King Lear

I thought the king preferred the Duke of Albany to the Duke of Cornwall.

We used to think so too. But the way he’s divided the kingdom recently, nobody can tell which of the dukes he favors more. He’s split the kingdom so evenly that it’s impossible to see any indication of favoritism.

(pointing to EDMUND) Isn’t this your son, my lord?

Yes, I’ve been responsible for his upbringing. I’ve had to acknowledge that he’s my son so many times that now I can do it without embarrassment.

I can’t conceive of what you mean.

You can’t conceive? Well, this guy’s mother could conceive him all to well. She grew a big belly and had a baby for her crib before she had a husband for her bed. Do you smell something naughty?

Well, I wouldn’t want to undo the naughtiness, since the boy turned out so well.

But I have a legitimate son a few years older than this one, and I don’t love him any more than I love my bastard. Edmund may have snuck into the world a little before his time, but his mother was pretty, we had a fun time making him, and now I have to acknowledge the guy as my son.—Do you know this gentleman, Edmund?

No, I don’t, my lord.

(to EDMUND) This is Lord Kent. Remember him as my friend and an honorable man.

Very pleased to meet you, my lord.

I look forward to getting to know you better.

I’ll try to make myself worth your knowledge.

He’s been gone for nine years and he’s leaving again soon.

The king is coming.

Go escort the lords of France and Burgundy, Gloucester.

Yes, my lord.

In the meantime I’ll get down to my real business.—Hand me that map over there.—I hereby announce that I’ve divided my kingdom into three parts, which I’m handing over to the younger generation so I can enjoy a little rest and peace of mind in my old age.—Cornwall and Albany, my loving sons-in-law, I now want to announce publicly what each of my daughters will inherit, to avoid hostilities after I die. The two great princes of France and Burgundy, vying for the hand of my youngest Cordelia, have been at my court a long time and will soon have their answers.—My daughters, since I’m about to give up my throne and the worries that go along with it, tell me which one of you loves me most, so that I can give my largest gift to the one who deserves it most.—Goneril, my oldest daughter, you speak first.

Sir, I love you more than words can say. I love you more than eyesight, space, and freedom, beyond wealth or anything of value. I love you as much as life itself, and as much as status, health, beauty, or honor. I love you as much as any child has ever loved her father, with a love too deep to be spoken of. I love you more than any answer to the question “How much?”

(to herself) What will I say? I can only love and be silent.

I give you all this land, from this line to that one—dense forests, fertile fields, rivers rich with fish, wide meadows. This land will belong to your and Albany’s children forever.—And now what does my second daughter Regan, the wife of Cornwall, have to say? Tell me.

Sir, I’m made of the same stuff as my sister and consider myself just as good as she is. She’s described my feelings of love for you precisely, but her description falls a little short of the truth. I reject completely any joy except my love for you, and I find that only your majesty’s love makes me happy.

(to herself) Poor me, what am I going to say now? But I’m not poor in love—my love is bigger than my words are.

You and your heirs hereby receive this large third of our lovely kingdom, no smaller in area or value than what I gave Goneril.—Now, you, my youngest daughter, my joy, courted by the rich rulers of France and Burgundy, what can you tell me that will make me give you a bigger part of my kingdom than I gave your sisters? Speak.

Nothing, my lord.

Nothing?

Nothing.

Come on, “nothing” will get you nothing. Try again.

I’m unlucky. I don’t have a talent for putting my heart’s feelings into words. I love you as a child should love her father, neither more nor less.

What are you saying, Cordelia? Revise your statement, or you may damage your inheritance.

My lord, you brought me up and loved me, and I’m giving back just as I should: I obey you, love you, and honor you. How can my sisters speak the truth when they say they love only you? Don’t they love their husbands too? Hopefully when I get married, I’ll give my husband half my love and half my sense of duty. I’m sure I’ll never get married in the way my sisters say they’re married, loving their father only.

But do you mean what you’re saying?

Yes, my lord.

So young and so cruel?

So young, my lord, and honest.

Then that’s the way it’ll be. The truth will be all the inheritance you get. I swear by the sacred sun, by the mysterious moon, and by all the planets that rule our lives, that I disown you now as my daughter. As of now, there are no family ties between us, and I consider you a stranger to me. Foreign savages who eat their own children for dinner will be as close to my heart as you, ex-daughter of mine.

But sir—

Be quiet, Kent. Don’t get in my way when I’m angry. I loved Cordelia most of all and planned to spend my old age with her taking care of me. (to CORDELIA) Go away! Get out of my sight!—I guess if she doesn’t love her father, then I’ll only have peace when I’m dead.—Call the King of France. Why is nobody doing anything? Call the Duke of Burgundy.

Cornwall and Albany, you and your wives can divide this last third of my kingdom between you. If she wants to be proud, or “honest,” as she calls it, she can just marry her own pride. I hereby grant to you two my crown and all the privileges that kingship brings. I’ll live one month with one of you, the next month with the other one. All I ask is that you provide me with a hundred knights for my own entourage. I’ll keep only the title of king, but you’ll have everything else: all the authority and income that come with kingship. To confirm all this, take this crown to share between yourselves. (he gives CORNWALL and ALBANY the crown)

King Lear, I’ve always honored you as king, loved you as my father, obeyed you as my master, and thanked you in my prayers—

I’m furious and ready to snap. Stay away or else I’ll take my anger out on you.

Let your anger fall on me then, even if its sharpness pierces my heart. Kent can speak rudely when Lear goes mad. What are you doing, old man? When powerful kings cave in to flatterers, do you think loyal men will be afraid to speak out against it? When a majestic king starts acting silly, then it’s my duty to be blunt. Hold on to your crown and use your better judgment to rethink this rash decision. On my life I swear to you that your youngest daughter doesn’t love you least. A loud mouth often points to an empty heart, and just because she’s quiet doesn’t mean she’s unloving.

Kent, if you want to stay alive, stop talking.

I never considered my life as anything more than a chess pawn for you to play off against your enemies. I’m not afraid to lose it if it helps protect you.

Get out of my sight!

Learn to see better, Lear, and let me stay here where you can look to me for good advice.

Now, I swear by Apollo—

By Apollo, King, you’re taking the names of the gods in vain.

Oh, you lowlife! Scum!

Please stop, sir.

Sure, kill the doctor who’s trying to cure you and pay your disease. Take back your gift to Albany and Cornwall. If you don’t, then as long as I’m able to speak I’ll keep telling you you’ve done a bad, bad thing.

Listen to me, you traitor. You’ll pay the price for trying to make me go back on the vow I made when I bequeathed my kingdom to them. I’ve never broken a vow yet. You tried to make me revise my judgment on my youngest daughter, disrespecting my power as king—which I can’t put up with either as a ruler or as a person. This is your punishment: I’ll give you five days to gather together what you need to survive, then on the sixth day you’ll leave this kingdom that hates you. If the day after that you’re found in my kingdom, you die. Now get out of here! I swear by Jupiter I’ll never revoke this punishment.

Farewell, King. If this is how you act, it’s clear that freedom has been banished from this kingdom.(to CORDELIA) I hope the gods will protect you, my dear girl, for thinking fairly and speaking correctly. (to REGAN and GONERIL) And you two, I hope your actions carry out your grand promises of love, so that big words can bring big results. Farewell to all of you. I’ll carry on my old life in a new land.

Here are the rulers of France and Burgundy, my lord.

My lord the ruler of Burgundy, I’ll speak to you first. You’ve been competing with this king for my daughter. What’s the least that you will settle for as a dowry?

Your highness, I want nothing more than what you’ve already offered. I know you’ll offer nothing less than that.

Burgundy, I valued her highly when I cared about her. But now her price has fallen. There she is, over there. If there’s anything you like about that worthless little thing, then go for it. She’s all yours. But what you see is what you get—her only dowry is my disapproval. There she is.

I don’t know what to say.

She’s got big flaws. She has no friends or protectors. I no longer love her. Her only dowry is my curse and banishment. So do you take her or leave her?

I’m sorry, sir, but nobody can make a choice like this in such circumstances.

Then leave her, sir. I swear to God she’s not worth anything more than what I told you. (to FRANCE) And as for you, great King of France, I’d never insult our friendship by encouraging you to marry a girl I hate. So I beg you to look around for a better match than this wretched creature that you can barely call human.

This is very odd. Until very recently she was your favorite, the object of all your praise and the delight of your old age. It’s strange that someone so dear to you could do anything so horrible as to warrant this sudden hatred. Her crime must be extreme and monstrous, or else your earlier love for her wasn’t as true as it seemed. But it’d take a miracle to make me believe she could do anything that horrible.

(to LEAR) Please, your majesty, I don’t have a glib way with words and I only say what I mean. If I decide to do something, then I do it instead of talking about it. So I beg your majesty to let people know that it wasn’t because I did something atrocious that I fell from your favor. I didn’t murder or commit any immoral or lustful act. I’m out of favor simply because I’m not a fortune-hunter and I don’t have a smooth way with words—and I’m a better person because of it, even though it has cost me your love.

Enough. It would’ve been better for you not to have been born at all than to displease me as you did.

You mean this is the whole problem, that she is shy and hasn’t said everything she means to say and do?—My lord of Burgundy, what do you have to say to this lady? Love’s not love when it gets mixed up with irrelevant outside matters. Will you marry her? She herself is as valuable as any dowry could ever be.

(to LEAR) King, just give me the dowry you promised me, and I’ll make Cordelia the Duchess of Burgundy right away.

No, I’ll give nothing. I won’t budge on that.

(to CORDELIA) In that case, I’m sorry you have to lose me as a husband because you lost the king as a father.

Peace to you, my lord of Burgundy. Since you love money and power so much, I won’t be your wife.

Beautiful Cordelia, you’re all the richer now that you’re poor. You’re more valuable now that you’re rejected and more loved now that you’re hated. I’ll take you and your wonderful virtues here and now, if it’s okay that I’m picking up what others have thrown away. It’s so strange that in neglecting you so cruelly, the gods have made me love you so dearly.—King, the daughter you’ve rejected is now mine, as Queen of France. No Duke of spineless Burgundy can take this treasure of a girl from me now.—Say goodbye to them, Cordelia, even though they’ve been unkind to you. You’ll find a much better place in France than what you’re giving up here.

She’s yours, King of France. Take her. She’s no longer my daughter, and I’ll never see her face again. (to CORDELIA) So get out of here. Leave without any blessing or love from me.—Come with me, Burgundy.

Say goodbye to your sisters.

