Act 3, Scene 4

Original Text

*Enter 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.* LEAR. Let me alone. KENT. Good my lord, enter here. LEAR. Wilt break my heart? KENT. I had rather break mine own. Good my lord, enter.

Modern English

*Lear, Kent, and the Fool enter.* KENT. Here's the place, my lord. Please, go inside. The cruelty of being out in the open tonight is too harsh for any person to bear. *The storm continues.* LEAR. Leave me alone. KENT. My lord, please go in. LEAR. Do you want to break my heart? KENT. I'd rather break my own. My lord, please go in.

Original Text

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 fixed, The lesser is scarce felt. Thou'dst shun a bear, But if thy flight lay toward the roaring sea, Thou'dst 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.

Modern English

LEAR. You think it's a big deal that this raging storm soaks us to the bone. It is — to you. But when a greater pain grips you, the smaller one barely registers. You'd run from a bear, but if your only escape led toward a roaring sea, you'd turn and face the bear head-on. When the mind is at peace, the body notices every discomfort. The storm in my mind blocks out every other feeling except the one that pounds there — a child's ingratitude. Isn't it as if this mouth should tear apart this hand for lifting food to it? But I will have my revenge. No — I won't cry anymore. On a night like this, to shut me out? Let it pour. I can take it. On a night like this? Oh, Regan, Goneril — your old, kind father who gave you everything so freely — Oh, that way lies madness. I won't go there. No more of that.

Original Text

KENT. Good my lord, enter here. 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. In, boy, go first. You houseless poverty — *Exit.* Nay, get thee in. I'll pray, and then I'll sleep. Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are, That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm, How shall your houseless heads and unfed sides, Your looped and windowed 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.

Modern English

KENT. My lord, please go in here. LEAR. No — you go in. Find your own comfort. This storm won't let me dwell on things that would hurt me worse. But I'll go in. In you go, boy — you first. You homeless poor — *He exits.* Go on, get inside. I'll pray first, and then I'll sleep. Poor naked wretches, wherever you are, enduring the battering of this merciless storm — how will your unsheltered heads and empty stomachs, your ragged clothes full of holes, protect you from weather like this? I've taken too little care of this. Swallow your medicine, you privileged ones. Force yourself to feel what the desperate feel, so you can shake your excess wealth down to them and prove the heavens more fair.

Original Text

*Enter Edgar and Fool.* EDGAR. Fathom and half, fathom and half! Poor Tom! 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.

Modern English

*Edgar and the Fool enter.* EDGAR. Six feet of water! Six feet of water! Poor Tom! FOOL. Don't come in here, uncle. There's a ghost. Help me! Help me! KENT. Give me your hand. Who's there? FOOL. A spirit! A spirit! He says his name is Poor Tom.

Original Text

KENT. What art thou that dost grumble there i' the straw? Come forth. EDGAR. Away, the foul fiend follows me. Through the sharp hawthorn blow the winds. Hum! Go to thy bed and warm thee.

Modern English

KENT. What are you, grumbling there in the straw? Come out. EDGAR. Get away! The foul fiend is after me. The cold wind blows through the sharp hawthorn bushes. Brrr! Go to your bed and get warm.

Original Text

LEAR. Didst thou give all to thy daughters? And art thou come to this? EDGAR. Who gives anything to Poor Tom? Whom the foul fiend hath led through fire and through flame, through sword 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- 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, 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.

Modern English

LEAR. Did you give everything to your daughters too? Is that how you ended up like this? EDGAR. Who gives anything to Poor Tom? The one the foul fiend has dragged through fire and flame, through sword fights and whirlpools, over bogs and swamps, who's had knives placed under his pillow and nooses hung in his church pew, rat poison set by his porridge — the fiend made him vain enough to ride a trotting horse over bridges four inches wide, to chase his own shadow thinking it a traitor. God bless your five senses! Tom is freezing. Oh, do de, do de, do de. God protect you from whirlwinds, evil stars, and infection! Show Poor Tom some kindness — the foul fiend torments him. There, I could grab him — and there — and there again — and there.

