Original Text
*Enter Gloucester, and Edgar dressed as a peasant.* GLOUCESTER. When shall I come to th' top of that same hill? EDGAR. You do climb up it now. Look how we labour. GLOUCESTER. Methinks the ground is even. EDGAR. Horrible steep. Hark, do you hear the sea? GLOUCESTER. No, truly.
Original Text
EDGAR. Why then your other senses grow imperfect By your eyes' anguish. GLOUCESTER. So may it be indeed. Methinks thy voice is altered, and thou speak'st In better phrase, and matter than thou didst. EDGAR. You're much deceived: in nothing am I changed But in my garments. GLOUCESTER. Methinks you're better spoken.
Original Text
EDGAR. 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. Halfway 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, Diminished to her cock: her cock, a buoy Almost too small for sight.
Original Text
The murmuring surge, That on th' unnumbered idle pebble chafes, Cannot be heard so high. I'll look no more, Lest my brain turn, and the deficient sight Topple down headlong. GLOUCESTER. Set me where you stand.
Original Text
EDGAR. Give me your hand: You are now within a foot of th' extreme verge. For all beneath the moon would I not leap upright. GLOUCESTER. 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. EDGAR. Now fare ye well, good sir. GLOUCESTER. With all my heart.
Original Text
EDGAR. *(aside)* Why I do trifle thus with his despair, Is done to cure it. GLOUCESTER. O you mighty gods! This world I do renounce, and in your sights Shake patiently my great affliction off: If I could bear it longer, and not fall To quarrel with your great opposeless wills, My snuff, and loathed part of nature should Burn itself out.
Original Text
If Edgar live, O bless him! Now, fellow, fare thee well. *He falls forward.* EDGAR. Gone, sir, farewell. — And yet I know not how conceit may rob The treasury of life, when life itself Yields to the theft. Had he been where he thought, By this had thought been past. Alive, or dead? Ho, you sir! Friend! Hear you, sir? Speak! — Thus might he pass indeed: yet he revives. What are you, sir? GLOUCESTER. Away, and let me die.
Original Text
EDGAR. Hadst thou been aught But gossamer, feathers, air, So many fathom down precipitating, Thou'dst shivered like an egg: but thou dost breathe; Hast heavy substance, bleed'st not, speak'st, art sound. Ten masts at each, make not the altitude Which thou hast perpendicularly fell. Thy life's a miracle. Speak yet again. GLOUCESTER. But have I fallen, or no?
Original Text
EDGAR. From the dread summit of this chalky bourn Look up a-height: the shrill-gorged lark so far Cannot be seen, or heard. Do but look up. GLOUCESTER. Alack, I have no eyes. Is wretchedness deprived that benefit To end itself by death? 'Twas yet some comfort, When misery could beguile the tyrant's rage, And frustrate his proud will.
Original Text
EDGAR. Give me your arm. Up, so: how is't? Feel you your legs? You stand. GLOUCESTER. Too well, too well. EDGAR. This is above all strangeness. Upon the crown o'th' cliff: what thing was that Which parted from you? GLOUCESTER. A poor unfortunate beggar.
Original Text
EDGAR. As I stood here below, methought his eyes Were two full moons: he had a thousand noses, Horns whelked, and waved like the enridged sea: It was some fiend. Therefore, thou happy father, Think that the clearest gods, who make them honours Of men's impossibilities, have preserved thee. GLOUCESTER. I do remember now: henceforth I'll bear Affliction, till it do cry out itself "Enough, enough," and die. That thing you speak of, I took it for a man: often 'twould say "The fiend, the fiend" — he led me to that place. EDGAR. Bear free and patient thoughts.