King Lear

Glou.
Ay, my good lord.

Lear.
The King would speak with Cornwall; the dear father
Would with his daughter speak, commands her service:
Are they inform'd of this?--My breath and blood!--
Fiery? the fiery duke?--Tell the hot duke that--
No, but not yet: may be he is not well:
Infirmity doth still neglect all office
Whereto our health is bound: we are not ourselves
When nature, being oppress'd, commands the mind
To suffer with the body: I'll forbear;
And am fallen out with my more headier will,
To take the indispos'd and sickly fit
For the sound man.--Death on my state! Wherefore
[Looking on Kent.]
Should he sit here? This act persuades me
That this remotion of the duke and her
Is practice only. Give me my servant forth.
Go tell the duke and's wife I'd speak with them,
Now, presently: bid them come forth and hear me,
Or at their chamber door I'll beat the drum
Till it cry 'Sleep to death.'

Glou.
I would have all well betwixt you.

[Exit.]

Lear.
O me, my heart, my rising heart!--but down!

Fool.
Cry to it, nuncle, as the cockney did to the eels when she
put 'em i' the paste alive; she knapped 'em o' the coxcombs with
a stick and cried 'Down, wantons, down!' 'Twas her brother that,
in pure kindness to his horse, buttered his hay.

[Enter Cornwall, Regan, Gloster, and Servants.]

Lear.
Good-morrow to you both.

Corn.
Hail to your grace!

[Kent is set at liberty.]

Reg.
I am glad to see your highness.

Lear.
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,
Sepulchring an adultress.--[To Kent] O, are you free?
Some other time for that.--Beloved Regan,
Thy sister's naught: O Regan, she hath tied
Sharp-tooth'd unkindness, like a vulture, here,--
[Points to his heart.]
I can scarce speak to thee; thou'lt not believe
With how deprav'd a quality--O Regan!

Reg.
I pray you, sir, take patience: I have hope
You less know how to value her desert
Than she to scant her duty.

Lear.
Say, how is that?

Reg.
I cannot think my sister in the least
Would fail her obligation: if, sir, perchance
She have restrain'd the riots of your followers,
'Tis on such ground, and to such wholesome end,
As clears her from all blame.

Lear.
My curses on her!

Reg.
O, sir, you are old;
Nature in you stands on the very verge
Of her confine: you should be rul'd 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 wrong'd her, sir.

Lear.
Ask her forgiveness?
Do you but mark how this becomes the house:
'Dear daughter, I confess that I am old;
[Kneeling.]
Age is unnecessary: on my knees I beg
That you'll vouchsafe me raiment, bed, and food.'

Reg.