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.
Better to be this way—despised by everyone— Than to stay despised while being flattered by some. To reach the very bottom, to be the lowest and most broken thing that fortune crushes, at least still holds some hope, doesn't live in fear. The terrible loss is falling from the highest place; once you're at the worst, you can only laugh. So I welcome this, this invisible wind that I'm holding in my arms; the wretch whom you've blown down to complete ruin owes nothing to your storms.
I'd rather be openly despised than despised while people pretend to like me. When you're at your absolute lowest—totally broken by life—at least you're not living in terror. The real tragedy is falling from the top; the worst that can happen to you becomes almost funny. So I'm welcoming this empty air like it's something real; this miserable person you've knocked flat doesn't owe anything to your destructive winds.
better to be openly hated than despised while people flatter you at rock bottom theres hope not fear the real loss is falling from the top once youre worst you can laugh about it
Old Man.
But who comes here? My father, poorly led?
World, world, O world!
But that thy strange mutations make us hate thee,
Life would not yield to age.
The Old Man. But who is this coming here? My father, poorly led? World, world, O world! If it weren't for your strange changes that make us hate you, life would go on forever and never yield to old age.
That old man. But who's coming there? My father being led like that? World, world, oh world! If you didn't keep changing in ways that make us despise you, we'd never get old and die.
old man theres my father world u change 2 much thats y we age
O my good lord, I have been your tenant, and your father’s tenant
these fourscore years.
My lord, I've been your tenant—and your father's tenant before you— for eighty years.
My lord, I've rented from you and your father for eighty years.
ive been your renter and your dads 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, leave now; my friend, you must go. Your comfort can't help me at all; in fact, it might only hurt you.
Go away, please just leave. Your kindness can't do me any good—it'll only make things harder for you.
go away your kindness wont help it might hurt you
You cannot see your way.
You can't see where you're going.
You can't see the path ahead of you.
you cant see the way
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’d say I had eyes again!
I have no path forward, so I have no need for eyes; I stumbled when I could see. It's often clear that our possessions make us safe, and our very weaknesses become our strengths. O my dear son Edgar, the reason for your father's betrayed rage! If I could only live long enough to feel you in my hands, I'd swear I had my sight back!
If I have nowhere to go, I don't need eyes to see. When I could see, I stumbled over things. Having things makes us comfortable—but our losses turn into our greatest assets. Oh Edgar, my son, you're why I'm so angry with you. If I could just hold you once before I die, I'd feel like I can see again.
no path so dont need eyes could see before and still stumbled our stuff keeps us safe our losses become strength if i could touch you id see again
How now! Who’s there?
What's happening now? Who is that?
What's going on? Who's there?
wait whos that
[_Aside._] O gods! Who is’t can say ‘I am at the
worst’?
I am worse than e’er I was.
O gods! Who can truly claim to be at their absolute worst? I'm in an even worse position than I've ever been.
Oh man, who gets to say they've hit rock bottom? I'm in an even worse place than before.
seriously, who can say they're at their worst? i've gotten even worse
’Tis poor mad Tom.
It's poor mad Tom.
It's poor crazy Tom.
its crazy tom
Gloucester's 'flies to wanton boys' speech is frequently quoted as Shakespeare's bleakest theological statement — and it is, but it needs its context. Gloucester has just had his eyes gouged out, has just learned that the son he trusted (Edmund) was his destroyer and the son he condemned (Edgar) was innocent. In that state, he formulates a vision of the universe as governed by bored, cruel divinity. The image is precise: boys who torture flies do not hate the flies; they are simply indifferent to their suffering in a way that makes the cruelty worse than hatred. Gloucester is not saying the gods are evil — he is saying they are playing. This vision competes with Lear's earlier storm speeches (which at least treated the gods as interested, angry, capable of justice) and with Edgar's more hopeful perspective. The play does not adjudicate between them. By the end, when Gloucester dies of 'burst smilingly' between grief and joy at Edgar's identity, the universe has not explained itself.
[_Aside._] And worse I may be yet. The worst is not
So long as we can say ‘This is the worst.’
