Performance (1992–…): Season 7, Episode 1 - King Lear - full transcript

(dramatic orchestral music)

(ominous atmosphere music)

- [Kent] I thought the
king had more affected

the Duke of Albany
than Cornwall.

- It did always seem so to us.

But now in the division
of the kingdom

it appears not which
of the dukes he

values most, for
equalities are so

weighed that curiosity
in neither

can make choice of
either's moiety.

- [Kent] Is not this
your son, my lord?



- His breeding, sir,
hath been at my charge.

I have so often blushed
to acknowledge

him that now I am brazed to it.

- I cannot conceive you.

- Sir, this young fellow's
mother could.

Whereupon she grew
round-wombed, and had,

indeed sir, a son
for her cradle,

ere she had a husband
for her bed.

Do you smell a fault?

- I cannot wish the
fault undone.

The issue of it being so proper.

- But I have a son,
sir, by order of law

who yet is no dearer
in my account.

- [Edmund Voiceover]
Wherefore should I stand



in the plague of custom
and permit the

curiosity of nations
to deprive me, for that

I am some 12 or 14
moonshines lag of a brother?

Why, bastard?

Wherefore base when my
dimensions are as

well compact, my mind as
generous, and my shape

as true as honest madam's issue?

- Do you know this
noble gentleman, Edmund?

- No, my lord.

- My lord of Kent.

Remember him hereafter
as my honorable friend.

- My services to your lordship.

- I must love you and
sue to know you better.

- Sir, I shall study deserving.

- He hath been out nine years,
and away he shall again.

The king is coming.

(dramatic trumpet music)

- Attend the lords of France
and Burgundy, Gloucester.

- I shall, my lord.

- Meantime we shall
express our darker purpose.

Give me the map there!

Know that we have divided
in three our kingdom.

And 'tis our fast intent
to shake all

cares and business from our age.

Conferring them on
younger strengths

while we unburthen'd
crawl toward death.

(laughs)

Our son of Cornwall, and you,

our no less loving
son of Albany,

we have this hour
a constant will

to publish our daughters'
several dowers.

That future strife may
be prevented now.

The princes, France
and Burgundy.

Great rivals in our
youngest daughter's love.

Long in our court have
made their amorous

sojourn, and here are
to be answered.

Tell me, my daughters,
since now we

will divest us both
of rule, interest of

territory, cares of
state, which of you

shall we say doth love us most?

That we our largest
bounty may extend

where nature doth with
merit challenge.

Goneril, our eldest-born,
speak first.

- Sir, I love you more than
words can wield the matter.

Dearer than eyesight,
space, and liberty.

Beyond what can be valued,
rich or rare.

No less than life, with
grace, health, beauty, honor.

As much as child e'er
loved or father found.

A love that makes breath
poor and speech unable.

Beyond all manner of
so much, I love you.

- Of all these bounds, even
from this line to this,

with shadowy forests
and with champains

rich'd with plenteous rivers and

wide-skirted meads,
we make these lady.

To thine and Albany's
issue be this perpetual.

What says our second daughter?

Our dearest Regan, wife
of Cornwall, speak.

- I am made of that
self metal as

my sister, and prize
me at her worth.

In my true heart I
find she names my

very deed of love, only
she comes too short.

That I profess myself an
enemy to all other joys

which the most precious
square of sense possesses.

And find I am alone felicitate
in your dear highness love.

- To thee and thine hereditary
ever remain

this ample third of
our fair kingdom.

No less in space, validity,
and pleasure

than that conferred on Goneril.

Now our joy.

Although the last, not least.

To whose young love
the vines of France

and milk of Burgundy
strive to be interess'd.

What can you say to draw a third

more opulent than your sisters?

Speak.

- Nothing, my lord.

- Nothing?

- Nothing.

- Nothing will come of
something, speak again.

- Unhappy that I am, I cannot
heave my heart into my mouth.

I love your majesty.

According to my bond,
no more, no less.

- How how, Cordelia,
mend your speech

a little lest it may
mar your fortunes.

- Good my lord, you have
begot me, bred me, loved me.

I return those duties
back as are right fit,

obey you, love you,
and most honor you.

Why have my sisters husbands
if they say they love you all?

Haply, when I shall wed,
that lord whose hand

must take my plight shall carry

half my love with him,
half my care and duty.

Sure, I shall never marry like

my sisters to love
my father all.

- But goes thy heart with this?

- Aye, my good lord.

- So young and so untender.

- So young, my lord, and true.

- Let it be so!

Thy truth, then, be thy dower!

For by the sacred radiance
of the sun,

the mysteries of Hecate
and the night,

by all the operation of the orbs

from whom we do exist
and cease to be,

here I disclaim all
my paternal care,

propinquity and property
of blood,

and as a stranger
to my heart and

me hold thee from this forever!

- Good my liege--

- Peace, Kent!

Come not between the
dragon and his wrath.

I loved her most!

And thought to set my
rest on her kind nursery.

Hence, and avoid my sight!

So be my grave my
peace, as here I

give her father's
heart from her.

Call France.

Who stirs?

Call Burgundy!

Cornwall and Albany, with my two

daughters' dowers
digest this third.

Let pride, which she calls
plainness, marry her.

I do invest you jointly
with my power,

pre-eminence and all
the large effects

that troop with majesty,
ourself by monthly course

with reservation of
an hundred knights

by you to be sustained
shall our abode

make with you by due
turn, only we still retain

the name and all the
additions to a king.

The sway, revenue, execution
of the rest,

beloved sons be yours,
which to confirm,

this coronet part betwixt you.

- Royal Lear, whom I have
ever honored as my king,

loved as my father, as
my master followed,

as my great patron
thought on in my prayers--

- The bow is bent and
drawn, make from the shaft.

- Let it fall rather,
though the fork

invade the region of my heart.

Be Kent unmannerly,
when Lear is mad.

What wilt thou do, old man?

Thinks thou that duty
shall have dread

to speak when power
to flattery bows?

- Kent, on thy life, no more.

- My life I never held
but as a pawn to wage

against thy enemies,
nor fear to lose it.

Thy safety being the motive.

- Out of my sight!

- See better, Lear.

And let me still remain the
true blank of thine eye.

- Now, by Apollo--

- Now by Apollo, king!

Thou swear'st thy gods in vain!

- O vassal!

Miscreant!

- Dear sir, forbear.

- Kill thy physician
and the fee bestow

upon thy foul disease,
revoke thy doom,

or whilst I can vent
clamor from my

throat, I'll tell thee
thou dost evil!

- Hear me, recreant!

On thine allegiance, hear me!

Since thou hast sought
to make us break our vow,

which we durst never yet,
and with strained pride

to come between our
sentence and our power,

which nor our nature
nor our place can bear.

Our potency made good,
take thy reward.

Five days we do allot
thee for provision

to shield thee from diseases
of the world.

And on the sixth, to turn thy
hated back upon our kingdom!

If on the 10th day
following, thy banished trunk

be found in our dominions,
the moment is thy death.

Away!

By Jupiter, this shall
not be revoked.

- Fare thee well, king.

Sith thus thou wilt appear,
freedom lives hence.

And banishment is here.

The gods to their dear
shelter take thee, maid.

That justly think'st...

And hast most rightly said.

And your large speeches
may your deeds approve.

That good effects may
spring from words of love.

Thus Kent, O princes,
bids you all adieu.

He'll shape his old
course in a country new.

(gritted scream)

- Here's France and
Burgundy, my noble lord.

- My lord of Burgundy, we
first address towards you,

who with this king hath
rivaled for our daughter.

What in the least will
you require in present

dower with her, or cease
your quest of love?

- Most royal majesty,
I crave no more

than hath your highness offered.

Nor will you tender less.

(scoffs)

- Right noble Burgundy,
when she was dear to us

we did hold her so, but
now her price is fallen.

Sir, there she stands.

If aught within that
little seeming substance,

or all of it, with our
displeasure pieced

and nothing more, may
fitly like your

grace, she's there
and she is yours.

- I know no answer.

- Will you, with those
infirmities she owes,

unfriended, new-adopted
to our hate,

dower'd with our curse,
and stranger'd

with our oath, take
her or leave her?

- Pardon me, royal sir.

Election makes not up
in such conditions.

- Then leave her, sir.

For by the power that made
me, I tell you all her wealth.

For you, great king, I
would not from your love

make such a stray to
match you where I hate.

Therefore beseech you
to avert your liking

a more worthier way than
on a wretch whom

nature is ashamed almost
to acknowledge hers.

- This is most strange.

That she, whom even but
now was your object,

the argument of your
praise, balm of your age.

The best, the dearest,
should in this trice

of time commit a thing
so monstrous to

dismantle so many
folds of favor.

Sure her offense must be
of such unnatural degree

that monsters it, which
to believe of her

must be a faith that
reason without

miracle should never
plant in me.

- I yet beseech your majesty.

If for I want that
glib and oily art

to speak and purpose
not, since what I

well intend I'll do
it before I speak.

That you make known it
is no vicious blot,

murder, or foulness,
no unchaste action

or dishonest step that hath

deprived me of your
grace and favor.

But even for want
of that for which

I am richer, a still-soliciting
eye and such a tongue!

That I am glad I have
not, though not

to have it, hath lost
me in your liking!

- Better thou hadst
not been born

than not to have pleased
me better.

- [King of France]
Is it but this?

Her tardiness in nature
which often

leaves the history unspoke
that it intends to do?

My lord of Burgundy,
what say you to the lady?

Will you have her?

She is herself a a dowry.

- [Burgundy] Royal
king, give but that

portion which yourself
proposed, and here I

take Cordelia by the
hand, Duchess of Burgundy.

- Nothing!

I have sworn, I am firm.

- I am sorry then,
you have so lost

a father that you must
lose a husband.

- Peace be with Burgundy.

Since that respect
and fortunes are

his love, I shall
not be his wife.

- Fairest Cordelia, that
art most rich being poor.

Most choice, forsaken,
most loved, despised.

Thee and thy virtues
here I seize upon.

Thy dowerless daughter,
king, thrown to my chance,

is queen of us, of ours,
and our fair France.

- Thou hast her, France.

