“He has some reason, else he could not beg.
I' th' last night's storm I such a fellow saw, Which made me think a man a worm. My son
Came then into my mind, and yet my mind Was then scarce friends with him. I have heard more since. As flies to wanton boys are we to th' gods. They kill us for their sport.
Edg. [aside] How should this be?
Bad is the trade that must play fool to sorrow, Ang'ring itself and others.- Bless thee, master!
Glou. Is that the naked fellow?