And things might get worse still. The worst hasn't truly arrived so long as we can still say 'This is the worst'—because we can still recognize it.
And things could get even worse. But it's not really the worst yet, as long as we can still call it that. Once you can name it, there's still something left.
could get worse but not truly worst yet long as i can say it
Fellow, where goest?
Where are you going?
Where are you headed?
where you going
Is it a beggar-man?
Is he a beggar?
Is this guy panhandling?
hes asking for money?
Madman, and beggar too.
A madman and a beggar.
Both mad and a beggar.
mad and begging
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 has some sanity, or he couldn't beg. During the last night's storm I saw such a fellow, which made me think about how a man is just a worm. My son came into my thoughts then, and yet my mind wasn't even on good terms with him at the time. I've learned more about him since. We're like flies to cruel boys when it comes to the gods— they kill us just for fun.
He's sane enough to beg. I saw someone like him in last night's storm, and it made me think how men are basically worms. That's when my son came to mind, even though I wasn't exactly friendly to him at that moment. I've learned more since then. We're like flies to the gods—they swat us around for entertainment.
hes sane or he couldnt beg saw a guy like him in the storm made me think men are worms son came to mind weve learned more since were flies to the gods they kill us for fun
[_Aside._] How should this be?
Bad is the trade that must play fool to sorrow,
Angering itself and others. Bless thee, master!
How can this be happening? It's a terrible business—having to play the fool to grief, angering yourself and others. God bless you, master!
How is this even happening? It's awful when you have to fake madness to survive sorrow—it just makes you and everyone around you more angry. Bless you, sir!
how is this real? it sucks pretending to be crazy makes everyone angrier bless you
Is that the naked fellow?
Is that the naked man?
Is that the one with no clothes?
thats the nude dude?
Ay, my lord.
Ay, my lord.
Ay, my lord.
Ay, my lord.
Then prithee get thee away. 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,
Which I’ll entreat to lead me.
Then please go away. If you will for my sake catch up with us about a mile or two from here on the road toward Dover, do it out of loyalty, and bring some clothes for this naked person, whom I'll ask to guide me.
Then please go away. If you'd catch up with us about a mile or two down the road to Dover, for old times' sake bring some clothes for this naked person—I'm going to ask him to lead me there.
go away if you care catch up a couple miles toward dover bring clothes for this naked guy ill get him to lead me
Alack, sir, he is mad.
Alas, sir, he's mad.
He's mad, sir.
hes crazy sir
’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.
It's this age's curse when madmen have to lead the blind. Do as I tell you, or do what you want; most importantly, go.
It's insane when crazy people have to guide the blind. Do what I say—or don't, do what you want—just go.
its crazy when madmen lead the blind do what i say or what you want just go
Edgar's situation in this scene is perhaps the most psychologically complex in the play. He has been disguised as Poor Tom since 2-3. He has watched Lear's breakdown, Gloucester's blinding, the progressive collapse of everything — all from behind the fiction of Poor Tom. He cannot reveal himself without destroying his cover and, potentially, losing the only position from which he can act. But the cost is enormous: he watches his blinded father, hears him ask to be guided by a stranger, and must be that stranger. The aside 'O gods! Who is't can say "I am at worst"?' is not philosophical musing but a scream of anguish that cannot be public. Edgar's disguise is the play's most extended meditation on the gap between what one feels and what one is permitted to express.
I’ll bring him the best ’parel that I have,
Come on’t what will.
I'll bring him the best clothes that I have, come what may.
I'll get him the nicest clothes I have, whatever happens.
ill bring him my best clothes no matter what
Sirrah naked fellow.
You, naked man.
Hey, naked man.
hey naked guy
Poor Tom’s a-cold.
[_Aside._] I cannot daub it further.
Poor Tom is freezing. I can't keep up this pretense any longer.
Poor Tom is freezing. I can't keep pretending to be this madman anymore.
poor tom's frozen i can't keep pretending
Come hither, fellow.
Come here, friend.
