LEAR

A king who gave away his kingdom and was thrown out by his daughters stands in the open storm and dares the weather to finish what they started. Rage is the last authority he has left.

1:24Dramatic35–60Advanced

The speech130 words · 4 beats

0:00 / 1:24

Off-book

And thou, all-shaking thunder, Smite flat the thick rotundity o' the world! Crack nature's moulds, all germens spill at once, That make ingrateful man!

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.turn

But yet I call you servile ministers, That have with two pernicious daughters join'd Your high engender'd battles 'gainst a head So old and white as this. O! O! 'tis foul!

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Speaking to: The storm itself, addressed as an equal.
What just happened: Turned out of doors by Goneril and Regan into a raging night, Lear refuses shelter. On the open heath, with only his Fool beside him, he faces into the wind.
Objective: To command the elements to destroy a world that has betrayed him.
The turn: 'I tax not you, you elements, with unkindness' — the war on the storm turns into an alliance against his daughters.
Watch out for: The trap is pushing volume from the first word and having nowhere to go. The opening is command, not scream; the break toward 'I here stand your slave' needs the voice to drop. Guard the breath across the long imperatives.

Full work: King Lear New to the vocabulary? What’s a beat? →

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EDMUND1:22The younger, illegitimate son of an earl. Charming in company; this is what he is like when the company leaves.

LEAR

King Lear · William Shakespeare · 1:24 · 130 words

Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! rage! blow! You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout Till you have drench'd our steeples, drown'd the cocks! You sulphurous and thought-executing fires, Vaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thunderbolts, Singe my white head! And thou, all-shaking thunder, Smite flat the thick rotundity o' the world! Crack nature's moulds, all germens spill at once, That make ingrateful man! 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. But yet I call you servile ministers, That have with two pernicious daughters join'd Your high engender'd battles 'gainst a head So old and white as this. O! O! 'tis foul!

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