Original Text

*Storm still.* LEAR. Has his daughters brought him to this pass? Couldst thou save nothing? Wouldst thou give 'em all? FOOL. Nay, he reserved a blanket, else we had been all shamed. 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. 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.

Modern English

*The storm continues.* LEAR. Have his daughters brought him to this state? Couldn't you save anything? Did you give them every last thing? FOOL. Well, he kept a blanket at least, or we'd all be embarrassed. LEAR. May every plague hovering in the heavy air, fated to punish men's sins, fall on your daughters! KENT. He has no daughters, sir. LEAR. Damn you, traitor! Nothing could have reduced a man to such wretchedness except cruel daughters. Is this what happens now — cast-off fathers have so little pity for their own bodies? A fitting punishment, I suppose — this very flesh produced those bloodsucking daughters.

Original Text

EDGAR. Pillicock sat on Pillicock hill. Alow, alow, 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's justice, swear not, commit not with man's sworn spouse. Set not thy sweetheart on proud array. Tom's a-cold.

Modern English

EDGAR. Pillicock sat on Pillicock hill — halloo, halloo, loo, loo! FOOL. This freezing night will turn us all into fools and lunatics. EDGAR. Watch out for the foul fiend. Obey your parents, keep your promises, don't swear false oaths, don't sleep with another man's wife. Don't dress your sweetheart in expensive finery. Tom is freezing.

Original Text

LEAR. What hast thou been? EDGAR. A servingman, 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 dearly, 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, nonny. Dauphin, my boy, boy, sessey! Let him trot by.

Modern English

LEAR. What were you before? EDGAR. A servant — proud in heart and mind. I curled my hair, wore love tokens in my hat, served the desires of my mistress' heart, and slept with her. I swore as many oaths as I spoke words and broke every one of them under God's own sky. I fell asleep plotting my next seduction and woke up to carry it out. I loved wine passionately, gambling passionately, and in women I outdid the Sultan himself. Deceitful at heart, gullible, violent, lazy as a pig, sly as a fox, greedy as a wolf, savage as a mad dog, fierce as a hunting lion. Don't let the creak of shoes or the rustle of silk dresses lead your weak heart to ruin. Keep your feet out of brothels, your hands out of women's skirts, your name off moneylenders' books, and resist the foul fiend. Still through the hawthorn blows the cold wind — it moans and moans. Come, my boy, giddy-up! Let him pass on by.

Original Text

*Storm still.* LEAR. Thou wert better in a 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.

Modern English

*The storm continues.* LEAR. You'd be better off in a grave than standing here answering the fury of the sky with your bare body. Is man nothing more than this? Look at him carefully. You don't owe the worm any silk, the animal any leather, the sheep any wool, or the civet cat any perfume. Hmm? The three of us here are covered in borrowed finery. You are the real thing — a human stripped bare. Unprotected man is nothing more than a poor, naked, two-legged animal like you. Off, off with these borrowed clothes! Come, let me unbutton here.

Original Text

*Enter Gloucester, with a torch.* 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. EDGAR. This is the foul Flibbertigibbet. He begins at curfew and walks at first cock. He gives the web and the pin, squints the eye, and makes the harelip, mildews the white wheat, and hurts the poor creature of earth. Saint Withold footed thrice the old; He met the nightmare and her ninefold; Bid her alight and her troth plight, And aroint thee, witch, aroint thee!

Modern English

*Gloucester enters, carrying a torch.* FOOL. Please, uncle, calm down. This is a bad night for swimming. A little fire in a wild field right now would be like an old lecher's heart — one small spark, the rest of his body stone cold. Look, here comes a walking torch. EDGAR. That's the demon Flibbertigibbet. He starts at curfew and prowls until dawn. He causes cataracts and crossed eyes, makes children born with cleft lips, blights the ripening wheat, and plagues the poor creatures of the earth. Saint Withold walked the uplands three times over; he met the nightmare-demon and her nine offspring; he told her to get down and swear to do no harm — begone, witch! Begone!

