Lear. No, Regan, thou shalt never have my curse; Thy tender-hefted nature shall not give Thee o'er to harshness; her eyes are fierce, but thine Do comfort, and not burn: 'Tis not in thee To grudge my pleasures, to cut off my train, To bandy hasty words, to scant my sizes, And, in conclusion, to oppose the bolt Against my coming in: thou better know'st The offices of nature, bond of childhood, Effects of courtesy, dues of gratitude; Thy half o' the kingdom thou hast not forgot, Wherein I thee endow'd. Regan. Good sir, to the purpose. [Trumpets within] Lear. Who put my man i' the stocks? Cornwall. What trumpet's that? Enter Steward Regan. 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! Cornwall. What means your grace? Lear. Who stock'd my servant? Regan, I have good hope Thou did'st not know on't.--Who comes here? O heavens, Enter Gonerill 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!-- Art not asham'd to look upon this beard?-- [To Gonerill.] O, Regan, wilt thou take her by the hand? Gonerill. 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? Cornwall. I set him there, sir: but his own disorders Deserv'd much less advancement. Lear. You! did you? Regan. I pray you, father, being weak, seem so. If, till the expiration of your month, You will return and sojourn with my sister, Dismissing half your train, come then to me; I am now from home, and out of that provision Which shall be needful for your entertainment. Lear. Return to her, and fifty men dismiss'd? No, rather I abjure all roofs, and choose To be a comrade with the wolf and owl-- To wage against the enmity o' the air, Necessity's sharp pinch!--Return with her! Why, the hot-blooded France, that dowerless took Our youngest born, I could as well be brought To knee his throne, and squire-like pension beg To keep base life afoot.--Return with her! Persuade me rather to be slave and sumpter To this detested groom. [Looking on the Steward.] Gonerill. At your choice, sir.