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This prophecy Merlin shall make, for I do live before

his time.

[Exit.

SCENE, An apartment in Glo'fter's caftle.

Glo. A

Enter Glo'fter, and Edmund.

tural dealing; when I defir'd their leave that I might pity him, they took from me the use of mine own houfe; charg'd me on pain of perpetual displeasure, neither to speak of him, entreat for him, or any way fuftain him.

Edm. Moft favage and unnatural!

Glo. Go to; fay you nothing. There is divifion between the Dukes, and a worse matter than that: I have receiv'd a letter this night, 'tis dangerous to be spoken; (I have lock'd the letter in my closet :) thefe injuries, the King now bears, will be revenged home; there is part of a power already footed; we must incline to the King; I will look for him, and privily relieve him; go you, and maintain talk with the Duke, that my charity be not of him perceiv'd; if he ask for me, I am ill, and gone to bed; if I die for it, as no lefs is threaten'd me, the King my old mafter must be relieved. There are ftrange things toward, Edmund; pray, you, be careful. [Exit, Edm. This courtefie, forbid thee, fhall the Duke Inftantly know, and of that letter too. This feems a fair deferving, and muft draw me That which my father lofes; no less than all. The younger rifes, when the old doth fall.

[Exit.

SCENE changes to a part of the Heath with a Hovel.

Kent. H

Enter Lear, Kent, and Fool.

ERE is the place, my lord; good my lord,

enter.

The tyranny o'the open night's too rough

For nature to endure.

C 5

[blocks in formation]

Lear. Let me alone.

Kent. Good my lord, enter here.

Lear. Will't break my heart?

Kent: I'd rather break mine own; good my lord, enter. Lear. Thou think'st 'tis much, that this contentious ftorm

Invades us to the skin; fo 'tis to thee;

But where the greater malady is fixt,

The leffer is fcarce felt. Thou'dft shun a bear;
But if thy flight lay toward the roaring sea,

Thou'dft meet the bear i' th' mouth. When the mind's free,
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 all
O, that way madness lies; let me fhun that;
No more of that.

Kent. Good my lord, enter here.

gave

Lear. Pr'ythee, go in thy felf; feek thine own ease
This Tempeft will not give me leave to ponder
On things would hurt me more ------
but I'll go in ;

In, boy, go first. You houseless poverty
Nay, get thee in ; I'll pray, and then I'll fleep
Poor naked wretches, wherefoe'er you are,
That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm!
How fhall your houseless heads, and unfed fides,
Your loop'd and window'd raggedness, defend you
From feafons fuch as thefe? O, I have ta'en
Too little care of this! take phyfick, Pomp;
Expofe thy felf to feel what wretches feel,
That thou may'st shake the fuperflux to them,
And fhew the Heavens more juft.

[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.

Kent. Give me thy hand, who's there?

Fool. A fpirit, a fpirit; he fays, his name's poor Tom. Kent. What art thou, that doft grumble there i'th ftraw come forth.

Enter Edgar, difguis'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, -- bless thy five wits; Tom's a-cold. O do, de, do, de, do, de; bless thee from whirl-winds, ftar-blafting, and taking; do poor Tom fome charity, whom the foul fiend There could I have him now, and there, and here again, and there. [Storm fill. Lear. What, have his daughters brought him to this pass?

vexes.

Could't thou fave nothing? did't thou give 'em all? Fool. Nay, he reserv'd a blanket, elie we had been all fhamed.

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

nature

To fuch a lowness, but his unkind daughters.
Is it the fashion, that difcarded fathers
Should have thus little mercy on their flesh?
Judicious punishment! 'twas this flesh begot
Those pelican daughters.

Edg. Pillicock fat on pillicock-hill, halloo, halloo, loo, 100 !

Fool.

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 sweet face of heav'n. One that slept 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 ear, bloody of hand; hog in floth, fox in ftealth, wolf in greediness, dog in madnefs, lion in prey. Let not the creaking of fhoes, nor the ruftling of filks, betray thy poor heart to woman. Keep thy foot out of brothels, thy hand out of plackets, 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'ft the worm no filk, the beaft no hide, the fheep no woól, the cat no perfume. Ha! here's three of us are fophifticated. Thou art the thing it felf; unaccommodated man is no more but fuch a poor, bare, forked animal as thou art. Off, off, you lendings; come, unbutton here. [Tearing off his clothes.

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 spark, and all the rest on's body cold; look, here comes a walking fire.

Edg. This is the foul Flibbertigibbet; he begins at curfew, and walks till the first cock; he gives the web and the pin, fquints the eye, and makes the hair-lip: mildews the white wheat, and hurts the poor creature of the earth.

Saint

Saint Withold footed thrice the Wold, (15)
He met the night-mare, and her nine-fold,
Bid her alight, and her troth plight,
And aroynt thee, witch, aroynt thee.
Kent. How fares your Grace?

Enter Glo'fter, with a Torch.

Lear. What's he?

Kent. Who's there? what is't you feek?
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 fallets; fwallows the old rat, and the ditchdog; drinks the green mantle of the standing pool; who is whipt from tything to tything, and ftock-punifh'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 deer
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

(15) Swithold footed thrice the old,] What Idea the Editors had, or whether any, of footing the old, I cannot pretend to determine. My ingenious Friend Mr. Bifhop faw it must be Wold, which fignifies a Down, or champion Ground, hilly and void of Wood. And as to St. Withold, we find him again mention'd in our Author's Troublefame Reign of King John, in two Parts:

Sweet St. Withold, of thy Lenity,
Defend us from Extremity.

T'obey

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