KENT: Is not this your son, my lord?
GLOUCESTER: His breeding, sir, hath been at my charge. I have so often blushed to acknowledge him, that now I am brazed to ‘t.
KENT: I cannot conceive you.
GLOUCESTER: Sir, this young fellow’s mother could: whereupon she grew round-wombed, and had, indeed, sir, a son for her cradle ere she had a husband for her bed. Do you smell a fault?
– William Shakespeare