Sisters, you whom our father loves so dearly, I leave you now with tears in my eyes. I know you for what you really are, but as your sister I’m reluctant to criticize you. Take good care of our father and show him the love that you have professed. I leave him in your care—but oh, if only I were still in his favor I could arrange for better care for him. Goodbye to you both.

Don’t tell us what our duty is.

You should focus instead on pleasing your husband, who’s taken you in as an act of charity. You’ve failed to obey your father and you deserve to be deprived of everything that’s been taken away from you.

Time will tell what you’ve got up your sleeve. You can be deceitful in the short term, but eventually truth will come out. Have a good life.

Come with me, my dear Cordelia.

Sister, I have a lot to say about things that concern us both. I think that our father will leave here tonight.

Yes, I’m sure he will—to stay with you. Next month he’ll stay with us.

He’s so flighty in his old age, as we keep noticing. He has always loved Cordelia best, and his bad judgment in disowning her now is obvious.

He’s going senile. But then again he’s never really understood his own feelings very well.

Yes, he was hotheaded even in the prime of his life. Now that he’s old, we can expect to have to deal not only with his old character flaws, which have turned into deep-rooted habits, but also with the uncontrollable crabbiness that comes with old age.

We’ll probably witness many more outbursts from him, like banishing Kent.

There’s still the King of France’s farewell ceremony. Let’s put our heads together. If our father continues to use his authority as usual, then his recent abdication of the kingdom will just hurt us.

We’ll have to think about it carefully.

We have to strike while the iron’s hot.

I only worship what’s natural, not what’s manmade. Why should I let myself be tortured by manmade social customs that deprive me of my rights simply because I was born twelve or fourteen months later than my older brother? Why do they call me “bastard” and “lowlife” when I’m just as gifted in mind and body as legitimate children? Why do they call us bastards “lowlifes”? Always “lowlife,” “bastard,” “lowlife,” “lowlife.” At least we bastards were conceived in a moment of passionate lust rather than in a dull, tired marriage bed, where half-sleeping parents monotonously churn out a bunch of sissy kids. All right then, legitimate brother Edgar, I have to have your lands. Our father loves me just as much as the legitimate Edgar. What a nice word that is, “legitimate”! Well, my legitimate Edgar, if this letter works and my plan succeeds, Edmund the lowlife will beat the legitimate. Look out, I’m on my way up. Three cheers for bastards!

Kent’s been banished just like that? And the King of France gone in a huff? And King Lear’s abdicated his authority, making his kingship a ceremonial title only? All this so suddenly?—Edmund, what’s going on? What’s the news?

(pocketing the letter) No news, my lord.

Why are you hiding that letter?

I don’t have any news to report, my lord.

What’s that paper you were reading?

It’s nothing, my lord.

No? Then why did you have to stick it in your pocket in such a hurry? If it were nothing, you wouldn’t need to hide it. Let’s see it. Come on, if it’s nothing, I won’t need glasses to read it.

Please, sir, I beg you. It’s a letter from my brother that I haven’t finished reading yet. But judging from the bit I have read, it’s not fit for you to see.

Give me that letter, sir.

Now I’ll offend you whether I give it to you or not. The problem is in what the letter says, as far as I can tell.

(taking the letter) Let’s see, let’s see.

I hope for my brother’s sake that he just wrote it to test my honor.

(reads)

”The custom of respecting the elderly makes it hard for the young and healthy to live well, and keeps us without our inheritance until we are so old we can’t enjoy our happiness anyway. The power of the elderly is starting to feel like a silly and foolish slavery to me, and they only enjoy that power because we let them have it.

Come talk to me about this. If our father were dead you’d receive half of his revenue forever, and you’d have my undying love,

Edgar.”

Hmm, what’s this, a conspiracy? “If our father were dead, you’d receive half of his revenue forever”—my son Edgar? How did he bring himself to write such a thing? How could he have even entertained these thoughts in his heart? How did you get this letter? Who delivered it?

Nobody delivered it, my lord. That’s what’s clever about it. It was tossed into the window of my room.

You’re sure the handwriting is your brother’s?

If he’d written nice things, I’d swear yes right away. But as it stands, I wish I could believe it wasn’t.

But it is his handwriting?

It’s his handwriting, my lord, but I hope he didn’t mean what he wrote.

Has he ever tested out these ideas on you before?

Never, my lord. But I’ve often heard him argue that when sons are at their prime and their fathers are declining, the sons should be their fathers’ guardians and manage their fathers’ money.

Oh, what a villain! That’s just what he said in the letter. Evil villain! Monstrous, hateful, bestial villain! Worse than a beast! Go look for him. I’ll arrest him. Horrid villain! Where is he?

I’m not sure, my lord. But it may be a good idea to restrain your rage until you find out exactly what he meant. If you go after him and then find out that you made a mistake, it would damage your reputation and greatly undermine his loyalty to you. I’ll bet my life that he only wrote this letter to gauge my love for you, and for no other reason.

Do you think so?

If you agree, I’ll hide you somewhere where you can eavesdrop on us talking about it, and hear how he feels with your own ears. You won’t have to wait longer than until tonight.

He can’t possibly be such a monster—

And I’m sure he isn’t.

—toward his own father who loves him so completely. Oh, God! Edmund, go find him. Gain his confidence for me, please. Manage him however you think best. I’d give up my rank and fortune to be free from my doubts.

I’ll find him right away, sir, and carry out the business as well as I can. Then I’ll let you know what’s happening.

These recent eclipses of the sun and moon don’t bode well for us. Though science can explain them away, disasters still come after eclipses. Love cools off, friendships break up, and brothers become enemies. Riots break out, civil war erupts, kings are betrayed, and the bond between father and son snaps. This wicked son of mine confirms the prediction —son against father. The king acts unnaturally—father against child. We’ve seen the best our age has to offer. Conspiracies, fakery, betrayal, and disorder are all that’s left until we die. Find out what this villainous Edgar is thinking, Edmund. You won’t lose any respect. Just do it carefully.—And to think that the noble and loyal Kent has been banished, for the crime of telling the truth! It’s strange, strange.

This is a classic example of the idiocy of the world: when we’re down and out—often because of our own excesses —we put all the blame on the sun, the moon, and the stars, as if they forced us to be bad, or the heavens compelled us to be villainous or stupid. As if we become thieves and traitors according to astrological signs or obey planetary influences to become drunks, liars, and adulterers! As if some universal power pushed us into evil deeds! What a sneaky trick it is for lustful mankind to blame our horniness on some star! My father and mother coupled when the demonic moon was descending, and I was born under the Big Dipper, so it’s inevitable that I’m rude and oversexed. Christ! I would have been what I am even if the most virginal star in the heavens had twinkled at my conception. Edgar—

and, speak of the devil, here he comes, right on cue. I’ve got to play the role and sigh like a poor beggar.—Oh, these eclipses predict such disorder. Fa, sol, la, mi.

Hello, brother Edmund. What are you thinking about so seriously?

I was thinking about what an astrologer predicted the other day. He wrote about what these eclipses mean.

Are you spending your valuable time on that?

Oh, I assure you the things he writes about are wretched —things like divisions between parents and children, death, famine, broken friendships, political rebellion, treason against the king and noblemen, exiled friends, dissolved armies, adultery, and I don’t know what else.

How long have you believed in astrology?

Come on. When was the last time you saw my father?

Why, last night.

Did you speak to him?

Yes, we talked for a couple of hours.

Did you leave on good terms? Did he express any dissatisfaction with you, either in his words or his face?

No, none at all.

Try to remember how you might have offended him, and try to avoid spending time with him until his anger has cooled a little. Right now he’s so angry that even if he harmed you physically, he’d still be raging.

Some villain has told lies about me.

That’s what I’m afraid of. I suggest you lay low until his rage cools a little. In the meantime, come home with me, and when the time is right I’ll take you to talk to him. Please go. Here’s my key. If you go outside, arm yourself.

Arm myself?

Brother, I’m giving you good advice. Arm yourself. I’d be a liar if I told you nobody wanted to hurt you. I’ve told you what I’ve seen and heard, but I’ve toned it down a lot. I’ve spared you you the full extent of the horror that threatens you. Now please go.

Will I hear from you soon?

I’ll help you through this business.

A gullible father and a brother who’s so innocent that he can’t suspect anyone else of wanting to hurt him—these are the two fools I need for my plan to work. I know exactly how to proceed. If I can’t have an estate by birthright, then I’ll get it by being clever. Any trick that works is good for me.

Did my father hit one of my attendants for scolding his fool?

Yes, ma’am.

He constantly offends me. Every hour he comes out with some horrible new offense that puts us all on edge. I won’t stand for it. His knights are getting out of control, and he himself reprimands us about every little detail. When he comes back from hunting, I’m not going to speak to him. Tell him I’m sick. And if you’re not as attentive in serving him as you used to be, that’ll be good. I’ll take responsibility for it.

He’s coming, ma’am. I hear him.

Be as lazy and neglectful as you like around him—you and the other servants. I want it to become an issue. If he doesn’t like it, he can go live with my sister. I know she feels the same way about him that I do, and she’ll stand her ground. That useless old man still thinks he can wield all the powers he’s given away. I swear, old fools become like babies again. You can’t just flatter them; you also have to discipline them when you see that they’re misguided. Remember what I’ve told you.

Very well, ma’am.

And make sure the servants are less friendly to his knights. Don’t worry about the consequences. Tell your men as much. I want this to provoke confrontations, so I can give him a piece of my mind. I’ll write to my sister and tell her my plans. Now go, set up for dinner.

If I can disguise my voice as well as my appearance, then I’ll be able to carry out my plan perfectly. I was banished, but hopefully I can serve the very king who condemned me. I love my master, and he’ll find me very hard-working.

Don’t make me wait for dinner even a moment. Get it ready immediately.

(to KENT) Well now, who are you?

A man, sir.

What’s your profession? What do you want from me?

I profess that I’m as good as I seem—I’ll faithfully serve a master who trusts me, love those who are honest, talk with those who are wise and don’t talk too much. I’m God-fearing, I fight if I must, and I don’t eat fish.

But who are you?

An honest guy who’s as poor as the king.

If you’re as poor a subject as he is a king, you definitely are poor. What do you want?

To work as a servant.

Who do you want to work for?

You.

Do you know me?

No, sir, but there’s something about your face that makes me want to serve you.

What do you see in my face?

Authority.

What work can you do?

I can be discreet in honorable matters, ride a horse, run, tell a good story badly, and deliver a plain message bluntly. I’m good at everything that ordinary men can do. The best thing about me is that I’m hardworking.

How old are you?

