Lear.
Low winds, and crack your cheeks; rage, blow!
You cataracts, and hurricanoes, spout
Till you have drench'd our steeples, drown'd the cocks!
You sulph'rous and thought-executing fires,
Vaunt-couriers of oak cleaving thunder-bolts,
Singe my white head. And thou all shaking thunder,
Strike flat the thick rotundity o'th'world;
Crack nature's mould, all germins spill at once
That make ingrateful man.

Kent.
Not all my best intreaties can persuade him
Into some needful shelter, or to 'bide
This poor slight cov'ring on his aged head,
Expos'd to this wild war of earth and heav'n. [Thunder.

Lear.
Rumble thy belly full, spit fire, spout rain;
Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire, are my daughters;
I tax not you, you elements, with unkindness;
I never gave you kingdom, call'd you children;
You owe me no subscription. Then let fall
Your horrible pleasure;—here I stand your slave;
A poor, infirm, weak, and despis'd old man!
But yet I call you servile ministers,
That have with two pernicious daughters joyn'd

Your high-engender'd battles, 'gainst a head
So old and white as this. Oh! oh! 'tis foul.

Kent.
Hard by, sir, is a hovel that will lend
Some shelter from this tempest.

Lear.
No, I will be the pattern of all patience:
I will say nothing.

Kent.
Alas, Sir! things that love night,
Love not such nights as these: the wrathful Skies
Gallow the very wand'rers of the dark,
And make them keep their caves: since I was man,
Such sheets of fire, such bursts of horrid thunder,
Such groans of roaring wind and rain, I never
Remember to have heard.

Lear.
Let the great gods,
That keep this dreadful pudder o'er our heads,
Find out their enemies now. Tremble, thou wretch,
That hast within thee undivulged crimes,
Unwhipt of justice. Hide thee, thou bloody hand:
Thou perjure, and thou simular of virtue,
That art incestuous: caitiff, shake to pieces,
That under covert and convenient seeming,
Hast practis'd on man's life:—Close pent-up guilts,
Rive your concealing continents, and ask
These dreadful summoners grace.—I am a man,
More sinn'd against, than sinning.

Kent.
Good sir, to the hovel!

Lear.
My wits begin to turn.
Come on, my boy. How dost, my boy? art cold?
I'm cold myself. Where is the straw, my fellow?
The art of our necessities is strange,
That can make vile things precious. Come, your hovel;
Poor knave, I've one part in my heart,
That's sorry yet for thee. [Exeunt. Scene 2 SCENE, An Apartment in Glocester's Castle. Enter Glocester, and Edmund.

Glo.

Alack, alack, Edmund, I like not this unnatural dealing; when I desired their leave that I

might pity him, they took from me the use of mine own house; charg'd me on pain of perpetual displeasure, neither to speak of him, entreat for him, or any way sustain him.

Edm.

Most savage and unnatural!

Glo.

Go to; say you nothing. There is division between the Dukes, and a worse matter than that: I have receiv'd a letter this night, 'tis dangerous to be spoken; (I have lock'd the letter in my closet:) these injuries, the king now bears, will be revenged home; there is part of a power already footed; we must incline to the king: I will look for him, and privily relieve him; go you, and maintain talk with the Duke, that my charity be not of him perceiv'd. If he ask for me, I am ill, and gone to bed; if I die for it, as no less is threaten'd me, the king my old master must be relieved. There are strange things toward, Edmund; pray you be careful.

Edm.
This courtesy, forbid thee, shall the duke
Instantly know, and of that letter too.
This seems a fair deserving, and must draw me
That which my father loses; no less than all.
The younger rises when the old doth fall. [Exit. Scene 3 SCENE changes to a Part of the Heath with a Hovel. Enter Lear and Kent.

Kent.
Here is the place, my lord; good my lord, enter;
The tyranny o[illeg.]th' open night's too rough
For nature to endure.

Lear.
Let me alone.

Kent.
Good my lord, enter here.

Lear.
Wilt break my heart?

Kent.
I'd 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. 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 this hand
For lifting food to't?—But I'll 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 lies; let me shun that;
No more of that—

Kent.
Good my lord, enter here.

Lear.
Pr'ythee, go in thyself; 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—
Nay, get thee in; I'll pray, and then I'll sleep—
Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are,
That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm!
How shall your houseless heads, and unfed sides,
Your loop'd and window'd raggedness defend you
From seasons such as these?—O, I have ta'en
Too little care of this! Take physic, pomp;
Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel,
That thou may'st shake the superflux to them,
And shew the heav'ns more just.

Edg. within.
Fathom and half, fathom and half! poor Tom.

Kent.

What art thou, that dost grumble there i'th' straw? come forth.

Edg.

