SCENE V.

Changes to a part of the heath with a hovel.
Enter Lear, Kent, and Fool.

Kent. Here is the place, my Lord; good my Lord, The tyranny o' the open night's too rough [enter.

For nature to endure.

Lear. Let me alone.

Kent. Good my Lord, enter here.

Lear. Will't break my heart?

[Storm ftill

[enter.

Kent. I'd rather break mine own; good my Lord, Lear. Thou think'ft 'tis much, that this contentious Invades us to the fkin; fo 'tis to thee;

The leffer is fearce felt. Thou'dft fhun a bear:

But where the greater malady is fix'd

But if thy flight lay toward the roaring fea,

Eftorm

[free,

Thou'dit meet the bear i' th' mouth. When the mind's The body's delicate; the tempeft in my mind Doth from my fenfes take all feeling else, Save what beats there. Filial ingratitude! Is it not, as this mouth fhould tear this hand For lifting food to't?" But I'll punish home; “No, I will weep no more————— -In fuch a night, "To fhut me out!- -pour on, I will endure. "In fuch a night as this! O Regan, Gonerill, "Your old kind father, whofe frank heart gave "O that way madness lies; let me fhun that; "No more of that..

Kent. Good my Lord, enter here.

all

Lear. Pr'ythee go in thyfelf, seek thine own ease; "This tempeft will not give me leave to ponder "On things would hurt me more-but Ï'll go in ;” In, boy, go firft. You houfelefs povertyNay, get thee in; I'll pray, and then I'll fleep

you are,

[Exit Fool

Poor naked wretches, wherefoe'er
That bide the pelting of this pitilefs ftorm!
How fhall your houfelefs heads, and unfed fides,
Your loop'd and window'd raggednefs, defend you
From feasons fuch as thefe ?- "O I have ta'en
"Too little care of this! take phyfic, Pomp;

"Expofe thyfelf to feel what wretches feel,

"That thou may'ft fhake the fuperflux to them, "And fhew the heavens more juit."

[poor Tom. Edg. [within.] Fathom and half, fathom and half!、 Fool. Come not in here, nuncle, here's a fpirit; help me, help me. [The Fool runs out from the hovel. Kent. Give me thy hand, who's there?

Fool. A fpirit, a fpirit; he says his name's poor Tom. Kent. What art thou that doit grumble there i' th' Araw? come forth.

SCENE VI.

Enter Edgar, difgvis'd like a madman.

Edg. Away! the foul fiend follows me. Through the fharp hawthorn blows the cold wind. Humph, go to thy bed, and warm thee.

Lear. Didft thou give all to thy 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 flame, through ford and whirlpool, o'er bog and quagmire; that hath laid knives under his pillow, and halters in his pew; fet ratsbane by his porridge, made him proud of heart to ride on a bay trotting horfe over four-inch'd bridges, to courfe his own fhadow for a traitor,-blefs thy five wits; Tom's a-cold. O do, de, do, de do, de;blefs thee from whirlwinds, ftar-blafting, and taking; do poor Tom fome charity, whom the foul fiend vexes. There could[ have him now, and there, and here again, and there. [Storm fill.

Lear. What, have his daughters brought him to this pafs?

Could't thou fave nothing? didft thou give 'em all? Fool. Nay, he referv'd a blanket, elfe we had been all shamed.

Lear. Now all the plagues that in the pendulous air Hang fated o'er mens' faults, light on thy daughters! Kent. He hath no daughters, Sir.

Lear. Death! traitor, nothing could have fubdu’d To fuch a lownefs but his unkind daughters. [nature Is it the fafhion that difcarded fathers

Should have thus little mercy on their flefh?

E 2

Judiciou

Judicious punishment! 'twas this flesh begot
Thofe pelican daughters.

Edg. Pillicock fat on pillicock-hill, halloo, halloo, loo, loo!

Fool. This cold night will turn us all to fools and madmen.

Edg. Take heed o' th' foul fiend; obey thy parents; keep thy word juftly; fwear not; commit not with man's fworn fpoufe; fet not thy fweet heart on proud array. Tom's a-cold.

Lear. What haft thou been?

