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L EAR, King of Britain.
Knights attending on the King, Officers, Mesengers,
Soldiers and Attendants.
SCENE lyes in Britain.
K I N G G LE
A C T I. SCENE I.
SCENE A Palace.
Enter Kent, Glo'ster, and Edmund the Bastard.
KE N T.,
Duke of Albany than Cornwall,
in the division of the kingdom, it appears
not which of the Dukes he values moft; for qualities are so weigh’d, that curiosity in neither can make choice of either's moiety.
Kent. Is not this your fon, my Lord?
Glo. His breeding, Sir, hath been at my charge. I have so often blush'd to acknowledge him, that now I am braz'd to't.
Kent. I cannot conceive you.
Glo. Sir, this young fellow's mother could; whereupon The grew round-womb'd, and had indeed, Sir, a son for her cradle, ere she had a husband for her bed. Do you smell a fault?
Kent. I cannot wish the fault undone, the issue of it being so proper. Glo. But I have a son, Sir, by order of law, some
'years' elder than this, who yet is no dearer in my acCount; though this knave came somewhat fawcily, * 'into the world before he was sent for, yet was his mother fair, there was good sport at his making, and the whorson must be acknowledg’d. Do you know this nobleman, Edmund ?
Bajt. No, my Lord.
Glo. My Lord of Kent;
Baft. My services to your Lordship.
Glo. He hath been out nine years, and away he shall
Regan, Cordelia, and Attendants.
That 1 year
3 prevented now. 4 carcs
That we our largest bounty may extend
Gon. I love you, Sir,
Cor. What shall Cordelia do? love and be filent. [-Aside.
Lear. Of all these bounds, ev’n from this line to this,
Reg. I'm made of that self-metal as my sister,
[ Afide. And yet not so, since I am sure my love's More pond'rous than my tongue.
Lear. To thee, and thine, hereditary ever, Remain this ample third of our fair kingdom, No less in space, validity, and pleasure, Than that confer'd on Gonerill. Now our joy, Although our last, not least; 'in' whose young love, The vines of France, and milk of Burgundy, Strive to be int'refsd: what say you to draw A third, more opulent than your sisters ? speak. Cor. Nothing, my Lord.