Reading The Tragedie of King Lear — William Shakespeare

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Lear.

I prythee Daughter do not make me mad,

I will not trouble thee my Child: farewell:

Wee'l no more meete, no more see one another.

But yet thou art my flesh, my blood, my Daughter,

Or rather a disease that's in my flesh,

Which I must needs call mine. Thou art a Byle,

A plague sore, or imbossed Carbuncle

In my corrupted blood. But Ile not chide thee,

Let shame come when it will, I do not call it,

I do not bid the Thunder‐bearer shoote,

Nor tell tales of thee to high‐iudging Ioue,

Mend when thou can'st, be better at thy leisure,

I can be patient, I can stay with Regan,

I and my hundred Knights.

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