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.

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