KENT.
This way, my lord.
LEAR.
With him;
I will keep still with my philosopher.
KENT.
Good my lord, soothe him; let him take the fellow.
GLOUCESTER.
Take him you on.
KENT.
Sirrah, come on; go along with us.
LEAR.
Come, good Athenian.
GLOUCESTER.
No words, no words, hush.
EDGAR.
Child Rowland to the dark tower came,
His word was still—Fie, foh, and fum,
I smell the blood of a British man.
[Exeunt.]