Enter Cornwall, Regan, and attendants.

Corn. How now, my noble friend? fince I came hither, Which I can call but now, I have heard ftrange news. Reg. If it be true, all vengeance comes too short, Which can pursue th' offender; how does my lord ? Glo. O Madam, my old heart is crack'd, it's crack'd. Reg. What, did my father's godfon feek your life?. He whom my father nam'd, your Edgar?

Glo. O lady, lady, Shame would have it hid.

Reg. Was he not companion with the riotous Knights, That tend upon my father?

Glo. I know not, Madam: 'tis too bad, too bad.
Edm. Yes, Madam, he was of that confort.

Reg. No marvel then, though he were ill affected;
'Tis they have put him on the old man's death,
To have th' expence and waste of his revenues.
I have this prefent evening from my fifter

Been well inform'd of them; and with fuch cautions, That if they come to fojourn at my house,

I'll not be there.

Corn. Nor I, affure thee, Regan;

Edmund, I hear, that you have fhewn your father
A child-like office.

Edm. 'Twas my duty, Sir.

Glo. He did bewray his practice, and receiv'd This hurt you fee, ftriving to apprehend him. Corn. Is he pursued?

Glo. Ay, my good lord,

Corn. If he be taken, he fhall never more

Be fear'd of doing harm: make your own purpose,
How in my ftrength you please. As for you, Edmund,
Whofe virtue and obedience doth this inftant

So much commend it felf, you shall be ours;
Natures of fuch deep Truft we shall much need ::
You we first seize on.

Edm. I fhall ferve you, Sir,
Truly, however elfe.

Glo. I thank

your Grace..

Corn.

Corn. You know not why we came to vifit you. Reg. Thus out of feason threading dark-ey'd night; (7) Occafions, noble Glo'fter, of fome prize,

Wherein we muft have ufe of your advice.

Our father he hath writ, so hath our fifter,

Of diff'rences, which I best thought it fit
'To answer from our home: the fev'ral meffengers
From hence attend difpatch. Our good old friend,
Lay Comforts to your bofom; and beftow
Your needful counfel to our bufineffes,

Which crave the inftant ufe.

Glo. I ferve you, Madam :

Your Graces are right welcome.

Enter Kent, and Steward, feverally.

[Exeunt

Stew Good evening to thee, friend; art of this houfe ?⠀

Kent. Ay.

Stew. Where may we fet our horfes ?

Kent. Pth' mire.

Stew. Prythee, if thou lov'ft me, tell me.

Kent. I love thee not.

Stew. Why then I care not for thee.

Kent. If I had thee in Lipsbury pinfold, I would make thee care for me.

Stew. Why doft thou ufe me thus? I know thee not. Kent. Fellow, I know thee.

Stew. What doft thou know me for?

Kent. A knave, a rafcal, an eater of broken meats, a bafe, proud, fhallow, beggarly, three-faited, hundred-pound, filthy worfted flocking knave; a lillyliver'd, action-taking, knave; a whorfon, glafs-gazing,

(7)

threading dark-ey'd Night.] I have not ventur'd to difplace this Reading, tho' I have great Sufpicion that the Poet wrote,

treading dark ey'd night..

i. e. travelling in it. The other carries too obfcure; and mean an Allufion. It muft either, be borrow'd from the Cant-phrafe of threading of Alleys, i. e. going thro' bye paffages to avoid the high Streets; or to threading a Needle in the dark.

fuper

fuper ferviceable, finical rogue; one-trunk-inheriting flave; one that would't be a bawd in way of good fervice; and art nothing but the compofition of a knave, beggar, coward, pander, and the fon and heir of a mungril bitch; one whom I will beat into clam'rous whining, if thou deny'st the leaft fyllable of thy addition.

Stew. Why, what a monftrous fellow art thou, thus to rail on one, that is neither known of thee, nor knows thee?

Kent. What a brazen-fac'd varlet art thou, to deny thou know it me? is it two days ago, fince I tript up thy heels, and beat thee before the king? draw, you rogue; for tho' it be night, yet the moon fhines; I'll make a fop o'th' moonshine of you; you whorfon, cullionly,barber-monger, draw. [Drawing his word. Stew. Away. I have nothing to do with thee. Kent. Draw, you rafcal; 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 fo carbonado your thanks draw, you rafcal, come

your ways.

Stew, Help, ho! murther! help!

Kent. Strike, you flave; ftand, rogue, ftand, you

neat flave, ftrike.

Stew. Help ho! murther! murther!

