That's a sheal'd pescod.

Gon.
Not only, Sir, this your all-licenc'd fool,
But other of your insolent retinue,
Do hourly carp and quarrel, breaking forth
In rank and not to be endured riots, Sir.
I thought by making this well known unto you,
T' have found a safe redress; but now grow fearful
By what your self too late have spoke and done,
That you protect this course, and put it on
By your allowance; if you should, the fault
Would not 'scape censure, nor the redresses sleep,
Which in the tender of a wholsome weal,
Might in their working do you that offence,
(Which else were shame,) that then necessity

Will call discreet proceeding.

Fool.
For you know, nuncle,

The hedge-sparrow fed the Cuckoo so long,
That it had it's head bit off by it's young;
So out went the candle, and we were left darkling.

Lear.
Are you our daughter?

Gon.
I would you would make use of your good wisdom,
Whereof I know you are fraught, and put away
These dispositions, which of late transport you
From what you rightly are.

Fool.
May not an Ass know when the cart draws the horse?
whoop Jug I love thee.

Lear.
Does any here know me? this is not Lear:
Does Lear walk thus? speak thus? where are his eyes?
Either his notion weakens, his discernings
Are lethargied—Ha! waking—'tis not so;
Who is it that can tell me who I am?* ^note



Lear's shadow? I would learn, for by the marks
Of sovereignty, of knowledge, and of reason,
I should be false persuaded I had daughters.
Your name, fair gentlewoman?—

Gon.
This admiration, Sir, is much o'th' savour
Of other your new pranks. I do beseech you
To understand my purposes aright:
You, as you're old and rev'rend, should be wise.
Here do you keep a hundred Knights and 'Squires,
Men so disorder'd, so debauch'd and bold,
That this our court, infected with their manners,
Shews like a riotous Inn; epicurism and lust
Make it more like a tavern or a brothel,
Than a grac'd palace. Shame it self doth speak

For instant remedy. Be then desir'd
By her, that else will take the thing she begs,
^{i note}Of fifty to disquantity your train;
And the remainders that shall still depend,
To be such men as may besort your age,
And know themselves and you.

Lear.
Darkness and devils!
Saddle my horses, call my train together—
Degen'rate bastard! I'll not trouble thee;
Yet have I left a daughter.

Gon.
You strike my people, and your disorder'd rabble
Make servants of their betters.

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