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Reg Good sir, to the purpose.

Lear. Who put my man i' the stocks?

Tucket within.

Corn. What trumpet's that?

Reg. I know 't my sister's; this approves her letter,

That she would soon be here. Is your lady come?

Lear. This is a slave, whose easy-borrow'd pride

Dwells in the fickle grace of her he follows.

Out, varlet, from my sight!

Corn. 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,

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?

Gon. 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?

