now bears, will be revenged home; there is part of a Power
already footed, we must incline to the King, I will look
him, and privily relieve him; go you and maintain talk with
the Duke, that my Charity be not of him perceived; if he
ask for me, I am ill, and gone to Bed, if I die for it, as
no less is threatned me, the King my old Master must he
relieved. There is strange things toward, Edmund, pray
you be careful.
[Exit.

Baft. This Courtefie forbid thee, shall the Duke
Instantly know, and of that Letter too;
This seems a fair deserving, and must draw me
That which my Father loses; no less than all,
The younger rises, when the old doth fall.

[Exit.

SCENE III. Part of the Heath with

a Hovel.

Enter Lear, Kent, and Fool.

Kent. Here is the place, my Lord, good my Lord, enter,

The Tyranny of the open Night's too rough
For Nature to endure.

Lear. Let me alone.

Kent. Good my Lord, enter here.

Lear. Wilt break my Heart?

[Storm still.

Kent. I had rather break mine own; good my Lord enter. Lear. Thou thinkst 'tis much that this contentious storm

Invades us to the Skin so; 'tis to thee;

But where the greater Malady is fixt,

The leffer is scarce felt. Thou'dst shun a Bear,

But if thy flight light toward the roaring Sea,
Thou'dst meet the Bear i'th' Mouth; when the Mind's free,

The Body's delicate; the tempest in my Mind,
Doth from my Senses take all feeling else,
Save what beats there. Filial ingratitude!
Is it not as this Mouth should tear his Hand
For lifting food to't? But I will punish home;
No, I will weep no more-In fuch a Night,
To shut me out? Pour on, I will endure:
In such a Night as this? O Regan, Gonerill,

Your

Your old kind Father, whose frank Heart gave all-
O that way madness lyes, let me shun that,
No more of that.

Kent. Good my Lord, enter here.
Lear. Prithee go in thy self, seek thine own ease,
This Tempest will not give me leave to ponder
On things would hurt me more, but I'll go in,
In Boy, go first. You houseless Poverty [Exit Fool.
Nay, get thee in; I'll pray, and then I'll fleep-
Poor naked Wretches, where so e'er you are
That bide the pelting of this pitiless Storm,
How shall your houseless Heads, and unfed fides,
Your lop'd and window'd raggedness, defend you
From feasons such as these? O I have ta'en
Too little care of this; take Physick, Pomp,
Expose thy felf to feel, what Wretches feel,
That thou may'st shake the Superflux to them,
And shew the Heav'ns more just.

Enter Edgar, disguis'd like a Madman and Fool. Edg. Fathom and half, Fathom and half! poor Tom. Fool. Come not in here Nuncle, here's a Spirit, help me, help me.

Kent. Give me thy Hand, who's there?

Fool. A Spirit, a Spirit, he says his Name's poor Tom. Kent. What art thou that do'st grumble there i'th' Straw ?

Come forth.

Edg. Away, the foul Fiend follows me, through the sharp Hawthorn blow the Winds. Humph, go to thy Bed and warm thee.

Lear. Didst thou give all to thy Daughters ? And art thou come to this?

Edg. Who gives any thing to poor Tom? whom the foul Fiend hath led through Fire, and through Flame, through Sword, and Whirlpool, o'er Bog, and Quagmire, that hath laid Knives under his Pillow, and Halters in his Pue; set Ratsbane by his Porredge, made him proud of Heart, to ride on a Bay trotting Horse, over four arch'd Bridges, to course his own shadow for a Traitor, bless thy five Wits, Tom's a cold. O do, de, do, de, do, de, bless thee from Whirle-winds, Star-blasting, and taking, do poor Tom some Charity, whom the foul Fiend vexes. There could I have him now, and there, and here again, and there. [Storm still.

Lear. Have his Daughters brought him to this pafs? Could'st thou save nothing? would'st thou give 'em all?

Fool. Nay, he reserv'd a Blanket, else we had been all sham'd.

Lear. Now all the Plagues that in the pendulous Air Hang fated o'er Mens faults, light on thy Daughters. Kent. He hath no Daughters, Sir,

Lear. Death, Traitor, nothing could have fubdu'd Nature
To fuch a Lowness, but his unkind Daughters.
Is it the Fashion, that discarded Fathers?

Should have thus little mercy on their Flesh :
Judicious Punishment, 'twas this Flesh begot
Those Pelican Daughters.

Edg. Pillicock fat on Pillicock-hill, alow; alow, loo, loo,
Fool. This cold Night will turn us all to Fools, and Made

men.

Edg. Take heed o'th' foul Fiend, obey thy Parents, keep thy word, do Justice, swear not, commit not with Man's sworn Spouse; set not thy Sweet-heart on proud array. Tom's a cold.

