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A Room in the Duke of Albany's Palace.

[Enter Goneril and Oswald.]

Gon.
Did my father strike my gentleman for chiding of his fool?

Osw. Ay, madam.

Gon.
By day and night, he wrongs me; every hour
He flashes into one gross crime or other,
That sets us all at odds; I'll not endure it:
His knights grow riotous, and himself upbraids us
On every trifle.--When he returns from hunting,
I will not speak with him; say I am sick.--
If you come slack of former services,
You shall do well; the fault of it I'll answer.

Osw.
He's coming, madam; I hear him.

[Horns within.]

Gon.
Put on what weary negligence you please,
You and your fellows; I'd have it come to question:
If he distaste it, let him to our sister,
Whose mind and mine, I know, in that are one,
Not to be overruled. Idle old man,
That still would manage those authorities
That he hath given away!--Now, by my life,
Old fools are babes again; and must be us'd
With checks as flatteries,--when they are seen abus'd.
Remember what I have said.

Osw.
Very well, madam.

Gon.
And let his knights have colder looks among you;
What grows of it, no matter; advise your fellows so;
I would breed from hence occasions, and I shall,
That I may speak.--I'll write straight to my sister
To hold my very course.--Prepare for dinner.

[Exeunt.]