Act IIScene II
Before Gloucester’s Castle
Enter Kent and Oswald, severally.
Oswald
Good dawning to thee, friend: art of this house?
Kent
Ay.
Oswald
Where may we set our horses?
Kent
I’ the mire.
Oswald
Prythee, if thou lov’st me, tell me.
Kent
I love thee not.
Oswald
Why then, I care not for thee.
Kent
If I had thee in Lipsbury pinfold, I would make thee care for me.
Oswald
Why dost thou use me thus? I know thee not.
Kent
Fellow, I know thee.
Oswald
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, super-serviceable, 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 deniest the least syllable of thy addition.
Oswald
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 tripped up thy heels and beat thee 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 barber-monger, draw!
Drawing his sword.
Oswald
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!
Oswald
Help, ho! murder! help!
Kent
Strike, you slave; stand, rogue, stand; you neat slave, strike!
Beating him.
Oswald
Help, ho! murder! murder!
Enter Edmund, Cornwall, Regan, Gloucester and Servants.
Edmund
How now! What’s the matter? Part!
Kent
With you, goodman boy, if you please: come, I’ll flesh ye; come on, young master.
Gloucester
Weapons! arms! What’s the matter here?
Cornwall
Keep peace, upon your lives, he dies that strikes again. What is the matter?
Regan
The messengers from our sister and the King.
Cornwall
What is your difference? Speak.
Oswald
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.
Cornwall
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 years at the trade.
Cornwall
Speak yet, how grew your quarrel?
Oswald
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?
Cornwall
Peace, sirrah!You beastly knave, know you no reverence?
Kent
Yes, sir; but anger hath a privilege.
Cornwall
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-twainWhich are too intrince t’unloose; smooth every passionThat in the natures of their lords rebel;Bring oil to fire, snow to their colder moods;Renege, affirm, and turn their halcyon beaksWith 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, if I had you upon Sarum plain,I’d drive ye cackling home to Camelot.
Cornwall
What, art thou mad, old fellow?
Gloucester
How fell you out? Say that.
Kent
No contraries hold more antipathyThan I and such a knave.
Cornwall
Why dost thou call him knave? What is his fault?
Kent
His countenance likes me not.
Cornwall
No more perchance does mine, or his, or hers.
Kent
Sir, ’tis my occupation to be plain:I have seen better faces in my timeThan stands on any shoulder that I seeBefore me at this instant.
Cornwall
This is some fellowWho, having been prais’d for bluntness, doth affectA saucy roughness, and constrains the garbQuite 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 plainnessHarbour more craft and more corrupter endsThan twenty silly-ducking observantsThat stretch their duties nicely.
Kent
Sir, in good faith, in sincere verity,Under th’allowance of your great aspect,Whose influence, like the wreath of radiant fireOn flickering Phoebus’ front,—
Cornwall
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.
Cornwall
What was the offence you gave him?
Oswald
I never gave him any:It pleas’d the King his master very lateTo strike at me, upon his misconstruction;When he, compact, and flattering his displeasure,Tripp’d me behind; being down, insulted, rail’dAnd put upon him such a deal of man,That worthied him, got praises of the KingFor 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 cowardsBut Ajax is their fool.
Cornwall
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 maliceAgainst the grace and person of my master,Stocking his messenger.
Cornwall
Fetch forth the stocks!As I have life and honour, there shall he sit till noon.
Regan
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.
Regan
Sir, being his knave, I will.
Stocks brought out.
Cornwall
This is a fellow of the selfsame colourOur sister speaks of. Come, bring away the stocks!
Gloucester
Let me beseech your grace not to do so:His fault is much, and the good King his masterWill check him for’t: your purpos’d low correctionIs such as basest and contemned’st wretchesFor pilferings and most common trespasses,Are punish’d with. The King must take it illThat he, so slightly valued in his messenger,Should have him thus restrained.
Cornwall
I’ll answer that.
Regan
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.
Cornwall
Come, my good lord, away.
Exeunt all but Gloucester and Kent.
Gloucester
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!
Gloucester
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’stTo the warm sun.Approach, thou beacon to this under globe,That by thy comfortable beams I mayPeruse this letter. Nothing almost sees miraclesBut misery. I know ’tis from Cordelia,Who hath most fortunately been inform’dOf my obscured course. And shall find timeFrom this enormous state, seeking to giveLosses their remedies. All weary and o’erwatch’d,Take vantage, heavy eyes, not to beholdThis shameful lodging.Fortune, good night: smile once more, turn thy wheel!
He sleeps.