Not young enough to fall in love with a woman because she sings well, but not old enough to dote on a woman for any reason. I’m forty-eight.

Follow me. You’ll work for me. If I still like you after dinner, I won’t send you away yet.—Hey, dinnertime! Dinner! Where’s my fool?—Go call my fool and have him come here.

You, sir, where’s my daughter?

I beg your pardon, sir—

What did that guy say? Call the numbskull back in here.

Where’s my fool? You’d think everyone was asleep.

So what’s going on? Where’s that dog?

He says your daughter’s not feeling well, my lord.

Why didn’t the jerk come back to me when I called him?

Sir, he told me quite bluntly that he didn’t feel like it.

Didn’t feel like it?

My lord, I don’t know what’s going on, but it seems to me that your highness isn’t being treated as politely as before. The servants, the duke, and your daughter all seem to be treating you less kindly.

Huh! Do you really mean that?

Please forgive me if I’m mistaken, my lord—but I can’t keep quiet when I think you’re being insulted.

No, you’re just reminding me of something I’ve also noticed. I’ve felt neglected recently, but I decided that it was more likely that I was being hypersensitive than that they were intentionally unkind. I’ll look into it further. But where’s my fool? I haven’t seen him for two days.

Ever since Cordelia left for France, sir, the fool has been depressed.

Let’s not talk about it. I’ve noticed it myself. Go and tell my daughter I want to speak with her.

And you, go call my fool.

You there, sir, come here please. Who am I, sir?

The father of the lady of the house, sir.

“The father of the lady of the house”? You scoundrel! You lowlife son-of-a-bitch! You dog, you peasant!

I’m sorry, sir, but I’m not any of those things.

Are you making faces at me, you scoundrel? (he hits OSWALD)

I won’t be hit, my lord.

(tripping OSWALD) Or tripped, you lowlife football player?

(to KENT) Thank you, sir. You serve me well, and I’ll love you for it.

(to OSWALD) Come on, sir, get up and get out of here! I’ll teach you to respect your betters. If you want me to trip you again, then stick around. If not, get going. Go on. Do you know what’s good for you? There you go.

Now, my friendly servant, thank you.

(giving KENT money) Here’s a token of my gratitude.

Wait, let me hire him too.—Here’s my fool’s cap, a token of my gratitude. (he offers KENT his cap)

Well hello, my good boy. How are you doing?

(to KENT) Guy, you’d better take my cap.

Why, Fool?

Why? For standing up for this unpopular king. No, if you can’t adjust to political changes, you’ll suffer for it. There, take my fool’s cap. This guy here has banished two of his daughters and blessed the third one without intending to. If you work for him, you’re a fool and should wear a fool’s cap.—So how’s it going, uncle? I wish I had two fool’s caps and two daughters.

Why, my boy?

If I gave them all I own, I’d have two fool’s caps for myself. Here’s mine. Ask your daughters for another one.

Watch out, boy—remember I can whip you.

I get whipped like a dog for telling the truth, while Lady Bitch gets to stand around the fire and stink the place up with her false words.

A constant pain to me!

I’ll recite something for you, guy.

Yes, do that.

Listen up, uncle.

Have more than you show,

Speak less than you know,

Lend less than you owe.

Ride more than you walk,

Don’t believe everything you hear,

Don’t bet everything on one throw of the dice,

Leave behind your booze and your whore,

And stay indoors,

And you’ll end up with more

Than two tens to a twenty.

That makes no sense, Fool. It’s nothing.

In that case it’s like the words of an unpaid lawyer. You paid me nothing for it. Can’t you make any use of nothing, uncle?

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

(to KENT) Please tell him that his income is nothing, now that he’s given his lands away. He won’t believe a fool.

You’re a bitter fool.

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

No, son. Tell me.

Bring here

The gentleman who advised you

To give away your land.

You can stand in his place.

The sweet and bitter fool

Will appear right away.

The sweet fool in a fool’s costume—that’s me.

The bitter one is the other one—that’s you.LEAR

Are you calling me a fool, boy?

Well, you’ve given away all your other rightful titles. The title of “fool” is the only one left.

This isn’t entirely a joke, your highness.

No. I wish I could be a complete joker—but so many lords and important men are also playing fools that I can’t have a monopoly on it. Ladies too—they’re always snatching away my role as the biggest fool.—Uncle, give me an egg, and I’ll give you two crowns.

Which two crowns would those be?

Well, when I cut the egg in half and eat the whites, the yolk will be in two parts like two golden crowns. When you cut your own crown and kingdom in half and gave away both parts, you were as foolish as the old man in the old story who carries his donkey on his back instead of letting the donkey carry him. You didn’t have much brains inside the bald crown of your head when you gave away the gold crown of your kingdom. If I’m telling the truth like a fool in saying all this, whip the first person who thinks I sound foolish.

(he sings)

Fools have had a hard time this year.

They’ve been displaced by wise men who’ve grown foolish.

These men no longer know how to use their brains,

And they don’t know how to behave except by foolishly imitating others.

When did you become so fond of singing, boy?

I’ve been singing ever since you made your daughters into your mothers by giving them all your power. That’s when you gave them the spanking paddle and pulled your pants down,

(he sings)

Then your daughters wept for joy,

And I sang in sadness,

Seeing such a king become

A child and a fool.

Please, uncle, hire a teacher who can teach your fool to lie. I want to learn how to lie.

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

I’m amazed how similar you and your daughters are. They want to whip me for telling the truth, you want to whip me for lying, and sometimes I’m even whipped for keeping quiet. I’d rather be anything besides a fool. And yet I wouldn’t want to be you, uncle. When you gave away pieces of your kingdom, it’s as if you cut off pieces on both sides of your brain and left nothing in the middle. Here comes the owner of one piece.

What’s going on, daughter? Why are you frowning like that? I think you’ve been frowning too much recently.

(to LEAR) You were better off when you didn’t have to care whether she frowned or not. Now you’re a big zero, with no digit in front of it to give it value. I’m better than you are—I’m a fool and you’re nothing.

(to GONERIL) Yes, I promise I’ll shut up. That’s what you’re telling me with that expression on your face, even though you don’t say anything. Mum, mum,

The man who gives away his crust and his crumbs

Will discover that he needs some crumbs back.

(pointing at LEAR) That guy is an empty pea pod.

(to LEAR) It’s not just your fool here who can say whatever he wants, but your whole obnoxious entourage keeps whining and arguing, bursting out in intolerably vicious riots. Sir, I thought you could put an end to all this if I told you about it. But judging by what you’ve said and done recently, I’m worried that you don’t mind this chaos, and even approve of it. If that’s true, it’s shameful. I realize that restraining your knights will damage your reputation with them—and under ordinary circumstances it would be unfortunate to have them see you as an ogre. However, this is an extreme situation, and it’s more important to control it than to worry about how you’ll look.

You know, uncle,

A sparrow once raised a cuckoo in its nest

Until the cuckoo grew up and bit the sparrow’s head off.

So the candle went out and now we’re all in the dark.

Are you my daughter?

Come on, sir. I know you’re very wise, and I wish you would use some of that wisdom to snap out of this mood you’ve been in lately and be your true self again.

Even an idiot knows when the normal order has been inverted and the cart is pulling the horse. Whoo-hoo, honey, I love you!

Does anyone here know who I am? I’m not Lear. Does Lear walk and talk like this? Where are his eyes? Either his mind is losing its grip or his judgment is screwy.—Hey, am I awake? I don’t think so. Who can tell me who I am?

You’re Lear’s shadow.

I’d like to find out who I am, since the obvious signs around me wrongly indicate that I’ve got daughters.

Daughters who can make you obey them.

(to GONERIL) What’s your name, my dear lady?

This fake astonishment of yours is just like your other pranks. I’m asking you to understand my point of view. Since you’re old and respected, you should be wise. But you’re keeping a hundred knights here who are so disorderly, vulgar, and obnoxious that our noble court is starting to look like a noisy cheap hotel. They’re such oversexed gluttons that I feel like we’re living in a pub or a whorehouse rather than a respectable palace. It’s shameful, and we have to make some changes right away. Please, as a favor to me—and if you don’t do it for me, I’ll do it myself—reduce the number of your knights a little. Keep the ones who are older, like you, and who act their age.

Hell and damnation! Saddle up my horses. Call my knights together. I won’t bother you any more, you monstrous bastard. You’re not really my daughter, but I still have one daughter left.

You hit my servants, and your disorderly mob of knights treat their superiors like servants.

You’ll be sorry later, but it’ll be too late. (to ALBANY) Oh, sir, are you here now? You decided to come? Answer me, sir. (to attendants) Get my horses ready.

Ingratitude is always hideous, but an ungrateful child is uglier than a sea monster!

Please, sir, be patient.

(to GONERIL) You disgusting vulture, you’re a liar! My knights are the finest men who can attend a king, and they meticulously uphold their reputation. Oh, how ugly did Cordelia’s small flaw appear! And now Cordelia’s small flaw has bent me completely out of shape and sucked all the love out of my heart. Oh, Lear, Lear, Lear! (he hits himself on the head) Let me beat this portal that let my good sense out and my foolishness in!— Go, go, people.

My lord, I have no idea what’s upset you, but whatever it is, I had nothing to do with it.

That may be true, my lord. Ah, dear Nature, my goddess, listen to me! Change your plans if you ever intended for this woman to have children. Make her sterile and dry up her womb so that no baby will ever come out of her body and honor her. If she must give birth, make her child a bad seed who will torment her, give her a forehead wrinkled with worry, make her cry until her cheeks are sunken. Let it be a wicked child who mocks the mother who cares for it. Make my daughter feel—make her feel how an ungrateful child hurts worse than a snakebite.—Now let’s leave. Go!

Dear gods in heaven, what’s the reason for this?

Don’t even bother to ask the reasons. Just let him rant and rave. He’s senile.

What, fifty of my knights dismissed all at once? In only two weeks?

What are you talking about, sir?

I’ll tell you. (to GONERIL) I’m ashamed that you have the power to upset me like this, as though you’re worth the tears you’re making me shed. Damn you! May you feel every pain a father’s curse can bring! If I cry again because of you, I’ll rip my eyes out of their sockets and throw them and their wet tears down to moisten the earth. Has it come to this? Then so be it. I have one more daughter who I’m sure is kind. When she hears what you’ve done to me, she’ll tear up your wolflike face with her fingernails. And then you’ll see that despite what you thought, I’ll be as powerful as I was before. You’ll see, I promise you.

Did you hear that?

Goneril, you know how much I love you, but still I have to say—

Shush, please. Come, sir, no more.—Oswald, come here! (to FOOL) And you, sir, you’re more of a rascal than a fool. Go follow your master.

