He that keeps nor crust nor crum,

                  Weary of all, shall want some. -

           [Points at Lear] That's a sheal'd peascod.

        Gon. Not only, sir, this your all-licens'd fool,

           But other of your insolent retinue

           Do hourly carp and quarrel, breaking forth

           In rank and not-to-be-endured riots. Sir,

           I had thought, by making this well known unto you,

           To have found a safe redress, but now grow fearful,

           By what yourself, too, late have spoke and done,

           That you protect this course, and put it on

           By your allowance; which if you should, the fault

           Would not scape censure, nor the redresses sleep,

           Which, in the tender of a wholesome weal,

           Might in their working do you that offence

           Which else were shame, that then necessity

           Must call discreet proceeding.

        Fool. For you know, nuncle,

                The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long

                That it had it head bit off by it young.

           So out went the candle, and we were left darkling.

        Lear. Are you our daughter?

        Gon. Come, sir,

           I would you would make use of that good wisdom

           Whereof I know you are fraught, and put away

           These dispositions that of late transform you

           From what you rightly are.

        Fool. May not an ass know when the cart draws the horse?

           Whoop, Jug, I love thee!

        Lear. Doth any here know me? This is not Lear.

           Doth Lear walk thus? speak thus? Where are his eyes?

           Either his notion weakens, his discernings

           Are lethargied- Ha! waking? 'Tis not so!

           Who is it that can tell me who I am?

        Fool. Lear's shadow.

        Lear. I would learn that; for, by the marks of sovereignty,

           Knowledge, and reason, I should be false persuaded

           I had daughters.

        Fool. Which they will make an obedient father.

        Lear. Your name, fair gentlewoman?

        Gon. This admiration, sir, is much o' th' savour

           Of other your new pranks. I do beseech you

           To understand my purposes aright.

           As you are old and reverend, you should be wise.

           Here do you keep a hundred knights and squires;

           Men so disorder'd, so debosh'd, and bold

           That this our court, infected with their manners,

           Shows like a riotous inn. Epicurism and lust

           Make it more like a tavern or a brothel

           Than a grac'd palace. The shame itself doth speak

           For instant remedy. Be then desir'd

           By her that else will take the thing she begs

           A little to disquantity your train,

           And the remainder that shall still depend

           To be such men as may besort your age,

           Which know themselves, and you.

        Lear. Darkness and devils!

           Saddle my horses! Call my train together!

           Degenerate bastard, I'll not trouble thee;

           Yet have I left a daughter.

        Gon. You strike my people, and your disorder'd rabble

           Make servants of their betters.