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.

Old Man.
Alack, sir, he is mad.

Glou.
'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.

Old Man.
I'll bring him the best 'parel that I have,
Come on't what will.

[Exit.]

Glou.
Sirrah naked fellow,--

Edg.
Poor Tom's a-cold.
[Aside.] I cannot daub it further.

Glou.
Come hither, fellow.

Edg.
[Aside.] And yet I must.--Bless thy sweet eyes, they bleed.