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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,
of us, of ours, and our fair France.

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