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,(5)
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,(10)
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 sister,(15)
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(20)
With checks 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:(25)
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]