I had thee in Lipsbury pinfold, I would make thee care for me.Osw.
Why dost thou use me thus? I know thee not.
Kent.
Fellow, I know thee.
Osw.
What dost thou know me for?
Kent. A knave; a rascal; an eater of broken meats; a base, proud, shallow, beggarly, three-suited, hundred-pound, filthy, worsted-stocking knave; a lily-livered, action-taking, whoreson, glass-gazing, superserviceable, finical rogue; one-trunk-inheriting slave; one that wouldst be a bawd in way of good service, and art nothing but the composition of a knave, beggar, coward, pander, and the son and heir of a mongrel bitch: one whom I will beat into clamorous whining, if thou denyest the least syllable of thy addition.
Osw. Why, what a monstrous fellow art thou, thus to rail on one that’s neither known of thee nor knows thee?
Kent. What a brazen-faced varlet art thou, to deny thou knowest me! Is it two days ago since I beat thee and tripped up thy heels before the king? Draw, you rogue: for, though it be night, yet the moon shines; I’ll make a sop o’ the moonshine of you: draw, you whoreson cullionly barbermonger, draw!
[Drawing his sword.]
Osw.
Away! I have nothing to do with thee.
Kent. Draw, you rascal: you come with letters against the king; and take vanity the puppet’s part against the royalty of her father: draw, you rogue, or I’ll so carbonado your shanks:— draw, you rascal; come your ways!
Osw.
Help, ho! murder! help!
Kent.
Strike, you slave; stand, rogue, stand; you neat slave, strike!
[Beating him.]
Osw.
Help, ho! murder! murder!
[Enter Edmund, Cornwall, Regan, Gloster, and Servants.]
Edm.
How now! What’s the matter?
Kent. With you, goodman boy, an you please: come, I’ll flesh you; come on, young master.
Glou.
Weapons! arms! What’s the matter here?
Corn.
Keep peace, upon your lives;
He dies that strikes again. What is the matter?
Reg.
The messengers from our sister and the king.
Corn.
What is your difference? speak.
Osw.
I am scarce in breath, my lord.
Kent. No marvel, you have so bestirr’d your valour. You cowardly rascal, nature disclaims in thee; a tailor made thee.
Corn.
Thou art a strange fellow: a tailor make a man?
Kent. Ay, a tailor, sir: a stonecutter or a painter could not have made him so ill, though he had been but two hours at the trade.
Corn.
Speak yet, how grew your quarrel?
Osw.
This ancient ruffian, sir, whose life I have spared at suit of
his grey
beard,—
Kent. Thou whoreson zed! thou unnecessary letter!—My lord, if you’ll give me leave, I will tread this unbolted villain into mortar and daub the walls of a jakes with him.—Spare my grey beard, you wagtail?
Corn.
Peace, sirrah!
You beastly knave, know you no reverence?
Kent.
Yes, sir; but anger hath a privilege.
Corn.
Why art thou angry?
Kent.
That such a slave as this should wear a sword,
Who wears no honesty. Such smiling rogues as these,
Like rats, oft bite the holy cords a-twain
Which are too intrinse t’ unloose; smooth every passion
That in the natures of their lords rebel;
Bring oil to fire, snow to their colder moods;
Renege, affirm, and turn their halcyon beaks
With every gale and vary of their masters,
Knowing naught, like dogs, but following.—
A plague upon your epileptic visage!
Smile you my speeches, as I were a fool?
Goose, an I had you upon Sarum plain,
I’d drive ye cackling home to Camelot.
Corn.
What, art thou mad, old fellow?
Glou.
How fell you out?
Say that.
Kent.
No contraries hold more antipathy
Than I and such a knave.
Corn.
Why dost thou call him knave? What is his fault?
Kent.
His countenance likes me not.
Corn.
No more perchance does mine, or his, or hers.
Kent.
Sir, ‘tis my occupation to be plain:
I have seen better faces in my time
Than stands on any shoulder that I see
Before me at this instant.
Corn.
This is some fellow
Who, having been prais’d for bluntness, doth affect
A saucy
