How now, daughter? What makes that frontlet on?

King Lear
How now, daughter? What makes that frontlet on?
Methinks you are too much of late i' th' frown.
Fool
Thou wast a pretty fellow when thou hadst no
need to care for her frowning. Now thou art an O
without a figure. I am better than thou art now. I
am a Fool. Thou art nothing. To Goneril. Yes,
forsooth, I will hold my tongue. So your face bids
me, though you say nothing.

Mum, mum,
He that keeps nor crust nor crumb,
Weary of all, shall want some.

He points at Lear.
That's a shelled peascod.