King Lear, Act 3, Scene 4

Here is the place, my lord; good my lord, enter: The tyranny of the open night’s too rough For nature to endure.

This is the place, my lord. My good lord, go in: the cruelty of this open night is too harsh for a human body to bear.

Let me alone.

Leave me alone.

Good my lord, enter here.

My good lord, go in here.

Wilt break my heart?

Do you want to break my heart?

I had rather break mine own. Good my lord, enter.

I would rather break my own. My good lord, go in.

Thou think’st ’tis much that this contentious storm Invades us to the skin: so ’tis to thee, But where the greater malady is fix’d, The lesser is scarce felt. Thou’dst shun a bear; But if thy flight lay toward the raging 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.

You think it is a great matter that this quarrelling storm soaks us to the skin. So it is, to you. But where the greater illness is settled, the smaller one is hardly felt. You would run from a bear; but if your escape led you toward the raging sea, you would turn and face the bear's jaws. When the mind is untroubled, the body is sensitive. The storm in my mind takes from my senses all feeling except what beats there. A child's ingratitude! Is it not just as if this mouth should tear this hand for lifting food to it? But I will punish them to the full. No, I will weep no more. To shut me out on such a night! Pour down; I will endure it. On a night like this! Oh, Regan, Goneril! Your old kind father, whose generous heart gave everything — oh, that road leads to madness; let me keep away from it. No more of that.

Good my lord, enter here.

My good lord, go in here.

Prythee 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. [To the Fool.] In, boy; go first. You houseless poverty, Nay, get thee in. I’ll pray, and then I’ll sleep.

Please, go in yourself; look after your own comfort. This storm will not let me brood on things that would hurt me more. But I will go in. [To the Fool.] In, boy; you go first. You homeless poverty — no, get yourself inside. I will pray, and then I will 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 loop’d and window’d 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.

Poor naked wretches, wherever you are, who endure the beating of this pitiless storm, how can your homeless heads and unfed bodies, your rags full of holes and gaps, protect you from weather like this? Oh, I have taken far too little care of this! Take your medicine, greatness: expose yourself to feel what wretched people feel, so that you may shake your surplus down to them and show the heavens more just.

[Within.] Fathom and half, fathom and half! Poor Tom!

[Inside.] A fathom and a half, a fathom and a half! Poor Tom!

Come not in here, nuncle, here’s a spirit. Help me, help me!

Don't come in here, uncle, there's a ghost in here. Help me, help me!

Give me thy hand. Who’s there?

Give me your hand. Who's there?

A spirit, a spirit: he says his name’s poor Tom.

A ghost, a ghost: he says his name is poor Tom.

What art thou that dost grumble there i’ the straw? Come forth.

What are you, muttering there in the straw? Come out.

Away! the foul fiend follows me! Through the sharp hawthorn blows the cold wind. Humh! go to thy cold bed, and warm thee.

Get away! The evil devil is following me! The cold wind blows through the sharp hawthorn. Hmm! Go to your cold bed and warm yourself.

Didst thou give all to thy two daughters? And art thou come to this?

Did you give everything to your two daughters? And have you come to this?

Who gives anything to poor Tom? Whom the foul fiend hath led through fire and through flame, through ford 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, star-blasting, 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.

Who will give anything to poor Tom? The evil devil has led him through fire and through flame, through river crossings and whirlpools, over bog and swamp; he has laid knives under his pillow and nooses in his church seat, and set rat poison beside his porridge; he has made him proud of heart, so as to ride a bay trotting horse over bridges four inches wide, and to chase his own shadow as a traitor. Bless your five wits! Tom is cold. Oh, do, de, do, de, do, de. May you be protected from whirlwinds, evil stars and infections! Give poor Tom some charity, since the evil devil torments him. There I could catch him now — and there — and there again, and there.

What, have his daughters brought him to this pass? Couldst thou save nothing? Didst thou give ’em all?

