Cordelia

King Lear
Goneril,
Our eldest born, speak first.
Goneril
Sir, I love you more than word can wield the matter,
Dearer than eyesight, space, and liberty,
Beyond what can be valued, rich or rare,
No less than life, with grace, health, beauty, honor;
As much as child e’er loved, or father found;
A love that makes breath poor,
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King Lear
Now, our joy,
Although our last and least, to whose young love
The vines of France and milk of Burgundy
Strive to be interessed, what can you say to draw
A third more opulent than your sisters’? Speak.

Come not between the dragon and his wrath.

Cordelia
Nothing, my lord.
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Lear
For you, great king,
I would not from your love make such a stray
To match you where I hate. Therefore beseech you
T’ avert your liking a more worthier way
Than on a wretch whom Nature is ashamed
Almost t’ acknowledge hers.

Love’s not love
When it is mingled with regards that stands
Aloof from th’ entire point.
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France
Bid farewell to your sisters.
Cordelia
The jewels of our father, with washed eyes
Cordelia leaves you. I know you what you are,
And like a sister am most loath to call
Your faults as they are named. Love well our father.

Time shall unfold what plighted cunning hides,
Who covers faults at last with shame derides.
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Cordelia
Alack, ’tis he! Why, he was met even now
As mad as the vexed sea, singing aloud,
Crowned with rank fumiter and furrow-weeds,
With hardocks, hemlock, nettles, cuckooflowers,
Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow
In our sustaining corn. A century send forth.
Search every acre in the high-grown field
And bring him to our eye.
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Cordelia, kissing Lear
O, my dear father, restoration hang
Thy medicine on my lips, and let this kiss
Repair those violent harms that my two sisters
Have in thy reverence made.
Kent
Kind and dear princess.
Cordelia
Had you not been their father, these white flakes
Did challenge pity of them.
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King Lear
Where have I been? Where am I? Fair daylight?
I am mightily abused; I should e’en die with pity
To see another thus. I know not what to say.
I will not swear these are my hands. Let’s see.
I feel this pinprick. Would I were assured
Of my condition!
Cordelia
O,
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Cordelia, to Lear
We are not the first
Who with best meaning have incurred the worst.
For thee, oppressèd king, I am cast down.
Myself could else outfrown false Fortune’s frown.
Shall we not see these daughters and these sisters?
King Lear
No, no, no, no. Come, let’s away to prison.
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