Regan was annoyed at the old man’s raillery, and again bade him return to her sister. “Never, Regan,” said King Lear, rising; and in angry words he called down the vengeance of heaven on his eldest daughter for her black ingratitude. ”So you will wish on me when the rash mood is on,” said Regan. “No, Regan, you will never have my curse,” said the old man, and with piteous words of misplaced affection he tried to convince himself that this daughter would never have treated him as the other one had done. While they were speaking, the sound of a trumpet was heard, and, to the horror and dismay of King Lear, Goneril herself appeared. “O Regan, wilt thou take her by the hand?” he asked reproachfully. “Why not by the hand, sir?” demanded Goneril arrogantly. “How have I offended? All is not offence that indiscretion finds and dotage terms so.” Lear’s self-control was rapidly leaving him, and he could scarcely answer calmly when Regan again advised him to return and sojourn with her sister for the remainder of the month, dismissing half his train, and then to go back to her. Lear indignantly refused to return with Goneril, but, making one last effort to subdue his rising violence, he said he would not trouble Goneril; they need never see each other again; but he could stay with Regan, he and his hundred knights. [Illustration: “You heavens, give me that patience, patience I need!”] To this Regan answered coldly that she had not expected him so soon, and was not provided for his fit welcome. She again counselled him to listen to her sister. Fifty followers? What should he need of more? Indeed, why so many? How, in one house, could many people under two commands dwell peaceably? It was hard, almost impossible. “Why might not you, my lord, receive attendance from those that she calls servants, or from mine?” put in Goneril. “Why not, my lord?” echoed Regan. “If you will come to me--for now I spy a danger--I entreat you to bring but five-and-twenty; to no more will I give place or notice.” Seeing that Regan was about to treat him worse, if anything, than Goneril, King Lear said he would return to his eldest daughter with the fifty knights to which she had reduced him. But now Goneril began to draw back. Why did he need five-and-twenty, ten, or even five followers, in a house where twice as many had orders to attend on him? “What need of one?” added Regan. “O, reason not the need,” exclaimed Lear, justly indignant at this sordid argument from those to whom he had given his entire possessions. “Our basest beggars are in the poorest thing superfluous. But for true need--you heavens, give me that patience, patience I need! You see me here, you gods, a poor old man, as full of grief as age; wretched in both.... You think I’ll weep? No, I’ll not weep. I have full cause of weeping; but this heart shall break into a hundred thousand flaws before I’ll weep.... O Fool, I shall go mad!”