REGAN.
The messengers from our sister and the King.
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.
CORNWALL.
Thou art a strange fellow: a tailor make a man?
KENT.
Ay, a tailor, sir: a stonecutter or a painter could not have made him so ill, though he had been but two years at the trade.
CORNWALL.
Speak yet, how grew your quarrel?
OSWALD.
This ancient ruffian, sir, whose life I have spared at suit of his grey beard,—
KENT.
Thou whoreson zed! thou unnecessary letter! My lord, if you’ll give me leave, I will tread this unbolted villain into mortar and daub the walls of a jakes with him. Spare my grey beard, you wagtail?
CORNWALL.
Peace, sirrah!
You beastly knave, know you no reverence?