SCENE IV.
A Part of the Heath, with a Hovel.
Enter Lear, Kent, and Fool.
Kent.
Here is the place, my lord; good my lord, enter:
The tyranny of the open night's too rough
For nature to endure.
[Storm still.
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 storm1 note
-- 424 --
Invades us to the skin: so 'tis to thee;
But where the greater malady is fix'd,
The lesser is scarce felt. Thou'dst shun a bear;
But if thy flight lay toward the roaring sea2 note,
Thou'dst meet the bear i' the mouth. When the mind's free,
The body's delicate: 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 will punish home.—
No, I will weep no more.—In such a night
To shut me out!—Pour on; I will endure3 note:—
In such a night as this! O Regan, Goneril!—
Your old kind father, whose frank heart gave all4 note,—
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.—[To the Fool.] You houseless poverty,—
Nay, get thee in. I'll pray, and then I'll sleep5 note.—
[Fool goes in.
Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are,
That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm6 note,
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
-- 425 -- 11Q1060
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 show the heavens more just.
Edg. [Within.]
Fathom and half7 note, fathom and half! Poor Tom!
[The Fool runs out from the Hovel.
Fool.
Come not in here, nuncle; here's a spirit. Help me! help me!
Kent.
Give me thy hand.—Who's there?
Fool.
A spirit, a spirit: he says his name's poor Tom.
Kent.
What art thou that dost grumble there i' the straw?
Come forth.
Enter Edgar, disguised as a Madman.
Edg.
Away! the foul fiend follows me!—
Through the sharp hawthorn blows the cold wind8 note.—
Humph! go to thy cold bed, and warm thee.
Lear.
Hast thou given all to thy two 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 flame9 note,
through ford and whirlpool, over bog and quagmire;
that hath laid knives under his pillow, and halters in
his pew; set ratsbane by his porridge1 note; made him
proud of heart, to ride on a bay trotting-horse over
four-inched bridges, to course his own shadow for a
traitor.—Bless thy five wits2 note
! Tom's a-cold.—O! do
-- 426 --
de, do de, do de.—Bless thee from whirlwinds, star-blasting,
and taking3 note
! Do poor Tom some charity,
whom the foul fiend vexes.—There could I have him
now,—and there,—and there,—and there again, and
there.
[Storm continues.
Lear.
What! have his daughters brought him to this pass4 note?—
Could'st thou save nothing? Didst thou give them all?
Fool.
Nay, he reserved a blanket, else we had been
all shamed.
Lear.
Now, all the plagues, that in the pendulous air
Hang fated o'er men's 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.—
-- 427 --
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.
Pillicock sat on Pillicock-hill5 note
:—
Halloo, halloo, loo, loo!
Fool.
This cold night will turn us all to fools and
madmen.
Edg.
Take heed o' the foul fiend. Obey thy parents;
keep thy word justly6 note; 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 and mind; that
curled my hair, wore gloves in my cap, served the lust
of my mistress's heart, and did the act of darkness with
her; swore as many oaths as I spake words, and broke
them in the sweet face of heaven: one, that slept in
the contriving of lust, and waked to do it. Wine loved
I deeply; dice dearly; and in woman, out-paramoured
the Turk: 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 silks, betray thy poor heart to
woman: keep thy foot out of brothels, thy hand out
of plackets, thy pen from lenders' books, and defy the
foul fiend.—Still through the hawthorn blows the cold
-- 428 --
wind; says suum, mun, ha no nonny. Dolphin my
boy, my boy; sessa! let him trot by7 note.
[Storm still continues.
Lear.
Why, thou wert better in thy grave, than to
answer with thy uncovered body this extremity of the
skies.—Is man no more than this? Consider him well.
Thou owest the worm no silk, the beast no hide, the
sheep no wool, the cat no perfume.—Ha! here's three
on's 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 here8 note.—
[Tearing off his clothes.
Fool.
Pr'ythee, nuncle, be contented; 'tis a naughty
night to swim in.—Now, a little fire in a wild field
were like an old lecher's heart; a small spark, all
the rest on's body cold.—Look! here comes a walking
fire.
Edg.
This is the foul fiend Flibbertigibbet: he begins
at curfew, and walks till the first cock; he gives
the web and the pin9 note, squints the eye, and makes the
hare-lip; mildews the white wheat, and hurts the poor
creature of earth.
Saint Withold footed thrice the wold1 note;
He met the night-mare, and her nine-fold;
-- 429 --
Bid her alight,
And her troth plight,
And, aroint thee, witch, aroint thee2 note!
Kent.
How fares your grace?
Enter Gloster, with a Torch.
Lear.
What's he?
Kent.
Who's there? What is't you seek?
Glo.
What are you there? Your names?
Edg.
Poor Tom; that eats the swimming frog, the
toad, the tadpole, the wall-newt, and the water; that
in the fury of his heart3 note, 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 whipped from tything to tything, and
stocked, punished, and imprisoned4 note; 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 deer,
Have been Tom's food for seven long year5 note
.
Beware my follower.—Peace, Smulkin6 note! peace, thou fiend!
-- 430 --
Glo.
What! hath your grace no better company?
Edg.
The prince of darkness is a gentleman;
Modo he's call'd, and Mahu7 note
.
Glo.
Our flesh and blood, my lord, is grown so vile,
That it doth hate what gets it.
Edg.
Poor Tom's a-cold.
Glo.
Go in with me. My duty cannot suffer
To 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.
Good my lord, take his offer: go into the house.
Lear.
I'll talk a word with this same learned Theban8 note.—
What is your study?
Edg.
How to prevent the fiend, and to kill vermin.
Lear.
Let me ask you one word in private.
Kent.
Importune him once more to go, my lord,
His wits begin t' unsettle.
Glo.
Canst thou blame him?
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,
-- 431 --
I am almost mad myself. I had a son,
Now outlaw'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!
[Storm continues.
I do beseech your grace,—
Lear.
O! cry you mercy, sir.—
Noble philosopher, your company.
Edg.
Tom's a-cold.
Glo.
In fellow, there, into the 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, soothe him; let him take the fellow.
Glo.
Take him you on.
Kent.
Sirrah, come on; go along with us.
Lear.
Come, good Athenian.
Glo.
No words, no words:
Hush.
Edg.
Child Rowland to the dark tower came,
His word was still,—Fie, foh, and fum,
I smell the blood of a British man.
[Exeunt.
J. Payne Collier [1842–1844], The works of William Shakespeare. The text formed from an entirely new collation of the old editions: with the various readings, notes, a life of the poet, and a history of the Early English stage. By J. Payne Collier, Esq. F.S.A. In eight volumes (Whittaker & Co. [etc.], London) [word count] [S10101].
