Enter Oswald.
Is your lady come?
LEAR.
This is a slave, whose easy borrowed pride
Dwells in the fickle grace of her he follows.
Out, varlet, from my sight!
CORNWALL.
What means your grace?
LEAR.
Who stock’d my servant? Regan, I have good hope
Thou didst not know on’t. Who comes here? O heavens!
Enter Goneril.
If you do love old men, if your sweet sway
Allow obedience, if yourselves are old,
Make it your cause; send down, and take my part!
[To Goneril.] Art not asham’d to look upon this beard?
O Regan, wilt thou take her by the hand?
GONERIL.
Why not by the hand, sir? How have I offended?
All’s not offence that indiscretion finds
And dotage terms so.
LEAR.
O sides, you are too tough!
Will you yet hold? How came my man i’ the stocks?
CORNWALL.
I set him there, sir: but his own disorders
Deserv’d much less advancement.