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Who is too good to pity thee.

Glo. O my follies !
Then Edgar was abus'd. Kind gods, forgive
Me that, and prosper him!

Reg. Go thrust him out
At gates, and let him smell his way to Dover.

Exit with Glo'fter. How is't, my lord, how look you ?

Corn. I have receiv'd a hurt; follow me, lady.-Turn out that eyeless villain ; throw this flave Upon the dung-bill.-Regan, I bleed apace. Untimely comes this hurt. Give me your arm.

[Exit Corn. led by Regan. i Serv. I'll never care what Wickedness I do, If this Man come to Good.

2 Serv. If She live long, And, in the End, meet the old course of Death, Women will all turn Monsters. i Seru. Let's follow the old Earl, and get the

Bedlam To lead him where he would; his roguish Madness Allows itself to any Thing. 2. Serv. Go thou; I'll fetch fome Flax and whites

of Eggs T' apply to's bleeding Face. Now, heav'n help him!

(Exeunt severally.

A C T IV. SC EN E I.

An open Country.

Enter EDGAR.
ET better thus, and known to be contemn'd,

Than ftill contemn'd and flatter'd. To be worst,
The lowest, most dejeded thing of Fortune,
Stands still in esperance; lives not in fear.
The lamentable change is from the best ;

The

Y

nant, and

The worst returns to laughter. Welcome then,
Thou unsubftantial air, that I embrace !
The wretch, that thou hast blown unto the worit,
Owes nothing to thy blasts.

Enter Glo'ster, led by an old man.
But who comes here?
My father poorly led? World, world, O world!
But that thy ftrange Mutations make us hate thee,
Life would not yield to age.
Old Man. O my good Lord, I have been your te-

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 Aumbled when I saw. Full oft'tis seen, Our mean secures us ; and our mere defeds Prove our commodities.--dear fon Edgar, The food of thy abused father's wrath; 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 worfe, than e'er I was.

Old Man. 'Tis poor mad Tom.

Edg. And worse I may be yet; the worst is not, So long as we can say, this is the worst.

Old Man. Fellow, where goest?
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 faw;
Which made me think a man a worm.
Came then into my mind; and yet my mind
Was then scarce friends with him. I've heard more

since,

My fon

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As flies 10 wanton boys, are we to th' Gods ;
They kill us for their sport.

Edg. How should this be ?
Bad is the trade must play the fool to forrow,
Ang'ishing itself and others. — Bless thee, master.

Glo. Is that the naked fellow ?
Old Man. Ay, my lord.

Glo. Get thee away: if, for my fake,
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 soul, 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, be gone.

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 daub it further.
Glo. Come hither, fellow.

Edg. And yet I must;
Bless thy sweet eyes, they bleed.

Glo. Know'st thou the way to Dever ?

Edg. Both stile and gate, horse-way and foot-path: poor

Tom hath been scar'd out of his good wits. Bless
ihee, good man, from the foul fiend. Five fiends have
been in poor Tom at once; of Lust, as Obidicut;
Hobbididen, Prince of dumbness; Mahu, of stealing;
Mohu, of murder; and Flibbertigibbet, of mopping and
mowing; who fince possesses chamber-maids and
waiting-women.
Glo. 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!
I cannot dauß it - i. e. Disguise.

Let

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Let the superfluous, and luft dieted man,
That braves your ordinance, that will not see
Because he do's not feel, feel your power quickly :
So diftribution shall undo excess,
And each man have enough. Doft 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 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.

Edg. Give me thy arm; Poor Tom shall lead thee.

[Exeunto

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S CE NE II:
The Duke of Albany's Palace,

Enter Gonerill, and Edmund.
Gon. ELCOME, my lord. I marvel, our mild

husband Not met us on the way.

Enter Steward. Now, where's your Master ?

Stew. Madam, within; but never man so changd: I told him of the

army

that was landed : He smil'd at it. I told him, you were coming, His answer was, the worse. Of Gloster's treachery, And of the loyal service of his son, When I inform'd him, then he call'd me fot; And told me, I had turn'd the wrong

side out. What most he should dislike, seems pleasant to him ; What like, offensive.

Gon. Then shall you go no further. It is the cowish terror of his spirit, That dares not undertake : he'll not feel wrongs,

Which

E 3

Which tie him to an answer; our wishes on the way May prove effects. Back, Edmund, to my brother

; Hasten his musters, and conduct his powers. I must change arms at home, and give the distaff Into my hulband's hands. This trusty servant Shall pass between us: you ere long shall bear, If you dare venture in your own behalf, A mistress's command. Wear this ; spare speech ; Decline your head. This kiss, if it durft speak, Would stretch thy spirits up into the air: Conceive, and fare thee well.

Edm. Yours in the ranks of death.

Gon. My most dear Gloster! [Exit Edmund.
Oh, the strange difference of man, and man!
To thee a woman's services are due,
My fool usurps my body,
Stew. Madam, here comes my lord.

Enter Albany.
Gon. I have been worth the whistle.

Alb. Oh, Gonerill,
You are not worth the dust which the rude wind
Blows in your face.--I fear your disposition:
That Nature, which contemns its origine,
Cannot be border'd certain in itself;
She that herself will fliver, and disbranch,
From her material fap, perforce muft wither,
And come to deadly use.

Gon. No more; 'tis foolish.

Alb. Wisdom and goodness to the vile seem vile; Filths favour but themselves

What have you done ; Tygers, not daughters, what have you perform'd ? A father, and a gracious aged man, Most barb'rous, molt degenerate, have you madded. Cou'd my good brother suffer you to do it, A man, a Prince by him so benefited ? If that the heav'ns do not their vilble Spirits

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