Let her be thine, for we
have no such daughter,

nor shall ever see that
face of hers again!

Therefore be gone without our
grace, our love, our benison.

Come, noble Burgundy.

- Bid farewell to your sisters.

- The jewels of our father,

with washed eyes Cordelia
leaves you.

I know you.

What you are.

And like a sister am
most loathed to call

your faults as they are named.

Love well our father.

To your professed bosoms
I commit him.

But yet alas, stood
I within his grace,

I would prefer him
to a better place.

So farewell to you both.

- Prescribe not us our duty.

- Let your study be to
content to your lord

who hath received you
at fortune's alms.

You have obedience
scanted and well

are worth the want that
you have wanted.

- Time shall unfold what
plaited cunning hides!

Who covers fault at
last with shame derides!

Well may you prosper!

- Come, my fair Cordelia.

(ominous atmosphere music)

- Sister, it is not
little I have to say

of what most nearly appertains
to us both.

I think our father
will hence tonight.

- [Regan] That's most
certain, and with you.

Next month with us.

- You see how full of
changes his age is.

He always loved our sister
most, and with

what poor judgment he hath now

cast her off appears
too grossly.

- [Regan] 'Tis the infirmity
of his age.

Yet he hath ever but
slenderly known himself.

- The best and soundest of
his time hath been but rash.

Pray you, let us hit together.

If our father carry
his authority with

such dispositions as
he bears, this last

surrender of his will
but offend us.

- [Regan] We shall further
think of it.

- [Goneril] We must do
something, and the heat.

- Edmund, how now, what news?

- So please your lordship, none.

- Why so earnestly seek
you to put up that letter?

- I know no news, my lord.

- What paper were you reading?

- Nothing, my lord.

- No?

What needed, then, that
terrible dispatch

of it into your pocket,
the quality of nothing

hath not such need to
hide itself, let's see.

Come, if it be nothing, I
shall not need spectacles.

- I beseech you sir, pardon me.

It is a letter from
my brother that I

have not all over read,
and for so much as I

have pursued I find it not
fit for your overlooking.

- Give me the letter, sir.

- [Edmund Voiceover]
I grow, I prosper.

Now gods stand up for bastards.

- If our father would
sleep 'till I waked him,

you should enjoy half
his revenue forever

and live the beloved
of your brother Edgar.

Conspiracy.

Sleep 'till I waked him, you
should enjoy half his revenue?

My son Edgar.

When came you to this,
who brought it?

- It was not brought me my
lord, there's the cunning of it.

I found it thrown in at
the casement of my closet.

- You know the character
to be your brother's?

- If the matter were
good, my lord,

I durst swear it were
his, but in respect

of that I would fain
think it were not.

- It is his.

- It is his hand, my lord.

But I hope his heart
is not in the contents.

- Hath he never before
sounded you in this business?

- Never, my lord, but...

I have heard him oft
maintain it to be fit

that sons at perfect age,
and fathers declined,

the father should be
as ward to the son

and the son manage his revenue.

- O villain!

Villain!

His very opinion in the
letter, abhorred villain!

Unnatural, detested,
brutish villain!

Worse than brutish.

Go seek him out, I'll
apprehend him,

abominable villain, where is he?

- I do not well know, my lord.

- He cannot be such a monster.

Go Edmund, seek him out,
wind me into him.

I pray you frame the business
after your own wisdom.

- I shall seek him,
sir, presently.

Convey the business
as I shall find

means and acquaint you withal.

- These late eclipses in the sun

and moon portend no good to us.

Love cools, friendship
falls off,

brothers divide, in
cities mutinies,

in countries discord,
in palaces treason.

And the bond cracked
'twixt son and father.

We have seen the
best of our time.

Find out this villain, Edmund.

It shall lose thee
nothing, do it carefully.

And the noble and
true-hearted Kent banished.

His offense, honesty.

'Tis strange.

- Oh these eclipses do
portend these divisions.

- How now, brother Edmund?

What serious contemplation
are you in, hmm?

- I'm thinking, brother,
of a prediction I read

this other day what should
follow these eclipses.

- Do you busy yourself
with that?

- I promise you, the effects
he writes of succeed unhappily.

When saw you my father last?

- The night gone by.

- Parted you in good terms?

Found you no displeasure in
him by word nor countenance?

- None at all.

- Bethink yourself wherein
you may have offended him,

and at my entreat forbear
his presence

until some little time
hath qualified

the heat of his displeasure
which, at this

instance so rageth in
him that with the

mischief of your person
it would scarcely allay.

- Some villain hath
done me wrong.

- That's my fear.

I pray you, retire with
me into my lodging,

from whence I will fitly bring
you to hear my lord speak.

I pray you go, there's my key.

If you do stir abroad, go armed.

- Armed, brother?

- I advise you to the best!

I've told you what I've
heard and seen,

but faintly, nothing like
the image and horror of it.

Pray you, away.

- Shall I hear from you anon?

- I do serve you
in this business.

My practices ride easy.

I see the business.

Let me, if not by birth,
have lands by wit.

All with me's meet that
I can fashion fit.

(ominous atmosphere music)

- [Goneril] Did my
father strike my

gentleman for chiding
of his fool?

- [Oswald] Aye, madam.

- By day and night he wrongs me.

Every hour he flashes
into one gross

crime or other that
sets us all at odds.

I'll not endure it!

(Lear shouting)

- [Oswald] He's coming,
madam, I hear him.

- Put on what weary
negligence you

please, you and your fellows.

I'll have it come to question.

If he distaste it, let
him to my sister.

Idle old man.

That still would manage those

authorities that he
hath given away.

Now by my life, old fools
are babes again

and must be used with cheques as

flatteries when they
are seen abused.

(soldiers hollering)

(trumpets blaring)

- How now, what are thou?

- A man, sir.

- What dost thou profess?

- I do profess to be
no less than I seem.

- What art thou?

- A very honest-hearted fellow,
and as poor as the king.

(laughter)

- If thou be as poor
for a subject

as he is for a king,
thou art poor enough.

What wouldst thou?

- Service!

- [Lear] Who wouldst thou serve?

- You.

- Dost thou know me, fellow?

- No sir, but you
have that in your

countenance that I would
fain call master.

- What's that?

- Authority.

- Follow me, thou
shalt serve me,

if I like thee no
worse after dinner

I will not part from thee yet!

Dinner, ho, dinner!

Where's my knave, my fool?

Go you, and call my fool hither.

You, you, sirrah, where's
my daughter?

- So please you.

- What says the fellow there,
call the clotpoll back!

Where's my fool, ho?

I think the world's asleep!

How now, where's that mongrel?

- He says, my lord, your
daughter is not well.

- Why came not the slave
back to me when I called him?

- Sir, he answered me in the
roundest manner, he would not.

- Go you and tell my
daughter I would

speak with her, go you,
call hither my fool.

Oh you sir, you, come
you hither, sir.

Who am I, sir?

- My lady's father.

- "My lady's father,"
my lord's knave,

you whoreson dog, you
slave, you cur!

- I'm none of these, my lord.

I beseech your pardon.

- Do you bandy looks
with me, you rascal?

- [Oswald] I'll not
be struck, my lord!

- Nor tripped neither!

I thank thee, fellow.

Thou servest me and
I'll love thee!

- Come sir, arise away!

(soldiers rabbling)

(Lear laughs)

- Now my friendly knave,
I thank thee.

There's earnest of thy service.

- Let me hire him too.

He's me coxcomb.

- How now, my pretty
knave, how dost thou?

- Sirrah, you were best
take me coxcomb.

- Why, fool?

- Why?

For taking one's part
that's out of favor.

Nah, an thou canst not
smile as the wind sits.

Thou'lt catch cold shortly,
there, take me coxcomb.

Why this fellow has
banished two on's daughters

and did the third a
blessing against his will.

If thou follow him, thou
must needs wear my coxcomb.

How now, nuncle.

Would I had two coxcombs
and two daughters.

- Why, my boy?

- If I gave them all my living,

I'd keep me coxcombs myself.

There's mine.

Beg another for thy daughters.

- Take heed, sirrah, the whip!

(laughs)

- Truth's a dog must to kennel.

He must be whipped out when the

Lady brach may stand
by the fire and stink.

- A pestilent gall to me.

- Sirrah, I'll teach
thee a speech.

- Do.

- Mark it, nuncle.

Have more than thou showest,
speak less than thou knowest,

lend less than thou owest,
ride more than thou goest,

learn more than thou trowest,
set less than thou throwest,

leave thy drink and thy
whore and keep in a door,

and thou shalt have more
than two tens to a score.

Oi oi!

- [Soldiers] Oi oi!

- This is nothing, fool.

- Then 'tis like the
breath of an unfeed lawyer!

You gave me nothing for it.

Can you make no use
of nothing, nuncle?

- Why no, boy.

Nothing can be made
out of nothing.

- Prithee, tell him
so much the rent of

his land comes to, he'll
not believe a fool.

- A bitter fool.

- Dost thou know the
difference, my boy,

between a bitter fool
and a sweet one?

- No lad, teach me.

- That lord to the counsel
thee to give away thy land,

come place him here by
me, do thou for him stand.

The sweet and bitter fool
will presently appear.

The one in motley here,
the other found out there.

- Dost thou call me fool, boy?

- All thy other titles
thou has given away.

That thou wast born with.

- This is not altogether
fool, my lord.

- Nuncle, give me an egg and
I'll give thee two crowns.

(laughs)

- What two crowns shall they be?

- Well after I cut the
egg in the middle

and eat up the meat, the
two crowns of the egg.

When thou closed thy
crown in the middle

and gavest away both
parts, thou borest thy

ass on thy back over the dirt.

Thou had little wit
in thy bald crown

when thou gavest thy
golden one away.

* Fools had ne'er less
grace in a year *

* Fore wish men are
grown foppish *

* They know now how
their wits to wear *

* Their manners are so apish *

- When were you won't to be
so full of songs, sirrah?

- I have used it,
nuncle, ever since

thou madest thy daughters
thy mothers.

For when thou gavest
them the rod

and puts down thine
own breeches...

- How now, daughter.

What makes that frontlet on?

Methinks you are too much
of late to the frown.