Uncle Lear, uncle Lear, wait. Take your fool with you.

A fox you’ve trapped

And such a daughter

Should both be slaughtered,

If my fool’s cap is worth a rope to bind them.

So the fool follows you.

My father can’t think straight—a hundred knights! Just imagine the risk we run in letting him keep a hundred knights around! He could use them to strong-arm us into bowing to every little whim of his, and keep us at his mercy.—Oswald, where are you?

You may be exaggerating the risks.

That’s better than exaggerating our trust. It’s always better to get rid of what you’re scared of than to be afraid. I know how his mind works. I’ve written to my sister telling her everything he’s said. If she welcomes him and his hundred knights after I’ve shown how inappropriately he’s behaved—

Here, ma’am.

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

Yes, ma’am.

Take some men and horses and go to her. Tell her everything that worries me. Add details of your own to back up what I’m saying. Now go, and hurry back.

No, no, my husband, I’m not angry that you urge me to deal more gently with my father. But you’re showing a lack of wisdom that that is much more noticeable than your tenderness toward him.

Maybe you know more than I do. But people often screw things up trying to make them better.

No, not at all—

All right, all right. Time will tell.

(to KENT, giving him letters) Go ahead of us and deliver these letters to the Earl of Gloucester. Answer my daughter’s questions about the letter, but don’t tell her anything else you know. If you’re not quick enough, I’ll get there before you.

I won’t sleep until I’ve delivered your letter, my lord.

If a man’s brain were in his feet, wouldn’t it be susceptible to frostbite?

Yes, boy.

In that case, cheer up. Your brains won’t need slippers to protect them from frostbite, since your brains aren’t in your feet—if they were you wouldn’t take this useless journey to see Regan.

Ha, ha, ha!

Your other daughter Regan will treat you kindly, you’ll see. Even though she’s as similar to Goneril as one crabapple is like another, still… I know what I know.

And what do you know, boy?

I know that Regan will taste just like Goneril—both of them sour crabapples. Do you know why the nose is in the middle of a person’s face?

No.

Why, to keep the eyes on the sides, so that you can see anything that you can’t sniff out.

I was wrong to her—

Do you know how an oyster makes its shell?

No.

Me neither. But I know why a snail carries its house on its back.

Why?

So that he always has a roof over his head. He can’t give his house away to his daughters, leaving himself without shelter.

I want to forget what I am. Such a kind father!—Are my horses ready?

Your attendant asses are getting the horses ready. There’s a nice reason why the constellation Pleiades has only seven stars in it.

Because it doesn’t have eight?

That’s right. You’d make a good fool.

I could take back my crown by force—What outrageous ingratitude!

If you were my fool, uncle, I’d have you beaten for getting old before your time.

How’s that?

You’re not supposed to get old until you’re wise.

Oh, dear God, don’t let me go mad! Keep me balanced and sane. I don’t want to go mad.

So, are the horses ready?

They’re ready, my lord.

Come on, boy.

(speaking to the audience) Any girl who laughs because I’m going with the king is too foolish to remain a virgin very long.

Hello, Curan.

Hello, sir. I just saw your father the Lord Gloucester and notified him that the Duke of Cornwall and his wife Regan will stay with him here tonight.

Why is that?

I don’t know. Have you heard the latest news?—I mean the whispered rumors, since that’s all they are at this point.

No, I haven’t. What’s going on?

You haven’t heard of the war brewing between the Dukes of Cornwall and Albany?

Not a word.

You may hear about it soon. Goodbye, sir.

The duke will be here tonight? All the better—in fact it’s the best that could happen. His arrival fits perfectly into my plan. My father’s ready to arrest my brother, and I have one risky thing to do. Fast work and a little luck are all I need.—Brother, could I have a word with you? Come down, brother.

Father is on the lookout. Get out of here quickly! It has leaked out that you’re hiding here. If you leave now, you can take advantage of the darkness and sneak away. You haven’t said anything against the Duke of Cornwall, have you? He’s rushing on his way here right now, and Regan’s with him. Have you said anything against Cornwall or Albany? Think about it.

I’m sure of it. I haven’t said a word.

I hear my father coming. Forgive me. I have to pretend to threaten you with my sword. Draw your sword too, as if you’re defending yourself. Be convincing. (loudly) Give up! Go see my father.—Bring in some light!(speaking so that only EDGAR can hear) Run, brother. (loudly) Torches, bring in the torches! (speaking so that only EDGAR can hear) Goodbye, then.

If I had some blood on me it would look like I’d fought more fiercely. (he cuts his own arm) I’ve seen drunk men do worse than this just fooling around.—Father, father!—Stop, stop!—Won’t anyone help me?

Edmund, where’s your wicked brother?

He was standing here in the dark with his sword pointing at me. He was mumbling some black magic spells, appealing to the moon to help him in his evil plans—

But where is he?

Look, sir, I’m bleeding.

Where is the villain, Edmund?

He ran out that way, sir, when he couldn’t—

Follow him, now! Go.

When he couldn’t what?

When he couldn’t persuade me to kill you. I told him that the gods hate men who kill their fathers and unleash all their thunder on them, and that the bond between father and child was sacred. In short, when I told him how firmly opposed I was to his hideous plan, he pulled out his sword and lunged at my defenseless body, cutting my arm. Bolstered by righteousness, I prepared to fight, and when he saw my excitement—or perhaps because my shouting scared him—he ran away suddenly.

Let him run far away. If he stays in this country he’ll be found. And if he’s caught, he’ll be executed. The Duke of Cornwall, my master and patron, is arriving tonight. On his authority I’ll proclaim that whoever finds Edgar and helps bring the murderous coward to justice will be rewarded. Whoever helps Edgar hide will die.

After I urged him not to kill you, I saw that he was still determined to do it. Enraged, I threatened to expose him. He answered, “You penniless bastard! Do you really think that if it came down to my word against yours, anyone would believe you? No. I’d deny whatever evidence you had against me—even if it were in my own handwriting—and turn it all into evidence against you and your plans for treachery. And you must think people are stupid if you believe they wouldn’t realize all the motives you have for trying to kill me.”

Oh, how monstrously evil! He said he would deny that he wrote his letter? He cannot truly be my son.—Listen. The duke’s trumpets. I don’t know why he’s come here. I’ll forbid all ships from leaving our harbors. The villain won’t escape. The duke will agree with me on that. And I’ll send his picture everywhere so that the whole kingdom will know what he looks like.—And as for you, my loyal and true son, I’ll find some way to make you my heir.

How are you, my friend? Ever since I arrived here, just now, I’ve been hearing strange rumors.

If they’re true, no punishment is harsh enough for the criminal. How are you, my lord?

Oh, madam, my old heart is broken, broken.

Did my father’s godson try to kill you? The one whom my father named, your son Edgar?

Oh, my lady, I’m ashamed to admit it.

Wasn’t he friends with all those brawling knights who serve my father?

I don’t know, madam. Oh, it’s too terrible.

To answer your question, ma’am—yes, he was friendly with those knights.

Then it’s no surprise they had a bad influence on him. They probably put him up to killing old man Gloucester to get his money. Tonight I received a letter from my sister telling me all about them—and warning me not be at home in case they come to stay at my house.

And I won’t be there either.—Edmund, I’m told you’ve acted like a true son to your father.

I just did my duty, sir.

He exposed Edgar’s murderous plot, and was wounded, as you see there, when trying to apprehend him.

Are your men searching for him?

Yes, my lord.

If he’s caught, he’ll never make trouble for anyone again. Feel free to use my authority however you wish in order to apprehend him.—As for you, Edmund, you’ve been so loyal and virtuous throughout this whole business. I’d like you to work for me. I need people as trustworthy as you.

I’ll always be loyal to you, sir.

(to cornwall) Thank you, my lord, for your kindness to Edmund.

You don’t know why we came to visit you—

Yes, and so unexpectedly, at night. There are some important matters we need your advice on, Gloucester. My father and my sister have both recently written to me about arguments between them. I realized it would be inconvenient to answer them from home, especially since the king may be on his way there. Their messengers are ready, waiting to deliver our response in these matters. So please, old friend, give us some good advice. We need it desperately and immediately.

I’m at your service, madam. Both of you are very welcome here.

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)

I heard myself declared an outlaw and escaped capture by hiding in the trunk of a hollow tree. Every town and port is crawling with henchmen on the lookout, waiting to capture me. But I’ll survive while I can. I’ve decided to disguise myself as the lowliest and rattiest beggar that mankind has ever seen. I’ll smear my face with filth, put on a loincloth, make my hair matted and tangled, and face the bad weather wearing almost nothing. I’ve seen beggars out of insane asylums who stick pins and nails into their numb arms. They pray or roar lunatic curses, horrifying farmers and villagers into giving them alms. “Poor crazy Tom!” they call themselves. Well, at least that’s something. As Edgar, I’m nothing at all.

It’s strange that Regan and her husband left their house without sending back my messenger.

According to what I heard, they had no travel plans as of last night.

(to LEAR) Hail, noble master!

What’s this? Are you sitting around in this humiliation to amuse yourself?

No, my lord.

Ha, ha! That’s a nasty garter belt. You tie up horses by their heads, dogs and bears by their necks, monkeys by their waists, and humans by their legs. When a person’s prone to wanderlust, he has to wear wooden socks, like a chastity belt around his ankles.

(to KENT) Who could have misunderstood your assigment so completely as to lock you up like this?

Your daughter and son-in-law.

No.

Yes.

I’m telling you “No.”

And I’m telling you “Yes.”

No, no, they wouldn’t.

Yes, they have.

By the god Jupiter above, I swear “No.”

By Jupiter’s wife Juno, I swear “Yes.”

They wouldn’t dare. They couldn’t, they wouldn’t. It’s worse than murder to humiliate a king’s messenger like this. Tell me as quickly and clearly as you can what you did to deserve this punishment, or what made them think they could inflict it on you.

My lord, when I arrived at their home I gave them your letter. Before I had a chance to get up from my respectful kneeling position, Goneril’s messenger arrived, stinky, sweaty, and out of breath. He interrupted me, spouted out greetings from her, and delivered her letter, which they opened immediately. After reading it, they gathered their entourage together and got on their horses to go. They glared at me and ordered me to follow them and wait for their answer. After we arrived here, I ran into that other messenger who made them give me the cold shoulder—the very same guy who was so rude to you, King. I admit it was foolish to draw my sword on him, but I had to act like a man. He woke up the whole house with his loud and cowardly screams. That’s why your daughter and son-in-law are punishing me shamefully.

