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