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How in my strength you please. For you, | against the king, and take vanity the puppet's Edmund,
part against the royalty of her father. Draw, you rogue, or I'll so carbonado your shanks: draw, you rascal; come your ways.
Osw. Help, ho! murder! help! Kent. Strike, you slave; stand, rogue, stand; you neat slave, strike. Beats him.
Osw. Help, ho! murder! murder!
Enter EDMUND, with his rapier drawn. Edm. How now! What's the matter?
Parting them. Kent. With you, goodman boy, an you please: come, I'll flesh ye; come on, young master. Enter CORNWALL, REGAN, GLOUCESTER, and Servants. Glou. Weapons! arms! here?
What's the matter
Osw. Good dawning to thee, friend: art of painter could not have made him so ill, though this house?
Osw. Why dost thou use me thus? I know thee not.
Kent. Fellow, I know thee.
Osw. What dost thou know me for?
Kent. A knave, a rascal, an eater of broken meats; a base, proud, shallow, beggarly, threesuited, hundred-pound, filthy, worsted-stocking knave; a lily-livered, action-taking knave; a whoreson, glass-gazing, superserviceable, finical rogue; one-trunk-inheriting slave; one that would'st 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.
Osw. Why, what a monstrous fellow art thou, thus to rail on one that is neither known of thee nor knows thee!
Kent. What a brazen-faced varlet art thou, to deny thou knowest me! Is it two days since I tripped up thy heels and beat thee before the king? Draw, you rogue; for though it be night, yet the moon shines: I'll make a sop o' the moonshine of you. Drawing his sword. Draw, you whoreson cullionly barber-monger, draw.
Osw. Away! I have nothing to do with thee. Kent. Draw, you rascal; you come with letters
they had been but two hours o' the trade. Corn. Speak yet, how grew your quarrel? Osw. This ancient ruffian, sir, whose life I have spared at suit of his grey beard,
Kent. Thou whoreson zed! thou unnecessary letter! My lord, if you will give me leave, I will tread this unbolted villain into mortar, and daub the wall of a jakes with him. Spare my grey beard, you wagtail?
Corn. Peace, sirrah!
You beastly knave, know you no reverence?
Kent. That such a slave as this should wear a sword,
Who wears no honesty. Such smiling rogues as these,
Like rats, oft bite the holy cords a-twain Which are too intrinse t' unloose; smooth every passion
That in the natures of their lords rebel :
Corn. What! art thou mad, old fellow?
Corn. Why dost thou call him knave? What is his fault?
Kent. His countenance likes me not. Corn. No more, perchance, does mine, nor his, nor hers.
Against the grace and person of my master, Stocking his messenger.
Fetch forth the stocks! You stubborn ancient knave, you reverend braggart,
We'll teach you.
Kent. Sir, I am too old to learn. Call not your stocks for me; I serve the king, On whose employment I was sent to you; You shall do small respect, show too bold malice
Are punish'd with the king must take it ill, That he, so slightly valued in his messenger, Should have him thus restrain'd.
Fetch forth the stocks! As I have life and honour, there shall he sit till
Reg. Till noon! till night, my lord; and all night too.
Kent. Why, madam, if I were your father's dog, You should not use me so.
Reg. Sir, being his knave, I will. Corn. This is a fellow of the self-same colour Our sister speaks of. Come, bring away the stocks. Stocks brought out. Glou. Let me beseech your grace not to do so. His fault is much, and the good king his master Will check him for 't: your purpos'd low correction
Is such as basest and contemned'st wretches 150 For pilferings and most common trespasses
My lord, when at their home
From Goneril his mistress salutations;
Commanded me to follow, and attend
How chance the king comes with so small a number?
Fool. An thou hadst been set i' the stocks for that question, thou hadst well deserved it. Kent. Why, fool?
Fool. We'll set thee to school to an ant, to teach thee there's no labouring i' the winter. All that follow their noses are led by their eyes but blind men; and there's not a nose among twenty but can smell him that's stinking. Let go thy hold when a great wheel runs down a hill, lest it break thy neck with following it; but the great one that goes up the hill, let him draw thee after. When a wise man gives thee better counsel, give me mine again: I would have none but knaves follow it, since a fool gives it.
