Corn.
How now, my noble friend? Since I came hither,
Which I can call but now, I have heard strange news.

Reg.
If it be true, all vengeance comes too short,
Which can pursue th' offender. How does my lord?

Glo.
O madam, my old heart is crack'd, it's crack'd.

Reg.
What did my father's godson seek your life?
He whom my father nam'd? your Edgar?

Glo.
O lady, lady, shame would have it hid.

Reg.
Was he not companion with the riotous knights,
That tend upon my father?

Glo.
I know not, madam; 'tis too bad, too bad.

Edm.
Yes, madam, he was of that consort.

Reg.
No marvel then, though he were ill affected;
'Tis they have put him on the old man's death,

To have th' expence and waste of his revenues.
I have, this present evening, from my sister,
Been well inform'd of them; and with such cautions,
That if they come to sojourn at my house,
I'll not be there.

Corn.
Nor I, assure thee, Regan.
Edmund, I hear, that you have shown your father
A child-like office.

Edm.
'Twas my duty, sir.

Glo.
He did bewray* ^note his practice, and receiv'd
This hurt you see, striving to apprehend him.

Corn.
Is he pursued?

Glo.
Ay, my good lord.

Corn.
If he be taken, he shall never more
Be fear'd of doing harm: make your own purpose,
How in my strength you please. As 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 sieze on.

Edm.
I shall serve you, sir,
Truly, however else.

Glo.
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 Gloster, of some prize,
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 several messengers
From hence attend dispatch. Our good old friend,
Lay comforts to your bosom; and bestow
Your needful counsel to our business.
Which crave the instant use.

Glo.
I serve you, madam:
Your graces are right welcome. Enter Kent, and Steward.

Stew.
Murder! murder! murder!

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 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 bestirred your valour; you cowardly rascal! 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 stone-cutter, or a painter could not have made him so ill, though they had been but two hours o'th' trade.

Corn.

Speak yet, how grew your quarrel?

Stew.

This antient ruffian, sir, whose life I have spar'd at suit of his grey beard—

Kent.† ^note

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!
Know you no reverence?

Kent.
Yes, sir, but anger hath a privilege.

Corn.
Why art thou angry?

Kent.
That such a slave as this shou'd wear a sword,
Who wears no honesty. Such smiling rogues as these,
Like rats, oft bite the holy cords in twain,
Too intrinsecate t'unloose: sooth every passion,
That in the nature of their lords rebels:
Bring oil to fire, snow 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.&verbar2; ^note
A plague upon your epileptic 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?

Glo.
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 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;
I have seen better faces in my time,
Than stand on any shoulder that I see
Before me, at this instant.* ^note

Corn.
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 can't flatter, he,—
An honest 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 silly ducking observants,
That stretch their duties nicely.

Kent.
Sir, in good faith, in sincere verity,
Under th' allowance of your grand aspect,
Whose influence, like the wreath of radiant fire
On flickering Phœbus' front—

Corn.
What mean'st by this?

Kent.

To go out of my dialect, which you discommend so 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 pleased the king, his master, very lately,
To strike at me upon his misconstruction;
When he, conjunct, and flatt'ring his displeasure,
Tript me behind; being down, insulted, rail'd,
And put upon him such a deal of man,
That worthied him; got praises of the king,
For him attempting who was self subdu'd;
And in the fleshment of this dread exploit,
Drew on me here again.

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

Corn.
Fetch forth the stocks.
We'll teach you—

Kent.
Sir, I am too old to learn.
Call not your stocks for me, I serve the king;
On whose imployment I was sent to you.
You shall do small respect, shew too bold malice
Against the grace and person of my master,
Stocking his messenger.

Corn.
Fetch forth the stocks;
As I have life and honour, there shall 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 so.

Reg.
Sir, being his knave, I will.

Corn.
This is a fellow of the self same nature
Our sister speaks of. Come, bring away the stocks. [The Stocks are brought in, and Kent put in them.

Glo.
Let me beseech your grace not to do so;
His fault is much, and the good king his master
Will check him for't. Your purpos'd, low correction
Is such, as basest and the meanest wretches,* ^note
For pilf'rings, and most common trespasses,
Are punish'd with. The king must take it ill,

That he, so slightly valued in his messenger,
Should have him thus restrain'd.

Corn.
I'll answer that.

Reg.
My sister may receive it much more worse,* ^note
To have her gentleman abus'd, assaulted,
For following her affairs.
Come, my lord, away. [Exeunt Regan and Cornwall.† ^note

Glo.
I'm sorry for thee, friend; 'tis the duke's pleasure,
Whose disposition, all the world well knows,
Will not be rubb'd nor stop'd. I'll intreat for thee.

Kent.
Pray, do not, sir. I've watch'd and travell'd hard;
Sometime I shall sleep out, the rest I'll whistle.
A good man's fortune may grow out at heels;
Give you good morrow.

Glo.
The duke's to blame in this; 'twill be ill taken. [Exit.

Kent.
Good king, that must approve the common saw,
Thou out of heaven's benediction com'st,
To the warm sun!
Approach, thou beacon to this under-globe, [Looking up to the Moon.
That by thy comfortable beams I may
Peruse this letter. Nothing almost sees miracles,
But misery. I know, 'tis from Cordelia;
Who hath most fortunately been inform'd
Of my obscured course. I shall find time
From this enormous state, and seek to give
Losses their remedies. All weary and o'er-watch'd,
Take vantage, heavy eyes, not to behold
This shameful lodging.
Fortune, good night; smile once more, turn thy wheel. [He sleeps.

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