This story bodes more stormy weather.

Fathers who wear rags

Make their children neglect them.

But fathers who are rich

Make their children kind.

Lady Luck is a fickle whore

And never gives the poor a break.

But despite all this, your daughters will give you a lot of money—or do I mean pain?—in the coming year.

I’m getting hysterical. I feel my stomach squeezing up against my heart. Calm down, you belong lower down!—Where is this daughter of mine?

Inside, sir, with the earl.

Don’t follow me. Stay here.

You didn’t do anything else to earn this punishment?

Nothing. Tell me, why did the king arrive with such a small entourage?

If they’d put you in the stocks for asking that question, you would’ve deserved it.

Why, Fool?

You need to learn what ants know well about winter—there’s no point in slaving away if there’s no hope for profit. Serving the king will get you nowhere. Everyone can see that, and even blind men can smell the stench of his misery now. When you see a huge wheel rolling down a hill, you shouldn’t try to hold on to it or it’ll break your neck. But if you see a wheel going uphill, latch on for the ride. And when a wise man gives you better advice than I just did, give me my advice back again. I only want idiots following my advice, the advice of a fool.

The gentleman who serves you only for profit

And is only superficially loyal to you

Will take off when it starts to rain

And leave you alone in the storm.

But I’ll linger. The fool will stay.

And let the wise man run away.

The servant who runs away is a fool.

But this fool is no scoundrel, by God.

Where did you learn that song, Fool?

Not in the stocks, fool.

How can they refuse to speak with me? How can they say that they’re sick or exhausted or that they have traveled all night!? They’re playing with me. These are tricks. This is rebellion. Go ask them again and make them see me this time.

My dear lord, you know how passionately stubborn the duke is. He never changes his mind.

Hell! Damn it all to hell! “Passionately”? What “passion”? Gloucester, Gloucester, I want to speak with the Duke of Cornwall and his wife.

My lord, I informed them as much.

“Informed them”? Do you understand what I’m saying, man?

Yes, my lord.

The king wants to speak with Cornwall. The father wants to speak with his daughter. He orders them—he begs them. Did you inform them of that? This is unbelievable! “Passionate”? The “passionate” duke? Tell the hot-headed duke that I… But no, not yet. Maybe he’s not feeling well. When we’re ill we can’t carry out our duties as well as when we’re healthy. When our bodies are out of order, our minds can’t function properly. I’ll hold off, and subdue my impulsive temper, which makes me judge a sick man as if he were well. (he notices KENT again) A curse on my royal power! Why should he sit here like this? The fact that they punished him convinces me that Regan and the duke are avoiding me on purpose. I want my servant released. Go tell the duke and his wife I’ll speak to them right now, at once. Tell them to come here and hear me out, or else I’ll beat a drum at their bedroom door until they can’t sleep any more.

I just want everything to be all right between you.

Oh, my heart, my heart is rising into my throat! Stay down, heart.

That’s right, uncle, talk to your heart, like the housewife who yelled at the eels she was putting in her pie. She hit ’em on the head with a stick and shouted, “Down, you naughty things, down!” That was the woman whose brother wanted to be nice to his horse, and buttered its hay.

Good morning to you both.

Hail to your majesty.

I’m glad to see your highness.

I believe you are, Regan. You know why I think so? Because if you weren’t glad, I’d divorce your dead mother, because I’d know she cheated on me. Any true daughter of mine would definitely be glad to see me. (to KENT) Oh, are you free? We’ll talk about it later.

My dear Regan, your sister’s not worth anything. Oh, Regan, she’s torn me apart with unkindness, like a vulture, right here. (points to his heart) I can hardly speak. You’ll never believe how monstrously—oh, Regan!

Calm down, sir, please. I hope there’s been a misunderstanding. It’s more likely that you don’t know how to appreciate her than that she’d ever fail in her duties as a daughter.

How do you mean?

I can’t believe my sister would neglect her obligations in any way. If she restrained your rowdy knights, she had such a good reason that you can’t blame her for it.

I curse her.

Sir, you’re old. Your life is stretched to its limit. You should let others take care of you and submit to people who know better than you do what’s good for you. Please go back to Goneril’s house. Admit you were wrong.

Apologize? Do you think this kind of thing is appropriate for the royal family? (he kneels) “Dear daughter, I admit I’m old. Old people are useless. I’m begging you, on my knees, to give me food, clothes, and a bed.”

No more, please. These are ugly antics. Go back to my sister’s.

(getting up) Never, Regan. She’s sent away half my knights, glared at me, and aimed her venomous insults straight at my heart. She and her ingratitude can go to hell! I hope she gets sick and becomes lame!

Shush, sir, please!

I hope lightning strikes her in the eyes! I hope poisonous swampy fog covers her face and ruins her complexion!

Oh, dear gods! That’s how you’ll talk about me when you’re in this mood.

No, Regan. I’ll never curse you. You’re so gentle, you’d never be harsh like her. Her eyes are vicious, but yours are comforting. You’d never deny me my pleasures, downsize my entourage, insult me thoughtlessly, reduce my allowance, or lock me out of the house. You know better than she does how important the duties of a child to a parent are, and the responsibilities that come from gratitude. You haven’t forgotten the half of a kingdom I gave you.

Sir, let’s get to the point.

Who put my messenger in the stocks?

What’s that trumpet?

I know it. It’s my sister’s. She’ll be here soon, just like her letter said. (to OSWALD) Has my sister arrived?

This is a lowlife who basks in the reflection of the fading glory of the woman he works for.—Get out of my sight, scoundrel!

What do you mean, your highness?

Who put my servant in the stocks? Regan, I hope you didn’t know anything about that.—Ah, who’s this? Dear gods, if you love old men like me, if you believe in obedience, if you yourselves are old, then please send me down some help! (to GONERIL) Aren’t you ashamed to look at me after the way you’ve treated me in my old age?—Oh, Regan, are you taking her by the hand?

Why shouldn’t she take my hand, father? How exactly have I offended you? Just because a senile man with poor judgment calls something an insult doesn’t necessarily mean it is one.

Oh, how can the sides of my body hold in my grieving heart?—How did my messenger wind up in the stocks?

I sent him there, sir, but his crimes deserved a worse punishment.

You! You did it?

Please, father, since you’re weak, act like it. Get rid of half your knights and go back to spend the rest of your month with my sister. Afterward, you can stay with me. Right now I’m away from home and I can’t provide you with proper care.

Go back with her? Send away fifty of my knights? No. I’d rather renounce living in a house, and wander in the open air in the hardships of poverty, as a friend of the wolf and the owl. Go back with her? I might as well go before the King of France, who took my youngest daughter without a dowry, kneel before his throne, and beg him to give me a tiny pension to stay alive. Go back with her? I’d rather be a slave or a packhorse for this hateful stablehand here. (he points to OSWALD)

As you wish, sir.

I beg you, daughter, don’t make me crazy. I won’t bother you. We’ll never see each other again. But you’re still my child, my flesh and blood—or rather you’re a disease in my flesh, a disease I still have to call my own. You’re a pustule, a sore, a tumor digesting my bloodline. But I’ll stop rebuking you. You’ll feel shame when the time is right, and I don’t urge you to be ashamed now. I won’t beg the gods to punish you, or caution you to fear their judgment. Become a better person when you’re ready, if you’re inclined. I’ll wait patiently. Meanwhile I’ll stay with Regan with my hundred knights.

It’s not quite that simple. I wasn’t expecting you, and I’m not ready to receive you. Please hear what Goneril is saying. We’re trying to be reasonable while you’re so upset, and we understand that you’re old, and… But Goneril knows what she’s doing.

Do you mean what you’ve just said?

Yes, I do. Isn’t fifty knights enough for you? Why would you need more than that? Or even that many. Fifty knights are expensive to maintain, and there’s always a risk they’ll rebel. How could so many people, under two masters, get along under one roof? It would be hard, almost impossible.

Why couldn’t you be attended by my servants, or by Regan’s?

Yes, why not, my lord? Then if they’re negligent, we could control them. Now that I think about the danger of these knights, if you come to stay with me, please bring no more than twenty-five of them with you. I won’t lodge any more than that under my roof.

I gave you everything—

And it was about time too.

I made you de facto rulers of my kingdom on condition that I could keep a hundred knights of my own. Why should I now have to make do with only twenty-five? Regan, is that what you said?

Yes, I’ll say it again, my lord. No more than twenty-five.

Bad people start to look better in comparison with worse people. Not being the worst daughter deserves some praise, I guess. (to GONERIL) I’ll go stay with you, then. Your fifty is twice her twenty-five, so you must love me twice as much as she does.

Hear me out, my lord. Why do you need twenty-five knights, or ten, or even five, when you’re staying in a house with a staff of double that at your service?

Why do you need even one?

Oh, don’t ask me why I “need” them! Even the poorest beggars have some meager possessions they don’t really “need.” If you allow people no more than what they absolutely need to survive, then a human life is no better than an animal’s. You’re a well-dressed lady. If you dressed only to stay warm, you wouldn’t need these gorgeous clothes you’re wearing—which don’t keep you warm at all. If you want to talk about true needs, what I really need is patience. Oh, gods, give me patience! You see me here, gods, a grieving old man, as wretched in his grief as he is in his old age. If you’re the ones setting my daughters against me, don’t let me be foolish enough to take it lying down. Give me noble anger, and don’t let any womanly tears fall down my man’s cheeks. No, you monstrous hags, I’ll get revenge on you both that will make the whole world… I will do such things—I don’t know what I’ll do exactly, but it’ll be devastating. You expect me to cry? Well, I won’t.

I have a good reason to cry, but my heart will splinter into a hundred thousand pieces before I let myself cry.—Oh, Fool, I’ll go mad!

Let’s go inside. There’s going to be a storm.

This is a small house. There’s no room for the old man and his followers.

It’s his fault that he’s all worked up like this. He has to pay the price for his foolish actions.

I’ll be happy to keep him in my house, but not a single knight.

That’s what I intend to do too. Where is Gloucester?

He followed the old man. Here he comes back.

The king is enraged.

Where’s he going?

He has called for his horse, but I don’t know where he’s headed.

It’s best just to let him go. He won’t listen to anyone’s advice.

(to GLOUCESTER) My lord, don’t try to persuade him to stay.

Ah, but it’s getting dark, and the winds are strong and stormy. There’s hardly a bush for miles around. He’ll have no shelter.

Oh, sir, impetuous people learn their lessons from the consequences of their foolish actions. Lock the doors. His attendants are desperate, violent men. I’m afraid of what they might encourage him to do, considering the state he’s in.

