SCENE changes to a part of the Heath with a Hovel.

Enter Lear, Kent, and Fool.

Kent.TTEre is the place, my Lord; good my Lord, enter. The tyranny o' the open night's too rough [Storm fill.

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; good my Lord, enter. Le. Thou think'ft 'tis much, that this contentious storm Invades us to the fkin; fo 'tis to thee;

But where the greater malady is fixt,

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'th' 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'll 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 all-
O, that way madnefs lies; let me hun that;
No more of that.

Kent, Good my Lord, enter here.

Lear. Pr'ythee, go in thyself; fcek thine own ease; This tempeft will not give me leave to ponder On things would hurt me more but I'll go in ; In, boy, go firft. 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 ftorm! How fhall your houfelefs heads, and unfed fides, Your loop'd and window'd ragged nefs, defend you From feafons fuch as thefe ? O, I have ta'en

Too little care of this! take phyfick, Pomp;
Expofe thyfelf to feel what wretches feel,
That thou may'st shake the fuperflux to them,
And fhew the Heav'ns more juft.

Ed. within. Fathom and half, fathom and half! poorTom.
Fool. Come not in here, nuncle, here's a fpirit; 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 fays, his name's poor Tom.
Kent. What art thou, that doft grumble there i'th'

Araw come forth.

Enter Edgar, difguis'd 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 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 courfe his own fhadow for a traitor,-blefs thy five wits; Tom's a-cold. O do, de, do, de, do, de ; bless thee from whirl-winds, ftar-blafting, and taking; do poor Tom fome charity, whom the foul fiend vexes. There could I have him now, and there, and here again, and there. [Storm fill.

Lear. What, havehis daughters brought him to this pafs? Couldst thou fave nothing? didft thou give 'em all? Fool. Nay, he reserv'd a blanket, elfe we had been all fhamed.

Lear. 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.

Lear Death: traitor,nothing could have fubdu'd nature To fuch a lownefs, but his unkind daughters. Is it the fashion, that discarded fathers

Should

1

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

Ed.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'th' foul fiend; obey thy parents; keep thy word juftly; fwear not; commit not with man's fworn fpoufe; fet 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 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: fwore as many oaths as I fpake words, and broke them in the fweet face of heav'n. One that flept in the contriving luft, and wak'd to do it. Wine lov'd I deeply; dice dearly; and in woman, out-paramour'd 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 shoes, 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, Sessey: let him trot by. {Storm fill

Lear. Thou wert better in thy grave, than to answer with thy uncover'd body this extremity of the skies. Is man no more than this? Confider him well. Thou ow'st the worm no filk, the beast no hide, the sheep no wool, the cat no perfume. Ha! here's three of us are fophifti cated. 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 clothes.

Fool. Pr'ythee, nuncle, be contented; 'tis a naughty night to fwim in. Now a little fire in a wild field were like an old lecher's heart, a small spark, and all the reft on's body cold; look, here comes a walking fire.

Edg

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 focted thrice the Wold, (15)
He met the night-mare, aud her nine-fold, r
Bid ber alight, and her troth plight,
And aroynt thee, witch, aroynt thee.

Kent. How fares your Grace?

1:

Enter Glo'ter, 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 tod-pole; the wall-newt, and the water-newt; that in the fury of his heart, when the foul fiend rages, eats cow dung for fallets; fwallows the old rat and the ditchdog; drinks the green mantle of the ftanding pool; who is whipt from tything to tything, and stock-punish'd, and imprison'd: who hath had three fuits to his back, fix fhirts to his body;

Horfe to ride, and weapon to wear;

But mice, and rats, and such small deer

Have been Tom's food for ferven long year.

Beware my follower. Peace, Smolkin, peace, thou fiend ! Glo. What, hath your Grace no better company? Edg. The Prince of Darkness is a gentleman: Mode he's call'd, and Mahu.

(15) Swithold footed thrice the old. What Idea the Editors had, or whether any, of footing the old, I cannot pretend to determine. My ingenious Friend Mr. Bishop faw it must be Wold, which fignifies a Down, or champion Ground, hilly and void of Wood. And as to St. Withold, we find him again mentioned in our Author's Troublesome Reign of King John, in two Parts;

Sweet St. Withold, of thy Lenity,
Defend us from Extremity.

Glo. Our flesh and blood, my Lord, is grown fovile, That it doth hate what gets it.

・Edg. Tom's a-cold.

Glo. Go in with me; my duty cannot fuffer
T'obey in all your Daughter's hard commands:
Though their injunction be to bar my door's, "
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. Firft let me talk with this Philofopher ;-
What is the caufe of thunder ?

Kent. My good Lord, take his offer,

Go into th' house.

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

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 fill.
His Daughters feek his death: ah, that good
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 myfelf; I had a fon,

Now out-law'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 fill with my Philofopher.

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

Glo. Take him you on.

Kent.