A Part of the Heath. |
|
Enter EDGAR. |
Edg. 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 Turlygood! poor Tom! |
That's something yet: Edgar I nothing am. [Exit. |
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