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Enter Edmund with his rapier drawne, Glocester, the Duke

and Dutchese. Baft. How now, what's the matter ?

Ken. With you goodman boy, and you please come, ile Pleask you: come on yong master.

Gloft. Weapons, armes, what's the matter here?

Duke. Keepe peace vpon your lives, he dies that strikes againe, what's the matter?

Reg. The messengers from our sister, and the king.
Duke. What's your difference, speake?
Stew. I am scarse in breath

my

lord. Kent. No maruaile you haue so bestir'd your valour, you cowardly rascall, nature disclaimes in thee, a taylor made thee.

Duke. Thou art a strange fellow, a taylour make a man.

Kent. I, a taylour sir, a stone-cutter, or a painter could not haue made him fo ill, though he had bene but two houres at the trade.

Glost. Speake yet, how grew your quarrell ?

Stew. This ancient ruffian sir, whose life I haue spar'd at fute of his gray-beard.

Kent. Thou whoreson zed, thou vnnecessary letter, my Jord if you will giue me leaue, I will tread this vnboulted villaine into morter, and daube the wals of a iaques with him; spare my gray-beard you wagtaile ?

Duke. Peace sir, you beastly knaue you haue no reuerence.
Kent. Yes sir, but anger has a priuiledge.
Duke. Why art thou angry?

Kent. That such a Naue as this should weare a sword,
That weares no honesty, such smiling rogues as these,
Like rats oft bite those cords in twaine,
Which are to intrench, to inloose smooth euery passion
That in the natures of their lords rebell,

Bring oile to stir, snow to their colder moods,
Reneag, affirme, and turne their halcion beakes
With euery gale and vary of their masters,
Knowing nought like daies but following,
A plague vpon your epelipticke visage,
Smoile you my speeches, as I were a foole?
Goose, if I had you vpon Sarum plaine,
Ide send you cackling home to Camulet.

Duke. What, art thou mad olde fellow ?
Gloft. How fell you out, say that?

Kent. No contraries hold more antipathy,
Then I and such a knaue.

Duke. Why dost thou call him knaue, what's his offence?
Kent. His countenance likes me not.
Duke. No more perchance doth mine, or his, or hers.

Kent. Sir, 'tis my occupation to be plaine,
I haue seene better faces in my time,
Than stands on any shoulder that I see
Before me at this instant.
r Duke. This is a fellow, who hauing beene praisa
For bluntnesse, doth affect a faucie ruffines,
And constraines the garb quite from his nature,
He cannot flatter he, he must be plaine,
He must speake truth, and they will take it so,
If not hee's plaine, these kinde of knaues I know,
Which in this plain nesse harbour more craft,
And more corrupter ends, then twenty silly ducking
Obferuants, that stretch their duties nicely.

Kent. Sir in good footh, or in fincere verity,
Vnder the allowance of your grand aspect.
Whose infuence like the wreath of radient fire
In flitkering Phabus front.
Duke. What meanst thou by this ?

Kent.

Kent. To go out of my dialogue which you discommend so much ; I know fir, I am no flatterer, he that beguild you in a plain accent, was a plaine knaue, which for my part I wil not be, thogh I should win your displeasure to entreate me to it.

Duke. What's the offence you gaue him?

Stew. I neuer gaue him any, it pleafd the king his master Very late to strike at me vpón his misconstruction, When he coniunct and flattering his displeasure Tript me behinde, being downe, insulted, raild, And put vpon him such a deale of man, that That worthied him, got praises of the king, For him attempting who was selfe subdued, And in the flechuent of this dread exploit, Drew on me heere againe.

Kent. None of these roges and cowards but A'iax is their Duke. Bring foorth the stockes ho?

(foole. You stubborne miscreant knaue, you vnreuerent bragart, Wee'l teach you.

Kent. I am too olde to learne, call not your stockes for me, I serue the king, on whose imploiments I was sent to you, You should do small respect, shew too bold malice Against the grace and person of my master, Stopping his messenger.

Duke. Fetch foorth the stockes; as I haue life and honour, There shall he fir till noone.

Reg. Till noone, till night my lord, and all night too.

Kent. Why madam, if I were your fathers dog, you could not vse me fo.

Reg. Sir, being his knaue, I will.

Duke. This is a fellow of the fame nature,
Our sister speakes off, come, bring away the stockes.

Gloft.

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Glost. Let me beseech your grace not to do so,
His fault is much, and the good king his master
Will checke him fort; your purposd low correction
Is such, as basest and temneft wretches for pilfrings
And most common trespasses are puniht with,
The king must take it ill, that hee's fo lightly valued
In his messenger, should haue him thus reftrained. -

Duke. Ile answer that.

Reg. My sister may receive it much more worse,
To haue her gentleman abused, affaulted
For following her affaires, put in his legs,
Come my lord, away.

Exit.
Gloft, I am sorry for thee friend, tis the dukes pleasure,
Whose disposition all the world well knowes
Will not be rubd nor stopt, Ile intreate for thee.

Kent. Pray you do not sir, I haue watcht and trauaild hard, Some time I shall neepe out, the rest Ile whistle, A good mans fortune may grow out at heeles, Giue you good morrow, Glost. The duke's too blame in this, twill be ill tooke.

Exit. Kent. Good king, that must approve the common law, That out of heavens benediction comeft To the warme funne. Approach thou beacon to this vnder globe, That by thy comfortable beames I may Peruse this letter, nothing almost sees my wracke But misery, I know tis from Cordelia, Who hath most fortunately bene informed Of my obscured course, and shall finde time From this enormious state, seeking to giue Losses their remedies, all weary and ouer-watcht, Take vantage heauy eies not to behold

This shamefull lodging ; fortune goodnight,
Smile, once more turne thy wheele.

He seepes.

Enter Edgar.
Edgar. I heare my felfe proclaim'd,
And by the happy hollow of a tree,
Escape the hunt, no port is free, no place
That guard, and most vousall vigilence
Doft not attend my taking while I may scape,
I will preserue my felfe, and am bethought
To take the basest and most poorest shape,
That euer penury in contempt of man,
Brought neere to beast; my face ile grime with filth,
Blanket my loines, elfe all my haire with knots,
And with presented nakednes out-face
The winde, and persecution of the skie,
The country giues me proofe and president
Of Bedlam beggers, who with roring voices,
Strike in their numb'd and mortified bare armes,
Pins, wooden prickes, nailes, sprigs of rosemary,
And with this horrible obiect from low feruice,
Poore pelting villages, sheep-coates, and milles,
Sometime with lunaticke bans, sometime with praiers
Enforce their charity, poore Turlygood, poore Tom,
That's something yet, Edgar I nothing am.

Exit.

Enter King, and a Knight. Lear. Tis strange that they should so depart from hence, And not send backe my messenger.

Knight. As I learn'd, the night before there was
No purpose of his remoue.

Kent. Haile to thee noble master.
Lear. How, mak'st thou this shame thy pastime?

Foole.

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