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King Lear Scenes

Scene 2

Another part of the heath.

(Lear; Fool; Kent)

Lear raves against the storm, comparing it favorably to his daughters, since he never did anything for the storm. The Fool begs him to take shelter. Kent finds them, and is horrified to see that Lear has lost his grip on reality. He convinces Lear to go into a hovel, and for the first time Lear shows a trace of kindness for another human being, asking the Fool how he is. Lear and the fool are roaming about. Lear is defying the hurricane. Kent finds the odd pair and urges Lear to seek shelter. They go into a near-by hovel. (90 lines)

Storm still. Enter Lear and Fool.


Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! Rage, blow!

You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout

Till you have drench’d our steeples, drown’d the cocks!

You sulph’rous and thought-executing fires,

Vaunt-couriers of oak-cleaving thunderbolts,

Singe my white head! And thou, all-shaking thunder,

Strike flat the thick rotundity o’ th’ world!

Crack nature’s moulds, all germains spill at once

That makes ingrateful man!


O nuncle, court holy-water in a dry house is better than this rain-water out o’ door. Good nuncle, in, ask thy daughters blessing. Here’s a night pities neither wise men nor fools.


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, call’d you children;

You owe me no subscription. Then let fall

Your horrible pleasure. Here I stand your slave,

A poor, infirm, weak, and despis’d old man;

But yet I call you servile ministers,

That will with two pernicious daughters join

Your high-engender’d battles ’gainst a head

So old and white as this. O, ho! ’Tis foul.


He that has a house to put ’s head in has a good head-piece.

The codpiece that will house

Before the head has any,

The head and he shall louse:

So beggars marry many.

The man that makes his toe

What he his heart should make,

Shall of a corn cry woe,

And turn his sleep to wake.

For there was never yet fair woman but she made mouths in a glass.

Enter Kent disguised as Caius.


No, I will be the pattern of all patience, I will say nothing.


Who’s there?


Marry, here’s grace and a codpiece—that’s a wise man and a fool.


Alas, sir, are you here? Things that love night

Love not such nights as these. The wrathful skies

Gallow the very wanderers of the dark,

And make them keep their caves. Since I was man,

Such sheets of fire, such bursts of horrid thunder,

Such groans of roaring wind and rain, I never

Remember to have heard. Man’s nature cannot carry

Th’ affliction nor the fear.


Let the great gods,

That keep this dreadful pudder o’er our heads,

Find out their enemies now. Tremble, thou wretch

That hast within thee undivulged crimes

Unwhipt of justice! Hide thee, thou bloody hand;

Thou perjur’d, and thou simular of virtue

That art incestuous! Caitiff, to pieces shake,

That under covert and convenient seeming

Has practic’d on man’s life! Close pent-up guilts,

Rive your concealing continents, and cry

These dreadful summoners grace. I am a man

More sinn’d against than sinning.


Alack, bare-headed?

Gracious my lord, hard by here is a hovel,

Some friendship will it lend you ’gainst the tempest.

Repose you there, while I to this hard house

(More harder than the stones whereof ’tis rais’d,

Which even but now, demanding after you,

Denied me to come in) return, and force

Their scanted courtesy.


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?

The art of our necessities is strange

And can make vild things precious. Come, your hovel.

Poor Fool and knave, I have one part in my heart

That’s sorry yet for thee.



“He that has and a little tiny wit—

With heigh-ho, the wind and the rain—

Must make content with his fortunes fit,

Though the rain it raineth every day.”


True, boy. Come bring us to this hovel.

Exit with Kent.


This is a brave night to cool a courtezan. I’ll speak a prophecy ere I go:

When priests are more in word than matter;

When brewers mar their malt with water;

When nobles are their tailors’ tutors;

No heretics burn’d, but wenches’ suitors;

Then shall the realm of Albion

Come to great confusion.

When every case in law is right;

No squire in debt, nor no poor knight;

When slanders do not live in tongues;

Nor cutpurses come not to throngs;

When usurers tell their gold i’ th’ field,

And bawds and whores do churches build;

Then comes the time, who lives to see’t,

That going shall be us’d with feet.

This prophecy Merlin shall make, for I live before his time.



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