Act 2, Scene 2

Original Text

*Enter Kent, and Steward seuerally.* OSWALD. Good dawning to thee Friend, art of this house? KENT. I OSWALD. Where may we set our horses? KENT. I'th' myre OSWALD. Prythee, if thou lou'st me, tell me KENT. I loue thee not OSWALD. Why then I care not for thee

Modern English

*KENT and OSWALD enter from different directions.* OSWALD. Good morning to you, friend. Are you with this household? KENT. I am. OSWALD. Where can we stable our horses? KENT. In the mud. OSWALD. Please, if you care for me, tell me... KENT. I don't care for you. OSWALD. Then I don't care for you either.

Original Text

KENT. If I had thee in Lipsbury Pinfold, I would make thee care for me OSWALD. Why do'st thou vse me thus? I know thee not KENT. Fellow I know thee OSWALD. What do'st thou know me for? KENT. A Knaue, a Rascall, an eater of broken meates, a base, proud, shallow, beggerly, three-suited-hundred pound, filthy woosted-stocking knaue, a Lilly-liuered, action-taking, whoreson glasse-gazing super-seruiceable finicall Rogue, one Trunke-inheriting slaue, one that would'st be a Baud in way of good seruice, and art nothing but the composition of a Knaue, Begger, Coward, Pandar, and the Sonne and Heire of a Mungrill Bitch, one whom I will beate into clamours whining, if thou deny'st the least sillable of thy addition

Modern English

KENT. If I had you in a tight spot, I'd make you care. OSWALD. Why are you treating me like this? I don't know you. KENT. I know you, fellow. OSWALD. What do you know me for? KENT. You're a scoundrel, a rascal, a beggar, a proud and shallow person who wears worn-out clothes. You're a filthy, deceitful rogue who only looks out for yourself. If I didn't know better, I'd think you were the son of a worthless dog. You're nothing but a coward, a liar, and a cheat. I'll beat you into submission if you deny any of this.

Original Text

OSWALD. Why, what a monstrous Fellow art thou, thus to raile on one, that is neither knowne of thee, nor knowes thee? KENT. What a brazen-fac'd Varlet art thou, to deny thou knowest me? Is it two dayes since I tript vp thy heeles, and beate thee before the King? Draw you rogue, for though it be night, yet the Moone shines, Ile make a sop oth' Moonshine of you, you whoreson Cullyenly Barber-monger, draw

Modern English

OSWALD. What kind of monstrous person are you to speak to me like that when we've never met? KENT. What kind of brazen-faced coward are you to deny knowing me? It was just two days ago that I tripped you up and beat you in front of the King. Draw your sword, you rogue! I'll make a fool of you, even in the dark. Draw your sword, you cowardly barber!

Original Text

OSWALD. Away, I haue nothing to do with thee KENT. Draw you Rascall, you come with Letters against the King, and take Vanitie the puppets part, against the Royaltie of her Father: draw you Rogue, or Ile so carbonado your shanks, draw you Rascall, come your waies OSWALD. Helpe, ho, murther, helpe KENT. Strike you slaue: stand rogue, stand you neat slaue, strike OSWALD. Helpe hoa, murther, murther.

Modern English

OSWALD. Leave me alone, I have nothing to do with you. KENT. Draw your sword, you rascal! You're carrying letters that speak against the King, and you're taking the puppet's side against the King's own royalty. Draw your sword, or I'll carve you up! Come on, you coward! OSWALD. Help! Murder! Help! KENT. Strike you, slave! Stand up, you neat slave, and fight! OSWALD. Help! Murder! Murder!

Original Text

*Enter Bastard, Cornewall, Regan, Gloster, Seruants.* EDMUND. How now, what's the matter? Part KENT. With you goodman Boy, if you please, come, Ile flesh ye, come on yong Master GLOUCESTER. Weapons? Armes? what's the matter here? CORNWALL. Keepe peace vpon your liues, he dies that strikes againe, what is the matter? REGAN. The Messengers from our Sister, and the King?

Modern English

*Enter EDMUND, CORNWALL, REGAN, GLOUCESTER, and servants.* EDMUND. What's going on here? Stop! KENT. With you, good boy, if you please. Come on, young master. GLOUCESTER. What's the matter here? Put down your arms! CORNWALL. Keep the peace, or you'll die if you strike again. What's the matter? REGAN. What about the messengers from our sister and the King?

Original Text

CORNWALL. What is your difference, speake? OSWALD. I am scarce in breath my Lord KENT. No Maruell, you haue so bestir'd your valour, you cowardly Rascall, nature disclaimes in thee: a Taylor made thee CORNWALL. Thou art a strange fellow, a Taylor make a man? KENT. A Taylor Sir, a Stone-cutter, or a Painter, could not haue made him so ill, though they had bin but two yeares oth' trade

Modern English

CORNWALL. What's your quarrel? Explain! OSWALD. I'm barely breathing, my lord... KENT. No wonder, you've exerted yourself so much, you cowardly rascal. Nature itself disowns you. A tailor must have made you. CORNWALL. You're a strange fellow. A tailor made a man? KENT. A tailor, sir, or a stone-cutter, or a painter, couldn't have made him so badly, even if they were just apprentices.

