Page 1824 - Shakespeare - Vol. 3

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. [45]

CORNWALL
What is your difference? speak.

OSWALD
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. [50]

CORNWALL
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’th’trade.

CORNWALL
Speak yet, how grew your quarrel? [55]

OSWALD

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. [60] Spare my grey beard, you wagtail?