Edg. A ferving-man, proud in heart and mind; that curl'd my hair, wore gloves in my cap, ferv'd the luft of my mistress's heart, and did the act of darkness with her: fwore as many oaths as I fpake words, and broke them in the fweet face of heav'n. One that flept in the contriving luft, and wak'd to do it. Wine lov'd I deeply; dice dearly; and in woman, out-paramour'd the Turk. Falfe of heart, light of eart, bloody of hand; hog in floth, fox in ftealth, wolf in greedinefs, dog in madnefs, lion in prey. Let not the creaking of fhoes, nor the ruffling of filks, betray thy poor heart to woman. Keep thy foot out of brothels, thy hand out of plac kets, thy pen from lenders' books, and defie the foul fiend. Still through the hawthorn blows the cold wind: fays fuum, mun, nonny, dolphin my boy, boy, Seffey: let him trot by. [Storm fill.

Lear. Thou wert better in thy grave, than to answer with thy uncover'd body this extremity of the skies. "Is man no more than this? confider him well. Thou "ow'it the worm no filk, the beaft no hide, the sheep "no wool, the cat no perfume. Ha! here's three of "us are fophifticated. Thou art the thing itself; un"accommodated man is no more but fucha poor, bare, "forked animal as thou art. Off, off, you lendings; "come unbutton here. [Tearing off his cloaths.

Fool. Pr'ythee, nuncle, be contented; 'tis a naughty night to fwim in. Now a little fire in a wild field were like an old lecher's heart, a fmall park, and all the reft on's body cold; look, here comes a walking fire. Edg. This is the foul Flibbertigibbet; he begins at curfew,

ti. e. credulous.

curfew, and walks till the firft cock; he gives the web and the pin, fquints the eye, and makes the hair-lip; mildews the white wheat, and hurts the poor creatures of the earth.

Saint Withold footed thrice the wold;

He met the night-mare, and her name told,
Bid her alight, and her troth plight,
And aroynt thee, witch, aroynt thee right.
Kent. How fares your Grace?

SCENE VII.

Enter Glo'fter with a torch.

Lear. What's he?

Kent. Whofe there? what is't you feek?
Glo. What are you there? your names?

Edg. Poor Tom, that eats the fwimming frog, the toad, the tod-pole; the wall-newt, and the waternewt; that in the fury of his heart, when the foul fiend rages, eats cow dung for fallets; fwallows the old rat, and the ditch-dog; drinks the green mantle of the ftanding-pool; who is whipp'd from tything to tything, and stock-punish'd, and imprifon'd: who hath had three fuits to his back, fix fhirts to his body; horfe to ride, and weapon to wear :

But mice, and rats, and fuch small geer,

Have been Tom's food for feven 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 fo vile, That it doth hate what gets it..

Edg. Tom's a-cold.

Glo. Go in with me; my duty cannot fuffer
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 feek you out,

E 3

And

And bring you where both fire and food is ready.
Lear. Firit let me talk with this philosopher.-
What is the caufe of thunder?

Kent. My good Lord, take his offer,
Go into th' house.

Lear. I'll talk a word with this fame learned Theban. What is your ftudy?

Edg. How to prevent the fiend, and to kill vermin.
Lear. Let us afk you one word in private.

Kent. Importune him once more to go, my Lord;
His wits begin t' unfettle.

Glo. Canft thou blame him?

[Storm flill. His daughters feek his death. Ah, that good Kent! He faid it would be thus ; poor banish'd man!.

Thou fay'ft the King grows mad; I'll tell thee, friend,
I'm almost mad myself; I had a fon,

Now outlaw'd from my blood; he fought my life
But lately, very late; I lov'd him, friend,
No father his fon dearer: true to tell thee,

The grief hath craz'd my wits.

I do befeech your Grace.

Lear. O cry you mercy, Sir: Noble philofopher, your company. Edg. Tom's a-cold.

What a night's this?

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 ftill with my philofopher.

Kent. Good my Lord, footh 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. Child Rowland † to the dark tower came :

His

mes of chivalry, the noble youth who were candiod, during the feafon of their probation, were , Damoyfels, Bacheliers. The moft noble of Infans. Here a flory is told, in fome old ero and giant killer Roland, before he was efore called Infans; which the ballad-ma

and