| ACT IV SCENE I | The heath. | |
| | Enter EDGAR | |
| EDGAR | Yet better thus, and known to be contemn'd, | |
| | Than still contemn'd and flatter'd. To be worst, | |
| | The lowest and most dejected thing of fortune, | |
| | Stands still in esperance, lives not in fear: | 5 |
| | The lamentable change is from the best; | |
| | The worst returns to laughter. Welcome, then, | |
| | Thou unsubstantial air that I embrace! | |
| | The wretch that thou hast blown unto the worst | |
| | Owes nothing to thy blasts. But who comes here? | 10 |
| | Enter GLOUCESTER, led by an Old Man | |
| | My father, poorly led? World, world, O world! | |
| | But that thy strange mutations make us hate thee, | |
| | Lie would not yield to age. | |
| Old Man | O, my good lord, I have been your tenant, and | |
| | your father's tenant, these fourscore years. | 15 |
| GLOUCESTER | Away, get thee away; good friend, be gone: | |
| | Thy comforts can do me no good at all; | |
| | Thee they may hurt. | |
| Old Man | Alack, sir, you cannot see your way. | |
| GLOUCESTER | I have no way, and therefore want no eyes; | 20 |
| | I stumbled when I saw: full oft 'tis seen, | |
| | Our means secure us, and our mere defects | |
| | Prove our commodities. O dear son Edgar, | |
| | The food of thy abused father's wrath! | |
| | Might I but live to see thee in my touch, | 25 |
| | I'ld say I had eyes again! | |
| Old Man | How now! Who's there? | |
| EDGAR | Aside | |
| | the worst'? | |
| | I am worse than e'er I was. | |
| Old Man | 'Tis poor mad Tom. | 30 |
| EDGAR | Aside | |
| | So long as we can say 'This is the worst.' | |
| Old Man | Fellow, where goest? | |
| GLOUCESTER | Is it a beggar-man? | |
| Old Man | Madman and beggar too. | |
| GLOUCESTER | He has some reason, else he could not beg. | 35 |
| | I' the 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 have heard | |
| | more since. | 40 |
| | As flies to wanton boys, are we to the gods. | |
| | They kill us for their sport. | |
| EDGAR | Aside | |
| | Bad is the trade that must play fool to sorrow, | |
| | Angering itself and others.--Bless thee, master! | |
| GLOUCESTER | Is that the naked fellow? | 45 |
| Old Man | Ay, my lord. | |
| GLOUCESTER | Then, prithee, get thee gone: if, for my sake, | |
| | Thou wilt o'ertake us, hence a mile or twain, | |
| | I' the way toward Dover, do it for ancient love; | |
| | And bring some covering for this naked soul, | 50 |
| | Who I'll entreat to lead me. | |
| Old Man | Alack, sir, he is mad. | |
| GLOUCESTER | 'Tis the times' plague, when madmen lead the blind. | |
| | Do as I bid thee, or rather do thy pleasure; | |
| | Above the rest, be gone. | 55 |
| Old Man | I'll bring him the best 'parel that I have, | |
| | Come on't what will. | |
| | Exit | |
| GLOUCESTER | Sirrah, naked fellow,-- | |
| EDGAR | Poor Tom's a-cold. | |
| | Aside | |
| | I cannot daub it further. | 60 |
| GLOUCESTER | Come hither, fellow. | |
| EDGAR | Aside | |
| GLOUCESTER | Know'st thou the way to Dover? | |
| EDGAR | Both stile and gate, horse-way and foot-path. Poor | |
| | Tom hath been scared out of his good wits: bless | |
| | thee, good man's son, from the foul fiend! five | 65 |
| | fiends have been in poor Tom at once; of lust, as | |
| | Obidicut; Hobbididence, prince of dumbness; Mahu, of | |
| | stealing; Modo, of murder; Flibbertigibbet, of | |
| | mopping and mowing, who since possesses chambermaids | |
| | and waiting-women. So, bless thee, master! | 70 |
| GLOUCESTER | Here, take this purse, thou whom the heavens' plagues | |
| | Have humbled to all strokes: that I am wretched | |
| | Makes thee the happier: heavens, deal so still! | |
| | Let the superfluous and lust-dieted man, | |
| | That slaves your ordinance, that will not see | 75 |
| | Because he doth not feel, feel your power quickly; | |
| | So distribution should undo excess, | |
| | And each man have enough. Dost thou know Dover? | |
| EDGAR | Ay, master. | |
| GLOUCESTER | There is a cliff, whose high and bending head | 80 |
| | Looks fearfully in the confined deep: | |
| | Bring me but to the very brim of it, | |
| | And I'll repair the misery thou dost bear | |
| | With something rich about me: from that place | |
| | I shall no leading need. | 85 |
| EDGAR | Give me thy arm: | |
| | Poor Tom shall lead thee. | |
| | Exeunt | |