- Thou wast a pretty
fellow when thou

hadst no need to care
for her frowning.

Now thou art an O
without a figure,

I'm better than thou art now.

I'm a fool, thou art nothing.

Yes, forsooth, I'll
hold me tongue

so your face bids me,
though you say nothing.

Mum, mum.

That's a shealed peascod.

- Not only sir, this
your all-licensed fool,

but others of your
insolent retinue

do hourly carp and quarrel,
breaking forth

in rank and not to
be endured riots.

Sir, I had thought, by
making this well known

unto you, to have found
a safe redress,

but now grow fearful
by what yourself

too late have spoke and done.

That you protect this course

and put it on by your allowance.

Which if you should,
the fault would not

escape censure, nor
the redresses sleep.

Which in the tender
of a wholesome weal

might in their working
do you that offense

which else were shame that then

necessity will call
discreet proceeding.

- For you know, nuncle,
the hedge-sparrow

fed the cuckoo so long that its

had it head bit off by it young.

So out went the candle
and we were left darkling.

- Are you our daughter?

- I would you would make
use of your good wisdom,

whereof I know you are
fraught, and put away

these dispositions which of late

transport you from what
you rightly are.

- May not an ass know when
the cart draws the horse?

Whoop.

Jug, I love thee.

- Doth any here know me?

This is not Lear, doth
Lear walk thus,

speak thus, where are his eyes?

Either his notion weakens,

his discernings are
lethargied, ha!

Waking, 'tis not so.

Who is it that can
tell me who I am?

- Lear's shadow.

- Your name, fair gentlewoman?

- This admiration,
sir, is much of the

savor of other your new pranks.

I do beseech you to
understand my purposes aright.

Here do you keep a hundred
knights and squires.

Men so disordered, so
debouched and bold

that this our court,
infected with

their manners, shows
like a riotous inn.

Epicurism and lust makes it more

like a tavern or a brothel
than a graced palace.

The shame itself doth
speak for instant remedy.

Be then desired, by her,
that else will take the

thing she begs, a little
to disquantity your train.

And the remainders that
shall still depend,

to be such men as may
besort your age

which know themselves and you.

- Darkness and devils.

Saddle my horses, call
my train together!

Degenerate bastard,
I'll not trouble

thee, yet have I
left a daughter.

- You strike my people
and your disordered

rabble make servants
of their betters!

- Woe, that too late repents.

O sir, are you come,
is it your will?

Speak sir.

Ingratitude.

Thou marble-hearted
fiend, more hideous when

thou show'st thee in a
child than a sea monster!

- Pray, sir, be patient.

- Detested kite, thou liest!

My train are men of
choice and rarest parts,

that all particulars
of duty know,

and in the most exact regard

support the worships
of their name.

O most small fault,
how ugly didst thou

in Cordelia show that like
an engine, wrenched my

frame of nature form the
fixed place, drew from

my heart all love and
added to the gall!

O Lear, Lear, Lear!

Beat at this gate
that let thy folly

in and thy dear judgment out!

Go, go my people!

- My lord, I'm guiltless as I am

ignorant of what hath moved you.

- It may be so, my lord.

Hear nature, hear,
dear goddess, hear.

Suspend thy purpose,
if thou didst intend

to make this creature fruitful.

Into her womb convey sterility.

Dry up in her the
organs of increase

and from her derogate
body never spring

a babe to honor her,
if she must teem,

create her child of
spleen, that it may live

and be a thwart disnatured
torment to her!

Let it stamp wrinkles
in her brow of youth

with cadent tears fret
channels in her cheeks.

Turn all her mother's
pains and benefits

to laughter and contempt,
that she may feel

how sharper than
a serpent's tooth

it is to have a thankless child!

Away, away!

- Now gods that we adore,
whereof comes this?

- Never afflict yourself
to know more of it, but let

his disposition have that
scope that dotage gives it.

(Lear screams)

- What, 50 of my followers
at a clap within a fortnight!

- What's the matter, sir?

- I'll tell thee.

Life and death, I am
ashamed that thou

hast power to shake
my manhood thus.

That these hot tears,
which break from me

perforce, should make
thee worth them!

Blasts and fogs upon thee!

The untented woundings
of a father's curse

pierce every sense about thee!

Old fond eyes, beweep
this cause again!

I'll pluck ye out
and cast you with

the waters that you
lose to temper clay!

Yea, is it come to this?

Let it be so, yet have
I left a daughter

who I'm sure is kind
and comfortable.

When she shall hear this
of thee, with her nails

she'll flay thy wolvish visage!

Thou shalt find that
I'll resume the shape

which thou dost think I
have cast off forever.

(cracks whips)

- Do you mark that?

- I cannot be so
partial, Goneril,

to the great love I bear you--

- Pray you, content.

What Oswald, ho!

(laughing)

You sir, more knave than
fool, after your master.

- Nuncle Lear!

Nuncle Lear, tarry!

Take the fool with thee!

- This man hath had
good counsel.

A hundred knights.

'Tis politic and safe to let him

keep at point a hundred knights.

Yes, that in ever
dream, each buzz,

each fancy, each complaint,
dislike,

he may enguard his
dotage with our

powers and hold our
lives in mercy.

Oswald, I say!

- Well you may fear too far.

- Safer than trust too far.

Let me still take away the harms

I fear, not fear still
to be taken.

I know his heart.

What he hath uttered
I have writ my sister.

If she sustain him and
his hundred knights

when I have showed
the unfitness!

How now Oswald, what, have you

writ that letter to my sister?

- Yes, mum.

- Get you gone.

(dramatic atmosphere music)

And hasten your return!

- Go you before with
these letters!

Acquaint my daughter no further

with anything you
know that comes

from her demand out
of the letter.

If your diligence be not speedy,
I shall be there for you!

- I will not sleep, my lord,

'till I have delivered
your letters!

- No no, my lord.

This milky gentleness
and course of yours,

though I condemn not,
yet under pardon

you are much more
attask'd for want

of wisdom than praised
for harmful mildness.

- How far your eyes may
pierce I cannot tell.

Striving to better,
off we mar what's well.

- Nay then--

- Well well!

The event.

- If a man's brains
were in his heels,

were it not in danger of kibes?

- Aye, boy.

- Then I prithee, be merry,

thy wit shall not go slip-shod.

Oi oi!

(laughs)

- Ha ha ha!

- Shalt see thy other
daughter will use thee kindly.

For though she's as
like this as crab's

like an apple, yet I can
tell what I can tell.

- Why, what canst tell, my boy?

- She'll taste as like this
as a crab does to a crab.

Thou canst tell why one's nose

stands in the middle
of his face?

- No.

- Why to keep one's eyes
of either side's nose,

that what a man cannot
smell out he may spy into.

Yay, whoa-ho!

- I did her wrong.

- Canst tell how an
oyster makes his shell?

- No.

- Nor I neither.

But I can tell why a
snail has a house.

- Why?

- Why to puts a head in.

Not to give it away
to his daughters

and leave his horns
without a case.

- I will forget my
nature, so kind a father!

Be my horses ready?

- Thy asses are gone about them.

The reason why the
seven stars are

no more than seven
is a pretty reason.

- Because they are not eight?

- Yes indeed, thou
wouldst make a good fool.

- To take again perforce,
monster ingratitude!

- If thou wert my fool,
nuncle, I'd have

thee beaten for being
old before thy time.

- How's that?

- Thou shouldst not have been

old 'till thou hadst been wise.

- O let me not be mad.

Not mad, sweet heaven,
keep me in temper.

I would not be mad.

How now, are the horses ready?

- Ready, my lord.

- Come, boy.

(ominous atmosphere music)

(footsteps approaching)

- Brother, a word.

My father watches.

O sir, fly this place.

Intelligence is given
where you are hid.

Have you not spoken against
the Duke of Cornwall?

He's coming hither
now in the night

to the haste and Regan with him.

Advise yourself!

- I am sure on't, not a word!

- I hear my father coming.

Pardon me.

In cunning I must draw
my sword upon you.

Draw.

Seem to defend yourself.

Now quit you well.

Yield, come before my father!

Light here, ho!

Fly, brother.

Torches, torches!

So farewell.

I've seen drunkards do
more than this in sport.

Father!

Father!

Stop!

(bell ringing)

- [Gloucester] Now Edmund,
where's the villain?

- He stood here in the
dark, his sharp sword out,

mumbling of wicked charms,
conjuring the

moon to stand auspicious
mistress--

- Where is he?

- Look sir, I bleed.

- Where is the villain, Edmund?

- Fled this way sir, when
by no means he could--

- Pursue him, ho, go after!

By no means what?

- Persuade me to the
murder of your lordship.

- Not in this land
shall he remain

uncaught, and found, dispatch.

(trumpets blaring)

The duke's trumpet.

I know not why he comes.

All ports I'll bar.

The villain shall not escape.

The duke must grant me that.

And of my land, loyal
and natural boy,

I'll work the mean to
make thee capable.

- How now, my noble friend!

Since I came hither, which I can

call but now, I have
heard strange news.

- If it be true, all
vengeance comes

too short which can
pursue the offender.

How dost, my lord?

- O madam, my old heart
is cracked, it's cracked.

- What?

Did my father's godson
seek your life?

He whom my father
named, your Edgar?

- Oh lady, lady, shame
would have it hid.

- Was he not companion with the

riotous knights that
tended upon my father?

- I know not, madam,
'tis too bad, too bad.

- Yes, madam.

He was of that consort.

- No marvel then, though
he were ill affected.

'Tis they have put him
on the old man's death

to have the expense and
waste of his revenue.

I have this present
evening from my sister been

well informed of them,
and with such caution that

if they come to sojourn at
my house, I'll not be there.

- Nor I, assure thee, Regan.

Edmund, I hear that
you have shown

your father a child-like office.

- It was my duty, sir.

- He did bewray his practice
and received

this hurt you see,
striving to apprehend him.

- Is he pursued?

- Aye, my good lord.

- If he be taken, he shall never

more be feared of doing harm.

For you, Edmund, natures of such

deep trust we shall much need.

You we first seize on.

- I shall serve you sir,
truly, however else.

- For him I thank your grace.

