Corn. Why art thou angry?

Kent. That such a slave as this should wear a sword,
Who wears no honesty. Such smiling rogues as these,
Like rats, oft bite the holy cords a-twain

Which are too intrinse t' unloose; smooth every passion
That in the natures of their lords rebel;

Bring oil to fire, snow to their colder moods;
Renege, affirm, and turn their halcyon beaks
With every gale and vary of their masters,
Knowing naught, like dogs, but following.-
A plague upon your epileptic 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.

Say that.

How fell you out?

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 stands 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 saucy roughness, and constrains the garb

Quite from his nature: he cannot 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 more corrupter ends
Than twenty silly ducking observants

That stretch their duties nicely.

Kent. Sir, in good faith, in sincere verity,

Under the allowance of your great aspect,

Whose influence, like the wreath of radiant fire
On flickering Phoebus' 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 beguiled you in a plain accent was a plain knave; which, for my part, I will not be, though I should win your displeasure to

entreat me to't.

Corn. What was the offence you gave him?
Osw.

I never gave him nay:

It pleas'd the king his master very late

To strike at me, upon his misconstruction;
When he, compact, and flattering his displeasure,
Tripp'd 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.

But Ajax is their fool.
Corn.

None of these rogues and cowards

Fetch forth the stocks!

You stubborn ancient knave, you reverend 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 employment I was sent to you:
You shall do small respect, show too bold malice
Against the grace and person of my master,
Stocking his messenger.

Fetch forth the stocks!

Corn.
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, madamı, if I were your father's dog
You should not use me so.

Reg.
Sir, being his knave, I will.
Corn. This is a fellow of the self-same colour
Our sister speaks of.—Come, bring away the stocks!

[Stocks brought out.

Glo. Let me beseech your grace not to do so:
His fault is much, and the good king his master
Will check him for't: your purpos'd low correction
Is such as basest and contemned'st wretches,
For pilferings and most common trespasses.
Are punish'd with: the king must take it ill
That he, so slightly valu'd in his messenger,
Should have him thus restrain'd.

I'll answer that.

Corn.
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 all but GLOSTER and KENT. Glo. I am sorry for thee, friend; 'tis the duke's pleasure,

Whose disposition, all the world well knows,

Will not be rubb'd nor stopp'd: I'll entreat for thee.

Kent. Pray, do not, sir: I have watch'd, and travell'd hard; Some time I shall sleep out, the rest I'll whistle.

A good man's fortune may grow out at heels:

Give you good-morrow!

Glo. The duke's to blame in this; 'twill be ill taken.

[Exit.

Kent. Good king, that must approve the common saw,— Thou out of heaven's benediction com'st

To the warm sun!

Approach, thou beacon to this under globe,

That by thy comfortable beams I may

Peruse this letter! -Nothing almost sees miracles
But misery:-I know 'tis from Cordelia,

Who hath most fortunately been inform'd

Of my obscured course; and shall find time
From this enormous state,--seeking to give

Losses their remedies,-All weary and o'er-watch'd,
Take vantage, heavy eyes, not to behold

This shameful lodging.

Fortune, good-night: smile once more; turn thy wheel!

SCENE III.-The open Country.

Enter EDGAR.

Edg. I heard myself proclaim'd;

And by the happy hollow of a tree

Escap'd the hunt. No port is free; no place,

That guard and most unusual vigilance

Does not attend my taking. While I may scape
I will preserve myself: and am bethought

To take the basest and most poorest shape

That ever penury, in contempt of man,

[He sleeps

Brought near to beast: my face I'll grime with filth;
Blanket my loins; elf all my hair in knots;

And with presented nakedness outface
The winds and persecutions of the sky.
The country gives me proof and precedent
Of Bedlam beggars, who, with roaring voices,
Strike in their numb'd and mortified bare arms
Pins, wooden pricks, nails, sprigs of rosemary;
And with this horrible object, from low farms,
Poor pelting villages, sheep-cotes, and mills,
Sometime with lunatic bans, sometime with prayers,

Enforce their charity.-Poor Turlygod! poor Tom!
That's something yet:-Edgar I nothing am.

[Exit.

SCENE IV.-Before GLOSTER's Castle. KENT in the Stocks.

Enter LEAR, Fool, and Gentleman.

Lear. 'Tis strange that they should so depart from home, And not send back my messenger.

Gent.

As I learn'd, The night before there was no purpose in them

Of this remove.

Kent.

Lear. Ha!

Hail to thee, noble master!

Mak'st thou this shame thy pastime?

Kent.

No, my lord.

Fool. Ha, ha! he wears cruel garters. Horses are tied by the head; dogs and bears by the neck, monkeys by the loins, and men by the legs: when a man is over-lusty at legs, then he wears wooden nether-stocks.

Lear. What's he that hath so much thy place mistook To set thee here?

They could not, would not do't; tis worse than murder,

To do upon respect such violent outrage:

Resolve me, with all modest haste, which way

Thou might'st deserve or they impose this usage,
Coming from us.

Kent.
My lord, when at their home
I did commend your highness' letters to them,
Ere I was risen from the place that show'd
My duty kneeling, came there a reeking post,
Stew'd in his haste, half breathless, panting forth
From Goneril his mistress salutations;
Deliver'd letters, spite of intermission,

Which presently they read: on whose contents

They summon'd up their meiny, straight took horse;
Commanded me to follow, and attend

The leisure of their answer; gave me cold looks:
And meeting here the other messenger,

Whose welcome I perceiv'd had poison'd mine,--
Being the very fellow which of late

Display'd so saucily against your highness,-
Having more man than wit about me, drew:
He rais'd the house with loud and coward cries.
Your son and daughter found this trespass worth
The shame which here it suffers.

Fool. Winter's not gone yet, if the wild-geese fly that

way.

Fathers that wear rags

Do make their children blind;

But fathers that bear bags

Shall see their children kind.
Fortune, that arrant whore,

Ne'er turns the key to the poor.—

But, for all this, thou shalt have as many dolours for thy daughters as thou can'st tell in a year.

Lear. O, how this mother swells up toward my heart! Hysterica passio,-down, thou climbing sorrow,

Thy element's below!-Where is this daughter?

Kent. With the earl, sir, here within.

Lear.

Stay here.

Follow me not;

[Exit.

Gent. Made you no more offence but what you speak of? Kent. None.

How chance the king comes with so small a number?

Fool. An thou hadst been set i' the stocks for that question, thou hadst well deserved it.

Kent. Why, fool?

Fool. We'll set thee to school to an ant, to teach thee there's no labouring in the winter. All that follow their noses are led by their eyes but blind men; and there's not a nose among twenty but can smell him that's stinking. Let go thy hold when a great wheel runs down a hill, lest it break thy neck with following it; but the great one that goes up the hill, let him draw thee after. When a wise man gives thee better counsel, give me mine again: I would have none but knaves follow it, since a fool gives it.

That sir which serves and seeks for gain,

And follows but for form,

Will pack when it begins to rain,

And leave thee in the storm.