Page 1855 - Shakespeare - Vol. 3

A spirit, a spirit: he says his name’s poor Tom.

KENT
What art thou that dost grumble there i’th’straw?
Come forth.

Enter Edgar disguised as a madman.

EDGAR
Away! the foul fiend follows me! Through the [45] sharp hawthorn blow the

winds. Humh! go to thy bed and warm thee.

LEAR

Didst thou give all to thy daughters?
And art thou come to this?

EDGAR
Who gives any thing to poor Tom? whom the foul [50] fiend hath led through
fire and through flame, through ford and whirlpool, o’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-inch’d bridges, to course [55] 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,

starblasting, 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.
[60]
(Storm still.)

LEAR
What! has his daughters brought him to this pass? Couldst thou save nothing?

Would’st thou give ’em all?

FOOL
Nay, he reserv’d a blanket, else we had been all sham’d.

LEAR
Now all the plagues that in the pendulous air [65]