King Lear - Act 2 - Scene 2

SCENE 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

    Prithee, if thou lovest 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 knave, a 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, pandar,
    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 is 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, with his rapier drawn, CORNWALL, REGAN, GLOUCESTER, and Servants

EDMUND

    How now! What's the matter?

KENT

    With you, goodman boy, an 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 bestirred 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 stone-cutter or painter could
    not have made him so ill, though he had been but two
    hours at the trade.

CORNWALL

    Speak yet, how grew your quarrel?

OSWALD

    This ancient ruffian, sir, whose life I have spared
    at suit of his gray beard,--

KENT

    Thou whoreson 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 gray 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-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 nought, 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'ld drive ye cackling home to Camelot.

CORNWALL

    Why, art thou mad, old fellow?

GLOUCESTER

    How fell you out? say that.

KENT

    No contraries hold more antipathy
    Than I and such a knave.

CORNWALL

    Why dost thou call him a knave? What's his offence?

KENT

    His countenance likes me not.

CORNWALL

    No more, perchance, does mine, nor his, nor 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.

CORNWALL

    This is some fellow,
    Who, having been praised 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 sooth, in sincere verity,
    Under the allowance of your great aspect,
    Whose influence, like the wreath of radiant fire
    On 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 pleased the king his master very late
    To strike at me, upon his misconstruction;
    When he, conjunct 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-subdued;
    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.

CORNWALL

    Fetch forth the stocks!
    You stubborn ancient knave, you reverend 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.

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.

CORNWALL

    This is a fellow of the self-same colour
    Our sister speaks of. Come, bring away the stocks!

    Stocks brought out

GLOUCESTER

    Let me beseech your grace not to do so:
    His fault is much, and the good king his master
    Will cheque him for 't: your purposed 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's so slightly valued in his messenger,
    Should have him thus restrain'd.

CORNWALL

    I'll answer that.

REGAN

    My sister may receive it much more worse,
    To have her gentleman abused, assaulted,
    For following her affairs. Put in his legs.

    KENT is put in the stocks
    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 watched 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 comest
    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!

    Sleeps

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