poor for a subject as he is for a king, you're poor enough. What do you want?

Service.

A job as a servant.

Who wouldst thou serve?

Who would you serve?

You.

You.

Dost thou know me, fellow?

Do you know who I am, fellow?

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

No, sir; but there's 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 a clever story in the telling of it, and deliver a plain message bluntly. Whatever ordinary men are fit for, I'm able to do, 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 besotted 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.

Follow me; you'll be my servant. If I don't like you any less after dinner, I won't part with you yet. Dinner, hey, dinner! Where's my boy? My fool? You there, 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's that fellow there 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's 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 being treated with the respectful affection you used to receive; there's a great falling-off of kindness, showing in the household servants generally and in the Duke himself too, and in 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'm mistaken; because my sense of duty can't 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 my own thought: I have noticed a very slight neglect lately, which I have blamed on my own suspicious fussiness rather than treating it as a real intention and plan of unkindness. I'll look into it further. But where's my fool? I haven't seen him for the last 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.

Say no more about that; I've 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 slave: you bastard dog! You slave! You mongrel!

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

I am none of those 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 up 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, out you go! I'll teach you to know the difference in rank: out, out! If you want to stretch out your clumsy length on the floor again, stay; but get out! 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: here's a down payment for your service.

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

Let me hire him too: 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.

You there, fellow, you'd 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 is out of favour. No, if you can't smile according to the way the wind is blowing, you'll catch cold soon enough. There, take my fool's cap. Why, this man has banished two of his daughters, and did the third one a blessing without meaning to. If you 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 own, 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; he has to be whipped out of the room, while Lady Brach the bitch is allowed to 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 owe; ride more than you walk; learn more than you believe on trust; stake less than you throw for; give up your drink and your whore, and stay indoors, and you'll end up with more than two tens make in a score.

This is nothing, fool.

This is 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 breath 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's exactly what the rent of his land adds up to: he won't believe a fool.

A bitter fool.

A bitter 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 bitter 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.

That lord who advised you to give away your land — bring him and set him here beside me, and you stand in his place. The sweet fool and the bitter fool will show up right away: one of them here in his motley 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.

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

This is not altogether fool, my lord.

This is not 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, truly; lords and great men won't let it be. If I had a monopoly on it, they'd want a share — and ladies too, they won't let me keep all the foolishness 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 would those 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, after I've cut the egg down the middle and eaten up the inside, the two crowns of the eggshell. When you split your crown down the middle and gave away both halves, you carried your donkey on your back through the mud. You had little sense in your bald crown when you gave away your golden one. If I'm talking like my own foolish self in saying this, let the first person who thinks so be whipped. [Singing.] Fools were never less in favour than they are this year, because wise men have turned silly, and don't know how to use their wits, their behaviour is so like an ape's.

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

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

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 made a habit of it, uncle, ever since you made your daughters your mothers; for when you handed them the rod and pulled down your own trousers, [Singing.] Then they wept for sudden joy, and I sang for sorrow, that such a king should play peekaboo and go about among the fools. Please, uncle, hire a schoolmaster who can teach your fool to lie; I'd gladly learn to lie.

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

If you lie, fellow, 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 any kind of thing than a fool — and yet I wouldn't be you, uncle. You've trimmed your wit 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, daughter? Why are you wearing that frown-band on 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 nought with no figure in front of it. I'm better than you are now: I'm a fool, and you're nothing. [To Goneril.] Yes, indeed, I'll hold my tongue. That's what your face orders me to do, though you say nothing. Quiet, quiet. He who keeps neither crust nor crumb, tired of everything, will end up wanting some. [Pointing to Lear.] That one'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's allowed to say anything, but others of your insolent followers who are constantly finding fault and picking quarrels, breaking out into gross riots that cannot be put up with. Sir, I had thought that by making this clearly known to you I'd get a sure remedy; but now I'm beginning to be afraid, from what you yourself have lately said and done, that you're protecting this behaviour and encouraging it by giving it your permission. If that's so, the offence would not escape blame, nor would the remedies stay asleep — remedies which, out of care for a healthy state, might in their operation do you an injury that would otherwise be shameful, but which necessity will then call sensible action.

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 head was bitten off by its own young one. So out went the candle, 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 use that good sense which I know you're full of, and get rid of these moods, which lately turn you into something other than 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? Whoop, 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 is not 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 isn't 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 learn that; because by the signs of kingship, knowledge and reason, I'd be wrongly convinced that I had daughters.

Which they will make an obedient father.

And they mean to make you an obedient father.

Your name, fair gentlewoman?

Your name, fair 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 show of astonishment, sir, is much in the same style as your other new tricks. I beg you to understand my intentions properly: 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 shame of it cries out for an immediate cure. So let yourself be asked — by one who, if refused, will simply take what she's asking for — to cut down your following somewhat; and let those who remain in your service be men suited to your age, men who know themselves and know 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; gather my followers together. Degenerate 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 disorderly 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!

Sorrow to the man who repents too late! — [To Albany.] Oh, sir, have you come? Is this what you want? Speak, sir. — Get my horses ready. Ingratitude, you marble-hearted devil, you are more hideous when you show yourself in a child than the sea-monster is!

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 bird of prey, you are lying. My followers are picked men of the finest qualities, who know every detail of their duty, and who uphold the honour of their name with the most scrupulous care. Oh, tiniest of faults, how ugly you looked in Cordelia! Which, like a machine, wrenched my whole nature out of its fixed place, drew all love out of my heart and added bitterness to it. Oh Lear, Lear, Lear! [Striking his head.] Beat on this gate that let your folly in and your precious judgement out! Go, go, 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. Hear me, nature; hear me, dear goddess! Cancel your plan, if you meant to make this creature able to bear children. Put barrenness into her womb! Dry up in her the organs of childbearing, and let no baby ever spring from her debased body to bring her honour! If she must breed, make her child out of spite, so that it may live to be a perverse, unnatural torment to her. Let it stamp wrinkles into her young forehead; let falling tears wear gullies in her cheeks; let it turn all a mother's pains and kindnesses into laughter and contempt — so that she may feel how much sharper than a serpent's tooth it is to have a thankless child. Away, away!

Now, gods that we adore, whereof comes this?

Now, by the gods we worship, what has caused this?

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 more about it; just let his temper have as much free rein as his senile foolishness gives it.

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

What, fifty of my followers 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 are forced 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! You foolish old eyes, weep over this again and I'll pull you out and throw you away, along with the water you're wasting, to soften the clay. Ha! Let it be so, then. I have another daughter, who, I am sure, is kind and comforting. When she hears this about you, she'll tear your wolfish face with her nails. You'll find that I'll take up again the authority that 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, much as I love you, 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, be quiet. Hey, Oswald, come here! [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 your fool with you. A fox once you've caught her, and a daughter like that one, should certainly be sent to be slaughtered, if my cap could buy a rope; and so the fool goes after him.

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! Oh yes, it's shrewd and safe to let him keep a hundred knights at the ready: so that at every dream, every rumour, every whim, every complaint or dislike, he can guard his senile foolishness with their strength and hold our lives at his mercy. Oswald, I say!

Well, you may fear too far.

Well, you may be afraid 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 be afraid of being caught by them. I know his heart. What he has said, I've written to my sister. If she supports him and his hundred knights after I've shown her how unsuitable it is—

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

Well, Oswald! So, 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 a few people with you and get on horseback. Tell her everything about the particular fear I have, and add to it whatever reasons of your own may strengthen it. Be off, 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, with your pardon, you are far more open to blame for lack of wisdom than to praise 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,—

Well then—

Well, well; the event.

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