Imatges de pÓgina

Be feard of doing harm: make your own purpose,
How in my strength you please.-For you, Edmund,
Whose virtue and obedience doth this instant
So much commend itself, you shall be ours ;
Natures of such deep trust we shall much need;
You we first seize on.

1 shall serve you, fir,
Truly, however else.

For him I thank your grace. Corn. You know not why we came to visit

you, Reg. Thus out of season ; threading dark-ey'd night. Occasions, noble Glofter, of some poize, Wherein we must have use of your advice :Our father he hath writ, so hath our fifter, Of differences, which I best thought it fit To answer from our home; the several messengers From hence attend despatch. Our good old friend, Lay comforts to your bosom; and bestow Your needful counsel to our business, Which craves the instant use. Glo.

I serve you, madam : Your graces are right welcome.



Before GLOSTER's Castle.

Enter Kent and Steward, severally. Stew. Good dawning to thee, friend: Art of the house? Kent. Ay. Stew. Where may we set our horses ? Kent. I' the mire. Stew, Pr’ythee, if thou love me, tell me, Kent. I love thee not. Stew. Why, then I care not for thee.


Kent. If I had thee in Lipsbury pinfold, I would make thee care for me.

Stew. Why dost thou use me thus ? I know thee not.
Kent. Fellow, I know thee.
Stew. What dost thou know me for ?

Kent. A knaye; a rascal, an eater of broken meats; a base, proud, shallow, beggarly, three-fuited, hundredpound, filthy worsted-stocking knaye; a lily-liver'd, action-taking knave; a whorson, glass-gazing, superserviceable, finical rogue; one-trunk-inheriting Nave; 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 deny'st the least syllable 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-faced varlet art thou, to deny thou know'st me? Is it two days ago, since I tripp'd up thy heels, and beat thee, before the king? Draw, you rogue: for, though it be night, the moon Thines; I'll make a top o' the moonshine of you: Draw, you whorson cullionly barber-monger, draw. [drawing bis frord.

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 so carbonado your Thanks :-draw, you rascal

l; come your ways, Stew. Help, ho! murder! help!

Kent, Strike, you Nave; stand, rogue, stand ; you neat Nave, strike.

I beating bim. Stew, Help ho! murder! murder!


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Édm. How now? What's the matter? Part.

Kent. With you, goodman boy, if you please; come, I'll flesh you; come on, young master.

Glo. Weapons! arms! What's the matter liere ?

Corn. Keep peace, upon your lives;
He dies, that strikes again : What is the matter ?

Reg. The messengers from our sister and the king.
Corn. What is your difference? speak.
Stew. I am scarce in breath, my lord.

Kent. No marvel, you have so beftir'd your valour. You cowardly rascal, nature disclaims in thee; a tailor made thee.

Corn. Thou art a strange fellow: a tailor make a man?

Kent. Ay, a tailor, sir: a itone-cutter, or a painter, could not have made him so ill, though they had been but two hours at the trade.

Corn. Speak yet, how grew your quarrel ?

Stew. I his ancient ruffian, fir, whose life I have spar’d, At suit of his grey beard,—

Kent. Thou whorson 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. Yes, fir; but anger has a privilege.
Corn. Why art thou angry?

Kent. That such a slave as this mould wear a sword,
Who wears no honesty., Such smiling rogues as these,
Like rats, oft bite the holy cords in twain
Which are too intrinse t’unloose : smooth every passion


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That in the natures of their lords rebels ;
Bring oil to fire, snow to their colder moods ;
Renege, affirm, and turn their halcyon beaks
With every gale and vary of their masters,
As knowing nought, like dogs, but following:-
A plague upon your epileptick visage !
Smile you my speeches, as I were a fool?
Goose, if I had you upon Sarum plain,
I'd drive ye cackling home to Camelot.

Corn. What, art thou mad, old fellow?

How fell you out ?
Say that.

Kent. No contraries hold more antipathy, Than I and such a knave. Corn. Why dost thou call him knave? What's his of

fence ? Kent. His countenance likes m not. Corn. No more, perchance, does mine, or his, or hers.

Kent. Sir, 'tis my occupation to be plain ;
I have seen better faces in my time,
Than stands on any shoulder that I see
Before me at this inftant,

This is some fellow,
Who, having been prais'd for bluntness, doth affect
A saucy roughness; and constrains the garb,
Quite from his nature : He cannot flatter, he!
An honeit mind and plain,-he must speak truth :
And they will take it, so; if not, he's plain,
These kind of knaves I know, which in this plainness
Harbour more craft, and more corrupter ends,
Than twenty filly ducking observants,
That stretch their duties nicely.

Kent. Sir, in good footh, in sincere verity, Under the allowance of your grand aspéct,



Whose influence, like the wreath of radiant fire
On flickering Phæbus' front,-

What mean'st by this ? Kent. To go out of my dialect, which you discommend so much. I know, fir, I am no flatterer : he that be. guiled you, in a plain accent, was a plain knave; which, for my part, I will not be, though I should win your displeasure to entreat me to it.

Corn. What was the offence you gave him ?

Never any?
It pleas'd the king his master, very late,
To strike at me, upon his misconstruction ;
When he, conjunct, and flattering his displeasure,
Tripp'd me behind ; being down, insulted, rail'd,
And put upon him such a deal of man,
That worthy'd him, got praises of the king
For him attempting who was self-fubdu'd;
And, in the fleshment of this dread exploit,
Drew on me here.

Kent. None of these rogues, and cowards,
But Ajax is their fool.

Fetch forth the stocks, ho!
You stubborn ancient knave, you reverend braggart,
We'll teach you

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 snali do small respect, show too bold malice
Against the grace and person of my master,
Stocking his messenger.

Fetch forth the stocks :-
As I've life and honour, there shall he fit till noon.
Reg. Till noon! till night, my lord ; and all night


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