Speeches (Lines) for Earl of Gloucester
in "King Lear"
Total: 118

1

I,1,4

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 weigh'd that curiosity in neither can make
choice of either's moiety.

2

I,1,9

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.

3

I,1,12

Sir, this young fellow's mother could; whereupon she grew
round-womb'd, and had indeed, sir, a son for her cradle ere she
had a husband for her bed. Do you smell a fault?

4

I,1,17

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?

5

I,1,24

My Lord of Kent. Remember him hereafter as my honourable
friend.

6

I,1,29

He hath been out nine years, and away he shall again.
[Sound a sennet.]
The King is coming.

7

I,1,34

I shall, my liege.

8

I,1,202

Here's France and Burgundy, my noble lord.

9

I,2,357

Kent banish'd thus? and France in choler parted?
And the King gone to-night? subscrib'd his pow'r?
Confin'd to exhibition? All this done
Upon the gad? Edmund, how now? What news?

10

I,2,363

Why so earnestly seek you to put up that letter?

11

I,2,365

What paper were you reading?

12

I,2,367

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.

13

I,2,374

Give me the letter, sir.

14

I,2,377

Let's see, let's see!

15

I,2,380

[reads] 'This policy and reverence of age makes the world
bitter to the best of our times; keeps our fortunes from us
till our oldness cannot relish them. I begin to find an idle
and fond bondage in the oppression of aged tyranny, who sways,
not as it hath power, but as it is suffer'd. Come to me, that
of this I may speak more. If our father would sleep till I
wak'd him, you should enjoy half his revenue for ever, and live
the beloved of your brother,
'EDGAR.'
Hum! Conspiracy? 'Sleep till I wak'd him, you should enjoy half
his revenue.' My son Edgar! Had he a hand to write this? a heart
and brain to breed it in? When came this to you? Who brought it?

16

I,2,394

You know the character to be your brother's?

17

I,2,397

It is his.

18

I,2,400

Hath he never before sounded you in this business?

19

I,2,404

O villain, villain! His very opinion in the letter! Abhorred
villain! Unnatural, detested, brutish villain! worse than
brutish! Go, sirrah, seek him. I'll apprehend him. Abominable
villain! Where is he?

20

I,2,416

Think you so?

21

I,2,421

He cannot be such a monster.

22

I,2,423

To his father, that so tenderly and entirely loves him.
Heaven and earth! Edmund, seek him out; wind me into him, I pray
you; frame the business after your own wisdom. I would unstate
myself to be in a due resolution.

23

I,2,429

These late eclipses in the sun and moon portend no good to
us. Though the wisdom of nature can reason it thus and thus, yet
nature finds itself scourg'd by the sequent effects. Love cools,
friendship falls off, brothers divide. In cities, mutinies; in
countries, discord; in palaces, treason; and the bond crack'd
'twixt son and father. This villain of mine comes under the
prediction; there's son against father: the King falls from bias
of nature; there's father against child. We have seen the best
of our time. Machinations, hollowness, treachery, and all
ruinous disorders follow us disquietly to our graves. Find out
this villain, Edmund; it shall lose thee nothing; do it
carefully. And the noble and true-hearted Kent banish'd! his
offence, honesty! 'Tis strange. Exit.

24

II,1,967

Now, Edmund, where's the villain?

25

II,1,971

But where is he?

26

II,1,973

Where is the villain, Edmund?

27

II,1,975

Pursue him, ho! Go after. [Exeunt some Servants].
By no means what?

28

II,1,990

Let him fly far.
Not in this land shall he remain uncaught;
And found- dispatch. The noble Duke my master,
My worthy arch and patron, comes to-night.
By his authority I will proclaim it
That he which find, him shall deserve our thanks,
Bringing the murderous caitiff to the stake;
He that conceals him, death.

29

II,1,1012

Strong and fast'ned villain!
Would he deny his letter? I never got him.
[Tucket within.]
Hark, the Duke's trumpets! I know not why he comes.
All ports I'll bar; the villain shall not scape;
The Duke must grant me that. Besides, his picture
I will send far and near, that all the kingdom
May have due note of him, and of my land,
Loyal and natural boy, I'll work the means
To make thee capable.

30

II,1,1027

O madam, my old heart is crack'd, it's crack'd!

31

II,1,1030

O lady, lady, shame would have it hid!

32

II,1,1033

I know not, madam. 'Tis too bad, too bad!

33

II,1,1046

He did bewray his practice, and receiv'd
This hurt you see, striving to apprehend him.

34

II,1,1049

Ay, my good lord.

35

II,1,1059

For him I thank your Grace.

36

II,1,1071

I serve you, madam.
Your Graces are right welcome.

37

II,2,1117

Weapons? arms? What's the matter here?

38

II,2,1153

How fell you out? Say that.