What, have his daughters brought him to this state? Could you save nothing? Did you give them everything?

Nay, he reserv’d a blanket, else we had been all shamed.

No, he kept a blanket, or else we would all have been embarrassed.

Now all the plagues that in the pendulous air Hang fated o’er men’s faults light on thy daughters!

Now may all the plagues that hang in the overhanging air, destined to fall on men's sins, drop down on your daughters!

He hath no daughters, sir.

He has no daughters, sir.

Death, traitor! nothing could have subdu’d 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.

Death to you, traitor! Nothing could have brought a human being down to such a low state except his cruel daughters. Is it now the fashion that rejected fathers should show so little mercy to their own flesh? A fitting punishment! It was this flesh that fathered those daughters who feed on their own father's blood.

Pillicock sat on Pillicock hill, Alow, alow, loo loo!

Pillicock sat on Pillicock hill, alow, alow, loo loo!

This cold night will turn us all to fools and madmen.

This cold night will turn us all into fools and madmen.

Take heed o’ th’ foul fiend: obey thy parents; keep thy word justly; swear not; commit not with man’s sworn spouse; set not thy sweet-heart on proud array. Tom’s a-cold.

Watch out for the evil devil: obey your parents; keep your promises honestly; don't swear; don't sleep with a man's lawful wife; don't set your sweetheart's mind on fine clothes. Tom is cold.

What hast thou been?

What have you been?

A serving-man, 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 deeply, dice dearly; and in woman out-paramour’d 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 lender’s book, and defy the foul fiend. Still through the hawthorn blows the cold wind: says suum, mun, nonny. Dolphin my boy, boy, sessa! let him trot by.

A servant, proud in heart and mind; I curled my hair, wore my lady's gloves in my hat, served the lust in my mistress's heart and did the deed of darkness with her; I swore as many oaths as I spoke words, and broke them in the sweet face of heaven. I was someone who fell asleep planning lust and woke up to carry it out. I loved wine deeply and dice dearly, and with women I outdid the Turk in lovers. Treacherous of heart, quick to listen to gossip, bloody of hand; a pig for laziness, a fox for slyness, a wolf for greed, a dog for madness, a lion for hunting down prey. Don't let the creaking of shoes or the rustling of silk hand over your poor heart to a woman. Keep your foot out of brothels, your hand out of skirt-slits, your pen out of the moneylender's book, and defy the evil devil. Still the cold wind blows through the hawthorn: it says suum, mun, nonny. Dolphin my boy, boy, stop! Let him trot past.

Why, thou wert better in thy 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.

Why, you would be better off in your grave than facing this violence of the sky with your bare body. Is a man no more than this? Look at him closely. You owe the silkworm no silk, the animal no hide, the sheep no wool, the civet cat no perfume. Ha! Here are three of us who are artificial! You are the thing itself: a man with nothing added is no more than such a poor, bare, two-legged animal as you are. Off, off, you borrowed things! Come, help me unbutton.

Prythee, 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.

Please, uncle, calm down; this is a wicked night for swimming. Just now a little fire in an open field would be like an old lecher's heart — one small spark and all the rest of his body cold. Look, here comes a walking fire.

This is the foul fiend Flibbertigibbet: he begins at curfew, and walks till the 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. Swithold footed thrice the old; He met the nightmare, and her nine-fold; Bid her alight and her troth plight, And aroint thee, witch, aroint thee!

This is the evil devil Flibbertigibbet: he starts at curfew and walks about until the first cockcrow; he causes film over the eye and cataracts, he makes the eye squint and gives the harelip; he blights ripening wheat and harms the poor creatures of the earth. Swithold walked three times across the open country; he met the nightmare and her nine foals; he ordered her to get down and swear an oath, and away with you, witch, away with you!

How fares your grace?

How are you, your grace?

What’s he?

Who is that?

Who’s there? What is’t you seek?

Who's there? What are you looking for?

What are you there? Your names?

Who are you there? What are your names?

