(Edgar; Gloucester; Old Man)
Edgar meets his blinded father, led by an old tenant of his whom he pushes away, and realizes that things can always get worse. Gloucester has reached a rare depth of despair and utterly lost faith that there is any good in the universe; Edgar overhears him and realizes that his father now knows he was tricked. The old man asks Edgar to lead Gloucester, and he agrees, though uncertain how long he will be able to keep up his pretence of being Poor Tom. Gloucester asks to be led to a high cliff near Dover. (83 lines)
Yet better thus, and known to be contemn’d,
Than still contemn’d and flatter’d. To be worst,
The lowest and most dejected thing of fortune,
Stands still in esperance, lives not in fear.
The lamentable change is from the best,
The worst returns to laughter. Welcome then,
Thou unsubstantial air that I embrace:
The wretch that thou hast blown unto the worst
Owes nothing to thy blasts.
Enter Gloucester led by an Old Man.
But who comes here?
My father, parti-ey’d? World, world, O world!
But that thy strange mutations make us hate thee,
Life would not yield to age.
O my good lord,
I have been your tenant, and your father’s tenant,
These fourscore years.
Away, get thee away! Good friend, be gone,
Thy comforts can do me no good at all;
Thee they may hurt.
You cannot see your way.
I have no way, and therefore want no eyes;
I stumbled when I saw. Full oft ’tis seen,
Our means secure us, and our mere 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’ld say I had eyes again.
How now? Who’s there?
O gods! Who is’t can say, “I am at the worst”?
I am worse than e’er I was.
’Tis poor mad Tom.
And worse I may be yet: the worst is not
So long as we can say, “This is the worst.”
Fellow, where goest?
Is it a beggar-man?
Madman and beggar too.
He has some reason, else he could not beg.
I’ th’ last night’s storm I such a fellow saw,
Which made me think a man a worm. My son
Came then into my mind, and yet my mind
Was then scarce friends with him. I have heard more since.
As flies to wanton boys are we to th’ gods,
They kill us for their sport.
How should this be?
Bad is the trade that must play fool to sorrow,
Ang’ring itself and others.—Bless thee, master!
Is that the naked fellow?
Ay, my lord.
Then prithee get thee away. If for my sake
Thou wilt o’ertake us hence a mile or twain
I’ th’ way toward Dover, do it for ancient love,
And bring some covering for this naked soul,
Which I’ll entreat to lead me.
Alack, sir, he is mad.
’Tis the time’s plague, when madmen lead the blind.
Do as I bid thee, or rather do thy pleasure;
Above the rest, be gone.
I’ll bring him the best ’parel that I have,
Come on’t what will.
Sirrah, naked fellow—
Poor Tom’s a-cold.
I cannot daub it further.
Come hither, fellow.
And yet I must.—Bless thy sweet eyes, they bleed.
Know’st thou the way to Dover?
Both stile and gate, horse-way and foot-path. Poor Tom hath been scar’d out of his good wits. Bless thee, good man’s son, from the foul fiend! Five fiends have been in poor Tom at once: of lust, as Obidicut; Hobbididence, prince of dumbness; Mahu, of stealing; Modo, of murder; Flibbertigibbet, of mopping and mowing, who since possesses chambermaids and waiting-women. So, bless thee, master!
Here, take this purse, thou whom the heav’ns’ plagues
Have humbled to all strokes. That I am wretched
Makes thee the happier; heavens, deal so still!
Let the superfluous and lust-dieted man,
That slaves your ordinance, that will not see
Because he does not feel, feel your pow’r quickly;
So distribution should undo excess,
And each man have enough. Dost thou know Dover?
There is a cliff, whose high and bending head
Looks fearfully in the confined deep.
Bring me but to the very brim of it,
And I’ll repair the misery thou dost bear
With something rich about me. From that place
I shall no leading need.
Give me thy arm;
Poor Tom shall lead thee.