Go you, call hither my fool.
[Exit another Attendant.]
Re-enter Oswald.
O, you, sir, you, come you hither, sir: who am I, sir?
OSWALD.
My lady’s father.
LEAR.
My lady’s father! my lord’s knave: you whoreson dog! you slave! you cur!
OSWALD.
I am none of these, my lord; I beseech your pardon.
LEAR.
Do you bandy looks with me, you rascal?
[Striking him.]
OSWALD.
I’ll not be struck, my lord.