- You know not why we
came to visit you.

- Thus out of season,
threading dark-eyed night.

Occasion, noble Gloucester,
of some poise

wherein we must have
use of your advice.

Our father he hath writ,
so hath our sister,

of differences, which
I have thought

to fit to answer from our home.

(dramatic atmosphere music)

(dogs barking)

(screaming)

(coughing)

- Good dawning to thee
friend, art of this house?

- Aye.

- Where may we set our horses?

- In the mire.

- Prithee, if thou
lovest me, tell me.

- I love thee not.

- Well then I care not for thee.

- If I had thee in
Lipsbury pinfold,

I would make thee care for me!

- Why dost thou use me
thus, I know thee not.

- [Kent] Fellow, I know thee.

- And what dost thou
know me for?

- What a brazen-faced varlet

art thou, to deny
thou knowest me!

Is it two days since
I tripped up thy

heels and beat thee
before the king?

Draw, you rogue, for though it

be night, yet the moon shines,

I'll make a sop o' the
moonshine of you!

You whoreson cullionly
barber-monger, draw!

- Away, I have no more
to do with thee!

- Draw, you rascal.

You come with letters
against the king.

Draw, you rogue, or I'll
so carbonado your shanks!

Draw, you rascal,
come your ways!

- Help, help, murder, help!

- Strike, you slave!

Stand, rogue, stand
you neat slave, strike!

- How now, what's the matter?

- With you, goodman
boy, if you please

I'll flesh you, come
on, young master!

- Weapons, arms, what's
the matter here?

- Keep peace upon your lives!

He dies that strikes again!

What is the matter?

- The messengers from
our sister and the king.

- What is your difference,
speak.

- I'm am scarce in
breath, my lord.

- No marvel, you
have so bestirred

your valor, you cowardly rascal!

- Speak yet, how grew
your quarrel?

- This ancient ruffian,
sir, whose life

I have spared at suit
of his gray beard--

- Thou whoreson zed,
thou unnecessary letter,

spare my gray beard,
you wagtail!

- Peace, sir!

You beastly knave, know
you no reverence?

- Oh aye sir, but anger
hath a privilege.

- Why art thou angry?

- That such a slave
as this should

wear a sword who
wears no honesty.

A plague upon you
epileptic visage.

- What is his fault?

- [Kent] His countenance
likes me not.

- [Cornwall] No more, perchance,

does mine, nor his, nor hers.

- Sir, 'tis my occupation
to be plain.

I have seen better faces
in me time than stands on

any shoulders that I see
before me at this instant.

- This is some fellow
who, having been praised

for bluntness, doth
affect a saucy roughness,

and constrains the garb
quite from his nature.

What was the offense
you gave him?

- I never gave him any.

It pleased the king
his master very late

to strike at me, upon
his misconstruction.

When he, compact and
flattering his displeasure,

tripped me behind, got
praises of the king

and in the fleshment
of this dread

exploit drew on me here again.

- [Cornwall] Fetch
forth the stocks.

You stubborn ancient knave,
you reverend braggart.

We'll teach you.

- Sir, I'm too old to learn.

Call not your stocks for me.

I serve the king, on whose
employment I was sent to you.

- Fetch for the stocks!

As I have life and honor,
there shall he sit 'till noon.

- 'Till noon?

'Till night, my lord,
and all night too.

- Why madam, if I were
your father's dog.

You should not use me so.

- Sir, being his knave, I will.

- This is a fellow
of the self-same

color our sister speaks of.

Come, bring away the stocks!

- Let me beseech your
grace not to do so.

The king, his master,
must take it ill

that he's so slightly
valued in his

messenger should have
him thus restrained.

- I'll answer that.

- My sister may receive
it much more worse

to have her gentleman
abused, assaulted.

- Come, my lord, away.

- I'm sorry for thee, friend.

'Tis the duke's pleasure,
whose disposition

all the world well
knows will not be

rubbed nor stopped, I'll
entreat for thee.

- Pray do not, sir.

I have watched and
traveled hard.

Some time I shall sleep
out, the rest I'll whistle.

A good man's fortune
may grow out

at heels, give you good morrow.

- The duke's to blame in this.

'Twill be ill taken.

(dramatic atmosphere music)

- Edgar, I nothing am.

- [Kent] Hail to thee,
noble master!

- [Lear] Ha!

Makes thou this shame
thy pastime?

- [Kent] No, my lord.

- [Fool] He wears cruel garters.

(laughs)

- What's he that
hath so much thy

place mistook to set thee here?

- It is both he and she.

Your son and daughter.

- No.

- [Kent] Yes!

- No, I say.

- I say yea.

- [Lear] No, no they would not.

- Yes yes, they have.

- By Jupiter, I swear no!

- By Juno, I swear aye!

- Oh how this mother
swells up toward my heart.

Hysterica passio, down,
thou climbing sorrow.

Thy elements below.

Where is this daughter?

- How chance the king comes
with so small a number?

- And thou hadst been
set in the stocks for

that question, thou
hadst well deserved it.

- Why, fool?

- We'll set thee to
school to an ant to

teach thee there's no
laboring in the winter.

All that follow their noses
are led by their eyes,

but blind men, and
there's not a nose among

20 but can smell him,
that's stinking.

Let go thy hold when a
great wheel runs down

a hill, lest it break
thy neck with following.

But the great one that goes
upward, let him draw thee after.

- Where learned you this, fool?

- Not in the stocks, fool.

- Deny to speak with me?

They are sick, they
are weary, they have

traveled all the night,
mere fetches!

The images of revolt
and flying off!

Fetch me a better answer!

- My dear lord, you know the
fiery quality of the duke,

how unremovable and fixed
he is in his own course.

- Vengeance, plague,
death, confusion!

Fiery?

What quality?

Why Gloucester, Gloucester,
I'd speak

with the Duke of Cornwall
and his wife.

- Well my good lord, I
have informed them so.

- Informed them?

Dost thou understand me, man?

- Aye, my good lord.

- The king would speak
with Cornwall.

The dear father would
with his daughter speak,

commands her service, are
they informed of this!

My breath and blood.

Fiery?

The fiery duke?

Tell the hot duke...

No, but not yet, maybe
he is not well.

Infirmity doth still neglect all

office whereto our
health is bound.

Death on my state, wherefore
should he stand here?

Give me my servant forth!

Go tell the duke
and his wife I'd

speak with them now, presently!

- I would all well betwixt you.

- O me, my heart,
my rising heart.

But down--

- Cry to it, nuncle!

As the cockney did
to the eels when

she put them in the paste alive.

She knapped them on the coxcombs

with a stick and cried
down, wantons, down!

It was her brother that,
in pure kindness,

to his horse, buttered his hay.

(laughs)

- Good morrow to you both.

- Hail to your grace.

- I am glad to see
your highness.

- Regan, I think you are.

I know what reason
I have to think so.

If thou shouldst not be
glad I would divorce me

from thy mother's tomb,
sepulchering an adulteress.

- O, are you free?

- Some other time for that.

Beloved Regan, thy
sister's naught.

O Regan, she hath
tied sharp-toothed

unkindness like a vulture here.

I can scarce speak to
thee, thou not believe

with how depraved
a quality she...

O Regan.

(sobs)

- I pray you sir, take patience.

I have hope you less
know how to value

her desert than she
to scant her duty.

- Say how is that?

- I cannot think
my sister in the

least would fail her obligation.

- My curses on her!

- O sir, you are old.

Nature in you stands on the
very verge of her confine.

You should be ruled and
led by some discretion that

discerns your state
better than you yourself.

Therefore I pray you
that to our sister

you do make return, say
you have wronged her.

- Ask her forgiveness?

Do you but mark how
this becomes the house?

Dear daughter, I confess
that I am old,

age is unnecessary, on
my knees I beg that

you'll vouchsafe me
raiment, bed, and food.

- Good sir, no more, these are

unsightly tricks, return
you to my sister.

- Never, Regan.

She hath abated me
of half my train.

Look black upon me,
struck me with her tongue,

most serpent-like upon
the very heart!

All the stored vengeances
of heaven

fall on her ungrateful top!

Strike her young bones, you
taking airs with lameness!

- Fie, sir, fie.

- You nimble lightnings,
dart your blinding flames

into her scornful eyes,
infect her beauty,

you fen-sucked fogs,
drawn by the powerful

sun to fall and blast her pride!

- O the blest gods,
so will you wish

on me when the rash mood is on?

- No Regan, thou shalt
never have my curse.

Thy tender-hefted nature shall

not give thee over to harshness.

Her eyes are fierce, but
thine do comfort and not burn.

'Tis not in thee to
grudge my pleasures,

to cut off my train,
to bandy hasty words,

to scant my sizes, and
in conclusion to oppose

the bolt against my coming in.

- Good sir, to the purpose.

- Who put my man in the stocks?

(trumpets blaring)

- What trumpet's that?

- I know it.

My sister's, this approves her

letter that she would
soon be here.

Is your lady come?

- This is a slave whose
easy-borrowed pride

dwells in the fickle
grace of her he follows.

Out, varlet, from my sight!

- What means your grace?

- Who stocked my servant?

Regan, I have good hope
thou didst not know it.

Who comes here?

O heavens, if you
do love old men,

if your sweet sway allow
obedience, if yourselves

are old, make it your cause,
send down and take my part!

Art not ashamed to look
upon this beard?

O Regan, wilt thou take
her by the hand?

- Why not by the hand, sir?

How have I offended?

All's not offense
that indiscretion

finds and dotage terms so.

- O sides, you are too
tough, will you yet hold?

How came my man in the stocks?

- I set him there, sir!

But his own disorders deserved
much less advancement.

- You, did you?

- I pray you father,
being weak, seem so.

If, 'till the expiration
of your month,

you will return and
sojourn with my sister,

dismissing half your
train, come then to me.

- Return to her and
50 men dismissed?

No, rather I abjure
all roofs and choose

to wage against the
enmity of the air.

To be a comrade with
the wolf and owl.

Necessity's sharp pinch,
return with her!

Persuade me rather
to be slave and

sumpter to this detested groom.

- At your choice, sir.

- I prithee, daughter,
do not make me mad.

