[Aside.] I cannot daub it further.
GLOUCESTER: Come hither, fellow.
EDGAR: [Aside] And yet I must.--Bless thy sweet eyes, they bleed.
GLOUCESTER: Know'st thou the way to Dover? 
EDGAR: Both stile and gate, horse-way and foot-path.
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; Hobbididance, prince of dumbness; Mahu, 
of stealing; Modo, of murder; Flibbertigibbet, of moping
and mowing, who since possesses chambermaids
and waiting-women. So, bless thee, master!
GLOUCESTER: 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 doth not feel, feel your power quickly;
So distribution should undo excess, 
And each man have enough. Dost thou know Dover?
EDGAR: Ay, master.
GLOUCESTER: There is a cliff, whose high and bending head
Looks fearfully in the confined deep:
Bring me but to the very brim of it, 
And I'll repair the misery thou dost bear
With something rich about me: from that place
I shall no leading need.