King Lear, Act 2, Scene 3

I heard myself proclaim’d, And by the happy hollow of a tree Escap’d the hunt. No port is free, no place That guard and most unusual vigilance Does not attend my taking. While I may scape I will preserve myself: and am bethought To take the basest and most poorest shape That ever penury in contempt of man, Brought near to beast: my face I’ll grime with filth, Blanket my loins; elf all my hair in knots, And with presented nakedness outface The winds and persecutions of the sky. The country gives me proof and precedent Of Bedlam beggars, who, with roaring voices, Strike in their numb’d and mortified bare arms Pins, wooden pricks, nails, sprigs of rosemary; And with this horrible object, from low farms, Poor pelting villages, sheep-cotes, and mills, Sometime with lunatic bans, sometime with prayers, Enforce their charity. Poor Turlygod! poor Tom, That’s something yet: Edgar I nothing am.

I heard myself declared an outlaw, and by the lucky hollow of a tree I escaped the search. No harbour is open, no place where guards and the closest watch are not waiting to seize me. While I can still get away, I will keep myself alive; and I have decided to take on the lowest and poorest shape that ever poverty, in its scorn of humanity, brought close to an animal. I'll smear my face with dirt, tie a blanket round my waist, tangle all my hair into knots, and with my bare body face down the winds and the sky's cruelty. This country gives me proof and example in the beggars from Bedlam, who with roaring voices stick into their numbed and deadened bare arms pins, wooden skewers, nails, and sprigs of rosemary; and with this horrifying sight, from lowly farms, poor wretched villages, sheep pens and mills, sometimes with mad curses, sometimes with prayers, they force people to give them charity. Poor Turlygod! Poor Tom! That at least is something: as Edgar I am nothing.