I will not trouble thee,
my child, farewell.

We'll no more meet, no
more see one another.

But yet thou art my
flesh, my blood.

My daughter.

Or rather a disease
that's in my flesh

which I must needs call mine!

Thou art a boil, a plague-sore,

an embossed carbuncle
in my corrupted blood.

But I'll not chide thee,
let shame come

when it will, I do not call it.

I do not bid the thunder-bearer
shoot,

nor tell tales of thee
to high-judging Jove!

Mend when thou canst, be
better at thy leisure.

I can be patient,
I can stay with

Regan, I and my hundred knights.

- Not altogether so.

I look not for you yet,
nor am provided

for your fit welcome, give
ear, sir, to my sister.

For those that mingle
reason with your passion

must be content to
think you old, and so...

But she knows what she does.

- Is this well spoken?

- I dare avouch it, sir.

What, 50 followers,
is it not well?

What should you need of more?

Yea, or so many, sith
that both charge

and danger speak against
so great a number.

How, in one house,
should many people

under two commands, hold amity,

'tis hard, almost impossible.

- [Goneril] Why might
not you, my lord,

receive attendance
from those that

she called servants
or from mine?

- Why not, my lord, if then they

chanced to slack you
we could control them.

If you will come to me,
for now I spy a danger,

I entreat you to bring
but five and 20,

to no more will I give
place or notice.

- I gave you all!

- And in good time you gave it!

- Made you my guardians,
my depositaries,

but kept a reservation
to be followed

with such a number,
what must I come

to you with five and 20, Regan?

Said you so?

- And speak again, my
lord, no more with me!

- Those wicked creatures
yet do look

well-favored when others
are more wicked.

Not being the worst stands
in some rank of praise.

I'll go with thee.

Thy 50 yet doth double five and

20 and thou art twice her love.

- Hear me, my lord, what
need you five and 20,

10 or five, to follow
in a house where

twice so many have a
command to tend to you?

- What need one?

- O reason not the need.

Our basest beggars are in the
poorest thing superfluous.

Allow not nature more
than nature needs,

man's life's as cheap
as beast's.

Thou art a lady.

If only to go warm were
gorgeous, why nature needs not

what thou gorgeous wears which
scarcely keeps thee warm.

But for true need...

(thunder booms)

You heavens, give
me that patience!

Patience I need!

You see me here, you
gods, a poor old man,

as full of grief as age,
wretched In both!

If it be you that stirs these
daughters' hearts against

their father, fool me not
so much to bear it tamely.

Touch me with noble
anger and let the women's

weapons, water drops,
stain these man's cheeks!

No, you unnatural hags,
I will have such

revenges on you both
that all the world...

I will do such things.

What they are yet, I
know not, but they

shall be the terrors
of the Earth!

You think I'll weep?

No, I'll not weep!

I have full cause of
weeping, but this

heart shall break into a hundred

thousand flaws, or
ere I'll weep!

(thunder booms)

O fool, I shall go mad.

- Let us withdraw,
'twill be a storm!

- This house is little.

The old man and his people
cannot be well bestowed.

- 'Tis his own blame
hath kept himself from

rest and must needs
taste his folly.

- For his particular
I'll receive

him gladly, but not
one follower!

- So am I purposed.

Where is my lord of Gloucester?

- Followed the old man forth.

He has returned.

- The king is in a high rage.

- [Cornwall] Whither
is he going?

- He calls for horse, but
will I know not whither.

- 'Tis best to give him
way, he leads himself!

- My lord, entreat him
by no means to stay.

- Alack, the night comes on and

the high winds do sorely ruffle!

For many miles around
there's scarce a bush!

- O sir, to wilful men
the injuries that they

themselves procure must
be their schoolmasters.

Shut up your doors.

- Shut up your doors, my
lord, 'tis a wild night!

My Regan counsels well.

Come out of the storm!

(thunder booming)

- Blow, winds, and
crack your cheeks!

Rage, blow!

You cataracts and hurricanoes,
spout 'till

you have drenched our
steeples, drowned the cocks!

You sulfurous and
thought-executing fires!

Vaunt-couriers to
oak-cleaving thunderbolts!

Singe my white head!

And thou, all-shaking thunder,

smite flat the thick
rotundity of the world!

Crack nature's molds,
all Germans spill at

once that make ingrateful man!

- Good nuncle, in, and ask
thy daughter's blessing!

Here's a night pities
neither wise man nor fool!

(thunder booms)

- Rumble thy bellyful!

Spit fire, spout rain!

Nor rain, wind, thunder,
fire are my daughters.

I tax not you, you
elements, with unkindness.

I never gave you kingdom,
called you children.

You owe me no subscription.

Then let fall your
horrible pleasure.

(thunder booms)

Here I stand, your slave!

A poor, infirm, weak,
and despised old man!

- He that has a house to put
head in has a good headpiece!

- No!

I wil be the pattern
of all patience!

I will say nothing!

(screams)

- Who's there?

Alas, sir, are you here?

- Let the great gods
that keep this dreadful

pother over our heads find
out their enemies now.

I am a man more sinned
against than sinning!

- Gracious, my lord!

Hard by here is a hovel.

Some friendship will it lend
you against the tempest.

Repose your there.

- My wits begin to turn.

Come on, my boy!

How dost, my boy?

Art cold?

I am cold myself!

Where is this straw, my fellow?

Come, bring us to this hovel!

- [Gloucester] Alack,
alack, I like

not this unnatural dealing.

They took from me the
use of my own house,

charged me on pain of
perpetual displeasure,

neither to speak of him entreat

for him, or any way sustain him.

- [Edmund] Most savage
and unnatural!

- Go to, say you nothing.

I've received a letter
this night.

'Tis dangerous to be spoken.

I've locked the letter
in my closet.

These injuries the
king now bears

will be revenged home, there is

part of a power already footed.

We must incline to the king.

I will go look for him.

Go you and maintain
talk with the duke

that my charity be not
of him perceived.

If he ask for me, I'm
ill and gone to bed.

Though I die for it, as
no less is threatened me,

the king my old master
must be relieved.

Pray you, be careful.

- Here is the place, my lord!

Good my lord, enter here!

The tyranny of the open night's

too rough for nature to endure.

- Let me alone.

- Good my lord, enter here.

- Wilt break my heart?

- I had rather break mine
own, good my lord, enter.

- Thou think'st 'tis much that

this contentious storm
invades us to the skin.

So 'tis to thee, but
where the greater

malady is fixed, the
lesser is scarce felt.

(thunder booms)

Pour on!

I will endure!

In such a night as this.

O Regan, Goneril, your
old kind father

whose frank heart gave
you all, o that way

madness lies, let me shun
that, no more of that.

- Good my lord, enter here!

- Prithee, go in thyself,
seek thine own ease.

This tempest will
not give me leave,

to ponder on things
would hurt me more.

But I'll go in.

In boy, go first.

You houseless poverty.

Nay, get thee in.

I'll pray, and then I'll sleep.

Poor naked wretches,
whereso'er you are,

that bide the pelting
of this pitiless storm,

how shall your houseless
heads and unfed sides,

your looped and windowed
raggedness,

defend you from seasons
such as these?

O I have taken too little
care of this.

(Fool screaming)

- Help me, help me!

- Who's there?

- A spirit, a spirit!

- What art thou that dost
grumble there in the straw?

Come forth!

(thunder booms)

- Away!

(sobbing)

The foul fiend follows me!

Through the sharp hawthorn
blows the cold wind.

Go to thy cold bed
and warm thee.

- Hast thou given all to thy two

daughters and art
thou come to this?

- Who gives anything
to poor Tom?

Whom the foul field
hath led through

fire and through flame,
through ford

and whirlpool, over
bog and quagmire.

Bless thy five wits.

Tom's a-cold.

Oh do de, do de, do de!

- What, have his daughters
brought him to this pass?

Couldst thou save nothing,
didst thou give them all?

- Nay, he reserved a blanket,
else we'd been all shamed.

- Now all the plagues
that in the pendulous air

hang fated on men's faults
light on thy daughters!

- He hath no daughters, sir.

- Death, traitor!

Nothing could have subdued
nature to such

a lowness but his
unkind daughters.

Is it the fashion that
discarded fathers

should have thus little
mercy on their flesh?

Judicious punishment
'twas this flesh

begot those pelican daughters!

- This cold night will turn
us all to fools or madmen!

- Obey thy parents.

Keep thy words justly,
swear not,

commit not with man's
sworn spouse.

Tom's a-cold.

(sobbing)

- Is man no more than this?

Consider him well.

Thou owest the worm
no silk, the beast

no hide, the sheep no
wool, the cat no perfume.

Ha!

Here's three on's
are sophisticated.

Thou art the thing itself.

Unaccommodated man is
no more but such a poor

bare, forked animal as thou art.

Off, off, your lendings!

Come unbutton here!

- Prithee, nuncle, be contented!

'Tis a naughty night to swim in!

Here comes a walking fire!

- [Edgar] This is the foul
fiend Flibbertigibbet!

He begins at curfew and
walks 'till first cock.

He gives the web and the
pin, squints the eye,

makes the hare-lip,
mildews the white wheat,

and hurts this poor creature
of the Earth!

- [Lear] What's he?

- Poor Tom, that eats
the swimming frog,

the toad, the tadpole, the
wall-newt and the water.

Peace, Smulkin, peace
thou fiend!

- [Gloucester] What, hath
your grace no better company?

- The prince of darkness
is a gentleman.

Modo he's called, and Mahu!

- Our flesh and blood,
my lord, has grown

so vile that it doth
hate what gets it!

- Poor Tom's a cold!

- Go in with me!

My duty cannot suffer to obey in

all your daughters'
hard commands.

Though their injunction
be to bar my doors

and let this tyrannous
night take hold on you,

yet have I ventured
to come seek you out

and bring you where both
food and fire are ready.

- First let me talk with
this philosopher.

What is the cause of thunder?

- Good my lord, take his
offer, go into the house!

- I'll talk a word with
this same learned Theban.

What is your study?

- How to prevent the
fiend and to kill vermin!

- Let me ask you one
word in private.

- Importune him once more to go,

my lord, his wits
begin to unsettle!

