And found; Difpatch, the Noble Duke, my Mafter,
My worthy Arch and Patron comes to Night,
By his Authority I will proclaim it,

That he which finds him shall deferve our Thanks,
Bringing the murtherous Coward to the Stake:
He that conceals him, Death.

Baft. When I diffwaded him from his intent,
And found him pight to do it, with curft Speech
I threatned to difcover him; he replied,

Thou unpoffeffing Baftard, doft thou think,
If I would ftand againft 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 Character) I'd turn it all

To thy Suggeftion, Plot, and damned Practice;
And thou muft make a dullard of the World,
If they not thought the Profits of my Death
Were very pregnant and potential Spirits
To make thee feek it.

Glo. O ftrange and faftned Villain!
Would he deny his Letter, faid he?

[Trumpets within.

Hark, the Duke's Trumpets! I know not why he comes----
All Ports I'll bar, the Villain fhall not scape,

The Duke muft grant me that; befides his Picture
I will fend 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? 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.
Baft. Yes, Madam, he was of that Confort.
Reg. No marvel then, though he were ill-affected;
'Tis they have put him on the old Man's Death,
To have th'expence and waste of Revenues;
I have this prefent Evening from my Sifter
Been well inform'd of them, and with fuch Cautions,
That if they come to fojourn at my Houfe,
I'll not be there.

Corn. Nor I, affure thee, Regan;

Edmund, I hear that you have fhewn your Father
A Child-like Office.

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
Be fear'd of doing harm, make your own purpose,
How in my strength you pleafe; as you for, Edmund,
Whofe virtue and obedience doth, this inftant,
So much commend it felf, you fhall be ours;
Natures of fuch deep truft, we fhall much need:
You we firft feize on.

Baft. I fhall ferve you, Sir, truly, how ever elfe.
Glo. For him I thank your Grace.
Corn. You know not why we came to vifit you
Reg. Thus out of feafon,thredding dark-ey'd night?
Occafions, noble Glofter, of fome Prize,
Where in we muft have ufe of your Advice
Our Father he hath writ, fo hath our Sifter,
Of Differences, which I beft thought it fit
To answer from our home; the feveral Meffengers.
From hence attend Difpatch. Our good old Friend
Lay Comforts to your Bofom, and beftow

Your needful Counsel to our Businesses,
Which crave the inftant ufe.

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

[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?
Kent. Yes, Sir, but anger hath a privilege.

Corn. Why at thou angry?

Kent. That fuch a Slave as this fhould wear a Sword,
Who wears no Horefty: Such fmiling Rogues as thefe,
Like Rats oft bite the holy Cords a-twain,

Which art t'intrince, t'unloofe: Smooth every Paffion
That in the Natures of their Lords rebel,

Being Oil to Fire, Snow to their colder Mods,
Renege, affirm, and turn their Halcyon beaks,
With every gale, and vary of their Mafters,
Knowing nought, like Dogs, but following:
A plague upon your Epileptick Vifage,

Smile you my Speeches, as I were a Fool?
Goofe, if I had you upon Sarum Plain,
I'd drive ye cackling home to Camelot.
Corn. What art thou mad, old Fellow?
Glo. How fell you out, fay that?

Kent. No contraries hold more antipathy,
Than I, and fuch a Knave.

Corn. Why doft 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 feen better Faces in my time,

Than ftands on any Shoulder that I fee
Before me, at this inftant.

Corn. This is fome Fellow,

Who having been prais'd for bluntless, doth affect
A fawcy roughness, and conftrains the garb
Quite from his Nature. He cannot flatter, he,
An honeft Mind, and plain, and he must speak truth,
And they will take it, fo; if not, he's plain.
Thefe kind of Knaves I know, which in this plainnefs,
Harbour more Craft, and more corrupter Ends,
Then twenty filly ducking obfervants,

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?
Stew. I never gave him any:

It pleas'd the King his Mifter, very lately,
To ftrike at me upon his Mifconftruction,
When he compact, and flattering his Difpleafure,

Tript me behind; being down, infulted, rail'd,

And