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Come place him here by me-
Do thou for him stand.
The sweet and bitter fool
Will presently appear;
The one in motley here,
The other found out there.
Lear. Dost thou call me fool, boy?
Fool. All thy other titles thou hast given away; that thou wast
born with.
Kent. This is not altogether fool, my lord.
Fool. No, faith; lords and great men will not let me. If I had
a
monopoly out, they would have part on't. And ladies too,
they
will not let me have all the fool to myself; they'll be
snatching. Give me an egg, nuncle, and I'll give thee two
crowns.
Lear. What two crowns shall they be?
Fool. Why, after I have cut the egg i' th' middle and eat up
the
meat, the two crowns of the egg. When thou clovest thy crown
i'
th' middle and gav'st away both parts, thou bor'st thine ass
on
thy back o'er the dirt. Thou hadst little wit in thy bald
crown
when thou gav'st thy golden one away. If I speak like myself
in
this, let him be whipp'd that first finds it so.

[Sings] Fools had ne'er less grace in a year,
For wise men are grown foppish;
They know not how their wits to wear,
Their manners are so apish.

Lear. When were you wont to be so full of songs, sirrah?
Fool. I have us'd it, nuncle, ever since thou mad'st thy
daughters
thy mother; for when thou gav'st them the rod, and put'st
down
thine own breeches,

[Sings] 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.

Prithee, nuncle, keep a schoolmaster that can teach thy fool
to
lie. I would fain learn to lie.
Lear. An you lie, sirrah, we'll have you whipp'd.
Fool. I marvel what kin thou and thy daughters are. They'll
have me
whipp'd for speaking true; thou'lt have me whipp'd for
lying;
and sometimes I am whipp'd for holding my peace. I had
rather be
any kind o' thing than a fool! And yet I would not be thee,
nuncle. Thou hast pared thy wit o' both sides and left
nothing
i' th' middle. Here comes one o' the parings.

Enter Goneril.

Lear. How now, daughter? What makes that frontlet on? Methinks
you
are too much o' late i' th' frown.
Fool. Thou wast a pretty fellow when thou hadst no need to care
for
her frowning. Now thou art an O without a figure. I am
better
than thou art now: I am a fool, thou art nothing.
[To Goneril] Yes, forsooth, I will hold my tongue. So your
face
bids me, though you say nothing. Mum, mum!

He that keeps nor crust nor crum,
Weary of all, shall want some.-

[Points at Lear] That's a sheal'd peascod.
Gon.

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