- Thou say'st the
king grows mad.

I'll tell thee, friend,
I'm almost mad myself.

I had a son, now outlawed
from my blood.

He sought my life, but
lately, very late.

I loved him, friend.

No father his son dearer.

What a night's this.

I do beseech your grace--

- O cry your mercy, sir.

Noble philosopher, your company.

- Tom's a-cold.

- In, fellow, there,
into the hovel.

- [Lear] Come let's in all!

- [Kent] This way, my lord!

- With him, I will keep
still with my philosopher.

- Good my lord, soothe him,
let him take the fellow!

Sirrah, come on,
go along with us!

- Come, good Athenian.

- No words, no words, hush.

(ominous atmosphere music)

- I will have my revenge
ere I depart this house.

- My lord, I may be censured
that nature thus gives

way to loyalty, something
fears me to think of.

This is the letter
which he spoke of.

Which approves him
an intelligent

party to the advantages
of France.

- Go with me to the duchess.

- If the matter of this
paper be certain,

my lord, you have mighty
business in hand.

- True or false, it hath
made thee Earl of Gloucester.

Seek out where why
father is, that he

may be ready for
our apprehension.

- Here is better than the
open air, take it thankfully.

I will piece out the comfort
with what addition I can.

- The gods reward your kindness.

- I will not be long from you.

- Frateretto calls me.

Tells me nero is an angler
in the lake of darkness.

Pray, innocent, beware
the foul fiend.

- Prithee, nuncle,
tell me whether

a madman be a gentleman
or a yeoman.

- A king, a king.

- No.

He's a yeoman that has
a gentleman to his son,

for he's a mad yeoman that sees

his son a gentleman before him.

Oi oi.

- To have a thousand
with red burning

spits come hissing
in upon them---

- The foul fiend bites my back.

- He's mad that trusts in
the tameness of a wolf,

a horse's health, a
boy's love, or...

A whore's oath.

- It shall be done.

I will arraign them straight.

Come, sit thou here,
most learned justicer,

thou sapient sir sit here!

Now you she foxes.

- Look where he stands
and glares.

- How do you, sir?

Stand you not so amazed.

Will you lie down
and rest a while?

- No no no no no.

I'll see their trial first,
bring in the evidence.

Thou robed man of justice,
take thy place.

And thou, his yoke-fellow of
equity, bench by his side,

you are of the commission,
sit you too!

- Let us deal justly.

- Arraign her first.

'Tis Goneril.

I here take my oath before
this honorable assembly.

She kicked the poor
king, her father.

- Come hither, mistress.

Is your name Goneril?

- She cannot deny it!

- Cry you mercy, I took
you for a joint-stool.

- And here's another
whose warped looks

proclaim what stone her
heart is made on!

Stop her there!

Arms, arms, sword, fire,
corruption in the place!

False justicer, why hast
thou let her escape?

- Bless thy five wits.

- O pity.

Where is the patience now that

you so oft have boated
to retain?

- The little dogs and
all, Tray, Blanch,

and Sweetheart, see
they bark at me!

- Tom will throw
his head at them.

Avaunt, you curs!

- Then let them anatomize Regan.

See what breeds about her heart.

Is there any cause in nature
that makes these hard hearts?

You, sir, I entertain
for one of my hundred,

only I do not like the
fashion of your garments,

you will say they are Persian

attire, but let them be changed.

- Now good my lord, lie
here and rest a while.

- Shh!

Make no noise, make no noise.

Draw the curtains.

So, so, so.

We'll go to supper
in the morning.

- And I'll go to bed at noon.

(dramatic atmosphere music)

- Come hither.

Friends, where's the
king my master?

- Here sir, but trouble
him not, his wits are gone.

- Good friend, I prithee,
take him in thy arms.

There is a litter ready,
lay him in it,

and drive toward Dover,
friend, where thou

shalt meet both welcome
and protection.

Take up thy master.

If thou shouldst dally
half an hour,

his life with thine
and all that offer

to protect him stand
in assured loss.

Take up, take up, and
follow me, that will

to some provision give
you quick comfort.

- Oppressed nature sleeps.

This rest might yet have
balmed thy broken sinews.

Come, help to appear thy master,
thou must not stay behind!

- Come come away.

- [Edgar Voiceover]
Who alone suffers,

suffers most in the mind.

Leaving free things
and happy shows behind.

How light and portable
my pain seems now.

When that which makes me
bend make the king bow.

He childed as I fathered.

Tom, away.

Mark the high noises
and thyself bewray.

What shall hap more tonight,
safe 'scape the king.

- Seek out the traitor
Gloucester!

Go seek the traitor!

Pinion him like a thief!

Bring him before us.

- Hang him instantly.

- Pluck out his eyes.

- Leave him to my displeasure.

Edmund, keep you our
sister company.

The revenges we are
bound to take upon your

traitorous father are not
fit for your beholding.

Farewell, dear sister.

Farewell, my lord of Gloucester.

- Farewell, sweet
lord and sister.

- Edmund, farewell.

Who's there?

The traitor?

- [Regan] Ingrateful
fox, 'tis he.

- Bind fast his corky arms!

- What means your graces?

Good my friends, consider
you are my guests.

Do me no foul play, friends.

- [Cornwall] Bind him, I say!

- Hard, hard!

O filthy traitor.

- Unmerciful lady as
you are, I'm none.

- This chair, bind him.

Villain, thou shalt find--

- By the kind gods,
'tis most ignobly

done to pluck me by the beard!

- So white, and such a traitor.

- Naughty lady, these
hairs that thou dost

ravish from my chin will
quicken and accuse thee!

I am your host, with
robbers' hands my

hospitable favor you
should not ruffle thus!

What will you do?

- Come sir, what letters
had you late from France?

- Be simple answered,
for we know the truth.

- And what confederacy have you

with the traitors late
footed in the kingdom?

- To whose hands you have
sent the lunatic king?

Speak.

- I have a letter guessingly
set down

that came from one
that's of a neutral

heart and not from one opposed.

- Cunning.

- And false.

- Where has thou sent the king?

- To Dover.

- Wherefore to Dover?

Wast thou--

- Wherefore to Dover,
let him answer that!

- I am tied to the stake
and I must stand the course.

- Wherefore to Dover?

- Because I would
not see thy cruel

nails pluck out his
poor old eyes!

Nor thy fierce sister in his

anointed flesh stick
boarish fangs!

But I shall see the winged
vengeance overtake such
children.

- See it shalt thou never.

Fellows, hold the chair.

Upon these eyes of thine
I'll set my foot!

- He that will think
to live 'till

he be old give me some help!

- For vengeance!

(screaming)

O cruel, O you gods!

- One side will mock
another, the other too!

- If you see vengeance--

- Hold your hand, my lord!

Better service have I never
done you now than bid you hold.

- How now, you dog!

- If you did wear
a beard upon that

chin I'd shake it
on this quarrel.

- My villain!

- Nay then, come on!

(suspenseful atmosphere music)

(groaning)

My lord, you still have one eye

left to see some
mischief on them!

- Lest it see more, prevent it!

(screaming)

Out, vile jelly!

- All dark and comfortless.

Where's my son Edmund?

Edmund, enkindle
all the sparks of

nature to quit this horrid act!

- Out, treacherous villain,
thou call'st

on him that hates thee,
it was he that

made the overture of
thy treasons to us.

Who is too good to pity thee.

- O my follies.

Then Edgar was abused.

Kind gods forgive me
that and prosper him!

(sobbing)

- Go thrust him out at gates and

let him smell his way to Dover.

How is my lord, how look you?

- I have received a hurt.

Give me your arm.

(ominous atmosphere music)

- [Old Man] My good lord,
I have been your tenant,

and your father's tenant,
these fourscore years.

- [Gloucester] Get thee
away, good friend, be gone.

Thy comforts can do me no good
at all, thee they may hurt.

- [Old Man] You cannot
see your way.

- I have no way and
therefore want no eyes.

I stumbled when I saw.

- How now!

Who's there?

'Tis poor mad Tom.

Fellow, where goest?

- Is it a beggar man?

- Madman and beggar too.

- The last night's storm
I such a fellow saw.

Which made me think
of man a worm.

My son came then into my mind.

And yet my mind was then
scarce friends with him.

I've heard more since.

As flies to wanton
boys are we to

the gods, they kill
us for their sport.

- Bless thee.

Master.

- Is that the naked fellow?

- Aye, my lord.

- Get these away.

If for my sake thou
wilt overtake us

hence a mile or twain
in the way toward

Dover, do it for ancient
love and bring

some covering for
this naked soul.

Which I'll entreat to lead me.

- Alack sir, he is mad--

- 'Tis the times' plague
when madmen lead the blind.

Do as I bid thee, or rather do

thy pleasure, above
the rest, be gone.

- I'll bring him the
best 'parel that I have.

Come on what will.

- Sirrah, naked fellow.

- Poor Tom's a-cold.

- Come hither, fellow.

Know'st thou the way to Dover?

- Both stile and gate.

Horse-way and foot-path.

Poor Tom has been scared
out of his good wits.

Bless thee, good man's
son, from the foul fiend.

- Here, take my purse.

Thou whom the heavens' plague
have humbled to all strokes.

Dost thou know Dover?

- Aye, master.

- There is a cliff whose
high and bending head

looks fearfully in
the confined deep.

Bring me but to the
very brim of it

and I'll repair the
misery thou dost

bear with something
rich about me.

From that place I shall
no leading need.

- Give me thy arm.

Poor Tom...

Shall lead thee.

- Back, Edmund, to my brother.

Hasten his musters and
conduct his powers.

I must change names at home and

give the distaff into
my husband's hands.

This trusty servant shall
pass between us.

Ere long you are like to
hear a mistress's command.

Wear this, spare speech.

Decline your head.

This kiss, if it durst speak,

would stretch thy spirits
up into the air.

(dramatic ethereal music)

Conceive and fare thee well.

- Yours in the ranks of death.

- My most dear Gloucester.

The difference of man and man.

- Madam, here comes my lord.

- I have been worth
the whistling.

- O Goneril, you
are not worth the

dust which the rude
wind blows in your face!

