The Chronicle History of the Life and Death of King Lear and His Three DaughtersYale University Press, 1926 - 154 pages Lear, the aging King of Britain, has chosen to lay aside the care of kingship and divide his kingdom between his three daughters. Their share is to be determined by their love for him. Two daughters speak with grandiose expressions of love while the third daughter finds nothing to say. The courts disinherit the third daughter, Cordelia. Much treachery, murder, and deceit ensued and Lear and Cordelia are captured and sentenced to death. |
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Common terms and phrases
abus'd Alack Albany art thou Bastard Edmund bear brother Burgundy Child Rowland Cordelia Corn Cornwall dear death Dost thou doth Dover duke Duke of Albany Duke of Cornwall Earl of Gloucester Enter Edgar Enter Gloucester Enter Kent Enter Lear Exit eyes father fear Flibbertigibbet Folio follow Fool fortune foul fiend France Gent Gentleman give Gloucester's Castle gods Goneril grace hand hath hear heart heavens hither Holinshed honour husband King Lear knave lady Lear's Leir letter look lord madam master means messenger nature never night noble nuncle o'er pity poison'd poor Poor Tom pray Prithee Quarto Regan Scene Servants Shakespeare shame sirrah sister slave speak stand storm sword tell thee there's thine thing thou art thou dost thou hast thou shalt traitor trumpet villain whoreson wind
Popular passages
Page 5 - Why have my sisters husbands, if they say They love you all? Haply, when I shall wed, That lord whose hand must take my plight shall carry Half my love with him, half my care and duty. Sure I shall never marry like my sisters, To love my father all.
Page 64 - 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.
Page 68 - But I will punish home: No, I will weep no more. In such a night To shut me out! Pour on; I will endure. In such a night as this! O Regan, Goneril! Your old kind father, whose frank heart gave all, — O! that way madness lies; let me shun that; No more of that.
Page 111 - Methinks I should know you, and know this man; Yet I am doubtful: for I am mainly ignorant What place this is; and all the skill I have Remembers not these garments; nor I know not Where I did lodge last night. Do not laugh at me; For, as I am a man, I think this lady To be my child Cordelia.
Page 72 - Is man no more than this? Consider him well. Thou owest the worm no silk, the beast no hide, the sheep no wool, the cat no perfume. Ha! here's three on "s are sophisticated! Thou art the thing itself; unaccommodated man is no more but such a poor, bare, forked animal as thou art.
Page 5 - The mysteries of Hecate, and the night ; By all the operation of the orbs From whom we do exist, and cease to be ; Here I disclaim all my paternal care, Propinquity and property of blood, And, as a stranger to my heart and me, Hold thee, from this, for ever.
Page 13 - Thou, nature, art my goddess ; to thy law My services are bound : Wherefore should I Stand in the plague of custom ; and permit The curiosity of nations to deprive me, For that I am some twelve or fourteen moon-shines Lag of a brother? Why bastard?
Page 129 - And my poor fool is hang'd! No, no, no life! Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life, And thou no breath at all? Thou'lt come no more, Never, never, never, never, never! Pray you, undo this button. Thank you, sir. Do you see this? Look on her, look, her lips, Look there, look there!
Page 117 - I'll kneel down, And ask of thee forgiveness : so we'll live, And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh At gilded butterflies, and hear poor rogues Talk of court news ; and we'll talk with them too, Who loses and who wins ; who's in, who's out ; And take...
Page 110 - Mine enemy's dog, Though he had bit me, should have stood that night Against my fire ; and wast thou fain, poor father, To hovel thee with swine, and rogues forlorn, In short and musty straw? Alack, alack!