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No. XXIV.-KING LEAR.

ACT II. SCENE IV. Changes to a part of the Heath with a Hovel.

Enter Lear, Kent, and Fool.

KENT.

HERE is the place, my Lord; good, my Lord, enter.

The tyranny of the open night's too rough

For nature to endure

Lear. Let me alone.

Kent. Good my Lord, enter here.

Lear. Will't break my heart?

Kent. I'd rather break mine own.

enter.

[Storm ftill.

Good my Lord,

Lear. Thou think'ft 'tis much, that this contentious

ftorm

Invades us to the fkin; fo 'tis to thee:

But where the greater malady is fix'd,

The leffer is fcarce felt. Thou'dft fhun a bear;

But if thy flight lay toward the roaring fea,

Thou'dft meet the bear i' the mouth. When the mind's free,
The body's delicate: the tempeft in my mind.
Doth from my fenfes take all feeling elfe,
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 gave
O, that way madness lies; let me shun that;
No more of that.

Kent. Good my Lord, enter here.

all

Lear. Pr'ythee, go in thyfelf; feek thine own eafe:
This tempeft will not give me leave to ponder

On things would hurt me more-But I'll go in.
In boy, go first. [To the Fool.] You houseless poverty
Nay, get thee in; I'll pray, and then I'll fleep-[Fool goes in.

Poor

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 these? O, I have ta'en
Too little care of this. Take phyfic, Pomp;
Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel,
That thou mayft shake the fuperflux to them,
And fhew the heavens more juft.

Edg. [within.] Fathom and half, fathom and half! poor

Tom.

Fool. Come not in here, nuncle, here's a spirit.

Help me, help me;

[The Fool runs out from the Hovel. Kent. Give me thy hand. Who's there?

Fool. A fpirit, a fpirit! He says, his name's poor Tom. Kent. What art thou, that doft grumble there i' the straw? Come forth.

Enter Edgar, difguifed 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 through whirlpool, o'er bog and quagmire; that hath laid knives under his pillow, and halters in his pew; fet ratfbane by his porridge; made him proud of heart, to ride on a bay trotting horfe over four-inch'd bridges, to course his own fhadow for a traitor. Bless thy five wits: Tom's a-cold. O do de, do de, do de. Blefs thee from whirlwinds, far-blafting, and taking. Do poor Tom fome charity, whom the foul fiend vexes. There could I have him nowand there and here again, and there! [Storm ftill. Lear. What! have his daughters brought him to this pafs?-

Couldft thou fave nothing? didft thou give 'em all? Fool. Nay, he referv'd a blanket, elfe we had been all afham'd.

Lear. Now all the plagues, that in the pendulous air Hang fated o'er men's faults, light on thy daughters!

Kent.

Kent. He hath no daughters, Sir.

Lear. Death! traitor. Nothing could have fubdued nature To fuch a lownefs, but his unkind daughters.

Is it the fashion, that discarded fathers

Should have thus little mercy on their flesh?
Judicious punishment! 'twas this flesh beget
Thofe pelican daughters.

Edg. Pillicock fat on pillicock-hill,

Halloo, halloo, loo, loo!

Fool. This cold night will turn us all to fools and madmen. Edg. Take heed o' the foul fiend. Obey thy parents. Keep thy word justly. Swear not. Commit not with man's fworn fpoufe. Set 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 curled my hair, wore gloves in my cap, ferved the luft of my miftrefs's heart, and did the act of darkness with her; swore as many oaths as I fpake words, and broke them in the fweet face of heaven. One that flept in the contriving luft, and waked to do it. Wine loved I deeply; dice dearly; and in woman, out-paramoured the Turk. Falfe of heart, light of ear, bloody of hand, hog in floth, fox in ftealth, wolf in greedinefs, dog in madnefs, lion in prey. Let not the creaking of fhoes, nor the rustling 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 defy 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. Why thou wert better in thy grave, than to answer with thy uncovered body this extremity of the skiesIs man no more than this? Confider him well: Thou oweft the worm no filk, the beast no hide; The sheep no wool, the cat no perfume:-Ha! here's Three of us are fophifticated! Thou art the thing Itfelf: unaccommodated man is no more than Such 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

to fwim in. Now a little fire in a wild field were like an old lecher's heart, a small 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 firft 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 Withold footed thrice the Wold;

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 Glofter with a torch.

Lear. What's he?

Kent. Who's there? What is't you seek?
Glo. What are you there? Your names?

Edg. Poor Tom; that eats the fwimming frog, the toad, the tadpole, the wall-newt, and the water-newt; that in the fury of his heart, when the foul fiend rages, eats cow-dung for fallads, fwallows the old rat and the ditch dog, drinks the green mantle of the ftanding pool; who is whipt from tything to tything, and stock'd, punifh'd, and imprifon'd; who hath had three fuits to his back, fix fhirts to his body; Horfe to ride, and weapon to sear ;

But mice, and rats, and such small deer,
Have been Tom's food for feven long year.

Beware my follower. Peace, Smalkin, peace thou fiend!
Glo. What! hath your Grace no better company?
Edg. The prince of darknefs is a gentleman; Mohu he's
called, 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
To obey in all your daughters hard commands:
Though their injunction be to bar my doors,
And let this tyrannous night take hold upon you,
Yet have I ventur'd to come feek
you out,
And bring you where both fire and food is ready.

Lear.

Lear. First, let me talk with this philofopher.
-What is the cause of thunder?

Kent. My good Lord, take his offer.

Go into th' houfe.

Lear. I'll talk a word with this fame learned Theban. -What is your study?

Edg. How to prevent the fiend, and to kill vermin.
Lear. Let us afk you one word in private.

Kent, Importune him once more to go, my Lord,
His wits begin t' unfettle.

Glo. Canft thou blame him?

[Storm ftill.

His daughters feek his death. Ah, that good Kent!
He faid it would be thus-poor banish'd man!-

Thou fay'ft the King grows mad: I'll tell thee, friend,
I'm almoft mad myself: I had a son,

Now outlaw'd from my blood; he fought my life

But lately, very late; I lov'd him, friend,

No father his fon dearer. True to tell thee,

The grief hath craz'd my wits. What a night's this? I do befeech your Grace.

Lear. O, cry you mercy,

Sir,

-Noble philofopher, your company.

Edg. Tom's a cold.

Glo. In, fellow, into th' hovel; keep thee warm.
Lear. Come, let's in all.

Kent. This way, my Lord.

Lear. With him;

I will keep ftill with my philofopher.

Kent. Good my Lord, footh him; let him take the fellow.

Glo. Take him you on.

Kent. Sirrah, come on; along with us.

Lear. Come, good Athenian.

Glo. No words, no words, huh!

Edg. Child Rowland to the dark tower came,

His word was still, fy, foh and fum,

I finell the blood of a British man.

[Exeunt.

N°. XXV.

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