Edg.
I've heard myself proclaim'd;
And by the happy hollow of a tree,
Escap'd the hunt. No port is free; no place,
That guard, and most unusual vigilance,
Does not attend my taking. How easy now
'Twere to defeat the malice of my trial,
And leave my griefs on my sword's reeking point;
But love detains me, from love's peaceful cell,
Still whispering me, Cordelia's in distress.
Unkind as she is, I cannot see her wretched,
But must be near, to wait upon her fortune.
Who knows but the white minute yet may come,
When Edgar may do service to Cordelia:
Whiles I may 'scape,
I will preserve myself: and am bethought
To take the basest and the poorest shape,
That ever penury, in contempt of man,
Brought near to beast: my face I'll grime with filth;‡ ^note
Blanket my loins; else all my hair in knots;
And, with presented nakedness, out-face
The winds and persecutions of the sky.
The country gives me proof and precedent
Of Bedlam beggars, who, with roaring voices,
Strike in their numb'd and mortify'd bare arms,
Pins, wooden pricks, nails, sprigs of rosemary;
And with this horrible object, from low farms,
Poor pelting villages, sheep-coats and mills,
Sometimes with lunatic bans, sometimes with pray'rs,
Inforce their charity: poor Turlygood! poor Tom!—
That's something yet. Edgar I nothing am. [Exit.

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