SCENE II. Before Gloucester's castle. King Lear  Shakespeare homepage  |  King Lear  | Act 2, Scene 2 

 Previous scene  |  Next scene  SCENE II. Before Gloucester's castle. 

 Enter KENT and OSWALD, severally  OSWALD  Good dawning to thee, friend: art of this house? 

 KENT  Ay. 

 OSWALD  Where may we set our horses? 

 KENT  I' the mire. 

 OSWALD  Prithee, if thou lovest me, tell me. 

 KENT  I love thee not. 

 OSWALD  Why, then, I care not for thee. 

 KENT  If I had thee in Lipsbury pinfold, I would make thee 

 care for me. 

 OSWALD  Why dost thou use me thus? I know thee not. 

 KENT  Fellow, I know thee. 

 OSWALD  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 knave, a whoreson, 

 glass-gazing, super-serviceable 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, pandar, 

 and the son and heir of a mongrel bitch: one whom I 

 will beat into clamorous whining, if thou deniest 

 the least syllable of thy addition. 

 OSWALD  Why, what a monstrous fellow art thou, thus to rail 

 on one that is 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 tripped up 

 thy heels, and beat thee 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 barber-monger, draw. 



 Drawing his sword  OSWALD  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. 

 OSWALD  Help, ho! murder! help! 

 KENT  Strike, you slave; stand, rogue, stand; you neat 

 slave, strike. 



 Beating him  OSWALD  Help, ho! murder! murder! 



 Enter EDMUND, with his rapier drawn, CORNWALL, REGAN, GLOUCESTER, and Servants  EDMUND  How now! What's the matter? 

 KENT  With you, goodman boy, an you please: come, I'll 

 flesh ye; come on, young master. 

 GLOUCESTER  Weapons! arms! What 's the matter here? 

 CORNWALL  Keep peace, upon your lives: 

 He dies that strikes again. What is the matter? 

 REGAN  The messengers from our sister and the king. 

 CORNWALL  What is your difference? speak. 

 OSWALD  I am scarce in breath, my lord. 

 KENT  No marvel, you have so bestirred your valour. You 

 cowardly rascal, nature disclaims in thee: a 

 tailor made thee. 

 CORNWALL  Thou art a strange fellow: a tailor make a man? 

 KENT  Ay, a tailor, sir: a stone-cutter or painter could 

 not have made him so ill, though he had been but two 

 hours at the trade. 

 CORNWALL  Speak yet, how grew your quarrel? 

 OSWALD  This ancient ruffian, sir, whose life I have spared 

 at suit of his gray beard,-- 

 KENT  Thou whoreson zed! thou unnecessary 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 gray beard, you wagtail? 

 CORNWALL  Peace, sirrah! 

 You beastly knave, know you no reverence? 

 KENT  Yes, sir; but anger hath a privilege. 

 CORNWALL  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 nought, like dogs, but following. 

 A plague upon your epileptic visage! 

 Smile you my speeches, as I were a fool? 

 Goose, if I had you upon Sarum plain, 

 I'ld drive ye cackling home to Camelot. 

 CORNWALL  Why, art thou mad, old fellow? 

 GLOUCESTER  How fell you out? say that. 

 KENT  No contraries hold more antipathy 

 Than I and such a knave. 

 CORNWALL  Why dost thou call him a knave?  What's his offence? 

 KENT  His countenance likes me not. 

 CORNWALL  No more, perchance, does mine, nor his, nor 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. 

 CORNWALL  This is some fellow, 

 Who, having been praised for bluntness, doth affect 

 A saucy roughness, and constrains the garb 

 Quite from his nature: he cannot flatter, he, 

 An honest mind and plain, he must speak truth! 

 An they will take it, so; if not, he's plain. 

 These kind of knaves I know, which in this plainness 

 Harbour more craft and more corrupter ends 

 Than twenty silly ducking observants 

 That stretch their duties nicely. 

 KENT  Sir, in good sooth, in sincere verity, 

 Under the allowance of your great aspect, 

 Whose influence, like the wreath of radiant fire 

 On flickering Phoebus' front,-- 

 CORNWALL  What mean'st by this? 

 KENT  To go out of my dialect, which you 

 discommend so much. I know, sir, I am no 

 flatterer: he that beguiled you in a plain 

 accent was a plain knave; which for my part 

 I will not be, though I should win your displeasure 

 to entreat me to 't. 

 CORNWALL  What was the offence you gave him? 

 OSWALD  I never gave him any: 

 It pleased the king his master very late 

 To strike at me, upon his misconstruction; 

 When he, conjunct and flattering his displeasure, 

 Tripp'd me behind; being down, insulted, rail'd, 

 And put upon him such a deal of man, 

 That worthied him, got praises of the king 

 For him attempting who was self-subdued; 

 And, in the fleshment of this dread exploit, 

 Drew on me here again. 

 KENT  None of these rogues and cowards 

 But Ajax is their fool. 

 CORNWALL  Fetch forth the stocks! 

 You stubborn ancient knave, you reverend braggart, 

 We'll teach you-- 

 KENT  Sir, I am too old to learn: 

 Call not your stocks for me: I serve the king; 

 On whose employment I was sent to you: 

 You shall do small respect, show too bold malice 

 Against the grace and person of my master, 

 Stocking his messenger. 

 CORNWALL  Fetch forth the stocks! As I have life and honour, 

 There shall he sit till noon. 

 REGAN  Till noon! till night, my lord; and all night too. 

 KENT  Why, madam, if I were your father's dog, 

 You should not use me so. 

 REGAN  Sir, being his knave, I will. 

 CORNWALL  This is a fellow of the self-same colour 

 Our sister speaks of. Come, bring away the stocks! 



 Stocks brought out  GLOUCESTER  Let me beseech your grace not to do so: 

 His fault is much, and the good king his master 

 Will cheque him for 't: your purposed low correction 

 Is such as basest and contemned'st wretches 

 For pilferings and most common trespasses 

 Are punish'd with: the king must take it ill, 

 That he's so slightly valued in his messenger, 

 Should have him thus restrain'd. 

 CORNWALL  I'll answer that. 

 REGAN  My sister may receive it much more worse, 

 To have her gentleman abused, assaulted, 

 For following her affairs. Put in his legs. 



 KENT is put in the stocks  Come, my good lord, away. 



 Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER and KENT  GLOUCESTER  I am sorry for thee, friend; 'tis the duke's pleasure, 

 Whose disposition, all the world well knows, 

 Will not be rubb'd nor stopp'd: I'll entreat for thee. 

 KENT  Pray, do not, sir: I have watched and travell'd hard; 

 Some time I shall sleep out, the rest I'll whistle. 

 A good man's fortune may grow out at heels: 

 Give you good morrow! 

 GLOUCESTER  The duke's to blame in this; 'twill be ill taken. 



 Exit  KENT  Good king, that must approve the common saw, 

 Thou out of heaven's benediction comest 

 To the warm sun! 

 Approach, thou beacon to this under globe, 

 That by thy comfortable beams I may 

 Peruse this letter! Nothing almost sees miracles 

 But misery: I know 'tis from Cordelia, 

 Who hath most fortunately been inform'd 

 Of my obscured course; and shall find time 

 From this enormous state, seeking to give 

 Losses their remedies. All weary and o'erwatch'd, 

 Take vantage, heavy eyes, not to behold 

 This shameful lodging. 

 Fortune, good night: smile once more: turn thy wheel! 



 Sleeps  Shakespeare homepage  |  King Lear  | Act 2, Scene 2 

 Previous scene  |  Next scene 