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To his unnatural purpose, in fell motion
Full suddenly he fled.
Let him fly far:
And, found, dispatch. The noble Duke my master,
By his authority I will proclaim it,
That he which finds him shall deserve our thanks,
EDM. When I dissuaded him from his intent,
Thou unpossessing Bastard! dost thou think,
All ports I'll bar; the villain shall not 'scape;
I will send far and near, that all the Kingdom
Make thy words faith'd? No: what I should deny
To thy suggestion, plot, and damned practice:
Hark, the Duke's trumpets! I know not why he
Enter CORNWALL, REGAN, and Attendants.
Which can pursue the offender. How dost, my Lord?
That tend upon my father?
Truly, however else.
REG. Thus out of season, threading dark-ey'd night:
Your Graces are right welcome.
I serve you, Madam:
SCENE II. Before GLOUCESTER's Castle.
Enter KENT and OSWALD, severally.
Osw. Good dawning to thee, Friend: art of this house?
Osw. Where may we set our horses?
KENT. I' the mire.
Osw. Pr'ythee, if thou lovest me, tell me.
KENT. I love thee not.
Osw. Why, then I care not for thee.
KENT. If I had thee in Lipsbury pinfold, I would make thee care for me.
Osw. Why dost thou use me thus? I know thee not.
KENT. Fellow, I know thee.
Osw. What dost thou know me for?
KENT. A knave; a rascal; an eater of broken meats; a base, proud, shallow, beggarly, three-suited, hundredpound, filthy, worsted-stocking knave; a lily-liver'd, action-taking, whoreson, 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, pander, and the son and heir of a mongrel bitch; one whom I will beat into clamorous whining, if thou deniest the least syllable of thy addition.
Osw. 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-fac'd varlet art thou, to deny thou knowest me! Is it two days since I tripp'd up thy heels and beat thee before the King? Draw, you Rogue! for, though it be night, yet the Moon shines; I'll make a sop o' the moonshine of you. [drawing his sword.] Draw, you whoreson cullionly Barbermonger, draw!
Osw. Away! I have nothing to do with thee.
Osw. Help, ho! murder! help!
KENT. Strike, you Slave! stand, Rogue, stand; you neat1
Osw. Help, ho! murder! murder !
Enter EDMUND, with his rapier drawn, CORNWALL,
EDM. How now! What's the matter?
KENT. With you, goodman Boy, if you please: come,
I'll flesh ye; come on, young Master.
GLOU. Weapons? arms? what's the matter here?
He dies that strikes again. What is the matter?
Osw. 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
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 o' the trade.
CORN. Speak yet, how grew your quarrel?
Osw. This ancient ruffian, Sir, whose life I have spar'd at ACT II
suit of his gray beard
KENT. Thou whoreson 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 gray beard, you Wagtail? 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 should wear a sword,
Who wears no honesty. Such smiling rogues as these,
Which are too intrinse1 to unloose; smooth every passion
I'ld drive ye cackling home to Camelot.
KENT. No contraries hold more antipathy
Than I and such a knave.
CORN. Why dost thou call him knave? What's his
KENT. His countenance likes me not.
CORN. No more, perchance, does mine, nor his, nor her's.
I have seen better faces in my time