Monologue

Lear Monologue from King Lear

From King Lear by William Shakespeare

male · anguished · 32 sec

My wits begin to turn. Come on, my boy. How dost, my boy? Art cold? I am cold myself. Where is this straw, my fellow? The art of our necessities is strange, That can make vile things precious. Come, your hovel. Poor fool and knave, I have one part in my heart That’s sorry yet for thee.

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