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  • Enter KING LEAR, KENT, and Fool

  • 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

  • Good my lord, enter here.

  • Wilt break my heart?

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

  • Thou think'st 'tis much that this contentious storm
    Invades us to the skin: so 'tis to thee;
    But where the greater malady is fix'd,
    The lesser is scarce felt. Thou'ldst shun a bear;
    But if thy flight lay toward the raging sea,
    Thou'ldst meet the bear i' the mouth. When the
    mind's free,
    The body's delicate: the 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.

  • Good my lord, enter here.

  • 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, whereso'er you are,
    That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm,
    How shall your houseless heads and unfed sides,
    Your loop'd and window'd 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.

  • Within Fathom and half, fathom and half! Poor Tom!

  • The Fool runs out from the hovel

  • Come not in here, nuncle, here's a spirit
    Help me, help me!

  • Give me thy hand. Who's there?

  • A spirit, a spirit: he says his name's poor Tom.

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

  • Enter EDGAR disguised as a mad man

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

  • Hast thou given all to thy two daughters?
    And art thou come to this?

  • Who gives any thing to poor Tom? whom the foul
    fiend hath led through fire and through flame, and
    through ford and whirlipool e'er bog and quagmire;
    that hath laid knives under his pillow, and halters
    in his pew; set ratsbane by his porridge; made film
    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.

  • Storm still

  • What, have his daughters brought him to this pass?
    Couldst thou save nothing? Didst thou give them all?

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

  • Now, all the plagues that in the pendulous air
    Hang fated o'er men's faults light on thy daughters!

  • He hath no daughters, sir.

  • 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.

  • Pillicock sat on Pillicock-hill:
    Halloo, halloo, loo, loo!

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

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

  • What hast thou been?

  • A serving-man, 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, ha, no, nonny.
    Dolphin my boy, my boy, sessa! let him trot by.

  • Storm still

  • Why, thou wert better in thy 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.

  • Tearing off his clothes

  • 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.

  • Enter GLOUCESTER, with a torch

  • This is the foul fiend Flibbertigibbet: he begins
    at curfew, and walks till the first cock; he gives
    the web and the pin, squints the eye, and makes the
    hare-lip; mildews the white wheat, and hurts the
    poor creature of earth.
    S. Withold footed thrice the old;
    He met the night-mare, and her nine-fold;
    Bid her alight,
    And her troth plight,
    And, aroint thee, witch, aroint thee!

  • How fares your grace?

  • Who's there? What is't you seek?

  • What are you there? Your names?

  • 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, horse to ride, and weapon to wear;
    But mice and rats, and such small deer,
    Have been Tom's food for seven long year.
    Beware my follower. Peace, Smulkin; peace, thou fiend!

  • What, hath your grace no better company?

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

  • Our flesh and blood is grown so vile, my lord,
    That it doth hate what gets it.

  • Poor Tom's a-cold.

  • 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.

  • First let me talk with this philosopher.
    What is the cause of thunder?

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

  • I'll talk a word with this same learned Theban.
    What is your study?

  • How to prevent the fiend, and to kill vermin.

  • Let me ask you one word in private.

  • Importune him once more to go, my lord;
    His wits begin to unsettle.

  • Canst thou blame him?
    Storm still
    His daughters seek his death: ah, that good Kent!
    He said it would be thus, poor banish'd man!
    Thou say'st the king grows mad; I'll tell thee, friend,
    I am almost mad myself: I had a son,
    Now outlaw'd from my blood; he sought my life,
    But lately, very late: I loved him, friend;
    No father his son dearer: truth to tell thee,
    The grief hath crazed my wits. What a night's this!
    I do beseech your grace,--

  • O, cry your mercy, sir.
    Noble philosopher, your company.

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

  • Come let's in all.

  • This way, my lord.

  • With him;
    I will keep still with my philosopher.

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

  • Sirrah, come on; go along with us.

  • Come, good Athenian.

  • No words, no words: hush.

  • Child Rowland to the dark tower came,
    His word was still,--Fie, foh, and fum,
    I smell the blood of a British man.