KENT That such a slave as this should wear a sword, Who wears no honesty65. Such smiling rogues as these, Like rats, oft bite the holy cords a-twain66 Which are too intrinse t’unloose, smooth67 every passion That in the natures of their lords rebel68, Being oil to fire69, snow to the colder moods, Revenge, affirm, and turn their halcyon beaks70 With every gall and vary71 of their masters, Knowing naught, like dogs, but following.— To Oswald A plague upon your epileptic visage73! Smile you my speeches, as74 I were a fool? Goose, if I had you upon Sarum75 plain, I’d drive ye cackling home to
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