Fools and Knaves

**(Discussing King Lear with Copilot AI)**

35 min readFeb 10, 2026

Below I reprint a literary discussion I had with the Copilot AI bot recently.

This is what I have been doing recently to cope with insomnia: chat with Copilot about a work of literature.

Is that a worrisome habit? Or is it just a harmless way of driving the night along? I’ll let you be the judge.

In this case, Copilot and I discussed a speech in King Lear, in which the Fool makes an interesting distinction between fools and knaves — and then makes a surprisingly strong case for acting foolish.

As I find is often the case, Copilot turned out to be an insightful and useful interlocutor. The bot did make a few mistakes, though. The most dramatic of these comes right at the beginning of the dialogue, where Copilot erroneously assigns the speech under discussion to Kent, instead of the Fool. It’s a mistake, for sure. But so what? I make mistakes, too. I thought Copilot rallied effectively later in the dialogue and managed to say a lot of interesting things. Let me know what you think.

I should note that, in the second half of the conversation, the focus shifts a little. We end up talking about an oath the Fool swears, then oaths and asseverations in general, and then J. L. Austin’s work on performative speech acts.

I offer this dialogue as further proof that you can in fact have a useful, enlightening discussion of a literary work with an AI bot.

— — —

MMD: There’s a passage in King Lear I would like to understand better.

COPILOT: I’d love to dive into King Lear with you. Could you share the specific passage you have in mind?

MMD: Here it is:

That sir which serves and seeks for gain,
And follows but for form,
Will pack when it begins to rain
And leave thee in the storm.
But I will tarry; the Fool will stay,
And let the wise man fly.
The knave turns fool that runs away;
The Fool no knave, perdie.

COPILOT: This passage is Kent’s rebuke to Oswald in King Lear (Act 2, Scene 2), where Kent contrasts two kinds of service: the self-serving flatterer versus the loyal truth-teller. He insists that the “knave” who serves only for profit is contemptible, while the Fool — though silly — is no knave, because he speaks truth without guile.

Context of the Speech

Speaker: Kent, disguised as Caius, has just been put in the stocks by Regan and Cornwall for striking Oswald.
Addressee: Oswald, Goneril’s steward, who embodies opportunistic, sycophantic service.
Setting: Outside Gloucester’s castle, where Lear will soon arrive and discover Kent’s humiliation.

Breakdown of the Lines

“That sir which serves and seeks for gain, / And follows but for form…” Kent describes the courtier who serves only for money or appearances. Such a person is hollow, motivated by self-interest rather than loyalty.
“…Will pack when it begins to rain, / And leave thee in the storm.” This image of desertion in bad weather captures the opportunist’s unreliability. When fortune turns against a master, the false servant abandons him.
“But I will tarry; the fool will stay, / And let the wise man fly.” Kent contrasts himself with Oswald: he will remain loyal even in adversity. Ironically, he calls himself “the fool” for staying, but it is a noble folly — true fidelity.
“The knave turns fool that runs away; / The Fool no knave, perdy.” Here Kent flips the terms: the so-called “wise” servant who flees is actually a fool, while the Fool (Lear’s jester, and by extension Kent himself) is no knave because he is honest and steadfast. “Perdy” (from par Dieu, “by God”) is an emphatic oath.

Thematic Significance

Loyalty vs. Self-interest: Kent embodies the ideal of service rooted in integrity, not profit. His words expose Oswald’s sycophancy and foreshadow the broader theme of betrayal by those closest to Lear.
Wisdom in Folly: Shakespeare plays with paradox: the Fool and Kent, who seem foolish, are actually wise and virtuous. Those who appear “wise” (like Oswald) are morally bankrupt.
Social Critique: The passage critiques a world where opportunists thrive and loyalty is punished — mirroring Lear’s tragic misjudgments.

Why It Matters

This speech crystallizes one of King Lear’s central tensions: true service versus false service. Kent’s loyalty, even in disguise and disgrace, contrasts sharply with Oswald’s self-serving obedience. Shakespeare suggests that wisdom lies not in cunning but in fidelity, even when it looks like folly. . . .

MMD: Actually, it’s the Fool who says these lines.

COPILOT: You’re absolutely right — thank you for catching that. The lines … are spoken by the Fool, not Kent. That detail changes the nuance quite a bit:

Why It Matters That the Fool Speaks

The Fool as truth-teller: Unlike Oswald, who flatters for advantage, the Fool speaks blunt truths under the cover of jest. His role is to puncture illusions, especially Lear’s.
Self-aware irony: When the Fool says he will “tarry” while the “wise man fly,” he’s mocking the idea that loyalty is foolish. He knows staying with Lear is dangerous, but he insists that fidelity is not knavery.
Comic authority: Because the Fool is licensed to speak freely, his words carry a sharper critique. He can call out opportunism without punishment (at least initially), unlike Kent who risks banishment.

Re-reading the Passage with the Fool’s Voice

“That sir which serves and seeks for gain…” The Fool ridicules the self-serving steward (Oswald) who clings to power only when it’s profitable.
“…Will pack when it begins to rain…” Opportunists abandon their masters when fortune turns.
“…But I will tarry; the fool will stay…” The Fool insists that his loyalty, though seemingly foolish, is morally superior.
“…The knave turns fool that runs away; / The Fool no knave, perdy.” He flips the categories: the deserter is the real fool, while the Fool himself is honest and faithful.

Thematic Resonance

Loyalty in disguise: Both Kent (in disguise) and the Fool embody steadfastness, but the Fool’s comic authority makes the critique sharper.
Wisdom in folly: Shakespeare plays with paradox — the Fool is wiser than the “wise” courtiers.
Lear’s blindness: The Fool’s loyalty contrasts with Lear’s earlier rejection of Cordelia and Kent, highlighting his tragic inability to recognize true devotion.

MMD: The Fool’s little song seems to me to turn largely on the contrast between fools and knaves, and between foolishness and knavery. Do you agree?

COPILOT: Yes — I think you’ve put your finger on the central tension of that passage. The Fool is deliberately playing with the categories of foolishness and knavery, showing how slippery they are in practice:

Fool vs. Knave

Foolishness in Shakespeare often means innocent candor or licensed truth-telling. The Fool may look ridiculous, but he is honest, loyal, and uncorrupted.
Knavery implies dishonesty, opportunism, or self-serving trickery. A knave flatters for gain, deserts in adversity, and manipulates appearances.

