| ACT I.
3. Scene III. 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.]
 
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