That made the overtures of thy treasons to us; Who is too good to pity thee. Glo. O my follies! Then Edgar was abused. Kind gods, forgive me that, and prosper him! Reg. Go, thrust him out at gates, and let him smell His way to Dover.-How is 't, my lord? how look you? Corn. I have received a hurt.-Follow me, lady. Turn out that eyeless villain;-throw this slave Upon the dunghill.-Regan, I bleed apace : Untimely comes this hurt. Give me your arm. [Exit CORNWALL, led by REGAN. Servants unbind GLOSTER, and lead him out. 1st Serv. I'll never care what wickedness I do, If this man come to good. 2nd Serv. If she live long, And in the end meet the old course of death, Women will all turn monsters. 1st Serv. Let's follow the old earl, and get the Bedlam Glo. All dark and comfortless.-Where's my To lead him where he would: his roguish madness Enter GLOSTER, led by an Old Man. My father, poorly led?-World, world, O world! But that thy strange mutations make us hate thee, Life would not yield to age. Old Man. O my good lord, I have been your tenant, and your father's tenant, these fourscore years. Glo. Away, get thee away; good friend, be gone: Thy comforts can do me no good at all; Old Man. Alack, sir, you cannot see your way. Old Man. How now? Who's there? Who is 't can say, "I Edg. [aside]. O gods! am at the worst?" I am worse than e'er I was. Old Man. 'Tis poor mad Tom. So long as we can say, "This is the worst." Is it a beggar-man? Old Man. Madman and beggar too. As flies to wanton boys, are we to the gods: Edg. [aside]. And yet I must.-Bless thy sweet eyes, they bleed. Glo. Know'st thou the way to Dover? Edg. Both stile and gate, horseway and footpath. Poor Tom hath been scared out of his good wits. Bless the good man from the foul fiend! Five fiends have been in poor Tom at once of lust, as Obidicut; Hobbididance, prince of dumbness; Mahu, of stealing; Modo, of murder; and Flibbertigibbet, of mopping and mowing; who since possesses chambermaids and waiting women. So, bless thee, master! Glo. Here, take this purse, thou whom the Have humbled to all strokes: that I am wretched, And each man have enough.-Dost thou know May prove effects. Back, Edmund, to my brother; Decline your head. This kiss, if it durst speak, Edm. Yours in the ranks of death. You are not worth the dust which the rude wind Gon. No more: the text is foolish. Alb. Wisdom and goodness to the vile seem vile: Filths savour but themselves. What have you done? Tigers, not daughters, what have you performed? A father, and a gracious agéd man, Whose reverence the head-lugged bear would lick, Most barbarous, most degenerate! have you madded. Could my good brother suffer you to do it? If that the heavens do not their visible spirits Humanity must perforce prey on itself, Enter KENT and a Gentleman. Kent. Why the King of France is so suddenly gone back, know you the reason? Gent. Something he left imperfect in the state, Which since his coming forth is thought of; which Imports to the kingdom so much fear and danger, That his personal return was most required And necessary. Kent. Who hath he left behind him general? Gent. The Mareschal of France, Monsieur le Fer. Kent. Did your letters pierce the queen to any demonstration of grief? Gent. Ay, sir: she took them, read them in |