Edg.
Yet better thus, and known to be contemn'd,
Than still contemn'd and flatter'd. To be worst,
The lowest, most dejected thing of fortune,
Stands still in esperance; lives not in fear.
The lamentable change is from the best;
The worst returns to comfort. Enter Glocester, led by an old Man.
Who comes here?
My father poorly led? World, world, O world!
But that thy strange mutations make us wait 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.
You cannot see your way.

Glo.
I have no way, and therefore want no eyes:
I stumbled when I saw. O dear son Edgar,
Might I but live to see thee in my touch,
I'd say, I had eyes again!

Old Man.
How now? who's there?

Edg.
O gods! who is't can say, I'm at the worst?
I'm 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'th' 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've heard more since.
As flies to wanton boys, are we to th' gods;
They kill us for their sport.

Edg.
Alas, he's sensible that I was wrong'd,
And should I own myself, his tender heart
Would break betwixt extremes of grief and joy.
Bad is the trade must play the fool to sorrow,
Ang'ring itself and others.—Bless thee, master.

Glo.
Is that the naked fellow?

Old Man.
Ay, my lord.

Glo.
Get thee away: if, for my sake,
Thou wilt o'ertake us hence a mile or twain
I' th' way tow'rd Dover, do it for ancient love;
And bring some covering for this naked wretch,
Whom I'll intreat to lead me.

Old Man.
Alack, sir, he is mad.

Glo.
'Tis the time's plague, when madmen lead the blind:
Do as I bid, or rather do thy pleasure;
Above the rest, begone.

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 fool it further.

Glo.
Come hither, fellow,

Edg.
And yet I must;
Bless thy sweet eyes, they bleed.

Glo.

Know'st thou the way to Dover?

Edg.

Both stile and gate, horse-way and footpath: poor Tom hath been scar'd out of his good wits. Bless thee, good man, from the foul fiend.

Glo.
Here, take this purse, thou whom the heav'ns plagues
Have humbled to all strokes. That I am wretched,
Makes thee the happier: heav'ns deal so still!
Dost thou know Dover?

Edg.
Ay, master.

Glo.
There is a cliff, whose high and bending head
Looks fearfully on the confined deep:
Bring me but to the very brink 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. Scene 2 SCENE, the Duke of Albany's Palace. Enter Gonerill and Edmund.

Gon.
Welcome, my lord. I marvel, our mild husband
Not met us on the way. Enter Steward.
Now, where's your master?

Stew.
Madam, within; but never man so chang'd:
I told him of the army that was landed;
He smil'd at it. I told him you were coming;
His answer was, The worse. Of Glo'ster's treachery,
And of the loyal service of his son,
When I inform'd him, then he call'd me Sot.
What most he should dislike, seems pleasant to him;
What like, offensive.

Gon.
Then shall you go no further. [To Edm.
It is the cowish terror of his spirit,
That dares not undertake.
Back, Edmund, to my brother;
Hasten his musters, and conduct his powers.
I must change arms at home, and give the distaff
Into my husband's hands. This trusty servant
Shall pass between us: you ere long shall hear,
If you dare venture on your own behalf,

A mistress's command.
Conceive, and fare thee well.

Edm.
Yours in the ranks of death.

Gon.
My most dear Glo'ster! [Exit Edmund.
Oh, the strange difference of man and man!
To thee a woman's services are due,
My fool usurps my duty.

Stew.
Madam, here comes my lord. [Exit. Enter Albany.

Alb.
Oh Gonerill, what have you done?
Tygers, not daughters, what have you performed?
A father and a gracious aged man,
Most barb'rous, most degenerate, have you madded.
How cou'd my brother suffer you to do it,
A man, a prince by him so benefited?

Gon.
Milk liver'd man!
That bear'st a cheek for blows, a head for wrongs;
Where's thy drum?
France spreads his banners in our noiseless land,
Whilst thou, a moral fool, sit'st still, and cry'st,
“Alack! why does he so?”—

Alb.
Thou chang'd, and self-converted thing! for shame,
Be-monster not thy feature. Enter Messenger.

Mes.
Oh, my good lord, the Duke of Cornwall's dead;
Slain by his servant, going to put out
The earl of Glo'ster's eyes.

Alb.
Glo'ster's eyes!

Mes.
A servant, that he bred, thrill'd with remorse,
Oppos'd the horrid act; bending his sword
Against his master: who, thereat inrag'd,
Flew on him, and amongst them fell'd him dead:
But not without that harmful stroke, which since
Hath pluck'd him after.

