From the dread summit of this chalky bourn.
Look up a-height;--the shrill-gorg'd lark so far
Cannot be seen or heard: do but look up.

Glou.
Alack, I have no eyes.--
Is wretchedness depriv'd that benefit
To end itself by death? 'Twas yet some comfort
When misery could beguile the tyrant's rage
And frustrate his proud will.

Edg.
Give me your arm:
Up:--so.--How is't? Feel you your legs? You stand.

Glou.
Too well, too well.

Edg.
This is above all strangeness.
Upon the crown o' the cliff what thing was that
Which parted from you?

Glou.
A poor unfortunate beggar.

Edg.
As I stood here below, methought his eyes
Were two full moons; he had a thousand noses,
Horns whelk'd and wav'd like the enridged sea: