Gon.
Do you mark that?

Alb.
I cannot be so partial, Gonerill,
To the great love I bear you,—

Gon.
Pray you, be content. What, Oswald, ho!
You, Sir, more knave than fool, after your master.

Fool.
Nuncle Lear, nuncle Lear, tarry, take the fool with thee:
A Fox, when one has caught her,
And such a daughter,
Should sure to the slaughter,

If my cap would buy a halter,
So the fool follows after. [Exit.

Gon.
This man hath had good counsel—a hundred Knights?
'Tis politick, and safe, to let him keep
A hundred Knights; yes, that on ev'ry dream,
Each buz, each fancy, each complaint, dislike,
He may enguard his dotage with their pow'rs,
And hold our lives at mercy: Oswald, I say.

Alb.
Well, you may fear too far;—

Gon.
Safer than trust too far.
Let me still take away the harms I fear,
Not fear still to be harm'd. I know his heart;
What he hath utter'd, I have writ my sister;
If she'll sustain him and his hundred Knights,
When I have shew'd th' unfitness— Enter Steward.
How now, Oswald?
What, have you writ that letter to my sister?

Stew.
Ay, Madam.

Gon.
Take you some company, and away to horse;
Inform her full of my particular fears,
And thereto add such reasons of your own,
^{1 note}As may compact it more. So get you gone,
And hasten your return. [Exit Steward.
—No, no, my lord,
This milky gentleness and course of yours,
Though I condemn it not, yet, under pardon,
You are much more at task for want of wisdom,
Than prais'd for harmful mildness.

Alb.
How far your eyes may pierce, I cannot tell;
Striving to better, oft we mar what's well.

Gon.
Nay then—

Alb.
Well, well, th' event. [Exeunt.

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