Scene IV. A Hall in Albany's Palace.
[Enter Kent, disguised.]
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 rais'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 King Lear, Knights, and Attendants.]
Let me not stay a jot for dinner; go get it ready.
[Exit an Attendant.]
How now! what art thou?
A man, sir.
What dost thou profess? What wouldst thou with us?
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.
What art thou?
A very honest-hearted fellow, and as poor as the king.
If thou be'st as poor for a subject as he's for a king, thou art
poor enough. What wouldst thou?
Who wouldst thou serve?
Dost thou know me, fellow?
No, sir; but you have that in your countenance which I would fain
What services canst thou do?
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.
How old art thou?
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.
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.]
You, you, sirrah, where's my daughter?
So please you, —
What says the fellow there? Call the clotpoll back. —
[Exit a Knight.]
Where's my fool, ho? — I think the world's asleep.
How now! where's that mongrel?
He says, my lord, your daughter is not well.
Why came not the slave back to me when I called him?
Sir, he answered me in the roundest manner, he would not.
He would not!
My lord, I know not what the matter is; but to my judgment your
highness is not entertained 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
Ha! say'st thou so?
I beseech you pardon me, my lord, if I be mistaken; for my duty
cannot be silent when I think your highness wronged.
Thou but rememberest 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 and purpose of
unkindness: I will look further into't. — But where's my fool? I
have not seen him this two days.
Since my young lady's going into France, sir, the fool hath much
No more of that; I have noted it well. — Go you and tell my
daughter I would speak with her. —
Go you, call hither my fool.
[Exit another Attendant.]
O, you, sir, you, come you hither, sir: who am I, sir?
My lady's father.
My lady's father! my lord's knave: you whoreson dog! you slave!
I am none of these, my lord; I beseech your pardon.
Do you bandy looks with me, you rascal?
I'll not be struck, my lord.
Nor tripp'd neither, you base football player.
[Tripping up his heels.]
I thank thee, fellow; thou servest me, and I'll love thee.
Come, sir, arise, away! I'll teach you differences: away, away!
If you will measure your lubber's length again, tarry; but away!
go to; have you wisdom? so.
[Pushes Oswald out.]
Now, my friendly knave, I thank thee: there's earnest of thy
[Giving Kent money.]