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Yet better thus, and known to be contemn’d, Than still contemn’d and flatter’d. To be worst, The lowest and most dejected thing of fortune, Stands still in esperance, lives not in fear: The lamentable change is from the best; The worst returns to laughter. Welcome, then, Thou unsubstantial air that I embrace! The wretch that thou hast blown unto the worst Owes nothing to thy blasts. But who comes here?
It’s better this way, even though I’m despised, Than to be despised and still flattered. To be at my lowest, The most miserable and unlucky person, Is still full of hope, and doesn’t live in fear: The sad change happens when you’re at your best; The worst can eventually make you laugh. So, welcome, You empty wind that I hold onto! The wretch you’ve blown to the worst Doesn’t owe you anything. But who’s this coming?
My father, poorly led? World, world, O world! But that thy strange mutations make us hate thee, Lie would not yield to age.
My father, led so poorly? World, world, oh world! If it weren’t for the strange changes in life, we’d hate you, But age would not give in to you.
O, my good lord, I have been your tenant, and your father’s tenant, these fourscore years.
Oh, my good lord, I’ve been your tenant, and your father’s tenant, for eighty years.
Away, get thee away; good friend, be gone: Thy comforts can do me no good at all; Thee they may hurt.
Go away, get out of here; good friend, leave: Your comfort does me no good at all; It may only hurt you.
Alack, sir, you cannot see your way.
Alas, sir, you can’t see where you’re going.
I have no way, and therefore want no eyes; I stumbled when I saw: full oft ’tis seen, Our means secure us, and our mere defects Prove our commodities. O dear son Edgar, The food of thy abused father’s wrath! Might I but live to see thee in my touch, I’ld say I had eyes again!
I have no way to go, and so I don’t need eyes; I stumbled when I could see: it’s often the case, That what we think keeps us safe, and our flaws Turn out to be what helps us. Oh, dear son Edgar, The one who’s made me the target of my anger! If only I could live to touch you again, I’d say I had my sight back!
How now! Who’s there?
What’s this! Who’s there?
[Aside] O gods! Who is’t can say ’I am at the worst’? I am worse than e’er I was.
[Aside] Oh gods! Who can say ’I’m at my lowest’? I am worse than I’ve ever been.
’Tis poor mad Tom.
It’s poor mad Tom.
[Aside] And worse I may be yet: the worst is not So long as we can say ’This is the worst.’
[Aside] And I may get worse yet: the worst isn’t over As long as we can still say ’This is the worst.’
Fellow, where goest?
Where are you going, fellow?
Is it a beggar-man?
Is he a beggar?
Madman and beggar too.
He’s both a madman and a beggar.
He has some reason, else he could not beg. I’ the last night’s storm I such a fellow saw; Which made me think a man a worm: my son Came then into my mind; and yet my mind Was then scarce friends with him: I have heard more since. As flies to wanton boys, are we to the gods. They kill us for their sport.
He’s got some reason, or else he couldn’t beg. Last night in the storm, I saw a man like that; Which made me think of a man as being like a worm: my son Came to my mind then; and yet I wasn’t really on good terms with him: I’ve heard more since. We’re like flies to wanton boys, to the gods. They kill us just for fun.
[Aside] How should this be? Bad is the trade that must play fool to sorrow, Angering itself and others.--Bless thee, master!
[Aside] How can this be? This job is terrible, forcing you to play the fool in sadness, Making both yourself and others angry.--God bless you, sir!
Is that the naked fellow?
Is that the naked man?
Ay, my lord.
Yes, my lord.
Then, prithee, get thee gone: if, for my sake, Thou wilt o’ertake us, hence a mile or twain, I’ the way toward Dover, do it for ancient love; And bring some covering for this naked soul, Who I’ll entreat to lead me.
Then, please, go away: if you can catch up with us, even if it’s just a mile or two, on the way to Dover, do it out of old friendship; And bring something to cover this naked man, Who I will ask to guide me.
Alack, sir, he is mad.
Oh, sir, he’s mad.
’Tis the times’ plague, when madmen lead the blind. Do as I bid thee, or rather do thy pleasure; Above the rest, be gone.
It’s the curse of these times, when madmen lead the blind. Do as I say, or better yet, do whatever you want; But above all, go.
I’ll bring him the best ’parel that I have, Come on’t what will.
I’ll bring him the best clothes I have, Whatever the cost.
Sirrah, naked fellow,--
Hey, naked man,--
Poor Tom’s a-cold.
Poor Tom’s cold.
I cannot daub it further.
I can’t keep pretending any longer.
Come hither, fellow.
Come here, man.
[Aside] And yet I must.--Bless thy sweet eyes, they bleed.
[Aside] And yet I must.--Bless your sweet eyes, they bleed.
Know’st thou the way to Dover?
Do you know the way to Dover?
Both stile and gate, horse-way and foot-path. Poor Tom hath been scared out of his good wits: bless thee, good man’s son, from the foul fiend! five fiends have been in poor Tom at once; of lust, as Obidicut; Hobbididence, prince of dumbness; Mahu, of stealing; Modo, of murder; Flibbertigibbet, of mopping and mowing, who since possesses chambermaids and waiting-women. So, bless thee, master!
Yes, both the stiles and gates, horse paths and footpaths. Poor Tom has been driven mad: bless you, good gentleman, from the evil spirits! Five demons have tormented poor Tom at once; one of lust, called Obidicut; Hobbididence, the demon of silence; Mahu, of theft; Modo, of murder; Flibbertigibbet, who causes mocking and teasing, especially among maids and waiting women. So, bless you, sir!
Here, take this purse, thou whom the heavens’ plagues Have humbled to all strokes: that I am wretched Makes thee the happier: heavens, deal so still! Let the superfluous and lust-dieted man, That slaves your ordinance, that will not see Because he doth not feel, feel your power quickly; So distribution should undo excess, And each man have enough. Dost thou know Dover?
Here, take this purse, you who have been humbled by heaven’s punishments. My suffering makes you better off; may heaven always do that! Let the rich, indulgent man who defies divine laws and refuses to see because he feels no pain, quickly feel your power; so that excess may be undone, and everyone has enough. Do you know Dover?
Ay, master.
Yes, sir.
There is a cliff, whose high and bending head Looks fearfully in the confined deep: Bring me but to the very brim of it, And I’ll repair the misery thou dost bear With something rich about me: from that place I shall no leading need.
There’s a cliff, whose steep and leaning edge looks terrifyingly down into the deep sea: Just lead me to the edge of it, and I’ll reward you for your troubles with something valuable I have on me: from there, I won’t need any more guidance.
Give me thy arm: Poor Tom shall lead thee.
Take my arm: Poor Tom will lead you.