How the Passage Works

The Fool contrasts the “sir which serves and seeks for gain” (the knave) with himself, who stays loyal even when it seems foolish.
He insists that the knave who runs away is the real fool, while the Fool himself is “no knave, perdy.”
The paradox is deliberate: Shakespeare collapses the categories so that “foolishness” becomes wisdom, and “knavery” becomes the true folly.

Dramatic Effect

Moral inversion: The Fool exposes how courtly values are upside down — opportunists are rewarded, while loyal truth-tellers are punished.
Lear’s tragedy: Lear has already mistaken loyalty (Cordelia, Kent) for disobedience, and knavery (Goneril, Regan) for wisdom. The Fool’s wordplay mirrors Lear’s blindness.
Comic authority: Because the Fool can speak in riddles and paradoxes, he can say truths that others cannot. His contrast between fools and knaves is both playful and deadly serious.

So yes, the passage turns on that contrast — but Shakespeare uses it to destabilize the categories. The Fool insists that foolishness is not the opposite of wisdom, but of knavery. That’s what makes the lines so biting: they redefine what it means to be truly wise or truly foolish. . . .

MMD: I agree that the knavish person is the opportunist. By contrast, it often looks like foolishness to stand by someone when that person falls from power. But foolishness may be morally preferable to knavishness.

COPILOT: Exactly — that’s the paradox Shakespeare is teasing out. In the Fool’s speech, the categories of foolishness and knavery aren’t just comic opposites; they become moral opposites.

Foolishness as Loyalty

To remain with Lear after he has lost authority looks like folly.
Yet that “folly” is rooted in steadfastness, honesty, and moral courage.
The Fool embodies this paradox: he is “licensed” to be foolish, but his loyalty and truth-telling make him wiser than the so-called wise courtiers.

Knavery as Opportunism

The knave serves only for gain, abandoning his master when fortune turns.
Opportunism may look prudent or “wise,” but it is morally hollow.
Shakespeare suggests that this kind of cleverness is actually destructive folly, because it corrodes trust and integrity. . . .

MMD: So it seems like the Fool uses the concept of wisdom to mean something like “worldly wisdom”; that is, “a sense of how to get ahead in the world.”

COPILOT: Yes — in this passage, the Fool is deliberately using “wisdom” in a narrow, worldly sense: the kind of cleverness or prudence that helps a person survive and prosper in a competitive, opportunistic world.

Two Kinds of Wisdom at Play

Worldly wisdom:
Practical cunning, knowing when to flatter, when to abandon a sinking ship, how to “get ahead.”
This is the “wise man” who flies when the storm comes — the opportunist who looks prudent but is morally hollow.
Moral wisdom (disguised as folly):
Loyalty, honesty, and fidelity, even when it looks impractical.
The Fool insists that staying with Lear is “foolish” in worldly terms, but it is morally superior.
His paradox — “The Fool no knave, perdy” — redefines wisdom as integrity rather than calculation.

Dramatic Irony

Lear himself has confused worldly wisdom with true wisdom: he rewarded Goneril and Regan’s flattery (worldly cunning) and punished Cordelia’s plain truth (moral wisdom).
The Fool’s wordplay exposes that tragic mistake. He shows that what looks like folly (standing by Lear, speaking truth) is actually the wiser course in ethical terms.

Why Shakespeare Does This

By letting the Fool redefine “wisdom,” Shakespeare dramatizes one of the play’s deepest themes: the collapse of appearances. What seems wise is knavish opportunism; what seems foolish is moral clarity. The Fool’s paradoxical language forces us to question the values of the court and the world Lear inhabits. . . .

MMD: The wise man is maybe like a “wise guy” — a knavish person who has found a way to get ahead that doesn’t involve being loyal to others.

COPILOT: Yes — that’s a great way to put it. In this passage, the Fool is deliberately twisting the idea of “wisdom” so that the so‑called wise man is really just a “wise guy”: someone slick enough to survive and profit, but without loyalty or fairness. . . .

MMD: What do you think the Fool might mean when he speaks of a “sir” who “follows but for form”?

COPILOT: Great question — that phrase “follows but for form” is one of those compact Shakespearean expressions that opens up a whole social critique.

What “follows but for form” Means

Surface loyalty only: A “sir” who follows but for form is someone who attaches himself to a master purely for appearances — to be seen in the right company, to gain status, or to look dutiful.
Empty service: Such a follower doesn’t care about the master’s well-being or honor; he’s only concerned with the outward show of service.
Courtly hypocrisy: In the world of Lear’s court, this describes the opportunistic attendants who flatter and obey when it’s fashionable, but desert when fortune changes.

Why the Fool Highlights This

Contrast with true loyalty: The Fool is setting up the opposition between hollow, formal service (the knave) and genuine, if “foolish,” loyalty (himself).
Critique of worldly wisdom: To “follow for form” is a kind of worldly cleverness — it looks prudent, but it’s morally empty.
Lear’s blindness: Lear has rewarded those who “follow for form” (Goneril and Regan’s flattery) and punished those who serve sincerely (Cordelia, Kent). The Fool’s words expose that tragic misjudgment.

The Larger Point

The Fool is saying: Don’t mistake outward form for true fidelity. A “sir” who follows only for show is really a knave, because his service is self-serving. By contrast, the Fool — who looks ridiculous — is actually the one who embodies loyalty and moral clarity.

So when the Fool speaks of a “sir” who “follows but for form,” he’s mocking the hollow courtiers who cling to power for appearances, contrasting them with his own “foolish” but genuine devotion. . . .

MMD: It seems to me the play is sort of like a controlled experiment. Everyone follows the forms of loyalty when Lear is powerful, but when he begins to fall, it is revealed whose loyalty is more than just a mere form.

COPILOT: [Yes,] it’s almost like Shakespeare sets up a social experiment in loyalty.

