Edgar.
Yet better thus, and known to be contemn'd,
Than still contemn'd and flatter'd. To be worst,
The lowest, and most dejected thing of fortune,
Stands still in esperance, lives not in fear:
The lamentable change is from the best;
The worst returns to laughter. Welcome then,
Thou unsubstantial air, that I embrace!
The wretch, that thou hast blown unto the worst,
Owes nothing to thy blasts.—But who comes here? Enter Gloster, with a bandage round his eyes, led by an Old Man, L. 2 E.
My father, poorly led?—World, world, O world!
But that thy strange mutations make us hate thee,
Life would not yield to age.

Gloster.
Away, get thee away; good friend, be gone.
Thy comforts can do me no good at all;
Thee they may hurt.

Old Man.
Alack, sir! you cannot see your way.

Gloster.
I have no way, and therefore want no eyes;
I stumbled when I saw. Ah! 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 again!

Old Man. (C.)
How now? Who's there?

Edgar. (aside)
O gods! Who is 't can say, I am at the worst?
I am worse than e'er I was.

Old Man.
'Tis poor mad Tom.

Edgar. (aside)
And worse I may be yet: the worst is not
So long as we can say, “This is the worst.”

Gloster.
Is it a beggar-man?

Old Man.
Madman and beggar too.

Gloster.
He has some reason, else he could not beg.
I' the last night's storm I such a fellow saw;
Which made me think a man a worm. My son
Came then into my mind: and yet my mind
Was then scarce friends with him: I have heard more since.

Edgar. (aside)
How should this be?
Bad is the trade that must play fool to sorrow,
Angering itself and others. Bless thee, master!

Gloster.
Is that the naked fellow?

Old Man.
Ay, my lord.

Gloster.
Then, pr'ythee, get thee gone: If, for my sake,
Thou wilt o'ertake us, hence a mile or twain,
I' the way to Dover, do it for ancient love;
And bring some covering for this naked soul,
Whom I'll entreat lead me.

Old Man.
Alack, sir, he's mad.

Gloster.
'Ts the times' plague, when madmen lead the blind.
Do as I bid thee, or rather do thy pleasure.

Old Man.
I'll bring him the best 'parrel that I have,
Come on 't what will, Crosses and exits, L.

Gloster.
Sirrah, naked fellow.

Edgar.

Poor Tom 's a-cold.

Gloster.
Come hither, fellow.

Edgar.

Bless thy sweet eyes, they bleed.

Gloster.

Know'st thou the way to Dover?

Edgar.

Both stile and gate, horse-way and footpath. Poor Tom has been scared out of his good wits: bless thee good man's son from the foul fiend!

Gloster.
Here, take this purse, thou whom the heaven's plagues
Have humbled to all strokes: that I am wretched,
Makes thee the happier:—Heavens, deal so still!
Let the superfluous, and lust-dieted man,
That will not see
Because he doth not feel, feel your power quickly;
So distribution should undo excess,
And each man have enough.—Dost thou know Dover?

Edgar.
Ay, master.

Gloster.
There is a cliff, whose high and bending head.
Looks fearfully in the confined deep:
Bring me but to the very brim of it,
And I'll repair the misery thou dost bear,
With something rich about me: from that place
I shall no leading need.

Edgar.
Give me thy arm;
Poor Tom shall lead thee. Exeunt, R.

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