stay behind. Come, come, away. When we our betters see bearing our woes, We scarcely think our miseries our foes. Who alone suffers suffers most i' the mind, Leaving free things and happy shows behind: But then the mind much sufferance doth o'er skip, When grief hath mates, and bearing fellowship. How light and portable my pain seems now, When that which makes me bend makes the king bow, He childed as I father'd! Tom, away! Mark the high noises; and thyself bewray, When false opinion, whose wrong thought defiles thee, In thy just proof, repeals and reconciles thee. What will hap more to-night, safe 'scape the king! Lurk, lurk. Post speedily to my lord your husband; show him this letter: the army of France is landed. Seek out the villain Gloucester. Hang him instantly. Pluck out his eyes. Leave him to my displeasure. Edmund, keep you our sister company: the revenges we are bound to take upon your traitorous father are not fit for your beholding. Advise the duke, where you are going, to a most festinate preparation: we are bound to the like. Our posts shall be swift and intelligent betwixt us. Farewell, dear sister: farewell, my lord of Gloucester. How now! where's the king? My lord of Gloucester hath convey'd him hence: Some five or six and thirty of his knights, Hot questrists after him, met him at gate; Who, with some other of the lords dependants, Are gone with him towards Dover; where they boast To have well-armed friends. Get horses for your mistress. Farewell, sweet lord, and sister. Edmund, farewell. Go seek the traitor Gloucester, Pinion him like a thief, bring him before us. Though well we may not pass upon his life Without the form of justice, yet our power Shall do a courtesy to our wrath, which men May blame, but not control. Who's there? the traitor? Ingrateful fox! 'tis he. Bind fast his corky arms. What mean your graces? Good my friends, consider You are my guests: do me no foul play, friends. Bind him, I say. Hard, hard. O filthy traitor! Unmerciful lady as you are, I'm none. To this chair bind him. Villain, thou shalt find-- By the kind gods, 'tis most ignobly done To pluck me by the beard. So white, and such a traitor! Naughty lady, These hairs, which thou dost ravish from my chin, Will quicken, and accuse thee: I am your host: With robbers' hands my hospitable favours You should not ruffle thus.