Lock the doors, my lord. It’s a wild night. Regan gives good advice. Come in out of the storm.

Who’s there, aside from this foul weather?

Someone whose mood is as foul as the weather, very troubled.

I know you. Where’s the king?

Struggling with the wind and rain. He’s shouting at the wind to blow the earth into the sea, or make the sea flood the earth—he wants to see the world return to primal chaos. He keeps tearing out his white hair, which the blindly raging winds catch up and blow away into nothingness. Small but brave in his surroundings, he’s trying to stand up against the wind and rain blowing back and forth. He’s running bareheaded, calling for the end of the world, out there on a night like this, when even savage animals ravenous with hunger crawl under cover and hide.

But who’s with him?

Nobody but the fool, who’s trying to soothe the wounds in the king’s heart with jokes.

Sir, I know you, and I trust you enough to share something very important with you. There’s a feud between Albany and Cornwall, although they’ve been clever enough to hide it thus far. Like other powerful rulers, they have servants who are actually French spies in disguise. These spies have noticed something, perhaps in the squabbles between Albany and Cornwall, or in the tough line both of them have taken against the good old king, or perhaps in some deeper matter at the root of both of these problems—The point is that the King of France has sent troops into our divided kingdom. Some French agents are already at work in our main ports and are on the verge of declaring open war. Now this is where you come in. If you trust me enough to hurry to Dover, you’ll earn the gratitude of many people when you fairly report the monstrous and maddening extent of the king’s suffering. I’m a nobleman, and I know what I’m doing in assigning this job to you.

Let’s discuss it some more.

(giving the GENTLEMAN a purse and a ring) No, there’s no need. To assure you that I am a nobleman in disguise, here is some money. If you see Cordelia—as I’m sure you will—show her this ring. She’ll tell you who I am. Damn this storm! I’ll go find the king.

Let me shake your hand. Do you have anything else to tell me?

Only a few more words, but they’re the most important. Let me go this way, and you go that way. When one of us finds the king, he’ll call out to the other one.

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!

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.

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!

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.

No, I’ll be patient. I won’t say a word.

Who’s there?

A wise man and a fool.

(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.

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.

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.

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.

(singing)

The stupid man—

Hey-hoy, the wind and the rain—

Must take what he can get,

Since the rain comes every day.

That’s true, my good boy.—Come on, take us to that hut.

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.

Oh, oh, Edmund, I don’t like this monstrous business. When asked the Duke and Duchess of Cornwall if I could take pity on the king and shelter him from the storm, they took my house away from me and ordered me never to talk about him, lobby for him, or support him in any way.

That’s uncivilized and unnatural!

Oh, be quiet. There’s a feud between the two dukes. And there’s something even worse than that. I got a letter tonight. It’s dangerous to talk about it. I’ve locked it up in my room. The humiliation that the king is suffering now will be revenged thoroughly. Armed forces have already landed. We have to take the king’s side. I’ll look for him and secretly help him. You go and talk to the duke so he won’t notice I’m helping the king. If he asks to see me, tell him I’m sick and went to bed. Even if I have to die—as they threaten—I have to help the king. Strange things are about to happen, Edmund. Please be careful.

I’ll tell the duke right away that you’re going to see the king, which is forbidden. And I’ll tell him about the letter too. You’ll get what you deserve, and I’ll be rewarded with everything you lose—in other words, all your lands. The young generation rises while the old one falls.

Here’s the hut, my lord. Please go inside. The night’s too rough for humans to bear.

Leave me for a bit.

My lord, here is the entrance.

Will you break my heart?

I’d rather break my own heart. Now please go in.

You think it’s a big deal that this fierce storm is soaking me to the skin. It’s a big deal to you. But whenever you feel a larger pain, the smaller one disappears. You would run away from a bear, but if the only way to run was into the stormy ocean, you’d turn around and confront the bear. When your mind is at peace, your body is sensitive to the elements. But this storm in my mind keeps me from feeling anything except what’s tormenting me—how ungrateful my children are! Isn’t their ingratitude like the mouth biting the hand that feeds it? But I’ll punish them thoroughly. No, I won’t cry any more. Imagine them locking me out on a night like this! But let it rain; I’ll survive. On a night like this! Oh, Regan, Goneril, your kind old father whose generous heart gave you everything—Oh, if I think about that I’ll go mad. I want to avoid that. No more of these thoughts.

My lord, please go inside here.

Go inside yourself. Make yourself comfortable. This storm protects me from thoughts that would hurt me more. But I’ll go in. (to FOOL) You go in first, boy. Oh, you suffering homeless people—No, you go in. I’ll pray first, then I’ll sleep.

Poor homeless creatures suffering this storm, wherever you are, how will you survive a night like this with no roof over your heads, no fat on your sides to keep you warm, and only rags for clothes? When I was king I didn’t do enough to help you. Powerful men, take your medicine by learning about hardship. Go out and feel what the impoverished feel. Then you can give them your extra wealth and make the world more fair.

(from inside) The water in here is nine feet deep! Poor Tom!

Don’t come in here, uncle! There’s a spirit in here! Help me, help me!

Give me your hand. Who’s there?

A ghost, a ghost! He says his name’s Poor Tom.

Who are you, moaning in the hut like that? Come out.

Go away! The devil’s after me! The cold wind blows through the hawthorn trees. Ha! Get into your cold beds and warm yourselves up.

Did you give everything to your two daughters and end up like this?

Whoever gave a thing to Poor Tom? The devil has chased him through fires, across rivers and whirlpools, and over swamps. The devil has put knives under Tom’s pillow and hangman’s ropes in his church pew, encouraging him to kill himself. The devil has put rat poison next to Poor Tom’s oatmeal and made him gallop his horse over narrow bridges, chasing his own shadow as if it were a traitor. Bless your five senses! Tom’s chilly. Oh do-de, do-de, do-de. God protect you from tornadoes, evil stars, and diseases! Take pity on Poor Tom, who is persecuted by the devil. I can almost catch him. There!… And over there!… And over there!

Have his daughters made him crazy like this?—Couldn’t you have kept something for yourself? Did you have to give them everything?

No, he kept a blanket to cover himself with. If he hadn’t, we’d all be embarrassed to look at him.

Then may your daughters be cursed with all the horrible fates that await sinners!

He doesn’t have any daughters, sir.

Like hell! Nothing but cruel daughters could have degraded him like this. Is it fashionable now for neglected fathers to get so little pity? That’s a fair punishment! I’m the one who fathered those bloodsucking daughters.

Pillicock sat on Pillicock hill. La, la, la, la!

This stormy night will turn us all into fools and madmen.

Beware of the devil. Obey your parents, keep your word, don’t swear, don’t sleep with another man’s wife, and don’t covet flashy clothes. Tom’s chilly.

What were you before this?

I used to be an honorable devoted servant who curled his hair, wore his mistress’ glove in his hat as a token of her affection, and slept with his mistress whenever she wanted. I swore oaths with every other word out of my mouth, and broke the oaths shamelessly. I used to dream of having sex and wake up to do it. I loved wine and gambling, and had more women than a Turkish sultan keeps in his harem. I was disloyal and violent. I eavesdropped. I was as lazy as a hog, as sneaky as a fox, as greedy as a wolf, as mad as a dog, and as ruthless as a lion. Don’t ever let a woman know what you’re thinking. Stay away from whores, don’t chase skirts, don’t borrow money, and resist the devil. The cold wind’s still blowing through the hawthorn tree. (speaking to an imaginary horse) Dauphin, my boy, stop that.—Let the horse go by.

You’d be better off dead than facing the storm as naked as you are. Is this all a human being is? Look at him. (to EDGAR) You are not indebted to animals for your clothes since don’t wear silk, leather, or wool—not even perfume. Ha! The three of us are sophisticated compared to you. You’re the real thing.

The human being unburdened by the trappings of civilization is no more than a poor, naked, two-legged animal like you.

Off with these clothes borrowed from animals! Let me unbutton this. (he tears at his clothes)

Please calm down, uncle. This is a nasty night to go swimming. On a night like this a campfire in an empty field would be like the heart of a dirty old man—a tiny spark in a cold body. Look, here comes a walking fire.

This is the devil Flibbertigibbet. He gets up at nightfall and wanders around till dawn. He can make your eyes squint and film over and give you a harelip. He rots ripened wheat and hurts the poor creatures of the earth.

Saint Withold crossed the field three times,

He met a she-demon and her nine kids,

He told her to promise

To stop doing harm.

And go away, witch, go away.

How are you, your highness?

(pointing at GLOUCESTER) Who’s that?

Who are you? What do you want?

Who are you? What are your names?

Poor Tom, who eats frogs, toads, tadpoles, lizards, and newts. When the devil tells me to, I eat cow dung for salads, I swallow old rats and dead dogs, I drink pond scum. In every village I’m whipped and put in the stocks, punished and imprisoned. But I used to be a respectable servant, with three suits and six shirts. Once I had a horse to ride and a sword to wear, but now poor Tom’s been eating rats and mice for seven long years. Beware of the devil who follows me around. Calm down, Smulkin, you fiend!

(to LEAR) Don’t you have anyone more respectable with you, your highness?

Oh, the devil is quite a gentleman. He’s called Modo and Mahu.

(to LEAR) My lord, our children have become so beastly that they hate their own parents.

Poor Tom’s chilly.

Come back to my house with me. I couldn’t bear to obey all of your daughters’ harsh orders. They commanded me to lock my doors and leave you out in this merciless storm, but I’ve come out here to find you and take you where there’s warmth and food.

First let me talk with this philosopher here.—(to EDGAR) What causes thunder?

(to LEAR) Sir, please take him up on his offer and go back with him.

I want to chat a bit with this wise Greek man.—What kind of philosophy do you study?

How to keep the devil away and kill rats.

Let me ask you something in private.

(speaking so that only GLOUCESTER can hear) Ask him again to return with you, my lord. He’s beginning to lose his mind.

Can you blame him?

His daughters want to kill him. Ah, good old Kent said this would happen—that poor, banished man. You say the king is losing his mind. Let me tell you, my friend, I’m almost insane myself. I had a son, whom I’ve legally disowned. He tried to kill me recently, very recently. I loved him, as much as any father ever loved his son. To tell you the truth, I’m crazed with grief. What a storm! (to LEAR) Your highness, please, I’m begging you—

Excuse me, sir.—(to EDGAR) Noble philosopher, come talk to me.

Tom’s chilly.

Get into the hut, man. Stay warm.

Come on, let’s all go inside.

This way, my lord.

