Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Glou. Storm still
Glou. His Daughters seeke his death: Ah, that good Kent,
Glou. He said it would be thus: poore banish'd man:
Glou. Thou sayest the King growes mad, Ile tell thee Friend
Glou. I am almost mad my selfe. I had a Sonne,
Glou. Now out‐law'd from my blood: he sought my life
Glou. But lately: very late: I lou'd him (Friend)
Glou. No Father his Sonne deerer: true to tell thee,
Glou. The greefe hath craz'd my wits. What a night's this?
Glou. I do beseech your grace.
Lear. Lear.
Lear. O cry you mercy, Sir:
Lear. Noble Philosopher, your company.
Edg. Edg.
Edg. Tom's a cold.
Glou. Glou.
Glou. In fellow there, into th'Houel; keep thee warm.
Lear. Come, let's in all.
Kent. Kent.