The Tragedy Of King Lear - V:3.4.25

LEAR Prithee, go in myself, seek thine own ease.

This tempest will not give me leave to ponder

On things would hurt me more; but I'll go in.

In, boy, go first. You houseless poverty --

Nay, get thee in; I'll pray, and then I'll sleep.

Exit[Fool]

Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are

That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm,

How shall your houseless heads and unfed sides,

Your looped and windowed raggedness defend you

From seasons such as these? O I have ta'en

Too little care of this. Take physic, pomp

Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel,

That thou mayst shake the superflux to them

And show the heavens more just.