Alb.
This shews you are above,

You justices, that these our nether crimes
So speedily can venge. But O poor Glo'ster!
Where was his son when they did take his eyes?

Mes.
Come with my lady hither.

Alb.
He's not here.

Mes.
No, my good lord, he is return'd again.

Alb.
Knows he the wickedness?

Mes.
Ay, my good lord, 'twas he inform'd against him,
And quit the house of purpose, that their punishment
Might have the freer course.

Alb.
Glo'ster, I live
To thank thee for the love thou shew'dst the King,
And to revenge thine eyes. Come hither, friend,
Tell me what more thou know'st. [Going, returns.
See thyself, Gonerill!
Proper deformity shews not in the fiend,
So horrid as in woman.

Gon.
O vain fool! [Exit Alb. and Mess.
That hast not in thy brows an eye discerning
Thine honour from thy suffering! Enter Steward, with a letter.

Stew.
This letter, madam, craves a speedy answer:
'Tis from your sister. Cornwall being dead,
His loss your sister has in part supply'd,
Making earl Edmund general of her forces.

Gon.
One way I like this well:
But being widow, and my Glo'ster with her,
May pluck down all the building of my love.
I'll read, and answer these dispatches strait.
It was great ign'rance, Glo'ster's eyes being out,
To let him live. Add speed unto your journey;
And if you chance to meet that old blind traitor,
Preferment falls on him that cuts him off. [Exeunt.

Scene 3 SCENE, Dover. Enter Kent, and a Gentleman.

Kent.

Did your letters pierce the Queen to any demonstration of grief?

Gent.
Yes, sir; she took 'em, read 'em in my presence;
And now and then a big round tear ran down
Her delicate cheek: much mov'd, but not to rage,
Patience with sorrow strove. Her smiles and tears
Were like a wetter May,

Kent.
Spoke you with her since?

Gent.
No.

Kent.
Well, sir; the poor distressed Lear's in town;
Who sometimes, in his better tune remembers
What we are come about; and by no means
Will yield to see Cordelia.

Gent.
Why, good sir?

Kent.
A sov'reign shame so bows him; his unkindness,
That stript her from his benediction, turn'd her
To foreign casualties, gave her dear rights
To his dog-hearted daughters; these things sting him.
So venomously, that burning shame detains him
From his dear daughter.

Gent.
Alack, poor gentleman!

Kent.
Of Albany's, and Cornwall's Pow'rs you heard.

Gent.
'Tis so, they are a-foot.

Kent.
Well, sir, I'll bring you to our master Lear,
And leave you to attend him. Some dear cause
Will in concealment wrap me up awhile:
When I am known aright, you shall not grieve
Lending me this acquaintance. Pray, along with me. [Exeunt. Scene 4 SCENE, a. Camp. Enter Cordelia, Physician, and Soldiers.

Cor.
Alack, 'tis he; why he was met ev'n now
As mad as the vext sea, singing aloud,
Crowned with flowers, and all the weeds that grow

In our sustaining corn—Their poor old father!
Oh sisters, sisters! shame of ladies! sisters!
Ha, Regan, Gonerill! what! i'th'storm! i'th'night?
Let pity ne'er believe it! Oh my heart!

Phys.
Take comfort, madam; there are means to cure him.

Cor.
No; 'tis too probable the furious storm
Has pierc'd his tender body past all cure;
And the bleak winds, cold rain, and sulph'rous light'ning,
Unsettled his care-wearied mind for ever.
Send forth a cent'ry, bring him to our eye;
Try all the art of man, all med'cine's power,
For the restoring his bereaved sense!
He that helps him, take all!

Phys.
Be patient, madam:
Our foster nurse of Nature is Repose,
The which he lacks; that to provoke in him
Are many lenient simples, which have power
To close the eye of anguish.

Cord.
All blest secrets,
All you unpublish'd virtues of the earth,
Spring with my tears; be aidant and remediate
In the good man's distress! seek, seek for him;
Lest his ungovern'd rage dissolve his life. [Exeunt Attendants.
If it be so, one only boon I beg;
That you'd convey me to his breathless trunk,
With my own hands to close a father's eyes,
With show'rs of tears to wash his clay-cold cheeks,
Then o'er his limbs, with one heart-rending sigh,
To breathe my spirit out, and die beside him. Enter a Messenger.

Mes.
News, madam:
The British pow'rs are marching hitherward.

