Make it more like a tavern or a brothel
Than a grac'd palace. The shame itself doth speak
For instant remedy: be, then, desir'd
By her that else will take the thing she begs
A little to disquantity your train;
And the remainder, that shall still depend,
To be such men as may besort your age,
Which know themselves, and you.

Lear.
Darkness and devils!--
Saddle my horses; call my train together.--
Degenerate bastard! I'll not trouble thee:
Yet have I left a daughter.

Gon.
You strike my people; and your disorder'd rabble
Make servants of their betters.

[Enter Albany.]

Lear.
Woe that too late repents!--
[To Albany.] O, sir, are you come?
Is it your will? Speak, sir.--Prepare my horses.--
Ingratitude, thou marble-hearted fiend,
More hideous when thou show'st thee in a child
Than the sea-monster!

Alb.