Bast.

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.

A tailor, Sir? a stone-cutter, or a painter could

not have made him so ill, tho' they had been but two ^{c note}hours o'th' trade.

Corn.

Speak you, how grew your quarrel?

Stew.

This ancient ruffian, Sir, whose life I have spar'd at sute 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 wag-tail!—

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
^{d note}

As these, like rats oft bite those cords in twain
Too intricate t' unloose: sooth ev'ry passion
That in the nature of their lords rebels;
^{e note}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.

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 far 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,
Or 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 ^{f note}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.
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 ^{g note}nature
Our sister speaks of. Bring away the stocks.

Glo.
Let me beseech your grace not to do so;
† ^noteHis 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's so slightly valued in his messenger,
To 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.

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