Original Text

KENT. How fares your Grace? 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 salads, swallows the old rat and the ditch-dog, drinks the green mantle of the standing pool — who is whipped from tithing to tithing and stocked, 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!

Modern English

KENT. How are you, my lord? LEAR. What is that? KENT. Who's there? What do you want? GLOUCESTER. Who are you? What are your names? EDGAR. Poor Tom, who eats the swimming frog, the toad, the tadpole, the wall lizard and the water creature — who in his frenzy, when the foul fiend drives him mad, eats cow dung for salad, swallows old rats and dead dogs from ditches, drinks the green scum off stagnant ponds — who gets whipped from one parish to the next, put in the stocks, beaten, and thrown in jail — who once had three suits on his back and six shirts to his name. A horse to ride and a weapon to carry. But mice and rats and such small game have been Tom's only food for seven long years. Quiet, my demon. Hush, Smulkin. Hush, you fiend!

Original Text

GLOUCESTER. What, hath your Grace no better company? EDGAR. The Prince of Darkness is a gentleman. Modo he's called, and Mahu. GLOUCESTER. Our flesh and blood, my lord, is grown so vile that it doth hate what gets it. EDGAR. Poor Tom's a-cold.

Modern English

GLOUCESTER. My lord, is this the only company you have? EDGAR. The Prince of Darkness is a gentleman. He goes by Modo and Mahu. GLOUCESTER. Our own children, my lord, have grown so corrupt that they despise the very parents who gave them life. EDGAR. Poor Tom is freezing.

Original Text

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.

Modern English

GLOUCESTER. Come inside with me. My conscience won't allow me to obey every one of your daughters' harsh commands. Even though they ordered me to bar my doors and let this savage night destroy you, I've taken the risk of coming out to find you and bringing you somewhere with a warm fire and food waiting.

Original Text

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. 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. LEAR. Let me ask you one word in private.

Modern English

LEAR. First let me talk with this philosopher. What causes thunder? KENT. My lord, please accept his offer. Go into the house. LEAR. I want a word with this learned scholar. What's your area of study? EDGAR. How to ward off the devil and kill vermin. LEAR. Let me ask you something in private.

Original Text

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 banished man. Thou say'st the King grows mad. I'll tell thee, friend, I am almost mad myself. I had a son, Now outlawed from my blood. He sought my life But lately, very late. I loved him, friend, No father his son dearer. True to tell thee, The grief hath crazed my wits. What a night's this! I do beseech your Grace —

Modern English

KENT. Beg him once more to come inside, my lord. His mind is starting to crack. GLOUCESTER. Can you blame him? *The storm continues.* His own daughters want him dead. Ah, that good Kent — he predicted this would happen — poor banished man. You say the King is going mad. I'll tell you, friend, I'm nearly mad myself. I had a son, now banished from my family. He tried to kill me just recently — very recently. I loved him, friend. No father ever loved a son more dearly. To be honest, the grief has shattered my reason. What a night this is! I beg your Grace —

Original Text

LEAR. O, cry you mercy, sir. Noble philosopher, your company. EDGAR. Tom's a-cold. GLOUCESTER. In, fellow, there, into the hovel. Keep thee warm. LEAR. Come, let's in all. KENT. This way, my lord. 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. LEAR. Come, good Athenian. GLOUCESTER. No words, no words. Hush.

Modern English

LEAR. Oh, forgive me, sir. Noble philosopher, I want your company. EDGAR. Tom is freezing. GLOUCESTER. You there, fellow — into the hovel. Keep yourself warm. LEAR. Come, let's all go in. KENT. This way, my lord. LEAR. With him — I'm staying with my philosopher. KENT. My lord, just humor him. Let him bring the fellow along. GLOUCESTER. You take charge of him. KENT. Come on, you. Walk with us. LEAR. Come along, my good scholar. GLOUCESTER. Not a word. Quiet now.

Original Text

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.*

Modern English

EDGAR. Young Roland came to the dark tower. His battle cry was always: fee, fie, foh, and fum — I smell the blood of a British man. *They all exit.*

King Lear

Act 3, Scene 4

Act 3, Scene 4