(pointing to EDGAR) I’ll go with him. I want to stay with my philosopher.

(to GLOUCESTER) My lord, calm him down. Let him take that guy inside too.

All right, bring him along.

(to EDGAR) Boy, come along with us.

Come on, my dear Greek philosopher.

Hush, don’t talk.

The young knight Roland came to the dark tower.

He said, “Fee, fie, fo, fum,

I smell the blood of an Englishman.”

I’ll get my revenge before I leave this house.

I’m afraid to think how I’ll be criticized for letting my natural affection for my father give way to my loyalty to you.

Now I realize your brother tried to kill your father not just because your brother is an evil man, but because your father deserved it by being wicked himself.

How unlucky am I, having to apologize for doing the right thing! (giving CORNWALL a letter) This is the letter he was talking about, and it confirms he was a spy for France. Oh God, I wish he had never betrayed us, or that I hadn’t been the one to discover his treason.

Come with me to see the duchess.

If this letter’s right, you’ve got a lot to deal with.

Right or not, it’s made you the Earl of Gloucester. Go find your father and let him know we’re going to arrest him.

(to himself) If I catch my father helping the king, he’ll seem even more guily. (to CORNWALL) I’ll do what I must loyally, even though it pains me to take action against my father.

I put my trust in you. You’ll see that I’m a better father to you than Gloucester.

It’s better here than outside. Be happy about it. I’ll do what I can to make you even more comfortable. I won’t be gone long.

He can’t bear his grief and so he’s losing his mind. May God reward you for your kindness!

The devil Frateretto is telling me that the diabolical Roman emperor Nero likes to go fishing in hell. Pray to the gods, you fool, and beware the foul devil.

Here’s a riddle, uncle. Is the lunatic a gentleman or an ordinary guy?

He’s a king, a king!

No, he’s an ordinary guy who ’s got a gentleman for a son, since someone would have to be crazy to let his son become a gentleman before he’s achieved that distinction himself.

I see Regan and Goneril in hell—A thousand hissing devils with sizzling red pitchforks come up to them!

The nasty devil’s biting my butt.

You’ve got to be crazy to trust a wolf that pretends to be tame, a horse that seems healthy, a teenager in love, or a whore who swears she’ll be faithful.

I’ll do it. I’ll put them on trial right now. (to EDGAR) Come sit here, our able judge. (to FOOL) And you sit here, wise sir.—Now, you she-foxes—

There he is, standing and glaring at me!—Hey, lady, can’t you see how the judge is?

(sings)

Come over the stream to me, dear Bessy—

(sings)

She’s getting her period,

And she won’t tell you

Why she won’t come see you.

The devil sings like a nightingale to haunt Poor Tom. The demon Hoppedance is in Tom’s belly, crying for some fish to eat. Stop whining, devil. I’ve got no food to give you.

(to LEAR) How are you, sir? Please don’t stand there in a daze. Wouldn’t you like to lie down on the pillows?

No, I want to see their trial first. Let’s have the evidence. (to EDGAR) Take your place, honorable judge. (to FOOL) And you, his fellow justice of the peace, sit next to him. (to KENT) You can also be a judge. Sit down as well.

Let’s give a fair verdict.

(sings)

Are you asleep or awake, happy shepherd?

Your sheep are running around the cornfield.

But if you blow your cute little horn,

Your sheep will be fine.

Purr! The devil-cat is gray.

Let’s put Goneril on trial first. There she is. I hereby swear before this honored assembly that she kicked her father when he was down.

Come here, ma’am. Is your name Goneril?

She can’t deny it.

I’m so sorry, ma’am, I thought you were a good person, a well-made chair instead of a crude stool.

And here’s Regan, whose grotesque face betrays her twisted heart. Stop her! Guards, guards, use your weapons. Fire! The courtroom is in chaos. You corrupt judge, why did you let her escape?

Bless your heart.

(to LEAR) How sorrowful! Sir, where’s the self-control you used to be so proud of?

(to himself) I feel so sorry for him that my tears are starting to ruin my disguise.

Look at the three little dogs, Tray, Blanch, and Sweetheart—all barking at me.

Tom will chase them off.—Go away, you mongrels!

Whether you bite to kill,

Mastiff, greyhound, or ugly mutt,

Hound or spaniel, bitch or dog,

Whether your tail is short or curly—

Tom will make you cry and wail.

With one little toss of his head,

He can scare you off for good.

Whether your mouth is black or white,

Do-dee, dee-dee da. Stop! Run off, go visit fairs and festivals! Poor Tom, your cup is empty.

Now let them dissect Regan and her hard heart. Is there any natural cause for hardening of the heart? (to EDGAR) Sir, you can serve me as one of my hundred knights. But I don’t like your style of clothes. I’m sure you’ll tell me they’re fabulous, but I think you should change them anyway.

Please lie down and rest a while, my lord.

Be quiet, be quiet. Draw the curtains, just like that. We’ll have supper in the morning. That’s right. (he falls asleep)

And I’ll go to bed at noon.

(to KENT) Come here, my friend. Where’s my master the king?

He’s here, sir, but please don’t bother him. He’s out of his right mind.

Please get him, my friend, I beg you. I’ve overheard people plotting to kill him. I have a carriage ready. Put him inside and take him to Dover, where you’ll find people who’ll welcome and protect him. Carry your master out. If you waste even half an hour, he’ll be killed, along with you and everyone else helping him. Bring him here, carry him and follow me. I’ll quickly take you to where you can find supplies.

Lear’s suffering has finally put him to sleep. (to the sleeping LEAR) This rest might have calmed your shattered nerves. It will be difficult for you to get better now that rest is impossible. (to FOOL) Come on, help me carry your master. You can’t stay here.

Come on, come on.

When we see that our betters have the same problems we do, we can almost forget our own misery. The person who suffers alone suffers the most. Companions in sorrow alleviate our grief. My troubles seem so easy to bear now that I see the king collapsing under a similar sorrow. His children have done the same to him as my father has to me. Let’s go, Tom. We’ll pay attention to the political situation, and you’ll be able to reveal your true identity when you’re proven innocent. Whatever else happens tonight, I hope the king escapes safely! Lurk out of sight.

(to GONERIL) Hurry to your husband. Show him this letter. The French army has landed.—Find the traitor Gloucester.

Hang him immediately.

Gouge out his eyes!

Leave him to my wrath.—Edmund, go with my sister-in-law. You shouldn’t have to see the punishment we inflict on your father. Tell the Duke of Albany to prepare for war immediately. We will do the same. We’ll keep the lines of communication open between us. (to GONERIL) Goodbye, my dear sister-in-law. (to EDMUND) Goodbye, lord Gloucester.

Hello. Where’s the king?

Lord Gloucester has helped him leave. Thirty-five or thirty-six of his knights met him at the gate, and together with some others they’ve set off for Dover, where they claim to have powerful friends.

Prepare the horses for your lady.

Goodbye, my sweet lord.—Goodbye, my sister.

Goodbye, Edmund.

Go find the traitor Gloucester. Tie him up like a thief and bring him here to me.

I can’t condemn him to death without a formal trial, but I’m powerful enough that I can still do something to express my anger. Some men may blame me for doing this, but they won’t be able to do anything about it.—Who’s there? Is that the traitor?

Ungrateful traitor! That’s him.

Tie up his withered old arms.

What are you doing? My friends, remember that you’re my guests here. Don’t play any nasty tricks on me.

Tie him up, I tell you.

Tie him up harder.—You filthy traitor!

I’m not a traitor, unfair lady.

Tie him to this chair.—You’ll see, criminal—

By the gods, it’s disgraceful for you to pull my beard.

As old and white-haired as you are, and you’re such a traitor?

Wicked woman, these white hairs you’re pulling off my chin will come to life and accuse you of wrong-doing. You are my guests. This is no way to treat a host who has welcomed you into his house. What do you think you’re doing?

Tell us about the letters that you got from France.

Get to the point, since we already know the truth.

And what’s your connection with the traitors who landed in our kingdom recently?

The ones you’ve sent our lunatic king to. Tell us.

I got a letter that made some guesses about what was going on, without any proof. It came from a neutral party, not from someone opposed to you.

How clever of you.

Clever lies.

Where have you sent the king?

To Dover.

Why Dover? Weren’t you ordered, on penalty of—

Why Dover?—Let him answer that question first.

I’m backed into a corner with nowhere to run.

Why Dover?

Because I didn’t want to watch while you gouged out his poor old eyes with your cruel fingernails, or while your vicious sister sank her fangs into his sacred flesh. You left him out in the storm in the black night, bareheaded, a storm so terrible that if it had happened at sea, the waters would have risen up and extinguished the fire burning in the stars. And the poor old man just wept, mixing his tears with the rain. If wolves had been howling outside your gate at the heart of that storm, you would’ve told your doorman to let them in, despite all the cruelties you inflict on the world. But soon I’ll see the gods punish you for your lack of respect to your father.

You won’t be seeing anything.—Hold his chair still, men.—I’m going to put my foot on his eyes.

Oh, help me, anyone who wants to live long!

Oh, so cruel! Oh dear gods!

Now he’s a little crooked. Gouge out the other eye too.

If you see vengeance—

Stop, my lord! I’ve served you since childhood, but I’ve never done you a better service than telling you to stop.

What’s this, you dog?

I am willing to fight you if I must. What do you mean by all this?

My peasant, acting like this?

Come on then. Over my dead body.

(to another servant) Give me your sword.—A lowly peasant defying his lord like this?

(She takes a sword and stabs the FIRST SERVANT from behind, killing him.)

I am dying!—My lord, you still have one eye left to see Cornwall punished. Oh! (he dies)

We’ll just have to stop him from seeing ever again. Out, vile jelly, pop out of your eye sockets!

(he gouges out GLOUCESTER’s other eye)

Where’s your sparkle now?

Nothing but darkness and horror. Where’s my son Edmund? Edmund, let your love for me ignite your bloodlust to avenge this horrible crime!

Wrong, evil traitor. You’re appealing to a son who hates you. He was the one who revealed your treason to us. He’s too good to have any compassion for you.

What a fool I’ve been! This means I’ve mistreated Edgar. Dear God, forgive me. Let him be well!

Kick him out of the gate. He can sniff his way to Dover.

(to CORNWALL) What is it, my lord? Why do you look like that?

I’m wounded. Follow me, madam.—Throw the blind traitor outside. And throw this dead peasant into the manure pit.—Regan, I’m bleeding. It’s a bad time for such an injury. Give me your arm.

If our criminal master gets off free, I won’t care what happens to me anymore.

