Act 3

Scene IV

The heath. Before a hovel.

	Enter King Lear, Kent, and Fool.
Kent	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.
King Lear	Let me alone.
Kent	Good my lord, enter here.
King Lear	Wilt break my heart?
Kent	I had rather break mine own. Good my lord, enter.
King Lear	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.
Kent	Good my lord, enter here.
King Lear	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.
Edgar	Within. Fathom and half, fathom and half! Poor Tom!
	The Fool* runs out from the hovel.*
Fool	Come not in here, nuncle, here’s a spirit. Help me, help me!
Kent	Give me thy hand. Who’s there?
Fool	A spirit, a spirit: he says his name’s poor Tom.
Kent	What art thou that dost grumble there i’ the straw? Come forth.
	Enter Edgar* disguised as a mad man.*
Edgar	Away! the foul fiend follows me! Through the sharp hawthorn blows the cold wind. Hum! go to thy cold bed, and warm thee.
King Lear	Hast thou given all to thy two daughters? And art thou come to this?
Edgar	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 him 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.
King Lear	What, have his daughters brought him to this pass? Couldst thou save nothing? Didst thou give them all?
Fool	Nay, he reserved a blanket, else we had been all shamed.
King Lear	Now, all the plagues that in the pendulous air Hang fated o’er men’s faults light on thy daughters!
Kent	He hath no daughters, sir.
King Lear	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.
Edgar	Pillicock sat on Pillicock-hill: Halloo, halloo, loo, loo!
Fool	This cold night will turn us all to fools and madmen.
Edgar	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.
King Lear	What hast thou been?
Edgar	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.
King Lear	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.
Fool	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.
Edgar	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!
Kent	How fares your grace?
King Lear	What’s he?
Kent	Who’s there? What is’t you seek?
Gloucester	What are you there? Your names?
Edgar	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!
Gloucester	What, hath your grace no better company?
Edgar	The prince of darkness is a gentleman: Modo he’s call’d, and Mahu.
Gloucester	Our flesh and blood is grown so vile, my lord, That it doth hate what gets it.
Edgar	Poor Tom’s a-cold.
Gloucester	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.
King Lear	First let me talk with this philosopher. What is the cause of thunder?
Kent	Good my lord, take his offer; go into the house.
King Lear	I’ll talk a word with this same learned Theban. What is your study?
Edgar	How to prevent the fiend, and to kill vermin.
King Lear	Let me ask you one word in private.
Kent	Importune him once more to go, my lord; His wits begin to unsettle.
Gloucester	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—
King Lear	O, cry your mercy, sir. Noble philosopher, your company.
Edgar	Tom’s a-cold.
Gloucester	In, fellow, there, into the hovel: keep thee warm.
King Lear	Come let’s in all.
Kent	This way, my lord.
King Lear	With him; I will keep still with my philosopher.
Kent	Good my lord, soothe him; let him take the fellow.
Gloucester	Take him you on.
Kent	Sirrah, come on; go along with us.
King Lear	Come, good Athenian.
Gloucester	No words, no words: hush.
Edgar	Child Rowland to the dark tower came, His word was still⁠—Fie, foh, and fum, I smell the blood of a British man.
	Exeunt.