Edgar: away! the foul fiend follows me! through the sharp hawthorn blows the cold wind. humh! go to thy cold bed, and warm thee. lear: hast thou given all to thy two daughters, and art thou come to this? edgar: who gives anything to poor tom? whom the foul fiend hath led through fire and through flame, through ford and whirlpool, o'er bog and quagmire; that hath laid knives under his pillow and halters in his pew, set ratsbane by his porridge, made him proud of heart, to ride on a bay trotting horse over four-inch'd bridges, to course his own shadow for a traitor. bless thy five wits! tom 's acold. o, do de, do de, do de. bless thee from whirlwinds, star-blasting, and taking! do poor tom some charity, whom the foul fiend vexes. no fear shakespeare