Cor.
'Tis known before. Our preparation stands
In expectation of them. O dear father,
It is thy business that I go about: therefore great France

My mourning and important tears hath pitied.
No blown ambition doth our arms incite,
But love, dear love, and our ag'd father's right. [Exeunt. Scene 5 SCENE, the Country, near Dover. Enter Glocester, and Edgar as a Peasant.

Glo
When shall I come to th'top of that same hill?

Edg.
You do climb up it now. Mark how we labour.

Glo.
Methinks, the ground is even.

Edg.
Horrible steep.
Hark, do you hear the sea?

Glo.
No, truly.

Edg.
Why then your other senses grow imperfect
By your eyes anguish.

Glo.
So may it be, indeed.
Methinks, thy voice is alter'd; and thou speak'st
In better phrase and matter than thou didst.

Edg.
You're much deceiv'd: in nothing am I chang'd,
But in my garments.

Glo.
Sure, you're better spoken.

Edg.
Come on, sir, here's the place—stand still. How fearful
And dizzy 'tis, to cast one's eyes so low!
The crows and choughs, that wing the midway air,
Shew scarce so gross as beetles. Half way down
Hangs one that gathers samphire; dreadful trade!
Methinks, he seems no bigger than his head.
The fishermen, that walk upon the beach,
Appear like mice; and yond tall anchoring bark,
Diminish'd to her cock; her cock! a buoy
Almost too small for sight. The murmuring surge
Cannot be heard so high. I'll look no more,
Lest my brain turn, and the deficient sight
Topple down headlong.

Glo.
Set me, where you stand.

Edg.
Give me your hand: you're now within a foot
Of th' extream verge: for all below the moon
Would I not now leap forward.

Glo.
Let go my hand:
Here, friend, 's another purse, in it a jewel
Well worth a poor man's taking. May the gods
Prosper it with thee! go thou further off;
Bid me farewel, and let me hear thee going

Edg.
Now fare ye well, good sir. [Seems to go.
I trifle thus with his despair to cure 't.

Glo.
O you mighty Gods!
This world do I renounce; and in your sights
Shake patiently my great affliction off:
If I could bear it longer, and not fall
To quarrel with your great opposeless wills,
My snuff and latter part of nature should
Burn itself out. If Edgar live, O bless him! Enter Lear, drest madly with flowers.

Lear.

No, they cannot touch me for coyning: I am the King himself.

Glo.

Ha! who comes here?

Edg.

O thou side-piercing sight!

Lear.

Nature's above art in that respect. There's your press-money. That fellow handles his bow like a crow-keeper: draw me a clothier's yard. Look, look, a mouse! peace, peace;—there's my gauntlet, I'll prove it on a giant. Bring up the brown bills. O, well flown barb! i'th' clour, i'th' clout: hewgh!—give the word.

Edg.

Sweet marjoram.

Lear.

Pass!

Glo.

I know that voice.

Lear.

Ha! Gonerill! hah! Regan! they flatter'd me like a dog, and told me I had white hairs in my beard ere the black ones were there. To say ay, and no, to everything that I said.—Ay, and no too, was no good divinity. When the rain came

to wet me once, and the wind to make me chatter; when the thunder would not peace at my bidding: there I found 'em, there I smelt 'em out. Go to, they are not men o' their words; they told me, I was every thing: 'tis a lie, I am not ague-proof.

Glo.
The trick of that voice I do well remember:
Is't not the King?

Lear.
Ay, every inch a king.
When I do stare, see how the subject quakes.
I pardon that man's life. What was the cause?
Adultry? thou shalt not die; die for adultry? no.
To't, luxury, pell mell; for I lack soldiers.

Glo.
Not all my sorrows past so deep have touch'd me
As these sad accents. Sight were now a torment.

Lear.

Behold yon simpering dame, whose face presages snow; that minces virtue, and does shake the head to hear of pleasure's name. The fitchew, nor the pampered steed goes to it with a more riotous appetite; down from the waist they are centaurs, tho' women all above: but to the girdle do the gods inherit, beneath is all the fiends. There's hell, there's darkness, there's the sulphurous pit; fie, fie, fie; pah, pah; an ounce of civet, good apothecary, to sweeten my imagination! there's money for thee.

Glo.

O, let me kiss that hand.

Lear.

Let me wipe it first, it smells of mortality.

Glo.

O ruin'd piece of nature!

Lear.

Arraign her first! 'tis Gonerill. I here take my oath before this honourable assembly, she struck the poor king her father.

Glo.

Patience, good sir!