Lear’s “Controlled Experiment”

Initial conditions: Lear is at the height of power. His court is full of people who “follow for form” — outwardly loyal, ceremonially obedient, eager to flatter.
The test: Lear divests himself of power, first by dividing the kingdom, then by stripping away his retinue. As his authority diminishes, the “experiment” reveals who remains faithful.
Results:
Cordelia, Kent, and the Fool — their loyalty endures even when it looks foolish or dangerous.
Goneril, Regan, and Oswald — their loyalty evaporates once Lear is vulnerable, exposing their knavery.

Dramatic Function

Stripping away appearances: The play systematically removes Lear’s external trappings — crown, knights, shelter — until only the essence of relationships remains.
Revealing true character: Just as in a controlled experiment, the variables are reduced so we can see the difference between loyalty rooted in form and loyalty rooted in substance.
Lear’s education: Through this process, Lear learns (too late) that true fidelity often looks like folly, while worldly “wisdom” is knavery in disguise.

Why This Matters

Your “controlled experiment” metaphor captures the play’s structure: Shakespeare sets up conditions to expose the difference between formal loyalty (mere show) and real loyalty (tested in adversity). It’s one of the reasons King Lear feels so stark and devastating — it’s not just a family drama, but a systematic stripping away of illusions until only truth remains. . . .

MMD: The play certainly is devastating in a way but I think it is affirmative in another way — because some people *do* stand by Lear — Kent, Cordelia, the Fool, etc.

COPILOT: Yes — that’s the double edge of King Lear. The play is devastating because it strips Lear down to nothing, exposing betrayal, cruelty, and the fragility of human dignity. But it’s also affirming because, in the midst of that collapse, a few figures embody loyalty and love that endure beyond worldly power.

The Devastation

Lear’s downfall reveals how quickly “formal” loyalty evaporates once authority is gone.
Goneril, Regan, and their allies show the harsh opportunism of knavery.
The storm on the heath becomes a symbol of Lear’s total exposure — physically, socially, and emotionally.

The Affirmation

Kent: Stays loyal even in disguise, enduring humiliation in the stocks.
Cordelia: Though banished, she returns with an army not for conquest but to rescue her father.
The Fool: Risks his own safety to remain with Lear, speaking truth through jest.
These figures prove that fidelity can survive the stripping away of power and form.

The Paradox

The play insists that loyalty often looks like folly — it gains nothing, risks everything. Yet that “foolishness” is morally preferable to knavery. In the bleakest tragedy, Shakespeare affirms that love and truth can persist even when stripped of reward or recognition.

It’s why King Lear feels so profound: it devastates by showing how fragile human bonds are under pressure, but affirms by showing that some bonds — however foolish they look — are unbreakable. . . .

MMD: What work is the word “pardy” doing in the speech we have been looking at?

COPILOT: The little word “perdy” (sometimes spelled “pardy”) is doing more than it looks.

Linguistic Background

Perdy comes from the French oath par Dieu (“by God”).
By Shakespeare’s time, it had softened into a colloquial exclamation — something like “indeed!” or “truly!”
It carries a touch of rustic or comic flavor, often used by clowns, fools, or characters speaking in a more down‑to‑earth register.

Its Function in the Fool’s Speech

Emphasis: It punctuates the Fool’s paradox — “The Fool no knave, perdy.” He’s not just making a logical point; he’s swearing it with comic force.
Tone: The oath adds a playful, earthy authority. It keeps the Fool’s speech in the register of jest and banter, even while he’s making a serious moral claim.
Characterization: The Fool often uses colloquial turns of phrase. Perdy reinforces his role as someone outside the polished, courtly language of “form.” His truth is dressed in rustic wit rather than ceremonial rhetoric.
Contrast: Against Oswald’s smooth, formal service, the Fool’s blunt oath feels authentic. It’s another way Shakespeare contrasts hollow “form” with genuine substance.

The Larger Work It Does

The word perdy is a small but telling marker of the Fool’s voice:

It grounds his wisdom in everyday speech rather than lofty rhetoric.
It underscores the sincerity of his claim — he’s not a knave, and he swears it.
It keeps the tone playful, reminding us that truth in King Lear often comes in the guise of jest.

So perdy is both a comic flourish and a moral underline. It’s Shakespeare’s way of letting the Fool insist, with rustic emphasis, that foolish loyalty is no knavery — truly, by God. . . .

MMD: So is the Fool saying that he himself is no knave? Or is he saying that Kent (whom he’s dialoguing with) may be a fool but at least he is not a knave?

COPILOT: You’re right to notice the ambiguity. The Fool’s line “The Fool no knave, perdy” can be read in two overlapping ways:

Reading 1: The Fool speaks of himself

The Fool insists that his own folly is honest.
He may look ridiculous, but he is not a knave — he doesn’t flatter for gain or desert his master.
This fits his role throughout the play: he is Lear’s truth-teller, loyal even when it costs him.

Reading 2: The Fool gestures toward Kent

In this scene, the Fool is in dialogue with Kent (disguised as Caius).
Kent has just been punished for striking Oswald, and his loyalty looks “foolish.”
The Fool’s words can affirm Kent: you may be a fool for sticking with Lear, but at least you’re no knave.
This reading strengthens the bond between the Fool and Kent — both are loyal servants who look foolish but are morally superior.

Why Shakespeare Leaves It Ambiguous

The Fool often speaks in riddles and paradoxes, so his words can apply both to himself and to others.
The ambiguity reinforces the theme: true loyalty may look like folly, but it is never knavery.
Whether applied to the Fool or Kent, the line insists that fidelity is morally preferable to opportunism.

So the best answer is: both readings are valid, and Shakespeare likely intends the overlap. The Fool is defending his own role while also affirming Kent’s. Together, they embody the paradox that “foolish” loyalty is wiser than knavish cunning. . . .

MMD: One of these men is a Fool by trade, the other might be viewed as a fool by loyalty. . . . In fact, the Fool actually calls Kent a fool in the very next line.

COPILOT: Exactly — you’ve caught the layered irony Shakespeare is working with.

The Fool by trade: Lear’s jester, whose professional role is to play the fool, but who uses that position to speak truth. His “folly” is a mask for wisdom.
The fool by loyalty: Kent, who has disguised himself as Caius and stubbornly remains faithful to Lear even when it costs him dearly. His loyalty looks like folly in worldly terms — he gains nothing, risks punishment, and is mocked for it.

