I am worse than e’er I was.

OLD MAN (to Gloucester)

’Tis poor mad Tom.

EDGAR (aside)

And worse I may be yet. The worst is not

So long as we can say ‘This is the worst.’

OLD MAN (to Edgar) Fellow, where goest?

GLOUCESTER Is it a beggarman?

OLD MAN Madman and beggar too.

GLOUCESTER

A 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.

EDGAR (aside) How should this be?

Bad is the trade that must play fool to sorrow,

Ang’ring itself and others.

⌈He comes forward⌉

Bless thee, master.

GLOUCESTER

Is that the naked fellow?

OLD MAN

Ay, my lord.

GLOUCESTER

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.

OLD MAN

Alack, sir, he is mad.

GLOUCESTER

’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, so

Come on’t what will. Exit

GLOUCESTER

Sirrah, naked fellow!

EDGAR

Poor Tom’s a-cold. (Aside) I cannot daub it further.

GLOUCESTER

Come hither, fellow.

EDGAR (aside)

And yet I must.

(To Gloucester) Bless thy sweet eyes, they bleed.

GLOUCESTER

Know’st thou the way to Dover?

EDGAR Both stile and gate, horseway and footpath. Poor Tom hath been scared out of his good wits. Bless thee, goodman’s son, from the foul fiend.

GLOUCESTER

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?

EDGAR Ay, master.

GLOUCESTER

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.

EDGAR Give me thy arm.

Poor Tom shall lead thee.

Exit Edgar guiding Gloucester

4.2 Enter Goneril and Edmond the bastard ⌈at one door⌉ and Oswald the steward ⌈at another⌉

GONERIL

Welcome, my lord. I marvel our mild husband

Not met us on the way. (To Oswald) Now, where’s

your master?

OSWALD

Madam, within; but never man so changed.

I told him of the army that was landed;

He smiled at it. I told him you were coming;

His answer was ‘The worse’. Of Gloucester’s treachery

And of the loyal service of his son

When I informed him, then he called me sot,

And told me I had turned the wrong side out.

What most he should dislike seems pleasant to him;

What like, offensive.

GONERIL (to Edmond) 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, Edmond, to my brother.

Hasten 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. Ere long you are like to hear,

If you dare venture in your own behalf,

A mistress’s command. Wear this. Spare speech.

Decline your head. This kiss, if it durst speak,

Would stretch thy spirits up into the air.

⌈She kisses him⌉

Conceive, and fare thee well.

EDMOND Yours in the ranks of death.

GONERIL My most dear Gloucester.

Exit Edmond

O, the difference of man and man!

To thee a woman’s services are due;

My fool usurps my body.

OSWALD

Madam, here comes my lord.

Enter the Duke of Albany

GONERIL

I have been worth the whistling.

ALBANY

O Goneril,

You are not worth the dust which the rude wind

Blows in your face.

GONERIL

Milk-livered man,

That bear’st a cheek for blows, a head for wrongs;

Who hast not in thy brows an eye discerning

Thine honour from thy suffering—

ALBANY

See thyself, devil.

Proper deformity shows not in the fiend

So horrid as in woman.

GONERIL

O vain fool!

Enter a Messenger

MESSENGER

O my good lord, the Duke of Cornwall’s dead,

Slain by his servant going to put out

The other eye of Gloucester.

ALBANY

Gloucester’s eyes?

MESSENGER

A servant that he bred, thrilled with remorse,

Opposed against the act, bending his sword

To his great master, who thereat enraged

Flew on him, and amongst them felled him dead,

But not without that harmful stroke which since

Hath plucked him after.

ALBANY

This shows you are above,

You justicers, that these our nether crimes