6. Scene VI. The country near Dover.
[Enter Gloster, and Edgar dressed like a peasant.]
When shall I come to the top of that same hill?
You do climb up it now: look, how we labour.
Methinks the ground is even.
Hark, do you hear the sea?
Why, then, your other senses grow imperfect
By your eyes' anguish.
So may it be indeed:
Methinks thy voice is alter'd; and thou speak'st
In better phrase and matter than thou didst.
You are much deceiv'd: in nothing am I chang'd
But in my garments.
Methinks you're better spoken.
Come on, sir; here's the place:--stand still.--How fearful
And dizzy 'tis to cast one's eyes so low!
The crows and choughs that wing the midway air
Show scarce so gross as beetles: half way down
Hangs one that gathers samphire--dreadful trade!
Methinks he seems no bigger than his head:
The fishermen that walk upon the beach
Appear like mice; and yond tall anchoring bark,
Diminish'd to her cock; her cock a buoy
Almost too small for sight: the murmuring surge
That on the unnumber'd idle pebble chafes
Cannot be heard so high.--I'll look no more;
Lest my brain turn, and the deficient sight
Topple down headlong.
Set me where you stand.
Give me your hand:--you are now within a foot
Of th' extreme verge: for all beneath the moon
Would I not leap upright.
Let go my hand.
Here, friend, 's another purse; in it a jewel
Well worth a poor man's taking: fairies and gods
Prosper it with thee! Go thou further off;
Bid me farewell, and let me hear thee going.