This yin’s a right dirge. Unrelentingly miserable to the almost annihilation of any other quality. King Lear’s about unnaturalness in nature, its corruption, the old outliving the young, the young not caring for the old, the bastard favoured over the legitimate son, and madness, madness everywhere. Although it does boast one of the best bitchslap speeches ever written, Kent describing Oswald as

“A knave; a rascal; an eater of broken meats; a base, proud, shallow, beggarly, three-suited, hundred-pound, filthy, worsted-stocking knave; a lily-livered, action-taking knave, a whoreson, glass-gazing, super-serviceable finical rogue; one-trunk-inheriting slave; one that wouldst be a bawd, in way of good service, and art nothing but the composition of a knave, beggar, coward, pandar, and the son and heir of a mongrel bitch: one whom I will beat into clamorous whining, if thou deniest the least syllable of thy addition.”