Lear.
And here's another, whose warpt looks proclaim
What store her heart is made of.—Stop her there!
Arms, arms, sword, fire!—Corruption in the place!

False justicer, why hast thou let her scape?

Glo.
O pity, sir! where is the firmness now
That you so oft have boasted.—Do you know me?

Lear.

I do remember thine eyes well enough! do thy worst, blind Cupid; I'll not love. Read thou this challenge, mark but the penning of it.

Glo.

Were all the letters suns, I could not see one.

Edg.

I would not take this from report; it is, and my heart breaks at it.

Lear.

Read.

Glo.

What, with this case of eyes?

Lear.

Oh, oh, are you there with me? no eyes in your head, nor no money in your purse? yet you see how this world goes.

Glo.

I see it feelingly.

Lear.

What, art mad? a man may see how this world goes, with no eyes. Look with thine ears: see, how yond justice rails upon yond simple thief. Hark in thine ear: change places, and handy-dandy, which is the justice, which is the thief? thou hast seen a farmer's dog bark at a beggar?

Glo.

Ay, sir.

Lear.

And the beggar run from the cur? there thou might'st behold the great image of authority; a dog's obey'd in office.—

Now, now, now, now. Pull off my boots: harder, harder, so.

Edg.
O matter and impertinency mixt.
Reason in madness!

Lear.
If thou wilt weep my fortunes, take my eyes.
I know thee well enough, thy name is Glo'ster;
Thou must be patient; we came crying hither:
Thou know'st, the first time that we smell the air,
We wawle and cry. I will preach to thee: mark—

Glo.
Alack, alack the day!

Lear.
When we are born, we cry, that we are come
To this great stage of fools.— Enter a Gentleman with Attendants.

Gent.
O, here he is, lay hand upon him; sir,
Your most dear daughter—

Lear.
No rescue? what, a prisoner? I am even
The natural fool of fortune. Use me well,
You shall have ransom. Let me have surgeons,
I am cut to th' brain.

Gent.
You shall have any thing.

Lear.
No seconds? all myself? I will die bravely,
Like a smug bridegroom. What? I will be jovial:
Come, come, I am a king. My masters, know you that?

Gent.
You are a royal one, and we obey you.

Lear.
Then there's life in't.

It were an excellent stratagem to shoe a troop of horse with self: I'll put it in proof—no noise! no noise! now will we steal upon these sons-in-law; and then—kill, kill, kill, kill.

Glo.
The king is mad. How stiff is my vile sense
That I stand up, and have ingenious feeling
Of my huge sorrows. Better I were distract,
And woe, by wrong imaginations, lose
The knowledge of itself.—Ye gentle gods,
Take my breath from me! let not misery
Tempt me again to die before you please.

Edg.
Well pray you, father.

Glo.
Now, good sir, what are you?

Edg.
A most poor man, made tame to fortune's blows,
Who by the art of known and feeling sorrows,
Am pregnant to good pity. Give me your hand,
I'll lead you to some biding.

Glo.
Hearty thanks! Enter Steward.

Stew.
A proclaim'd prize! most happy!
That eyeless head of thine was first fram'd flesh,
To raise my fortunes. Old, unhappy traitor,
The sword is out, that must destroy thee.

Glo.
Let thy friendly hand put strength enough to't.

Stew.
Wherefore, bold peasant,
Dar'st thou support a publish'd traitor! hence,
Lest I destroy thee too. Let go his arm.

Edg.
Chill not let go, zir, without vurther 'casion.

Stew.
Let go, slave, or thou dy'st.

Edg.

Good gentleman, go your gate, and let poor volk pass: and 'chud ha' been zwagger'd out of my life, 'twould not ha' been zo long as 'tis by a vort-night. Nay, come not near th' old man: keep out, or i'se try whether your costard or my bat be the harder.

Stew.
Out, dunghill! [Edgar knocks him down.
Slave, thou hast slain me: oh, untimely death— [Dies.

Edg.
I know thee well, a serviceable villain;
As duteous to the vices of thy mistress,
As badness would desire.

Glo.
What, is he dead?

Edg.
Sit you down, sir.
This is a letter-carrier, and may have
Some papers of intelligence—what's here?

“To Edmund, Earl of Glo'ster.

“Let our reciprocal vows be remembred. You have many opportunities to cut him off: if he return the conqueror, then am I the prisoner,

and his bed my goal; from the loathed warmth whereof deliver me, and supply the place for your labour.

“Your (wife, so I would say)
affectionate Servant,
GONERILL.

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