Act 4 Scene 1

Act 4 Scene 1
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  • Then prithee, get thee gone. If for my sake, thou wilt o'ertake us hence a mile or twain I' th' way toward Dover, do it for ancient love. 
  • And bring some covering for this naked soul, Which I’ll entreat to lead me.
  • Alack, sir, he is mad.
  • 'Tis the time’s plague when madmen lead the blind. Do as I bid thee. Or rather, do thy pleasure. Above the rest, be gone.
  • I’ll bring him the best 'parel that I have, Come on ’t what will.
  • Poor Tom’s a-cold. I cannot daub it further.
  • Come hither, fellow.
  • Sirrah, naked fellow—
  • And yet I must.—Bless thy sweet eyes, they bleed.
  • Know’st thou the way to Dover?
  • So bless thee, master.
  • Both stile and gate, horseway and footpath. Poor Tom hath been scared out of his good wits. 
  • Bless thee, goodman’s son, from the foul fiend!
  • Flibbertigibbet, of mopping and mowing, who since possesses chambermaids and waiting-women.
  • Hobbididence, prince of dumbness;
  •  Mahu, of stealing; Modo, of murder;
  • Five fiends have been in poor Tom at once: of lust, as Obidicut;
  • That I am wretched makes thee the happier.
  • Let the superfluous and lust-dieted man, that slaves your ordinance, that will not see because he doth not feel, feel your power quickly.
  • Here, take this purse, thou whom the heavens' plagues have humbled to all strokes.
  • So distribution should undo excess, and each man have enough.
  • Dost thou know Dover?
  • Heavens, deal so still.
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