I'll not be there.

Corn. Nor I, I affure thee, Regan.

Edmund, I hear, that you have shewn your father
A child-like office.

Edm. 'Twas 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
Be fear'd of doing harm: make your own purpose,
How in my ftrength you pleafe. As for you, Edmund,
Whofe virtue and obedience in this inftance

So much commends itself, you shall be ours;
Natures of fuch deep truft we shall much need:
You we firft feize on.

Edm. I fhall ferve you, Sir,
Truly, however else.

Glo. I thank your Grace.

Corn. You know not why we came to vifit you.. Reg. Thus out of feason threading dark-ey'd night; Occafions, Noble Glo'fter, of fome poife,

Wherein we must have use of your advice.-
Our father he hath writ, so hath our sister,

Of diff'rences, which I best thought it fit

To answer from our home: the fev'ral meffengers
From hence attend difpatch. Our good old friend,
Lay comforts to your bofom; and bestow

Your needful counsel to our bufineffes,

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 downing † to thee, friend; art of this

Kent. Ay.

Stew. Where may we fet our horses?
Kemt. I' th' mire.

[house?

Stew. Pr'ythee, if thou lov’st me,

tell me.

Kent.

i. c. good reft; the common evening-falutation of that time.

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.
Kent. Fellow, I know thee.

Stew. What doft thou know me for?

Kent. A knave, a rafcal, an eater of broken meats, a base, proud, shallow, beggarly, three-fuited, hundredpound, filthy worsted-stocking knave; a lily-liver'd, action-taking knave; a whorfon, glass-gazing, fuperferviceable, finical rogue; one-trunk-inheriting flave; one that would'st be a bawd in way of good service; and art nothing but the compofition of a knave, beggar, coward, pander, and the fon and heir of a mongrel bitch; one whom I will beat into clam'rous whining, if thou deny'ft the least fyllable of thy addition.

Stew. Why, what a monftrous 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 know'ft me? is it two days ago 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 sop o' th' moonshine of you; you whorfon, cullionly, barber-monger, draw. [Drawing his fword.

Stew. Away, I have nothing to do with thee. Kent. Draw, you rafcal; 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 fhanks-draw, you rascal, come

your ways.

Stew. Help, ho! murther! help!

Kent. Strike, you flave; ftand, rogue, ftand, you neat flave, ftrike. [Beating him.

Stet. Help ho! murther! murther!

SCENE VI.

Enter Edmund, Cornwall, Regan, Glo'fter, and

Servants.

Edm. How now, what's the matter? part

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

Glo. Weapons? arms? what's the matter here?

Corn. Keep peace, upon your lives; he dies that strikes again; what's the matter?

Reg. The meffengers from our fifter and the king?
Corn. What is your difference? speak.

Stew. I am fcarce in breath, my Lord.

Kent. No marvel, you have fo bestirr'd your valour ; you cowardly rafcal! nature disclaims all share in thee :: a tailor made thee.

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

Kent. Ay, a tailor, Sir; a ftone-cutter, or a painter could not have made him fo ill, tho' they had been but two hour's o' th' trade.

Corn. Speak yet, how grew your quarrel?

Stew. This anciet 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 would 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, firrah!

You beaftly knave, know you no reverence?
Kent. Yes, Sir, but anger hath a privilege.
Corn. Why art thou angry?

Kent. That fuch a flave as this fhou'd wear a fword,
Who wears no honefty: fuch fmiling rogues as these,
Like rats, oft bite the holy cords in twain

Too intrinficate t' unloofe; footh every paffion

That in the nature of their lords rebels;
Bring oil to fire, fnow to their colder moods;
Renege, affirm, and turn their halcyon beaks
With ev'ry gale and vary of their masters,
As knowing nought, like dogs, but following.
A plague upon your epileptic vifage!
Smile you my fpeeches as I were a fool?
Goofe, if I had you upon Sarum plain,

I'd

ti. e. unrefined by education, the bran yet in him; a metaphor from the bakehouse.

I'd drive ye cackling home to Camelot

Corn. What, art thou mad, old fellow?
Glo. How fell you out? fay that.

Kent. No contraries hold more antipathy
Than I and fuch a knave.

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
Kent. Sir, 'tis my occupation to be plain;

I have fee better faces in my time

Than ftand on any shoulders that I fee
Before me at this inftant.

Corn. "This is fome fellow,

[her's.

"Who having been prais'd for bluntnefs, doth affect
"A faucy roughnefs; and conftrains the garb +
He can't flatter, he,-

66

Quite from his nature.

"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 plainnefs "Harbour more craft, and more corrupter ends

"Than twenty filky ducking obfervants,

"That ftretch their duties nicely.

Kent. Sir, in good faith, in fincere verity, Under th' allowance of your grand aspect, Whose influence, like the wrath of radiant fire On flickering Phoebus' front

Corn. What mean'st by this?

Kent. To go out of my dialect, which you discom. mend fo much. I know, Sir, I am no flatterer; 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?
Stew. I never gave him any.

It pleas'd the King his mafter very lately
To ftrike at me upon his mifconstruction:

When he conjunct and flatt'ring his displeasure,

Tript

* Camelot was the place where the romances fay King Arthur kept his court in the weft. So this alludes to fome proverbial fpeech in thofe romances.

† garb, for babit, cuflom.

Tript me behind; being down, infulted, rail'd,
And put upon him such a deal of man,
That worthied him; got praises of the King,
For him attempting who was felf-fubdu'd;
And, in the flashment of this dread exploit,
Drew on me here again.

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

Corn. Fetch forth the ftocks.

You ftubborn ancient knave, you rev'rend braggart,
We'll teach you-

Kent. Sir,

am too old to learn.

Call not your stocks for me; I serve the King;
On whofe employment I was fent to you.
You shall do fmall refpect, fhew too bold malice
Against the grace and perfon of my master,
Stocking his meffenger.

Corn. Fetch forth the ftocks;

As I have life and honour, 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 ufe me fo.

Reg. Sir, being his knave, I will. [Stocks brought out.
Corn. This is a fellow of the felf-fame nature

Our fifter fpeaks of. Come, bring away the flocks.
Glo. Let me befeech your Grace not to do fo;
His fault is much, and the good King his master
Will check him for't; your purpos'd low correction
Is fuch, as bafeft and the meaneft wretches
For pilf'rings and most common trefpaffes,
Are punish'd with. The king muft take it ill,
That he, fo flightly valued in his meffenger,
Should have him thus restrain’d.

Corn. I'll answer that.

Reg. My fifter may receive it much more worse, To have her gentleman abus'd, affaulted,

For following her affairs. Put in his legs

[Kent is put in the ftocks. Come, my Lord, away. [Exeunt Regan and Cornwall.

SCENE