Here is the place, my lord

Kent
Here is the place, my lord. Good my lord, enter.
The tyranny of the open night ‘s too rough
For nature to endure.
Storm still.
King Lear
Let me alone.
Kent
Good my lord, enter here.
King Lear
Wilt break my heart?
Kent
I had rather break mine own. Good my lord, enter.
King Lear
Thou think'st 'tis much that this contentious storm
Invades us to the skin. So 'tis to thee.
But where the greater malady is fixed,
The lesser is scarce felt. Thou ‘dst shun a bear,
But if thy flight lay toward the roaring sea,
Thou ‘dst meet the bear i' th' mouth. When the mind's free,
The body's delicate. This tempest in my mind
Doth from my senses take all feeling else
Save what beats there. Filial ingratitude!
Is it not as this mouth should tear this hand
For lifting food to ‘t? But I will punish home.
No, I will weep no more. In such a night
To shut me out? Pour on. I will endure.
In such a night as this? O Regan, Goneril,
Your old kind father whose frank heart gave all!
O, that way madness lies. Let me shun that;
No more of that.
Kent
Good my lord, enter here.
King Lear
Prithee, go in thyself. 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.
Fool  exits.
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 may'st shake the superflux to them
And show the heavens more just.