Original Text

CORNWALL. Speake yet, how grew your quarrell? OSWALD. This ancient Ruffian Sir, whose life I haue spar'd at sute of his gray-beard KENT. Thou whoreson Zed, thou vnnecessary letter: my Lord, if you will giue me leaue, I will tread this vnboulted villaine into morter, and daube the wall of a Iakes with him. Spare my gray-beard, you wagtaile? CORNWALL. Peace sirrah, You beastly knaue, know you no reuerence?

Modern English

CORNWALL. Explain how your quarrel started. OSWALD. This old ruffian, sir, whose life I spared at the request of his gray beard... KENT. You worthless, unnecessary letter! My lord, if you'll let me, I'll trample this unbolted villain into mortar and use him to plaster a jakes wall. Spare my gray beard, you wagtail? CORNWALL. Peace, sir! You beastly knave, don't you know any respect?

Original Text

KENT. Yes Sir, but anger hath a priuiledge CORNWALL. Why art thou angrie? KENT. That such a slaue as this should weare a Sword, Who weares no honesty: such smiling rogues as these, Like Rats oft bite the holy cords a twaine, Which are t' intrince, t' vnloose: smooth euery passion That in the natures of their Lords rebell, Being oile to fire, snow to the colder moodes, Reuenge, affirme, and turne their Halcion beakes With euery gall, and varry of their Masters, Knowing naught (like dogges) but following: A plague vpon your Epilepticke visage, Smoile you my speeches, as I were a Foole? Goose, if I had you vpon Sarum Plaine, I'ld driue ye cackling home to Camelot

Modern English

KENT. Yes, sir, but anger has its privileges. CORNWALL. Why are you angry? KENT. That such a slave as this should wear a sword when he has no honesty. Such smiling rogues as these often bite the holy cords that bind them, and they know nothing but how to follow their masters like dogs. They're like oil to fire, snow to colder moods, revenge, affirmation, and turning their halcyon beaks with every gall and variety of their masters. You plague upon your epileptic face! Do you smile at my words as if I were a fool? If I had you on Sarum Plain, I'd drive you cackling home to Camelot.

Original Text

CORNWALL. What art thou mad old Fellow? GLOUCESTER. How fell you out, say that? KENT. No contraries hold more antipathy, Then I, and such a knaue CORNWALL. Why do'st thou call him Knaue? What is his fault? KENT. His countenance likes me not CORNWALL. No more perchance do's mine, nor his, nor hers

Modern English

CORNWALL. What's wrong with you, old fellow? GLOUCESTER. How did you two fall out? Tell me. KENT. No two things are more opposed than I and such a knave. CORNWALL. Why do you call him a knave? What's his fault? KENT. His face doesn't please me. CORNWALL. Perhaps mine doesn't please you either, nor his, nor hers.

Original Text

KENT. Sir, 'tis my occupation to be plaine, I haue seene better faces in my Time, Then stands on any shoulder that I see Before me, at this instant CORNWALL. This is some Fellow, Who hauing beene prais'd for bluntnesse, doth affect A saucy roughnes, and constraines the garb Quite from his Nature. He cannot flatter he, An honest mind and plaine, he must speake truth, And they will take it so, if not, hee's plaine. These kind of Knaues I know, which in this plainnesse Harbour more craft, and more corrupter ends, Then twenty silly-ducking obseruants, That stretch their duties nicely

Modern English

KENT. Sir, it's my job to be straightforward. I've seen better faces in my time than any I see before me now. CORNWALL. This is some fellow who, having been praised for being blunt, now affects a saucy roughness and constrains his natural behavior. He can't flatter; he must speak the truth, and people will take it as such. If not, he's just being plain. I know this kind of knave, who in their plainness harbor more craft and corrupt ends than twenty silly, ducking observers who stretch their duties nicely.

Original Text

KENT. Sir, in good faith, in sincere verity, Vnder th' allowance of your great aspect, Whose influence like the wreath of radient fire On flickring Phoebus front CORNWALL. What mean'st by this? KENT. To go out of my dialect, which you discommend so much; I know Sir, I am no flatterer, he that beguild you in a plaine accent, was a plaine Knaue, which for my part I will not be, though I should win your displeasure to entreat me too't

Modern English

KENT. Sir, in good faith and sincere truth, under the allowance of your great presence, whose influence is like the wreath of radiant fire on Phoebus' front... CORNWALL. What do you mean by this? KENT. To go out of my usual way of speaking, which you condemn so much; I know, sir, I'm no flatterer. He who deceived you with a plain accent was a plain knave, which, for my part, I will not be, even if I should win your displeasure by not doing so.

