Page 28
p. 28
100
The
Tragedy
of
King
Lear.
But
if
thy
flight
light
toward
the
roaring
Sea,
Thou'dst
meet
the
Bear
ith’
mouth,
when
the
mind's
free,
The
bodies
delicate,
the
tempest
in
my
mind,
Doth
from
my
senses
take
all
feeling
else,
Save
what
beats
there.
Filial
ingratitude,
Is
it
not
as
this
mouth
should
tear
his
hand
For
lifting
food
to’t:
But
I
will
punish
home;
No,
I
will
weep
no
more.
In
such
a
night,
To
shut
me
out?
Pour
on,
I
will
endure:
In
such
a
night
as
this?
O
Regan,Gonerill,
Your
old
kind
Father,
whose
frank
heart
gave
all,
O
that
way
madness
lies,
let
me
shun
that:
No
more
of
that.
Kent.
Good
my
Lord,
enter
here.
Lear.
Prithee
go
in
thy
self,
seek
thine
own
ease,
This
tempest
will
not
give
me
leave
to
ponder
On
things
would
hurt
me
more,
but
I’le
go
in,
In
boy,
go
first.
You
houseless
poverty,
[Exit.
Nay,
get
thee
in;
I'le
pray,
and
then
I'le
sleep.
Poor
naked
wretches,
where
so
ere
you
are
That
bide
the
pelting
of
this
pittiless
storm,
How
shall
your
houseless
heads,
and
unfed
sides,
Your
lop’d,
and
window’d
raggedness
defend
yon
From
seasons
such
as
these?
O
I
have
tane
Too
little
care
of
this:
take
Physick,
Pomp,
Expose
thy
self
to
feel,
what
wretches
feel,
That
thou
may’st
shake
the
superflux
to
them,
And
shew
the
heavens
more
just.
Enter
Edgar,
and
Fool.
Edg.
Fathom
and
half,
Fathom
and
half?
poor
Tom.
Fool.
Come
not
in
here
Nuncle,
heres
a
Spirit,
help
me,
help
me.
Kent.
Give
me
thy
hand,
who’s
there?
Fool.
A
Spirit,
a
Spirit,
he
says
his
name’s
poor
Tom.
Ken.
What
art
thou
that
do’st
grumble
there
i’th’
straw?
Come
forth.
Edg.
Away,
the
foul
Fiend
follows
me,
through
the
sharp
Hawthorn
blow
the
winds.
Humh,
go
to
thy
bed
and
warm
thee.
Lear.
Didst
thou
give
all
to
thy
Daugthers?
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
Sword,
and
whirlepool,
ore
Bog,
and
Quag-
mire,
that
hath
laid
Knives
under
his
Pillow,
and
Halters
in
his
Pue,
set
Rats
bane
by
his
Porredge:
made
him
Proud
of
heart,
to
ride
on
a
Bay
trotting
Horse,
over
four
arch’d
Bridges,
to
course
his
own
shadow
for
a
traitor,
Bliss
thy
five
Wits,
Tom’s
a
cold.
O
do,
de,
do,
de,
do,
de,
bliss
thee
from
Whirle-winds,
Star-blasting,
and
taking,
do
poor
Tom
some
charity,
whom
the
foul
fiend
vexes.
There
could
I
have
him
now,
and
there,
and
here
again,
and
there.
[Storm
still.
Lear.
Have
his
Daughters
brought
him
to
this
asse?
Could’st
thou
save
nothing?
would’st
thou
give’em
all?
Fool.
Nay,
he
reserv’d
a
Blanket,
else
we
had
been
all
sham’d,
Lear.
Now
all
the
plagues
that
in
the
pendulous
air
Hang
fated
o’re
mens
faults,
light
on
thy
daughters.
Kent.
He
hath
no
Daughters,
Sir,
Lear.
Death,
traitor,
nothing
could
have
subdu’d
nature
To
such
a
lowness,
but
his
unkind
daughters.
Is
it
the
fashion,
that
discarded
Fathers,
Should
have
thus
little
mercy
on
their
flesh:
Judicious
punishment,
’twas
this
flesh
begot
Those
Pelican
Daughters.
Edg.
Pillicock
sat
on
Pillicock
hill,
alow:
alow,
loo,
loo.
Fool.
This
cold
night
will
turn
us
all
to
fools,
and
Madmen.
Edgar.
Take
heed
oth’
foul
fiend,
obey
thy
Parents,
keep
thy
word,
justice,
swear
not,
commit
not,
with
mans
sworn
Spouse;
set
on
thy
Sweet-heart
on
proud
array.
Tom’s
a
cold.
Lear.
What
hast
thou
been?
Edg.
A
servingman.
