II. ii.

50

60

70

gainst the Royaltie of her Father: draw you Rogue, or Ile fo carbonado your fhanks, draw you Rafcall, come your waies.

Ste. Helpe, ho, murther, helpe.

Kent. Strike you flaue: ftand rogue, stand you neat flaue, ftrike.

Stew. Helpe, hoa, murther, murther.

Enter Baftard, Cornewall, Regan, Glofter, Seruants.

Baft. How now, what's the matter? Part.

Kent. With you goodman Boy, if you please, come, Ile flesh ye, come on yong Mafter.

Glo. Weapons? Armes? what's the matter here?

Cor. Keepe peace vpon your liues, he dies that strikes againe, what is the matter?

Reg. The Meffengers from our Sifter, and the King?
Cor. What is your difference, speake?

Stew. I am fcarce in breath my Lord.

Kent. No Maruell, you haue fo beftir'd your valour, you cowardly Rafcall, nature difclaimes in thee: a Taylor made thee.

Cor. Thou art a ftrange fellow, a Taylor make a man? Kent. A Taylor Sir, a Stone-cutter, or a Painter, could not haue made him fo ill, though they had bin but two yeares oth'trade.

Cor. Speake yet, how grew your quarrell?

Ste. This ancient Ruffian Sir, whofe life I haue spar'd at fute of his gray-beard.

Kent. Thou whorefon Zed, thou vnnecessary letter: my Lord, if you will giue me leaue, I will tread this vnboulted villaine into morter, and daube the wall of a Iakes with him. Spare my gray-beard, you wagtaile?

Cor. Peace firrah,

You beaftly knaue, know you no reuerence?

Kent. Yes Sir, but anger hath a priuiledge.

Cor. Why art thou angrie?

Kent. That fuch a flaue as this fhould weare a Sword, Who weares no honesty: such smiling rogues as these,

80 Like Rats oft bite the holy cords a twaine,

-Which are t'intrince, t'vnloofe: smooth euery passion
That in the natures of their Lords rebell,

Being oile to fire, fnow to the colder moodes,
Reuenge, affirme, and turne their Halcion beakes

II. ii.

With euery gale and varie of their maifters,

(epeliptick

Knowing nought like dayes but following, a plague vpon your
Vifage, fmoyle you my speeches, as I were a foole

Goofe and I had you vpon Sarum plaine,

100

Duke. What art thou mad old fellow
Gloft. How fell you out, fay that:

Kent. No contraries hold more, antipathy,

Then I and fuch a knaue.

Duke. Why doft thou call him knaue, what's his offence.

Kent. His countenance likes me not.

Duke. No more perchance does mine, or his, or hers.

Kent. Sir tis my occupation to be plaine,

I haue feene better faces in my time

That ftands on any shoulder that I fee

Before me at this inftant.

Duke. This is a fellow who hauing beene prayfd

For bluntnes doth affect a fawcy ruffines,

And constraines the garb quite from his nature,
He cannot flatter he, he must be plaine,

He muft fpeake truth, and they will tak't fo,

If not he's plaine, these kind of knaues I know
Which in this plainnes harbour more craft,
And more corrupter ends, then twentie filly ducking
110 ́ Obferuants, that stretch their duties nifely.

Kent. Sir in good footh, or in fincere veritie,
Vnder the allowance of your graund afpect.
Whofe influence like the wreath of radient fire
In flitkering Phoebus front.

Duke. What mean'ft thou by this?

Kent. To goe out of my dialogue which you difcommend fo much, I know fir, I am no flatterer, he that beguild you in a plain accent, was a plaine knaue, which for my part I will not bee, 120 though I should win your displeasure, to intreat mee too't.

Duke. What's the offence you gaue him?

Stew. I neuer gaue him any, it pleas'd the King his maister
Very late to strike at me vpon his mifconftruction,

When he coniunct and flattering his displeasure

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II. ii.

90

100

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With euery gall, and varry of their Mafters,
Knowing naught (like dogges) but following:
A plague vpon your Epilepticke visage,
Smoile you my speeches, as I were a Foole?
Goofe, if I had you vpon Sarum Plaine,
I'ld driue ye cackling home to Camelot.
Corn. What art thou mad old Fellow?
Gloft. How fell you out, fay that?

Kent. No contraries hold more antipathy,
Then I, and fuch a knaue.

Corn. Why do'ft thou call him Knaue?
What is his fault?

Kent.

His countenance likes me not.

Cor. No more perchance do's mine, nor his, nor hers.
Kent. Sir, 'tis my occupation to be plaine,

I haue feene better faces in my time,

Then ftands on any fhoulder that I fee

Before me, at this inftant.

Corn. This is fome Fellow,

Who hauing beene prais'd for bluntneffe, doth affect

A faucy roughnes, and constraines the garb

Quite from his Nature. He cannot flatter he,

An honeft mind and plaine, he must speake truth,

And they will take it fo, if not, hee's plaine.

