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Foole. Let me hire him too, here's my Coxcombe |
Lear. How now my pretty knaue, how dost thou? |
Foole. Sirrah, you were best take my Coxcombe |
Lear. Why my Boy? |
Foole. Why? for taking ones part that's out of fauour, |
nay, & thou canst not smile as the wind sits, thou'lt catch |
colde shortly, there take my Coxcombe; why this fellow |
ha's banish'd two on's Daughters, and did the third a |
blessing against his will, if thou follow him, thou must |
needs weare my Coxcombe. How now Nunckle? would |
I had two Coxcombes and two Daughters |
Lear. Why my Boy? |
Fool. If I gaue them all my liuing, I'ld keepe my Coxcombes |
my selfe, there's mine, beg another of thy |
Daughters |
Lear. Take heed Sirrah, the whip |
Foole. Truth's a dog must to kennell, hee must bee |
whipt out, when the Lady Brach may stand by'th' fire |
and stinke |
Lear. A pestilent gall to me |
Foole. Sirha, Ile teach thee a speech |
Lear. Do |
Foole. Marke it Nuncle; |
Haue more then thou showest, |
Speake lesse then thou knowest, |
Lend lesse then thou owest, |
Ride more then thou goest, |
Learne more then thou trowest, |
Set lesse then thou throwest; |
Leaue thy drinke and thy whore, |
And keepe in a dore, |
And thou shalt haue more, |
Then two tens to a score |
Kent. This is nothing Foole |
Foole. Then 'tis like the breath of an vnfeed Lawyer, |
you gaue me nothing for't, can you make no vse of nothing |
Nuncle? |
Lear. Why no Boy, |
Nothing can be made out of nothing |
Foole. Prythee tell him, so much the rent of his land |
comes to, he will not beleeue a Foole |
Lear. A bitter Foole |
Foole. Do'st thou know the difference my Boy, betweene |
a bitter Foole, and a sweet one |
Lear. No Lad, teach me |
Foole. Nunckle, giue me an egge, and Ile giue thee |
two Crownes |
Lear. What two Crownes shall they be? |
Foole. Why after I haue cut the egge i'th' middle and |
eate vp the meate, the two Crownes of the egge: when |
thou clouest thy Crownes i'th' middle, and gau'st away |
both parts, thou boar'st thine Asse on thy backe o're the |
durt, thou hadst little wit in thy bald crowne, when thou |
gau'st thy golden one away; if I speake like my selfe in |
this, let him be whipt that first findes it so. |
Fooles had nere lesse grace in a yeere, |
For wisemen are growne foppish, |
And know not how their wits to weare, |
Their manners are so apish |
Le. When were you wont to be so full of Songs sirrah? |
Foole. I haue vsed it Nunckle, ere since thou mad'st |
thy Daughters thy Mothers, for when thou gau'st them |
the rod, and put'st downe thine owne breeches, then they |
For sodaine ioy did weepe, |
And I for sorrow sung, |
That such a King should play bo-peepe, |
And goe the Foole among. |
Pry'thy Nunckle keepe a Schoolemaster that can teach |
thy Foole to lie, I would faine learne to lie |
Lear. And you lie sirrah, wee'l haue you whipt |
Foole. I maruell what kin thou and thy daughters are, |
they'l haue me whipt for speaking true: thou'lt haue me |
whipt for lying, and sometimes I am whipt for holding |
my peace. I had rather be any kind o' thing then a foole, |
and yet I would not be thee Nunckle, thou hast pared thy |
wit o' both sides, and left nothing i'th' middle; heere |
comes one o'the parings. |
Enter Gonerill. |