Glou.
Know'st thou the way to Dover?

Edg.
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 dumbness; Mahu, of
stealing; Modo, of murder; Flibbertigibbet, of mopping and
mowing,--who since possesses chambermaids and waiting women. So,
bless thee, master!

Glou.
Here, take this purse, thou whom the heavens' 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?

Edg.
Ay, master.

Glou.
There is a cliff, whose high and bending head
Looks fearfully in the confined deep:
Bring me but to the very brim of it,