- No more, the text is foolish.

- Wisdom and goodness
to the vile seem vile.

Filths savor but themselves.

What have you done?

Tigers, not daughters,
what have you performed?

- Milk-livered man!

That bear'st a cheek for
blows, a head for wrongs,

that hast not in thy
brows an eye discerning

thine honor from thy suffering.

Where's thy drum?

France spreads his
banners in our

noiseless land whiles
thou, a moral fool,

sits still and cries
"Alack, why does he so?"

- Were it my fitness
to let these hands

obey my blood, they
are apt enough to

dislocate and tear thy
flesh and bones!

- Marry, your manhood now!

- O my good lord.

The Duke of Cornwall's dead.

Slain by his servant
going to put

out the other eye of Gloucester.

- Gloucester's eyes?

- A servant that he
bred, thrilled with

remorse, opposed
against the act,

bending his sword to
his great master.

- This shows you're above.

You justicers, that
these our nether

crimes so speedily can venge.

But O poor Gloucester.

Lost he his other eye?

- [Messenger] Both.

Both, my lord.

- [Kent] Did my letters
pierce the queen

to any demonstration of grief?

- Aye sir, she took them,
read them in my presence.

Now and then an ample tear
trilled down her delicate cheek.

It seemed she was a queen
over her passion who,

most rebel-like, sought
to be king over her.

- O then it moved her.

- Not to a rage.

Patience and sorrow strove who
should express her goodliest.

You have seen sunshine
and rain at once.

Her smiles and tears
were like a better way.

Those happy smilets
that played on her

ripe lips seemed
not to know what

guests were in her eyes,
which parted thence

as pearls from diamonds dropped.

- It is the stars.

The stars above us govern
our conditions.

Else oneself mate and make could

not beget such different issues.

- A sentry send forth.

Search every acre
in the high grown

field and bring him
too our eyes.

(trumpet blaring)

What can man's wisdom in the
restoring his bereaved sense?

- There is means, madam.

- Seek!

Seek for him!

Let his ungoverned
rage dissolve the

life that wants the
means to lead it!

O dear father, it is
thy business I go about.

No blown ambition doth
our arms incite,

but love, dear love, and
our aged father's right.

- It was great ignorance
Gloucester's

eyes being out to let him live.

Where he arrives he moves
all hearts against us.

Edmund I think is gone
in pity of his

misery to dispatch
his nighted life.

Stay with us.

The ways are dangerous.

- I may not, madam, my lady

charged my duty in
this business.

- Why should she
write to Edmund?

Might not you transport
her purposes by word?

Belike.

Some things, I know not what.

I'll love thee much.

Let me unseal the letter.

- Madam, I had rather--

- I know your lady does
not love her husband!

I am sure of that.

And at her late being
here she gave strange

oeillades and most speaking
looks to noble Edmund.

I know you are of her bosom.

- I, madam?

- I speak in understanding,
you are, I know it.

Therefore I do advise
you, take this note.

My lord is dead.

Edmund and I have
talked and more...

Convenient is he for my
hand than for your lady's.

You may gather more.

If you do find him,
pray you, give him this.

Fare you well.

If you do chance to hear
of that blind traitor,

peferment falls on him
that cuts him off.

- Come on, sir.

Here's the place.

Stand still.

How fearful and dizzy 'tis
to cast one's eyes so low.

The crows and choughs
that wing the midway air

show scarce so gross as beetles.

Halfway down hangs one
that gathers samphire.

Dreadful trade.

The fishermen that walk upon
the beach appear like mice.

I'll look no more,
lest my brain turn

and the deficient sight
topple down headlong.

- Set me where you stand.

- Give me your hand.

You are now within a foot
of the extreme verge.

For all beneath the moon
would I not leap upright.

- Let go my hand.

Here, friend, is another purse.

In it a jewel well worth
a poor man's taking.

Fairies and gods prosper
it with thee.

Go thou further off.

Bid me farewell and
let me hear thee going.

- [Edgar] Fare ye
well, good sir.

- With all my heart.

O you mighty gods.

This world I do renounce,
and in your sights

shake patiently my great
affliction off.

If Edgar live, O bless him.

Now, fellow, fare thee well!

- Gone, sir!

Farewell!

Ho, you sir.

Friend!

Hear you, sir!

Speak!

- Away, and let me die.

- Thy life's a miracle.

Speak yet again.

- But have I fallen or no?

- The dread summit of this
chalky bourn, look up a height.

The shrill-gorged lark
so far cannot be

seen nor heard, do but look up.

- Alack, I have no eyes.

Wretchedness denied that
benefit to end itself by death.

- Come on.

Up.

So how is't?

Feel you your legs?

You stand.

- Too well, too well.

- But who comes here?

- No!

They cannot touch
me for coining.

I am the king himself.

Nature's above art
in that respect.

There's your press money.

That fellow handles his
bow like a crow keeper.

Draw me a clothier's yard!

Bring up the brown bills.

O, well flown, bird.

In the clout, in the clout.

Give the word.

- Sweet marjoram.

- Pass.

- I know that voice.

- Goneril, with a white beard!

They flattered me like
a dog and told me I had

white hairs in my beard ere
the black ones were there.

They told me I was everything.

'Tis a lie.

I am not ague-proof.

- The trick of that voice I do

well remember, is not the king?

- Aye.

Every inch a king.

Give me an ounce of
civet, good apothecary,

to sweeten my imagination.

There's money for thee.

- O let me kiss that hand.

- Let me wipe it first.

It smells of mortality.

- Dost thou know me?

- I remember thine
eyes well enough.

Dost thou squiny at me?

Read thou this challenge,
mark but the penning of it.

- Were all the letters
suns, I could not see.

- [Lear] Read!

- What, with the case of eyes?

- O are you there with me?

No eyes in your head, nor
no money in your purse?

Your eyes are in a heavy
case, your purse

in a light, yet you see
how this world goes.

- I see it feelingly.

- What, art mad?

A man may see how this
world goes with no eyes.

Get thee glass eyes.

And like a scurvy
politician seem

to see the things thou dost not.

(sobbing)

Now, now, now, now.

If thou wilt weep my
fortunes, take my eyes.

I know thee well enough.

Thy name is Gloucester.

Thou must be patient.

We came crying hither.

Thou know'st the first time that

we smell the air,
we wawl and cry.

I will preach to thee.

- [Gloucester] Alack,
alack the day.

- When we are born, we cry.

That we are come to this
great stage of fools.

(sobbing)

This a good block.

It were a delicate stratagem to

shoe a troop of horse with felt.

I'll put in proof.

And when I have stolen
upon these

sons-in-law, then kill,
kill, kill, kill, kill!

- [Gentleman] Here he is!

Lay hand upon him!

(dramatic atmosphere music)

- No rescue?

What, a prisoner?

I am even the natural
fool of fortune.

Use me well, you shall
have ransom.

Let me have surgeons,
I am cut to the brains.

- You shall have anything!

- Come come, I am a king!

Masters, know you that!

Nay, if you get it, you
shall get it by running.

Sa, sa, sa, sa!

(laughs)

- Ye ever gentle gods,
take my breath from me.

Let not my worser
spirit tempt me

again to die before you please.

- Well pray you, father.

- Now, good sir, what are you?

- A most poor man.

Made tame to fortune's blow.

Who, by the art of
known and feeling

sorrows, am pregnant
to good pity.

Give me your hand.

I'll lead you to some biding.

- Hearty thanks.

(ominous atmosphere music)

- That eyeless head of thine was

first framed flesh to
raise my fortunes.

- Now let thy friendly hand
put strength enough to it.

- Wherefore, bold peasant,
darest thou

support a published traitor?

Hence, let go, slave,
or thou diest.

(dramatic stings)
(screaming)

Give the letters that thou finds

about me to Edmund,
Earl of Gloucester.

- What, is he dead?

- Sit you down, father!

Rest you!

He is dead.

Edmund, let our reciprocal
vows be remembered.

Your wife, so I would say,
affectionate servant Goneril.

Give me your hand.

Come on.

- [Edmund Voiceover]
To both these sisters

have I sworn my love.

Each jealous of the other, as
the stung are of the adder.

Which of them shall I take?

Both?

One?

Or neither?

Neither can be enjoyed
if both remain alive.

- Tell me, but truly,
but then speak the truth.

Do you not love my sister?

- In honored love.

- But have you never found my

brother's way to the
forfended place?

- No, by mine honor.

- I never shall endure her.

Dear my lord, be not
familiar with her.

- Fear me not.

- Our very loving sister,
well be met.

Sir, this I heard,
the king is come

to his daughter with
others whom the

rigor of our state
forced to cry out!

- Why is this reason?

- Combine together
against the enemy.

For these domestic
and particular

broils are not the
question here.

- Let's then determine with the

ancient of war on
our proceedings.

- Sister, you'll go with us?

- [Goneril] No!

- 'Tis most convenient,
pray, go with us.

- I will go.

(ominous atmosphere music)

- O thou good Kent.

How shall I live and work
to match thy goodness?

My life will be too short
and every measure fail me.

- To be acknowledged,
madam, is overpaid.

All my reports go with
the modest truth.

No more, nor clipped, but so.

(rhythmic drumming)

- If ever your grace had speech

with man so poor,
hear me one word.

Before you fight the
battle, ope this letter.

If you have victory,
let the trumpet sound

for him that brought
it, wretched though

I seem, I can produce
a champion that

will prove what is
avouched there.

- Stay 'till I have
read the letter.

- I was forbid it.

When time shall serve,
let but the trumpet sound.

And I'll appear again.

- So please your majesty
that may wake the king.

He hath slept long.

- Be governed by your
knowledge and

proceed in the sway
of your own will.

(groaning)

O my dear father.

Restoration hang thy
medicine on my lips and

let this kiss repair
those violent harms that

my two sisters have in
thy reverence made.

He wakes.

Speak to him.

- Madam, do you, 'tis fittest.

- How does my royal lord?

How fares your majesty?

- You do me wrong to
take me out of the grave.

Thou art a soul in bliss,
but I am bound

upon a wheel of fire that mine

own tears do scald
like molten lead!

- Sir, do you know me?

- You are a spirit, I know.