39

II,2,1213

Let me beseech your Grace not to do so.
His fault is much, and the good King his master
Will check him for't. Your purpos'd low correction
Is such as basest and contemn'dest wretches
For pilf'rings and most common trespasses
Are punish'd with. The King must take it ill
That he, so slightly valued in his messenger,
Should have him thus restrain'd.

40

II,2,1228

I am sorry for thee, friend. 'Tis the Duke's pleasure,
Whose disposition, all the world well knows,
Will not be rubb'd nor stopp'd. I'll entreat for thee.

41

II,2,1235

The Duke 's to blame in this; 'twill be ill taken. Exit.

42

II,4,1368

My dear lord,
You know the fiery quality of the Duke,
How unremovable and fix'd he is
In his own course.

43

II,4,1375

Well, my good lord, I have inform'd them so.

44

II,4,1377

Ay, my good lord.

45

II,4,1397

I would have all well betwixt you. Exit.

46

II,4,1601

The King is in high rage.

47

II,4,1603

He calls to horse, but will I know not whither.

48

II,4,1606

Alack, the night comes on, and the bleak winds
Do sorely ruffle. For many miles about
There's scarce a bush.

49

III,3,1778

Alack, alack, Edmund, I like not this unnatural dealing! When
I desir'd their leave that I might pity him, they took from me
the use of mine own house, charg'd me on pain of perpetual
displeasure neither to speak of him, entreat for him, nor any
way sustain him.

50

III,3,1784

Go to; say you nothing. There is division betwixt the Dukes,
and a worse matter than that. I have received a letter this
night- 'tis dangerous to be spoken- I have lock'd the letter in
my closet. These injuries the King now bears will be revenged
home; there's part of a power already footed; we must incline to
the King. I will seek him and privily relieve him. Go you and
maintain talk with the Duke, that my charity be not of him
perceived. If he ask for me, I am ill and gone to bed. Though I
die for't, as no less is threat'ned me, the King my old master
must be relieved. There is some strange thing toward, Edmund.
Pray you be careful. Exit.

51

III,4,1922

What are you there? Your names?

52

III,4,1934

What, hath your Grace no better company?

53

III,4,1937

Our flesh and blood is grown so vile, my lord,
That it doth hate what gets it.

54

III,4,1940

Go in with me. My duty cannot suffer
T' obey in all your daughters' hard commands.
Though their injunction be to bar my doors
And let this tyrannous night take hold upon you,
Yet have I ventur'd to come seek you out
And bring you where both fire and food is ready.

55

III,4,1955

Canst thou blame him? [Storm still.]
His daughters seek his death. Ah, that good Kent!
He said it would be thus- poor banish'd man!
Thou say'st the King grows mad: I'll tell thee, friend,
I am almost mad myself. I had a son,
Now outlaw'd from my blood. He sought my life
But lately, very late. I lov'd him, friend-
No father his son dearer. True to tell thee,
The grief hath craz'd my wits. What a night 's this!
I do beseech your Grace-

56

III,4,1968

In, fellow, there, into th' hovel; keep thee warm.

57

III,4,1974

Take him you on.

58

III,4,1977

No words, no words! hush.

59

III,6,2007

Here is better than the open air; take it thankfully. I will
piece out the comfort with what addition I can. I will not be
long from you.

60

III,6,2087

Come hither, friend. Where is the King my master?

61

III,6,2089

Good friend, I prithee take him in thy arms.
I have o'erheard a plot of death upon him.
There is a litter ready; lay him in't
And drive towards 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 defend him,
Stand in assured loss. Take up, take up!
And follow me, that will to some provision
Give thee quick conduct.

62

III,6,2104

Come, come, away!

63

III,7,2152

What mean, your Graces? Good my friends, consider
You are my guests. Do me no foul play, friends.

64

III,7,2157

Unmerciful lady as you are, I am none.

65

III,7,2160

By the kind gods, 'tis most ignobly done
To pluck me by the beard.

66

III,7,2163

Naughty lady,
These hairs which thou dost ravish from my chin
Will quicken, and accuse thee. I am your host.
With robber's hands my hospitable favours
You should not ruffle thus. What will you do?

67

III,7,2174

I have a letter guessingly set down,
Which came from one that's of a neutral heart,
And not from one oppos'd.

68

III,7,2180

To Dover.

69

III,7,2183

I am tied to th' stake, and I must stand the course.

70

III,7,2185

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.
The sea, with such a storm as his bare head
In hell-black night endur'd, would have buoy'd up
And quench'd the steeled fires.
Yet, poor old heart, he holp the heavens to rain.
If wolves had at thy gate howl'd that stern time,
Thou shouldst have said, 'Good porter, turn the key.'
All cruels else subscrib'd. But I shall see
The winged vengeance overtake such children.

71

III,7,2198

He that will think to live till he be old,
Give me some help!- O cruel! O ye gods!

72

III,7,2218

All dark and comfortless! Where's my son Edmund?
Edmund, enkindle all the sparks of nature
To quit this horrid act.

