Glo. Then, pr'ythee, get thee gone: If, for my sake,

Thou wilt o'ertake us, hence a mile or twain,

I' the way to Dover, do it for ancient love;
And bring some covering for this naked soul,

Whom I'll entreat to lead me.

Old Man.

Alack, sir, he's mad.

Glo. 'Tis the times' plague when madmen lead the blind.

Do as I bid thee, or rather do thy pleasure;

Above the rest, be gone.

Old Man. I'll bring him the best 'parel 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.

[Exit.

[Aside.

Edg. [Aside.] And yet I must. -Bless thy sweet eyes, they

bleed.

Glo. Know'st thou the way to Dover?

Edg. Both stile and gate, horse-way, and foot-path. Poor Tom hath been scared out of his good wits: Bless the good man from the foul fiend!

Glo. Here, take this purse, thou whom the heaven's plagues
Have humbled to all strokes: that I am wretched,
Makes thee the happier :-Heavens, deal so still !
Let the superfluous, that will not see

Because he doth not feel, feel your power quickly;
So distribution should undo excess,

And each man have enough.--Dost thou know Dover ?

Edg. Ay, master.

Glo. There is a cliff, whose high and bending head

Looks fearfully in 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.

[Exeunt,

Edgar, still unknown to his father, leads him to a spot which he beant fully describes as

being Dover Cliffs.

The whole scene is exquisitely wrought up.

SCENE VI.-The Country near Dover.

Re-enter GLOSTER, and EDGAR dressed like a peasant.

Glo. When shall we come to the top of that same hill?
Edg. You do climb up it now: look how we labor.

Glo. Methinks, the ground is even.

Edg.

Horrible steep:

Hark, do you hear the sea?

Glo.

No, trulv.

Ellg. Why, then your other senses grow imperfect

By your eyes' anguish.

Glo.
So may it be, indeed:
Methinks, thy voice is alter'd: and thou speak'st
In better phrase, and matter, than thou didst.

Edg. You are much deceiv'd: in nothing am I chang'd,

But in my garments.

Glo.

Methinks, you are better spoken.

Edg. Come on, sir: here's the place;-stand still-How fearful

And dizzy 'tis, to cast one's eyes so low!

The crows, and choughs, that wing the midway air,
Show scarce so gross as beetles: Half way down
Hangs one that gathers samphire; dreadful trade !
Methinks, he seems no bigger than his head:
The fishermen, that walk upon the beach,
Appear like mice; and yon tall anchoring bark
Diminish'd to her boat; her boat a buoy
Almost too small for sight: The murmuring surge,
That on the unnumber'd idle pebbles chafes,
Cannot be heard so high :-I'll look no more,
Lest my brain turn, and the deficient sight
Topple down headlong.

Glo.

Set me where you stand.

Edg. Give me your hand: You are now within a foot Of the extreme verge: for all beneath the moon

Would I not leap upright.

Glo.

Let go my hand.

Here, friend, is another purse; in it, a jewel
Well worth a poor man's taking: Go thou further off;

Bid me farewell, and let me hear thee going.

Edg. Now fare you well, good sir.

Glo.

[Seems to go.

With all my heart.

Edg. Why I do trifle thus with his despair,

Is done to cure it.

Glo.

O you mighty gods!

This world I do renounce; and, in your sights,

Shake patiently my great affliction off:

If I could bear it longer, and not fall

To quarrel with your great opposeless wills,

My snuff, and loathed part of nature, should

Burn itself out. If Edgar lives, O, bless him!

Now, fellow, fare thee well.

Edg.

[He leaps, and falls along.

Gone, sir? farewell.

And yet I know not how conceit may rob

The treasury of life, when life itself

Yields to the theft: Had he been where he thought,

By this, had thought been past.-Alive, or dead ?

Ho, you sir! friend!-Hear you, sir?-speak!

Thus might he pass indeed :-Yet he revives:

What are you, sir?
Glo.

Away, and let me die.

Edg. Hadst thou been aught but gossamer, feathers, air,

So many fathom down precipitating,

Thou hadst shiver'd like an egg: but thou dost breathe;
Hast heavy substance; bleedst not; speak'st; art sound.

Ten masts at each make not the altitude,

Which thou hast perpendicularly fell;

Thy life's a miracle: Speak yet again.
Glo. But have I fallen, or no?

Edg. From the dread summit of this chalky bourn :

Look up a-height; the shrill-gorg'd lark so far

Cannot be seen or heard: do but look up.
Glo. Alack, I have no eyes.-
Is wretchedness depriv'd that benefit,

'To end itself by death? 'Twas yet some comfort,
When misery could beguile the tyrant's rage,

And frustrate his proud will.

Edg.

Give me your arm :

Up:-So;-How is't? Feel you your legs? You stard.

Glo. Too well, too well.
Edg.

Upon the crown o' the cliff,
Which parted from you?

Glo.

This is above all strangeness.
what thing was that

A poor unfortunate beggar.
Edg. As I stood here below, methought, his eyes
Were two full moons; he had a thousand noses,
Horns whelk'd, and wav'd like the enridged sea;
It was some fiend: Therefore, thou happy father,
Think that the clearest gods, who make them honors
Of men's impossibilities, have preserv'd thee.

