Euph. Dear Sir——
Lear. Not a Word: Obedience and a clean Smock; dispatch.
[Exit Euphronia weeping.
Learchus going off, turns to Oronces.] Sir, your most obedient humble Servant.
Oron. Yet hear what I've to say.
Lear. And what have you to say, Sir?
Oron. Alas! I know not what I have to say!
Lear. Very like so. That's a sure Sign he's in love now.
Oron. Have you no Bowels?
Lear. Ha, ha! Bowels in a Parent! Here's a young Fellow for you. Hark thee, Stripling; being in a very merry Humour, I don't care if I discover some paternal Secrets to thee. Know then, that how humoursome, how whimsical soever we may appear, there's one fixt Principle that runs thro' almost the whole Race of us; and that's to please ourselves. Why do'st think I got my Daughter? Why, there was something in't that pleased me. Why dost think I marry my Daughter? Why to please myself still. And what is't that pleases me? Why, my Interest; what do'st think it shou'd be? If Esop's my Son-in-Law, he'll make me a Lord: If thou art my Son-in-Law——thou'lt make me a Grandfather. Now I having more Mind to be a Lord than a Grandfather, give my Daughter to him, and not to thee.