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King Lear

Act 3, Scene 2

Storm still Enter LEAR and FOOL	The storm continues. LEAR and the FOOL enter.
LEAR Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! Rage, blow! You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout Till you have drenched our steeples, drowned the cocks! You sulfurous and thought-executing fires, Vaunt-couriers of oak-cleaving thunderbolts, Singe my white head! And thou, all-shaking thunder, Smite flat the thick rotundity o’ th’ world, Crack nature’s molds, all germens spill at once That make ingrateful man!	LEAR Blow, winds! Blow until your cheeks crack! Rage on, blow! Let tornadoes spew water until the steeples of our churches and the weathervanes are all drowned. Let quick sulfurous lightning, strong enough to split enormous trees, singe the white hair on my head. Let thunder flatten the spherical world, crack open all the molds from which nature forms human beings, and spill all the seeds from which ungrateful humans grow!
FOOL O nuncle, court holy water in a dry house is better than this rainwater out o’ door. Good nuncle, in, and ask thy daughters blessing. Here’s a night pities neither wise man nor fool.	FOOL Oh, uncle, it’s better to smile and flatter indoors where it’s dry than get soaked out here. Please, uncle, let’s go in and ask your daughters to forgive you. This storm has no pity for either wise men or fools.
LEAR Rumble thy bellyful! 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, called you children. You owe me no subscription. Why then, let fall Your horrible pleasure. Here I stand, your slave— A poor, infirm, weak, and despised old man. But yet I call you servile ministers, That will with two pernicious daughters joined Your high engendered battles ’gainst a head So old and white as this. Oh, ho! ’Tis foul.	LEAR Let thunder rumble! Let lightning spit fire! Let the rain spray! The rain, the wind, the thunder and lightning are not my daughters. Nature, I don’t accuse your weather of unkindness. I never gave you a kingdom or raised you as my child, and you don’t owe me any obedience. So go ahead and have your terrifying fun. Here I am, your slave—a poor, sick, weak, hated old man. But I can still accuse you of kowtowing, taking my daughters’ side against me, ancient as I am. Oh, it’s foul!
FOOL He that has a house to put ’s head in has a good headpiece. The codpiece that will house Before the head has any— The head and he shall louse. So beggars marry many. The man that makes his toe What he his heart should make Shall of a corn cry woe, And turn his sleep to wake. For there was never yet fair woman but she made mouths in a glass.	FOOL Anyone who has a house to cover his head has a good head on his shoulders. The guy who finds a place to put his penis Before he has a house of his own Will wind up dirt poor and covered with lice With a crowd of slut daughters to add to the slut wife. The man who kicks away The person he should love Will bring himself pain And sleepless nights. For there never was a pretty woman who didn’t like to preen in the mirror.
Enter KENT disguised	KENT enters in disguise.
LEAR No, I will be the pattern of all patience. I will say nothing.	LEAR No, I’ll be patient. I won’t say a word.
KENT Who’s there?	KENT Who’s there?
FOOL Marry, here’s grace and a codpiece—that’s a wise man and a fool.	FOOL A wise man and a fool.
KENT (to LEAR) Alas, sir, are you here? Things that love night Love not such nights as these. The wrathful skies Gallow the very wanderers of the dark And make them keep their caves. Snce I was man, Such sheets of fire, such bursts of horrid thunder, Such groans of roaring wind and rain I never Remember to have heard. Man’s nature cannot carry Th’ affliction nor the fear.	KENT (to LEAR) Ah, sir, you’re here? Even creatures of the night aren’t out tonight in this storm. The angry skies terrify the animals that usually prowl in the dark, making them stay in their caves. Never in my life have I heard such horrible blasts of thunder, such a roaring downpour, such groaning winds. It’s too trying and terrifying for humans to bear.
LEAR 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 undivulgèd crimes Unwhipped of justice. Hide thee, thou bloody hand, Thou perjured, and thou simular man of virtue That art incestuous. Caitiff, to pieces shake, That under covert and convenient seeming Hast practiced on man’s life. Close pent-up guilts, Rive your concealing continents and cry These dreadful summoners grace. I am a man More sinned against than sinning.	LEAR Let the gods who stirred up this dreadful storm bring their enemies to light. Any wretched person who has committed secret crimes and escaped justice should tremble in fear now. Better hide now, you murderers, you perjurers, you incest-practicing people who pretend to be virtuous. Tremble and shake, villain, for secretly plotting against human lives. Let all your bottled-up crimes come flooding out at last, as you beg for mercy from the gods who summon these terrifying winds and thunderbolts. Other people have sinned against me more than I have sinned against them.
KENT Alack, bareheaded? Gracious my lord, hard by here is a hovel. Some friendship will it lend you ’gainst the tempest. Repose you there, while I to this hard house— More harder than the stones whereof ’tis raised, Which even but now, demanding after you, Denied me to come in—return, and force Their scanted courtesy.	KENT Why, you’re not even wearing a hat? My lord, there’s a hut nearby. It will give you some protection from this storm. Rest there while I go back to the unfriendly house where your sisters are staying, and ask them for help. They are harder than the stones the house is made of. Just now, when I asked them if they knew where you were, they wouldn’t let me in. But I’ll go back and force them to be polite.
LEAR My wits begin to turn.— (to FOOL) Come on, my boy. How dost, my boy? Art cold? I am cold myself. (to KENT) Where is this straw, my fellow? The art of our necessities is strange That 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.	LEAR I’m starting to lose my mind. (to the FOOL) Come on, my boy. How are you? Are you cold? I’m cold myself. (to KENT) Where’s this hut, man? Odd how when you’re desperate, even shoddy things like this hut can seem precious. Show me where that hut is. Poor fool, part of me still feels sorry for you.
FOOL (sings) He that has and a little tiny wit— With heigh-ho, the wind and the rain— Must make content with his fortunes fit, For the rain it raineth every day.	FOOL (singing) The stupid man— Hey-hoy, the wind and the rain— Must take what he can get, Since the rain comes every day.
LEAR True, my good boy.—Come, bring us to this hovel.	LEAR That’s true, my good boy.—Come on, take us to that hut.
Exeunt LEAR and KENT	LEAR and KENT exit.
FOOL This is a brave night to cool a courtesan. I’ll speak a prophecy ere I go. When priests are more in word than matter, When brewers mar their malt with water, When nobles are their tailors’ tutors, No heretics burned but wenches’ suitors, When every case in law is right, No squire in debt nor no poor knight, When slanders do not live in tongues, Nor cutpurses come not to throngs, When usurers tell their gold i’ th’ field, And bawds and whores do churches build— Then shall the realm of Albion Come to great confusion. Then comes the time, who lives to see ’t, That going shall be used with feet. This prophecy Merlin shall make, for I live before his time.	FOOL This would be a great night to satisfy a whore’s lust. I’ll recite a prophecy before I go. One day, when priests don’t practice what they preach, When brewers dilute their beer with water, When noblemen teach their tailors how to sew, When instead of heretics being burned at the stake, lovers are burned by syphilis, When every law case is tried fairly, When no gentleman is in debt, When no one slanders anyone else, And thieves don’t snatch wallets in crowds, When moneylenders count their gold in the open air, And pimps and whores build fine churches— Then the kingdom of England Will come to ruin. And whoever lives to see that day Will walk with his feet. This is the prophecy that the wizard Merlin will make one day. I’m a little ahead of my time in saying it now.
Exit	He exits.