That sir which serves and seeks for gain,
Will pack when it begins to rain,
And leave thee in the storm.
But I will tarry; the fool will stay,
The knave turns fool that runs away;
Kent. Where learned you this, fool?
Re-enter LEAR, with GLOUCESTER. Lear. Deny to speak with me! They are sick! they are weary!
They have travell'd all the night!
The images of revolt and flying off.
Lear. Vengeance! plague! death! confusion! The leisure of their answer; gave me cold Fiery! what quality? Why, Gloucester, Gloulooks:
Fool. Winter's not gone yet, if the wild-geese Would with his daughter speak, commands her
fly that way.
Fathers that wear rags
Do make their children blind, But fathers that bear bags
Shall see their children kind.
Are they inform'd of this? My breath and blood!
Fiery! the fiery duke! Tell the hot duke that
Glou. I would have all well betwixt you. Exit. Lear. O me! my heart, my rising heart! but, down!
Fool. Cry to it, nuncle, as the cockney did to the eels when she put 'em i' the paste alive; she knapped 'em o' the coxcombs with a stick, and cried Down, wantons, down!' 'Twas her brother that, in pure kindness to his horse, buttered his hay.
Enter CORNWALL, REGAN, GLOUCESTER, and
Lear. Good morrow to you both.
Hail to your grace! KENT is set at liberty. Reg. I am glad to see your highness. 130 Lear. Regan, I think you are; I know what
I have to think so: if thou should'st not be glad,
I would divorce me from thy mother's tomb, Sepulchring an adult'ress. To KENT. O! are you free?
Some other time for that. Beloved Regan,
Reg. I pray you, sir, take patience. I have hope
You less know how to value her desert
Say, how is that? Reg. I cannot think my sister in the least Would fail her obligation: if, sir, perchance She have restrain'd the riots of your followers, 'Tis on such ground, and to such wholesome end,
As clears her from all blame.
Thy tender-hefted nature shall not give
Do comfort and not burn. 'Tis not in thee
To bandy hasty words, to scant my sizes,
Tucket within. What trumpet's that? Reg. I know 't, my sister's: this approves her letter,
That she would soon be here.
You did you? Reg. I pray you, father, being weak, seem so. If, till the expiration of your month, You will return and sojourn with my sister, Dismissing half your train, come then to me: I am now from home, and out of that provision Which shall be needful for your entertainment. Lear. Return to her? and fifty men dismiss'd? No, rather I abjure all roofs, and choose To wage against the enmity o' the air; To be a comrade with the wolf and owl, Necessity's sharp pinch! Return with her! Why, the hot-blooded France, that dowerless took
Our youngest born, I could as well be brought To knee his throne, and, squire-like, pension beg
To keep base life afoot. Return with her!
I will not trouble thee, my child; farewell.
Or rather a disease that's in my flesh,
Reg. And in good time you gave it. Lear. Made you my guardians, my depositaries, But kept a reservation to be follow'd With such a number. What! must I come to you With five-and-twenty? Regan, said you so ?
Reg. And speak 't again, my lord; no more with me.
Lear. Those wicked creatures yet do look well-favour'd
When others are more wicked; not being the worst
Stands in some rank of praise. To GONERIL.
Thy fifty yet doth double five-and-twenty,
Are in the poorest thing superfluous :
Which scarcely keeps thee warm. But, for true need,
You heavens, give me that patience, patience I
You see me here, you gods, a poor old man,
In my corrupted blood. But I'll not chide Stain my man's cheeks! No, you unnatural
Let shame come when it will, I do not call it :
Not altogether so :
Lear. Is this well spoken ? Reg. I dare avouch it, sir: what! fifty followers! Is it not well? What should you need of more? Yea, or so many, sith that both charge and danger Speak 'gainst so great a number? How, in one house,
I will have such revenges on you both
I have full cause of weeping, but this heart
Cannot be well bestow'd.
Gon. 'Tis his own blame; hath put himself from rest,
And must needs taste his folly.
Reg. For his particular, I'll receive him gladly, But not one follower.
So am I purpos'd.
Whither is he going!
Glou. He calls to horse; but will I know not