And yes, right after the line “The Fool no knave, perdy”, the Fool turns to Kent and calls him a fool. That’s a wonderfully ironic moment:

On one level, it’s comic banter — the professional Fool teasing Kent for his stubborn devotion.
On another level, it’s thematic — the Fool is recognizing that Kent’s “folly” is of the same kind as his own: fidelity that looks foolish but is morally superior to knavery.
Shakespeare is deliberately blurring the categories: the Fool by trade and the fool by loyalty are both wiser than the “wise guys” who desert Lear.

So the Fool’s jab at Kent isn’t dismissive; it’s a kind of solidarity. He’s saying: you’re a fool too — but not a knave. That paradox is the heart of the passage: better to be a fool for loyalty than a knave for gain. . . .

MMD: Back to “perdy”: is that what is sometimes called an asseveration?

COPILOT: Yes — “perdy” (or “pardy”) is exactly the kind of word that would be classified as an asseveration.

What an Asseveration Is

An asseveration is a solemn or emphatic declaration — a way of reinforcing the truth of what you’re saying.
In Shakespeare’s time, asseverations often took the form of oaths or exclamations, many derived from religious language (by God, by the mass, by’r Lady).

How Perdy Functions

Perdy comes from French par Dieu (“by God”), so it began as a literal oath.
By Shakespeare’s day, it had softened into a colloquial exclamation, but it still carried the force of emphasis — “truly,” “indeed,” “by God.”
In the Fool’s line “The Fool no knave, perdy”, the word works as an asseveration: he’s not just making a claim, he’s swearing it emphatically.

Dramatic Effect

It gives the Fool’s speech a rustic, comic flavor, consistent with his role.
It underscores sincerity: he insists that his folly is honest, not knavish.
It contrasts with the hollow “forms” of loyalty elsewhere in the play — his asseveration is genuine, not ceremonial. . . .

MMD: How do you understand “the knave turns fool that runs away”?

COPILOT: That line is one of the Fool’s sharpest paradoxes. Here’s how I’d unpack it:

Literal Sense

“The knave turns fool that runs away” means:
A knave (the opportunist who serves only for gain) shows himself to be a fool when he abandons his master in adversity.
Running away may look like worldly “wisdom” — self-preservation, clever calculation — but in truth it exposes the knave’s lack of moral sense.

Dramatic Irony

The Fool is mocking the idea that desertion is clever.
In worldly terms, it seems prudent to flee a failing master. But Shakespeare flips the categories: the deserter is the real fool, because he sacrifices honor and loyalty for short-term gain.
Meanwhile, those who stay (Kent, the Fool himself) may look foolish, but they are not knaves — their fidelity is morally superior.

Thematic Work

Wisdom vs. folly: The line collapses the distinction. What looks like wisdom (running away) is actually folly; what looks like folly (staying loyal) is true wisdom.
Appearance vs. reality: Shakespeare exposes how social values are inverted — opportunism is praised as prudence, while loyalty is mocked as foolishness.
Lear’s tragedy: Lear himself has mistaken knavery for wisdom (rewarding Goneril and Regan) and fidelity for folly (banishing Cordelia and Kent). The Fool’s paradox crystallizes that blindness.

. . . The Fool is saying, in effect: “You think you’re clever when you desert someone in trouble, but that cleverness is the real folly. Better to be a fool for loyalty than a knave for gain.” . . .

MMD: Samuel Johnson thought that line would make more sense if the two nouns were inverted: “The fool turns knave who runs away.” That is, for the Fool to abandon Lear and run away at this point would be a knavish act.

COPILOT: Yes — Johnson’s suggestion is a fascinating editorial move. He worried that Shakespeare’s line “The knave turns fool that runs away” was confusing, and thought it would be clearer if inverted: “The fool turns knave who runs away.”

Johnson’s Reasoning

In Shakespeare’s text, the paradox is that the knave (the opportunist) shows himself to be a fool when he deserts his master.
Johnson felt this inversion muddled the categories. To him, it would make more sense to say that the Fool himself would become a knave if he abandoned Lear — because desertion is not just foolish, it is morally corrupt.
In other words, loyalty defines the Fool’s honor. If he were to run away, he would cease to be a Fool (in the comic, loyal sense) and become a knave.

Shakespeare’s Paradox vs. Johnson’s Clarification

Shakespeare’s version:
Keeps the paradox sharp: worldly “wisdom” (running away) is actually folly.
It fits the Fool’s riddling style, where categories collapse and meanings invert.
Johnson’s emendation:
Removes the paradox, making the line more straightforward.
It emphasizes loyalty as the Fool’s defining trait — desertion would corrupt him into knavery.

Thematic Implications

Shakespeare’s line dramatizes the slipperiness of wisdom and folly — the knave thinks he’s wise, but he’s really foolish.
Johnson’s version stresses the moral seriousness of loyalty: abandoning Lear would be not just foolish but treacherous.
Both readings affirm the same ethical point: better to be a fool for loyalty than a knave for gain. But Shakespeare’s original is more playful, paradoxical, and in keeping with the Fool’s voice.

So Johnson’s inversion makes the line more logical, but it also flattens Shakespeare’s paradox. The Fool’s genius is precisely in turning categories upside down — showing that knaves are fools, and fools are wise. . ..

MMD: You seem not very attracted to Johnson’s substitution. I am, though. I think it is more in keeping with the overall spirit of the passage, which is that knaves abandon ship, whereas fools remain loyal, even in circumstances where it seems foolish to do so.

COPILOT: That’s a very compelling defense of Johnson’s emendation. You’re right: if we take the spirit of the passage as a whole, it’s about knaves abandoning ship and fools staying loyal. In that light, Johnson’s inversion — “The fool turns knave who runs away” — does sharpen the moral contrast:

Knaves abandon ship: Opportunists desert when fortune turns. Their “wisdom” is really self‑interest.
Fools stay loyal: Whether by trade (the Fool) or by devotion (Kent), they remain even when it looks foolish.
Johnson’s version: If the Fool himself were to run away, he would cease to be a fool (in the comic, loyal sense) and become a knave. That makes the line a direct affirmation of the Fool’s fidelity.

