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Lear. What art thou? |
Kent. A very honest hearted Fellow, and as poore as |
the King |
Lear. If thou be'st as poore for a subiect, as hee's for a |
King, thou art poore enough. What wouldst thou? |
Kent. Seruice |
Lear. Who wouldst thou serue? |
Kent. You |
Lear. Do'st thou know me fellow? |
Kent. No Sir, but you haue that in your countenance, |
which I would faine call Master |
Lear. What's that? |
Kent. Authority |
Lear. What seruices canst thou do? |
Kent. I can keepe honest counsaile, ride, run, marre a |
curious tale in telling it, and deliuer a plaine message |
bluntly: that which ordinary men are fit for, I am quallified |
in, and the best of me, is Dilligence |
Lear. How old art thou? |
Kent. Not so young Sir to loue a woman for singing, |
nor so old to dote on her for any thing. I haue yeares on |
my backe forty eight |
Lear. Follow me, thou shalt serue me, if I like thee no |
worse after dinner, I will not part from thee yet. Dinner |
ho, dinner, where's my knaue? my Foole? Go you and call |
my Foole hither. You you Sirrah, where's my Daughter? |
Enter Steward. |
Ste. So please you- |
Enter. |
Lear. What saies the Fellow there? Call the Clotpole |
backe: wher's my Foole? Ho, I thinke the world's |
asleepe, how now? Where's that Mungrell? |
Knigh. He saies my Lord, your Daughters is not well |
Lear. Why came not the slaue backe to me when I |
call'd him? |
Knigh. Sir, he answered me in the roundest manner, he |
would not |
Lear. He would not? |
Knight. My Lord, I know not what the matter is, |
but to my iudgement your Highnesse is not entertain'd |
with that Ceremonious affection as you were wont, |
theres a great abatement of kindnesse appeares as well in |
the generall dependants, as in the Duke himselfe also, and |
your Daughter |
Lear. Ha? Saist thou so? |
Knigh. I beseech you pardon me my Lord, if I bee |
mistaken, for my duty cannot be silent, when I thinke |
your Highnesse wrong'd |
Lear. Thou but remembrest me of mine owne Conception, |
I haue perceiued a most faint neglect of late, |
which I haue rather blamed as mine owne iealous curiositie, |
then as a very pretence and purpose of vnkindnesse; |
I will looke further intoo't: but where's my Foole? I |
haue not seene him this two daies |
Knight. Since my young Ladies going into France |
Sir, the Foole hath much pined away |
Lear. No more of that, I haue noted it well, goe you |
and tell my Daughter, I would speake with her. Goe you |
call hither my Foole; Oh you Sir, you, come you hither |
Sir, who am I Sir? |
Enter Steward. |
Ste. My Ladies Father |
Lear. My Ladies Father? my Lords knaue, you whorson |
dog, you slaue, you curre |
Ste. I am none of these my Lord, |
I beseech your pardon |
Lear. Do you bandy lookes with me, you Rascall? |
Ste. Ile not be strucken my Lord |
Kent. Nor tript neither, you base Foot-ball plaier |
Lear. I thanke thee fellow. |
Thou seru'st me, and Ile loue thee |
Kent. Come sir, arise, away, Ile teach you differences: |
away, away, if you will measure your lubbers length againe, |
tarry, but away, goe too, haue you wisedome, so |
Lear. Now my friendly knaue I thanke thee, there's |
earnest of thy seruice. |
Enter Foole. |