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| Character | King Lear | |
|---|---|---|
| Gender | Male | |
| Age Range(s) | Senior (>50) | |
| Type of monologue / Character is | Angry, Insane, Lamenting, Frustrated, Insecure, Afraid | |
| Type | Dramatic | |
| Period | Renaissance | |
| Genre | Tragedy, Drama | |
| Description | King Lear curses the weather | |
| Location | ACT III, Scene 2 | |
Summary
King Lear, the aging king of Britain, decides to divide his kingdom among his three daughters Goneril, Regan and Cordelia. However he puts them through a test that is they all have to tell him how much they love him. Goneril and Regan give him a flattering speech but Cordelia tells him she can't describe how much she loves him. As a consequence he disowns Cordelia and gives his kingdom to the other two daughters. Goneril and Regan, however, mistreat their father as soon as they inherit his lands and King Lear eventually goes insane. Feeling unwelcomed in their houses, he flees with his Fool and Kent, a nobleman loyal to him. Out in the storm, broken hearted and insane, he curses the weather.
Written by Administrator
| Excerpt |
|---|
| KING LEAR 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, an germens spill at once, That make ingrateful man! [Fool O nuncle, court holy-water in a dry house is better than this rain-water out o' door. Good nuncle, in, and ask thy daughters' blessing: here's a night pities neither wise man nor fool.] KING LEAR 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 despised old man: 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! |
