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Stew. Help ho! murder! murder - [Exeunt. Flourish. Enter Cornwall and Regan, attended;
meeting Glocester and Edmund. Gloc. You graces are right welcome. Cornw. How now, my noble friend? since I
came hither, Which I can call but now, I have heard strange news. Regan. If it be true, all vengeance comes top
short, Which can pursue th'offender: How does
lord ? Gloc. Oh, madam, my old heart is crack', 'tis
crack'd. Regan. What, did my father's godfon seek your
life? He whom my father nam'd ? your Edgar?
Gloc. Oh, lady, lady, shame would have it hid. Regan. Was he not companion with the riotous
knights That tend upon my father?
Gloc. I know not, madam: 'Tis too bad, too bad. Edm. Yes, madanı, he was of that consort.
Regan. No marvel then, tho' he were ill affected; 'Tis they have put him on the old man's death, To have th’expence and waste of his revenues. I have this present evening from my fifter
Been well inform'dof them; and with such cautions,
Cornw. Nor I, affure thee, Regan.
father A child-like office.
Edm. 'Twas my duty, Sir.
Gloc. He did reveal his practice, and receiv'd
Cornw. Is he pursu'd ?
Cornw. If he be taken, he shall never more
shall be ours: Natures of such deep trust we shall much need.
Edm. I shall serve you, Sir, truly, however else.
Regan. Our father he hath writ, so hath our sister,
Enter Steward and Kent, with swords drawn.
Cornw. Keep peace, upon your lives; he dies,
king! Cornw. What is your difference? speak. Stew. I am scarce in breath, my lord.
Kent. No marvel, you have so bestirr'd your valour; you cowardly rascal! nature disclaims all share in thee: A tailor made thee.
Cornw. Thou art a strange fellow; a tailor make a man ?
Kent. Ay, a tailor, Sir; a stone-cutter, or a painter could not have made him so ill, though they had been but two hours o'th' trade.
Cornw. Speak yet, how grew your quarrel?
Stew. This antient ruffian, Sir, whofe life I have spar'd at suit of his grey beard
Kent. Thou whorson zed! thou unnecessary 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 grey beard? you wagtail !
Cornw. Peace, firrah! know you no reverence?
Cornw. Why art thou angry?
Who wears no honesty: Suchsmilingroguesas these,
Cornw. What, art thou mad, old fellow ?
Kent. No contraries hold' more antipathy;"
his fault? Kent. His countenance likes me not. Cornw. No more, perchance, does minė, nor his,
nor hers. Kent. Sir, 'tis my occupation to be plain ; I have seen better faces in my time,
Than stand on any shou ders that I see
Cornw. This is some fellow,
Kent. Sir, in good faith, in sincere verity, Under th' allowance of your grand aspect, Whose influence, like the wreath of radiant fire On flickering Phoebus' front
Cornw. What mean'lt by this ?
Kent. To go out of my dialect, which you difcommend so much : I know, Sir, I am no flatterer; he, that beguil'd you in a plain accent, was a plain knave; which for my part I will not be, though I should win your displeasure to intreat me to't.
Cornw. What was th' offence you gave him?
Stew. I never gave him any i