bridges, to course his own shadow for a traitor.--Bless thy five
wits!--Tom's a-cold.--O, do de, do de, do de.--Bless thee from
whirlwinds, star-blasting, and taking! Do poor Tom some charity,
whom the foul fiend vexes:--there could I have him now,--and
there,--and there again, and there.
[Storm continues.]

Lear.
What, have his daughters brought him to this pass?--
Couldst thou save nothing? Didst thou give 'em all?

Fool.
Nay, he reserv'd a blanket, else we had been all shamed.

Lear.
Now all the plagues that in the pendulous air
Hang fated o'er men's faults light on thy daughters!

Kent.
He hath no daughters, sir.

Lear.
Death, traitor! nothing could have subdu'd nature
To such a lowness but his unkind daughters.--
Is it the fashion that discarded fathers
Should have thus little mercy on their flesh?
Judicious punishment! 'twas this flesh begot
Those pelican daughters.

Edg.