France

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
Fairest Cordelia, that art most rich being poor;
Most choice, forsaken; and most loved, despised,
Thee and thy virtues here I seize 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 enflamed respect.

Gods, gods! ‘Tis strange that from their cold’st neglect
My love should kindle to enflamed respect.—
Thy dowerless daughter,
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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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