LEAR [_pointing to_ MIRANDA] What, in Goneril’s palace? Did she not with her own hands push her old father out of door? [_To_ MIRANDA] Nay, mistress daughter; I’ll not bide with you. A million murrains light upon thy unnatural head; ten million plagues burn in thy blood; a million pains lurk in thy wretched bones, thou piece of painted earth whom ’twere foul shame to call a woman. MIRANDA [_affrighted_] O Ferdinand, what means this strange old man? There burns a direful lustre in his eye And I do fear some certain harm from him. FERDINAND. Sweet, do not so. He is but mad o’er some Past wrong, and ’tis the quality of such To take the true for false, and thus cry out On him that’s near, the guilty one not by. See, he is faint and old, and cannot harm. FOOL. Good nuncle, methinks the sun hath made of thee a very owl, for she whom thou callest upon so loudly is not so eld by twenty summers as thy daughter Goneril. LEAR. ’Tis no matter for that. She is a woman and the daughter of a woman, therefore she will spin foul lies for her pleasure and bid her father out of sight when he is old. FOOL. Fathers that give away all their substance ere they be dead and rotten are like to see strange things come to pass. An’ thy bald crown had been worthy thy golden one it had worn thy golden one still and thou wert warm in thy palace. LEAR. This daughter! O this daughter, Goneril. _Enter_ KING RICHARD II. KING RICHARD. He lieth in his throat that swears I am No king. ’Tis Bolingbroke doth wear the crown He pluck’d from me, but there’s no power can wash Away a king’s anointing. I put it by, Being constrain’d, but that constraining told Not of my will but my necessity. FOOL. Lo! here’s another wight that has given away his crown. [_To_ RICHARD] Art thou a king, too? KING RICHARD. I am, and England was my sovereignty. FOOL. Then thou liest abominably, for a king that lacks wit to keep his crown on ’s head is no king, and that’s a true saying. LEAR. Wert thou a king, indeed? Why so was I. And hadst thou daughters, black, unnatural? KING RICHARD. Nor daughters nor no sons have I to call Me father. LEAR. Then by so much art thou blest. Forget not that, poor man that wast a king. KING RICHARD. My kingdom was both daughter and my son, And e’en as Judas sold his master Christ, So did my kingdom chaffer for my crown, And so deliver’d me to Bolingbroke. FOOL. Is’t he that hath thy crown? KING RICHARD. ’Tis he, my sometime subject, Bolingbroke: He hath my crown and kingdom both, and I Of all sad monarchs most disconsolate.