Original Text

CORNWALL. What was th' offence you gaue him? OSWALD. I neuer gaue him any: It pleas'd the King his Master very late To strike at me vpon his misconstruction, When he compact, and flattering his displeasure Tript me behind: being downe, insulted, rail'd, And put vpon him such a deale of Man, That worthied him, got praises of the King, For him attempting, who was selfe-subdued, And in the fleshment of this dead exploit, Drew on me here againe

Modern English

CORNWALL. What offense did you give him? OSWALD. I never gave him any. It pleased the King, his master, very recently to strike at me due to a misunderstanding, when he, compact and flattering his displeasure, tripped me up behind and insulted me while I was down. He put on a show of manhood, which earned him praise from the King for attempting to subdue one who was already subdued. KENT. None of these rogues and cowards, but Ajax is a fool.

Original Text

KENT. None of these Rogues, and Cowards But Aiax is there Foole CORNWALL. Fetch forth the Stocks? You stubborne ancient Knaue, you reuerent Bragart, Wee'l teach you KENT. Sir, I am too old to learne: Call not your Stocks for me, I serue the King. On whose imployment I was sent to you, You shall doe small respects, show too bold malice Against the Grace, and Person of my Master, Stocking his Messenger

Modern English

CORNWALL. Fetch the stocks? You stubborn, ancient knave, you reverent braggart, we'll teach you. KENT. Sir, I'm too old to learn. Don't call for the stocks for me; I serve the King, on whose employment I was sent to you. You'll show little respect and bold malice against the King's person by stocking his messenger.

Original Text

CORNWALL. Fetch forth the Stocks; As I haue life and Honour, there shall he sit till Noone REGAN. Till noone? till night my Lord, and all night too KENT. Why Madam, if I were your Fathers dog, You should not vse me so REGAN. Sir, being his Knaue, I will. *Stocks brought out.* CORNWALL. This is a Fellow of the selfe same colour, Our Sister speakes of. Come, bring away the Stocks

Modern English

CORNWALL. Fetch the stocks! As I have life and honor, he'll sit there until noon. REGAN. Until night, my lord, and all night too. KENT. Why, madam, if I were your father's dog, you wouldn't treat me this way. REGAN. Sir, being his knave, I will. *The stocks are brought out.* CORNWALL. This is a fellow of the same color our sister speaks of. Come, bring away the stocks.

Original Text

GLOUCESTER. Let me beseech your Grace, not to do so, The King his Master, needs must take it ill That he so slightly valued in his Messenger, Should haue him thus restrained CORNWALL. Ile answere that REGAN. My Sister may recieue it much more worsse, To haue her Gentleman abus'd, assaulted CORNWALL. Come my Lord, away. *Exit.*

Modern English

GLOUCESTER. Let me beg of you, don't do this. The King, his master, will take it ill that his messenger was treated so lightly and restrained. CORNWALL. I'll answer for that. REGAN. My sister may receive it much worse to have her gentleman abused and assaulted. CORNWALL. Come, my lord, away. *Exit.*

Original Text

GLOUCESTER. I am sorry for thee friend, 'tis the Dukes pleasure, Whose disposition all the world well knowes Will not be rub'd nor stopt, Ile entreat for thee KENT. Pray do not Sir, I haue watch'd and trauail'd hard, Some time I shall sleepe out, the rest Ile whistle: A good mans fortune may grow out at heeles: Giue you good morrow GLOUCESTER. The Duke's too blame in this, 'Twill be ill taken. *Exit.*

Modern English

GLOUCESTER. I'm sorry for you, friend. It's the Duke's pleasure, whose disposition the world well knows will not be changed. I'll entreat for you. KENT. Pray, don't, sir. I've watched and traveled hard. Some time I'll sleep out the rest; I'll whistle the rest away. A good man's fortune may grow out at the heels. Give you good morning. GLOUCESTER. The Duke's too much to blame in this; it will be ill taken. *Exit.*

Original Text

KENT. Good King, that must approue the common saw, Thou out of Heauens benediction com'st To the warme Sun. Approach thou Beacon to this vnder Globe, That by thy comfortable Beames I may Peruse this Letter. Nothing almost sees miracles But miserie. I know 'tis from Cordelia, Who hath most fortunately beene inform'd Of my obscured course. And shall finde time From this enormous State, seeking to giue Losses their remedies. All weary and o're-watch'd, Take vantage heauie eyes, not to behold This shamefull lodging. Fortune goodnight, Smile once more, turne thy wheele.

Modern English

KENT. Good King, who must approve the common saying, you come from Heaven's blessing to the warm sun. Approach, you beacon, to this under globe, that by your comfortable beams I may peruse this letter. Nothing almost sees miracles but misery. I know it's from Cordelia, who has fortunately been informed of my obscured course and will find time from this enormous state to give losses their remedies. All weary and over-watched, take advantage, heavy eyes, not to behold this shameful lodging. Fortune, good night; smile once more, turn your wheel.

King Lear

Act 2, Scene 2

Act 2, Scene 2