Corn. Why art thou angry? Kent. That fuch a flave as this fhould 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; have feen better faces in my time, Than ftand on any shoulders that I fee Corn. This is fome fellow, Who having been prais'd for bluntnefs, doth affect Kent. Sir, in good faith, in fincere verity, In the parts of Somersetshire near Camelet 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 feathers. Whofe Whose influence, like the wreath of radiant fire Corn. What mean'ft by this? Kent. To go out of my dialect, which you discommend fo much; I know, Sir, I am no flatterer; but he that beguil'd you in a plain accent, was a plain knave; which for my part I will not be, though I should win your displeasure to intreat me to't. Corn. What was th' offence you gave him? It pleas'd the King his master very lately Kent. None of these rogues and cowards, Corn. Fetch forth the Stocks. You stubborn ancient knave, you rev'rend braggart, Kent. Sir, I am too old to learn: Call not your Stocks for me, I ferve the King; Corn, Fetch forth the Stocks; As I have life, there fhall he fit 'till noon. Reg. 'Till noon! 'till night, my Lord, and all night too. Kent. Why, Madam, if I were your father's dog, You could not use me fo. Reg. Sir, being his knave, I will. [Stocks brought out. Corn. This is a fellow of the felf-fame nature Our fifter speaks of. Bring away the Stocks. Glo. Let me beseech your Grace not to do fo; His fault is much, and the good King his mafter Will Will check him for't; your purpos'd low correction Corn. I'll answer that. Reg. My fifter may receive it yet much worse, Come, my Lord, away. [Kent is put in the Stocks. [Exeunt Regan and Cornwall, SCENE VI. Glo. I'm forry for thee, friend; 'tis the Duke's pleasure, Whofe difpofition all the world well knows Will not be rubb'd nor ftop'd. I'll intreat for thee. Glo. The Duke's to blame in this, 'twill be ill taken. [Exit. Kent, Good King that must approve the common faw, Thou out of heaven's benediction com'ft. To the warm fun. * All weary and o'er-watch'd, This fhameful lodging. Fortune, good night, fmile once more, turn thy wheel! [He fleeps, An old proverbial faying applied to those who are turn'd out of boufe and bome, deprived of all the comforts of life excepting the common benefits of the Air and Sun. ... warm fun. Approach thou beacon to this under globe,[ Looking up to the moon. That by thy comfortable beams I may Perufe this letter. Nothing almoft fees miracles But mifery I know 'tis from Cardelia, M SCENE SCENE VII. SCENE changes to a part of a Heath. Edg. I've heard my felf proclaim'd, Does not attend my taking. Whiles I may 'scape Brought near to beaft: my face I'll grime with filth, SCENE VIII. Changes again to the Earl of Glo'fter's Cafile. Enter Lear, Fool, and Gentleman, [Exit. Lear. 'Tis ftrange that they should fo depart from home, And not fend back my meffenger. Gent, As I learn'd, The night before there was no purpose in them Of this remove. Kent. Hail to thee, noble mafter. Lear. Ha, mak'ft thou fhame thy paftime? Kent. No, my Lord. Fool. Ha, ha, he wears cruel garters; horfes are ty'd by the heads, dogs and bears by th' neck, monkeys by th loins, and men by th' legs; when a man is over-lufty at legs, then he wears wooden nether stocks, Lest Lear. What's he, that hath fo much thy place miftook, To fet thee here? Kent. It is both he and thes Your fon and daughter. Lear. No. Kent. Yes. Lear. No, I fay. Kent. But I fay, yea. Lear. By Jupiter, I fwear no. Lear. They durft not do't. They could not, would not do't; 'tis worse than murther, To do upon refpect fuch violent outrage: Refolve me with all modest hafte, which way Thou might'ft deserve or they impose this ufage, Kent. My Lord, when at their home I did commend your Highness' letters to them, The leifure of their answer; gave me cold looks; Fool. Winter's not gone yet, if the wild geefe fly that way. Fathers that wear rags Do make their children blind, But fathers that bear bags Shall fee their children kind. M 2 Fortune, |