1. Scene I. The heath.
He has some reason, else he could not beg.
I' the 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 the gods,--
They kill us for their sport.
[Aside.] How should this be?--
Bad is the trade that must play fool to sorrow,
Angering itself and others.--Bless thee, master!
Is that the naked fellow?
Ay, my lord.
Then pr'ythee get thee gone: if for my sake
Thou wilt o'ertake us, hence a mile or twain,
I' the way toward Dover, do it for ancient love;
And bring some covering for this naked soul,
Which I'll entreat to lead me.
Alack, sir, he is mad.
'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.
I'll bring him the best 'parel that I have,
Come on't what will.
Sirrah naked fellow,--
Poor Tom's a-cold.
[Aside.] I cannot daub it further.
Come hither, fellow.
[Aside.] And yet I must.--Bless thy sweet eyes, they bleed.
Know'st thou the way to Dover?
Both stile and gate, horseway and footpath. Poor Tom hath been
scared out of his good wits:--bless thee, good man's son, from
the foul fiend! Five fiends have been in poor Tom at once; of
lust, as Obidicut; Hobbididence, prince of dumbness; Mahu, of
stealing; Modo, of murder; Flibbertigibbet, of mopping and
mowing,--who since possesses chambermaids and waiting women. So,
bless thee, master!