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And found; Dispatch, the Noble Duke, my Master,
Baft. When I dislwaded him from his intent,
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.
Reg. No marvel theo, though he were ill-affe&ed;
Corn. Nor I, assure thee, Regan;
Bast. It is my Duty, Sir.
Glo. He did bewray his Pra&ice, and receivid
Corn. Is he pursued
Corn. If he be taken, he shall never more
Baft. I shall serve you, Sir, truly, how ever else.
Reg.Thus out of season, thredding dark-ey'd night?
Glo. I serve you, Madam.
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. 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.
Stew. Help ho! Murther, murther !
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 ? ?
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!
Kent. Yes, Sir, but anger hath a privilege.
Kent. That such a Slave as this should wear a' Sword,
Smile you my Speeches, as I were a Fool?
Corn. What art thou mad, old Fellow?
Kent. No contraries hold more antipathy,
Corn. Why doft thou call him Knaves What is his Fault?
Kent. Sir, 'tis my occupation to be plain,
Corn. This is some Fellow,
Kent. Sir, in good faith, in fincere verity,
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 :