Ch. 383: SCENE III. The open Country

SCENE III. The open Country****

Enter Edgar.

EDGAR.

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.

[_Exit. _]