Page:King Lear (1917) Yale.djvu/25

King Lear, I. i

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,

Dower'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 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 asham'd

Almost to acknowledge hers.

France. This is most strange,

That she, who 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

That monsters it, or your fore-vouch'd affection

Fall into taint; which to believe of her,

Must be a faith that reason without miracle

Could never plant in me.

 205 owes: owns

209 Election, etc.: I cannot choose

218 argument: subject

219 trice: moment

223 monsters: makes monstrous

