“My lord of Burgundy, what say you to the lady?” said France. “Love’s not love when it is mixed with considerations that have nothing to do with the main point. Will you have her? She is herself a dowry.”
“Royal Lear, give but that portion which you yourself proposed, and here I take Cordelia by the hand, Duchess of Burgundy.”
“Nothing; I have sworn; I am firm,” said the old King obstinately.
“I am sorry, then, you have so lost a father that you must lose a husband,” said Burgundy to Cordelia.
“Peace be with Burgundy!” said Cordelia with dignity. “Since respects of fortune are his love, I shall not be his wife.”
The King of France stepped forward and took the maiden by the hand.
“Fairest Cordelia, that art most rich, being poor; most choice, forsaken; and most loved, despised! Thee and thy virtues here I seize upon; if it be lawful, I take up what’s cast away. Thy dowerless daughter, King, thrown to me by hazard, is Queen of us, of ours, and of our France; not all the Dukes of watery Burgundy can buy this unprized, precious maid of me. Bid them farewell, Cordelia, though unkind; thou losest here, a better home to find.”
“Thou hast her, France; let her be thine,” said Lear, “for I have no such daughter, nor shall ever see that face of hers again. Therefore be gone without my grace, my love, my blessing.”
And the offended old King swept away with his train, not deigning to bestow another glance upon his daughter.
“Bid farewell to your sisters,” said the King of France again.