SCENE VII.
Enter Glo'ster, with a Torch.
Lear.
What's he?
Kent.
Who's there? what is't you seek?
-- 84 --
Glo.
What are you there? your names?
Edg.
Poor Tom, that eats the swimming frog, the
toad, the tod-pole; the wall-newt, and the water-newt;
that in the fury of his heart, when the foul fiend rages,
eats cow-dung for sallets; swallows the old rat, and
the ditch-dog; drinks the green mantle of the standing-pool;
who is whipt from tything to tything, and
stock-punish'd, and imprison'd: who hath had three
suits to his back, six shirts to his body; horse to ride,
and weapon to wear:
But mice, and rats, and such small geer (a) note
Have been Tom's food for seven long year.
Beware my follower. Peace, Smolkin, peace, thou fiend!
Glo.
What, hath your Grace no better company?
Edg.
The Prince of Darkness is a gentleman; Modo
he's call'd, and Mahu.
Glo.
Our flesh and blood, my lord, is grown so vile,
That it doth hate what gets it.
Edg.
Tom's a-cold.
Glo.
Go in with me; my duty cannot suffer
T'obey in all your Daughters' hard commands:
Though their injunction be to bar 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 is ready.
Lear.
First, let me talk with this Philosopher;—
What is the cause of thunder?
Kent.
My good lord, take his offer,
Go into th' 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 us ask you one word in private.
-- 85 --
Kent.
Importune him once more to go, my lord;
His Wits begin t' unsettle.
Glo.
Can'st thou blame him?
[Storm still.
His Daughters seek his death: ah, that good Kent!
He said, it would be thus; poor banish'd man!—
Thou say'st, the King grows mad; I'll tell thee, friend,
I'm almost mad myself; I had a son,
Now out-law'd from my blood; he sought my life,
But lately, very late; I lov'd him, friend,
No father his son dearer: true to tell thee,
The grief hath craz'd my wits. What a night's this?
I do beseech your Grace,
Lear.
O cry you mercy, Sir:
Noble Philosopher, your company.
Edg.
Tom's a-cold.
Glo.
In, fellow, into th' hovel; keep thee warm.
Lear.
Come, let's in all.
Kent.
This way, my lord.
Lear.
With him;
I will keep still with my Philosopher.
Kent.
Good my lord, sooth him; let him take the
fellow.
Glo.
Take him you on.
Kent.
Sirrah, come on; along with us.
Lear.
Come, good Athenian.
Glo.
No words, no words, hush.
Edg.
9 noteChild Rowland to the dark tower came;
His word was still, fie, foh, and fum,
I smell the blood of a British man.
[Exeunt.
-- 86 --
Alexander Pope [1747], The works of Shakespear in eight volumes. The Genuine Text (collated with all the former Editions, and then corrected and emended) is here settled: Being restored from the Blunders of the first Editors, and the Interpolations of the two Last: with A Comment and Notes, Critical and Explanatory. By Mr. Pope and Mr. Warburton (Printed for J. and P. Knapton, [and] S. Birt [etc.], London) [word count] [S11301].
