deeds approved

                                              eldest-born, speak first.
Sir, I love you more than words can wield the matter;
Dearer than eye-sight, space, and liberty;
Beyond what can be valued, rich or rare;
No less than life, with grace, health, beauty, honour;

As much as child e'er loved, or father found;
A love that makes breath poor, and speech unable;
Beyond all manner of so much I love you.
                                                                 Prescribe not us our duties.
Let your study
Be to content your lord, who hath received you
At fortune's alms. You have obedience scanted,
And well are worth the want that you have wanted.
                                                                     my fair Cordelia.
Sister, it is not a little I have to say of what
most nearly appertains to us both. I think our
father will hence to-night.
                                                      next month with us.
You see how full of changes his age is; the
observation we have made of it hath not been
little: he always loved our sister most; and
with what poor judgment he hath now cast her off
appears too grossly.
                                              slenderly known himself.
The best and soundest of his time hath been but
rash; then must we look to receive from his age,
not alone the imperfections of long-engraffed
condition, but therewithal the unruly waywardness
that infirm and choleric years bring with them.
                                            this of
Kent's banishment.
There is further compliment of leavetaking
between France and him. Pray you, let's hit
together: if our father carry authority with
such dispositions as he bears, this last
surrender of his will but offend us.
                                           We shall further think on't.
We must do something, and i' the heat.

Did my father strike my gentleman for chiding of his fool?
                                                              Yes, madam.
By day and night he wrongs me; every hour
He flashes into one gross crime or other,
That sets us all at odds: I'll not endure it:
His knights grow riotous, and himself upbraids us
On every trifle. When he returns from hunting,
I will not speak with him; say I am sick:
If you come slack of former services,
You shall do well; the fault of it I'll answer.
                                                                  I hear him.

Put on what weary negligence you please,
You and your fellows; I'll have it come to question:
If he dislike it, let him to our sister,
Whose mind and mine, I know, in that are one,
Not to be over-ruled. Idle old man,
That still would manage those authorities
That he hath given away! Now, by my life,
Old fools are babes again; and must be used
With cheques as flatteries,--when they are seen abused.
Remember what I tell you.
                                                              Well, madam.
And let his knights have colder looks among you;
What grows of it, no matter; advise your fellows so:
I would breed from hence occasions, and I shall,
That I may speak: I'll write straight to my sister,
To hold my very course. Prepare for dinner.

                                            That's a shealed peascod.
Not only, sir, this your all-licensed fool,
But other of your insolent retinue
Do hourly carp and quarrel; breaking forth
In rank and not-to-be endured riots. Sir,
I had thought, by making this well known unto you,
To have found a safe redress; but now grow fearful,
By what yourself too late have spoke and done.
That you protect this course, and put it on
By your allowance; which if you should, the fault
Would not 'scape censure, nor the redresses sleep,
Which, in the tender of a wholesome weal,
Might in their working do you that offence,
Which else were shame, that then necessity
Will call discreet proceeding.
                                                                                           Are you our daughter?
Come, sir,
I would you would make use of that good wisdom,
Whereof I know you are fraught; and put away
These dispositions, that of late transform you
From what you rightly are.
                                                                                                     fair gentlewoman?
This admiration, sir, is much o' the savour
Of other your new pranks. I do beseech you
To understand my purposes aright:
As you are old and reverend, you should be wise.
Here do you keep a hundred knights and squires;
Men so disorder'd, so debosh'd and bold,
That this our court, infected with their manners,
Shows like a riotous inn: epicurism and lust
Make it more like a tavern or a brothel
Than a graced palace. The shame itself doth speak
For instant remedy: be then desired
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,
And know themselves and you.
                                                                                               I left a daughter.
You strike my people; and your disorder'd rabble
Make servants of their betters.
                                                                                           whereof comes this?
Never afflict yourself to know the cause;
But let his disposition have that scope
That dotage gives it.
                                                                                                                  I warrant thee.
Do you mark that, my lord?
                                                          love I bear you,--
Pray you, content. What, Oswald, ho!
You, sir, more knave than fool, after your master.
                                                                    fool follows after.
This man hath had good counsel:--a hundred knights!
'Tis politic and safe to let him keep
At point a hundred knights: yes, that, on every dream,
Each buzz, each fancy, each complaint, dislike,
He may enguard his dotage with their powers,
And hold our lives in mercy. Oswald, I say!
                                                                 fear too far.
Safer than trust too far:
Let me still take away the harms I fear,
Not fear still to be taken: I know his heart.
What he hath utter'd I have writ my sister
If she sustain him and his hundred knights
When I have show'd the unfitness,--
How now, Oswald!
What, have you writ that letter to my sister?
                                                              Yes, madam.
Take you some company, and away to horse:
Inform her full of my particular fear;
And thereto add such reasons of your own
As may compact it more. Get you gone;
And hasten your return.  No, no, my lord,
This milky gentleness and course of yours
Though I condemn not, yet, under pardon,
You are much more attask'd for want of wisdom
Than praised for harmful mildness.
                                                           mar what's well.
Nay, then--

