Kent.
Here is the place, my Lord, good my Lord, enter,
The Tyranny of the open Night's too rough
For Nature to endure. [Storm still.

Lear.
Let me alone.

Kent.
Good my Lord, enter here.

Lear.
Wilt break my Heart?

Kent.
I had rather break mine own; good my Lord enter.

Lear.
Thou think'st 'tis much that this contentious storm
Invades us to the Skin so; 'tis to thee;
But where the greater Malady is fixt,
The lesser 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 such a Night,
To shut me out? Pour on, I will endure:
In such a Night as this? O Regan, Gonerill,

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 sleep—
Poor naked Wretches, where so e'er you are
That bide the pelting of this pitiless Storm,
How shall your houseless Heads, and unfed sides,
Your lop'd and window'd raggedness, defend you
From seasons such as these? O I have ta'en
Too little care of this; take Physick, Pomp,
Expose thy self 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.

Lear.
Have his Daughters brought him to this pass?
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 subdu'd Nature
To such 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 sat on Pillicock-hill, alow; alow, loo, loo.

Fool.

This cold Night will turn us all to Fools, and Madmen.

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 hast thou been?

Edg.

A Servingman, proud in Heart, and Mind: That curl'd my Hair, wore Gloves in my Cap, serv'd the Lust 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. False 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 suum, mun, nonny, Dolphin my Boy, Boy Sessey: Let him trot by.

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? Consider 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 sophisticated. Thou art the thing it self; unaccommodated Man, is no more but such a poor, bare, forked Animal as thou art. Off, off you Lendings: Come, unbutton here.

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.