Lear. Meantime we shall express our darker purpose. Give me the map there.-Know, that we have divided In three our kingdom; and 'tis our fast intent wall, Our son of Corn And you, our no less loving son of Albany, Burgundy, The princes, France and Great rivals in our youngest daughter's love, Long in our court have made their amorous sojourn, And here are to be answer'd. Tell me, my daugh ters, (Since now we will divest us, both of rule, Interest of territory, cares of state) Which of you, shall we say, doth love us most? Gon. Sir, I do love you more than words can wield the matter; Dearer than eye-sight, space, and liberty; No less than life, with grace, health, beauty, honor: A love that makes breath poor, and speech unable; Beyond all manner of so much I love you. Cor. What shall Cordelia do? Love, and be silent. [aside. Lear. Of all these bounds, even from this line to this, With shadowy forests and with champains 1 rich'd, Re. I am made of that self metal as my sister, Only she comes too short;-that I profess Which the most precious square 2 of sense possesses; In your dear highness' love. Cor. Then poor Cordelia! [aside. Lear. To thee and thine, hereditary ever, Remain this ample third of our fair kingdom; No less in space, validity,3 and pleasure, Than that confirm'd on Goneril.-Now, our joy, Although the last, not least; to whose young love The vines of France, and milk of Burgundy 1 Open plains. 2 Comprehension. 3 Value. Strive to be interess'd; 1-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 Lear. How, how, Cordelia? mend your speech a little, Lest it may mar your fortunes. Good my lord, Cor. 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 this with thy heart? Cor. Ay, good my lord. Lear. So young, and so untender? 1 United. Cor. So young, my lord, and true. Lear. Let it be so: thy truth then be thy dower : From whom we do exist, and cease to be; Scythian, 1 The barbarous Or he that makes his generation 1 messes Kent. Lear. Peace, Kent! Good my liege, Come not between the dragon and his wrath. sight! So be my grave my peace, as here I give [to Cordelia. Her father's heart from her!-Call France !-Who stirs ? Call Burgundy.—Cornwall, and Albany, With my two daughters' dowers digest the third : His children. |