[Beating him

Enter Edmund, Cornwall, Regan, Glofter, and
Servants

Edm.-How now, what's the matter? Part

Kent. With you, goodman boy, if you pleafe; come, I'll flesh ye; come on, young master.

Glo. Weapons? arms? what's the matter here? Corn. Keep peace, upon your lives; he dies, that frikes again; what's the matter?

Reg. The messengers from our fifter and the King?
Corn. What is your difference? fpeak.

Stew. I am fcarce in breath, my lord.

Kent. No marvel, you have so beftir'd your valour; you cowardly rascal! nature disclaims all fhare in thee: a tailor made thee.

Corn.

Corn. Thou art a strange fellow; a tailor make a man? Kent. I, a tailor, Sir; a ftone-cutter, or a painter could! not have made him fo ill, tho' they had been but two hours o'th' trade.

Corn. Speak yet, how grew your quarrel?

Stew. This ancient ruffian, Sir, whofe life I have fpar'd at fuit of his grey beard

Kent. Thou whorfon zed! thou unneceffary letter! my lord, if you will give me leave, I will tread this unbolted villain into mortar, and daub the wall of a jakes with him. Spare my grey beard? you wagtail!

Corn. Peace, Sirrah!

You beaftly knave, know you no reverence?
Kent. Yes, Sir, but anger hath a privilege.
Corn. Why art thou angry ?

Kent. That fuch a flave as this fhou'd wear a sword,
Who wears no honefty: fuch fmiling rogues as thefe,
Like rats, oft bite the holy cords in twain (8)
Too 'intrinficate t'unloose: footh every paffion,
That in the nature of their lords rebels:

(8) Like rats, oft bite the holy Cords atwaine,

Which are t' intrince, t' unloofe ;] Thus the firft Editors blunder'd this Paffage into unintelligible Nonfenfe. Mr. Pope fo far has difengag'd them, as to give us plain Senfe; but by throw-ing out the Epithet boly, 'tis evident, he was not aware of the Poet's fine Meaning. I'll firft establish and prove the Reading; then explain the Allufion. Thus the Poet gave it;

Like rats, oft bite the holy Cords in twain,

Too 'intrinficate t'unloofe

It means, inward, hidden; perplext; as a Knot, hard to be unravell'd'; it is deriv'd from the Latin adverb intrinfecùs ; from . which the Italians have coin'd a very beautiful Phrafe, intrin ficari col uno, i. e. to grow intimate with, to wind one self into another. And now to our Author's Senfe. Kent is rating the Steward, as a Parafite of Gonerill's; and fuppofes very juft ly, that he has fomented the Quarrel betwixt that Princess and her Father: in which Office, he compares him to a facrilegious Rat: and by a fine Metaphor, as Mr. Warburton obferved to me, ftiles the Union between Parents and Children the boly Cords.

Bring oil to fire, fnow to their colder moods;
Renege, affirm, and turn their halcyon beaks
With ev'ry Gale and Vary of their masters;
As knowing nought, like dogs, but following,
A plague upon your epileptick visage!
Smile you my fpeeches, as I were a fool?
Goofe, if I had you upon Sarum-plain,
I'd drive ye cackling home to Camelot.
Corn. What art thou mad, old fellow!
Glo. How fell you out? say that.
Kent. No contraries hold more antipathy,
Than I and fuch a knave.

Corn. Why doft thou call him knave.? what is his fault?
Kent. His countenance likes me not.

Corn. No more, perchance, does mine, nor his, nor hers.

Kent. Sir, 'tis my occupation to be plain;.

I have féen better faces in my time,

Than stand on any fhoulder that I fee
Before me at this inftant.

Corn. This is fome fellow,

Who having been prais'd for bluntnefs, doth affect
A fawcy roughness; and constrains the garb,
Quite from his nature. He can't flatter, he,
An honeft mind and plain, he muft speak truth;
An they will take it, fo; if not, he's plain.
These kind of knaves I know, which in this plainness
Harbour more craft, and more corrupter ends,
Than twenty filly ducking obfervants,

That ftretch their duties nicely.

Kent. Sir, in good faith, in fincere verity, Under th' allowance of your grand afpect, Whose influence, like the wreath of radiant fire On flickering Phœbus' front

Corn. What mean'ft by this?

Kent. To go out of my dialect, which you difcommend fo much: I know, Sir, I am no flatterer; he, that beguil'd you in a plain accent, was a plain knave; which for my part I will not be, though I should win your difpleasure to intreat me tot.

Gorn.