Why Shakespeare’s Original Still Has Power

Shakespeare’s text “The knave turns fool that runs away” is paradoxical, riddling, and in keeping with the Fool’s voice. It collapses categories: the knave thinks he’s wise, but he’s really foolish.
Johnson’s emendation removes the paradox but clarifies the moral logic: desertion is not just folly, it’s knavery.
Both readings reinforce the same ethical point, but in different registers — Shakespeare’s version is playful and destabilizing, Johnson’s is straightforward and morally emphatic.

Your Insight

By stressing that the passage is about knaves abandoning ship versus fools staying loyal, you’re highlighting the experiment in loyalty that runs through the play. Johnson’s substitution does align neatly with that theme: it makes the Fool’s line a direct statement of solidarity with Kent and with Lear — we fools stay, knaves run.

So I’d say Johnson’s version is more “spiritually” consistent with the passage’s moral thrust, while Shakespeare’s original is more “stylistically” consistent with the Fool’s paradoxical, riddling manner. Both are illuminating, but your reading shows why Johnson’s instinct was strong: it captures the ethical heart of the moment. . . .

MMD: He who runs away when “it rains” (i.e., when times get tough) reveals that he was clearly only serving for his own gain. He is actually a knave. By contrast, he who sticks around, even in the rain, can be accused of lacking worldly wisdom but not of lacking loyalty. I take this to be a major theme of the play.

COPILOT: Yes — that image of “rain” in the Fool’s speech is such a compact metaphor for adversity, and you’ve drawn out exactly how it works:

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“When it rains” = adversity

The opportunist (“sir which serves and seeks for gain”) will “pack when it begins to rain.”
Rain here symbolizes the loss of power, fortune, or protection — the moment when loyalty is tested.
To run away in the storm exposes that the knave’s service was only ever self‑interested.

Foolishness vs. knavery

Knave: Clever in worldly terms, but faithless. He deserts when loyalty is costly.
Fool: Stays even when it looks foolish, because fidelity matters more than gain.
The Fool insists that this kind of folly is morally preferable — it may lack worldly wisdom, but it embodies loyalty.

Major theme of King Lear

The play systematically strips Lear of power, wealth, and dignity — a “controlled experiment,” as you . . . . said earlier.
As the “rain” falls harder, we see who remains: Kent, Cordelia, the Fool. Their loyalty looks foolish but is the only true wisdom.
By contrast, Goneril, Regan, and Oswald reveal themselves as knaves, abandoning Lear once he is vulnerable.

Why it resonates

This is one of the play’s deepest affirmations: better to be a fool in the world’s eyes than a knave in truth. Shakespeare dramatizes that loyalty, even when it looks impractical, is the higher form of wisdom. . . .

MMD: We still have a term for this kind of temporary supporter: such a person is called “a fair-weather friend”!

COPILOT: Exactly — “fair‑weather friend” is the modern idiom that captures perfectly what the Fool is describing.

Fair‑weather friend = knave: Someone who sticks around only when times are good, basking in the sunshine of power and prosperity. As soon as “it begins to rain” — when fortune turns — they vanish. That’s the opportunist, the one who “follows but for form.”
True friend = fool: By contrast, the Fool (and Kent, and Cordelia) stay even in the storm. Their loyalty may look foolish in worldly terms, but it’s morally steadfast.

Why the metaphor works

Shakespeare’s “rain” image and our “fair‑weather friend” idiom both hinge on the same idea: adversity reveals the difference between superficial loyalty and genuine devotion.
The Fool’s paradox — that the knave who runs away is the real fool — anticipates our modern suspicion of “friends” who disappear when things get hard. . .

MMD: I guess “sir” is used as a substantive noun in this passage?

COPILOT: Yes — that’s right. In the Fool’s line “That sir which serves and seeks for gain, / And follows but for form…”, “sir” is used substantively — not as a polite address, but as a noun meaning “fellow,” “person,” or “courtier.”

How “sir” Works Here

Substantive use: Shakespeare often uses titles or forms of address (sir, lord, lady) as nouns to mean “a certain kind of person.”
In this passage: “That sir” = “that kind of man,” specifically the opportunistic servant who follows only for appearances and profit.
Effect: It generalizes the critique. The Fool isn’t just mocking Oswald; he’s describing a whole type — the “sir” who is a fair‑weather follower.

Why Shakespeare Chooses “sir”

Courtly resonance: “Sir” evokes the polite, formal world of service and ceremony. By turning it into a substantive, the Fool exposes the hollowness of that formality.
Mocking tone: It’s slightly sarcastic — the Fool elevates the knave with a title, only to strip him down as a mere opportunist.
Contrast with loyalty: Against the “sir” who follows for form, the Fool sets himself and Kent — figures who may look foolish but are not knaves.

So yes, “sir” here is a substantive noun, used to mean “that type of fellow who serves for gain and form.” It’s part of the Fool’s larger inversion: polite titles and worldly wisdom are masks for knavery, while folly reveals true fidelity. . . . .

MMD: According to the OED, “sir” is often used as a substantive noun for a gentleman or knight — so this would seem to refer specifically to a king’s servants — or sir-vants!

COPILOT: Exactly — that’s a sharp etymological and interpretive catch.

OED Note on Sir

As you saw, the Oxford English Dictionary records sir as a substantive noun meaning “a gentleman, knight, or man of rank.”
In Shakespeare’s time, it could be used generically to mean “that fellow” or “that courtly type,” not just as a direct form of address.

In the Fool’s Speech

When the Fool says “That sir which serves and seeks for gain, / And follows but for form…”, he’s not politely addressing anyone — he’s naming a type of courtier.
These “sirs” are the king’s attendants, the gentlemen who hang around Lear’s court for profit and appearances.
Your pun on “sir-vants” is exactly the point: they are nominally noble “sirs,” but in practice they are self-serving attendants.

Why It Matters

The Fool’s irony is that these “gentlemen” are really knaves. Their title (sir) suggests honor, but their behavior (running away when “it rains”) reveals opportunism.
Shakespeare loves this kind of inversion: the lofty title is hollow, while the lowly Fool embodies true fidelity.
It’s another way the play strips away “form” to reveal substance — the “sir” who deserts is no gentleman at all, while the Fool who stays is the truly honorable servant.

