SCENE III. The Duke of Albany’s palace.
Enter GONERIL, and OSWALD, her steward
GONERIL
Did my father strike my gentleman for chiding of his fool?
OSWALD
Yes, madam.
GONERIL
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.
OSWALD
He’s coming, madam; I hear him.
Horns within
GONERIL
Put on what weary negligence you please,
You and your fellows; I’ll have it come to question:
If he dislike it, let him to our Regan,
Whose mind and mine, I know, in that are one,
Not to be over-ruled. 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 used
With cheques as flatteries,–when they are seen abused.
Remember what I tell you.
OSWALD
Well, madam.
GONERIL
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 friend Regan
To hold my very course. Prepare for dinner.
Exeunt
OSWALD
And when Cordelia, more lenient and loved,
from France’s golden yawns to somber sky
returns?
GONERIL
Cordelia! Easy is the love she sends
From past the sea! Our father well in hand
We’ll hold, and France his wife the same.
And when her frolic she fin’lly resolves
To pause, Cordelia shall our peace and hers
Approve. Be sure of it!