We'll teach you,--

Kent.
Sir, I am too old to learn:
Call not your stocks for me: I serve the king;
On whose employment I was sent to you:
You shall do small respect, show too bold malice
Against the grace and person of my master,
Stocking his messenger.

Corn.
Fetch forth the stocks!--As I have life and honour,
there shall he sit till noon.

Reg.
Till noon! Till night, my lord; and all night too!

Kent.
Why, madam, if I were your father's dog,
You should not use me so.

Reg.
Sir, being his knave, I will.

Corn.
This is a fellow of the self-same colour
Our sister speaks of.--Come, bring away the stocks!

[Stocks brought out.]