Perfume

Ha! here's two of us are fophifticated; thou art the thing itself, unaccommodated Man is no more than fuch a poor bare-fork'd Animal as thou art. Off, off, ye vain Difguifes, empty Lendings, I'll be my original felf; quick, quick, uncafe me. Kent. Defend his Wits, good Heaven!

Lear. One Point I had forgot; what's your Name? Edg. Poor Tom, that eats the fwimming Frog, the Wall-Nut and the Water-Nut; that in the Fury of his Heart, when the foul Fiend rages, eats Cow-Dung for Sallads, fwallows the old Rat, and the Ditch-Dog, that drinks the green Mantle of the ftanding Pool, that's whipt from Tithing to Tithing, that has three Suits to his Back, fix Shirts to his Body:

Horfe to ride, and Weapon to wear,

But Rats and Mice, and fuch fmall Deer,

Have been Tom's Food for feven long Year.

Beware, my Follower; Peace, Smulk'n, Peace, thou foul Fiend.

Lear. One word more, but be fure true counfel; tell me, is a Madman a Gentleman, or a Yeoman?

Kent. I fear'd 'twou'd come to this; his Wits are gone.

Edg. Fraterreto calls me, and tells me, Nero is an Angler in the Lake of Darkness. Pray, Innocent, and beware the foul Fiend.

Lear. Right, ha! ha! Was it not pleasant to have a Thousand with red hot Spits come hissing in upon 'em. Edg. My Tears begin to take his Part fo much,

They mar my Counterfeiting.

[Afide. Lear. The little Dogs and all, Tray, Blanch, and Sweet-Heart, fee they bark at me.

Edg. Tom will throw his Head at 'em ; avaunt, ye Curs.
Be thy Mouth, or black, or white,
Tooth that poifons if it bite;

Maftiff, Grey-Hound, Mungrel, Grim,
Hound, or Spaniel, Brach, or Hym;
Bob-Tail, Hight, or Trundle-Tail,
Tom will make 'em weep and wail;
For with throwing thus my Head,
Dogs leap the Hatch, and all are fled.
4

Ud,

Ud, de, de, de, See, fee, fee, Come, march to Wakes, and Fairs, and Market-Towns.- -Poor Tom, thy Horn

is dry.

Lear. You, Sir, I entertain you for one of my Hundred, only I do not like the Fashion of your Garments ; you'll fay they're Perfian, but no Matter, let 'em be changed.

Enter Glofter.

Edg. This is the foul Flibertigibet; he begins at Curfew, and walks at firft Cock; he gives the Web, and the Pin; knits the Elflock; fquints the Eye, and makes the Hair-Lip; mildews the white Wheat, and hurts the poor Creature of the Earth.

Swithin footed thrice the Cold,

He met the Night Mare and her Nine-Fold,
'Twas there he did appoint her;

He bid her alight, and her Troth plight,
And arroynt the Witch arroynt her.

Gloft. What, has your Grace no better Company? Edg. The Prince of Darkness is a Gentleman'; Mod. he is call'd, and Mahu.

Gloft. Go with me, Sir; hard by I have a Tenant. My Duty cannot fuffer me to obey in all your Daughters hard Commands, who have enjoin'd me to make faft my Doors, and let this tyrannous Night take hold upon you. Yet have I ventur'd to come to feek you out, and bring you where both Fire and Food are ready.

Kent. Good my Lord, take his Offer.
Lear. First let me talk with this Philofopher;
Say, Staggerite, what is the Cause of Thunder?
Gloft. Befeech you, Sir, go with me.

Lear. I'll take a Word with this fame learned Theban. What is your Study?

Edg. How to prevent the Fiend, and to kill Vermin.
Lear. Let me ask you a Word in private.

Kent. His Wits are quite unfettled; good Sir, let's force him hence.

Gloft. Can't blame him? His Daughters feek his Death; this Bedlam but disturbs him the more. Fellow, be gone.

Edg. Child Rowland to the dark Tow'r came,

D

His

His Word was ftill Fi, Fo, and Fum,

I smell the Blood of a British Man. --Oh! Torture!

[Exit.

Gloft. Now, I prithee Friend, let's take him in our Arms, and carry him where he shall meet both Welcome Good Sir, along with us. [and Protection, Lear. You fay right, let 'em anatomize Regan, for what breeds about her Heart; is there any Caufe in Nature for thefe hard Hearts ?

Kent. I beseech your Grace.

Lear. Hift!--Make no Noise, make no Noife fo, fo; we'll to Supper i'th' Morning.

Enter Cordelia and Arante.

[Exeunt.

Ar. Dear Madam, ret ye here, our Search is vain,
Look, here's a Shed; befeech ye, enter here.
Cord. Prithee go thyfelf, feek thy own Ease;
Where the Mind's free, the Body's delicate;
This Tempeft but diverts me from the Thought
Of what would hurt me more.

Enter two Ruffians.

