Scene VI. The country near Dover.
[Enter Gloucester, and Edgar dressed like a peasant.]
GLOUCESTER.
When shall I come to the top of that same hill?
EDGAR.
You do climb up it now: look, how we labour.
GLOUCESTER.
Methinks the ground is even.
EDGAR.
Horrible steep.
Hark, do you hear the sea?
GLOUCESTER.
No, truly.
EDGAR.
Why, then, your other senses grow imperfect
By your eyes' anguish.
GLOUCESTER.
So may it be indeed:
Methinks thy voice is alter'd; and thou speak'st
In better phrase and matter than thou didst.
EDGAR.
You are much deceiv'd: in nothing am I chang'd
But in my garments.
GLOUCESTER.
Methinks you're better spoken.
