[Aside.] How should this be?—Bad is the trade that must play fool to sorrow,
Angering itself and others.—Bless thee, master!
Glou.
Is that the naked fellow?
Old Man.
Ay, my lord.
Glou.
Then pr’ythee get thee gone: if for my sake
Thou wilt o’ertake us, hence a mile or twain,
I’ the way toward Dover, do it for ancient love;
And bring some covering for this naked soul,
Which I’ll entreat to lead me.
Old Man.
Alack, sir, he is mad.
Glou.
‘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.
Old Man.
I’ll bring him the best ‘parel that I have,
Come on’t what will.
[Exit.]
Glou.
Sirrah naked fellow,—
Edg.
Poor Tom’s a-cold.
[Aside.] I cannot daub it further.
Glou.
Come hither, fellow.
Edg.
[Aside.] And yet I must.—Bless thy sweet eyes, they bleed.
Glou.
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 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!
Glou.
Here, take this purse, thou whom the heavens’ 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 power quickly;
So distribution should undo excess,
And each man have enough.—Dost thou know Dover?
Edg.
Ay, master.
Glou.
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.
Edg.
Give me thy arm:
Poor Tom shall lead thee.
[Exeunt.]
SCENE II. Before the Duke of Albany’s Palace.
[Enter Goneril and Edmund; Oswald meeting them.]
Gon.
Welcome, my lord: I marvel our mild husband
Not met us on the way.—Now, where’s your master?
Osw.
Madam, within; but never man so chang’d.
I told him of the army that was landed;
He smil’d 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 call’d me sot
And told me I had turn’d the wrong side out:—
What most he should dislike seems pleasant to him;
What like, offensive.
Gon.
[To Edmund.] Then shall you go no further.
It is the cowish terror of his spirit,
That dares not undertake: he’ll not feel wrongs
Which tie him to an answer. Our wishes on the way
May prove effects. Back, Edmund, to my brother;
Hasten his musters and conduct his powers:
I must change arms at home, and give the distaff
Into my husband’s hands. This trusty servant
Shall pass between us; ere long you are like to hear,
If you dare venture in your own behalf,
A mistress’s command. [Giving a favour.]
Wear this; spare speech;
Decline your head: this kiss, if it durst speak,
Would stretch thy spirits up into the air:—
Conceive, and fare thee well.
Edm.
Yours in the ranks of death!
[Exit Edmund.]
Gon.
My most dear Gloster.
O, the difference of man and man!
To thee a woman’s services are due:
My fool usurps my body.
