Burgundy, my noble lord. Lear. My Lord of Burgundy, We first address toward you, who with this king Hath rivall'd for our daughter. What, in the least, Will you require in present dower with her, Or cease your quest of love? Bur. majesty, Most royal I crave no more than hath your highness offer'd, Nor will you tender less. Lear. Burgundy, Right noble When she was dear to us we did hold her so, But now her price is fall'n. Or all of it, with our displeasure pieced, 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, Dower'd with our curse, and stranger'd with our oath, Take her, or leave her? Bur. sir; Pardon me, royal Election makes not up on such conditions. Lear. Then leave her, sir; for, by the power 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 To avert your liking a more worthier way Than on a wretch whom nature is ashamed Almost to acknowledge hers. France. This is most That she, that even but now was your best object, The argument of your praise, balm of your age, The best, the 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 2 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, murder, or foulness, |