If she lives a long and happy life, then all women may as well turn into monsters.

Let’s follow the old earl, and get that crazy Tom to take him wherever he wants to go. As a wandering lunatic, he can do whatever he wants.

Go ahead. I’ll get some cloth and egg whites to bandage his bleeding face. Heaven help him!

Still, I’m better off now, as a beggar who is openly hated, than when I was flattered to my face hated in secret. The lowliest and most dejected creatures live without fear and still harbor hope. The worst kind of change is when good fortune turns sour. At the bottom, any change is for the better. So I welcome this wind freely. I’ve sunk as far down as I can go, so I’ve got nothing more to fear from the weather.

But who is this? My father, led by a poor peasant? Oh, life is full of surprises! We age and die because they wear us out.

(to GLOUCESTER) My good lord, I’ve rented land from you and your father for eighty years.

Away, get out of here. Leave me, my friend. There’s nothing you can do to help me now, and being with me puts your life in danger.

But you can’t see where you’re going, sir.

I don’t have anywhere to go, so I don’t need to see. When I could see, I didn’t always see clearly. I made mistakes, I stumbled and fell. It’s often the case that having something makes us spoiled, while not having it turns out to be advantageous. So may it be with my eyesight. Oh, my dear son Edgar, how enraged I was at you when I was deceived. If I live long enough to touch you again, that would be as good as having my eyesight back.

Who’s that? Who’s there?

(to himself) Oh, gods! Who can ever say, “This is as bad as it can get”? I’m worse off now than ever before.

(to GLOUCESTER) It’s poor crazy Tom.

(to himself) And my life could still be worse. If you have the presence of mind to say, “This is the worst,” then it’s not the worst yet.

(to EDGAR) Where are you going, man?

Is it a beggar?

Yes, he’s both crazy and a beggar.

Well, he can’t be completely crazy, or he wouldn’t be able to beg. Last night during the storm I saw a man who was both poor and crazy. He made me think that men are as weak and insignificant as worms. I was reminded of my son, even though I despised my son at that time. Now I know better. The gods play around with us as cruelly as schoolboys who pull the wings off flies.

(to himself) What’s going on? I hate pretending I’m a wandering beggar when all I want to do now is comfort my poor father.—Bless you, master.

Is that the naked guy?

Yes, my lord.

(to the OLD MAN) Then please go. If you’re willing to do me a favor, as an old friend, then catch up to us a mile or two further on the way to Dover, and bring some clothes for this poor beggar. I’ll ask him to be my guide.

But sir, he’s crazy.

It’s the tragedy of our times that lunatics must lead the blind. Do as I asked you. Or rather, do what you feel like doing. But above all, get out of here.

I’ll bring the crazy beggar the best clothes I have, no matter what happens.

Hey, naked guy—

Poor Tom’s chilly. (to himself) I can’t play this role any longer.

Come here, man.

(to himself) But I must.—Bless you, sir. Your dear eyes are bleeding.

Do you know the way to Dover?

I know it like the back of my hand, every step of the way. Poor Tom has been scared out of his mind. Bless you, good man, and stay away from the devil. Five devils haunted Poor Tom at the same time: Obidicut, the devil of lust; Hobbididence, the devil of mutes; Mahu, the devil of stealing; Modo, the devil of murder; and Flibbertigibbet, the devil of mockery, who causes chambermaids to make silly faces. Bless you, master.

(giving EDGAR a purse) Here, take some money. The torments of heaven have brought you down to this humble state. My misery makes you more fortunate in comparison. It should always work like that. The spoiled man who has everything, who can’t see the misery around him because he doesn’t feel it himself, should be made to feel agony so he can learn to share his wealth. That way wealth would be redistributed until everyone has enough to survive. Are you familiar with Dover?

Yes, sir.

There’s a cliff there that leans precariously over the deep sea. Take me to the edge of it, and I’ll reward all your troubles with something valuable. Once I’m there, I won’t need a guide anymore.

Give me your arm. Poor Tom will take you there.

Welcome, my lord. I’m surprised my bland husband didn’t meet me on the way here.

Where’s your master?

He’s inside, ma’am, but he has changed dramatically since you last saw him. When I told him that the invading army has landed, he just smiled at me. When I told him you were on your way, he replied, “Too bad.” When I told him about Gloucester’s betrayal and his son Edmund’s loyal service, he called me an idiot and said I had it all wrong. He was delighted by the bad news and disgusted by the good news.

(to EDMUND) Then don’t come in with me. He’s a coward and can’t commit himself to doing anything risky. He chooses not to be insulted rather than challenge those who offend him. But what we talked about with longing on the way may soon come true. Edmund, go back to see my brother-in-law. Gather his soldiers and organize his troops. I plan to take charge of my household. From now on I will wear the pants, and my husband can play the housewife. We can trust Oswald to carry messages between us. If you act boldly, you will soon obey me as your true mistress. Take this as a token of my esteem. Don’t speak. Lean down. This kiss should encourage you. (she kisses EDMUND) I hope you understand me. Goodbye, and good luck.

I’m at your service until death.

My dear Gloucester!

What a man!—especially compared to my husband. Edmund, you deserve me to be your woman. There’s a fool sharing my bed now.

Ma’am, my master’s coming.

So you finally find me worthy of your attentions.

Goneril, you aren’t worth the dust the wind blows in your face. I don’t trust you. You can’t trust anyone who abuses her own father, her flesh and blood. A woman who breaks off relations with her bloodline is like a branch that tries to break away from the tree. She will wither and come to a bad end.

Oh, shut up. Your words are idiotic.

Bad people can’t appreciate wisdom or goodness. They only like things as bad as themselves. What have you two sisters done? You’re tigers, not daughters. Barbaric degenerates, you’ve driven insane a kindly old father, whom even an angry bear would treat gent-ly. Could my good brother-in-law—a man to whom the king gave half his kingdom—have allowed you to do it? If the heavens don’t punish these crimes immediately, the end will come. Human beings will become cannibals, like ravenous sea fishes.

Coward! You take everything lying down, you just turn the other cheek—you can’t even see the difference between being honored and being taken advantage of! If we punish criminals before they have a chance to commit their crimes, you’re a fool to pity them. Why aren’t you preparing for war? The French have invaded our peaceful country. Your territory is at risk, and all you can do is sit around like a preachy fool and whine, “Ah, why is he doing that?”

Look at yourself, devilish shrew! A woman deformed by hatred and rage is more horrifying than the devil!—at least the devil is supposed to look that way.

You useless fool!

Shame on you, warped hag! Your true demonic features are distorting your body. If I let myself do what I yearn to, I’d rip the flesh off your bones. But I won’t attack a woman, even if she is a demon.

I sneeze on your manhood. Ha!

What news do you bring?

Oh my lord, the Duke of Cornwall’s dead. He was killed by his servant as he about to gouge out Glouces-ter’s other eye.

Gloucester’s eyes?

A servant Gloucester had raised in his house, full of compunction, opposed the blinding and turned his sword on the Duke of Cornwall. Enraged, Cornwall attacked and killed the servant, but not without receiving his own wound, of which he later died.

There’s justice in heaven after all! That these crimes are punished so quickly is proof. But oh, poor Glou-cester! Did he lose his other eye?

He lost both, my lord.—Ma’am, this letter is from your sister, and needs an immediate answer.

(to herself) In a way I’m glad to hear that Cornwall is dead. But on the other hand, Edmund is traveling with Regan, who is now a widow. If something happens between them on the road, it would shatter my hopes of having Edmund for myself and escaping this hateful life. Still, there are benefits to having Cornwall out of the way.—I’ll read this letter and answer it.

Where was Gloucester’s son Edmund when they gouged his eyes out?

He was on his way here with your wife.

But he isn’t here now.

No, my lord. I met him going back again.

Does he know about this wicked crime?

Yes, my lord. He was the one who denounced his father. He then left the house specifically so that the punishment might be carried out without concern for their father-son bond.

Gloucester, I’ll thank you forever for the love you’ve shown the king. I’ll get revenge for what they did to your eyes.—Come here, my friend. What else you do know?

Do you know why the King of France suddenly went back home?

He’d left some unfinished business, which he remembered after arriving here. It was urgent and important enough to require his personal presence.

Whom did he leave in charge here?

The marshal of France, Monsieur la Far.

Was Queen Cordelia aggrieved by the letters you delivered?

Yes, sir. She took the letters and read them in front of me. Now and then a large tear trickled down her delicate cheek. She seemed to be trying to control her emotions, which were overwhelming her.

So she was moved by it?

There were no outbursts. She was struggling between emotion and self-control. You’ve seen how it can rain while the sun shines? That’s how she was, smiling and crying at once, only more lovely. The little smile on her full lips didn’t seem aware of the tears that were dropping like diamonds from her pearly eyes. If everyone looked so lovely in their sorrow, then sorrow would be highly prized.

She didn’t ask anything?

Actually, once or twice she sighed and said, “father,” as if the word were pressing on her chest. Once she exclaimed, “Sisters, sisters, shame on you! Kent, father, sisters! What, out in a storm in the middle of the night? I can’t believe it.” The tears fell from her eyes like holy water. Then she ran away to grieve alone.

It must be fate that makes us who we are—otherwise someone as good as Cordelia could not possibly be related to those two witches. Have you not spoken to her since then?

No.

Did this happen before the King of France returned home?

No, afterward.

Well, sir, poor delirious Lear is in town. Sometimes when he’s lucid he remembers why we’re here, and absolutely refuses to see his daughter.

Why, good sir?

He’s too overwhelmed with shame. He remembers how unkind he was to her, how he disowned her and sent her abroad, how he gave her rightful inheritance to her two dog-hearted sisters. All those memories pain his mind so deeply that guilt and shame keep him away from Cordelia.

Oh, the poor man!

Have you heard about Albany’s and Cornwall’s troops?

I have. They’re on the march.

Well, sir, I’ll take you to Lear and have you stay with him a while. I have important business that requires me to remain in disguise a while longer. When I’ve revealed my true identity, you’ll be glad you took the time to help me out. Please come with me.

Sadly, it’s the king that’s missing. They saw him just now as mad and deranged as the stormy sea, singing loudly, wearing a crown of nettles, thorns, hemlock, and all the other weeds that grow in our cornfields.—Send out a hundred soldiers to find him. Search high and low, in every acre of the fields, and bring him here for me to see him.

What can human knowledge do to make him sane again? I’d give all my wealth to whoever can help him.

There is a way, ma’am. Nature heals people with rest, which Lear hasn’t had. But there are many herbs that will help him rest and take his mind off his anguish for a while.