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(Which nor our nature nor our place can bear)
[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.
Re-enter GLOSTER, with FRANCE, BURGUNDY, and
Or cease your quest of love?
Most royal majesty,
Right noble Burgundy,
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
2 Owns, is possessed of. 3 Comes not to a decision.
To avert your liking a more worthier way,
This is most strange!
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.
Hadst not been born, than not to have pleased me
better. France. Is it no more but this ? a tardiness in
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.