Enter Edmund with his rapier drawne, Glocefter, the Duke and Dutcheffe.

Baft. How now, what's the matter?

Ken. With you goodman boy, and you please come, ile fleash you. come on yong master.

Gloft. Weapons, armes, what's the matter here?

Duke. Keepe peace vpon your liues, he dies that strikes againe, what's the matter?

Reg. The meffengers from our fifter, and the king.
Duke. What's your difference, fpeake?

Stew. I am scarse in breath my lord.

Kent. No maruaile you haue fo beftir'd your valour, you cowardly rafcall, nature difclaimes in thee, a taylor made thee.

Duke. Thou art a strange fellow, a taylour make a man.

Kent. I, a taylour fir, a ftone-cutter, or a painter could not haue made him fo ill, though he had bene but two houres at the trade.

Gloft. Speake yet, how grew your quarrell?

Stew. This ancient ruffian fir, whofe life I haue fpar'd at fute of his gray-beard.

Kent. Thou whorefon zed, thou vnnecessary letter, my lord if you will giue me leaue, I will tread this vnboulted villaine into morter, and daube the wals of a iaques with him; fpare my gray-beard you wagtaile ?

Duke. Peace fir, you beastly knaue you haue no reuerence
Kent. Yes fir, but anger has a priuiledge.

Duke. Why art thou angry?

Kent. That fuch a flaue as this should weare a sword,
That weares no honefty, fuch fmiling rogues as these,
Like rats oft bite thofe cords in twaine,

Which are to intrench, to inloose smooth euery paffion
That in the natures of their lords rebell,

Bring oile to ftir, fnow to their colder moods,
Reneag, affirme, and turne their halcion beakes
With euery gale and vary of their masters,
Knowing nought like daies but following,
A plague vpon your epelipticke visage,
Smoile you my speeches, as I were a foole ?
Goose, if I had you vpon Sarum plaine,
Ide fend you cackling home to Camulet.
Duke. What, art thou mad olde fellow?
Gloft. How fell you out, fay that?

Kent. No contraries hold more antipathy,
Then I and fuch a knaue.

Duke. Why dost thou call him knaue, what's his offence?
Kent. His countenance likes me not.

Duke. No more perchance doth mine, or his, or hers.
Kent. Sir, 'tis my occupation to be plaine,

I haue feene better faces in my time,

Than ftands on any shoulder that I fee
Before me at this inftant.

Duke. This is a fellow, who hauing beene praifd
For bluntneffe, doth affect a faucie ruffines,
And constraines the garb quite from his nature,
He cannot flatter he, he must be plaine,
He must speake truth, and they will take it fo,
If not hee's plaine, these kinde of knaues I know,
Which in this plainneffe harbour more craft,
And more corrupter ends, then twenty filly ducking
Obferuants, that stretch their duties nicely.

Kent. Sir in good footh, or in fincere verity,
Vnder the allowance of your grand aspect.
Whose influence like the wreath of radient fire
In flitkering Phabus front.

Duke. What meanft thou by this?

Kent.

3

Kent. To go out of my dialogue which you difcommend fo much; I know fir, I am no flatterer, he that beguild you in a plain accent, was a plaine knaue, which for my part I wil not be, thogh I fhould win your displeasure to entreate

me to it.

Duke. What's the offence you gaue him?

Stew. I neuer gaue him any, it pleafd the king his master Very late to strike at me vpon his misconstruction,

When he coniunct and flattering his displeasure

Tript me behinde, being downe, infulted, raild,
And put vpon him fuch a deale of man, that
That worthied him, got praises of the king,
For him attempting who was felfe fubdued,
And in the flechuent of this dread exploit,
Drew on me heere againe.

Kent. None of thefe roges and cowards but Aiax is their
Duke. Bring foorth the ftockes ho?

(foole.

You ftubborne mifcreant knaue, you vnreuerent bragart,
Wee'l teach you.

Kent. I am too olde to learne, call not your ftockes for me, I ferue the king, on whofe imploiments I was fent to you, You should do fmall refpect, fhew too bold malice

Against the grace and perfon of my master,

Stopping his messenger.

Duke. Fetch foorth the ftockes; as I haue life and honour, There fhall he fit till noone.

Reg. Till noone, till night my lord, and all night too.

Kent. Why madam, if I were your fathers dog, you could

not vse me fo.

Reg. Sir, being his knaue, I will.

Duke. This is a fellow of the fame nature,

Our fifter fpeakes off, come, bring away the stockes.

Gloft.

Gloft. Let me befeech your grace not to do so,
His fault is much, and the good king his mafter
Will checke him for't; your purpofd low correction
Is fuch, as basest and temnest wretches for pilfrings
And most common trefpaffes are punisht with,
The king must take it ill, that hee's fo flightly valued
In his meffenger, fhould haue him thus reftrained.
Duke. Ile answer that.

Reg. My fifter may receiue it much more worfe,
To haue her gentleman abufed, affaulted

For following her affaires, put in his legs,

Come my lord, away. .

Exit.

Gloft, I am forry for thee friend, tis the dukes pleasure,

Whofe difpofition all the world well knowes

Will not be rubd nor ftopt, Ile intreate for thee.

Kent. Pray you do not fir, I haue watcht and trauaild hard, Some time I shall fleepe out, the reft Ile whistle,

A good mans fortune may grow out at heeles,

Giue you good morrow.

Gloft. The duke's too blame in this, twill be ill tooke.

Exit.

Kent. Good king, that must approue the common faw, That out of heauens benediction comest

To the warme funne.

Approach thou beacon to this vnder globe,

That by thy comfortable beames I may
Perufe this letter, nothing almoft fees my wracke
But mifery, I know tis from Cordelia,
Who hath most fortunately bene informed
Of my obfcured courfe, and shall finde time
From this enormious ftate, feeking to giue
Loffes their remedies, all weary and ouer-watcht,
Take vantage heauy eies not to behold

This fhamefull lodging; fortune goodnight,

Smile, once more turne thy wheele.

Enter Edgar.

Edgar. I heare my felfe proclaim'd,
And by the happy hollow of a tree,
Efcapt the hunt, no port is free, no place
That guard, and most vnufall vigilence
Doft not attend my taking while I may scape,
I will preferue my felfe, and am bethought
To take the basest and most poorest shape,
That euer penury in contempt of man,

He Neepes.

Brought neere to beaft; my face ile grime with filth,
Blanket my loines, elfe all my haire with knots,
And with presented nakednes out-face
The winde, and perfecution of the skie,
The country giues me proofe and president
Of Bedlam beggers, who with roring voices,
Strike in their numb'd and mortified bare armes,
Pins, wooden prickes, nailes, fprigs of rosemary,
And with this horrible obiect from low feruice,
Poore pelting villages, fheep-coates, and milles,
Sometime with lunaticke bans, fometime with praiers
Enforce their charity, poore Turlygood, poore Tom,
That's fomething yet, Edgar I nothing am.

Enter King, and a Knight.

Exit.

Lear. Tis ftrange that they should fo depart from hence,

And not fend backe my messenger.

Knight. As I learn'd, the night before there was

No purpose of his remoue.

Kent. Haile to thee noble master.

Lear. How, mak'st thou this shame thy pastime?

Foole.