Act II, Scene ii:
Before Gloster's Castle.
Before Gloster's Castle.
| [Enter Kent and Oswald, severally.] |
| Osw.: |
| Good dawning to thee, friend: art of this house? |
| Kent.: |
| Ay. |
| Osw.: |
| Where may we set our horses? |
| Kent.: |
| I' the mire. |
| Osw.: |
| Pr'ythee, if thou lov'st me, tell me. |
| Kent.: |
| I love thee not. |
| Osw.: |
| Why then, I care not for thee. |
| Kent.: |
| If I had thee in Lipsbury pinfold, I would make thee care for me. |
| Osw.: |
| Why dost thou use me thus? I know thee not. |
| Kent.: |
| Fellow, I know thee. |
| Osw.: |
| What dost thou know me for? |
| Kent.: |
| A knave; a rascal; an eater of broken meats; a base, proud, |
| shallow, beggarly, three-suited, hundred-pound, filthy, |
| worsted-stocking knave; a lily-livered, action-taking, whoreson, |
| glass-gazing, superserviceable, finical rogue; |
| 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 mongrel |
| bitch: one whom I will beat into clamorous whining, if thou |
| denyest the least syllable of thy addition. |
| Osw.: |
| Why, what a monstrous fellow art thou, thus to rail on one that's |
| neither known of thee nor knows thee? |
| Kent.: |
| What a brazen-faced varlet art thou, to deny thou knowest me! Is |
| it two days ago since I beat thee and tripped up thy heels before |
| the king? Draw, you rogue: for, though it be night, yet the moon |
| shines; I'll make a sop o' the moonshine of you: draw, you |
| whoreson cullionly barbermonger, draw! |
| [Drawing his sword.] |
| Osw.: |
| Away! I have 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 carbonado your shanks:— |
| draw, you rascal; come your ways! |
| Osw.: |
| Help, ho! murder! help! |
| Kent.: |
| Strike, you slave; stand, rogue, stand; you neat slave, strike! |
| [Beating him.] |
| Osw.: |
| Help, ho! murder! murder! |
| [Enter Edmund, Cornwall, Regan, Gloster, and Servants.] |
| Edm.: |
| How now! What's the matter? |
| Kent.: |
| With you, goodman boy, an you please: come, I'll flesh you; come |
| on, young master. |
| Glou.: |
| Weapons! arms! 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. |
| Osw.: |
| I am scarce in breath, my lord. |
| Kent.: |
| No marvel, you have so bestirr'd your valour. You cowardly |
| rascal, nature disclaims in thee; a tailor made thee. |
| Corn.: |
| Thou art a strange fellow: a tailor make a man? |
| Kent.: |
| Ay, a tailor, sir: a stonecutter or a painter could not have |
| made him so ill, though he had been but two hours at the trade. |
| Corn.: |
| Speak yet, how grew your quarrel? |
| Osw.: |
| This ancient ruffian, sir, whose life I have spared at suit of |
| his grey |
| beard,— |
| Kent.: |
| Thou whoreson zed! thou unnecessary letter!—My lord, if you'll |
| give me leave, I will tread this unbolted villain into mortar and |
| daub the walls of a jakes with him.—Spare my grey beard, you |
| wagtail? |
| Corn.: |
| Peace, sirrah! |
| You beastly knave, know you no reverence? |
| Kent.: |
| Yes, sir; but anger hath a privilege. |
| Corn.: |
| Why art thou angry? |
| Kent.: |
| That such a slave as this should wear a sword, |
| Who wears no honesty. Such smiling rogues as these, |
| Like rats, oft bite the holy cords a-twain |
| Which are too intrinse t' unloose; smooth every passion |
| That in the natures of their lords rebel; |
| Bring oil to fire, snow to their colder moods; |
| Renege, affirm, and turn their halcyon beaks |
| With every gale and vary of their masters, |
| Knowing naught, like dogs, but following.— |
| A plague upon your epileptic visage! |
| Smile you my speeches, as I were a fool? |
| Goose, an I had you upon Sarum plain, |
| I'd drive ye cackling home to Camelot. |
| Corn.: |
| What, art thou mad, old fellow? |
| Glou.: |
| How fell you out? |
| Say that. |
| Kent.: |
| No contraries hold more antipathy |
| Than I and such a knave. |
| Corn.: |
| Why dost thou call him knave? What is his fault? |
| Kent.: |
| His countenance likes me not. |
| Corn.: |
| No more perchance does mine, or his, or hers. |
| Kent.: |
| Sir, 'tis my occupation to be plain: |
| I have seen better faces in my time |
| Than stands on any shoulder that I see |
| Before me at this instant. |