These kind of Knaues I know, which in this plainnesse
Harbour more craft, and more corrupter ends,

Then twenty filly-ducking obferuants,

That stretch their duties nicely.

Kent. Sir, in good faith, in fincere verity,

Vnder th'allowance of your great afpect,

Whofe influence like the wreath of radient fire

On flicking Phœbus front.

Corn. What mean'ft by this?

Kent. To go out of my dialect, which you difcommend fo much; I know Sir, I am no flatterer, he that beguild you in a plaine accent, was a plaine Knaue, which for my part I will not be, though I should win your 120 difpleasure to entreat me too't.

Corn. What was th'offence you gaue him?

Ste. I neuer gaue him any:

It pleas'd the King his Master very late
To strike at me vpon his misconstruction,

When he compact, and flattering his displeasure

[292b

II. ii.

Tript me behind, being downe, infulted, rayld,
And put vpon him fuch a deale of man, that,
That worthied him, got prayses of the King,
For him attempting who was felfe fubdued,
130 And in the flechuent of this dread exploit,
Drew on me here againe.

140

150

Kent. None of these roges & cowards but A'Iax is their foole.

Duke. Bring forth the stockes ho?

You stubburne mifcreant knaue, you reuerent bragart,

Weele teach you.

Kent. I am too old to learne, call not your stockes for me,

I ferue the King, on whofe imployments I was fent to you,

You should doe fmall refpect, shew too bold malice

Against the Grace and perfon of my maister,

Stopping his messenger.

Duke. Fetch forth the stockes? as I haue life and honour,
There fhall he fit till noone.

Reg. Till noone, till night my Lord, and all night too.
Kent. Why Madam, if I were your fathers dogge, you could
not vle me fo.

Reg. Sir being his knaue, I will.

Duke. This is a fellow of the felfe fame nature,
Our fifter fpeake of, come bring away the stockes?
Gloft. Let me befeech your Grace not to doe fo,
His fault is much, and the good King his maister
VVill check him for't, your purpoft low correction
Is fuch, as bafeft and temneft wretches for pilfrings
And most common trefpaffes are punisht with,

The King must take it ill, that hee's fo flightly valued
In his messenger, fhould haue him thus reftrained.

Duke. Ile answer that.

Reg. My fifter may receiue it much more worse,

To haue her Gentlemen abus'd, affalted

For following her affaires, put in his legges,

Come my good Lord away?

Gloft. I am fory for thee friend, tis the Dukes pleasure,
VVhose disposition all the world well knowes

160

VVill not be rubd nor ftopt, ile intreat for thee.

Sometime I fhal fleepe ont, the reft ile whistle,

Kent. Pray you doe not fir, I haue watcht and trauaild

(hard,

A good mans fortune may grow out at heeles,
Giue you good morrow.

[30

II. ii.

Tript me behind: being downe, infulted, rail'd,
And put vpon him fuch a deale of Man,
That worthied him, got praises of the King,
For him attempting, who was felfe-subdued,
130 And in the fleshment of this dead exploit,
Drew on me here againe.

140

Kent. None of these Rogues, and Cowards
But Aiax is there F'oole.

Corn. Fetch forth the Stocks?

You stubborne ancient Knaue, you reuerent Bragart,
Wee'l teach you.

Kent. Sir, I am too old to learne:

Call not your Stocks for me, I ferue the King.

On whofe imployment I was fent to you,

You fhall doe fmall refpects, fhow too bold malice

Against the Grace, and Person of my Master,

Stocking his Meffenger.

Corn. Fetch forth the Stocks;

As I haue life and Honour, there fhall he fit till Noone.
Reg. Till noone? till night my Lord, and all night too.
Kent. Why Madam, if I were your Fathers dog,

You fhould not vfe me fo.

Reg. Sir, being his Knaue, I will. Stocks brought out.

Cor.

This is a Fellow of the felfe fame colour,

Our Sifter fpeakes of. Come, bring away the Stocks.
Glo. Let me befeech your Grace, not to do so,
The King his Mafter, needs must take it ill

That he fo flightly valued in his Messenger,
Should haue him thus restrained.

Cor. Ile answere that.

Reg. My Sifter may recieue it much more worffe,
To haue her Gentleman abus'd, affaulted.

Corn. Come my Lord, away.

Exit.

Glo. I am sorry for thee friend, 'tis the Duke pleasure,

160 Whose disposition all the world well knowes

Will not be rub'd nor ftopt, Ile entreat for thee.

Kent. Pray do not Sir, I haue watch'd and trauail'd hard,

Some time I fhall fleepe out, the rest Ile whistle :
A good mans fortune may grow out at heeles:

Giue you good morrow.

[293a