A knave; a rascal; an eater of broken meats

When one reaches a certain age one removes the rose coloured spectacles much more often, becomes cynical with a hue of Grey casting a drab grubiness to surface appearances of fleeting shininess. The planned obsolecence of innocent acceptance takes a hold or perhaps it can't be conditioned out of all of us, for some of the time at least.
One finds oneself considering committing to memory act 2 scene 2 of King Lear.


Oswald: Why dost thou use me thus? I know thee not.
KentFellow, 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, superserviceable, 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 deniest the least syllable of thy addition.

  • Scene II

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