Proud
in
heart,
and
mind
:
that
curl’d
my
hair;
wore
Gloves
in
my
cap;
serv’d
the
Lust
of
my
Mistris
heart,
and
did
the
act
of
darkness
with
her.
Swore
as
many
Oaths,
as
I
spake
words,
and
broke
them
in
the
sweet
face
of
Heaven.
One,
that
slept
in
the
con-
triving
of
Lust,
and
wak’d
to
do
it.
Wine
lov’d
I
dearly;
Dice
dearly;
and
in
woman,
out-Paramour’d
the
Turk.
False
of
heart,
light
of
ear,
bloudy
handed.
Hog
in
sloth,
Fox
in
stealth,
Wolf
in
greediness,
Dog
in
madness,
Lion
in
prey.
Let
not
the
creaking
of
shooes,
Nor
the
rustling
of
Silks,
betray
thy
poor
heart
to
woman.
Keep
thy
foot
out
of
brothels,
thy
hand
out
of
Plackets,
thy
Pen
from
Lenders
Books,
and
defie
the
foul
fiend.
Still
through
thy
Hawthorn
blows
the
cold
wind:
Says
suum,
mun,
nonny,
Dolphin
my
Boy,
Boy
Sessey:
let
him
trot
my.
[Storm
still.
Lear.
Thou
wert
better
in
a
Grave,
than
to
answer
with
thy
uncover’d
body,
this
extremity
of
the
Skies.
Is
man
no
more
than
this?
Consider
him
well.
Thou
ow’st
the
Worm
no
Silk:
the
Beast,
no
Hide:
the
Sheep,
no
Wool:
the
Cat
no
perfume.
Ha?
Here’s
three
on’s
are
sophisticated.
Thou
art
the
thing
it
self,
unaccommodated
man,
is
no
more
but
such
a
poor,
bare,
forked
Animal
as
thou
art.
Off,
off
you
Lendings:
Come,
unbutton
here.
Enter
Gloucester
with
a
Torch.
Fool
Prethee
Nuncle
be
contented,
’tis
a
naughty
night
to
swim
in.
Now
a
little
fire
in
a
wild
field,
were
like
an
old
Letchers
heart,
a
small
spark,
all
the
rest
on’s
body,
cold:
look,
here
comes
a
walking
fire.
Edgar.
This
is
the
foul
Flibbertigibbet;
he
begins
at
Curfew,
and
walks
at
first
Cock;
He
gives
the
Web
And
the
Pin,
squints
the
eye,
and
makes
the
Hair-lip;
Mildews
the
white
Wheat,
and
hurts
the
poor
Creature
of
the
Earth.
Swithold
sooted
thrice
the
old.
He
met
the
Night-Mare,
and
her
ninefold,
Bid
her
a
light,
and
her
troth-plight,
And
aroynt
the
Witch,
aroynt
thee.
Kent.
How
fares
your
grace?
Lear.
What’s
he?
Kent.
Who’s
there?
what
is’t
you
seek?
Glou.
What
are
you
there?
Your
Names?
Edgar.
Poor
Tom,
that
Eats
the
swimming
Frog,
the
Toad,
the
Tod-pool,
the
wall-Neut,
and
the
water:
that
in
the
fury
of
his
heart,
when
the
foul
fiends
rages,
Eats
Cow
dung
for
Sallets;
swallows
the
old
Rat,
and
the
ditch
Dog:
drinks
the
green
Mantle
of
the
standing
Pool:
who
is
whipt
from
Tything
to
Tything,
and
stockt,
pu-
nish’d,
and
imprison’d:
who
hath
three
Suits
to
his
back,
six
shirts
to
his
Body:
Horse
to
ride,
and
weapon
to
wear:
But
Mice,
and
Rats,
and
such
small
Dear,
Have
been
Tom's
food
for
seven
long
year;
Beware
my
follower.
Peace
Smulkin,
peace
thou
fiend.
Glou.
What,
hath
your
Grace
no
better
company?
Edg.
The
Prince
of
Darkness
is
a
Gentleman.
Modo
he’s
call’d,
and
Mahu.
Glou.
Our
flesh
and
bloud,
my
Lord,
is
grown
so
vile,
that
it
doth
hate
what
it
gets.
Edg.
Poor
Tom’s
a
cold.
Glou.
Go
in
with
me;
my
duty
cannot
suffer
T’obey
in
all
your
daughters
hard
commands:
Though
all
their
injunction
be
to
bar
my
doors,
And
let
this
tyrannous
night
take
hold
upon
you,
Yet
have
I
ventured
to
come
to
seek
you
out,
And
bring
you
where
both
fire
and
food
is
ready.
Lear.
First
let
me
talk
with
this
Philosopher,
What
is
the
cause
of
Thunder?
Kent.