King Lear

Thou hadst little wit
in thy bald crown when thou
gav'st thy golden one away.

I prithee, nuncle, keep
a schoolmaster that
can teach thy fool to lie.

I would fain
learn to lie.

And you lie, sirrah,
we'll have you whipp'd.

I marvel what kin
thou and thy
daughters are.

They'll have me whipped
for speaking true, for lying,

and sometimes
for holding my peace.

I'd rather be any kind
of a thing than a fool;

yet I would not
be thee, nuncle;

for thou hast pared
thy wits o' both sides
and left nothing in the middle.

# Mum, mum!
He that keeps nor crust nor crumb #

# Weary of all shall want some ##
When were you wont
to be so full of songs, sirrah?

Ever since thou mad'st
thy daughters thy mothers;

for when thou gav'st them
the rod, and pulled
down thine own breeches.

# Then they for sudden joy did weep #
# And I for sorrow sung #
# That such a king
Should play bo-peep #

# And go the fools among ##
and thou canst not smile
as the wind sits.

Thou'lt catch cold shortly.
Yes, forsooth,
I will hold my tongue;
so your face bids me,

so I'll say nothing.
How now, daughter!
You are too much
of late i' th' frown.

Not only, sir,
this your all-licens'd fool,

but other of your insolent retinue
do hourly carp and quarrel,

breaking forth in rank
and not-to-be-endur'd riots.

I had thought, by making
this well known unto you,
to have found a safe redress;

but now grow fearful
by what yourself
too late have spoke and done,

that you protect this course
and put it on
by your allowance;

which if you should,
the fault would not
'scape censure,

nor the redresses sleep.
For you know, nuncle,
the hedge-sparrow
fed the cuckoo so long,

it had its head bit off
by its young.

So, out went the candle
and we were left darkling.

Are you our daughter?
I would you would
make use of your
good wisdom,

whereof I know you
are fraught, and put away
these dispositions