Scene III. A Room in the Duke of Albany's Palace.
[Enter Goneril and Oswald.]
GONERIL.
Did my father strike my gentleman for chiding of his fool?
OSWALD. Ay, madam.
GONERIL.
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.
OSWALD.
He's coming, madam; I hear him.
[Horns within.]