When did you die?

- Still, still far wide.

- He's scarce awake,
let him alone a while.

- Where have I been?

Where am I?

Fair daylight?

I am mightily abused.

I should even die with
pity to see another thus.

I know not what to say.

I will not swear these
are my hands.

Let's see.

I feel this pin prick.

Would I were assured
of my condition.

- O look upon me, sir, and hold

your hand in benediction
over me.

You must not kneel.

- Pray, do not mock me!

I am a very foolish
fond old man,

fourscore and upward, not
an hour more nor less.

And to deal plainly, I fear
I am not in my perfect mind.

Methinks I should know you.

And know this man.

Yet I am doubtful
for I am mainly

ignorant what place this is.

And all the skill I have
remembers not these garments.

Nor I know not where I
did lodge last night.

(sobbing)

Do not laugh at me.

For as I am a man, I think this

lady to be my child Cordelia.

- And so I am.

I am.

- Be your tears wet?

Yes, faith.

I pray, weep not.

If you have poison for
me, I will drink it.

I know you do not love me.

For your sisters have, as I
do remember, done me wrong.

You have some cause.

They have not.

- No cause.

No cause.

- Am I in France?

- In your own kingdom, sir.

- Do not abuse me.

- Be comforted, good madam.

The great rage, you see,
is killed in him.

Desire him to go in.

- Will it please your
highness walk?

- You must bear with me.

Pray you now, forget
and forgive.

I am old and foolish.

(explosions)

- If ever I return to you
again, I'll bring you comfort.

- Grace go with you, sir!

(trumpets blaring)

(crying)

- Away!

Old man, give me thy hand, away!

King Lear hath lost, he
and his daughter taken.

Give me thy hand, come on!

- No further, sir, a
man may rot even here!

- What, in ill thoughts again?

Men must endure their
going hence,

even as their coming hither.

Ripeness is all.

Come on!

(dramatic military
trumpet music)

- We are not the first
who, with best

meaning, have incurred
the worst.

For thee, oppressed king,
I am cast down!

Myself could else out-frown
false fortune's frown.

Shall we not see these
daughters and these sisters?

- No!

No, no.

No.

Come, let's away to prison.

We two alone will sing
like birds in a cage.

When thou dost ask me blessing,

I'll kneel down and ask
of thee forgiveness.

So we'll live.

And pray and sing and
tell old tales.

And laugh at gilded butterflies.

And hear poor rogues
talk of court news.

And we'll talk with them too.

Who loses and who wins.

Who's in, who's out.

And take upon the
mystery of things.

As if we were God's spies.

And we'll wear out
in a walled prison

packs and sects of great ones

that ebb and flow by the moon.

- Take them away!

(screams)

- Upon such sacrifices,
my Cordelia,

the gods themselves
throw incense.

Have I caught thee?

He that parts us shall
bring a brand

from heaven, and fire
us hence like foxes.

(laughs)

Wipe thine eyes.

The good years shall
devour them,

flesh and fell, ere
they shall make us weep.

We'll see them starve first.

Come!

- Come hither, captain.

Hark, take thou this note.

Go follow them to prison.

Either say thou do it or
thrive by other means.

- I'll do it, my lord.

- About it, and write
happy when thou hast done.

- I cannot draw a cart,
nor eat dried oats.

But if it be man's
work, I'll do it.

- Sir, you have shown
today your valiant

strain and fortune led you well!

You have the captives
that were the

opposites of this day's strife,

I do require them of
you, so to use them

as we shall find
their merits and

our safety may equally
determine.

- Sir, I thought it
fit to send the

old and miserable king
to some retention.

At this time we sweat and bleed!

The friend hath lost his friend!

The question of Cordelia and her

father requires a fitter place.

- Sir, by your patience,
I hold you

but a subject of this
wat, not as a brother!

- He led our powers,
bore the commission

of my place and person,
the which immediacy may

well stand up and call
itself your brother!

- Not so hot!

In his own grace he doth exalt

himself more than
in your addition.

- In my rights by me invested
he compeers the best.

- That were the most if
he should husband you.

(laughs)

- Jesters do oft prove prophets.

- Holla, holla, that
eye that told

you look looked but a squint.

- Lady, I am not well,
else I should

answer from a full-flowing
stomach!

General, take thou my soldiers,

prisoners, patrimony, dispose of

them, of me, the walls is thine.

Witness the world that I create

thee here, my lord and master!

- Mean you to enjoy him?

- The let-alone lies
not in your good will.

- Nor in thine, lord.

- Half-blooded fellow, yes!

- Let the drum strike
and prove my title thine!

- Stay yet!

Hear reason.

Edmund, I arrest thee
on capital treason

and on thine attaint,
this gilded serpent.

- An interlude!

- Thou art armed, Gloucester.

Let the trumpet sound!

If none appear to prove upon
thy person, thy heinous,

manifest, and many treasons,
there is my pledge.

I'll make it on thy
heart ere I taste bread.

Thou art in nothing less than
I have here proclaimed thee.

- There's my exchange.

What in the world
he is that names

me traitor, villain-like
he lies.

Call by the trumpet,
he that dares approach

on him, on you, who not, I will

maintain my truth
and honor firmly.

- Let the trumpet sound!

- My sickness grows upon me!

- Convey her to my tent!

Sound, trumpet!

(trumpet blaring)

(footsteps approaching)

(dramatic atmosphere music)

- What's he that speaks for
Edmund, Earl of Gloucester?

- Himself!

What say'st thou to him?

- Draw thy sword.

That if my speech offend a noble

heart, thy arm may
do thee justice.

Thou art a traitor.

False to thy gods, thy
brother, and thy father!

- Back do I toss these
treasons to thy head.

This sword of mine
shall give them

instant way, where they
shall rest forever.

Trumpets speak!

(trumpets blaring)

(suspenseful fight music)

(screaming)

- Thou art not vanquished,
but cozened and beguiled!

- Shut your mouth,
dame, or with this

paper shall I stop
it, hold, sir!

Thou worse than any name,
read thine own evil.

No tearing, lady!

I perceive you know it!

- Say if I do.

The laws are mine, not thine.

Who can arraign me for it?

- Know'st thou this paper?

- Ask me not what I know!

- Go after her.

She's desperate, govern her.

(screaming)

- What you have charged
me with, that I have done,

and more, much more,
but what art thou?

- I am no less in blood
than thou art, Edmund.

If more, the more thou
hast wrong'd me.

My name...

Is Edgar.

And thy father's son.

- The wheel is come full circle.

I am here.

- Help!

'Tis hot, it smokes.

It came even from the heart of--

- Who man, speak?

- Your lady, sir.

Your lady, and her sister by her

is poisoned, she confesses it.

- I was contracted to them both.

All three now marry
in an instant.

- Produce their bodies,
be they alive or dead!

- I am come to bid my king
and master aye goodnight.

Is he not here?

- See'st thou this object, Kent?

- Yet Edmund was beloved.

The one the other poisoned
for my sake.

And after slew herself.

- Even so, cover their faces.

Some good I mean to do.

Quickly send, be brief
in it, to the castle,

for my writ is on the life
of Lear and on Cordelia.

Take my sword, give
it the captain.

- [Albany] Haste thee,
for thy life!

- He hath commission
from thy wife and me.

To hang Cordelia in the prison

and to lay the blame
upon her own

despair, that she
fordid herself.

- The gods defend her.

Bear him hence a while!

- Howl!

Howl!

Howl!

Howl!

O, you are men of stones.

Had I your tongues and
eyes, I'd use them

so that heaven's vault
should crack!

She's gone forever.

I know when one is dead
and when one lives.

She's dead as earth.

Lend me a looking glass.

If that her breath
will mist or stain

the stone, why then she lives.

- Is this the promised end?

- Or image of that horror?

- Fall and cease.

- This feather stirs.

She lives!

If it be so, it is
a chance which does

redeem all sorrows that
ever I have felt!

- O my good master.

- Prithee away!

- 'Tis noble Kent, your friend.

- A plague upon you,
murderers, traitors all!

I might have saved her!

Now she's gone forever.

Cordelia.

Cordelia.

Stay a little.

Huh?

What is thou say'st?

Her voice was ever soft,
gentle, and low.

An excellent thing in woman.

I killed the slave that
was a-hanging thee.

- 'Tis true, my lords, he did.

- Did I not, fellow?

I've seen the day with
my good biting

falchion, I would have
made them skip.

I am old now.

And these same crosses spoil me.

Who are you?

Mine eyes are not of the
best, I'll tell you straight.

This is a dull sight.

Are you not Kent?

- The same.

Your servant Kent.

Where is your servant Caius?

- He's a good fellow,
I can tell you that.

He'll strike, and quickly too.

He's dead and rotten.

- No, my good lord.

I am the very man.

- I'll see that straight.

- That from your first
of difference

and decay, have followed
your sad steps.

- You are welcome hither.

- Nor no man else.

All's cheerless,
dark, and deadly.

Your eldest daughters
have fordone themselves.

And desperately are dead.

- Aye, so I think.

- He knows not what he says.

And vain is it that we
present us to him.

- Very bootless.

- [Albany] You lords and noble
friends, know our intent.

What comfort to this great
decay may come shall be applied.

For us we will resign
during the life of this

old majesty, to him
our absolute power.

O see, see.

- And my poor fool is hanged.

No, no.

No life.

Why should a dog, a horse, a rat

have life, and thou
no breath at all?

Thou'lt come no more.

Never.

Never.

Never.

Never.

Pray you, undo this button.

Thank you, sir.

You see this?

Look on her.

Look, her lips.

Look there.

Look there.

- He faints.

My lord.

My lord!

- Break heart, I prithee, break.

- Look up, my lord.

- Vex not his ghost.

O let him pass.

He hates him that would
upon the rack

of this tough world
stretch him out longer.

- He's gone indeed.

- The wonder is he hath
endured so long.

He but usurped his life.

I have a journey, sir,
shortly to go.

My master calls me.

I must not say no.

(dramatic atmosphere music)

- The weight of this
sad time we must obey.

Speak what we feel, not
what we ought to say.

The oldest hath borne
most, we that are young.

Shall never see so much.

Nor live so long.