the least
     Will you require in present dower with her,
     Or cease your quest of love?
  Bur. Most royal Majesty,
     I crave no more than hath your Highness offer'd,
     Nor will you tender less.
  Lear. Right noble Burgundy,
     When she was dear to us, we did hold her so;
     But now her price is fall'n. Sir, there she stands.
     If aught within that little seeming substance,
     Or all of it, with our displeasure piec'd,
     And nothing more, may fitly like your Grace,
     She's there, and she is yours.
  Bur. I know no answer.
  Lear. Will you, with those infirmities she owes,
     Unfriended, new adopted to our hate,
     Dow'r'd with our curse, and stranger'd with our oath,
     Take her, or leave her?
  Bur. Pardon me, royal sir.
     Election makes not up on such conditions.
  Lear. Then leave her, sir; for, by the pow'r that made me,
     I tell you all her wealth. [To France] 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 asham'd
     Almost t' acknowledge 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 favour. Sure her offence
     Must be of such unnatural degree
     That monsters it, or your fore-vouch'd affection
     Fall'n into taint; which to believe of her
     Must be a faith that reason without miracle
     Should 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, murther, or foulness,
     No unchaste action or dishonoured step,
     That hath depriv'd me of your grace and favour;
     But even for want of that for which I am richer-
     A still-soliciting eye, and such a tongue
     As I am glad I have not, though not to have it
     Hath lost me in your liking.
  Lear. Better thou
     Hadst not been born than not t' have pleas'd me better.
  France. Is it 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's not love
     When it is mingled with regards that stands
     Aloof from th' entire point. Will you have her?
     She is herself a dowry.
  Bur. Royal Lear,
     Give but that portion which yourself propos'd,
     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 lov'd, despis'd!
     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 inflam'd respect.
     Thy dow'rless daughter, King, thrown to my chance,
     Is queen of us, of ours, and our fair France.
     Not all the dukes in wat'rish Burgundy
     Can buy this unpriz'd precious maid of me.
     Bid them farewell, Cordelia, though unkind.
     Thou losest here, a better where to find.
  Lear. Thou hast her, France; let her be thine; for we
     Have no such daughter, nor shall ever see
     That face of hers again. Therefore be gone
     Without our grace, our love, our benison.
     Come, noble Burgundy.
             Flourish. Exeunt Lear, Burgundy, [Cornwall, Albany,
                                    Gloucester, and Attendants].
  France. Bid farewell to your sisters.
  Cor. The jewels of our father, with wash'd eyes
     Cordelia leaves you. I know you what you are;
     And, like a sister, am most loath to call
     Your faults as they are nam'd. Use well our father.
     To your professed bosoms I commit him;
     But yet, alas, stood I within his grace,
     I would prefer him to a better place!
     So farewell to you both.
  Gon. Prescribe not us our duties.
  Reg. Let your study
     Be to content your lord, who hath receiv'd you
     At fortune's alms. You have obedience scanted,
     And well are worth the want that you have wanted.
  Cor. Time shall unfold what plighted cunning hides.
     Who cover faults, at last shame them derides.
     Well may you prosper!
  France. Come, my fair Cordelia.
                                     Exeunt France and Cordelia.
  Gon. Sister, it is not little I have to say of what most nearly
     appertains to us both. I think our father will hence
to-night.
  Reg. That's most certain, and with you; next month with us.
  Gon. You see how full of changes his age is. The observation we
     have made of it hath not been little. He always lov'd our
     sister most, and with what poor judgment he hath now cast
her
     off appears too grossly.
  Reg. 'Tis the infirmity of his age; yet he hath ever but
slenderly
     known himself.
  Gon. The best and soundest of his time hath been but rash; then
     must we look to receive from his age, not alone the
     imperfections of long-ingraffed condition, but therewithal
     the unruly waywardness that infirm and choleric years bring
with
     them.
  Reg. Such unconstant starts are we like to have from him as
this
     of Kent's banishment.
  Gon. There is further compliment of leave-taking between France
and
     him. Pray you let's hit together. If our father carry
authority
     with such dispositions as he bears, this last surrender of
his
     will but offend us.
  Reg. We shall further think on't.
  Gon. We must do something, and i' th' heat.
                                                         Exeunt.

Scene II. The Earl of Gloucester's Castle.

Enter [Edmund the] Bastard solus, [with a letter].

  Edm. Thou, Nature, art my goddess; to thy law
     My services are bound. Wherefore should I
     Stand in the plague of custom, and permit
     The curiosity of nations to deprive me,
     For that I am some twelve or fourteen moonshines
     Lag of a brother? Why bastard? wherefore base?
     When my dimensions are as well compact,
     My mind as generous, and my shape as true,