Edg.
Yes, better thus, unknown to be contemn'd,^{5 note}

Than still contemn'd and flatter'd.^{6 note} To be worst,
The lowest, and most dejected thing of fortune,
Stands still in esperance,^{7 note} lives not in fear:^{8 note}
The lamentable change is from the best;
The worst returns to laughter.
But who comes here?— Enter Gloster, led by an Old Man.
My father, poorly led?—World, world, O world!^{9 note}
But that thy strange mutations make us hate thee,
Life would not yield to age.

Old Man.

O, my good lord, I have been your tenant, and your father's tenant, these fourscore years.

Glo.
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.

Glo.
I have no way, and therefore want no eyes;
I stumbled when I saw.—Ah, dear son Edgar,
Might I but live to see thee in my touch,^{10 note}
I'd say I had eyes again.

Old Man.
How now? Who's there?

Edg. (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.

Glo.
Is it a beggar-man?

Old Man.
Madman and beggar too.

Glo.
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:
How Edgar was abused. O, my follies!
Kind gods, forgive me that, and prosper him.

Edg.
How should this be? [Aside.
Bless thee, master!

Glo.
Is that the naked fellow?

Old Man.
Ay, my lord.

Glo.
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 to lead me.

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

Glo.
'Tis the times' plague, when madmen lead the blind:
Do as I bid thee.

Old Man.
I'll bring him the best 'parrel that I have,
Come on't what will. [Exit.

Glo.
Sirrah, naked fellow.

Edg.
Poor Tom's a-cold,—I cannot daub it further.^{12 note} [Aside.

Glo.
Come hither, fellow.

Edg. (aside.)
And yet I must.—Bless thy poor eyes.

Glo.
Know'st thou the way to Dover?

Edg.
Both stile and gate, horse-way, and foot-path.
Poor Tom hath been scared out of his good wits:
Bless thee, good man, from the foul fiend.

Glo.
Here, take this purse, thou whom the heaven's plagues
Have humbled to all strokes: that I am wretched,
Makes thee the happier.
Dost thou know Dover?

Edg.
Ay, master.

Glo.
There is a cliff, whose high and bending head

Looks fearfully in the confined deep:^{13 note}
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.

Edg.
Give me thy arm,
Poor Tom shall lead thee. [Exeunt.

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