William Shakespeare (1564–1616). The Tragedy of Hamlet Prince of Denmark.
The Harvard Classics. 1909–14.

Scene II

Act II

[Before Gloucester’s castle]
Enter KENT and Steward [OSWALD], severally

Osw.Good dawning to thee, friend. Art of this house?Kent.Ay.Osw.Where may we set our horses?Kent.I’ the mire.Osw.Prithee, if thou lov’st me, tell me.Kent.I love thee not.Osw.Why, then, I care not for thee.Kent.If 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, pandar, and the son and heir of a mongrel bitch; one whom I will beat into clamorous whining, if thou deni’st the least syllable of thy addition.Osw.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-fac’d varlet art thou, to deny thou knowest me! Is it two days since I tripp’d 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, you whoreson cullionly barber-monger! 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 Bastard [EDMUND] with his rapier drawn, CORNWALL, REGAN, GLOUCESTER, and Servants

Edm.How now! What’s the matter? Part.Kent.With you, goodman boy, if you please.Come, I’ll flesh ye; 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.A tailor, sir. A stone-cutter or a painter could not have made him so ill, though they had been but two years o’ the trade.Corn.Speak yet, how grew your quarrel?Osw.This ancient ruffian, sir, whose life I have spar’d at suit of his grey 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 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-twainWhich are too intrinse to unloose; smooth every passionThat in the natures of their lords rebel;Bring oil to fire, snow to their colder moods;Renege, affirm, and turn their halcyon beaksWith 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’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 antipathyThan 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, nor his, nor hers.Kent.Sir, ’tis my occupation to be plain;I have seen better faces in my timeThan stands on any shoulder that I seeBefore me at this instant.Corn.This is some fellowWho, having been prais’d for bluntness, doth affectA saucy roughness, and constrains the garbQuite 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 plainnessHarbour more craft and more corrupter endsThan twenty silly ducking observantsThat 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 fireOn flickering Phœbus’ front,—Corn.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 beguil’d 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.Corn.What was the offence you gave him?Osw.I never gave him any.It pleas’d the King his master very lateTo strike at me, upon his misconstruction;When he, compact, and flattering his displeasure,Tripp’d me behind; being down, insulted, rail’d,And put upon him such a deal of manThat ’t worthied him, got praises of the KingFor 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 cowardsBut Ajax is their fool.Corn.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 respects, show too bold maliceAgainst the grace and person of my master,Stocking his messenger.Corn.Fetch forth the stocks! As I have life and honour, There shall he sit till noon.Reg.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.Reg.Sir, being his knave, I will.Stocks brought out.Corn.This is a fellow of the self-same colourOur sister speaks of. Come, bring away the stocks!Glou.Let me beseech your Grace not to do so.[His fault is much, and the good King his masterWill check him for ’t. Your purpos’d low correctionIs such as basest and contemned’st wretchesFor pilferings and most common trespassesAre punish’d with.] The King must take it illThat he’s so slightly valued in his messenger,Should have him thus restrained.Corn.I’ll answer that.Reg.My sister may receive it much more worseTo have her gentleman abus’d, 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].Glou.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 watch’d 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!Glou.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 com’stTo the warm sun!Approach, thou beacon to this under globe,That by thy comfortable beams I mayPeruse this letter! Nothing, almost, sees miraclesBut misery. I know ’tis from Cordelia,Who hath most fortunately been inform’dOf my obscured course; [reads] “—and shall find timeFrom this enormous state—seeking to giveLosses their remedies.”—All weary and o’erwatch’d,Take vantage, heavy eyes, not to beholdThis shameful lodging.Fortune, good-night! Smile once more; turn thy wheel![Sleeps.]

Contents -BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD