Turn out that eyeless villain: throw this slave
Upon the dunghill.— Regan, I bleed apace108:
Untimely109 comes this hurt. Give me your arm.
Exeunt
Act 4 Scene 1
running scene 12
Enter Edgar Disguised as Poor Tom
EDGAR Yet better thus, and known to be contemned1,
Than still contemned and flattered2. To be worst,
The lowest and most dejected thing of fortune,
Stands still in esperance4, lives not in fear:
The lamentable change is from the best5,
The worst returns to laughter. Welcome, then,
Thou unsubstantial air that I embrace!
The wretch that thou hast blown unto the worst
Owes nothing to thy blasts.
Enter Gloucester and an Old Man
But who comes here? My father, poorly led10?
World, world, O world!
But that thy strange mutations12 make us hate thee,
Life would not yield to age13.
OLD MAN O, my good lord, I have been your tenant and your
father’s tenant these fourscore15 years.
GLOUCESTER Away, get thee away! Good friend, be gone:
Thy comforts can do me no good at all,
Thee they may hurt18.
OLD MAN You cannot see your way.
GLOUCESTER I have no way and therefore want no eyes:
I stumbled when I saw. Full oft ’tis seen
Our means secure us, and our mere defects22
Prove our commodities23. O dear son Edgar,
The food of thy abusèd24 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?
Aside
EDGAR O gods! Who is’t can say, ‘I am at the worst’?
I am worse than e’er I was.
OLD MAN ’Tis poor mad Tom.
Aside
EDGAR And worse I may be yet: the worst is not31
So long as we can say ‘This is the worst.’
OLD MAN Fellow, where goest?
GLOUCESTER Is it a beggar-man?
OLD MAN Madman and beggar too.
GLOUCESTER He has some reason36, else he could not beg.
I’th’last night’s storm I such a fellow saw,
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 have heard more since.
As flies to wanton41 boys are we to th’gods:
They kill us for their sport.
Aside
EDGAR How should this be?
Bad is the trade44 that must play fool to sorrow,
Ang’ring itself and others.— Bless thee, master!
GLOUCESTER Is that the naked fellow?
OLD MAN Ay, my lord.
GLOUCESTER Get thee away: if for my sake
Thou wilt o’ertake us hence a mile or twain
I’th’way toward Dover, do it for ancient love50,
And bring some covering for this naked soul,
Which I’ll entreat to lead me.
OLD MAN Alack, sir, he is mad.
GLOUCESTER ’Tis the time’s plague54, when madmen lead the blind.
Do as I bid thee, or rather do thy pleasure:
Above the rest56, be gone.
OLD MAN I’ll bring him the best ’pparel57 that I have,
Come on’t what will58.
Exit
GLOUCESTER Sirrah, naked fellow—
Aside
EDGAR Poor Tom’s a-cold.— I cannot daub it60 further.
GLOUCESTER Come hither, fellow.
Aside
EDGAR And yet I must.— Bless thy sweet eyes, they bleed.
GLOUCESTER Know’st thou the way to Dover?
EDGAR Both stile and gate, horseway and footpath. Poor
Tom hath been scared out of his good wits: bless thee, good
man’s son, from the foul fiend!
GLOUCESTER Here, take this purse, thou whom the heav’ns’ plagues
Gives a purse
Have humbled to all strokes68: that I am wretched
Makes thee the happier69: heavens, deal so still.
Let the superfluous and lust-dieted70 man,
That slaves your ordinance71, that will not see
Because he does not feel, feel your pow’r quickly72,
So distribution should undo excess,
And each man have enough. Dost thou know Dover?
EDGAR Ay, master.
GLOUCESTER There is a cliff, whose high and bending76 head
Looks fearfully in the confinèd77 deep:
Bring me but to the very brim78 of it
And I’ll repair the misery thou dost bear
With something rich about me80: from that place
I shall no leading need.
EDGAR Give me thy arm:
Poor Tom shall lead thee.
Exeunt
Act 4 Scene 2
running scene 13
Enter Goneril, Bastard [Edmund] and Steward [Oswald]
GONERIL Welcome, my lord1: I marvel our mild husband
Not met us on the way.— Now, where’s your master?
OSWALD Madam, within, but never man so changed.
I told him of the army4 that was landed,
He smiled at it: I told him you were coming,
His answer was ‘The worse’: of Gloucester’s treachery
And of the loyal service of his son
When I informed him, then he called me ‘sot’8
And told me I had turned the wrong side out9.
What most he should dislike seems pleasant to him;
What like, offensive.
To Edmund
GONERIL Then shall you go no further.
It is the cowish13 terror of his spirit,
That dares not undertake14: he’ll not feel wrongs
Which tie him to an answer. Our wishes on the way15
May prove effects. Back, Edmund, to my brother16:
Hasten his musters and conduct his powers17.
I must change names at home and give the distaff18
Into my husband’s hands. This trusty servant
Shall pass between us: ere long you are like20 to hear —
If you dare venture in your own behalf —
A mistress’s22 command. Wear this; spare speech.
Gives a favor
Decline your head: this kiss, if it durst speak,
Kisses him
Would stretch thy spirits24 up into the air.
Conceive25, and fare thee well.
EDMUND Yours in the ranks of death26.
Exit
GONERIL My most dear Gloucester!
O, the difference of man and man!
To thee a woman’s services29 are due:
My fool usurps30 my body.
OSWALD Madam, here comes my lord.
Exit
Enter Albany
GONERIL I have been worth the whistle32.
ALBANY O Goneril,33
You are not worth the dust which the rude34 wind
Blows in your face.
GONERIL Milk-livered36 man,
That bear’st a cheek for blows, a head for wrongs,
Who hast not in thy brows an eye discerning38
Thine honour from thy suffering.
ALBANY See thyself, devil!
Proper deformity seems not in the fiend41
So horrid as in woman.
GONERIL O vain43 fool!
Enter a Messenger
MESSENGER O, my good lord, the Duke of Cornwall’s dead,