King Lear

Good morning to you, friend. Do you work in this house?

Yes, I do.

Where should we stable our horses?

In the mud.

Please, sir, be kind to me and tell me.

I won’t be kind to you.

In that case, I don’t much care for you either.

If I could get my hands on you, I’d make you care.

Why are you talking to me like this? I don’t even know you.

Ah, but I know you.

Who am I then?

You’re a lowlife, a rascal who eats leftover scraps. You’re an ignoble, arrogant, shallow, vulgar, pretentious, conceited, filthy third-rate servant who thinks he’s something special. You’re a cowardly lawyer-loving bastard; a vain, brown-nosing, prissy scoundrel who’d pimp himself out to advance his career; a bag lady. You’re nothing but a lowlife, a beggar, a coward, and a pimp, the son and heir of a mutt bitch. I’ll beat you until you whine and cry if you deny the least bit of this.

What an ogre you are to slander someone you don’t know, and who doesn’t know you!

What a shameless jerk you are to pretend you don’t know me! It was just two days ago that I tripped you and beat you up in front of the king. Draw your sword, scoundrel. It may be nighttime, but there’s enough moonlight to fight by. I’ll make ground beef out of you. (he draws his sword) Draw, you affected, preening son of a bitch! Draw your sword!

Get away from me! I’ve got nothing to do with you.

Draw your sword, you jerk! You come here with letters against the king, and you take his conceited daughter’s side against his royal highness. Draw your sword, scoundrel, or I’ll slice your thighs like flank steak. Draw your sword! Come on!

Help! Murderer! Help!

Fight, peasant. Don’t run away, scoundrel. Stand and fight, you overdressed servant, fight! (he hits OSWALD)

Help! Murder, murder!

What’s going on here? Get away from each other.

(to EDMUND) Well, kid, let’s see you fight. Come on, I’ll show you how.

You have weapons? What’s going on here?

Stop it, I order you. The next person to strike again dies. What’s going on here?

These are the messengers from my sister and the king.

What are you fighting about? Tell me.

I’m out of breath, sir.

No wonder, with all your exertions, you cowardly rascal. You’re not worth being called a man. The only thing manly about you are your clothes. A tailor made you.

That’s an odd thing to say. How can a tailor make a person?

Definitely a tailor, sir. A sculptor or a painter couldn’t have screwed him up as bad as that, even as an apprentice.

But tell me what you’re fighting about.

This old ruffian here, whom I didn’t kill because he’s so old—

You useless bastard—you’re like the letter “z,” a totally unnecessary addition to the alphabet.—My lord, please let me grind this lumpy lowlife into a powder and use it to plaster up the bathroom walls.—You didn’t kill me because I’m so old, you fawning dog?

Calm down. Don’t you have any manners, you savage?

Yes, sir, but not when I’m enraged.

Why are you enraged?

I’m angry that a dishonorable lowlife like this wears a sword like a gentleman. Smiling swindlers such as he undo the sacred bonds that unite people together, and only encourage the unreasonable passions of their masters. They foster both rage and apathy. They say “Yes” and “No,” turning their noses whichever way the wind blows without taking a firm stance on anything. They blindly follow their masters’ impulses, like dogs.—Damn your ugly stinking face! Are you laughing at what I say, as if I were a fool? If I had my way with you right now, I’d send you to back to where you came from.

Are you insane, old man?

(to KENT) What did you start quarreling over? Just tell us.

I couldn’t hate that jerk over there any more than I do.

Why are you calling him a jerk? What did he do to you?

I don’t like his face.

But maybe you don’t like mine, or his, or hers either.

I’m used to telling the truth, sir, and I have to say that I’ve seen better faces than those I see here.

This is a guy who’s been praised for his honest bluntness, and who now insolently pretends to be plainspoken and twists the natural meanings of words. No flattery for him, no sir! He’s honest, he’s got to speak the truth. If people take what he says, fine. If not, he’s got truth on his side! I know his type. He’s sneaky behind all his so-called bluntness, sneakier than twenty brown-nosing bootlickers who only tell you what you want to hear.

Dearest, kindest, most honorable sir, may I say, with your esteemed approval, which is lit up by the illuminating radiance of the sun-god Phoebus, that—

What do you mean by that?

I tried to stop speaking plainly, since you dislike plain speech so much. Sir, I know I’m not a flatterer. The guy who tricked you with plain language was just a plain crook—which I’m not, however much I may displease you by not being one.

(to OSWALD) How did you offend him?

I never offended him at all. Recently, the king hit me because of a misunderstanding. This man took sides with the king and tripped me. When I was down on the ground he insulted me, and then started acting tough to seem courageous in front of the king. The king praised him, even though I had never offered any resistance at all. Now he pulled out his sword on me again, still riled up from our first encounter.

These cowards manage to make fools of brave men.

Bring out the stocks !—We’ll teach you, you stubborn old bastard, you arrogant show-off.

Sir, I’m too old to be taught anything. Don’t put me in the stocks. I serve the king, who sent me here. If you put me in the stocks you’ll insult him both as a king and as a man.

Bring out the stocks! I swear on my life and honor, he’ll sit here in the stocks until noon.

Only until noon, my lord? No, the whole day, and all night too.

Ma’am, you wouldn’t treat me like this if I were your father’s dog.

But since you’re his scoundrel servant, I will.

This guy is exactly the kind of person your sister warned us about.—Come on, bring in the stocks, now!

I beg you not to do this, my lord. He’s done wrong, and his master the king will punish him for it. But the kind of punishment you propose is more suited to petty shoplifters than to royal attendants. The king will be offended to find out that his messenger is so badly treated.

I’ll take responsibility for that.

My sister would be much more offended to have her trusted messenger abused and assaulted just for carrying out her orders.—Put his legs in the stocks.

(to GLOUCESTER) Let’s go, my lord.

I’m sorry, my friend. The duke always gets it his way, and everyone knows you can’t budge him once he’s made up his mind. I’ll try talking to him again.

Please don’t, sir. I’ve been up for a long time and have done a lot of traveling recently. This punishment will be a good chance to catch up on my sleep. The rest of the time I’ll whistle to entertain myself. Even good men have bad luck. Have a good morning.

It’s wrong for the duke to do this. The king will be angry with him.

Oh, good King Lear, you’re proving that, just as they say, everything goes from good to bad. (he takes out a letter) Rise and shine, sun, so I can read this letter. Only those who are truly miserable see miracles. I know this letter is from Cordelia, who knows that I’m serving the king in disguise. (looking at the letter) She says that she will have time, now that she’s away from the monstrous conditions here, to find a way to fix things. I’m exhausted. I’ve been awake too long. This fatigue gives me an excuse to shut my eyes so I can’t see myself humiliated in the stocks. Good night, Lady Luck. Smile and spin your wheel of fortune again. (he sleeps)