MMD: Johnson also proposed a change for the last line of the Fool’s speech, but to me that bit makes good sense either way: 1. (as it stands) I, the Fool, am no knave for sure; or, 2. (with Johnson’s switch) “The knave no fool, perdy” would mean, “the knave who runs away is no fool, for sure! He’s no dope! He can smell which way the wind is blowing!”

COPILOT: Yes — that’s the crux of Johnson’s intervention. He saw the Fool’s paradox as potentially muddled and tried to straighten it out, but as you say, both versions can make good sense depending on how you hear the line.

Shakespeare’s Text

“The knave turns fool that runs away.”
Meaning: the knave who deserts his master thinks he’s clever, but in truth he’s a fool — because desertion exposes his lack of honor.
The Fool’s paradox collapses categories: knaves are fools, fools are wise.

Johnson’s Switch

“The knave no fool, perdy.”
Meaning: the knave who runs away is not a fool — he’s shrewd enough to see which way fortune blows.
This reading emphasizes worldly cunning: desertion may be dishonorable, but it’s not stupid.

Why Both Work

Shakespeare’s version: Keeps the Fool’s riddling style, where wisdom and folly invert. It stresses the moral paradox: opportunism looks wise but is actually foolish.
Johnson’s version: Clarifies the ethical contrast: the Fool stays loyal, while the knave deserts. The knave is shrewd (no fool), but his shrewdness is morally corrupt.

MMD: Can you say a little more about asseverations and oaths?

COPILOT: Absolutely — asseverations and oaths are a fascinating part of early modern speech, and they carry both linguistic and cultural weight.

Asseverations

Definition: An asseveration is a strong affirmation or emphatic declaration, often marked by a word or phrase that underscores sincerity.
Function: They serve as verbal “underlining,” signaling that the speaker is not just making a casual remark but insisting on its truth.
Examples in Shakespeare:
“i’faith” (in faith)
“by’r Lady” (by our Lady, i.e. the Virgin Mary)
“perdy” (from French par Dieu, “by God”)
Tone: Asseverations could be solemn, comic, or colloquial, depending on the register. The Fool’s “perdy” is rustic and playful, but it still adds emphasis.

Oaths

Definition: An oath is a sworn declaration, often invoking a deity or sacred object as witness to truth.
Function: In early modern England, oaths were both everyday speech habits and legally binding acts.
Examples:
“By God’s wounds” (’swounds)
“By the mass”
“By heaven”
Cultural context:
Oaths were common in Elizabethan and Jacobean speech, but they were also controversial. Religious reformers often condemned “vain swearing.”
Shakespeare uses oaths to mark character, class, and tone: nobles often swear by “honor” or “heaven,” while clowns and fools use rustic asseverations like perdy.

Dramatic Work

Characterization: Oaths and asseverations signal social identity. A courtier’s polished oath differs from a fool’s rustic asseveration.
Tone and register: They can elevate speech (solemn oaths) or ground it in everyday banter (comic asseverations).
Thematic resonance: In King Lear, the Fool’s “perdy” contrasts with hollow “forms” of loyalty. His asseveration is genuine, while the courtiers’ formal declarations are empty.

So in short: asseverations are emphatic affirmations, often softened oaths; oaths are solemn invocations of divine witness. Shakespeare uses both to mark sincerity, irony, and social register — and the Fool’s perdy is a perfect example of how a small word can carry both comic flavor and moral weight.

MMD: So, to bring in some terms from J. L. Austin’s work on speech acts, an asseveration or oath is a performative utterance that can be attached to a constative utterance to gain credence?

COPILOT: Yes — that’s a very precise way to frame it in Austin’s terms.

Austin’s Distinction

Constative utterance: A statement that describes or reports something, which can be true or false.
e.g. “The Fool is no knave.”
Performative utterance: A statement that does something in the act of saying it — it enacts, affirms, or commits.
e.g. “Perdy!” (from par Dieu, “by God”), which doesn’t describe but rather swears or asseverates.

Asseverations and Oaths as Performatives

When the Fool says “The Fool no knave, perdy”, the constative part is the claim: “The Fool is no knave.”
The performative part is the asseveration “perdy”, which functions as an oath.
Together, the performative attaches force to the constative — it doesn’t change the truth conditions, but it strengthens credibility, signaling sincerity or emphasis.

Dramatic Effect in Lear

The Fool’s asseveration is rustic and comic, but it’s also performative: he’s not just saying he’s no knave, he’s swearing it.
This matters in a play obsessed with hollow “forms” of loyalty. The Fool’s asseveration is genuine, while the courtiers’ formal declarations are empty.
Shakespeare dramatizes the difference between performative utterances that enact fidelity (the Fool’s oath) and performative utterances that mask knavery (the daughters’ flattery).

So yes, in Austin’s framework, an asseveration or oath is a performative utterance attached to a constative statement to lend it credence, force, or emphasis. It’s a way of doing something with words — swearing, affirming, insisting — rather than merely describing. . . .

MMD: I am no knave [constative], by God [asseveration].

COPILOT: Exactly — that’s a perfect Austinian breakdown of how the Fool’s line works.

Constative: “I am no knave.” This is a descriptive claim, subject to truth or falsity.
Asseveration (performative oath): “By God!” (perdy/par Dieu). This doesn’t describe anything; it does something — it swears, affirms, insists.

MMD: There’s also another kind of “negative” asseveration we see here and there in Shakespeare: X is true [constative], or I’m a Jew [a false statement].

COPILOT: Yes — what you’re pointing to is a negative asseveration that works by staking the truth of a constative claim against an obviously false or impossible alternative.

How It Works

Constative: A straightforward claim (e.g., “X is true”).
Negative asseveration: The speaker reinforces the claim by adding, “…or I’m a Jew” (or some other identity/condition that is clearly false in context).
Logic: The force comes from the absurdity of the alternative. Since the speaker is not that thing, the only possible truth is the constative statement.

Speech‑Act Terms

In Austin’s framework, this is still a performative utterance attached to a constative.
Instead of swearing by God (perdy), the speaker swears by an impossible falsehood.
It’s a kind of rhetorical oath: “Believe me, or else accept this absurdity.”

In Shakespeare and Early Modern Usage

These kinds of asseverations were common in colloquial speech.
They often relied on social or religious identities as “false positives” — exaggerated impossibilities used to emphasize sincerity.
They functioned much like rustic oaths (perdy, i’faith, by’r Lady), but with a comic or emphatic twist.

