And found; Difpatch, the Noble Duke, my Mafter, That he which finds him shall deferve our Thanks, Baft. When I diffwaded him from his intent, Thou unpoffeffing Baftard, doft thou think, Make thy words faith'd? No, by what I should deny, To thy Suggeftion, Plot, and damned Practice; Glo. O ftrange and faftned Villain! [Trumpets within. Hark, the Duke's Trumpets! I know not why he comes---- The Duke muft grant me that; befides his Picture Enter Cornwall, Regan, and Attendants. Corn. How now, my noble Friend? fince I came hither, Which I can call but now, I have heard ftrangeness. Reg. If it be true, all Vengeance comes too fhort Which can pursue th' offender; how does my Lord? Glo. O Madam, my old Heart is crack'd, it's crack'd. Reg. What, did my Father's Godfon feek your Life? He whom my Father nam'd, your Edgar? Glo. O Lady, Lady, fhame would have it hid. Reg. Was he not Companion with the riotous Knights That tended upon my Father? Glo. Glo. I know not, Madam, 'tis too bad, too bad. Corn. Nor I, affure thee, Regan; Edmund, I hear that you have fhewn your Father Baft. It is my Duty, Sir. Glo. He did bewray his Practice, and receiv'd This hurt you fee, ftriving to apprehend him. Corn. Is he purfued ? Glo. Ay, my good Lord. Corn. If he be taken, he shall never more Baft. I fhall ferve you, Sir, truly, how ever elfe. Your needful Counsel to our Businesses, Glo. I ferve you, Madam. [Exeunt. Enter Kent, and Steward, feverally. Stew. Good dawning to thee, Friend, art of this House? Kent. Ay. Stew. Where may we fet our Horfes ? Kent. Ith Mire. Stew. Prithee if thou lov'ft me, tell me. Kent. I love thee not. Stew. Why then I care not for thee. Kent. If I had thee in Lipsbury Pinfold, I would make thee care for me. Stew. Why doft thou ufe me thus? I know thee not. Kent. Fellow, I know thee. Stew. What doft thou know me for? Kent. A Knave, a Rafcal, an eater of broken Meats, a bale, proud, fhallow, beggarly, three-fuited, hundred pound, filthy Wooftded-ftocking Knave, a Lilly-livered, A&ion taking, whorfon Glafs-gazing, Super-ferviceable finical Rogue, one-Trunk-inheriting Slave; one that wouldst be a Bawd in way of good Service, and art nothing but the compofition of a Knave, Beggar, Coward, Pander, and the Son and Heir of a Mungril Bitch; one whom I will beat into clamours whining, if thou deny'ft the leaft Syllable of thy Addition. Stew. Why, what a monftrous 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 knoweft me? Is it two Days fince I tript up thy He ls, and beat thee before the King? Draw you Rogue, for though it be Night, yet the Moon fhines; I'll make a Sop o'th' Moonshine of you, you whorfon Culleinly Barbermonger, draw. [Drawing his Sword. Step. Away, I have nothing to do with thee. Kent. Diaw, you Rafcal; 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 fo carbonado your Shanks draw, you Rafcal, come your ways. Stew. Help, ho! Murther! help'! ---- Kent. Strike you Slave, ftand, Rogue, ftand you neat Slave, ftrike. [Beating him. Stew. Stew. Help ho! Murther, murther! Enter Baftard, Cornwall, Regan, Glofter, and Servants. Baft. How now, what's the Matter? Pait Kent. With you, goodman Boy, if you pleafe, come, I'll flesh ye, come on young Mafter. Glo. Weapon's? Arms? what's the Matter here? Corn. Keep Peace upon your Lives, he dies that strikes again, what is the Matter? Reg. The Meffengers from our Sifter, and the King?! Corn. What is your difference? speak. Stew. I am scarce in breath, my Lord. Kent. No marvel, you have fo beftir'd your Valour, you cowardly Rafcal, Nature difclaims all fhare in thee: A Tailor made thee. Corn. Thou art a ftrange Fellow, a Tailor make a Man? Kent. A Tailor, Sir? a Stone-cutter, or a Painter, could not have made him fo ill, tho' they had been but two Years o'th' Trade. Corn. Speak yet, how grew your Quarrel? Stew. The ancient Ruffian, Sir, whofe Life I have fpar'd at fute of his gray beard Kent. Thou whorfon Zed! thou unneceffary 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 wag-tail!. Corn. Peace, Sirrah! You beaftly Knave, know you no Reverence? Corn. Why at thou angry? Kent. That fuch a Slave as this fhould wear a Sword, Which art t'intrince, t'unloofe: Smooth every Paffion Being Oil to Fire, Snow to their colder Mods, Smile you my Speeches, as I were a Fool? Kent. No contraries hold more antipathy, Corn. Why doft thou call him Knave? What is his Fault? Corn. No more perchance does mine, nor his, nor hers. I have feen better Faces in my time, Than ftands on any Shoulder that I fee Corn. This is fome Fellow, Who having been prais'd for bluntless, doth affect That ftretcht their Duties nicely. Kent. Sir, in good faith, in fincere verity, Under th' allowance of your great Afpect, Whofe influence like the wreath of radiant Fire, Or flicking Phebus front Corn. What mean'ft by this? King. To go out of my Dialect, which you difcommend fo much; I know, Sir, I am no Flatrerer, he that beguil'd you in a plain Accent, was a plain Knave, which for my part I will not be, though I fhould win your displeasure to intreat me to't. Corn. What was th' Offence you gave him? It pleas'd the King his Mifter, very lately, Tript me behind; being down, infulted, rail'd, And |