Kent

Here is the place, my lord; good my lord, enter:

The tyranny of the open night's too rough

For nature to endure. Storm still.

Lear

Let me alone.

Kent

Good my lord, enter here.

Lear

Wilt break my heart?

Kent

I had rather break mine own. Good my lord, enter.

Lear

Thou think'st 'tis much that this contentious storm

Invades us to the skin: so 'tis to thee;

But where the greater malady is fixed,

The lesser is scarce felt. Thou'ldst shun a bear;

But if thy flight lay toward the roaring sea,

Thou'ldst meet the bear i' the mouth. When the mind's free,

The body's delicate: this 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 this 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, Goneril!

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 thyself; seek thine own ease:

This tempest will not give me leave to ponder

On things would hurt me more. But I'll go in.

To the Fool In, boy; go first. You houseless poverty, —

Nay, get thee in. I'll pray, and then I'll sleep. Fool goes in.

Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are,

That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm,

How shall your houseless heads and unfed sides,

Your looped and windowed raggedness, defend you

From seasons such as these? O, I have ta'en

Too little care of this! Take physic, pomp;

Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel,

That thou mayst shake the superflux to them,

And show the heavens more just.

Edgar

Fathom and half, fathom and half! Poor Tom!

Fool

Come not in here, nuncle, here's 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.

Kent

What art thou that dost grumble there i' th' straw? Come forth.

Edgar

Away! the foul fiend follows me! Through the sharp hawthorn blow the cold winds. Hum! go to thy bed, and warm thee.

Lear

Didst 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; set ratsbane by his porridge; made him proud of heart, to ride on a bay trotting-horse over four-inched bridges, to course his own shadow for a traitor. Bless thy five wits! Tom's a-cold, — O, do de, do de, do de. Bless thee from whirlwinds, star-blasting, and taking! Do poor Tom some charity, whom the foul fiend vexes: there could I have him now, — and there, — and there again, and there.

Lear

Has his daughters brought him to this pass?

Couldst thou save nothing? Wouldst thou give 'em all?

Fool

Nay, he reserved a blanket, else we had been all shamed.

Lear

Now, all the plagues that in the pendulous air

Hang fated o'er men's faults light on thy daughters!

Kent

He hath no daughters, sir.

Lear

Death, traitor! nothing could have subdued 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.

Edgar

Pillicock sat on Pillicock-hill:

Halloo, halloo, loo, loo!

Fool

This cold night will turn us all to fools and madmen.

Edgar

Take heed o' the foul fiend: obey thy parents; keep thy word's justice; swear not; commit not with man's sworn spouse; set not thy sweet heart on proud array. Tom's a-cold.

Lear

What hast thou been?

Edgar

A servingman, proud in heart and mind; that curled my hair; wore gloves in my cap; served the lust of my mistress' 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 contriving of lust, and waked to do it: wine loved I deeply, dice dearly; and in woman out-paramoured the Turk: false of heart, light of ear, bloody of hand; hog in sloth, fox in stealth, wolf in greediness, dog in madness, lion in prey. Let not the creaking of shoes 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 defy the foul fiend. Still through the hawthorn blows the cold wind: Says suum, mun, nonny. Dolphin my boy, boy, sessa! let him trot by.

Lear

Thou wert better in a grave than to answer with thy uncovered body this extremity of the skies. Is man no more than this? Consider him well. Thou owest 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 itself: unaccommodated man is no more but such a poor, bare, forked animal as thou art. Off, off, you lendings! come, unbutton here.

Fool

Prithee, nuncle, be contented; 'tis a naughty night to swim in. Now a little fire in a wild field were like an old lecher's heart; a small spark, all the rest on's body cold. Look, here comes a walking fire.

Edgar

This is the foul fiend Flibbertigibbet: he begins at curfew, and walks till the first cock; he gives the web and the pin, squinies the eye, and makes the hare-lip; mildews the white wheat, and hurts the poor creature of earth.

Kent

How fares your grace?

Lear

What's he?

Kent

Who's there? What is't you seek?

Gloucester

What are you there? Your names?

Edgar

Poor Tom; that eats the swimming frog, the toad, the tadpole, the wall-newt and the water; that in the fury of his heart, when the foul fiend rages, eats cow-dung for sallets; swallows the old rat and the ditch-dog; drinks the green mantle of the standing pool; who is whipped from tithing to tithing, and stock-punished, and imprisoned; who hath had three suits to his back, six shirts to his body, Beware my follower. Peace, Smulkin; peace, thou fiend!

Gloucester

What, hath your grace no better company?

Edgar

The prince of darkness is a gentleman: Modo he's called, and Mahu.

Gloucester

Our flesh and blood, my lord, is grown so vile,

That it doth hate what gets it.

Edgar

Poor Tom's a-cold.

Gloucester

Go in with me: my duty cannot suffer

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 ventured to come 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

Good my lord, take his offer; go into the house.

Lear

I'll talk a word with this same learned Theban.

What is your study?

Edgar

How to prevent the fiend, and to kill vermin.

Lear

Let me ask you one word in private.

Kent

Importune him once more to go, my lord;

His wits begin to unsettle.

Gloucester

Canst thou blame him? Storm still.

His daughters seek his death; ah, that good Kent!

He said it would be thus, poor banished man!

Thou say'st the king grows mad; I'll tell thee, friend.

I am almost mad myself: I had a son,

Now outlawed from my blood: he sought my life,

But lately, very late: I loved him, friend:

No father his son dearer: true to tell thee,

The grief hath crazed my wits. What a night's this!

I do beseech your grace, —

Lear

O, cry you mercy, sir.

Noble philosopher, your company.

Edgar

Tom's a-cold.

Gloucester

In, fellow, there, into the hovel: keep thee warm.

Lear

Come, let's in all.

Kent

This way, my lord.

Lear

With him;

I will keep still with my philosopher.

Kent

Good my lord, soothe him; let him take the fellow.

Gloucester

Take him you on.

Kent

Sirrah, come on; go along with us.

Lear

Come, good Athenian.

Gloucester

No words, no words: hush.

Edgar