Come here.
come here
[_Aside._] And yet I must. Bless thy sweet eyes, they bleed.
And yet I must go on. I bless your beautiful eyes, though they're bleeding.
And I have to keep going. God protect your eyes—they're bleeding.
gotta keep going bless your wounded eyes
Know’st thou the way to Dover?
Do you know the way to Dover?
Can you find your way to Dover?
dover route?
Both stile and gate, horseway and footpath. 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 darkness; Mahu, of
stealing; Modo, of murder; Flibbertigibbet, of mopping and
mowing, who since possesses chambermaids and waiting women. So,
bless thee, master!
By the fence and gate, by horsepath and footpath. Poor Tom has been scared out of his mind. Bless you, good man's son, from the foul demon! Five demons have been inside poor Tom at once: desire, like Obidicut; Hobbididence, prince of darkness; Mahu, who brings stealing; Modo, who brings murder; Flibbertigibbet, who brings madness and making faces, and who now possesses servants and ladies-in-waiting. So bless you, master!
By the gates and paths, the roads for horses and on foot. Poor Tom's been scared half to death, lost his mind. Bless you, good man, protect you from the dark forces! Five demons have been torturing poor Tom: lust, darkness, stealing, murder, and madness—they even haunt the servants and maids. So bless you, master!
by gates and paths both roads for horses and feet ive been scared out of my mind bless you from the demons five devils in me lust darkness theft murder madness bless you master
Here, take this purse, thou whom the heaven’s 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 does not feel, feel your power quickly;
So distribution should undo excess,
And each man have enough. Dost thou know Dover?
Take this purse, you whom heaven's punishments have beaten down: that I'm miserable makes you better off. May heaven always do that! Let the man who has too much and lives for pleasure, who ignores your rules, who won't see because he doesn't feel, quickly feel your power; then wealth should break down excess, and every man would have enough. Do you know Dover?
Take this money. You've been beaten down by everything heaven threw at you, and me being miserable somehow makes you richer. I wish heaven kept doing that. That guy with too much, living only for pleasure, who ignores the rules because he can't feel pain—let him feel your power fast. Then wealth would get spread around, and everyone would have enough. Do you know how to get to Dover?
take this money heaven beat you down im miserable so you win let the rich guy feel heavens power let wealth get shared everyone has enough you know dover
Ay, master.
Ay, master.
Ay, master.
Ay, master.
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 high and curving top hangs fearfully over the narrow depths below. Just bring me to the very edge of it, and I'll repay your kindness with something valuable I'll have on me: from that place I won't need anyone to guide me.
There's a cliff that drops off steeply into the water below. Just get me to the edge of it, and I'll pay you handsomely for your help. From that place, I won't need any more guidance.
theres a cliff high over the water just get me to the edge ill pay you well after that i dont need help
Give me thy arm:
Poor Tom shall lead thee.
Take my arm. Poor Tom will lead you.
Hold onto my arm. Poor Tom will guide you.
give me your arm ill lead you
The Reckoning
One of the bleakest scenes in the play — and it produces one of the bleakest lines Shakespeare ever wrote. Edgar begins with what seems like a recovery: 'The worst is not / So long as we can say "This is the worst."' A kind of philosopher's consolation: while you can still articulate your suffering, there is something left. Then his blinded father walks in, led by an old man, and the consolation collapses immediately. 'O gods! Who is't can say "I am at worst"? / I am worse than e'er I was.' Edgar speaks this aside with his father standing within earshot, unable to identify him. The horror of the scene is entirely in that gap: a son watching his father blinded, knowing he caused it by running away rather than staying to defend himself, unable even to announce himself. Gloucester's speech about 'As flies to wanton boys are we to the gods' — his vision of a cosmos governed by sadistic indifference — is the most theologically desolate moment in the play.
If this happened today…
A person in disguise, hiding for their safety, turns a corner and sees someone they love — a parent — blinded, stumbling, being led by a stranger. They cannot announce themselves; it would blow their cover. They watch their parent say that the universe is run by bored children killing insects for sport. Then they step forward and offer to help, still pretending to be a stranger.