Edmund, how now? What news?
So please your Lordship, none.
He puts a paper in his pocket.
The King is mad. How stiff is my vile sense
That I stand up and have ingenious feeling
Of my huge sorrows!
O ho, are you there with me? No eyes in your
head, nor no money in your purse?
The trick of that voice I do well remember.
Is ’t not the King?
Is it a beggar-man?
Madman and beggar too.
He has some reason,
Yet better thus, and known to be contemned,
Than still contemned and flattered. To be worst,
Where hast thou sent the King?
Wherefore to Dover?
My dear lord,
You know the fiery quality of the Duke,
How unremovable and fixed he is
In his own course.
These late eclipses in the sun and moon
portend no good to us. Though the wisdom of
nature can reason it thus and thus,
I thought the King had more affected the Duke
of Albany than Cornwall.
It did always seem so to us,