Page 19
p. 19
If
thou
canst
serve
where
thou
dost
stand
condemn’d,
So
may
it
come,
thy
Master
whom
thou
lov’st,
Shall
find
thee
full
of
labours.
Horns
within.
Enter
Lear
and
Attendants.
Lear.
Let
me
not
stay
a
jot
for
dinner,
go
get
it
rea-
dy:
how
now,
what
art
thou?
Kent.
A
man,
Sir.
Lear.
What
dost
thou
profess?
what
would’st
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
lit-
tle,
to
fear
judgment,
to
fight
when
I
cannot
chuse,
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
would’st
thou?
Kent.
Service.
Lear.
Whom
would’st
thou
serve?
Kent.
You.
Lear.
Do’st
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
counsels,
ride,
run,
marr
a
curious
tale
in
telling
it,
and
deliver
a
plain
message
bluntly:
that
which
ordinary
men
are
fit
for,
I
am
qua-
lified
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
doat
on
her
for
any
thing.
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.
You,
you,
Sirrah,
where’s
my
Daughter?
Enter
Steward.
Stew.
So
please
you------
[Exit.
Lear.
What
says
the
fellow
there?
Call
the
Clotpole
back:
where’s
my
Fool?
Ho,
I
think
the
World’s
asleep,
how
now?
where’s
that
Mungrel?
Knight.
He
says,
my
Lord,
your
Daughter
is
not
well.
Lear.
Why
came
not
the
slave
back
to
me
when
I
call’d
him?
Knight.
Sir,
he
answered
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
entertain’d
with
that
Ceremonious
Affection
as
you
were
wont,
there’s
a
great
abatement
of
kindness
appears
as
well
in
the
gene-
ral
dependents,
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
is
wrong’d.
Lear.
Thou
but
remembrest
me
of
my
own
Concepti-
on,
I
have
perceiv’d
a
most
faint
neglect
of
late,
which
I
have
rather
blamed
as
my
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
Ladies
going
into
France,
Sir,
the
Fool
hath
much
pined
away.
Lear,
No
more
of
that,
I
have
noted
it
well;
go
you
The
Tragedy
of
King
Lear.
and
tell
my
Daughter,
I
would
speak
with
her.
Go
you
call
hither
my
Fool,
O
you
Sir,
come
you
hither.
Sir,
who
am
I
Sir
?
Enter
Steward.
Stew.
My
Ladies
Father.
Lear.
My
Ladies
Father?
my
Lords
Knave,
you
whor-
son
Dog,
you
Slave,
you
Cur.
Stew.
I
am
none
of
these,
my
Lord;
I
beseech
your
pardon.
Lear.
Do
you
bandy
looks
with
me,
you
Rascal?
Stew.
I’ll
not
be
strucken,
my
Lord.
Kent.
Nor
tript
neither,
you
base
Foot-ball
Player.
Lear.
I
thank
thee,
fellow.
Thou
serv’st
me,
and
I’ll
love
thee.
Kent.
Come,
Sir,arise,
away,
I’ll
teach
you
differences:
away,
away,
if
you
will
measure
your
lubbers
length
a-
gain,
tarry,
but
away,
go
to,
have
you
wisdom,
so.
Lear.
Now
my
friendly
Knave
I
thank
thee,
there’s
earnest
of
thy
service.
Enter
Fool.
Fool.
Let
me
hire
him
too,
here's
my
Coxcomb.
Lear.
How
now
my
pretty
Knave?
how
dost
thou?
Fool.
Sirrah,
you
were
best
take
my
Coxcomb.
Kent.
Why,
my
Boy?
Fool.
Why?
for
taking
one’s
part
that
is
out
of
favour;
nay,
and
thou
can’st
not
smile
as
the
wind
sits,
thoul’t
catch
cold
shortly,
there
take
my
Coxcomb;
why
this
fellow
has
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
Nunkle?
would
I
had
two
Coxcombs,
and
two
Daughters.
Lear.
Why,
my
Boy?
Fool.
If
I
give
them
all
my
living,
I’ld
keep
my
Cox-
comb
my
self,
there’s
mine,
beg
another
of
thy
Daugh-
ters.
Lear.
Take
heed,
Sirrah,
the
whip.
Fool.
Truth’s
a
Dog
must
to
kennel,
he
must
be
whip’d
out,
when
the
Lady
Brach
may
stand
by
th’fire
and
stink.
Lear.
A
pestilent
gall
to
me.
Fool.
Sirrah,
I’ll
teach
thee
a
speech.
Lear.
Do.
Fool.
Mark
it
Nunkle;
Have
more
than
thou
showest,
Speak
less
than
thou
knowest,
Lend
less
than
thou
owest,
Ride
more
than
thou
goest,
Learn
more
than
thou
trowest,
Set
less
than
thou
trowest,
Leave
thy
Drink
and
thy
Whore,
And
keep
in
Door,
And
thou
shalt
have
more,
Than
two
tens
to
a
score.
Kent.
This
is
nothing,
Fool.
Fool.
Then
it
is
like
the
breath
of
an
unfee’d
Lawyer,
you
give
me
nothing
for’t,
can
you
make
no
use
of
no-
thing,
Nunkle?
Lear.
Why
no,
Boy,
Nothing
can
be
made
out
of
nothing.
Fool.
Prithee
tell
him,
so
much
the
rent
of
his
Land
comes
to,
he
will
not
believe
a
Fool.
Lear.
A
bitter
Fool.
Fool.
Do’st
thou
know
the
difference,
my
Boy,
be-
tween
a
bitter
Fool,
and
a
sweet
one?
Lear.
No
Lad;
teach
me.
Fool.
Nunkle,
give
me
an
egg,
and
I’ll
give
thee
two
Crowns.
Lear.
What
two
Crowns
shall
they
be?
Fool.
Why?
after
I
have
cut
the
egg
i’th’
middle,
and
eat
up
the
meat,
the
two
Crowns
of
the
egg:
when
thou
clovest
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