Enter EDGAREDGAR
I heard myself proclaim'd;
And by the happy
hollow of a tree
Escaped the
hunt. No port is free; no place,
That guard, and most unusual vigilance,
Does not attend my taking. Whiles 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 out-face
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 bansbans, sometime with prayers,
Enforce their charity.
Poor Turlygod! poor Tom!
That's something yet: Edgar I nothing am. (Exit)
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