I know not what.
  Edg. How long have you been a sectary astronomical?
  Edm. Come, come! When saw you my father last?
  Edg. The night gone by.
  Edm. Spake you with him?
  Edg. Ay, two hours together.
  Edm. Parted you in good terms? Found you no displeasure in him
by
     word or countenance
  Edg. None at all.
  Edm. Bethink yourself wherein you may have offended him; and at
my
     entreaty forbear his presence until some little time hath
     qualified the heat of his displeasure, which at this instant
so
     rageth in him that with the mischief of your person it would
     scarcely allay.
  Edg. Some villain hath done me wrong.
  Edm. That's my fear. I pray you have a continent forbearance
till
     the speed of his rage goes slower; and, as I say, retire
with me
     to my lodging, from whence I will fitly bring you to hear my
     lord speak. Pray ye, go! There's my key. If you do stir
abroad,
     go arm'd.
  Edg. Arm'd, brother?
  Edm. Brother, I advise you to the best. Go arm'd. I am no
honest man
     if there be any good meaning toward you. I have told you
what I
     have seen and heard; but faintly, nothing like the image and
     horror of it. Pray you, away!
  Edg. Shall I hear from you anon?
  Edm. I do serve you in this business.
                                                     Exit Edgar.
     A credulous father! and a brother noble,
     Whose nature is so far from doing harms
     That he suspects none; on whose foolish honesty
     My practices ride easy! I see the business.
     Let me, if not by birth, have lands by wit;
     All with me's meet that I can fashion fit.
Exit.

Scene III. The Duke of Albany's Palace.

Enter Goneril and [her] Steward [Oswald].

  Gon. Did my father strike my gentleman for chiding of his fool?
  Osw. Ay, madam.
  Gon. By day and night, he wrongs me! Every hour
     He flashes into one gross crime or other
     That sets us all at odds. I'll not endure it.
     His knights grow riotous, and himself upbraids us
     On every trifle. When he returns from hunting,
     I will not speak with him. Say I am sick.
     If you come slack of former services,
     You shall do well; the fault of it I'll answer.
                                                 [Horns within.]
  Osw. He's coming, madam; I hear him.
  Gon. Put on what weary negligence you please,
     You and your fellows. I'd have it come to question.
     If he distaste it, let him to our sister,
     Whose mind and mine I know in that are one,
     Not to be overrul'd. Idle old man,
     That still would manage those authorities
     That he hath given away! Now, by my life,
     Old fools are babes again, and must be us'd
     With checks as flatteries, when they are seen abus'd.
     Remember what I have said.
  Osw. Very well, madam.
  Gon. And let his knights have colder looks among you.
     What grows of it, no matter. Advise your fellows so.
     I would breed from hence occasions, and I shall,
     That I may speak. I'll write straight to my sister
     To hold my very course. Prepare for dinner.
                                                         Exeunt.

Scene IV. The Duke of Albany's Palace.

Enter Kent, [disguised].

  Kent. If but as well I other accents borrow,
     That can my speech defuse, my good intent
     May carry through itself to that full issue
     For which I raz'd my likeness. Now, banish'd Kent,
     If thou canst serve where thou dost stand condemn'd,
     So may it come, thy master, whom thou lov'st,
     Shall find thee full of labours.

Horns within. Enter Lear, [Knights,] and Attendants.

  Lear. Let me not stay a jot for dinner; go get it ready. [Exit
     an Attendant.] How now? What art thou?
  Kent. A man, sir.
  Lear. What dost thou profess? What wouldst thou with us?
  Kent. I do profess to be no less than I seem, to serve him
truly
     that will put me in trust, to love him that is honest, to
     converse with him that is wise and says little, to fear
     judgment, to fight when I cannot choose, and to eat no fish.
  Lear. What art thou?
  Kent. A very honest-hearted fellow, and as poor as the King.
  Lear. If thou be'st as poor for a subject as he's for a king,
thou
     art poor enough. What wouldst thou?
  Kent. Service.
  Lear. Who wouldst thou serve?
  Kent. You.
  Lear. Dost thou know me, fellow?
  Kent. No, sir; but you have that in your countenance which I
would
     fain call master.
  Lear. What's that?
  Kent. Authority.
  Lear. What services canst thou do?
  Kent. I can keep honest counsel, ride, run, mar a curious tale
in
     telling it and deliver a plain message bluntly. That which
     ordinary men are fit for, I am qualified in, and the best of
me
     is diligence.
  Lear. How old art thou?
  Kent. Not so young, sir, to love a woman for singing, nor so
old to
     dote on her for anything. I have years on my back
forty-eight.
  Lear. Follow me; thou shalt serve me. If I like thee no worse
after
     dinner, I will not part from thee yet. Dinner, ho, dinner!
     Where's my knave? my fool? Go you and call my fool hither.

[Exit an attendant.]

Enter [Oswald the] Steward.

     You, you, sirrah, where's my daughter?
  Osw. So please you- Exit.
  Lear. What says the fellow there? Call the clotpoll back.
     [Exit a Knight.] Where's my fool, ho? I think the world's
     asleep.

[Enter Knight]

     How now? Where's that mongrel?
  Knight. He says, my lord, your daughter is not well.
  Lear. Why came not the slave back to me when I call'd him?
  Knight. Sir, he answered me in the roundest manner, he would
not.
  Lear. He would not?
  Knight. My lord, I know not what the matter is; but to my
judgment
     your Highness is not entertain'd with that ceremonious
affection
     as you were wont. There's a great abatement of kindness
appears
     as well in the general dependants as in the Duke himself
also
     and your daughter.
  Lear. Ha! say'st thou so?
  Knight. I beseech you pardon me, my lord, if I be mistaken; for
     my duty cannot be silent when I think your Highness wrong'd.
  Lear. Thou but rememb'rest me of mine own conception. I have
     perceived a most faint neglect of late, which I have rather
     blamed as mine own jealous curiosity than as a very pretence