I dare pawn down my life for him that he hath writ this to feel my affection to your honour, and to no other pretence of danger.
What, have you writ that letter to my sister?
Thus out of season, threading dark-ey’d night: Occasions, noble Gloster, of some poise, Wherein we must have use of your advice:— Our father he hath writ, so hath our sister, Of differences, which I best thought it fit To answer from our home; the several messengers From hence attend despatch.
Quickly send,— Be brief in it,—to the castle; for my writ Is on the life of Lear and on Cordelia:— Nay, send in time.
What he hath utter’d I have writ my sister: If she sustain him and his hundred knights, When I have show’d th’ unfitness,— [Re-enter Oswald.