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Enter Glo'ster, led by an old mani But who comes here? My father poorly led? World, world, O world! (20) But that thy strange Mutations make us wait thee, Life would not yield to age.

Old Man, Omy good Lord, I have been your tenant, and 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 stumbled when I saw. Full oft 'tis seen,
Our mean secures 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 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 worse, 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.

(20) World, World, o World! Bui that thy strange Mutations make us hate thee,] The Reading . of this Passage, as it has thus stood in all the Editions, has been endeavour'd to be explain'd severally into a Meaning ; but not satisfa&orily. Mr. Pope's mock-reasoning upon it has already been rallied in Print, so I forbear to revive it: and the Gentleman, who then advanced a Comment of his own upon the Passage, has since come over to my Emendation. My Explanation of the Poet's Sentiment was, “ If the Num“ ber of Changes and Vicissitudes, which happen in Life, “ did not make us wait, and hope for some Turn of For“ cune for the better, we could never support 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 Man. Fellow, where goeft?
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. My son
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 should this be?
Bad is the trade must play the fool to forrow,
Ang ring it self 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 oʻertake 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.
Gló. '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.
Edg. Poor Tom's a-cold ; - I cannot daub it further.
Glo. Come hither, fellow..

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

Glo. Know'st thou the way to Dover?

Edg. Both ftite and gate, horse-way and foot-path : poor Tom hath been scar'd out of his good wits. Bless thee, good man, from the foul fiend. Five fiends have been in poor Tom at once ; of Luft, as Obidicut; Hobbididen, Prince of dumbness; Mahu, of stealing ; Mobu, of murder; and Flibbertigibbet, of mopping and VOL. VI.


mowing ;

mowing; who fince possesses chamber-maids and wait: ing-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 ! Let the superfluous, and luft-dieted man, That saves your ordinance, that will not fee Because he do's not feel, feel your power quickly : So distribution should undo excess, And each man have enough. Do'st thou know Dover?

Edg. Ay, master.

Gle. 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 do't bear, With something rich about me: from that place I shall no leading need.

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


SCENE, the Duke of Albany's Palace.

Enter Gonerill, and Edmund.

. ,

husband Not met us on the way.

Enter Steward. Now, where's your Master ?

Stew. Madam, within ; but never man fo chang'd : I told him of the army that was landed : He smil'd at it. I told him, you were coming, His answer was, the worfe. Of Glofter'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, offenfive.


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Gon. Then shall you go no further.
It is the cowish terrour of his spirit,
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 ;
Halten his musters, and conduct his

I must change arms at home, and give the distaff
Into my husband's hands. This trufty servant
Shall pass between us : you ere long shall hear,

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 Gli Aer! [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 it self;
She that her self will fliver, and dis-branch,
From her maternal fap, perforce must wither, (21)
And come to deadly use.

Gon. No more ; 'tis foolish.
Alb. Wisdom and goodness to the vile seem vile;

(21) From her material Sap,] Thas the old Quarto ; but mao
terial Sap, I own, is a Pbralo that I don't understand. The
Mother. Tree is the true technical Terin; and confidering, our
Author has said but just above, That Nature, which contemns its
Origine, there is little roon to queftion but he wrote,
From her maternal Sap.


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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, most 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 visible Spirits
Send quickly down to tame the vile offences,
Humanity must perforce prey on it self,
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 suffering : that not know'st,
Fools do these villains pity, who are punish'd
Ere they have done their mischief. Where's thy Drum?
France spreads his Banners in our noiseless land,
With plumed helm thy slayer begins his threats ;
Whilff thou, a moral fool, fit'it fill, and cry't,
Alack! why does he fo?

Alb. See thy self, devil:
Proper deformity seems not in the fiend
So horrid as in woman.

Gon. O vain fool!
Alb. Thou chang'd, and self-converted thing! For

Be-monster 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 Messenger.
Mef. Oh, my good lord, the Duke of Cornwall's dead:
Slain by his servant, going to put out
The other eye of Gloʻfier.

Alb. Glofter's eyes !

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


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