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If for I want that glib and oylie Art, |
To speake and purpose not, since what I will intend, |
Ile do't before I speake, that you make knowne |
It is no vicious blot, murther, or foulenesse, |
No vnchaste action or dishonoured step |
That hath depriu'd me of your Grace and fauour, |
But euen for want of that, for which I am richer, |
A still soliciting eye, and such a tongue, |
That I am glad I haue not, though not to haue it, |
Hath lost me in your liking |
Lear. Better thou had'st |
Not beene borne, then not t'haue pleas'd me better |
Fra. Is it but this? A tardinesse in nature, |
Which often leaues the history vnspoke |
That it intends to do: my Lord of Burgundy, |
What say you to the Lady? Loue's not loue |
When it is mingled with regards, that stands |
Aloofe from th' intire point, will you haue her? |
She is herselfe a Dowrie |
Bur. Royall King, |
Giue but that portion which your selfe propos'd, |
And here I take Cordelia by the hand, |
Dutchesse of Burgundie |
Lear. Nothing, I haue sworne, I am firme |
Bur. I am sorry then you haue so lost a Father, |
That you must loose a husband |
Cor. Peace be with Burgundie, |
Since that respect and Fortunes are his loue, |
I shall not be his wife |
Fra. Fairest Cordelia, that art most rich being poore, |
Most choise forsaken, and most lou'd despis'd, |
Thee and thy vertues here I seize vpon, |
Be it lawfull I take vp what's cast away. |
Gods, Gods! 'Tis strange, that from their cold'st neglect |
My Loue should kindle to enflam'd respect. |
Thy dowrelesse Daughter King, throwne to my chance, |
Is Queene of vs, of ours, and our faire France: |
Not all the Dukes of watrish Burgundy, |
Can buy this vnpriz'd precious Maid of me. |
Bid them farewell Cordelia, though vnkinde, |
Thou loosest here a better where to finde |
Lear. Thou hast her France, let her be thine, for we |
Haue no such Daughter, nor shall euer see |
That face of hers againe, therfore be gone, |
Without our Grace, our Loue, our Benizon: |
Come Noble Burgundie. |
Flourish. Exeunt. |
Fra. Bid farwell to your Sisters |
Cor. The Iewels of our Father, with wash'd eies |
Cordelia leaues you, I know you what you are, |
And like a Sister am most loth to call |
Your faults as they are named. Loue well our Father: |
To your professed bosomes I commit him, |
But yet alas, stood I within his Grace, |
I would prefer him to a better place, |
So farewell to you both |
Regn. Prescribe not vs our dutie |
Gon. Let your study |
Be to content your Lord, who hath receiu'd you |
At Fortunes almes, you haue obedience scanted, |
And well are worth the want that you haue wanted |
Cor. Time shall vnfold what plighted cunning hides, |
Who couers faults, at last with shame derides: |
Well may you prosper |
Fra. Come my faire Cordelia. |
Exit France and Cor. |
Gon. Sister, it is not little I haue to say, |
Of what most neerely appertaines to vs both, |
I thinke our Father will hence to night |
Reg. That's most certaine, and with you: next moneth with vs |
Gon. You see how full of changes his age is, the obseruation |
we haue made of it hath beene little; he alwaies |
lou'd our Sister most, and with what poore iudgement he |
hath now cast her off, appeares too grossely |
Reg. 'Tis the infirmity of his age, yet he hath euer but |
slenderly knowne himselfe |
Gon. The best and soundest of his time hath bin but |
rash, then must we looke from his age, to receiue not alone |
the imperfections of long ingraffed condition, but |