King Lear | Page 9

King Lear, Knights, and Attendants.]
Lear. Let me not stay a jot for dinner; go get it ready.
[Exit an Attendant.]
How now! what art thou?
Kent. A man, sir.
Lear. What dost thou profess? What wouldst thou with us?
Kent. I do profess to be no less than I seem; to serve him truly that will
put me in trust; to love him that is honest; to converse with him that is
wise and says little; to fear judgment; to fight when I cannot choose;

and to eat no fish.
Lear. What art thou?
Kent. A very honest-hearted fellow, and as poor as the king.
Lear. If thou be'st as poor for a subject as he's for a king, thou art poor
enough. What wouldst thou?
Kent. Service.
Lear. Who wouldst thou serve?
Kent. You.
Lear. Dost thou know me, fellow?
Kent. No, sir; but you have that in your countenance which I would
fain call master.
Lear. What's that?
Kent. Authority.
Lear. What services canst thou do?
Kent. I can keep honest counsel, ride, run, mar a curious tale in telling
it and deliver a plain message bluntly. That which ordinary men are fit
for, I am qualified in, and the best of me is diligence.
Lear. How old art thou?
Kent. Not so young, sir, to love a woman for singing; nor so old to dote
on her for anything: I have years on my back forty-eight.
Lear. Follow me; thou shalt serve me. If I like thee no worse after
dinner, I will not part from thee yet.--Dinner, ho, dinner!-- Where's my
knave? my fool?--Go you and call my fool hither.

[Exit an attendant.]
[Enter Oswald.]
You, you, sirrah, where's my daughter?
Osw. So please you,--
[Exit.]
Lear. What says the fellow there? Call the clotpoll back.--
[Exit a Knight.]
Where's my fool, ho?--I think the world's asleep.
[Re-enter Knight.]
How now! where's that mongrel?
Knight. He says, my lord, your daughter is not well.
Lear. Why came not the slave back to me when I called him?
Knight. 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 judgment
your highness is not entertained with that ceremonious affection as you
were wont; there's a great abatement of kindness appears as well in the
general dependants as in the duke himself also and your daughter.
Lear. Ha! say'st thou so?
Knight. I beseech you pardon me, my lord, if I be mistaken; for my
duty cannot be silent when I think your highness wronged.
Lear. Thou but rememberest me of mine own conception: I have

perceived a most faint neglect of late; which I have rather blamed as
mine own jealous curiosity than as a very pretence and purpose of
unkindness: I will look further into't.--But where's my fool? I have not
seen him this two days.
Knight. Since my young lady's going into France, sir, the fool hath
much pined away.
Lear. No more of that; I have noted it well.--Go you and tell my
daughter I would speak with her.--
[Exit Attendant.]
Go you, call hither my fool.
[Exit another Attendant.]
[Re-enter Oswald.]
O, you, sir, you, come you hither, sir: who am I, sir?
Osw. My lady's father.
Lear. My lady's father! my lord's knave: you whoreson dog! you slave!
you cur!
Osw. I am none of these, my lord; I beseech your pardon.
Lear. Do you bandy looks with me, you rascal? [Striking him.]
Osw. I'll not be struck, my lord.
Kent. Nor tripp'd neither, you base football player. [Tripping up his
heels.]
Lear. I thank thee, fellow; thou servest me, and I'll love thee.
Kent. Come, sir, arise, away! I'll teach you differences: away, away! If
you will measure your lubber's length again, tarry; but away! go to;

have you wisdom? so. [Pushes Oswald out.]
Lear. Now, my friendly knave, I thank thee: there's earnest of thy
service. [Giving Kent money.]
[Enter Fool.]
Fool. Let me hire him too; here's my coxcomb. [Giving Kent his cap.]
Lear. How now, my pretty knave! how dost thou?
Fool. Sirrah, you were best take my coxcomb.
Kent. Why, fool?
Fool. Why, for taking one's part that's out of favour. Nay, an thou canst
not smile as the wind sits, thou'lt catch cold shortly: there, take my
coxcomb: why, this fellow hath banish'd two on's daughters, and did
the third a blessing against his will; if thou follow him, thou must needs
wear my coxcomb.--How now, nuncle! Would I had two coxcombs and
two daughters!
Lear. Why, my boy?
Fool. If I gave them all my living, I'd keep my coxcombs myself.
There's mine; beg another of thy daughters.
Lear. Take heed, sirrah,--the whip.
Fool. Truth's a dog must to kennel;