Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Glou. Glou.
Glou. Our flesh and blood, my Lord, is growne so
Glou. vilde, that it doth hate what gets it.
Edg. Edg.
Edg. Poore Tom's a cold.
Glou. Go in with me; my duty cannot suffer
Glou. T'obey in all your daughters hard commands:
Glou. Though their Iniunction be to barre my doores,
Glou. And let this Tyrannous night take hold vpon you,
Glou. Yet haue I ventured to come seeke you out,
Glou. And bring you where both fire, and food is ready.
Lear. Lear.
Lear. First let me talke with this Philosopher,
Lear. What is the cause of Thunder?
Kent. Kent.
Kent. Good my Lord take his offer,
Kent. Go into th'house.
Lear. Ile talke a word with this same lerned Theban: