Thy Comforts can do me no good at all,
Thee they may hurt.
Old Man. You cannot see your way.

Glo. I have no way, and therefore want no Eyes:
I stumbled when I saw. Full oft 'tis seen,
Our means secure us, and our meer defects
Prove our Commodities. O dear Son Edgar,
The food of thy abused Father's wrath :
Might I but live to see thee in my touch,
I'd say I had Eyes again.

Old Man. How now ? who's there?

Edg. O gods ! who is’t can say I am at the worst? I am worse than e'er I was.

Old Man. 'Tis poor mad Tom.

Edg. And worse I may be yet : the worst is not,
So long as we can say, this is the worst.

Old Man, Fellow, where goeft?
Glo. Is it a Beggar-man?
Old Man. Madman, and Beggar too.

Glo. He has some reason, elle he could not beg.
I'th' Jast Night's storm, I such a Fellow faw;
Which made me thiok a Man, a Worm. My Son
Came then into my mind, and yet my Mind
Was then scarce fiiends with him. I have heard more fince:
As Flies to th’ wanton Boys, are we to th' gods,
They kill us for their sport.

Edg. How should this be?
Bad is the Trade that must play the Fool to forrow,
Ang’ring it self, and others. Bless thee Master.

Glo. Is that the naked Fellow ?
Old Man. Ay, my Lord.

Glo. Get thee away : if for my fake
Thou wilt o'er-take us hence a Mile or twain
I'th' way toward Dover, do it for ancient love;
And bring some covering for his naked Soul,
Which I'll intreat to lead me.

Old Man. Alack Sir, he is mad.

Glo. 'Tis the time's plague, when Madmen lead the Blind: Do as I bid thee, or rather do thy pleasure ; Above the reft, be gone.

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Old Man. I'll bring him the best 'Parrel that I have,
Come on't, what will.

Glo. Sirrah, naked Fellow.
Edg. Poor Tom's a cold. I cannot daub it further.
Glo. Come hither Fellow.

Edg. And yet I must;
Bless thy sweet Eyes, they bleed.

Glo. Know'st thou the way to Dover ?

Edg. Both Stile, and Gate, Horse-way, and Foot-path : poor Tom bath been scar'd out of his good wits. Bless thee good Mau's Son, from the foul Fier.d.

Glo. Here take this Purse, thou whom the Heav'ns plagues Have humbled to all strokes, that I am wretched Makes thee the happier : Heav'ns deal fo fill; Let the superfluous, and the Luft-dieted Man, That flaves your Ordinance, that will not see Because he do's not feel, feel your power quickly : So distribution should undo excess, And each Man have eşough.' Do'st thou know Dover ?

Edg. Ay Master.

Glo. There is a Cliff, whose high and bending Head
Looks fearfully on the confined Deep :
Bring me but to the very brim of it,
And I'll repair the misery thou do'st bear
With something rich about me : from that place,
I shall no lending need.

Edg. Give me thy arm ;
Poor Tom shall lead thee.


SCE N E. II. The Duke of Albany's Palace.

Enter Gonerill, Bastard, and Steward.
Gon. Welcome my Lord, I marvel our mild Husband
Not met us on the way. Now, where's your Master ?

Stew. Madam within, but never Man so chang'd :
I told him of the Army that was Landed;
He smild at it. I told him you were coming,
His answer was, the worse. Of Gloster's Treachery,
And of the Loyal Service of his Son,
When I inform'd him, then he callid me Sat,


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And told me I had ture’d the wrong side out:
What most he should dislike, seems pleasant to him;
What like, offensive.

Gon. Then shall you go no further.
It is the Cowith terror of his Spirit
That dares not undertake: he'll not feel

Which tie him to an answer; our wishes on the way
May prove effe&ts. Back Edmund to my Brother,
Haften his Musters, and conduct his Powers.
I must change Names at home, and give the Distaff
Into my Husband's hands. This trusty Servant
Shall pass between us : t'er long you are like to hear,
If you dare venture in your own behalf,
A Mistreffes command. Wear this; spare Speech,
Decline your Head. This Kiss, if it durft speak,
Would stretch thy Spirits up into the Air:
Conceive, and fare thee well.

Baft. Yours in the ranks of Death.
Gon. My most dear Gloster.

[Exit Bastard.
Oh, the difference of Man, and Man!
To thee a Worra:'s servicis are due,
My Fool usurps my Body.
Stew. Madam, here comes my Lord.

Enter Albany.
Gon, I have been worth the whistle.

Alb. Oh Goneril,
You are not worth the dust which the rude wind
Blows in your Face.

Gon. Milk-liver'd Man,
That bear'ít a Cheek for blows, a Head for wrongs,
Who hast not in thy brows an Eye discerning
Th ne honour, from thy suffering.

Alb See thy felf, Devil:
Proper deformity seems not in the Fiend
So horrid as in Woman.
Gon. Ob vain Fool.

Enter a'Messenger.
Mef. Oh my good Lord, the Duke of Cornwall's dead,
Slain by his Servant, going to put out
The other Eye of Gloster.
Alb. Glofter's Eyes?


Mefi A Servant that he bred, thrilld with remorse,
Oppos'd against the act; bending his Sword
To his great Master : who, thereat enrag'd,
Flew on him, and amongst them felld him dead,
But not without that harmful stroke, which fince
Hath pluck'd him after..

Alb. This thews you are above,
You Juftices, that these our necher crimes
So speedily can venge. But O poor Glofter!
Loft he his other Eye.?

Mes. Both, both, my Lord.
This Letter, Madam, craves, a speedy Answers
'Tis from


Gon. One way I like this well,
But being Widow, and my Gloster with her,
May all the building in my fancy pluck
Upon my hateful life. Another way
The News is not fo tart. I'll read, and answer. [Exit.

Alb. Where was his Son, when they did take his Lyes?
Mesa Come with my Lady hither.
Alb. He is not here.
Mef. No, my good Lord, I met him back again.
Alb. Knows he the wickedness!

Mefo Ay, my good Lord, 'twas he inform’d against him, And quit ihe House of purpose, that their punishment Might have the freer course.

Alb. Gloster, I live
To thank thee for the love thou shew'dit the King,
And to reverge thine Eyes. Come hither Friend,
Tell me what more thou know'st.

[Exeunt. SCENE III.

A Camp .

Enter Cordelia, Gentlemen and Soldiers.
Cor. Alack, 'tis he; why he was met even now
As mad the vext Sea, singing aloud,
Crowo'd with rank Fenitar, and furrow weeds,
With Hardocks, Hemlock, Nettles, Cuckow Flowers,
Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow
In our sustaining Corn. A Century send forth;
Search every Acre in the high-grown Field,



And bring him to our Eye. What can Man's wisdom
In the restoring his bereaved Sense? He that helps him,
Take all my outward worth.

Gent. There are means, Madam:
Our foster Narse of Nature, is repose,
The which he lacks; that to provoke in him,
Are many Simples operative, whose power
Will close the Eye of Anguilh.

Cord. All blest Secrets,
All you unpublish'd Virtues of the Earth
Spring with my tears; be aidant, and remediate
In the good Man's desire: seek, seek for him,
Left his uogovern'd rage, dissolve the life
That wants the means to lead it.

Enter a Meffanger.
Mes. News, Madam,
The Britis Powers are marching hither ward.

Cord. 'Tis known before. Our preparation stands
In expe&ation of them. O dear Father,
It is thy business that I go about : therefore great France
My mourning, and importun'd tears hath piticd.
No blown Ambition doth our Arms incite,
But love, dear love, and our Ag'd Father's Right:
Şoon may I hear, and see him.

[Excunt, SCEN E IV. Regan's Palace.

Enter Regan, and Steward.
Reg. But are my Brother's Powers set forth?
Stew. Ay Madam.
Reg. Himself in Person there?

Stew. Madam, with much adoe
Your Sister is the better Soldier.

Reg. Lord Edmand spake not with your Lord at home?
Stew. No, Madam.
Reg. What might import my sister's Letter to him?
Stew. I know not, Lady.

Reg. Faith he is posted hence on serious Matter.
It was great ignorance, Glofter's Eyes being out
To let him live; where he arrives, he moves
All Hearts against us: Edmund, I think, is gone

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