I find she names my very deed of love; Which the most precious square of sense pos sesses; And find, I am alone felicitate In your dear highness' love. Cor. [aside.] Then poor Cordelia ! And yet not so; since, I am sure, my love's More ponderous than my tongue. Lear. To thee, and thine, hereditary ever, Remain this ample third of our fair kingdom; No less in space, validity, and pleasure, Than that conferr'd on Goneril.-Now, our joy, Although our last, not least; to whose young love The vines of France and milk of Burgundy Strive to be interess'd; what can you say, to draw A third more opulent than your sisters? Speak. Cor. Nothing, my lord. Lear. Nothing? Cor. Nothing. Lear. Nothing will come of nothing: speak again. Cor. Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave My heart into my mouth; I love your majesty According to my bond; nor more, nor less. Lear. How, how, Cordelia? mend your speech a little, Lest you may mar your fortunes. Cor. Good my lord, You have begot me, bred me, loved me: I Return those duties back as are right fit, Obey you, love you, and most honour you. Why have my sisters husbands, if they say They love you, all? Haply, when I shall wed, That lord whose hand must take my plight shall carry Half my love with him, half my care, and duty: Sure, I shall never marry like my sisters, To love my father all. Lear. But goes thy heart with this? Ay, my good lord. Lear. So young, and so untender? Cor. So young, my lord, and true. Lear. Let it be so :-thy truth, then, be thy dower : For, by the sacred radiance of the sun; The mysteries of Hecate, and the night; From whom we do exist, and cease to be; Propinquity and property of blood, And as a stranger to my heart and me Hold thee, from this, for ever. The barbarous Or he that makes his generation messes Kent. Good my liege,— Lear. Peace, Kent! So be my grave my peace, as here I give Call Burgundy.-Cornwall and Albany, Let pride, which she calls plainness, marry her. That troop with majesty.-Ourself, by monthly course, With reservation of an hundred knights, Revenue, execution of the rest, Beloved sons, be yours: which to confirm, Kent. Let it fall rather, though the fork invade The region of my heart: be Kent unmannerly, When Lear is mad. What wouldst thou do, old man? Think'st thou that duty shall have dread to speak, When power to flattery bows? To plainness honour's bound, When majesty falls to folly. Reserve thy state; And, in thy best consideration, check This hdieous rashness: answer my life my judg ment, Thy youngest daughter does not love thee least; Nor are those empty-hearted, whose low sounds Reverb no hollowness. Lear. Kent, on thy life, no more! Kent. My life I never held but as a pawn To wage against thine enemies; ne'er fear to lose it, Thy safety being motive. Lear. Out of my sight! Kent. See better, Lear; and let me still remain The true blank of thine eye. Lear. Now, by Apollo,- Now, by Apollo, king, [Laying his hand on his sword. Thou swear'st thy gods in vain. O, vassal! miscreant ! Alb., Corn. Dear sir, forbear. Upon the foul disease. Or, whilst I can vent clamour from my throat, I'll tell thee, thou dost evil. Lear. Hear me, recreant! On thine allegiance, hear me ! That thou hast sought to make us break our vows, (Which we durst never yet,) and, with strain'd pride, To come betwixt our sentences and our power, Kent. Fare thee well, king: sith thus thou wilt appear, Freedom lives hence, and banishment is here.— [TO CORDELIA.] The gods to their dear shelter take thee, maid, That justly think'st, and hast most rightly said![To REGAN and GONERIL.] And your large speeches may your deeds approve, That good effects may spring from words of love. Thus Kent, O princes, bids you all adieu : [Exit. Flourish. Re-enter GLOSTER; with FRANCE, BURGUNDY, ⚫ and Attendants. Glo. Here's France and Burgundy, my noble lord. Lear. My lord of Burgundy, We first address toward you, who with this king Bur. Lear. Right noble Burgundy, When she was dear to us, we did hold her so; But now her price is fallen. Sir, there she stands; If aught within that little seeming substance, Or all of it, with our displeasure pieced, And nothing more, may fitly like your grace, She's there, and she is yours. Bur. I know no answer. Lear. Will you, with those infirmities she owes, Unfriended, new-adopted to our hate, Dower'd with our curse, and stranger'd with our oath, Take her, or leave her? Bur. Pardon me, royal sir, Election makes not up in such conditions. |