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thee care for me |
Ste. Why do'st thou vse me thus? I know thee not |
Kent. Fellow I know thee |
Ste. What do'st thou know me for? |
Kent. A Knaue, a Rascall, an eater of broken meates, a |
base, proud, shallow, beggerly, three-suited-hundred |
pound, filthy woosted-stocking knaue, a Lilly-liuered, |
action-taking, whoreson glasse-gazing super-seruiceable |
finicall Rogue, one Trunke-inheriting slaue, one that |
would'st be a Baud in way of good seruice, and art nothing |
but the composition of a Knaue, Begger, Coward, |
Pandar, and the Sonne and Heire of a Mungrill Bitch, |
one whom I will beate into clamours whining, if thou |
deny'st the least sillable of thy addition |
Stew. Why, what a monstrous Fellow art thou, thus |
to raile on one, that is neither knowne of thee, nor |
knowes thee? |
Kent. What a brazen-fac'd Varlet art thou, to deny |
thou knowest me? Is it two dayes since I tript vp thy |
heeles, and beate thee before the King? Draw you rogue, |
for though it be night, yet the Moone shines, Ile make a |
sop oth' Moonshine of you, you whoreson Cullyenly |
Barber-monger, draw |
Stew. Away, I haue nothing to do with thee |
Kent. Draw you Rascall, you come with Letters against |
the King, and take Vanitie the puppets part, against |
the Royaltie of her Father: draw you Rogue, or |
Ile so carbonado your shanks, draw you Rascall, come |
your waies |
Ste. Helpe, ho, murther, helpe |
Kent. Strike you slaue: stand rogue, stand you neat |
slaue, strike |
Stew. Helpe hoa, murther, murther. |
Enter Bastard, Cornewall, Regan, Gloster, Seruants. |
Bast. How now, what's the matter? Part |
Kent. With you goodman Boy, if you please, come, |
Ile flesh ye, come on yong Master |
Glo. Weapons? Armes? what's the matter here? |
Cor. Keepe peace vpon your liues, he dies that strikes |
againe, what is the matter? |
Reg. The Messengers from our Sister, and the King? |
Cor. What is your difference, speake? |
Stew. I am scarce in breath my Lord |
Kent. No Maruell, you haue so bestir'd your valour, |
you cowardly Rascall, nature disclaimes in thee: a Taylor |
made thee |
Cor. Thou art a strange fellow, a Taylor make a man? |
Kent. A Taylor Sir, a Stone-cutter, or a Painter, could |
not haue made him so ill, though they had bin but two |
yeares oth' trade |
Cor. Speake yet, how grew your quarrell? |
Ste. This ancient Ruffian Sir, whose life I haue spar'd |
at sute of his gray-beard |
Kent. Thou whoreson Zed, thou vnnecessary letter: |
my Lord, if you will giue me leaue, I will tread this vnboulted |
villaine into morter, and daube the wall of a |
Iakes with him. Spare my gray-beard, you wagtaile? |
Cor. Peace sirrah, |
You beastly knaue, know you no reuerence? |
Kent. Yes Sir, but anger hath a priuiledge |
Cor. Why art thou angrie? |
Kent. That such a slaue as this should weare a Sword, |
Who weares no honesty: such smiling rogues as these, |
Like Rats oft bite the holy cords a twaine, |
Which are t' intrince, t' vnloose: smooth euery passion |
That in the natures of their Lords rebell, |
Being oile to fire, snow to the colder moodes, |
Reuenge, affirme, and turne their Halcion beakes |
With euery gall, and varry of their Masters, |
Knowing naught (like dogges) but following: |
A plague vpon your Epilepticke visage, |
Smoile you my speeches, as I were a Foole? |
Goose, if I had you vpon Sarum Plaine, |
I'ld driue ye cackling home to Camelot |
Corn. What art thou mad old Fellow? |
Glost. How fell you out, say that? |
Kent. No contraries hold more antipathy, |
Then I, and such a knaue |
Corn. Why do'st thou call him Knaue? |
What is his fault? |
Kent. His countenance likes me not |