KING LEAR. William Shakespeare

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KING LEAR - William Shakespeare

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       Table of Contents

      SCENE I. A Room of State in King Lear’s Palace.

       [Enter Kent, Gloster, and Edmund.]

       Kent.

       I thought the King had more affected the Duke of Albany than

       Cornwall.

       Glou. 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?

       Glou. His breeding, sir, hath been at my charge: I have so often blush’d to acknowledge him that now I am braz’d to’t.

       Kent.

       I cannot conceive you.

       Glou. 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?

       Kent.

       I cannot wish the fault undone, the issue of it being so proper.

       Glou. But I have, sir, a son by order of law, some year elder than this, who yet is no dearer in my account: though this knave came something saucily into the world before he was sent for, yet was his mother fair; there was good sport at his making, and the whoreson must be acknowledged.—Do you know this noble gentleman, Edmund?

       Edm.

       No, my lord.

       Glou.

       My Lord of Kent: remember him hereafter as my honourable friend.

       Edm.

       My services to your lordship.

       Kent.

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

       Edm.

       Sir, I shall study deserving.

       Glou. He hath been out nine years, and away he shall again.—The king is coming.

       [Sennet within.]

       [Enter Lear, Cornwall, Albany, Goneril, Regan, Cordelia, and

       Attendants.]

       Lear.

       Attend the lords of France and Burgundy,

       Gloster.

       Glou.

       I shall, my liege.

       [Exeunt Gloster and Edmund.]

       Lear.

       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

       Unburden’d crawl toward death.—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 answer’d.—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.

       Gon.

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

       Dearer than eyesight, space, and liberty;

       Beyond what can be valu’d, rich or rare;

       No less than life, with grace, health, beauty, honour;

       As much as child e’er lov’d, or father found;

       A love that makes breath poor and speech unable;

       Beyond all manner of so much I love you.

       Cor.

       [Aside.] What shall Cordelia speak? Love, and be silent.

       Lear.

       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 thee lady: to thine and Albany’s issue

       Be this perpetual.—What says our second daughter,

       Our dearest Regan, wife to Cornwall? Speak.

       Reg.

       Sir, I am made of the selfsame metal that my sister is,

       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.

       Cor.

       [Aside.] Then poor Cordelia!

       And yet not so; since, I am sure, my love’s

       More richer than my tongue.

       Lear.

      

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