Enter Glo'fter, led by an old man.

But who comes here?

My father poorly led? World, world, O world! (20)
But that thy ftrange Mutations make us wait thee,
Life would not yield to age.

Old Man, O my good Lord, I have been your tenant, and your father's tenant, these fourfcore 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 fee

your way.

Glo. I have no way, and therefore want no eyes: I ftumbled when I faw. Full oft 'tis seen,

Our mean fecures us; and our meer defects

Prove our commodities.

O dear fon Edgar,

The food of thy abused father's wrath ;

Might I but live to fee thee in my Touch,

I'd fay, I had eyes again!

Old Man. How now? who's there?

Edg. O Gods! who is't can fay, I'm at the worst? I'm worse, than e'er I was.

Old Man. 'Tis poor mad Tom.

Edg. And worfe I may be yet: the worst is not, So long as we can fay, this is the worst.

-(20)

World, World, O World!

But that thy ftrange Mutations make us hate thee,] The Reading. of this Paffage, as it has thus ftood in all the Editions, has been endeavour'd to be explain'd feverally into a Meaning; but not fatisfactorily. Mr. Pope's mock-reasoning upon it has already been rallied in Print, fo I forbear to revive it: and the Gentleman, who then advanced a Comment of his own upon the Paffage, has fince come over to my Emendation. My Explanation of the Poet's Sentiment was, "If the Num-. "ber of Changes and Viciffitudes, which happen in Life, "did not make us wait, and hope for fome Turn of For"tune for the better, we could never fupport the Thought of "living to be Old, on any other Terms." And our Duty, as human Creatures, is piously inculcated in this Reflexion of the Author.

Old.

Old Man. Fellow, where goeft?

Glo. Is it a beggar-man ?

Old Man. Madman, and beggar too.

Glo. He has fome reason, elfe he could not beg. I'th' laft night's ftorm I fuch a fellow faw; Which made me think a man, a worm. My fon Came then into my mind; and yet my mind

Was then scarce friends with him. I've heard more fince.
As flies to wanton boys, are we to th' Gods;
They kill us for their sport.

Edg. How fhould this be?

Bad is the trade must play the fool to forrow,

Ang'ring it felf and others.

Glo. Is that the naked fellow ?

Old Man. Ay, my lord.

Blefs thee, master.

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 fome Covering for this naked foul,
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.

Glo. Sirrah, naked fellow.

[Exit.

Edg. Poor Tom's a-cold; I cannot daub it further. Glo. Come hither, fellow..

Edg. And yet I must ;

Blefs thy fweet eyes, they bleed.

Glo. Know'ft thou the way to Dover?

Edg. Both ftile and gate, horfe-way and foot-path: poor Tom hath been scar'd out of his good wits. Blefs thee, good man, from the foul fiend. Five fiends have been in poor Tom at once; of Luft, as Obidicut; Hobbididen, Prince of dumbnefs; Mahu, of ftealing; Mobu, of murder; and Flibbertigibbet, of mopping and VO L. VI.

mowing;

mowing; who fince poffeffes chamber-maids and waiting-women.

Glo. Here, take this purfe, thou whom the heavens' plagues

Have humbled to all ftrokes. That I am wretched,
Makes thee the happier: heavens deal so still!
Let the fuperfluous, and luft dieted man,

That flaves your ordinance, that will not fee
Because he do's not feel, feel your power quickly :
So diftribution should undo excess,

And each man have enough. Do'st thou know Dover?
Edg. Ay, mafter.

Glo. There is a cliff, whofe high and bending head Looks fearfully on the confined deep:

Bring me but to the very brim of it,

And I'll repair the mifery, thou do'ft bear,

With fomething rich about me: from that place

I fhall no leading need.

Edg. Give me thy arm;

Poor Tom fhall lead thee.

[Exeunt

SCENE, the Duke of Albany's Palace.

Gon.

Enter Gonerill, and Edmund.

ELCOME, my lord. I marvel, our mild husband

WE

Enter Steward.

Now, where's your Master?

Stew. Madam, within; but never man so chang'd:
I told him of the army that was landed:
He fmil'd at it. I told him, you were coming,
His answer was, the worse. Of Glofter's treachery,
And of the loyal service of his fon,

When I inform'd him, then he call'd me fot;
And told me, I had turn'd the wrong fide out.
What most he should diflike, feems pleasant to him;
What like, offenfive.

Gen.

Gon. Then fhall you go no further. It is the cowifh terrour of his fpirit,

That dares not undertake: he'll not feel wrongs,
Which tie him to an answer; our wishes on the way
May prove effects. Back, Edmund, to my brother;
Haften his musters, and conduct his powers.

I must change arms at home, and give the distaff
Into my husband's hands. This trusty servant
Shall pafs between us: you ere long shall hear,
If you dare venture in your own behalf,

A mistress's command. Wear this; fpare fpeech;
Decline your head. This kifs, if it durft fpeak,
Would stretch thy fpirits up into the air:

Conceive, and fare thee well.

Edm. Yours in the ranks of death.

Gon. My moft dear Glofter!

[Exit Edmund,

Oh, the strange difference of man, and man!

To thee a woman's fervices are due,

My fool ufurps 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 duft, which the rude wind

Blows in your face.

-I fear your difpofition :

That Nature, which contemns its origine,

Cannot be border'd certain in it felf;

She that her felf will fliver, and dif-branch,

From her maternal fap, perforce muft wither, (21)

And come to deadly ufe.

Gon. No more; 'tis foolish.

Alb. Wisdom and goodness to the vile seem vile;

(21) From her material Sap,] Thus the old Quarto; but ma terial Sap, I own, is a Phrafe that I don't understand. The Mother Tree is the true technical Term; and confidering, our Author has faid but just above, That Nature, which contemns its Origine, there is little room to question but he wrote, From her maternal Sap.

Filths favour but themselves-What have you done?
Tygers, not daughters, what have you perform'd
A father, and a gracious aged man,

Moft barb'rous, moft degenerate, have you madded.
Cou'd my good Brother fuffer you to do it,
A man, a Prince by him fo benefited?

If that the heav'ns do not their visible Spirits
Send quickly down to tame the vile offences,
Humanity muft perforce prey on it felf,
Like monsters of the deep.

Gon, Milk-liver'd man!

That bear'st a cheek for blows, a head for wrongs;
Who haft not in thy brows an eye difcerning
Thine honour, from thy fuffering: that not know'ft,
Fools do these villains pity, who are punish'd

Ere they have done their mischief. Where's thy Drum?
France fpreads his Banners in our noiseless land,
With plumed helm thy flayer begins his threats;
Whilft thou, a moral fool, fit'ft ftill, and cry'ft,
"Alack! why does he fo?

Alb. See thy felf, devil:

Proper deformity feems not in the fiend

So horrid as in woman.

Gon. O vain fool!

Alb. Thou chang'd, and felf-converted thing! For

fhame,

Be-monfter not thy feature. Were't my fitness

To let these hands obey my [boiling] blood, 'They're apt enough to dislocate and tear

Thy flesh and bones.

Howe'er thou art a fiend,

A woman's shape doth shield thee.

Gon. Marry, your manhood now!

Enter Meffenger.

Mef. Oh, my good lord, the Duke of Cornwall's dead: Slain by his fervant, going to put out

The other eye of Glofter.

Alb. Glofter's eyes!

Mef. A fervant, that he bred, thrill'd with remorse, Oppos'd against the act; bending his sword

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