Lear. What haft thou been?

Edg. A Servingman, proud in Heart, and Mind: That curl'd my Hair, wore Gloves in my Cap, serv'd the Luft of my Mistress Heart, and did the act of darkness with her. Swore as many Oaths, as I spake words, and broke them in the sweet Face of Heav'n. One, that slept in the contriving of Lust, and wak'd to do it. Wine lov'd I dearly; Dice dearly; and in Woman, out-paramour'd the Turk. Falfe of Heart, light of Ear, bloody handed. Hog in sloth, Fox in stealth, Wolf in greediness, Dog in madness, Lion in prey. Let not the creaking of Shooes, nor the rustling of Silks, betray thy poor Heart to Woman. Keep thy Foot out of Brothels, thy Hand out of Plackets, thy Pen from Lenders Books, and defie the foul Fiend. Still through the Hawthorn blows the cold Wind: Says fuum, mun, nonny, Dolphin my Boy, Boy Seffey: Let him trot by.

[Storm still.

Lear

Lear. Thou wert better in a Grave, than to answer with thy uncover'd Body, this extremity of the Skies. Is Man no more than this? Confider him well. Thou ow'st the Worm no Silk, the Beast no Hide, the Sheep no Wool, the Cat no perfume. Ha! Here's three on's are sophifticated. Thou art the thing it self; unaccommodated Man, is no more but fuch a poor, bare, forked Animal as thou art. Off, off you Lendings: Come, unbutton here.

[Tearing off his Cloaths.

Enter Gloster with a Torch.

Fool. Prethee Nuncle be contented; 'tis a naughty Night to swim in. Now a little Fire in a wild Field, were like an old Letcher's Heart, a small Spark, and all the rest on's Body, cold; look, here comes a walking Fire.

Edg. This is the foul Flibbertigibbet; he begins at Curfew, and walks at first Cock; he gives the Web and the Pin, squints the Eye, and makes the Hair-lip; Mildews the white Wheat, and hurts the poor Creature of the Earth.

Swithold foated thrice the old;

He met the Night-Mare, and her Ninefald,
Bid her alight, and her troth-plight,

And aroynt thee Witch, aroynt thee.

Kent. How fares your Grace?

Lear. What's he?

Kent. Who's there? what is't you seek?
Glo. What are you there? Your Names?

Edg. Poor Tom, that Eats the swimming Frog, the Toad, the Tod-pol; the Wall-neut, and the Water-neut; that in the fury of his Heart, when the foul Fiend rages, Eats Cow-dung for Sallets; swallows the old Rat, and the Ditchdog; drinks the green Mantle of the standing Pool; Who is whipt from Tything to Tything, and stockt, punish'd, and imprifon'd: Who hath three Suits to his Back, fix Shirts to his Body;

Horse to ride, and Weapon to wear;
But Mice, and Rats, and such small Dear,
Have been Tom's food for seven long Year;

Beware my Follower. Peace Smulkin, peace thou Fiend.
Glo. What, hath your Grace no better Company ?

Edg.

Edg. The Prince of Darkness is a Gentleman, Modo he's call'd, and Mahu.

Glo. Our Flesh and Blood, my Lord, is grown so vile, that it doth hate what it gets. Edg. Poor Tom's a-cold.

Glo. Go in with me; my duty cannot fuffer T'obey in all your Daughters hard commands: Though their injunction be to bar my Doors, And let this tyrannous Night take hold upon you, Yet have I ventur'd to come to feek you out, And bring you where both fire and food is ready. Lear. First let me talk with this Philosopher; What is the cause of Thunder?

Kent. Good, my Lord, take his offer,

Go into th' House.

Lear. I'll talk a word with this same learned Theban:
What is your Study?

Edg. How to prevent the Fiend, and to kill Vermin.
Lear. Let us ask you one word in private.

Kent. Importune him once more to go, my Lord,

His wits being t'unfettle.

Glo. Canft thou blame him?

[Storm still.

His Daughters seek his death: Ah, that good Kent!
He said it would be thus; poor banish'd Man.
Thou sayeft the King grows mad, I'll tell thee, Friend,
I am almost mad my felf, I had a Son,

Now out-law'd from my Blood, he fought my Life
But lately, very late; I lov'd him, Friend,
No Father his Son dearer: True to tell thee,

The grief hath craz'd my Wits. What a Night's this?
I do beseech your grace.

Lear. O cry you mercy, Sir:

Noble Philofopher, your company.

Edg. Tom's a-cold.

Glo. In, Fellow, there, into th'Hovel; keep thee warm.

Lear. Come, let's in all.

Kent. This way, my Lord.

Lear. With him;

I will keep still with my Philosopher.

Kent. Good, my Lord, footh him; let him take the Fellow.

Glo. Take him you on.

Kent.