1. Ruff. We have dog'd 'em far enough; this Place is I'll keep 'em Prifoners here within this Hovel,

[private;

Whilft you return and bring Lord Edmund hither;
But help me first to houfe 'em.

[Shews Gold.

2. Ruff. Nothing but this dear Devil Shou'd have drawn me through all this Tempeft; But to our Work.

They feize Cordelia and Arante, who shriek out. Soft, Madam, we are Friends; difpatch, I fay.

Cor. Help, Murder, Help; Gods! Some kind ThunTo ftrike me dead.

Enter Edgar.

[Uerbolt

Edg. What Cry was that?-Ha! Women feiz'd by Is this a Place and Time for Villainy?

[Drives them with his Quar

Avaunt, ye Bloodhounds.

Both. The Devil, the Devil.

Edg. Ofpeak, what are ye that appear to be

[Ruffians?

[ter-faff. [Run off.

O' th' tender Sex, and yet unguarded wander
Through the dread Mazes of this dreadful Night,
Where (though at full) the clouded Moon fcarce darts
Imperfect Glimmerings ?

Cord.

Cord. Firft fay, what art thou?

Our Guardian Angel, that wert pleas'd t'affume
That horrid Shape to fright the Ravishers?
We'll kneel to thee.

Edg. O my tumultuous Blood!

By all my trembling Veins, Cordelia's Voice; 'Tis fhe herself!.

-My Senfes fure conform

To my wild Garb, and I am mad indeed.

[Afide.

Cord. Whate'er thou art, befriend a wretched Virgin;

And, if thou canft, direct our weary Search.

Edg. Who relieves poor Tom, that fleeps on the Nettle, with the Hedge-pig for his Pillow.

Whilft Smug ply'd the Bellows,

She truck'd with her Fellows ;
The freckle-fac'd Mab

Was a Blouze and a Drab,

Yet Swithin madeOberon jealous.-Oh! Torture. Ar. Alack! Madam, a poor wand'ring Lunatick. Cord. And yet his Language feem'd but now well temSpeak, Friend, to one more wretched than thyself: [per'd. And if thou haft one Interval of Senfe,

Inform us, if thou canft, where we may find

A poor old Man, who through this Heath has ftray'd
The tedious Night.- -Speak, faw'ft thou fuch a one?
Edg. The King her Father, whom she's come to feek,
Through all the Terrors of this Night: O Gods! [Afide,
That fuch amazing Piety, fuch Tenderness
Shou'd yet to me be cruel.

Yes, fair one, fuch a one was lately here,
And is convey'd by fome that came to seek him,
To a neighb'ring Cottage; but diftinctly where,
I know not.

Cord. Bleffings on 'em ;

Let's find him out, Arante, for thou seest
We are in Heaven's Protection.

Edg. O Cordelia!

Cord. Ha! -Thou know'st my Name.

Edg. As you did once know Edgar's.

Cord. Edgar!

[Going off.

Edg. The poor Remains of Edgar, what your Scorn has left him.

D 2

Cord.

Cord. Do we wake, Arante?

it ;

Edg. My Father feeks my Life, which I preferv'd,
In Hopes of fome bleft Minute to oblige
Diftreft Cordelia, and the Gods have given
That Thought alone prevail'd with me to take
This frantick Drefs, to make the Earth my Bed,
With thefe bare Limbs all Change of Seafons bide,
Noon's fcorching Heat, and Midnight's piercing Cold,
To feed on Offals, and to drink with Herds,
To combat with the Winds, and be the Sport
Of Clowns, or what's more wretched yet, their Pity.
Ar. Was ever Tale fo full of Misery !

Edg. But fuch a Fall as this I grant was due
To my afpiring Love, for 'twas prefumptuous,
Though not prefumptuously purfued;

For well you know I wore my Flames conceal'd,
And filent as the Lamps that burn in Tombs,
Will you perceiv'd my Grief, with modeft Grace
Drew forth the Secret, and then feal'd Pardon.

my

Cord. You had your Pardon, nor can you challenge more. Edg. What do I challenge more!

Such Vanity agrees not with thefe Rags:

When in my profp'rous State, rich Glofter's Heir,
You filenc'd my Pretences, and enjoin'd me

To trouble you upon that Theme no more;
Then what Reception must Love's Language find
From these bare Limbs and Beggar's humble Weeds!
Cord. Such as a Voice of Pardon to a Wretch condemn'd,
Such as the Shouts

Of fuccouring Forces to a Town befieg'd.

Edg. Ah! what new Method now of Cruelty? Cord Come to my Arms, thou deareft, beft of Men, And take the kindeft Vows that e'er were spoke By a protefting Maid.

Edg, Is't poffible?

Cord. By the dear vital Stream that bathes my Heart, Thefe hallowed Rags of thine, and naked Virtue,

Thefe abject Taffels, these fantastick Shreds,

(Ridiculous even to the meaneft Clown) To me are dearer than the richest Pomp Of purple Monarchs.

Edg.