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And found; Dispatch, the Noble Duke, my Master,
My worthy Arch and Patron comes to Night,
By his Authority I will proclaim it,
That he which finds him shall deserve our Thanks,
Bringing the murtherous Coward to the Stake:
He that conccals him, Death.

Baft. When I dislwaded him from his intent,
And found him pight to do it, with curst Speech
I threatned to discover him; he replied,
Thou unpofsefing Bastard, dost thou think,
If I would stand against thee, would the Reposal
of any Truft, Virtue, or Worth in thee
Make thy words faith'd? No, by what I should deny,
(As this I would, though thou didst produce
My very Chara&ter) I'd turn it all
To thy Suggestion, Plot, and damned Pra&ice;
And thou must make a dullard of the World,
If they nor thought the Profits of my Death
Were very pregnant and potential Spirits
To make thee feek it.

[Trumpets withino
Glo. O strange and fastned Villain!
Would he deny his Letter, said he?
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 dute Note of him; and of my Land,
Loyal and natural Boy, I'll work the Means
To make thee capable.

Enter Cornwall, Regan, and Attendants. Corn. How now, my noble Friend? since I came hither, Which I can call but now, I have heard strangeness.

Reg. If it be true, all Vengeance comes too short Which can pursue th' offender; how does my Lord?

Glo. O Madam, my old Heart is crackd, it's crack’d.

Reg. What, did my Father's Godson seek your Life? He whom my Father nam'd, your Edgar?

Glo. O Lady, Lady, Niame would have it hid.

kuy. Was hé nor Companion with the riotous Knights Thai tinued upon my Father?


Glo. I know not, Madam, 'tis too bad, too bad.
Baft. Yes, Madam, he was of that Confort.

Reg. No marvel theo, though he were ill-affe&ed;
'Tis they have put him on the old Man's Death,
To have th’expence and waste of 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,
I'll not be there.

Corn. Nor I, assure thee, Regan;
Edmund, I hear that you have Thewn your Father
A Child-like Office.

Bast. It is my Duty, Sir.

Glo. He did bewray his Pra&ice, and receivid
This hurt you see, striving to apprehend him.

Corn. Is he pursued
Glo. Ay, my good Lord.

Corn. If he be taken, he shall never more
Be fear'd of doing harın, make your own purpose,
How in my strength you please; as you for, Edmund,
Whose virtue and obedience doth, this instant,
So much commend it self, you shall be ours;
Natures of such deep trust, we shall much need:
You we first seize on.

Baft. I shall serve you, Sir, truly, how ever else.
Glo. For him I thank your Grace.
Corn. You know not why we came to vise you-

Reg.Thus out of season, thredding dark-ey'd night?
Occasions, noble Glofter, of some Prize,
Where in we must have use of your Advice-
Our Father he hath writ, so hath our Sister,
Of Differences, which I best thought it fir
To answer from our home; the several Messengers
From hence attend Dispatch. Our good old Friend
Lay Comforts to your Bosom, and bestow
Your needful Counsel to our Businesses,
Which crave the instant use.

Glo. I serve you, Madam.
Your Graces are right welcome.


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Enter Kent, and Steward, Severally. Stew. Good dawring to chee, Friend, art of this House? Kent. Ay. Stew. Where may we set our Horses? Kent. I'th Mire. Stew. Prithee if thou lov'st 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.

Stea. Why dost thou use me thus? I know thee not.
Kent. Fellow, I know thee.
Stew. What dolt thou know me for?

Kent. A Knave, a Rascal, an eater of broken Meats, a bale, proud, shallow, beggarly, three-suired, hundred pound, filthy Wooftded-stocking Knave, a Lilly-livered, A&iontaking, whorson Glass-gazing, Super-serviceable finical Roque, one-Trunk-inheriting Slave; one that wouldst 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 Mungril Bitch; one whom I will beat into clamours 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-fac'd Varlet art thou, to deny thou knowest me? Is it two Days since I tript up thy He Is, and beat thee before the King ? Draw you Rogue, for though it be Night, yet the Moon shines ; I'll make a Sop o'th' Moonshine of you, you whorson Culleinly Barbei. monger, draw,

[Drawing his Sword. Siem. Away, I lave 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 carbcnado your Sharks-draw, you Rascal, come your ways.

