Seeing how lothly oppofite I ftood Glo. Let him fly far; Not in this land fhall he remain uncaught: That he which finds him shall deserve our thanks, Baft. When I diffwaded him from his intent, Would make thy words faith'd? no, what I'd deny, To thy fuggeftion, plot, and damned practice; Glo. O ftrange, faften'd villain! Would he deny his letter, faid he? hark! [Trumpets within, Hark, the Duke's trumpets! I know not why he comes The Duke muft grant me that; befides, his picture SCENE SCENE IV. Enter Cornwall, Regan, and Attendants. Corn. How now, my noble friend? fince I came hither, Which I can call but now, I have heard strange news. Reg. If it be true, all vengeance comes too short Which can pursue th' offender; how does my Lord? Glo. O Madam, my old heart is crack'd, it's crack'd. Reg. What, did my father's godfon feek your life? He whom my father nam'd, your Edgar? He? Glo. O Lady, Lady, fhame would have it hid. Reg. Was he not companion with the riotous Knights That tended on my father? Glo. I know not, Madam; 'tis too bad, too bad. Reg. No marvel then, tho' he were ill-affected; Been well inform'd of them, and with such cautions, I'll not be there. Corn. Nor I, affure thee, Regan; Edmund, I hear that you have fhewn your father Baft. It's my duty, Sir. Glo. He did bewray his practice, and receiv'd This hurt you fee, ftriving to apprehend him. Corn. Is he pursued? Glo. Ay, my good Lord, he is. Corn. If he be taken, he fhall never more So much commend it felf, you shall be ours; Baft. I fhall ferve you, Sir, Truly, however elfe. Glo. I thank your Grace. Carm. You know not why we came to vifit you Thus Thus out of feafon thredding dark-ey'd night! Which crave the inftant use. Glo. I ferve you, Madam; Your Graces are right welcome. SCENE V. Enter Kent, and Steward, feverally. [Exeunt, Stew. Good dawning to thee, friend; art of this house? Kent. Ay. Stew. Where may we fet our horfes? Kent. I'th' mire. Stew. Pr'ythee, if thou lov'ft me tell me. Kent. I love thee not. Stew. Why then I care not for thee. Kent. If I had thee in Lipfbury pinfold, I would make thee care for me. Stew. Why doft thou use me thus? I know thee not. Stew. What doft thou know me for? Kent. A knave, a raícal, and eater of broken meats, a bafe, proud, fhallow, beggarly, three-fuited, hundred-pound, filthy woofted-ftocking knave; a lilly-liver'd action-taking, whorfon, glass-gazing, super-serviceable finical rogue ; onetrunk-inheriting flave; one that would'st be a bawd in way of good fervice; and art nothing but the compofition of a knave, beggar, coward, pander, and the fon and heir of a mungril bitch; one whom I will beat into clam'rous whining, if thou deny'ft the leaft fyllable of thy addition. Stew. 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-fac'd varlet art thou to deny thou knoweft me! is it two days fince I tript up thy heels, and beat thee before the King? draw, you rogue; for tho' it be night, yet the moon fhines; I'll make a fop o'th' moonfhine of you; you whorefon, cullionly barber-monger, draw. [Drawing bis fword. Stew. Away, I have nothing to do with thee. Kent. Draw, you rascal; you come with letters against the King, and take Vanity the puppet's part, against the royalty of her father; draw, you rogue, or I'll fo carbonado your thanks-draw, you rafcal, come your ways. Stew. Help, ho! murther! help! Kent. Strike, you slave; stand, rogue, ftand, you neatflave, ftrike! [Beating bim. Stew.. Help, ho! murther! murther!– SCENE VI. Enter Baftard, Cornwall, Regan, Glo’fter, and Servants. Baft. How now, what's the matter? Part →→→→ Kent. With you, goodman boy, if you please; come, I'll flesh ye; come on, young mafter. Glo. Weapons? arms? what's the matter here? Corn. Keep peace, upon your lives; he dies that ftrikes again; what's the matter? 1 Reg. The meffengers from our fifter and the King? Stew. I am fcarce in breath, my Lord. Kent. No marvel, you have fo beftir'd your valour; you cowardly rafcal, nature difclaims all fhare in thee: a tailor made thee. Corn. Thou art a ftrange fellow; a tailor make a man? Kent. A tailor, Sir? a ftone-cutter, or a painter could not have made him fo ill, tho they had been but two hours o'th' trade. Corn. Speak you, how grew your quarrel ? Stew. This ancient ruffian, Sir, whofe life I have fpar'd at fuit of his grey beard Kent. Thou whorfon zed! thou unneceffary 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 wag-tail! Corn. Peace, Sirrah! You beastly knave, know you no reverence? Corn Corn. Why art thou angry? Kent. That fuch a flave as this fhou'd wear a fword, Kent. No contraries hold more antipathy, Corn. Why doft thou call him knave? what is his fault? Kent. His countenance likes me not. Corn. No more perchance does mine, nor his, nor hers. Kent. Sir, 'tis my occupation to be plain; I have feen better faces in my time, Than ftand on any shoulders that I fee Before me at this inftant. Corn. This is fome fellow, Who having been prais'd for bluntnefs, doth affect Quite from his nature. He can't flatter, he; An honeft mind and plain, he must speak truth; An they will take it, fo; if not, he's plain. These kind of knaves I know, which in this plainness Than twenty filky ducking obfervants, Kent. Sir, in good faith, in fincere verity, In the parts of Somerfetfbire near Camelot there are many large Moors upon which great numbers of Geefe are bred, fo that many other places in England are from thence fupplied with quills and kathers Under |