Original Text
*Enter Goneril and Steward [Oswald].* GONERIL. Did my father strike my gentleman for chiding of his Fool? OSWALD. Ay, madam.
Original Text
GONERIL. By day and night, he wrongs me. Every hour he flashes into one gross crime or other that sets us all at odds. I'll not endure it. His knights grow riotous, and himself upbraids us on every trifle. When he returns from hunting, I will not speak with him. Say I am sick. If you come slack of former services, you shall do well; the fault of it I'll answer.
Original Text
OSWALD. He's coming, madam. I hear him. GONERIL. Put on what weary negligence you please, you and your fellows. I'd have it come to question. If he distaste it, let him to my sister, whose mind and mine I know in that are one. Remember what I have said. OSWALD. Well, madam.
Original Text
GONERIL. And let his knights have colder looks among you. What grows of it, no matter. Advise your fellows so. I'll write straight to my sister to hold my course. Prepare for dinner. *Exeunt.*