Act 2 - Scene 3
I heard myself proclaim'd;
And by the happy hollow of a tree
Escaped the hunt. No port is free; no place,
guard, and most unusual vigilance,
Does not attend my taking. Whiles I may 'scape,
I will preserve myself: and
To take the basest and most poorest shape
That ever penury, in contempt of man,
near to beast: my face I'll grime with filth;
Blanket my loins: elf all my hair in knots;
And with presented
The winds and persecutions of the sky.
The country gives me proof and precedent
Bedlam beggars, who, with roaring voices,
Strike in their numb'd and mortified bare arms
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!
That's something yet: Edgar I nothing am.
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