Act I. Scene
III.
Scene III.—A Room in the DUKE OF ALBANY'S
Palace.
Enter GONERIL and OSWALD her Steward.
Gon. Did my father strike my gentleman for
chiding of his. fool?
Osw. Ay, madam.
Gon. By day and night he wrongs me; every
hour
He flashes into one gross crime or other,
That sets us all at odds: I'll not endure it:
His knights grow riotous, and himself upbraids us
On every trifle. When he returns from hunting
I will not speak with him; say I am sick;
If you come slack of former services,
You shall do well; the fault of it I'll answer.
Osw. He's coming, madam; I hear him.
[Horns within.
Gon. Put on what weary negligence you
please,
You and your fellows; I'd have it come to
question:
If he distaste it, let him to my sister,
Whose mind and mine, I know, in that are one,
Not to be over-rul'd. Idle old man,
That still would manage those authorities
That he hath given away! Now, by my life,
Old fools are babes again, and must be us'd
With checks as flatteries, when they are seen
abus'd.
Remember what I have said.
Osw. Well, madam.
Gon. And let his knights have colder looks
among you;
What grows of it, no matter; advise your fellows
so:
I would breed from hence occasions, and I shall,
That I may speak: I'll write straight to my sister
To bold my very course. Prepare for dinner.
[Exeunt.
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