Stew. Help, ho! Murther ! help!

Kent. Strike you Slave"; stand, Rogue, stand you neat Slave, strike.

[Beating him.


Stew. Help ho! Murther, murther !

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Enter Bastard, Cornwall, Regan, Gloster, and Şervants.

Baft. How now, what's the Matter? Part

Kent. With you, goodman Boy, if you please, come, I'll Aeth ye, come on young Master.

Glo. Weapon's? Aris? what's the Matter here

Corn. Keep Peace upon your Lives, he dies that strikes again, what is the Matter?

Reg. The Messengers from our Sister, and the King ? ?
Corn. What is your difference? speak.
Stew. I am scarce in breath, my Lord.

Kent. No marvel, you have so bestir'd your Valour, you cowardly Rascal, Nature disclaims all share in thee: A Tailor made thee.

Corn. Thou art a strange Fellow, a Tailor make a Man?

Kent. A Tailor, Sir ? a Stone-cutter, or a Painter, could not have made him so ill, tho' they had been but two Years o'th' Trade.

Corn. Speak yet, how grew your Quarrel?

Stew. The ancient Ruffian, Sir, whose Life I have spar'd at sute of his gray beard

Kent. Thou whorson Zed! thou unnecessary Letter! my Lord, if you will give me leave, I will tread this unbolted Villain into Morcar, and daub the Wall of a Jakes with him.. Spare my gray Beard, you wag.tail

Corn. Peace, Sirrah!
You beastly Knave, know you no Reverence?

Kent. Yes, Sir, but anger hath a privilege.
Corn. Why ait thou angry?

Kent. That such a Slave as this should wear a' Sword,
Who wears no Horesty: Such smiling Rogues as theft,
Like Rats oft bite the holy Cords a-twain,
Which art t'intrince, t'urloost: Smooth every Passion
That in the Natures of their Lords rebu),
Being Oil to Fire, Snow to their colder Mods,
Renege, affirm, and turn their Halcyon beaks,
With every gale, and vary of their Masters,
Knowing nought, like Dogs, but following:
A plaguc upon your Epilepuick Visage,

Smile you my Speeches, as I were a Fool?
Goose, if I had you upon Surum Plain,
I'd drive yé cackling home to Camelot.

Corn. What art thou mad, old Fellow?
Glo. How fell you out, say that?

Kent. No contraries hold more antipathy,
Than I, and such a Koave.

Corn. Why doft thou call him Knaves 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 ftınds on any Shoulder that I see
Before me, at this iostant.

Corn. This is some Fellow,
Who having been prais'd for bluntless, doth affect
A fawcy roughness, and constrains the garb
Quire from his Nature. He cannot flatter, he,
An honelt Mind, and plain, and he must speak truth,
And they will take it, lo; if not, he's plain.
These kind of Knaves I know, which in this plainness,
Harbour more Craft, and more corrupter Ends,
Thea twenty filly ducking observants,
That stretcht their Duties nicely,

Kent. Sir, in good faith, in fincere verity,
Under th' allowance of your great Aspect,
Whose influence like the wreath of radiane Fire,
Or flicking Plans front-

Corn. What mean't by this?

King. To go out of my Dialect, which you discommend so much; I know, Sir, I am no Flatrerer, he that beguild you in a plain Accet, was a plain Knave, which for my pat I will not be, though I should win your displeasure to intrcat me to't.

Corn. What was th' Offence you gave him?

Stow, I never gave him any :
It pleas'd th: King his Mifter, very lately,
To strike at me upon his Mifconstruction,
When he cempact, and fl.etering his Displeasure,
"Tript me behind; being down, insulted, railid,


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