| Corn.: |
| This is some fellow |
| Who, having been prais'd for bluntness, doth affect |
| A saucy roughness, and constrains the garb |
| Quite from his nature: he cannot flatter, he,— |
| An honest mind and plain,—he must speak truth! |
| An they will take it, so; if not, he's plain. |
| These kind of knaves I know which in this plainness |
| Harbour more craft and more corrupter ends |
| Than twenty silly-ducking observants |
| That stretch their duties nicely. |
| Kent.: |
| Sir, in good faith, in sincere verity, |
| Under the allowance of your great aspect, |
| Whose influence, like the wreath of radiant fire |
| On flickering Phoebus' front,— |
| Corn.: |
| What mean'st by this? |
| Kent.: |
| To go out of my dialect, which you discommend so much. I know, |
| sir, I am no flatterer: he that beguiled you in a plain accent |
| was a plain knave; which, for my part, I will not be, though I |
| should win your displeasure to entreat me to't. |
| Corn.: |
| What was the offence you gave him? |
| Osw.: |
| I never gave him any: |
| It pleas'd the king his master very late |
| To strike at me, upon his misconstruction; |
| When he, compact, and flattering his displeasure, |
| Tripp'd me behind; being down, insulted, rail'd |
| And put upon him such a deal of man, |
| That worthied him, got praises of the king |
| For him attempting who was self-subdu'd; |
| And, in the fleshment of this dread exploit, |
| Drew on me here again. |
| Kent.: |
| None of these rogues and cowards |
| But Ajax is their fool. |
| Corn.: |
| Fetch forth the stocks!— |
| You stubborn ancient knave, you reverent braggart, |
| We'll teach you,— |
| Kent.: |
| Sir, I am too old to learn: |
| Call not your stocks for me: I serve the king; |
| On whose employment I was sent to you: |
| You shall do small respect, show too bold malice |
| Against the grace and person of my master, |
| Stocking his messenger. |
| Corn.: |
| Fetch forth the stocks!—As I have life and honour, |
| there shall he sit till noon. |
| Reg.: |
| Till noon! Till night, my lord; and all night too! |
| Kent.: |
| Why, madam, if I were your father's dog, |
| You should not use me so. |
| Reg.: |
| Sir, being his knave, I will. |
| Corn.: |
| This is a fellow of the self-same colour |
| Our sister speaks of.—Come, bring away the stocks! |
| [Stocks brought out.] |
| Glou.: |
| Let me beseech your grace not to do so: |
| His fault is much, and the good king his master |
| Will check him for't: your purpos'd low correction |
| Is such as basest and contemned'st wretches |
| For pilferings and most common trespasses, |
| Are punish'd with: the king must take it ill |
| That he, so slightly valu'd in his messenger, |
| Should have him thus restrain'd. |
| Corn.: |
| I'll answer that. |
| Reg.: |
| My sister may receive it much more worse, |
| To have her gentleman abus'd, assaulted, |
| For following her affairs.—Put in his legs.— |
| [Kent is put in the stocks.] |
| Come, my good lord, away. |
| [Exeunt all but Gloster and Kent.] |
| Glou.: |
| I am sorry for thee, friend; 'tis the duke's pleasure, |
| Whose disposition, all the world well knows, |
| Will not be rubb'd nor stopp'd; I'll entreat for thee. |
| Kent.: |
| Pray do not, sir: I have watch'd, and travell'd hard; |
| Some time I shall sleep out, the rest I'll whistle. |
| A good man's fortune may grow out at heels: |
| Give you good morrow! |
| Glou.: |
| The duke's to blame in this: 'twill be ill taken. |
| [Exit.] |
| Kent.: |
| Good king, that must approve the common saw,— |
| Thou out of heaven's benediction com'st |
| To the warm sun! |
| Approach, thou beacon to this under globe, |
| That by thy comfortable beams I may |
| Peruse this letter.—Nothing almost sees miracles |
| But misery:—I know 'tis from Cordelia, |
| Who hath most fortunately been inform'd |
| Of my obscured course; and shall find time |
| From this enormous state,—seeking to give |
| Losses their remedies,—All weary and o'erwatch'd, |
| Take vantage, heavy eyes, not to behold |
| This shameful lodging. |
| Fortune, good night: smile once more, turn thy wheel! |
| [He sleeps.] |
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