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good service; and art nothing but the composition of a knave, beggar, coward, pander, and the son and heir of a mungril bitch ; one whom I will bear into clam'rous whining, if thou deny'st the least syllable of thy addition.

Stew. 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 know'st me? Is it two days ago, since I tript up thy heels, and beat thee before the King? Draw, you rogue ; for tho' it be night, yet the moon shines; • I'll make a sop o’th’moonshine of you. You whorefon, cullionly * barber-monger, draw.

[Drawing his sword. Stew. 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 l'll fo carbonado your shanks—Draw, you rascal. Come your ways.

Stew. Help, ho! murder! help!

Kent. Strike, you Nave. Stand, rogue, stand, you + neat Nave, strike.

[Beating him. Stew. Help ho! murder! murder ! 6 I'll make a sop o'th' moon meo and Juliet says,

shine of you ;] This is equi -- he moon;vine's watry beams. valen: to our modern phrase of And in Midsummer-Night's dream, making the sun shine thro' any one, Quench'd in the chast beams of But, alluding to the natural phi The watry moon. losophy of that time, it is ‘ob.

WARBURTON. Scure. The Peripatetics thought, * barber-menger,] Of this word tho' fallly, that the rays of the I do not clearly see the force. moon were cold and moist. The 7 Vanity the puppet ) Alludspeaker therefore fays, he would ing to the mysteries or allegori. make a lop, of his antagoniit, cal sews, in which Vanity, Iniwhich should absorb the humi- quity, and other vices, were perdity of the moon's rays, by let- sonified. ting them into his guts. For nial slave,] You mere flave, this reason, Shakespeare in Ro- you very Nave.

SCENE

E 3

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Enter Edmund, Cornwall, Regan, Glo'ster, and

Servants.

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

Kent. With you, goodman boy, if you please. Come, I'll Beth ye. Come on, young master.

Glo. Weapons ? arms? what's the matter here?

Corn. Keep peace, upon your lives; he dies, that strikes again. What's the matter?

Reg. The messengers from our sister and the King.
Corn. What is your difference? Speak.
Stew. I am scarce in breath, my Lord.

Kent. No marvel, you have so bestirr'd your valour; you cowardly rascal. Nature disclaims all share in thee. A tailor made thee.

Corn. Thou art a strange fellow. A tailor make a man?

Kent, Ay, a tailor, Sir; a stone-cutter, or a painter could not have made him so ill, tho' they had been but two hours o'th' trade.

Corn. Speak yet, how grew your quarrel ?

Stew. 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

8 Thou whore fon Zed! thcu un be to his bending or cringing

ne-esary letter!] I do not posture in the presence of his well undertland how a man is superiours ? Perhaps it was writ. reproached by being called Zed, ten, thru whorejon ( [for cucknor how 2 is an unnecesary let. old) thou unnecessary letter. C is ter. Scarron compares his de a letter unnecessary in our alphaformity to the shape of Z, and bet, one of its two sounds beit may be a proper word of in- ing represented by S, and one by fult to a crook-backed man; but K. But all the copies concur in why should Goncrill's steward be the common reading. crooked, unless the allufion

9 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 Nave as this should wear a sword, Who wears no honesty. Such smiling rogues as these,

Like rats, oft bite the holy cords in twain
Too 'intrinsicate e’unloose; footh every passion,

That

1

9 this onbolted villain) i. e. Yet there are certain punetilios, unrefined by education, the bran or, as I may more nakedly insinuyet in him. Metaphor from the ate th ,certain intrinsicate Strokes bakehouse. WARBURTON. and lords, to which your Activi

