KING LEAR. William Shakespeare
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What services canst thou do?
Kent. 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.
Lear.
How old art thou?
Kent. 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.
Lear.
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.
[Exit an attendant.]
[Enter Oswald.]
You, you, sirrah, where’s my daughter?
Osw.
So please you,—
[Exit.]
Lear.
What says the fellow there? Call the clotpoll back.—
[Exit a Knight.]
Where’s my fool, ho?—I think the world’s asleep.
[Re-enter Knight.]
How now! where’s that mongrel?
Knight.
He says, my lord, your daughter is not well.
Lear.
Why came not the slave back to me when I called him?
Knight.
Sir, he answered me in the roundest manner, he would not.
Lear.
He would not!
Knight. My lord, I know not what the matter is; but to my judgment 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.
Lear.
Ha! say’st thou so?
Knight. I beseech you pardon me, my lord, if I be mistaken; for my duty cannot be silent when I think your highness wronged.
Lear. 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.
Knight. Since my young lady’s going into France, sir, the fool hath much pined away.
Lear. No more of that; I have noted it well.—Go you and tell my daughter I would speak with her.—
[Exit Attendant.]
Go you, call hither my fool.
[Exit another Attendant.]
[Re-enter Oswald.]
O, you, sir, you, come you hither, sir: who am I, sir?
Osw.
My lady’s father.
Lear. My lady’s father! my lord’s knave: you whoreson dog! you slave! you cur!
Osw.
I am none of these, my lord; I beseech your pardon.
Lear.
Do you bandy looks with me, you rascal?
[Striking him.]
Osw.
I’ll not be struck, my lord.
Kent.
Nor tripp’d neither, you base football player.
[Tripping up his heels.]
Lear.
I thank thee, fellow; thou servest me, and I’ll love thee.
Kent.
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.
[Pushes Oswald out.]
Lear.
Now, my friendly knave, I thank thee: there’s earnest of thy
service.
[Giving Kent money.]
[Enter Fool.]
Fool. Let me hire him too; here’s my coxcomb.
[Giving Kent his cap.]
Lear.
How now, my pretty knave! how dost thou?
Fool.
Sirrah, you were best take my coxcomb.
Kent.
Why, fool?
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 hath 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!
Lear.
Why, my boy?
Fool.
If I gave them all my living, I’d keep my coxcombs myself.
There’s mine; beg another of thy daughters.
Lear.
Take heed, sirrah,—the whip.
Fool. Truth’s a dog must to kennel; he must be whipped out, when the lady brach may stand by the fire and stink.
Lear.
A pestilent gall to me!
Fool.
Sirrah, I’ll teach thee a speech.
Lear.
Do.
Fool.
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.
Kent.
This is nothing, fool.
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?
Lear.
Why, no, boy; nothing can be made out of nothing.
Fool. [to Kent] Pr’ythee tell him, so much the rent of his land comes to: he will not believe a fool.
Lear.
A bitter fool!
Fool. Dost thou know the difference, my boy, between a bitter fool and a sweet one?
Lear.
No, lad; teach me.
Fool.
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