Regan. Hard, hard:—O filthy traitor!
Gloster. Unmerciful lady as you are, I am none.
Cornwall. To this chair bind him:—Villain, thou shalt find—[REGAN plucks his beard].
Gloster. By the KIND gods [for these are the gods, whose 'Commission' is sitting here]'tis most ignobly done, To pluck me by the beard.
Regan. So white, and such a traitor!
Gloster. Naughty lady, These hairs, which thou dost ravish from my chin, Will quicken and accuse thee. I am your host: With robber hands, my hospitable favours You should not ruffle thus.
Tied to the stake, questioned and cross-questioned, and insulted, finally, beyond even his faculty of endurance, he breaks forth, at last, in strains of indignation that overleap all arbitrary and conventional bounds, that are only the more terrible for having been so long suppressed. Kent himself, when he 'came between the dragon and his wrath,' was not so fierce.
Cornwall. Where hast thou sent the king?
Gloster. To Dover.
Regan. Wherefore To Dover, was't thou not charged at peril?—