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King Lear:
How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is to have a thankless child!
Kent:
Fellow, I know thee.
Oswald:
What dost thou know me for?
Kent:
A knave, a rascal, an eater of broken meats; a base, proud, shallow, beggarly, three-suited, hundred-pound, filthy worsted-stocking knave; a lily-livered, action-taking, whoreson, glass-gazing, super-serviceable, finical rogue; one-trunk-inheriting slave; one that wouldst be a bawd in way of good service, and art nothing but the composition of a knave, beggar, coward, pander, and the son and heir of a mongrel bitch; one whom I will beat into clamorous whining if thou deny'st the least syllable of thy addition.
King Lear:
You do me wrong to take me out of the grave. Thou art a soul in bliss.
Gloucester:
As flies to wanton boys are we to the gods. They kill us for their sport.
King Lear:
Ay, every inch a king.
King Lear:
I know you do not love me, For your sisters have, as I remember, done me wrong. You have some cause; they have not.
Cordelia:
No cause, no cause.
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