Like rats, oft bite the holy tyis not yet amounted, &c.
curds atwaine,

It means, inward, hidden, Which are t'intrince, t’un!"fe;] perplext; as a Knot, hard to be Thus the first Editors blundered unravell’d; it is deriv'd from the this Passage into unintelligible Latin adverb intrinsecus; from Nonsense. Mr. Pope so far has which the Italians have coin'd disengaged it, as to give us a very beautiful Phrase, intrinfiplain Sense; but by throwing carsi col une, i. e. to grow intiout the Epithet hoy, 'tis evi- mate with, to wind one self indent, that he was not aware to another. And now to our of the Poet's fine Meaning. I'll Author's Sense. Kent is rating frit eitablish and prove the Read- the Steward, as a Parasite of ing; then explain the allusion. Gonerill's; and supposes very Thus the Poet gave it :

justly, that he has fomented the Like rals, ofi bile the holy Quarrel betwixt that Princess and Cords in twain,

her Father: in which office he Too intrinsicate t’unloose compares him to a facrilegious "This Word again occurs in our Rat: and by a fine Metaphor, Authoor's Antony and Cleopatra, as Mr. Warburton observ'd to me, where she is speaking to the Af- ftiles the Union between Parents pick:

and Children the bol, Cords. Come, mortal wretch;

THEOBALD. With thy foarp Teeth this knot Like rats, oft bite the holy intrinsicate

cords in twain Of Life at once untie.

Too intrinsicate t’unloose:-) And we meet with it in Cynthia's By these holy cords the Poet means Revels by Ben. Johnson.

the natural union between paE 4

rents

That in the nature of their Lords rebels,
Bring oil to fire, snow 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 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!
Glo. How fell you out? Say that.

Kent. No contraries hold more antipathy,
Than 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 time,
Than stand on any shoulder that I see
Before me at this inftant.

Corn. This is some fellow, Who having been prais'd for bluntness, doch affect A fawcy roughness; and + constrains the garb, Quite from his nature He can't fatter, he! An honest mind and plain, he must speak truth; rents and children. The meta so this alludes to some proverbial phor is taken from the cords of speech in those romances. WARB. the fanctuary; and the fomenters In Somer| th.ri near Camelot of family differences are com are many large moors where are pared to these facrilegiou, rats. bred great quantities of geese, The expression is fine and noble. so that many other places are

WARBURTON. from hence supplied with quills 2 epileptick visage!) The and feathers. HANMER. frighted countenance of a man --confiruins the garb ready to fall in a fit.

Quite from his nature. ] Forces -Camelot] Was the place his our fide or his appearance to where the romances say, King something totally different from Arıbur kept his court in the west; his natural disposition.

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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,
s Than twenty filly ducking observants,
That stretch their duties nicely.

Kent. Sir, in good faith, in sincere verity,
Under th’allowance of your grand aspect,
Whose influen e, like the wreath of radiant fire
On Pickering Plæbus' 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 beguild you in a plain accent, was a plain knave; which for my part I will not be, * though I should win your displeasure to intreat me to’t.

Corn. What was th' offence you gave him ?

Stew. I never gave him any. It pleas’d the King his master very lately To strike at me upon his misconstruction, When he conjunct, and Aate’ring his displeasure, Tript me behind ; being down, insulted, raild, And put upon him such a deal of man, that That worthied him ; got praises of the King, s Than twenty SILLY duckin? what is more, the poet generally

obfervants,'] The epithet gives them this epithet in other SILLY cannot be right. ift, Be places. So in Richard III. he Cause Cornwall, i this beautiful calls them speech, is not talking of the dif

Silky, ly, infinuating ferent juccess of theie two kind of parasites, but of their diffe- And in Coriolanus, rint corruption of beirt.

-when steel grou's Cause he says these ducking ob Soft as the pa. asite's filk, servants know how to ftretch their

WARBURTON. doties nicely. I am persuaded

The alteration is more ingewe should read,

nious than the arguments by Than twenty silky ducking ob- which it is supported. Jervants,

though I should win your disa Which not only alludes to the plec fure to inti eat me to'r.) 1 hough garb of a court fycophant, but I should win you, displeased as admirably well denotes the you now are, to like me so well (moothness of his character. But as to intreat me to be a knave.

For

Ja ks.

2. Be.

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