Glo. I do remember now: henceforth I'll bear
Affliction, till it do cry out itself,
Enough, enough, and die. That thing you speak of,
I took it for a man; often 'twould say,

The fiend, the fiend: he led me to that place.

Edg. Bear free and patient thoughts. But who comes here? Enter LEAR, fantastically dressed up with flowers.

The safer sense will ne'er accommodate

His master thus.

Lear. No, they cannot touch me for coining:

I am the king himself.

Edg. O thou side-piercing sight!

Lear. Nature's above art in that respect. - Give the word.

Edg. Sweet marjoram.

Lear. Pass.

Glo. I know that voice.

Lear. Ha! Goneril!-with a white beard! They flatter'd me like a dog; and told me, I had white hairs in my beard, ere the black ones were there. To say ay and no, to every thing I said!-Ay and no too was no good divinity. When the rain came to wet me once, and the wind to make me chatter; when the thunder would not peace at my bidding; there I found them, there I smelt them out. Go to, they are not men o' their words: they told me I was every thing; 'tis a lie; I am not ague-proof.

Glo. The trick of that voice I do well remember:

Is't not the king ?

Lear.

Ay, every inch a king: When I do stare, see how the subject quakes. I pardon that man's life.

Glo. O, let me kiss that hand!

Lear. Let me wipe it first; it smells of mortality.
Glo. O ruin'd piece of nature! This great world

Shall so wear out to nought.-Dost thou know me?

Lear. I remember thine eyes well enough. Read thou this chal

lenge; mark but the penning of it.

Glo. Were all the letters suns, I could not see one.

Edg. I would not take this from report ; it is,

And my heart breaks at it.

Lear. Read.

Glo. What, with the case of eyes?

Lear. O, ho, are you there with me? No eyes in your head, nor no money in your purse? Your eyes are in a heavy case, your purse in a light. Yet you see how this world goes.

Glo. I see it feelingly.

Lear. What, art mad? A man may see how this world goes, with no eyes. Look with thine ears: see how yon' justice rails upon yon' simple thief. Hark, in thine ear: Change places; and, handydandy, which is the justice, which is the thief? -Thou hast seen a farmer's dog bark at a beggar?

Glo. Ay, sir?

Lear. And the creature run from the cur?

There thou might'st behold the great image of authority: a dog's

obeyed in office.

Through tatter'd clothes small vices do appear;
Robes, and furr'd gowns, hide all. Plate sin with gold,
And the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks :
Arm it in rags, a pigny's straw doth pierce it.

None does offend, none. I say, none; I'll able 'em:
Take that of me, my friend, who have the power
To seal the accuser's lips. Get thee glass eyes;
And, like a scurvy politician, seem

To see the things thou dost not.-Now, now, now, now;
Pull off my boots :-harder, harder; so.

Edg. O, matter and impertinency mix'd !

Reason in madness!

Lear. If thou wilt weep my fortunes, take my eyes.

I know thee well enough; thy name is Gloster:
Thou must be patient; we came crying hither.
Thou know'st, the first time that we smell the air,
We wawl, and cry:-I will preach to thee; mark me.

Glo. Alack, alack, the day!

Lear. When we are born, we cry, that we are come
To this great stage of fools; This a good block?-
It were a delicate stratagem, to shoe

A troop of horses with felt: I'll put it in proof;
Aud when I have stolen upon these sons-in-law,
Then, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill.

Enter a Gentleman, with Attendants.

Gent. O, here he is; lay hand upon him.-Sir,

Your most dear daughter

Lear. No rescue? What, a prisoner? I am even

The natural fool of fortune. Use me well;

You shall have ransom. Let me have a surgeon,

I am cut to the brains.

Gent.

You shall have any thing.

Lear. No seconds? all myself?

Why, this would make a man, a man of salt,

To use his eyes for garden water-pots,

Ay, and for laying autumn's dust.

Gent.

Good sir,

Lear. I will die bravely, like a bridegroom; What?

I will be jovial; come, come; I am a king,

My masters, know you that?

Gent. You are a royal one, and we obey you.

Lear. Then there's life in it. Nay, an you get it, you shall get it by running. Sa, sa, sa, sa. [Exit running; Attendants follow.

Cordelia learns the unnatural treatment her Father has received from Regan and Goneril, and proceeds with her husband, the King of France, and a numerous army, to rescue Lear, and punish her sisters. She finds the wretched old King, in great misery, and entirely bereft of reason. He is conveyed to the French camp.

SCENE. A Tent in the French Camp.-LEAR on a Bed, asleep ;
Physicians, Gentlemen, and others attending.
Enter CORDELIA, and KENT.

Cor. O thou good Kent, how shall I live, and work,
To match thy goodness? My life will be too short,
And every measure fail me.

Kent. To be acknowledg'd, madam, is o'erpaid. All my reports go with the modest truth;

Nor more, nor clipp'd, but so.

Cor.

Be better suited: These weeds are memories of those worser hours;

I pr'ythee, put them off.
Kent.

Pardon me, dear madam;