Away! the foul fiend follows me. Through the sharp hawthorn blows the cold wind. 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 ford and whirlpool, o'er bog and quagmire; that hath laid knives under his pillow, and halters in his pew; set ratsbane by his porridge, made him proud of heart, to ride on a bay trotting horse, over four-inch'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—[shivering.] bless thee from whirl-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.
What have his daughters brought him to this pass?
Couldst thou save nothing? didst thou give 'em all?
Now all the plagues, that in the pendulous air
Hangfated o'er mens faults, light on thy daughters!

Kent.
He hath no daughters, sir.

Lear.
Death! traitor, nothing could have subdued nature
To such a lowness, but his unkind daughters.

Edg.

Pillicock sat on pillicock-hill, alow, alow, loo, loo!

Lear.
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.

Take heed o' th' foul fiend; obey thy parents; keep thy word justly; 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 serving-man, proud in heart, that curl'd my hair, wore gloves in my cap, serv'd the lust of my mistress's heart, and did the act of darkness with her: swore as many oaths as I spoke words, and broke them in the sweet face of heav'n. False of heart, light of ear, bloody of hand, hog in sloth, fox in stealth, wolf in greediness, dog in madness, lion in prey. Let not the creaking of

shoes, nor the rustling of silk betray thy poor heart to women. Keep thy foot out of brothels, thy hand out of plackets, thy pen from lender's book, and defy the foul fiend. Still through the hawthorn blows the cold wind.

Lear.

Thou wert better in thy 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. Aha! here's two of us are sophisticated. Thou art the thing itself; unaccommodated man is no more but such a poor, bare, forked animal as thou art. Off, off, you lendings: come, unbutton here.

Kent.

Defend his wits, good heaven!

Lear.

One point I had forgot; what is your name?

Edg.

Poor Tom, that eats the swimming frog, the wall-newt and the water-newt; that in the fury of his heart, when the foul fiend rages, eats cow dung for sallads, swallows the old rat, and the ditch-dog; that drinks the green mantle of the standing pool; that's whipt from tything to tything; that has three suits to his back, six shirts to his body,

  Horse to ride, and weapon to wear,
  But rats and mice, and such small deer,
  Have been Tom's food for seven long year.

Fraterreto calls me, and tells me, Nero is an angler in the lake of darkness. Pray innocent, and beware the foul fiend.

Lear.

Right, ha! ha! was it not pleasant to have a thousand with red-hot spits come hissing upon them?

Edg.
My tears begin to take his part so much,
They mar my counterfeiting. [Aside.

Lear.
The little dogs and all, Tray, Blanch, and
Sweet-Heart, see they bark at me.

Edg.

Tom will throw his head at'em: avaunt, ye curs.

  Be thy mouth, or black, or white,
  Tooth that poisons if it bite:
  Mastiff, grey-hound, mungrel grim,
  Hound, or spaniel, brache, or hym:
  Bob-tail tike, or trundle-tail,
  Tom will make 'em weep and wail:
  For with throwing thus my head,
  Dogs leap the hatch, and all are fled.

Come, march to wakes and fairs, and market-towns. —Poor Tom, thy horn is dry.

Lear.

You, sir, I entertain you for one of my hundred, only I do not like the fashion of your garments; you'll say they are Persian; but no matter, let 'em be changed.

Edg.

This is the foul flibbertigibbet; he begins at Curfew, and walks till the first cock; he gives the web, and the pin; knits the elflock; squints eye, and makes the hair-lip; mildews the white wheat, and hurts the poor creatures of the earth.

  Swithin footed thrice the world.
  He met the night-mare and her nine-fold,
    'Twas there he did appoint her;
  He bid her alight, and her troth plight,
    And aroynt the witch, aroynt her. Enter Glocester.

Lear.

What's he?

Glo.

What, has your grace no better company?

Edg.
The prince of darkness is a gentleman;
Modo he is call'd, and Mahu.

Glo.

Go with me, sir; hard by I have a tenant. My duty cannot suffer me to obey in all your Daughters hard commands, who have enjoin'd me to make fast my doors, and let this tyrannous night take hold upon you. Yet have I ventur'd to come seek you out, and bring you where both fire and food are ready,

Kent.

Good my lord, take this offer.

Lear.
First let me talk with this philosopher;
What is the cause of thunder?

Glo.
Beseech you sir, to go into the house.

Lear.

I'll talk a word with this same learned Theban. What is your Study?

Edg.

How to prevent the fiend, and to kill vermin.

Lear.

Let me ask you a word in private.

Kent.

His wits are quite unsettled; good sir, let's force him hence.

Glo.

Can'st blame him? his daughters seek his death; this bedlam but disturbs him the more. Fellow, be gone.

Edg.
Child Rowland to the dark tower came,
His word was still fie, foh, and fum,
I smell the blood of a British man.— [Exit.

Glo.

Now, prithee, friend, let us take him in our arms, and carry him where he shall find both welcome and protection. Good sir, along with us!

Lear.

You say right. Let them anatomize Regan! See what breeds about her heart! Is there any cause in nature for these hard hearts?

Kent.

I do beseech your grace.

Lear.

Hist!—make no noise! make no noise! —so, so! we'll to supper in the morning.