CORNWALL.
What, 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 knave? What is his fault?
KENT.
His countenance likes me not.
CORNWALL.
No more perchance does mine, or his, or 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 prais'd 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 faith, 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?
