King Lear

What, fifty of my followers at a clap!
Within a fortnight!

Alb.
What's the matter, sir?

Lear.
I'll tell thee.--Life and death!--[To Goneril] I am asham'd
That thou hast power to shake my manhood thus;
That these hot tears, which break from me perforce,
Should make thee worth them.--Blasts and fogs upon thee!
Th' untented woundings of a father's curse
Pierce every sense about thee!--Old fond eyes,
Beweep this cause again, I'll pluck you out,
And cast you, with the waters that you lose,
To temper clay. Ha!
Let it be so: I have another daughter,
Who, I am sure, is kind and comfortable:
When she shall hear this of thee, with her nails
She'll flay thy wolvish visage. Thou shalt find
That I'll resume the shape which thou dost think
I have cast off for ever.

[Exeunt Lear, Kent, and Attendants.]

Gon.
Do you mark that?

Alb.
I cannot be so partial, Goneril,
To the great love I bear you,--

Gon.
Pray you, content.--What, Oswald, ho!
[To the Fool] You, sir, more knave than fool, after your master.

Fool.
Nuncle Lear, nuncle Lear, tarry,--take the fool with thee.--
   A fox when one has caught her,
   And such a daughter,
   Should sure to the slaughter,
   If my cap would buy a halter;
   So the fool follows after.

[Exit.]

Gon.
This man hath had good counsel.--A hundred knights!
'Tis politic and safe to let him keep
At point a hundred knights: yes, that on every dream,
Each buzz, each fancy, each complaint, dislike,
He may enguard his dotage with their powers,
And hold our lives in mercy.--Oswald, I say!--

Alb.
Well, you may fear too far.

Gon.
Safer than trust too far:
Let me still take away the harms I fear,
Not fear still to be taken: I know his heart.
What he hath utter'd I have writ my sister:
If she sustain him and his hundred knights,
When I have show'd th' unfitness,--

[Re-enter Oswald.]

How now, Oswald!
What, have you writ that letter to my sister?

Osw.
Ay, madam.

Gon.
Take you some company, and away to horse:
Inform her full of my particular fear;
And thereto add such reasons of your own
As may compact it more. Get you gone;
And hasten your return.

[Exit Oswald.]

No, no, my lord!
This milky gentleness and course of yours,
Though I condemn it not, yet, under pardon,
You are much more attask'd for want of wisdom
Than prais'd for harmful mildness.

Alb.
How far your eyes may pierce I cannot tell:
Striving to better, oft we mar what's well.

Gon.
Nay then,--

Alb.
Well, well; the event.

[Exeunt.]