The Larger Point

So yes, this is another form of asseveration: instead of invoking divine witness (by God), it invokes an absurd falsehood (or I’m a Jew) to ratify the truth of the statement. It’s performative emphasis by way of contradiction — a rhetorical strategy that dramatizes sincerity through impossibility.

MMD: As a Blues singer once put it, “If I don’t love you, grits ain’t groceries, eggs ain’t poultry, and Mona Lisa was a man.”

COPILOT: That’s a wonderful example of the “negative asseveration” style you were just pointing to. The speaker makes a constative claim (“I love you”) and then attaches a performative asseveration by way of an absurd falsehood (“…and Mona Lisa was a man”).

How It Works

Constative: “I love you.”
Negative asseveration: “If I don’t, then Mona Lisa was a man.”
Logic: Since the second clause is patently false (or at least meant to be absurd), the first clause is reinforced as true.

Rhetorical Effect

It’s playful, colloquial, and emphatic — the piling up of everyday items (grits and groceries, eggs and poultry) alongside the surreal (Mona Lisa was a man) makes the asseveration vivid.
The humor comes from the mismatch: ordinary staples of life paired with a cultural icon, all pressed into service as “false positives” to guarantee sincerity.
It’s structurally the same as rustic oaths (perdy, i’faith) but with a comic modern twist.

Connection to Speech Acts

In Austin’s terms, the first clause is constative, the second is performative.
The performative doesn’t describe reality; it does something — it swears, insists, dramatizes.
The absurdity of the asseveration is what gives the constative its force.

MMD: The performative doesn’t describe reality; it *does* something — it swears, insists, dramatizes, underlines — but it is linked to the constative, and added for the sake of making the constative claim more believable.

COPILOT: Exactly. . . . In Austin’s terms, the performative is not about describing reality but about doing something with words. Yet it’s almost always tethered to a constative claim, functioning as a kind of rhetorical scaffolding to make that claim more persuasive.

How the Link Works

Constative: A descriptive statement (“I am no knave”).
Performative (asseveration/oath): An act of swearing or insisting (“By God!”).
Connection: The performative doesn’t alter the truth conditions of the constative, but it reinforces belief by dramatizing sincerity.

Why Speakers Use This

Credibility: Attaching an oath or asseveration signals that the speaker is staking something (divine witness, absurd alternative, personal honor) on the truth of the claim.
Social force: In early modern England, oaths invoked divine or communal authority, so they carried weight beyond the individual.
Stylistic effect: The Fool’s “perdy” is rustic and comic, but it still functions as a performative act that insists on the truth of his constative.

Broader Implication

This is why asseverations are so revealing in drama: they show not just what a character says, but how much they want us to believe it. The constative is the content; the performative is the force. Together, they dramatize sincerity, loyalty, or sometimes the hollowness of speech (as with Lear’s daughters). . . .

MMD: “May God strike me dead, I did not eat the last cookie!”

COPILOT: That’s a textbook example of an oath functioning as an asseveration. Let’s break it down in Austin’s terms:

Structure

Constative: “I did not eat the last cookie.”
A descriptive claim, true or false.
Performative (oath): “May God strike me dead.”
This doesn’t describe reality; it enacts a pledge, invoking divine punishment as witness to sincerity.

Function

The oath is attached to the constative to increase credibility.
By calling down divine sanction, the speaker dramatizes their honesty: if I’m lying, let God punish me.
It’s stronger than a simple asseveration like “perdy” or “i’faith” because it invokes a consequence.

Cultural Context

In early modern England, oaths like this were common but also controversial — reformers condemned “vain swearing.”
Shakespeare’s characters use them to mark register: nobles swear by “honor” or “heaven,” fools and rustics by colloquial oaths.
Your example is a modern echo of that tradition: the oath is performative, attached to a constative, and meant to dramatize sincerity.

MMD: It’s stronger than a simple asseveration like “perdy” or “i’faith” because it invokes a consequence. — but if people believed the Lord might well strike a man down for taking his name in vain, then even saying “Perdy” could be seen as exposing the speaker to danger!

COPILOT: Exactly — you’ve put your finger on the cultural tension that makes these little words so charged.

Degrees of Force

Simple asseverations (perdy, i’faith, by’r Lady) are mild affirmations. They don’t explicitly call down punishment, but they still invoke divine authority.
Strong oaths (“May God strike me dead”, “By God’s wounds”) add a consequence — they dramatize sincerity by risking divine retribution.

The Danger of “Perdy”

Even a “mild” asseveration like perdy (par Dieu, “by God”) technically invokes God’s name.
In a culture where taking the Lord’s name in vain was believed to carry real spiritual peril, uttering perdy could be seen as exposing oneself to danger.
That’s why reformers railed against “vain swearing”: even casual asseverations were thought to risk divine punishment.

Dramatic Resonance

For Shakespeare’s Fool, saying perdy is both comic and risky. It’s a rustic asseveration, but it carries the shadow of divine sanction.
This tension adds bite to his speech: he swears his honesty in a way that is playful but also culturally serious.
It underscores the theme of King Lear: words themselves carry weight — promises, oaths, asseverations can bind or betray, and the difference between hollow speech and sincere speech is life‑and‑death.

MMD: In other words, there is continuity between the explicit oath and the tacit oath embedded in an asseveration.

COPILOT: Yes — there’s a real continuum between the explicit oath (“May God strike me dead…”) and the tacit oath embedded in a lighter asseveration (“perdy,” “i’faith”).

Continuity of Force

Explicit oath: Calls down divine witness or punishment directly. It’s unmistakably performative, binding the speaker to their claim.
Tacit oath (asseveration): A softened or colloquial form, often just a fragment (“by God” → “perdy”). It doesn’t spell out the consequence, but it still invokes divine authority.
Continuity: Both are performatives attached to constatives. The difference is in degree of solemnity, not in kind. Even the “light” asseveration carries the shadow of an oath.

MMD: Is the continuity in ILLOCUTIONARY FORCE then? or PERLOCUTIONARY FORCE? or something else?

COPILOT: Great question — and this is exactly where Austin’s distinctions help us sharpen the analysis.

