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? [Retires up.
My father poorly led! depriv'd of sight!
The precious stones torn from their bleeding rings!
World! world! world!

But that thy strange mutations make us hate thee.
Life would not yield to age. Enter Gloster, led by an Old Man, L.

Old M.
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 M.
You cannot see your way.

Glo.
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 again.

Edg. [Aside.]
Alas! he's sensible that I was wrong'd,
And, should I own myself, his tender heart
Would break betwixt the extremes of grief and joy.

Old M.
How now? who's there?

Edg. [Advances R. of Gloster.]
A charity for poor om.—Play fair, and defy the foul fiend.
O gods! and must I still pursue this trade.
Trifling beneath such loads of misery? [Aside.

Old M. (R. C.)
'Tis poor mad Tom.

Glo. (R. C.)
In the late storm I such a fellow saw
Which made me think a man a worm.
Where is the lunatic?

Old M.
Here, my lord.

Glo.
Get thee now away; if for my sake
Thou wilt o'ertake us hence a mile or two,
I'th' way to 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.

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

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

Glo.
Sirrah! naked fellow!

Edg. (R.)
Poor Tom's a-cold.—I cannot fool it longer. [Aside.
And yet I must.—Bless thy sweet eyes, they bleed;
Believe't, poor Tom e'en weeps his blind to see 'em.

Glo.
Know'st thou the way to Dover?

Edg.
Both stile and gate, horse-way and foot-path.
Poor Tom has been scared out of his good wits.
Bless every true man's son from the foul fiend!

Glo.
Here, take this purse; that I am wretched
Makes thee the happier. Heav'n deal so still!
Thus let the griping usurer's hoard be scatter'd,
So distribution shall undo excess,
And each man have enough. Dost thou know Dover?

Edg.
Ay, master.

Glo.
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 bear'st
With something rich about me.—From that place
I shall no leading need.

Edg.
Give me thy arm; poor Tom shall guide thee.

Glo.
Soft! for I hear the tread of passengers. Enter Kent, in his own character, and Cordelia, L.

Cor. (L.)
Ah me! your fear's too true, it was the king,
I spoke but even now with some that met him,
As mad as the vex'd sea, singing aloud;
Crown'd with rank fumiter, and furrow weeds,
With berries, burdocks, violets, daisies, poppies,
And all the idle flowers 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. (C.)
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.

Glo.
How! Kent? From whence return'd?

Kent.
I have not, since my banishment, been absent,
But in disguise follow'd th' abandon'd king.
'Twas me thou saw'st with him in the late storm.

Glo.
Let me embrace thee; had I eyes, I now
Should weep for joy; but let this trickling blood
Suffice instead of tears.

Cor. (L. C. Seeing Gloster.)
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 [Kneels.
To crush these weeping eyes to equal darkness,
If that will give thee any recompense.

Edg. [Aside.]
Was ever season so distrest as this?

Glo.
I think, Cordelia's voice; rise, pious princess,
And take a dark man's blessing. [Cordelia rises.—Kent and Gloster retire up and confer.

Cor.
O, my Edgar!
My virtue's now grown guilty, works the bane
Of those that do befriend me: heaven forsakes me;
And, when you look that way, it is but just
That you should hate me too.

Edg.
O, wave this cutting speech, and spare to wound
A heart that's on the rack. [Retire up; Gloster and Kent come down L.

Glo. (L.)
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 inhuman wrongs and mine,
And only want a chief to lead them on;
That task be thine.

Edg. [Aside.]
Brave Britons! then there's life in't yet. [Comes down L.

Kent. (R. C.)
Then have we one cast for our fortune still.
Come, princess, I'll bestow you with the king,
Then on the spur to head these forces.
Farewell, good Gloster; to our conduct trust.

Glo.
And be your cause as prosp'rous, as 'tis just. [Exeunt Kent and Cordelia, R. Edgar and Gloster, L.

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