EDGAR.
Come on, sir; here's the place: — stand still. — How fearful
And dizzy 'tis to cast one's eyes so low!
The crows and choughs that wing the midway air
Show scarce so gross as beetles: half way down
Hangs one that gathers samphire — dreadful trade!
Methinks he seems no bigger than his head:
The fishermen that walk upon the beach
Appear like mice; and yond tall anchoring bark,
Diminish'd to her cock; her cock a buoy
Almost too small for sight: the murmuring surge
That on the unnumber'd idle pebble chafes
Cannot be heard so high. — I'll look no more;
Lest my brain turn, and the deficient sight
Topple down headlong.
GLOUCESTER.
Set me where you stand.
EDGAR.
Give me your hand: — you are now within a foot
Of th' extreme verge: for all beneath the moon
Would I not leap upright.
GLOUCESTER.
Let go my hand.
Here, friend, 's another purse; in it a jewel
Well worth a poor man's taking: fairies and gods
Prosper it with thee! Go thou further off;
Bid me farewell, and let me hear thee going.
EDGAR.
Now fare ye well, good sir.
[Seems to go.]
GLOUCESTER.
With all my heart.
EDGAR.
[Aside.] Why I do trifle thus with his despair
Is done to cure it.
