Act I, Scene iii:
A Room in the Duke of Albany's Palace.

[Enter Goneril and Oswald.]

Gon.:

Did my father strike my gentleman for chiding of his fool?

Osw. Ay, madam.

Gon.:

By day and night, he wrongs me; every hour

He flashes into one gross crime or other,

That sets us all at odds; I'll not endure it:

His knights grow riotous, and himself upbraids us

On every trifle.—When he returns from hunting,

I will not speak with him; say I am sick.—

If you come slack of former services,

You shall do well; the fault of it I'll answer.

Osw.:

He's coming, madam; I hear him.

[Horns within.]

Gon.:

Put on what weary negligence you please,

You and your fellows; I'd have it come to question:

If he distaste it, let him to our sister,

Whose mind and mine, I know, in that are one,

Not to be overruled. Idle old man,

That still would manage those authorities

That he hath given away!—Now, by my life,

Old fools are babes again; and must be us'd

With checks as flatteries,—when they are seen abus'd.

Remember what I have said.

Osw.:

Very well, madam.

Gon.:

And let his knights have colder looks among you;

What grows of it, no matter; advise your fellows so;

I would breed from hence occasions, and I shall,

That I may speak.—I'll write straight to my sister

To hold my very course.—Prepare for dinner.

[Exeunt.]