Thou unpossessing bastard! dost thou think, Make thy words faith'd? No: what I should deny, To thy suggestion, plot, and damned practice: If they not thought the profits of my death Glo. Strong and fasten'd villain! Would he deny his letter!-I never got him. [Trumpets within. 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, 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 the offender. How dost, my lord? Glo. O, madam, my old heart is crack'd, is 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. It is too bad, too bad. Edm. I know not, madam: · Yes, madam, he was. Reg. No marvel then, though he were ill affected; 'Tis they have put him on the old man's death, To have the waste and spoil 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, 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, he is. 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.-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; Corn. You know not why we came to visit you,— Reg. Thus out of season; 31 threading dark-ey'd night. Occasions, noble Gloster, of some poize, Your needful counsel to our business, Which craves the instant use. Glo. Your graces are right welcome. SCENE II. I serve you, madam: [Exeunt. Before Gloster's Castle. Enter KENT and Steward, severally. Stew. Good dawning to thee, friend: Art of the house? Kent. Ay. Stew. Where may we set our horses? Kent. I'the mire. Stew. Pr'ythee, if thou love me, tell me. Stew. Why, then I care not for thee. Kent. If I had thee in Lipsbury pinfold 32, 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 lilyliver'd, action-taking knave; a whorson, glass-gazing, superserviceable, 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, pandar, and the son and heir of a mongrel bitch: one whom I will beat into clamorous 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-faced varlet art thou, to deny thou know'st me? Is it two days ago, since I tripp'd up thy heels, and beat thee, before the king? Draw, you rogue: for, though it be night, the moon shines; I'll make a sop o'the moonshine of you: Draw, you whorson cullionly barber-monger, draw. [drawing his sword. 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! murder! help! Kent. Strike, you slave; stand, rogue, stand; you neat slave 33, strike. [beating him. Enter EDMUND, CORNWALL, REGAN, GLOSTER, and Servants. Edm. How now? What's the matter? Part. He dies, that strikes again: What is the matter? Stew. I am scarce in breath, my lord. Kent. No marvel, you have so bestirr'd your valour. You cowardly rascal, nature disclaims 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 at the trade. |