OSWALD.
Ay, madam.
GONERIL.
Take you some company, and away to horse:
Inform her full of my particular fear;
And thereto add such reasons of your own
As may compact it more. Get you gone;
And hasten your return.
[Exit Oswald.]
No, no, my lord!
This milky gentleness and course of yours,
Though I condemn it not, yet, under pardon,
You are much more attask'd for want of wisdom
Than prais'd for harmful mildness.
ALBANY.
How far your eyes may pierce I cannot tell:
Striving to better, oft we mar what's well.
GONERIL.
Nay then, —
ALBANY.
Well, well; the event.
[Exeunt.]
