Edg.
The lowest and most abject Thing of Fortune
Stands still in Hope, and is secure from Fear,
The lamentable Change is from the Best,
The Worst returns to Better—who comes here [Enter Gloster, led by an old Man.
My Father poorly led? depriv'd of Sight,
The precious Stones torn from their bleeding Rings!
Some-thing I heard of this inhumane Deed
But disbeliev'd it, as an Act too horrid
For the hot Hell of a curst Woman's fury,
When will the measure of my woes be full?

Glost.
Revenge, thou art afoot, Success attend Thee.
Well have I sold my Eyes, if the Event
Prove happy for the injur'd King.

Old M.

O, my good Lord, I have been your Tenant, and your Father's Tenant these Fourscore years.

Glost.
Away, get thee Away, good Friend, be gone,
Thy Comforts can do me no good at All,
Thee they may hurt.

Old M.
You cannot see your Way.

Glost.
I have no Way, and therefore want no Eyes,
I stumbled when I saw: O dear Son Edgar,
The Food of thy abused Father's Wrath,
Might I but live to see thee in my Touch
I'd say, I had Eyes agen.

Edg.
Alas, he's sensible that I was wrong'd,
And shou'd I own my Self, his tender Heart
Would break betwixt th' extreams of Grief and Joy.

Old M.
How now, who's There?

Edg.
A Charity for poor Tom. Play fair, and defie the foul Fiend.
O Gods! and must I still persue this Trade, [Aside.
Trifling beneath such Loads of Misery?

Old M.
'Tis poor mad Tom.

Glost.
In the late Storm I such a Fellow saw,
Which made me think a Man a Worm,
Where is the Lunatick?

Old M.
Here, my Lord.

Glost.
Get thee now away, if for my sake
Thou wilt o're-take us hence a Mile or Two
I' th' way tow'rd Dover, do't for ancient Love,
And bring some cov'ring for this naked Wretch
Whom I'll intreat to lead me.

Old M.
Alack, my Lord, He's Mad.

Glost.
'Tis the Time's Plague when Mad-men lead the Blind.
Do as I bid thee.

Old M.
I'll bring him the best 'Parrel that I have
Come on't what will. [Exit.

Glost.
Sirrah, naked Fellow.

Edg.
Poor Tom's a cold;—I cannot fool it longer,
And yet I must—bless thy sweet Eyes they Bleed,
Believe't poor Tom ev'n weeps his Blind to see 'em.

Glost.
Know'st thou the way to Dover?

Edg.

Both Stile and Gate, Horse-way and Foot-path, poor

Tom has been scar'd out of his good Wits; bless every true Man's Son from the foul Fiend.

Glost.
Here, take this Purse, that I am wretched
Makes thee the Happier, Heav'n deal so still.
Thus let the griping Userers Hoard be Scatter'd,
So Distribution shall undo Excess,
And each Man have enough. Dost thou know Dover?

Edg.
I, Master.

Glost.
There is a Cliff, whose high and bending Head
Looks dreadfully down on the roaring Deep.
Bring me but to the very Brink of it,
And I'll repair the Poverty thou bearst
With something Rich about me, from that Place
I shall no leading need.

Edg.
Give me thy Arm: poor Tom shall guid thee.

Glost.
Soft, for I hear the Tread of Passengers. Enter Kent and Cordelia.

Cord.
Ah me! your Fear's too true, it was the King;
I spoke but now with some that met him
As Mad as the vext Sea, Singing aloud,
Crown'd with rank Femiter and furrow Weeds,
With Berries, Burdocks, Violets, Dazies, Poppies,
And all the idle Flow'rs that grow
In our sustaining Corn, conduct me to him
To prove my last Endeavours to restore him,
And Heav'n so prosper thee.

Kent.
I will, good Lady.
Ha, Gloster here!—turn, poor dark Man, and hear
A Friend's Condolement, who at Sight of thine
Forgets his own Distress, thy old true Kent.

Glost.
How, Kent? from whence return'd?

Kent.
I have not since my Banishment been absent,
But in Disguise follow'd the abandon'd King;
'Twas me thou saw'st with him in the late Storm.

Glost.
Let me embrace thee, had I Eyes I now
Should weep for Joy, but let this trickling Blood
Suffice instead of Tears.

Cord.
O misery!

To whom shall I complain, or in what Language?
Forgive, O wretched Man, the Piety
That brought thee to this pass, 'twas I that caus'd it,
I cast me at thy Feet, and beg of thee
To crush these weeping Eyes to equal Darkness,
If that will give thee any Recompence.

Edg.
Was ever Season so distrest as This? [Aside.

Glost.
I think Cordelia's Voice! rise, pious Princess,
And take a dark Man's Blessing.

Cord.
O, my Edgar,
My Vertue's now grown Guilty, works the Bane
Of those that do befriend me, Heav'n forsakes me,
And when you look that Way, it is but Just
That you shou'd hate me too.

Edg.
O wave this cutting Speech, and spare to wound
A Heart that's on the Rack.

Glost.
No longer cloud thee, Kent, in that Disguise,
There's business for thee and of noblest weight;
Our injur'd Country is at length in Arms,
Urg'd by the King's inhumane Wrongs and Mine,
And only want a Chief to lead 'em on.
That Task be Thine.

Edg.
Brave Britains then there's Life in 't yet. [Aside.

Kent.
Then have we one cast for our Fortune yet.
Come, Princess, I'll bestow you with the King,
Then on the Spur to Head these Forces.
Farewell, good Gloster, to our Conduct trust.

Glost.
And be your Cause as Prosp'rous as tis Just. [Exeunt. Gonerill's Palace. Enter Gonerill, Attendants.

Gon.
It was great Ignorance Gloster's Eyes being out
To let him live, where he arrives he moves
All Hearts against us, Edmund I think is gone
In pity to his Misery to dispatch him.

Gent.
No, Madam, he's return'd on speedy Summons
Back to your Sister.

Gon.
Ha! I like not That,
Such speed must have the Wings of Love; where's Albany.

Gent.
Madam, within, but never Man so chang'd;

I told him of the uproar of the Peasants,
He smil'd at it, when I inform'd him
Of Gloster's Treason—

Gon.
Trouble him no further,
It is his coward Spirit, back to our Sister,
Hasten her Musters, and let her know
I have giv'n the Distaff into my Husband's Hands.
That done, with special Care deliver these Dispatches
In private to young Gloster. Enter a Messenger.

Mess.
O Madam, most unseasonable News,
The Duke of Cornwall's Dead of his late Wound,
Whose loss your Sister has in part supply'd,
Making brave Edmund General of her Forces.

Gon.
One way I like this well;
But being Widow and my Gloster with her
May blast the promis'd Harvest of our Love.
A word more, Sir,—add Speed to your Journey,
And if you chance to meet with that blind Traytor,
Preferment falls on him that cuts him off. [Exeunt.

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