Poor Tom; that eats the swimming frog, the toad, the todpole, the wall-newt and the water; that in the fury of his heart, when the foul fiend rages, eats cow-dung for sallets; 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!

Poor Tom, who eats the swimming frog, the toad, the tadpole, the wall lizard and the water lizard; who, in the fury of his heart, when the evil devil rages, eats cow dung for salad; who swallows down old rats and dead dogs from the ditch; who drinks the green scum off the stagnant pond; who is whipped from parish to parish, and put in the stocks, punished and imprisoned; who once had three suits to his back and six shirts to his body, a horse to ride and a weapon to wear. But mice and rats and such small game have been Tom's food for seven long years. Watch out for the one who follows me. Quiet, Smulkin; quiet, you devil!

What, hath your grace no better company?

What, has your grace no better company than this?

The prince of darkness is a gentleman: Modo he’s call’d, and Mahu.

The prince of darkness is a gentleman: he is called Modo, and Mahu.

Our flesh and blood, my lord, is grown so vile That it doth hate what gets it.

Our own children, my lord, have grown so foul that they hate the parents who gave them life.

Poor Tom’s a-cold.

Poor Tom is cold.

Go in with me: my duty cannot suffer T’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 ventur’d to come seek you out, And bring you where both fire and food is ready.

Come inside with me. My sense of duty cannot bear to obey your daughters' harsh orders in everything. Though their instruction is to bolt my doors and let this cruel night seize hold of you, still I have risked coming out to look for you, and to bring you where there is a fire and food ready.

First let me talk with this philosopher. What is the cause of thunder?

First let me talk with this philosopher. What is the cause of thunder?

Good my lord, take his offer; go into the house.

My good lord, accept his offer; go into the house.

I’ll talk a word with this same learned Theban. What is your study?

I will have a word with this learned Theban. What is your field of study?

How to prevent the fiend and to kill vermin.

How to forestall the devil and how to kill vermin.

Let me ask you one word in private.

Let me ask you one word in private.

Importune him once more to go, my lord; His wits begin t’unsettle.

Press him once more to come along, my lord; his mind is beginning to give way.

Canst thou blame him? His daughters seek his death. Ah, that good Kent! He said it would be thus, poor banish’d man! Thou sayest the King grows mad; I’ll tell thee, friend, I am almost mad myself. I had a son, Now outlaw’d from my blood; he sought my life But lately, very late: I lov’d him, friend, No father his son dearer: true to tell thee,

Can you blame him? His daughters want him dead. Ah, that good Kent! He said it would turn out like this, poor banished man! You say the King is going mad; I will tell you, friend, I am almost mad myself. I had a son, now cut off from my family; he tried to kill me, only recently, very recently. I loved him, friend — no father loved his son more dearly. To tell you the truth,

The grief hath craz’d my wits. What a night’s this! I do beseech your grace.

The grief has driven me out of my mind. What a night this is! I beg you, your grace.

O, cry you mercy, sir. Noble philosopher, your company.

Oh, I beg your pardon, sir. Noble philosopher, come with me.

Tom’s a-cold.

Tom is cold.

In, fellow, there, into the hovel; keep thee warm.

In there, fellow, into the shed; keep yourself warm.

Come, let’s in all.

Come, let us all go in.

This way, my lord.

This way, my lord.

With him; I will keep still with my philosopher.

With him; I will stay with my philosopher all the same.

Good my lord, soothe him; let him take the fellow.

My good lord, humour him; let him bring the fellow.

Take him you on.

You bring him along.

Sirrah, come on; go along with us.

You there, come on; come along with us.

Come, good Athenian.

Come, good Athenian.

No words, no words, hush.

No talking, no talking, quiet.

Child Rowland to the dark tower came, His word was still—Fie, foh, and fum, I smell the blood of a British man.

Child Rowland came to the dark tower; his words were always — Fie, foh and fum, I smell the blood of a British man.