Edmund.

Save thee, Curan.

Cur.

And you, Sir. I have been with your father, and given him notice that the Duke of Cornwall, and Regan his Dutchess, will be here with him this night.

Edm.

How comes that?

Cur.

Nay, I know not; you have heard of the news abroad; I mean, the whisper'd ones; for they are yet but ear-kissing arguments.

Edm.

Not I; pray you, what are they?

Cur.

Have you heard of no likely wars toward, 'twixt the Dukes of Cornwall and Albany?

Edm.

Not a word.

Cur.

You may do then in time. Fare you well, Sir.

Edm.
The Duke be here to night! the better! best!
This weaves it self perforce into my business;
My father hath set guard to take my brother,

And I have one thing of a queazy question
Which I must act: briefness, and fortune work!
Brother, a word; descend; Brother, I say;— To him, Enter Edgar.
My father watches; O Sir, fly this place,
Intelligence is giv'n where you are hid;
You've now the good advantage of the night—
Have you not spoken 'gainst the Duke of Cornwall?
He's coming hither, now i'th' night, i'th' haste,
And Regan with him; have you nothing said
Upon his Party 'gainst the Duke of Albany?
Advise your self.

Edg.
I'm sure on't, not a word.

Edm.
I hear my father coming. Pardon me—
In cunning, I must draw my sword upon you—
Draw, seem to defend your self.
Now quit you well—
Yield—come before my father—light hoa, here!—
Fly, brother—Torches!—so farewel— [Ex. Edg.
Some blood, drawn on me, would beget opinion [Wounds his arm.
Of my more fierce endeavour. I've seen drunkards
Do more than this in sport. Father! father!
Stop, stop, no help?— To him, Enter Glo'ster, and servants with torches.

Glo.
Now, Edmund, where's the villain?

Edm.
Here stood he in the dark, his sharp sword out,
Mumbling of wicked Charms, conj'ring the moon
To stand 's auspicious mistress.

Glo.
But where is he?

Edm.
Look, Sir, I bleed.

Glo.
Where is the villain, Edmund?

Edm.
Fled this way, Sir, when by no means he could—

Glo.
Pursue him, ho! go after. By no means, what—

Edm.
Persuade me to the murther of your lordship;
But that, I told him, the revenging Gods
'Gainst Parricides did all the thunder bend,
Spoke with how manifold and strong a bond

The child was bound to th' father.—Sir, in fine,
Seeing how lothly opposite I stood
To his unnat'ral purpose, in fell motion
With his prepared sword he charges home
My unprovided body, lanc'd my arm;
And when he saw my best alarmed spirits,
Bold in the quarrel's right, rous'd to th' encounter,
Or whether gasted by the noise I made,
Full suddenly he fled.

Glo.
Let him fly far;
Not in this land shall he remain uncaught
And found; dispatch—the noble Duke my master,
My worthy and arch-patron, comes to-night;(13) ^note
By his authority I will proclaim it,
That he, which finds him, shall deserve our thanks,
Bringing the murth'rous coward to the stake:
He that conceals him, death.

Edm.
When I disswaded him from his intent,
And found him pight to do it, with curst speech
I threaten'd to discover him; he replied,
Thou unpossessing Bastard! do'st thou think,
If I would stand against thee, would the reposal
Of any trust, virtue, or worth in thee
Make thy words faith'd? no; what I should deny,—
(As this I would, although thou did'st produce
My very character) I'd turn it all
To thy suggestion, plot, and damned practice;
And thou must make a dullard of the world,
If they not thought the profits of my death
Were very pregnant and potential spurs
To make thee seek it. [Trumpets within.

Glo.
O strange, fasten'd, villain!
Would he deny his letter?—I never got him.—
Hark, the Duke's trumpets! I know not why he comes—

All Ports I'll bar; the villain shall not 'scape;
The Duke must grant me that; besides, his picture
I will send far and near, that all the Kingdom
May have due note of him; and of my land,
(Loyal and natural Boy!) I'll work the means
To make thee capable. Enter Cornwall, Regan, and attendants.

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 shewn your father
A child-like office.

Edm.
'Twas my duty, Sir.

Glo.
He did bewray 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 it self, you shall be ours;

Natures of such deep Trust we shall much need:
You we first seize 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;(14) ^note

Glo.
I serve you, Madam:
Your Graces are right welcome. [Exeunt. Enter Kent, and Steward, severally.

Stew.

Good evening to thee, friend; art of this house?

Kent.

Ay.

Stew.

Where may we set our horses?

Kent.

I'th' mire.

Stew.

Pr'ythee, if thou lov'st me, tell me.

Kent.

I love thee not.

Stew.

Why then I care not for thee.

Kent.

If I had thee in Lipsbury pinfold, I would make thee care for me.

Stew.

Why dost thou use me thus? I know thee not.

Kent.

Fellow, I know thee.

Stew.

What dost thou know me for?

Kent.

A knave, a rascal, an eater of broken meats, a base, proud, shallow, beggarly, three-suited, hundred-pound, filthy worsted-stocking knave; a lilly-liver'd, action-taking, knave; a whorson, glass-gazing, super-serviceable finical rogue; one-trunk-inheriting slave; one that would'st be a bawd in way of good service; and art nothing but the composition of a knave, beggar, coward, pander, and the son and heir of a mungril bitch; one whom I will beat into clam'rous whining, if thou deny'st the least syllable of thy addition.

Stew.

Why, what a monstrous 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'st me? is it two days ago, since I tript up thy heels, and beat thee before the King? draw, you rogue; for tho' it be night, yet the moon shines; I'll make a sop o'th' moonshine of you; you whorson, cullionly, barber-monger, draw.

Stew.

Away, I have nothing to do with thee.

Kent.

Draw, you rascal; 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 so carbonado your shanks—draw, you rascal, come your ways.

Stew.

Help, ho! murther! help!—

Kent.

Strike, you slave; stand, rogue, stand, you neat slave, strike.

Stew.

Help ho! murther! murther!—

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 bestir'd 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.

I, a tailor, Sir; a stone-cutter, or a painter could not have made him so ill, tho' they had been but two hours o'th' trade.

Corn.

Speak yet, how grew your quarrel?

Stew.

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

Kent.

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!
You beastly knave, 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(15) ^note

Too 'intrinsicate 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.
A plague upon your epileptick 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.(16) ^note

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.

Corn.
This is some fellow,
Who having been prais'd for bluntness, doth affect
A sawcy roughness; and constrains the garb,
Quite from his nature. He can't flatter, he,—
An honest mind and plain, he must speak truth;
An 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 pleas'd 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
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.
You stubborn ancient knave, you rev'rend braggart,
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 sit '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. [Stocks brought out.

Corn.
This is a fellow of the self-same nature
Our sister speaks of. Come, bring away the Stocks.

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
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,
To have her Gentleman abus'd, assaulted,
For following her affairs. Put in his legs— [Kent is put in the Stocks:
Come, my lord, away. [Exeunt Regan and Cornwall.

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;
Some time 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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