73

III,7,2225

O my follies! Then Edgar was abus'd.
Kind gods, forgive me that, and prosper him!

74

IV,1,2264

Away, get thee away! Good friend, be gone.
Thy comforts can do me no good at all;
Thee they may hurt.

75

IV,1,2268

I have no way, and therefore want no eyes;
I stumbled when I saw. Full oft 'tis seen
Our means secure us, and our mere defects
Prove our commodities. Ah dear son Edgar,
The food of thy abused father's wrath!
Might I but live to see thee in my touch,
I'ld say I had eyes again!

76

IV,1,2282

Is it a beggarman?

77

IV,1,2284

He has some reason, else he could not beg.
I' th' last night's storm I such a fellow saw,
Which made me think a man a worm. My son
Came then into my mind, and yet my mind
Was then scarce friends with him. I have heard more since.
As flies to wanton boys are we to th' gods.
They kill us for their sport.

78

IV,1,2294

Is that the naked fellow?

79

IV,1,2296

Then prithee get thee gone. If for my sake
Thou wilt o'ertake us hence a mile or twain
I' th' way toward Dover, do it for ancient love;
And bring some covering for this naked soul,
Who I'll entreat to lead me.

80

IV,1,2302

'Tis the time's plague when madmen lead the blind.
Do as I bid thee, or rather do thy pleasure.
Above the rest, be gone.

81

IV,1,2307

Sirrah naked fellow-

82

IV,1,2309

Come hither, fellow.

83

IV,1,2311

Know'st thou the way to Dover?

84

IV,1,2319

Here, take this purse, thou whom the heavens' plagues
Have humbled to all strokes. That I am wretched
Makes thee the happier. Heavens, deal so still!
Let the superfluous and lust-dieted man,
That slaves your ordinance, that will not see
Because he does not feel, feel your pow'r quickly;
So distribution should undo excess,
And each man have enough. Dost thou know Dover?

85

IV,1,2328

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.

86

IV,6,2597

When shall I come to th' top of that same hill?

87

IV,6,2599

Methinks the ground is even.

88

IV,6,2602

No, truly.

89

IV,6,2605

So may it be indeed.
Methinks thy voice is alter'd, and thou speak'st
In better phrase and matter than thou didst.

90

IV,6,2610

Methinks y'are better spoken.

91

IV,6,2625

Set me where you stand.

92

IV,6,2629

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.

93

IV,6,2635

With all my heart.

94

IV,6,2638

O you mighty gods! He kneels.
This world I do renounce, and, in your sights,
Shake patiently my great affliction off.
If I could bear it longer and not fall
To quarrel with your great opposeless wills,
My snuff and loathed part of nature should
Burn itself out. If Edgar live, O, bless him!
Now, fellow, fare thee well.
He falls [forward and swoons].

95

IV,6,2655

Away, and let me die.

96

IV,6,2663

But have I fall'n, or no?

97

IV,6,2667

Alack, I have no eyes!
Is wretchedness depriv'd that benefit
To end itself by death? 'Twas yet some comfort
When misery could beguile the tyrant's rage
And frustrate his proud will.

98

IV,6,2674

Too well, too well.

99

IV,6,2678

A poor unfortunate beggar.

100

IV,6,2684

I do remember now. Henceforth I'll bear
Affliction till it do cry out itself
'Enough, enough,' and die. That thing you speak of,
I took it for a man. Often 'twould say
'The fiend, the fiend'- he led me to that place.

101

IV,6,2705

I know that voice.

102

IV,6,2714

The trick of that voice I do well remember.
Is't not the King?

103

IV,6,2741

O, let me kiss that hand!

104

IV,6,2743

O ruin'd piece of nature! This great world
Shall so wear out to naught. Dost thou know me?

105

IV,6,2748

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

106

IV,6,2752

What, with the case of eyes?

107

IV,6,2756

I see it feelingly.

108

IV,6,2762

Ay, sir.

109

IV,6,2786

Alack, alack the day!

110

IV,6,2831

You ever-gentle gods, take my breath from me;
Let not my worser spirit tempt me again
To die before you please!

111

IV,6,2835

Now, good sir, what are you?

112

IV,6,2840

Hearty thanks.
The bounty and the benison of heaven
To boot, and boot!

113

IV,6,2849

Now let thy friendly hand
Put strength enough to't.

114

IV,6,2876

What, is he dead?

115

IV,6,2899

The King is mad. How stiff is my vile sense,
That I stand up, and have ingenious feeling
Of my huge sorrows! Better I were distract.
So should my thoughts be sever'd from my griefs,
And woes by wrong imaginations lose
The knowledge of themselves.

116

V,2,3111

Grace go with you, sir!

117

V,2,3117

No further, sir. A man may rot even here.

118

V,2,3121

And that's true too. Exeunt.