Gon.

Did my father strike my gentleman for chiding of his fool?

Stew.

Ay, madam.

Gon.
By day and night! he wrongs me^{6 note}

He flashes into one gross crime or other,
That sets us all at odds: I'll not endure it:
His knights grow riotous, and himself upbraids us
On every trifle:—When he returns from hunting,
I will not speak with him; say, I am sick:—
If you come slack of former services,
You shall do well; the fault of it I'll answer.

Stew.
He's coming, madam; I hear him. [Horns within.

Gon.
Put on what weary negligence you please,
You and your fellows* ^note; I'd have it come to question:
If he dislike it† ^note let him to my sister,
Whose mind and mine, I know, in that are one,
[Not to be over-ruled^{7 note}. Idle old man^{8 note}
,

That still would manage those authorities,
That he hath given away!—Now, by my life,
Old fools are babes again; and must be us'd
With checks, as flatteries,—when they are seen abus'd^{9 note}

Stew.
Very well, madam.

Gon.
And let his knights have colder looks among you;
What grows of it, no matter; advise your fellows so:
[I would breed from hence occasions, and I shall,

That I may speak^{1 note}:]—I'll write straight to my sister,
To hold my very course:—Prepare for dinner. [Exeunt.

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