How now, my noble friend! since I came hither, —
Which I can call but now, — I have heard strange news.
If it be true, all vengeance comes too short
Which can pursue the offender. How dost, my lord?
O madam, my old heart is crack'd, — it's crack'd!
What, did my father's godson seek your life?
He whom my father nam'd? your Edgar?
O lady, lady, shame would have it hid!
Was he not companion with the riotous knights
That tend upon my father?
I know not, madam: —
It is too bad, too bad.
Yes, madam, he was of that consort.
No marvel then though he were ill affected:
'Tis they have put him on the old man's death,
To have the expense and waste of his revenues.
I have this present evening from my sister
Been well inform'd of them; and with such cautions
That if they come to sojourn at my house,
I'll not be there.
Nor I, assure thee, Regan. —
Edmund, I hear that you have shown your father
A childlike office.
'Twas my duty, sir.
He did bewray his practice; and receiv'd
This hurt you see, striving to apprehend him.
Is he pursu'd?
Ay, my good lord.
If he be taken, he shall never more
Be fear'd of doing harm: make your own purpose,
How in my strength you please. — For you, Edmund,
Whose virtue and obedience doth this instant
So much commend itself, you shall be ours:
Natures of such deep trust we shall much need;
You we first seize on.
I shall serve you, sir,
Truly, however else.
For him I thank your grace.
You know not why we came to visit you, —
Thus out of season, threading dark-ey'd night:
Occasions, noble Gloucester, of some poise,
Wherein we must have use of your advice: —
Our father he hath writ, so hath our sister,
Of differences, which I best thought it fit
To answer from our home; the several messengers
From hence attend despatch. Our good old friend,
Lay comforts to your bosom; and bestow
Your needful counsel to our business,
Which craves the instant use.
I serve you, madam:
Your graces are right welcome.