Welcome, my lord: I marvel our mild husband 
Not met us on the way. 
Now, where's your master'? 
                                                   What like, offensive. 
Then shall you go no further. 
It is the cowish terror of his spirit, 
That dares not undertake: he'll not feel wrongs 
Which tie him to an answer. Our wishes on the way 
May prove effects. Back, Edmund, to my brother; 
Hasten his musters and conduct his powers: 
I must change arms at home, and give the distaff 
Into my husband's hands. This trusty servant 
Shall pass between us: ere long you are like to hear, 
If you dare venture in your own behalf, 
A mistress's command. Wear this; spare speech;
Decline your head: this kiss, if it durst speak,

Would stretch thy spirits up into the air: 
Conceive, and fare thee well. 
                                                     the ranks of death. 
My most dear Gloucester! O, the difference of man and man! 
To thee a woman's services are due: 
My fool usurps my body. 
                                                   here comes my lord. 
I have been worth the whistle. 
                                                             to deadly use. 
No more; the text is foolish. 
                                                 monsters of the deep. 
Milk-liver'd man! 
That bear'st a cheek for blows, a head for wrongs; 
Who hast not in thy brows an eye discerning 
Thine honour from thy suffering; that not know'st 
Fools do those villains pity who are punish'd 
Ere they have done their mischief. Where's thy drum?
France spreads his banners in our noiseless land; 
With plumed helm thy slayer begins threats; 
Whiles thou, a moral fool, sit'st still, and criest 
'Alack, why does he so?' 
                                                     horrid as in woman. 
O vain fool! 
                                               shape doth shield thee. 
Marry, your manhood now— '
                                                    Tis from your sister. 
One way I like this well; 
But being widow, and my Gloucester with her, 
May all the building in my fancy pluck 
Upon my hateful life: another way, 
The news is not so tart.--I'll read, and answer.

                                                 the duke her husband!
I had rather lose the battle than that sister
Should loosen him and me.

                                                   Why is this reason'd?
Combine together 'gainst the enemy;
For these domestic and particular broils
Are not the question here

                                                                 go with us?
                                                                  go with us.
O, ho, I know the riddle.--I will go.

                                                       itself your brother. 
Not so hot: In his own grace he doth exalt himself, 
More than in your addition. 
                                                he compeers the best. 
That were the most, if he should husband you. 
                                                      oft prove prophets. 
Holla, holla! That eye that told you so look'd but a-squint.
                                                    My lord and master. 
Mean you to enjoy him?
                                                     My lady is bespoke.
An interlude!
                                                             Sick, O, sick!
If not, I'll ne'er trust medicine.
                                                    Save him, save him!
This is practise, Gloucester:
By the law of arms thou wast not bound to answer
An unknown opposite; thou art not vanquish'd,
But cozen'd and beguiled.
                                                                 you know it.
Say, if I do, the laws are mine, not thine:
Who can arraign me for't.
                                               Know'st thou this paper?
Ask me not what I know.

53 speeches, 1479 words.