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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? Oh, Regan, Gonerill,
Your old kind father, whose frank heart
gave all!
Oh, that way madness lies; let me fhun that;
No more of that!-

Kent. Good my lord, enter here.

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. You houfelefs povertyNay, get thee in; I'll pray, and then I'll fleepPoor naked wretches, wherefoe'er you are, That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm! How shall your houseless heads, and unfed fides, Your loop'd and window'd raggednefs, defend you From seasons such as these?-Oh, I have ta'en Too little care of this! Take phyfick, pomp; Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel, That thou mayst shake the superflux to them, And fhew the Heav'ns more just!

Edgar [within]. Fathom and half, fathom and half! poor Tom.

Kent. What art thou, that doft grumble there i'th' ftraw? Come forth.

Enter

Enter Edgar, difguifed like a madman.

Edgar. Away! the foul fiend follows me. Thro' the sharp 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?

Edgar. Who gives any thing to poor Tom? whom the foul fiend hath led through fire and through flame, through ford and whirlpool, o'er bog and quagmire; that hath laid knives under his pillow, and halters in his pew; fet ratsbane by his porridge, made him proud of heart, to ride on a bay trotting horse, over four-inch'd bridges, to course his own fhadow for a traitor,-blefs thy five wits; Tom's a-cold. O do, de, do, de, do, de

-[shivering.] bless thee from whirlwinds, starblafting, 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 fill.

Lear. What, have his daughters brought him to

this pass?

Couldst thou fave nothing? didft thou give 'em all?
Now all the plagues, that in the pendulous air
Hang fated o'er mens' faults, light on thy daughters!
Kent. He hath no daughters, Sir.
M

VOL. III.

Lear.

Lear. Death! traitor, nothing could have fubdued nature

To fuch a lownefs, but his unkind daughters. Edgar. Pillicock fat on pillicock-hill, alow, alow, loo, loo!

Lear. Is it the fashion that discarded fathers Should have thus little mercy on their flesh? Judicious punishment ! 'twas this flesh begot Those pelican daughters.

Edgar. Take heed o' th' foul fiend; obey thy parents; keep thy word juftly; fwear not; commit not with man's fworn spouse; fet not thy fweet heart on proud array. Tom's a-cold.

Lear. What haft thou been?

Edgar. A ferving-man, proud in heart, that curl'd my hair, wore gloves in my cap, ferv'd the luft of my mistress's heart, and did the act of darkness with her swore as many oaths as I spoke words, and broke them in the fweet face of Heav'n. False of heart, light of ear, bloody of hand, hog in sloth, fox in ftealth, wolf in greedinefs, dog in madnefs, lion in prey. Let not the creaking of shoes, nor the rustling of filk betray thy poor heart to women. Keep thy foot out of brothels, thy hand out of plackets, thy pen from lender's book, and defy the foul fiend! Still through the hawthorn blows the, cold wind. [Storm ftill. Lear.

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Lear. Thou wert better in thy grave, than to answer with thy uncover'd body this extremity of the fkies. Is man no more than this? confider him well. Thou, ow'ft the worm no filk, the beaft no hide, the sheep no wool, the cat no perfume. Aha! here's two of us are sophisticated. Thou art the thing itself; unaccommodated man is no more but fuch a poor, bare, forked animal as thou art. Off, off, you lendings! come, unbutton here.

[Tearing off his cloaths. Kent. Defend his wits, good Heaven! Lear. One point I had forgot; what is your name? Edgar. Poor Tom, that eats the fwimming frog, the wall-newt and the water-newt; that in the fury of his heart, when the foul fiend rages, eats cowdung for fallads, fwallows the old rat, and the ditch-dog; that drinks the green mantle of the standing pool; that's whipt from tything to tything; that has three fuits to his back, fix fhirts to his body, Horfe to ride, and weapon to wear;

But rats and mice, and fuch fmall deer,

Have been Tom's food for feven long year.

Fraterreto calls me, and tells me, Nero is an angler in the lake of darknefs. Pray, innocent, and beware the foul fiend.

Lear. Right, ha ha!

was it not pleasant to M 2

have

have a thousand with red-hot fpits come hiffing upon them?

Edgar. My tears begin to take his part so much, They mar my counterfeiting.

[Afide. Lear. The little dogs and all, Tray, Blanch, and Sweet-heart, fee, they bark at me! Edgar. Tom will throw his head at 'em : avaunt, ye curs.

Be thy mouth, or black, or white,
Tooth that poisons if it bite:
Maftiff, greyhound, mungrel grim,
Hound, or spaniel, brache, or hym :
Bob-tail tike, or trundle-tail,

Tom will make 'em weep and wail:
For with throwing thus my head,
Dogs leap the hatch, and all are fled.

Come, march to wakes and fairs, and market-towns.
-Poor Tom, thy horn is dry.

Lear. You, Sir, I entertain you for one of my hundred, only I do not like the fashion of your garments; you'll fay they are Perfian; but no matter, let 'em be changed.

Edgar. This is the foul Flibbertigibbet; he begins at curfew, and walks till the first cock; he gives the web, and the pin; knits the elflock; fquints the eye, and makes the hair-lip; mildews the

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