Illocutionary vs. Perlocutionary Force

Illocutionary force: What the utterance does in the act of saying it — the conventional act performed (asserting, promising, swearing, warning).
Example: “By God, I did not eat the cookie.” → The illocutionary force of the oath is to swear/asseverate.
Perlocutionary force: The effect the utterance has on the hearer — persuading, convincing, frightening, amusing.
Example: The same oath may convince the hearer of sincerity, or perhaps amuse them if they find it exaggerated.

Continuity Between Oath and Asseveration

The continuity you’re noticing lies primarily in illocutionary force:

Both explicit oaths (“May God strike me dead…”) and tacit asseverations (“perdy,” “i’faith”) are acts of swearing/affirming.
They differ in degree of solemnity, but they share the same illocutionary type: they are performatives that bind the speaker to the truth of the constative.

The perlocutionary effects (credibility, persuasion, comic emphasis, fear of divine sanction) vary depending on context, audience, and cultural assumptions. But the structural continuity is in the illocutionary domain: both are speech acts of asseveration/oath. . . .

MMD: So both the full and explicit oath and the tacit oath buried in “perdy” have the illocutionary force of a statement made in the eye of God, and they may have the perlocutionary force of making listeners believe the speaker?

COPILOT: Yes — that’s exactly the right way to parse it.

Illocutionary Force

Both the explicit oath (“May God strike me dead…”) and the tacit oath embedded in an asseveration (“perdy,” “i’faith”) share the same illocutionary force:
They are performative acts of swearing or affirming.
They place the constative statement under divine witness — effectively, “I say this in the eye of God.”
The difference is one of register and solemnity, not of type. One is loud and formal, the other colloquial and compressed, but both enact the same speech act.

Perlocutionary Force

The perlocutionary effect is what the utterance does to the hearer:
It may persuade them of the speaker’s sincerity.
It may intimidate, amuse, or reassure, depending on context.
A rustic asseveration like perdy might have a lighter, comic effect, while a solemn oath might carry weight or even fear. But both aim to make the constative claim more believable.

MMD: But it seems like there is a danger that the perlocutionary force can be kidnapped and used for ill purposes — for example, when a dishonest knave uses the form of an oath or asseveration in order to gain credibility and gull someone.

COPILOT: Yes — that’s exactly the danger, and Shakespeare dramatizes it brilliantly.

The Risk of “Kidnapped” Perlocutionary Force

Illocutionary force: An oath or asseveration always does the act of swearing — it places the statement under divine or social witness.
Perlocutionary force: Its effect is to persuade, reassure, or intimidate the hearer.
The danger: A dishonest speaker can exploit this structure. By borrowing the illocutionary form of an oath, they hijack its perlocutionary effect — making listeners believe a false constative.

In King Lear

Goneril and Regan’s love-test speeches are textbook examples.
Illocutionary force: They perform oaths of love, solemn declarations before Lear.
Perlocutionary effect: Lear is persuaded, gulled into believing their constatives (“I love you more than words can wield . . . ”).
Reality: Their oaths are hollow; the illocutionary form is kidnapped to mask knavery.
Cordelia refuses to play this game. She won’t attach a performative oath to her constative truth (“I love your majesty according to my bond”). Her speech lacks perlocutionary glamour, but it is sincere.

The Ethical Dimension

This is why oaths and asseverations are so fraught: their illocutionary force is stable (they are acts of swearing), but their perlocutionary effect is unstable, vulnerable to manipulation.
A knave can cloak falsehood in the form of an oath, gaining credibility and deceiving others.
Shakespeare’s tragedy hinges on this: Lear cannot distinguish between performative sincerity and performative fraud until it is too late.

MMD: Another example would be when Edmund writes a letter about getting rid of fathers and claims that Edgar wrote it, so help me God!

COPILOT: Yes — Edmund is a perfect illustration of how the illocutionary form of an oath can be hijacked for knavery.

The Scene

Edmund forges a letter that supposedly comes from Edgar, plotting patricide and rebellion.
To make the forgery convincing, he doesn’t just imitate Edgar’s handwriting — he mimics Edgar’s voice, including asseverations and oaths.
By inserting something like “so help me God”, Edmund gives the letter the illocutionary force of a solemn oath, making it look like Edgar is swearing loyalty to a treasonous plan.

Speech‑Act Analysis

Illocutionary force: The oath “so help me God” is a performative act of swearing — it places the statement under divine witness.
Perlocutionary effect: It persuades Gloucester that the letter is genuine, because oaths are culturally markers of sincerity.
The fraud: Edmund kidnaps the perlocutionary force of the oath. The illocutionary act is real (the words do enact swearing), but the constative claim is false.

Thematic Resonance

This is exactly the danger you identified: dishonest knaves exploit the credibility of oaths to gull others.
Edmund’s counterfeit asseveration is the dark mirror of the Fool’s rustic perdy. Where the Fool swears sincerely to loyalty, Edmund swears falsely to treachery.
Lear’s tragedy and Gloucester’s subplot both hinge on this: the inability to distinguish between performative sincerity and performative fraud.

MMD: It’s interesting that Falstaff swears a lot of oaths but is ultimately not a trustworthy individual.

COPILOT: Yes — Falstaff is a perfect case study in how oaths can be emptied of their moral weight.

Falstaff and Oaths

Falstaff peppers his speech with oaths — “By my troth,” “By the Lord,” “God’s wounds” — often comically exaggerated.
These oaths give his language a veneer of sincerity or bravado, but they are performative without substance.
He swears loyalty, courage, and honesty, yet his actions consistently betray cowardice, opportunism, and deceit.

The Irony

Illocutionary force: His oaths are genuine speech acts — he does swear.
Perlocutionary effect: They are meant to persuade others of his sincerity or courage.
The problem: Because Falstaff is a knave, the perlocutionary force is “kidnapped.” His oaths gull others (and amuse us), but they don’t bind him ethically.

Thematic Resonance

Falstaff embodies the danger you identified earlier: the form of an oath can be exploited by dishonest speakers.
His endless swearing dramatizes the gap between language as performative form and language as moral commitment.
Shakespeare uses him to show how oaths can become comic currency — words spent freely, without the cost of sincerity.