Imagens das páginas
PDF
ePub

(Which nor our nature nor our place can bear)
Our potency make good, take thy reward.
Five days we do allot thee, for provision
To shield thee from diseases of the world ;
And, on the sixth, to turn thy hated back
Upon our kingdom : if, on the tenth day following,
Thy banish'd trunk be found in our dominions,
The moment is thy death. Away! By Jupiter,
This shall not be revoked.
Kent. Fare thee well, king: since thus thou wilt

appear,
Freedom lives hence, and banishment is here.
The gods to their dear shelter take thee, maid,

[to Cordelia. That justly think'st, and hast most rightly said ! And your large speeches may your deeds approve,

[to Regan and Goneril. That good effects may spring from words of love. Thus Kent, O princes, bids you

all adieu : He'll shape his old course in a country new.

[Exit.

Re-enter GLOSTER, with FRANCE, BURGUNDY, and

Attendants.
Glos. Here's France and Burgundy, my noble

lord.
Lear. My lord of Burgundy,
We first address towards you, who with this king
Hath rivalid for our daughter. What, in the least,
Will you require in present dower with her,

SHAK

XIJI.

B

Bur.

Or cease your quest of love?

Most royal majesty,
I crave no more than hath your highness offer'd,
Nor will you tender less.
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. Sir, Will you, with those infirmities she owes, 2 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 ups on such conditions. Lear. Then leave her, sir; for, by the power

that made me, I tell you all her wealth.--For you, great king,

[to France. I would not from your love make such a stray, To match you where I hate; therefore beseech

you

| Beautiful.

2 Owns, is possessed of. 3 Comes not to a decision.

To avert your liking a more worthier way,
Than on a wretch whom Nature is ashamed
Almost to acknowlege hers.
France.

This is most strange!
That she, that even but now was your best object,
The argument of your praise, balm of your age,
Most best, most dearest, should, in this trice of

time,
Commit a thing so monstrous, to dismantle
So many folds of favor! Sure, ber offence
Must be of such unnatural degree,
That monsters it, or your fore-vouch'd affection
Fallen into taint;1 which to believe of her,
Must be a faith, that reason without miracle
Could never plant in me.
Cor.

I yet beseech your majesty, (If for? I want that glib and oily art, To speak and purpose not;

since what I well intend, I'll do 't before I speak) that you make known, It is no vicious blot, murder, or foulness, No unchaste action, or dishonor'd step, That hath deprived me of your grace and favor : But even for want of that, for which I am richer ; A still-soliciting eye, and such a tongue That I am glad I have not, though, not to have it, Hath lost me in your liking. Lear.

Better thou

Reproach.

2 Because,

Hadst not been born, than not to have pleased me

better. France. Is it no more but this ? a tardiness in

nature,
Which often leaves the history unspoke,
That it intends to do?-My lord of Burgundy,
What say you to the lady? Love is not love,
When it is mingled with respects, that stand
Aloof from the intire point. Will you have her?
She is herself a dowry.
Bur.

Royal Lear,
Give but that portion which yourself proposed,
And here I take Cordelia by the hand,
Duchess of Burgundy.

Lear. Nothing: I have sworn; I am firm.

Bur. I am sorry then, you have so lost a father, That you must lose a husband. Cor.

Peace be with Burgundy! Since that respects of fortune are his love, I shall not be his wife. France. Fairest Cordelia, that art most rich, being

poor; Most choice, forsaken ; and most loved, despised; Thee and thy virtues here I seise upon : Be it lawful, I take up what's cast away. Gods, gods! 'tis strange, that from their cold'st

neglect My love should kindle to inflamed respect. Thy dowerless daughter, king, thrown to my

chance, Is queen

of ours, and our fair France.

of us,

« AnteriorContinuar »